#the iliad summary

[peggy-sue-reads-a-book]

Achilles to Priam after the release of Hector’s body:

[beehawk4]

i read lu-is-not-okay's sin analysis guide and it made me think about outis some more (mainly base outis)

TL;DR for the guide: Each sin's meaning is likely different from the mainstream interpretation of them (e.g. Lust does not necessarily mean being horny), and an identity's skills represent the layers of their psyche (With s1 being the surface layer and s3 being the deepest layer of the mind)

I should note that this draws from my previous theory of Outis's story so it might be needed to check that out to clear any confusion. Also, since Outis's story isn't going to be released for a very long time, this is really just conjecture.

Anyway...

Outis has a sloth s1 (Pulled Blade), a pride s2 (Backslash), and a gloom s3 (Piercing Thrust), right?

Going by the guide, Sloth S1 represents Outis's resignation to her circumstances. She's given up on hopes of ever returning home after the Smoke War, believing it to be totally impossible.

Pride S2 likely alludes to a fatal mistake Outis made out of hubris during the Smoke War, one that could possibly even be the reason why she cannot return home. Since we don't have her story yet, this is more based off of Outis's source material.

In The Iliad, the protagonist Odysseus had been captured by a giant called Polyphemus. When he demanded his name, Odysseus told him his name was "Ουτις" (Outis), which means 'nothing' in Greek. Odysseus later blinded the giant, who screamed "Outis (nobody) is killing me!" (and thus leading the other giants to ignore his pleas) and allowed them to escape.

However, before leaving, Odysseus revealed his true name to Polyphemus in an act of hubris, taunting him. As a result, Polyphemus was able to pray to his father Poseidon to curse Odysseus to “[never] reach his native land, to [never] come once more to his own house and see his friends again” and to “let him come late, in evil plight, with all his comrades dead, in someone else's ship, and find troubles in his household."

Sounds pretty familiar to Outis's predicament, right?

Afterwards, gaining a grudge against Odysseus, Poseidon began sabotaging Odysseus's journey. All of which would have been prevented had Odysseus's arrogance not gotten the best of him.

Returning to Limbus Company Outis, I feel like Pride S2 would represent her invoking catastrophe the same way as Odysseus -- in an act of arrogance, she will make a huge mistake with terrible consequences (perhaps being the reason why she cannot return home?). Could be her revealing her identity to the enemy to brag -> said enemy pulls a few strings and finds a way to prevent her from returning home, or it could be something less 1-to-1 with The Iliad. Either way, the skill would allude to her ignoring the consequences of her actions in that one moment.

Alternatively, it could refer to her participating in the Smoke War, not quite aware of the potential consequences that could result from leaving her home.

Finally, Gloom S3. This one is a bit hard to pin down with actual evidence because, again, we know very little about Outis's actual past. Additionally, nothing really suggests that Outis is "overwhelmed" with negative emotions at the time of this post. In fact, she's known for being the most rational and collected sinner, despite her obsequious attitude towards Dante. (There's probably something from The Iliad that I could connect to here, but I honestly don't know that much about the epic.)

That being said, I imagine it'd have something to do with regret. Whatever conceited mistake Outis made came back to bite her in the ass, and now she can never return home to those that wait for her. Indeed, she would definitely dwell on her unfortunate circumstances even if she is resigned to them. "If only I hadn't let my hubris get the better of me."

As for appearing rational and seeming the exact opposite of "overwhelmed with negative emotions"...

I have nothing to support this, but it's possible that Outis's implied duplicity through her sycophantic behavior towards Dante is a front. She's well aware that all of the other Sinners and Vergil think she's going to backstab them at any moment -- that's the point of it. It's a smokescreen to cover up how she actually feels, which is intense lament due to being unable to see her loved ones ever again.

That doesn't necessarily mean said treachery is "fake", since she could still backstab them (although you could argue that if she really did want to betray them, she wouldn't make it so obvious). It's just that she intentionally uses said sycophancy and hints of disloyalty, however genuine they may be, to mask her actual issues and her past.

[jondrettegirls]

and then patroclus dies and— stop playing with my tits im not done— and achilles no longer has anything to live for other than to kill hector so—

[chaoticvintagelesbian]

The Aenead so far is a lot less of a shit show that the iliad. Tho only read book 1. Some notable things tho:

- Venus sprinkled her son is sexy dust

- Juno went to the winds like, yo I'll give u brood mare wife if u start a storm to kill those Trojans over there, winds went, bet.

- iulus seems to be between a year old and 13, we do not know, he says his first word after he has done archery and ridden a horse.

- oh and love is an infection.

[lyculuscaelus]

I was in the belief that it’s Conon’s addition to the myth, though it would seem that Pausanias (yes, that well-known geographer from 2nd AD) in his work Collected Attic Words also mentioned the existence of the phrase Διομήδειος ἀνάγκη, with a similar account of this story:

Διομήδειος ἀνάγκη· παροιμία . . . οἳ δέ, ὅτι Διομήδης καὶ Οδυσσεὺς τὸ Παλλάδιον κλέψαντες νυκτὸς ἐκ Τροίας ἐπανήιεσαν, ἑπόμενος δὲ ὁ Ὀδυσσεὺς τὸν Διομήδην ἐβουλήθη ἀποκτεῖναι· ἐν τῆι σελήνηι δὲ ἰδὼν τὴν σκιὰν τὸν ξίφους ὁ Διομήδης, ἐπιστραφεὶς καὶ βιασάμενος τὸν Ὀδυσσέα ἔδησε καὶ προάγειν ἐποίησε παίων αὐτοῦ τῶι ξίφει τὸ μετάφρενον. τάττεται δὲ ἐπὶ τῶν κατ' ἀνάγκην τι πραττόντων.

Here’s Mr. West’s translation of this part if anyone’s curious:

I believe the phrase Διομήδειος ἀνάγκη was pretty common back then in places like Attica, and if what Hesychius of Alexandria said was true, then the author of the Little Iliad might probably be the first one who connected this with the Palladium heist:

Although we still don’t know how it exactly played out in the Little Iliad (since Proclus in his summary didn’t elaborate either), I think it is interesting to see that this backstabbing story didn’t make it into pseudo-Apollodorus’s Epitome—the compendium which relied its account of the Trojan War on the Epic Cycle a lot. And if it didn’t make it there, chances are that the Little Iliad only left a hint of what could have been, meanwhile this story existed back then at a folklore level, just like the version of Odysseus’s death where a heron pooped on his head and he just…died. And pseudo-Apollodorus, as we know it, didn’t collect folklores as often as Pausanias did. So it never showed up even in the infamous Epitome.

Anyways, yeah, I don’t really think it has to do with Roman bias since little is shown in Pausanias’s works that he specifically hated certain heroes, even though there’s the Mantineia story concerning Penelope but you know he’s just collecting local tales as he always did. And here, the locals being the Athenians, it’s really intriguing to see how the people of a city patronized by Athena decided to shittalk abt Odysseus, favored by Athena, during the heist of the Palladium, the statue of Athena.

Heyo!

I don't know how exactly to phrase this but I was wondering if you know anything about Odysseus trying/planing to kill Diomedes while they were stealing the Palladium. I have heard some people say that Odysseus did try to kill Diomedes while doing so but Diomedes noticed him so Odysseus stopped.

This feels so strange to me as Odysseus and Diomedes aren’t antagonistic in the Illiad and Diomedes is loved by Athena like Odysseus so betraying him, especially for hubris, seems like a good way to end up on Athena's bad side.

Also the translated summaries of Little Illiad I know don't mention it either but I know those translations can be missing out context. I suspect the Odysseus Betrayal is a "later adition" to the Epic Cycle but I am not that confident on that opinion.

Yes absolutely and I understand completely what you say. That is because the Palladium Heist betrayal story was peobably not part of the original epic cycle but rather a later adittion. More specifically through the work called Bibliotheca by Photius I, the ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinopole in 9th century seems to be mentioning in his work a Roman mythographer named Conon.

Conon lived and created during the times of Augustus. It seems that he is one of the oldest if not the oldest mythographer to ever mention this story. So the story quoted by Photius goes as such;

Basically after the revelation of Helen's Diomedes and Odysseus enter the city. Odysseus helps Diomedes on his shoulders so that he could climb but when he reaches out his hand Diomedes doesn't take him in and goes for the Palladium himself. When he comes back apparently Odysseus asks him on it and, according to Photius who quotes Conon, Diomedes "knows his cunning" and says that he didn't find it. That a spirit stole it and that he has another one. Odysseus realizes he is lying so he eventually draws his sword to kill Diomedes and take the Palladium to the Greeks himself. Apparently as he goes to stab Diomedes in the back, his sword casts a shadow by the moonlight or the glint of the weapon, Diomedes sees it and deflects him. He draws his own sword and threatens Odysseus with it wishing to "punish him for his cowardice" but eventually he decides otherwise (arguably knowing that the war needs him) and thus he drives him back to the camp while hitting him on his back with the flat of his sword. And according to Photius this is what gave the famous phrase to Greek language διομήδεια ανάγκη (Diomedes Need) which basically means "do something unpleasant out of necessity for the greater good"

So as you see the story does seem pretty bizarre. First it implies mutual distrust and rivalry between the homeric heroes for Diomedes doesn't take Odysseus in the temple, Odysseus asks him on the Palladium obviously with intention to steal it and Diomedes lying to him and of course the actual act. For starters Odysseus ready to kill Diomedes for the sakes of fame (while he literally saves his life in the Iliad) and not only that, be greedy and stupid enough to hold a sword to the moonlight. So it holds many contradictions to the entirety of Epic Cycle even Iliou Persis which also shows a more unpleasant side of Odysseus.

My guess is that the story is mostly linked to traditions of later years especially Roman sources and is not directly linked to the Epic Cycle. Even art of later years doesn't depict the Palladium Heist as a negative aura between the two heroes. If anything they seem to be cooperating just fine. And as I said this myth as told by Conon shows BOTH Diomedes and Odysseus as rivals and equally antagonizing and deceiving each other which doesn't usually appear to the Epic Cycle. Although of course we cannot be 100% sure given how the Epic Cycle is lost, it seems to me more like a roman legend that usually depict Greek heroes of Troy in general and Odysseus in particular, in the most negative light possible given how Odysseus is known for taking Troy, the mythical city of origin to the Romans (given how Aeneas who barely escapes with his life from Troy is the ancestor of the founders of Rome)

I hope this answers your question; to summarize it seems to me that this story of the Palladium Heist has as much connection to the Epic Cycle as Ovid has to Medusa legend; seems more like a version either created or told by Conon based on traditions of his time and the general anti-Odysseus climate.

[mandalhoerian]

moth to a flame | leon kennedy x reader

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Break-ups are never easy. Thankfully, you've been preparing for yours for a long time. Leon doesn't let this revelation go for reasons you cannot fathom when he's the one who wants to leave.

word count: 9K

warnings: angst, smut, thigh riding, p in v, kinda body worship, switch leon, he subs for like a moment and goes this better not awaken anything in me

notes: i winged this please don't judge me. also, "plot"-wise, this is an extension of my leon love language post. header template can be found here. enjoy the filth

🌀 read on ao3!

📍 continue to the BAD ENDING!

📍 continue to the GOOD ENDING!

In hindsight, you’ve seen this coming. Your face barely moves at your on and off situationship of two years forcing out, “I think we should break this off.” 

So faint and unsure it’s barely above a whisper.  

He looks so uncomfortable hunching over, forearms resting on the countertop, breakfast untouched, as if trying to make himself smaller than you, it’s absurd considering the nerves of steel you envy him for, and sure, he’s adorably awkward sometimes for a man of his looks, but not like this. Never vulnerable like this.

The kitchen is gloomy despite the bright winter sun seeping through the windows, almost suffocating because of his uncharacteristically transparent malaise. Leon isn’t one to openly squirm, and in turn, it’s making you all the more nervous — nothing about this is fair when you were thinking you got all the practice needed from imaginary scenarios and possibilities on all the directions the eventual separation would go.  

He can’t look at you, shaking his head nervously, choked by the silence. “Say something.”

How funny it is that he’s the most fit man you’ve ever known, could lift you with one arm without breaking a sweat— one bicep literally the size of your head, yet looks like he’d cry if someone touched him right now. It’s a hard to swallow, unreal pill that you’re the one doing this to Leon, making him weak like this. 

You’ve never known you had that kind of power over him until now, how he says he wants to break up but would throw up if you actually say yes.  

You shift in your seat, the wood of the chair suddenly digs sharply into your skin with how hyperaware your body is of all the surroundings to deviate your attention from Leon, folding your hands on your lap. 

The answer is at the tip of your tongue, it was stashed away there months ago. Of course you’ll let him go. 

What makes it easier for you is having consented to how absent and private he warned half the things involving him was going to be, or it’s that you knew from the start your time with him would be limited. You just don’t question it; completely skipping the first four stages of grief and jumping readily to acceptance. 

The lamb knew it would be slaughtered by the nurturing, kind humans, and yet it still got attached to them; Homer straight up told the readers how the story would end right at the start of Iliad, yet the fall of Patroclus and the rage of Achilles burned the same, if not worse — you knew Leon would inevitably fall apart and run away one day, yet chose to cherish your limited time with him all the same.

It can’t be called a tragedy if you agreed to how it would end in the first place. 

Leon Kennedy is ephemeral in his nature, daydream-present and lucid-absent in your life all at once. You thought of him as an outdoors cat, never really yours in the first place, randomly shows up whenever he wants to, reluctantly leaves out of nowhere — a flighty, mysterious companion who’s happy and eager to be there but withdrawn when poked and prodded. 

You accept him as such, love him all the same.  

You’re not sure if he loves you just as much. 

Fondness and like is there, enough for him to have stuck around for this long, but you figure it’s because you’re safe and constant. You’re happy to have provided him with at least that because you’re not sure what he saw in you, to be honest. 

What’s happening is painless enough to go through exactly because of this, you hadn’t let yourself get too attached to Leon knowing he isn’t into you as much as you are into him. Maybe you are deluding yourself, maybe you are numb and not as apathetic like you thought you are, but you’re convinced this is how it should go — how it’s meant to go. What’s the point when you’re aware your name won’t be at the top of his list? 

The insecurity surely is a small part of the ‘Leon Kennedy Breakup First-Aid Package’ you’ve been cultivating over time in preparation to cushion your own fall when the time would naturally come, but it doesn’t cover the shape Leon is in that even when he’s the one breaking your heart, he looks like he’s shouldering the pain you’re going through on top of his. 

This is why you can’t ever be mad at him. You wanted to be with him knowing the way he is, after all. 

Leon is a mess despite trying not to show it, his messy straw-blond hair doesn’t shine like it usually does, he hasn’t conditioned it, the golden sheen to it wilted almost. His bloodshot, red rimmed eyes are dim in their blue, laser-focused on the black coffee mug he’s tightly gripping, the skin underneath his lower lashes spread out in faded pink-purple half-rings and it only ever happens when he hasn’t gotten enough sleep in more than a couple days’ time whenever he has to be away for an unprecedented amount of time, or gets buried too long in his paperwork. His thumbs are wiping at the place he puts his lips on and have a sip at the contents of it you’ve seen he fed some liquor to a few minutes prior. He’s awfully domestic in his black sweater and pants, not at all looking like he just asked for a breakup.   

You take pity on him. 

“I see. Alright.”

His head shoots up, eyes immediately finding yours, no longer blank. He doesn’t seem sure if he heard you right, expression disbelieving. “What?”

“How do you want to do this?” Mirroring Leon’s anxious movements, your own fingers trace the rim of your own teacup. “You could start gathering your things today, but if you want to call it a day, I don’t mind—”

“No—wait—what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying okay, Leon.”

He winces at the name, gaze escaping from you again momentarily and he has to blink, the lack of your usual pet name for him must have hurt him, you presume. He has to swallow before talking. “This is it?”

You’re not sure if it’s directed at the end of your relationship or you letting him off easy. “I don’t understand. What else was I supposed to say?” 

“I don’t know, I just—”

This isn’t being hopeful, but you ask anyway. “What did you want me to say?” 

He sighs in return, tearing away his gaze and hiding it with a hand that wipes at his forehead.

Yeah, it isn’t your hopes that were crushed. You adamantly tell yourself it isn’t. He’s being nice as he always is, of course he’d question how agreeable you’re being, it’s not like his resolve is going to change. “I’m just being cooperative so we can—”

“Aren’t you angry with me?”

That was the problem?

“I’m not, Leon.” 

“How can you not be?”

“Well, I…” It’s because you love him, but bringing this up would only make it harder. “I’m not sure. You’ve been that good to me along the way, I guess. I don’t resent you for anything.”

He has that subtle sarcastic look on his face you would take as mocking if you were a total stranger, but you know better. He’s being self-deprecating. You could read it. But you should, he’s thinking. You should resent me. 

You don’t. 

The thing with Leon is he’s too good to be true that his only flaw is being a literal ghost. A well-meaning ghost who’d send presents upon presents and work his ass off to make extra time for what he had to give up on every time your plans falls through with unexpected shit that came up from his mystery job at the White House he never talks about that has him battered and bruised each time he turns up after prolonged leaves.  

Which is an oxymoron considering how attentive and absent he is at the same time. Sometimes you wondered if he’d fix his habit of being a clam about everything concerning himself after you guys were through, but imagining him becoming more open and changing for someone else hurt too much.

“Don’t you want to know why? I mean—god, why are you just taking it?” 

“What do you mean taking it? You’re not doing this to hurt me, look at you, Leon, when have you last slept? It’s hard on you too.” 

“That really doesn’t have to do with anything right now,” he dismisses. “How are you this unaffected? I’ll take it if it’s to get back at me…”

“It’s not.” You stand up, appetite lost. You want to wrap your food up and put it in the fridge to eat later, and this way, you don’t have to look at him while saying the sentences you have rehearsed for so long. “If you want to break up, I can’t force you to stay—or into anything you don’t want to. It’s not fair for either of us. You’ll be stuck with someone who you don’t want, and I’ll have to live with the knowledge I’m with someone who doesn’t want me.” 

You find him staring at you when you’re done, your hand stays wrapped around the handle of the fridge door at how tortured he is. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shakes his head, blond strands framing his face gently swishing in the air. He does the angry eyebrow scrunch whenever he disagrees with you strongly on something you’ve said, but decides not to at the last minute, and you find yourself the tiniest bit disappointed at him not refusing he doesn’t want you. “You always— you always do this... Be angry. You have to be angry at me.”

You find refuge in the kitchen sink, washing your hands. “Stop it. I don’t want to fight, please.”

“So you are angry.”

“I’m not!” You slam the water shut a bit too forceful and you breathe for a second before turning to him. “I’m not. Angry. I’m sad, yeah. An understatement. Who wouldn’t be?” 

He just says, “I’m sorry,” at that, and hates it’s the only thing he can manage to give you, it’s blatant in his face. 

You take a seat at the chair directly next to him, you both need the intimacy of good communication at the moment. “But I had a lot of time to mourn, alright? It’s not that I’m taking it or being passive or whatever—”

“Mourn?”

His eyes search yours for a second, and the realization leaves him breathless, the insides of his brows raise up, making him look younger and more innocent. “You were expecting this.”

“Yeah, I mean.” Your lips press together, and you chew the insides before hopelessly shrugging, a small smile doing its best to put itself together. “Look at us. It was never going to work out in the long term. Not really. I consider two years a miracle, to be honest. I don’t know how we got this far.”

“All this time we were together.” Leon’s voice is thick, on the verge of shaking, you weren’t expecting him to take this so badly. His pupils devour all the blue from his eyes, he has never looked at you this hostile before all the hair on your arms rise up. “You were just thinking about breaking up? Have I only ever made you insecure?”

“Not all the time—it’s just—” You swallow. ““Why are you angry at me now? What did I do? You are the one breaking up with me.”

“And here you are okay with this. You’re telling me you didn’t think we’d ever work out when I—” He huffs. “I didn’t even notice a thing. You weren’t happy at all. Ever? You were uneasy all this time?”

“No, Leon, you’re not listening to me. What I expected was that you would leave one day, eventually. Because that’s how you are. That’s how your life is.” He leans back when he gets what you are alluding at, rubbing his face with a hand, refusing to look at you — but out of anger this time around. “I know you wouldn’t be able to stand being in limbo about not letting yourself go and wanting to at the same time. I know you felt bad about everything. I guess it’s just not the right time?”

You don’t say, right person and wrong time, it’s wishful thinking on your part—Leon probably doesn’t think that, someone else seems to take that crown in his heart, you know that all too well. 

The muscles on his arm closest to you flexes, he must be thinking about taking your hand in his, so you remove them off the table and nestle them between your thighs. Any physical contact from him might lead to you crying in the end. 

“I’m sorry I made you go through all that,” he laments. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Your head tilts sideways. “It wasn’t about me, Leon. Suppose I sat you down and complained you weren’t open with me, you were distant. Especially when you weren’t ready for the conversation. I’ll tell you what would have happened. Two weeks of radio silence.”

“Ah, c’mon…”

“It’s not something you haven’t done before. You said it was work, but… You know. I get it.”

Leon exhales from his nose and lowers his head, broad chest puffing up with rapid breaths, his neck is getting redder by the second. You’ve never taken him for someone with an explosive anger, but it looks like that could change any second. 

“I wish you wouldn’t take this to heart, I’m not saying this to hurt you when I say I knew this was always going to happen.” You’re talking like you’re trying to soothe a tiger, and he especially looks to hate it. “You can’t possibly have expected me to ignore it. And it wasn’t going to come from me either, I’m happy to be with you either way, but—”

“That’s the problem.” He has his head between his hands, like that could possibly hide him away from the conversation. “I treat you like this and you still say that.”

You wish he wouldn’t be this hard on himself.

“I signed up for this.” He tilts his head at that, accusatory, and you get more agitated in return. “I know your circumstances. You can’t help being absent most of the time, I understand. I understand more than you think.” His forearms hit the counter loudly, he looks about to spit fire any second, but you don’t let it happen. “However. It’s no way to continue a relationship, I know that too. My perspective is that it shouldn’t be guilt that comes to your mind whenever you think of me. I wish things could be different. I wish I could be a priority to you—”

Leon’s face sours, and you stop talking when you see it. 

You didn’t mean for the words to hurt him as they did, explanations becoming distraught. “Look, I like you, you know this. Possibly too much. More than I should. You have to understand that’s why I’m being this amicable with you right now. Break-ups don’t always have to end in fights, sometimes things just don’t work out, and that’s what’s happening right now, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t reach Leon. His gaze is faraway, defined jawline locked clenching and unclenching. 

“If it makes you feel better, I was angry for a while.” His hand comes down from rubbing a circle in the middle of his brows, eyes shifting back to yours. “But it is what it is.”

“You’re not even gonna ask?” he says, defeated.

“Would you tell me anything different from what I know?”

He opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a sigh, one of his legs shaking, and his head falls forward, curtains of dark blond hair covering your view of his face. For a moment, all you want is to slip your fingers into the silky strands and comb them back, take his heat away, the pads of your fingers on his smooth cheekbones, you know he’d melt into your touch straight away and his expression would lose weight of the strain he carries you can only imagine the root of most of the time, but you abstain. 

He wouldn’t appreciate it on the brink of a break-up, you were about to become nothing but strangers. 

That’s why it’s abrupt when he leans forward and captures your lips in an unfair, unfair kiss, the force of it makes his teeth clack against yours and you grimace, retreating to break it. His hand slips to the side of your neck to pull you back in, the drag of calluses and heat against the skin of your neck sends goosebumps all over your body, his thumb caresses your cheek in a loving way that hurts but his lips are frantic in their gentler search to open your mouth to his, and suddenly you can’t breathe from how much Leon keeps advancing. 

Turning your face away to break the assertive, overwhelming liplock, you take in lungfuls of air as you look as away from him as you can, panicking at the way he presses his forehead to your temple and the way his nose nudges your burning cheek, he doesn’t budge when you attempt to push him off the second you realize you’re enjoying this. He’s built like a fucking tank. “Leon—”

“Say no if you don’t want it,” he breathes, right into your neck, the tickle is mixed with something dangerous that sears your skin along with the low rumble to his voice directly in your ear, and you have to stop yourself from squirming, a coil of incandescence binds its threads together in the depths of your stomach. “Say it and I’ll stop.” One muscular arm hooks around the back of your upper thigh and one around your waist, he quite literally snatches you off your chair and plops you down on his lap, each of your legs hang from the sides of his hips, and you yelp at how effortlessly Leon seems to arrange you to his liking. 

He’s needlessly, uncharacteristically cruel. You would always want him. Leon knows this. 

“You’re so—” Your breath hitches when his fingers bypass your shirt and sneak up the bare skin of your waist and his other arm readjusts you as he buries his forehead in your shoulder and you gaze at the top of his golden hair kissed by morning sunlight and take in the familiar scent of him and his shampoo. His body against yours leaves a festering sweet longing. “So unfair—you were just breaking up with me—”

He bites down at the meat of your clavicle and you draw in a short breath, the dig of his teeth sting, but he immediately soothes it with a lick and his tongue is hot, too hot. “Unfair?” he groans, you contain the shudder at the emotion he keeps at bay and at the path his blunt fingernails make above the clothing from your hips to the sides of your legs, he’s never been like this. “You already left me in your mind before this and I don’t even know exactly when.” The tip of his nose faintly traces the curve of where your neck meets the shoulder, the tickle is unbearable, aching, you wish he would have left marks instead. “You were always thinking of leaving— our time together didn’t matter to you. What do you think that makes me feel like?”

“That’s not—” You grip both of his biceps and feel the protruding veins and the flex of the muscle underneath the skin, intimidated as always by how both of your hands added together were too small to form a full hold around one. I work out a lot, was his excuse while you were first getting to know each other as acquaintances, and you’d thought how this man belonged with someone of his league. “You’re the one—” 

“You dummy, I’m not leaving you because I want to.” Leon’s arms circle your waist and pulls your body flush against his in a crushing hug, his head finding home under your chin and against your chest. It’s innocent and you feel the helplessness, the desire to hold but not be seen, but you don’t know what to do in return, his words don’t quite register. “Why would I ever when I—“ He cuts himself off, breathing shaky as the rest of the sentence dies at his throat. “Jesus, I can’t believe this.”

You tentatively hold his shoulders, surprised at how taut they are. How winded he is like some wire. “I don’t understand.”

“You are just letting me leave like that. Like some business deal done and gone, you just…” 

You can’t help the sound that escapes as he bites your earlobe. Why does he keep biting? 

“Ow!—“ Leon starts sucking, the wet sounds and his breathing directly in your ear sending shivers down your spine, and you’ve had enough of his thought processes ending up being completed by his lips on your body. 

He’s easily able to overpower you, but obeys when he feels you’re genuinely pushing him away, some strands of your hair get stuck on his face and the view of the detained obscenity of his expression  —the half-closed eyes and the missing blue, the flush of his cheekbones, glistening of his pinked lips— sends a hot wave downstairs. “It’s you. You! You’re the one leaving, Leon, I don’t get it—“

Some clarity through the pinkish haze of want dawns back to him, and he gingerly combs the threads of hair away from your face, some of them behind your ear. “I don’t want to. That’s the thing. I thought it was clear as day.” Leon searches your eyes, looking down at the details of your face, your heart races as his stare gets stuck at your lips the longest, he isn’t even aware he’s doing it and you feel feverishly desired from his insatiable look, from the slow movement of his Adam’s apple. “But—“

“You can’t help it. Right?” Your thoughts are blurring together, and he’s a black hole pulling you in. “I understand—“

Leon kisses you again, and your stolen exhale turns into a pleased hum. “Stop saying that,” he whispers with inches between your lips, eyes closed, so close your breath is his.  

“What do you want me to say?“

“Stay.” He takes your hand and brings it up, planting a singular kiss at the inside of your wrist, and then rests his cheek against your palm. You can only stare at the vulnerability he’s offering you on a silver platter, the tormenting softness is blinding. “Stay.” 

Your heart soars. God, you’ve longed for him to give away that he wants to be with you all this time, the insecurity is a blanket you’ve hidden under, this is it, but he’s so torn and you don’t get his struggle, what he must be hiding for such a visceral reaction. He wants to, but he can’t, and you don’t know why, having accepted he wouldn’t tell you from the start anyway. 

But you ask. You ask anyway. Hope is a flightless bird waiting for her wings to grow each day. “Will you?”

Something shifts, a delicate moment broken, and Leon draws back, his eyelashes flutter as if he’s shaking off some daydream — and then he’s upset, a pinch in his brow. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I can’t—“ You’re grabbed from the arms and scooted away from his lap, putting some distance between the two of you. Leon is physically pained, unable to meet your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m being like this.” He holds your hands between the two of you, and you get whiplash from the passion just mere seconds ago and the tenderness of this touch. “I can’t keep doing this to you. I don’t know why I’m this unreasonable, it’s so childish— Shit. I’m sorry, I’ll just—“

“No.” You cup his face in both hands and he looks like an abused puppy tasting kindness for the first time. “Stay for a bit.” Your heartstrings are tugged by the way Leon’s eyes are lit up. “I want to have you. One last time. Is that alright?”

A beat passes.

“Yeah,” he says, blanking out at first, but then repeats stronger, his fingers sink into the plush of your thighs as he licks his lips. “Yeah.” He turns his head and kisses your palm, somber. “You can have me however you want.”

Leon doesn’t look like he’s particularly looking forward to it. “You sure?”

“I’ll always want you, any day, any time,” he says, and you’re flabbergasted at the burden of his meaning. But you force yourself to look past it, look past the unguarded and unarmed honesty, choosing to interpret it in the language of lust. 

“Not here, though.” You get up from his lap and he doesn’t stop you. “It’s kinda cramped.”

“We can make it work if you’re up for it,” he half-teases, one corner of his lips curling up, his eyes are humorless. 

You snort. Easy for him to say. He’s fit, you aren’t, that’s why being on top can’t last half the time without his assistance. “You can. I certainly can’t.”

“You keep saying I can’t to me, knowing I take it as a personal challenge.” Leon’s touch moves up your forearm and in one swift move, he pulls you in between his legs. He leaves a kiss at the lower valley between your clothed breasts. “Maybe you’re doing it on purpose?”

You’re heating up right away. “I’m not—”

Leon pats his right leg, pulling up the sleeve of his shorts all the way up to the hipbone, exposing the well-endowed, firm thigh. “Sit here.”

“Your leg’s gonna get a cramp,” you say, but it’s hardly a complaint, your crotch has begun to contract at the thought of feeling the flawless skin slipping against your slick folds and how he would mold the tendons to fit just right for your pleasure. Expectation was pulling you tight right from the start where he had you hanging from his every word.  

Leon’s almost offended. “It won’t.” But his encouragement is gentle. “Come on, sweet girl.” Hooking one arm between the two layers of the bands of your underwear and pants, he lets them snap back against your skin after he pulls considerably. “And you’re taking off all that.”

You let it go. Immediately. “Fuck, okay.” 

It’s morning. You’re in the middle of the kitchen. And you’ve forgotten all of that, head lost in the beginnings of a dull throb between your legs. Your dignity would have been trampled on if you were too enthusiastic, so you try to take your time, and he asks, “How do you want to go about this?”

“Huh?”

His hands ride up your knee and inch up, his thumbs in the line of your inner thighs, and your first instinct is to press them together to alleviate the ache, but Leon’s forcing them apart. “You can have my tongue or fingers first. To help the friction.” You swallow when the nail of his thumb scratches the material of your panties and feels the slight dampness, and he’s watching your reactions very closely. “Or you could just sit down.”

You don’t have strength left in your knees anymore, head spinning with the way his darkened, narrowed gaze is simultaneously bearing down on and  looking up at you, and Leon helps you settle your weight on his leg after sliding your underwear down your legs, the warmth of his palms on your naked hips alone is vexing enough and it’s embarrassing that he feels the particularly strong pulse of your sex. 

He angles his leg up and you slide forward with the gathered moisture, arms catching onto his neck in surprise from the sudden jolt of pleasure. “Eager, are we?”  

You aren’t normally bold like this, would let him keep softly teasing rather than give the same energy back, but there’s a certain finality to this time, your brain is liquid smooth from the tantalizing delight of his touch, and you don’t hold back to inform just what he does to you breathily. “Always for you.”

The movement of his leg staggers and you look up to see him caught completely off guard. And the next thing you know, Leon has you in a bruising kiss, or you think it has the strength to bruise, he hasn’t been this rough before, and you certainly haven’t been craved to this extent in your entire life before him. 

This time you accept his tongue willingly into the cavern of your mouth, his fervent licks and gasps rise the question of who’s really the more eager one here, but it doesn’t really occupy space in your mind, limbs stilling overall from how he steals away all bodily functions with just kisses that radiate desperation. 

Leon ushers your hips to languidly move when you fail as a multitasker all the while the swirl of your tongues continue to tangle, and it proves difficult as your slide against him becomes smoother and wetter with him finding just how to pull the hood of your mound while you’re pulling back and drag against it in the correct angle, flexing his thigh accordingly. 

He pecks your jaw. “Faster?”

Skin contact goes straight to the tightening spiral in your stomach like this. “I can’t—”

“Don’t say you can’t.” He does something that has you dropping down from heights by circling his leg, and completely out of your control, small noises emerge from the back of your throat and you can’t kiss him back anymore. “Do you want it faster or not?”

You try to hum in agreement, but he catches you in the middle of it and jerks you forward, the sharp zap electrifies all your nerves and grants him a startled moan, you can barely see the satisfaction in his face from the sudden tears. You were somehow in control of the pace previously, but once he knows you want it faster, it’s him that anchors your hips to the edge of the stars, a man on a mission. 

Leon begins to leave open-mouthed, wet kisses on your neck that has you tilting your head to give him more room, and you’re glad his heavy gaze isn’t drinking in your bliss-stricken expression anymore. “You hear that?” His question is thick. “Listen.” 

The noises your wetness make sliding across the muscles of his thigh in a rapid speed makes some of the blood rush up to your cheeks, and the knot is stretched so agonizingly beyond the point of no return that you’re hurling towards absolution, legs beginning to shake and your whines become sweeter. “Leon,” you pant, the fever to keep going as he is conveyed in one singular word reaches him. “Leon—ah, mmh— I’m— Leon!”

“Yeah, I got you.” Adoring kisses are peppered along your jawline and your fingers clutch to his blond hair, pulling him in, your stiffened, perked up nipples are smushed in the press of his chest against yours, and you arch into him like a cat, lost in the ascending ecstasy. “Just let go.” He bites down and your sore walls clench around nothing, the pulsating increasing in intensity. You’re on a thrill ride, shooting up, up, up— “Come for me, sweet girl, come on, give it to me.”  

With a sharp, choked cry, and the throw of your head back, the coil explodes and unravels, white sparkles in your vision, and Leon holds you down when your body tries to fly off with the force of your orgasm, the sinking of his hands into your sensitive flesh only heightens and sends crashing waves as he helps you ride through it, rocking lazily with you back and forth. 

“Oh god,” you shiver, clinging to him, upper body basically draped across his chest as the pleasure rolls into a stinging ache of pain with the overstimulation, bones jiggly from the floaty feeling to get away yourself. “Too much. Leon. Too much.”

His voice is croaky. “Yeah, we’re not done yet.” 

He stands up with his arms supporting your legs around his waist, and you hold on for dear life. It scares every single time he does this. Leon makes it look so easy to carry you around from room to room without breaking a sweat. 

The full meaning of his words only get to you when you’re thrown on the bed, wind knocked out of you. “Leon, wait, aren’t you going to Spain tomorrow, don’t you have to prepare—”

“I’m preparing,” he says, putting one knee on the bed and oh god, the shine on his thigh, the drench, that was all you—- “Need to get my fill of you to last for the whole trip, yeah?”

It’s more like he’s saying, ‘To last for the rest of my life’, the hunger and melancholy makes for a Frankenstein’s monster of ravenous, unquenchable yearning when you’re right in front of him and your flame is rekindled.  

More than one round with him is uncommon most times because he’s simply busy and moves around a lot, you weren’t used to the practice, build wired to exhaustion taking over when he was finally done with you, either hot, heavy and fast or sweet and intense, each time leaving you with honeyed sore bones and the best sleep following right after. 

Arousal pools in the pit of your belly thinking about what comes next. 

Kneeling at your feet, he taps your tight-locked  knees. “Open up for me.”

It’s morning. He could see every detail of imperfection in this light and uncertainty washes over you for a second before you do as he wishes, the sheets crinkling and rustling beneath your shifting, and he gets on his stomach and puts one of your legs to his shoulder when you thought he would be entering you already. 

Flustered, you get up on your elbows. “Leon, you don’t have to.” 

“Didn’t think you wanted to get it over with right away.” Sliding his hand up, he fans his fingers on your tummy, thumb pulling at the skin dipping into your vulva, and looks up at you from his eyelashes. Little sparks of pleasure light up at each stroke. The weight of his arm is wonderful. “Breaking my heart over here.”

“It’s not that, I…”

He scooches up, and the knowingly feather-light kiss he leaves on the inside of your thigh, close — right there but not there, makes your leg twitch. “Oh, you wanted something else?” The teasing view of Leon inches away from where you wanted him was a sight for sore eyes, but his sudden hot breath on your post-orgasmic sopping heat broke your daze, making your hips attempt to jump up, but his arm had you absolutely pinned on the mattress. “Well?” 

It’s not something you’d planned, but his wanton beauty looking up at you shoves an image inside your brain unexpectedly, reminding you how you’d said you wanted to have him, not the other way around. This is going to be the last time Leon would be like this with you, and there were so many things left unexplored. What would it feel like to have this feline-gracious, strapping man underneath you, to run your lips through his unbelievably sturdy body all over and return the kindness on how good he’s been taking care of you? Leon was always perfect to you. Is perfect. Your wish to present him with how exactly on top of the world he has you feeling for your final time, to return the favor. 

Leon has stopped moving and it’s because of your lack of reaction and the long look of contemplation regarding him. You lift his hair away from his eyes. “Can you lay down on your back?”

“You wanna get on top?” he asks, but doesn’t object to it, moving up on the bed and sitting up, getting the hint on taking off his clothes, enamored, you watch his abdomen flex and limbs stretch like a cat’s as he slips his shirt off and throws it away and shimmy off his briefs. Every single movement of his is a wonder. 

“No, I want to touch you,” you say, stare not knowing where to focus on him and his half-hard dick jumps at your words. “Explore you.”

He meets your eyes, pupils blown, and swallows, nodding. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I wanted to have you, remember?” 

There’s a semblance of a laugh and Leon rolls on his back, one knee up and hands on his stomach, blond hair fanning around his head on the sheets. He looks like a sculpture. “And how will you have me?”

“Pleasured without thinking of pleasuring,” you explain, he’d be better at the dirty-talk in your position, perhaps say something like ‘Crying for me’, but you’re way too fascinated by him to think about what would have him helplessly turned on. “Vulnerable.”

You would be lucky if you are able to push him to the point of not even one thought behind those pretty blue eyes, but you just want to make him feel good, and with that in mind, reach a hand and trail the tips of your fingers through the prominent web of veins along his forearm, his fingers jump, and you continue through his upper arm, lingering on the sharp lines of lighter-colored small scars until you reach his shoulder, feeling the cluster of the goosebumps that rise in his skin. 

“Seriously?” he says with an annoyed timbre and you see him having gone completely hard, eyebrows shooting up in shock. “You’re going this slow? Am I some package you’re unboxing?” 

“You seem to be enjoying it,” you murmur in interest, and Leon sulks at how you run all five of your fingernails all the way down the lower of his belly button and how it’s hardly even a graze at all. His abs keep contracting. “I barely touched you.”

“You, haah,” he sighs at you straddling and hovering above him. “Don’t need to point that out.”

Leon tries to hold onto your thighs but you maneuver him away, and unsurprisingly, he isn’t pleased by that, groaning. “Oh we’re doing this?”

“I’m touching you. Stay still like a good boy.”

It’s your usual banter, but for some reason, he turns his face away and closes his eyes for a second, wetting his lips as if his mouth is dry. The line of his neck clenches and unclenches and you feel the brush of his dick lightly hit the inside of your leg. You’re fascinated again. He likes this more than you expected. “God, you really want to kill me.”

Leon could stop it if he wanted to. Switch it around. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before. All the times you’ve attempted to ride him and your knees and calves failed you, he ended up sitting up and hugging you close, fucking up into you and kneading your insides from below and littering your shoulders with angry red marks, taking control of the pace, especially riled up from how endearing and sexy you were trying your best to pleasure him, in his words. He can do it again, but doesn’t. Just lies there, all for you, stuck between a rock and a hard place — which, in this case, is his discomfort and enjoyment. The lack of stimulation gets him going. 

You lean down and nip at the corner of his mouth, and he responds immediately, turning back to you, chasing the kiss. His hands come up to your waist but you take them off, pinning them to his sides, and Leon complains through sharply breathing into your mouth. “I’ll only,” Kiss. “Hold you.” Kiss. “Please, just let me—” You lightly bite his tongue. 

As if he couldn’t do it if he truly wanted to. He is letting you do this to him. Pleading. In that tone of voice, too. You’re in over your head, what is happening? 

“No,” you say, kissing his jaw and caressing the hinge of his opposite jaw with your thumb, sounding stern but feeling silly inside, unsure if he’s amused by you deep down. But Leon huffs again like a spoiled brat not getting what he wants. 

You’re shell-shocked, but continue your pursuit to find out what else he likes, settling on his ear, making a line through the outer rim of soft tissue with your tongue and sucking kisses until he’s shifting around, you can hear how he’s trying to level out his breathing, then you bite, and he hisses as you repeat it over and over again. 

You’ve heard that some men enjoy getting their nipples played with, and you caress and massage, knead and fondle all over his torso with both hands as the switching of your gentle and silky mouth and the needling pleasure of teeth assault his ear, and you listen to his heavy breathing the occasional hitch of it until you circle around one nub, and flick it, rubbing down and pressing the pebbled nipple inwards, just like how he does it to you, and twist the other one. His face hides itself in your neck, and you let him have that, at least. 

His exhale turns into sound and he shuts it down pretty quickly, opting to speak up instead. “Can you—” he begins, and then tuts, sounding nonchalant, but you hear it. You hear the thickness of contained arousal. “Can you move on already?”

“You want the other ear?”

His head jerks in your position at you saying that straight into his ear and breathing into it, you know the thin sheen of saliva coating it makes the sensation sharp and cool and warming at the same time. “No—” he says, but you ignore him, cutting the rejection off by taking his other earlobe between your teeth. “Jesus Christ, this isn’t necessary—”

“If it isn’t, why is this wet?” You ask, watching him closely, tapping the pearl of clear liquid gathered at the tip of his ramrod straight hardness. It’s scalding hot, throbbing at the contact. Leon hisses between his teeth, trying to contain it, and sighs as your index finger circles the tip to spread it around, another bead of precum swelling in the wake of your touch. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips thinning and returning to their usual plushness with him pushing them together, a dust of pink coloring his complexion, a weak glare is on you. “Just enjoy it.”

“I could if you actually did something already.”   

You wrap a tight hand around Leon’s needy cock, heavy and thick, and he shouts, the cry turning into a high-pitched whine you would never dream of coming from him and he clamps a hand on his mouth right in the middle of it, hips bucking into you, head thrown back, blown eyes horrified at what he just did. His breaths are loud and shaky, face turning red in seconds, and you watch, utterly captivated. You’ve seen adorable sides of him before when he lets himself be light and his brow isn’t hanging close to his eyes in that grumpy mood, but what you have right here…   

You’re drunk on this side of his, nibbling at his exposed throat. “You’ll take what I give you.”

“God,” he whispers behind his palm, with a subtle tremble when you squeeze once and let go. His hips stutter up before falling back. Leon’s embarrassed. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t retort back, all of the sass packed and left. You can’t believe this is working. That Leon’s obeying you like this. He’s leaked all over your hand. Oh my god. 

And you’ve really barely even done anything to him. 

You can’t help but wonder if this is you doing this to Leon or he’s just into being bossed around in general. 

How further can you push?

“Look, you’ve wet my hand,” you say, bringing your glistening palm up and separating your fingers after circling the gathered precum around, a thin thread forming between the digits. Like a hawk, he watches you lap it all up and you don’t take your eyes off of his, hearing him grip the sheets. “Still gonna act like this isn’t doing anything for you?”

Leon’s voice is gravelly as he rasps, “Kiss me.” It’s something between a request and a demand that if you don’t do it, he will. 

You oblige, pushing down on his chest to get him to lie down again when it’s apparently too slow and soft for him, and he avidly presses forward to make it rougher, intertwining his tongue with yours harsher to the point of your mixed drool sliding down his chin for more. 

He’s yanking and pulling on his clasp on the dreadfully wrinkled covers in self-restraint as he bites and licks and pulls at your lips, butterflies light up the pit of your stomach and thrash against the liquefied rapture that throbs in your pussy and seeps out, the need for attention growing impatient by the minute.  

You go down and focus on kissing his neck, alternating between openmouthed licks and bites, careful not to leave marks, insides doing a summersault at the small noise of disappointment he makes that transitions into husky gasps. Leon still is concerned with suppressing any kind of unbecoming sounds he’s appalled to come out of him, and you’re bothered by that. Pressing your palm on the head of his cock and twisting sure does the trick to vocalize him a bit, restoring your confidence. 

“Ah… Can’t you just directly touch it,” he sighs gruffly. “This isn’t enough—”

“You aren’t asking nicely enough.” 

His head snaps down, brows raised in disbelief, self-consciousness clouding the teased promise of bliss that edges him on, and you stare back at him pointedly — however, on the inside, you’re worried if he’d ever beg at all. 

You twist your palm with added pressure enough to alleviate the pain, but not enough to carry him to the peak he wants to get to, and his shoulders jump up, “Ah!” Biting down on his momentarily trembling lower lip and shaking his head with closed eyes as if he doesn’t want to see you watch him be like this, he mutters, “I’m gonna get you for this…” 

You grip the base of his cock so hard his hands fly up to your wrists and with a shuddering whimper, stop at the last second before he touches you and he drapes his forearms on his reddened face instead, his back rises from the bed involuntarily, Leon’s flat-on squirming and hating it. 

“That’s not nice,” you tease, pressing your legs together in momentary relief and waves of pleasure that slip on your skin like silk, and narrowly stopping the moan. You breathily add, “What do we say?” 

“Please,” so fast and quiet, humiliated. You understand, but don’t let him off.  

“I didn’t catch that.”

“Fuck, please, come on, please.” His hands ball into fists and his arm veins pop out and his right knee curls upwards. “You can’t keep doing this to me—AHH—mhhmh—!”

His sentence gets cut off into incomprehensible babbling once you start pumping your fist up and down his neglected erection, not even needing lotion for it, he’s drenched enough to make the slide beyond slippery. You add your other hand into the mix and begin teasing the tip, and his chest, having developed a thin layer of sweat and gleaming in the sunlight, is heaving, and he can’t swallow the gasps and noises anymore, fingernails digging into his palms. You can only see his puffed, rufescent lips from the way he’s covering his face.  

“Wasn’t what I had in mind, but I’ll take it,” you say, and it’s genuine. This much alone was too much, way beyond what you thought could happen. Leon is always in control, he has it together so brilliantly that this is actually him falling apart, it’s an enthralling, spellbinding natural disaster so beautiful you can’t look away, want to touch yourself to the sight. 

“I’ll show you what I have in mind,” Leon all but snarls, and he has you on your back and pulls you towards him by your legs harshly even before shivers can go down your spine. “Let’s see if you can take that.” 

You pushed him past his limit it seems, and he darkly stares you down, eyebrows scrunched and beads of sweat rolling down his temples. sweat-dampened hair curtains his face from both sides. His hand slips behind both of your knees and scratches at the smooth skin of the crevice, shooting lightning directly into your core, and he hikes them up to hook over his shoulder and hugs one bulging arm around to hold them together, lining himself up with your slit with a trembling hand, dragging the cherry red, furious tip up and down, slipping it in for a bit, catching your insides in a tantalizing drag, and then taking it out next, making your toes curl in the air and drawing squeals out of you. 

Leon would normally send you to the underground and back from how horribly he’d tease you for being this drenched for him, but he’s strained and silent now, snapping his hips against yours and burying himself to the hilt in the spasming cavern of your pussy in one go, with no resistance from how ready for him you were, ripping a fractured cry from you as your vision blacks and stars dance behind your eyes. He groans gutturally, cock pulsing inside, and you feel the sound in your body. You’re overly sensitive from head to toe, and even the sheets sliding against your burning skin makes your clit throb painfully, deliciously. 

He doesn’t start slow or build to something, it’s quick and rough right off the bat as he’s ramming into you with no mercy, and he’s basically catapulting you into glorious completion, but you need more stimulation, more, something more—

He slaps your hand away when you try to reach down to your clit to slip two fingers between your tightly shut legs and falls on his forearms, “No way I’m letting you do that.” Leon arranges your legs to wrap around his waist, grinding against you. 

His attention then shifts to something else and he pulls on the sleeve of your shirt that’s still on, a scheming shine comes to the blue of his eyes that worry you, and then he’s leaning in and forcing it up. It’s hard for you to move your back and slip it off with the way he’s pinning you down, and it dawns on you late after you make the mistake of raising your arms that it’s what he wants after all. After getting your head out, Leon turns it inside out around the entire length of your arms that act as a makeshift restraint and leaves it like that, you’re incapacitated with your hands over your head like this. 

You whine, this is so about not letting him touch you, and he thrusts up sharply to shut you up, sucking blossoming reds into the crook of your neck, hands pulling and pinching at your nipples. It’s building up. It’s building up, but— “You’re going to come like this.”

The frantic slap of skin against skin is echoing in the room and you struggle against the bunched up shirt around your arms. “Can’t—”

“You’re doing it on purpose at this point.” He laces his fingers into your hair on top of your head, thumb on your forehead in little caresses, contrasting how he fucks you shallow and fast, his voice a couple octaves higher than it usually is as he angles your hips upwards to hit deeper, and your moans are a metronome in beat to his ruthless pace. 

“Yeah, that’s right, take it!” Eyes glazed over, mouth agape, the muscles in his thighs jumping, body pulled taut, wrecked and somehow begging, Leon doesn’t leave a single spot unkissed on your face and throat and he’s hurling towards an uncontrolled craze, he’s so close himself. “More? You want more? Too bad, this is it—mmm—for what you just did to me, and you’re gonna take it!” 

You’re clamping down on him and he hisses in your ear as you repeat it like a mantra, Leon is wrenching a merciless orgasm from you and you have no control over it, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, can’tcan’tcan’tcan’t—!”   

Leon’s delectable weight pins you down as you shoot up with the detonation of the pleasure into a thousand pieces, rippling through your body in building waves, your pussy clenching down on him catches him off guard and he unceremoniously spills into you with a choked, staccato shout shuddering, the succulent warmth coating your insides and adding to the ecstasy, and it just keeps coming, his load is too heavy and too much. Your stiffened legs lock the shivering man in place and tremble around his waist as he languidly rides his bliss out, forehead sticky against your clavicle, the sheer strength with which he holds you against him is euphoric rather than suffocating. 

“God, what the fuck was that,” he mumbles at some point, collapsing on top of you and turning you around with him so he won’t crush you, pulling you to his sweaty chest and putting his chin on top of your head. His scent has you in a fuzzy daze. “What did you do to me?”

You don’t respond, consciousness slipping from your fingers and pulling you deep into the sweet comfort of the dark. 

You feel his hand on your cheek, lightly nudging. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Mhm,” you manage to make out. “Wanna sleep…”

“Okay, sweet girl, I got you,” he says, soft and endeared, from far, far away. 

And with that, you’re out like a light. 

When you wake up, you find yourself thoroughly cleaned up, in comfortable, cotton pajamas, with no Leon in sight and a small note left on your nightstand with the keys to your apartment on top of it. 

It reads: Had to go. I’m sorry about not staying until you woke up. Talk to you when I get back.

You plop back on your fluffy pillows and sigh, chest hurting. It was always going to end this way. In hindsight, you’ve seen it coming. 

Your heart doesn’t agree, tears freely falling from your eyes. It’s really over. Leon really left like that. Just as he came into your life. 

You don’t have the right to complain. You’d agreed to it in the first place. 

[starrywilliams]

END OF DESIRE

sub!abby x reader

summary: abby hates distractions when she’s reading, but this distraction is very welcome.

notes: short bc i don’t have the motivation to write anything long…!!! i used the iliad for this bc she has it and it physically hurts me to not write as lore accurate as i possibly can

warnings: not proof read !!!! cunnilingus, fingering, (both abby!receiving), yeah it’s just kinda filthy idk…

nsfw under the cut!

leant up against the headboard was a trembling girl, fingers tightening around the faded paperback with all her strength. “keep going abby.” you whispered, “if you stop, i stop, okay?” you reminded her of the agreement, nails pushing gently into the flesh of her thighs, a small whimper falling past her lips.

she took in a deep and shaky breath, pushing the glasses back up her nose. “helen has nothing but her b-“ she gasped softly as she felt your tongue drag over her clit, earning a harsh stare from below. “b-beauty. and the charm it casts on all men,” another whine escaped her throat as you left small, wet kisses around the edges of her pussy.

“without aphrodite she would be n-nothing.” she stumbled over her words, struggling to focus with your touch between her sensitive thighs. “you’re doing so well, don’t stop.” you smiled, the incoming cruelty begin to pervade your consonants. “and aphrodite plays the same role on olympus as on ear- fuck!”

she whimpered as your tongue pushed into her, hips bucking off the bed. you slapped her thigh, reminding her of what she was supposed to be doing. “shit, sorry,” she apologised breathlessly, restarting the sentence. “and aphrodite plays the same role on olympus as on earth.”

she swallowed harshly, fingers quickly swiping over her foggy glasses so she could keep reading. she sighed as she felt one of your fingers replace your tongue, pushing deep into her. she met your eyes, understanding that you weren’t gonna move until she continued.

“she gives hera, who wants to diverttt-“ the word faded into a whine as you curled your finger inside her, her head hitting the headboard with a light thud. “baby, you don’t want me to stop, do you?” your coquettish voice had her squeezing her eyes shut, head shaking. “n-no.” she sighed, looking back down to the blurry pages.

“divert zeus’s attention from the battle so poseidon,” abby whimpered breathily, your increasing pace making it impossible to concentrate. “ so poseidon can help the archaeans, the breast-“ a second finger sinking inside of her aching hole cutting off the word midway through. “keep going.” your stern voice left no other option for the desperate girl.

“-band, pierced and alluring, with every kind of enchantment woven through it.” abby breathed in heavily, legs trembling over your shoulders. your fingers kept up their unforgiving pace, stretching her out in the best way possible. with each thrust inside her, she could feel her high getting tugged closer and closer - whines slipping off her tongue endlessly. but she was supposed to be reading.

“fuck, w-why did you stop?” she said, voice hoarse and desperate. between your vexed eyes, glaring up at her, and the disbelief lining your slight grin, it didn’t take long for her to piece together your reasoning. “i’ll keep reading, just-just don’t stop, please?” she rambled, slightly high-pitched in her frantic desire, pulling the book back up before her face.

“there is the heat of love,” feeling kind, you’d started again, the sound of her struggling to get out her words coherently far better than anything else. “the pulsing rush of longing,” you could feel the need rushing all over your fingers, she was fucking soaking.

“the lover’s whisperrr-“ abby whined, feeling your lips attach to her aching clit, tongue swiping over the swollen bud. “irresistible.” she stuttered, all attention drawn to the stimulation that threatened to envelop her entire body soon. but she knew better now, she had to keep going.

“madness to make,” her thighs were shivering around your head, pussy pulsing around your fingers, while a spare hand laced itself into your hair - keeping you as close as she possibly could. “the sanest man go mad- fuckfuckfuck,”

her hips were grinding against your face, incomprehensible noises spilling out of her throat as you continued to fuck her. “go on baby, you can do it.” you mumbled against her clit, feeling her tighten around your fingers within seconds.

“ohmygodthankyouthankyou-“ her barely coherent words slipped aimlessly out of her mouth as she gushed all over your fingers. you kept going, replacing your fingers with your tongue, tasting her desperately. when you tried to return to her clit, you were hastily pulled away, the sensitive girl shaking her head as her thighs snapped back together.

“you wanna keep reading? i can always get the-“ you started, stopping at the notice of her eyes - renewed with a fresh desire. “oh, okay.” you laughed softly, realising it was your turn now.

[neo-nomatrix]

The Head of Aphrodite

Aphrodite!Gojo x Ares!reader

word count: 1072

summary: You, goddess of war, go into battle with your beloved, god of love.

banners by: @cafekitsune and @saradika

warnings: idk historical inaccuracies? i tried to follow some parts of the iliad. i was originally gonna do this with aphrodite!reader and ares!gojo (or toji) but this happened. coercion by gojo. uhh gods fight mortals??? idk i needed an excuse to put them into battle and realized that it doesn’t make sense in the middle of writing

You betrayed your own mother for your beloved.

Since the beginning your mother and you had sided with the Greeks during the Trojan war. Your mother despised the Trojans. After Paris, the prince of Troy, had said Gojo was more beautiful than her. Although you agreed, she was still your mother. Yet, you were only in love with one. Gojo Satoru, God of beauty and love, the most gorgeous being through the living and the dead.

“Please, my love,” Satoru begged from beneath you.

He often did this, groveling at your feet at any chance he could get. You’re sat on your throne, a beautiful creation made of leather, metal, and skulls. It’s a drastic difference from your dark demeanor to Satorus constant beam of light following him. Your skin is adorned in your armor, face resting on your hand in boredom. His white tunic slips off his shoulder as you look down at him, revealing a chest chiseled by Pygmalion. His skin glowing radiance. He caresses your bare legs in his arms, kissing up your calves and thighs. Whispering sweet nothings to you, in hopes of convincing you.

“My loyalty is supposed to lie with the Greeks, you know this, my love,” you say back.

“No. Your loyalty lies with me,” Satoru says back, his eyes turning suddenly dark before shifting back to his mesmerizing blue ones.

“My mother would-“ you begin before Satoru cuts you off.

“To hell with Hera! She only wants you on the side of the Greeks because the Trojans worship me instead of her. You really believe she is worth more than me? Your lover?” He begs, voice almost whimpering in despair.

“What do they have to offer me?” You ask.

“Brutality. The Trojans are men of war! They will not rest until the battle is done, they are true soldiers,” The God says, knowing you would take a liking to a barbaric nature.

“You’ll be fighting by my side, my goddess,” He continued.

“Joining the Trojans would be joining the losing side. I only win,” you argue with him.

“why must you be so difficult?” Satoru thinks to himself.

“You would rather fight against me? Is that how you see me, my dearest?” He says, knowing it will push your buttons.

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it,” you say, irritated by him.

“But you did! You would rather fight with me, your lover, the god who is the reason for all your pleasure, because it means you would win a war that doesn’t even matter to us!” He reasons.

“Satoru, you started the war! You are insufferable, i’m beginning to actually want to fight against you,” Your fuse is about to blow.

“Oh, sweet girl,” Satoru muses at you.

He begins to make his way up your body from his pathetic position. Slowly touching your body, from your ankles up to your face. He presses soft, pleasuring kisses, to every part of your body he can reach. He easily finds the sweet spots on your neck and teases at them.

“Join me, my goddess. My all powerful being, creator of destruction and war,” he whispers against your skin.

“Fine,” you mumble back.

It’s not your proudest moment. A goddess who has put men on their knees due to a simple look. A goddess who has won, and started, hundreds of wars. The goddess that has been broken down so easily. A small bit of begging and touching makes you crumble. Gojo knows he has won. He smiles against your lips.

“I knew I would win.”

You’re drenched in the blood of mortals. You know none of it is yours because no warrior has yet to even come close to you with their blade. You are the Goddess of the war. Subsequently, many did not take a liking to you. Most did not worship you, and you don’t mind. You relish in slaughter and bloodlust, why would a few (thousand) mortals hating you make a difference? If it really mattered to you, you could just kill them too.

Satoru looks ethereal on the battlefield. The god of beauty really doesn’t take a day off. When you spot him he’s wiping off blood from his face, bodies surrounding him. He pulls out his grand sword from the body of a soldier, face turning into disgust when he sees the gruesome scene around him.

In contrast to you, many worshiped Satoru Gojo. They adored him. He was charming, handsome, kind, handsome, funny, and was handsome on the list? Satoru Gojo is a sight even among Gods. The mere thought of him to mortals was enough to send someone into shock.

It was no surprise when you heard a soldier talk about taking his head as some sort of trophy. Even if not surprising it still enrages you. The thought of disgusting mortals even thinking of taking your lovers head made you want to wipe out every living being on the planet.

You create a path to these said men. The aura surrounding you smelling of death. Your sword gripped in your hand. You wish for them to suffer. Your steps hold so much power the ground shakes beneath you, causing the men to fall. You begin stabbing into their chests, piercing their stomachs through the armor. Until you take one by the hair, and in one swift stroke their head comes off their body. Face going limp, stuck in an expression of fear.

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo was watching you. He was taken aback by you. The sheer power you held with you. Your muscles gleaming in the smoky air, sweat and blood decorating them. He has never seen something so attractive in his life. If he were to describe true beauty, he would say you.

You turn to him with an angry smile on your face. The once living head turned into a skull at your command. Simply another death to add to your collection.

Still seething you approach Gojo. Looking him in the eye. A dark presence follows you while your lover is surrounded by a light one. His head pounds in adoration for you. He has never felt like this in his entire life. You throw your sword into the ground, eager to touch Satoru. You calloused hands wrap around his biceps. You stare at Satoru in the eyes, his hand wrapped around your waist.

“No one touches what’s mine.”

[padfoot-lupin77]

Guess which fool thought they would find this in their school book copy of the Iliad? yeah, me. But of course there was only a summary of book 14 😒

funniest scene in the iliad is in book 14 when hera is seducing zeus and he's like yowza this is sexier than that time when i got busy with danae or with semele or with alcemene or with europa or even with demeter or with-

[weast-of-eden]

I've been thinking about how I could contribute to the ACD/Granada Sherlock Holmes fandom for a while, seeing as I'm neither an artist, a writer, or anything actually useful lol. But then I realized something I myself always treasure are curated fic recs, which I could actually do! I've read probably like 25% of all the h/w ACD and Granada fics on ao3, so I compiled a short list for anyone who is just starting out with the fandom. Without further ado, may I present

Eden’s Top Picks for Beginning ACD/Granada Fics:

(edit: i made a second list here!!)

The Adventure of the Doctor's Heart by mistyzeo 12k | Rated E Summary: Holmes has observed much of Watson's habits and tastes over time, which is why it surprises him when his friend objects strangely to a folk song sung at the conclusion of a case. Disturbed by the Doctor's unexpected display of emotion, Holmes becomes determined to lift his spirits by any means necessary, with mixed results. Notes: obviously if you're going to read canonverse h/w, you are going to read mistyzeo. this one is just so good and angsty and features music (!!). it's got some steaminess but it also has wooing. basically it has everything you ever need. this is my odyssey, my iliad, my hamlet, etc.

Cameo by what_alchemy 8k | Rated M | For Archive Users Only Summary: Holmes and Watson become embroiled in a case Scotland Yard refuses to acknowledge. A soulmate AU. Notes: i honestly skipped over this fic for a while, since i'm not the biggest fan of soulmate aus. do not make the same mistake i did, because this shit HITS. this fic has hit after hit: soulmate-mark based case for our main duo, angst, hiatus feels, MORE ANGST, and ofc a happy ending. ugh. read this fic if you enjoy being happy.

A Tide That Does Not Turn by tweedisgood 3k | Rated T Summary: Holmes is a very bad patient with a devoted doctor who adores him. Watson wishes it was safe to speak up, but his friend is a tide that does not turn. Notes: do NOT read this if you don't like angst... ok now i'm sensing a pattern. anyways this is the first hurt/no comfort fic i read for this tag and i literally have cried more than enough tears over it. poor, poor watson :( iconic author though, read everything they write!

The Adventure of the Glad Outlaw by radondoran 7k | Rated T Summary: While Sherlock Holmes solves the mystery of a student's disappearance, Dr. Watson is more puzzled by the changing dynamic between his flatmate and himself. Notes: cute pastiche! a nice little mystery and a nice little get-together. ahhhhhh.... this fic is like cotton candy to me, so sweet and fluffy. defo recommend

Hands by MinorObsessions (draculard) 1.4k | Rated T Summary: Naturally, there are some things Watson thinks about Holmes that don't make it into the books. Notes: i'm also in the star trek fandom, so if you know anything about that then you know that hands are kind of A Thing in both circles and ergo i now Have A Thing about hands. so this is a nice little ode to holmes' hands, featuring some doctoring by watson AND a nice reverse appraisal at the end. it's so sweet :)

Conductor of Light by ColebaltBlue  1.4k | Rated T Summary: A Victorian stiff upper lip won't prevent you from falling in love, but it might prevent you from realizing it. Notes: they finally get their shit together! honestly i would recommend this fic to anyone just starting out with h/w fics in any medium. the characterization and dialogue is A1, and their argument is really realistic to me, idk. also features the iconic HOUN quote for its title so props to that!

A (Mis)fortunate Man by sans_patronymic 1.5k | Rated T Summary: December, 1880. Watson writes a note which may be his last. December, 1899. Watson writes back. Notes: READ THE TAGS BEFORE READING. this was a gut-wrenching read but god i cried at the end for watson. don't worry, this one has a happy ending. ugh now i wish there was a second chapter where watson lets holmes read the letters. to sum up: oof, my heart

The Second Smartest Man in London by FairSinner 73k | Rated E Summary: Dr John Watson returns from Afghanistan to Victorian London, wounded, traumatised and alone. When he meets Sherlock Holmes, his life begins to seem worth living again. But Holmes is a man who despises sentiment and Watson cannot seem to expunge it from his heart. Notes: congrats, you've made it to the end!! so now i must confess that it's been a loooong time since i've read this fic, but the private note i left on my bookmark was just "holy shit", so i'm sure it's a banger. i'm also sure it has angst because i love angst and i love bookmarking angst so i can read it again and again and suffer infinitely. enjoy :)

anyways, now that i've put these all here i realized how much i enjoy angst and hurt/no comfort fics. if any of you guys have a favorite fic you want to link or want to plug your own writing, feel free to!

[salesmnan]

could you draw something for my cowboy Iliad au?

@cowboy-iliad-au

hey hey! i've very very vaguely skimmed over the lore as i've been very low-attention recently and can't manage to sit through a long read (being neurodivergent sucks), but i think your AU is really really charming! but, because i haven't delved very deep into the pre-established lore and i wouldn't want to misinterpret any of your awesomely written characters, i decided to draw someone that is (very rarely) present in the iliad: Hermes! (+ mostly because i'm 99.9% sure he hadn't been mentioned within your lore summary (although i'm sorry if i've missed him and he is already a pre-determined character ^_^;))

in my iteration, he takes the form of a traveling merchant, although he never necessarily has any wares on him other than "okay" advice and the verbal gift of giving lost passerbys directions similarly to the original story, he'd be what i'd call a "crutch character", only really appearing when absolutely necessary, and then removing himself immediately after his job is done he's really silly to me! i hope you like him just as much as i do ^0^

( @cowboy-iliad-au )

[crappy-writings]

Orpheus and Eurydice

Natasha RomanoffxReader // Fluff

*Images are not mine, credit to its creators and sources

Summary: You recount the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice with your girlfriend.

Trigger Warning: Greek mythology?

*No pronouns were used for the reader

Word Count: 1,242

A/N: Listen, I’m actually pretty proud of this one, but would still like some feedback! I was originally gonna make this longer and with some angst, but then I liked it as it is, so. Hope y’all enjoy!

Links to the myth’s Summary and Analysis that I used.

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist | Recced Fics Masterlist

“Do you like Greek mythology?”

The question had been a simple one and yet, it had made Natasha’s brow furrow in curiosity. You were sitting across from her on the couch, having been completely engrossed in a book, whose title she could not read by the way you were nursing it, up until you asked that question. She raised her gaze from her computer screen, emerald green eyes staring into the pensive ones that stared back.

“I learned some of the myths and read some of the literature, like The Iliad,” Natasha replied. The Red Room was a lot of things. Aside from turning young, vulnerable girls into weapons and masters of espionage, they expected them to be prim and educated. She learned quite a bit about every conceivable topic, a Jack-Of-All-Trades, master of none.

“But do you like it?” you pressed, marking the page you left off in before shifting your position to fully look at her. There was a soft twinkle in your eye, one that held a sense of wonder and curiosity. It caused Natasha to smile ever so gently as she pondered your question. “I never really thought about it. It’s certainly interesting, and I did like reading the Iliad,” Natasha replied truthfully, setting her laptop aside so as to give you all her attention. 

“Did you ever read about Orpheus and Eurydice?” you ask with a cute tilt of your head as you chew on the inside of your lip.

“Orpheus was a musician, said to be the son of Apollo and of Calliope. Eurydice was a beautiful wood nymph that heard him play during one of his gatherings,” Natasha began recounting what she remembered of the myth, “They fell madly in love with one another, and they got married.”

“And shortly after the marriage, a shepherd that wanted Eurydice for himself chased after them. She stepped on a snake’s nest as they ran away and got bit. She dies and he’s overcome with grief,” you continued the tale as you stand up from your side of the couch, looking to close the large gap between the both of you, your book now long forgotten, “all he ever did after her death was mourn her until he decides to go look for her in the Underworld.”

Natasha watches as you saunter on to her side, laying down beside her and offering to hold her hand, your open palm faced up at her, your finger flexing oh so slightly. She accepts it graciously, the length of your forearms fitting snugly beside each other as they often do. You were staring down at your intertwined fingers with a soft smile, your free hand falling on top of hers before running your fingers up and down her exposed forearm. 

Your touch was gentle and soothing, providing Natasha with a sense of warmth, the kind that had been denied to her for so long. A trail of goosebumps follows your touch on her skin, and you smile all the more. This was only achieved after years of breaking down tall, emotional walls that had never allowed her to be so vulnerable. She is very aware of the effect you have on her and she loves every single bit of it. 

“Orpheus reached the king of the Underworld, and he sang a song so beautiful and so heartbreaking that Hades cried. He let Orpheus try to save Eurydice, telling him that if she followed him until they both reached the exit to the Underworld without him looking back, she could return to the living world. If he did turn to look at her before that, she would have to return to the Underworld,” Natasha continued the myth as you continued to draw arbitrary patterns along the top of her skin.

“He reached the other side, and, in his excitement, he turned to look at her, but she hadn’t seen the light of the living world yet, and she’s forced back into the Underworld. He tried to go back, but the gods wouldn’t let him, and he loses her for a second time. All the songs he sang were sad and bitter and he never wanted to be in the company of another woman after that,” you finish the story, resting your head upon her shoulder. It was around now that Natasha realized that the lines you drew on her skin were, in fact, words. Three of them, to be exact. Ones that were rarely ever spoken aloud. Those three words were more often than not showcased instead of said, only being reserved for the most vulnerable and intimate of moments.  

“A tragic Greek myth,” Natasha comments as she herself laid her head against yours. 

“The part of the story that people leave out is that Orpheus is later killed by a group of women who resented him and he’s able to reunite with Eurydice in the Underworld in the end,” you added, never relenting on writing those three familiar words upon her skin, “it’s my favorite of the Greek myths.”

“Why is that one your favorite?” Natasha asked pensively, her head lifting off yours to admire your features. You adjusted yourself slightly, your gaze meeting hers. She stared at your wide, innocent eyes, watching as you gave her the smallest of smiles. There’s a flutter in Natasha’s chest with the way you looked at her. 

“They loved each other so much. Orpheus went to the Underworld just to get her back. Hades cried hearing Orpheus’ song about her. And, you know, they still find each other in the end. It’s a tragedy, yes, and it's a story about death and grief and the pitfalls of devotion, but it’s still a story about true love,” you respond thoughtfully, your gaze having settled back on your connected hands. You had always been regarded as a hopeless romantic, making your love for this particular myth all the more ironic. 

Natasha hums thoughtfully at your response. “What are your thoughts on Romeo and Juliet, then?” she asks with a teasing air to her. The question would sound dismissive to anyone else, but you let out a soft laugh. Years of knowing the woman beside you meant that you knew this was her way of showing she was listening to you. There was never any malice in her words, especially when you are speaking about a topic you enjoy. 

“I prefer The Merchant of Venice. Othello, if we want to talk tragedies,” you respond with a teasing smile, eyes staring up at her with a similar, mischievous glint. Natasha smiles down at you, the ones that reach the corners of her eyes and that intoxicate you with warmth and love.

Then your expression changed. The corners of your eyes softened, and she got lost in the lovely hue of your eyes that simply held the warm feeling of complete and utter adoration. The smile on your lips was no longer teasing, but held a loving look that could hold the stars and the moon in place.

“I would travel a thousand years to the Underworld for you,” you say quietly at her, eyes never straying from hers. Your tone was sweet and soft, and Natasha had no doubts that you meant what you said. Her gaze softens around the corners of her eyes as her heart swells with emotion. 

“And I would follow you ‘till the ends of the earth if it means getting back to you.”

[persevereforahappyending]

Luck Runs Out |Part 4|

Pairing: Mabel x Reader

Summary: When your luck runs out you unknowingly drag Mabel back into the life, she's so desperate to escape.

Warnings: Mention of drugs, mention of death

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Epilogue

Mabel was leaning back in her chair, eating fries from a local burger place she got takeout from for you and her. She shook her head as she continued to argue with you. It was a few days after you woke up and though you weren’t super active you were more awake than you had been. Mabel had only known you less than a week, but it felt like longer, the two of you didn’t have a ton in common but that didn’t matter, she continued to listen as you told her about Odysseus. She also found she loved trying to poke holes in the story, but you always found a way to defend Odysseus.

“But he cheats on his wife!” Mabel said again, as you finally ended your ramble, throwing a fry at you in the processes. “How is that a great love story?”

“Because it wasn’t by choice!” You defended, making Mabel roll her eyes for the thousandth time. “Circe is a witch, she manipulated him, he knew it was the only way to get out of there alive or without being turned into a pig like members of his crew.”

“Calypso didn’t trick him,” she was quick to point out. She hadn’t read the odyssey yet, but you had basically given her a full run down, so she was confident in arguing with you.

“He was trapped on an island with her for over a year! She might not have used magic, but she definitely took advantage of him!”

“Twenty years. Twenty year and despite all her suitors Penelope never once strayed.”

“Neither did Odysseus! Not in his heart! He loved her the entire time, his whole journey was just to get back to her. He could have stayed with Circe, he could have stayed with Calypso, but he didn’t because the most important thing was getting back to his wife.”

Mabel sighed, shaking her head as she took a sip of her drink. “If you’d just read it, you’d see for yourself,” you said before shoving your own fries in your mouth.

“I still don’t get it,” Mabel said, throwing her hands in the air.

You let out a dramatic sigh as you let your head flop back onto the pillows. “What’s not to get? He loves his wife!”

“Not that,” she chuckled. “I mean you.”  You lifted your head from the pillows scrunching your eyebrows. “The odyssey is your favorite story, Odysseus is your hero, but you wear a trident necklace.” You tilt your head still clearly not getting it. “Poseidon is the villain! He literally tries to kill your boy the entire story!”

You break out into a laugh, wincing as your entire body shook but the pain didn’t stop your laughter. “Okay fair,” you got out between laughs. “But I mean the ocean is his domain, I feel like if anyone can protect me it’s him.”

“I don’t know, he kind of seems like an asshole.”

“All the gods are assholes,” you smiled. “It’s kind of their thing. But look if I was a pilot, I’d be wearing a little lightning bolt.”

Mabel scoffed, lightly chuckling at that. “You totally have multiple editions of the odyssey,” Mabel narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you?” You opened your mouth as if to defend yourself but quickly shut it. “Of course you do!” She threw her head back as she laughed. “Alright go on!” She waved her hand at you. “Tell me about them.”

“Well, I have a nice hardcover that’s both The Iliad and The Odyssey,” you jumped right into it with a smile. “Then I have a paperback that’s just of the odyssey, it never left my bunk on the boat.”

Mabel chuckled. “Are you serious? You even had a copy while on the boat?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged like it was obvious. “I needed something to do during down time or before bed.”

Mabel rolled her eyes at your reasoning before she grabbed the trash from the food, taking it to the kitchen to throw away before she got back to doing her homework. She had skipped class the first few days you were at her place because she didn’t know you well enough. After getting to know you a bit more Mabel decided that even if you were a drug smuggler you weren’t like any of the ones she knew, you were actually kind. When she came home from class the first day she left you alone, you were still there, sound asleep in her dark apartment, she was probably throwing your sleep schedule off with her boarded up windows, but you didn’t complain.

“Holy shit,” she heard you whisper as she started to organize her school stuff. When Mabel looked up, she saw your eyes were on the TV.

She had turned on the TV when she got back with food but had quickly muted it when the two of you started talking. She got up from her seat, quickly unmuting the TV. On the screen was the news, video played showing debris from a boat. Mabel didn’t know what was so significant about it, she glanced back at you to see your eyes hadn’t left the screen. They lived in a fishing town, it wasn’t common but boating accidents happened, hell when she first met Charlie, he had just gotten back from having to be rescued after his first time on the boat. Charlie and the boys had gotten lucky they had all made it to the life raft.

The news anchor appeared taking over most of the screen, the video of the debris still played in the top right corner of the screen.

“Authorities got alerted of an emergency situation last night,” the news anchor said. “Reports of an explosion on the Scylla came in. There is still no word on what caused the explosion or if there were any survivors.” The video took over the screen again while the news anchor’s voice continued to narrate what happened. “A life raft was recovered, however it seems it to have damaged in the accident and doesn’t appear as if anyone made it on to it.”

“There were seven crew members believed to be on the ship,” the anchor appeared on screen again. “No bodies have been recovered but it appears as though there was no survivors.” A picture of seven faces of the crew appeared on the screen.

Mabel’s eyes widened when she recognized the second to last person, it was you. She looked back at you seeing you stare at your own picture with wide eyes. The boat that had sent the distress signal, the one that had gone down, the one where the entire crew was killed, was your boat.

“Authorities are calling this a recovery mission not a search and rescue,” the anchor continued. “An investigation will be underway to determine what exactly happened to claim these seven lives.”

Mabel quickly turned off the TV when the anchor started to go over more of what happened. She had a good idea, the boat you were on went down and your entire crew was dead. For some reason, the authorities suspected you were also on the boat, and you were thought to be dead as well.

“Are you okay?” Mabel asked softly as she turned back towards you. Your eyes continued to stare at the now dark screen.

You shook your head. You were blinking rapidly as you tossed the blankets off your lap and moved to get up from the bed. “Wow,” Mabel said, holding her hands out to stop you. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I-I-I have to go,” you mumbled, groaning as you flung your legs off the side of the bed. “I have to get out of here.”

“What? No!” Mabel rested a hand on your shoulder, pushing you back down onto the bed as gently as she could.

“I can’t be here!” Mabel jumped; she had never heard you yell before. In the few days she spent with you, you had always been kind, guarded, but kind. “I can’t be here,” you said again softer, like usual.

Mabel stared into your eyes. Her gaze darted around your face, taking everything in. She saw your eyes shifting around the room while she tried to keep them on her. It was like you were searching again, waiting for someone to pop out from behind the couch or swing through the windows and get you. There was a slight tremble to your entire body, if Mabel wasn’t standing right next to you, if her hand wasn’t still brushing against you to keep you in place, she never would have noticed. This wasn’t a tremble from the pain or from the cold like when you were first brought to her apartment, this one was much different.

“I have to leave,” you said again. “You can’t be around me right now.”

“What are you going to do?” ‘Mabel decided to ask. “You were shot, your crew is dead, you dropped a pallet of drugs in the ocean. Where else do you have to go?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Mabel knew she was right, according to authorities you were dead, lost at sea, like the rest of your crew. She didn’t know what had happened, but she knew you couldn’t just go waltzing out of her apartment. Your face was all over the news, this was a small fishing town, everyone would know your face by now. You wouldn’t be able to walk through town without someone spotting you and that would lead to questioning from police, if you were lucky. Word would get around to whoever you worked for rather quickly, Mabel didn’t know your boss, but she knew how quickly word spread through a gang especially when it involved a missing shipment.

“They did this,” you whispered. Mabel furrowed her brow. “The people I work for.” You looked back at the blank TV screen. “My captain shot me; they left me there at the ocean's mercy.” Mabel had stared at you; you had such a fascinating way of talking about the ocean. It was clear you respected the ocean and how it could go from calm to ruthless in a matter of seconds.

“The people I work for,” you continued, turning to face Mabel again. “They aren’t good people. My crew went back without a shipment and now they’re all dead.”

“You can’t know that,” Mabel tried to reason, tried to make it seem not so dire, as if there was hope. Mabel knew that was all bullshit though, she had dealt with dealers her entire life, she knew how they got when drugs went missing or when payment was short. She couldn’t imagine what your boss would do with an entire shipment missing.

“Of course I do.” You let out a humorless laugh. “We’re expendable.” You shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They lost their drugs so now they’re cleaning house, can’t have an incompetent crew working for them.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Mabel raised her arms. She understood how violent drug gangs could be. The one you seemed to be working for was even worse than all the guys she knew.

“I don’t know.” You ran a hand through your hair in frustration, gripping it tightly. “I don’t know. Maybe if I tell them what happened, if I return the drugs I do have, and tell them where the shipment is, they’ll let me go?”

Mabel stared at you; you said it like a question. It was clear you didn’t believe it though. If you walked into wherever your boss was working out of, you wouldn’t be walking out. You were already presumed dead. All your boss would have to do is kill you then take your body out and drop it in the ocean, it would be as if nothing happened, no one would ever know.

“Well, you can’t leave here until we have a plan,” Mabel stated, crossing her arms so you would know there was no arguing with her.

“If they find out you’re helping me they will kill you,” you said.

You looked up at her guiltily, as if everything that happened was your fault and you were the biggest inconvenience of her entire life. It wasn’t untrue, it wasn’t your fault you got shot, it was Charlie’s fault for bringing you here in the first place. If someone were to ask Mabel a few days ago how she felt about you she would have said you were an inconvenience, she had to keep you hidden and take care of you because of your injury, it was all truly inconvenient. However, Mabel enjoyed your company, she liked it as you quietly sat there while she did her schoolwork, even though you hadn’t gone to college either you still helped her out with what you could when she was struggling, you always asked her about her day. She also liked listening to you talk, she was about to go out and buy The Odyssey so she could continue to discuss it with you. You got so excited when talking about something you loved so much, it was cute.

“I don’t want you to put yourself in danger, not for me,” you continued, talking as if you weren’t worth helping, as if you weren’t someone worth being saved. “They blew up an entire boat, with their main crew for bringing in their drugs on it. They won’t have an issue with getting rid of you and your friends.”

Mabel sucked in a breath; she knew that was true. If your boss learned you were alive and someone had helped you, even if they were a total stranger, they’d find them and kill them. Charlie and his crew were in this deeper than they could imagine, they found you, they found you with drugs, and said drugs were still on their boat. Your boss would kill all of them just to get the drugs back, it wouldn’t matter that it’s only three packs, they wouldn’t take the chance of letting witnesses survive. The fact that Mabel helped you and just knew what happened also put a target on her back, you were all screwed if the gang you worked for got wind of any of this.

“I think that ship has sailed,” Mabel mumbled. She watched as you closed your eyes, letting out a long sigh. She didn’t mean to make you feel more guilty, but she needed to express why you couldn’t leave. That leaving wouldn’t change the fact that they’re all in danger.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “Your friends should have just left me in the ocean.”

Mabel frowned; you truly thought you were better off dead. “I’m not,” she admitted softly. She smiled when you looked up at her surprised. “The boys chose to help you and I chose to let you stay here during your recovery. So, we will figure this out, together.” Mabel crossed her arms, staring down at you so you knew she was serious and there was no changing her mind.

“Besides,” she grumbled, pretending to be annoyed by what she was about to admit. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you. You aren’t the like regular drug smugglers I know.”

“I’m not a drug smuggler,” you replied instantly.

Mabel smiled, making you smile as well. She now believed it, you might have done some drug smuggling and that technically did mean you were a drug smuggler but that wasn’t all you were, you were so much more than that.

“Since you’re already sitting up,” Mabel said with a slight smirk, already knowing how you’d react. “Let’s change your bandage and clean your wound.”

“Ugh,” you dragged out in an overly dramatic groan.

Mabel moved to the spot right next to you, and slowly began peeling back the bandage on your shoulder. She ignored the way her knee brushed against your leg. She flicked her eyes to your face, seeing you already staring at her, she pretended she didn’t know where your eyes went when they flicked down for a second. She pretended her eyes didn’t also flick down to your lips, she focused on the bandage, silently hoping she wasn’t blushing as she tried to continue to ignore your unwavering gaze. You were cute, you were fun, but you were trouble.

[seeminglyseph]

I really appreciate that Eurylochus in Epic I am pretty sure is adapted from a character in the original who is at the very least somewhat antagonistic and cowardly in characterization and has spun him into a compelling and interesting character who has genuinely caused the fandom to basically to be like “but was he wrong though?”

Because like, the fact that at multiple points both Odysseus and Eurylochus have been right at different points of their adventure and just too fucked up emotionally or too “we can’t talk about things” to like. Clear up the issues they were having, means that they just. Became a tragedy.

And it is especially beautiful because Eurylochus and Polites bring this weight of friendship and loss to Odysseus in Epic, despite their existence in the Odyssey fully lacking that characterization. Though I think it is part of the miscommunication at times because like. Perspective. And if you try to look up extra information from the source text to give more context, Eurylochus is so different in that source text that like… it will back up arguments in favour of Odysseus more easily. But modern sensibilities side with Eurylochus more easily due to monarchs and tyrants like… heavily falling out of favour. So things like kings, gods, princes, captains, status, and rank are like… they exist but they aren’t seen the same.

Like the Odyssey is set in the Mycenaean age, late Bronze Age. This was a tale of ancient times when Homer was telling it. So by modern standards things can’t help but be archaic in ways. Especially given that The Iliad and Odyssey have so much to do with colonization and war and just like. Contemplating it. Existing in it and the aftermaths of it, and being conscious that it is being told to a world of people who are still acting and living in a unifying country due to colonization, that is expanding and growing its power with war and language and colonization. And the stories of the past wars are both glorious and tragic because of the necessity for glory to the heroes of the past but caution and understanding that…

Like Troy was once favoured by Zeus, that favour can be lost or swayed. Only the gods can count on their power lasting for eternity, men must know that a grudge can bloom anywhere and topple the mightiest kingdom if he does not mind his actions carefully.

The Aeneid, by Virgil which is written much later and I admit I have only read a summary, refers to Odysseus (through his Roman name Ulysses) really negatively, but that’s partially because the Romans kinda saw themselves as refugees and survivors of Troy. So like. By the time the Aeneid was being written, it was kinda the story of “those bastards who burnt our home down” from what I understand.

“Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?” For realsies. Looking things up apparently the Aeneid was the most popular version of both the Odyssey and the Iliad for a while and it wasn’t until the World Wars that Homer’s versions came back into fashion. Part of that was translation issues but still, damn.

This has become the most unhinged ramble, I’m sorry. I don’t know what any of this is even about. Translation? Perspective? Adaptation? The power of storytelling? All of it? Honestly the fact of the matter is that Eurylochus has been adapted to a new character for Epic, but he fits the narrative of the Odyssey especially as far as we need it to be told today because of how power structures work, but it’s been executed extremely well.

It keeps the technicalities of the traits of the poem “cowardice” and “mutiny” and creates a character with insecurity and missing sense of self who is afraid in a reasonable way and in order to overcome that fear reacts with aggression or violence. But in a way that is encouraged, acceptable or rewarded for a soldier. However, as a second in command, he is accustomed to having a role where he checks Odysseus’ plans for flaws. This is a good position to have him in when you’re plotting a battle action, it’s a bad position to have him in when you need him to provide a united front to keep the crew from panicking.

His position as both one of the crew and Odysseus’ Right Hand Man puts him in a position where he gets part of Odysseus’ picture, and is used to a relationship where he can be comfortable and doubtful and easy with Odysseus, however Odysseus as the Captain and the King cannot be fallible in the eyes of his men, because his men need to be able to follow his orders without question in the case of a crisis or it will be a serious issue.

Honestly the whole “I need you to be able to trust me and follow my orders in a crisis” is… part of general insubordination going on into modern day practice in crisis response and military as far as I understand it so like. I do get that. Though like. They are… two deeply damaged and traumatized men who just… cannot have a proper conversation with each other.

And also I am of the opinion that Odysseus in Puppeteer, when he brushes off Eurylochys’ attempted confession with his

“There's only so much left we can endure”

I am pretty sure that is not just brushing off, that is fully Odysseus admitting to Eurylochus like “I can’t handle anything else, please.” Like. My brain is making parallels to FMA “terrible day for rain” and Eurylochus drops it because he’s looking at a man on the verge of breaking down, and grants him some dignity or peace.

I mean Mutiny calls back to Puppeteer when Odysseus calls Eurylochus out, he would have done the same. Eurylochus wanted to cut and run on Circe’s island, leaving the men she had to their fate. But since Odysseus has all the power he carries all the blame, which makes it easier when any of the others make a mistake or something goes wrong. And it’s part of the reason Ody goes back to being Captain as soon as the crew is in trouble again. If they’ve angered a god, it’s better and easier to have Odysseus deal with it.

Unfortunately for everyone Odysseus has now crossed the Despair Event Horizon and all that matters is Penelope, Telemachus, and Ithaca. Everyone else can go fuck themselves.

Which, you know. Bodes well for all the fucked up dweebs who’ve been harassing his family for years. That’s probably gonna go great for them considering all the last shreds of his humanity he sacrificed to get home and see them safe.

[dootznbootz]

Me: Almost done listening to the Iliad on audiobook, and planning to listen to the Odyssey next

Me: Goes on youtube to find a quick summary to listen to before hand

Me: Clicks on a promising video

Video, in the first 30 seconds: Haha he cheats on his wife!

Me, in a bad mood now, even though I should have seen that coming: Never-fucking-mind, then

Yep. ;~;

Quick tip for ya: Honestly don't trust really ANY "Youtube" summary of it. Especially the ones where they are mostly trying to be "entertaining" and/or "funny" instead of educational. Also they mostly likely won't be "respectful".

I'm not saying this as a "don't trust any academic source! Historians are evil!!!" I'm saying this as a "there are very biased and very opinionated folks out there and I recommend going over multiple sources just for you to get your own opinion formed on it as well!".

I mean...Madeline Miller?

And you know what? I'll vent about how much I hate Robert Graves' takes on Greek Myth. >:(

I once got an old used book about mythology by Robert Graves and I was excited to read it! But it was genuinely just...so fucking MEAN. Insulting to stories, calling them stupid, flip-flopping on "Goodhearted" to "malicious". It seems like he was a bit more of a critic and/or thought his "headcanons" as "fact". (I say this as someone who has many headcanons and gets real silly with it. At a certain point though, YOU GOTTA STATE THE FACTSSS)

An example from it: (talking about Menelaus and Helen's marriage) "Yet their marriage was doomed to failure: years before, while sacrificing to the gods, Tyndareus had stupidly overlooked Aphrodite, who took her revenge by swearing to make all three of his daughters--Clytemnestra, Timandra, and Helen--notorious for their adultries"

Very much dislikes Odysseus, (like holy crap, even his good deeds are said mockingly) while he seems to "like" Menelaus, still calls him stupid. Seems to really like Paris?? like "Oh yeah, he needed Aphrodite to help him steal a woman who didn't love him but he's just a guyyy~"

"Athen now inspired Prylis, son of Hermes, to suggest that entry should be gained into Troy by means of a wooden horse; Epeius, son of Panopeus, a Phocian from Parnassus, volunteered to build one under Athene's supervision. Afterwards, of course, Odysseus claimed all the credit for the Stratagem"

He implies Helen and Odysseus possibly having romantics when he sneaks into Troy to steal the Palladium. Implies Odysseus made up Cassandra's rape by Lesser Ajax, as "Cassandra did not support the charge".

"Little Ajax's alleged violation of Cassandra was dismissed by reputable mythographers as an Odyssean lie"

Implies that Odysseus was only angry about Pallamedes embarrassing him, NOT BECAUSE HE NEARLY KILLED HIS BABY AND MADE HIM GO TO WAR. He implies "Icarius' daughter (Penelope)" to be another "victim" (???) of Odysseus? He also kissed poor Calypso goodbye and seems determined to never talk about how much Odysseus cares about his family. only that he wants to go home, Penelope being an afterthought.

This is a "Greek Mythology book"...and yet it's biased as fuck. :/

And ofc, people deny Odysseus being a victim.. Obviously there is sexism at play here, with the "Oh Odysseus loved it! He was getting laid!" despite being held at PigPoint and literally getting fucking raped and crying everyday. ;~; it's very disheartening and honestly disturbing.

Honestly I recommend reading/listening to at least 2 (or more) to try and get a "full picture" as just like Madeline Miller and Robert Graves, there are biases in each one. (Emily Wilson is very biased for example) Some of them while favorable toward Odysseus, also favor Circe and Calypso. Some mock Menelaus and Helen. It depends.

Like I've read 8 translations of the Odyssey (I like it :3 you don't have to be insane like me though. <3 ) and all basically say the same thing with the Goddesses as "It was not a good time. He adores Penelope."

Two or three is probably enough, and that's also if you just wanna know if there's any differences between events based on the translator. so sometimes if you wanna know the differences in wording (as some translations have very cute wording) you can just find that part in the Odyssey that you are curious to see if there are differences. :)

I hope you have fun!

[vyunok-obyknovenniy]

Thank you so much!

I've got a little list with his scars, actually, so here it is in chronological order for anyone else, who might want to use it:

A large scar on his thigh from the boar hunt in Parnassus mountains, when Odysseus was a child/teenager ("a tusk thrusting up over the boy’s knee, gouging a deep strip of flesh but it never hit the bone" The Odyssey, book 19, Fagles' tr-n)

A scar on his chest from a spear (the spear pierced the breast plate, which could've resulted in these sharp pieces of metal making the scar (and the initial injury) worse, which makes sense to me, but maybe I interpreted that part incorrectly: "the heavy weapon drove, ripping down and in through the breastplate finely worked and it flayed the skin clean off Odysseus' ribs" lines 513-515 of book 11 in Fagles' tr-n)

Whip scars on his back that from the wounds he inflicted upon himself to make his beggar disguise more convincing, when he snuck into Troy (mentioned in book 4 of the Odyssey "Scarring his own body with mortifying strokes, throwing filthy rags on his back like any slave, he slipped into the enemy’s city" The Odyssey, book 4 Fagles' tr-n)

And my personal headcanon: scars on his wrists and torso from the rope digging into his skin, when he was trying to break free, as they were passing the sirens (These weren't mentioned in the Odyssey, as far as I remember, but they might've been mentioned somewhere else)

Any other scars I draw on him are pretty random, just something I think might've happened over 10 whole years of war, but the ones mentioned above are the bigger and more significant ones, if that makes sense.

Please let me know, if I missed any other scars he might canonically have, I would gladly add them to this list!

Your personal headcanons are welcome too, I would absolutely love to read them!

I'm back from my sort-of-hiatus and I brought you Odysseus' new design!

I might still use the old design, when I want to make a distraction between OG Odysseus and EPIC Odysseus, but I might also just end up using this new one everywhere, we'll see ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

The bun was born from a conversation on Discord and I couldn't let go of the idea of him having it and most people not knowing, because he always wears a hat XD

(P.S. this is my first time doing alt text, hope it turned out okay)