#startling odyssey

[90sfantasyanimestuff]

Startling Odyssey II, Turbografx. Source.

[gravehags]

life comes at you fast kassandra

[trumanbluee]

you're the one that i want - deadpool / wade wilson

minors dni !! this is 17+ nsfw material !!!

please reblog if you like it! ᡣ𐭩

based on this request! <3

content: three words, baby! the honda odyssey!

word count: 2.5k

warnings: established relationship, no mention of condom (wrap it b4 u tap it!), petnames galore, deadpool is a warning in of himself lol.

a/n: the deadpool brainrot has been so strong recently so thank u guys so much for all ur requests! my return to my deadpool era couldn't have come at a worse time with my exams happening rn but i will try and write as much as i can! love you!

You'd been sitting in the backseat of the "fuck-ass Honda Odyssey", as Wade had described it, arm resting on the centre console, your head propped up on your palm lamely as you turn it left to right, half-listening to Wade and Logan argue like you're at a tennis match.

You'd almost flown forward into the front of the car when it came to an abrupt stop, tyres screeching as you let out a soft yelp in surprise. Wade hears you, and wordlessly pushes you back softly. You'd heard something spat out from Logan, along the lines of "You'll never save the fucking world!", followed by Wade's voice saying, "I'm gonna fight you now." and then the sound of a sickening crunch as he punches Logan in the nose.

It's milliseconds before you see your boyfriend's arm reach back and open your door, gently ushering you out with a soft, "Why don't you go for a walk, pretty girl?"

You know better than to argue, especially with Logan seething in the front seat, so you hop out of the car, shutting the door behind you as you trudge off into the trees, half grateful for being kicked out of the car so you didn't have to listen to Logan's grumbles when you inevitably had to ask him to pull over so you could pee.

You could hear the yelling and grunting in the distance, shaking your head as you hear the faint shatter of glass, followed by a - less than masculine - squeal from your boyfriend. You laughed to yourself, not worried in the slightest as you hear the fighting between the two, Logan's growls echoing through the trees as he squelches his claws into your boyfriend's stomach.

You'd told Wade to give Logan a break, and that eventually he would find out about his 'educated wish', but he hadn't listened, instead continuing to push and push and push Logan until, expectedly, he reached his breaking point.

You wandered around amongst the trees for a while, before slumping against a tree not too far from the car, your eyes growing heavy as you listened to the soft rustle of the leaves above you.

You wake up groggily, looking around the room as you rub sleep from your eyes. You startle when a red suit appears in front of you, but it's not the Deadpool suit that you're all too familiar with.

"I'm Elektra, that's Gambit," the woman points to a man in a helmet, who's stood in the corner, playing with cards, "and that's Blade," she points over her shoulder with her thumb to the man in a long, leather trench-coat.

"I.. uhm.. Hi?" you say, taken aback by this sudden bombardment of strangers.

"We're helping you and your friends get out of the void." Elektra explains, offering her hand to help you stand up. You take it gratefully.

"...Oh, cool..." you say, still groggy from being asleep for so long. "..are.. are they around?"

Elektra nods, pointing outside with her head, "Yellow's by the fire, Red's... around here somewhere."

You nod, thanking her and smiling awkwardly at Blade and Gambit as you walk outside, the smoke from the fire consuming your nostrils as you step out. You spot Logan by the fire, but see that he's sitting with someone.

'She looks an awful lot like that X-23 girl we saw at the TVA.' you think, not ruling out the possibility that it is her with the level of weirdness that had already occurred during your short time in the void. You tread on, looking around before you spot the Honda Odyssey. You shake your head, rolling your eyes as you walk to the drivers door of the car, opening it to reveal your boyfriend in the back-seat, pulling his katana's out of the passenger's seat next to you as you plop into the driver's seat.

He looks up when he hears the car door open, and the white eyes of his mask visible soften as he sees you.

"Hey baby," he coos, scooching forward in the back-seat to press a soft kiss to your cheek through his mask as you sit in the driver's seat, peeking over the headrest to look back at him, "was wonderin' when you were gonna wake up, sleepy head."

You smile softly, before taking a moment to look around at the damage done to the car. Your eyes go wide and your hand flies to your mouth, the other reaching back to swat at Wade's shoulder.

"Wade! What the fuck did you two get up to in here? Jesus Christ!"

You hear a whisper of 'Baby Knife!' followed by a soft grunt as Wade pockets another one of his knives.

"Just some good ol' fashioned fightin', baby! I'm kinda sad you missed it, that shit got good!"

You tut, leaning around the driver's seat to look at him as he's hunched over, digging for another one of his knives beneath the seat.

You hear him mumble something along the lines of 'Hate this fuckin' car' before he shoots up, and you can sense his smile through the mask. He leans back in the seats that are in the very back of the car, right leg thrown over one seat, with his other leg spread, suit-clad knee pressing into the fabric of the other. His eyes sharpen as he looks at you, before groaning softly, throwing his head back in a circle, and sighing.

"Fuck, princess, that fightin's gotten me all worked up," he groans, chin pressed to the top of his chest as he looks at you, eyes narrowed.

You feel your thighs rub together at the way he looks at you, the manspreading the cherry on top of a very, very, delicious looking dessert. He chuckles, gesturing to your thighs with his head.

"Saw that, baby." He laughs to himself before he lifts his hand, beckoning you to him with two fingers, his other hand resting on the headrest of the seat in front of him, twiddling Baby Knife between his fingers.

You squirm in your seat before not so agilely climbing over the centre console, crawling over the seat and onto Wade’s lap. He pockets Baby Knife, bringing a hand up to pull the bottom of his mask up, the other settling on your ass as you straddle his waist. 

“Hey doll-face,” he murmurs, smiling and giving your ass a playful squeeze, pulling his mask fully off before placing his hand on the nape of your neck, pulling you into a kiss. 

You moan against his lips as you kiss back, his gloved hand giving your ass a firmer squeeze. Wade uses this opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips as you gasp into his mouth. Your hips grind down subconsciously and he pulls away from the kiss, both of your chests rising quickly as you both try and regain your breath from the heated kiss. 

Wade smirks up at you, moving both of his hands to your hips, squeezing softly, pulling a giggle from your lips before he’s engulfing them in another breathless kiss. He moves your hips with his hands, grinding you down on his boner as it tents in his suit, causing him to buck up absentmindedly as he groans into your mouth. Your breathy whimpers vibrate against his lips, and he pulls away, leaning his head back against the headrest behind him. 

“…Fuck, doll-face,” he groans, looking up at you, “ look what you're fuckin’ do to me, baby.” 

He nods down to his dick, almost bursting out of his suit, and your mouth nearly drops open. Wade thinks to himself that if you were in an animé, you’d have heart emojis bulging from your eyes. 

He takes his hands off your hips, crossing his arms behind his head in faux-laziness as he watches you undo the buckle of his belt, slapping the sides of his legs softly, signalling for him to lift his hips. 

“Watch it, doll-face.” Wade warns, half-joking, “Ask me nicely, please.” 

You groan, giving him your ‘are-you-fucking-serious-right-now’ glare as you tug at his belt. He’d been on the receiving end of this look many times in the past, so he’s unfazed as he chuckles dryly, planting his hips down.

 “I can wait, Princess.” 

You roll your eyes, huffing. “Please, Wade,” you glare at him, “Will you please lift your hips up so I can get your dick out?” 

You add a pout and a flutter of your lashes at the end, and his resolve noticeably crumbles. He huffs, lifting his hips up off the car seat just enough for you to pull down his pants slightly. You dip your hand into his underwear, giving his dick a soft tug before freeing it from the tight pants of his Deadpool suit. 

You gather some spit in your mouth, looking at your boyfriend through your lashes before spitting onto the tip of his cock, using your hand to spread it along his length, squeezing softly around the base. Wade groans from below you, his hips bucking into your hand.

“Fuck, hotstuff, ya’ killin’ me here.” 

Wade hisses as you squeeze a bit harder around his dick, the pretty ring he’d proposed to you with cold against his skin. 

He almost whines, stopping himself by biting his lip, “Oh, c’mon baby, what’d I do to deserve this teasin’, huh? I fought so valiantly against ol’ Wolvie, didn’t I, princess? Don’t I deserve to be treated nicely?” 

Something about the whiny-ness of his tone sends a pang to your heart, and pussy, and you grind down against his thigh absentmindedly before putting both your hands on his shoulders. 

“Help me out, would ya’, Wadey?” you ask sweetly, shimmying your hips slightly to gain his attention. 

His hands fly to your tights, tugging them down your thighs, lifting your legs softly, one by one, and peeling your pants off, leaving you hovering above him in your prettiest pair of panties. You’d been wearing them as a birthday surprise for him, but you’d both been snagged by the TVA before you could put them to good use… until now. 

Wade’s breath hitches from beneath you as his eyes land on your panties, his lower lip bitten between his teeth as his chest heaves. 

“Fuck, doll-face, what’re you all dressed up for?” he says, tracing a gloved hand over the lacy hem of your white panties, pressing a soft kiss to the little blue bow in the middle, before blowing a puff of cool air onto the damp spot beneath it. 

Your legs wobble softly and a shiver runs up your spine, leaving you grateful for your hands planted on your boyfriend's broad shoulders. 

You muster the breath to say, “They’re for you, baby… Well, they were for your birthday…”

He groans softly, pressing a soft kiss to your mound before pushing the thin fabric to the side, swiping a gloved finger through your slick. 

“Shit, baby.. Y’so wet f’me,” he says, voice breathless. “Fuck those stupid fucking day players, keeping my beautiful fiance, and her beautiful fucking panties from me on my birthday. What assholes, hey baby?” He says, pressing his thumb to your clit harshly as he blows another puff of air onto your slick pussy, causing your hips to buck into the air. 

You whine softly, bringing a hand to pump Wade’s cock once again, nodding mindlessly at his question that he knows you didn’t even hear. 

Wade chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest and shooting straight to your cunt, your thighs squeezing around his hand as he thumbs your clit lazily. 

You shuffle yourself forward on his lap, holding onto Wade’s strong shoulder with your hand, the other slowly pumping his cock as you lift yourself up, breathing hitching as you push yourself down onto the tip of Wade’s dick. 

His breath hitches beneath you, rubbing soothing circles on your hips through his gloves as you sink down onto him. His hands grip your hips tighter as he bottoms out, your eyes squeezed shut as you clamp down on his length. 

“Shit, baby, I could blow my load right now.” Wade gasps, head thrown back as his grip tightens on your hips, moving you up and down on his cock. You follow suit with his movements, digging your nails into the fabric of his suit as you leverage yourself on his shoulders, pushing yourself up and slamming yourself down on his cock, a moan slipping from your lips at every drag of his dick along your walls. 

Your hips stutter slightly, and Wade takes this as his cue, moving his hands from your hips to gain a strong grip on your ass, lifting you up and slamming his hips to meet yours. You whine softly, eyebrows knitting together and biting your lip as the soft squelch of your wetness reverberates around the car, your chest heaving with exertion, skin dewy with a thin sheen of sweat. 

You throw your head back, moaning wantonly, one hand coming off of Wade’s shoulder and pressing against the roof of the car. 

“...Shit…Wade!” you stammer as he moves one hand to your lower stomach, his thumb pressing harshly on your clit through his glove.

You slam your hips down to meet Wade's quicker, chasing your high as Wade slams his hips up to meet yours, his head thrown back against the head-rest behind him, eyes closed, as he groans softly.

"C'mon, doll-face," Wade grunts from beneath you, rubbing cruel circles on your clit as he bucks into you, "...y'gonna cum? Can feel you squeezing around me, princess."

You moan softly, babbling something like a 'uh-huh' as your eyebrows knit together, eyes shutting tight as you feel the coil building in your lower belly, threatening to snap any moment.

Wade feels you clamping around him, looking up and watching as you throw your head back, your grip on his shoulder tightening.

"That's it, baby," he groans from under you, pinching at your clit meanly causing you to whimper softly, your head coming forward, forehead resting against his as you grind down onto his cock.

"C'mon, hotstuff, give it to me..." he grunts, feeling his own orgasm coming as you clench down on him like a vice, a string of curse words sputtering from your lips as he feels you gush around him.

"...Shit, baby... Good girl," he coos, fucking you through your orgasm as he cums, soft grunts sounding in your ear as he bucks into you before stilling, stopping the movements of his thumb on your clit, as he lifts you up gently and pulls out. He pulls his hand away from your clit, but not before collecting a part of the mixture of yours and his cum on his gloved fingers, pushing it slowly back in to your drooling pussy. You whine, overstimulated, and he tuts, pushing your panties back into place and pulling your pants back up your legs, leaning back in the seat as you slump against his chest.

He smiles, giving your bum a soft pat and pressing a kiss to your hairline, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I lied, doll-face, the Honda Odyssey fucks, hard.”

©trumanbluee - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! but i do not wish for my work to be republished, translated, or copied. thanks!

[sun-kissy]

congrats on 1k san!! your odyssey is so so cute🥹 i was wondering if i could get james potter + 🐚 with the lovely words prompt? “i was thinking of you. couldn’t find it in me to stop.” feels so james coded!!! love you!!

thank you so much for the request darling shay <33

“i was thinking of you. couldn’t find it in me to stop.” + james potter

꩜ james potter x reader

꩜ summary: he drops by your place at an odd hour, and you can’t help but worry, though there’s no reason to

James knew he shouldn’t be this enamoured, not with a girl he barely knew. But he couldn’t help himself.

The two of you had been acquainted for a while — being friends with Sirius made you a friend of a hundred other people, and he’d come across you at one party or another. James had always thought you were pretty. Not the way other girls were, but the way sunsets and rainbows were, the way tulips were. He thought you were beautiful.

Tulips. You had mentioned them once, how your mother used to place fresh ones on your desk every week. He really hoped that meant you liked them, because here he was outside your door with nothing but a bunch of pink, pointed flowers.

You open the door, surprise softening into a small smile when your eyes land on him. “James, hi.”

“Hey, lovely. Can I come in?”

James walks in as you make way for him, giving you a peck as he passes. You reciprocate, small smile despite your slight, rising anxiety.

You help him hang up his coat. “What’s up?” you ask as you usher him towards the couch. “Is anything wrong?”

James catches the hint of worry in your tone. He gives you a bemused smile, planting himself right next to you. Maybe it’s a bit too forward of him, but it’s not his fault you look this beautiful. “Why would you think that?”

“Well,” you laugh nervously, “um, because… it’s like 10pm, and you’ve just shown up here out of the blue. Are you okay?” You twirl a stray piece of hair around your finger anxiously before tucking it behind your ear. James would love to do it for you, but doesn’t want to scare you off.

He grins. “What, is a man not allowed to visit his girlfriend?” He angles his body on the couch to face you, a sort of smugness to him. Like he knows he’s going to fluster you. “You look lovely, by the way.”

You feel your face warm. You didn’t exactly think your Mickey Mouse pajamas were particularly flattering, nor your face without makeup. James was too nice.

“Oh, thank you,” you say shyly, eyes darting downwards as you fiddle with the ends of your shirt. “But seriously, you’re okay?”

James chuckles and takes your hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. He feels you tense up for a moment before you look up at him hesitantly, relaxing.

“Everything’s okay, lovely, really,” he smiles, voice lathered in affection. He emphasizes it with another gentle squeeze, which you reciprocate. “I was just… thinking of you, couldn’t find it in me to stop. So I decided to come by.”

It’s like you can feel the physical force of his affection slam into your heart. Maybe that’s how love travels; the touch of someone’s hands on yours, or the way they look at you, like your stupid pajamas and messiness are the most endearing things on earth. Maybe it’s just James, and maybe he just loves you.

You try to say something. It comes out more as a half-embarrassed, half-grateful squeak, and you cringe.

James doesn’t poke fun, just waits for you to continue with a widening smile. He loves to see you flustered, the evidence of shy affection on your face.

You clear your throat, try again. “That’s very sweet of you. Thank you for coming by.” You smile, then, and it’s genuine.

“No problem, sweetheart,” James grins. He leans forward to place an adoring peck to your cheek and you smile shyly, gaze dropping.

You stare at your hands, happiness evident. James stares at you. He knows he might just seem lovestruck, but he doesn’t mind.

He gasps suddenly. You startle, looking up worriedly. You open your mouth to ask but he laughs, waving you off. “Nothing happened. Just, these completely slipped my mind,” he smiles sheepishly, picking up the bunch of tulips from his lap and handing them to you. “Bought these for you.”

“You didn’t have to,” you mumble, but your eyes light up. You take them from him gingerly, admiration and affection all at once. “Tulips,” you smile, happily looking them over.

James thinks you sound awed. He grins.

“I got you tulips.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to burst. “Thank you.”

You look up at James, shy smile widening into a beam. He smiles back at you, and before he can ask if you like them, you lean forward to peck his cheek.

Guess he has to get you tulips more often, then.

san’s 1k ocean odyssey

[yoditopascal]

Like A Prayer (Part One)

summary: best friends with wade you’re always being dragged into something even when he’s not trying to, what are you to do when you find the fate of your timeline in the hands of yourself, your chaotic merc and an angry wolverine who’s hellbent on drinking himself to death?

content warning: romance, some angst, a little fluff, character deaths, canon-typical violence, smut, lots of cussing, mutual pining, found family, drug and alcohol use, reader insert but with no use of y/n cuz I hate that shit, deadpool being deadpool, mentions of poor mental health (depression anxiety and ptsd mostly), scent marking, the honda odyssey scene needs a warning all on its own MINORS DNI

a/n: lots of wade in this one but no wolverine just yet!

tag list: @allmyn1ghts, @oscarissac2099

Masterlist//Next Chapter

Not Ok

Flashes of images invaded your mind. You were in a tank, arms restrained to your sides as the oxygen was slowly sucked out of the chamber, suffocating you. Your nails digging into the leather cushioning beneath you as you try to claw your way out.

Now you were strapped to a table, an array of needles embedded into your arms and legs as you were injected painfully with all kinds of different things you weren’t even sure of.

You startled awake before the sound of your alarm had a chance to rouse you from your sleep. Groggily you run a shaky hand over your face before rolling over to grab your phone checking the time. You still had about 3 hours before it was time to get up and get ready for work. Knowing you most likely weren’t going to go back to sleep, not that you wanted to anyways, you toss the covers off of you and head to the bathroom.

You turn the water of the shower on, waiting for it to heat up as you stand back up you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror, taking in your disheveled appearance you sigh as you lean over the sink.

There’s visible dark circles under your eyes from being torn from sleep countless times over the last few months. You were sure why the nightmares had started back up again, it had been years since you had been freed from the Weapon X program so why was it all coming back now?

Pulling your tank top over your head you quickly undressed and hopped into the shower. The water cascaded over you, the warmth a welcome relief. You closed your eyes, as you felt your tired muscles slowly start to relax under the soothing spray. Lathering up your soap on a loofa you quickly washed and dried yourself putting on ample amounts of makeup to hide your dark circles.

Once dressed you sat down at your little table in the kitchen and helped yourself to a bowl of cereal as you checked your phone again.

So much shit was happening in the world, genocides, corrupt politicians running for power, starving children. It was all you saw anytime you opened up anything and it was all too much. The world was going to complete shit

You lock your phone and check the time, you still had about an hour before work. Slipping on your shoes you grab your keys and your bag and head out the door nearly bumping into Wade who was munching on a bagel in the hallway.

“Jesus fuck Wade!” You said placing a hand over your rapidly beating heart. “You scared the shit outta me!”

“My bad pookie bear. Didn’t know you worked today.” He said with a shrug adjusting his wig as he did so.

“Almost every day this week.” You said with a sigh rubbing a hand down your tired face. You had been doing that a lot lately. “God I’m so tired.”

“I hear OnlyFans is really popping off right now.”Wade said but it was hard to tell if he was joking or not with his straight face.

“Yeah? So what, you and Vanessa can be my only subscribers?” You snorted with an exaggerated laugh.

“I know for a fact Colossus would pay top dollar for a sneak peak of your toes!”

The sound of your ex's name made you grimace. Not that you had any ill will towards him, you were both still good friends albeit a bit awkward now that you’ve dated for a short time, but you still didn’t want the thought of him anyway near anything sexual you did.

“Hard pass.”

“Suit yourself.” Wade said taking another bite from his bagel and you two walked down the hall together.

You start to rub at your forehead as you felt a headache coming on as you walked, another occurrence that had started to happen more and more often.

“More nightmares?” Wade asks, his voice laced with concern as he watched you.

“Yeah…but don’t worry about it Wade.” You could handle yourself, a few ibuprofen and you’d be fine.

He calls your name, as if to say it’s too late not to be worried about you, but you wave him off as you dig around in your backpack for a second before pulling out a small black envelope.

“Happy birthday by the way! You’re hard as fuck to shop for so I hope you like it.” You smile at him as you hold out the gift hoping to change the subject.

With an exaggerated gasp Wade tosses his bagel behind him and holds up his hands up in surprise before taking the envelope from you, and ripping it open. Inside were two tickets to a Celine Dion concert, one of his favorite artists.

“Oh my-!” He starts with a gasp “I didn’t even know she was touring!” He cried excitedly as he pulled you into a tight hug.

“Yeah I had to basically stalk Ticketmaster for those so you’re welcome.” You said returning the hug.

“Sugar booger! I love it!” He said releasing you.

“Now you just gotta figure out who to take with you.” You said as you bump shoulders with him. “Maybe Peter….oooor I don’t know maybe a certain someone we all know and love who works at a particular strip club that we like to visit on occasion?”

“Peanut…” Wade warned, you held up your hands in surrender. It was like a kid trying to get their divorced parents back together.

“Look, all I’m saying is it wouldn’t hurt to ask her.”

“I’ll think about it.” He says quietly as he stares out deep in thought.

With that the two of you part ways, wishing each other a good day at work, Wade heading for his bike where Peter was waiting and waving at you, and you heading toward the bus stop.

Work at the pet shop was the same as always, mundane and mind numbing but it paid the rent so who were you to complain about it. You had your fair share of zooted teens coming in to ask dumbass questions and waste your time as well as the occasional fish snob who complained about the size of your tanks but all of that was typical of a normal day and honestly made it go by quicker. By the time you realized what time it was it was time to clock out and head on home to help set up for Wade’s surprise party.

Once home you dropped off your bag and changed your clothes putting on a loose fitted t-shirt and jeans with a cardigan before heading over to Wade’s place with a bunch of drinks. You didn’t drink much but everytime Wade went out on a “business trip”, as he called them, back in his Deadpool days he’d bring you back a bottle of something.

Inside Wade and Blind Al’s apartment across the hall, many of your mutual friends were already busy at work setting up for the party. Colossus Ellie and Yukio were busy blowing up balloons and decorating while Dopinder Buck and Vanessa were busy setting up the food spread.

Looking around yourself you felt a small smile tug at the corner of your lips, all around you were the people you and Wade loved the most and you were incredibly lucky to have them in your lives after everything you all had been through over the years. A pang in your chest made you hold a hand over it and your smile dropped. Something still felt missing though and no matter how hard you thought about it you just couldn’t place what it was.

“How you doing sweetheart?” A soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. Whipping around you were pulled into a tight hug by Blind Al.

“I’m doing alright.” You smiled weakly “How’d you know it was me?”

“I’m blind not deaf sweetheart,” she said “ain’t nobody else here sighing that hard but you and Wade and Wade’s not here yet.”

“Sorry.”

“Your dreams still giving you trouble?” She asks as she leads you further into the home.

“I wouldn’t say dreams, more like night terrors but yeah they are a little.” You say as you place the bag said booze you bought on the kitchen counter and follow Al to the living room where she seated herself comfortably in her recliner. “It’s nothing to worry about though.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter baby.”

For someone who was blind Al sure could see right through you sometimes.

“I’m probably just stressed is all.” You try to downplay the situation but Al wasn’t having it.

“It’s been months.” She says matter of factly.

“It’s been a stressful few months.”

“Look… I may not have been there when you and Wade went through what you went through in that program but it’s over now. It’s done and that Ajax guy can’t hurt you anymore.” She said resting a hand in her arm gently.

Al hadn’t been a part of the Weapon X program like you and Wade had been but that hadn’t stopped him from telling her in excruciating detail about all the horrible shit you both had gone through during it.

“I know Al I just-“ you start but stop not fully knowing how to describe what you felt. “I just wish I could switch my brain off, just hit the reset button and be done with it but I- can’t get the memories outta my head.”

“I know sweetheart it’s gonna take time but time ain’t gonna do shit if you don’t let people in to help you.”

You knew she was right but you’d be damned if you’d admit it out loud.

“When did this turn into a therapy session? I thought this was supposed to be a party.”

“Smart ass.” She said tapping you on the leg with her cane. “Go help Vanessa make the jungle juice before he gets home. I’m gonna go see if that dumbass has any Bolivian marching powder left in his stash.” With that she stood to her feet and went to her’s and Wade’s shared bedroom

“Oh Al come on! I thought you guys were done with that.” You called after her with a frown.

“Not till I’m dead babygirl.” She called back and if she could you think she’d wink at you.

Back in the kitchen you and Vanessa make quick work mixing and setting up the drink you bought making light conversation as you do so.

“So-“ she starts off but pauses as if deep in thought for a moment.

“So?” You ask curiously as you take a sip of the alcoholic punch taste testing to see if it needed anything.

“You uh seeing anybody new yet?” She asks.

You nearly choke on your drink in surprise.

“N-no I uh no I’m not.” You stuttered trying to compose yourself. “Are you?”

“Y-yeah there’s this guy. I met him at work, he’s kind.”

You could tell she was lying, but didn’t speak on it.

“Y’know, I hear Colossus has been talking about you to Ellie a lot lately.”

Here we go again you thought.

“Oh nah hard pass we tried that dance already didn’t really work out.” You waved her off, but she continued anyway.

“I’m just saying he’s a nice guy, and he’s big, like everywhere, and made of metal, that’s like totally your thing. Remember when we saw the Winter Soldier and you wouldn’t shut up about Bucky’s metal arm?”

Not she was calling you out.

“Just think about it hun, you're always stuck up in your apartment or at work, you’re lonely and I think a little human connection would do you some good.”

“Yeah alright I’ll think about it.” She smiles at you before caressing your cheek, like she was the big sister you never knew you had.

“But only if you think about giving Wade another chance too.” You slip in “Deal?”

She contemplates for a moment before she smiles back at you again. You knew she still had feelings for the man and so did he.

“Deal.”

Before either of you could change the topic of your conversation the front door opened up again, this time revealing Peter and Wade.

“Surprise!” Everyone shouted as Dopinder Ellie and Yukio threw confetti into the air.

“Oh you guys!” Wade gasps dramatically. “You’re lucky I’m not armed!”

“If this was five years ago you’d all be dead.” He laughed as he went around hugging everyone.

The party went on without a hitch. Wade intermingling with everyone as he was passed around the room. You stayed in your own little corner as you watched sipping on your third drink for the evening. Parties weren’t really your thing but for Wade you’d endure them when you had to. Just as you were about to move to get yourself another drink you spotted Wade and Vanessa talking quietly amongst themselves in the kitchen hovering over the punch bowl. With a smile just glad they were finally talking to each other you thought it better not to disturb them for the time being.

Soon after however you all found yourselves piling into the kitchen as Wade called for everyone to come and cut the cake. Wade snapped a few pictures on Yukio’s Polaroid, making some cheesy speech about how lucky he was to be surrounded each and every person he ever loved in one room, something you rolled your eyes at even though you had found yourself thinking the same thing just earlier, before going to make a wish blowing out his birthday candles as he did so.

The party continued to progress throughout the night and the stuffiness of all the bodies in the room was starting to get to you. Excusing yourself from conversing with Buck and Peter you step out into the hallway for a moment to try and get some air. Your head felt like it was swimming, probably from all the alcohol and not enough food, and you were starting to feel nauseated as a pounding sound hammered through your skull. Eventually you decided to take a step outside to get some actual air to see if that would help.

After a handful of greedy gulps of the fresh night air you finally decide to return to the party before anyone came looking for you. Once inside your hallway you spotted Wade first, but he wasn’t alone this time. Surrounding him were at least 5 guys all dressed in black body armor and masks with weird electrical looking batons in their grasps. Immediately your defenses rose as you silently crept up behind them.

“Oh peanut, you came back! I’d offer to let you join in on the orgy but I don’t think this guy here’s down for sharing me.” Wade quips as he sucks on a breath mint leaning on his doorway. His comment drew most of the men’s attention towards you but not before he drew it back to himself. It seemed that they could care less that you were even there. “He’s got this whole hate sex, love 'em and leave' em vibe going for him right now.”

“Shut your mouth clown!” The guy in the front snaps as he goes to grab Wade by his toupee. Just as he grabs it an orange doorway opens up behind Wade and a pair of arms reach out pulling him inside causing his hair system to get ripped off.

“Wade!” You shout as you sprung into action, using all your weight you shove two of the guys causing the three of you to fall through the strange orange doorway just before it closed behind you.

[ashjade19]

Siren Aemond x (fem) reader

TW: SMUT, dubcon, breeding (?), threatening, alcohol consumption (not much tho)

“I feel like this camping trip will be good for us! There’s nothing quite like reconnecting with nature,” Alys, my best friend since childhood, smiles at me as we set up our tent.

“If that’s what the birthday girl wishes,” I grin back at her. We’ve hiked to a hill overlooking a giant lake, green surrounds us from every angle. While Alys and I have practically grown up in our backyards, it's been a while since I’ve been in the woods, due to me having moved to the city five years ago for work. As an office worker, I have barely been able to take a few days off to relax, so for me to be able to come out into the mountains with my best friend is a miracle in itself.

The day is spent setting up camp, taking smaller hikes through the mountain and fishing in the lake next to our campsite. We are the only people we’ve seen so far, but Alys and I both love the tranquility and the opportunity to be truly ourselves. The strange thing is that I feel like we are being watched the entire time as we fish. When I bring it up to the dark haired woman, she just shrugs.

“Maybe ghosts,” she jokes and though I may laugh along with her, I still feel the prickling sensation of a stare. It isn't until later that evening that I loosen up and forget about the piercing stare with the help of some alcohol and a fun campfire dinner (of ramen noodles) with my best friend.

“Right, well I’m tired. Bedtime?” Alys gets up to start getting ready for bed. She braids her long black hair and makes sure her nose piercings and earrings are still in place before grabbing her toothbrush and toothpaste.

“Go ahead, I want to put my feet into the lake,” I take a flashlight and blanket with me to the shore, it’s early summer so my sweatpants and old t-shirt should keep me warm enough.

“Okay, see you in a bit,” she calls out to me and I simply grin back and make my trek down to the water that laps gently at the sandy shore.

I sit near the water, taking my shoes off and letting my feet soak in the cool water while admiring the brightness of the stars, full moon, and how tranquil nature can be. Just as I close my eyes, I hear an agitation in the water. I open my eyes to be met with one lilac eye and a…gem? I fall back after making a startled gasp.

“What the hell?!” I study the figure in front of me. Long, pin straight, silver hair that practically glows in the moonlight. A piercing lilac eye and a sapphire in place of the other eye. As the figure lifts itself out of the water more and more, I notice that what I’m looking at is not human. I scramble to my feet and back away, studying the…thing in front of me that has a very apparent midnight black tail and a dorsal fin on his back.

“Did I drink too much? I’m hallucinating, right? Merpeople aren’t real, maybe I’ve read ‘The Odyssey’ and other mythologies a few too many times,” I mumble to myself, mostly trying to convince myself that this isn’t real. I flinch, however, when the monster in front of me chuckles, his sharp teeth on display. They look as sharp as shark’s teeth, making a shiver go down my spine.

“Hm, smart human,” his voice is deep, smooth, and sultry.

“Now the hallucination is talking, great. Alys! Alys, we may have a problem-” I turn to run towards the campsite, but am stopped when a slick hand closes around my ankle and yanks me into the creature’s chest. My eyes widen, the creature is not a hallucination, I know this from his cold skin touching my back. His skin is wet, cold, and I can feel patches of scales while the majority of his chest is made up of soft and smooth skin. Right as I’m about to scream the monster tugs me closer to him and puts his free hand over my mouth.

“Sh, humans certainly are loud,” his mouth is so close to my ear, I can feel his breath drift from the shell of my ear to the side of my neck.

“But you smell so perfect,” he mutters and if I wasn’t panicking before I am now.

“Please don’t eat me! I swear I won’t taste good!” I managed to spit out from behind his fingers.

“Eat you?” He chuckles, which should probably make me less nervous, as the words imply that he won’t be eating me, but it only makes me more anxious.

“Hmm, no. I wouldn’t be a good mate if I ate you, now would I?”

“Mate? As in, like, friend?” I ask nervously, hopefully, after he removes his hand from my mouth.

“No.”

“Well I don’t know any other kind of mate-”

“Humans, so smart yet so stupid,” the creature growls.

“Well then, explain it to the ‘stupid human’, will you?!” I make my own snide remark, though my voice still shakes slightly with fear. He hums thoughtfully for a moment, turning my face slightly to the side so I can see him better. He traces my jawline and then my lips with his frighteningly sharp nails, reminiscent of talons. My eyes follow his nails as best as I can, fearing he might cut me.

“You smell like you are my mate, and my mate must be an intelligent one. So, figure it out, darling. I’ve given you enough clues,” I can’t think for a moment, I’m so scared that nothing enters my brain. Then everything floods the gates of my brain. Mate: associate or companion, match or peer; (transitive verb) equal, match, or couple. Couple…as in copulation? Well shit.

“You can’t be talking about the animal kind of mate…right?”

“Very good, the gods chose you well for me,” his grin is unnerving, partially due to the sharp teeth he has on display, but also because of a certain glint in his eye. It’s dark, sinful and full of lust.

“Sirens may live long lives, but heirs come approximately once every fifty or so years. We have certain years in our prime when we are more likely to produce heirs. When the time nears, we hunger for our mate. Our bodies will connect with the mate chosen for us by the gods, and it would seem that you are my chosen mate,” the creature explains while dragging me more into the water. No matter how much I kick and fight against him, his grip is unrelenting.

“But I’m a human! We can’t mate!” The water is to my waist now, my sweatpants are soaked and it looks as though I won’t be able to escape his grasp anytime soon.

“It matters not, I know sea witches capable enough to turn you into a mermaid or siren. Now, say goodbye to land, your feet will never touch dry land again.”

I look at him, confused.

“This is a lake, where are we going?”

“Oh, what a cute human I have. There are tunnels that connect this lake and a few others to the ocean,” he coos and explains while I frown, that shouldn’t be possible. Even if it is possible, humans have done enough exploring around here to have known about that.

“It’s well hidden and guarded, humans would not have found it and lived.”

“Take me back, or I will scream. My friend will get help before you can take me out to sea,” it’s somewhat of a bluff, and apparently a poor one as the creature doesn’t stop his movements of swimming us both farther from the shore. I take in a deep breath, ready to scream, when he slaps a hand over my mouth.

“Scream, and I’ll sing so that friend of yours drowns in front of you, and it would be your fault,” he threatens and I immediately stop, not wanting Alys to get hurt.

“Good girl, that’s my mate. You have some common sense after all, my darling,” he coos into my ear. He finally takes his hand from my mouth after not-so-playfully nibbling on my neck. A small squeak makes its way out of me before I can quell it. I feel his smirk on my skin before he kisses the spot he just nibbled on.

“What do I call you, my sweet nymph?” His velvety smooth voice is so close to my ear. I tell him my name and he hums.

“My name is Aemond, though I wouldn’t mind if you call me your mate or…mm, no. I can’t wait to hear you scream my name over and over again until it’s all you know.” He moves me quickly so that my chest is pressed against his before he finally drags the both of us beneath the water.

Cold water envelops my body and my squirming body’s movements are halted by Aemond's arms wrapping themselves tightly around me. I try to hold my breath for as long as I can, but he had given me no warning before dunking us beneath the murky water.

In only seconds, although it feels more like hours, I run out of air. Aemond is close enough so that I can see his wicked smirk even in the dark water. The bastard can see that I’ve run out of air! He’s practically reveling in it! My eyes shut after a moment, my lungs burn, and I’m choking on water. I don’t want to die like this.

Only a second after I close my eyes, I feel cold lips claim mine. My jaw is forcibly opened and air is pushed into my mouth. I suck in the air, allowing him to pull me closer.

I feel my shirt ripped off of my body.

I feel my bra get unhooked and forced off of me.

I feel him tear off every article of clothing that remained on me.

His claws feel every inch of my skin.

It almost feels like he is worshiping every freckle, stretch mark, bump, beauty mark, and scar. His hands draw circles and other shapes into my skin as I can do nothing but breathe in the air he is giving me. His finger circles my sensitive pearl like a shark does its prey. I try not to gasp too much, as I’m still relying on him for oxygen.

Relying on him for oxygen. I hate this. I hate that he’s forcing me to rely on him to do something as simple as breathing. But most of all, I despise how good he’s making me feel. It feels like there's an electric current running through me, from the tip of my fingers to my toes. His tongue darts into my mouth and I feel my tongue caressing his.

His touch leaves me breathless, his lips starting a fire in me. He swallows my moans when his fingers leave my pearl alone and start to pump in and out of me. My walls pulsate around his pointer and middle finger while one of my own fingers travels down to rub circles on my clit. I don’t know which of us breaks the kiss, but suddenly my head is tilted back and his lips are around my left nipple. A moan is drawn out of me and I regret that as soon as I accidentally breathe in water. I barely notice Aemond chuckling while I panic, needing oxygen. The panic breaks whatever spell like trance I was under and I am back to clawing at him, desperate for air. I see him roll his eye before flicking his tail and taking us above water.

I cough and gasp, not being able to get enough air into my burning lunge. As I am focused on breathing, I vaguely feel the sensation of Aemond’s hands wrapping my bare legs around his waist, where scales meet skin. I hadn’t even noticed him gliding us through the water until my back met the cool sensation of a rock. I look around me, now noticing we are in a small cave. The cave is about ten feet wide, but there is air and that is all that matters to me at the moment.

Then I feel it. The sensation of being speared open by Aemond.

It burns at first, as it would if you aren’t prepared well enough.

“You can take it,” he grunts as he continues to enter me inch by inch. When he finally sheaths himself all the way in he stills his movements, allowing me to breathe and for my body to become accustomed to him. In the meantime, he places hot kisses down my neck, to my shoulder, and back up my neck.

“Ready, little nymph?” I gaze into his lilac orb and sapphire in place of his other eye and give a short nod. He moves slowly but is so deep in me, that it feels euphoric. His lips meet mine again and I melt into the kiss. I can’t hold back anymore, can’t hold back the pleasure. Aemond feels so right, so perfect. It really does feel like he’s a match made for me by the gods. Our lips break apart and he dives his head into my chest, giving sloppy kisses down the slope of my breasts before stopping at my right mound. I throw my head back in ecstasy when I feel myself about to fall over the edge.

“Come for me. Let go and feel my love for you,” he moans after lifting his head from my breast. His lips let go of my nipple with a wet pop, before he moves his head down to the other nipple to give it the same treatment.

And I do, I fall right over the edge for what feels like an eternity. All I see is white, I can hear nothing but the blood rushing to my head. I can’t tell if I’m moaning or screaming his name, I only vaguely feel my mouth moving and the vibrations in my throat. When I come down from my high, I see him falling from his own high. Then I feel his essence deep in me, dripping out of me like honey when his member leaves my hot cavern.

“Such a perfect mate,” Aemond breathes out, tugging me into his chest as his arms wrap around me.

“I can’t wait to see you with our heir.”

Author’s note: to anyone reading this: hi! It’s been a while and I’ve really missed writing so hopefully I’ll start posting more 🤷‍♀️ BUT in honor of Halloween and monstober, I really wanted to post this fic. Also, I’m gonna be so real, this is the first time I’ve ever written smut. so if anyone has any tips or feedback for me, I’d love to hear it! Thanks for reading this far, I really hope you have a great day! And HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!🎃

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 1.5 | Bradley Bradshaw

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

chapter moodboard

Bradley learns that maybe the two of you weren’t on the same page after all.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, nudity, mentions of erections, making out. Semi-oral (f receiving), touching, mentions of sex. Ohhh boy you thought it was all okay. Wc: 5.8k

It didn’t feel like seven days at the Gabris estate. It felt like so much longer. A whole summer, even. The sunny day down at the lake, and then two whole days of rainstorms, and the day that Teodora showed you how to know which apricots are the sweetest to pick, the day that Zoe twisted her ankle on the crumbling back steps. The night by the piano.

This morning. 

Luke must know where Bradley is, after he didn’t go to their room last night. Maybe he would think Bradley fell asleep in the study, but he isn’t that stupid. 

Of course, Bradley is here with you. He fell asleep here last night, shortly after you had. He’s still asleep now, breathing deeply against the crook of your neck, his thigh slotted between yours and his palm on your stomach.

You haven’t been awake long. 

It’s a warm, sunny morning and you can hear Sandro’s wife singing in the kitchen downstairs. Bradley smells like summer. You twist in his arms and turn your face toward his neck, breathing in the citrus and faint sweat and remainders of his cologne. 

Bradley wakes to the feeling of your lips soft against his neck, and your fingers stroking at the hair at his nape.

Instantly, he realises that he didn’t make it back to his own bed last night, but he can’t find it in himself to mind. His arms snake around your middle and he squeezes you closer. He’s in your room. Not only that, but he’s in your bed. You’re laying on your side, the textbook half squished under you. The two of you fell asleep studying. He’s still fully clothed, and that’s what matters. 

He lifts his arm and squints to check his watch. It’s still early. The two of you slept almost all night. Lowering his wrist, he startles once more to find that your eyes are now open. You blink tiredly at him.

“We fell asleep.” You mumble, barely awake. Your legs stretch out from under you as you push yourself onto your back and inch away from him. You’re close enough that all you can smell is his cologne. Each inhale tempts you towards letting your heavy eyelids just fall shut, letting your cheek rest against the muscle of his shoulder.

“Morning,” You murmur against his neck. 

He kisses lazily at your temple. “Good morning, honey.”

Last night, Bradley had touched you again. The two of you had been sitting on your bed, and you were teaching him the Wall Street way of playing poker — as skilfully learned from your time watching your father — and Bradley had, so crudely, wagered your underwear.

They are laying, discarded, on the floor of your room now. 

It feels good, pretending that none of this matters. That he is allowed to touch you, and lay with you, and kiss you. 

“Did you sleep okay?” One of his palms pressed firmer into the middle of your back, flattening you against his chest as he turns his face  toward your neck. 

“Like the dead.” You mumble against his warm skin, resting your cheek against his clavicle. He hums amusedly.

For a moment, you let it be quiet. He’s still on the cusp of sleep, barely awake and groggy. Your fingers skim up the swell of his bicep and across the scarred skin on his shoulder, onto the muscled plains of his back.

He hums at the feeling, letting you know that he’s enjoying the soft touch. Maybe you’re enjoying it just as much. His skin there is soft, and always warm. You reach for freckles that you can’t see, guided by the ridges of his shoulder blades. 

“I could stay like this forever.” You whisper. He makes a tired sound of agreement as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. 

Sighing as he pulls his hands from his face, he pulls back and lets himself look at you. Settled down against the pillow, just watching him. Studying him.

Eyes heavy and blinking at him. Lips parted just slightly, like you’ve got something to say. The warmth of your skin. The look in your eye. The fact that he knows your underwear are still on the floor.

Bradley moves before he really weighs up what he’s doing. Eclipsing your jaw with his palm, you hold your breath as he leans in and kisses your top lip. 

It’s slow, but the feelings it sends through you aren’t. The soft weight of his chest pressing into yours, just a taste of what the real thing could feel like. 

Another slow kiss, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. You comply eagerly, pressing into his touch. His knee slides between yours, finding leverage on the mattress between your thighs.

Your mind skips ahead of you, flooding the darkness behind your eyelids with images of him that night with Natasha. His hands inching along the backs of her bare thighs. The need coursing through them, pressing close to each other with each kiss. 

His warmth is inviting, intoxicating. His palm sits heavy on your cheek as you shuffle impossibly closer to him. He welcomes you against him, covering you with a fraction of his weight. Bradley likes strong women. Experienced women. 

You rush forwards, chasing his mouth, grabbing at his shoulder, tugging him closer. He follows your lead wordlessly, carding his open palm over your hair, teasing his tongue along your lip. 

It occurs to you that this could be the first time that you ever have sex. Everything you’ve been so afraid of. Ashamed of. Enveloped, hidden away by the strong feeling of his hands on your body.

It could happen. All that’s stopping you is his underwear, and the fact that he told you he wouldn’t. But he wants to. He told you he wants to.

A greedy hum passes your lips, caught against his. Your fingers slide from his shoulder into his hair before you can remind yourself that this isn’t right. 

At first, Bradley thinks that he’s imagining things. There’s no way. But then, it happens again just as it had the first time. Your hips shift at just the right angle — the third time is just too much for it to be a coincidence, you’re grinding against his thigh.

A low grumble fights its way from his chest and into his throat, his hands sprinting for you like the snap of a rubber band, grabbing you tightly by your hips. It crosses his mind that he’s moving too fast and considers pulling back to check. Before his mind can land on an answer, your hand tousles into his curls and grabs firmly.

Even all of those too-big shirts he wears, nothing could really hide the fact that Bradley just remains to be a big guy. Tall, wide shoulders, long legs and a strong middle. He reminds you of his strength, dragging you against him by your hips. The brown hair that dusts his thigh brushes the inside of your thighs, the apex of your legs.

“How’s that?” Bradley asks as his thumb brushes a strand of hair back off of your temple. 

Heat flushes instantly across your face. Bradley sees it in the calculated way that your eyes widen just slightly. The way he feels your fingers flex at the nape of his neck.

“It’s fine.” You bite back. Bradley should have known that even in a time like this, you would still be fighting him for the upper hand. Not tonight, honey. His words cross your mind, this time tinged with the resentment and shame your mind has coated them in. 

You’re certain that he hasn’t ever told Natasha no in her entire life.

He trails his tongue along the seam of your lips, slow and soft, then brushes forwards and captures your mouth into a bruising kiss. He barely even pulls back to speak, his lips brushing yours. “Tell me what you want.” 

You whimper. His massive hands and their hold on your hips, rocking you against the denim of his jeans. It’s impossible to think straight. “I don’t know.”

“I know what I want.” Bradley tells you, tucking his thumb under your chin and angling your jaw so that he can bite at your throat. The action has you keening against him, eagerly following the direction of his thumb so that his mouth can reach more of your throat.

 It’s cruel honestly, everything he’s doing to you. He’s the first man to tell you that he wants you. Not because you’ve been together a while and it’ll happen eventually. Because he thinks you’re sexy. He’s attracted to you. He wants you. And fuck, his voice is so deep. “Tell me what you want.”

“I — Bradley, I don’t —“ You sigh, huffing a deep and frustrated noise as he sucks warmly at your skin. “I want you to touch me… I think.”

“You think?” Bradley’s hand sits against the backside of your thigh, warm, his long fingers splayed out along your skin. His lips barely have to move before he’s sucking at your neck. His warm mouth, languid against your skin. Swiftly, he curls his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips and tugs you against him, working you against his thigh.

The friction ignites something. Something you’ve felt before. The kindling is hot but it’s all white smoke for now. Blinking, you stare up at him with a decision to make. He squeezes your hips.

“I do. I do want you to touch me.”

The expectation is that he’ll pull back and tear your nightdress up out of his way and have his way with you. Bradley nips at your throat compliantly, kissing his way down your jaw and your throat.

He tips you onto your back and follows suit, settling between your thighs. The morning sun covers him in gold, from the flecks in his irises and the strands in his curls to the tanned swell of his shoulders. He mouths at your collarbones, following the sweetheart neckline of your nightie, palming at your thighs.

A moan tangles from your lips as he flattens himself against your body, his bulge between your legs and his hot chest against your skin. 

Bradley dips his hand between your bodies and feels you finally. He sighs against your chest, smiling. “Oh, honey.” 

Your heartbeat thuds. His fingers graze your swollen clit and you jolt a bit, otherwise stuck to the spot by his weight. 

“No wonder you want me right here,” He murmurs, gathering your excitement on the tips of his fingers. “All worked up. Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you.”

You drop your head back onto the pillows, feeling electricity rush through your middle as Bradley circles your clit with a featherlight touch. A whimper slips your mouth despite your best efforts, despite your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“I want to do it.” 

And then you have his attention. He looks up at you, his face stark and the smugness that had settled there all gone.

“Yeah?” He swallows, so hard already that he’s aching. Far from in the mind space to really disagree with you. His brows draw together. “It?” 

This time yesterday, you probably would have said no. Maybe even last night, you would have. 

This morning, it’s a breathless and desperate, “Yes.”

“I don’t —“ Bradley squeezes at your thigh and shakes his head. “Baby, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“It’s just one step further than this,” You tell him, convincing yourself as much as you’re convincing him. “Doesn’t make it any different. It doesn’t change what we’ve already done, right?”

In these past seven days, Malcolm has never felt as far away. After what he did, what he must have done, you’ve never felt as far from him as you do now. He’s probably been looking for a phone number to contact you, and you’re glad that he hasn’t found one.

You don’t want to speak to him. In this moment, all that you want is right in front of you.

“But…” He swallows thickly, trying not to be driven by how badly he wants this. He taps his thumb against your chin. “You’re — You’re sure, this is what you want?”

“Uh-huh.” 

He hesitates, planting a hand into the pillow beside your head. His face is knotted up and unsure. A week ago you had been crying in his arms after the biggest betrayal of your life. This can’t be the right thing to do.

He glances down, feeling your fingers brushing along the ridges of his abdomen. 

Your lip throbs with the weight of your teeth pressing into it as your fingers dip into the waistband of his white boxer shorts. Bradley’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around his hardened length.

“Please?”

A deep sound passes his lips. How’s a guy supposed to say no to that? He leans in slowly, capturing your lip between his, his tense body melting against yours.

He groans as he pulls away from your mouth and moves downward. Your hand slips from his underwear and finds purchase against his shoulder.

 He kisses down your cheek and your jaw, spilling dirty kisses along the naked span of your chest as far as the nightgown will let him as his hands bunch at the bottom hem of it.

Your mouth hangs as he hunches over and pins your thighs back.

Glistening in the warm glow of the room, you writhe and wriggle beneath Bradley as his strong hands pin you down, lazily swirling his tongue along your puffy, swollen clit. 

“I said — I want—“ You stumble, your brows knitting together.

“I know what you want,” Bradley interrupts, turning his head and kissing at your thigh, silencing you all together as he looks up at you with those big brown eyes. “There’s no rush. Right?”

You guess not. You don’t have time to guess at much before his broad shoulders force apart your thighs and his hot mouth blanks your mind.

A whine spills from somewhere deeper in your throat, coming right from the pit of your stomach. Bradley’s messy with his work, lapping eagerly between your legs as his middle finger teases at your dripping pussy. He hasn’t ever done it like this.

 It’s more desperate now, but like it’s easy for him, like he knows you. His chin drips with your excitement, leaving your thighs sticky and dampened with slick and saliva.

His hand slips between his hips and the mattress, wrapping loosely around his cock over his boxers, grinding his hips into his hand.

And then, three knocks rattle the heavy, old door to your right. 

Bradley stops, and sits back on his knees at once. Your face is colorless, eyes wide and round. He runs a hand over his wet mouth, and turns his head towards the sound.

“Fuck.” He exhales, his lips hinting at a smile. As much as he should look just as scared shitless as you do, something in him finds this a little bit funny.

He’s expecting it to be your new best buddies, wanting you to come down to breakfast with them. Already deciding that he can handle hiding behind the door while you get rid of them, Bradley couldn’t be cooler.

Three more knocks rattle the old door on its hinges, and Sandro calls out from the other side. “Bradley?” 

Instantly, the smile is wiped from Bradley’s face. 

You scramble to cover yourself and close your legs and move, not quite as aware of your surroundings as you could be. As Bradley goes to move at the same time, your knee lifts and catches him squarely in the balls.

Sandro pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he hears a loud, strained grunt come from inside.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I didn’t—“

Bradley lifts his face out of the pillow and swallows as he adjusts himself, exhaling heavily. “It’s fine. Fuck— what the hell is the matter with him?”

Matter with him in the sense that he is impolite enough to know exactly where Bradley is, and what that must mean, and to be knocking on the door anyway.

You watch as Bradley stumbles to his feet, clearly wounded, still clutching at his manhood as he picks up his jeans. 

“You can’t — you’re going to answer the door?” You panic. 

“What else do you want me to do? Hide?” He huffs, struggling to pull his jeans up his legs and button them.

“You could go out the window.” 

He shoots you a look, entirely unimpressed. You open your mouth to protest, left with no time to do anything but squeak softly in defeat as he pulls open the door an inch, blocking it with his body.

“What?” 

Sandro presses his lips together. He looks Bradley up and down. Disheveled, his curls a mess and still naked from the navel upward.

“There’s someone on the phone for you.” Sandro explains quietly. Bradley’s brows knit together as he starts to wonder who could possibly be trying to reach him this early in the morning. “Her father. I believe.” 

A quiet gasp comes from behind the door. Bradley closes it a little more, slotting himself into the gap.

“Cool. I’ll be right there.”

“Sure. He sounds upset.” Sandro lifts his palms and shrugs as he takes a step back from the door, his mouth twitching. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Ha. Ha.” Bradley answers, unimpressed.

He swings the door shut, and flattens himself back against the wood as he pinches at the bridge of his nose. You remain in the middle of the bed, your knees tucked up to your chest, your hand covering your mouth.

“Fuck me.” Bradley sighs, leaning his head back against the door. He stretches his hand into the pocket of his jeans and plucks his cigarettes from the pocket, shaking his head. “Does he have a monitor on you that I don’t know about?”

He almost makes you smile, but you’re wincing as you slip out of bed and stand up. 

“Let me speak with him,” You offer, walking nervously toward him. “He’s just going to be rude if he’s asking for you. I’ll handle it.” 

“And miss out on telling him what an incredible morning we had?” Bradley jokes, unlit cigarette wobbling between his lips as he steps around you and reaches for his shirt. You stumble mid-step, practically pouncing on him as you grab at his arm.

“No! You can’t tell him anything.” You plead.

Bradley turns and looks at you over his shoulder, brows furrowed in disbelief. 

“Believe it or not, honey — I’m not itching to have that talk with your dad. I was kidding.” He scoffs, pulling his t-shirt over his head and running his fingers messily through his hair. “You should pack your stuff. I’ll… see you later.”

“Wait!” You frown at him. “But we were…”

Bradley seems to remember his moment of insanity then — of how close he was to actually doing it just a moment ago, and blinks at you. He plucks the cigarette from his lips and leans forward to leave a passive kiss to your temple.

“Another time,” He sets it between his lips again and digs his left hand into his pocket for a lighter. “Gotta go.”

Another time. Gotta go. The door swings shut behind him and the smell of burning tobacco fills your nose as he light’s the cigarette out in the hallway. You hate that smell. You hate how casually he just moved on from that. And oh, you could kill Alessandro. 

“Hello?” Bradley pins the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he pulls the ashtray from the window ledge and flicks the tip of his cigarette toward it.

“That’s how you answer the phone? — You don’t introduce yourself, or ask who you’re speaking with? Mumbling over there—“

Bradley perches against the window and sets his cigarette back between his lips. “I know who I’m speaking with. Sir. How can I help you?” 

“I want to know what kind of operation you’re running over there. There’s no contact number for this place anywhere on the itinerary, and then when I do finally track down a number, I spend two days calling and get nothing but a dead line!”

“We had some bad weather, unfortunately it knocked out the power. Just got it back on last night, actually.” Bradley explains calmly. 

“And you think that’s acceptable? — What if it was an emergency?”

“Was it?” Bradley prompts. Maybe he has a little bit of an attitude, but he doesn’t like the way your father talks to people.

“You think you’re funny, son?”

No, generally Bradley doesn’t think that he’s too funny. He’s a lot of things, and he’s got a good sense of humour but he’s not funny like Robin Williams or Chevy Chase. But, Bradley’s got a special knack for always being able to get the last word.

“I think the house is five hundred years old and has some pretty questionable wiring. Was there something you needed me for?” 

“You know that I can have you fired?”

Bradley leans his head back and thunks it against the window frame. He can’t blame you for the attitude you catch when this is the guy you learned it from.

“In the interest of preserving my good friend’s phone bill, I’m just trying to be… concise, here.” Bradley answers, flicking more ash into the tray. If this phone call keeps going the way that it is, Bradley figures he’ll be chain smoking through until the afternoon.

“My son-in-law has been trying to get through to my daughter. He’s… worried about her. Has she said anything to you?”

Said something pretty interesting to me earlier, Bradley thinks. Right around the time she stuck her hand in my shorts.

“No, sir. Maybe her friends, but not me,” Bradley gives the answer you would want him to give. “We’re headed to Siena this afternoon and the city’s a lot more reliable for communication and stuff. I can have her call you once we’re there?”

“No. Don’t tell her that I called.” Your father decides. Bradley doesn’t mention that you already know, because he was in your room when he was informed. “What’s the number for this place?”

“I don’t have it on me. I can take down your number and I’ll call you from the hotel when we get there.”

“Not very organised for a college professor, are you, champ?”

Bradley wets his lips with his tongue and presses them together. He spends as little time on the phone as he possibly can, resenting your father’s every word. He likes the thought of Malcolm sitting at home and tearing his hair out, worrying.

He likes the thought of that little dirtbag being kept awake at night, terrified that you know what he did and that you’ll leave him. It’s what he deserves.

Bradley likes that you fell asleep in his arms last night, peacefully, and that you woke up this morning and found yourself comfortable enough to ask for what you had. Your fiancé probably didn’t cross your mind.

He goes for his morning run a little later than normal, after his phone call, and thinks about what you had said.

He shouldn’t have agreed to it as quickly as he had, maybe. It should have required more thought, and discussion — better place or time, perhaps. 

He had been so adamantly against it, but this is starting to feel different. It’s more than a few kisses here and there. It’s Bradley enjoying feeling your weight in his arms when he sleeps, and looking forward to your smile when he wakes up.

It’s better, with him. Your first time would be better with him — and he doesn’t even mean that in an overconfident way. He just knows that he and Malcolm are far from the same, and that Malcolm could never treat you the way that Bradley does so naturally.

Bradley decides that he won’t initiate anything other than a discussion on the topic of sex. As much as he does want it, he could go for months without it. And this has to be your call. But, he doesn’t want to know what sparked the idea into your head this morning.

If you ask him again, he already knows that he would do it.

By the time he has finished with your father and with his run, it’s almost time to go. The group of eight of you are spread around the mini-can, bags loaded and waiting for Bradley while Pasquale sits in the front. It’s a really short drive today. Just over an hour to the other side of the city.

“Did anyone else get their assignments back late all the time?” Abigail muses as she lays across the three backseats of the van. You’re sitting a row in front of her, fiddling with your Walkman.

“Even when I was TA’ing, and I’d get my grading in on time, Bradley still gave everyone their results back like a week later.” Robin agrees.

“Yeah, ‘cause he was too busy slipping it to Miss Penny all year.” Luke scoffs without looking up from his chapter on bathhouses, his arms stretched around Robin’s middle as she sits on his lap. 

Instinct almost has you whipping around to look at him. Common sense has you gripped to the spot, staring at the little plastic contraption . You blink furiously at the cassette tape in front of you.

Miss Penny. Who the hell is Miss Penny? Granted, you hadn’t spent too much time wandering the humanities building, but you’re affronted to not be able to picture this mystery woman nonetheless.

“No— Miss Penny? No. Please, like Bradley would ever tell you who he’s screwing.” August — Gus —, the only other guy in your little group of eight, scoffs towards Luke. He’s standing outside of the van, leaning up against the doorframe.

“And if he was making it with anyone, it was for sure Doctor Hayes. Have you seen the two of them talking? — Man, even I felt the tension.” Zoe decides.

Screwing. Slipping it to. Making it.

And now the introduction of Doctor Hayes. 

At least this woman you have heard of; she’s an anthropology professor, and she certainly wasn’t making it with Bradley — she’s happily involved with a woman.

 It was a big point of conversation in your household. The news came to light just before your father was going to make a donation, she visited him personally to ensure that her romantic indiscretions wouldn’t affect his generosity.

If Bradley wasn’t screwing Doctor Hayes, then he probably wasn’t—

“You’re right, they were probably just friends,” Luke shrugs, again without looking up from the book. It should soothe you, but it doesn’t. It’s an arrogant thing, the way he knows everyone’s waiting on his every word, so he doesn’t have to lift his gaze to engage. “Doesn’t change the fact I saw them going at it in his office.”

 When you look up you’re startled by Robin already looking at you, like she just stole the crayon you’ve been waiting for and she’s waiting for your tantrum to begin.

You glance across at Luke instead, who is still staring smugly at his chapter.

They already think that Bradley is screwing you, maybe they’re making it up to get a reaction. 

You muster the calmest look that you can, and flip back a page in your notes, pretending that you’re reviewing the material.

You haven’t ever been to Bradley’s office. There’s a vague understanding of approximately where it is that comes with having spent four years wandering those halls, but in a pinch you would be guessing at exactly where.

 You don’t know what his desk looks like, or if he’s got one of those frosted glass window panes in the door, or maybe it’s just a heavy wood door without a window.

 Some of the old rooms still have those. They’re heavy and creaky and your daddy’s donations are eradicating them one by one.

Those big, heavy, creaky doors would do wonders for someone in need of privacy. As your eyes fall shut to blink, you’re met with a split-second snapshot of Luke nudging it open. 

After hours, after a day of tough lessons. Bradley all stressed with that red flush across his chest that he gets when stuff is really starting to get to him. Miss Penny, in her mysterious shroud of fog… perched against his desk— or worse— bent over it.

You swallow. 

“No you did not.” Abigail declares with a wrinkled face, not believing the dirty little story for a moment.

You would like to not believe it either. 

“Uh-huh. It was when I was TA’ing, I came by to drop off some papers. She was sat on his desk with her back to the door and he was just—“

“Gross, I don’t want to hear about Bradley getting his rocks off with the librarian.” Zoe complains.

The librarian. Miss Penny is the fucking librarian. She has permed hair and cat-eye glasses, a skirt shorter than faculty standard allows too. She made you pay eight dollars in late fees one time. She’s like a decade older than Bradley, maybe fifteen years. 

Your nose wrinkles as you turn your head to peer in the direction of the kitchen. Why her? Why—

“Alright, everybody ready to go?” Bradley has said his long goodbyes to the Gabris family, always wishing he got longer with them, even if Sandro did cockblock him this morning.

He climbs into the passenger seat as an awkward silence fills the van. Everyone takes their seats and stares ahead at him. He turns his head to peer back over his shoulder, frowning in confusion.

“What?”

“Nothing, man,” Luke answers coolly as Robin slides into the seat next to him. “You’re paranoid.”

Another time. Gotta go. You bet he was that casual with Miss Penny, too. With however many other women he might have been with. You set your headphones over your ears and turn toward the window. 

It’s ridiculous, maybe, to be jealous of women that knew Bradley far before you could ever stand to be in the same room as him. But this isn’t jealousy, per se. It’s something else. You don’t doubt that Miss Penny didn’t mean much to him, you just… were hoping that you meant more, maybe. 

The drive is short, and you’re piling into another old, crumbling hotel on the outskirts of Siena as the sun is just starting to set. You follow the crowd into the lobby and Bradley starts his normal routine of collecting the keys.

At first, you’re chatting with Zoe, and nothing feels different. Then, you catch something in your peripheral. Glancing down, your eyes widen and your train of thought ventures away.

“My ring.” You realise, setting your suitcase down on the faded carpet of the lobby. Bradley turns around, and finds you staring at your bare hand. 

“I don’t have my ring.” You haven’t worn that thing since the first day you got there. Bradley has noticed every single day that you haven’t had it. 

“What?” Pasquale frowns, looking between you and your hand.

“My engagement ring!” You snap at him. Everyone, at once, stops to look. Bradley stares at you. “I don’t— I must have left it! We have to go back.”

“Jesus Christ.” Luke scoffs, rolling his eyes as he drops down onto the couch. He figures he could be here a while, while you’re descending into hysterics.

After speaking to your father, Bradley figured he knows why you’re so upset. If you come home without that thing, he would give you the worst lecture known to man, or worse than that, even.

“I’ll call Sandro, and see—“ He takes two steps towards you, his face soft.

“No, I need to get it back. Now. We have to go back.”

“Mr. Bradshaw has a meeting here tomorrow, very early.” Pasquale chips in from beside you.

“I don’t care! I can’t believe I left it— Malcolm’s going to kill me if I tell him I don’t have it. What am I supposed to tell him? — That I took it off?”

You’re not thinking about your father, or getting into trouble with him. Bradley stops moving. You’re thinking about your fiancé. 

Bradley has been comforting you, and singing to you, and kissing you for a week straight — not once thinking that you might one day want to wear that ring again. 

This morning, he had been fooling himself on his run, thinking that this was anything more than fooling around. That he meant anything to you at all. That you understood him. 

He stares at you, finding none of those feelings he had thought you felt this morning. Or last night, or this whole past week.

Nothing but blind panic, because you weren’t smart enough to double check you had everything.

“Didn’t you?” Robin asks.

“Just for a second! I— I — didn’t mean to.” You struggle, eyes wide and fleeting between Bradley and Pasquale.

That’s not true. You took it off because he hurt you. You haven’t worn it in seven days. You didn’t even think about it this morning when you had packed your things, or before that when Bradley had been in your bed.

You’re growing agitated, and so is Bradley. A muscle in his jaw ticks. You meant to take off that ring, and maybe you can’t admit to yourself that you meant to leave it behind. 

“Maybe they could mail it—“ Pasquale tries.

“Do you seriously expect me to go home without it?” You’re looking at Bradley still, like this is his fault somehow. Like he’s the one who took it off of your finger. Your expression turns cold. “That ring is worth more than you make in a year!”

Bradley’s expression flattens. No hurt, no anger. Just pure detachment. He holds his hand out towards Pasquale.

“Give me the keys.”

“But, Bradley, you have—“

“Give me the fucking keys,” Bradley snaps. Zoe flinches at your side, and you feel her looking at you. Pasquale awkwardly drops the keys into Bradley’s open palm. “I’m going to get the ring, if it’ll shut her up.”

Your mouth closes, lips pressing firmly together. 

“I’ll—“

“You stay right there.” Bradley bites. He can’t think of anything worse than being stuck in a van with you for the next two and a half hours. Without looking, he squeezes the keys into his palm and heads for the door. 

With him gone, you’re the only thing for them all to look at. 

None of them knew exactly what was going on between you and Bradley this whole time, but they’re all certain of the same thing now: whatever it was, they all just witnessed the end of it.

tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @sugarcoated-lame @mshistorylover

[evemeows]

kinktober day two - wet dream w/ wade wilson

cw: no actual sex but MDNI, gn!reader, wet dream, author can't write deadpool dialogue, reader's down bad for wade, fade to black

wc: 653

notes: short one today since i had to work and i hate it no matter how many times i wrote and rewrote it😭😭

The air in the cavern was thick as hell, close to choking you as you attempted to close your eyes and get some solid sleep. Tomorrow would be the most important moment since you had landed in this god forsaken Void.

Head in a slight daze from downing the last of Gambit's liquor in an attempt at camraderie, and still unable to fall asleep, you sighed and sat up.

With a quick look around, you noticed Laura had drifted back inside and was snoring soundly now. You snuck out past her to where the Odyssey was parked under some trees and smirked when you noticed the massive claw marks on the sliding door, which had been broken and was now stuck open, revealing Deadpool, sprawled across the backseat with his arm thrown over his eyes.

You looked him over slightly, rolling your eyes before turning your back, with the plan to keep walking until your mind finally calmed down. Your foot slid on a rock and there was a sudden noise from the mini-van.

You froze, thinking you had just woken up the most annoying new addition to the Resistance, as Johnny used to call you all. When you whipped your head around, Wade had shifted, one of his legs falling off the seat and onto the floorboard, spread wide enough for you to see the prominent tent between his thighs.

He made another noise, and this time while looking at him, you could see it was a noise of pleasure, as his face twisted and the bulge in his costume grew slightly.

No. Way. Right now, Wade? Was the first thought you had, before realizing maybe you shouldn't be privy to this scene and attempted to make a quick exit. You flushed slightly as the noises grew louder and more frequent, quickly going to hike back up to the cavern when you heard your name.

"Wade?" You murmured into the dark, making the mistake of turning around and heading back to the open door. "Are you awake now?" You subconciously knew he wasn't but some self sabotaging part of you refused to believe the merc you'd had a crush on in your universe was actually pornographiclly moaning your name in his sleep right now.

"Wade, I swear to gods if you're fucking with me right now, I will rip your dick off," You said with a haughty air. You crossed your arms and drifted back over to him, watching with a keen eye before lifting your foot to kick his leg softly. "Not funny, Wade." You hissed under your breath.

Just as you went to kick him harder, he moaned loud enough to startle you back and you damn near jumped out of your skin when he sat up suddenly, body jerking. You watched with wide eyes as he drew his pistol and looked around in confusion.

Then your eyes dipped to Wade's lap, at the darkened spot near his bulge and you realized exactly what happened. "Oh my god." You clapped your hand over your mouth to hold in a giggle.

He followed your eyes and quickly went to cover his crotch, "Hey! No free shows!" You could see his thigh twitch as the barrel of his gun glanced off his now soft cock.

"Did you just cum from a dream of me?" You couldn't help but blurt out. The look of wonder in your eyes wasn't lost on him, a dawning sense of relief when he realized you weren't making fun of him, but rather were very interested in seeing it again.

Warily, he gave a slow nod, moving his hands to his sides, shifting awkwardly on the bench.

"That's so fucking hot," is all you have time to mutter before pacing the last two steps between the two of you, nudging his legs apart to fit between them and tugging his face up to yours, slotting your lips together.

[goodlucksnez]

The Trials and Tribulation of Telemachus

This started a idea of Tel/emachus trying to battle while sick, and then I just ran with it. And 6.5k words later here we are!

this is a snz fic read at your own discretion

this is 5 chapter so it is broken up! enjoy!!

(also if you do not know theo/clymenus (Theo) is a seer in the odyssey so a lot of people have hc that he is in a relationship with Telemachus)

(Do NOT reblog to non-kink blogs, THANKS!!!!)

Chapter 1

Telemachus’ only thoughts during this moment were why? He stood in line with the other competitors waiting to get prepped for the arena.

‘This was part of the tradition of the games’ Telemachus thought to himself as he saw his spot in line get closer to the changing rooms. He could smell the oil from outside the room.

‘The scent is pleasant enough. A combination of floral scents and there was something else, maybe pine or fir.’ He thinks as he takes another step closer to the curtain.

Telemachus heard a voice call from behind the curtain. He stepped forward a lump in his throat as he pulled the curtain back. The small room was lit by the open windows. There were multiple vases on a table, covered in a fine red tablecloth, but more importantly, he saw the barrel of dust.

He looked for the sound of the voice but could see no one. It was at this moment he felt her by her side.

“Athena.” He whispered.

Athena smiled. Just like his father Telemachus could always sense her presence. She smiled and spoke her voice, melodious and comforting.

“It is finally time. All the training we have been doing is for you. For you to be my champion; to win my games! They will sing your names for years to come. Telemachus prove yourself here and now surrounded by enemies and foes that you are my champion.”

He blushed. She had always been righteous, so focused on his perfection that sometimes she forgot his humanity. As she gathered the oil, she noticed the frown and concern on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

Telemachus, not wanting to tell her the truth, lied.

“I don’t want to let you down. You spent so much time and energy training me to be this champion and what if I let you down; what if I lose?”

Athena moved to his side placing a hand on his shoulder. He always had these kinds of thoughts before any big challenge but eventually would pull through.

She spoke. “You’ll be fine. I’ve seen you practicing day and night. You are strong. You’re healthy.”

It was at this moment that Telemachus's body decided to betray him as he felt an itch in the back of his nose. Athena continued to sing his praises he silently hitched trying not to ruin this moment. The sawdust in the air made him feel like he was choking. Every breath he took was igniting the tickle in his nose. As Athena finished her speech and looked down to see her champion, he bent at the waist and sneezed loudly enough to even startle her.

“Ahh’TTSChh’hIIEWW!!”

“Bless you.” She spoke. She had become accustomed to this. Telemachus was not weak in any sense of the word, but he did have a fragile humanity about himself. After a while, Athena had to start carrying tissues and handkerchiefs to target practice with the number of times he sneezed from the hay.

And if he was sick, she had to take him home multiple times over the years. So sneezing wasn’t anything new but as she looked around the room, she didn’t see anything that would cause this. She held him near her, placing her hand on his forehead testing to see if it was warm.

“You’re not getting sick? Because you know how I feel about you working when you were sick?” Her voice took on a stern but parental nature.

“No.” He said as he slowly rose his nose dripping. He pointed over to the barrel. “I think it’s the sawdust that must’ve gotten in my nose.”

She sighed. “Telemachus, I haven’t even begun to cover you yet if you’re reacting like this, just from being near it, how are you going to-”

He put a hand up to stop her. “I am your champion. I can handle a little dust.”

She rolled her eyes and thought in her head. ‘Well, these games certainly got more interesting.’

He recovered sniffing wetly as he approached the table with the oil. He grabbed the oil and slowly started applying it carefully trying not to stain his armor. It felt nice, but he had always questioned this part of the games.

“Why do we do this? I mean wouldn’t it be more effective if we just were wearing armor or helmets while,” he pauses, and his breath began to hitch. “Why do we do this?” He sneezed, harshly again.

 “Ahh’TSCHhh’HIHh’uh!”

“Bless you. We do this to protect yourself. While your armor protects your most vital organs. The sun can damage you.” She continued. “It also protects against rashes and burns.”

He rubbed his nose on his wrist before continuing.

“I don’t think covering oneself in oil-” he paused as he hitched, but soon his breath went back to normal, and he sniffed. “And using brick dust and sawdust is a good measure to combat the sun.”

“Well, when you come up with a better idea, be sure to bring it to the god's attention. I’m sure Helios would love to have a chat with you.”

He sniffed urgently and his gaze started to become unfocused. She had seen this look on him multiple times throughout their years of training and fighting together. She walked over, grabbing the discarded handkerchief, that he had just thrown on the ground, quickly covering his nose as his breath came to a crescendo.

“Hut’SCHH’ihh! n’TSHCHH’hihehh! TScHHZHHHtT!!”

She caught the sneezes in the handkerchief and instructed him to blow his nose. She found that that seemed to be the only thing to calm his fits. Otherwise, he’ll be sneezing for hours.

He always blushed every time Athena took care of him like a little kid. He wanted to prove himself to her. Not be treated like a small child. Hell, he was old enough to go to war and fight in these games. He was old enough to blow his damn nose. Even so, a small part of him enjoyed that she was always there to take care of him.

He smiled. “Thank you, Athena. We should probably get this going, the sooner it’s over the better.”

She nodded. “I’ll try not to get your face.” She grabbed the bucket sawdust spilling over the sides onto the ground, creating a small plume of dust that sifted into the air.

Telemachus took a deep breath and held it waiting for this to be over. She slowly applied the dust covering to his arms, then his chest, and lastly his back. She thought to herself ‘he’s doing a pretty good job holding his breath. He might survive this.’

Reassurance failed when he exhaled and took a deep breath. Immediately she knew this wasn’t going to end well. His body became rigid, tears sprung to his eyes and his nose twitched. He brought a hand up to rub at it, but she smacked it away.

“Don’t think about it. Your hand is covered in dust. You need to wait for it to dry before you can touch your face.”

He nodded, unable to form words for fear, and once he opened his mouth he would start sneezing. His nose began to run, as well as his eyes, tears streaming down his face. He opened one eye cautiously before immediately sucking in a deep breath and bending forward at the waist, harshly sneezing.

“Huh… TZSCHHH’ihh!”

Athena was going to bless him, but another deep inhale made her wait. He sneezed harshly again his whole body being thrown forward. He took a few steps and caught himself on the table in the room. He leaned on it, panting, his nose dripping, causing small droplets to fall on the oak table.

She went to the other side of the table, lifting his chin with her hand and surveying the damage. His nose was an absolute mess, dripping onto his upper lip. His eyes streaming. The worst part was he didn’t look like he was done. His face contorted and he scrunched up his nose, trying to scratch, at the itch that wouldn’t go away.

She pressed the handkerchief to his nose and waited. Not before long his breath became erratic, and he sneezed wetly, destroying the handkerchief within three sneezes.

“Ulchh… Ah’TschhHHH’uh! Hh’ahtSchHHuh! ‘TscHHHuhHh!!”

She wiped his nose gently for him as he slowly began to regain his breath. She waited a moment before speaking.

“Is it safe now to bless you?” she asked.

He replied, his voice was thick with congestion. “I think so. I don’t know if my nose could take anymore.”

“I’m surprised you’re still standing after that display. I would’ve wanted to sit down.” He looks at her. His eyes were red around the edges and his mouth parted, indicating he couldn’t breathe through his nose. “I don’t have time to sit if you have forgotten I must prepare for combat.”

Suddenly images crossed her mind. The arena field, sounds of metal clashing, splitting of wood, and a scream. Red flashed in her mind. She felt her heart quicken, and she looked down at Telemachus.

“Are you sure you don’t want to withdraw? There is always next year. No one would be mad if you did... I can’t see you get hurt.” She stammered.

Telemachus straightened and sniffed deeply. “I can prove myself here and now Athena. I will prove to everyone I am not weak. I am strong. I can be your champion.” Before she could say another word. He threw his cape around his shoulders and turned and fled through the curtains.

 Athena could only pray that he would survive.

Chapter 2

Telemachus heart pounded in his chest, matching the beating of the drums. He held his sword in his hand and his shield strapped to his other arm. He slowly approached the entry to the arena. The wooden door that separated the hallway to the outside world was all that stood between him and his destiny. The horns blared and Telemachus swung the door open and stepped out into the arena.

As his eyes adjusted to the sun he surveyed the landscape around him. A simple baren patch of earth with various obstacles in the way. A few barrels, one overturned cart.

 ‘A good place to get a height advantage’ he thought to himself. Then Telemachus saw something that made his heart sink. Bales of hay neatly stacked. Now being in a farming village, he was no stranger to hay. It was a wildly used material. Both as food and for building.

However, Telemachus was not a fan of it. From a young age when he interacted with hay he found himself with itchy eyes and his nose would run. As he matured he made a point of avoiding the substance all together. But since it was wildly used in construction that was not always possible.

He stepped into the stadium with his footsteps silenced by the roar of the crowd. His eyes locked on the other side. His opponent was tall and muscular. His hair was black and slicked back into a ponytail. He branded a sword and shield and moved to his place in the center. One shared look. That was all it took to know he was wildly outmatched. The crowd chanted around them. ‘Nikoloas’. The name of his opponent. Telemachus shut out the distraction of the crowd, and the world contracted to one twenty-five-foot circle and one cloakless man with a sword two sword-lengths away from him.

He dropped into a light crouch and stood motionless, just waiting. His sword was still. Every movement, every breath and shift and toss of wind about Nikolaos became a thing to watch, an indication of where the next attack would come, where his next attack should strike. Where his target was going be in the next instant of battle. Only the tiny part of the world they inhabited at this moment mattered. Nikolaos was pacing, his sword already in restless motion, in stark contrast to him as he traced roving loops with the point and entirely ignored the noise and people around them in order to focus solely upon him.

They had already agreed there would be no rituals, no salutes or gestures before they started--battle began when one of them chose to attack, which allowed for the unpredictability of combat. It could begin now, or after five minutes of feints, or in the middle of conversation, if one of them decided to start talking at some point. Which would have been an enticing option, if it weren't for the fact that Telemachus nose was threatening to run.

Nikolaos stepped forward, blade swinging in a mock offense, an experimental probe into motion. Telemachus launched straight into the attack. Left, right--he twisted away, jumped back, closed in for the attack again and then reversed once more. Simply avoiding Nikolaos's quick parry, he slipped in on his other side for a feint, and as he dodged the attack and responded he took his downswing on his angled blade, sending it skidding away. Amidst wild shouting from the onlookers, they both backed off, breathless and scowling grimly at each other. First engagement, first flurry of blows, and both had played it relatively safe. This fight would go on until one of them scored a disabling blow--at this rate, it would last until sundown. Someone yelled a comment to this effect, and neither of them acknowledged it, although Telemachus grimaced fully at Nikolaos. He intended to win this fight if it took him until sundown. Nikolaos swung his sword in a small flourish opposite him.

Nikolaos prowled sideways and attacked, pounding at his guards. Telemachus warded him off with tight defenses, went on the counter-offensive the moment he had an opening, then disengaged and backed off. He was shifting around him, forwards and backwards and sideways, always in motion, his sword weaving in a near-random pattern and his shifting gaze scanning for openings as he turned in place to match his orbit.

The moving sword was a distraction and a deflection tactic nearly useless in pitched battle, but excellent for masking intentions in single-combat. It could even be slightly hypnotizing on occasion. The reverse tactic, of course, was simply to wait, poised, sword angled in a basic defense position, and remain as motionless and ready as possible, and that was what Telemachus had chosen to do.

It was more difficult; the energy and adrenaline generated during battle ensured that standing still was the last thing anyone wanted to do, but it could also be subtle, confusing, and frankly vicious when one did finally explode into action. The attack could come from anywhere, and there could be a lethal amount of backed-up energy in play. Enough energy, actually, to make anyone careless...no doubt Nikolaos, who knew that as well as he did, was already expecting him to overexert himself in the next attack. Telemachus transitioned into a spring as he swung his sword back around for a waist-level attack, and now they were so close together they were beyond effective sword-blade range. His weapon caught Nikolaos's on the hilt as they closed to within arm's reach. And clearly they both wanted the other down more than they were worried about going down themselves. Nikolaos slid his sword down from his hilt, aiming at Telemachus legs. He lunged sideways to avoid it. He drove forward. In the resulting tangle, Nikolaos's sword drove into his left leg, and he trapped his sword hand between his side and his arm, wrenching it in sideways and hacking at his neck. He ducked and rolled into him before he could land a good blow, sending them both to the ground into the hay.

Telemachus rose quickly from the ground trying to brush off the hay that was stuck to him. As he did so Nikolaos attacked. Telemachus barely had time to bring his shield arm up to defend. The blow was strong, and Telemachus bent at the knees. His eyes had become a watery mess and soon he knew he would not be able to see at all. But in the moments before blindness, he did see an opportunity. He gathered all the strength his legs would allow and stood up. Knocking Nikolaos out of the way and swinging his sword around he felt the impact hit and the cry of his opponent. Horned blared and Telemachus sighed before inhaling and bending at the waist.

“Ahh’TscHHHI’Uew! ‘TtschHHUhh! ‘Hah’tSchHHih’hHEWW!!”

He dropped the sword and blindly fumbled with the straps of the shield before he felt arms around him. His adrenaline spiked and he resisted. A familiar voice catches his ear over the sound of his own heartbeat and crowd.

“Relax its just me!”

Theoclymenus. Theo was here! Telemachus strained his neck to try to see him, but the effort was futile. The combat had left him drained. He barely had any energy at all. Which is why he wasn’t surprised when he sneezed harshly and didn’t cover.

“Hut’SCHH’ihh! n’TSHCHH’hihehh!....Ahh’TTSChh’hIIEWW!!”

He felt his partner laugh, a comforting sound before he was set down on a hard surface. He ran his hands over the material. It appeared to be wooden. He tried to rub his eyes, but it just made them water more. He whined as his breath began to hitch again. Could this day get any worse he thought to himself.

A moment later he found out it could. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bucket of ice-cold water poured over his head. The shock is instantaneous. Telemachus body tenses up, and a gasp escapes his lips as the freezing water hits his skin. It's a jolt to his body—like an electrifying wake-up call that sent shivers down his spine. His heart races, and for a moment, it's all he could think about.

He sat there shivering but managed to open his eyes. It took a minute for the surrounding area not to be blurry, but he saw he was in some kind of alcove. There were all types of supplies and weapons. He decided this was a chamber for extra supplies for the games. He went to speak but was immediately hit with another bucket of water pouring over himself. He coughed and spat out some water. Shivering as the cold seeped into his bones.

“Theo what in the five rivers of hell are you doing!”

“Trying to not have my boyfriend asphyxiate because he touched a single stalk of hay!”

Telemachus tried to retort back but the exhaustion from the fight and everything caught up to him in a moment and he put his head in his hands and within moments darkness overtook him.

Chapter 3

The first thing Telemachus feels when he regains his consciousness is pain. Everything hurt.  Telemachus winced as he felt a sharp pain shoot through his side. His body ached with the memory of the battle fought just hours before. Every muscle protested as he tried to sit up, the bruises and cuts a cruel reminder of the fierce clash.

He took a deep breath, feeling the sting of his injuries with every inhale. The scent of blood and sweat still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the herbs used to dress his wounds. Telemachus hand instinctively went to his side, fingers brushing against the rough bandages that bound his ribs. He could still hear the echoes of clashing swords and the roar of the crowd in his mind.

With a groan, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet meeting the cold, unforgiving floor. The room was silent now, a stark contrast to the chaos of the arena. He glanced around, taking in the sight of his armor, dented and bloodstained, lying in a heap in the corner.

Telemachus knew he couldn't afford to rest for long. He pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain. As he moved towards the window, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the cracked mirror. The face staring back at him was a sight to behold. His hair was caked in sweat and dirt. His eyes were bloodshot. As he stood in front of the mirror he heard sounds of pottery being moved. He turned quickly to see Theo existing from a small archway. As their eyes met Theo face lit up in a bright smile and he rushed forward wrapping his arms around Telemachus in an embracing hug.

“You scared me! Do not ever do that again!”

Telemachus could hear the pain and longing in Theo's voice. He wanted more than anything to promise him he would be safe. But he was unsure. The creeping suspicion that danger was still coming for him clouded his mind.

Telemachus spoke his voice cracking “My prophet, I wish more than anything I could promise you, but my life is a little bit dangerous!”

Theo hugged him tighter, and Telemachus winced. “Darling you are crushing my lung here!”

Theo realized his grip and he looked up into Telemachus eyes. Telemachus smiled down at him. Theo was the shorter one in their relationship, so it was common for Theo to stand on his toes to see or kiss his face. Telemachus went to speak but his breathing hitched, and he found himself bending forward and sneezing into Theo shoulder.

“Ahh’TTSChh’hIIEWW!!”

Theo jolted at the sudden harsh sneeze in surprise and stammered out. “Bless you.”

Telemachus recovered, sniffling, wetly before responding, his voice thick with congestion.

“Thanks, must be the hay.”

He said he thought it was a convincing lie, but judging from the raised eyebrow from Theo, he didn’t believe it to be such. Theo spoke in a soft but concerned tone. “I think you might be catching a cold. If you haven’t already. I know how hard you’ve been working for this tournament….for these games but you are human. You are immortal you know that right?” Telemachus nodded. Slowly there was a nagging thought in the back of his mind that repeated the word mortal mortal mortal repeatedly. Wiping his nose on his arm, leaving a trail of mess behind he started to respond.

“Theo. I have to win these games she is counting on me.” “I’m sure she would understand. I don’t think she wants you to die.” Telemachus rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to die from a cold. How weak do you think I..” he pauses as his breath begins to hitch. Theo, knowing what’s about to happen reaches up and covers his nose with his hand, catching the sneezes as they rock his body forward.

“Hihh…Hhh’kssSHHhh! HhHuuh..Huhh’tCHSHhh! Eiihh…eiihH’tCHSHhhuu!" 

He felt each damp blast spray the inside of his palm, his expression shifting from a grimace to sympathy as Telemachus pulled back with a miserable sounding sniffle.

“Bless you I don’t think you’re weak, but I do think you’re sick. And this” he says, wiping his hands discreetly on his pants. “Shows that. Plus, you said it yourself. Please don’t compete. You won the first challenge that's enough for her.” Telemachus tried to believe him, but after everything he had put forth for this, there was no way he was backing out now. He coughed, wincing as his torso twined in pain. He took a deep breath through his mouth, unable to through his nose, and replied. “I’ll see you at the beach. I’m going to win.”

Without saying another word, he turned, grabbed his helmet and discarded armor in the corner, and left the recovery area stepping out into the sun. He shivered, sending a quick prayer to Athena. Praying for his strength in the upcoming race and started the walk down to the local beach to compete in the swim relay.

The sun hung low over the Ionian Sea, casting a golden hue over the landscape. Telemachus wrapped his arms around his body and made his way slowly down the path towards the beach. His steps were unsteady, each one a battle against the fever that burned within him. The air was filled with the scent of salt and the distant cries of seabirds.

As he reached the edge of the beach, Telemachus paused as his breath began to hitch.

“Don’t —Hh…hhhiihh...Hhhiiihhh! Hhh—“TschH’HIH’HEWW!! ah’TSCHhih’Heww!! ‘Ahh’TSCHhh’HIHh’uh!”

Telemachus wobbled with the force of the sneezes and put his arms out to steady himself. As he took a step he felt her next to him.

“I know what you are going to say” he whispered to the salt air.

Athena smiled. “Telemachus you do not need to do this; you can still win if you don’t compete there are multiple tiers of this-”

He interrupts her. “Athena you never back down from a fight why-  ihh…hehH…o-ohh c-come ohh–n “HhNgktsCHH’IHHWw! HhdtsHHIHww!!-iSSCHHhihhww!!…HH! IH!…IIh--'tsschHHiEHHww!”

“Bless, you do not sound well.”

“I am fine Athena I could do this in my sleep,” he said sniffingly before continuing onto the beach.

The sand was warm beneath his feet, and he could feel the energy of the earth seeping into his bones. He walked slowly towards the water's edge, each step a triumph over the weakness that threatened to overwhelm him.

The sea was calm, its surface glittering like a million tiny diamonds. Telemachus knelt and cupped his hands, scooping up the cool, clear water to splash onto his fevered face. The sensation was like a kiss from the gods, a brief respite from his suffering. He sat down on the sand, allowing the waves to lap gently at his feet.

In the distance, he could see the silhouette of a small boat, its sails catching the last rays of the sun. He just had to make it there and back before anyone else. He looked around at the competition. Most were drinking or stretching a few were in silent prayer. As he returned his look to the ocean his nose started burning with the need to sneeze. He ducked his head between his legs and sneezed, a wet and sickly sound, that seemed to echo off the cliffs surrounding the beach. He soon heard a few whispers of health, and he kept his face lowered, embarrassment heating his checks.

Then lined up at the starting line.

Chapter 4 (switching pov to theo)

'Wait Telemachus don’t go' the words barley left his mouth before Telemachus was gone. Theoclymenus stood in both amazement and frustration, still in the recovery chamber. Why couldn’t he just listen to him!

Telemachus was always known for pushing himself. The hypothesis was that he got it from his father. Both men didn’t know when to quit, admirable in some and stubborn in others.

Theoclymenus grabbed a few supplies, packing them in a satchel before heading outside into the bright sun. The path down to the water wasn’t exactly a hard terrain, but Theoclymenus‘s mind wandered, making him walk slower.

What if he got hurt? There was no way he could swim; he could barely stand without wincing! How is he going to accomplish this? Theoclymenus had always been a bit of a worrier. He believed it was due to his ability to be a seer. His father is Polypheides and he comes from a family of seers and prophets.

He continued his trek down the mountain to the beach. He paused when he saw the curly hair of Telemachus at the junction of the beach and the walkway. He was standing looking out into the sea the wind whipping his hair. It was almost peaceful until the lanky brunette sneezed. The sound rebounded off the caves and rocks that surround the small beach. Theoclymenus whispered a small blessing and then two more as he doubled over again.

His heart yearned as he saw the brunette stumble and he protectively reached out a hand to him. But Telemachus shook his head and kept walking leaving sandy footprints in his wake.

Theoclymenus watched as Telemachus joined the others at the starting line. He wasn’t seriously going to consider racing!!

The boat, which was a halfway point was 50 yards and then another 50 yards to get back there was no way he could swim that. He sat with the other spectators, his eyes focused on Telemachus. His heartbeat quickened as he saw Telemachus's body convulse.

At the sound of the horns, he saw him dive into the water, and he felt his heart sink to his stomach. Watching the other swim out was going slower than the others. His movements dragged against the waves that lapped against him. He saw a couple of times he would flip onto his back, probably as a retrieve to let his muscles relax. When he got to the boat, he saw the others hall him up. He was afraid his heart was going to burst watching the scene unfold.

Theoclymenus had not realized he had started to move closer to the water edge until a hand from a guard stopped him. He looked in horror as Telemachus continued and jumped back into the water. Theoclymenus couldn’t help it he calls out to him in a desperate plea.

“Please let me help him. He’s going to die.”  He yelled into the wind. The wind took his words, twisting and turning and let it fall upon deaf ears. Others had already finished and were celebrating their victory, but all the noise was drowned out for Theoclymenus.

His eyes focused, his breath coming in short breaths, and then the movement from Telemachus stopped. Without thinking he pushed back past the guard, ignoring how he was gripped from behind, ripping his shawl and wadding into the water. The water was ice cold. The freezing temperature sent shockwaves into his body. He didn’t care; he had to get him he had to save him. As he approached the man who was treading water weakly, he grabbed his arm. He was not a trained athlete and was struggling but he felt so much power in his stroke. And hauled him onto the shore.

Telemachus clung to him, his body trembling with exhaustion and illness. As they reached the beach, Theoclymenus gently laid his head down on the soft sand, his eyes filled with worry.

“Are you okay, love?” he asked, brushing wet strands of hair from his face.

Telemachus nodded weakly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I’m...I’m sorry, Theoclymenus. I thought I could handle it.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice soothing. “You’re safe now. Let’s get you home and take care of you.”

Telemachus nodded and his eyes shut.

Chapter 5

Theo stirs from his slumber, nestled beside his beloved, Telemachus. The warmth of their entwined bodies creates a cocoon of comfort beneath the linen sheets. The cool morning breeze slips through the open window, carrying the fragrance of blooming jasmine and the distant murmur of the Ionian Sea.

Theo's eyelashes flutter open, revealing the soft blue of his eyes as he transitions from dreams to the waking world. He stretches his limbs carefully, mindful, not to disturb Telemachus’ sleep.

With a tender touch, Theo brushes a strand of hair from Telemachus’ face, feeling the warmth of his skin against his fingers. He thinks to himself. ‘He does have a fever.’

His breath is short and seems labored. Theo slowly rises from the bed, careful not to disturb the prince. He makes his way out of the room. He goes to the mason to fill a few pots with water. He dips the pot into the water watching the ripples and his reflection. A sudden scream jolts him. He looks around for the source, but the sound is coming from…the prince's room. The pottery is forgotten as Theo sprints up the stairs his heart pounding. He runs into the room.

Telemachus is sitting straight upright in bed looking around the room franticly. His eyes are stained with tears and choking sobs escape him.

Their eyes meet and Telemachus clutches his chest. “You left me…you left me alone.”

Theo crosses the room in a few strides. Wrapping Telemachus in a protective hug. “No love I did not leave, I will not leave you. You have a fever, you do not know what you are saying.”

Telemachus continued to cry, his broken sobs echoed in the room. Theo rubbed his back whispering small comforts. Eventually, Telemachus’ exhaustion caught up to him and he slumped against Theo. Theo positioned him to lie on his chest. Telemachus' cries lessened and he turned his face into Theo’s chest and mumbled a few words, he did not catch before closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

Telemachus felt a hand running over his back before the pain hit him like a wave from Poseidon. All the soreness from the day prior invaded his senses in an instant and he took a sharp inhale. The hand rubbing his back stopped and a quiet voice spoke. “Just relax, you are okay, you're safe.”

Telemachus opened one eye. It took a few moments for his vision to unblur, and he saw his room. The open window with light shining through. He took a breath in through his mouth, feeling how dry his lips and throat were. The rubbing on his back stopped and he turned his head and found himself looking into the concerned eyes of Theo.

“Hi,” he managed to say. His voice was soft and strained. He tried clearing his throat, but it just made him cough. He felt Theo move from his side and return with a cup. Telemachus grabbed the cup and slowly instructed Telemachus to drink the water. It felt good on his throat, he swallowed and winced slightly before speaking again.

“Theo?”

Theo held his hand and replied, “Yes my love.”

Telemachus looked up at him with a face of acceptance and announced, “I think I have a cold.”

Theo could not help but laugh. He leaned his head so just their forehead was touching. “I know… Athena knows… I am sure the whole town of Ithaca knows.”

Telemachus smiles for a moment before his face and takes on a look of desperation. His eyes dart around before settling on the blanker he is wrapped in. He grabs the corner of it and desperately sneezes into it, causing the corner to become discolored.

“Bless you!”

“You are going to get sick of saying that.” Replied the prince, sniffling wetly.

Theo shook his head and answered. “I haven’t yet, have I?….no I haven’t.”

“Good because” his breath hitches. “I- hehh! I-I hih-HhaHh! I-I am guh- g-gonna-huhhAH—!”

A grin spreads across Theo, and he holds Telemachus closer to his chest. “Hmm? You are gonna…?”

The struggling prince tried to talk. “Sneh-hehheeze!”

“I know love, come on, you can do it,” Theo said encouragingly. Telemachus sometimes needed to be reminded he was human and to let his body do what it needed to.

 His chest expands as his lungs draw deep.

“Heh! HEH! HEHHT’CHIEW!”

“Bless you after all these years you still can't cover your mouth can you?” he said eyeing the mess left on his face.

He sniffled. “S-Snf, sorry.”

Theo smiled he pulled a soft handkerchief; cupped Telemachus chin gently and tilted his face up. "Hold still." 

Telemachus blinked, surprised but obedient, his lashes fluttering as Theo dabbed carefully at his nose. "Y-you don’t have to do that," he murmured, his cheeks flushing. 

"Someone has to," he replied. "You’re like a water hose, and my clothes are in the line of fire." He gave a satisfied hum and placed the very used item on the bed. “And besides this way, I get to look at your cute face.”

Telemachus let out a watery chuckle, only to cut it off with a sharp gasp. Theo barely had time to reach up to cup his hand in front of his face before Telemachus snapped forward with another sneezing fit. 

"Hihh…Hhh’kssSHHhh! HhHuuh..Huhh’tCHSHhh! Eiihh…eiihH’tCHSHhhuu!"

“Goodness bless you, wow that water did a number on you?”

Telemachus sighed before speaking. “…to be honest I was sick even before then.” He said sheepishly.

Theo sighed. “I won't yell at you, but I am sure she will.”

“Oh, I am looking forward to it.. oh fuh- hh-! huHd’ESSCHHIEWWw!!!”

Theo waited before saying bless you as he saw Telemachus’ nose still twitching.

hiHH-!hihh’ihH-! HAAASSCHHIUHh-!! Sorry, I- AAAASSCHHIEW!! -…. s’hH’ESSCHHIEWWw!! He collapsed against Theo's chest exhausted.

“Bless you, that feel better?”

“No,” he replied stuffy.

Theo grabbed a new cloth and held it over his nose. “Come on, blow you need to get that stuff out of your head.”

He blew his nose with a loud, gurgling sound, sighing heavily as he crumpled the cloth in his fist.

“We are going to run out of handkerchiefs at this rate,” Theo commented before continuing. “It is okay, I know you are sick, I was probably already doomed at his point anyway to catch this.”

Telemachus rolled his eyes before adjusting his position. “I am not going to sneeze on you.”

“You have in the past.”

Telemachus blushed every shade of red you could imagine before hiding his face on Theo's chest.

“Aww someone speechless?”

Telemachus head snaps forward with messy sneezes, soaking, his chest “ehHTSCHHUH! hiiH- hiih- hiiHGTzsHHuuh! hiiHH'tTSSCHHIEEW! HAHH'ASSCHHHUE!

“Bless you, you done?”

Telemachus shakes his head no before ducking down again with a wet triple.

“hhh-hhd'HIIID'SSCHHI'ue! hhah-haah-HAHh-hHHAH'DZSCHHEEEw! ehHTSCHHUH”

“Bless you! Wow this is a bad cold isn’t it?” Theo said wiping his partner's nose which was already so red and irritated.

Telemachus nods and nuzzles into his chest.

“You need some tea. Will you be okay by yourself for a bit?”

Theo crosses his arms. “I am not going to drown in my fluids.”

Theo sliding off the bed had doubts about that but ruffled his hair before heading down to the kitchens.

He returned in a few minutes to a pathetic display. Telemachus sat upright in bed, hunched over, sniffling.

Theo held out the mug in his hands, tilting it slightly toward Telemachus. “It’s tea,” he explained.

Telemachus huffed weakly, a sound that might have been a laugh if he had the energy for it. With trembling hands, he reached for the mug, his fingers brushing against Theo’s briefly as he took it. He sniffled wetly, his red and swollen nose twitching faintly, but the motion only irritated his sinuses further. His breath hitched once—twice—

Theo knowing he was going to burn himself held onto the cup.

“Sneeze first don’t-”

“HHhh! hh—Hh'IESHHhh! HH’EISHHhh! ISCHHHhh! Hh-ISHHhh! —hhIISSHHhhuhh!"

The sneezes erupted from him in rapid succession, bending him forward until his head nearly rested on his knees. The motion jolted Theo and some of the tea slipped over the sides and burned his hand.

“Spill it. Bless you! Those sound bad.”

Theo sets the cup on the side and climbs back into bed with him. “My love, I am so sorry you feel so awful.”

After a few minutes, Telemachus breaks the silence. “Want to know what the worst part is?.... I cannot kiss you.”

Theo bursts out laughing. “Says who!” and leans down and kisses him on the forehead. “What am I going to do with you!”

“Maybe see our future together,” he smirked.

He laughs “Fever got your brain, just close your eyes love. I will be here.”

-THE END-

[blueiight]

The Great Flood of 1924 or 1927?aka, a bored trivia post

s1e05 has become the boogeyman of this fanbase for events that largely occur toward the very end of it, but the flood that leads to claudia’s makeshift burials being exposed is very fascinating in terms of chronology. it speaks to how amc iwtv only slightly shifts around history to situate its immortal characters deeply within the environment of a city thats largely viewed by many, including the source material itself, as an ahistorical pleasure garden with no past or present worth caring about.

from @diasdelfuego’s s1 timeline, we have already seen an example of how the show moves with its environment, altering the release date/place of jelly roll morton’s wolverine blues from 1923 indiana to 1917 new orleans [and it be a record the fictional lestat played a role in creating — lestat aiding in a notorious trickster’s story, one of the most oblique lies on louis’s end to make lestat look more sympathetic or one of the funniest historical movearounds on the showrunners’ end, who knows].

this great flood that brings the living situation in rue royale to a head for claudia is another one of them. when lestat and louis read claudia’s diaries, they discover how shes kept careful record of the people shes buried, killed, and mutilated. they interrogate her to ask where the bodies are, and only toward the end of the confrontation does she reveal where she buried them all.

LOUIS: Where are the bodies?

CLAUDIA: Chalmette. Now get out of my room!

LOUIS: Chalmette's three feet below the river line—

CLAUDIA: So what, get out of my room!

LOUIS: What happens when the next storm comes out the Gulf?

and sequenced near immediately, in classic amc iwtv didactic fashion, the next storm comes out the gulf and unburies the bodies claudia buried on very low-lying ground.

now, temporarily exiting the show and into reality, the true flood of southern louisiana in this period occurred in 1927, when the missisippi river valley experienced heavy rainfall.

where disaster stops, and where segregationist city engineers enter, is that bankers and business leaders in new orleans lobbied the governor to intentionally broke the levee outside of new orleans proper, and so he did, ensuring that the city itself would not be flooded, but flooded out much of the low-lying areas in st. bernard parish. remember chalmette? it is in st. bernard parish.

the subsequent conversation lestat + louis have with tom anderson confirm this even more, with tom describing the number of bodies, the 56 ‘floaters’ from the ninth ward [a neighborhood in new orleans that borders chalmette], all people who have been mutilated in some fashion.

tom anderson notes this as well:

Most of the poor fools they hooked out of the bayou are former inhabitants of the Quarter, so don't be too startled if the police come knockin' on your door.

indicating that most of the people claudia killed, mutilated, and buried there were the wealthy, white neighbors of the rue royale mansion and not residents of low-lying parishes that were seen as fodder by the state of louisiana. now why didnt lestat, who was able to hypnotize an entire room of soldiers in episode 3, hypnotize the 3-4 officers that came to inspect their mansion? questions, questions… (that have very obvious answers but are secondary to this post)

referring back to the s1 timeline linked, this great flood of 1927 was either moved up to 1924, matching the decision to move up + alter the creation of the wolverine blues in episode 3 for narrative reasons, and/or refers to the odyssey of recollection, aka., how keeping exact dates and recalling the numerous historical events u have lived under after 145 or so years of misery become difficult. this post is just a fun little trivia bit + something i found to be interesting

[90sfantasyanimestuff]

Startling Odyssey

[alexa-yukiyu]

The little Stowaway Wanderer

A/N. I will.be posting the reader version of this piece shortly. The character in this story is the same character that the series Little Gardener's Pirate Odyssey presents; it is not a different AU, just the character visiting a different one piece much later.

Sorry for making you guys wait! I kinda let my self sleep till really late, but here you go!

Dividers by @/sweetxmelody

Once again, the young girl had found herself in an unknown and most likely inconvenient place to arrive in this new world if the storage boxes piled in the small room and the sound of waves heard nearby was anything to go by. However, there was no chaos going on that the small girl could see, unlike previous universes, so that small detail reassured her.

That thought and reassurance were swiftly shut down as chaos arrived in the form of two brawling men knocking into the stack of boxes right behind her, a squeal escaping her at their sudden entrance and collision, jumping away just as the boxes crashed down.

The two men instantly stop their antics as the childish scream echoes in the ship’s storage room.

“What was that?” questions Thatch

“It sounded like a kid?” Ace said, looking around and spotting a small child rapidly getting up from the ground; he stared at her for a few seconds before grinning.

“Oyaji is gonna be ecstatic; we’ve got ourselves a small stowaway!”

The child is quick to run away from the two Commanders, too spooked by the clash to stop at the call of the two pirates.

You see a large hand wrap around the bottom of the storage box you were hiding in and being slowly lifted.

Thatch lifts the box above his head so the kid is at face level.

When she makes eye contact with Thatch, she sees a bright, friendly, goofy smile.

“Heeey! Whatcha doing down there?” He says with glee, a big grin across his face, the corner of his eyes crinkling, and he raises his eyebrows, seeming to be having a good time

The five-year-old girl screeches, startling Thatch and causing him to lose hold of the box, dropping It to the ground; a whine escapes the girl as she falls along with the box

She backs away until her back hits a wall, completely trapped. Nowhere left to go, she waits in fear, her mind racing.

“Hey, Hey, we don’t mean no harm! We just had a bad beginning; we didn’t mean to crash into you like that. I’m sorry we must have frightened you, right?”

He takes one long, slow step to stand over her. He is much taller than most people and looks down at her as he squats down to her level.

She looks up a him, taking in his words and nodding slowly.

Ace approaches her, squatting next to Thatch to stare at her.

Blenheim walks through a door into the storage room.

“Hey, I heard a noise, everything all right here?”. Blenheim asks with a slightly concerned look on his face. He is about to speak again when he sees the small girl cowering on the floor. “

“Who is this?” He asks gruffly, walking closer to the girl

“We found a Stowaway”

From Alexandra’s shadow, a cat-like entity seems to materialize, a body made of shadows with a Maine-coon appearance, Antlers in between his ears, frontal hooves, and lateral paws, and two tails swaying dangerously behind him, ready to protect Alexandra.

“Back away from her,” Rogue growls

Thatch raises his hands in surrender, backing away from Alexandra. He still has a cheerful grin as he stands back up.

He appears surprised by this shadow cat entity, looking at it with a curious grin. He looks between Alexandra and Rogue, waiting to see what will happen next.

“Don’t touch her,” he snarls at the three men who remain in front of the five-year-old.

Blenheim takes a deep breath, seemingly at the end of his patience.

“All I did was walk in, and you yell at Me?” He says, trying to stay calm. His expression changes to a stern look as if to say, ‘I have no problem getting violent; try me.’

“Listen up. I am a commander on this ship, and it is My job to protect the the ship and the people in it. Do you have a problem with that?” He asks, his voice sounding calm, but his stare is fierce and intimidating

“Don’t care who you are. I’m not letting anyone lay a hand on her,” he hisses, standing in front of Alexandra protectively.

Blenheim expression changes to one of bewilderment, his eyes widening. He looks at Rogue again, looking him up and down, seemingly looking for any sign of weakness.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re about to learn a lesson you’ll never forget. You have two seconds to leave this ship before I get violent.” He growls at Rogue, waiting for a response

“Hey, now I’m sure we can talk this out!” Ace cuts in

Alexandra squeaks, running to take hold of Rogue and making a run for it, hiding deeper in the storage area with her familiar

Thatch Blenheim and Ace turn to look at Alexandra and Rogue in astonishment.

Thatch frowns as he sees the girl run off. He glances back to Blenheim.

“We’ll handle it!” He exclaims as He leans forward and makes a little gesture with his hands

Ace takes one last look at Rogue and Alexandra before looking at Thatch, making a chasing motion with his hands as he takes off after them.

Ace’s footsteps shake the storage area as he takes off after them. Thatch follows up behind, still with a big grin on his face.

After I post the reader version I will post a mihawk x winged! child!reader, I will try to make sure it is posted before the day ends!

[speckled-jim]

Let’s talk about how Basquiat’s Slave Auction relates to the themes of remembrance & trauma in IWTV.

All the artwork we see displayed in Dubai is evocative of painful memories. It’s present in every single room we've seen, so much so that I'm surprised it took Louis this long to summon Daniel back for a redo of the ’73 interview.

The Basquiat piece is first seen in 1x3, an episode that starts with Louis telling Lestat about Jackson Square’s ugly history as the site of slave executions, and ends with a race riot caused by Louis’ actions. It also marks the beginning of Louis’ struggle with self-definition: he cannot divorce himself from humanity as easily as Lestat. He cannot divorce himself from the camaraderie, kinship, and mutual support/responsibility so integral to minority communities. Yet, as a vampire, he is now inherently separate from such aspects. By the time we meet Louis in Dubai, he lives in isolation, for all intents and purposes, his contact with humanity limited mainly to the penthouse staff. The art is evidence that he still craves a connection to his roots; however, it's no longer a positive connection centered on belonging, but a reminder that the gap has grown even wider.

Our next encounter with this piece is in 1x4, when Daniel finds "Rashid" praying in the same room.

The framing choice is quite interesting: the painting doesn’t dominate the shot, but its presence is still prominent. It’s physically behind Rashid/Armand, but more to the side of him than his back, and although there’s light streaming in through the windows, Armand’s just on the outskirts, sharing the shadows with the painting. It’s a rather startling image, considering how closely the piece depicts Armand’s past, not just in terms of the events he can remember but the jumbled manner in which they exist in his head: broken fragments, rather than coherent memories he can recount.

Thus, it connects to the previous episode’s introduction of the painting, which appears in the background just as Daniel casts doubt on the accuracy of Louis’ own memories.

On the surface, these appear to be lucid and orderly enough that Louis can form an unbroken narrative account of his life, but are they? When Daniel challenges Louis on the stark differences between the story he told in San Francisco and the story he is now telling in Dubai, Louis quotes Daniel’s own words at him, calling the second interview an “odyssey of recollection.” This implies some recognition on Louis’ part that his memory’s imperfect, even when it’s not “an admitted performance.”

Slave Auction likewise contains a chaotic profusion of themes: the lasting scars of slavery, racism, and failed assimilation, overlaid with images of black men as entertainers and athletes, a superficial success applied like a band-aid over a gaping wound. Is that not the very core of Louis de Pointe du Lac? Fathomless, unaddressed anguish buried under a placid façade of wealth? A lifelong attempt to gloss over his innate pain as a man grieving the loss of his family, his community, his connection to humanity?

Not for nothing the arc words of these two seasons have been “memory is a monster.” Many horror enthusiasts say that one of the scariest things you can do is never show the monster in full, instead letting the audience craft its image from their own fears. Louis has spent decades living with just such a monster always at his back, too terrified to turn around and face it for fear of what he’d see there.

And then, in the final scenes of s2, he finally finds that courage, only to realise that the monster, all along, was just love.

[mousegard]

i just realized i forgot to post the symphogear fic i wrote in which elfnein accidentally turns tsubasa into a penguin here!

Maria is having a rough day until Shirabe and Kirika discover a lost penguin wandering SONG headquarters. She gets maybe a little too attached to it. But where did the penguin come from? And where has Tsubasa gone?

Shirabe and Kirika waited with bated breath as Maria slowly, carefully reached out, so as not to startle the penguin. With the most exceeding gentleness she could muster, she curled a few fingers around the edge of the penguin’s fin. It was like the ape touching the monolith at the beginning of 2001: A Space Odyssey. She was struck by a rush of excitement that told her things would never again be the same. She could even hear that music playing in her head. The penguin bowed its—or hers, if Kirika and Shirabe were right—head and let out a cute little squawk. Maria put out her other hand. Dare she? But when else would she get this opportunity? “Penguins are supposed to be very bitey,” she reminded herself, “and not particularly affectionate. Especially toward humans.” “That just means this is a sign!” Kirika assured her. “It’s death-stiny!”

(this fic was inspired by this doodle of tsubasa as a penguin by @jagi11)

[leiascully]

X-Files OctoberFicFest Day 21: Terma

Cut for length

Mulder had thought he might die bound to that table, chicken wire pressing a grid into his skin as something crawled into his nostrils. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t died. When he’d come back to himself in his cell, he’d been surprised. It wasn’t the first time he’d been startled to find himself alive, but he usually woke to Scully’s face. The light at the end of his tunnel was the light in her eyes.

He yearned for Scully, thousands of miles away. It wasn’t fair to her that he’d left. He was close to the truth, maybe closer than he’d ever been. The truth lived inside him, in the form of what his cellmate called the cancer in the rock. But if he died in Russia, in this godforsaken gulag, she’d never have the proof she needed to redeem him, or to satisfy her. After all they’d faced, the truth would die with him, in a far foreign place, and that wasn’t fair to her either.

Mostly, he didn’t want to die without her. Her cool hands always steadied him. Scully was his courage. She was his backbone. He’d known that for a long time. He never told her so. What did a man say to his spine? There was nothing profound enough, nothing comprehensive enough.

He was certain that she was searching for the truth back home. Whatever work there was to be done, Scully was hip-deep in it, wielding the tools of her trade. She had the diplomatic pouch and its imported pathogens. She would find answers. She’d always been better at deducing solutions; he was inductive, reasoning in advance of his evidence, an associopoetic leap to the conclusion that he shaped the proof to fit. Scully started with the facts and derived the truth. Often they met in the middle.

But here he had no Scully, and Krycek had abandoned him. He had his wits, such as they were, a shiv, and a desperate hope. That got him a truck, which got him out of the gulag, which got him to St. Petersburg, which got him to the States.

He put his arms around her, escorted her out of the Senate chambers to the car. They got burgers and shakes. He told her about his odyssey; she told him they'd both spend nights in prison. She'd refused to give him up. Patient as Penelope, she'd woven and unraveled their story, holding onto hope that he would return with an arrow that found the heart of the conspiracy.

Fire. Brimstone. Black oil. Russians. Lives cut short in the care facility. In the end, they had no evidence of anything. It had all gone up in smoke.

But they had each other. That was the important thing. He would never take that for granted again.

[theodysseyofhomer]

Emily Wilson is a professor of classical studies at the University of Pennsylvania. Her translation of the “Odyssey” was published in 2017, and her translation of the “Iliad” will be published in September.

June 28, 2023

In one of the most moving and memorable scenes from the “Iliad,” the great Trojan warrior Hector says farewell to his wife, Andromache, who has urged him not to risk his life by fighting on the plain. He gives their baby back to her, tells her to go home, and reiterates his decision to advance on the enemy.

Around 100 complete English translations of the “Iliad” have been published over the past 400 years. Their variety shows no clear trajectory of cultural change: Some of the more recent Homers are more archaic and less idiomatic than many earlier ones, but some are not. A wide variety of forms are used to “translate” the dactylic hexameter of the original, including prose and free verse as well as several poetic meters.

The translations reflect a wide range of possible interpretations of this short passage. Is Hector harshly scolding Andromache for offering advice about the war, despite her gender? Or is he treating her with gentle pity? Is she worried only about her husband’s death, or is she also concerned about her own imminent enslavement and their baby’s slaughter? Are her concerns valid? Does the warrior risk his life despite his love for his family, or because of it? Why must men fight? Why must women weave? How strange, or how familiar, is the society of the poem?

Each of these translations — along with dozens more — suggests a different understanding of the central themes of courage, marriage, fate and death.

The Original ‘Iliad’ 6. 482-497

The original poem is composed in beautifully musical, metrically regular dactylic hexameter, and designed to be performed out loud: It is poetry for the mouth and ear, not the page.

The scene evokes the complex emotions of three separate characters — the frightened baby, the woman, the man — and it also includes a silent fourth, the enslaved nurse.

The text provides a vivid account not only of Hector’s words, but also of his actions. At the end of the passage, he picks up again the shining helmet that he took off because its plume frightened his little son, and in so doing, he becomes again “bright-helmed Hector,” as the traditional formula of heroic poetry describes him: He again assumes his role and costume as a man who lives and will die by war.

Before this passage, Andromache has pleaded with Hector to adopt a safer strategy, rather than go to almost certain death by meeting the enemy on the open plain. As she reminds him, Hector is risking much more than his own life. His death will entail his wife’s rape and enslavement, their baby’s violent death and the sack of their city.

Hector’s response suggests a fascinatingly contradictory attitude toward his own actions. His firm tone could suggest brash confidence and/or a man steeling himself for a heartbreaking choice to prioritize his own honor over the lives and freedom of everyone he loves — a choice that becomes possible only when presented as no choice at all.

George Chapman (1611)

The first complete translation into English, by the playwright and erstwhile soldier Chapman, creates a staunch, fatalistic version of Hector, reflecting the poet’s interest in Stoicism. Chapman uses a metrical form that was already old-fashioned in his day, “fourteeners,” or rhyming heptameters; the original does not rhyme.

The translation expands on the original in ways that may be startling by modern norms — for instance, by rendering the single word for “tearfully,” dakruon, as “fresh streams of love’s salt fire.”

…This said, th’ heroic sire Gave him his mother; whose fair eyes fresh streams of love’s salt fire Billow’d on her soft cheeks, to hear the last of Hector’s speech ,In which his vows compris’d the sum of all he did beseech In her wish’d comfort. So she took into her od’rous breast Her husband’s gift; who, mov’d to see her heart so much oppress’d, He dried her tears, and thus desir’d: “Afflict me not, dear wife, With these vain griefs. He doth not live, that can disjoin my life And this firm bosom, but my fate; and fate, whose wings can fly? Noble, ignoble, fate controls. Once born, the best must die, Go home, and set thy housewif’ry on these extremes of thought; And drive war from them with thy maids; keep them from doing nought. These will be nothing; leave the cares of war to men, and me In whom, of all the Ilion race, they take their high’st degree.” On went his helm; his princess home, half cold with kindly fears; When ev’ry fear turn’d back her looks, and ev’ry look shed tears.

Alexander Pope (1715)

Pope’s translation, into elegant rhyming pentameter couplets, was a best seller in the 18th century and remains a classic. Pope adds a great many details entirely of his own invention, inserting anachronistic notions of marriage (“my soul’s far better part”), and explaining emotional responses that are unstated or ambiguous in the original: For example, Homer does not explain why Andromache is crying, but Pope clarifies that it is from “fear.” Pope invents some wonderful aphorisms that have no basis in the original but add zing to the couplet, such as “the first in danger as the first in fame.”

He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms, Restored the pleasing burden to her arms; Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid, Hush’d to repose, and with a smile survey’d. The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear, She mingled with a smile a tender tear. The soften’d chief with kind compassion view’d, And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued: ”Andromache! my soul’s far better part, Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart? No hostile hand can antedate my doom, Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb. Fix’d is the term to all the race of earth; And such the hard condition of our birth: No force can then resist, no flight can save, All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. No more — but hasten to thy tasks at home, There guide the spindle, and direct the loom: Me glory summons to the martial scene, The field of combat is the sphere for men. Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim, The first in danger as the first in fame.” Thus having said, the glorious chief resumes His towery helmet, black with shading plumes. His princess parts with a prophetic sigh, Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye That stream’d at every look; then, moving slow, Sought her own palace, and indulged her woe.

Samuel Butler (1898)

The prose version by the 19th-century novelist and satirist Butler — a lifelong bachelor — suggests a very different set of assumptions about women, metaphysics, emotions (“his heart yearned towards her” for eleēse, “pitied”) and even time management (“daily duties” for erga, “tasks”). Butler treats Homer’s repeated epithets as skippable, so that phaidimos Hector (“glorious Hector”) becomes simply “he.”

With this he laid the child again in the arms of his wife, who took him to her own soft bosom, smiling through her tears. As her husband watched her his heart yearned towards her and he caressed her fondly, saying, “My own wife, do not take these things too bitterly to heart. No one can hurry me down to Hades before my time, but if a man’s hour is come, be he brave or be he coward, there is no escape for him when he has once been born. Go, then, within the house, and busy yourself with your daily duties, your loom, your distaff, and the ordering of your servants; for war is man’s matter, and mine above all others of them that have been born in Ilion.” He took his plumed helmet from the ground, and his wife went back again to her house, weeping bitterly and often looking back towards him.

Robert Fagles (1990)

Fagles’s best-selling translation, in unmetrical free verse, uses many familiar American idioms and clichés (such as “smiling through her tears,” or “filled with pity,” a metaphor absent from the original). He softens the brusqueness of Hector’s final speech to his wife by rendering daimonie as the gentle “dear one,” and adding “trying to reassure her” and “please,” neither of which appears in the Greek.

Fagles makes Hector’s most iconic phrase, that men must be warriors, sound much chattier and wordier than the original, spreading it over two lines: “as for the fighting / men…”

… So Hector prayed and placed his son in the arms of his loving wife. Andromache pressed the child to her scented breast, smiling through her tears. Her husband noticed, and filled with pity now, Hector stroked her gently, trying to reassure her, repeating her name: “Andromache, dear one, why so desperate? Why so much grief for me? No man will hurl me down to Death, against my fate. And fate? No man alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward, I tell you — it’s born with us the day that we are born. So please go home and tend to your own tasks, the distaff and the loom, and keep the women working hard as well. As for the fighting, men will see to that, all who were born in Troy but I most of all.” Hector aflash in arms took up his horsehair-crested helmet once again. And his loving wife went home, turning, glancing back again and again and weeping live warm tears.

Emily Wilson (2023)

In my own translation of the “Iliad,” I echo the metrical regularity of the original by using unrhyming iambic pentameter. I thought long and hard about the multiple narrative perspectives suggested by the original poem, and its resonant ambiguities; in this passage, for example, I use both “beloved” and “loving” for phile — a word that could suggest either, or both — because the feelings of both the wife and the husband are at stake.

The rhetorically punchy qualities of Hector’s speech seemed essential, as well as Hector’s insistent focus on his own defining identity as a warrior. Hector is a deeply loving father and husband who makes the choice to leave his family to almost-certain enslavement and death.

As I read the Greek, we feel heartbroken for all three members of the family (or for all four, counting the silent nurse) — and all the more so because there is no hint of sentimentality in the language, no softness in Hector’s final words. The emotions are sketched with extraordinary concision: The only explicit feeling is Hector’s pity for Andromache’s tears (eleēse), but a world of other emotions is evoked through gesture.

…With these words, he gave his son to his beloved wife. She let him snuggle in her perfumed dress, and tearfully she smiled. Her husband noticed and pitied her. He took her by the hand and said to her, “Strange woman! Come on now, you must not be too sad on my account. No man can send me to the house of Hades before my time. No man can get away from destiny, first set for us at birth, however cowardly or brave he is. Go home and do the things you have to do. Work on your loom and spindle and instruct the slaves to do their household work as well. War is a task for men — for every man born here in Troy, but most especially, me.” When he had finished speaking, glorious Hector picked up his helmet with its horsehair plume. His loving wife set off for home, but kept twisting and turning back to look at him. More and more tears kept flooding down her face.