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jaynovz · 3 years

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Fics with John Silver Backstory/Past Rec List

Hello hello!

In celebration/honor of me finally finishing my Gigantic Silver Backstory, I’ve compiled a list of other fics which either feature their own versions or heavily hint at Past Horrors. So not all of these have a full Deal, but they all hint at/touch on Silver’s past in some way. I was def inspired by a lot of these stories, but at the same time tried to carve my own path.

(this doesn’t include any mod au stuff, only canon era)

Hope you enjoy~

el cuentacuento by straddling_the_atmosphere:

Summary: At the end of the day, John Silver is an unreliable narrator.

Or: a storyteller's story.

Notes: Exactly what it says on the tin. The format of this one is brilliant, wow, it gives me chills. Silver telling stories interspersed with flashback memories. Really quite phenomenal. Heed the tags!

More Than One Odysseus by Freudhood, mcicioni:

Summary: Reunion fic, about two years after 4.10. Quite a lot of talking and a little of the following: fishing, sex, hunting, bathtubs, Jewish surnames, books, stories, and Terra Australis.

Notes: This is a post-canon fixit with Jewish!Silver revealing a few things about his past, giving Flint something so he’ll start to trust him again. It has one of my FUCKING FAVORITE Silver philosophies on storytelling as a whole:

“You start with a fact,” he says, and it’s still fucking general and vague, but it’s the best he can do for the moment. “And then you work it over, like you would with a piece of steel that’ll eventually become a knife, or a sword. You forge it.You hammer it. You file it. You grind it. You polish it. And you’ve got a story.”

Wow it’s so good. A really well-rounded and good story!

upon the tedious shores by Aisalynn:

Summary: He didn’t remember his mother. He didn’t know if she held him close to her body and rocked him in her arms, whispering his name into the top of his head. Didn’t know if she named him at all.

It didn’t matter. When you live a life as unremarkable as his, no one cares what you are called.

Notes: Silver ruminates on the names he’s been called over the years. A rehash of canon of sorts as well as a fix-it.

I read this wonderful little fic around the time I first started writing my own backstory and was struck by the similarities. Truly the Black Sails Silver lovers share a braincell at times.

Cloth of Gold by dornfelder:

Summary: "Tell me one thing," Flint says.

Silver lifts his head, eyes full of apprehension. "If I can."

"If you were to tell me about your past – about all the things you cannot bear for me to know – what do you think I might do?"

Notes: This might be my favorite story about Silver’s past that doesn’t actually reveal anything solid? The way it’s done is BRILLIANT. It is Flint Seeing him without needing any of the firm/finer details that Silver simply Cannot Speak. ABSOLUTELY INSPIRED.

To Be Free of Temptation by anselm0:

Summary: “What would you suggest we do instead, then?”

Maybe it was the way he said it, the way Flint was sitting with his knees sprawled out, or the secrets he guarded so closely; Silver didn’t know what it was, but somebody’s Devil took ahold of his tongue then and he said, “I think we should fuck.”

Notes: This story doesn’t have explicit Silver past, but it hints very heavily at past noncon/sexual trauma. Also it’s just a BRILLIANT Silverflint fic where they come together in a sort of alt early s3.

One of my forever faves for how awkward the sex is at first, the miscommunication, and then Flint taking the time to figure out What is Happening and fix it. I have def taken cues from this dynamic in other fics, as you’ve seen :P And I am ofc a FIRM believer of Silver having had sex work go very very wrong in his Unspeakable Past.

Ponce De Leon Avenue by flawlessassholes:

Summary: "Hey," He says, his eyes crinkling. "You think we've found the Fountain of Youth?"

Silver snorts. "I hope not. You'd be terrible at being immortal."

---

After the events of 2x01, Flint and Silver leave for St. Augustine and find the Fountain of Youth.

Notes: Another Jewish!Silver interpretation. A canon au after 2.1 that has the Most Fascinating OT4, wow. And wow this story in general is so so interesting and devastating. The Silverflint dynamic here is unique and choice. They’re immortals here, if that wasn’t clear from the summary.

let us possess one world by vowelinthug:

Summary: They return to Nassau after their defeat of the British Navy, only to be met by Agitator Billy and his propaganda machine. This is why Captain Flint tries not to let other people decide things.

In which: Flint wears a disguise, Silver tells a terrible story, one bathes the other, and only one man died the whole night which is, like, definitely a record for them.

Notes: More exploration of the Rise of Long John Silver, as well as a really great Silverflint fic. Silver shares a bit with Flint about his past. Written before s4 and 4.9, so the vibe is a little different, but it still fits beautifully.

slouches towards bethlehem to be born by straddling_the_atmosphere:

Summary: It takes two weeks to get Flint off of Skeleton Island.

Or rather, it takes two weeks for the island to let them go.

Notes: I’ve recced this one before, and here it is again lmao. It contains some terrifying hallucinations/flashbacks for Silver of his Unspeakable Past.

Also it’s a true horror story! Featuring Skeleton Island as an ancient entity which Silver and Flint must sacrifice to in order to escape. Another case of things being both resolved and unresolved between the lads. A forever favorite.

There is Freedom in the Dark by i_ship_an_armada:

Summary: After Savannah, James is a lost, broken man until a bit of magic helps him see what he missed in his past so he may choose a different path leading to the peace he so desperately wishes for.

A story of mistakes and bitterness, magic and mysterious messages, forgiveness and love, with a little bit of hope thrown in.

Notes: An extremely in-depth and compelling post-canon Silverflint fix-it, with supernatural elements. Very satisfying, with a Silver backstory take that I found extremely interesting and creative. But I won’t spoil it. :P

The Tether Series by stele3:

Summary: “So you did find him,” the man says faintly. When Thomas looks up he finds himself caught in perhaps the strangest regard one person has ever given another, a gaze that absolutely does not dissuade Thomas from the notion that a feral, scavenging animal has broken into their home.

Notes: This is an amazing series top to bottom and contains many wonderful stories. It’s my favorite Jewish!Silver interpretation by far and might be my favorite Silver backstory period.

My two specific favorite sections for Silver are A Dance on the Floorboards and The Snake in the Grass, but you really should just read the whole series. It’s very long and very sad at points, but well worth the investment. Truly a freakin’ masterpiece.

The Canterbury Tales by Wind_Ryder:

Summary: Pirates. Attacking Georgia. A part of Thomas wants to believe that there's nothing at all relating the events outside to the events in his personal life.

But when he turns around and sees John Silver slipping in through the backdoor, he very much doubts that's the case. "Tea?" Thomas asks blandly, throwing the latch and shutting his blinds like a good Puritan man.

James, of course, chooses that moment to rush up the steps to Thomas's shop. All but colliding with the door, not expecting it to be locked, and Thomas takes pity. Opening it and closing it behind him the moment he's rushed in.

At first, James' attention was solely on Thomas. A pleasant thing in most circumstances, but Thomas can only smile blandly and watch with slight amusement as James' attention wavers. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He hisses, spotting John within seconds. And John responds by doing what any sane man should do when the weight of James' full ire is directed at him.

He swoons.

Notes: Another huge story investment with many twists and turns and lots of slowburn character resolutions. As in, a Gigantic Fix-it. I don’t want to spoil the Silver take here, but I haven’t seen anything else like it in the fandom. The Novel Discussions series as a whole is well worth your time.

the aftershocks remain by pdameron:

Summary: For as long as he can remember, John Silver has been able to see ghosts. He has no trouble keeping this secret from Flint - until Charlestown. Until Miranda.

the working title for this was "the paranorman fic"

Notes: The Miranda-Silver bonding fic we deserved. Featuring a lot of ghosts from Silver’s past, literally, that he’s spoken to over the years. Full of delicious flashbacks. I absolutely adore this story. Spooky and sweet and sad and wonderful.

The Power of the Telling by Farasha:

Summary: In a quiet moment back at New Providence, in Miranda's house, John Silver ponders the man James Flint might have been once upon a time. Flint still knows so little about his quartermaster, it seems that John can still surprise him, even in the smallest things.

Notes: Silver likes to read!! They talk about power and books and there’s some kissing. A lovely story.

yes and no by youatemytailor:

Summary: "I can sit for an oil painting if you like,” Silver says with a grin.

Notes: Jewish!Silver again. He’s circumcised and Flint keeps noticing. Eyes Emoji.

lost on you by youatemytailor:

Summary: Silver is in the room when it happens. He’s not sure if he’s glad for it, in retrospect.

Notes: A Flint-is-sick fic that I ADORE where Silver reveals a few things about himself. A very good Silverflint fic in general.

to know the worth of my life by mapped:

Summary: So big a name for so small a man.

John Silver feels very small.

Notes: A post-series fix-it and Silver character study. Ends with a reveal of his true name. Good shit.

What’s in a Name? by Craftnarok:

Summary: Some conversations in the dark between Flint and Silver, set during episode 3x09. They have a moment alone in the Maroon camp, after Mr. Scott's death, and what begins as curiosity and sharing develops into rather a lot more.

Notes: Just a really good Silverflint fic all around, with them sharing stories and bonding. Another story written before s4 and 4.9, so take that into account. I still really like it and think it’s a good take.

And I? by depugnare:

Summary: When he’s blown off the side of the ship, the last thing he sees is Flint’s horrified face looking down at him from above.

Wonders if it’s the fate of all of those closest to Flint to die this way.

Notes: When Silver is assumed dead in s4, he “kills” his past self for good. AHHH THE CHILLBUMPS.

a few good words and the tide by samedifference61:

Summary: A man can be anyone if the truth is buried deep enough.

Notes: A loose s4 rehash with flashbacks from Silver’s past. Very sad, very poignant.

With Nothing on My Tongue by RosieTwiggs:

Summary: "Silver thinks: Maybe God likes it when I fight with him.

He wonders now, whether he’s been playing into God’s plan all along. Because no matter how angry he gets, how defensive, how many “fuck you”s he flings to the heaven, isn’t it all just proof that he still believes God is there, despite it all?

Silver doesn’t know how to counter that.

Maybe he doesn’t want to anymore."

The Jewish!John Silver character study no one asked for, but you're all getting anyway.

Notes: A canon rehash as seen through the lens of a Jewish!Silver. Absolutely devastating but just AMAZING. This is not a fix-it. HEED THE TAGS.

a hopeless violence (i named it love) by MaymayC:

Summary: “I have no idea who you were.” Flint looks almost shocked at this realization. John tries not to shift, repressing the urge to run that immediately rises up. “Not before we found you, at any rate.” John has to laugh at that, like he’s some stray that Flint decided to keep, here on these godforsaken cliffs that Flint insists they train atop.

Notes: Here’s another brilliant take on Jewish!John Silver, written in a stream of conscious style that is EXCELLENTLY done. Pitch perfect with some very immersive historical details which show careful research. Gave me a lot of feelings about my own story.

“Jesus Christ, don’t do that,” he says. “If you want to know where I come from just ask.” It almost even feels like the truth to say it, like if Flint asked him in the just the right way, John could find the words that would make his life till now into something that could be understood.

or, John Silver grapples with the concept of identity.

Ner Tamid by notfelix:

Summary: "He takes Muldoon’s hand, flesh cold and thick as deepest water. It requires some maneuvering before he finds the right position. The only thing that feels comfortable is to grip Muldoon exactly as he had while fighting, screaming, to keep them both above the surface. Silver tightens his hold, and flexes and pulls: this time he will do it better. This time he will do it correctly. This time he’ll get the man so much fucking air he won’t even know what to do with it."This time he will lift him up properly, and when it’s all over he will put him down properly, too."

—

Jewish!Silver character study by way of doldrums cannibalism fic. y'know. normal stuff.

Notes: Another Jewish!John Silver take that packs a PUNCH straight to your guts. A perfect character study, a perfect short story. No, but the craft in this is stunning from top to bottom, I could teach a class about it. I simply cannot recommend this highly enough. This one will get inside your flesh and stay with you like the most brutally emotional haunting. Mind tags as always.

Okay, phew, this list is long!

As usual, hit me up if there’re any really good ones I’ve overlooked!

#jay's esoteric rec lists #silverflint #john silver #black sails #black sails fic recs #silverflint fic recs #fic recs #silver backstory #John Silver character study #jewish john silver #jewish!john silver #john silver backstory #black sails fanfiction #long post

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unhalloa2 · 2 years

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this is gonna be a weird ask , but can you elaborate on the image you reblogged for akutagwa. the dog biting the man's hand ? i have theories to why you would put these two things together but it really just struck me and i thought it was really neat :D.

oh absolutely!! his is gonna turn into a meta so stay tuned under the cut.

typically in literature, dogs have many symbolic meanings. for the sake of akutagawa, i usually play on the following:

dogs as symbols of death

dogs as symbols of vigilance

dogs as symbols of loyalty

it’s not a secret akutagawa has a lot of dog related motifs to him. most notably being a couple alias’ he is called in the manga. [ black-fanged hell hound, ] in my portrayal and visions, serves to signify dogs as symbols of death. [ silent mad dog, ] serves to signify dogs as both symbols of vigilance and loyalty. i’ll go into more detail, now, below.

DOGS AS SYMBOLS OF DEATH.

it’s no secret that in many classical mythologies, death and canines go hand in hand. i think it’s important to note that dogs have two rolls in death: serving as death omens while simultaneously showcasing the journey from the land of the living to the land of the dead. [ for example: ] cerberus, the three-headed dog that guarded the entrance to the underworld in greek mythology --- this also has ties to dogs as symbols of vigilance. anubis, the god of death from egyptian myth, had the head of a jackal. BLACK DOGS, ESPECIALLY, SEEM TO BE VERY SYMBOLIC OF DEATH. black dogs are thought, in some traditions, to be denizens of the underworld. akutagawa is surely no stranger to death, as a dying man himself with the blood of countless others on his hands. a manga panel is pictured below with a quote i find very relative to this.

DOGS AS SYMBOLS OF VIGILANCE AND LOYALTY.

piggybacking off the previous image, akutagawa ryunosuke is loyal to a fault. and thus, the port mafia’s silent mad dog was created. one of the most notable classical uses of a dog’s loyalty i can think of occurs in greek myth, that being odysseus’s arrival to his homeland after his wanderings, and meeting his old dog Argos, the only one who recognized him. to put it shortly, akutagawa took to dazai osamu like a dog sitting at the grave of it’s long since passed owner. [ i recommend reading greyfriars bobby by eleanor atkinson for more on the imagery of a dog sitting at a grave! ] and in doing so, abandoned his sense of self worth. not only does akutagawa serve as a watch dog for the port mafia, his loyalty and need to prove himself leave him and his ability to be easily used for the benefit of others, and to his own demise. pictured again below.

LASTLY, BITING THE HAND THAT FEEDS YOU.

akutagawa’s plot revolves around coming to terms with himself. in order to do that, akutagawa has to remove himself of dazai completely. AKUTAGAWA HAS TO BITE THE HAND THAT FED HIM IN ORDER TO LIVE. the more akutagawa begins to think for himself, the more he finds confidence in himself: growing to believe that he himself has worth outside of his special ability. he has a long way to go, but i think one day, akutagawa will finally take his leash off. or die trying.

#paasoori #* 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲 / ryunosuke akutagawa.#long post tw #text heavy tw #ask to tag tw #THIS WAS SO LONG???????#NDJNDJKDJF #always send me questions i love u sm #mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah

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maggiec70 · 3 years

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Prince Bagration Makes a Cameo Appearance

Another excerpt from the longest-running histfic draft. This is for Tairin. I hope I did her prince justice, small though it may be.

Jean’s staff found a two-story house large enough for them all in a northern Viennese suburb. General Compans ordered the portly, red-faced owner and his large family to leave, slipping him a fistful of gold coins before he could protest. Mariana couldn’t tell how many coins constituted a fistful, but they produced an incredulous expression on the man’s face and then a deep bow that revealed his blindingly bald, pink pate. There must be a secret source of gold coins that only Compans and Thomières knew about, perhaps hidden away in a sturdy oak box labeled Bribes. She had seen these coins appear whenever Jean wanted to sleep somewhere other than a barn or outside on the ground for several days. She also knew only a very few marshals and generals bothered to compensate the people whose lives they disrupted or even thought to do so.

“Don’t wreck the place,” Compans ordered them after the Viennese family had bustled out the door, their personal belongings tied up in large, unwieldy bundles.

“Why would we?” she asked Joseph as two adjutants added more wood to a fire in the large stone hearth. She wondered how much food she might find in the kitchen cupboards and the spacious pantry leading from the kitchen. Indeed, the life expectancy of the well-fed hens she’d seen in the dooryard was measured in minutes.

“It was a pro forma reminder,” Joseph replied. “We’ve never been a horde of Vandals or Huns, and the marshal knows it.” He grinned at her and stretched so much that he almost slid out of his chair. “I can’t say the same about Prince Murat’s cavalry or anyone in Marshal Augereau’s VII Corps. Now there’s a collection of seasoned plunderers—as bad as one of the plagues of Egypt, but not, I think, as dedicated to looting as Marshal Masséna.”

Later that evening, with a cold November wind safely outside and warmth and food inside, she sipped her second cup of rich coffee laced with cream from the black and white cow standing up to her knees in hay in the barn. “After ages in Purgatory, I’ve been given my reward.”

“Savor your taste of Paradise, Gabriel, while you can. We’re leaving in a couple of days,” Jacques said, unhooking his cloak and shaking sleet from it.

“Why? The Austrians surrendered at Ulm almost four weeks ago, and we’re north of Vienna with no Austrians anywhere that I can see. There isn’t anyone to fight.”

Jacques poured coffee from a porcelain pot and backed up to the fire. “Don’t you read the dispatches, Gabriel?”

“Not often—they’re boring.”

“Well, you should. We hadn’t seen the Austrian army because it left Vienna right before we arrived. Now they’ve gone further north, with General Kutuzov’s Russians.”

“Who’s Kutuzov?” she asked, trying not to yawn in his face. She really should pay more attention to the dispatches and reports. If Jean ever asked her about the campaign's minutia, she had better know enough to answer. She’d seen what happened when an officer couldn’t tell Jean what he wanted to know and didn’t want to subject herself to the humiliation of a profanity-laced public rebuke.

“Some clever Russian general, older than God. He’s heading for Moravia, though, not Mother Russia.”

Mariana remembered Jacques’s words three days later. Ejected from the warm stone house before dawn, she bundled up in her heavy cloak and gloves and rode out of Vienna with the rest of V Corps. Now, close to midnight, she didn’t think Moravia was anywhere close or warmer than Russia. It was full dark when they rode into a tiny hamlet so small they would have missed it if the scouts and leading edges of Oudinot’s grenadiers hadn’t literally stumbled over it. Snow topped with a thin layer of rime covered the cottage roofs, garden walls, the rough pathway serving as a street, and stubble in the surrounding fields. The inhabitants had shuttered every window, but thin cracks of pale yellow light escaped from some of them.

“They’re more afraid of the Russians than they are of us,” Jean said in response to her question. Each word came out on a small puff of white, as her own had done. Soon it might be too cold to talk. “If you looked in those barns, you’d find nothing but old straw. There’s nothing of value in the cottages, either. If the villagers had enough warning, they would have hidden everything, and if not, the Russians have it all now.”

Mariana had never seen a hamlet this small before or so eerily deserted. The barrenness she saw in the faint snow light and that Jean had described made her shiver. This time the cold struck deep in her bones.

“We’ll be sleeping outside, gentlemen, on the other side of Hollabrünn and eating whatever we have with us. It will be a short night anyway—the enemy’s less than six miles ahead.” Jean spurred his horse forward over the little village track, and the rest followed, riding close enough to brush each other’s stirrups. Mariana wrapped the reins around one wrist and massaged her hands and fingers inside her gloves, afraid to take them off. The idea of trying to sleep on the frozen, iron-hard ground was dreadful. If the Russians were so close, and if Jean meant to attack them in the morning, she might as well sit up all night. If she didn’t freeze before dawn, then a brisk encounter with the enemy, even hand to hand, would warm her up nicely. “Aunt Lucrezia, you would be appalled,” she whispered through stiff lips cracked and bleeding from the cold.

Despite her plan to sit up all night, Mariana had just fallen asleep, curled into a tight ball, knees drawn up nearly beneath her chin, when Joseph shook her into befuddled wakefulness. “Get up, Gabriel,” he said, peeling her cloak away. We’re leaving now.”

She staggered to her feet, grabbed her cloak back from Joseph, and buttoned it up tight. “No breakfast?”

“No time for any. There’s a small Russian rear-guard ahead. We have to eliminate it before it reaches Kutuzov.”

Mariana didn’t mind not eating as much as she minded not having something hot to drink. However, the worst prospect was having to do the necessary at the edge of the forest to her left. She still thought it was manifestly unfair that lately, she nearly froze whenever she pissed, while her comrades did not. An inequality, however, that she was powerless to alter one whit.

Having concluded her business in the forest, she hurried to untie Odysseus from the picket line, tighten his girth, and climb into the saddle. She trotted off to join the aides, who waited in a nearly silent group, close together, their horses impatiently stamping the hard ground. Without a word, they swung around and fell in behind Jean and General Compans. She wanted to know how far away the Russian rear-guard was and how many Russians comprised a rear-guard, but she couldn’t make her lips move.

General Thomières saved her the trouble. “Excellency, how many troops does Bagration have ahead of us?”

While she wondered who Bagration was, Jean slowed his horse to respond to his senior aide. “Fewer than I have, even though I’m short two divisions and even shorter of supplies. Neither the weather nor the ground is good for much but a short skirmish.”

The air was so silent and frigid that Mariana heard the intonation beneath his words that often meant more than the words themselves. He sounded confident rather than cocky or foolhardy. A short skirmish, he’d said, and that was fine with her.

The encounter between Bagration’s rear-guard and V Corps’ grenadiers, reinforced at the last possible moment by a squadron of Murat’s heavy cavalry, was not a skirmish. Mariana thought it was more like a brawl in some wayside tavern, loud, fast, and disorganized. It ended before she’d had a chance to do anything and because Bagration told Prince Murat that he had just learned about a truce. The prince believed him, dismounted, told Jean to order his troops to cease fire, and went inside a slightly shell-shocked villa that had been some Moravian aristocrat’s summer home.

“A truce? What the fuck is he talking about? I had the damn Russians on their arses, and he rides in and orders me to stop!” Jean was livid, his expression as hard as granite. Mariana worried what he might do when he jumped from his horse, leaving the reins to trail in the snow, and stomped after Murat. Acting on instinct, aides, chief of staff, and a few senior adjutants closed around him like a protective wall and entered the villa together.

Intended for soft summer breezes, the villa struggled to combat the mid-November cold. Fires burned in hearths at either end of the reception chamber’s black and white tiled floor. Clear glass bottles filled with colorless liquid stood among scores of crystal glasses on heavily carved tables in the center of the room. Someone had shoved chairs and settees against the walls. Officers in uniforms Mariana had never seen before crowded around the tables, opening bottles, pouring liquid into glasses, and handing them around. She watched Prince Murat take a sip, then drain it and hold it out for someone to fill. She watched Jean barrel forward, his expression still thunderous, until a tall officer with the face of a young eagle and enough medals on his chest to blind half a dozen men stepped forward and intercepted him. Together they moved away from Murat and his entourage and stood by one of the double windows, heads bent close together, talking. Another officer approached them, two glasses on a silver tray, and quickly left when they took the glasses and continued their conversation. When Major Guéhéneuc tried to insinuate himself into the conversation, Jean turned on him like an enraged wasp. The major scuttled away, staring at the floor, his face scarlet. Mariana rocked back on her boot heels, a smirk spreading across her face.

As voices rose around her, followed by the rank odor of damp wool and unwashed males, Mariana felt the beginnings of a headache. To take her mind off it, she asked Thomières, “What are they talking about? And who is that Russian?”

He laughed, a soft sound but not derisive. She was glad since she rarely spoke to him at length. “I haven’t the slightest idea what they’re talking about, but that’s Prince Pyotr Ivanovich Bagration the marshal’s talking to.” He laughed again, this time even softer as if he worried someone might overhear. “Talking now, fighting later. Fine looking general, though, don’t you think?”

“Indeed he is,” Mariana said. With his chiseled features and thick, dark hair, the tall, slender Russian looked a little like Jean. Big rooster and bantam rooster, she thought, and almost hooted with laughter. When she could trust herself to speak, she asked, “What’s in the bottles?”

“Vodka. Have you never tasted it?”

“I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Then allow me, lieutenant,” Thomières said and escorted her to the nearest table. Rummaging among the glasses, he found two relatively clean ones and filled them from one of the bottles. “Salut,” he said, threw back his head, and drank it down.

She sniffed at the clear liquid. It had no odor. Since Thomières was still standing, how dangerous could it be? She drank hers in a single gulp, and the alcohol burned all the way to her stomach, where it exploded. Tears flooded her eyes, she sneezed and then coughed. One cough led to several until Thomières pounded her on the back and filled her glass.

“Quick—drink this.”

She did and stopped coughing. This time the vodka felt smooth as silk, and she grinned at the senior aide. “You should have warned me.”

“And miss your reaction?” He filled her glass for the third time, but before she could drink it, four Russian officers joined them at the table, clutching their glasses filled to the brim and sloshing onto their dingy white gloves. Their faces were clean-shaven except for amazingly full side-whiskers, their cheeks brick red in the candlelight. Raising their glasses, they shouted in unison, “Za vashe zdorovye!” When they had downed every last drop, they tossed their glasses toward the fireplace. The sound of shattering crystal brought to a halt every conversation in the spacious room, and then other Russians began throwing their empty glasses to the floor.

“Why not?” Thomières said and threw his glass toward the hearth.

“Indeed!” Mariana replied and threw hers, too.

Whatever Jean and Bagration may have been discussing, or whatever Prince Murat may have believed about the alleged truce, or whatever the French and Russian officers thought about the prospect of imminent hostilities between them, everything disappeared beneath the sharp-edged sound of crystal shattering and the roars of toasts in French and Russian. Mariana linked arms with Thomières to keep from reeling and tried to get her tongue around the consonant-laden Russian words. Somehow, they sounded more satisfactory than light, polite French phrases and better suited to the vodka, of which she had become quite fond in no time at all.

Jean summoned aides and staff officers with a sharp whistle that penetrated the merriment and stalked out of the villa and into the icy, starlit night. The sudden cold jolted Mariana from her torpor, and the sharp air stung her eyes and nose. Her comrades showed similar symptoms of waking from a muddled sleep, and she wondered what might have happened had they stayed and emptied all those bottles.

#prince bagration #vodkatime #Jean Lannes

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celticcrossanon · 3 years

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BRF Reading - 7th of April, 2021

This is the second of three spreads that I have drawn on this topic. The last one will follow after this one.

This is speculation only

Card drawn 28th of March, 2021

Question: Does Archie exist?

Background: As per the first reading on this question, I am looking for pregnancy cards, to say a pregnancy occurred, children cards (the pages), childhood (the Six of Cups), cards like that. The absolute ‘yes I exist card’ would be the Page of Pentacles (an earth sign child).

Yet again, as per the first reading on this question, I seem to be wandering off into 'crazy theory' territory. I take no offence if you have trouble believing this reading or the previous one, as I am having trouble believing them as well.

You can find the first reading I did on this topic here: https://celticcrossanon.tumblr.com/post/647808015142125568/brf-reading-7th-of-april-2021

After I drew both this spread and the one I have already posted, I decided to take a break (mainly because I just could not believe what the cards were saying). The third reading, which will be posted after this one (tomorrow), is one that I did later and gives a bit more detail on the topic (I drew a five card spread).

Interpretation: Archie either does not exist, or he has been so shrouded in lies and deceit that his existence is impossible to determine.

Card One: Death. This is can be a literal death or a figurative death, but either way it is a final and permanent end to a cycle of life. We may be transforming into something else, we may literally die, but the old life is dead and there is no going back to it. As one of the two major arcana cards in this spread, this is a strong energy in this reading. Something came to a final and permanent end. This could be Archie himself, or it could be referencing the end of the pregnancy, and/or the end of the life of the parents as a childless couple. Whatever it was, something or someone died.

Card Two: King of Swords. This is an air sign person, particularly an Aquarius, or it is the card of a person who is a using strategy or mind games to achieve their ends. Note that this suit came up in the previous reading as well, where as the Knight of Swords it referenced all the poorly planned medical details around Archie's birth. Here it takes a broader view; this is someone in a position of power using their intellectual powers (such as they are) to obtain their goal. The card can also speak of the misuse of power, using your authority to manipulate others. Either way, the decision here are based purely on what is best for the situation, with no sentiment or other emotions allowed to interfere with the decision.

The person on the card is Odysseus/Ulysses, the adventurer who used guile and deceit to trick and manipulate his way through ten years of adventures before he was able to finally return home. It is this type of energy that this card is giving out to me - the energy of the strategist who will lie, deceive and manipulate others to gain their ends, a person who is not concerned about how their actions may hurt others but only about getting what they want.

This tells me that all the actions around Archie are based on strategy. Whether that is to maintain the illusion that Archie is a real person, or whether it is to hide him for reasons unknown, I do not know.

Card Three: The Moon. This is a card of illusions, lies, deceit and deeply buried secrets. This is the sort of deceit that seems crazy, and that will drive you crazy trying to unravel it. It is a card of uncertainty and illusion, of deeply hidden fears. Above all, it says that nothing is as it seems. Do not trust surface impressions. Go beneath them for the truth.

The figure on the card is that of the Goddess Hecate, a goddess of the underworld who is also a goddess of childbirth. Here we have childbirth, the birth of Archie, linked very clearly with the underworld, a place of death, departed souls, secrets and shadows, a place that mortals feared to enter and that was guarded by the three-headed dog, Cerberus (also shown on the card). This is a very clear message linking childbirth with lies, secrets, and illusions, and even with death. The birth of Archie is an illusion, and we must look deeper to uncover the truth. In placing the child Archie in the underworld and not in the land of the living, this card echoes the other major arcana card in this reading, the first card, Death. Is it just secrets and deceit that were woven around Archie's birth, or must we go further and look for him in the underworld? Is Archie the one who died, or did he exist only as a shade, a phantom, in the first place?

As the second major arcana card in this spread, the energy of the Moon card is very strong in this reading - an energy that links childbirth to the underworld and surrounds it with lies, secrets and illusions.

Underlying Energy: Four of Cups. This is a card of dissatisfaction, of boredom. It is also a card of gossip in this deck, as the picture shows Psyche with her two sisters, and the sisters are whispering all the bad gossip and speculation about Psyche's husband into her ears. It is this last meaning that the card symbolises to me in this spread - gossip not about a husband, but about a child. People are talking about the strange circumstances about Archie's birth. The woman concerned, Meghan, is unhappy and dissatisfied with the gossip, but she is powerless to stop it. As psyche had no proof that her husband was good and kind and handsome, for she never saw him, this card suggests that Meghan has no proof that Archie exists, for like Psyche's husband, we have never seen him.

Conclusion: The two major arcana cards in this spread are the cards of death, metaphorical or literal (Death) and deceit (the Moon). These are the major energies of the spread - lies, deceit, secrecy and a permanent ending of a cycle of life. Taken together, they send a strong energy that Archie is dead and now resides in the underworld. Whether he died at birth, or whether he ever existed at all, they do not say.

The other cards speak of the cold, occasionally cruel use of strategy, guile and manipulation to achieve your ends, and the underlying energy is of gossip and dissatisfaction. So whether Archie died or was born, Meghan used strategy in a cold and heartless fashion to weave a web of lies, deceit and illusion around his birth, not caring who she hurt in the process. She is unhappy about the gossip arising from her actions, but she can not stop it, as she has woven so many lies and secrets around his birth and existence that she now has no definite proof that Archie exists to present to the world. Any child can be shown to the public as Archie, but the Moon card tells us to look beyond surface appearances to find out the truth.

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reordering-the-planets · 6 years

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MBTI personality types as ancient Greek gods and godessess

ESFJ Aphrodite (Ἀφροδίτη): Born out of the foam of Uranus’ (God of sky) castrated parts that his son, Titan Cronus, had thrown to the sea. Thus, she emerged from the Ocean in all her beauty and grace and all the water Nymphs and all the Winds came to bow before her. Goddess of love and beauty, of pleasure and of passion as she was, all the men desired her and all the women envied her graces. She married Hephaestus, she desired Ares and she loved Adonis. One could always glimpse her winged son, Eros, god of desire, flying above her as she would’ve often whispered to his ear the next mortal whose his heart was about to be shot by Eros’ arrows.

ENFJ Apollo (Ἀπόλλων): God of light, of sun, of music, of poetry, of truth, of knowledge and protector of the arts. He was everything and he knew it all. People worshiped him all over the known world and build him the most gracious and marvelous temples and oracles, where sunbeams would make the white marbles shine as bright as the sun. In return, Apollo through the voice of gifted diviners would reveal to them what would the future hold. He played his lyre and his daughters, the Muses, would come over from the valleys to accompany his sweet melodies. He loved and protected the young as he, himself, remained a young man forever. He was a healer, but if the mortals were to infuriated him, he would bring the greatest of the plagues on them.

ISFP Artemis (Ἄρτεμις): Twin sister of Apollo as they where both children of Zeus and Leto. Quieter and humbler by nature than her twin brother, she found her call in the deep forests, the mountains and the moon. She befriended all the living things of the wild and devoted herself to their protection. Always bearing a bow in the hand and a handful of arrows on her back, she would hunt in the forests, but she’d never become violent, always honoring her prey. Although she took an oath to remain a virgin, young Orion became her hunting companion and he managed to win her heart. Their love was never meant to blossom, as Artemis shot Orion with an arrow by accident and killed him.

ESTP Ares (Ἄρης): Son of Zeus and Hera as he was, he would grow to become a forceful and a fearful one. Gifted with great physical strength and an everlasting blood lust, he excelled in the battlefields and become a soldier model for the Spartans. He was Aphrodite’s secret lover and together they had many children like Eros, who followed his mother, and Deimos (god of terror) and Phobos (god of fear), who both followed Ares as his warfare companions. The other gods tended to avoid him and on the great Trojan war he was on the losing side, therefore triggering Zeus’ anger towards him. Later, the Romans acknowledged his military intelligence and worshiped him by the name of Mars.

ESTJ Athena (Ἀθηνᾶ): If someone contrived to impersonate the essence of the ancient Greek spirit, it would look like her. It does not surprise that she was goddess of wisdom, handicraft and warfare as well. All three basic elements of the city that she fought with Poseidon for, thus founded and gave it her name, Athens. Athena always wore a helmet, brandished a spear and kept her shield with Medusa’s head on it (that Perseus had gifted to her for helping him in murdering that marine beast) by her side. Legend has it that she was born fully armored from Zeus’ forehead. However, Athena would never initiate an unreasonable, blood spilling war against her enemies like Ares would do. Wise and strategic as her mind was, Athena favored those with strength and bravery, like Hercules and Perseus, with courage and valiance, like Bellerophon and Jason, as well as those with a sharp mind, like Odysseus, aiding them in multiple ways.

ENTJ Poseidon (Ποσειδῶν): He is known as the sea god, but in fact there was not an element that wouldn’t bow to his will. Poseidon was ruler of the seas, the rivers and all the running waters. He was commander of the earth, the soil, the storms and the mighty earthquakes. He was protector of the noble horses and, as many say, he was the true king of Atlantis. Although he lost supervision of Athens to Athena, the Athenians didn’t forget his volition to become their guardian and they worshiped him almost as much as her. They build him a magnificent temple on the windy top of Cape Sounion, where the waves of the great Aegean sea would crush the rocks beneath it. Poseidon would often help seafarers reach their destination safe and sound. Damn those who would dare sail without a sacrifice to his name for appeasing the tides. A tremendous storm created by a swing of his trident would crash their ship to an unknown land or, even worse, he would drag them all the way down to his wet kingdom.

ENTP Zeus (Ζεύς): The father of the Gods wasn’t an easy one. As every king that walked the earth, the sea or the skies before and after him, he was whimsical, temperamental and stubborn as a bull. In fact, there were times that he would take the form of a real bull or an eagle, a swan, a bear, a serpent, a flame or even a shower of gold, always to seduce a new love interest of his own. Europa, Cassiopeia, Leda, Alcmene and Ganymede are just a handful of all the women and men he desired and approached while transformed into a creature of beauty, with the sole intention of sleeping with them. It’s no wonder that his wife, Hera, was always mad at him, thus she was the only one that ever managed to scare him a little bit. However, he was Father of everyone and everything. Mortals should not forget that without Zeus, the world would still be at the hands of his tyrannical father, Titan Cronus, whom Zeus with the help of his brothers and sisters managed to overthrow. Thus, he became the true ruler of the skies, bearer of the thunder and enforcer of law and order as well. Among mortals, he was yet another mighty symbol of civilization and justice.

INTJ Hera (Ἥρα): She wasn’t the wife next door. She was the queen of Gods and protector of all the women. Someone could even see her as one of the very first symbols of feminine power in ancient cultures. Her rightful rage towards her unfaithful husband, Zeus, was the fuel of her many vengeful actions against him and his lovers. Although she refused Zeus’ first marriage proposal, after marrying him, she became goddess of marriage and patron of the household and childbirth. Hera could be your worst enemy (even Zeus was sometimes afraid of her), but also your most valuable ally. But, most of all, she was true to herself and to her worshipers. After all, she was the queen-mother of the world.

INTP Hades (ᾍδης) or Plouton (Πλούτων): After the Gods defeated the Titans at the beginning of time, the males ones (Zeus, Poseidon and Hades at that time) gathered together to drew lots of ruler-ship over the world. Although Hades was the eldest between them, Zeus received the sky, Poseidon the earth and the sea, but Hades’ fate was to become king of the underworld. He took Persephone, Demeter’s daughter, for his wife and made her queen at his side. A giant three-headed dog guarded the doors to the underworld, thus making entrance to anyone alive almost impossible. Hades didn’t care for the affairs of the world of the living, or even for the matters of the rest of the gods. Although he wasn’t evil, mortals avoided to refer to him by his name in case they drew his attention. They mostly called him Plouton, which meant “rich”, as all the precious minerals came from the underground, thus the boundary of Hades’ kingdom.

ISFJ Demeter (Δημήτηρ): A rather motherly figure and a well-respected goddess. Demeter loved the earth and everything that came from the soil. She protected farmers and brought to them a good harvest year after year. The humblest seed took root whenever blessed by her. Nothing was more precious to her than her own daughter, Persephone. When Hades abducted Persephone with the intention to marry her, Demeter fell in deep sorrow and not a single thing would grow anymore. Everyone was desperate, and an era of great famine was upon the humans.

INFP Persephone (Περσεφόνη) or Kore (Κόρη): It is said that before her abduction by Hades, Persephone was called Kore, which means maiden or daughter. She was, in fact, the beloved daughter of Demeter, that one day while she was peacefully gathering flowers, Hades came and abducted her, as he was deeply in love with the girl. Demeter was so angry and sad after that incident, that forbade the earth to produce and she begun to wander around looking for Persephone. Zeus heard the cries of the hungry mortals and persuaded Hades to release her. Hades tricked Persephone to eat the seeds of a pomegranate before leaving the underworld, but she ignored that if someone tasted underworld food, they were obliged to come back. Demeter agreed that Persephone would spent half a year on earth and half below it. As a result, the time that Persephone returned to Hades as queen of the underworld, Demeter’s sorrow of her daughter’s absence would make winter on earth. As soon as Persephone come back to earth, she would bring the spring with her. Thus, people worshiped her as a goddess of the springtime and the flowers.

ENFP Dionysus (Διόνυσος, Diónysos) or Bacchus (Βάκχος): This one knew how to enjoy life to the fullest. As the god of wine, theater and ecstatic dance, Dionysus was an emblem of freedom and basically... fun. With vines in his hair, a thyrsus in his hands (a wand of ivy vines and leaves) and a smile on his face, Dionysus would stroll the valleys with his many followers, dancing ecstatically, driving them to divine mania. Mortals would call him “the god who comes”. His companion included goat-legged satyrs and maenads. The last ones were women who, after coming to ecstatic frenzy through dancing and drinking, would please Dionysus through blood-offerings, which in some cases meant that maeneds would kill men with bare hands. Dionysus is said to be a god who dies and rises back from the dead. His many, divine powers still remain a mystery to many of us, mortals.

ISTP Hephaestus (Ἥφαιστος): His form and character does not remind of a god. He was a shy one and would rather spend his time crafting weapons on his hot anvil. However, Hephaestus was the god of fire and served as a blacksmith of gods and heroes. His many creations include Hermes' winged helmet and sandals, Aphrodite's girdle, Achilles' armor, Heracles' bronze clappers, Helios' (god of the Sun) chariot, Eros' bow and arrows and all the thrones of the Gods in Olympus. The legend has it that he was Hera’s son, one that she made by herself out of jealously of Zeus giving birth to Athena out of his head. However, Hera ejected him from mount Olympus, because he was lame on one leg. Hephaestus took revenge against Hera by crafting her a magical golden throne, which, when she sat on, it didn’t allow her to stand up, thus making both her legs useless.

ESFP Hermes (Ἑρμῆς): Also known as the “divine trickster”, the messenger of the gods and the guide to the underworld. Hermes was a pleasant god who protected travelers, merchants, shepherds, athletes and thieves, as he was all of those things himself. His appearance is quite known. A young man with the top of his head full of playful curls, wearing winged sandals, winged petasus (traveller’s hat) and holding the kerykeion (a short staff entwined by two serpents and surmounted by wings). Always being on the move, Hermes loved playing tricks on other gods and mortals.

ISTJ Hestia (Ἑστία): Hestia was one of the six children of Kronos and Rhea (among Zeus, Hera, Hades, Poseidon and Demeter) and therefore one of the oldest Gods. She was goddess of the home and domesticity as her name suggests (Ἑστία means “hearth”) as well as protector of households. Mortals used to gift her the first offering of every sacrifice in the household. During the founding of a colony, flame from Hestia's public hearth in colonizers’ mother city would be carried to the newly founded one. Hestia rejected both the marriage proposals of Poseidon and Apollo, and took an oath of virginity (like Artemis). She cared little for the conflicts of gods and mortals and tended to her domestic matters. Hestia was the simplest and humblest between gods and even offered her place in Olympus to Dionysus, making him the 12th Olympian god in her place, thus showing her divine magnanimity.

INFJ Asclepius (Ἀσκληπιός): He was originally the son of Apollo and a mortal woman. His father offered him, when still an infant, to centaur Chiron to mentor him. Chiron taught him the art of medicine, but an ancient legend says that a snake returned a favor of Asclepius back to him by licking his ears clean and passing him secret knowledge of healing. In order to honor the snake, Asclepius made a rod wreathed with a snake his divine symbol. This very rod is still nowadays associated with healing and medicine. Asclepius mastery of healing reached the level of bringing people back from the dead. This act infuriated Hades and forced Zeus to kill Asclepius and turn him into a constellation known as Ophiuchus ("the Serpent Holder"), which many claim it to be the 13th sign of the zodiac circle.

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writersrealmbts · 4 years

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Con Amore: Part 16/Finale

Bulletproof Melody Sequel

Description: Con Amore– A directive to a musician to perform a selected passage of a composition tenderly, with affectionate emotion, or in a loving manner; an instruction to the player of an instrument meaning ‘with love’ or ‘lovingly’. Three years with all seven of your loves, three years of relative peace. But now everything is threatened as darkness surges from the horizon.

Originally Posted: 06/02/2020

Tags: Superheroes, Ot7

4,026 words

A/N: And here it is, the end of this series.

“Did you really think you stand against me?! Fight the Conservatory?” The dean sneered down at the boys, who were restrained by some students. “You and this half-baked plan?”

The Temple fighters were also restrained.

You hummed softly to stay under the radar, slipping through the crowd unnoticed.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t see this coming? It was so obvious a child could see it. And look at what it has gotten you. You never stood a chance, and now you’ll pay in blood. I should start with the weakest link, shouldn’t I?” Her eyes became reptilian, and it was obvious she was trying to shift.

But you didn’t let her.

She hissed. “What did you do?”

You smirked as the boys just looked at her blankly, not understanding.

“Kill them!” She ordered with a snarl.

None of the students moved.

“What are you doing! Kill them!”

“As if I would allow that to happen,” You finally said from right behind her, finding extreme satisfaction in the way she jumped.

And even more satisfaction from the tinge of fear in her eyes.

You smirked slightly. “Hello again. Did you miss me? I didn’t miss you. Them, yes. Very much.”

“But…you left to have a baby?”

“Me? With a baby? Sounds questionable to me,” You replied with a smirk and a shrug. You casually walked down to the boys, tugging the soldier-students away from your loves. “At ease.”

The puppets relaxed, moving to stand at-ease.

The boys got up, blinking at you in surprise with smiles slowly spreading across their faces.

“Miss me boys?” You asked, then spun on your heel to face Ryoko with a smile. “Now, I suggest you surrender.”

“What did you do to me?”

“Oh, right. That. So, you figured out that I’m a former student, but what you failed to put together was that I’m a former student who has her powers, and remembers my time at the school. I think that should scare you just a bit. Because, also, I tend to find trouble. Ask them, where there’s any sort of trouble, there’s me in the thick of it.” You walked past her casually, taking the weapon her second-in-command was holding. “Thank you, you were making me nervous.”

He just watched you in utter confusion.

“You see, they may have been obvious in their intentions to fight you, but I’ve been preparing this for much longer. The timing was finally right to execute the plan. Granted, it wasn’t in my plan for these guys to come up with such a half-baked plan but they were trying to fight on two fronts,” You explained a little, back among the student-soldiers, who parted for you. “Nadya! That armor really brings out your eyes, you should have one of your robes in that color.”

“This isn’t some sort of reunion—” Ryoko snapped.

You turned back to her. “Oh, I know. I’m about to crush you, like a grape in a winepress. This isn’t a reunion, it’s the last battle to end the war. The last hurrah before you’re forced to surrender. Because you will surrender.”

“What did you do to me?!” She said, more desperate.

“I made you into my puppet,” You answered simply. “Just as you’ve continued the legacy of using the students as puppets. Mindless drones, to live or die as you see fit. You were the perfect candidate. My perfect pawn to rise to the top, so that I can tear the whole tower down from its foundation.”

“I am nobodies puppet!”

“Sure, sure, if we’re talking about nobody in the Odysseus sense.” You looked her up and down, then shrugged. “But you’re not that scary of a cyclops, and I’m not stealing a golden fleece. So, perhaps a better analogy or simile or whatever would be the Trojan horse. You’re the horse.”

“How?”

You evaluated her. “Well, first of all, you should never have tried to tell people that Hummingbird and I are the same people. That was very naughty, sly.”

She looked away.

“How they mixed all three of us together—myself, Athena, and Hummingbird—that was truly inspired. I mean, they almost convinced me, but Athena was pretty indignant. Doesn’t like it when people waste her time.”

“And Hummingbird?”

“Well, we’ve worked together now and then. If you remember, I used to be pretty reclusive. I was kind of acting as a point-person for her. Middle man. She gave me that amulet, the one I gave you, remember?”

She ripped off the amulet like it was poisonous, tossing it away from herself.

You scooped it up, pocketing it. “Thanks. Though, that’s not how I’m controlling you. Do you fear them?”

“Them?”

“The students,” You clarified. “If they were no longer your puppets, would you fear them?”

Her face made it clear that she did, though she was in the middle of saying she wasn’t.

“I said that I knew the right songs to tear this place down,” You murmured. “Have you ever seen Pinocchio?”

Laguz grinned.

“You know, the song he sings. They used it for that super-hero movie, ‘I’ve got no strings, to hold me down,’” You started, then laughed a little. “But you know, that’s not the best part of the song.”

“What is?” Nadya asked helpfully.

“‘I've got no strings, so I have fun, I'm not tied up to anyone, they've got strings, but you can see, there are no strings on me,” You turned toward the students, putting everything into it, using the melody to break the hypnosis, knowing you’d have to improvise that last few lines, “‘You have no strings’, your minds are free, there are no strings on thee.”

It was probably the most dangerous plan you’d ever implemented.

But you were still humming a peace-keeping melody under your breath to keep them from causing a mob.

Her second in command blinked, then looked around, before his eyes widened and he stared up at her in horror.

You hummed another song, gesturing for Nadya’s knights to restrain Ryoko as you approached Nadya, handing over a charm. “That should keep her detained for you.”

“Objections to the Temple taking the building?” Nadya asked, looking to the boys as well.

Tiwaz shook his head. “As long as we can continue monitoring the situation.”

She nodded. “Of course. How long will the calming melody work?”

“Two hours? Give or take twenty minutes depending on their response to leaving the long-term hypnosis.” You turned to watch them carry the former dean away. “I’d keep her location secret from them, though. And your healers will be extra busy.”

“I think we can handle it. You should get those guys out of here, they’ve been working non-stop for the past three days.”

Your gaze snapped to her. “They what?”

She shrugged.

“No wonder that plan was so half-baked, idiots.” You huffed. “Thanks for looking after them.”

“Thank you for looking after my acolytes. Are they still my acolytes?”

You shook your head. “Not as such. They want to still work with you, but also independently. I figured I would talk them into helping my boys out a bit, get their feet wet and then both of us could look out for them and make sure that they didn’t get themselves killed.”

She nodded. “Sounds like a solid plan. How have you been?”

“Cabin fever. It’s a shame that I didn’t get to participate in fighting. Well, other than the two guards I encountered on the fifteenth floor in the western wing. They might need some healing.”

Nadya looked to the girl beside. “Dispatch a unit to the fifteenth floor of the western wing. You better get them out of here before they start volunteering to help.”

You nodded, shaking her hand and then turning toward your boys.

They were waiting for you.

You smiled and walked up, picking up the pace for the last few steps to Jungkook to add some force to your punch to his gut.

He grunted, and you could hear his breath come out from the force.

You turned to deliver a blow to each of the other boys, most of them now wary and only receiving punches to their arms—except for Namjoon who received a nice hard slap to the face.

“Why?!” Jimin asked, rubbing his arm.

“You mean besides that half-baked mess of a plan that almost got you killed?! Because I just heard that you guys haven’t stopped working for the past three days, you idiots! How many times am I going to have to beat it into you that rest is important?!” You shoved the nearest one toward the door you summoned. “It’s like you want to get killed. We sleep before battle, we eat real meals, we take care of ourselves so that we can do our jobs better and not end up on our knees with guns pointed at us and hoping that—” You slammed the door behind your sheepish boys, “—our girlfriend is going to show up in time to save our hides, again! I mean, if I was five minutes later you all would be dead.”

“We had a contingency plan,” Namjoon said, taking your hand.

You huffed, not pulling your hand away, but still moving briskly to the next door and opening it. “Contingency plans. Those are always so reliable.”

They passed through, but then effectively stopped you—Taehyung hugging you tightly from behind, Jimin getting his arms around you next, and soon you were at the center of a group hug with your sweaty lovers.

“We’ve missed you so much,” Yoongi said, and you could hear the effort he had to take to not swear when he said it. He only was touching you by the hand, but he gripped that hand like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Jungkook had managed to get closer to you than Yoongi, and he was pressing soft kisses to your temple.

You could feel Hoseok’s vines wrapping around your ankles affectionately.

“The baby?” Seokjin asked, his voice just above a whisper.

“Perfectly fine and healthy.” You rested against whichever one was holding you up more. “I missed you all more than you can imagine.”

Namjoon’s hand stroked your hair. “It must have been so hard, baby.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “But it’s over now. So, come on. I want to get out of the cold and it’s time for you to meet our little one.”

They broke away with nods and murmurs of excitement, though there was also a tinge of sadness at having missed so much already.

You gave each of them a kiss, because you didn’t get to earlier, then led the way to the house while still holding hands with Hoseok and Yoongi.

The safe house was definitely a little worse for wear after a few attacks by the oasis group a few months ago, but there wasn’t much work that could be done to the exterior in the winter, and none of it caused any issues with heating or leaks, so you weren’t too worried about it.

You hummed a little, which would warn the boys that you were returning. You could sense that they were at peace at that moment, and you could sense that the baby was asleep.

Sensing you, Soobin hummed as well, to establish a line of communication, asking if you wanted them out of the house for a while.

You glanced at your loves, then asked if he and the other boys in the house would mind.

You could sense amusement from them, and you saw the snow rise and shift to clear the path you were on—a clear sign from Yeonjun.

“Whoa,” Taehyung breathed, checking the snow out as you all came up to the front door of the house.

You entered the house, helping them strip off their gear after simply shucking off your coat and shoes, leading them into the living room and sitting them down before going into the nursery.

Hoseok saw you first, standing and staring at the bundle in your arms.

The others fell silent, watching you as you brought the baby in.

You nodded for him to sit again, waiting for him to be ready for you to pass the baby off to him before doing so. “Hobi, this is our daughter, Mishil.”

Hoseok held her carefully, looking down at her with trepidation and love.

“It’s a girl?” Jimin breathed.

“We have a daughter?” Namjoon said, sounding pretty emotional.

“She’s so tiny,” Jungkook said, sounding like he was tearing up.

You carefully placed Hoseok’s hands so that he was holding her a little better, more easily. “She was born a little early, but she’s strong and healthy.”

Yoongi had slid closer, and hesitantly touched Mishil’s head, then a little more certainly, stroking her hair. “Her hair is so soft.”

“Look at her little hands!” Taehyung gushed from Hobi’s other side.

“She’s perfect,” Hoseok said lowly, voice thick. “She’s absolutely perfect. Just like her mom.”

Warmth flooded your heart.

“More than perfect, better than perfect,” Taehyung expanded. “What’s better than perfect? What’s a word for that?”

“There is no word for that,” Namjoon answered, hovering but not getting closer.

Jimin and Jungkook quickly pressed in though, effectively forcing you back as they all gushed over the baby.

Jin’s arms wrapped around your waist, and he pressed kisses along the curve of your neck and shoulder. “You did so well, y/n. I know how hard it was while you were with us, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through without us.”

You melted into his embrace. Finally, you could relax and let them take care of you and your precious daughter.

One by one, all of the boys held their daughter.

Jungkook was in tears.

Namjoon looked petrified, holding her so delicately and checking every two seconds that he was doing it correctly and that he wasn’t going break her.

Jimin had turned into a dog in his excitement after having held her, and was now resting his furry muzzle on Seokjin’s leg as the oldest held Mishil.

“Where are the younger boys?” Taehyung asked after you were holding her again, having fed her and changed her diaper.

“They’re outside, I just told Soobin to head back. Now, ground rules, no sexual stuff in front of the boys. They know my true identity. I’m helping them train as a team, so be nice. Also, possibly not all of you fighting for me? We’ll have plenty of time once we’re back to our normal life for that. I’m going to set them up here, just while they’re training.”

Namjoon nodded. “We could help train them. That way they could help us out, maybe take a shift so we can have a night off so that we can have nights together.”

“So we can raise her,” Seokjin whispered. “Better than my parents. Better than Jimin’s parents. She’s going to be so very loved.”

Jimin leaned against Seokjin, letting the oldest pet him. He was still in dog form, gaze following Mishil.

“Y/n-noona?” Yeonjun called tentatively.

“Living room,” You called softly.

The five boys came in after stripping off their winter gear, noses and cheeks red from the cold, but they looked like they had been playing in the snow—eyes bright and sparkly, still the breathy laughter present in most of them.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” You said, smiling at them.

They were grinning proudly.

“She’s the best baby,” Beomgyu said decidedly. “And you weren’t gone that long. I wouldn’t let them mess up in that short time period.”

“We’re not that bad,” Yeonjun pouted.

“I did the best thing and let Soobin-hyung, Beomgyu-hyung, and Yeonjun-hyung take care of her,” Hueningkai said, obviously joking just a little.

Taehyun shook his head. “He got the bottles ready. I stayed away. Especially after last time,” He said, looking slightly traumatized.

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” You agreed, getting them all mugs of hot chocolate. “Took me and Soobin to block that from your mind.”

Soobin was quietly looking at all of your loves until he spotted Mishil in Jin’s arms, then he nodded slightly. “So…the school?”

“Control of the building has been handed over to the temple. They’re going to rehabilitate the students and alter the school into something better.”

Yeonjun nodded. “But…we’re still going to watch it? Just in case the temple…?”

You nodded. “Safeguard, mostly. But we will also ensure that it does not fall into a path of evil again.”

“We’re all safe?” Taehyun asked.

“We’re all safe,” Namjoon confirmed this time, voice strong and confident again. “And we can’t thank you boys enough for protecting these two.”

“You did well,” Yoongi added, a little more quietly, but still in a praising tone. “Y/n told us that you’re forming your own team?”

Soobin nodded. “We work well together.”

“Cute!” Taehyung gushed in whisper. “Can we keep them?”

“They’re not pets,” You told him. “And I already told you we’re keeping them. We’re going to continue training, they’re going to continue living here until they feel ready to venture out and then you boys ,when you agree, are going to help them get their feet a little more wet.”

“Oh? We are, are we?” Namjoon countered, a laugh in his voice.

You nodded. “Yup. Because otherwise I’ll rain hell down upon all of you.”

“How would you do that?” He asked, folding his arms.

“Please don’t wake the baby,” Soobin begged, already covering his ears.

Namjoon’s face went slack and he backed up a few steps. “Right, okay, sounds good. Great even. I was just teasing. We already agreed to helping you and them, and all of that. Please don’t wake her, I am not ready for that.”

You sputtered into giggles. “I wasn’t going to wake the baby. I like my sleep.”

Everyone relaxed, quite noticeably.

You rolled your eyes, then froze as she started fussing. “Then again, she might wake herself up.”

“What do I do?” Jin asked, looking to you desperately. “Jungkook wasn’t this small when we started taking care of him!”

You snorted as Jungkook hissed protests, slipping over between Hoseok and Jin to carefully take her. “You boys have a lot to learn. Did you not read any of the books I left?”

“Four times,” Yoongi said, but still looked apprehensive. “But I think I only registered all of the information once.”

You sighed and shook your head as she started fussing more. “Well, I hope you’re ready for the crash-course of parenting.”

Beomgyu looked worried. “I’ll be on standby, just in case.”

“Appreciated,” You said, looking over all of your boys before getting up with her. “Come on. Lesson one, preparing a bottle.”

——

“Alright, now open your eyes!” Taehyung said excitedly.

You did, smiling immediately. It was perfect. Magical, even. It reminded you of their first base, with elements of all of them in it, but tempered with you and much softer. More feminine.

A perfect nursery for their princess.

“It’s perfect,” You told them, bringing her over to the bassinet and laying her down in it. “You did a great job.”

Jimin giggled and wrapped around you.

The others sort of crowded in to look at her.

“She’s gonna hate us,” Yoongi said softly, so affectionately.

“Why would she hate us?” Hoseok asked, sounding worried.

“Because we’re never going to let any guy within a hundred yards of her,” Namjoon answered.

“So, we really can’t teach her songs like we would other kids?” Jungkook asked.

“Not unless you want to potentially kill us or her on accident. Trust me, my parents didn’t even realize some of the songs that would be bad.” You leaned back against Jimin.

“So what can we sing?” Jin asked.

“ABC’s.”

Taehyung huffed. “What about—”

“Sshhh. She’s sleeping,” You whispered. “Let’s worry about that when she’s old enough to actually sing. Right now, she’s our perfect little baby. Enjoy it.”

They were quiet for a while.

“Can I teach her how to knock a guy out?” Jungkook asked.

“No!” Hoseok protested at the same time you replied, “Of course.”

Hoseok looked at you in horror.

You shrugged. “She’ll need to protect herself, Hobi. She’s an archivist. We’re a dying breed, you know.”

Jin wrapped his arms around Hoseok. “She’s right. Eventually we’re going to be busy and someone will come for her and we’re going to make her the gentlest and yet fiercest fighter this world has ever seen. Like you, Hobi.”

“I thought you were describing y/n,” Yoongi said, frowning. “She’s going to be just like y/n, but maybe with less running headfirst into danger.”

“Um, you realize that it’s sort of in the job description of Archivist to run head-first into danger?”

“Shush, let us dream,” Jungkook scolded softly. “About no danger, and blissful happiness.”

You were quiet for a while, listening to the birds outside. “There is another option.”

They glanced at you, and then led the way out of the nursery, carefully closing the door to let your daughter sleep in peace while you all retired to the living room. The guys had carefully searched and found this house for the nine of you, it was fairly dilapidated when they bought it, but they had been working so hard to fix it up well for you and Mishil. The younger guys had been working hard to help as well, especially when it came to missions and such. It wasn’t completely renovated yet, but it was fixed enough that you could live there safely with Mishil.

“What other option is there?” Jin asked carefully after stopping Namjoon from asking.

“We could never teach her about artifacts and the archives,” You said, looking at your hands. “It’s not…it’s not an easy road to walk. There are secrets, lies, danger, and so much…isolation. It could end with me.”

They were silent.

“No,” Jimin said firmly. “Never. Not that.”

“But—”

“No, y/n. Look, I know…I was really harsh on you back when we are at the school. I shouldn’t have supposed that you could tell us everything. Some things are better left unsaid. But there were so many times when we realized things would have been so much worse if you hadn’t been out here gathering artifacts. If you hadn’t taught Taehyung what you did, we would have all died before we even got to fighting the school. We were following a lead, and it led us to a museum basement. There was an artifact that…it brought out the worst in us. Taehyungie had some of your silk with him, and he managed to get the artifact away from us and teleport it somewhere safe.”

You looked at Taehyung, worried. “Where?”

“Oh, it’s sort of in Antarctica….” He looked like he had completely forgotten about it.

You nodded. “We’ll go get it later.”

“Anyway, if you hadn’t been doing your job and having Taehyung help you with it, we could have died. Your job is so important, even more so now that we have a daughter,” Jimin continued, voice soft. He met your gaze. “We can’t let your job end. We just have to find new ways of making your job, her future job, easier.”

“We don’t want you to change,” Hoseok told you, kissing your forehead. “Even if you make us worry.”

“Oh, and you guys don’t make me worry?”

“Oh, we definitely do,” Jin answered, smiling. “But you’ve never asked us to change—”

“Actually, she has, usually because we’re overlooking details and she wants us to slow down to take care of ourselves,” Namjoon said.

“Asking us to change and asking us to use common sense are not the same thing,” Yoongi contradicted, laughing.

You shook your head as they all started debating whether asking them to use common sense was asking them to change or not, some for and some against.

Your crazy, chaotic boys.

And you loved them so completely.

They were the melody in your heart.

Previous.

Masterlist. ~ Series Masterpost.

Tagging: @ephemeral-mindset, @alex–awesome–22, @bryvada, @missmoxxiesworld, @knjhe, @i-dont-even-know-fck

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londonfog-chan · 5 years

Text

The Trans!Reader x Jonathan Joestar That No One Asked For But is Getting Anyway Because Fuck Convention: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

This one goes out to all my people who requested a Trans!Reader insert on my other blogs, I’m trying to test the waters with this one to make sure I’m doing it justice. No one should ever have to feel bad about themselves and I want this to be my love letter to all of my trans folks out there.

...

[[MORE]]

At first, she didn’t recognize the young man standing alone on the hill. Maybe you’d been chased off by him, and she worried when she saw your box in his hand. Heartbroken, thinking that your treasure had been commandeered by a brute. But the wind betrayed the boy, billowing locks of hair and instantly she broke out into a run, the turquoise fabric of her dress flaring out behind her as she hitched up her skirts, her blonde hair trailing behind her like a cape.

“I am here!” she called your name, and when the young man turned she saw the friend she’d known since infancy.

“Oh my!” the lightest dusting of pink tinges her cheeks as she skids to a halt directly in front of you. “You look… Dashing! Such fanciful clothes.”

“I had to make an impression darling.” You reply, smiling shyly and holding a hat box closely to your chest. “My brother won’t miss the trousers nor the blouse, but the shoes… They’re far too big for me. And… And I’m unsure how to tie the cravat...”

“Don’t fret, I can fix it for you! Look, I’ve even brought some things for you to pin up your hair. We’ll have you all primped in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Like a mother, Erina Pendleton takes you between her knees on the grassy knoll. Armed with a brush and a coil of ribbon, she pulled and twisted your snarled tangles up and away from your face. You obediently pulled a man’s cap out of the hatbox and over your head as Erina finished with your hair and took your shoes off, pulling stockings from her basket and stuffing your shoes until they fit snugly when she tied the laces.

“Oh…” she smiles when she’s done, and for some reason it makes your heart tingle the slightest bit.

“What do you think?” you ask.

“I think… I think you’re positively handsome, and you seem to be less tightly wound. Especially around the eyes.”

You’re unsure of how you look, so you can’t say for certain that you feel the clothes have done anything to make you less of a wreck emotionally. Raising your arms over your head, you look at your shoes, the cravat Erina showed you how to tie around your neck, the tweed trousers. Everything is in muted colors, not a stitch of brightness to be seen save for the handkerchief peeping from your breast pocket. When you stole the clothes from the discarded trunk your brother left behind before he went to India, you felt exhilarated, frightened at the prospect of getting caught and possibly taking a switch for your boldness. Yet when your mother caught you taking them, she merely laughed and told you they wouldn't fit your brother even if you decided to fix them up, but if you wanted some play clothes they were more than adequate to serve that purpose. You decidedly felt deflated, a bit hurt she didn't really do anything and dismissed you as though you were an eccentric child playing at a game instead of a young man trying to come into his own. But you do feel something now that Erina has fixed you up… almost airy. And she is right, you don’t feel the strain around your eyes anymore. After a while however, you begin to squirm, indeed feeling something but not the freedom nor the personal acceptance you've been trying to achieve.

“My trousers chafe me so!” you complained. “Have they not managed to figure out a finer weave of fabric for the warmer months?!”

“Stop scratching! You’re being so vulgar!" Erina whines, but it does nothing to deter you from reaching into the band of your pants and scratching violently everywhere.

"Damn and blast!"

"Sophisticated gentlemen don't reach into their drawers and scratch in front of a lady!" she scolds, "You said you want to unleash the gentleman inside you, what would he say to this display?”

“Well right now the gentleman inside me wants me to tend to the war raging on my buttocks!”

Erina cries your name, begging you to stop scratching your rear end with a ferocity that nearly makes you roar in frustration. It does take quite a long time for you to relent, damning the conventions of polite society all the way and using rough language that the poor girl has unfortunately become accustomed to. For a while you complain some more about the clothes, the societal expectation to be covered at all times, the fact that neither gender is truly free of their own volition, and the revolution you wish to start for a society that is nothing short of anarchy.

"Everyone will be allowed to run stark naked if they wish to, or to be draped in silks and I'll make all these pompous aristocrats provide every necessity. I grow weary of hearing the necessities of decorum every five minutes when I simply wish to fulfill a human need!"

“Now, now…” Erina coos gently, brushing blades of grass from your trousers. “Look here, you’ve unsightly grass stains.

"If I must return to my flouncing hell I'll take care of it later." you told her. "Grass stains speak to a boy that craves adventure. An Odysseus!"

"I'm sure it does." she giggles. "But all this talk of treasure, we still haven’t taken care of the most important part.”

“… I’d nearly forgotten about that. Let me get her for you…”

You finally relinquish the tight hold you’ve been keeping on your hat box, slowly opening the lid and reaching in with both hands. Cradling your treasure as though it’s a child, you rock your precious doll back and forth, smoothing the cascading brown curls down and fixing her skirts. It takes a while for you to let go. You don’t want to let the poor thing go. She is far beyond a play thing, she was your bearer of the most heartfelt confessions and tears, the first to know of your beginning metamorphosis back when you feared Erina would call you horrific names if you told her your most guarded secret.

Now, when you look up at Erina, you know you’ve made the right decision to trust her. She scoots closer to you as you tremble, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and not once making a move to steal the doll from your grasp. In fact, she doesn’t presume to take it until you offer it to her, and then she treats it as though she is receiving a holy relic.

“Please…” you beseech your best friend, “Give her a good home, with plenty of love and affection. She likes to sleep beside your pillow in her box, and her favorite holiday is Easter, her favorite food is spice cake…”

“You can trust me, my dearest friend. I promise to take very good care of Aphrodite for you.”

Slender fingers reached forward to stroke your cheek, clearing away the tears that have fallen for the poor doll you relinquished. As she cleans your face, she tells you the doll will never leave her sight, fully prepared to cater to her every whim as though she's a princess and not made of wax. Yet Erina is right. You mustn’t cry. It’s only for a little while that Erina will have her, until you’re grown up and have a house of your own to keep your possessions. Unsure of your parent's reaction when you finally decide that they need to know they've lost a daughter and obtained a son, you told Erina it's better to keep Aphrodite away lest she is destroyed. You promised your dolly she'd be safer with Erina those nights you cuddled her, seeking reassurance from the persecution you knew you’d face from the rest of the world.

“When I’m a grown man, I’ll be a renowned physician.” You asserted aloud. “I’ll have a big house, millions of books, my piano, and I’ll play Aphrodite’s favorite songs for her every single day. If I am not accepted, then that will be fine. No family will be permitted to enter my abode except for you, my dearest Erina. We will have twenty dogs apiece, and I shall give them only the strongest names from Greco Roman literature.”

“Twenty apiece?!” Erina exclaimed. “Don’t you think that’s a mite excessive?”

“Not at all, in fact I think that’s hardly a proper minimum requirement for a house.”

All this talk of dogs and estates with room for a man and his doll makes you excited, and you cannot help but take your borrowed handkerchief from your pocket to wipe your face. The wind evidently shared your sentiments, as the minute you loosened your grip the scrap of fabric floated away on a gust that made you clutch your hat for fear of losing it.

“Oh no!” Erina whimpered. “I hand embroidered that handkerchief!”

“A thousand pardons darling! I’ll fetch it back!” you cried, and you’re up and running before she can stop you.

As you chased the scrap of fabric, you couldn’t help but feel elated. There was no tug at your waist that made your insides hurt and your breathing shallow, no skirts to trip you and confine you to a chair where you practiced the same stitch over and over until your fingers felt they would break. None of the insecurity and strangeness at inhabiting a body that did not feel like it belonged to you. You only felt the wind at your face, the hard earth below your brother’s shoes as you ran… No longer did you feel trapped, like a lion pacing a tiny cage in the circus.

You felt elated at last. As though finally, after all this time, you were living your truth.

It was Erina’s screams that finally snapped you from your euphoria. Pocketing the runaway handkerchief, you began your course back to the grassy knoll where you left her, fearing the worst when you heard her crying out “please! Please put her down!” Your heart sank. Not only was your dearest friend being assaulted, but her tormentor evidently had commandeered Aphrodite because there was only one other “her” that Erina could be referring to. She never referred to you in the old way anymore, not since your confession.

You made it just in time to see a young man being beaten to the ground, two other snot nosed brats, had commandeered Aphrodite and you heard talk of them going to lift up her skirts to see if she'd been made with all the right parts…

And the last thing you remembered was seeing red, absolutely seething with rage as you put a shoe up the ass of one of the boys and nearly launched Aphrodite into Erina’s arms. All the frustration, all the anger you felt your entire life of living a life that wasn’t yours, it came out in the form of an unchecked feral response that made the boys cry out for mercy as they left you, Erina, and the downtrodden young man alone. By the time you'd let them go, they could only hobble off pathetically. In your rage you vaguely recalled screaming to them that perhaps you'd check if they'd been given all the right parts, one of the boys had taken your brother's shoe to the groin and was being dragged along by his companion. Your face was dripping with sweat and tears, and your hands were sore and bloody. The blonde didn’t know who to comfort first, but when your eyes befell on the strapping young lad she too went to his aid.

“Don’t touch me!” he whined. “I didn’t do it for you, you know! A gentleman should always stand for a damsel in distress!”

“… then I suppose a thank you is in order for me?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. Even you're shocked at the personality you've assumed in your new clothes. With little effort your voice has become commanding, a general's voice that is full of conviction. Your stance is confident, centered, alone in your room you often perused illustrations in books of the matadores from Spain and admired the way they carried themselves in the charcoal drawings. Compared to the uptight men of this era, you swore to yourself you'd reject the stiffness of aristocracy and instead would carry yourself as unyielding as a man facing a bull. The young man looks up at you, crimson with rage, shaking and nose streaming carmine down his face. He and Erina have the same bewildered and intimidated expression, and he flinches but does not lash out when you heave him to his feet. He finally bolts from the clearing, insulting you as though you’re the one that beat him to a pulp, and for quite some time you and Erina stare after his retreating form.

"You brute!" he whimpers as he runs away.

“Who in the blue hell…” you begin, and you see Erina approaching with an unfamiliar handkerchief in hand to wrap your bloody knuckles.

Through the blood, the two of you manage to read the words “Jonathan Joestar”, looking back at the expanse of land where the boy had run off to even more confused and left with far more questions than answers.

But one thing is certain and you loathe it to be the first thought you have in your emergence into boyhood: this Jonathan Joestar fellow is the most handsome man you've ever seen in your life.

#jonathan joestar #jonathan joestar x reader #jojo’s bizarre adventure phantom blood #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba reader insert #trans reader #ftm reader #jojo’s bizzare adventure

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written-adventures · 4 years

Text

Bacchanal: Last Light Pt. 54

“We can find him, Lance.” Arro took Lance’s hand. “You can find him.”

Lance looked back at Arro. Sincere, encouraging Arro. He settled on the floor with a deep, steadying breath. He closed his eyes then groaned when nothing happened. He looked up at Arro almost pleadingly.

“I’ve never really used them like this before. Can you guide me?”

“I’m here for you, though I don’t think you need me much anymore.” He dropped to the floor, taking Lance’s hands. “Focus on him. Picture P.K. in your mind.”

Lance squeezed his eyes shut, his face scrunched in concentration.

“Don’t tense up.” Arro chuckled. “I know you’re worried but you’re not pooping, you’re looking for someone.”

“Don’t laugh at me!” Lance snapped as Yuri laughed nervously.

“Sorry,” Yuri coughed. “It’s a serious moment and then Arro says pooping.”

“Grow up,” Lance grumbled. He relaxed and brought up a memory of his brother’s face.

“There we go,” Arro rubbed circles against Lance’s hand with a thumb. “Where is he?”

Lance opened his eyes and looked around the living room. But he didn’t see the living room, instead, he saw P.K. in a forest clearing. He sat at the feet of a man in tight leopard print pants, gingerly rubbing the black and blue handprints on P.K.’s neck.

“He’s… in a forest,” Lance said. “Like a party. A bunch of people are dancing and drinking. He’s hurt.” There was so much pain in that one word, that Arro instantly dropped his hand and hugged him, not that Lance seemed to notice.

“Is he still near Boston?” Yuri asked. “There’s a lot of forests here.”

Lance looked around and a familiar skyline came into view.

“He’s at Walden Pond.”

The three of them stared at the closed gate to the park from inside the car.

“Let’s go.” Arro got out and placed his hands on the car. The paint shimmered, then the car vanished from sight. “We can walk the rest of the way.”

“What did you- ” Lance nodded, clearly impressed. “Nice trick.”

“I haven’t been here in forever,” Yuri said as he locked the car, it’s lights flashing around empty space. “We’d come here on school trips to see Thoreau’s cabin.”

They ducked under the gate and made their way along the road.

“Speak for yourself. Field trips were not a normal thing in the Knighton household,” Lance said.

“No, they weren’t a normal thing for Lance,” Yuri said. “P.K. has been on lots of field trips.”

“That’s because he’s a nerd.” Lance shrugged. “I’ll be counting on you, Yuri.”

Yuri nodded. “He’s my family, too, you know. I’ll do what I can.” He looked around at the oddly peaceful forest. “Weird place for a rager.”

“Rager?” Arro asked. “Crazy party.”

It wasn’t hard to find said rager. The sound reached them before they stumbled into a clearing.

“This is the textbook definition of a rager.” Yuri stared open-mouthed at the dancing crowd. “What the hell is this?”

“Molly probably,” Lance grumbled. “Not the kind of thing P.K. should see.”

“There he is!” Yuri pointed at a raised stage. P.K. sat at the foot of what seemed to be a throne. The man sprawled in the throne gestured at the newcomers and P.K. turned slowly to them

“P.K.!” Lance shoved through the crowd. “P.K., it’s me! I’m here!”

P.K. stared at him for a moment, then turned to the enthroned man. The man nodded, smiling encouragingly, and P.K. finally jumped down to meet his brother.

“Lance!” P.K. waved. His voice was almost normal, only a little hoarse. “You found me! I had to be sure it was you!”

P.K. launched himself into Lance’s arms. Lance held him so tight he had to shove him away. For a moment fear passed over his face, but when he saw how confused and worried Lance looked, he relaxed. “Come on, you have to meet the guy who saved me!”

“Saved you?” Lance let P.K. drag him back to the stage with Arro and Yuri in tow. “We saved you!”

“No, you didn’t.” P.K. laughed. “You didn’t take me from a cave guarded by a cyclops and two insane gods.”

“I did that, thank you.” The most beautiful man Lance, Arro, and Yuri had ever seen lounged in the throne. He wore only a pair of tight, leopard print pants. His dark, curly hair cascaded across his shoulders but his eyes caught Arro’s attention. There was no visible iris, just solid gold from corner to corner. Like the statutes of the gods in Apura. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Lance.”

Lance covered P.K.’s eyes. “Put that away.”

“God, Lance, calm down.” P.K. shoved his brother’s hands away. “Dionysus is fine! He’s nice.”

“Dionysus? Are you high, too?”

The beautiful man threw his head back with laughter. “What do you think, Yuri? Am I Dionysus?”

Lance and Arro turned to Yuri, who nodded. “After everything I’ve seen lately, I completely believe that.”

“Who is Dionysus?” Arro sighed.

“An ancient god of wine and fertility,” Yuri explained.

“And parties. And rebirth.” Dionysus counted the phrases off on his fingers. “But right now, I’m this delightful boy’s rescuer.” He gestured at P.K. “My brother was- is- angry at you. I’d say ‘watch out’ but Ares is always angry and he’s a fool.”

“Stop with the weird names!” Arro grumbled. “Who took P.K.?

Dionysus turned his wine-dark eyes to Arro. “Someone determined to keep you from your mission, Traveler.”

Arro clenched his jaw. “Do you work against them?”

“I work against no one.” Dionysus clapped his hands and the party-goers dropped like rag-dolls, save for one man who stayed awake by the refreshment table. “I don’t really work for them either, though.”

“Did you… did you kill them?” P.K. gasped.

“No, kiddo, they aren’t dead. Just sleeping,” Dionysus said. “Put simply, Arro, I rescued P.K. because I wanted to. I do not appreciate taking hostages. Apollo said you would come and I put my faith in my brother.” He smiled fondly. “So many long years; he hasn’t disappointed me yet. I think you understand that, Lance.”

Lance glanced back at P.K. and nodded. “I do.”

“Can you give us anything to go off of?” Arro asked. “You must know why I’m here.”

“I do.” Dionysus fell quiet for a moment. “I can’t help you much more than this, though. It’s one thing to steal a toy from one of my brothers, it's another to give out family secrets. You need the Sphinx. Find her where she waits, Traveler. She has the answers you seek.”

“Wait, like the one in Egypt? I thought you were Greek?” Lance got the distinct feeling they were being played with.

Dionysus looked him up and down. “You really do look like her, you know? I adored Pyrrha once upon a time and sought to please her. You are nothing like her, yet eerily similar.” He leaned over and took Lance’s chin in his hand, pulling him closer. “Perhaps I can have the fun with you I could not with her?”

“Perhaps not!” Arro knocked his hand away.

Dionysus laughed, stood, and the throne vanished. “This isn’t goodbye, kiddo. I’ll see you around.”

P.K. threw his skinny arms around Dionysus’s chest. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Dionysus ruffled P.K.’s hair. “Don’t forget to say bye to Telemachus.”

P.K. hurried over to the man still standing at the drinks table. “Bye, Cyclops.” he hugged the ruggedly handsome man. “I hope I see you again.”

“I’d like that, Brat.” Telemachus laughed. “Be careful.”

“No promises but I’ll try.” P.K. smiled.

“Telemachus?” Yuri gasped. “Wait, we can’t leave! He’s Odysseus’s son! I have to ask him-”

Telemachus just waved before he and Dionysus disappeared.

“Damn it!” Yuri huffed. “We better see him again.”

Lance, almost pouting, stared at the spot they vanished from. “He ignored my question…”

Yuri smiled suddenly. “He doesn’t have to answer,” he said. “She’s in Thebes.”

#Last Light #Last Light story #my writing

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mythologyfolklore · 4 years

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Ares and Athena through the years - Ch. 15

Chapter Fifteen: The Odyssey, Final Part

After turning Odysseus into an elderly and ugly beggar and letting him know, what his son was up to, Athena flew to Sparta to inform Telemakhos, that he had to return home.

Odysseus himself on the other hand wandered through the landscape, until he found the house of his swineherd. There he was attacked and nearly ripped apart by the guard dogs. Fortunately, the swineherd saw what was going on and drove the dogs away.

After inviting him into his home and giving him food and drink, they bonded over their misery and Odysseus was pleased to hear, that Eumaios (that was the swineherd's name) wished for nothing more than his true king's safe return.

The “beggar” told a fib, that he had once been a rich man from Crete, but then had been struck by fate and now had nothing, but the rags he was wearing. He also lied, that he had heard of hims- uh, the great Odysseus. Eumaios was obviously sceptical, like any sane man would have been.

Seeing, that he wouldn't convince the other, the disguised hero suggested a bet and the swineherd agreed.

Then the latter and his fellow servants slaughtered a pig, sacrificed to the gods and the local Nymphai and then shared the meat with him and among themselves.¹

Later Zeus apparently thought it would be funny to let it storm and rain all night long.

Since Odysseus had nothing but his rags, he tricked the swineherd into letting him borrow his cloak.

Then everyone lay down to sleep.

Alone Eumaios didn't stay inside the house and preferred to sleep with the pigs outside.

Odysseus noticed and his heart was warmed at this display of dutifulness and loyalty.

Meanwhile, Telemakhos was having the time of his life in Sparta at the wealthy court of Menélaos and Helene, the godlike and glorious pair.

One night, he was visited by the goddess Athena in a dream.

“It's time to go back home”, she urged, “Even her family is pressuring your mother to remarry. Return home, before it's too late and she will be forced to take a new husband. You know what always happens, when a woman remarries. And another thing: her suitors are lurking along the channel between Ithaka and Samos, plotting to murder you. Sail another way home, at night and land at a more secret spot on Ithaka. Once there, spend the rest of the night at the hut of Eumaios, but send the ship and your companions to town.”

In the morning Telemakhos and his new friend, Nestor's son Peisistratos went to Menélaos and Helene and informed them, that they wished to depart. The king and queen quickly went to prepare splendid guest presents for the young men, beautiful items of both material and personal value; despite everything, neither Menélaos nor Helene had lost any of their generosity.

“Farewell”, Menélaos spoke, “And say hello to Nestor from me. He was like a father to me too², when we were at war with the Trojans.”

The two young men promised to do so.

Right in that moment, an eagle swooped down from the sky to kill a goose in the yard, startling several servants.

Peisistratos turned to Menélaos: “What does this mean? Is this omen directed to you or to us?”

Menélaos thought hard, but it was Helene, who answered: “Allow me. I know what it means, for the King of the Skies himself is my father. It's simple: the eagle that just slew the goose is Odysseus, coming home from his wanderings. The goose stands for the insolent suitors he will vanquish. Your father, Telemakhos, will soon be home or is already there and plotting his revenge.”

“Oh, may you be right!”, Telemakhos cried, “And I shall honour you like a goddess, if so!”

They said their goodbyes and left.

First the two princes returned to Pylos and Telemakhos dropped his new friend off.

“Say hi to Nestor and give him my apologies”, he spoke, “But I can't waste any time here and need to get home quickly.”

Peisistratos grinned: “Knowing my dad, he'll insist that you stay as his guest for a few days. He's really bull-headed, you know. Doesn't take 'no' for an answer. So you better sneak away, before he notices you.”

Telemakhos grinned back, said goodbye and quickly went back aboard.

The ship was about to leave the harbour of Pylos, ere Nestor could catch them and throw a hissy fit, because they hadn't even stopped long enough to say hi, when a stranger approached Telemakhos. He introduced himself as Theoklymenos a fugitive from Argos and gifted seer and begged the prince to take him along, as he was being pursued. Telemakhos pitied the man and consented.

On their way across the sea, the gods sent them good wind and they made quick progress.

When the sun went down, Odysseus' son bid the crew to make a detour to a more remote shore of Ithaka under the veil of darkness.

Meanwhile Odysseus was sitting with Eumaios and the other men at dinner.

Still wanting to test his hospitality, he informed the swineherd that he wanted to go to town the next day to beg. Or he could go and offer his services to the suitors for just a bit of food.

Eumaios stared at him, aghast. “Are you suicidal? Those men are violent and impious and have servants of their own, young and well-dressed men with pretty faces. No, stay here, where no one is bothered by your presence. But Odysseus' son will soon come home, he will give you food and clothes. Then you can go wherever you like, just … stay away from those brutes.”

Odysseus relented, wishing that Zeus would like this serving man as much as he did.

“But tell me about Odysseus' family”, he requested, “How are they doing? Who of them is still alive and who has descended to the underworld?”

“Well …”

Laertes was still alive, but living in misery away from the palace and wasting away from grief for his late wife and missing son. The old queen had passed away from heartache.

“… As for our queen Penelope … well, we can't expect kindness from her, ever since those cursed men have invaded our home and brought nothing but bale. As much as we want to speak to her, she has enough grief as it is.”

Later Odysseus and Eumaios were tending the fire, when the former noticed the dogs running around with wagging tails.

“Someone's coming, but the dogs aren't barking”, he pointed out to Eumaios. “That must be someone you know.”

He had just finished his sentence, when a young man about twenty, with chestnut hair and sharp mossy green eyes, entered the yard. Eumaios promptly dropped everything and went to welcome him, like a father would welcome his sorely missed son. There were lots of tears from the older and kind, soothing words and smiles from the other.

Odysseus' heart almost stopped, when he recognised his own son and he really wanted to be part of that, but had to contain himself.

Oh gods, how my baby boy has grown!

“How is the situation?”, Telemakhos inquired.

“Still awful.”

“Ah, nothing has changed then. Anyway, good to see you, my friend. And may I ask, who is this guest of yours?”

Eumaios related to him what he had heard.

The prince frowned. “Oh … oh dear. I will see, what I can do. Eumaios, I think you should keep him here for now. I will bring guest gifts to him and provisions, so he won't eat you poor. I would rather not allow him to go up to my hall, where the suitors are vying for my mother's hand. Their blasphemy and impertinence knows no bounds and it would break my heart to see them mistreat and disrespect this poor fellow.”

Odysseus took the opportunity and cleared his throat: “Excuse me, if you don't mind? I already heard about the behaviour of those men. That sounds really outrageous. Why do you just let them do as they please in your father's house? If I was your age or, say, the king himself, coming home from his wanderings, I would make them pay for their impudence in blood!”

Sadly, his son told him what the problem was.

Then he asked the swineherd to go up to the palace and tell Penelope, that her son was back home and would come to see her the next day. So Eumaios did.

This was just the moment Athena had been waiting for.

She appeared to Odysseus (but not to Telemakhos) and waved at him. He understood and followed her outside. The dogs sensed her presence and all began to whimper and cower in fear.

“It's time”, Athena spoke, “for your son to know you, Odysseus. You need to begin to plot the demise of your enemies together with him. I will be near at all times, for I too thirst for battle.”

With that she stripped the illusion off of him and restored him to his younger, vigorous and noble-looking self.

“Go back”, she said, “Your son has been wanting for you long enough, don't you agree?”

Telemakhos was thunderstruck, when the stranger returned from the outside as a strong, kingly looking man in his prime.

“Did you just … shapeshift?!”, he gasped, “Zeus have mercy on me! You're a god! Oh please, show us kindness and we will give you the best sacrifices we have to offer-”

“Whoa there! Settle down!”, the other man cried, “Don't compare me to the gods, it's as blasphemous as it is embarrassing. I'm your father! The man who has been kept away from you for twenty years! I'm home!”

And embraced him tearfully.

Telemakhos' head was spinning. “W-wait! This is too good to be true! I can't believe such a crass thing! How do I know, that I'm not being deceived by a Daimon? You can't be a mere mortal, you went outside as an elderly beggar and returned as a nobleman in his prime!”

“This was the will of Pallas Athena”, the older man explained, “She cast an illusion on me to make me unrecognisable and now she has stripped it away. It is easy for the gods to beautify or deface mortals at will.”

The younger man looked the other in the eyes. Often had he heard from others (especially his mother), that he had his father's eyes. And when he looked into the other's, they were the same as his own, only sharper, older and more melancholy.

Now Telemakhos burst into tears himself, hugged back and they both cried their hearts out.

Once they calmed down, Odysseus told his son about everything that had happened to him.

Then father and son began to make plans on how to proceed further.

At the palace, Telemakhos' companions and crew arrived, at the same time as Eumaios.

They informed Penelope, that her son was home and would be joining her soon, which made the grieving queen feel significantly better.

The suitors were miffed at those news and collectively went out into the yard to plot.

Their leader Antinoos (who also was one of the biggest dicks) suggested, that since their ambush had failed, they should try again and kill him more discreetly, before he could tell anyone, that they had tried to kill him.

Right in that moment, a livid Penelope herself stepped outside.

“YOU!”, she shouted furiously at Antinoos, “You bale-smith! You insolent fool! People used to say, that you're one of the best in counsel and speech, but I have seen nothing but the opposite from you! Have you forgot, that the King of the Skies himself is witness to all supplicants? Need I remind you, how your own father came here as a fugitive? A former pirate, who had incurred the wrath of both the people of Ithaka and of our allies, the Thresprotians, for attacking them! They wanted to kill him and raid his property, but my dear Odysseus intervened. And you! All you ever do here is consume his own goods without compensation, woo his wife and now you want to murder his only son! Cease your murder plots this instant and tell the others to do the same!”

It was Eurymakhos, who intervened and assured the angered queen, that no one was seriously plotting a murder (which was a lie; the only one who wasn't plotting was Amphinomos).

Penelope gave everyone a death glare and returned to her chambers, where she cried herself to sleep.

Next morning, Telemakhos decided, that he shouldn't let his mother wait any longer and prepared return to his palace.

Eurykleia, the old first maid saw him first and ran up to welcome him home. She was quickly followed by the rest of the household staff, until Penelope herself exited her chambers to see what was going on.

Tearfully she embraced her son and welcomed him home.

“My sweet light!”, she sobbed, “I feared I would never see you again. How could you just skulk out of my house without telling me?! Now you must tell me all about your journey!”

“Later”, Telemakhos promised, “First we need to properly invite the stranger I brought along from Pylos. And I really could use a bath. As for you, freshen yourself up and go to the house altar with the maids. Pray to the gods and promise them the best sacrifices we can give them, if Zeus will grant us retribution at last.”

Penelope did so.

When the young man came out refreshed, Athena made him more handsome than he already was, so that everyone who saw him stopped to marvel at his stateliness.

Maybe I should add 'Goddess of beauty' to my domains, she thought drily. Aphrodite's face would be absolutely priceless!

The young prince ignored the empty wheedling of the suitors and sat with his father's old companions, who asked him about everything that had occurred to him.

Later he finally reported to his mother what he had learned on his trip.

At that opportunity, his guest Theoklymenos approached Penelope and proclaimed, that Odysseus was already home and would soon end the wrong-doings of the suitors. Penelope didn't believe him, but still promised him riches, if his word came true.

In the meantime Odysseus (again disguised as a beggar) and Eumaios were going into town.

On the way they met the goatherd Melantheus, who immediately began to mock the two.

Eumaios scowled: “If Odysseus was here, he would shut your mouth!”

“Hah!”, Melantheus barked, “This will never happen! Your Odysseus is dead and will never return! And I hope that Telemakhos will soon be dead too!” The goatherd cackled and left.

Odysseus' blood was boiling, but he had to contain himself.

The two continued on their way.

As they came near to the royal palace, someone noticed them: Argos, Odysseus' faithful dog.

Twenty years before, the king had tamed him to be his hunting dog, but hadn't got to take delight him him, as he had been torn away from home. A long time ago, Argos had been well cared for and a stately dog, but these days he lay in a corner, neglected and plagued by ticks and fleas.

As soon as he heard the voice of Odysseus, he weakly lifted his head and ears.

Recognising his master, Argos happily wagged his tail, but was too weak to approach.

Odysseus saw his faithful pet and wanted to cry.

But he blinked away his tears and instead asked Eumaios: “Why is that poor dog lying there beside the dung heap? He must have been such a fine and good pet once. Was he a swift hunting dog, or was his owner just keeping him for luxury?”

“The former”, the swineherd answered sadly, “And if he was still in the same shape as he was, when our lord departed for Troy, you would be dazzled by his speed and strength. He was the best hunting dog a man could have. But now, that his master is away, the faithless servants neglect him.”

Odysseus' heart shattered, but he couldn't show it.

But Argos, having seen his master again after twenty years, finally passed on.

Seeing, that his faithful companion was no more, Odysseus swallowed his tears and continued on his way with Eumaios, hating that he couldn't grieve for his good boy openly.

They had just snuck into the hall and Telemakhos had given Odysseus some food.

After eating that, Athena advised him to beg the suitors for mild alms, just to see who had a modicum of decency.

He did so and most were pitying enough to give him some food.

But when Melantheus, the rude goatherd from earlier, told them that the swineherd had brought the beggar here, Antinoos verbally attacked poor Eumaios for his “impertinence” in bringing another freeloader here (which was hilarious, since the suitors were all freeloaders).

Eumaios was visibly upset, but kept his composure.

Telemakhos came to his aid. “Leave him alone”, he snapped at Antinoos, “And the stranger too! Really and that wants to be the future husband of my mother! Give him alms – it's the duty of the rich to the poor.”

Antinoos made a snappish retort and went back to his own meal, without complying.

The others had no objection to giving just a bit of food each of them; after all their meal was abundant.

But when the hero politely asked Antinoos for just a crumb of bread and the other just insulted him, Odysseus reproached his disrespect and unkindness. This made the suitor so angry, that he threw a chair at the older man. He didn't even stagger, but his anger grew and grew, though he still contained himself.

Even the other suitors were indignant at this and they chewed him out; after all everyone knew that sometimes the gods themselves came down from the heavens as lowly travellers to test the righteousness and hospitality of mortals.

Yet their irritation was nothing compared to the anger of Telemakhos, Penelope and some of the maids, who collectively wished to see this disrespectful prick dead.

The hero in disguise meanwhile sat in a corner and ate what he had been given.

Later Iros, another beggar from the city came to ask for food.

When he saw the older man sitting by the door, he told him to go away.

Odysseus glared and refused, saying there was enough for both of them.

Then the two beggars got into an argument.

The amused suitors suggested a fight and the winner would receive one of the big goat stomachs that were roasting above the fire.

The younger beggar had confidence in his youth, while Odysseus just considered, whether he should kill the other with one blow or just break his bones.

He decided on the latter, royally kicked the other's arse and dragged him out of the hall.

Impressed by the show and by his fighting prowess, the other men awarded him the promised goat stomach.

One of the friendlier ones, a young man named Amphinomos, toasted to him and wished him good fortune. Odysseus found this endearing and warned the younger to watch his back. This made Amphinomos so uncomfortable, that he spent the rest of the night brooding about it.

Not that it was of any use; his fate was already decided by the gods.

Soon after, Penelope came outside to speak to her suitors.

Athena had done her thing again and restored her to the full flower of her youth, while she had been asleep, so the suitors would be so captivated by her beauty as to cater to her every whim.

And indeed, they were struck by desire and began to ooh and aah, when they saw the woman they were wooing step into the room, albeit her face was veiled, as usual when she left her chambers.

Penelope whoever first said to her son: “Really, my son, you were more sensible when you were younger. How could you just stand by as these men here abused the poor stranger so terribly and disgracefully?”

“Your anger is completely understandable”, Telemakhos responded, “However, you must remember, that it would have been me against all of them. I have no helper here, there was nothing I could have done. All we can do is pray to Father Zeus, Pallas Athena and Phoibos Apollon, that these brutes will suffer a fate like Iros or worse.”

Thus they spoke to each other, until Eurymakhos approached them, another really unpleasant individual among the suitors.

“Oh shrewd daughter of Ikarios, if everyone saw you now!”, he cried, “You would have a lot more suitors in your hall by tomorrow, for you're the first of women in beauty, growth and mind.”

“I'm not nearly as beautiful as I once was”, Penelope replied, “My beauty and growth have been diminished by grief for the awesome hero, whom the gods took away from me. If he came back to me, my happiness alone would restore my beauty, but now I waste away without him by the will of the cruel Moirai. Before he left, he entrusted his states into my care, that I would watch over them and over his dear parents and that, once our son has grown into a man, I should leave the house and remarry, if I wanted to. That dreaded day is nigh and I will be forced to agree to the remarriage I loathe so. Your conduct causes me additional pain; never has there been such usage among suitors! Any honest men wooing and competing for a wealthy woman would bring life stock of their own to eat and rich gifts for the bride's family – instead of consuming the goods of another without any compensation.”

This prompted the men to send their servants to fetch precious gifts from their own quarters.

Penelope accepted them and retreated to her chambers, while her maids carried the valuables after her.

Odysseus' heart swelled with pride at how his dear wife had beguiled these men into showering her with gifts.

That's my wife!

In the evening, after Odysseus had endured more abuse from some of the worse suitors, Telemakhos had finally ordered them all to go to bed and sleep off their rush.

Finally alone, he and his son began to put their own murder plot into motion, first by hiding the armour and weapons of the suitors.

When Athena conjured a golden light to lead the way in the dark corridor, Telemakhos became aware of her presence and ooh-ed and aah-ed.

His father shushed him, saying that now was not the time to question anything and that this was simply the way of the Immortals, to stand by the mortals they liked, while remaining unseen.

Once they had hidden all the weaponry, Telemakhos went to sleep.

Alone again, he continued to hold counsel with Athena, until Penelope entered with some of her maids.

While the servants tidied up the mess the suitors had made earlier, one of the young girls insulted Odysseus for no reason. He just got to make a warning retort, before the queen herself interfered.

“Enough! Don't think that I don't notice your perpetually outrageous behaviour! Now shoo! For as you all know, I wish to talk to this man.”

The first maid brought a chair for Odysseus and all servants saw themselves out.

Once they were alone, Penelope addressed him: “So, won't you tell me, who you are, who your parents are and where you come from?”

“I will tell you everything”, Odysseus said, “except for that; my story is very depressing and will just make us both more miserable. I don't want to anger anyone by bawling inside your home, like a sad drunk.”

“I can't become more miserable than I already am”, Penelope returned and told him of her own misfortune.

For many years, she had been waiting for her husband to come home. After sixteen years, everyone apparently had decided, that she was now a widow – even though there was no proof he was dead – and men from Ithaka and the surrounding islands had come to woo for her unwilling hand.

She had claimed, that she needed to weave a fine burial shroud for her father-in-law. They had relented to give her the time to finish it. So she had weaved by day, but each night she had loosened the threads, so she'd had to start anew. This trick had worked for three years, until some treacherous maids had caught her and ratted her out to the suitors.

“Now I'm running out of excuses, my parents are pressuring me to remarry and my son is sick of these men consuming his property. I'm at the end of my wits. Even so, tell me your story.”

Odysseus yielded and served her the same made-up tragic life story he had told everyone, who had asked. He also claimed that he had met hims- uhh, the great hero Odysseus and hosted him for a few weeks, before sailing on to Troy.

This made Penelope burst into tears and wail for her husband, who was sitting in front of her, but she didn't know.

He really wanted nothing more than to hug her and never let her go, but he still needed to keep his act up.

“Just to be sure”, the poor woman sniffled, “Describe him to me. Just as you remember him.”

Odysseus frowned: “Oh dear … this will be tough, after all it was twenty years ago! Let's see …”

And described in great detail the very attire he had worn on the day he had sailed from Ithaka.

She cried harder, recalling that she had made the clothes for him.

After calming down, she accepted his tale.

He promised her, that her husband – ahem, was already here, ahem – would soon be coming home.

She didn't buy it, but ordered for someone to wash his feet.

The one chosen for this task was an elderly servant, whom Odysseus recognised as his nurse.

Eurykleia noted that he resembled her missing king.

“I used to hear that a lot”, he told her, “That he and I looked similar.”

She filled a basin with water and he scooted away from the fire into the shadows, fearing that she would recognise him.

As the old woman was washing his feet, her fingers brushed over the scar on his thigh.

She froze and old memories flooded her mind …

Antikleia had just given birth to her and Laertes' child.

The nurse was holding the screaming baby in her lap.

Suddenly the door opened and in came the mother's father: Autolykos, son of Hermes and a shapeshifting thief.

His teal-coloured eyes skimmed over the scene and he smiled.

Eurykleia lifted the baby from her lap and handed him to his grandfather.

“Come and say hello your grandson”, she invited him.

As soon as the baby boy sat on his grandfather's knee, he stopped wailing and stretched out his arms.

Autolykos laughed and held his finger out for those tiny hands to hold.

The nurse's smile broadened at the sight and after exchanging a glance with the proud parents, she asked the old man: “Do you want to pick a name for your grandchild?”

The demigod thought for a moment: “Hm … I was wroth at the world, when I came here. Give him the name I tell you: 'Odysseus', 'The Wrathful One'. For his life will be a hard, but glorious one. When he comes to age, send him up to my own property. For I have many presents I want to give to my grandson, when he becomes a man.”

When Odysseus grew to age, his parents sent him to visit his grandfather and uncles.

They welcomed him happily.

Later the day, he and his uncles went out to hunt, but he was attacked by a boar. He managed to kill it, only after the beast's tusks dug into his thigh, ripping away a chunk of his flesh.

His uncles took care of the wound and carried him and their spoils back to their father's home.

Autolykos healed his grandson and sent him back home to his parents with lots of presents.

There Odysseus told everyone how he had got that scar, which later on became one of his trademark features.

Eurykleia burst into tears and sobs: “It's you! You're Odysseus, my dear child! And I didn't even recognise you, before I touched your scar! You're back!”

In her joy she wanted to go and tell Penelope the good news, but Odysseus grabbed her.

“Not a word!”, he hissed, “Do you want to get me killed?! Keep your mouth shut! For if a god vanquishes the suitors through me, I will spare no one, not even you, my nurse.”

Eurykleia smiled crookedly, completely unfazed by the fact, that her master was gripping her by the neck. But she promised to remain silent.

“When you have defeated them”, she whispered, “Shall I tell you the names of the disloyal household members?”

“No need, I'll spot them on my own”, he declined.

She went to get new water and finished washing and salving his feet.

Odysseus scooted closer to the fire again to warm himself and concealed the scar with his rags.

Penelope, who had been distracted the entire time, continued their conversation from earlier.

��Before we go to bed, there are a few more things I want to ask you. Your words and behaviour have shown that you're a witty and clever man, so I would be obliged, if you could interpret this dream for me: I was standing in my yard and geese were picking up grain from the ground, when an eagle swooped down from the sky and killed all of them. I wept for the loss, when suddenly the eagle began to talk! He told me, that he was my beloved Odysseus, that the geese were my suitors and that he would be coming home soon to smite them all. Then I woke up. What does it mean?”

“Exactly as Odysseus told you”, the hero replied, “What you saw was the near future. He will come home and kill them all. It's as simple as that.”

Not quite that simple, but whatever.

“I don't know”, Penelope said doubtfully, “But I have an idea: tomorrow I will hold a competition. My husband has an extremely strong recurved bow that so far only he has been able to string. I will put up twelve axes with hollow heads and only a man equal to my husband will be able to string the bow and shoot an arrow through the twelve axe heads.”

I'm so in love with this woman!

“That's an amazing idea!”, Odysseus praised her. “Waste no time in holding the competition. But now it's time to sleep; soon it will be morning.”

She bid him good night and went to bed.

As he lay down near the fire, he noticed some of the maidservants sneaking out of their rooms into the suitor's quarters. He fumed with anger, but swallowed it – he had seen so many more outrageous things after all.

Right as he had finished that thought, he heard Athena's voice.

“Why are you still awake?”, she questioned, “Does it not soothe you to come back to see your wife still being so faithful to you after all these years? And that your child has grown into the best son a man could wish for?”

“You're right”, he agreed, “But I have worries – I don't think I can stand against so many suitors all by myself. And if I do, what will happen hereafter? Many will be angered at the murder of the entire noble population of my kingdom and those around.”

He heard her huff in frustration, before she began to scold him: “Alright, Odysseus, listen up! First off, where is your courage? Have you left it behind in Troy?! Secondly, have you forgot, that I'm always looking out for you? Many other men trust lesser companions than a god and you're still so doubtful? With me by your side, Odysseus, you could defeat hundreds of men – you did back in the Trojan War, just as Diomedes and Menélaos did. You know that. Mark my words, son of Laertes: in the morning you, your son and I will slaughter those many foes and leave none of them alive. As for the aftermath, leave that to me. Now sleep, for you need to rest before the fight tomorrow.”

Then he felt an irresistible exhaustion, as the great goddess put a deep slumber onto him.

Soon rosy-fingered Êôs brought the dawn.

Odysseus was woken up by the sound of his dear wife weeping.

Distraught by the sound and still nervous because of what was to come, he prayed for a sign from Zeus.

The King of the Skies heard and let it thunder.

In the yard, several women grinding corn to flour heard it and began to murmur. When Odysseus heard them wish, that today would be the last meal for the suitors, his heart was glad.

Soon Eurykleia shooed the maids out of their beds.

“Today is a day of celebration!”, she announced, “So off to work with you all! You know your tasks.”

The maids, significantly more awake at the news, hurried to do as told.

As they were scurrying around, the suitors swaggered him, some more hungover than the others and all rather grumpy at being woken up so early.

They were followed by Eumaios, who drove several fat pigs into the kitchen, before joining Odysseus in his spot beside the fire.

“Are they still disrespectful to you?”, he inquired.

The disguised hero scowled: “Yes and I wish they were dead.”

“Most here do”, the swineherd muttered.

As they were sticking their heads together, the goatherd Melantheus passed by.

“Are you still here, beggar? Fuck off and bother someone else!”, he snapped at Odysseus.

The latter didn't reply, just silently plotted the other's demise.

The rude goatherd was followed by another man, Philoitos, the local cattle herd.

“Sorry for that”, he apologised for the other, “He may officially be the goatherd, but his actual profession is being a prick. Greetings, good stranger! May you have better fortune in the future, though you live in misery right now. Gods, you look just like I remember our true lord Odysseus! I could tell from the very moment I saw you. Perhaps he suffers the same fate as you and has to wander the earth, ragged and begging for his bread. Meanwhile I am forced to drive the cattle he entrusted to me back then to this house for invaders to eat. Oh, if only he would finally come home and kill them all!”

Oh thank Athena, another ally!

Odysseus promised him and Eumaios, that what they were praying for would happen soon.

At the same time the suitors were still plotting how to discreetly murder Telemakhos, when they saw an eagle carrying a dove in its talons.

“It's not going to work”, Amphinomos spoke up, “Let's have breakfast instead.”

So they did.

After breakfast, they gathered at the shrine of Apollon to sacrifice to him and the gods, before eating the rest.

Apollon meanwhile was glaring down onto the scene.

“Get the fuck out of my sanctuary, you putrid scum!”, he snarled, “Get out! I'm not granting your worthless prayers!”

Zeus patted his son's shoulder. “There, there. They'll be dead soon.”

“I know, father”, the younger grumbled.

In Odysseus' palace, the king in disguise had grown even angrier than he already was, as Athena had warped the sanity of the suitors to rile him up more.

This didn't go completely unnoticed by Theoklymenos, the seer from Argos. He felt the presence of the war goddess and observed the nasty scene.

The suitors' faces distorted strangely, they were laughing unnaturally, while crying at the same time, the meat they were eating was bloody and they somehow sensed coming bale.

But when the prophet told them of what he was seeing, he got laughed at.

“The man is insane!”, Eurymakhos claimed, “Perhaps we should accompany him to the market place, since he sees only darkness here!”

“No thank you”, Theoklymenos replied nonchalantly, “I have functioning eyes, ears and feet and a perfectly sound mind. With their help, I'll leave this house now, for I see nothing but bale for you all, who commit outrage in Odysseus' house and disrespect everyone here. Farewell.”

Then he walked out like a boss.

While all this was happening, Penelope had gone into her husband's armoury to get his strongest bow, arrows and twelve axes.

She set the weapons up, gathered the suitors and proclaimed: “Alright, you freeloaders who had no other excuse than that you want to seek my hand in marriage! It's time that you earn it! Here I have my husband's strongest bow. The one of you, who strings this bow most easily and use it to shoot an arrow through all twelve axe heads, will win my hand.”

Eumaios and Philoitos wept, when they saw their lord's bow, but were mocked by Antinoos.

Latter hoped to be the one to win the competition – little did he know, that he would be the first to die by that bow and arrows.

But it was Telemakhos, who came forward first. “Let me try first, if I'm yet capable of wielding my father's priced weapon”, he requested and it was granted.

He readied the bow and tried to string it three times. But just as he was about to succeed, Odysseus gestured for him to stop now. Pretending to be disappointed, he stepped back.

One by one, the suitors attempted and failed to string the bow of cunning Odysseus and sat back down with huge dents in their pride.

While they were making fools of themselves, Odysseus and the cattle- and swineherd had left the room for a little.

“Tell me, you two, the truth and nothing but: if Odysseus now came home to reclaim his property, would you follow him or the suitors?”

“Odysseus!”, they responded in unison.

He smiled. “Good, because he's already here! It's me! After twenty years and many a misadventure, I'm finally home. And I see that of all my servants only you two and Eurykleia truly longed for my return; I heard none of the others pray for me to come home. But you shall know the truth: once I have vanquished the suitors, you two shall be rewarded with riches and a wife. You will be friends to my son and me. And should you be in doubt; see this scar on my thigh, done to me by the tusk of a boar, when I was hunting with my uncles on Mount Parnassos.”

They saw the treacherous scar, gasped in shock and tearfully hugged their rightful king.

“Now, now”, Odysseus stopped them after a while. “I'm afraid we need to postpone the happy reunion to later. Now you need to do exactly as I say: when we go back inside, I will ask to have a turn with the bow. They will refuse me, but you, Eumaios, give it to me anyway and then go to tell the women to go to their quarters and stay there, no matter what. You, Philoitos, go and lock the doors to the yard.”

Then the three snuck back inside.

There Eurymakhos was currently trying to string the bow. After a while he gave up, complaining loudly about how humiliating it was, that no one could even string the bow of godlike Odysseus.

“Eh, who cares”, Antinoos responded, “Who wants to string bows today anyway, it's the holiday of Zeus! Let's let everything lie and try again tomorrow.”

He sounded like a huffy child.

This is priceless!, Odysseus thought and smirked for a second.

Just as they had put away the bow and its string, the war veteran requested, that – just for the heck of it – he could have a shot at it (pun intended).

He met with much protest from the suitors, but Telemakhos and Penelope scolded them.

“Don't be stupid!”, Penelope snapped at Antinoos, “It's not like this homeless man, who isn't even competing for my hand, is going to take me home as his wife, even if he manages to string the bow – unlike you all. Leave him alone.”

“That he should marry you isn't our greatest concern”, Eurymakhos explained, “But we will become a collective laughing stock, when the people find out, that we failed to string your dead husband's bow, only to lose out to a beggar.”

“That's coming from you?”, Penelope retorted, “Your behaviour alone is a humiliation, that you intrude into another's home and waste wealth that isn't yours! Never once have you all acted like honest men! Furthermore, this man is well-built and prides himself in being a great man's son. If Apollon grants him victory, I will shower him with many gifts, so he may go on his way – and there is nothing you all can do about it!”

Telemakhos agreed, yet surprised his mother by sending her to her own quarters.

As Penelope left the room, Eumaios picked up the bow, handed it to Odysseus and then went to Eurykleia to instruct her as his king had told him earlier.

Philoitos skulked away to do his part of the plan and lock all the doors to the yard.

Odysseus took the bow and strung it with ease. As he tested the sinewy string, it vibrated musically under his fingers, like it was supposed to.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the suitors blanch. And they grew even paler, when he took an arrow and shot it through the twelve axes.

In that moment, it thundered.

He ripped his rags off, turned to his son and smirked: “Now, how about we serve these noblemen a supper like they've never had before?”

Telemakhos smirked back and pulled out his sword.

The first arrow hit Antinoos in the jugular, right as he was raising his cup.

The others jumped up, screaming reproaches at Odysseus.

But the hero growled darkly: “You dogs thought I would never return from Troy, did you? You plundered my property, had your way with my maids and wooed my wife, while I was still alive, but now you're going to pay!”

Eurymakhos tried to reason and promised rich compensation, but the answer was another death threat. So he spurred the other suitors on and they chose to fight, only to be felled by Odysseus' arrow.

Amphinomos attacked, but was slain by Telemakhos.

“Let me get you armour and more weapons”, he offered and his father urged him to do so, before he ran out of arrows. Telemakhos returned with a full armour and Odysseus put it on, once he ran out of ammunition.

One of the suitors sent Melantheus to fetch arms for the suitors. But the goatherd was soon spotted by Eumaios and Philoitos, who proceeded to bind him and tie him to a pole, before arming themselves and returning to fight by the side of their king and prince.

It was at that moment, that Athena came down, again in the guise of Mentor.

He obviously recognised her and asked for her help, while the suitors, who didn't recognise her, screamed for her to do the exact opposite.

This angered her and she spurred the war veteran on.

But before she would grant him a devastating victory, she wanted to feast her eyes on his battle prowess.

So rather than fighting along, she diverted the spears the suitors threw, while those of the four defenders hit their marks without fail.

After all four of them (she couldn't help but be surprised at the prowess of the cowherd and the swineherd) had slain about a dozen more suitors, she finally interfered for real.

She flew up to the ceiling and raised up the terrible Aigis.

The suitors froze in fear.

That just made it easier for Odysseus and his companions, who came upon them like birds of prey.

From here the suitors were massacred without mercy.

Only two men were spared at the request of Telemakhos: the singer Phemos and the herald Medon, who had both been made to serve the suitors against their will.

The two men were sent out and Odysseus looked around to check, if any of the suitors were still alive. But he and his son and comrades had slain them all.

Athena, having done her part for now, left.

“Go and get Eurykleia, my son”, Odysseus asked his son, “I need to talk to her.”

Telemakhos nodded and came back with the old nurse. When she saw her lord stand amidst all the corpses, like a lion or a wolf, she rejoiced.

But Odysseus shushed her. “Rejoice on the inside, old mother. It's not appropriate to cheer over slain men. I defeated them only, because the gods willed it so, for they showed no respect or reverence, while they were still alive. But now tell me, which of the maids are treacherous and which are innocent.”

“Of the fifty women who served your family, twelve betrayed them”, Eurykleia reported, “But now I will go upstairs and tell your wife, that-”

“Not yet”, Odysseus forbade. “First bring the traitors, so I may judge them. As for you three” – he turned to his son and the cow- and swineherd – “You can start carrying the bodies outside. Order the women to do the same and clean up the mess afterwards.”

This happened and once everything was clean and tidy, the guilty maidservants were driven into the yard and hung high.

Odysseus purified the halls with brimstone and Eurykleia called the remaining maids.

With tears of happiness, they embraced their king and welcomed him home.

And he also wept with joy, as he recognised them all.

Good Eurykleia ran upstairs to the chambers of Penelope as fast as her age allowed.

There she woke the sleeping queen: “Wake up, wake up, my dear child! Go downstairs, so you may see what you have been longing for for twenty years! Our lord, your Odysseus, he is finally home! He has destroyed the insolent suitors and he is back!”

Penelope glared weakly: “Have you woken me up, just so you could mock me? Have you gone mad, that you tell me such cruel things? I know it in my heart, my Odysseus is gone and will never come back to me.”

“I'm not mocking you, dear, I promise! He has been here for days now: it was the stranger the suitors always offended! Telemakhos knew the entire time, but kept it to himself, until all of the suitors were defeated!”

Now the queen leapt from her bed and tearfully hugged the older woman.

“Tell me all!”, she pressed, “The truth and nothing but the truth! How is it possible, that he alone defeated so many?”

Of course Eurykleia hadn't seen any of it; she had been in the servants' quarters with the other maids. But she told her queen what she knew.

Penelope was still in doubt though: “I don't believe it. It's too good to be true! Surely it was a god, who smote them all for their disrespect.”

“No, no! Listen; he has the scar on his thigh – the one he received, when a boar attacked him, while he was hunting with the sons of Autolykos. It's really him, I promise! If what I say is untrue, you may have me executed!”

The queen – wary as she was – still refused to believe her, but followed her downstairs anyway. Though Eurykleia could see that (deep down), the younger woman was hoping, even though she refused to act on it.

When they came into the great hall, Penelope saw Odysseus leaning against a pillar, waiting for whatever she would say upon seeing her husband.

But Penelope seemed dazed, almost numb even.

Telemakhos was frustrated by this and chided his mother: “What's with you? Why aren't you sitting with your husband and questioning him? Did you wait twenty years for him to come home, only to see him and just stand there and not even say anything? Has your heart turned to stone?!”

“No, no, I'm just stunned”, Penelope clarified, “My heart is so paralysed, that I can't bring myself to question him or even look him in the eye. But if he's really my Odysseus, I will find out myself.”

Odysseus chuckled: “Give your mother some time to let it sink in. Let her test me to her heart's content. She doesn't recognise me, because I'm looking so dirty and messy right now. But my son, we have some urgent matters to discuss. Don't forget, that we just killed the entire nobility of my kingdom and have to deal with the consequences.”

“Well, it's said that no mortal man can rival your cunning”, Telemakhos replied, “So, do you have a plan? Whatever it is, we'll follow you.”

“Good. And I do have a plan: order everyone to decorate the place, put on their best clothes and celebrate loudly, so that anyone who passes by might think that a wedding is taking place here. This ought to buy us some time, because no one must learn of the earlier massacre, before we have been to my property in the country and prayed to the gods, that they might give us a sign on how to proceed from there.”

The household staff did so and indeed, everyone outside thought, that Penelope had now chosen to marry one of her suitors.

Later that evening, Eurykleia drew a bath for Odysseus, salved him with olive oil and gave him fresh clothes and it seemed a god had made him look taller and more splendid.³

When he was all freshened up, he returned to where he had sat before.

“Still not looking at your husband?”, he asked Penelope, “Have I endured twenty years of hardship, only to come home to a wife, who ignores me and holds me in low regard?”

Penelope didn't answer, which frustrated everyone.

“Well then”, the king huffed, “Eurykleia, make me a bed somewhere, since I'll sleep alone tonight, apparently.”

Now Penelope finally spoke again: “I don't hold you in low regard at all, strange man. Eurykleia, go and make his bed in front of the bedchamber that he himself crafted a long time ago.”

Now she was testing, the old nurse could tell.

“What?!”, Odysseus exclaimed suddenly, “What is it that I have to hear? Only a god would be able to relocate my bed at all! I crafted the bedchamber around the huge olive tree, that was growing in the yard back then, and carved the bed with its wood, adorning it with ivory, gold and silver! It's impossible that anyone relocated it, let alone could push it through the door!”

But only Odysseus could know this and that was the irrefutable proof.

Now she burst into tears, embraced her husband and showered him with kisses. Odysseus cried also and held his wife tightly.

All the while Eurykleia was sobbing in the background, because now everything would be fine.

Athena smiled onto the scene.

Having done that part of her work, she saw herself out and went to persuade Êôs to postpone her tour across the sky for a few hours.

Her mortal friend and his beloved wife should have enough time to our their hearts out to each other and to get a little rest before the trouble that was to come soon.

Hermes laughed at the souls of the suitors, when he came to guide them to the underworld.

“I don't know, what you expected!”, he cackled, “Odysseus is my great-grandson! Whatever made you believe, that you could take what was his without consequence? Or that you could disrespect the laws of gods and men and get away with it? How could you think that we wouldn't favour him? Well, either way you got what you deserved!”

The souls whispered among themselves; they probably would have grumbled, but the dead had faint voices.

The Messenger of the Gods lead them to the underworld, snickering all the while.

As they came to the underworld, Hermes found some of the heroes of the Trojan War skulking around.

He lead the newcomers to the dock of Kharon and the ferryman began to take the first of them down the river (apparently they had been granted the tiny mercy of getting a coin for Kharon).

When they had arrived on the other side, the Achaeans were chatting among each other.

“What happened to you?”, Akhilleus asked Agamemnon, “I always was under the impression that Zeus liked you? So how come you died a miserable death, rather than getting a burial fit for a king?”

“You're lucky, that you died a glorious death at Troy”, Agamemnon replied, sullen. “You got a splendid burial befitting a great hero like you were.”

Then he proceeded to tell Akhilleus all about it, which was rather boring for some (including Hermes, who chose to leave them behind to visit Hades and Persephone).

“Even in death you were honoured above all others!”, Agamemnon finished his account of the other's burial, only to start wallowing in self-pity.

“And me? What did I get for surviving the war?! Get this! I just got home from Troy, when I was murdered by my cousin Aigisthos and my slut of a wife!”

“Oh, that's so tragic!”, Akhilleus replied sarcastically.

Agamemnon ignored him and let his eyes wander over the newcomers, until he spied a familiar face.

“Hey! I know you! You're one of Menélaos' bastard sons! What happened to you?”

“Odysseus happened!”, Amphimedon groaned, “To all of us here!”

Then he proceeded to tell his uncle all about how they had wooed Penelope, how she had put them off for four years, tricking them and of how Odysseus had finally come home and killed them all.

“Damn!”, Agamemnon exclaimed, “Odysseus, you lucky man! You got one of the few good women in this world for your wife! The world will forever praise her loyalty! Unlike the daughters of Tyndareus and most other women, who are fucking disloyal whores-”

“Hey!”, Akhilleus barked, “Take your unmanly misogyny and shove it up your arse! No one cares about your unjustified grudge on your wife, whose innocent daughter you tried to sacrifice to the gods, who hate human sacrifice!”

Meanwhile Odysseus and Telemakhos had arrived at the home of Laertes, Odysseus' father.

“You and the servants go and prepare a boar for our meal”, Odysseus told his son, “I will see, if my father still recognises me.”

Then he went into the garden, where he found his old father tend to the plants.

Laertes looked so miserable and neglected, that Odysseus hid behind a pear tree and wept.

Once he had regained his composure, he approached the old man and addressed him: “Greetings, good man. You certainly are a talented gardener; none of the plants here look anything but splendid. I wish the same could be same for you. Please do not be angry, but you look awful. So, who are you and whose garden is this? Also, could you tell me, if it's really Ithaka I have come to? I have been marooned, so I'm not sure.”

Yes, he was about to weave more false identities.

“I met a man from Ithaka once and he boasted to be Odysseus, the son of Laertes. I hosted him, gave him many guest gifts and then he went on his way.”

Laertes looked up and responded: “This is indeed Ithaka, stranger. But Odysseus isn't here – instead bad and godless men are holding sway over this land. You poor man gave him presents in vain – if he was here and alive, he would gladly repay you in kind, as it's the custom. But he's gone, he'll never return …” He choked and cleared his throat. “But who are you and where do you come from? How much time has passed, since you welcomed Odysseus in your home?”

“My name is Eperitas, I come from Alybas”, the younger man lied, “And he came to my home five years ago. Oh, the poor man! And the omens seemed so promising, when he departed! He was so glad and eager to get home!”

Laertes broke into pitiful wailing, grabbed a fistful of ash and threw it onto his head.

Odysseus' heart broke and he hugged the other. “My dear father, it's me! Cry no longer, I'm not dead! I'm home! I have slain those who wooed my wife and ended their outrage!”

Laertes stared at the other. “What … is it really you?! Give me a sign, before I believe you!”

The younger man pulled up his chiton to reveal the scar on his thigh.

“Do you remember, when I grew to age and you sent me to my grandfather Autolykos and his sons, so that I might receive the gifts he had prepared for me? How I returned to you with the presents and this scar I got when I went hunting with my uncles and was attacked by a boar? And here another sign: when I was a child, you gave me many fruit trees: ten apple trees, thirteen pear trees, forty fig trees and hundred stocks of wine. And you promised me, that they all would carry heavy fruit and bring bountiful harvest. Do you believe me now?”

Laertes cried out in happiness and embraced his son tightly.

Then he fainted.

When he awoke, he found himself in his son's arms and cried some more, before taking a deep breath and calming himself.

“My dear and only son, I'm so happy! The justice of the gods still exists in this world, that you defeated all of the foes in your own home! But what shall we do now? You killed the entire noble population, the people will riot.”

“Don't worry about that yet”, Odysseus told him gently. “First let's go inside. We'll get you fresh clothes and a bath, also lunch will soon be ready.”

Inside the house Telemakhos and the two animal husbandmen were busy cutting the pork and mixing wine.

A maid drew a bath for Laertes and gave him good clothes.

When the former king came before his son and grandson, they marvelled.

“You look so much more gracious now”, Odysseus marked, “A god gave you splendour and made you taller, just like the Bright-eyed Goddess did for me!”

“Certainly”, the old man agreed, “But I wish they would have granted me the even bigger pleasure of being there yesterday to stand by you, when you fought off the suitors! You would have seen, that I still am capable of fighting!”

Odysseus almost chuckled at his father's zeal, but didn't want to seem condescending or doubtful.

When the two former heroes came into the dining halls, the servants ooh'd and aah'd, as they recognised their king.

“You can marvel later”, he told them, “It's time for lunch, as we're all hungry. Do sit with us! There is enough for all!”

Now the staff cheered and they all gave the long-lost ruler a warm welcome.

Unfortunately, while they were having lunch, Ossa, goddess of rumour, flew through the city and soon everyone had heard about the gruesome demise of the suitors.

Their relatives came to the palace to pick up the dead and bury them.

When they had done their work, Eupeithes, the father of Antinoos, rallied the people and riled them up.

“This man truly has done great wrong to us!”, he shouted, “Twenty years ago he took away many ships to Troy, only to return ten years too late and all alone. And now he has slaughtered all our children! Up, that we may avenge this misdeed done to our sons!”

But before the crowd could respond, Phemos the singer and Medon the herald, stepped forward.

“People of Ithaka! Odysseus did not act without the approval of the gods!”, Medon declared, “I myself saw a deity at the king's side and it was none other than the bright-eyed daughter of Zeus! She was wearing the guise of Mentor, but I saw her for who she was. She fought by his side, by instilling fear into the suitors and by giving him courage and strength. He had the favour of the gods and he was in the right. What happened was the will of Zeus.”

His words made the listeners shudder in fear.

Now another man rose to speak, Halitherses the prophet. “Hear me, men of Ithaka! It's because of your cowardice, that you are now burying your children! For you listened to neither me nor to Mentor, when we bid you to stop your sons' outrageous behaviour. You didn't stop them, when they committed blasphemous acts, harassed the wife of the best of men and wasted away his own property, believing he would never come home and make them face the consequences! So listen to my counsel for once in your lives: stay here, before a self-imposed doom meets you all!”

Half of the men screamed in protest at this suggestion, while the others heeded the prophet's words.

The crowd divided into two groups.

Eupeithes lead those who agreed with him into the country – thinking, that he would avenge his son, unaware, that he was on his way to meet his fate.

On Olympos Athena saw what was going on and went to her father to report.

“What is your plan, father?”, she wanted to know, “Will you cause more bloody conflict or shall there be peace?”

Zeus laughed: “My child, hasn't it been your plan all along, that your mortal friend should get home, take revenge on the suitors and reclaim his kingdom? Do as you please, but my will is this: now that Odysseus has avenged himself, let there be peace and companionship. Let the murder of their sons and brothers be forgotten. Let there be harmony among the people, companionship and bountiful harvest, as it was before.”

With gladdened heart Athena descended from Olympos to earth.

In the country estate, one of the servants looked out of the window, only to turn back to Odysseus, frowning.

“My king, I'm afraid we have company.”

He pointed to a nearby hill, where Eupeithes and his allies were already seen.

Quickly everyone leapt up from the table to don their armour and weapons.

As they were arming themselves, Athena joined them, again in the guise of Mentor.

Odysseus understood immediately and said to his son, grinning: “Now, my son, I will show you how it's done. You shall see how your father earned his glory in battle as well as in strategy.”

Telemakhos grinned back at him. “Father, you will see, that I'm not a coward and you won't be ashamed of my bravery in battle.”

“My son and my grandson competing in fighting prowess and bravery!”, Laertes rejoiced, “This is the best day of my life!”

“Mentor” smiled at the former hero and said: “Come, Laertes my old friend. You too should arm yourself and make a prayer to Zeus and the Bright-eyed Virgin.”

Then Athena breathed powerful valour into him.

With renewed strength and vigour, Laertes grabbed a spear and threw it right into the face of Eupeithes, where the helmet wasn't shielding it.

Meanwhile his son and grandson burst into the now leaderless ranks and slew their attackers left and right.

However before they could kill everyone, Athena decided, that playtime was over.

She appeared above the fray, that everyone froze in fear and/or reverence.

“Men of Ithaka!”, she announced with a thundering voice, “Cease the fighting and break apart, ere the earth is stained with your blood!”

After the parties had broken apart, Athena persuaded the quarrellers to make peace.

Thus ends the story of how Odysseus finally came home and regained his kingdom.

The stories of his deeds were passed on orally, from generation to generation.

Several centuries later, a blind poet dictated the glorious epics of the Iliad and the Odyssey to someone and they would be known for many more centuries to come.

Just like the name of the poet, who dictated them: Homer.

---

1) Only certain parts of a sacrificial animal would go to the gods: the fat and bones. The rest would be kept by the mortals. According to myth, Prometheus tricked Zeus into this. 2) Menélaos - just like Agamemnon - was the son of Atreus, who was a real nasty piece of work. So of course Menélaos would view Nestor, a far friendlier person, as more of a father figure. 3) In the Iliad Odysseus is described as not being very tall and looking relatively unimpressive at first glance.

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astraltwelve · 6 years

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The Zodiac Signs as Greek Monsters

Aries: The Sirens

A distant cousin of the mermaid (in folkloric terms anyway), the sirens were beautiful, alluring women who dwelled near rocky cliffs and sang to passing sailors. According to legends, the hapless seamen would become enchanted by the sirens’ song, following the mellifluous melody to their deaths as their boats crashed upon the rocky shore. It is an ancient morality tale about the evils of women, but not all sirens were so comely.

Other accounts depict sirens as half-bird, half-woman creatures who would lure travelers to their doom with harps instead of their voices. In Greek myth, Odysseus escaped the sirens by having his sailors plug their ears with beeswax, though in modern times doctors recommend soft foam earplugs for sailors who may encounter these dangerous monsters.

Taurus: Polyphemus

The most famous of the cyclops was Polyphemus. Greek hero Odysseus and his crew were trapped by the cyclops Polyphemus, who kept them in his cave for later consumption. Odysseus cunningly plied Polyphemus with wine, and when the monster fell asleep, blinded him by driving a large stake through his only eye.

As the story goes, Odysseus later escaped captivity from the now-blinded Giant’s cave by tying himself to the underside of one of the Cyclops’ sheep, which was let out by the giant for pasture. Or, that’s what Odysseus told people who found him cavorting with a sheep.

Gemini: Hydra

Hydra is an ancient Greek mythical beast that was mentioned in the tale of the twelve labors of Hercules (also called Heracles). The hydra has many heads (possibly 7, 8 or 9), the number of head varies from different versions of the legend, however, more accounts agree on nine. It was said that the middle one was immortal and it has very poisonous venom and breath.

If the heads are cut off, the heads would grow back. One head cut-off would result to two heads growing back in its place.

The Hydra was believed to have lived in the Lernean marsh which is located near Argolis, the region around Argos, Greece. Others say that the Hydra lived in Cave in the Swamp of Lerna.

The serpent-woman Echidna and the hundred headed Typhon are the Hydra’s parents. His siblings include the Nemean lion, Cerberus, Chimera and Ladon.

The Hydra guards the entrance to the Underworld and from the murky swamps of the Lake of Lerna the monstrous serpent would rise and terrorize the city. The Hydra was finally killed by Hercules during his second labor.

The Hydra was said to have the body of a dragon/snake with many heads (possibly 7, 8 or 9), two arms & legs with knife-like claws, sharp spines/spikes & a long serpent tail.

Cancer: Charybdis

Charybdis was interpreted as either a sea monster or as a large whirlpool in the Greek mythology. In the former, she was portrayed as the daughter of the sea god Poseidon and goddess of Earth, Gaia. In this interpretation, she had a mouth for a face and had to swollen huge amounts of water each day. When Charybdis belch the water back, it lead to the formation of large whirlpools.

Charybdis was featured in the story of Odysseus, who had to cross a narrow channel in the Strait of Messina. On one side of the channel lies Charybdis while the other side lays a hydra monster by the name of Scylla. To cross the channel successfully, Odysseus had to balance the ship’s navigation well. This give arise to the modern saying of “‘between Scylla and Charybdis’”, which means that choosing between 2 dangers.

Leo: Medusa

Medusa, in Greek mythology, most famous of the three monstrous Gorgon sisters. She was once a beautiful woman, but she offended Athena, who changed her hair into snakes and made her face so hideous that all who looked at her were turned to stone. When Medusa was with child by Poseidon, Perseus killed her and presented her head to Athena. Chrysaor and Pegasus sprang from her blood when she died. Medusa’s head retained its petrifying power even after her death. Because of this power, her image frequently appeared on Greek armor.

Virgo: Lamia

Like many women in Greek mythology, Lamia is dealt a bad hand in life just by virtue of being born beautiful—and by somehow not managing to stay out of Zeus’s sight. And we all know what Zeus does to beautiful women…and who it is that gets blamed afterward.

The story goes that Lamia was once the queen of Libya, who became a beloved mistress of the god Zeus (by choice or by force, we’re never told). Naturally, Zeus’s wife Hera found out about the affair—she had a knack for that sort of thing—and instead of punishing her husband, she took out her anger on Lamia. This isn’t unusual for Hera, though the concept of blaming the woman for the man’s infidelity is a theme that runs throughout much of history and ancient myth.

To punish Lamia, Hera transformed into a monster and murdered Lamia’s children while Lamia watched, helpless to stop the goddess’s fury. There are several different accounts that explain what happened here, depending on the source:

1. As if killing her children wasn’t enough, Hera then took away Lamia’s ability to blink or close her eyes, so that she would be forever haunted by the sight of her dead children.

2. Hera didn’t actually kill the children—she only stole them—causing Lamia to go insane with grief and tear out her own eyes.

3. Rather than kill the children herself, Hera forced Lamia to kill and devour her own children.

And whether it happens out of the madness found in grief for her children’s’ death, as a part of Hera’s punishment, or as a gift from Zeus in order to exact revenge on the world for what has been done to her, Lamia is transformed into a serpentine monster that hunts and devours other people’s children.

Libra: Scylla

In Greek Mythology, Scylla was a monster that devoured Men who passed near her & Charybdis

According to Ovid, Scylla was once a beautiful nymph. The fisherman-turned-sea-god, Glaucus fell madly in love with her, but she fled from him onto the land where he could not follow. Despair filled his heart. He went to the sorceress Circe to ask for a love potion to melt Scylla’s heart. As he told his tale of love about Scylla to Circe, she herself fell in love with him. She wooed him with her sweetest words and looks, but the sea-god would have none of her. Circe was furious, but with Scylla and not with Glaucus. She prepared a vial of very powerful poison and poured it in the pool where Scylla bathed. As soon as the nymph entered the water, she was transformed into a frightful monster with a body of a Water Serpent & six heads with faces of frighting women with sharp teeth. She stood inside a large cave, destroying everything that came into her reach, a peril to all sailors who passed near her. Whenever a ship passed, each of her heads would seize one of the crew

Scorpio: The Erinyes

The Erinyes were known to be entities of vengeance. They were born out of the blood of Uranus when Cronus castrated him. It is unknown how many Erinyes were there although their physical attributes were unmistakeable. They had serpents around their waist and had blood dripping from their eyes.

In the Greek mythology, they appeared to Orestes and try to hunt him when he killed his sisters on the orders of Apollo, the god of sun. Eventually, Orestes managed to escape to Athena template where he was given a trial, attended by both the Erinyes and Apollo. Orestes was later found to be not guilty and was released from pursuit by the Erinyes.

Sagittarius: The Sphinx

Sphinx has the head of a woman, the body of a lion and the wings of a bird and might be the sister to Chimera and Cerberus. In the Greek mythology, there was one sphinx who guarded the road to the city of Thebe. To all travelers who used this road, the Sphinx would ask the following riddle “Which creature walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?” Anyone who can’t answer this riddle correctly was devoured. The riddle was eventually solved by Oedipus who gave the correct answer: “man”. It was said that the Sphinx either jumped off a cliff or devoured herself when the riddle was solved.

Capricorn: Cerebus

Cerberus is the famous three headed hell dog that guarded the entrance of the underworld. Appearing in both Greek and Roman mythology, Cerberus has also been depicted numerous times in various game titles. According to the Greek legend, Cerberus was was given birth by Echidna, a hybrid half-woman and half-serpent, and Typhone. Cerberus was featured in the stories of Hercules as the last labor in which the hero must captured the monster alive with no tools.

There are currently some disagreement over the representation of the three heads. Some said that they represent past, present and future while others have argued that they represent birth, youth and old age.

Aquarius: Harpies

The Harpies were the spirits of sudden, sharp gusts of wind. They were known as the hounds of Zeus and were dispatched by the god to snatch away people and things from the earth. Sudden, mysterious disappearances were often attributed to the Harpies. The Harpies were once sent by Zeus to plague King Phineus of Thrake as punishment for revealing the secrets of the gods. Whenever a plate of food was set before him, the Harpies would swoop down and snatch it away, befouling any scraps left behind. When the Argonauts came to visit, the winged Boreades gave chase, and pursued the Harpies to the Strophades Islands, where the goddess Iris commanded them to turn back and leave the storm-spirits unharmed. The Harpies were depicted as winged women, sometimes with ugly faces, or with the lower bodies of birds.

Pisces: Graeae

Graeae are the three sisters who shared one eye and one mouth. They were birth by Phorcys and Ceto and were in fact sisters to the Gordons . The names of the three Graeae sisters are Deino Enyo and Pemphredo. Although mot stories portrayed the Graeae sisters as old hags, some poets actually described them as beautiful creatures.

The Graeae sisters appeared in many pop culture including the second book of Percy, as well as in the 2010 movie, Clash of the Titans. In the Greek legend, it was the Graeae sisters who directed Perseus on how to kill the Medusa, although the hero did steal the eye from them before they are willing to do so.

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arachcobra · 5 years

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Naruto Episode 11 & 12 Review

Got PTSD? Just walk it off, you baby.

Review of Naruto Episode 11 and 12: The Land Where a Hero Once Lived and Battle on the Bridge! Zabuza Returns!

ArachCobra

So in this one, we start out with having Sakura guard Tazuna on the bridge, all alone. I'm just like, what? Apparently, it's because Kakashi is still not feeling well and Naruto and Sasuske are still struggling with the tree climbing things. So they do try to explain it. But the problem here is that there is no fucking way Kakashi can know when Zabuza will be back. Yeah, he can make an estimate based on the guy's injuries, but he doesn't know if Zabuza has some super healing ninja in his employ. For all he knows, Zabuza is heading for the bridge at a speed of mach fuck you right that very instant.

He isn't and Sakura is not gruesomely cut into confetti, but that's just because Zabuza has no easy way to recover. But this is still very risky.

Also, Tazuna calls Sakura lazy for yawning, which I feel is entirely uncalled for. Some guy named Giichi feels working on the bridge is getting too risky, so he quits, with Tazuna yelling at him.

Later, Sakura and Tazuna goes shopping and we get to see just how badly Gato has ruined the Land of Waves. It's an admittedly effective scene.

This is then ruined by the dinner scene where Sasuke and Naruto are shoveling down food so fast they have to puke. Hey, assholes, people are starving right now. Least you could do is respect the food you're given by not choking on it, just because you have to prove you're better than each other. Seriously, this is not team work. Time and time again we see this competition between Naruto and Sasuke makes them take quite frankly idiotic decisions that are detrimental for the team as a whole. Kakashi should get his act together and tell the two of them to get their shit together.

And then Sakura stares at a slightly damaged photo on the wall and Odysseus, the dialogue. To paraphrase Sakura: “There's a picture here. But it's torn. How did it get torn? It seems very important. The one who tore it must have had some sort of reason. I wonder why.” Honestly, most likely explanation is that Kakashi noticed the plot point hanging on the wall and asked Sakura to point it out until someone would say something and move the story along.

So then we get the tale of Kaiza. About how he saved Inari from drowning thanks to a trio of child bullies straight out of a Stephen King story. About how he saved the village when the floodgate broke. It's an interesting story, but made kinda silly by being punctuated by so much overly dramatic music and flowery language about how Kaiza: “Taught people the meaning of the word courage.”

And then Gato has Kaiza tortured by a group of goons before publicly executing him.

How... How can he do that? Is there no government in the Land of Waves? How did he get so powerful that he can execute people? In front of a large crowd of people even. In front of the guy's family. Did he buy out the government? How does that work? I mean, have him killed, yeah, that I can imagine, but publicly executing him for disturbing the order of the land? Kinda ridiculous.

And that's why Inari doesn't believe in heroes. Naruto goes out to train because he wants to show Inari that heroes do exists.

Neat.

For the next episode, let me just start by complaining about the title. It's called Zabuza Returns and Battle on the Bridge, but that's a fabrication at best. Zabuza and Haku show up at the very end of the episode and there is no battle on the titular bridge. Its just misleading.

Anyway, Haku crossdresses and meets Naruto in the forest and they exchange some awkward dialogue about having someone important. And that only by having someone important will you be strong. I guess that really depends on one's definition of strength, so I'm not gonna harp on that too much.

Anyway, tree climbing continues and Sasuke and Naruto returns, sweating, panting and covered in dirt. If you told me that's because they decided to celebrate with a victory quickie in the bushes, I'd believe you. These two really do come off as if they have some closeted feelings for each other.

Anyway, Inari says its all futile and Naruto calls him a coward and a crybaby.

Yeah, doesn't matter that the kid is traumatized by the death of his father and the decline of his country, while constantly having to worry that any day now, his grandfather will be slaughtered. Doesn't matter that this constant oppressive atmosphere of fear and futility has made him a nervous wreck with PTSD. Just get over it, kid. Anything else is cowardice.

In case it isn't obvious, I find this scene kinda sickening and insensitive.

Now, Kakashi says that Naruto didn't say anything he hadn't already told himself and that Naruto has suffered too. Well, great. Two problems. One, Naruto has not gone through the exact same scenario as Inari and even if he had, he'd probably have reacted differently, because people are different. He has no right to demand that Inari ”gets over it.” Second issue, from a narrative point, how bad did Naruto have it? We have some general ideas that he was excluded and people looked down on him, but it hasn't really been elaborated upon. We're just told Naruto has it bad and that's it. So here, the story trips over itself trying to justify Naruto yelling at a traumatized kid who's not even had a chance to properly grieve and get over the soul-shattering losses he's experienced.

To put it mildly, it doesn't really work. No matter how much the show insists that Naruto understands Inari's pain.

Anyway, next day, Zabuza shows up, Naruto is late and Gato's henchmen are getting ready to kidnap Tsunami and Inari. Oh, who's Tsunami? Inari's mother. She's been around for three episodes, but does very little. I think we only learned her name this very last episode in fact.

Shame. You'd think somebody with the name Tsunami would be a character you should keep an eye on.

Anyway, first episode works just fine. Second one dragged down by Naruto's treatment of Inari. Seriously, that's not okay.

Givenea

Inari, grandson of Tazuna takes over the role as awesomest character, for telling Naruto how dumb he is.

We then learn that Inari has lost all hope because a business tycoon turned his homeland into a dictatorship, everyone is starving and poor and his stepfather (who was the most amazing dad ever) was executed by said tycoon for trying to make things better.

Then Naruto calls him whiny.

Yup, Inari, an eight-year-old, who has lost his freedom and security and is struggling to cope with the loss of the only father he ever knew, is whiny. And Naruto is the right character to set him straight, because… a few people sneered at him…?

That’s all we’ve seen… Let me elaborate.

Back in episode 1, the big bad, Mizuki informs Naruto (and the audience) that Naruto is shunned and hated by the villagers because he is the container of the nine tailed fox. But this doesn’t stand up to scrutiny.

Within the first episode we see Naruto be chased down by ninjas, sneered at by his classmates and some random women and conned by Mizuki into stealing secret information.

This is not bad; it sets up that there is bad blood in between at least some villagers and Naruto. Next step would be to reinforce this idea over the next few episodes while establishing a norm for Naruto’s day to day life in Konoha. Naruto does runs into trouble with villagers a bunch of times within the first two episodes but only once or twice is their scorn unprovoked on his part. Going over them in order:

Episode 1:

Chased by ninja: He committed vandalism and skipped school. - Was punished by having to clean up his mess.

Sneered at by classmates - Because he mouthed off, they all had to redo a test.

Sneered by random women – Apparently unprovoked. Could be viewed to refer to the fox

Conned by Mizuki – Because he had the fox, Mizuki figured he could get away with it, taking advantage of him while he was vulnerable.

Episode2

Scolded by the Hokage – Naruto screwed up his ID and mouthed off.

Beaten by random woman – She was angry over Konohamaru’s botched transformation, unprovoked, but also nothing to do with the fox.

Thrown out of bookstore – Clerk did not allow reading before buying, had every right to toss them out.

Beaten by women in the bath - After attempting to sneak in and peep on them. They also immediately recognize, not only that Naruto and Konohamaru are transformed, but one also cries out: “Naruto, you again?”. Giving the distinct impression that this is a common occurrence.

Fight with Ebisu – while Ebisu does refer to Naruto as a fox, he seems far more miffed at Naruto taking Konohamaru all over town and distracting him from his training.

Ok, two things

Most people do not seem to care about the fox, whatsoever. They are instead reacting to Naruto’s actions, which are annoying at best and criminal at worst.

Nobody really seems to hate Naruto enough to step in and stop him from hanging out with the Hokage’s grandson. If Naruto was really shunned to the point we are supposed to believe, wouldn’t they try to save Konohamaru from the monster they believe the blond brat to be?

So while some people have treated Naruto pretty harshly, the whole thing fails in setting him up as an outcast through no doing of his own. It also fails at putting him through anything even remotely as bad as what Inari has suffered. So, when Kakashi later try to smooth things over, and encourage Inari, by explaining Naruto’s hardships and saying he got tired of whining and decided to do something about it, it falls flat.

Not only that, but when did Naruto ever stop whining? He pouts like a child whenever he doesn’t get his way.

Moving along.

After learning the tree-lesson instantly, last episode, Sakura is put on guard duty… well, it needs to be done, but couldn’t Kakashi have given her some other training since she’s ahead of the curve here? Not to mention, what is she gonna do if Zabuza or one of his people shows up? She is one lone genin, who has barely started her training as such. He, even wounded, is a highly trained jonin and we know that he has at least Haku to help him out.

Could be that this is just Kakashi’s way of paying lip service to doing this job.

So, Tazuna calls her lazy… I haven’t the foggiest why. After having lied to her superiors and then guilted her team into staying on a mission they are in no way qualified for, he should understand that just showing up is going above and beyond what anyone could expect from them.

So I guess these episodes are just here to make everyone look bad.

Oh yeah, and then Zabuza and Haku shows up.

Fluttersniper13

Sasuke and Naruto are having a dick measuring competition, Sakura is useless, family issues all over the place, Gato is god and everything is miserable. So, the usual shit.

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13125294/8/Naruto-Rewrite-1-Road-to-Ninja

#naruto #naruto rewrite #review

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easilyaddictedin123 · 7 years

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Clashing of Wilds and Blood

Once again a huge thanks to @holy-minseok for the encouraging words, your my motivation!

This can also be read on AO3 : http://archiveofourown.org/works/11465187/chapters/25705545

PT1: https://easilyaddictedin123.tumblr.com/post/162841562811/clashing-of-wilds-and-blood

PT2: https://easilyaddictedin123.tumblr.com/post/162902440496/clashing-of-wilds-and-blood

PT4: https://easilyaddictedin123.tumblr.com/post/163344208916/clashing-of-blood-and-wilds

PT3 (Pride)

“So this fire has blue flames, does it not?” -Maude glanced back as you sighed , you’d been dreading this exact moment- “Need I remind you that it wasn’t just you that was burned the last time you played with this fire.”

“You do not, I was there Maude, I remember what my father did to him.” you hissed back at the woman in the calmest tone you could muster.

It had been heart wrenching, you’d slipped away in some of the nights before Aelle was actually keeping a look on you and in turn you’d met Joseph, he was a stable boy, poor, and beautiful. His hair like fire and eyes the color of the forest leaves, freckles on his nose and when he smiled he had dimples. He’d been so kind, so loving, and gentle. He didn’t deserve his fate that when Aelle discovered you’d taken him to bed, the loft in the barn had never been so devastating than on that night. You’d been dragged down by your hair with a mere shift on, by your ‘father’, he’d paraded you in front of his men speaking on if you were going to act like a whore he might sell you out like one. The threat had been empty but what wasn’t was the moment Alfred had been dragged down too.

Your maiden honor had been stripped from you by a man who wasn’t your husband, worse by someone that King Aelle couldn’t coerce into marrying you for their allegiance, and to keep the kingdom from knowing “their princess is a wench” Joseph was put to death in the courtyard while kneeling on muddy ground with your screaming to hail him into his death. He didn’t cry out to you, he didn’t beg, simply let himself be thrown about and his head taken from his shoulders all on account of loving a foolish girl. You weren’t that girl anymore. The fire had burned your fingertips but consumed poor Joseph and you didn’t want that upon another person, Northman or no. You’d long learned your lesson.

“A hard lesson but you need to remember it, you tread on thin ice Little Lamb and I only hope that you do not stand as it crumbles beneath you.” Maude always meant well but you couldn’t help but wondering if she saved all her allegories just for when you were enjoying yourself or was that her natural state of being?

“I walk on no ice, there’s nothing between he and I in that way. He just wants to learn about the Sins and who knows maybe I can convert him?” It was a thin and measly lie but she didn’t call you upon it.

Time had fallen upon evening feast while you spoke and she picked a different dress not covered in dirt and dust and gravy to keep you meeting King Ragnar’s son. Say what she will on keeping secrets from your betters and peers but there was a curious part on how carefully constructed Maude could make lies when protecting you. How did she know what dresses to use perfectly to cover your arm’s bruise? How did she know to get dust off the back of your neck and hair before you even noticed it was there? Your mother had only been in her affair with King Aelle for a few months before leaving and the handing you up to him. Was it in any way considerable that she learned all this from a few months of passion between two people?

It didn’t matter to you once she yanked upon your hair, “Are you even listening?”, a sheepish grin crossed your features as you began to fiddle with the red dress’ sleeve. “Och, of course not. I said that Aethelwulf won’t buy you going to the kitchen the whole day. Say you spent half the day there then came here for stitching.”

Before you could even protest that there was nothing to show that you had been stitching she took a finger and with a needle pricked you, the sharpness and sudden hurt made you yelp like a child, then she handed you a plain white stitching already halfway done. Taking a moment to work on it the blood had seeped into the fabric to mimic an accident then she bandaged the finger.

“I’ve seen desire kill one of my charges, I’ll not see it get you beaten.” Her thumb brushed tenderly over the cut on your bottom lip, “Now, time for you to sup with your kin.”

It hadn’t taken long to get to the feast hall, the table already filled with more food than the four of you could possibly eat with an irked Alfred. You sat next to him with your ever present mischievous smile that now caused your lip to throb, Alfred’s irritation melted into slight concern but you simply ruffled his hair in play, turning to the feast you clasped your hands together in prayer. It was a short thanks to God for his generosity to your family’s feast and you were all too happy about that because not a second later your stomach released a rather unladylike growl.

Judith laughed lightly at it and as always Aethelwulf glared despite your redeeming table manners, “ How was your day, I didn’t see you after this morning.” The pathetic excuse for politeness used as interrogation of your whereabouts.

“I went to the kitchens, Lily always has some sweets set aside for me.” Judith chuckled at you.

“Those dresses won’t grow with you dear sister.” You gaped at the woman, she was Ecbert’s lover but Aethelwulf was still her husband and not too forgiving of her antics.

“My dear sweet sister don’t you know I pray upon my knees for not a single gain of weight.” The innuendo not lost on her as she chuckled and shook her head, “After the kitchen I went to stitching with Maude, pricked myself something painful to and messed up the fabric.”

You displayed the finger that had the slightest red tinge to assist in the smooth lie, Maude was your life saver. Super passed in relative ease, as much as was expected at least, and upon Alfred walking with you down the halls you were ready for the demands.

“You promised I could go with you.” He sounded more hurt than angry, “You got hit for it, didn’t you? And don’t lie telling me you just ran into something.”

“Oh, Alfred you are too clever for your age.” You ruffled his hair much to his pinched face of displeasure, “I’m sorry that I can’t take you to see the Northmen, we’ll just have to wait until your grandfather gets here. He’ll let you meet them no doubt.”

The answer soothed him as he walked you to your room. The four walls were cold despite the bed and fire, the room bare but filled with ornaments and tapestries hanging on the walls. You just sighed and shrugged out of the clothes, unbecoming of you to sleep in nothing you pulled a sheer nightgown on and slid in bed, intent on dreaming away the occasional throb in your lip and even the bright blue eyes inquisitively looking at you. The rise of sleep cascading gently down on you made you sigh in gratefulness, nothingness and quiet cradling while you willingly fell into the dark of it.

You expected to not dream, you hadn’t since you were a child after all, not the sound of waves lapping against the grainy sand under your bare feet. The breeze was dancing through your hair, tossing whichever way it pleased, while the sun was warm but the chill pressed you upon the ground of having goosebumps yet not needing a cloak. The air was crisp feeling your lungs and birds sang while there were creaks of boats somewhere with the laughter of children. You couldn’t see them. You could see the bank and the farm and trees rising with the cliffs. All of it familiar and not at all.

A child ran by, a girl with blonde hair, that grabbed your hand and tugged you into a run; she was small to be so strong while she pulled this way and that. You were passing the farm and going into the trees where it was dark and soft greens played against vibrant browns.

“Where are we going?” Your voice sounded far off and seemed to echo but the girl only giggled you hadn’t noticed she’d already let go of you as your feet carried after her in curiosity.

She spoke in some language all the while twirling about with you desperately trying to keep up and almost falling off the cliff if you hadn’t looked down. It was a sharp drop into water far below but she hovered above it looking at you expectantly and waved you to come over. You shook your head and instead of running off like you’d expected her to do she simply sat on nothing looking content to wait.

The dream didn’t shatter or fall from under your feet instead you just sat up with the odd sensation of wanting to run. Not in fear but just to run. To feel the muddy sand under your feet or taste the cool air despite it being summer. You shook loose the thoughts and lingering sensations to be met with a cool room and a purple dress. You slid it on over egear at the idea of teaching Ragnar’s son about sin. It was better than spending the day in the castle with a heinous, temperamental, self entitled-

“I hope you’re not talking about yourself.” Maude’s crooning voice sounded from the door as you struggled with your back lacings, “You’re up rather early, my lady.”

“Of course; I’m off to see Nobody.” You grinned at the name, if lying was a sin then you wouldn’t lie.

Nobody was what Odysseus had called himself to keep the cyclops Polyphemus from calling to his comrades. Seeing as how you didn’t know his name then your new student would be called Nobody until he got exasperated enough to actually tell you his name. He was being smug because he didn’t know how impatiently patient you could be, a contradictory of course but if you could get under his skin just enough to antagonize him it might force him into telling you.

The guards were asleep on their feet as you had two apples, one balancing in the grip of your teeth and a wine skin of water courtesy of Maude, and slid by them with ease thankful that your antics had made you quiet. You had learned your lesson by getting too close to Nobody in attempt to wake him up, instead you made loud clacking to sound that you were in the room. He didn’t sit up but one eye did open, seemingly uncaring of your being there.

“Good morning, I’ve got you an apple and then we can get to talking about Sins.” You had to admit to the excited sensation and impatience in your chest.

He groaned and rolled onto his side, away from you while you jutted your hip out, “Or I could take my breakfast and just let you beat your head against the wall in frustrated loneliness.”

You could feel him roll his eyes before turning back to you, “And why do you think I am lonely?”

“Because you asked me yesterday to come back and talk about Sin. You could have easily dismissed me.” A sly grin slid across your face at his scowl, “So Nobody-”

“Why Nobody? I do have a name?” Ivar partly growled and huffed.

“Do you? If you tell me I’ll call you by it.” At that he huffed out a laugh and you smiled.

It was a small sound but still pleasing to the ear while he shifted about to let you sit by him and give him the apple that was bitten into with a loud ‘crunch’ to echo of the walls. Odd that they didn’t seem as cold as your room’s had.

“You said sins, more than one?” You nodded thinking of which one to speak of first.

“Seven and we’ll talk about Pride today. Pride is to think of yourself high than others, and to -”

“But you are higher than others, if you are higher.” He didn’t let you finish, “How can you not have pride in what you do or how it defines you from the rest of people?”

“That’s why it’s a sin, you should be humble in getting recognition.” He raised an eyebrow, “Do you not know what humble is?”

“I’m not an idiot, woman, I know what humble is.” He snarled out at what he took as an insult, “It seems foolish not to want to take claim on what you’ve rightfully done. If you are not proud of your death or what you have done in life how do you know what your accomplishments are worth?”

“That’s the thing though, your accomplishments of good are weighed against those actions of evil like stealing from others.” You watched him mull about in his mind, blue eyes drifting off on their focus.

“If you’ve conquered and take what is yours though by right is that considered your evil?” Ivar sounded amused at the look on your face, “After all whatever you conquer now becomes yours does it not? Taking lands from those who had it before you like your kings would do in war. Is that not evil?”

“Well, yes but”-

“Then are you all not guilty if you have taken the land that you stand on. Even you? After all this belonged to someone else and now you claim it as home and hearth.” He grinned leaning back and taking another bite of the apple, it’s juice running down his chin.

It was your brief thought to lean forwards and...no that’s not a good place to go, “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Though you can be forgiven by God for any sin.”

“You conquered this land, no? It had its own people, its own Gods but yours came and took it. You put up odd houses with your bells and take pride in that you are ‘spreading’ the word of your God. Is that not taking pride in a sin you committed of taking land, or accomplishing that you took what was theirs?” You eyebrows scrunched together in thought.

“I think I liked you better when I had to guess your name.” He laughed and you thought it was peculiar to be captivated by such a simple sound, higher than you thought it’d be, and though it took pleasure out of mocking you perhaps it wasn’t so bad.

“Then shall you guess again? Or am I to turn your words upon yourself.” Ivar’s eyes were slow in taking you in, under the words you might have had to clear the lack of anything in your throat.

Ivar was certain he’d been in here far too long despite how short of a time it might be. He was able to admit to a small degree that he was going to enjoy turning things on yourself but he hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much. Nor expect to enjoy the pale morning light shining into his dark hole that made all the brighter by your being here. Not the sweetness of an offered apple that he took from your hands. He could smell lavender lingering on your skin and wondered how close you’d let him if he moved a little. Ivar could easily blame it upon you being the only one to even dare to look in here.

“You are odd.” You tilted your head at that, “You see my legs but yet you don’t stare or laugh at it.”

“Well you are a North-”

“Viking. The word is Viking.” He offered, tired of the Northman title.

“Viking. Well you are a Viking and it wouldn’t be in best interest to make you want to throttle me. Besides they’re just legs. I’ve seen worse.” He scoffed.

“I’m serious. I’ve seen a man with no eye. And a woman without either of her legs. At least you still have yours.” You teased, “You can still feel can’t you?”

Ivar shifted now uncomfortable, “I think I liked you better when you were guessing my name.”

He parroted back and you blushed but nodded agreeing on talking of different things and of Pride. It was to a point infuriating and worse still? Some things that he said made sense, some tales of his Gods made sense and you couldn’t help but find similarities between the two.

“Do you have any brothers” at the question he groaned, you snickered, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“They’re all a pain.” Laughter came easy around him, bruises lessened and rooms became warmer.

“Do you play games, besides weapons I mean?” Ivar enjoyed your eagerness in your questioning.

“Do you besides your stitching?” He cocked his head and you grinned.

“I play chess, I’m rather good at it.” You boasted proudly, him smirking at how you’d just sinned on your own without thought.

“Think you so? I could beat you.” Ivar took amusement and the snort that escaped you.

“You could try. In any case I suppose I should at least bring the board here to prove myself.” You stood up rather excitedly and walked to the door.

“Woman.” You turned before opening it, “Did you not sin of pride at how good you are at chess?”

The thought washed over you and for once in his company you felt heat on your face. You looked down thinking over something to say before the tale of your mother came to mind.

“God forgives all.” and with that you left for the chance at beating him in chess.

Ivar watched you leave, the dress trailing behind you as it flowed, there was something to the way your h/c locks shifted through the movements it must be soft. He found a small part of him thankful that you’d not been caught or perhaps you lied well enough that you wouldn’t be beaten again. He begrudgingly admitted to himself what he’d never do allowed, your company both soothed and infuriated him. The ringing laughter was agreeable to his silence that paraded in the room leaving him to thoughts. The wide eyes of fascination about the simplest of things, the soft sounds of interest. Those were deadly to the ears, the hum of questioning or the rolling ‘ah’ of understanding.

There was no denying the beauty that graced you but it was difficult to fully grasp at the fact that you were enraptured by his world as he was with the way you lived as yourself. Suffocating in your own home, bursting at the seams for a small filter of fresh air into your dank life and how silent you could be slipping in and out of shadows. The soft hands that had seen nothing but needlework, could they ever threaten a weapon? You walked back in with a smile and a checkerboard willing to play a game.

The game was slow, planned, a challenge, the soft ‘tak’ of moving pieces made you grin, “I’m going to win dear Nobody.”

“That so?” He put you in check to which you bite your lower lips, something about the movement was appealing.

“Your pride will be your downfall.” Moving out of check forced him into checkmate, “I won.” He scoffed but had a grin on his face.

“Tell me more of your home, this Kattegat.”

“It’s a trading post with boats coming in and docking. The flourishing is made by wares and the Longhouse where the thrones sit are filled with the slaves going back and forth for anything you could ask. Not unlike your servant woman.”

“Maude, she’s my keeper or at least that’s what she keeps trying to imprint in my head.” You chuckled, “All the while she is torn of encouraging me or scolding me and I don’t understand her half the time with her speaking in riddles.”

“I know someone that she might be like, save that he’s a little more...more.” You couldn’t help the snicker nor notice Maude leaving wine in the room as you fetched it for the two of you.

Wine was a wonder of the world, the way it made your mind hazy the ease it cause and the lack of control it helped spin. Such a drink helped to the moment where you were curiously looking over Nobody’s hands. They’d ended in your lap as you pressed against the rough skin, feeling the callouses under your fingertips.

“They’re rough. Rougher than a soldier's I’ve touched those before, why?” You questioned turning his hands and looking at the small scars and tracing lines.

“They’re the hands of a sinner.” He chided carefully and you chuffed at the thought, you had sin on your own hands and yet they were not as rough nor were the men’s hands in the castle, “I go to the smiths, the buckles aren’t kind either.”

The smile was soft and gentle that played over your lips. When had you gotten this close? He wasn’t sure and found it humorous that you were holding and inquiring over the hands that could strangle you with ease, these hands that would be dripping in red with your kinsmen from a raid. What would you think of them then? Would you run and hide from him? You weren’t like the shield-maidens of his home, no your hands were more like a royals. Small, smooth, dainty.

These hands could never kill, "Yours are soft, what do they do?” “Perhaps they sin too, more gently than yours but sin is still sin.” You looked up shyly from under your eyelashes at him- “They’re pricked by needles.” -his finger pressed gently on the wrapped pointer finger.

“They sneak around on walls no doubt, and play chess. But they couldn’t hold an axe or shield.” He now examined your hands just as intently, tracing the lines on your palm with callouses dragging against the skin.

“No, but maybe one day a bow?” Ivar shook his head, blue eyes like the sky after a storm flickered up to you there was something there, something vibrant and fierce in them made you pull your hand back.

‘Too close to the fire and it will burn, too close.’ You cleared your throat resting your hands back on your lap.

“You said there were seven.” You raised an eyebrow, “Sins.”

“Yes. We’ll speak of Gluttony tomorrow, won’t we?” Why had your voice gone so hoarse?

“Another game too.” The noncommittal hum from your mouth had you already trying to plan the next day and talks of Gluttony.

Even then you were hoping there was a way around warming your hands against the fire that was burning hot enough to be blue in it’s hue. Burning like his eyes. Burning.

‘Would it be so bad to be burned?’

#ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar's heathen army #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless imagine #vikings #Vikings imagine #sister wives #multi chapter #oh boy man this is gonna take forever to get where I want it to be #it is so hard to not just leap into sin #i'm learning restraint by not just leaping head first into smut #i'm doing very well #but there will be smut #no doubt #there will be tears #hopefully #i'm gunning for tears

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