#so really more than Patroclus being Achilles's wife. They just take turn in who is the wife

[jules-ln]

Once again there's a cow rotating in my head about the Iliad

This time I'm thinking about how Patroclus is generally more feminine in the Iliad

Now now, hear me out (with the disclaimer that I'm talking about gender in the modern way because I'm not an expert in gender in ancient Greece lol)

Like, I was thinking about how Patroclus cleans and cooks for Achilles, and I thought "Hehe, he's like Achilles's wife"

But then I was thinking that Patroclus IS presented in a more kind and nurturing way than Achilles in the Iliad. He takes care of the horses and his dogs, he heals wounded people when they need him, he's the one worried about his comrades dying

And even when Achilles calls him a crying little girl, Patroclus instead of denying it, hes like "and you're a heartless bitch" lmao

Of course he still kills a lot of men and is badass because, obviously, he's Homer's favorite

Buuuuuuut

I think a modern perception of Patroclus as a feminine man isn't so out of reach, simply because everything that he is, now is associated with femininity in the modern society.

All of that to say

Let my man Patroclus wear a dress too, he deserves it

[slettlune]

alright paris the musical liveblog let's gooooooo

FIRST HALF! watch me lose all principles whenever i think a melody is nice

like idk man the poster for this gives me that HE ONLY DID IT FOR LOVE thing with paris that doesn't appeal to me, that's why i haven't checked it out before. i feel they're gonna turn him into a hapless but sympathetic hero. bet there won't be an oenone. but here we go

IT'S SO EIGHTIES. I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS THIS EIGHTIES. oh this is good actually

when homer (!) is dramatically presenting all the main players, in my mind i can't help but see them strike sassy poses as the spotlights hit them, their sequins flashing. "agamemnon! of mycenea!"

"ulysses! of ithaca! / longs for peace and security" i don't know if i like that as the main trait he's introduced with but okay let's see how he works in this paris-centered narrative

'head without a heart' IS SO GOOD. ohh it's just the kind of eighties' vibe i like.

oh this this framing might place the blame of the trojan war more at paris' feet than helen's, which i like, but also that he's just a stupid youngster, and that's interesting too: "Not some mad messiah of destruction and fire / Just a lovestruck youth"

ohhh and i LOVE paris interacting directly with cassandra! he never seems to do that in any adaptations. "Sister, please don't grieve / I've learned my part to the letter"

'straight ahead': HOLY SHIT GET HYPE. it's so extremely "cool protagonist is finally gonna live his life" opening number. it's weird to have paris be that kind of protagonist. but also it makes me think about how this poor shepherd boy was the WORST guy to make an ambassador, like cassandra IS right about that.

ugh i don't like when they put the weird histrionic plot stuff in the middle of a cool-ass song.

i'm dying at the others screaming at paris while he's like "the sea and sky :D my friends and i :D what could go wrong, what could -AAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"

paris falls in love with helen at first sight and assumes she's aphrodite. does aeneas know paris is weird about his mom. oh my god i just realized EVERYBODY'S weird about aeneas' mom, that's gotta be exhausting for him

"i married young, in love with power" oh it's one of those where helen's unhappily married. sigh. okay.

OH the way 'business' takes off after agamemnon's evil laugh. i'm appalled at the characterization but i'm just gonna have to roll with it because the music in this thing rocks

THERE HE IS! QUAST-PATROCLUS. who's like "ummmmm wHY are we having a meeting without my bestie achilles here"

OHH AGAMEMNON TRICKED ACHILLES SO HE WOULDN'T APPEAR AND BE VOTED COMMANDER. okay if we're doing evil agamemnon at least he's clever

oh this is a rum tum tugger-ass achilles omg. ohh i hate this but it's so funny. weakest character song so far

ahahaaa ulysses looking at paris' rags and telling him "To gain entry by disguise is an excellent ploy / I shall remember that, prince of Troy"

i enjoy helen being kinda exhausted by the whole thing. "Stop your adoration, I don’t need complications / I'm not a goddess, I am king Menelaus’ wife"

evil agamemnon using the abduction for his own political gain. hm. that makes sense actually (as long as he's evil i mean)

oh now 'thief in the night' establishes that menelaus really loves helen, i didn't expect that from this kind of framing. how is this gonna end now

HELEN HAS SUDDENLY KILLED SOMEONE? WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN SONGS??

"I love her / I believe she loves me" I WISH SOMEONE WOULD ASK HER. I THINK IT WOULD BE GOOD TO MAKE SURE.

jon english who wrote this also plays hector and does NOT give himself enough songs to go ham on, god his voice is so good when he's PUSHING IT

[teawiththegods]

Going to your discussion of Hades and Zeus and mythology. It really rankles me that people turned Persephone into a #girlboss and rewrite the story so she chooses to go to the underworld. I understand for some it’s a way to justify enjoying Hades and Persephone as a couple. Even with that understanding, I still don’t like it. Guess what? You don’t have to have a rewritten, morally correct story to validate your enjoyment of something. Especially when it comes to the Theoi. Idk part of me just doesn’t really understand the struggle of that. Like why is it so difficult to take the myths the way they are, accept them, examine them yes, but still accept the myths in their entirety. Maybe it’s all the new reimaginings and popularity of LO in particular that has my feathers ruffled but. It makes me want to go deeper into privacy about worshipping Hades and Persephone. - scytheandseed

You don’t have to have a rewritten, morally correct story to validate your enjoyment of something.

I think you hit the nail on the head with that line. Personally I think this is at least one of the core problems. I’ve noticed this issue with media and storytelling in general even outside of Greek Mythology. People, especially the younger crowd, have an aversion to liking morally ambiguous or just straight up immoral characters. They often go to great lengths to either again absolve the character of their sins or put the blame on another character (sound familiar??). This is why redemption arcs are so popular nowadays. People want their favorite character to receive the Zuko treatment believing it’ll give them permission to like the character. But stories don’t work that way and neither do fully fleshed out real characters. Not everyone is deserving of a redemption arc nor do they need one. As someone who LOVES villains (esp badass women who want nothing more than to watch the world burn) I’m quite happy with them the way that they are thank you very much!

But it all def echoes back to the good vs. evil rhetoric of Christianity. It’s why a lot of people have a hard time with The Iliad. They can’t wrap their heads around the idea that there IS NO good guy or bad guy. They are all just dumb guys fighting their dumb war. (Yes, it hurts me to say but Patroclus and Hector are included 😢). But so often you see Agamemnon framed as the “evil” one and Achilles as the “good” one despite the fact that Achilles did PLENTY of awful things. ITS WAR! They all do awful things but you know only one of them was gay and pretty so clearly he’s absolved of his sins. Agamemnon, did you try being gay and pretty?? Maybe if you were gay and pretty everyone would look the other way with Iphigenia like they did with Briseis. Or how about getting a dog? Idk something about a guy with a dog makes people want to forget about all your misdeeds. Just a suggestion. Still gonna cheer when your wife murders you in the bathtub tho so maybe it doesn’t really matter 🤷🏻‍♀️

Writing all that sarcasm made me think how another issue is the romanticizing of these relationships. Like I understand it more when it comes to Achilles and Patroclus considering how lacking we🌈 are of stories about us and our love however removing or ignoring unsavory aspects of Achilles (and even Patroclus bc he WAS a participant in all of this) is a complete disservice to him as a character and the story as a whole. You have to take the bad with the good, babes. The same goes for Hades. If you’re gonna take the myth literally than you have to accept that your homeboy saw a 12 year old girl thought “yeah gotta have that”, asked Big Poppa for permission, and then took her once he got it without any care or concern for Persephone or Demeter’s feelings. That’s just the reality. I don’t make the news I just report it!

Psssst…the solution is to not take the myths literally!!

Anyway, lots babbling from me (I blame the Covid tho it’s likely not the Covid 🤣) and I didn’t even touch on the main part of your ask which is about the portrayal of Persephone. I completely agree! Honestly I’ve read soooooo many of these feminist retellings of the myths and while I understand and support the efforts, they really just all feel the same. Like every character is the same regardless of which character is being portrayed. And they all just follow the same formula and I’m just bored.

That’s honestly how I feel with ALL retellings and even media that features the gods. Bored. So damn bored.

[epicstuckyficrecs]

Weekly Recap | July 27-August 2nd 2020

Another big one this week! I discovered a new writer, can you guess who it is? 😆 

Complete

[Bucky is typing] by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 4K | Mature): Steve just wants to wind down, post mission, with the silly cupcake game Clint downloaded onto his stark phone. He doesn't know who 'Bucky' is, or why he's texting Steve so aggressively. He doesn't mean to answer the phone and argue with the charming voice on the other end. He certainly never meant for the arguing to be interpreted as flirting... But maybe he should just go with it? Maybe Bucky is exactly the leap Steve needs to take, to find his way in the world again.

d-sides and rarities, Chapter 11. balcony + fairy lights  by Deisderium/ @deisderium​ (Shrunkyclunks | Teen): Pepper's PA keeps helping Steve with gala events and public appearances. Steve's trying to keep it professional. Good luck with that.

Helping You Out by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (PWP | 3,7K | Explicit): Steve is not having a great time here... attempting to find his own prostate. So of course, Sam's gorgeous best friend Bucky chooses this exact moment to walk into Steve and Sam's dorm room unnanounced.

Saké It To Me by Kalee60/ @kalee60​ (Shrunkyclunks | 8K | Teen): Being roped into speed dating was not how Bucky imagined spending his Friday night, especially when he realises some of these people might just be a little bit over his pay grade. But then Steve sits down, gorgeous, friendly and full of genuine warmth. Within mere minutes he manages to completely charm the pants off Bucky (or so his future self hopes). So why then, after such a strong connection, didn't Steve call him?

Tap That by Kalee60/ @kalee60​ (Meet-cute | 2K | General): When Steve is distracted while waiting at a busy crosswalk on the way to an important meeting, he inadvertently meets the man of his dreams - but only after making the most mortifying social gaffe of his life.Red faced and apologetic he tries to forget the incident.But sometimes when things go wrong - they suddenly turn out spectacularly right.

Pressure Points by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 3K | Explicit): Bucky Barnes hates to fly. And this flight is starting out worse than normal. Except for the hot, built, blond sat beside him... Who has shoulders for days, a voice like molasses, and some very interesting ideas about how to ease Bucky's anxiety... (Part 1 of 💙 Pressure)

Under Pressure by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 6K | Explicit): Bucky is still high off the sexy encounter he experienced with the super hot guy from his flight yesterday.Only today is not turning out quite so great. He could really use some more of that stress relief that Steve doled out so graciously on the plane.And he left Bucky his number right? Which means Bucky could just call him... See if he's busy...He's doing it - he's calling him. It's ringing. (Part 2 of 💙 Pressure)

High Pressure System by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 8K | Explicit): So Steve ran out on him.Ran out saying 'I'll call, you' which everyone knows means Bucky just got ghosted. Except it turns out his booty call might be more than Bucky bargained for. How deep is he willing to dig to chase the answers to his questions? And why is he finding it so impossible to say no to this guy? Steve Rogers, who ARE you... (Part 3 of 💙 Pressure)

Pressure Rising by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 7K | Explicit): Waking up in a farmhouse, on an apple orchard, in the arms of a man who could bench press a minivan, with eyelashes like a disney princess and shoulders like a greek god is Bucky's fantasy turned reality.Except this is sort of a kidnapping.And his life might be falling apart in the real world.And Bucky might not give a shit, because Steve Rogers is like a drug, and Bucky just can't get enough.Also, it turns out, maybe Bucky is a drug for Steve too... (Part 4 of 💙 Pressure)

Pressing You Down by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 8K | Explicit): Steve Rogers is a master tactician, a supersoldier, a born leader. So why is it, as the team are closing in on an epic mission, two years in the making, that Bucky Barnes (and his thighs, lets face it, men have bled for less) and the possibility of he and Steve having a future together, might be enough to compromise everything his team have worked so long for.Actually, maybe it doesn't have to...Maybe everything is about to work out exactly the way Steve wants it to.Well... A man can dream. (Part 5 of 💙 Pressure)

💙 and the next by mcwho (Time traveling | 12K | Explicit): They have him in the common room of all places, and they won’t let Steve see him. or: a time-travel glitch lands 1936's bucky right in 2025 steve's lap

Reading in progress

Adorably awkward by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 32K | Explicit): The one where Bucky uses Steve's car window as a mirror and Steve can appreciate the view...

WIP

💙 Heirloom by 2bestfriends/ @addyetc​ (Royalty AU, Arranged Marriage | 4/5 | 17K | Explicit): King Steven Grant Rogers of Aphekion is only 20 years old. He relies on the wisdom of his advisors, the strength and honesty of his people, and the love and kindness his mother left to him. He wants nothing more than to honor them all by bringing peace to his kingdom. So much has been sacrificed already. If he must sacrifice his hope for love, then so be it.

💙 Revenance by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel​, SinpaiCasanova (The Old Guard AU/The Song of Achilles AU | 2/? | 5K | Mature): And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Or, the one where Steve and Bucky are immortal and used to be known as Achilles and Patroclus.

💙 With Only You by brucespringsteen (Time Travel | 6/9 | 35K | Explicit): Steve, semi-retired and still a bastard who doesn’t follow rules, touches a cube that sends him to 1938, eighty-six years in the past. He takes it well. Bucky, twenty-one and baby-faced, takes it even better.

💙 Sergeant Barnes and Colonel Rogers: Lessons in Lust, Longing and Inappropriate Erections. by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Shrunkyclunks | 1/4 | 5K | Explicit): Bucky Barnes is a decorated (though young) Sergeant in the United States Army, a Ranger with the 75th regiment, a sniper of unparalleled skill; he still expects his first day as an Avenger to be challenging. He is not at all prepared for the greatest challenge to be one hot as fuck, steely eyed, Colonel Rogers. More specifically, he is not expecting the greatest challenge to be keeping his dick under control whenever Colonel Rogers, with his broad shoulders and his authoritative command and his fucking thick, gorgeous beard, enters into Bucky's immediate vicinity.

💙 Tender is the Ghost by Hark_bananas/ @harkbananas​ (Post-WS | 6/12 | 70K | Explicit): This thought is uncontrollably followed by another one: I’m not alone anymore. He looks over his shoulder, through the kitchen door, to where Bucky is sitting at his usual place at the head of the dining table, and he feels an unconstrainable smile breaking out across his face, the barest hint of threatening tears along its bright edge. Bucky is still looking past Steve’s left ear, but slowly, gingerly, one side of his mouth quirks up. Steve feels giddy, he wants to shout, or faint, or something to relieve the carbonated pressure that is bubbling up inside of him. Instead, he laughs, short and cheerful, and opens the oven door. (Part 2 of Tender is the Ghost)

💙 A Call to Motion by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel​ (Uni AU | 2/? | 16K | Explicit): He was a jock, he did ballet, what more can I say? (aka: Steve’s football coach sends him to learn ballet to improve his game, Bucky is the dance TA tasked with teaching him).

💙  Bespoke by the1918/ @the1918​ (Shrunkyclunks, ABO AU | 7/10 | 72K | Explicit): “I love you, too. So fucking much,” Steve answered. His voice sounded cracked and exhausted, an exposed nerve ending in the shape of a man. “Some days I still don’t believe you’re real. Feels— feels like somehow, I’ve always loved you. Even when I didn’t know you.” Bucky smiled softly at that and felt his heart threaten to explode. Still straddling his lap, he reached a hand up to cup Steve’s cheek. “You’ve always known me,” he stated, simply. “I was made for you, remember?” (Part 2 of 💙Compatible)

💙 Songbird by chicklette/ @chicklette​ (Singer Bucky, Fake relationship | 13/15 | 61K | Explicit): At 43, James Barnes is a washed up old man. He’s got a dozen Grammys in the hall closet, an agent that can’t get him a deal, a decade-old case of writer’s block, a moody teen-aged daughter, and the gorgeous actress Natasha Romanova for an ex-wife. Enter Steven Grant Rogers, struggling twenty-something, orphan, and someone who has no idea who Barnes is. The two men meet by accident, doing nothing more than passing the time in a quiet bar. But when a pap gets a shot of the two men embracing, Bucky takes it as a chance to finally come out as bisexual, and his agent makes him a proposition: Ten new songs and one very sweet boyfriend will get him a new record deal that will maybe, just maybe put him back on top. Now all he has to do is write the songs, convince the kid, and not fall in love. Should be easy, right?

[pies-writes-and-more]

PIES’ FIC RECOMMENDATIONS FOR JUNE 2020

Click HERE for the amazing fics I read in May 2020!

NOTE: If you’ve got an incredible fic that you are super proud of or if you think that I should read something you’ve read, PLEASE SEND IT TO ME! I’m really big on StevexFem!Reader, BuckyxFem!Reader, WandaxFem!Reader, CarolxFem!Reader, and Stucky fics!!! (And of course any fics with gender neutral readers is ALWAYS welcome :) )

If you do end up reading these fics, please tag me if you reblog them or comment on them!! I’d love to see your guys’ reactions :)

PS. if these links dont work for some reason, please let me know so I can update this list because I was very distracted halfway through making this so it might not be perfect!

SPECIAL MENTION FIC/POEM RECOMMENDATION

Okay so I’m not doing this because I’m trying to give myself a shoutout however, @wxstedhexrt​ and I have been collaborating in a poetry inspired fanfic collection called Falling! Tis a BuckyxFem!Reader series and if I do say so myself, it’s fucking adorable. 

The real reason I’m mentioning it is because @wxstedhexrt​‘s poems are some of the most real and gorgeously written things I’ve ever met so please give them a look! 

She has this series on Achilles and Patroclus, this collection about the word Silver, gorgeous poems from last year (involving Icarus, Apollo, and Helen of Troy), and so many more!!! Check out the tag #poetry or #mywriting on her blog!!! Send her some love :)

ANYWAYS BACK TO THE FANFICS!

1. Homecoming by @scentedsongrebel | Steve Rogers x Desi!Reader “You bring Steve to Mumbai to meet your family“ Yall want some wonderful representation in your fic reading!!??? READ THIS ONE! It’s so fucking wholesome and I love the whole story line of Steve learning more about his partner’s culture so that he can impress her family. Fucking adorable. 100% fluff with a wonderfully diverse reader and author!!!!

2. Iced Tea by @kaunis-sielu | Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader I don’t think there’s an official summary for this fic ( @kaunis-sielu pls correct me if I’m wrong) BUT LEMME TELL YALL. I AM A SUCKER FOR BIKER FICS. WE LOVE BIKER STEVE. This was 100% FLUFFY and we LOVE IT. Amazing job!!!!!!

3. let me show you by @moteldwelling | Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader bucky gives reader a “redo” on her first time, and takes her virginity. Listen here people. This smut took my soul and dragged me to hell and back. I am a SUCKER for Bucky fics but this one like took my life away. We love a man who makes sure his lady is having a good time when being intimate with her!!!!! we stan a good boi. Anyways if I keep thinking about this fic, I’mma need to go shower so I’mma end this here. Go read for yourselves and then cry with me about why Bucky Barnes isn’t in our lives. 18+ readers only of course! 100% HOT. FUCKING. SMUT.

4. Under the Rainbow, Draga mea by @binkysteebnpewter | Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader Again, I don’t think there’s an official summary for this (pls correct me if I’m wrong @binkysteebnpewter) and YES, I KNOW i put this in my May recommendations but I finished reading the series in JUNE so it is HERE AGAIN and DESERVES to be HERE AGAIN BECAUSE WE LOVE FICS WITH 100% GAY SHIT AND LOVE <3 I am a fucking sucker for the love that Wanda and this Reader have together. If you’re not convinced, ask @wxstedhexrt how much I cried reading it lol. anyways an amazing series that I will continue to go back reading again and again because i LOVE wlw fics <3 

5. Oh no, that’s bad by @andyl394 | Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader You’re a college student, you’re mad angry, Bucky ruins your paper, that’s not good is it? I read through this 20-part series like there was NO TOMORROW and god DAMN. We love hilarious social media AUs but this one really killed me. I always love Bucky who is soft and shy in fics but the Bucky in this fic was a LITTLE SHIT and i had so much ANGST. Anyways, if you read this fic, you may want to slap the characters BUT I PROMISE THERES AN ADORABLE HAPPY ENDING!!!! 100% INCREDIBLE

6. Home by @evanstush | Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader It’s been 2 years since the last battle and it’s now Morgan’s 7th birthday, and well, Tony being Tony, he prepared a small party for her little girl, inviting everyone from the team, including you. So Kate decided to rip my heart out with this fic and have me on my knees sobbing so that’s cool. That’s it, that’s all I have to say. JK, this fic actually is like half and half FLUFF and ANGST but lord is it worth it. Kate, you know I adore you so much and your fics play a big part in why! God this girl deserves more love on these stories because holy shit I’m DEAD.

7. Baby Self by @honeyloverogers | Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader Alternative to Babies! Assemble, What if it was you that got turned into a baby instead? YALL WANT FUCKING FLUFF!?!?!?! 1000000000% FLUFFFFFFF AND CUTENESSSSSS (with like a little bit of a piece of shit lady who comes around but like its cool because a baby says fuck lol) THIS WAS A FIC WRITTEN LIKE NO OTHER. I LOVED IT SO MUCH. IT WAS SO PERFECT. Think of endgame and that moment when Scott turns into a baby??? Yeah now scratch that and think of Y/N if SHE turned into a baby and the avengers couldn’t figure out how to turn her back right away so now everyone has to take care of this baby HGOIDHFOISHFOISDHF the baby fever was so real in this fic ughhhhh <3 

8. Insecurities by @evanstush | Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader You’re 7 months pregnant, and you can’t help be so insecure about some things. And here’s Kate again bringing me back to life with more wholesome fluff and a wholesome husband who loves his wife so fucking much and ugh i- i read this fic over and over sometimes and it just makes me realize how much i want this adhfoiasjdfoi <3 I aint pregnant but if I WAS i would want this steve to be comforting me ugh 103874203847% FLUFFFFFFF <3 

9. Requested fic (idk if it has a name??? sorry) by @donutloverxo | Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader Request: Hey, as for the headcanon requests how about Steve giving a lift to a girl in need when it's raining heavily or smth? I don't know where this idea came from 😅 Did yall need some confirmation that Sarah Rogers raised her son the fucking right way?!?!? WELL HERE YOU GO. THIS MANS OUT HERE BEING AN ABSOLUTE SWEETHEART <3 ugh we love wholesome drabbles really <3 amazing workkkkk!!!!!

10. Leather and Lace by @queen-kass-the-writer​ | Steve Rogers x AFuckingKickAssFem!OC :) Steve Rogers hardly expects anything to come out of a sleepy night at his new favorite dive bar until a pristinely dressed little lady saunters into the bar with a delicate smile but a wicked uppercut. Biker!Steve x Helena Alright so this is a little different than the above fics because THIS IS AN OC FIC :D now if any of yall know me I don’t tend to read OC fics HOWEVER Kass is INCREDIBLE at churning out fics. I had gave her an idea of a Biker Steve fic and like BAM she made it :O (seriously i don’t know how that is... to have an idea... and actually produce it?!??!) It’s a hilarious story of Biker Steve being head over heels Helena which is adorable (and a character named after me being Bucky’s shithead date lol hilarious) YALL BETTER READ THIS SHIT BECAUSE IT’S 100% WONDERFUL

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Okay so I know that this list is FAR shorter than my last recommendations list. I suckkkkked at reading fics this month lol. I’m definitely going to try and read more in July so here’s to hoping! Love you all a ton :D

[dinosaurtsukki]

across the sea | a bokuaka fanfic (act. III)

inspired by the movie ‘portrait of a lady on fire’ by celine sciamma which is sad and lesbian

pairing: bokuto koutarou x akaashi keiji

word count: 21.8k words

contains: historical setting (actually the setting is vague bec if i tried to describe it more it would take 5 extra pages), heavy angst, slight fluff, greek mythology references, implied smut

summary: when Bokuto accepted a portrait commission for the young, engaged Akaashi Keiji, he never expected him to be so beautiful. he knows it's a mistake to be attached, a mistake for them to fall in love in a time when they know it's impossible for them to be together.

a/n: i’m a sad gay who loves sad lesbian movies and portait of a lady on fire is peak film. a lot of the things here are based on the film so i suggest you check out this beautiful movie, but i added a few tweaks here and there to make it my own.

chapters: act. I, act. II., act. III

Bokuto only saw Akaashi two more times since he last left the Elysium Manor. The first time was three years after that unforgettable summer in a secluded house. Thanks to finishing the portrait commission that pleased Mikoto, a woman of relatively high social standing, Bokuto gained a bit more status within the artist circles. Rich nobles commissioned him for portraits, scholars and other writers and artists commissioned him to create paintings of fantastical scenes, and almost any painting that he made was guaranteed a spot in a museum. Bokuto was invited to join the upper social circles at their dinners and luncheons or visits to the opera, but he would politely decline. He couldn’t imagine himself being a part of that social circle and let them paint a picture of mystery around him.

Instead, he decided to teach. He used his money to open a studio for young artists and taught them the basics of sketching and painting with different mediums, instructing them the way his master did. Bokuto had his own studio situated on the floor above where he would teach that came with a bedroom. At night, he’d open the windows for the smell of turpentine and oil to air out, but he’d keep the windows closed, the lights off, and the backdoor open for Kuroo to come in.

He was a male model, one quite famous with fellow artists for being a good one. There were probably a number of sculptures in the nearby museum, Asphodel, based on his physique. He didn’t discriminate when it came to preferring the company of men and women and hit his preferences just as well as Bokuto did. Kuroo was a nice man, a kind one, and Bokuto knew that maybe the dark-haired model had feelings for him. And yet, he never crossed that line. Most likely, Kuroo could see that faraway look in Bokuto’s eyes when he woke up in the morning, his eyes searching for the sea and whatever was across it.

The first time he saw Akaashi was in Asphodel. Bokuto had recently finished a painting that was going to be a centerpiece in their main gallery. On that day, he wore his best shirt and tried to wet his hair and comb it down but to no avail. ‘It’s alright. You’re known for your skills. Not your looks,’ he told himself before putting on a coat and heading out to leave.

The museum was already packed when he arrived with a good number of people circled around his painting. Bokuto pushed his way through the crowd, muttering ‘Excuse me’ along the way, until he was standing near it with his back to the wall. He was aware that he was drawing attention to himself looking like a sentinel instead of the painter but he couldn’t help but wonder about the things people would say. One of the viewers, a young couple, were in conversation as they scanned the painting.

“It’s that Greek legend, isn’t it? The one with Orpheus.”

“Yes. And his wife Eurydice. He traveled to the Underworld after she died with the hope of being able to bring her to life again.”

“I remember! But then there was a condition, right? He couldn’t turn around.”

“That’s right. Although… most painters and writers depict Eurydice already just as Orpheus turned around. In this one, it’s as if he turned around just in time to see her fall.”

“Kind of like he expected it?”

“Maybe. It’s quite an interesting take, if you ask me.”

“Indeed, it is.”

Bokuto smiled to himself, satisfied at the exchange generated by his painting. It was all about the exchanges, the different conversations that his art generated. He stayed by his painting for a few more minutes, listening to conversations, before deciding to stroll through the museum and peruse the other collections. His best sources of inspiration were other artists, but during this visit, it wasn’t just inspiration he found.

It was another portrait of Akaashi Keiji.

It hung in one of the museum wings that they dedicated to portraits. Bokuto rarely needed inspiration for those but something about that day pulled him into the wing to view the collections until he caught a familiar painted face. ‘Is it really him?’ he wondered, eyes flying to the placard to the right that confirmed his suspicions: Portrait of Akaashi Keiji, oil on canvas. It was him. In the portrait, Akaashi was sitting on a chair, elbows on a desk, hands holding up a book. His posture was impeccable as always but his face was completely absorbed in what he was reading. But it was him: same high cheekbones, same curly brown hair, same delicate fingers, same emerald eyes.

Bokuto didn’t know how long he stood there just drinking in the portrait and attempted to memorize every detail when he came to the book in Akaashi’s hands. The worn spine, the burgundy leather jacket, even the size of it: it was his book on Greek Mythology. The book was angled just so, enough for the viewer to see the top corner of the righthand page. “Page 57,” Bokuto whispered, overcome with sheer sadness and joy at the encounter, “You remember.”

The second and last time Bokuto saw Akaashi happened two years later at the Museum Greek History, this time in a different city. Bokuto was there working on a commission for a noblewoman who wanted portraits of each of her children. It was a lot of work, but the money was good and he got to see much of the city. Bokuto decided to explore the museum during a day off. His favorite part was the collection of ancient texts and scrolls that were each displayed in a glass case. He couldn’t read anything that was written, but he liked knowing that they had such a collection. ‘Maybe this time they won’t keep the homosexual subtext out of translation,’ he thought with a smile. He still held out hope that maybe someday, people would accept that Achilles and Patroclus were lovers.

With that thought in mind, Bokuto decided he was done looking around for the day and get ready for the amount of work he would have to do on the way back home. He was walking down the flights of stairs, deep in thought, when a voice shook him out of his thoughts.

“Bokuto-san.”

He had to hold onto the railing to keep himself from falling. It was just like that time he saw Akaashi’s portrait two years ago. Nobody else said his name like that: all crisp syllables and with more than a little warmth in the tone. Bokuto remembered the last time he actually saw Akaashi back at Elysium Manor, and turned around.

There he was, standing at the top of the staircase. He looked as if five years had barely laid a finger on him and looked just as surprised as Bokuto did. Akaashi took a hesitant step forward and walked down two steps. Bokuto felt as if he was back in Elysium Manor as their surroundings fell away.

“It’s you.”

“It’s me.”

“H-how… how have you been?” Bokuto stammered. So many questions overwhelmed his mind and yet he could only pick out that one. An inkling of a smile appeared on Akaashi’s face as he nodded his head in understanding. ‘Even now, we still have this connection,’ Bokuto thought.

“I’m alright. Married. We live in a nice house. My wife is kind, beautiful, friendly. Sometimes we play card games at night,” he enumerated, tapping absentmindedly at the railing of the stairway. “A good life actually.” He looked back at Bokuto. ‘But you’re not in it,’ he seemed to say. “How about you?”

“I could say the same,” Bokuto managed a smile. “My paintings have been pretty famous. I get commissioned often. I teach young artists. I make enough to keep my studio and do some traveling here and there.”

“Sounds like a good life.”

“It does.” But it was just that: good. Bokuto opened his mouth to say something when a child came running down the staircase from above.

“Father!” he exclaimed, barreling into Akaashi’s side. ‘Father,’ Bokuto echoed in his mind. The little boy looked to be about five or four years old. He mostly took after his mother as he had fair hair and fair skins, but when Bokuto looked at closer, he could tell that the boy had his father’s eyes.

“Hiro. Please don’t run down the stairs, you could slip,” Akaashi gently scolded him, leaning down a bit to fix his tie. It was such a small gesture but it made Bokuto’s heart ache just to watch.

“I saw this really cool looking spear in the Weapons Wing. It looked just like the one in the book you read to me!” the young boy exclaimed excitedly.

“Is that so? I hope you remember it well then,” Akaashi fondly patted his son’s head before turning to Bokuto. “Hiro, this is one of my… good friends, Bokuto. Bokuto, this is Hiro. My son.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bokuto smiled down at him. Hiro cocked his head and waved shyly, making Bokuto chuckle. “He has your eyes, Akaashi.” During the past five years, Bokuto had held out hope that maybe he and Akaashi would cross paths again, that maybe they could run away like what Akaashi dreamed of. But now, he knew that he was too late. Ever since he left Elysium Manor, it was all too late for that.

“It was great seeing you again, Akaashi,” Bokuto cleared his throat and feigned a smile. “I… I have to take my leave now.” He didn’t want to leave. With every fiber of his being, he didn’t want to leave. He would hold this encounter in his heart for the rest of his life but nothing good would come out of him speaking his mind.

“Alright, say goodbye, Hiro,” Akaashi said, tight-lipped. ‘You know it too,’ Bokuto thought.

“Bye,” Hiro waved shyly. Just as Bokuto was about to turn and leave, Akaashi quickly ran down the rest of the steps and wrapped both of his arms around him before he could say anything. Bokuto held his arms awkwardly at his sides before wrapping them around Akaashi’s waist. He wondered how much Akaashi had tried to hold himself back from doing this.

“Koutarou,” he whispered. “Until now, do you…?”

“I do. I think of you every single day,” Bokuto whispered back. “I still love you, Keiji.”

“I’m glad,” Akaashi swallowed and pulled back, leaving the feeling of that loss of warmth that Bokuto would carry with him for the rest of his life. And with that, he nodded once, and left.

Five more years passed. Bokuto had begun to grow tired of the fame and attention and decided to move to a provincial town along the coast. He left his studio to one of his young apprentices, packed up his materials, and bought a small house with a garden that sat near a cliff, overlooking the sea. He still painted, it was something he never grew tired of, but he chose to paint nature or the people at the countryside instead of the portraits of noblemen and fantastical scenes. He liked getting to know his neighbors, going to the festivals held at the town square, and looking out of his window to see the birds that chirped on the trees or dove into the sea for food. He was sitting on his chair outside, trying to sketch the charming woodpecker he saw that morning from memory, when Kageyama came.

“If it isn’t Elysium Manor’s most loyal butler,” Bokuto grinned at him as he saw the familiar head of black hair approach his porch. He looked different from the last time Bokuto saw him. His arms were thicker and his complexion was slightly tanned. But it was still him.

“It took a while for me to find you, Bokuto,” he returned the smile.

“Find me?” Bokuto said, puzzled. “Did you suddenly become a fan of my paintings?”

“No, it’s…” Kageyama paused and exhaled, the look on his face somber. “Can we talk inside?” Bokuto felt his stomach drop. He knew he wasn’t going to like whatever it is Kageyama was going to say.

“Sure. I’ll make tea.”

Once they were sitting at the table with two mugs of tea between them, Kageyama broke the news.

“Akaashi-san passed away last winter.”

The news hit Bokuto like cold water to the face. Akaashi Keiji. The man that Bokuto had loved ten summers ago. The man he just saw five years ago. The one that haunted him at midnight, tossing and turning and longing for that touch and wondering about all the what-could-have-been’s. His Akaashi Keiji. His Akaashi Keiji whose sketch Bokuto still kept in a small pocketbook close to his heart. Who grew up a lonely, sickly boy in a house full of books. His Akaashi Keiji, who would mumble ‘Koutarou’ every time they woke up together during those numbered mornings. His Akaashi Keiji.

“I’m sorry, Bokuto. I truly am,” Kageyama sighed, reaching out to touch his fingertips.

“How—how did you know?” he stammered.

“I received a letter,” he said. “It said that he contracted tuberculosis from a trip abroad and, well you know how sickly he is. He wasn’t able to survive it.”

“God…” Bokuto rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I… I didn’t think… of all things…”

“I know,” Kageyama nodded. “The letter said that I was mentioned in Akaashi-san’s will. He entrusted two items to me to deliver to you.” With that, he pulled a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twin from his satchel and placed it on the table. Bokuto made no move to accept it. All he wanted was Akaashi back. He didn’t care if had to take ten, twenty more years for them to meet again. He just wanted to know he was alive somewhere and still thinking of him.

“I…I think I know why he had these sent to me instead of having them delivered directly to you,” Kageyama cleared his throat. “Akaashi-san cared about you, and yes, I know he cared about you in that way. I could see it in the way he looked at you. I was skeptical at first of your relationship but ten years after, the moments I witnessed of the two you stand out starkly.”

At this, Bokuto could feel himself collapse with his head on the table, the dam of tears finally breaking as he sobbed into his arms. “It’s true. We did love each other.”

“I know he thought of you in those last moments,” Kageyama consoled him. “You were too important for him to think of breaking the news to you through just a letter.”

Bokuto didn’t know how long he had cried there on the table for. He could hear Kageyama busying himself in the kitchen and the smell of dinner being cooked, as if they were both back at Elysium Manor. Finally, when his tears had all run out, he sat up to open the package that Akaashi had entrusted to Kageyama. Inside, there were two books: the Greek Mythology book that Akaashi loved so much, much worn down than the last time Bokuto had used it to sketch a portrait of himself, and a soft, leather-bound notebook.

It was late so Kageyama stayed the night and slept on a roll-out cot beside Bokuto’s bed before he left the next morning. “It’s a nice place,” he told him, as they stood at the cliffside overlooking the sea. “I could see why you chose to be here.”

The next few months after that was the longest that Bokuto spent without painting. Every time he tried to pick up a brush or a piece of drawing charcoal, his hands shook and all he could see in front of him was the half-finished portrait of Akaashi, and Akaashi himself posing in the distance. And at night, he’d find himself looking over his shoulder more than once to see that vision of his beloved, pale as a ghost.

Finally, he picked up the leather notebook that Akaashi left for him. He had expected it to be a diary but it ended up being slightly more than that. It was a story: about a lonely boy who spent his days reading books in an empty house and the beautiful painter who entered his life and made it worth living. ‘He came on a little lifeboat from across the sea,’ it began. Bokuto found himself tearing up again at the sight of Akaashi’s handwriting.

Every day, little by little, he read a bit more of the story, mostly while he was sitting on a chair near the cliffside. He relived everything: the time Akaashi drank the sea from his cupped hands, the look on his face when he saw the ruined portrait, Akaashi dancing around the maypole with his crown of chrysanthemums, the summer night kiss, the feeling of their bodies pressed together, the sound of his voice when he read out loud, Akaashi’s emerald green suit in the portrait, their last night together, the morning after and the sketches to remember each other by, Akaashi illuminated by a single shaft of light in the middle of the floor, the portrait of him hanging in the museum with the pages of his book turned to the 57th page, the last time Bokuto heard Akaashi say his name.

At the very last page of the notebook was a note, directly addressed to him: I know for a fact that there are others like us, Koutarou. Afraid of the punishment, afraid of the scorn. I don’t think I’ve ever cared about what people would think of me once I died, but if there is one thing I want people to remember about me, its that I was yours, always yours. Maybe someday there will be a place for people like us, a better place. And I want them to know that we’ve always been around. We’ve hid. We’ve suffered. We’ve lost. But we’ve also loved.

“We have loved, haven’t we Akaashi?” Bokuto whispered, closing the notebook. He knew that he was going to finally pick up his charcoals and later on, his brush. He remembered what Akaashi said about how texts were continuously misinterpreted to remove the homoerotic subtext and as much as he knew it would be difficult to do so with Akaashi’s journal, Bokuto wanted to further ensure how history would remember them. He would sketch and paint everything he could possibly remember. But for now, he wanted to finish his day staring out across the sea.

Kageyama knew why Bokuto purposely chose to make his home here. The town and house he lived in was just on the other side of the sea, across where Elysium Manor still reportedly stood. Nobody went there and it was still Akaashi’s name, but the land and the manor would eventually be donated to the nearby town. Under the condition that Akaashi Keiji’s final resting place wouldn’t be disturbed.

“That clause in his will was only allowed for me to hear,” Kageyama had said a few months ago before he left. “That small plot of land next to where Akaashi-san is buried is entrusted to me to be passed on to you. Bokuto-san, I will ensure that that will be your final resting place. And if I pass on before you, I will entrust the task to my nephew. I can promise you that.”

“You do love your Greek myths, don’t you Akaashi?” Bokuto smiled to himself. He could almost hear his laugh in the back of his mind. As he looked out to the sea, he could just barely make out what lay across it. It made Bokuto remember how Orpheus and Eurydice’s tale truly ended. After losing his wife a second time, Orpheus wandered the Earth, lost and mourning, until he was torn apart and killed by Maenads, Dionysus’ traveling followers. When Orpheus soul traveled down to the Underworld, Eurydice was there, standing on the banks of the River Styx, arms outstretched to her lover who finally came home.

[teatitty]

Jailhouse Rock

A/N: Hey remember when I said I wanted to write a traditional fantasy AU with Patrochilles and DiarCu? This is based in that. I hate copy-pasting things to tumblr bc it never keeps my italics and I’m too lazy to edit this so here it is on AO3 as well

Days of peace were rare for Patroclus; even rarer still were the days without Achilles or Cu Chulainn around to stir up mischief. On his own, Patroclus liked to think he was a perfect example of good behaviour and that his own troublemaking was nothing more than a direct result of knowing two of the biggest arseholes this side of the continent, but whenever he voiced such a thing out loud, the response from his companions was always an intense roll of the eyes and a bark of laughter, so maybe he was just lying to himself.

Given his current predicament, that certainly seemed to be the case. In retrospect, he should’ve figured he’d end up getting arrested one of these days, but when you spend most of your time in the company of two people who somehow - consistently - manage to get themselves out of trouble, well, you sort of forget that consequences for your actions are a thing you need to worry about.

In his own defense, he hadn’t planned on getting arrested. It isn’t much of a defense, because he cannot recall a single person who has ever wanted to get thrown into a jail cell with shackles on their wrists (it didn’t matter that his own had been taken off earlier, it mattered that they’d bothered to put any on him in the first place), but he also hasn’t met every single person on the planet, so he supposes the defense counts for something.

He wonders who Achilles will be angrier at when he finds out about this; Patroclus, for punching the stupid fucking Guard in the face and breaking his pompous nose, or the Guard himself, for calling re-inforcements and manhandling Patroclus into this dingy, damp little cell. It’s not a matter of if Achilles will find out, so much as when he finds out, and Patroclus can only hope it’s soon, because he’s only been in here for a few hours and he’s already bored out of his god-damned mind.

The Guards posted outside of his cell won’t even talk to him. It’s extremely rude, in his opinion, not to entertain a guest when they’re groaning pitifully on the floor, even if said groaning was mostly due to the head pain. He really needs to learn the name of the Guard who clonked him. Bastard had a real mean arm and Patroclus itches to get some sort of revenge for the hit.

Alas, it doesn’t seem as though he’ll be getting that information anytime soon. He’ll just have to track the guy down once he gets sprung from this place and then clonk them from behind and see how they like it.

“You know,” he says conversationally, “if you ask me, I did you all a favour. I mean, he just has one of those voices, you know? The really annoying ones? The ones that just invite you to hit someone?” Nothing. Typical. Patroclus sighs up at the ceiling with exaggerated effort. “I love our little talks. Can’t get enough of them, truly.”

Maybe, if he talks long enough, one of them will actually tell him to shut up instead of just trying to glare holes into him through their helmets. Patroclus snorts at the thought. If that worked, then Achilles would’ve been dead a hundred times over by now. Or just covered in a lot more scars than he already has. Which is none. Obviously. Ugh, he really needs to get better company.

As if the Gods themselves heard his plea and were, for once in their lives, actually offering to help him, a commotion from the halls causes him to sit up with immense interest, and the Guards by his cell close their eyes and actually groan.

Whoever is being led - in chains? Sounds like it - down the hall, everyone clearly knows them, because even the other prisoners, who’ve been silent until now, start murmuring curses to themselves.

Finally, Patroclus thinks, some variety.

“ - I just think that in the grand scheme of things - and purely for everyone else’s interest, of course - that stealing a few rings from the locals isn’t that big of a deal when I’m just going to be selling them later. I’m helping the economy! Helping you pass money from one hand to another and get it circulating. How’s your wife, by the way, is she still getting the bad cramps? Of course she is. I can see it in your face. You really should take my advice and -”

“Diarmuid.” A Guard has never sounded so long-suffering before.

“Hm?”

“Shut up and get in the damn cell.”

Surprisingly enough, with a huge stroke of good fortune, the cell that this blessing in disguise - Diarmuid, his name is Diarmuid, Patroclus reminds himself. He’s never been very good at names - is dancing his way into, happens to be Patroclus’ very own, and he finds himself looking at a man who is decidedly, one hundred percent, not human at all.

Patroclus grins, absolutely delighted by this turn of events. Diarmuid, noticing that he is not alone in this cell, cocks his head to the side and just sort of. Stands there. Presumably blinking at him, but it’s hard to tell behind the tinted glasses perched on his nose. “Oh my gods,” Patroclus says before he can stop himself, “are you an elf?”

“No,” replies Diarmuid slowly. “But I can see why you’d think that.”

“He’s a menace,” one of the Guards mutters and Patroclus’ grin only widens.

“I knew you could talk,” he tells them and then to Diarmuid he says, “you have no idea how long I’ve been trying to get them to say something.”

“Oh,” Diarmuid says, “I’m not hallucinating then.”

“Not used to having company?”

“Not usually.”

He looks - well, if Patroclus had to hazard a guess, he’d say that Diarmuid looks completely out of his depth. “Don’t worry,” Patroclus tells him. “I don’t bite.” Which isn’t entirely a lie. He doesn’t bite usually but all bets are off when tavern brawls happen.

Diarmuid’s nose wrinkles. “Is that a hickey?”

It is, actually, though it’s a wonder he can see it at all amidst the other bruising. “I don’t bite,” Patroclus repeats, “but my boyfriend’s a bit of a dick.”

Something in Diarmuid’s posture relaxes at that admission, which is very interesting, and Patroclus pats the spot beside himself invitingly. He’s actually surprised when Diarmuid sits next to him. He’s less surprised that there’s an obvious gap being kept between them and that, unlike himself, Diarmuid’s posture remains straight and alert.

“Soooo…” Patroclus starts, “what are you in for?”

“That’s the best you could do, huh?”

Oh, a snarky one is he? Good thing Patroclus is used to that, or he might actually find this guy irritating. “What do you want me to start with, then? The fact that you’re apparently a regular visitor here? That you probably know everyone’s first names and family histories?”

“I wish he didn’t,” mutters the other Guard forlornly.

“Shut up,” hisses the first one, “don’t encourage them.”

“Too late for that,” they say in unison. The Guards curse.

There’s a long beat of silence as Patroclus waits to see if Diarmuid will reply to his earlier question. His patience pays off when, finally, Diarmuid sighs and says, “I got caught selling stolen goods for twice the profit.”

Patroclus whistles. “Impressive.” He means it. Sure, he got caught doing it, but the fact he had the balls to try at all - and, by the sounds of it, actually managed to make some of said profit - is worth applauding.

“And you?”

Patroclus shrugs. “Broke someone’s nose.”

“Holy shit,” Diarmuid breathes, “you’re the guy who finally shut Claudius’ trap up?”

“His name is Claudius?” A nod. “No wonder he’s such a dick, then. Hey! Tell your boss that I don’t regret what I did, alright? With a name like that, he had it coming to him!”

“You’re going to get a longer sentence if you do that.” Diarmuid sounds amused as anything. Patroclus grins back at him. He wonders how long Diarmuid’s sentence is and how many times he’s gotten his way out of it.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ll be out by tomorrow.”

“Because of your boyfriend?”

“Something like that.”

“Lucky,” Diarmuid whines. “I have to rely on my natural charm, and here you are getting Out Of Jail cards for free.”

They’re only ‘free’ if you don’t count the cost on Patroclus’ brain cell capacity, because for all that he loves Achilles with his entire soul, his boyfriend is, in fact, an idiot, and this has only seemed to get worse since they met Cu Chulainn a few years back. How does that saying go again? ‘Birds of a feather flock together?’

What does it say about him that he’s part of this flock? Nothing good, probably, so best not to think too much about it.

“Are you a vampire?”

“Okay, now you’re just naming every creature with pointy ears.”

Patroclus slumps down in his seat. “I don’t have much else to go on.” And it doesn’t look like Diarmuid is going to willingly give him any hints. “A dragonborn, maybe?”

Alright, maybe that one's a little bit of a deep cut, given how rare they are these days, but, hey, if he’s going for every race with pointed ears then…

“Also,” he continues, “you’re not a ‘creature’ you’re just a different race to a human.”

“Flattering,” Diarmuid says dryly. Patroclus doesn’t really get how any of that is ‘flattering’ in any way, shape or form but then what does he know? He’s human, after all, so maybe he really has just said something that - whatever. Doesn’t matter. He’s making friends! Cu will be so proud of him.

Does he have a concussion? Probably. None of his thoughts are making any sense today.

“I’m not a dragonborn.”

Okay, strike two off the list.

“Or a vampire.”

Strike three.

This would be so much easier if he wasn’t just relying on ‘ears pointy’ because that...really doesn’t narrow it down a whole lot. Are there really that many races with pointed ears? How has he never noticed this before? “You sure you’re not an elf? Or, like, elf adjacent?”

“If you were anyone else,” says Diarmuid, “I would’ve hit you for that. Luckily for you, I’m pretty sure you’re just a mouthy moron like I am, so congrats on saving your own skin, I guess.”

“It’s a gift,” he grins.

Diarmuid snorts. Progress is being made. Fuck yeah. “You’re not used to being in a cell, are you?”

Patroclus shrugs. “Not particularly.”

“First time?”

Oh now that’s just too easy a line to pass up. “Being in the company of a gorgeous man like yourself?” His lashes flutter and Diarmuid actually looks a little bit bewildered. “Hardly.”

“You...have a boyfriend.”

Astute of him.

“I do,” he agrees. “We have a comfortable and confident relationship.” By which he means that they’re allowed to flirt with whoever they want, whenever they want, it’s just dating and sex that are off limits until further discussion. Diarmuid - doesn’t really seem to get what he means. Which. Okay then. “Flirting is fine,” he clarifies with an easy tone.

“Oh.”

He still sounds a bit miffed by the whole thing so, in an effort to bring them back to their earlier comfort levels, Patroclus says, “lets play a game.”

Diarmuid stares at him. “A game,” he repeats.

“Just something to pass the time.”

“Am I going crazy or are you always like this?”

“It’s just me.” He feels no embarrassment in admitting it either. His mouth often moves faster than his brain can catch up, or his brain will move faster than his mouth, and rarely do they ever operate at the same capacity as each other. He forgets that not everyone can keep up with his rapid changes in conversation. Achilles’ mother is the only one who can understand him all of the time, but she’s back home in her river, so he has to - make an effort to slow down a little bit here.

How annoying.

“Ever heard of 21 Questions?”

The silence continues for long enough this time that Patroclus is almost completely certain he’s just gotten rejected. Diarmuid sighs. “Sure. I reserve the right to refuse answering anything personal, though.”

For all his earlier chatter, he’s surprisingly guarded and private. This, along with his keeping his own race a secret, intrigues Patroclus a lot more than it should. There’s a dull and distant warning bell ringing in his head; caution, it screeches, CAUTION.

“I reserve the same thing, then.”

Diarmuid blows some hair out of his face and, presumably, rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “I suppose,” he sighs dramatically. His lip twitches into a smile. Generously, Patroclus lets him go first. “What’s your name?”

He blinks, startled, and then laughs. “Oh I’m such an idiot,” he says and then holds out his hand. Diarmuid is wearing leather gloves under his shackles. Interesting. “It’s Patroclus. Pleasure to meet you.”

His grip is a little firmer than Patroclus expected but nowhere near the strength of Cu Chulainn’s. Which is a bit of an unfair comparison considering Cu’s specific bloodline but. Well. He doesn’t have a whole lot of non-human references to go on. Diarmuid holds himself as though he’s waiting to get shanked in the gut and Patroclus, ever so politely, asks, “what’s your favourite drink?”

Diarmuid blinks. “What?”

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, wagging his finger. “Not your turn to ask a question.”

“...tequila,” Diarmuid says at last.

“Oh that’s strong! I thought you might be an ale drinker, what with all the leathers and the -” he gestures to the window of the cell, hoping to encompass the city as a whole.

“Ah,” says Diarmuid. “Ale’s too bitter for me.”

“And tequila isn’t?”

His lip quirks. “Not your turn.”

“Right you are! Continue, then.”

“Who's your boyfriend?”

He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Achilles.”

Diarmuid promptly chokes, as do the Guards outside. “You’re kidding. You don’t mean - you can’t mean -”

Patroclus inclines his head, delighted by the reaction. Achilles is famous here! Who knew!

“Holy shit.” Diarmuid’s voice raises a few octaves. “He’s going to kill me.”

“I doubt it,” says Patroclus dryly. “He’s more likely to whine about me getting better prison company than he did.”

“I’m not talking about Achilles,” hisses Diarmuid. “I’m talking about Cu Chulainn!”

Wait.

Wait a second.

Patroclus takes a step back to examine the man before him. Dark, curly hair? Check. A penchant for getting arrested? From what he can gather, check. Pointy ears? Absolutely. And -

He leans closer to try and get a whiff of whatever scent Diarmuid carries.

-- the distinct smell of a winter breeze.

A lot of different things fall into place at once.

“You’re the friend that Cu’s been looking for. The one that lost his favourite jacket.”

“I’m dead,” says Diarmuid. “I’ve been trying to get it back for him and now I’m going to die before I get the chance.”

“Is that why you were selling stolen goods?”

Reluctantly, Diarmuid nods. “I know where it is,” he admits mulishly. “I just don’t have the money to buy it back.”

Patroclus thinks this over. He doesn’t have any money either. Fuck it, he thinks, we’re already criminals anyway.

“Okay,” he says. “If you can get us out of here, I’ll help you get it back.”

“Don’t even try it,” warns Guard number one.

Diarmuid gives Patroclus a pathetically hopeful look. “You will?”

“Yes. On the condition,” he continues, “that you return it to him in person.”

“You know where he is.”

“I know where he is.”

Diarmuid considers this for all of two seconds. “Deal.”

And then he slips out of his shackles and shatters the fucking window with them.

[theys-a-joke]

Let Us Skim

Summary: Wonderful, isn't it? How when two people are so deeply in love with each other, anything could be an I love you? Or, 5 times Hanschen and Ernst didn't say "I love you" and the 1 time they did

Request: n/a

Content Warning: Period Typical Violence

Relationship: Hanschen/Ernst

AO3 Link: here

AN: Anyways, sorry to lie to you about Love Is Complicated, I’ve been side-tracked by Spring Awakening and I have so many thoughts. 

I do not condone abuse and I do not want to romanticize the abuse of partners. That being said, men have been known to fight each other for the sake of touching another man’s skin for ages, and the part where they recognize their love for each other is when they stop.

Ok so please don't hate me but I used google translate to get the Greek, as I was having trouble getting an actual Greek translation for this. But here's the translation

Α-Aν κάποιος πλησ - I-if he gets very close

πλησιάσει πολύ κοντά και ακούσει το τραγούδι των Σειρήνων, η γυναίκα και τα παιδιά του δεν θα τον υποδεχτούν ποτέ ξανά στο σπίτι. - Gets very close and hears the song of the Sirens, his wife and children will never welcome him back home.

one .

"We'll huddle over Homer. Maybe do a little Achilles and Patroclus." Hanschen’s sentence echoes in Ernst’s mind as he waited for him. The two of them were going to head back to his home together, after all. To huddle over Homer. That was it. Surely. But that doesn’t mean Ernst can’t dream.

When Hanschen finally finds Ernst, they each feel a small bit of hope for the next few hours. Hanschen had finally managed to get Ernst alone, and despite the circumstances, he considered it a success. Whereas Ernst had managed to get Hanschen’s help, and maybe even had the chance to learn more from him. Ernst found himself tending to learn more from Hanschen then he did in school, as to why, well, he had his suspicions.

The two of them walk towards Ernst’s house, making polite conversation throughout the walk, Hanschen cracking a joke here and there. Ernst’s laughs at all of them, no matter how stupid they may be, and Hanschen can feel a smile tugging at his lips. As performative as his jokes may be, the happiness he feels when he hears Ernst laugh is genuine, and while fleeting, is a small joy he allows himself to have.

Once they get to Ernst’s house, Ernst makes quick work of clearing off the table so they could have a place to study. He retrieves his own copy of the Odyssey and places it on the table, while Hanschen looks into his own bag and comes back with both a disappointed and yet self satisfied grin.

“I seem to have forgotten my copy at home.” He says, leaning forward against the table. “Would you mind sharing?” He asks, nodding toward Ernst's own book.

“No, not at all.” Ernst replies, stumbling over his words, his eagerness to share anything with Hanschen getting the better of him.

“Great.” He beams, bringing his own chair closer to Ernst. As Ernst opens the book, Hanschen slides it slightly towards himself, partly so he can read it better, and partly so Ernst would have to face him just the tiniest bit more. Their thighs touch, and Ernst can feel his heart start racing. He’s practically in his lap, and when Hanschen’s arm comes around the back of his chair, Ernst nearly jumps. The contact, despite how much Ernst wants it, still surprises him. He chooses instead to focus on the reading rather than the warmth of Hanschen’s skin against his.

Despite Hanschen’s proximity, Ernst manages to open where they had left off. He takes his time trying to find where exactly they had previously ended, enjoying this simple moment with Hanschen. As he lifts his hand to search for a particular sentence, the other half of the book lifts up, starting to close. Ernst goes to push it back down to the table when he feels Hanschen’s hand on his own, holding down the other side of the book. His eyes dart quickly to their touching hands before looking up at Hanschen.

“Let me help.” Is the only answer Hanschen gives when Ernst seems to look at him questioningly. Ernst smiles, and nods; a silent understanding. He lets their hands stay together for just a moment before turning back to the text in front of them.

"This is where we were, correct?" Ernst asks, pointing to a specific line. When Hanschen doesn't give any response, Ernst turns to look at him, only to find Hanschen still staring at him. What Ernst seems isn't a look he typically sees on Hanschen, a look of appreciation. He might even go as far to say fondness. But they didn't have time for that, at least, not now.

"Hans, how can you possibly see sitting back like that? Come closer." Ernst instructs, somewhat playfully. He manages to snap Hanschen out of his thought process, bringing him back to the matter at hand, or rather, in hand.

He didn't need to be told twice, immediately finding himself as close as he could be to Ernst. Any chance he had to be near him was worth it, and this wasn't something he'd let slip through his fingers. In fact, his hand around the back of Ernst chairs finds a new perch around his shoulders, drawing them ever closer.

"Α-Aν κάποιος πλησ-" Ernst tries, doing his best to read the Greek. When he stops, he turns to Hanschen, with a small apologetic smile, hoping to coax him into reciting the rest of the sentence. Hanschen does his best to hide his smile, instead sigh at Ernst's silent request.

"πλησιάσει πολύ κοντά και ακούσει το τραγούδι των Σειρήνων, η γυναίκα και τα παιδιά του δεν θα τον υποδεχτούν ποτέ ξανά στο σπίτι." Hanschen finishes, following as Ernst finger pointed to each word. Hanschen noticing that even though Ernst had trouble reading it himself, he had no problem keeping up, most likely meaning that his lack of knowledge could easily have been feigned. He smiles as he speaks, ever impressed at what Ernst was capable of.  

As Ernst watches Hanschen as he speaks the words, he can see how easily the Greek comes to him. He watches Hanschen's mouth form the correct shapes needed to produce the sound, and he can’t help but wish he was more like him. He wishes he had his aptitude, his confidence, his adaptability, his soft hair, his strong frame, his… Ernst could let that thought go any farther, not here, at least. Though Ernst knew he didn’t necessarily want those attributes, but more so the boy who possessed them. Ernst decides, that to simply be in Hanschen's presence, and to be witness to those traits, well maybe he might be able to learn something.

two .

Ernst had never quite understood the school’s uniforms. The weird shorts and high socks, the ties and suit jackets. He understood that they had to look presentable, but to him they seemed silly. Especially on him. On Hanschen though, it seemed to fit perfectly. He looked amazing, and he couldn’t stop himself from sneaking glances throughout the day.

It’s in gym class though where he has to force himself to look elsewhere. He can’t be caught staring, especially here. So he rushes, always first in and out. Staggering when he exits.

“Hanschen.” Ernst calls out, running up to stop him. His uniform, which was typically in pristine condition, was currently disheveled in his rush to leave the gym.

The first thing Ernst notes is that Hanschen's hair had gotten tousled. The normally neat and straight hair has a slight curl to it that Ernst thinks looks quite cute, though he doesn't dare mention it. Instead, he takes his hand and runs it through Hanschen's hair. It's soft, he realizes, and damp, and he can almost smell the shampoo that they use. He wants to bury his face in it, to pretend that the world doesn't exist except for the two of them. But he can't, he won't. He just needs to fix Hanschen's hair, which doesn't actually need to be fixed, he just needs to be made presentable. Though he's always presentable in Ernst's eyes.

Ernst then opens Hanschen’s suit jacket, to get to his tie which was done haphazardly. He takes a step closer to Hanschen, needing to be closer to focus on the intricacies of tying the knot. His hands go around Hanschen's neck, and he can hear his breath hitch. He doesn’t mention it though, preoccupied with adjusting the length of the tie.

With Ernst this close, Hanschen can see the way his brow furrows in concentration, the way he bites his lip and smiles to himself once he’s done, content with his work. He can see all the intricacies in his eyes and nearly see himself in them, and that's when he looks away. Hanschen looks down, briefly, and honestly, it’s not bad, not the style of knot he would’ve gone with, but good-looking all the same. He’ll have to ask Ernst to teach him it later. When he looks back up, Ernst is staring at him, rather intensely. If he’s being honest with himself, he feels rather awkward, being looked at that way. He’s simply not used to it, more often being the one who gives that look. But it’s Ernst, and Hanschen can see the adoration in his eyes and this longing and for a moment all Hanschen wants to do is rest his forehead against Ernst’s and ask him about everything he’s thinking. And then Ernst’s hand is coming up to his face and Hanschen want’s so badly to lean into it to meet it, but he instead holds back.

It turns out that his hand is going to his shoulder, where Ernst see’s a piece of lint. He brings his other hand to Hanschen’s other shoulder and dusts them off, letting them linger. He looks to Hanschen, wondering what could’ve happened to his uniform that it was like this. But he doesn’t really care, it gives him an excuse to touch him, to be close to him, and Ernst would cherish that moment. He would cherish him. He hopes Hanschen is able to understand that.

Ernst’s hands trail down Hanschen’s chest, stopping over his heart. He can feel it beating, faster and faster and he wants to lean in and press his ear against it, hoping he’d be able to hear everything Hanschen wasn’t saying. But he doesn’t need to do that. Hanschen is able to tell him when he takes Ernst’s hands in his own, helping him redo the buttons on his jacket befores speaking in a soft voice.

“Would you teach me how you tie your ties?”

three .

Ernst and Hanschen have always been acutely aware of each other. How close the other was to them, the way they gestured in class, how they spoke. For Ernst, he was desperate to know everything about Hanschen. And for Hanschen, well he just loved watching Ernst, watching him work, speak, do anything, really. He could look at Ernst for an eternity and never get his fill.

They were privy to details about the other that not even their parents knew. Though it was unlikely they cared. For instance, Hanschen knew just how important the church was to Ernst, and how his favorite color was yellow. He kept things like that in the back of his mind, where everything else about Ernst stayed.

Ernst on the other hand, found himself enamoured with how Hanschen thought. He found Hanschen’s bluntness quite nice. Hanschen never said what was expected of him when it was just the two of them, and Ernst appreciated that. His views on the church and the clergy were well known to Ernst, which is why he was so surprised when Hanschen walked through the doors that Sunday.

Hanschen doesn’t make any move towards Ernst, just giving him a small nod and a smile that sends Ernst’s heart a mile high. Ernst wants to go over to him and ask him what he was doing here. But he can’t, so he stays by the altar and watches the priest lead the sermon. His eyes drift over to Hanschen, and everytime he looks he sees him staring right back at him. And then Hanschen smiles, and that’s when he feels his face heat up, and he has to look away.

Hanschen was receiving great pleasure from getting Ernst flustered by simply looking at him. That wasn’t his goal for today, but it was one hell of a consolation prize. Seeing him in his element though, it was incredible. Hanschen couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ernst, no matter how many times his parents hit his shoulder to tell him to look at the prayer book. He doesn’t need to, looking at Ernst is enough for him to know that prayers truly are answered.

When the sermon is over, Hanschen excuses himself to go talk to Ernst, though as far as his parents know, he’s going to talk to the priest. He waits patiently to get Ernst’s attention.  

“Hanschen!” Ernst whispers. “What are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to participate in the act of praising God? Am I not allowed to learn?” He asks, coyly.

“You know what I mean.” Ernst sighs.

“I came to see you,” he starts, “in all your heavenly beauty.” He says, hushed. Ernst’s face practically goes aflame at Hanschen’s compliment, truly stunned speechless.

“And, I wanted to give you this.” He says, as he pulls out something from his pocket, placing his fist in Ernst’s hand. When he removes it, there’s a slightly crumpled daffodil. Hanschen knows he’s running out on time, that he needs to go so that people don’t get suspicious, but he can’t help but spare a moment just admiring Ernst.

“Your piety and devoutness are so much stronger than that of the father, you should know. It should be you leading us, I couldn’t imagine anyone more selfless and virtuous than you.” Is the last thing Hanschen says, before leaving Ernst there, still speechless and entirely shocked.

What drives the gesture home though, is the flower, the daffodil. He had mentioned it offhand months ago, when they weren’t in season. And now that spring is here, Hanschen had gone out of his way to bring him one, risking getting caught. All for the sake of something so small that Ernst had forgotten about it until this moment. And then Ernst thinks, he really does love yellow.

four .

When Hanschen isn't at school, Ernst assumes the worst. He thinks that they've been caught, that something they did was just a bit too friendly and someone caught on, that it was Hanschen who was taking the blame because that was just the kind of person he was. It's a nice thought, that Hanschen cared enough about him to take the fall for both of them, but all the trouble he could get into, the pain and ostracization, it sours that thought completely. So Ernst goes about his day, cautious at best, paranoid at worst, and waits for the day to end. He doesn't talk to anyone, doesn't look at the teachers, and instead just retreats into his shell, worrying over Hanschen's fate.  

He couldn't be happier when the day is over. He grabs his satchel, and tells Herr Sonnenstich that he'll bring today's work to Hanschen himself. It's the first thing he's aaid all day, and when Herr Sonnenstich doesn't look at Ernst with any more discontent than usual, he's able to relax a bit. Perhaps they were still in the clear. He takes the work and practically trips over himself in his enthusiasm to go to Hanschen's house.

Ernst arrives, and when he does, he takes a moment to calm himself, before knocking on the door. Frau Rilow answers the door, which Ernst will forever be grateful for, and greets him.

"Good afternoon Ernst, what brings you here?"

"Good afternoon ma'am, I actually just stopped by to drop off what we worked on today in class, seeing as Hanschen wasn't in school. Is everything alright?"

"My, what a dedicated friend you are. But no, Hanschen seems to have come down with something. Why don't you come inside? I'm sure he'd be elated to see you." She says, ushering him inside.

"Thank you, Frau Rilow." He says, letting himself be swept into the house.

"Now, I know you've got a bit to give him, but do you think you could bring this to him as well?" She asks, handing Ernst a bowl of soup.

"Of course." He says, adjusting his satchel so that it holds everything and sits across his shoulder, then takes the bowl.

"Thank you dear." She smiles, "I'll phone your parents and let them know you're here. Hanschen's room is down the hall and on the right."

Ernst goes down the hallway, careful not to spill the soup, and knocks gently on the door. He hears a garbled, 'come in', and gently eases the door open.

He sees Hanschen lying there, sheets pulled up to his chest, eyes closed and face red. Hanschen doesn't even open his eyes until he hears the soft thump of Ernst dropping his satchel. When he sees Ernst, he jumps, to the best of his ability, out of the bed.

"Ernst! What are you doing here?" He asks, throwing himself into Ernst's arms. It's all Ernst can do to set the bowl down before he catches Hanschen. His face is already warm from the contact, he doesn't need the rest of his body heated too.

"I came to see you. And really you mustn't move too much, not in your state." He says, dragging him back to his bed. He goes to remove Hanschen's arms from around his neck when he hears Hanschen whine.

"Come lay with me, Ernst." He sighs, pulling him closer.

"Hansi, you know I can't." He says, voice straining and quiet. He really does want to lay with Hanschen though, he wants to hold him close and play with his hair as Hanschen sleeps peacefully. He wants to help Hanschen in any way he can, rub his back, dab at his forehead with a cool cloth, but he simply can't. Though the use of his nickname seems to be enough to get him to relent.

Then Ernst has an idea. He gently moves Hanschen to the side, and has him sit up. He grabs the bowl of soup and moves behind Hanschen and pulls him to lay against his chest. Now, Ernst would never be this hold normally, but these are special circumstances. Hanschen needed to be cared for, and that's what he's doing.

Hanschen is reveling in the contact. His entire day had been boring and uncomfortable, unable to do much but sleep and eat, so Ernst was a welcome change of pace. And even though Ernst didn't hold him as long as he wanted, Hanschen was grateful for his quick thinking. And by laying against Ernst's chest, he could hear his heartbeat. A nice change to the ringing he'd been hearing all day.

"Tell me again why you came over?" Hanschen mumbles.

"You know why."

"Yes, but I want to hear it again."

"I came over to bring you the work you missed." Ernst chides, lightly.

"You're no fun." Hanschen pouts, and Ernst smiles, it's rare to see Hanschen like this, where he doesn't keep up pretenses.

"I also came to see you." Ernst whispers by Hanschen's ear, causing him to shiver.

"You need to eat." Ernst states, completely changing directions. "Here." He says, holding the spoon to Hanschen's mouth.

"No, I won't do it." Hanschen says, turning his head.

"Come on, do it for me? Please, Hansi?" He says, exaggerating his plea.

"Fine." He says, reluctantly. And they just stay there for a while, Ernst feeding Hanschen the soup with only a few complaints here and there.

Ernst thinks this is something he could get used to, taking care of Hanschen. Simply being needed did wonders for his self-esteem, and especially in a state like this. Where Hanschen's inhibitions were low and his impulsivity was high. To be that which grounded him made Ernst smile.

Hanschen finds that he quite likes being taken care of, especially by Ernst. The use of nicknames, gentle coaxing, and frequent praise made it all the easier for him to comply. And the best part was that none of it felt forced. Not once did Hanschen ever feel like he was burdening Ernst. He could feel the care that radiated off of him and he relished it, loving being the center of Ernst's attention.

"So what did you cover today in class?" Hanschen finally asks.

"Oh yes. Well, don't laugh at what I'm about to tell you." Ernst sighs.

"I don't remember. I was so worried about what happened to you today I couldn't focus, more so than usual!"

"What worried you so?"

"I had thought that, maybe, we'd been found out. That you were being taken out of school and sent away and hurt." Ernst admits, his arms tightening around Hanschen with every word.

"I can assure you Ernst, they couldn't get rid of me no matter how hard they try. I simply will not leave you." He says, matter of factly, as his hands come to rest on Ernst's arms.

Ernst just buries his face in Hanschen's hair. After a moment, he hears Hanschen's breathing even out, and realizes he's fallen asleep, and then the scene presents itself. He can sit there, letting Hanschen rest against him, play with his hair and rub his back, or, he lay Hanschen down and go home. That would be the safe choice.

But it isn't the one he makes.

Instead, he just stays there, and allows himself to fall asleep, Hanschen still in his hold. Whatever repercussions they face, he knows Hanschen will stand by him, and for now, that's enough.

five .

Hanschen isn't sure what comes over him at that moment. That moment in which he just shoves Ernst a little too harshly, a little too intensely, a little too deeply. Ernst looks back at him, his face confused before shoving Hanschen in return. They keep on like that, playfully shoving each other, laughing at the intensity, before Ernst finally ends up on the ground. And in that moment a fire is set alight inside of Hanschen.

Ernst doesn't know what to make of the way Hanschen is looking at him. The look is neutral but Ernst can see that his fists are clenched tight. He wants to ask what's going through his mind, ask him what's wrong, but he's too late.

Hanschen is already towering over Ernst, his arms shooting out to grab his collar and pull him back up. He waits for Ernst to stabilize, to catch his breath, before Hanschen hits him. He doesn't know why he hits him, all he does know is that this way, when he strikes Ernst, he can feel his soft skin that will easily bruise, and that sharp cheekbone of his leaves Hanschen's hand stinging. He doesn't know why he's doing all of this when he really just wants to hold Ernst close. He doesn't want to do this, but he does.

Hanschen hopes that Ernst will hit him back and, for a moment, he truly hates Ernst's passiveness. Hanschen wants him to finally take initiative, to finally stand up for himself, to do something other than let life happen to and around him and instead partake in it.

Hanschen gets what he wishes for.

Ernst punches him in the chin, not the strongest or most perfect in form, but it's something. It's contact . It's normal . Though the moment he does it, Hanschen could see the horror grow of Ernst's face. He sees it contort in pain and sorrow, and for a half a second, anger. Good, is what he wants to say, hit me, he wants to shout at him, for God's sake can you find it within yourself to touch me?

Ernst can, apparently. He finds it within himself to yell as he charges Hanschen, pushing him against a wall. He can very distinctly hear the sound of Hanschen's head hitting the bricks, feel breath leave his lungs, and see the tears that start to well up in his eyes, frantic and desperate and scared.

And then they both stop. Their hands don't leave the other's body, but they freeze, realizing what they're doing to each other. And then they collapse. They breathe for a moment, and then two, their eyes never leaving each other.

Hanschen breaks the silence,"I am so sorry Ernst." He says, pleading. "I don't know why I did-"

"Hanschen." Ernst says, cutting him off, uncharacteristically. "Let's go home."

They help each other up, and then walk back in silence. They've both said everything they need to say to each other, and yet nothing at all.

one .

There is nothing entirely special about this afternoon, only that it's during the summer after their final year, and before they were to go off to university.

Maybe that's what spurs Hanschen on, the fact that this might be one of the last moments he gets to spend with Ernst.

“I love you Ernst.” Hanschen says, out of the blue. Without missing a beat, Ernst replies, “So you should.” And Hanschen's heart breaks a bit, because if that’s how he sounded when Ernst told him, so nonchalant, so dismissive, then it made perfect sense when Ernst had looked at him so hurt.

Hanschen finally knew the feeling of something not being reciprocated. Except, he knew Ernst loved him, but he needed to hear it. In everything they had ever done, they had never said it.

“Ernst, you don’t understand.” Hanschen says, pulling Ernst close, only a hair’s width away from himself, “I’m in love with you.” He says, voice quiet and strained and desperate. “And I have been all along.” He remarks, moreso to himself.

“And I in turn, am in love with you Hanschen." He says, bringing his hands up to hold Hanschen's face. "Though I fear I may love you too deeply, and God will resent me for making you into a false idol that I worship.” Ernst smiles, though his eyes convey a seriousness that Hanschen does not take lightly.

"May I ask what brought on this revelation?" Ernst asks, not moving away.

"I suddenly became very aware of the future, and what it may hold for us." He says, fear creeping into his voice.

"Don't be sad, my love. We must take the future as it comes to us, skimming off the cream when the milk presents itself." Ernst says, pressing his forehead to Hanschen's.

Hanschen laughs when Ernst quotes his own metaphor back at him.

"But for now, is it heaven?" He asks, hoping for Ernst to provide him the comfort he so desperately seeks.

Ernst takes the moment to kiss Hanschen sweetly, surprising him at first, but eventually relaxing into it. As Ernst kisses him, Hanschen lets go of his worries and his posture, putting all of his weight onto Ernst. They fall onto the grass, and Hanschen has never felt more amazing. He's in the arms of the boy that he loves, in a place where he can love him unabashedly, loving him with his entire being.

When Ernst pulls away to laugh, Hanschen basks in the sound and sight. He has never thought Ernst looked more lovely than in this moment, his body is framed by the green grass and the sun illuminating his brown eyes, and he looks like a painting that Hanschen wants to hang and never take down. He truly doesn't know how he ever got so lucky as to have Ernst in his life.

"I don't think I would have ever known peace had I not met you Ernst Robel."

"Hanschen Rilow, we could live 30 years more, perhaps even longer, and I will never love anyone as I love you."

[cygnahime]

FFX Reliveblogging Part...4?

I'm grinding in the Omega Ruins in my other save, and mildly frustrated because Tidus has the highest strength in the party but......chocobo racing sucks, so he's capped at 9999 damage. Meanwhile Auron in yellow HP is doing 50k and hit 99,999 with a crit. Just the once, but it got me that trophy. I'm pretty sure Auronlu has already talked a lot about the Luca/Bevelle Crusaders/Warrior Monks conflict taking place in the background of the game. It first really comes up in Maechen's little discourse about the history of Lord Mi'ihen. Notable is that the Crusaders, originally founded as the Crimson Blades, were not originally part of the Yevonite power structure, but were subsumed presumably as an alternative to holy war. (Which is kind of hilarious, considering the our-world history of "Crusaders".) Ahhhh it's my favorite lesbians! And Clasko. I could say a lot of unkind things about the Battle Thongs, but the narrative at least never treats Lucil (and Elma) with less than total respect. Which I guess just shows how...gratuitous the clothing is. It's completely inconsistent with the characters. Bad design. Speaking of outfits, I looooove Belgemine's dress. It's so elegant! I'm pretty fond of her as a person, as well. And not just because she heals our aeons for us. She is a lady. I mean, also an undead, but it's rude to comment on these things. I usually lose this first aeon duel, but I'll give it my all anyway. Yes! I got off two Energy Blasts with a whole 37 HP to spare! Is Belgemine looking for Yuna specifically? Did she maybe meet Braska, either while alive or after death? Or is she just meeting up with all the promising summoners to see if one of them will prove worthy of her sisters? She's so mysterious and cool, I love her. Everyone has to practice their smiling faces when little kids cheer for Yuna bringing the Calm. It's very awkward, especially for Callie's mom, who does know. Now I'm talking to Luzzu and Gatta again, which of course leads me to the eternal question: who shall live and who shall die, who by fire and who by drowning, who by sword and who by beast. It's like the one branching-paths decision we make in this game, which means I think about it a lot. Additionally, when I first played this game I was deep in my Achilles/Patroclus phase and these two gave me feelings. They still do, but now the feelings contain a strong element of nostalgia. This area is just full of NPCs I love. Shelinda is a doormat, but I am fond of her. Even if it a bit rich of her to say, "It's not about defeating Sin!" to a summoner. Defeating Sin is everything to Yuna. And she still goes out of her way to make Shelinda feel better. Yuna is so kind. Auron does not have time for your racist bullshit, Wakka. Also we're all low on MP, especially you, and MP is life. We are not doing the other half of the Highroad like this. Continued adventures of endeavoring not to boost Lulu's affection through the roof. Lu, I love you, and I love talking to you, but please, let me get cutscenes with Yuna. I firmly believe that Yuna asked her guardians not to tell Tidus the full truth, after this scene if not before. She doesn't want him to change how he treats her. (How he treats her: giving her minor crises of faith every time they talk, but in a good way.) She's in a particularly yearning mood here, not least because she's just been recording her will. And here comes Tidus, acting like she has a future... (And all her other guardians pretending not to be eavesdropping.) (Up until Auron can't take it anymore, anyway.) Enter Rin, Al Bhed ambassador (unofficial). At least, he's the one out there taking up space and being Highly Visible, suggesting strangers learn the language, doing all that stuff. He is, however, definitely wearing a kink collar. No, I do not know why. I knocked the Chocobo Eater off the cliff for the very first time! Usually I kill it before pushing it that far back, but with Lulu, Auron, and Tidus all hasted, it didn't get enough turns to push back. This is usually the part of the game where I save the chocobo ride for later and grind for Ability Spheres. With Extract Ability, this will probably take less time than usual, though I also appreciate the extra AP. Plus I want to get Kimahri 'round to Steal ASAP. [Some time later] I wonder what Dona does between getting turned away at the gate and meeting us in Djose. Is there another way around, or does she just wait until Operation Mi'ihen explodes and take the main road? She's quite close behind us. I wonder if she stays to help with the aftermath as well, or if she just heads onward. She definitely got ahead of us at some point (Guadosalam if not before). I find her blend of selfishness and selflessness very intriguing. Seymour's moving on Yuna even here. I wonder if he picked her over Dona and Isaaru because she was the one he happened to encounter, or if it was deliberate: she's younger, more naive certainly than Dona, and certainly seems very devout (liable to be dazzled by a maester's attention), less experienced...younger. But I expect Seymour would have gotten quite a long way with Isaaru, who is after all the most devout of the three - and besides, if Seymour told him what becomes of a chosen guardian, Isaaru might do a lot to keep his brothers from that fate. Seymour says all the right things to and about the Crusaders, even things Tidus thinks (and we are likely to think) are true, but he doesn't mean any of them. He just wants the operation to occur as part of his power struggle with Kinoc, with a bonus of having an effect on Yuna, making her more urgently want to complete the pilgrimage before more people die. I doubt Auron's 100% got Seymour's specific number yet, but he does know he's a maester, and Auron is the founder of Team Fuck Yevon. He knows you don't move up in the ranks without stepping on the people below you. (I mean, also Seymour advocates blatant hypocrisy, which is just the Yevon leadership trademark.) Being asked to perform the sending before people die may be more of a burden than being asked after. That's a heavy emotional burden to place on a teenager. (Although I do think legal/cultural adulthood in Spira is younger than it is for us - life is short no time for childhood.) Fact: the first time I played, I didn't even notice Luzzu and Gatta standing over there and missed the scene entirely. It's a good scene, and really highlights how much Tidus still doesn't understand on a gut level. He sees Gatta wanting to fight, and doesn't think that he could die, and of course there're warring impulses there. God though, the HD remaster takes all the character out of Wakka's face, and I hate it. You know, some people might see saying, "I'll propose when we win the cup," as meaning, "when pigs fly". But I guess that doesn't make sense considering Lulu's behavior. "Being with your girl is good, but keeping Sin far away from her is better." God. Men. I mean, in Spira it's not just men - Lulu went on two pilgrimages to try to keep Yuna alive - but she's also not someone who appreciates being protected. Yeah, Tidus doesn't understand yet why Yuna let Luzzu go, because he doesn't know that she's going to her death, too. And if she feels it right to ignore all the people she loves and who love her telling her not to go, then it's right for Luzzu to do the same. They both think saving the world is more important. Wakka, Wakka no, Wakka don't - see? Racism and religious fundamentalism leads to hurting yourself by kicking a cannon when you're wearing sandals. (I do appreciate the realism though.) I flipped a coin, and it looks like this run, Gatta lives and Luzzu dies. I don't really have an opinion on which is best; it's tragic either way. Though I guess it feels a little more narratively awful to have Tidus naively suggesting Gatta go to the front lines where he gets killed...But the coin has spoken. I appreciate how they give Kinoc character and relationships in so little time. Just his intro - he walks up and hugs Auron, not a huggable person - says something. Auron is still stiff and cagey with him, but that he allowed himself to be embraced says there's more there. Of course, he's also plotting Operation Mi'ihen to break the Crusaders (and, if X-2 is taken into account, setting up the deaths of the Crimson Squad - I think to take out potential rivals), so it's not like he's a good person or anything. But he's less flat. Got the overkill on Gui with ease, thanks to Energy Blast. (And got everyone AP.) Man, Sin's arrival is Lovecraftian as fuck. I like it. The black tendrils snaking through the bay... top creepiness. How Lucil, Elma, and Clasko - how anyone - survived Sin's blast I'll never know. People were disintegrated where they stood! I also don't know how Seymour, a full caster, has the Strength to physically hold off Gui2. It's been weakened, sure, but come the heck on. (His Summon command, which he must have, is also not there. I guess we're not allowed to get a sneak peek of Anima yet.) I appreciate the extra touch of giving Seymour AP, to trick you into thinking he's going to join the party long-term. :C They almost got a shot off on Sin, but unfortunately, horseshoes and hand grenades. Also heartrending: the messages that come up when you check the corpses. Shut up, Seymour, I have another Energy Blast in me. Besides, he could go for Sin at any time; he has his Final Aeon, after all. But he won't. He'd rather destroy the world than save it with his death. And he wants Yuna to feel helpless, so she'll feel like she needs him. Oh no the dead kid who we saw practicing to avenge his sister...no...stop it... Before Jecht came to Spira, his drinking didn't have real consequences to him. He was "still the best", after all. He still had a wife who wouldn't leave him. He hurt other people, but they didn't confront him about it. It took Spira to make him see that it was a problem. Hell of a thing to put on your kid, like, "Hey, son, can I get a mercy kill? Thanks." Though I guess that is...I mean, end-of-life care is a traditional part of a child's duties. Just...not usually in your teens.

[littlewritingrabbit]

Finally!! I got to the second request from this great anon, which was von Steuben/North with prompt 67. Thanks to everyone for being patient (this was... during summer vacation? I think?) and thanks especially to @thalassicwatercolors for helping me edit! I hope you like charades...

67 - Master wedding feasts

What is there for a man to do on the last night before he sets out from one side of a war in Philadelphia to the other in South Carolina? Some would say the best course of action would be to purchase some good wine and get well and truly merry. Others would say it would be best to have a dinner with his dearest friends, to enjoy their last night together. When we asked him his opinion on the matter, Pierre du Ponceau said it ought to be a game of charades.

Given that Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens was in precisely this position, with his ride to South Carolina rapidly approaching the next day and one last night to spend among friends, he heeded all this advice, and attended the Baron von Steuben’s house for dinner, wine, and the promise of games afterwards. It was one of those gatherings I had come to enjoy as an aide of the Baron’s, a chance for a bit of lighthearted chatter amid the canon-fire and paperwork (equally terrifying and dull in turns) which comprised this war we fought. For one of the greatest evils men can conceive of, war has a truly remarkable, near terrifying ability to bring people together. The old adage that strength lies in numbers seemed to me to ring true - as long as the numbers are made of those you trust with your life and your secrets.

I liked to think my life and secrets were in capable hands. We pooled our rations and the Baron von Steuben procured a bottle of wine. After dinner we retired to the parlor to amuse ourselves with cards. As Laurens insisted that gentlemen do not gamble, we resorted to playing for handkerchiefs after dinner… with the addition of a cravat from me, having lost to both Hamilton and Fairlie, and having only one handkerchief to give up.

“Scandalous,” said Laurens, a hand over his heart as if in indignation as I unraveled the fabric from around my collar. Hamilton laughed and added my cravat to the pile of handkerchiefs he had won.

“We must all gang up to win your cards, William,” Benjamin Walker told me with a grin, “And see what other parts of your clothes we may win from you.”

“Though I cannot object,” said von Steuben, making everyone laugh, “Perhaps you gentleman would like to play a different game?”

“How about Limericks?” asked Laurens.

“Questions and Commands?” suggested Hamilton.

“Charades!” said du Ponceau.

“How does one play charades?” asked James Fairlie, “Forgive me, I’ve never tried.”

“Truly?” du Ponceau looked amazed. “Then you have missed quite a lot sir! It is only the most ridiculous, amusing game one could play on a holiday or at a party. The version I prefer is played in this manner: one team is given a word to act out - silently, mind you - while the other team must guess what this word was.”

“And who provides the words?” asked Fairlie.

“I could,” said du Ponceau, “I do enjoy making it a struggle for the actors.”

“Was he always this contrary?” Walker asked von Steuben.

“He’s gotten better actually,” said the Baron, taking a sip of wine.

“Hey!” protested du Ponceau.

“If we are to play charades,” said Fairlie, “I should like to commandeer Hamilton for my team. I think he will be dramatic enough to help us win.”

Hamilton shrugged cheerfully. “How could I refuse such flattery?” he said. “Would anyone else like to join our team?”

“I would,” said Walker, probably thinking along the lines of anyone who had seen Hamilton’s eloquence as a public speaker and commanding attitude on the battlefield. He was likely a fine actor.

“That leaves us,” I said, counting up Laurens and the Baron for my own team.

“You three shall have the first word then,” said du Ponceau. He gestured for me to come closer, cupping a hand to his mouth. “Revenge,” he whispered.

“How am I supposed to-?”

“Your decision!” he said, the picture of eighteen-year-old mock-aloofness. I sighed, and followed the rest of my team into the study to rehearse in private.

In the end, we demonstrated the word in terms of the Classics. Von Steuben, tall, commanding, and therefore perfect for the part, acted out Hector, pretending to stab Laurens through the chest with a spear as if he were Patroclus. Laurens gasped in silent agony, clutched at his chest, and fell to the floor, unmoving. I, as Achilles, put on my most monstrous snarl and chased down von Steuben, but before I could vanquish him properly, Hamilton had called out “Revenge!” and we sat back down.

The second word was ours to guess. After debating in the study, Hamilton and Fairlie walked in bearing two chairs, and sat in them quietly.

“Sitting?” asked Laurens.

“Spectators?” I suggested.

Walker entered last, striding purposely in front of Hamilton and Fairlie with his back to us.

“Ignoring,” I said.

“Teacher,” said Laurens.

“Derrière!” said von Steuben, with absolute confidence.

“No!” said du Ponceau, with more confidence.

At the signal of Walker raising his hands, Hamilton and Fairlie mimed picking up objects, possibly instruments. The invisible article tucked under Hamilton’s chin could have been a fiddle, while Fairlie’s hands rested on what might have been an invisible pianoforte. Walker waved his arms, a little haphazardly, and they imitated playing a tune.

“Music!”

“Concerto!”

“Opera!”

“Conductor!”

“Orchestra!” said Laurens, “Though… a miniature one perhaps.”

“Correct,” said du Ponceau, “Well done!” The Baron stepped up to receive our team’s second word. He bent down to hear du Ponceau’s whisper. He frowned. Then he stood and led us to the study.

“What are we to imitate this time?” asked Laurens, clearly getting into the spirit of the game.

“The appointed word was Marriage,” said von Steuben.

“That ought to be fun to act,” said Laurens.

“How so?” asked von Steuben, still wrinkling his nose. “It’s a bothersome institution to be sure. All that fuss and ceremony. In-laws and the like.”

“You can’t really mean that,” I said. Certainly I had my doubts about marriage, but people had been marrying each other for thousands of years without much complaint. Even if I myself had difficulty imagining being happy with a wife and children, I didn’t doubt it as a concept that others would appreciate.

“I do indeed,” said the Baron stubbornly. He folded his arms across his chest.

“Would you still object to marriage if you were to wed, say, a rather dashing William North?” asked Laurens with a smile.

Von Steuben smiled as if he couldn’t help it, but shook his head. “You know better than to tease an old officer,” he said, suddenly sounding weary. “Offer him the promise of safety, of intimacy and camaraderie amongst friends, even when we all know it will never last. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up like me.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. He had said it with such resignation, I was almost afraid. “You’ve never promised anything you could not-”

“Will,” he said sadly, taking my hand. “My dear Will, how have I done anything but? I’m a king of false hopes, you know.” He looked over my hand as if trying to read the future from the lines on my palm. I doubt he saw anything concrete. Prophecies are never that straightforward anyways. “I let us all believe that it can be like this forever, that we will always be surrounded by the friends we love and never obliged to put on a show of marriage if we cannot love those we marry. But the usual tale is already written: the soldiers grow up and settle down with a wife and a family and a civilian profession. If I survive this one, there are no more wars left for me to run to - the world is settling down, and I cannot.”

“The future is always uncertain,” said Laurens softly. “We cannot read what it has in store for us by any method of divination, and we cannot expect anything with certainty, be it our worst fears, or our dearest hopes.”

“Are you fellows ready?” du Ponceau called from the parlor.

“Very nearly!” the Baron called back. He turned to address me. “Do you think I’m selfish, to give you false hopes?”

“I think you are judging yourself unjustly,” I replied, “And I also think we’re meant to be in the parlor, so this is no time for-”

“Ready yet?” Hamilton called.

“Almost!” Laurens yelped, turning quickly back to us. “I hate to interrupt, I really do, but we haven’t practiced a thing.”

“Just… act out a wedding,” I said. It seemed a simple enough direction. “Look, you two go stand in the parlor and I’ll walk in like the bride. We can improvise from there.” Placing a hand on the back of each woolen uniform, I steered Laurens and von Steuben out of the office and then waited a moment while they arranged themselves in front of their audience.

“Stationary,” suggested Fairlie.

“Give them a moment,” Hamilton snickered.

I straightened up, smoothed my coattails, and marched into the parlor. It was a rather military, solitary wedding procession, but my dear friend the Baron was waiting with his back to me at the other end of the room, so I made my way over and stood facing him, Laurens between us.

“Meeting?” Walker suggested.

The Baron von Steuben offered his hands, as if for a dance. We held hands while Laurens spoke wordlessly about dearly beloveds and holy matrimony and the other pleasantries they say at weddings. I got the impression that he actually knew what to say, which was impressive.

“Swearing an oath?” said Hamilton, shooting Walker a sideways look. Perhaps he, like Laurens, was trying to say something wordlessly.

“Court?” said Walker.

“Ceremony?” said Fairlie.

Smiling benevolently, Laurens looked me in the eye and gestured to the Baron, his lips moving silently in what I suppose must have been a phrase like as long as you both shall live. This is a war, I thought. We’ve no idea how long that might be. Nonetheless, I nodded. He turned to the Baron, who nodded as well.

“Conversation?” prompted Walker.

Laurens mimed lifting a veil from my face, and I couldn’t help but smile shyly. What had gotten into me? Laurens stepped back. That was when I realized my mistake.

Distracted by the Baron’s confession in the study, I hadn’t let my fellow actors know just how long we would be keeping up our pantomime. Thus we would just have to act the entire marriage ceremony all the way through until one of our companions guessed the word. But according to that ancient matrimonial tradition-

-this was the part where he was supposed to kiss me.

“Friendship?” suggested Fairlie.

Von Steuben leaned forwards and kissed me, friendly and quick. He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask should I continue? I nodded slightly.

“Kiss?” said Hamilton, stating the obvious.

Look, Steuben wasn’t half bad, as kissing goes.

“Affection?” said Walker, muffling a laugh.

And it wasn’t messy, or overly impolite either. Just a wedding-sort-of-kiss, if that makes a whit of sense.

“Love?” Walker said. Hamilton whistled like a sailor.

I stepped back. Laurens was blushing profusely. Perhaps I was as well. I couldn’t fathom how our audience had failed to grasp the word we were portraying. We sat down and mimed eating a dinner of some sort.

“Banquet?” suggested Fairlie.

“Dinner?” proposed Hamilton.

“Eating?”

“Food?”

“Party?”

Laurens pulled myself and the Baron to our feet, before raising an invisible object under his chin, much like Hamilton had done in the last round. He began to play the imaginary fiddle, so I took the cue and raised my hands for a waltz. To my surprise, however, the Baron stepped forwards - the gentleman’s step - and so did I, so he stepped on my foot rather painfully.

“Waltzing!” said Hamilton.

“Waltzing badly,” corrected Fairlie.

After the waltz Laurens put down his invisible fiddle, bowed to both of us, and left the room for the study.

“Parting?” asked Walker.

“Party??” Fairlie repeated, as if the answer might be different with repetition.

It was just dawning on me what I had gotten myself into when the Baron sat down on the floor, miming pulling a blanket up over his legs. I had sort of forgotten what happens on wedding nights - it simply wasn’t an event I preferred to think about! - but the others had failed to guess the word, and von Steuben was bundling himself into an invisible marriage-bed on the floor, and now my face was burning red. Conscious that in any other company, this whole pantomime would be completely improper, I settled down on the floor and pretended to pull a blanket over my shoulder.

“Sleeping?” suggested Walker.

“Bed?” said Hamilton.

Von Steuben, brown eyes glittering in mirth, gave a wicked grin, and then threw one leg up over mine.

The audience burst into laughter.

“Enough!” I shouted, scrambling out from under the offending leg, my face burning. My fellow aides only laughed harder. Even von Steuben, still on the floor with his wig askew, was chuckling. “How could you completely miss the word!” I demanded in exasperation. “We acted it out, plain as day! The word was-”

“Marriage,” said Hamilton calmly. I stared at him, a little flabbergasted.

“Will,” said Walker gently, “We’re not dunces. We knew the word all along.”

“I just wanted to see how far you were actually going to pantomime the… ceremony,” said Hamilton with a rakish grin that had almost become his signature.

“Rascals and scallywags, the lot of you,” I scoffed. It is, however, quite easy for a scoff to turn into a laugh, which I muffled in the back of my sleeve as the Baron stood and brushed off his uniform.

“Oh yes,” he said, “Whatever you do, don’t laugh. It might make you seem less of a composed bride.” This, of course, only made me laugh harder.

“I am such a fool for my friends,” I muttered, taking my seat once more as Hamilton stood to receive the next word from du Ponceau.

“I’m certainly glad I have such friends to be fools with,” said Benjamin, leaning over the arm of his chair and onto mine. I couldn’t have agreed more. Von Steuben might claim to be selfish in allowing us the camaraderie of this flirtatious circle of friends, but I couldn’t help but see it as generous. You have to carve a space for yourself in the world when you can, even if it can’t last.

“Benjamin, come on!” called Fairlie from the study. “Du Ponceau has given us quite a challenging word.”

“And I’ve an idea already!” Hamilton added. I caught a glimpse of the admiring smile on Laurens’s face before he settled back into his chair. God, I wished him well in the fighting in South Carolina.

[sisterofiris]

Callirhoe, or the Ancient Greek airport romance novel you didn’t know you needed

Have you ever heard of Chaireas and Callirhoe? Chances are you haven’t. These two charming people (literally - their names mean “Charming” and “Flowing-with-beauty”) are the hero and heroine of an Ancient Greek romance, specifically the oldest complete Ancient Greek romance, written around the 1st century AD by someone called Chariton of Aphrodisias (literally “Handsome from the town of Aphrodite” - notice a trend here?).

In the modern world, Callirhoe would fit in perfectly with the exciting-but-lightweight novels you find at an airport shop. The Roman writer Persius agrees:

His mane edictum, post prandia Callirhoen do.

To these I recommend “What’s On" in the morning and Callirhoe after lunch. (Satires 1.134)

That said, unlike most airport romance novels, you are seriously missing out on something if you haven’t read this one. Allow me to explain.

The story revolves around a young woman, Callirhoe, who is the best thing to happen to Sicily since their victory against the Athenians (an event which the narrator won’t fail to bring up whenever possible). What’s so special about her? She’s beautiful. Really, really beautiful. Like, regularly-compared-to-Aphrodite, seriously-Paris-would-ditch-Helen-for-her beautiful. Men fall head over heels in love with her at first sight. Women are green with envy. Suitors come from all horizons to meet her. Sailors row twice as fast when she’s on board, spurred by her presence. That’s how beautiful Callirhoe is.

Not only is she beautiful, she has character. She may not have much power in this men’s world, but that won’t stop her from knowing exactly what she wants and sassing back at the Persian king’s favourite eunuch for bossing her around. At one point, when she’s given bad news, her first impulse isn’t to lament her fate but to pluck out the eyes of the person who told her. She isn’t just a piece of booty being handed from one lovestruck man to the next. She’s got brains, and guts too.

Callirhoe's love interest is someone who can best be described as an emo jock. Didn’t think that was possible? Enter Chaireas. When he’s first introduced, he’s leaving the gym, cheeks red and muscles rippling from the exercise. He’s the handsomest and most popular of the guys, and clearly the life of the party - when he stops going to the gym, everyone else stops going too, because it just isn’t the same without him.

That said, I’ve never met a character with less of a will to live than Chaireas. MCR lyrics pale in comparison to his angst. The poor guy tries to commit suicide at least seven times in the book - I say “at least” because I stopped counting after the seventh time. (I also have to point out that one of these times is because he’s sailing away and feels bad for leaving his parents behind... so he literally just throws himself into the sea. His friend Polycharmus, who honestly deserves a medal for the number of times he saves Chaireas’ life, pulls him out.)

I'm so tired of being here Suppressed by all my childish fears And if you have to leave I wish that you would just leave 'Cause your presence still lingers here And it won't leave me alone

- Chaireas, probably

When he’s not working out or trying to hang himself, Chaireas is a genuinely sweet guy. I’ve got to admit I awwed several times at his interactions with Callirhoe, because you can tell he really does love her. He also listens to her, cares for her opinion, and trusts her with important matters. This doesn’t sound like much to a modern ear, but for a (more or less) Classical Greek girl, it’s pretty nice treatment.

That’s all lovely, you might be thinking, but what’s the story about? Well, buckle up your seatbelt, because you’re in for a ride. Soon after Chaireas and Callirhoe get married, a group of jealous ex-suitors make Chaireas believe that Callirhoe is cheating on him. Blinded by anger, he comes home and kicks her in the stomach (literally the worst thing he ever does, and Aphrodite thoroughly punishes him for it). Callirhoe falls down, and everyone believes that she’s dead. She’s quickly buried, Chaireas is put on trial but begs for death so pathetically that he’s acquitted, and everyone is very sad.

The end? Far from it! As a bunch of grave robbers soon discover, Callirhoe isn’t dead at all! The robbers quickly whisk her away to Miletus, where they sell her as a slave to a rich man named Dionysius. Of course, he falls in love with her and mopes around, begging her to marry him or else he’ll starve himself. Callirhoe finally accepts his proposal, but only because she has a secret: she’s pregnant with Chaireas’ child...

Meanwhile, Chaireas finds out that Callirhoe is still alive, and sets out to rescue her. Many adventures ensue, featuring pirates, slavery, eunuchs and wars, taking hero and heroine all the way to Babylon and culminating in a trial to determine: who will get to keep Callirhoe? Chaireas or Dionysius?

I won’t spoil the ending, but I’ll give you a taste of the final confrontation between these two highly educated men:

“ἀνάξιος εἶ τῆς Ἑρμοκράτους θυγατρός.” “σὺ μᾶλλον ὁ παρὰ Μιθριδάτῃ δεδεμένος.” “ἀπαιτῶ Καλλιρόην.” “ἐγὼ δὲ κατέχω.” “σὺ τὴν ἀλλοτρίαν κρατεῖς.” “σὺ τὴν σὴν ἀπέκτεινας.” “μοιχέ.” “φονεῦ.”

“You don’t deserve Hermocrates’ daughter!” “You more, you were enslaved to Mithridates!” “I want Callirhoe back!” “Well I’m keeping her!” “You’re appropriating someone else’s wife!” “You killed yours!” “Adulterer!” “Murderer!” (5.8.5)

In conclusion, if you’re not convinced yet, here’s a sample of what else you can find in this novel:

a fragile grasp on 5th century history (the author knows some things about the Classical Era, but clearly not enough to pass a college test)

fanfiction tropes such as “mutual unrequited pining”, “thinking the other is dead”, and author’s notes

“AN: okay I’m sorry about the last chapter, I promise you’ll like this one!  There’s no piracy/slavery/trials/fighting/suicide/war/captivity, just true love and marriage ;) have fun reading xoxo” (an almost literal translation of 8.1.4)

a Persian king who turns out to be a sweet and respectful person and who cries when he’s reunited with his wife

the most dramatic Asian governor ever (instead of just saying “hey Chaireas, come out and show these people you’re alive”, I quote: “GODS, MY LORDS IN THE SKY AND UNDER THE EARTH, COME TO THE RESCUE OF A GOOD MAN! GRANT ME CHAIREAS FOR THE TIME OF THIS TRIAL! APPEAR, NOBLE SPIRIT!")

quotes from the Iliad at every opportunity (Chaireas misses Callirhoe? Quick, let’s quote Achilles grieving Patroclus!)

hyper-realistic trials, because the author worked for a lawyer

ancient stereotypes such as “the Athenians talk too much”

14 prayers to Aphrodite

and much, much more.

In short, please read Callirhoe. I promise you won’t regret it.

[mermaidsirennikita]

November 2017 Book Roundup

This month featured a follow-up to one of my favorite books of last year--which sadly wasn’t as good as I wanted it to be.  And then there was a new series from one of my favorite authors... which really wasn’t as good as I wanted it to be.  But luckily Leigh Bardugo came through with her short story collection, The Language of Thorns, which was perhaps my favorite book of the month.  She’s a surprise for me, honestly; I wasn’t a fan of her debut novel, but the degree to which I enjoyed the Six of Crows duology and now this has made me wonder if I should give Shadow and Bone another shot.  If you’re looking for something out of the realm of YA fantasy, Ayobami Adebayo’s Stay With Me is an excellent, emotional examination of marriage, secrets, and cultural pressure.  There weren’t many standout books this month, but those that did stand out really impressed me.

The Empress by S.J. Kincaid.  3/5.  The sequel to “The Diabolic”, “The Empress” returns to Nemesis, diabolic-turned-fiancee of Tyrus.  As the new emperor, Tyrus is surrounded by enemies on all sides--in particular the politician Pasus, whose daughter Nemesis murdered.  Having discovered that she’s more than just an automaton killing machine, Nemesis adores Tyrus and would do anything--and get rid of anyone--to keep him safe.  But her own position is tenuous; not even considered a person, she has to both gain the support of the people and play the political game that threatens to engulf Tyrus whole.  I wish I’d loved this as much as I loved the first book--but honestly, I think that should have remained a standalone.  I loved where it left us, on an ambiguous note but with overall resolution.  While most of the conflict here felt organic, I was really bothered by two instances that just felt like... well, cop-outs.  Excuses to move the story along that didn’t feel cohesive with the overall plot. I still love Nemesis, and I want to see how the series ends, but this book disappointed me.

Pachinko by Min Jin Lee. 3/5.  In 1930s Korea, the teenage Sunja gets pregnant out of wedlock, left behind by her married lover.  In an act of kindness, a young pastor offers to marry her and raise the child as his own, taking her with him to Japan.  As Sunja and Isak attempt to make a life for themselves, the story follows several generations across Korea and Japan.  First off, this book is written in a very lovely way, and it may appeal to you.  And I so appreciate that it’s an epic, generational novel that isn’t about westerners.  But as lovely as the writing is, it’s also a bit distant.  And the story is a bit slow.  So I can’t say I loved this book, but I did respect it.

Behind Her Eyes by Sarah Pinborough.  3/5.  Single mother Louise is horrified to find that the married man she kissed at a bar is actually her new boss--and she’s even more guilty when she not only meets his wife, Adele, but gets along with her.  As she becomes involved in an affair with David and a friendship with Adele, Louise juggles the two while at the same time worrying about David’s controlling nature, wondering what in Adele’s past has led the couple to where they are today.  This is a domestic thriller that goes bonkers at the end--like, I didn’t see that twist coming, but I feel as if the twist has to... exist within the realm of possibility for it to be a well-done twist.  So the book is trash, basically.  But it’s fun trash.  There needed to be less of Louise worrying over Adele, to be frank, because as I had a look into Adele’s mind in her POV chapters, I knew she was fishy from the start.  But if you’re looking for a quick read that’s absolutely batshit, this is it.

Stay With Me by Ayobami Adebayo.  4/5.  In 1980s Nigeria, Akin and Yejide have a loving marriage.  Both university-educated and considering themselves modern, they are determined to be monogamous.  But one day, Yejide is greeted by her in-laws--with a second wife for Akin, Funmi, in tow.  After four years of marriage, Akin and Yejide still don’t have children; and the elders believed that if Funmi conceives, Yejide’s womb will open.  Yejide becomes obsessed with the idea of having a baby first, pushing her to dark lengths that may destroy much more than just her marriage.  This is an emotionally devastating book--it’s brutally honest about a variety of topics, including culture (which, as it’s not my own, I can’t vouch for as accurate), marriage, and sex.  Yejide is a vulnerable, real character who just grabbed my heart.  Certain parts of the novel are kind of surreal, and I don’t think that the full impact really hit me as I’m not familiar with Nigerian culture in general, let alone the political atmosphere of 1980s Nigeria.  But I felt like I learned something, and read a beautiful story at the same time.

Wonder by R.J. Palacio.  5/5.  As anyone reading this probably knows, Wonder is the story of Auggie, a ten-year-old boy with a facial deformity, going to school for the first time after being homeschooled his entire life.  As he makes his first “real” friends and faces bullying and discrimination, the story also takes a look into the perspectives of his sister, his friends, and more to explain the complexities of Auggie’s life and the lives of those around him.  Basically, this is a very simple but well-written book that tackles a difficult issue without feeling like an after school special.  And the movie--a faithful adaptation, while cutting a few things--is also very good.

For the Most Beautiful by Emily Hauser.  2/5.  The story of the beginnings of the Trojan War (up to The Horse) form the dual perspectives of Briseis and Krysais.  That’s pretty much it.  In all honesty, this isn’t a horrible book, but it’s just kind of dull.  For that matter, Achilles’s relationship with Patroclus is severely downplayed, largely in favor of his relationship with Briseis--which I understand, sure.  But “A Song of War” did a much better job with the “triangle” in all honesty.  The gods were portrayed as appropriately childish, but inappropriately modern.  It just wasn’t a very good rendering of the story.

Renegades by Marissa Meyer.  2/5.  Nova, like many other people in the city of Gatlon, is a “prodigy”, with abilities beyond the norm--in her case, she never sleeps, and can make others sleep with the touch of her hand.  As a member of the Anarchists, she is branded a villain, known as Nightmare and targeted by the Renegades, a group of “heroes” led by Captain Chromium, who killed Nova’s beloved uncle--and legendary “villain”--Ace Anarchy.  Hoping to follow her uncle’s legacy and overthrow the Renegades, Nova infiltrates group under a different name, only to be caught off guard by two people: Adrian Everhart, young and heroic and everything she hates.  And the Sentinel, a shadowy figure with so many abilities that he seems impossible.  It was hard to sum this book up because it felt like a whole lot of intro, and I was so disappointed.  Basically, much of the book could have been cut, because there was a ton of repetition.  Who’s the Sentinel?  Where is Nightmare???  How does anyone not key into these people’s secret identities?  Honestly, the backstory of Ace Anarchy and Captain Chromium, Lady Indomitable, et. al sounded much more interesting and I basically want to read the rest of series for them.  It was all very cliche, like Meyer had taken bits and pieces from The Incredibles and even Megamind and perhaps a comic or two...  I hate to give this kind of review for a book by the person who wrote The Lunar Chronicles--and all-time favorite of mine-- but it’s just not up to snuff.

The Language of Thorns by Leigh Bardugo.  5/5.  An anthology set in Bardugo’s Grishaverse, this is a collection of folk tales, all based on stories that you may be familiar with, if sometimes only barely.  A plain-faced girl faces a monster; a nutcracker confuses the desires of others for true life; a fox attempts to outsmart a hunter; and more.  This is a fairly dark, eerily written book that’s still easy to read.  Bardugo has a taste for apathy and twisting the morals that you’d expect out of fairy tales, and it works beautifully here. I highly recommend it for anyone who loves a good fairy tale and doesn’t mind them a bit bloody and grim.

Root of the Tudor Rose by Mari Griffith.  2/5.  After growing up sheltered in a convent, Catherine de Valois is thrust into the political spotlight upon marrying Henry V of England.  The marriage is a success--but Henry is almost immediately after the birth of his son and heir, leaving Catherine a young widow with little control over the infant king, despite being his mother.  Owen Tudor--essentially a servant, despite his storied Welsh heritage--comes into her life and sweeps her into a secret love affair that will scandalize the nation and lead to the founding of the Tudor dynasty.  I really wanted to love this book, and it was what it was: a romanticized account of Catherine de Valois’s life, accurate in some respects... not so much in others.  It was a romance novel, but not the type I enjoy--there’s no heat.  Catherine seems like a child and her men don’t seem like real men.  The sex scenes aren’t even detailed!  For shame!

[moviegroovies]

oof. in the last few days, i’ve watched five (5) new movies, at least three of which i have opinions on i’d like to share. for convenience’s sake, i’m going to start with the most recent, and work back from there. 

so: troy (2004) 

as someone who was coerced into studying the iliad at a liberal arts college, this movie enraged me. as someone who likes to enjoy himself while watching movies, this movie horrified me. all around, i’m going to rate it a solid 3/10, and that might be generous, but there WERE a few things i liked, which i’m going to talk about, because what else do i do here, anyway.

i’m not even going to get into all the ways this was an unfaithful adaptation of the source material, because there just is not the fucking time, and i’m sure other people before me have done it, so let’s just say that the moment they cast brad pitt as achilles, all hope was lost. i will comment that they of course no-homo’d achilles and patroclus, but had i gone in expecting to see any representation in this movie, i would have been an even bigger masochist than i am. that does not mean i wasn’t still a little disappointed, though.

troy takes into account much more than the actual span of the iliad, beginning (long) before the start of the epic and ending after it finished. in this way, we see the full span of the story, which i suppose is a good thing, although it did stretch this painfully milquetoast adaptation into an agonizing three hours. we see everything from agamemnon’s quest to unite all the kingdoms of greece together underneath his rule to the sacking of troy, meaning we also get to see paris seducing helen, achilles’ death, and the sacking of troy with the trojan horse, all of which the iliad does not include. being that the actual content of the iliad isn’t quite so battle-focused as the general public might think, these things are all probably good for the telling of an actual story. i can forgive most of the changes to the story that we did see, because i think that, given that you don’t know the source material, it makes for a cohesive and satisfying narrative, all in all. menelaus’s character being changed to make helen’s choice to leave with paris more sympathetic made the choice to have hector kill him a cathartic one. even better was briseis getting to take her revenge on agamemnon for his treatment toward her and, more generally, the fact that he was the one who brought war and soldiers to her front door. sure, that totally ruins the play orestes, but that was never going to be the sequel we were waiting for, anyway. 

side note, i think of the actors, agamemnon (played by brain cox) was the best. he just had a really good love-to-hate-him thing going, and played up his part pretty excellently. orlando bloom also felt like a good choice for paris (i would for sure leave menelaus for him, for instance), and vincent regan as eudoros was sort of a dark horse in the cast for me; i’d never heard of him before, and his character was small, but there was something striking about him. maybe it was just his eyes. 

in the movie, the siege of troy went from spanning ten years to like... maybe a couple of weeks? that was the one change from the source material that i really couldn’t abide, but What Ever I Guess. if they had just begun in the 9th year of the siege, it might have made the casting of then 40 year old brad pitt as achilles make a little more sense. as it stands.... whatever. sure. do whatever the fuck you want. i can’t stop you. 

generally, i like brad pitt in things (one of the other movies of the five that i watched, for instance, was se7en, although i don’t really have any particular comments on that other than, it was good, i liked it, i probably won’t choose to watch it again just on a whim), but i really could not get behind this particular performance. it had some of the same problems as him at the start of interview with the vampire; i think he kind of warmed to the role with that one, but the scene with him as a dissociating human felt... off, in terms of acting, but maybe that’s just me. either way, i’m not sure he ever really warmed to being achilles. 

and that sucked, because achilles could have been such a good character. 

obviously my personal bias is being taken into account here (yes, i read TSoA, yes i am letting it influence my perception of the dude), but if troy’s achilles had been prepared to put the raw emotion latent in the iliad’s achilles into the role, i think the character would have hit harder than he did. i personally didn’t love the expanded romance with briseis that they shoved in, but there was potential to see some tenderness there, and that could have been played up more, especially since she acted as the catalyst, here, for achilles to consider accepting the happy but unremarkable life he could have lived, instead of dying for glory in troy. failing that, i think patroclus’ role should have been more pronounced, and i’m not even saying that as a proponent of the patroclus/achilles relationship; even if they kept the two of them as cousins as they did in this setting, i think we needed to see a lot more interactions than the ones we did (although there was a fair amount, and given how long the movie turned out, i understand why it wasn’t fleshed out better) to really justify how hard achilles took the death of patroclus. there WERE some times that achilles got to exhibit emotions other than like emotionally stunted badass soldier either brooding or being pissed off--and that’s one of the highlights of the film, i’ll get back to that in a second--but the emotional climax between achilles and hector didn’t live up to my expectations. for one thing, in that scene in the poem, achilles didn’t just fight hector in retribution for the death of patroclus. he fought EVERYONE, up to and including hector, and more than that, a fucking RIVER DEITY. it was wild, unabashed grief that made him do horrible things. i would have personally loved to see an unhinged rampage, and instead, it got boiled down to one single fight between achilles and hector that lasted, i think, far longer than it should have. achilles was more powerful than hector, no matter how good hector was. i think it might have been more to my taste, at least, if we were shown that achilles had the strength to kill hector in a second, hardly taking him on to fight, and simply hadn’t before this because he was never given a reason to. 

all i’m saying is, movies are more interesting when characters are allowed to fully break, fully snap, just go buck fucking wild. but that’s just my onion.

i said i was going to come back to the “more emotions than emotional constipation” thing, and let’s do that now. one thing i DID like about the choices made in this film was that achilles was allowed to cry on screen, and he did, several times. i don’t know how to express how refreshing it was to see the archetypal badass soldier, the best of the greeks, break down into tears, especially when you consider how few movies really show men crying, much less movies of this particular genre. it’s kind of one of those “don’t give them props for scraping the bottom of the barrel” things, but i liked it, and since there were so few things i really did like about this movie, i’m going to give them props there. not just that, either--i also liked the way that paris could not face his death in his fight with menelaus, and crawled, terrified, back to his older brother. i liked that, while he degraded himself for the act later, the narrative and other characters never treated this like the wrong decision. sometimes, it’s impossible or incorrect to be noble at the price of yourself, especially in something like the fight over the hand of a woman who made her decision on where to go. paris did not win the fight, but he had a brother who loved him, and menelaus couldn’t understand that. and he died.

interestingly enough, paris also loses that fight in the epic, but rather than going to hector for protection, he’s whisked away by aphrodite before he can be killed. this was changed, naturally, because at no point in troy do the gods, who play by all accounts very important parts in the trojan war as told by the iliad, actually appear in the movie. they’re discussed throughout, and achilles’ mother, a goddess in the epic, appears to speak to him before he leaves for war, but it’s never affirmed whether or not she is divine, whether apollo is truly taking revenge for achilles’ desecration of his temple, whether godhood can be trusted or not. this is a theme that’s discussed and subverted many times, bringing in a type of ancient agnosticism to both the characters of achilles and hector, but ultimately it’s left unsolved. since they went the route of not being including the gods as characters, i’m happy with that conclusion. one of the more powerful bits of screentime between achilles and briseis was when he confided that he believed the gods were jealous of humans for their mortality, so ultimately, it was fitting that this story was told about the humans and the heroes, a celebration and examination of humanity, rather than throwing in divine intervention and cheapening the plot. 

there was a theme of love in the movie which i liked pretty well, especially for the fact that it wasn’t focused entirely on romantic love. the war began because helen ran back with paris, but not really: agamemnon was itching for a war anyway, and was happy to use his brother’s missing wife as a reason to begin the fight with troy he had been craving. menelaus clearly had no problem being cruel and unfaithful to helen, so her leaving him is not framed as a slutty and frivolous choice as it has been in other media. she goes off with someone willing to give away everything (up to and including his family and his palace) for her, and it’s honestly hard to blame her for that. plus, the war could have also been averted by hector turning around the ship and returning helen to her husband, which he very nearly does, except that if he did, he knows paris will try to fight menelaus for her and die, and he cannot bear the death of his brother. therefore, the war begins with two sets of brothers and two sets of lovers: helen chooses paris because he genuinely loves her, hector allows it because he loves his brother, and agamemnon profits off his brother’s loss because he loves nothing more than power, and the loss is a chance for that. achilles nearly costs agamemnon the war because he’s ready to leave and live his full life thanks to the love of briseis, until his love of patroclus and his grief at his death take that option away. priam gets a speech toward the beginning about there being worse reasons to fight a war than for love. i think this is honestly kind of simplistic and missing the point of what war is in general, but it was a nice scene to play into the theme.

outside of that, other things i enjoyed were odysseus’s narration book-ending the action, because he’s my favorite character of homer’s, if not in troy (i honestly don’t like sean penn in the role, but that’s my own personal cross to bear), the scene around patroclus’ death where eudoros looks on in horror when he thinks it’s achilles and then gives a visible sigh of relief, even as it’s mixed with the horror of patroclus’ death when the helmet is removed and he sees it’s not, the part where agamemnon looks on at patroclus’ funeral and comments how “that boy just won [him] the war,” which was such an asshole thing to say but also honestly what i was thinking, and that one little scene with paris giving the sword of troy to aeneas as a fun little shoutout to the aeneid. i could go into other things i DIDN’T like, but after watching that movie for three fucking hours, i think i’ve put enough time into that as it is. 

coming soon: pointless commentary on the first back to the future and fright night (1985)! get hype!!!