onepilogues

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Hello loves! I am finally making my transition over to my new blog at @sleepsands !

I’m trying to find everyone again to follow but will leave this post up for a bit before I archive this account. If you’d like to continue any open threads let me know and I will move them over!

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@audaciiae liked for a starter: ARES

Ares, Ares, manslaughtering, blood-stained, stormer of strong walls, is there no way you can go and hold back this man from the fighting, Tydeus' son, who would now do battle against Zeus father? Even now he stabbed in her hand by the wrist the lady of Kypros, and again, like more than a man, charged even against me.

Ares eyes are suffocation, a cataclysmic cyclone of unshed ichor and the white of his eyes nearly swallowed by the deep dark of his pupils. His anger had branded a seam into his side, a hot knife steadily dripping his indignation in a telltale trail of puce on the floor behind him with each step. In fact, he is practically spuming at the mouth like a dog, burning burning burning in his fury, only no— something is not quite right.

There is not rage left when he loads his weight against the threshold of Apollo's domain, steam billowing off his shoulders and the treble of his lower lip, though sewn into a snarl betrayed a deeper agony. He hopes Apollo knows the difference.

"I have done as you asked."

His voices resigns, casts his eyes up behind the blood wet of his hair. The mortal wounds were inconsequential, Diomedes spear still broken off in his side. Only the purple of his eye, blackened shut and the weeping gash along his jaw were god inflicted, his mother. He coveted no one more— did he?— and he had deceived her. Her love had been the only steadfast affection since his birth, and her abandonment upon his betrayal twisted violently inside him. So why did he want nothing more than for Apollo to look at him?

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I really should be focusing on finalising details of my new blog but I cannot get over the brain rot of using Anakin as my new FC for Ares and…… like this for a lil starter from Ares I guess? Specify muse and perhaps theme (fluff, angst etc) if you have a preference!

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Going to finally remake and design an adequate blog tomorrow as I’ve been sitting on this one for 5+ years. Working on drafts in the meantime, but stay tuned for a more cohesive page!

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I lie awake at night thinking about Antilochus

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“What happens when I stand close to you? What’s your body going to do? What’s my body going to do? On myriad levels, we are both going to fail, fail, fail each other and ourselves.”

— Claudia Rankine, in interview (via bergmans-ghost)

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Complaining and getting like. Recreationally mad is so valid and fun i hate it when people dont get that

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Tom à la Ferme, 2013

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Wesley can’t recall the last time he had a religious experience. Truth be told, he’s not sure he ever has, awkward and snidely wedged between his parents in the pews, a bruising grab at his shoulder when he was caught peaking between sermons. Surely, he’d never felt touched by god, didn’t believe in such a thing, and this was only solidified when he was finally roosted out on his own. Only, there is light that emanates from the man above him, seemingly sourceless and blinding but Wes can’t bring himself to look away. Undoubtedly, there is a sense of relief that runs his veins cold, a weight that sluffs off his shoulders he hadn’t realized he was carrying. Quietly, without realizing he is doing so, he hums a hymn in the back of his throat, a foggy memory from a lifetime ago. 

He fixes his gaze on the stranger behind the onslaught of fountain water-falling over his eyes, a rich amber, nearly gold in the becoming light and smiles again, for it seems there’s little else fitting in his presence. Wesley had been around plenty of pretty people, more often than not in a sort of harsh way, but the man before him thrums with a soft sort of beauty, an undercurrent of electricity buzzing beneath his practiced demeanor, and Wes can’t get the concern of the man’s features out of his head, so ceaseless and genuine. He practically preens when he gets the other to fluster, watches the shy pull of his lips, his dimples: the lucidity of his eyes.

“Fortasse modo inveni eum—“ 

Wesley is leaning his forearms over the lip of the fountain now, grinning with all his teeth but then the man is signing at him and his features crumbles, something embarrassingly similiar to a whine escaping his throat from sheer surprise alone, brows shooting up to his hairline. His spine straightens immediately, heaving his water dense body up and to its full height to peer down at the man and his fingers stumble over his excitement as he signs.

I don’t believe it. You might be an angel if I still believed in those sort of things. Signing! You can sign! I think I might just keep you.

He’s only a few meters from the man now, the drip of his hair close enough to paint the other mans lapel, the stain of his lips parted in a gentle wonder. It’s with a great deal of hesitancy that he pulls his gaze from the other’s eyes, shooting a puzzled twist of his lips down at the water. Oh, right. He’d been looking for something. Still, he chooses to forgo his search, waving a dismissive hand. 

I’m Wesley. Do you have a name? You can trust me with it: promise. 

( @eidetic187​ )

Iridescence descends into decadence— the courtyard rich in a bright ambience, a myriad of savory scents wafting from nearby vendors.  The sun is blinding, a hot wash on the back of his neck, smoothing it’s beams down between his shoulders, and still, Wesley is lucid, not so overwhelmed by the bustle of a crowd that might normally send his head spinning and his lungs flood a contagious ecstasy. A wide grin had fixed to his lips, dipping in an out of quaint, colorful little shops adorning the streets along the parades parameter.   Later, dusk  will peek over the horizon, even the cicadas throttling out a mantra of nightfall, but the heat is expected to last well into the evening, and for now, he is dripping daylight. Daylight and well, fountain water. 

Right. He’s up to his knees in it now, pawing through the water refracting his reflection back up at him. He’d abandoned his collection of impulse purchases along the sidewalk, a neat stack of secondhand books: an Anthology of Lesbian Literature from the Seventeenth Century to Present, Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens, and The Etymology and Usage of Peirar in Early Greek Poetry, as well as a paper carton of fresh berries, no doubt turning to jam under the blister of the sun.

Of course, it didn’t dawn on him that he might look a bit absurd, sorting through fistfuls of change for his transmitter, clad in a muscle tee and shorts that left little to the imagination, courtesy of Melchior’s inventive mind, and where had his friends headed off to anyhow? With a disgruntled sigh he drops his weight in surrender until he’s sitting fully in the fountain now, his weight rested up against the cool marble of one of the statues, a siren like water bearer, indefinitely emptying her vase back into the pool, spraying through his mop of hair. The heavy fringe of his lashes drips steadily, painting over his freckles, a rich bloom under the heat of the summer. 

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Was going through archived chats last night (I’m trying to find it again) half asleep and just had an interaction with @overyourhubris that was like ‘why are you like this I hate you so much’ and I was so confused what I had done and then realised it was the date they picked me up from the airport with Elliot and I got so nervous I started climbing back up the escalator ffHhh

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Wesley is not entirely deaf, no. It’s only that most speech lacks any real shape, but the sentiment is there, the lifts and lulls of ones tone, hard as it is at times to separate from the cacophony of other sounds in any given space. The rush of water however, does it’s part to drown out the mans voice, but he can piece together well enough what it must sound like, or rather feel like— the vibrations, the pitch, because he’s seeing him now, and for a breath or few he is rendered dazed, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

Ecstasy, he thinks, from the greek words ek and stasis, meaning out of non movement, something to startle one from stagnancy. So he does just that, rising to his knees to kneel before him in a swift movement though he doesn’t climb to his feet just yet, the spray of the waterworks still emptying over the crown of his head like a baptism and he smiles up at him, brilliant and unhindered. A quick wave of his hand, he gestures to the implant embedded behind his ear, nearly lost in his thick hair.

“My amplifier it’s....probably fried. Maybe not. I should find it anyway, no? Of course, some of them are water resistant, though who’s paying attention to the fine print in a moment like that. I’m thinking holy shit, they’re about to drill into my skull, ya know?”

Wesley belts out a laugh, a bright sound that crinkles his nose over when it pours out, and his words are measured, steady still in the way he is not entirely used to speaking out loud, a subtle thrum of energy like brewing electricity in his timed pace despite the nature of his rambling. His voice is only slightly rounded, slower over some vowels like syrup, maybe even passable as an accent in some instances.

He’s trailing off now, his mouth parted curiously as a bead of water pools over his lower lip, tilting his head one way and then the other to scrutinize the man in front of him. He’s undeniably handsome, sweat, askew paint, and all with the sun backlighting him like some Adonis. The concerned furrow of his brow is not lost on him, the polite wave of his hand. Wes is bold enough to make the assumption that he is kind, though there is something indescribable in his eyes, a depth behind the softness, aged, and idly he ponders over how deep it goes. He shrugs once, if only to shake himself from his fixation.

“I’ll find it, or maybe I won’t. Am I keeping you?” He peers around his shoulder as though the stranger were hiding company behind his lithe stature.

“Pulchra sunt pueris raro solus.”

( @eidetic187​ )

Iridescence descends into decadence— the courtyard rich in a bright ambience, a myriad of savory scents wafting from nearby vendors.  The sun is blinding, a hot wash on the back of his neck, smoothing it’s beams down between his shoulders, and still, Wesley is lucid, not so overwhelmed by the bustle of a crowd that might normally send his head spinning and his lungs flood a contagious ecstasy. A wide grin had fixed to his lips, dipping in an out of quaint, colorful little shops adorning the streets along the parades parameter.   Later, dusk  will peek over the horizon, even the cicadas throttling out a mantra of nightfall, but the heat is expected to last well into the evening, and for now, he is dripping daylight. Daylight and well, fountain water. 

Right. He’s up to his knees in it now, pawing through the water refracting his reflection back up at him. He’d abandoned his collection of impulse purchases along the sidewalk, a neat stack of secondhand books: an Anthology of Lesbian Literature from the Seventeenth Century to Present, Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens, and The Etymology and Usage of Peirar in Early Greek Poetry, as well as a paper carton of fresh berries, no doubt turning to jam under the blister of the sun.

Of course, it didn’t dawn on him that he might look a bit absurd, sorting through fistfuls of change for his transmitter, clad in a muscle tee and shorts that left little to the imagination, courtesy of Melchior’s inventive mind, and where had his friends headed off to anyhow? With a disgruntled sigh he drops his weight in surrender until he’s sitting fully in the fountain now, his weight rested up against the cool marble of one of the statues, a siren like water bearer, indefinitely emptying her vase back into the pool, spraying through his mop of hair. The heavy fringe of his lashes drips steadily, painting over his freckles, a rich bloom under the heat of the summer. 

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❝  no,  i’m not okay.  nothing is okay.  it never is.  but that’s just how i function most days.  so i’ll be fine.  ❞ ( for antilochus )

EMOTIONALLY CHARGED || ACCEPTING:

They move in circles like this always, a worn out game Antilochus has no pretenses at winning, but he asks anyway, because Achilles is his friend, feels every rip in his heart as though it were his own. They don't spin legends and epics of this sort of love, and Antilochus doesn't mind being left in history when the time comes. He doesn't have space to worry about such things, his head too full on placations, ways to say I'd open a vein for you to whatever gods favored me if it would bring him back, but Achilles grief is palatable, and there are no words, nothing close to poetry for an absence like that. Instead, he lays his head at his feet, hardly flinches when the wind kicks dust up into his eyes, and his voice comes out distant and foreign to his own ears, as though speaking underwater.

"I miss him too." 

A fractured sound breaks his limber midway through, and he does his best to steel himself. He knows Achilles, had known them both as well as one might know themselves, but that was before and loss is an relentless deity that takes shelter under ones tongue, makes a stranger out of the heart. Antilochus is not afraid of Achilles brutality, knows that he is very capable of it, yes: he could kill him if he wanted to–– if it would help. It wouldn't. Achilles might react any number of ways, might feel as though he missed Patroclus so ardently that there wasn't any room left in the world for someone else to and he'd be right. Antilochus' own grief is teetering on the the outskirts of it, poised to tip off the edge. 

Still, he knows him. Achilles is in there somewhere and it’s only a matter of time before he implodes. He is going to lose him too, he knows as much. He cannot bring himself to say it, knows it’s futile and unavoidable. He only hopes when the time comes he can go with him... the both of them. Wordlessly, he inches closer, presses his forehead against his calf. 

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( @eidetic187​ )

Iridescence descends into decadence— the courtyard rich in a bright ambience, a myriad of savory scents wafting from nearby vendors.  The sun is blinding, a hot wash on the back of his neck, smoothing it’s beams down between his shoulders, and still, Wesley is lucid, not so overwhelmed by the bustle of a crowd that might normally send his head spinning and his lungs flood a contagious ecstasy. A wide grin had fixed to his lips, dipping in an out of quaint, colorful little shops adorning the streets along the parades parameter.   Later, dusk  will peek over the horizon, even the cicadas throttling out a mantra of nightfall, but the heat is expected to last well into the evening, and for now, he is dripping daylight. Daylight and well, fountain water. 

Right. He’s up to his knees in it now, pawing through the water refracting his reflection back up at him. He’d abandoned his collection of impulse purchases along the sidewalk, a neat stack of secondhand books: an Anthology of Lesbian Literature from the Seventeenth Century to Present, Oral Tradition and Written Record in Classical Athens, and The Etymology and Usage of Peirar in Early Greek Poetry, as well as a paper carton of fresh berries, no doubt turning to jam under the blister of the sun.

Of course, it didn’t dawn on him that he might look a bit absurd, sorting through fistfuls of change for his transmitter, clad in a muscle tee and shorts that left little to the imagination, courtesy of Melchior’s inventive mind, and where had his friends headed off to anyhow? With a disgruntled sigh he drops his weight in surrender until he’s sitting fully in the fountain now, his weight rested up against the cool marble of one of the statues, a siren like water bearer, indefinitely emptying her vase back into the pool, spraying through his mop of hair. The heavy fringe of his lashes drips steadily, painting over his freckles, a rich bloom under the heat of the summer. 

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❝ not everything needs an explanation. i care about you. i don’t have to sit here and figure out why. i just do. so maybe you should try just accepting it too. ❞ apollo to ares dklgjsdfg

EMOTIONALLY CHARGED || ACCEPTING:

Ares ichor boils hot, or maybe it run cold. All he knows is that it's uncomfortable and volatile beneath his skin, as though Apollo catching him in the act of feeling something leaves him raw—vulnerable in a way that corners him into offense. Apollo was winning, trying to embarrass him. The golden child, he must be. An ill timed joke that Ares was once again on the outskirts of.

"—and if I don't care about you? Will you continue to torment me?"

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Wesley voice: About to dine and dash from the ER

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FOR THE “YOU CAN KILL ME BUT DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH THEM” DYNAMICS 

❝  i only want you.  ❞

❝  i don’t need anyone else.  i just…you.  you’re all i need.  ❞

❝  listen,  i’ve lost a lot of people in my life.  i learned how to deal with it but…you’re different.  i can’t take it if it’s you.  ❞

❝  i think about anything happening to you and i— i just.  i fucking lose it.  ❞

❝  you don’t understand.  i need you safe.  not because i don’t think you can handle yourself but because i can’t focus on anything else if there’s even the smallest possibility you’re in danger.  ❞

❝  no one is ever gonna get near you again,  you hear me?  ❞

❝  i won’t let you get hurt.  i promise.  and i don’t make empty promises.  ❞

❝  turn around.  you don’t need to see this part.  ❞

❝  just give the word and i’ll kill every one of them.  ❞

❝  you can’t get all worked up every time something happens to me.  that’s just life.  you’re not always gonna be able to protect me from it.  ❞

❝  no one else understands me.  but you do.  you always do.  ❞

❝  i don’t think i’m the best person for you,  i don’t.  but i do know i’m the one that can keep you safe  ❞

❝  hey—  look at me.  it’s over.  it’s done.  we’re okay.  ❞

❝  who the fuck made you cry i’ll fucking rip their head off.  ❞ 

❝  i know you’ve always got my back.  ❞

❝  please,  let me take care of you this time.  you’re always protecting me but it tears me up inside every time you get hurt because of it.  ❞

❝  can you make everyone else just go away?  i know they mean well but i just want to be alone—  alone with you i mean.  ❞

❝  i know when you’re here,  the real monsters can’t touch me.  ❞

❝   oh,  i am one of the monsters.  but that just means i can keep all the other monsters from ever hurting you again. ❞ 

❝  if you’re gonna keep risking your life for me than you’re also gonna let me patch you up without a single complaint.  ❞

❝  we keep each other safe.  it’s my turn to protect you.  ❞

❝  i killed them for you.  i know you could’ve done it yourself,  but you shouldn’t have to.  ❞

❝   i love you because i know how capable you are.  and i show that love by making sure you don’t have to be the one to always do the hard things.  ❞

❝   i’m gonna make them regret ever even thinking about laying a hand on you.  ❞

❝  tell me what you want me to do.  i’ll do it.  whatever you want.  ❞

❝  i love you just like this.  i love you when you touch me gently like no one else ever has.  and i love you when your hands are bloody and your knuckles are bruised. ❞

❝  please,  just let me protect you.  ❞

❝  are you hurt?  did they hurt you?  ❞

❝  wait,  stop you’re bleeding.  ❞

❝  did you just wince?  where are you hurt?  ❞

❝  i need you in my life.  i’m not used to that—  needing people.  but i do need you.  ❞

❝  you make me feel things i’m not used to feeling.  ❞

❝  why do you let me close when you’re always driving everyone else away?  ❞

❝   you’re mine.  and i protect what’s mine.  ❞

❝  thank you for always being here for me.  ❞

❝  you see things in me that i didn’t even know where there.  ❞

❝  that’s enough.  let’s go home.  ❞

❝  i’m okay now.  i’m safe.  you don’t have to be angry anymore.  ❞

❝  please stop—  this is scaring me. ❞

❝  you don’t have to do this for me.  ❞

❝   hey stop— stop!  look at me.  they’re dead now.  you can stop.  ❞

❝  i have to make an example outta them so no one else tries to hurt you again.  ❞

❝  killing for you is easy.  it’s right.  it feels natural.  ❞

❝  let me do this for you.  ❞

SCENARIOS

[ ONE ]  for sender to take a bullet for receiver. 

[ TWO ]  for receiver to take a bullet for sender. 

[ THREE ]  for sender to protect receiver and then carry them to safety. 

[ FOUR ]  for receiver to protect sender and then carry them to safety. 

[ FIVE ]  for sender to witness receiver get hurt which sends them into a violent rage.

[ SIX ]  for receiver to witness sender get hurt which sends them into a violent rage. 

[ SEVEN ]  for sender to be hurt trying to protect receiver which makes them bloodthirsty for revenge.

[ EIGHT ]   for receiver to be hurt trying to protect sender which makes them bloodthirsty for revenge.

[ NINE ]  for sender to have violently protected receiver,  so receiver kisses them to calm them down. 

[ TEN ]  for receiver to have violently protected sender,  so sender kisses them to calm them down. 

[ ELEVEN ]  for sender to carefully approach receiver in the aftermath,  gently touching them to try and bring them back to themselves. 

[ TWELVE ]  for receiver to carefully approach sender in the aftermath,  gently touching them to try and bring them back to themselves. 

[ THIRTEEN ]  sender was kidnapped,  receiver shows up to save them.  

[ FOURTEEN ]  receiver was kidnapped,  sender shows up to save them.  

[ FIFTEEN ]  sender executes a third party in front of receiver because that person hurt them. 

[ SIXTEEN ]  receiver executes a third party in front of sender because that person hurt them. 

[ SEVENTEEN ]  sender thinks they’re alone but receiver comes out of nowhere to rescue them from someone who intends to do harm/making them uncomfortable. 

[ EIGHTEEN ]   receiver thinks they’re alone but sender comes out of nowhere to rescue them from someone who intends to do harm/making them uncomfortable. 

[ NINETEEN ]  sender has been devastated by something.  receiver holds them until they calm down so they don’t do anything drastic. 

[ TWENTY ]  receiver has been devastated by something.  sender holds them until they calm down so they don’t do anything drastic. 

[ TWENTY-ONE ]  sender thought receiver died so they set out to get revenge.  receiver shows up in time to stand in front of them before they go too far.  

[ TWENTY-TWO ]  receiver thought sender died so they set out to get revenge.  sender shows up in time to stand in front of them before they go too far. 

[ TWENTY-THREE ]  sender is in a vengeful rage because of something that happened to receiver.  receiver gently approaches to calm them down saying this isn’t what they want. 

[ TWENTY-FOUR ]  receiver is in a vengeful rage because of something that happened to sender.  sender gently approaches to calm them down saying this isn’t what they want. 

[ TWENTY-FIVE ]  for sender to have receiver stand by somewhere safe where they can watch sender kill on their behalf. 

[ TWENTY-SIX ]  for receiver to have sender stand by somewhere safe where they can watch receiver kill on their behalf. 

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On another note, I never fully got around to formatting this account. Life has been tumultuous and a little relentless and has kept me from being able to even write much but I’m hoping to work on a more cohesive, extensive layout over the next few days. It’s not my area of expertise but we’ll see what happens. X