#sparta x athens

[melancholic-hues]

like icarus, falling from your grace

posted on AO3

fandom - geography (anthropomorphic) ; countryhumans

rating - general audiences

warnings - none

category - m/m

pairings - athens/sparta

tags - mutual pining ; historical accuracy ; i tried.. it’s ancient greece ; not a bittersweet but not a bad ending either

word count - 3,017 words

-

Sparta walked into the andron, just as fashionably late as ever. His cloak was wrapped around him, his back as straight as a spear shaft, as he pushed open the door into the room for the rest of them poleis.

All the heads turned to look at him. There weren’t many representatives here — just Thebes, Corinth, Chios, Samos, and Athens. Including him, there was an even mix of Delian and Peloponnesian poleis.

"General Lysander held us back," he said as an explanation, striding over to the oval table and taking the empty seat at the end — directly opposite Athens'.

This andron was typically used for grand symposiums, the table covered with the finest cloth and cups of the richest wine across all of Hellas poured for the attendees to enjoy. But this was no symposium, and the table lies bare, leaving only a bowl of fruit at its center, untouched.

Thebes and Corinth were to his right. The two were conversing rapidly, in low tones. Corinth had given him a nod in acknowledgement before returning to his chatter.

Samos and Chios, to Athens' right at the other end of the table, stood. After a quick exchange with Athens, they nodded and left the room.

So this was how it was. It appeared that it's the three of them against Athens. How unfair. And how comically so.

Athens looked terrible, like Aphrodite herself had cursed him with an appearance that only ghouls from Hades can match. His hair was a mess, dull gold curls unkempt, with deep, purple circles hanging under his leek green eyes. Sparta did not mourn the loss of the usual spark in those eyes.

It was apparent that Athens received the heaviest brunt of the war. Numerous scars must have opened up, carved their way onto his back. It was the case for all of them affected in this costly war — Sparta was no different. He wondered what battles left the deepest scars on Athens, and where they would be on the other polis' body. Then he thought how well deserved these wounds are.

Thebes and Corinth stopped talking. This was business.

"What… has your representatives decided for the future of Athens?" Corinth slowly asked, his stare bordering on a glare. He got straight to the point, something that Sparta noted with disdain and respect.

Sparta had prepared for this. He and Athens were there when Lysander and Theramenes negotiated the conditions for Athens' surrender. It had only been a few days since they last saw each other at the acropolis, but discussion between them at that time was impossible. This was their first up-close, man-to-man, polis-to-polis meeting.

"Lysander has agreed with Theramenes to spare the polis," Sparta responded simply, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. This was to be a short meeting, to debrief on the war, among them poleis. Dragging it on would be futile. "There will still be punishment, however," he coolly adds upon the annoyed looks on both of Thebes and Corinth's faces.

Thebes looked at him, then at Athens. Her eyes narrowed. "And why is that?" she prodded, referring to Sparta. "How can we be so sure this… decision is made without bias?"

Sparta bit down a snark response. How dare she try to bring he and Athens' personal relationship into a diplomacy talk? That had no place here.

"I can only offer the reassurance that our leaders have made this decision fairly. The walls of Athens will get torn down, and their military would be reduced. That was what Lysander had agreed on. I had no hand in that choice." Sparta sweetly said. He stole a glance at Athens.

Green eyes as dull as the grass were watching them like an owl. Sparta's gaze slid away, back to Thebes, who was regarding him with a skeptical and cynical look. Smart. But annoying, and a pain to deal with.

"And why shouldn't we destroy them?" she asked.

Sparta smiled unkindly, his eyes curving up. "Athens had done us great service during the war against the Persians. We will honor the sacrifices that the polis has made during our greatest time of danger. They helped preserve the Hellenic world and didn't bow down to the 'king of kings'," he nonchalantly answered, as if the fact was as true as the sky was blue. Thebes wouldn't know about sacrifice and not submitting, right?

Thebes did not grace him with a proper response.

"It should've been burnt down," Corinth suggested, "with its people enslaved. Wouldn't you like that, Sparta? Another major accomplishment for the Spartans, Ares' chosen warriors?" The words were mocking, yes, but they also contained a sense of amity. Corinth would be the second-closest polis to Sparta, something as close as a friend that personifications would consider each other.

"Keep my name out of your mouth, Corinthian," Sparta rolled his eyes, used to the teasing from the other. Acid bubbled in his guts at the way his name sounded from Corinth's lips. "If we burn it down, it will only be rebuilt. The Persians have tried that, and I'd rather not have their philosophers spew more flowery language while working. Wouldn't that be tiring?"

Corinth laughed. Sparta smiled and refused to meet Athens' glare. Oh, Sparta loved that glare. It would get his blood rushing, eyes widening, especially when they would spar against each other. The exhilaration! Only something you’d hear of in one of those fancy dramas that these other poleis would host, however seldom Sparta is forced to go.

“And what about the rule? The government put into place?” Corinth added after a moment’s consideration.

Athens’ face darkened.

“The Athenian democracy,” he began, savoring the way Athens kept his head down like a lamb being led to slaughter, a prisoner in chains, resigned to his fate, “will be dismantled. A puppet government will be put into place, ruled by a group. We will take apart the very government they’ve prided themselves for.”

“That sounds more like it,” Corinth hummed, tossing a drachma in the air and catching it. The light from outside glinted off the metal. “What’ll happen to the spoils?”

“That is to be determined.” Close enough to a truth. It wasn’t like Delphi was here to play peacekeeper, or lie detector, or an entity higher-than-thou, however much Sparta personally respected her. Only Apollo himself would know how eerie her constant presence was.

Thebes chewed on her lower lip before responding: “fair enough. I assume there’s nothing more given to you?” She tipped her head to a side.

“If Lysander was cruel enough to have me sit through all of that, yes. But he is merciful, so no. That is all,” Sparta stated, and there was a sheen of finality in his words.

Corinth slapped his hands on his knees and stood. “Well, that concludes it. I don’t know why we all got invited over. This could’ve been conveyed through a messenger.” He walked over and clapped Sparta on the shoulder twice, squeezing it harshly. For a sailor who played the lyre in his free time, Corinth’s grip strength was awfully strong. But nothing they couldn’t handle.

Sparta scoffed and shoved his hand off, to which Corinth heartily laughed. “Glad to see none of the war changed that attitude of yours.”

“And neither it did you,” was the response. Corinth jerked his chin toward the door. “Let’s go, Thebes. I’ll see you —” the Corinthian pointedly said to Sparta — “later, definitely.”

“Looking forward to it.” Sparta tracked Corinth and Thebes as they headed toward the exit, himself getting up as well. When the pair reached the door, Sparta murmured, “have fun.”

The door closed before he could see Corinth and Thebes’ reactions. Well. That certainly placed a target on Sparta’s back, once he saw Corinth later on. In his defense, it was such a delight to tease him about Thebes. Whatever truly went on between the two would stay between them.

Before Sparta could turn his back to the table, a clear voice rang out: “wait.”

His hand lingered on the table surface, but Sparta ultimately turned, his cloak whipping around him. “I will seek you out after I report to Lysander,” and he didn’t catch the look in those green eyes.

***

Athens had opened his door before Sparta could even lift his fist to knock.

“Icarus,” Sparta greeted, a cat-like smile on his face, voice bright like he was greeting a friend he hadn’t seen in years. “Ever since you plummeted toward the sea, tell me, has sailing lost its appeal?”

Athens started to close the door. Sparta held a hand out, stopping it, and barked out a laugh.

He stepped inside. Athens let him, shoulder leaning on the door frame as the Peloponnesian polis closed the door. Sparta had discarded his cloak for a simple chiton, but his movements were still so militaristic, so regal.

“There wouldn’t be any proper ships to command, nor do I think I'll be permitted to touch the seas again,” Athens mumbled, continuing the allegory. His voice contained a distant sense of yearning, though there was a hint that his seas weren’t the only thing he would mourn. “I only have you to thank for that.”

Sparta walked toward the desk pushed to the wall of the spacious room, grabbing a fig from a fruit bowl and biting down into it. He sat on the klismos near the bed, facing Athens. The last flames of Apollo's sun chariot shone through the window to Sparta's back, casting a radiant, fiery amber glow onto Athens’ face.

“What a shame, then. Well, your hubris has always been your downfall, Icarus," Sparta shook his head, his words twisted with mocking pity and cruel humor. “I've just… hastened it. Your intelligence is unmatched throughout Hellas, poor little esteemed Daedalus trapped in his workshop, but your ego even more so. Enlighten me, dear Athenian, did you feel the wax dripping down your arms, during the war? Were they slowly rolling, or did you just simply ignore the burn?”

Athens heaved a sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “If you reference Icarus one more time, I will be kicking you out,” he warned, staring at him.

Now that they were out of the public sight, Athens appeared even less put together. Forget Sparta’s previous words — Hades, even the ghosts of Asphodel couldn’t match just how terrible Athens was currently. It wasn’t the state of his person, either; no, it was his room, too. The polis had always been organized, but those skills clearly failed him.

“Then what about other myths? Shall I compare you to Bellerophon with his pegasus next? With your mighty navy and islands as your horse, trying to reach Olympus itself? You’re without your horses now, left to wander the remains of your mighty empire and pieces of your pride.”

Athens glowered, his posture defensive and defeated. “I suppose your intelligence is unmatched too, on the very opposite end of the line.” There was no real hostility to his words. Athens was just tired, to the very ichor that flowed through his veins, to the very last bone in his semi-immortal body. “I'm not here for constant criticism. I'm well aware of everything you’re telling me.”

They were both tired.

He was a little angry, too. At Athens, at their respective leaders, at the war, at everything they’ve been thrown into. But upon Athens’ pathetic look, as Sparta convinced himself, he couldn’t find the means to pour salt on the wound any further. They could fight — and they would; always, steadfastly would — another day.

Sparta's shoulders slumped a little, and he crossed his arms, forearms hugging the fabric of his chitos close to his body. A new scar ran up Athens’ collarbone, starting from his left shoulder and curling around his neck. “Perhaps it serves you right to understand a little humility, Athenian. What battle was that from?”

The thought slipped out before his self-control could reign it in. Athens’ brows scrunched, the skin creasing between his brows, and he frowned.

Sparta played it off like it was intentional, finishing off his fig. He continued staring at Athens, whose eyes and thoughts were unreadable, waiting for a response.

“Where?”

Sparta beckoned him to come closer with a curl of his finger. The scar wasn’t faint, but it certainly wasn’t scabbed over either.

After a moment’s consideration at the action, Athens pushed himself off the door and sauntered toward his bed. Sparta tracked his movement, sharp, siren-like eyes that perhaps would’ve read as coquettish in another context, would’ve been romanticized in epics and tapestries of later times.

Athens sat down on the edge of his bed, directly across from Sparta's klismos. Using the opportunity of proximity at this moment, Sparta stared at Athens. His thigh was pressed against Athens’ knee, and neither of them pulled away from the particularly outlandish and bold physical contact.

Athens returned Sparta’s curious gaze with wary, the circles under his dull eyes prominent against his pale complexion. The tan he’d earned from days spent outside, debating in the acropolis, sailing out at sea — that tan was fading, following the conclusion of the war and the inevitable, immobilizing illness that would creep up on him. It only was a matter of when.

The Spartan slowly reached out and traced his fingers along the scar, his touch faint and gentle. Athens stilled under his cold fingers, chin tipped higher. The Delian polis swallowed, the bump in his throat bobbing, his eyes flitting from Sparta to his arm.

Sparta’s hand trailed up from Athens’ collarbone up to his neck, hand cupping Athens’ cheek and thumb grazing the corner of his lips. Almost longingly, like how Athens would mourn the loss of his seas and Sparta his beloved home polis and to simpler days. The air in the room held its breath.

Athen’s golden lashes fluttered, chapped lips slightly parted for air. The Athenian’s eyes were of the most pure, brilliant blue. It matched the tint of the waves so clearly, like a pair woven by the three Fates themselves.

“Here,” Sparta said after bringing his hands back down to rest across the length of the scar. He hesitantly retracted his hand, and Athens’ gaze dropped to the floor. It did not shake, and he did not grieve the shattered contact.

Athens sucked in a slow, shaky gasp, unable to stop the shudder that ran through his body, the ghost coolness of Sparta’s touch now gone.

“The famine,” Athens finally mumbled, eyes lifting to meet his. There was no accusatory tone to his words, and Sparta did not apologize.

He nodded, satisfied with the answer.

Before the silence could start to settle over them, Athens broke it. “During the meeting today…” he paused, and Sparta could see the mental calculations the other polis was doing in his head, “you were lying. To Thebes and Corinth, about the spoils. Weren’t you?”

Those leek green eyes could really read through Sparta's soul, hmm?

“You have an awful lot of questions for someone who stood back during Lysander and Theramenes’ discussion,” Sparta deflected, cutting eye contact.

“And I could’ve said that aloud earlier, but I didn't. That day, When Lysander was here, I… had my reasons for keeping back.”

“Which wasn’t like you.”

In fact, Athens was kind of… plain reluctant to be at the forefront of the debate. It was something very abnormal for a polis whose presence demanded attention, and whose arrogance was above Mount Olympus itself, the sun and pegasus be damned. What intrigued Sparta's attention even more was the behavior of the Athenians. They were proud of their personification, hailing him as the next Hercules or Zeus and all, but they kept him back that day.

A dip in the brow. “You don’t understand, Sparta.”

And yet.

Just as quickly as Athens had allowed Sparta to come close and touch his scars, that permission was taken back. Back to normal operation. Now, Sparta was Icarus; Athens, his Apollo. “They will realize. Corinth and Thebes and the others. Your polis was never meant to sustain such an empire. We can both see that you’re only going to follow in my footsteps, and history will be doomed to repeat once more.”

He wryly laughed. “And isn’t that how Hellas operate? We are factionalized, polarized, split down the core like a fig. We fight with each other over and over and over again. No one ever learns. Not you, not me. Athens, truly, what is your point?”

Fists curling on the bedsheets, a pop of the vein in the hand, a grit of the teeth in the jaw, a too-quick flutter of the lashes. Athens, Athens, Athens. There was something gravely unspoken between them today. This, in this very moment, was not the Athens who would match his every step on the battlefield, know his fighting style in and out, return every vitriol word he’d spit with even more hostility.

Cold flashed down his spine, like a gentle murmur straight from Thanatos’ lips, whispering of certain impending doom. A strange fear washed over him that the Athens he knew, whom he could stand toe-to-toe with, would not truly cross xiphos with him for some time.

Oh, how Sparta yearned. And he was never one to want and chase after something silly like this; all of his desires related to the adrenaline rush on the battlefield, drinking in the fear from enemies’ eyes like pomegranate juice, enveloping himself with people to cut down and more glory to achieve. If he knew how, he’d be mourning the loss.

“Don’t you have meetings to attend?”

And toward the brilliant wine red sea did Sparta fall, a flurry of metal feathers cutting every inch of his skin, the glaring apathy from Apollo blinding his sight.

“I do,” he lied.

“Go. I would hate to hold you for longer than necessary.” Athens pressed his knees together, the weight on Sparta’s thigh gone. What about the ground was so interesting? Sparta thought, but he kept his mouth shut.

He did not slam the door behind him when he left.

[mongeroffanfics]

Assassins creed Odyssey characters and affection- non cultist addition

Nikolaos

The wolf has grown old and weary after a lifetime of war, and loosing most of his family. In general, he was never a touchy man, he just.. didn’t want to be affectionate.

Don’t get me wrong, he cares about you, but even Stentor rarely got affection. A pat on the shoulder from him is his equivalent of cuddling at this rate- if he doesn’t trust or like you he is not touching you.

Stentor

Like his adopted father, Stentor is not super affectionate. He is, however, far more affectionate than Nikolaos, he will pull you into a sort of half hug if he likes you enough.

He’s still a Spartan, though, so generally you’re getting headlocked or being forced into a sparring match for ‘bonding’

Kassandra

The eagle bearer is also not super affectionate, she’s a little hesitant to start being affectionate- but once she does start? She’s still not super affectionate

She’s a lot like her step father, generally a pat to the shoulder, but with the occasional hug if she can sense that you need it.

Barnabas

Barnabas is very touchy, when he talks to you his hands are moving wildly, or he’s grabbing your shoulders or forearms to keep your attention.

He’s the hugger out of this game, you’re in his arms most days, his head on your shoulder as he tells you about all of his adventures, and everyone he’s met over the years.

Brasidas

For a Spartan, he’s actually quite affectionate! And by that I mean you’re being yanked into bone crushing hugs whenever he spots you (beware of him in public- he’s not above tackling).

More often then not, he has an arm around your shoulders, constantly staking a claim on you as he believes you’re too precious- and others will try and hurt you if neither of you are careful.

Perikles and Aspasia

Perikles is not super great with affection, he’s also very shitty at being social. He has a pinky linked with you most days, practically dragging you along wherever he goes or having you as a support during his speeches.

Aspasia is super sweet, bringing you down to parties and social gatherings, encouraging you to meet Sokrates and all of the other great minds. She’s always hovering near you, her arm brushed against your own.

Lysander

Another Spartan man- another prick. Dont try and touch him, he is not fond of anything physical and will take it as you trying to attack him. If anything the most affection you’ll get, is you getting body slammed into the floor.

You think you’re going crazy hearing someone walking behind you- nope! It’s him, grabbing your arm and fucking throwing you. In his defense he will protect you with his life, he’s just a bit of a dick about it.

[attichoney4u]

Here @allbeendonebefore. Take this and call this a day.

[animereaderinsertwriter]

to fuck a god

tags/warnings: smut, ares x nymph!reader, erwin smith x reader, ancient greece au for a hot minute

a/n: this fic is a gift for the lovely, wonderful @bluebellhairpin whom i adore (and is responsible for my schmexy icon!!!!)

There is shouting in the distance.

Your nose wrinkles, your eyes tighten. Darkness, warm and weighted, presses against you, smothering wakefulness. Peace lulls you back to slumber.

Moments later, there is a scream—  you hear it past the darkness, past the weight. It is the lonely, abandoned cry of a wounded soldier. Your heart lurches, your eyes flutter.

Still you sleep. It has been too long since last you had rest.

It is a crash that finally wakes you. Pain blossoms in your abdomen as a bridge collapses, a crushing pressure that forces air from your lungs. You rise, hot, raging, vengeful; your waters churn, boiling wine-dark with the blood of mortal men. Battle has come to your riverbank, unbidden and unwanted. 

The men do not— cannot— see your body as you emerge from foaming rapids, but that does not lessen the doom they face by the outstretching of your hand. This is your river. The silt and sand beneath their feet, the water in their noses and lungs belong to you; they will not savage it without price

They pay with their lives by the dozen. You extract it from them mercilessly, plunging them beneath the water's surface. As your rapids rage, one man reaches, lunging to gouge another with his spear; even in your wrath, you mark the act as strange. What manner of beast is man that even in the throes of his own death, he seeks to cause another's? You find it too foolish to fathom.

 “For Athens!” cries one man just before you fill his lungs with water. “For the noble House of—”

He does not finish. You smother his battle cry with watery death. Athens could burn for all you cared, along with every noble house and home along the way. You cared little for irreverent man; would that the gods would send you power enough to flood them all.

 “Such fury from one so small. Would that I could inspire like rage in even fifty men.”

The voice, though gruff and deep, was quiet, bemused. In your distraction, you allow a man to escape your clutches and crawl back to shore, gagging and sputtering as he went. Furious, you turn and find the true object of your ire lounging beneath the shade of a fig tree, a scroll in hand. Once, it might have amused you to find the god of war reading, of all things— but you were accustomed now to his all-too-frequent visits, and the oddity had worn off its charm.

“Restless vagabond,” you spit, feet slapping as you walked from your place in the water to the shore next to his tree. “Go back to Sparta, Ares—you're not wanted here.”

So saying, you fold your arms, waiting for a response. When the god doesn’t deign to reply, you flick water from the tips of your fingers in his direction. Shiny droplets land in his dark hair, glistening like dew; a single shimmer of water races down the thick bridge of his nose, then dives off the blunt tip of it to land on his scroll.

“Woman.” 

The word is spoken lowly— a warning— but has no real bite. Your words, however, are far from toothless, heedless of how great and terrible is the power that he wields.

“I am no mere woman— no more than you are mere man.”

Dark-bright eyes look up at you, their russet brown edging on red as they sparkle with mischief. As his gaze follows the curves and plains of your body, Ares smiles— the very definition of crude and lascivious.

“You are a woman in all the ways that count.”

That, you supposed, was true enough.

“Why have you come?”

He nods towards the chaos of your river.

“The men brought me.”

“As if mortal man makes his own war.” Your face contorts into a scowl. “I ask again: Why have you come? Why come you to savage my banks, pollute my waters with foul man-blood and stinking mortal shit?”

“I told you the truth, pretty one.” Ares rolled his scroll gently. It crackled under his huge hands, but did not bend. “The men wage war, and whithersoever they wage, there I must be also.”

“Pretty one,” you grumble, angry at how well the compliment pleased you. “Better wrathful one, or vengeful one.”

“Those too, if it pleases you.”

He stands, brushing grass from his toga. The clothing in question, made of crimson fabric, falls just shy of halfway down his bulging, golden thigh, revealing softly curving muscle. The hulking mass of him throws a shadow long enough to cast doubt and fear into your very bones, even more so as he approaches you— but then he is close, so very close, and murmuring sweetly just for you to hear.

“Come, my Lady Wrath, my Darling Vengeance— does my presence really disturb you so greatly?”

You can smell the battle on him. His scent is metallic, like blood, and salty like sweat— and yet there is also the clean scent of the field, the spice of victory wine, and the smoke of burning bodies. Ares is and always has been a study in opposites, both animal magnetism and soft, reasonable attraction.

"Yes," you admit, striving for exasperation and hitting nearer to tremulous want. "You do disturb me." 

A large, warm hand grips your hip. You suddenly become aware of the bareness of your skin, the cool damp of you against the warm heat of him. The contact brings a flush to your cheeks. Your body responds as his hand flexes, squeezing; you can't help but search his gaze, wondering, as ever, what he's thinking. 

"I love that you're naked," he says, at once soft and sharp. "Your form pleases me, lady nymph. Your kind are never shy, but you are the only river-sprite I know that dares brave land baring all."

He touches you further, that large, rough hand sliding up the curve of your waist. He spreads his warmth from your hip to your ribcage to your neck, gently exploring. The touch is electric, yet strangely innocent. He is a god admiring Creation. Admiring you.

As before, you allow it— and how could you not? 

Who were you to say no to the attention and affection of a god?

"The men are dying in my waters," you say as his fingertips trace your jaw. "I'll fall ill, Ares."

"You shall not. I shall send another of my kin to cleanse you, as I did before."

You have nothing to say in return. As if sensing this, he kisses you, busying your mouth with the more pressing business of his want. Both of his hands are on you now, one on your neck, one at the swell of your ass; as he pulls you close, you can feel the hot, hard length of him against you, protected only by the thin fabric of his toga. The sensation is heady, and you pride yourself on keeping your feet through the ordeal. 

"Will you let me have you once more?" he asks against your lips. "What say you, my nymph of rage?"

You consider for a moment. Always, he gives you the choice. You know he needn't— he is stronger, more powerful, and could and had easily taken what he wanted before. It makes you wonder if giving you the choice, allowing you to choose him, is a way for him to conquer you. In the end, it doesn't matter. There was only ever one answer. 

"Yes." Your breath comes quick as a calloused thumb brushes over your nipple. "Yes, Lord Ares. I will have you." 

In the end, there is no shame. Even Aphrodite herself had been unable to say no to the wiles of the war god. As conqueror, it was not in his nature to be refused. 

Having gained your assent, Ares does not waste precious time. Instead, he kisses up your neck, to your ear, taking the lobe of it between his teeth and scraping gently. The act sends goosebumps racing down your flesh, and you shiver. Ares kisses lower, down to the hollow of your throat and the plain of your chest, his hands wandering to hardened, sensitive nipple and gently curving breast. He touches you, explores you, holds you like you are precious, and your body opens to him.

"Spread your legs," he says against your neck. "I want to taste you."

So saying, he lowers himself to his knees, bringing himself of a height with your sex. Filthy and impossible, he noses at the apex of your thighs, nudges your legs apart with his hands; it is everything you can do to remain standing as he begins a great and terrible onslaught against your dignity. It is so much. It is not enough. Your hands move to his hair, pulling the soft strands as a long, thick finger finds your entrance, and he groans as he finds that his finger slips easily inside. Still, he does not budge from his task until you're trembling, quaking above him as your orgasm nears— and even then, it is only to look up at you with glistening mouth and fuck-me eyes and say,

"Kneel."

You can do nothing but obey. You kneel before Ares, and he kisses you, letting you taste your own pleasure from his mouth. It's filthy and perverse and everything you've ever wanted as he lowers you gently to the earth, wrapping your legs around his wide hips. You look up at him, awestruck. In this moment, he is soft, beautiful. He is nothing like you would have imagined War to be. 

Ares takes a moment to toss aside his clothing. His sex is even larger than you remember it— or, perhaps his form alters according to his godly will, and he is striving to impress. In any case, your sexes are now aligned— his tip to the very opening of your body— and all that remains is one push before he is fully seated. 

Despite all, you find yourself anxious for that push. 

"Do it," you urge, smothering that feeling. "Fuck me, Ares."

You can tell it pleases him to hear his name from your mouth. Even so, he does not acquiesce immediately, which both frustrates and endears him to you. 

"I'll go slowly," he says. "It is no small thing to fuck a god. I thought you'd have learned that by now."

You have no reply— not when his cockhead is pushing slowly into you, making way for the rest of his large, heavy cock. It is nearly a religious experience, being filled by him. You cry out as he's finally seated deeply within you, and all at once you can no longer tell where you end and he begins. 

"Yes," you tell him as he withdraws to begin another slow thrust. "Yes, yes, yes."

The word becomes a song as he picks up the pace. It is a song of moans and cries and deepest feeling— he kisses you as you keen, and the hot, hard length of him slows to an agonizing pace.

"Are you alright?" he asks, as though you are breakable. "Should I slow down?"

It infuriates you. 

With all your power, you shove at his chest. At first, be doesn't seem to understand, taken aback by your newfound aggression— but eventually, when you use the force of your hips to indicate your desire, he goes easily backwards, landing with a gentle thump on his back so that you can straddle his hips, impaling yourself on his length. Hands braced on the warm softness of his chest, you begin to grind, pushing him ever deeper into you until both of your breaths come heavy and your time is near. 

"You were made to be abed with War," Ares tells you, smiling madly up as you move above him. "Indomitable, you are, and ruthless— I have no doubt that a thousand lives could not separate us."

You barely hear him.

"Lovely creature. I would make you my queen, if I could." His voice pitches upward in a moan of pleasure as you use his body. "I would make you heir to my kingdom of ash and broken bone, would burn worlds for you."

Cogent thought is lost to pleasure, but you feel the meaning of his words. It pushes you closer, so close, so close—

"Come, pretty one," he says, "Awake, destroyer of man. I will catch you if you fall, in this life or the next."

You jerk awake. 

A warm hand rests on your shoulder. You turn, groggy with sleep, and find a pair of shining blue eyes peering into your own. Erwin Smith—your husband and commander— has never looked more handsome than now, with chest bare above pajama pants that fall a little too short at his ankle. 

"Are you alright, love?" he asks you, tender, gentle. "A nightmare?"

The wetness between your legs indicates otherwise. You guide his large, calloused hand there, wordlessly allowing him to feel your answer, and he smiles. 

"In that case, I'm sorry for waking you." He presses a kiss to your temple, a finger pressing into your folds. "You don't get enough downtime as it is."

You hum in agreement and run your hands along the solid, curving lines of his biceps. 

"You could always order me on bed rest, commander," you tease as he shifts, placing himself exactly as Ares had in your dream— between your thighs, your legs wrapped around his hips. 

"If I did that, nothing would ever get done."

"No? Am I that big of a help, then, that the Scouts couldn't function without me?"

"No," Erwin grinned, mischievous, "It's because if I put you on bed rest, I'd never leave your bed."

You smile, then gasp as he presses against you, cock straining against the thin fabric of his pajamas. The feeling is startlingly familiar, and all at once, Ares' words come back to you. 

"You were made to be abed with War. Indomitable, you are, and ruthless— I have no doubt that a thousand lives could not separate us."

You wonder if the dream was entirely that. It felt so raw, so real— and, though Erwin and the Ares of your dream shared little physical similarity, you suspected that they were made of the same parts. Only the paint was different. Ares was bronze and dark where Erwin was pale and blond, but in their hearts— in their dark, violent hearts, capable of more and deeper love than a mortal could imagine— they were the same. They were men made of war, bathed in the blood of innocents.

And they both wanted you. 

"Lay back," you tell your husband, pushing at the soft muscle of his chest. "I want to ride you."

Erwin grins. 

"I thought you'd never ask."

[thehoneybeestings]

A Place to Call Home - Kassandra x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Synopsis: When Kassandra of Sparta runs into Phoibe for the first time in a year, the future she'd planned for herself quickly unravels, and the trajectory of her life is changed. Frankly, she should have figured this would happen; Phoibe always gave her a run for her drachmae.

Content/Warnings: sfw, fem reader, fem pronouns/terms used, maternal reader, reader gets drunk, creepy/gross behavior from a douchebag (naturally, kass does not let this slide), possible that some phrases/words used are historically inaccurate, did my best to get accurate translations for the few greek words that are used but i apologize if they aren't used correctly!

A/N: yay! here is the Kassandra x reader feat. reuniting w Phoibe fic that you all voted on. this ended up taking me a bit longer than expected and ended up being much longer than expected, but i wanted to make sure Kassandra's character got all of the love it deserves, esp if this fic might be some folk's first introduction to her. i fully expect that this will flop bc i don't know how active ac odyssey lesbians are anymore, but i loved writing it nevertheless and this page is in fact entirely self-indulgent, so i hope those of you who do read it enjoy!

Love, Bee ୨ৎ

୨ৎ Settling down was not in the plan for Kassandra of Sparta

୨ৎ In fact, it wasn't an option; she had decided this years ago after narrowly making it out of a military fort in Mykonos, and she knew, she couldn't-wouldn't- ever put someone through the stress of never knowing which contract would be the one she didn't make it home from

୨ৎ So, despite being the hopeless romantic she was, she resigned to settling for a few good lays here and there and overworking herself in the meantime 

୨ৎ Still, that didn't mean that there weren't moments- moments like this one- where she'd watch a mother cooing down at her babbling child and grieve what her life could have looked like one day

୨ৎ She sat on the edge of a fountain in Athens on one of her only days off, a sad smile on her face as she watched the chubby-cheeked toddler pluck a piece of bread from their mother’s hands, and couldn't help but get lost in her own imagination 

୨ৎ What it'd be like to come home to a family; to her wife walking out to greet her with a baby on her hip, to see her child’s gummy smile beaming up at her

୨ৎ It was so vivid- so close she felt as if she could reach out and grab it- until, suddenly, she’s broken out of her trance by the the excited shriek of her name coming from her left

୨ৎ It's then that she whips her head around to see,

୨ৎ “Phoibe?” 

୨ৎ She stands up to meet the small girl who's barreling towards her with a familiar toothy grin, nearly tripping over her own feet

୨ৎ “Kassandra! It’s you!” Phoibe exclaims, wrapping her arms around the woman’s waist

୨ৎ Kassandra stares down at the child now glued to her hip in disbelief 

୨ৎ “How are you- what are you doing so far from home?”

୨ৎ “You said you weren’t coming back to Kephallonia,” the girl begins, “so I decided to leave, too!”

୨ৎ Kassandra is exasperated- but frankly, unsurprised- to learn that in the year since she’d left the small island, the rascal had managed to sneak onto a ship heading to Athens from Kephallonia, and had since found work as a servant for a woman called Aspasia

୨ৎ “Right,” Kassandra begins wearily, “And where does this Aspasia live, hm?”

୨ৎ “In the leader house, of course! She and Perikles like to kiss!”

୨ৎ Of course

୨ৎ So she had also managed to land one degree removed from the leader of Athens

୨ৎ “By the Gods, Phoibe,” she sighs, “you are… a handful.”

୨ৎ The handful had now taken Kassandra by the arm, dragging her towards Perikles’s residence with an earful about how big the estate was, how nice Aspasia had been to take her in, how pretty the leader’s daughter was…

୨ৎ That’s when you come rounding a corner; hand flying to your heart as you exhale in relief at the sight of the 10-year-old

୨ৎ “Phoibe,” you pant, “how many times have I told you: you pick one spot for hide and seek, not a new spot every time you think I’m going to find you…”

୨ৎ Kassandra told herself that her interest was only piqued because you seemed to have a relationship with the girl she’d practically considered her own for so many years, and not because you were breathtaking

୨ৎ (It was because you were breathtaking) 

୨ৎ “I’m sorry, Y/n,” Phoibe mumbles, scratching at the back of her neck, “but look! It’s Kassandra! After all this time! I knew I’d see her again!”

୨ৎ Your eyes lift from the dark-headed child to the dark-headed woman beside her; whose heart was officially breaking at how overjoyed Phoibe was to have crossed paths with her

୨ৎ You were suddenly finding yourself quite pleased to have crossed paths with her, too…

୨ৎ She was tall- a little over six feet- her stance wide and strong. Her armor did little to conceal her muscled arms and legs, her skin nearly as golden as the armor itself. Her wavy locks of deep chestnut were settled over her shoulder in a braid, stray tendrils framing her features; her strong jaw, the scars above her soft lips and on her freckled nose, her piercing tawny eyes…

୨ৎ It was safe to say that your interest was piqued, too

୨ৎ You’re snapped out of your trance by an excited tug on your Chiton

୨ৎ “Kassandra, this is Y/n, the leader’s daughter! Didn’t I say she was so pretty?”

୨ৎ You choke out a laugh as your face heats up at the child's straightforwardness, and Kassandra knows that the flutter in her stomach means she needs to be careful around you

୨ৎ But as much as she was a hopeless romantic… she was a flirt; she just couldn't help it

୨ৎ She shoots you a smirk before looking back down at the girl- who now has her arm in one hand, and your chiton in the other- with a raised brow

୨ৎ “I’ve never known you to tell a lie, Phoibe.”

୨ৎ Naturally, Phoibe insisted on spending as much time as possible with the Misthios now that she was in Athens, so you'd grown quite accustomed to seeing Kassandra

୨ৎ Which meant you'd also grown quite accustomed to being shamelessly flirted with

୨ৎ The way she'd scan your figure when Phoibe wasn't looking, the way she'd place a guiding hand on your lower back if she needed to walk past you, the way she'd taken to calling you agapi more than she’d call you your own name

୨ৎ At first, it was all fun and games, and considering that the most action you got these days was dinner with some obnoxious suitor, you were more than happy to entertain her lighthearted advances

୨ৎ But eventually, Phoibe became insistent on spending time with both of her favorite people, and now you were spending your days strolling the streets of Athens with Kassandra as you watched over the young girl who had you both wrapped around her finger

୨ৎ And suddenly, this felt far too much like the life she'd already accepted she couldn't have

୨ৎ When the two of you weren't keeping Phoibe out of trouble, you were exchanging witty banter (leaving the misthios impressed by your ability to keep up with her sarcasm), doubled over in laughter at each other's jokes, or listening intently to each other's ramblings

୨ৎ It was comforting, warm, domestic 

୨ৎ And that was dangerous

୨ৎ She knew that she needed to reign her feelings in now, or it'd be too late

୨ৎ But when she walks in on you comforting a wailing Phoibe- rubbing soothing circles onto her back, speaking to her gently and sweetly- she feels a familiar fluttering in the pit of her stomach

୨ৎ Kassandra knew what that meant; and now, she was cursing herself for not listening when her mother told her the story of Icarus

୨ৎ It was too late; she'd flown too close to the sun, and now, she was officially in too deep

୨ৎ She forces one foot in front of the other, hoping that whatever the situation at hand was would distract her from the realization she'd just made

୨ৎ “Everything alright?” she asks, kneeling down in front of you and the girl perched on your lap

୨ৎ “Y/n is leaving us forever!” Phoibe sobs, “For a man she doesn’t love!”

୨ৎ You press your lips together in a thin line in an attempt to hold back a laugh, but Kassandra’s worried eyes shoot up to meet yours before she can help it

୨ৎ “Please tell me that's not true,”  They read

୨ৎ “I’ve got a suitor visiting today,” you explain to Kassandra, before turning back to the inconsolable girl on your lap, “which does not mean that I am going anywhere. He only wants to meet me.” 

୨ৎ Relief replaces the anxiety that had begun to stir within Kassandra, and she kicks herself again for letting herself get this attached

୨ৎ “Why do you have to get married to a boy and leave me, Y/n? You don’t even like boys!”

୨ৎ Kassandra snaps out of her thoughts with a snort 

୨ৎ “She’s got a point,” she teases, looking up at you with a smirk

୨ৎ You sigh in mock annoyance, but the smile on your face works to soothe them both

୨ৎ “It's going to take a lot more than some stupid suitor to drag me away from the two of you.”

୨ৎ Phoibe wraps her small arms around your neck, burying her head in your shoulder

୨ৎ You're glad to see that you've finally managed to console her, but when you look to Kassandra, there's a longing in her eyes that you don't miss

୨ৎ Before you can ask what's on her mind, she's standing up to leave

୨ৎ “I've, uh… I’ve got to get going. Barnabas has some errands for me to run today,” she states casually, hoping to avoid your inevitable prying (it hadn’t taken long for her to discover that you could see straight past her aloof exterior)

୨ৎ Because you can read her like a book, you know she doesn’t want you to question her sudden change in mood; so, instead, you invite her to the upcoming symposium you’ll be attending

୨ৎ “My pater insisted I go to represent Athens, but he doesn't want me going on my own… I was wondering if you wouldn't mind accompanying me?”

୨ৎ She knows that she should say no; that she should be doing everything in her power to distance herself from now on

୨ৎ She also knows that there’s no way in Hades she’s letting you sit in a room full of gross men and endless wine by yourself

୨ৎ So, here she is, standing against the wall of the leader's estate in Boeotia, arms crossed and a scowl on her face

୨ৎ She hates these things- can’t stand the pretentious company and meaningless conversation- but every time her eyes find you in the crowd, she can’t help but quirk her lips up into a grin

୨ৎ You’re sitting with a group of women your age, gossiping about who knows what with a goblet of wine in your hand and a wide smile on your face; one that grows wider when you catch her gaze from across the room

୨ৎ She doesn’t miss the way you nearly trip over your dress as you stand to make your way to her, brows raised in amusement as you approach

୨ৎ “Why are you brooding, Kassandra; come, have some wine!” 

୨ৎ Your hand is on her arm, and she knows you’re probably just steadying yourself, but that doesn’t keep her heartbeat from picking up 

୨ৎ “I think you’ve had enough for the both of us, meli,” she chortles

୨ৎ “Oh, please?” you plead, your hand moving to rest on the breastplate of her armor; and when you lean into her, batting those pretty lashes…

୨ৎ She has to close her eyes, clenching her jaw and taking in a deep breath to settle herself

୨ৎ “No, Y/n; I’m here to look out for you. I want to stay sharp.”

୨ৎ She can’t help the disappointment she feels when you drop your hand and back away

୨ৎ “Fine,” you pout; but then, you’re looking up at her through your eyelashes again, a mischievous smirk playing on your face. “You’ll just have a drink with me when we get home.” 

୨ৎ When we get home

୨ৎ The words echo in her mind as she watches you waltz back to your friends

୨ৎ It wasn’t worth denying anymore that she’d already imagined what going home with you might be like; what coming home to you might be like

୨ৎ She cursed herself again for letting it get this far, but by the Gods, you were a dream

୨ৎ And clearly, she wasn’t the only one who thought so

୨ৎ “I’d put a ring on her finger tomorrow if it meant I could watch her walk away for the rest of my life.”

୨ৎ The scowl Kassandra had on her face moments ago reappears when the voice of one of the sleazebags she’d hoped to avoid tonight cuts through her thoughts 

୨ৎ “Pardon me?” She spits

୨ৎ “Aw, come on,” he drawls, “can you blame me? In fact, I was hoping to get a piece tonight, if you know what I mean.”

୨ৎ She can’t help but laugh in his face. “You’re a real class act, huh?”

୨ৎ“You’re no classier than I am, Misthios. Now listen; just let me have a little fun with her, and then you can escort her back home, no fuss. I’ve even got drachmae to spare.”

୨ৎ The look Kassandra gives the man- icy and threatening- is enough to warn him that if he spoke again, he was leaving with missing teeth; and he when he finally backs away in surrender, she’s making a b-line for you

୨ৎ “Hey,” she calls out from behind you, her expression stony as she watches you rise to meet her, “It’s time to go, agapi.”

୨ৎ “What?” you whine, “but we were just-”

୨ৎ “Y/n. It’s time to go.”

୨ৎ The seriousness with which she spoke was sobering, and you suddenly understand why everyone- everyone but you and Phoibe, that is- seemed so intimidated by her

୨ৎ The two of you are halfway back to Athens before you finally feel her relax

୨ৎ “What happened back there?” You ask, absentmindedly toying with the straps of her armor

୨ৎ “Don’t worry about it;” she asserts. “Did you have fun?”

୨ৎ “I did!” You respond, easily distracted in your drunken state. “The girls were asking about you.”

୨ৎ “Oh?”

୨ৎ “Mhm,” you muse, head falling down onto her shoulder from your place behind her on Phobos, “wanted to know if you were spoken for.”

୨ৎ “And what did you tell them?” She asks with a chuckle

୨ৎ “Said you were, of course.”

୨ৎ “Oh? I am?”

୨ৎ “Yeah. You’re mine.”

୨ৎ You were drunk

୨ৎ That’s what Kassandra repeated to herself, over and over, for the rest of the ride

୨ৎ ‘She’s drunk. She doesn’t mean it. She won’t even remember this in the morning.’

୨ৎ You remember in the morning

୨ৎ And with your heart in your stomach upon remembering your drunken confession, you approach Kassandra while Phoibe fetches her wooden sword for the lessons the misthios promised she’d give her

୨ৎ “How you feeling?” She asks with a hand on her hip, toying with the hilt of her blade

୨ৎ She was nervous; that was her tell

୨ৎ “Not too bad, actually. The snack helped,” you’d say, recalling the small plate of bread and cheese she’d made you eat before seeing you off to bed

୨ৎ “Good,” she nods. “I, uh… I’m thinking of heading off to Messara tomorrow.”

୨ৎ “Messara?” you repeat, your stomach dropping, “That’s… nearly a world away.”

୨ৎ “Yeah,” she sighs, and you notice that she won’t look at you, “it is. There’s good work there.”

୨ৎ “There’s good work in Athens.”

୨ৎ You can’t help the edge of your words, but you know it isn’t fair to take offense; not until she knows how you feel

୨ৎ It was now, or never

୨ৎ “Listen… last night-”

୨ৎ “Don’t.”

୨ৎ The hand previously toying with her blade shoots up to stop you

୨ৎ “You don’t need to explain. It’s alright. It was a meaningless, drunken comment; I get it… but I’ve got to go, Y/n. You make me feel things that I can’t afford to feel. You make me want things that I can’t have. It isn’t your fault- I should have been more careful- but I can’t spend my days with you, I can’t watch you raise Phoibe, and pretend that you, that this, isn’t exactly what I want.”

୨ৎ Kassandra feels time slow down as she waits for you to respond; but when you step closer, your hand reaching out to wipe away the stray tear that had made its way down her cheek, she swears time stops all together

୨ৎ “And if life with you is what I want, what then?”

୨ৎ Her breath catches in her throat, eyes searching your face for any trace of humor, but you’re as serious as she was about getting you the fuck out of that symposium

୨ৎ “You don’t want life with me.”

୨ৎ “You don’t get to make that call.” 

୨ৎ Your hand drops to her arm, your thumb rubbing soothing circles into the muscle of her bicep

୨ৎ “Look,” you begin with a sigh, “I’m getting out of here, too, and I’m taking Phoibe with me. The threat of war is far too pressing for her to work for Aspasia safely, and never mind that a child shouldn’t have to work anyway. My mater lived in a house right outside of Lalaia; I loved visiting, so when she died, she left it to me. There, life will be simple- peaceful- for Phoibe; but you know as well as I do that Phokis is full of good work for mercenaries, so, if you wanted… you’d always have a place to call home.”

୨ৎ When Kassandra finally dares to look into your eyes, her own are filled with a yearning that nearly breaks your heart

୨ৎ “You’d like that?”

୨ৎ “I’m not sure life would feel complete without it.”

୨ৎ And the kiss she plants on your lips says that she’s not sure life would feel complete without you

୨ৎ Her lips are soft, tender, as they move against your own; her hands on either side of your face, your hands on her waist, and-

୨ৎ “Woohoo!” 

୨ৎ You both jump, eyes wide as your heads shoot to the source of the loud cheer

୨ৎ “Phoibe,” Kassandra breathes out; and this time, it’s her turn to place a hand on her racing heart, “Malaka, you scared the shit out of me!”

୨ৎ “I knew you would fall in love with pretty Y/n! I just knew it! And hey… you told me swearing is bad.”

୨ৎ You burst into laughter, and Phoibe is quick to follow suit in her own fit of giggles when Kassandra scoops her up, twirling her around in dizzying circles

୨ৎ And as the sound of laughter from her girls rings in her ears, Kassandra realizes that she’s finally getting what she swore she never would: a place to call home

End ୨ৎ

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

agapi: love

meli: honey

malaka: motherfucker (kassandra's fav word lmfao)

[mistymem0ryy]

Spartan General!Capitano x Athenian Noblewoman!Reader 

Summary: After being forced into an arranged marriage with a politician much beyond your years, you find yourself wasting away as you fulfill the role of proper and noble wife, but as the war that had been waged far away from your land finally reaches the walls that protect your abode you find yourself faced with someone you should have forgotten long ago.

Warnings: descriptions of war, messy brain rot at the beginning in order to explain the historical setting for those that aren't familiar with Ancient Greek history.

Author’s note: do not get discouraged by the initial discussion of ancient wars trust me it gets better along the way – source: trust me bro

No beta we are slain like Reader’s husband

Ok so listen…. I’ve recently been delving again into Thucydides’ “History of the Peloponnesian War”, which is a historical book regarding the Peloponnesian War between two leagues of city states in Ancient Greece… stay, trust me this is worth your time….

As we know the head Polis (city-state) of each enemy league in this war was Athens, renowned for the flourishing of philosophy alongside ancient tragedy and comedy, and Sparta, remembered for its glorious soldiers and also said to be a state where children were examined upon birth and if they did not fit the expected apparent physical necessities for Sparta then they were exposed to the elements and left to die…

Now imagine this…

Spartan General!Capitano and Athenian Noblewoman!Reader 

As we know arranged marriages between young girls and older men was the norm in ancient times, especially between noble families that needed to fortify their stance in the games of power, so we have noblewoman Reader in a rather unhappy marriage with a nobleman from another Athenian family which during the war is called into battle against the Spartans and their allies.

Reader’s husband is slain in battle… I wonder by whose hand… 

And even though the majority of noble people would be protected under fortified walls alongside a good force of protectors, we don’t really need to follow history word for word now do we…

Let’s say somehow an army of Spartan warriors is capable of penetrating and invading a rich part of Athens, anyone that has read ‘The Iliad’ knows what happens next… 

After the slaughtering of the majority of the male members of the village, the enslavement of children and women would be next, but instead of being sold into slavery in ports far away from your homeland, there was always a rather more luxurious form of slavery and that was the one of being take as war booty.

Capitano would feel as if it were his duty to take you as his, since he was the one responsible for the death of your husband after all, a man that in ancient times would have legally been seen as your sole providor. ( And wouldn't you rather be the wife of a Spartan General instead of an Athenian Politician? At least in Sparta women can legally own and inherit land… )

This isn’t the first time you met Capitano, before the conflicts of war the exchange of goods and people between different city states was much more common, religious festivals, noble parties, sport competitions and much more.

Another crucial aspect of ancient society was also that of hospitality, we can see it expressed many a times in Homer’s ‘Odyssey’, to be allowed a stay in someone’s house is a sort of social contract, for now the family of your hospitable friend expects your family to one day open their arms to receive a member of their own conglomerate as an expression of mutual hospitality.

So let’s say that years before the war during the Persian invasions, Capitano’s father helped one of your grandfathers during the incessant battles, offering him and some of his soldiers a place to rest and nourish while preparing for the battlefield. 

According to the law of hospitality your family is now expected to one day receive anyone from Capitano’s blood when in need of aid.

And this happens during a religious festival in Athens, you and Capitano are still quite young, the conversation of marriage has not yet reached your maiden ears and Capitano has just enrolled in one of Sparta’s many academies to become more adapt to the military role that he will one day fulfill due to his family’s legacy.

Since you both are still young you are allowed to interact with each other and play around, Capitano wasn’t exactly an extroverted child, even as a kid his stoic mannerisms were already taking root due to the nature of his education, but somehow you were capable of brewing within his being a genuine childish wish to let go and enjoy nature’s gifts while he still could. 

The stay was prolonged during the festival and you found yourself becoming someone young Capitano considered a genuine friend, you did not fear him due to his unnatural strength for a child nor did you fall on your knees and worshiped him the moment you heard his family name, you were kind and enveloped by the blessings of Artemis, something rare within Spartan walls.

Though after the festival you could both have exchanged letters, according to social expectation such an act was not looked upon with kind eyes. 

You gave Capitano a parting gift, one of your most precious pieces of jewelry for him to keep (something your mother could never find out about), in childlike wonder he made you promise that you would not forget him and that in return he would not forget the kindness that you had shown him.

Capitano waited, he waited for years, he waited until he reached the age of adulthood and was no longer looked upon as a boy but as a man, but perhaps, he waited too long.

His one plan was to attain glory in battle and utilize his prestige as a way of convincing your father that he was deserving of your hand, though Capitano was of noble blood the fact that he was a Spartan could not be ignored, any noble in their sane mind would rather marry one of their children within their own city state than seeing themselves forced to sending them away into a Polis far away for their family home.

By the time Capitano was climbing the ranks and being cheered on by his fellow Spartans for his strength and technique in battle, he could not help but look into the Northern stars and painstakingly wait for the day in which you both could reunite.

He received a letter from one of his fellow Spartans that was spending some time in the city of Athens, informing him of your marriage to come…

The vile thing was more than twice your age, noble or not, Capitano saw him as a plague that must be eradicated from this earth to preserve your pure soul. 

It was the first time anyone saw Capitano genuinely lose his grip upon his stoic façade, and give into a side of himself kept only for the thrill of battle, kept only for the dance between him and death…

Capitano couldn’t feel what he was doing, he believed his rage had taken his own vessel as a puppet and maneuvered him around according to its cunning wish.

By the end of that evening 12 healers were rushing around Capitano’s family’s estate, doing their best to treat his wounds so as to not leave any major scars behind…

Capitano was confined to a monitored room for nearly a month, by the end of his treatment his father found it difficult to face his own son, there was nothing to be said, that evening would not be discussed in public but it certainly wouldn’t be erased from the minds of those unlucky enough to witness it.

Capitano heard the sound of clashing chains and the following sound of a closing door. His father had left something for him right upon his bedside table and retired with no commentary.

Capitano preferred it that way, he didn’t need the words of others to confirm what he already knew.

The state of the letter, the state of the dining room, the state of his face… 

Better to not linger upon it for long.

Capitano decides that this will not be the end, it is far from it. He will not allow this cruel world to encage you alongside that vermin when you were born to bless the world with your charm… or at least, be pitiful enough to bless him with it.

He finally looks to his right and for a split second an expression of conflicting surprise takes over his features, out of all possible ways to remediate this problem he could not help but see his father’s decision as the most practical approach.

Besides the flowery accessory that has taken his bedside table as his home for countless years, there is a towering figure that looms within the vicinity.

He must remind himself to congratulate the craftsman later on during the week.

For he has never seen a Helmet as rectified and as ominous as the helmet that sits besides your parting gift. 

♡ ♡

By the time you saw the looming figure within your vicinity you had lost authority over your own limbs. 

You were supposed to be safe. 

The strength of the walls should have been capable of rivaling that of the Cyclopes.

All you could smell was blood, houses being raided left and right, the cries of children for their dying fathers and stolen mothers.

For the first time in a while you are glad that you were never able to conceive. 

To watch your own child being ripped from your grasp by a Spartan clad in bloodied armor would have been the end of you.

You are all being taken to the Spartan camp, the city’s ruins will not even house the cry of an injured owl.

While the yells of Spartan soldiers ordering you all to move forward invade your ears relentlessly you watch as side glances are throwed in your direction, a certain coolness envelops your previously adrenaline filled body, the heat that dominated every layer of skin escapes as if threatened to do so.

It takes you some seconds to realize that the sun is no longer hammering into your skin with its unforgiving rays, you wished you could pronounce it a temporary blessing of Helios, perhaps even Apollo had taken pity upon your kind, but the growing shade that enveloped beyond the frame of your own told you anything you had to know. 

Someone was standing right behind you, and you had no idea if they were beast or human. 

You refuse to turn your head towards the source of the looming shadow, you would rather die in blissful ignorance now than to live long enough to reach any foreign camp where not even your title could be melted into a shield.

A freezing armored hand reached towards your chin, though it was apparent that those hands were molded for battle, the gentle care with which they carried their task was the real source of surprise.

Slowly and carefully your face was directed upwards, as if the fragility of your composition had increased ten fold, not even your own husband dared treat you with such tenderness.

You already knew what war helmets looked like, though every city state had their own garments of war and shields marked by the symbols of their homeland, there was never much change when it came to war helmets, and yet, you have never seen anything near to the one that hides the void that you suspect is now carefully inspecting your panicked features. 

You feel warm.

A certain warmth feels your body as you recognize the flower garment that decorates the upper part of the helmet.

You can feel the arrival of a headache.

A deep voice escapes from the confines of the helmet.

Though not common for every woman, you had been blessed with the opportunity of learning how to both read and write, your tutors exposed you to a grand variety of noble dialects and literary works before you even knew the duties of those of the cursed sex.

But that language… It was clearly Spartan Greek, most probably a rural dialect since you weren't capable of translating it, but that voice… it was not fit for such a tongue… whatever is being said, this speaker does not wish for you to know.

You can feel your legs give into the ground, before you are met with your own downfall you are swiftly caught by a pair of rigid arms. 

For how many days did they encircle the city?

For how long did they ravage the elegantly crafted buildings of which now only ash remains?

When was the last time you ate without the fear of being poisoned?

When was the last time you slept without the fear of being killed in your bed?

Your body is pressed against fresh bronze, a swift breeze tickles your skin as you are carried away from the crowd, if there are any protests against your taking then none is loud enough for you to hear.

 Though you are sure that the same hands that hold you must have slaughtered countless men you cannot detect any ill intention from this stranger, he does not carry the smell of death upon him and there is not a single blotch of blood protruding from his frame.

You think of closing your eyes and pronouncing a prayer, but who would you dedicate your hymn to… The Gods were clearly not on your side and you fear no dear ancestor could aid from this situation. 

Not even your husband could help you know, his body must be buried beneath unforgiving Gaya alongside the corpses of countless allies.

He will not receive the proper burial. 

Hades will not welcome him into his domain.

His soul has been damned to wander the mortal realm, unseen and forgotten.

You cannot find within yourself any sort of emotion that a mourning widow should display when faced with such a tragedy.

You can feel the approach of sleep.

And as your eyes give in to exhaustion, your heart enforces into your mind something that you have been forcibly keeping away from your thoughts…

You know that the arms that protect you belong to no stranger… but perhaps for your sake, to feign ignorance would be for the best…

Perhaps, you won't even have to resort to such a thing… If the fates are kind then once you fall into the realm of dreams while in the arms of a stranger you will then wake up in the embrace of Kharon instead.

Final Author's notes: I am dead, I wrote this after reading Aristophanes for a whole morning, my brain is in shambles, it was supposed to be a small rambling but I ended up getting excited about it, I am going to take a benuron now, my mind palace is deteorating but at least Spartan General!Capitano <3333

[mimbotomy]

WIP Tag Game!

Tagged by the amazing @lazuliquetzal, whose fic Lie by Omission is one of the best fics I’ve ever read and even if you know nothing about God of War you should go read it right now.

When I did one of these a million years ago (like eight months ago), I had 22 docs in my WIP folder. I now have 45 😳 which is still a lot even after acknowledging that a couple of months ago, I broke up a couple of my fics into multiple docs so I can write on my phone more easily. You can tell which ones those are because they are the only ones that are organized. I actually have only 31 WIPs and for all of y’all’s sake because a lot of those WIPs are somewhat incomprehensible, I’m going to simplify even further here and only include the fics I’ve really worked on in the last few months. But don’t worry, there’s still a bunch of funny WIP names!

Tagging @aeide and @auroralykos and @zephyrwolf5 and whoever wants to do this!

In order of the fic most recently worked on, and then by sub WIP if applicable 😂:

CoK: Korinth/Naxos, Pylos/Athens, Mykonos/Sparta, Sparta III/Korinth II, Elis/Arkadia/Achaia, Phokis/Boeotia/Sparta II, Alt POVs, Kythera/Krete/Kos, Pre Korinth

Kass x Allie time loop better version 2

Rebirth: Act II, Act III, Epilogue

NaMR Not Posted: zombie cave, Phoibe II - Ron I, Brasidas III - who fucking knows, WEDDING!!!

Electric Boogaloo

DDD

In the Shadow of Zeus

TAKE 3 Kratos and Kassandra bitch about the gods and both have brothers called Deimos clearly there is something there

Modern AU

An Injury to the Living - depressing do not write!

Bacon bits crack outtakes

PJO x ACO - stop making crossovers Michaela ffs

A Flap of an Eagle’s Wings

To Live by Another Name

An Honorable Spartan Woman

The Caged Bird name change???

Golden Eyes, Dark Wings

[flamencodiva]

Underworld's Princess 7

Description: While the Greek God’s and Goddesses hold divine power, there is also a responsibility that comes with that very power. What happens when Illiara, or Y/N as she likes to call herself, decides that those very responsibilities aren’t worth the power? Prepare for the wild adventure of Y/N finding who she truly is, fighting against her blood and her love, as she attempts to break free from the cursed bonds placed upon her and to finally live free.  

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!GreekGoddess!Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: Language, Blood, Violence, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn

Word Count:4877

Beta: @watermelonlipstick (thank you so much for beating this hun! you have no idea how much I appreciate you!)

Also going to thank @writercole and @jensengirl83 you ladies are my ride or die and I love you both soooooo much!

Book Cover on Main Masterlist by: @talesmaniac89 and Dividers by @firefly-graphics Aesthetic Created by: Me 

Underworld’s Princess Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Sam and Dean had driven to Parthenon only to find that the professor had left to lecture at the local college. Professor Nedra Athena Athanasiou (a-tha-nah-see-ou) was beginning to pick up steam on the Ancient Greek Gods when the Winchesters slipped in, having been directed to the class by a sleepy-looking coed. . 

“We start to see that civilization and different societies now segregate based on the gods they worship,” Professor Athanasiou lectured. 

“Like Sparta worshiping Ares and Athens Athena?” A student called out, raising their hand somewhat pointlessly at the same time they spoke. 

“Exactly right,” the professor acknowledged. “But many other gods had their worshipers, and that included Hades. Most notably, when one invokes the name of a God, you garner their attention. So, when invoking Hades, simply call upon the overseer of justice in the afterlife. He determined the worth of your soul.” 

“But didn’t he kidnap Persephone?” The girl who’d asked seemed genuinely disturbed, taking notes furiously with eyebrows twisted in concentration. 

“Ah,” professor Athanasiou chuckled, “The famed story of Hades and Persephone. There are many versions of the story. But I have discovered an ancient tablet in the very sacred area of the Archeon river in Ephyra. Rumors circulate that the river is the gateway to the Underworld. While Hades did not have a large following of worshipers, he had a small cult, the Oracles of the Dead. These were simple seers who could predict the death of someone. They would commune with Thanatos and then see the judgment of the soul Hades had placed on them.” 

“Doesn’t that mean that they were risking Hades' wrath? I mean, to worship the dead or underworld was a bad omen, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, that is the assumption,” professor Athanasiou agreed with her student. “And yet, Lord Hades is said to be compassionate when it comes to grief. The Necromanteion of Acheron was a place for mourners to commune with their lost loved ones. It is for those who respected Hades and his rule over the souls of our world. Considering that most stories are about Zeus and his exploits.” She paused for dramatic effect. “We all can see how just because he oversees the souls and determines their worth, Hades was a pussy cat in comparison.” 

Much of the class chuckled. 

To his surprise, Dean found himself interested in the volley between them.. A small part of him wondered about the god and his wife. 

“If Hades didn’t kidnap Persephone,” he called out, “then what’s the skinny there?”  

“Dean, what are you–” Sam began, quickly cut off by the professor. 

“That is the conversation we were supposed to have,” she chuckled. “But Hades stumbled upon the young goddess when she approached his gate. She had demanded entrance to see how things worked. That, and she was curious about the lord of the Underworld.” The class laughed again when she put bogeyman-like emphasis on ‘underworld’, and Sam thought it sounded genuine. She was good–not every professor could keep college kids on the edge of their seats about old stories like this. 

Dean leaned his elbows on his thighs, resting his head in his hands as he listened. Sam wasn’t sure what angle his brother was going for, but whatever kept Dean invested in research was fine by him. 

“Hades knew that Demeter would not want her daughter consorting with the dead and other creatures of the Underworld, so he demanded she leave,” professor Athanasiou continued. “Hades had Cerberus guard the gates and deny entry to the young Persephone. But the young Goddess was determined to explore the Underworld and learn about its ruler. You see,” she paused and looked at her students. “It’s hotly debated whether Hades was a true Olympian.”

“Wouldn’t calling him an Olympian mean he had a throne on Olympus?” A student asked from the back of the room. 

“And therein lies the debate,” the professor announced, “For one to be considered an Olympian, one must have a throne on Olympus. But Hades is a part of the Olympic Gods as he is the third brother to Zeus, and he helped both to defeat the Titans and imprison them. This is the paradox we find ourselves in.” 

“Persephone brought three gifts for Cerberus. Each head wanted something different,” she progressed. “The first head to her left loved balls. The middle head was fond of bones to chew on, and the third head loved to eat fresh meat.” 

Professor Athanasiou used her body to act out the actions she narrated. Dean couldn’t help but smirk at the professor's teaching method, but perked up when she continued the story. 

“Once Persephone was sure she gained Cerberus’ trust,” she narrated, “the young Goddess made her way towards the river where the ferryman Charon awaited. As we all know, Charon is the ferryman who takes souls to Lord Hades to be assessed and placed in Tartarus, where one is tortured for all eternity. Or the Elysian fields where you live your days in peace.” 

Dean raised his hand, “So this is the Greeks’ version of the uh, pearly gates and the deep fryer?” He glanced around when the students near him snickered at the rough gestures above and below he’d made, the apparent annoyance on his face only decipherable to Sam as covering up a touch of self-consciousness.

“One can make that assessment, yes.” The professor offered him a smirk. “I’m sorry, you seem rather new to my class and –” 

“I do apologize, Ma’am,” Dean offered. “I’m looking to transfer and I was told this class was taught by a goddess, who is passionate about Greek History and Mythology. I have to say they were right. .” 

“Hmmm,” the professor blushed and winked at him. “I hope my lecture so far has wine and dined you today. Thought you might want to tone the flirting down a bit. ” 

“Yes, Ma’am,” Dean chuckled. 

“Now,” professor Athanasiou continued, “Persephone would sneak into the Underworld and shadow Lord Hades for days. She watched as he passed judgment on the souls that entered the Underworld. She could see that his eyes were filled with sadness and loneliness. Something that had the young goddess’s heart ache. She didn’t like seeing the Lord of the Underworld in pain, much less that he was technically her Uncle. Then again, these are the Gods we are discussing, but that is a discussion for another day. Anyway, seeing Hades look sad and lonely propelled the young Goddess to reveal herself.” 

Professor Athanasiou paced in front of her desk as she continued. Persephone had begun to annoy Hades with trivial questions such as his favorite hobby and what he thought of the stars. Dean couldn’t help but wonder why the Goddess of Agriculture wanted to be with a God who handled dead souls day in and day out. 

Dean continued to listen intently as the professor reached the climax. 

“For all the time that Persephone had gone to visit Hades,” she stated, “Her mother, Demeter, had begun to notice. Demeter was very protective of her daughter and was horrified that her precious Louloúdi—flower for those of you who have not taken Greek yet.” 

She chuckled along with other students in the class. 

“So, she was horrified to see her daughter communicating and intimately touching the Lord of the Underworld. Now mind you, intimately to Demeter was Persephone linking arms with Hades as he led her deeper into his realm.” 

Professor Athanasiou paused and took a deep breath. Her eyes roamed over all the students in attendance before falling on Dean’s intense stare.  

“This is where the myth coincides with what was written on the tablet I found,” she held Dean’s gaze as she moved on. “Demeter went to Zeus and accused Hades of kidnapping her daughter and imprisoning her in the Underworld. Of Course, Persephone being Zeus’s daughter, he was outraged at the thought. But then again, he felt sorrow for his brother, who spent much of his time in solitude. So, Zeus called upon Hades and Persephone and demanded to know what was happening. Well, to make this incredibly long story short,” she paused as her students laughed. 

Sam couldn’t help but notice the slightly sad look on the professor’s face. 

“Zeus knew that Persephone was curious but had forbidden her from seeing Hades. However, Persephone ignored Zeus’s warnings and snuck her way into the Underworld and to the Elysian fields. There she took a pomegranate from the tree of knowledge and took a bite. She had six seeds in her mouth and was about to take another when Hades stopped Persephone.”

The professor nodded and walked across the front of the lecture hall. She paused and took a deep breath before turning back to her students. 

“Hades gazed at her with fire in her eyes before she pulled him in for a fierce kiss that melted the cold heart of the Lord of the Underworld.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “it was at this moment that the woven tapestry of the Fates had begun to glow. This was meant to happen.” 

Dean huffed and let out a snort. He remembered dealing with one of the Fates and wasn’t interested in a round two. 

“You see, fate has a funny way of working. And the three Fates, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, forsaw  the one thing Zeus could not. Hades and Persephone would have a powerful child who would not bend to Zeus’s will. For you see, the Gods all had to follow Zeus’s will, and even though Hades could technically usurp his brother, he chose not to. Hades is very content with his life in the Underworld, and with Persephone by his side, he saw no need to be amongst the Gods of Olympus. But his youngest daughter was rumored to be the one who will never bend to the word of Zeus, for she would hold a power to rival his own. And should Zeus continue to fight Fate,” the professor chuckled, “the young Goddess would be his downfall.”   

 Dean rolled his eyes. This was getting him and Sam no closer to finding this Illiara. He was about to get up when the professor cleared her throat. 

“This is what Fate had in store. I just happened to find a piece of the tapestry found to prove my claim that the stories of Hades and Persephone are all about suppressing what one does not understand.”

Dean felt his breath hitch as a pair of violet eyes stared back at him. The professor's picture showed a woman with shades of violet and dark purple in her hair standing atop a hill overlooking the world. She looked ethereal to Dean, and something about her pulled at his heart, even if it was just a picture. But something else caught Dean’s eye: a figure in the background, bright green eyes looking at the goddess as her hair flowed in the wind. Something flashed in Dean’s mind.   

‘Find her and guide her. But your task is not easy, vessel of the archangels. You will be tested and pushed to your limits as you rise, Hero of the Underworld.’ 

Dean shook his head at the sensation and groaned. Whatever that was, he had no time to dwell on it. He had to find this Illiara and send her packing back to where she belonged, the Underworld.

“You okay?” Sam asked, concern flashing on his face. 

“Fine,” Dean mumbled as he turned his attention back to the professor. 

“It seems our time is up,” she said as students grumbled. “I know, I know.” she held her hands up in surrender. “But I do have one assignment for you. Visit the replica of the Parthenon in Nashville,” she announced, her eyes holding on to Dean’s gaze. “You won’t regret it, plus it's extra credit, as long as I get a report on anything interesting you find.” 

The Winchesters waited patiently for the rest of the students to filter out of the lecture hall, digesting the story. But on top of the words, Dean’s mind was on the picture of the famed Illiara. He walked over to the projection and tilted his head. Something about the eyes called to him, the deep violet seeming to come alive as he continued to stare. The hair seemed to move with unseeable wind ;the white, lavender and purple mix appeared to sway, hypnotizing Dean. 

“Dean.” 

Sam’s voice and snapping fingers broke Dean out of his trance. 

“Huh?” he called out, returning his focus to the present. 

The professor and Sam seemed to be looking at Dean curiously. 

“I was just telling your brother here that if you want to know more about Persephone and Hades, there is a book I have published. Though it hasn’t been released yet, I do have an advanced copy I could give you.” 

Sam thanked the professor as he took the hefty manuscript in his hands. At that moment, Dean received an important call from their friend James. James had met Dean on a vampire hunt before having to save his mom and Jack from Apocalypse world. James said that a hunter nearby needed their help with several monsters they had never seen before. Dean shot Sam a look, signaling to the younger one that it was time to go to work. Once they were gone, professor Athanasiou let out a small chuckle before a bright light engulfed her.  

There stood the Goddess Athena, smiling as she gazed at the door the Winchester Brothers had exited from. 

“The cogs of Fate are in motion,” she sighed as her owl flew into the lecture hall and perched on her shoulder. “Bubo, you might need to keep an eye on them. Be my eyes and ears and guide them in the right direction,” she told the owl, letting her index finger caress him gently. 

The owl simply hooted before disappearing. 

“Now,” she said to herself, “time to make sure that Illiara follows the right path as well. I have my work cut out for me.” 

Y/N sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. None of the books had any information she was looking for. It would be hard to help if there wasn’t enough information. From what she gathered, as far as witness accounts go, was that These weren’t your typical monsters. These were Cynolycus disguised as humans. Outside of the human form that imitated their original bodies, they would have the body of a stag, the neck of a lion, cloven hooves, and a bony ridged mouth. Their teeth were still ridge-like, but they had sharp cloven hands and wild hair that resembled a lion. What was worse than the way they’d once been able to parrot human voices was the way they were now able to act as humans might, mirroring their behavior to hide in plain sight.  

“What are these things?” a hunter shouted as he crumpled to the dirt. “Nothing seems to be able to penetrate them. We tried everything, from silver to iron buck shots.” 

“Fire,” Y/N called. “Burn the son of bitches down. These are Greek monsters we’re dealing with. The Cynolycus.” 

“Are you sure?” another hunter asked. “Not sure how much more I’ve got in the tank.” She noticed a rivulet of blood trickling down from his ear, knowing the damage she couldn’t see was far worse.

“You’re forgetting my family is from Greece,” she huffed. “ So either trust me and live or don’t and die. Your choice,” she spat as she looked around for her flamethrower. “All else fails, and we run out of firepower. Decapitation wouldn’t hurt either.” 

Raising her weapon, Y/N raised it high giving the monster's head a clean slice. She smiled  as the hunters who did listen rallied around her, slicing and burning the monster began. A few started to run away and It wasn’t long before she found herself alone with one of them, her resolve to control Illiara faltering. 

‘Let me out,’ Illiara hissed. ‘Let me deal with these monsters that continue to chase us.’ 

“No, you know that I can’t. We are trying to separate from one another, and you use your powers–” 

‘I don’t care,’ Illiara growled as she pushed forward. 

Y/N could feel her grip on her goddess half slipping. But it didn’t distract her from the task at hand. She noted one of the Cynolycus trying to sneak off into the forests and away from the hunters. 

“I don’t think so,” she huffed, pushing Illiara down as best she could before giving chase. 

As Y/N ran towards the escaping monster, she could feel Illiara push through. Her hair began to change to a light lavender–almost white–her eyes glowed a dark violet, and her skin prickled with power.  

“Daughter of Hades and Persephone, you honor me with your presence,” the Cynolycus chuckled. “It is an honor to die by your hand and alert lord Zeus of your location.” 

Illiara smirked at him evilly. “By all means, go ahead. I’m not afraid of him.” 

The creature's face fell slightly before he regained his composure and charged. Illiara took a deep breath and dodged the attack, rolling away. Holding out her hand, she directed her power toward summoning a black-bladed sword. Energy radiating from the Goddess pulsated all around them as they battled, creating a tornado-like swirl in the air. Illiara’s blade clashed with the monster’s claws, causing sparks to fly. Bolts of electricity circulated the goddess, firing in all directions rather than the focused control she once had. 

“So the legends are true,” the Cynolycus growled, “you have the power to rival Zeus. How is that possible?” 

“Who cares?” Illiara spat. “Are you going to talk philosophy, or are you going to fight? All I wanted was to be left alone. To live my own life. I wanted to be done with the Gods,” she cried. 

With a loud yell, she swung her blade haphazardly. Each blow sliced tiny, ineffectual rips in the monster’s skin. 

“You swing with anger,” it chuckled. “You won’t win unless you truly mean to destroy me.” 

‘Illiara, let me have control,’ Y/N demanded as she pushed through. 

Illiara shook Y/N back and let out a feral scream, plunging the sword into the belly of the beast and letting a grin slip through the blood-slick on her face. 

“Send my regards to my father, and tell him to send Zeus this message.” 

Illiara held her sword high, swinging it down and decapitating the beast. Her chest heaved with every breath, but nothing could calm her anger. Illiara could feel it. Y/N was calm and gentle but fierce and strategic. But Illiara herself could sense she was angry and unhinged. Her rage could not be satisfied, and it was all-consuming. 

Y/N pushed herself to the surface, forcing Illiara back into her cage. 

“We gotta go,” Y/N hissed. “Who knows what can of worms you’ve just opened.” 

“I knew it,” a voice called from behind her. 

Y/N closed her eyes and tried to calm her erratically beating heart. She let out her breath, she slowly turned around, holding her hands up. 

“Herman,” she said, offering him a smile. “I know what you think you saw, but–” 

“But nothing,” he interrupted. “I knew there was something off about you. No one just ‘pops’ into hunting out of nowhere, and no one can pin down where you’re from. Convenient, don’t you think?” 

There was something about the way Herman’s eyes drilled into her that had the hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck standing and Illiara’s senses on high alert. 

“Who are you?” she asked, her black-bladed sword reappearing in her hand. With the barrier weakened, Illiara easily regained control, her eyes glowing and her hair transforming.

  “My dear Illiara,” Herman chuckled. “It has been a long time since I have encountered you. I believe the last time I saw you was before you ran from Deimos and your engagement ceremony.” 

“Hermes,” the goddess hissed. “What message does he have for me now?” 

“The time for your silly game of cat and mouse is ending,” Hermes recited. “It is time you come back and fulfill your duty under my rule as leader of the Gods. That is the message from Zeus.” 

Illiara and Y/N both laughed at the message. Their split souls resonated as one, gazing into the eyes of the messenger God. 

“You can give him this message,” they said. “We will never bow down to his command. If he wants us to return, he must retrieve us himself.” 

Sam and Dean arrived at the forest location that they received from Herman. It took them a while to navigate through the trees, but the sound of conversations and cheers, their weapons reflexively at the ready. But from what they could see walking up, the hunters there had already handled the situation. 

“Where’s Herman?” Dean asked someone nearby who appeared to be post-fight stretching a crick out of his neck. 

“He went after the Ice Queen, who chased after the last freak that escaped. I tell you, that girl is a godsend.” He turned into his stretch, revealing a handful of others in the distance setting fire to what looked familiarly to the boys like a pile of corpses. 

“Which direction?” Dean growled. 

The guy pointed them toward the edge of the forest and walked toward the pyre favoring his left leg. Wordlessly, the brothers turned into the woods. After a while, Dean stopped and placed a finger to his lips. Sam followed his brother’s instructions and stilled his breathing to listen.  

“I think I hear something,” Dean whispered, pointing to a clearing in the forest's center. 

“Let’s check it out,” Sam said, following Dean. 

“You know,” Hermes chuckled. “You should know not to shoot the messenger.” 

“I don’t care,” the goddess said. 

Raising her sword over her head, she was ready to strike when Hermes shimmered into his disguise. Starting back at her was the hunter Herman, a fearful look in his eyes. 

“No, please,” he cried as it echoed around them. 

A smirk appeared on his face as he winked at the goddess. 

“I wonder what would happen if lover boy caught you like this,” he whispered for only the goddess to hear. “I mean, after all, we are nothing but monsters to them, right?” 

Illiara turned to see Sam and Dean, guns drawn at the edge of the clearing. 

“Shit,” she whispered. 

“Herman,” Dean called. “We’ll get you out.” 

“Whoever you are,” Sam said, “let him go. He’s done nothing to you.” 

Illiara took in a deep breath while Y/N stayed in the back of her mind. If Y/N took control from Illiara  now, then the brothers would know enough to pursue her. But if Illiara killed Hermes in his disguise, they would be on the run not just from the Gods but from Sam and Dean. She was stuck.

“Stay out of this, Winchesters,” she growled. “This has nothing to do with you. Herman here isn’t who you think he is.” 

“No way you can prove it,” Herman whispered before turning to the brothers. “This is Illiara. You gotta shoot her. She’s unhinged and will plunge the world into darkness if we don’t stop her.” 

Sam and Dean’s eyes flickered between Illiara and Herman. She looked exactly like the painting that professor Anathasiou had shown them in so many ways; her violet eyes glowing with power and her wild hair flowing, but there was also something familiar about her. The longer Dean’s eyes laid on her, the harder the feeling was to shake. 

“Dean,” Herman called, breaking the hunter out of his thoughts. “You know what you have to do, son. You know what she is. She’s a monster, Dean. I know deep down you can see that she needs to die.” 

Dean’s nostrils flared. In the moment he took to process, the Winchesters missed Herman/Hermes plunging a poisoned dagger into the Goddess’ side. As they leapt to action, Illiara screamed, pain and rage mixing as she stabbed her sword into Herman/Hermes’s abdomen. It wouldn’t kill him, but the Winchesters couldn’t know, their eyes watching a fellow hunter fall as Illiara watched her chance at the messenger of the Gods slipping.

“You bitch,” Dean growled as he opened fire on Illiara. 

Illiara raised her hands, stopping the bullets before her and letting them fall to the ground. 

“You know nothing of what you are dealing with, mortal,” she huffed before moving at lightning speed before him. 

Her nose practically touched his as she backed him up against the trunk of the nearest tree. Her violet eyes bored deep into Dean’s green ones and tilted her head from side to side, studying him. Her heart pounded in her chest as her soul vibrated with familiarity for the hunter. 

She hummed softly before chuckling, “I don’t see what the big deal is with you.” Forcefully, she took hold of his jaw and turned his head from side to side. “What does she see in you? All I see is a tortured soul begging like a dog for another to belong to. You’re practically screaming for a soulmate, but too drowned in self-pity to find one.” 

“And all I see is a monstrous bitch who killed my friend,” Dean spat. 

Illiara smiled at his insult before wincing in pain. The poison from the dagger Hermes plunged into her was slowly entering her system, seeping deeper into her with every bite of Y/N’s heart. Illiara knew she was running out of time to do something about it, sensing it was filled with a pure darkness that only the Goddess Hecate could create. 

“Well, this bitch,” she sneered, “has got to go. Hopefully, the next time we meet,” she paused and hissed in pain, “will be a bit more eventful. After all, you crossed into the world of the Gods, and now you’ll find yourself entrapped in the web they love to weave.” 

“Next time we meet,” Dean gave her a cocky smile, “I’m going to have the juice to gank you. You and your whole roster.”    

“Is that so?” Illiara laughed. “Then I guess I should take something from you before you end my miserable existence.” 

Dean’s grin deepened. “Yeah? And what’s that? My soul’s been run through a few times already, have at it.” 

“No,” Illiara whispered. “Something a bit more,” she paused and clicked her tongue against her teeth, “intimate.” 

Before Dean could respond, he felt her lips on his in a searing kiss. Unable to pull back for the tight grip on his chin, Dean felt her hand rake through his hair, the nails grazing his skin. She used the moment of shock leaving Dean to deepen the kiss, leaning her whole body against his and slipping her tongue past his lips with a jolt of electricity that felt like it shot down his spine. It was–wrong, clearly, but something about it felt familiar in a way Dean couldn’t identify, and then it was over as soon as it had started as he came to his senses and found the strength to push her away. 

Illiara’s cackle echoed around them as Dean clenched his jaw. His chest heaved with anger, glaring at the goddess before him. 

“What? Too much tongue?” she taunted. 

Sam found himself able to move. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but had no doubts the sensation of chains around him must have been Illiara’s doing. In the heightened focus of the moment, it didn’t escape him that Herman seemed to smirk as he lay still.  

Shaking the impossibility out of his head, Sam grabbed his brother as the goddess disappeared. 

“You okay?” he asked Dean. 

Dean ran the back of his hand across his lips and spit at the ground. “Peachy.” 

“Come on,” Sam sighed. “Let’s get back to the bunker, and you can give me the dirty details.” 

Dean nodded as he glared at the spot the Goddess had been. His lips still tingled. It was hard enough being violated like that, but to not know why was already eating at him. Willing the possibility of any lasting damage away, he followed his brother back into the trees. 

Y/N pushed past the pain and placed Illiara back into the crystal cage in her mind. 

'I told you, ' Illiara said, the darkness from the poison already darkening the Goddess. 'One wrong point of view, one misdirection, and he thinks we are evil.'

“We did what was necessary but I can’t have you coming out again,” Y/N said, hissing as the wound healed. 

Her eyes trailed along the mirror until they reached the wound inflicted by Hermes. To Y/N, it became a jagged scar. Illiara‌ could see it for what it was; a dark line with black veins spiraling outward. 

‘Hecate knows her curses,’ she said, chuckling at their predicament. ‘But strangely enough, I feel absolutely fine.’ 

Y/N nodded absently as she drove towards a motel. There was no doubt in her mind that her outburst of power alerted Zeus to her location, and she didn’t have a lot of time to make a quick getaway. 

Tag list is OPEN! Please remember to like, leave a comment and/or reblog! your support feeds my soul!

Dean (Female Pairing Only) 

@440mxs-wife

@virgosapphire79

@deans-spinster-witchs-favorites

@sandlee44

@waynes-multiverse

@cookiechipdough

@magssteenkamp

@akshi8278

Dean Everything 

@sexyvixen7

@kickingitwithkirk 

@deandreamernp

@holylulusworld

@roseblue373

@stoneyggirl2

@hobby27

@stixnstripesworld

Underworld's Princess

@globetrotter28

[crosseyedcricketart]

Painting and Grieving: Art Journal

Original post link / Original post date: October 9 2023

Corinth Oil on paper board 9 x 12” October 6 2023

There was a point in one of my painting sessions where my professor made this statement: “When you can do nothing else, make art.” I really didn’t anticipate that being as pointed and needed as it would become. It can be seen that I didn’t post this last week; I had some family tragedy that struck us and I really wasn’t able to do anything. That happened on October 5th. You might have noticed that painting was painted on October 6th, the day after. I really couldn’t do anything. I had no motivation to do anything, no inspiration, and no thought. But that little quote kept replaying in my head- “When you can do nothing else, make art.” I’m sure someone has said that before my professor did, but he’s the one I heard it from. So I pulled out my paints and I started on a painting I had planned. 

This was a photo I took on the way to Alabama, passing through Corinth, Mississippi. Corinth, Mississippi was named after Corinth, Greece, which you might know if you’re versed in the Christian Bible for being the name sake of 1 + 2 Corinthians. My brother raised the question of why Corinth was named after Corinth in Greece, as the books of Corinthians were not overly uh… praising, of the Corinthians. The city in Mississippi was named Corinth after the Greek city for being a midway point between major areas of commerce, as the Greek Corinth was. Corinth, Greece was located between Athens and Sparta, who major city-states in Ancient Greece. Corinth, Mississippi is located on the Northeastern corner of the state, located between Memphis, Tennessee and Huntsville, Alabama laterally, north of Tupelo, Mississippi, and south of Jackson, Tennessee. Currently, if you wanted to go from Memphis, Tennessee to anywhere in Tennessee, Alabama, or Mississippi, there’s probably a route that takes you through Corinth, Mississippi. 

This was from our most recent trip, where we were on the way to northern Alabama, on Labor Day weekend. It was very overcast that morning, which is a great blessing when you’re traveling east by car. The grass was still summer green before the fall weather settled into the south. It was very pleasant. I really enjoyed this trip. It was exhausting, but very fun. 

So on that day where I couldn’t make myself really do anything, I made art, and it was good. I’m not someone who can grieve and rest; I have to grieve and be doing something to process it fully. 

This painting was with the limited Monet imitation palette I’ve been messing with as of late: French Ultramarine, Cobalt Blue, Cadmium Yellow, Cadmium Yellow Pale, Cadmium Red deep, Alizarin Crimson Permanent, Phthalo Green Blue Shade, Phthalo Green Yellow Shade, and Titanium white. I want to continue working with this subject, but for now, that’s what I’ve done. 

I hope you’ve had a gentle day today and that you are able to take time for yourself- 

Happy travels! – Annie, the crosseyed cricket.

[rxshl]

1. Emerging power threatens to destroy an existing one

Athens (Greece's commercial and maritime hub) rising. Threat to Sparta.

*Athens attempt to erode Sparta's power:

• Athens monopolizing Potidaea

• Megarian Decree (Megara - Spartan ally)

> Athens issued a decree to ban trades

(commercial x maritime power)

***beyond material power

2. Minor players triggering a war between the leading powers (a rising power and the current, immovable one)

Corcyra vs Corinth

Corcyra - Athens; Corinth - Sparta

> Corcyra seeking an alliance with Athens

> Athenian refusal would mean fighting against Corcyra + Corinthian success would benefit Sparta

[assassinscreedmiragepcdownlo]

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[ripspaghet]

POISONED TONGUE | MOODBOARD

→ pairing: Jungkook x reader

→ genre/warnings: geek gods, greek mythology, eventual smut, time travel, archeology, tombraider!reader, demigod!jungkook, angst, enemies to lovers, weaponry, war, violence, ancient Greece, sexism

Prologue summary; "Destined he is to her and she to him - though, too soon to leave. By her side, she will predict what's meant to be, so it will never earnestly be. By his side, he will know what is to come of everything he can see. Beyond three moons one will become two."

"____?! Are you alright?! Shit, tell me you're not dead!"

"I'm fine!" You call back up, your voice echoing around the circular room, "Very much alive!"

With only a small stream of light shining in from above, you can't see much - but it doesn't take a genius to deduct that you've fallen into a tomb, the air murky and somewhat hard to breathe, large carvings of art lining the walls, and a sarcophagus as the centerpiece.

"I'm coming down!"

You glance up to see Hoseok craning himself further down, "Careful! The rock isn't very stable!"

He scoffs, "No shit, Sherlock. You'd still be up here if that wasn't the case."

You let your gaze fall back down, taking a few steps forward to begin studying the walls. The carvings are extravagantly detailed, depicting a woman with six wings. Some type of celestial or heavenly being of high rank, no doubt. Below the art is a word you don't particularly recognize the meaning of, although the letters seem familiar enough.

'σεραφείμ'

"What?" Your fingers trace along with the word, confused. Your eyes flutter down to a paragraph just below it, "This seems to be influenced by subsequent theology, literature, and art."

"The hell are you on about down there?"

You huff, glancing over your shoulder where Hoseok has yet to reach the tomb's floor, "Art of this influence is frequently seen in works depicting angels, heaven, and apotheosis."

"Oh, right, apotheosis, of course." Hoseok's sarcastic statement is strained as he struggles to lower himself.

You wipe cobwebs from the face of the angel to study its carvings with more detail, "Apotheosis is the glorification of a subject to a divine level. To dumb it down even further for you, its when a human is treated like a god. In theology, apotheosis refers that an individual has been raised to godlike stature." Your fingers trace the wings, "This looks well beyond the end of antiquity."

"Well, perhaps," The water splashes behind you, "that intuition of yours was wrong for once."

"No, this is the place." You pause moving onto the next inscription, speaking under your breath as you do, "It has to be."

"Huh?" Hoseok furrows his brow, sloshing through the water, "Damn it, my socks are getting wet. I told you we should've worn the rubber boots."

"They would've been constricting." You speak offhandedly, not paying your friend much mind as he stumbles about - enamored by the ancient language before you. "Wow," You breathe out breathlessly, "Listen to this, it's telling the story of this celestial being. 'Destined he is to her and she to him - though, too soon to leave.'"

"Lovely, a romance novel. Just what I was hoping to find in a murky pit of death."

You move over to the next image of fire engulfing the beings six wings, "'By her side, she will predict what's meant to be, so it will never earnestly be.'"

"What's this one say? It's got a buff dude on it." Hoseok chuckles as he reaches up to poke at the carved muscles, like an overgrown child.

You turn to him, "It, uh," You hum at the picture before dropping your gaze to the inscription, "'By his side, he will know what is to come of everything he can see.'"

"Oh god, it's rhyming." He steps back in realization, "Tell me it isn't a curse, curses always rhyme."

You shake your head, eyes still glued to the 'buff dude' as Hoseok had called him, "No, it must be a coincidence that the English translation rhymes."

"Alright, then read this one." Pointing to the carving that's next in line, he eyes it suspiciously. On it are three full moons set in the center of the stars. Rather beautiful, something about it almost enchanting.

Your fingers trace across the letters as you translate, "'Beyond three moons one will become two.'"

"Oh, wow, who would've thought? Another rhyme!"

"Your sarcasm is really starting to piss me-"

The floor below you begins to quake violently, the ceiling groaning, as small particles of debris begin to fall from above.

"Shit! ____, I told you it was a curse!"

You grit your teeth in fear and frustration, "Then why ask me to read the last inscription?!"

"You-"

You grab a hold of his bag's strap, yanking him back towards the opening in the tomb's ceiling, "Nevermind! Just shut up and move before we're buried alive!"

Coming sometime in 2021...

[lockescoles]

I’d say we gave the gods a good show.

[streets-in-paradise]

Undying Legends - Achilles x Princess!Reader

Troy (2004) Oneshot

Requested by Anon 

“Not sure if you're taking requests right now, but when you are...

An Achilles x princess!reader that was captured by a foreign kingdom to be married off and he goes with an army to save her. Forbidden love basically, and he is just smitten with her, and her with him. She has a kind personality, but firmly believes in her own freedom to love(cause they're not supposed to be together) and he admires her for it. Maybe for a dramatic ending, the readers father puts Achilles to death and he accepts it as they weren't supposed to be together, but she puts on a scene like clinging to him so nobody would hurt him. Sorry I have a lot of ideas.

You can think up different details for her capture, or the ending, if you want to. I wrote a lot, sorry."

( I loved to write this, anon. i sincerely hope that you will enjoy it because i loved it.) 

Word Count + 4K

Warnings: Mentions of an abduction to enforce marriage. No proofreading, possible mistakes on my part regarding greek geography. 

Summary: When a princess that fame threatens with turning into the new face of deathly desire gets kidnapped the greatest warrior of all times gets involved on the difficult task of bringing her back home. Historical remembrance of passed incidents regarding many other damisels in distress across the time of heroes seem to point out that fate would leave him no choice but to fall for her. However, unlike the remarkable men that came before him, Achilles is unfortunately aware that his is a woman far away from his reach and strictly forbbiden for him. 

Notes: This post by @creativepromptsforwriting​ served me as inspiration for the dialogue. 

         Prompts  2 -  "You’re so beautiful, it’s hard to directly look at you”. 

                          5 - “ I feel completely safe when I'm with you."

Tags: @mysticaldeanvoidhorse @helie-brain​ @spideyanakin​

Singular heroic works were always more rewarding than fighting for Agamemnon. Achilles found the rescue mission an interesting change that was also good for his image, since it had potentiality to soften the brutal undertones his legend was acquiring. To prove himself as more than the attack beast of that cruel king he needed to triumph on heroic tasks for better causes and the corinthians needed his help. Their city, one of the richest in the mycenaean region, was going through a hard time due to the suffering of their ruler. His most valued treasure was stolen from him, one he would do anything to get back: the splendid daughter that he adored. 

The news didn't surprise the greek world, since the victim was a heavily desired young maiden. The corinthian princess became the next great target once the mythical beauty of Helen got an official owner through her marriage to the spartan king. Before the herds of suitors could start to invade another country all over again one of the many interested men acted quicker than all the rest. The clever king of Athens found his way to kidnap her and refused to return her unless the father would legitimize his pretensions with a wedding officially celebrated at their comeback. Rage unleashed to the indignant details of the story, Achilles accepted the personal begging of the royals and was designated as commander of the corinthian army on the mission. However, not everyone around found that decision fitting. 

A council of the most powerful kings on the Peloponnesus took place in order to decide the common fate regarding a situation that, despite affecting one city, could always end up involving everyone else. Mycenae and Sparta were eager to declare full war, Pylos was calling for discretion while the argive king recalled on his well earned title of heroe to offer himself as leader of the operation alongside the corinthian soldiers. Careless as he was to hear the kings talking, Achilles ignored many warnings about some risks of the task. Most were doubtful, but the sons of Atreus had no self restrictions on openly judging him absolutely incapable of succeeding on his own. The observations,of course, had nothing to do with his skill. 

" The honor of your beautiful daughter is safer with the kidnapper than with this shameless bastard. " The mycenaean king advised the corinthian. " The best for your girl is us burning Athens to the ground. Go to war with me and I guarantee you will still benefit from the strength of his arms but someone will be keeping him under control. " 

" I have orders and I plan to stick to those. " Achilles defended himself, calm and composed as he was rarely seen. " I can stay loyal to my purpose."

" Since when? All you do is disobeying me in ways that are always impossible to predict." 

" Your impulsiveness goes against the requirements, Achilles." Menelaus followed from a less insulting standpoint. " Being impulsive is precisely what brought the athenian king into this madness. He lost his mind for that girl, she is almost as beautiful as my wife. Even my brother over here has reconsidered marriage for an instant the last time we saw her and you know him enough to understand how strange that is. " 

Agamemnon ignored the well intentioned tease to keep his persuasive speech. 

" My dear friend, don't let desperation take over your reason. Achilles is a weapon you can't wield, Diomedes would be a far better choice. If endangering your friends is what worries you because you don't want a king risking his life, take any other of my best warriors. The mighty army of Mycenae is at your disposition. " 

" I am not taking any risks. " The corinthian stated. " If Achilles says he can bring my dear daughter back to me, I take his word. Legends claim him the greatest warrior of our times and I have seen how wars are won or lost depending on his fighting inclinations. Losing is not an option to me, not this time. "

The matter was decided, but the end of the meeting didn't stop the repetition of similar warnings. Less as a king and more as a friend who was in touch with his perspective, Diomedes was the last trying to dissuade him. 

" It's said it took a one week visit for the athenian to decide he wanted to kidnap her, others claim he arrived here with the idea in mind. In either case, be careful. You can lose a lot if she gets under your skin. " 

" I will be like a herald and that girl is a package I'm supposed to carry. " Achilles calmly replied. " There are plenty of gorgeous women in Greece, she is just the one high nobility wants to fight over now." 

The demigod warlord was truly convinced of his position, reinforcing it over and over during the journey against the skepticism of the local soldiers he was meant to command. In the collective imagination formed by bards at the time of heroes there was no way for him to save that princess without ending up wanting to claim her his. As it happened to Perseus in the rescue of Andromeda, or Hercules after meeting Iole, Achilles was expected to develop an unstoppable passion for the captive girl. Not being found of prophecies that wouldn't come from his mother, Achilles simply discredited the claims until reaching Athens. 

The one single battle that was recklessly fought became a tragedy for the city. The king opted for staying trusting of the numerical advantage in his forces, commiting the terrible mistake of underestimating the rival. 

Hopes returned to you, but you weren't feeling entirely good about that. You knew your father and your city would never abandon you, but you couldn't help pitying the athenian men dying prisoners of their king's wishes. Escaping and never having to see him again was all you wanted, but you wouldn't wish death upon persons that were as powerless as you. The people couldn't be blamed for your captor's actions yet they were taking the worse part of the punishment. At first you thought that seeing their suffering was going to show that man his mistake, but whenever you would try to exhort him of doing the ríght thing he would accuse you of manipulations. 

All he achieved with that paranoid attitude was delaying the inevitable, the golden haired heroe found you and sent that king directly to his downfall.

Amazement happened on both sides. You couldn't believe how far the warrior had came for you, easily murdering the man who dragged you there against your will, but he neither could believe your initial reaction to that. You gave some cold comfort to the agonizing kidnapper in front of you. Achilles could tell it wasn't sympathy, just kindness shown to a dying man.

 It was not your beauty, as many men augured, the first of your traits that he found interesting. 

" That man kidnapped you and could have taken advantage of you in more severe ways, he doesn't deserve to die with a smile on his face. " He simply said, showing to have contextually recognized you. " He wouldn't have stopped for anything, you were lucky I am here to make him stop. " 

You glanced at his direction to deliver an answer, but felt unprepared for the encounter with his beautiful blue eyes. 

" His people claim he once was a great king, this unfortunate outcome comes from his previous loss of two wives. Pain blinded him, he wanted to be happy again and he didn't mind the cost to satisfy his wishes." You calmly explained. " I despise him as it is normal for a prisoner to hate the captor, but I can still show respect. " 

The warrior stared at you in silence, as curiously and intensely as you were doing with him. 

" May I know my savior's name? I shall honor it in the highest esteem." 

He couldn't help smiling for you. Even if it was brief, that reaction was the hardest to achieve from him in that sort of context. 

" Achilles, son of Peleus." Was his sweetly delivered introduction. " I'm at your service, princess. It was given to me the task of bringing you back home. "

Not self satisfied with the conflict's resolution, Achilles demanded a real retribution to be given to you before acceding to retree the troops. Formally accepting you as an abduction victim, the main protection mechanism for your honor, the city had to pay with gold to your father. Once all the arrangements were done, you finally abandoned Athens as a passenger on the myrmidon's chariot feeling safe and comfortable alongside him on the triumphant exit. 

Mutual curiosity developed immediately. You were guilty of demanding more resting stops than what was needed on the journey just because you wanted to get to know the mysterious man in a non controlled environment. On his part, he could have been blamed for indulging your requests a bit too often for the same reason. The unusual kindness perceived on his first impression of you amazed him for real and he couldn't stop himself from wanting to know you better. Achilles would show you his softer side with particular dedication given the horror you have faced before and in return you were giving him your trust. 

In the scarce time the travel provided he accomplished what the troubled king lost his life trying. You were spending most of your time with him willingly and happily, refusing to leave his side because of how well he made you feel. The otherwise rather silent traveler would talk for hours with you about anything you wanted. Among other things, you listened to some stories about his past adventures feeling in absolute awe. You even clapped your hands at the end of one, gesture so cute and pure that he began to understand why the ruler of a great city died willingly for you.  

" The humble feat of my rescue sounds boring in comparison. " You commented regarding what you heard. " Sorry for that, although I must admit I am relieved to know my father hired you and you are not part of some aid sent by Agamemnon of Mycenae. " 

The mention of his most hated superior in the chain of command brought to his mind the odd words of his brother. 

" Has he bothered you before?" 

" His generosity always comes with a price. In this case, it could have been me. " You replied, not an affirmation or denial. " Do you know why he wasn't a suitor of Helen? His brother wanted her first and he would never risk upsetting him. Horror tales are being told across the continent about the hate that grew between his father and uncle over his mother. The atrocities committed must haunt him. " 

The mere thought of that despicable old pig trying to get on the top of your suitors list was repulsive to him. 

" Your father is a smart man. " He comforted you. " Nobody sensed the wit past his pain, he rejected all involvement from other kings and sent a man who will never have any ríght to you. I can't ask to get you as payment when we will return to your kingdom, so you are safe with me. Don't expect second intentions. " 

" You have been shamelessly honest and for that I thank you." You answered, holding chuckles. " I can tell it's real, men who act nice for me as a performance think I don't notice... but I do. " 

"... And to think Oddyseus truly thought it was going to end once Helen would be married. It never ends, they just move on to bother someone else. " 

" Greece needs undying legends and she is the biggest in our times, at least after you. " You followed with some intentional praise. " A moving myth built on desire is a problem in so many perspectives. The flame inside those men wasn't ready to be extinguished with her marriage. She can no longer be openly wanted without it constituting an offense to a very powerful king, but Corinth is not that far from Sparta and I am not married yet. Someone has to fill that gap, they want me to be her because they need her but they fail to see i will never be Helen. "

" Being yourself was enough for the fool who thought kidnapping you was a good idea. " 

His casual comment made you chuckle and he internally cursed himself for enjoying it. 

" My father is not like Tyndareus, that's something he figured out quickly. As you know, the most common way to obtain a younger bride is to bribe the father by either buying his consent or threatening him. My captor knew that was impossible and that was why he stole me. The mycenaean king feels confident thinking that when the time comes my father will sell me to keep his scepter because that is what he would do in that position. He underestimate us, my father is not a coward and neither I am"

Achilles felt slightly prideful of your statement and that made him smile. 

" Glad to know I am not merely delivering you to someone worse." 

" I would never allow it, that's what I mean with men not realizing I will never be Helen. There is no man, mortal or divine, that would ever force me to endure a marriage like hers. I would rather die at the flower of youth than living a bitter life submitted to a despicable man I will never love. " 

The passion in your voice awakened something in him and his usual defense mechanism for that sort of feeling didn't help at all. 

" What does a man have to do in order to get your attention and not die trying?" He asked, a cheeky taunt to the whole situation. " Many young heroes, friends of mine that hold more political power than me, would love to know the secret." 

" Good conversation is an excellent start, especially if he manages to make me laugh. " Was your quick comeback. " Saving me from a fate I despise above anything also helps. "

The indirect was too obvious, typical behavior of a young girl who never had much chance of speaking to a man she truly likes. 

" Be careful, princess. I have been warned about this. You shouldn't be playing with fire..." 

" ... Says the man that could have burned the athenian palace by himself just to find me. " You teased back in a lovely tone. " You are an extraordinary man, the warriors of my father would have never gone that far. Your serenity outside of the battlefield is pleasant but intriguing and there is a soft light in your precious eyes that makes me never want to stop looking at you. " 

His glance followed you for an instant and you smirked, a gesture that came up more sweet than provocative because you delivered it with tenderness. 

" You are so beautiful, it is hard to directly look at you. " He complimented you through a confession. " I never had this problem with Helen, no matter how irresistible people say she is " 

The myrmidon did a pause and deviated his stare to concentrate in some random point of the horizon with a very contemplative expression, as if he needed to stop looking you to keep talking. 

" It's not only in your pretty smile, or your soft skin smelling like arabian esences that match perfectly with the sweet notes the breeze gets from your hair when it caresses it. Your courage is beautiful, your passion wasn't written on any warning I received and that must be because no other man has sensed it. I don't know you enough yet I am proud for what you have accomplished. Not only you kept yourself safe until my arrival, you forgave the man who caused you harm at his time of dying just because his people told you a sad story about how he used to be good to them. I would have never done that, kindness as yours would be out of the question if the choice would be given to me. I try to understand you and fail, but there is beauty on that. You are precious: not as a jewel up to be seen, but like a comeback embrace after a long war. " 

Acting on your feelings, you approached him for a surprising hug that he had no clue on how to interpret. Gratitude motivated comfort, perhaps, because it was too early to think of something else. 

Achilles was aware of the effect he had on women and the possibilities of it reaching you. The conversation was crossing dangerous territory because he liked you, but he wasn't expecting you would openly reciprocate so early. 

" Are you comfortable like this? Being so close to me? Doesn't it scare you that I could want to break my pact with your father to take you with me? That's what everyone thinks I am going to do. " The warrior joked as an indirect way to express a real doubt. " They fear that if we get too friendly I will not want to let you go. " 

It didn't bother you in the slightest. On the contrary, you intensified the closeness and laid your head against his chest. 

" I feel completely safe when I am with you. '' You replied almost immediately. ``Maybe I am the one who doesn't want to leave your side." 

Near the time of your arrival you were head over hills for him and he was smitten by you. Firm believer in your freedom to love, a belief that intensified after someone tried to take it away from you, you remained careless for some obvious opinions of the men around you. None of them had the courage to openly call out Achilles, but you could tell some noticed your peculiar favoritism for him. Some of them weren't even surprised, as if you would be following together a path to the most predictable outcome. 

Perhaps you were, but you didn't care because you were falling in love with a handsome hero who effortlessly stole your heart. It wasn't meant to happen, he wasn't planning to win you over. He wasn't there for the rumors, wanting you from before even meeting you like all the others, but only doing his work and you were the one desperate for his attention. 

On his part, Achilles had a personal battle with his impulsiveness. From time to time during the journey he would remember only of Diomedes's advice because it was the only sincere one and it pointed in the ríght direction. To a man so used to follow his heart's desires in any ocassion, hot headed and stubborn as he was, falling for you was torture. Aware of your own infatuation, if you would have been any other woman he wouldn't have tried to resist his crave for you. Biting his lip before daring to kiss you or being careful with his touch to avoid getting intimate were acts he wasn't used to performing, especially in a situation where the romantical tension was clearly mutual. You weren't shying away and that made things harder. Knowing you reciprocated him was the greatest obstacle for his titanic efforts to handle you back at Corinth as untouched as he found you. 

The King, your father, selected him as your rescuer precisely because you were strictly forbidden to him. He counted with his awareness on how impossible it was for him to be with you, but the comments that consistently reached his ears made that faith fade. He had a test prepared for your glorious return, a simple trial he was planning to make him go through in order to measure the danger he feared to have exposed you to.

After the emotive receivement in which your family encounter developed the palace was preparing for celebrations and the enlisting of payment for the leading hero. Your mother, happy as she was to have you back, begged to your father that anything Achilles would want would be conceded to him and he seemed to agree on that. However, he also had the small treasure destined to him ready. Gold, bronze and weapons were the first half of it, but he claimed he wanted to give him a gift that would feel more personal. Since giving him a horse would be pointless, because Achilles had the fastest in Greece, the corinthian king offered a woman.

 The most beautifull concubine slaves were presented in front of all of you so the myrmidon would pick his prize. Powerlessness and jealousy ruined your prior happiness for being back home, since there was nothing you could do against it. The payment was normal and perfectly valid, a common gift for men that want to seal friendship. Achilles realized it was a trap crafted by your father and he sensed some will of emulating the famous trick Odysseus pulled on him when he was a kid. 

If he would choose a woman, he would break your heart. If he wouldn't, he would be exposed. 

" I fought to free a woman, accepting to be paid with another one can be insulting to the suffering of your daughter. " He pointed out after barely looking at the line of girls, an observation he judged neutral enough to not sound incriminating. " Gold and weapons will be enough this time." 

You dissimulated a smile to avoid looking hopeful, but both of your parents knew you too well and the tension was escalating. 

" This is the least I can do for you. Take the one you find the prettiest to your home." Your father insisted. " I can't offer you a wife because the unwed daughters of my friends are beyond your possibilities, but nothing impeeds you from taking a slave girl to be the company keeping your bed warm. "

Your blood boiled to the implications of that comment. He spoke as if, because Achilles was a mercenary, that was all he could aspire to have. You loved your father but despised his attitude and were trying so hard not to confront him. He had no idea of who that man was for real or how insulting his words were. That foreigner he judged fitting only to mantain sexual unions with prisoners of war was the only man you have ever wanted to be with. 

" When I want company I seek it myself. " Achilles defended himself, way more careless than you were for the insults. " That isn't a problem that needs to be fixed. " 

" Don't take me for a fool, Achilles. You know that isn't of my concern. " The king prepared his last strike, revealing his true intentions. " It is my honest opinion that the sight of my daughter has numbed your perception and you can no longer find any other girl desirable. Your wish will never be indulged: even though I am grateful for your services, that is not something I can allow. "

To his signal the women were retired and the room was filled with men of his personal guard on prior orders of restraining the warrior. Achilles picked up his sword, but didn't throw himself immediately on a rageful combat to end with all of them as it would have been expected on other occasions. 

Instead, he looked at his main opponent at the eye with a deathly serious expression. 

" Your daughter is not my mere desire... I am in love with her. If you want to kill me for it, do it, but get at least the decency of fighting your own battle."   

Light peeked through the sorrow saddening your face. It would have been easy for Achilles to fight his way out of there and never come back, but he loved you and he dared to confess it in front of all those people that clearly wanted him dead for it. 

Careless for anything but his safety and eager to show him your love, you stepped in front to shield him with your own body before any of the soldiers could start the battle. 

" If you want to kill him you will have to kill me and all the blood splattered on my name would be in vain. How are you going to explain that to the families of the soldiers that lost their lives trying to save me ?" You called your father out from your secure position. " I will not allow this, father. If there is something the nightmare i endured showed me is that I never want to have my own will to choose be putted in question." 

Abandoning the reprobatory speech for an instant, you deviated your attention back to your beloved myrmidon. 

" Achilles, my heart has chosen you and that is the gift I want to give you. It's mine to give to whoever i want and it will be yours if you want it." 

The sweet confession amused him.

" Princess, I am ready to die for you ríght here and now... How dare you doubt that I want it?"

[viisator]

The Curse of Aphrodite

Tittle: The Curse of Aphrodite

Pairings: Park Sunghoon X F!Reader

Genre: Greek mythology-inspired, Fantasy, unrequited love (angst)

Warning: Character death.

Summary: Park Sunghoon never loved you, but you love him from the skin to bones, you think you have done enough for him to love you back, but unfortunately he loves her more, and you have spent your night crying. So when the thought of making a bargain with the goddess Aphrodite cross your mind, you did not waste any second and go to her temple. There, you made a decision that Park Sunghoon regretted.

Not Proofread

(This fic was born from a fight between me and my mom:)) and it was my fault. But the fic and the fight was not connected okay? Frustration makes me creative lol)

– Can I have a request, please? After/before you read this(thanks for checking this out btw) like or reblog, or both; is really appreciated!! And it will help my blogs reach other ppl too!! Thank you!! Have a good time reading!! –

• • • • •

There was once a girl who loved someone so much that she did regrettable things. But he could not reciprocate her feelings of her, for they are too deep.

Y/n is the princess of Sparta, and she has lived all of her life getting what she desired. But at the age of eighteen, on her very birthday, when all cities unite at the town of warriors just to celebrate the young girl's special day, someone had taken her wondrous interest. She was drunk with great enchantment and desire, she wanted more of him.

After she had learned that he is a soldier of Athens, she could not help but admire him more. Either then he's handsome, tall, and brave he is also elegant and graceful.

Mountains of gifts and another mountain of gifts are shipped from Sparta to Athens by the princess, and those uncountable amounts of gifts are well addressed to Park Sunghoon. She would not just give him gifts, she also often sneak into Athens just to see him, even if it was just far from his gaze, as long as she can see him. Everyone envies him, but all he can feel is a great annoyance. And so, all the gifts that are sent to him are all returned to Sparta.

After wondering why won't the soldier accept the fortunes of wealth and luxury the princess had sent, she found out he was in love with another different woman. And so, she strolled her way into Aphrodite's temple and made a bargain with her.

"I desire for the man I love to return my feelings and love me like how I love him!" She desperately yelled across the sacred temple, and after a few moments of silence, there, the cold wind blew through her skin, and Aphrodite's voice answered her back.

"Then you shall have the golden primrose and give it to the man you loved, And tell him to accept it, for it is your heart." Said the goddess.

"My heart? But it is just a primrose flower?" She wonders.

"It is your heart. If by midnight after today's and he had denied his love for you, the flower shall die and drift away. So is your heart."

And so, she did what the goddess had told her, and gave Park Sunghoon the golden flower, but once again he denied his love for her, but she was persistent, she'll not leave the boy alone until he finally lost his cool and shouted to the princess.

It was nearly midnight on day two, and Park Sunghoon is drunk in love and about with the girl he liked. And so, Y/n's hope faltered with the wind and left the golden primrose on Sunghoon's bedside table.

After everything Sunghoon was about and had done, he came back to his chamber, and there he saw the faltering petals of the flower, and then, he remembered what the princess had told him and stridden his way to her place.

There he saw her dying on the floor of her room, he could not help but feel heartbroken and regretful.

"My feelings must be reciprocated, for I to still live on," said she through her cut-up breaths. But Park Sunghoon gave her an apologetic smile and kissed her on the forehead.

"I'm sorry, I could not. I love someone different. I'm so sorry princess." His apology was sincere, he means it. And so, she understood.

Only a few minutes left before midnight. The clock seems like it's ticking too fast in Y/n's ear and so does Sunghoon's.

They stayed still, holding on to each other's hand, while Sunghoon caressed her soft hair.

"I love you." Her breath weakly gets out of her mouth. "I love you so much it hurts." Sunghoon looks at her understandingly.

"I'm sorry that I don't, but you know, you're so kind and sweet that I could have."  He remarks. She weakly laughed.

"I should have just met you before she does." She laughed once again, while sweet smiles on her lips, but agony she feels. They both understood, but the timing of their love was bad, just like Aphrodite's bargain. But it cannot be helped.

Until the clock had turned midnight, and so her heart faltered apart in his arms.

Sunghoon's tears are all over his face, dropping through the white sheets of her bed, he hugs her so tightly but she could not feel his warmth. Sunghoon is now full of regrets and he blames himself for not loving you.

He lies you down on your bed gently, and after, he rode his horse and bring himself to Aphrodite's temple and asked for her.

"Please bring Y/n back to life!" Pleaded he.

"No. I shall not." Answered she.

"You had loved her, but you denied her great love, regret is the only price that you deserved. She shall not live for it is the price for her bargain." Said the goddess. But Sunghoon tried to persuade her, but to no luck, he denied her.

Sunghoon came back to your bed chamber, tears rolling down from his eyes, while he caresses your calm emotionless face.

Now his mind round about how it's too late for him to love you back.

Then he puts his lips into yours, but it was no fairytale, you did not wake up.

"I SHALL DIE IF I COULD NO LONGER LIVE WITH HER!" He shouted to the top of his lung, and so, the goddess Athena answered him.

"Then you shall." And so, he lies down with her on the mattress, hugging each other's bodies, loving each other, as if they are just sleeping.

I might rewrite the jungwon and ni-ki ver...It's so cringe....bye

Masterlist

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[mariacallous]

We’re fighting a Vietnam redux. It’s 1938 all over again. The Guns of August are around the corner. A new Cold War has begun.

A raft of historical analogies has swirled around Ukraine coverage that purports to explain a war few experts saw coming. Do peacemakers like French President Emmanuel Macron risk being duped like former British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain at Munich? Or is this moment another 1914, and a wider European mobilization lurks around the corner?

The analogies writers apply to Ukraine shape how it’s understood—and how the public thinks the war will end. If this is really akin to World War I, Europe’s rulers should be careful not to escalate in the face of Russian mobilization—the opposite of what Germany announced it would do this year. But if the moment is like the 1938 Munich Agreement, negotiating with Russian President Vladimir Putin will encourage him to take more than just the four oblasts in eastern Ukraine.

Thinking about today through the lens of the past has a long provenance in the corridors of power. American administrations throughout the 20th century used historical analogies to frame the crises they faced, likening them to the Peloponnesian War between Athens and Sparta, the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, mission creep in Vietnam, the humanitarian disaster in Somalia, the bipolar tensions of a new Cold War—and, of course, everyone’s favorite analogy, appeasement at Munich. Putin himself has deployed historical analogies (including World War II appeasement) to justify the war in Ukraine, and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky has countered with his own.

There’s a reason that historical analogies like these are never in short supply. Analogical thinking is deeply embedded in the world’s cognition—how experts make sense of new situations—in what international relations academic Aidan Hehir calls an “inherent psychological compulsion.” Experts can’t help but think analogically. But because the choice and application of analogies is open to individual biases and errors, their use at the highest levels of policymaking carries serious risks.

For the last several decades, scientists have argued analogies are not just rhetorical devices but cognitive heuristics—mental shortcuts for making sense of the world. Baked into fundamental cognitive processes, heuristics help experts process new information by simplifying its complexity and organizing it according to preexisting mental structures. Without these shortcuts, people wouldn’t be able to function, overwhelmed by the phenomena of day-to-day life.

When people think analogically, they transfer meaning from one thing to another, understanding something present in terms of something past. But as with any shortcut, analogies have a downside. Heuristics distort the underlying phenomena of life, producing cognitive biases, such as the halo effect, confirmation bias, and overconfidence. Outlined by English philosopher Francis Bacon and popularized by psychologist Daniel Kahneman’s Thinking, Fast and Slow, these biases mean experts’ first and often most powerful judgments can be the most misleading. When experts use a historical analogy to understand the present, they risk importing the errors and biases inherent in the shortcut.

Owing to these possible dangers, political scientists and historians have intensely studied the use of historical analogies in foreign-policy decision-making using the “Analogical Explanation” framework. According to the framework, a decision-maker searches for an event in the past (called a “base” or “source”) that appears similar to the current event (called a “target” or “destination”). They then transfer or “map” knowledge of the base to the target, using the former to fill in information missing in the latter. A four-step formula describes the process:

Historical event (base) has property X.

Current event (target) also has property X.

Historical event (base) has property Y.

Current event (target) therefore has property Y.

Property Y in the last step is an inference: something missing in the current event but present in the historical one. Political scientist Yuen Foong Khong, a pioneer of the framework, summarizes this stage: “[I]f two or more events separated in time agree in one respect, then they may also agree in another.” Analogies used this way to allow decision-makers to comprehensively frame a whole situation, helping them define it, weigh its stakes, and assess possible solutions. They guide policymakers toward certain options and away from others.

Historian Barbara Tuchman’s The Guns of August, which emphasizes how great-power miscalculations spiraled into World War I, had a “profound impact” on former U.S. President John F. Kennedy’s decision-making during the Cuban missile crisis. As former U.S. Attorney General Robert Kennedy recalled, his brother was struck by the “stupidity, individual idiosyncrasies, misunderstandings, and personal complexes of inferiority and grandeur” that led the period’s great powers to “tumble into war.” The analogy cautioned the president against taking policy options during the crisis that might provoke escalatory counter-responses from Moscow.

Analogical reasoning suffers from several general problems. The analogy itself may be poorly chosen. The practitioner may have misidentified the analogy’s suitability, perhaps by recalling the most available case—what’s most on his or her mind at that moment or something drawn from personal experience—rather than the one that fits best. In the lead-up to the 2003 invasion of Iraq, then-U.S. President George W. Bush repeatedly and publicly compared then-Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein to Nazi dictator Adolf Hitler, an analogy also deployed by his father and which foreclosed negotiating with the Iraqi dictator. (George W. Bush’s administration later switched analogies to the American occupation of Korea.) Poor analogies convincingly pressed by influential policymakers can dominate the decision-making process, blocking rival understandings and new information that doesn’t fit the analogy. Practitioners may also pick a fitting analogy but reason about it poorly, confusing what’s important in it with what’s superficial or contextual. Leaders with low “cognitive complexity” may suffer from these problems more than others, employing unsophisticated analogies in unsophisticated ways. Unless handled with care, analogies mislead.

In his landmark 1992 study Analogies at War, Khong showed how these errors plagued U.S. policymakers in Vietnam. Former U.S. President Lyndon Johnson weighed the consequences of backing down in Vietnam using the Munich analogy, which likened nonintervention in Vietnam to Chamberlain’s fateful appeasement of Hitler in the Munich Agreement.

But Vietnam was no more analogous to Munich than future cases where U.S. foreign-policy makers used it to understand other dictators, such as Hussein. Hehir has convincingly shown that U.S. foreign-policy makers understood former Serbian President Slobodan Milosevic primarily through the lenses of the Dayton and Munich Agreements, leading to deliberate American bullishness at Rambouillet and the subsequent NATO-led airstrike campaign. Political scientists Rose McDermott and David Houghton likewise document how the Carter administration reviewed many analogies when it faced the Iran hostage crisis before settling on Israel’s successful Entebbe raid, where the Israelis successfully freed a planeload of hostages with minimal casualties. As a result, both former U.S. President Jimmy Carter and former U.S. National Security Advisor Zbigniew Brzezinski, the Entebbe analogy’s main proponent, underestimated the mission’s likelihood of success. In the mid-1990s, U.S. policymakers understood Rwanda through an “Africa” schema of tribal warfare, analogizing it with the failed humanitarian mission in Somalia. Throughout the 20th century, analogies powerfully framed U.S. decision-making—and often led its elites toward poor policy choices.

Historical analogies are particularly tempting in times of ambiguity and uncertainty, such as in the crises above and this current moment. In times like these, experts look for easy certainties that eliminate anxiety and reassure them about the future—what psychologists call “cognitive closure.” Analogies help, making the inconstant appear constant by drawing on the patterns of the past.

As the recent Russian mobilization shows, the war in Ukraine is fraught with unpredictability. Analysts continue to debate its fundamentals: Is it sui generis? Who is winning? What does Putin really want? What caused it, where is it going, and when will it end? If analogical reasoning is an unavoidable human compulsion, it is only natural that experts now look to the past to make sense of the present. Is Ukraine akin to another Munich and Putin to Hitler—and will it lead to another world war? And if not these, which cases should guide us?

History is the school of statesmanship, but its lessons are not all of equal value. Experts should think carefully about which analogies they choose, what lessons they think they provide, and to whom. Analogies promoted in the public sphere can be picked up by those in power—regardless of their accuracy. The competition of politics means sophisticated analogies are as likely to be abused as properly used. Powerful but simple historical analogies that draw Manichean lines of good and evil, like Munich, are especially seductive.

And experts should manage expectations. Extraordinary statecraft requires a level of high cognitive complexity that is probably rare. As historical analogies about Ukraine accumulate, experts should remember analogical reasoning’s broad limitations, underscored by this line from its most prominent recent examiner: “All historical analogies are suspect.”