you must move on there is nothing else

you must move on there is nothing else by bansheesquad Chapters: 2/? Fandom: God of War (Video Games) Tags: Post-Game(s), Dragon hunting, Quests, Spells & Enchantments, Injury, Realm Hopping Summary:

Midgard thaws after Ragnarök, Kratos, Freya and Mimir put the realms to rights. Loki and Angbroda travel in search of the giants. No one has seen Sindri since he walked away from his brother's funeral. Until a dragon attacks Vanaheim and threatens to jeopardise the hopeful peace efforts.

i was tagged by literally everyone to make a ship in this template, thank you so much @denerims, @leviiackrman, @risingsh0t, @marivenah, @indorilnerevarine, @chuckhansen, @aartyom, @prometheas, @cptcassian & @jendoe xx

In honor of finishing my Ragnarok playthrough, I’ve updated my very lengthy, very self-indulgent Atreus of Sparta/Kratos fanfic! Only two chapters left to go now :”)

your name: Atreus

Romantic or platonic?: Both?

A night in or dinner out or an activity?: We could go to some of my favourite places in each of the realms! Which I guess would mean 'an activity.'

Ice cream or chocolate covered strawberries?: Both sound good.

What's your perfect date?: Sharing my favourite places with people I care about.

Would you cook for me?: Yeah, definitely! Mom taught me her best recipes, and I even know some from Father's homeland.

Would you let me cook for you?: Yeah, if you wanted to!

Can we make-out?: If you want to, definitely.

Make out in private or in public?: Private. I would be even more awkward around my dad.

Do you like to cuddle?: Yes.

Blankets or no blankets for cuddling?: Yes to blankets.

Couch or bed?: Either or both is fine, really.

What are at least 3 hobbies of yours?: Making friends, trying new languages, learning

Tell me something about you no else knows: Until my mom died, it was mostly animals that were my friends. I didn't meet someone else my own age until my dad and I started traveling the realms.

Why do you want to be my valentine?: You seem to get me pretty well. I....like you a lot.

What makes you a good Valentine?: I cook pretty well, and I know how to travel between realms easily, so I know where all the prettiest places are.

RP MUSE VALENTINE’S APPLICATION.

[❇]—;

A small smile slowly starts to spread across freckled features. Freckles starting to slowly accented by the pink slowly filling his cheeks. He enjoyed Atreus' company. Or well he supposed Loki would also be an appropriate name too. Whatever the other decided he call them would be the name he would mainly use. "I uh...I'd love seeing more of the realms. I can maybe show you a few of my favorite places. If you don't mind me talking about gemstones there." He knew all the best spots for ores, various gems and other things useful for his craft. Which would come to little surprise to anyone.

"I wouldn't even mind to go painting either." It was a suggestion of course. He had so much he could share and he wouldn't mind the conversation. Fidgeting realized perhaps he was assuming a bit too much? The red was more apparent as he looked away embarrassed. Pulling at the hem of his sleeves.

He also wouldn't mind trying some new foods either. "We have a nice garden you can choose anything you'd like from there and we could....cook together?" Being just his dad and himself he had to do a lot of what his mother would have done growing up in a household like they had. But it was just the two of them. They could trade recipes sometime too.

"I'd like to sometime."

@stardustedstories

Ch. 17: Cherry

Read on AO3 | Read from the beginning

It’s been a wet kind of summer. The rains started early after spring and persisted until the tail end of June, unusual for this time of year. The air is thick and humid, as if moving through water, and the sky hangs dull and heavy above the valley.

For the most part, Patroclus has been working in the vineyards of the area, along with the throngs of other seasonal workers that arrive in Phthia for every harvesting period. It’s hard work, but Patroclus has never minded physical labour overly much. More than anything, he’s glad that the exams are done and over with; if his mind had to retain yet one more piece of information, it might explode.

Bees buzz merrily around him as he clips the grapes from the vines and tosses them in his basket. His back is aching and the sweat stings his eyes; there’s only a few more minutes until the end of the work day. Patroclus is looking forward to a cold drink of water and an even colder shower. He woke up at six this morning to ride his bike all the way here; the vineyard is quite far out, past Atreus' farm and across the Spercheios river, miles upon miles of wheat and alfalfa fields with their deep irrigation ditches. Grape harvesting pays slightly better than other jobs, but you can't work too fast or the fruits will be bruised. Employers don't like that. 

Some days, like this one, when the sun burns bright above them and there isn’t the reprieve of rain clouds hovering above, Patroclus wonders if he’s making things way too hard for himself. Peleus all but assured them that he would pay for any and all expenses he and Achilles would have during their move to the capital, and more besides, but Patroclus feels better knowing that he won’t be relying entirely on Peleus’ charity. His savings will be just about enough to cover his personal expenses for the first couple of months, until he finds another job there. Patroclus considers that a win; he thinks it will be good for him to be a little bit more independent. 

He returns with his basket filled to the brim and a procession of bees in tow, then lines up along with the others to receive his pay for the day. Most of the workers are undocumented immigrants; the job pays five bucks per hour and there are no papers to sign, no tax deductions. They're all paid under the table, in cash. 

Patroclus accepts the bills with fingers darkened by dirt and sticky with sap, and slips them in his pocket. 

He gets on his bike and pedals fast down the dirt road. A quick stop by the house for a shower, a change of clothes and a snack, and he’s off again. The others must already be at the basketball court, probably already a couple games in. Achilles must surely be among them, obliterating the opposing team’s defences. 

He had found Patroclus’ decision to work for most of the summer odd. He didn’t tell him as much, never tried to dissuade him, but Patroclus could tell from his baffled frown and the words he held back that the notion of working the summer before college never once crossed his mind. Not out of laziness, but out of a lack of need. What use was there to waste his time working in someone else’s fields, when his father owned so many of his own?

“It’d be a conflict of interest,” he’d told Patroclus with an easy smile. “Bad for business, you understand.” 

Patroclus had laughed and they’d said nothing more about it, but the tinge of disappointment in Achilles’ eyes every time Patroclus has to miss one of the boys’ outings or basketball games is impossible not to notice. Perhaps it grates a little at Achilles, the same it does at him, that they aren’t spending all of their time together like they used to, like they have done every other summer since Patroclus came to Phthia. That they aren’t racing with their bikes down the empty dirt roads, leaving clouds of dust in their wake, or reading dusty books from Peleus’ library underneath the shade of the willow tree at the shed. That they don't... exist together as naturally and effortlessly as they once did.

But things aren’t quite the same between them now as they were back then. Since their row in the garage, Achilles has been a little quiet and aloof around him, not quite as eager to monopolise his time and company. And in the span of two months, Patroclus has been to the shed with Achilles all of five times and to the beach only once. During those times, he was careful not to linger too long, not to let the conversation drift towards… dangerous places. Not to sit too near, lean too close, touch. No funny business. 

It’s all for the best, Patroclus knows. The right and sensible thing to do. The line they’ve been walking with all of this has been far too thin; it was only a matter of time before it all blew up in their faces, surely, before someone found out or before their friendship started unraveling because of it. But he still can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing something essential, that he’s fucked up somehow. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

The echo of the ball’s dribble and the scattered conversations reach him before Patroclus turns the corner to the basketball court. It’s rather busy now that the sun has fallen a bit, and the bleachers are half full, younger kids from school or from the next village over. He spots Briseis and the other girls up on the third row, giggling amongst themselves as they watch the game. 

Briseis waves happily at him. “Took you longer than usual,” she tells him as he comes to sit next to her. “Does the future of Phthia’s winemaking rest solely on your very capable shoulders?” 

Read the rest on AO3!

Keep your inc*st and ch*ld p*rn out of the fandom. Even more so when it’s all of the above. Fandom, we can do better than this. Don’t be gross.

Even in Ragnarok Atreus isn’t an adult. I don’t want arguments on what it means to be an adult in times like that. I don’t care if he went off on his own. He’s still a fucking child.

I will not be debating this.

If you see it, don’t just block it, report it.

🥺😈⛔

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

I already answered this one, but honorable mention to anytime they use formal titles as pet names. 'Monsieur' as an endearment makes my brain go brrrr

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

I answered this one overall, but I do have something I know you specifically are gonna hate in my WIP

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

Oh God, so many

IWTV but things go way better in general and it's just vampires in love (some scenes and concepts from this have been/will be incorporated into The House of Atreus)

A Prince Lestat-era political drama with evil power couple Loustat focused on Lestat as the charismatic figurehead and Louis as his consort puppetmaster

Beauty and the Beast AU

A plantation-era one-shot where Louis asks Lestat during an argument if he's ever actually wanted to be good followed by a convo about Nicki (again, a lot of what I wrote for this was used for ch 8 of BA)

KRATOS: “No, boy...” BALDUR: “Fine.”

Masterlist

Started: 1/12/21

Last Updated: 12/23/22

Items with * next to it are works in progress and are subject to change.

God of war Ragnarök

Heimdall

Annoying gods & foresight --- One (1,112) • Two (2,563) •

Summary: When Odin extends an invite to Asgard to both you and your little brother Atreus, what will happen when you slip away together undetected to Asgard to see what you can do to prevent the death of your father figure. Will you both be able to pull off the deception needed to achieve your goal? Or will a certain blond Aesir distract you from your original purpose in Asgard?

-in progress

Annoying gods & foresight ch.3 (w.c 548)

The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt

Geralt

-in progress

Music, Magic, and Wyverns.* (w.c 384)

The Arcane (tv series)

Viktor

-Fluff

That’s what friends do (748 words)

Paper love (460 words)

-in progress

Roadside Daises* (w.c 856)

Youthful distractions* (w.c n/a)

Attack on titan

Erwin Smith

-Fluff

Quiet kisses (727 words)

My Hero Academia

Shouta Aizawa

-Angst

Survivors Guilt (1,042 words)

-Miscellaneous

Adoring You. (499 words)

Touya Todoroki aka Dabi

-Fluff

Suffocate (1,118 words)

Uncharted

Sam Drake

-Fluff

Useless Jealousy (243 words)

Chocolate Kisses (338 words)

Wounded (389 words)

-Angst

Premature Goodbye (254 words)

Original works

-Originals

Lovely day (1,537 words)

O Básico do Básico de Grego Antigo

Texto original por @sisterofiris disponível aqui!

Nota: essa postagem contém as informações da postagem original mais o adicional de um reblog posterior, ambos disponíveis no link acima. Além disso, foram feitas adaptações para facilitar o entendimento de falantes de português brasileiro./ This post contains both the original post as well as the reblog with additional information, which were all combined into a single post here so that it is easier to understand. We also had to make changes in the pronunciation bits so as to make it understandable for Portuguese speakers.

Alfabeto e Pronúncia

A pronúncia que uso é a pronúncia reconstruída do Grego Antigo que aprendi na faculdade. É basicamente a mesma que Grego Moderno, exceto por algumas diferenças na pronúncia de certas letras. Há uma certa discussão sobre como era de fato a pronúncia do Grego Antigo, então é possível que outros que tenham estudado a língua discordem de mim aqui.

Α, α: alpha, corresponde ao A em português, como em ��rvore.

Β, β: beta, corresponde ao B em português e é pronunciado do mesmo modo.

Γ, γ: gamma, corresponde ao G em português, como em gato ou guerreiro, nunca como em gelo. Na frente de κ, μ, ν, ξ, ou χ, ou no caso de aparecer duas vezes seguido, será pronunciado como ng, como em ninguém. Portanto, na palavra ἀγήραος (eterno, sempre jovem) teremos a pronúncia a-gue-ra-os, mas na palavra ἄγγελος (mensageiro), teremos a pronúncia ang-e-loss.

Δ, δ: delta, corresponde ao D em português, e é pronunciado como em dado, só que um pouco mais dental: tente dizer d colocando a língua atrás dos dentes. Não ocorre a pronúncia dj, como em verdade (comum em várias regiões do Brasil).

Ε, ε: epsilon, corresponde ao Ê fechado do português, como na palavra português. É uma vogal curta.

Ζ, ζ: zeta, corresponde ao Z do português. Pronunciada como “dz”. Algumas pessoas pronunciam como “ts” ou “z”.

Η, η: eta, corresponde ao É aberto do português, como em ré. É uma vogal longa.

Θ, θ: theta, não possui equivalente no português. A pronúncia é a mesma to ”th” em inglês como em “think”.

Ι, ι: iota, corresponde ao I em português. Pronúncia como em isso.

Κ, κ: kappa, corresponde ao K em português ou inglês e possui a mesma pronúncia.

Λ, λ: lambda, corresponde ao L em português, como em língua. É pronunciado de modo dental, como no caso do delta. Não é pronunciado como u ao final de sílabas, como em final.

Μ, μ: mu, corresponde ao M em português e possui a mesma pronúncia.

Ν, ν: nu, corresponde ao N em português e possui a mesma pronúncia.

Ξ, ξ: xi, corresponde ao X em português, como em táxi.

Ο, ο: omikron, corresponde ao Ô fechado em português, como em avô. É uma vogal curta.

Π, π: pi, corresponde a 3,14159 e ao P em português. Pronunciado como “três vírgula um quatro um cinco nove“, ou apenas p.  

Ρ, ρ: rho, corresponde ao R em meio de palavra em português, como em arara. É um r vibrante, tal como no grego moderno ou no espanhol.  

Σ, σ, ς: sigma, corresponde ao S ou SS em português, pronunciada como em pássaro. A letra sigma é especial pois possui duas formas: ς só é usada no final da palavra, e σ é usada em todos os outros casos(ex: κοσμος).

Τ, τ: tau, corresponde ao T em português, sendo apenas mais dental (como no caso do delta e do lambda). Não é pronunciado como tch como em tio.

Υ, υ: upsilon, corresponde ao U em português. A pronúncia é como um i, mas mais fechado, com os lábios arredondados (como o “u” em francês).

Φ, φ: phi, não possui equivalente em português. A pronúncia é igual a um “f”.

Χ, χ: khi, não possui equivalente em português. A pronúncia é como em ch ao final do nome Bach, em alemão; também parecido com o som de r em início de palavra como em rato, mas um pouco mais fraco. Tente rosnar como um tigre, meio agressivo e meio irritado, e provavelmente você vai chegar lá.

Ψ, ψ: psi, não possui equivalente em português. A pronúncia é  “ps” como em psicologia, mas sem vogais no meio, como se estivesse chamando um gato.

Ω, ω: omega, corresponde ao Ó aberto em português, como em ótimo. É uma vogal longa.

Algumas vogas são longas, outras são curtas. Isso foi mencionado brevemente acima, mas vamos resumir: ε, ι, ο, e υ são curtas, enquanto  η e ω são longas. α pode ser curto ou longo a depender do contexto e acentuação.  

Grego Antigo também possui ditongos, quando duas letras produzem um único som (como em ou). Os ditongos são:

αι: pronúncia igual a ai em português.

ει: pronúncia igual a ei em português.  

οι: pronúncia igual a oi em português.

αυ: pronúncia igual a au em português.

ευ: pronúncia igual a eu em português

ου: pronúncia igual a u em português.

Outro fenômeno que ocorre é o iota subscrito. É um pequeno iota abaixo de outra vogal (longa), como em:  ᾳ, ῃ, ῳ. Originalmente, esses eram ditongos αι, ηι, ωι. Algumas edições de textos (por exemplo, Les Belles Lettres) ainda utilizam essa grafia, mas na maior parte do tempo você verá o iota subscrito, e não ao lado da letra. Esses ditongos eram pronunciados tais como os ditongos acima, com a diferença de que a primeira vogal era longa. Com o passar do tempo, o iota deixou de ser pronunciado, de modo que ᾳ  passou a ser pronunciado como α, ῃ como η e ῳ como ω. Eu aprendi a pronúncia mais antiga, na qual o iota é pronunciado, mas você pode optar por pronunciá-lo (Grego mais antigo) ou não (Grego mais recente).

Aqui uma frase como exemplo:

Παιδευω την αρχαιην ελληνικην γλωσσην μετα σιστεροφιρις.

Significa: Estou aprendendo a língua grega antiga com sisterofiris. Tente ler em voz alta usando a pronúncia que vimos até agora!

Só que tem um pequeno problema na frase acima: acentuação.

Acentuação

Grego Antigo, ao contrário do Moderno, possui muitos acentos. Existem dois tipos de acento: acentos tonais, que indicam a sílaba tônica da palavra, e aspirações, que indicam se haverá aspiração, isto é, um som de h, no início da palavra*.

Quando utilizando letras maiúsculas, os acentos aparecem antes da letra, (exemplo: Ά). Nos outros casos, eles aparecem em cima da letra (exemplo: ά). Os acentos só aparecem em vogais, com exceção do  ρ, que sempre vai apresentar espírito rude (aspiração) no início de uma palavra.

ἁ indica uma pronúncia aspirada, como em “ha”.

ἀ indica uma pronúncia normal, não aspirada, como em “a”.

ά é um acento agudo. Isso significa que essa sílaba é tônica. Sua entonação deve subir, como se fosse o final de uma pergunta.

ὰ é um acento grave. Ninguém sabe como era pronunciado. Ignore-o.

ᾶ é um acento circunflexo. Significa que a sílaba é longa e tônica. A sua entonação deve descer.

Outro acento existente é o trema: ¨, que também vai na vogal. O trema apenas aparece em ditongos para mostrar que as vogais devem ser pronunciadas separadamente, como em um hiato. Por exemplo  αι se pronuncia como ai, mas  αϊ  se pronuncia como aí.  Essa é a diferença entre εἶμι, EI-mi (eu sou) e   Ἀτρεΐδης, A-tre-Í-des, filho de Atreus (pontos extras se você o conhece!).

As aspirações/espíritos só são usados no início de uma palavra. Então por exemplo, a pronúncia aspirada em Tom Hanks ficaria normal, mas o h em Rihanna já não estaria presente, e seria Rianna.  

É possível ter qualquer combinação de aspiração e acento tonal em uma letra. Isso significa que você pode se deparar com letras como: ἂ, ἇ, ἅ. No entanto, só é possível ter um tipo de acento tonal e de aspiração em determinada letra.  

Via de regra, só é possível ter um acento tonal por palavra, mas há exceções. Algumas palavras bem curtas não chegam a apresentar acentos tonais. 

Por fim, em ditongos, o acento é sempre escrito na segunda letra. Se você encontrar um ditongo com um acento na primeira letra e outro na segunda, não se trata de um ditongo de verdade, mas sim de um hiato e cada vogal é pronunciada separadamente.

Sabendo tudo isso, vamos reescrever a frase:

Παιδεύω τὴν ἀρχαίην ἑλληνικήν γλώσσην μετα σιστεροφίρις.

Mas pera, tem mais!

Pontuação:

Existem quatro tipos diferentes de pontuação em Grego Antigo: o ponto de interrogação, o ponto-vírgula/dois pontos, a vírgula e o ponto final.

; é o ponto de interrogação. Eu sei, é confuso. Em uma frase, seria:  Παιδεύω τὴν ἀρχαίην ἑλληνικήν γλώσσην μετα σιστεροφίρις; Estou aprendendo a língua grega antiga com sisterofiris?

˙é bem pequeno, mas é tanto ponto-vírgula quanto dois pontos. Παιδεύω τὴν ἀρχαίην ἑλληνικήν γλώσσην μετα σιστεροφίρις˙ και…Estou aprendendo a língua grega antiga com sisterofiris; e…  Ou Estou aprendendo a língua grega antiga com sisterofiris: e…

, é a vírgula. Funciona como nas outras línguas.  

. é o ponto final. Como com a vírgula, funciona do mesmo modo que em outras línguas.  

Infelizmente, não existe ponto de exclamação e Grego Antigo, então não tem como ficar animadíssimo e dizer: Estou aprendendo a língua grega antiga com sisterofiris!

*Em português, também chamamos o acento que marca aspiração de espírito rude, e o acento que marca ausência de aspiração de espírito brando.

maybe in another universe - ch. 1 [fic]

Jon isn’t expecting anything good when he’s evacuated to the countryside. Living with his crush rival he can just about handle. The secret magical world in the upstairs wardrobe, on the other hand, might just break him.

AKA: Narnia AU

Word Count: 2,707 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 2,

chapter one: the train to everywhere

As the train leaves the station, Jon doesn't look back.

The corridors outside his carriage are filled with other kids, craning their necks out of the windows to wave at their parents, tears streaming down their faces. It's a mess of loud noise and emotion that makes Jon wholly uncomfortable.

There's no one for him to look back to, no one to share tears with. No one to yell at him, you'll be home before you know it! and have fun, dear! it's okay!

He curls his arms around his suitcase and stares out the opposite window, at the vanishing buildings. Smoke shimmers over the horizon, mixing with the clouds, and Jon tries to imagine the view from above. When the planes fly overhead, do they recognise the smothered lights flickering below? Do they spare a thought for the bodies on the other side of the flames?

The corners of his suitcase begin to dig painfully into his skin.

Before he can spiral any further, the door to the compartment rattles open with a sudden gunshot sound that sets every nerve in his body alight.

He flinches and turns to see a girl roughly his own age, head swathed in a dark blue hijab, pressing her lips in an apologetic line.

"Sorry," she shrugs noncommittally, inclining her head. "Is that seat taken?"

"Uh, no."

"So I can take it?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks." She shoulders her way into the room, heaving her own suitcase up onto the rack above their heads with an easy movement. Jon grips his own sheepishly - several blows to the head have taught him that he is nowhere near strong enough to haul it up that high.

The girl settles into the seat opposite him, retrieves a book from the recesses of her thick navy trench coat. It's a weathered copy of The Iliad, well-thumbed and annotated.

He's leaning forward curiously before he can help himself.

The girl looks up with raised eyebrows. "Nosy much?"

"Sorry," he shrinks back behind the large bulk in his lap. "I just- I used to have that same copy. Before..."

The girl's face softens, infinitessimly. "It's one of my favourites," she offers, almost apologetically. "I started keeping all my books in the shelter a few months ago. It's the only reason this survived."

Jon says nothing - there's nothing he can really say. In this moment, they are just two strangers, sharing a burning world.

"I'm Basira," the girl says, with a decisive look. "I'm from Finchley, being evacuated to Dorset. You?"

"Uh- same," Jon blinks, surprised. "I'm Jon. I've- I've never seen you before?"

"I mean, I imagine you go to the boys' school."

"Not until last year."

"Oh."

Jon glances down at his hands, hoping Basira can't see the way his fingers are white-knuckled against his suitcase.

"Well, I was new before-" she waves her arms vaguely, "all this. Home-schooled. So not really surprising."

"Oh." Slowly, one by one, Jon allows his muscles to relax. "That must've been nice. Quiet."

"That's one word for it," Basira mutters in a way that implies a hundred other meanings than nice. "I was really looking forward to actually getting to know people, y'know? New people, my own age."

"Well, you know me now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

Jon tries for a smile, but it comes out as something more of a grimace. All the same, Basira seems to get the sentiment, and returns it.

~/~/~/~

Martin hates trains.

In theory, they're the perfect vessel. Hours of uninterrupted time, the world moving beneath your feet as you curl into a seat with a hot cup of tea and your favourite paperback.

But he hasn't been on a train since his mother sent him away to London, and that sort of memory tends to leave one with a distaste by association.

Now here he is, only a few years later, being sent away again.

He's just glad his mother refused to take him in. He's not sure he could bear going back to that house, potentially indefintiely.

All the same, he's trying to make the best out of the journey that he can. He's heard horror stories of other evacuees, forced to work on farms or taken in only to be used for their ration cards. If that's the sort of fate he's headed for, he'll take the luxury of a nice cuppa and the drafting of a few poems whilst it's still there.

And he really is in the perfect place for it. The smouldering London skyline behind him, the fathomless countryside ahead. A world in flux and chaos, defined in fire and water.

He notes that down in his journal.

"Any good thoughts?" Melanie asks through a mouthful of sandwich.

Martin blinks up at the girl sharing his compartment, an embodiment of chaos if ever he's seen one. She's lying across the seats opposite him, her suitcase open and contents strewn everywhere - she'd been digging through it to find something inane which turned out to be in her pocket the whole time, and hasn't bothered to pack it up again.

Martin's hands itch to tidy the space - instead he grips his pen a little too hard and settles for a quzzical smile.

"Your writing," she points with the corner of her sandwich. "You look very deep in concentration and dramatic. Any good thoughts?"

"I suppose," he shrugs, retreating somewhat under Melanie's energetic gaze. "Something about dichotomies. Peace and war, fire and water. City and country."

"Men and women, nurse and soldier. Alive and dead."

Martin raises an eyebrow. "I guess."

"Hey- if there's any time to be morbid, it's during a war, dontcha think?"

"True. Do you write?"

"Nope. I do photography, though."

Martin can feel himself getting interested despite himself. "Really? Do you have a camera?"

Melanie nudges at the pile of clothes somehow still heaped in the boundaries of her suitcase, revealing the packaging of a beautiful, sleek camera piece that makes Martin fall a little in love with this stranger instantly.

"Is that a Retina I?" he asks, unable to quite keep the awe out of his voice.

"You really know your tech," Melanie says approvingly. "Yeah, it is. I'm going to be a supernaturalist."

"A what?"

"A supernaturalist, Martin. I'm going to be the first person to prove that ghosts exist. I'm going to get one on film."

"Huh."

Martin deliberately avoids Melanie's eyes. To believe in the supernatural is not generally approved of, let alone to talk about it with the sudden reverence and conviction that have crept into Melanie's voice.

He's gotten very used to pretending he's never seen anything out of the ordinary. The smoke that follows him around like a shadow, the spiders that seem to understand him just a little too intelligently - they all have mundane explanations.

He's never met someone so open about such things.

He lasts a matter of seconds before his tongue gets the better of him. "What've you seen?"

Melanie grins, as if she's been waiting from the moment they met just for him to ask. "I got shot by a ghost."

Martin almost knocks over his tea. "I'm sorry?"

"I got shot by a ghost."

"Yeah, you said that already. What I meant to say was, what the fuck?"

Melanie looks delighted to have his attention. She reaches down and rolls her sock to her ankle, revealing a garish red scar screaming across her leg. "London's full of ghosts, if you hadn't noticed. They just love the chaos that's going on right now, always wandering all over the place when the streets are empty and everyone's hidden in their shelters."

"I'm guessing you're not one for shelters," Martin says dryly, attempting to smother the sheer confusion and excitement doing battle in his brain.

"Of course not," Melanie scoffs. "They won't let me enlist because I'm a girl, but, I mean, have you seen some of the boys in charge of Finchley's bomb clearance?"

"A lot of them were in the year above me at school," Martin nods. He could say far more bitter things, but he keeps his mouth shut.

"They're kids, just like us," Melanie nods, a furious look in her eyes. "I wouldn't trust them to protect me from a particularly vicious duck, let alone the end of days raining from the sky."

Martin grins in agreement. Despite initial perceptions, he's starting to like Melanie a lot.

A shame they'll only get to know each other for this one train ride, likely never to hear from each other again. Unless Melanie does actually become famous for photographing ghosts, and he becomes famous for his poetry, and maybe they'll meet at a gala sixty years from now and not recognise each other at all.

Martin mentally kicks himself out of that particular spiral. He's always had a problem with melancholy, and the world being on fire has hardly done anything to improve him.

He's convinced it's what makes him a good poet.

"Hey," he says, to distract himself. "Where are you being sent to?"

"Some professor," Melanie shrugs. "Probably a stuffy old bat who'll put you to work if she finds a single fingerprint in the dust. Academics are all the same, from what I've seen."

Martin looks down at his own tag, brown paper tied with fraying string, looped around his neck by a disinterested attendant at the posting office. He hasn't actually had the nerve to read the name yet.

His heart picks up. "Melanie... it's not Professor Gertrude Robinson, is it?"

~/~/~/~/~

"...But Patroclus called to his comrades with a loud shout: “Myrmidons, ye comrades of Achilles, son of Peleus, be men, my friends, and bethink you of furious valour, to the end that we may win honour for the son of Peleus, that is far the best of the Argives by the ships, himself and his squires that fight in close combat; and that the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, may know his blindness in that he honoured not at all the best of the Achaeans-"

"Achilles is such an idiot," Basira interrupts, rolling her eyes and flipping the coin in her palm in absent, distracted movements.

Jon raises an eyebrow and lowers the book. "I can stop, if you'd prefer."

"No, no, you're okay. You've got a surprisingly good voice for this stuff. I'm glad you suggested it."

They've been taking turns reading aloud, switching out every few pages to pass the time, since Jon has no books of his own. But Basira seems to have quickly decided that Jon is a born narrator and delegated all further reading to him.

He's been glowing faintly from the praise ever since.

The journey has flown by - as time often does when Jon's hyperfixations make an appearance - but for once he doesn't feel guilty about indulging it. Basira seems just as fascinated, somehow, and he greatly enjoys her interruptions.

"You don't think Achilles is an idiot?" she asks, crossing her legs and leaning forward intently.

"No, I definitely do- he sends his boyfriend out to fight a war he isn't prepared for just because of a grudge and then throws a tantrum when that hubris gets him killed. He's definitely an idiot."

"Oh good," Basira says, visibly relieved. "For a moment there I thought we were going to have to argue."

Jon laughs, and the sound comes easier than it has in a while. This realisation crawls under his skin, cutting the sound short. He looks out of the window for some semblance of escape-

"Hey! Look!" He points out at the approaching train station, a quaint thing, barely more than a slab of stone emerging from a field. But the sign, rusted as it is, reads the same as the looping handwriting on the label around his neck does.

"Oh joy," Basira sighs. "Countryside air and a new family who'll probably hate me."

"Where are you being sent?" Jon asks, more hopeful than he's willing to admit. "Maybe we'll be neighbours."

"The household of Professor Gertrude Robinson," she reads from her own label.

"So am I!" Jon's heart leaps high in his chest despite himself. "You know, if we're with a professor, she might- I mean, she probably isn't a rough work kind of person- so maybe... this won't be so awful after all?"

Of course, Jon has always had a habit of speaking too soon.

~/~/~/~/~

Gathering Melanie's discarded belongings is a predictably chaotic affair, but she executes it with the practiced air of someone who lives that way every day.

Martin can't decide whether he's excited or dreading living with this girl.

As soon as they sprawl out onto the platform with seconds to spare, Martin realises that Melanie's mess is the least of his worries.

Because perched on the station's only bench, face knitted into his iconic perpetual frown, eyes squinting against the sun, is Jonathan fucking Sims.

Next to his suitcase, and wearing a knitted jumper several sizes too big, he looks tiny. The tall hijabi girl standing on top of the bench, looking searchingly into the distant fields, only serves to exaggerate this.

Melanie notices the sudden drain in his skin immediately, and follows his gaze. "For fucks sake."

"You know him?" Martin asks faintly, resisting the urge to brush his hands through his hair, or smooth his clothes. Jon doesn't care what he looks like, doesn't care about him. He should've learnt back in primary school that being rivals isn't something to be romanticised.

But his heart doesn't seem to get the message as a stray gust of wind dances in Jon's dark hair, and it skips a beat.

"Do I know Jonathan fucking Sims?" Melanie grits out, heaving her suitcase roughly over one shoulder. "That guy is such a wanker. 'Ghosts are for idiots, Melanie. Just a romantic ideal made up by delusional people afraid of the dark.'"

"He's not that bad," Martin begins to protest before he can stop himself, "he's just been through a lot."

"Doesn't excuse him being a dick," Melanie grumbles. "Not to mention he used to date my girlfriend. Always having a disaster and blazing back into her life. What I wouldn't give for five minutes one on one, I'd teach him..."

Melanie goes on muttering under her breath, but Martin barely hears, because Jon has just met his eyes and nothing else in the world matters. There's surprise, then panic, before his expression settles back into a frown.

Martin sighs. It's not as if he should've expected anything else.

"Come on," he says to Melanie, picking up his suitcase. "We'd better get it over with."

The walk to close their distance seems to take hours, and somehow no time at all.

"Martin," Jon greets him with a clipped, emotionless tone.

"Hey, Jon," Martin smiles, refusing to let the other boy's walls get him down. "And you are?"

"Basira," the girl nods, still standing high above them and glancing distractedly towards the dirt path, likely looking for whoever will be along to pick up evacuees. "I guess you guys already know each other?"

"They go to school together," Melanie brushes off the explanation, before introducing herself, too. "Now we're all acquainted, how long before we never have to see each other again?"

Basira's eyes flick silently between the three of them, clearly noting the tension, but saying nothing.

"We're in the same house," Jon says stiffly. "I don't know about you two. I'm sure there are other benches you can loiter at."

"Well we're in the same house," Melanie shoots back, linking her arm with Martin and holding tight. She's a lot stronger than she looks.

An awful thought dawns on Martin, quickly encompassing and eclipsing anything else. "Where..." he swallows around his dry throat, "who are you guys with?"

Martin watches as Jon's eyes widen. Glance down at his own label, across at theirs, and back.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Martin wants to burrow into the ground and hide somewhere his blushing cheeks could never be seen. He shouldn't be surprised, really. This summer was already looking down, being far from London, living with strangers, adjusting to pretending to be whatever fit in most.

Living with the crush who hates his guts is somehow the only escalation that makes sense.

i feel like kratos gets along well with grimhild because she’s fairly blunt and says what she means, and also she’s a very competent warrior

Some asks! (yet again lmao)

"I saw you. You've been taught well. I am sure there are things even you could teach a seasoned archer." - Atreus of Sparta, CH. 4

Does that mean Atreus (or Freya after Ragnarök) is gonna teach AOS some lil bit of magic? >;D

If he's interested to learn more, what type of spells do you see him performing? :3

(not me imagining AOS shapeshifting into a animal he's assigned so he and bear!Kratos (and maybe wolf!Atreus) can cuddle together asdfghjkl)

And also; hope life is treating you well btw! 💕

hey friend! :D

THIS IS HONESTLY SO INTERESTING TO ME... since AOS is just a run of the mill dude, i've never entertained the idea of him being able to harness magic. tho i guess being mortal probably isn't a limitation for that really?? not sure how it works hmmm

he's an old geezer and stuck in his ways so while i'm sure he'd be more than willing to be taught whatever, he'd never actually use it. he'd probably see little atreus doing something cool and be like "You kids and your darn magic these days :)" or something LMAO. he's a quick study but i think its funny to imagine atreus jr teaching him like he's a grandpa getting an email for the first time lol

i don't want to say too much about the animal cuddle puddle but just know i am laughing at the mental image :')

thank you! it's been pretty okay but i've been having a bit of a tough time lately. i'll be alright tho! just annoyed with myself that this has completely stolen my motivation to write. :(

i hope you're also doin ok!!

@stardustedstories gets a starter [Atreus]

[❇]—;

New recruits always meant one thing. More work. Einherjar always made his job just a bit more difficult. Leaving broken weapons off of his counter rather than on them. Causing the rather smaller smith to trip when his prosthetic caught onto them. Sighing heavily he looked at the weapons left and picked up the heavier ones. Placing on the to be done pile as he looked through opening for the day. Smaller weapons followed next to them. There were plenty of other weapons for training days but he knew Hrist and Mist would rather they be in working order for them to be more efficient with their training.

Hard to believe it used to be his dads job once.

Pulling crates from under the work bench he cursed under his breath. His stores of ore were running low again which meant having to go get to go outside of the wall again. Kicking the box back under the stores he dusts his hands off. Pulling off of his apron before hanging it up. His head popping out from one of the benches as he looks towards the roof where his other half popped his head back over to look down at him. "Come on bud looks like we gotta go more ore today." The dragon happily bounced happily on the roof shaking many of the hanging features as Hiccup disappeared further into the smithy. Fetching the tail fin needed to go out.

The dragons excited croons alerted him as they changed to that of someone approaching the counters. "Sorry we're closed today! Just leave what you need to be done on the counter I'll get to it!" Raising his voice the smith still hadn't emerged as the sounds of items being rearranged were heard from within. Appearing as something fell as he waved it off. With tail fin in hand the other stopped looking surprised. "Oh it's you. Our new celebrity." He teased.

Chapter 2

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 4699

Warning: Mature themes implied.

Previous: Ch 01

In my 5 year absence, the thought of hating this man anymore than I already do was an unrealistic one. At least that’s what I would have liked to think. What other offense could he possibly commit to tarnish his image any further in my mind. I was more than sure it was impossible. But it was as if he had a checklist. Of course, the man I remembered was a teenager. His latest offense is one I had not taken into account; that over those 5 years his teenage physique have morphed into a sturdy stature of an Adonis. His arua more sinister than I could have ever predict, complimenting those chiseled features and merciless edges of his body that I resented. I resented the contrast between his sun kissed skin and the pink tint of his soft, supple, candy lips. His tongue taunting me as he slides it over to glaze them daringly. I resented the way my skin heated when I remember all ways that wet muscle made my body shake in need— all it was capable of or the way my eyes dilated as they soaked in the sight of his wide chest. It was all too much at once, my senses overloading and I start to feel light headed till he speaks up. It’s faint. A baffled whisper. “Rummie” A name only he used to call me. A name once so endearing; only ever spoken after a soft kiss, empty promise or passionate fuck, was now cold and perplexed. Slipping from those agonizing lips like a curse that could inflict misfortune upon him— Atreus or better yet, the return of some sinister mastermind.

Once the old name settled into the night air followed by a shaky breath it was as if a switch is flicked. Knowing that he is so unsettled by the truth; that it wasn’t his guilty conscious playing games with him. That I was actually standing before him after years, was a pleasant reminder of who I had become left leaving Seoul. It wasn’t for nothing and there really was no need to run. Especially not from him. “I-I’ve never seen— I mean, imagined you this way. This dress... everything really...” I scoff. “Let’s not pretend like you thought of me at all” as harsh has the words sound, they don’t seem to have registered. His mind far too invested in something else. His large hands racking through his brown hair before falling at his sides in clenched fits. Bemused, I obverse his furrowed brows and the knot in his jaw. The way he’s blinking 40 times per minute and shifting his weight from one leg to the other. I watch him struggle besides himself, making a painful attempt to stop his curious stare from taking me in fully. I was his unnamed fruit of Eden: his forbidden temptation provoking in him the desire to know me for all that I am. As much as every fiber within him wanted to resist, not knowing what allowing himself to indulge in my image could possibly mean. The urge to be awakened by this old flame was stronger. Ravaging my body with his stare till there was nothing left to see. A wicked smile comes across my face, my hands moving up my body slowly, allowing him to follow. His breath gets caught in his throat when I readjust my coat. Pulling at the material that kept most of my torso encased, letting it fall open completely. Giving him something to look at so his mind didn’t have to wonder too far. From the way his Adam’s apple quaked I know I had done him a favor. His eyes are blown out now, unable to retreat to the safety of whatever surrounds us, finding all interest in my newly exposed flesh. My smile sickenly-sweet as I make no move to deter him. The seconds seem to push on a lot longer with his eyes strained on my skin. “Don’t look too hard now Oppa, you might find something you like” I step closer, my voice a warm pur of encouragement. He moves backwards immediately, shaking his head, wanting nothing more than to deny my words. The confused expression has returned. “This- this isn’t you... not the way you speak, not the way you look. This dress” his head continues to shake in denial. “What are you doing here, Ahreum?” I ignore the question. “Come on, Kai. If I’m not who you’re thinking of who else could I possibly be?” my tone sarcastic. I’m waiting patiently for the witch chants, fire and pitch forks from Sm’s towns people but it never comes. His jaw clenches, “don’t call me that” I giggle, finding it funny that after all that has happened, hearing me address him as something so impersonal as his stage name still managed to get under his skin. “Baby, you’re hurting my feelings. Don’t tell me you don’t recognize your sweet, innocent, naive, gullible and senseless Rummie” My words had bite but he doesn’t back away when I step forward. His head moving from side to side as if he disagreed. I take his face into my hands to stop the movement. His eyes grow wide— not blinking and his body is rigid. I can feel the quickening of his pulse against my pinky. I ignored the jolt I felt from touching him. “No baby, you don’t have to pretend to be a better man then you actually are. Don’t try to oppose the truth Nini, because you know it as well as I” My hand goes through the silky hair that falls in front of his face, it’s as soft as it looks and I don’t miss the way his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. I can practically feel him tremor at the chills that run down his spine. I can’t help but wonder if that girl knows her way around his body like I do. If she knows what he likes or just where to touch him so he could melt into her. A knowing to me that came as easy as breathing. I was quite familiar with the needy, desperate side of Kim Jongin; this side having been one of my favorites after years of experiencing a number of them. Although, I don’t question her familiarity with his more vulnerable nature, as it was almost too easy for him to trade me in for her. “You are right about one thing though. I’m not your Rummie. That’s something you know better than anyone else isn’t it? Because you’re the reason behind it all. It was you who killed her” my soft voice constrasting the heavy topic I throw at him, with little to no remorse. He pulls away, feeling the sting of every sillable in full force this time. “You know why you’re asking what I’m doing here. You know it’s not because you’re curious; having not imagined me decked out in designer labels and elaborate stones. You know that after everything there was no hope— no chance for the Rummie you once knew. You know now that you can’t pin point this Ahreum because she’s not who you’re familiar with. Who you know is the one you could control. You can’t control what you don’t know, you can’t manage the unpredictable. So, you’re afraid aren’t you?” I don’t wait for him to reply, knowing the answer to my own question. “You look at everything you’ve built and you see me as the villain. The one to erode all that you planted, expose every lie you’ve engrained in the minds of those around you, because I am the truth. For every lie that slipped passed those lips, the truth was in my wet lashes, stained cheeks and broken. I truth drove me away from my own home Jongin. My family? My friends? It’s that guilt that has made a mound in your conscious that allows you to think this densely. You didn’t bat an eye when I left but I can bet on everything I own, that as time went on that mound began to weigh on you. When you were somehow reminded of my innocence and your wrong doings or when you could see the unspoken thoughts behind the eyes of our friends or of your members. When you know they miss me and that it’s your fault. Or perhaps, it’s that shameless ego that makes you think I have enough passion to seek out retribution for what you put me through” He can no longer faces me and I hope that every word is a stab to the chest. Although I would never admit it, the idea of retribution was not something I had ruled out entirely and seeing the way my words cut him open, I’m not sure if I want to. How much will I get out of his sins baring poisonous fruit. I knew that hardly any teenage love story carried with it a happy ending, a lot of minor dysfunctions perceived through innocent eyes, a present inability of dealing with insignificant issues due to a naive mindset. But that was never the case for him and I. Not only did it feel more intense than the playful flings of our friends but Jongin was also at the start of his career; already trained in dealing with media and whatever came with idol life and I was already making fundamental decisions in order to keep up with the changes in his world. Reassuring my parents that I would work hard to manage the lifestyle I wished to live; one that was fast, where good things turn bad at an unfathomable pace. The warnings they’d asked that I take heed of; seeing all the wicked people could do, couldn’t rival the sad reality I actually had to face, after realizing I had lost the one person that I centered my whole universe around. I had lost my sun. 

Jongin. I’m no longer aware of how long we’ve been standing out here or how long I’ve kept the driver of a sleek, black Lexus waiting. The cold air having zero effect on me— my head hot with all the words that have been left unsaid and the heat radiating off of his body that I stood a little too close to. Just as I register our distance, I hear the faint clicking and I see her. Her long, flowing, brown hair, whisked all around her simple white dress. The universe appeared to be making a special effort to highlight our opposing appearances. I watch her eyes search for him eagerly and I almost want to help get her attention but she doesn’t take too long before finding his back and my gaze over his shoulder. Uninterested, my eyes move back to his, noticing we’re closer than before. I can feel his minty breath hit my face and I bring my hand up to run against his shoulders coyly. “It looks as though you’ve been caught, Oppa” He continues to stare down at me. His expression a melting pot of so many emotions, I can’t decipher where he stands. I look over his shoulder again curiously, to find someone else. A man similar to Jongin in appearance, though shorter and lighter in complexion. I recognize him as the eye catching, Lee Taemin and by his baffled stare I can assume that he recognizes me as well. My left eye drops into a shameless wink and I send him a knowing smile to which he doesn’t return. Instead, he snaps out of whatever daze he was in and hurriedly reaches for the girl who is half way through making it to her destination. “I have no interest in becoming the topic of discussion for you and your trophy girlfriend” my voice is chilling. I step back adjusting the my coat, turning to leave when I feel his cold hand grab me. A burst of adrenaline runs through my chest, making my heart pound wildly. I turn to face him a little too quickly, eyeing the hand that grips my wrist. His mouth is parted, expression pleading but no words come out and the contact is undoubtedly within view of the two people behind us. “Jongin!” The female voice calls out, but neither him nor I react to it. I wait for him to acknowledge his girlfriend who has currently managed to escape the arms of his best friend but he doesn’t. “Are you here for him?” His voice almost sounds hoarse and I’m assuming it’s from the cold atmosphere. “Did you come back for Yixing?” His question nearly sounds like a threat and I almost want to confirm it just to see how he’d handle it.  The realization then sinks in that he must have witnessed one (or both) of the interactions I had with Yixing inside. Whatever he thought he saw was enough for him to sneak past his girlfriend and best friend to follow me outside and demand an answer. I tilt my head at the audacity of him, believing I owed him anything, much less a goddamn explanation for my choices. The urge to scream begins to form at the back of my throat.  After having to sit there, month after month watching seasons pass, trying to formulate my own answers for his outlandish decisions as a man who claimed to want what’s best for me or love me. The nerve of him leaves me utterly shellshocked and in this moment I can think of million and one demeaning things to say to him. And I almost do, until I hear the sound of someone else approaching and I decide it’s not worth it. My days of being a spectacle for Jongin before an audience have been over for far too long now. “You’re pathetic, Jongin” I turn on my heel, making sure he hears the words ‘shameless son of bitch’ before damn near speed walking towards the black car door.

After a particularly hectic week, having finalized the moving process. Yixing sits at the other side of the table smiling brightly as I practically inhale the BBQ at one of my favorite food spots. When I’m not shoving food into my mouth, we commend each other on our successes. I congratulate him on his achievements as both an actor and a musician in China, as well as, the work he’s doing here with the boys. He praises me for excelling in a male dominated field at a global level; always knowing I had a passion for music and any other form of art expression. He’s perturbed when I inform him that I no longer have the time for dancing as my schedule is unforgiving more often than not. To this he’s disapproving and promises to drag me to SM’s studio so I can reconnect with that side of myself that isn’t working. He listens attentively as I assure him that my happiness is in everything that I create. Although free time has become a luxury of sorts, I am the happiest I’ve ever been and enjoy putting every bit of myself into what I do. He beams when I start to blush; noticing that my habit for gushing over my carreer is rearing it’s ugly head. But he encourages me to continue, saying how happy he was to see that tinkle in my eye. Slowly the drinks and food start to depreciate and Yixing notices it before I do, attempting to hail the waitress over before his phone disrupts him. I watch him eye the caller ID suspiciously before bringing the phone to his ear. He doesn’t greet the caller on the other end, his eyes remaining on me, though I knew his mind was elsewhere. “I’ve been away from the dorm for most of the day so no” there’s confusion laced in his voice and traces of it in his features. “Well she must know that if she’s hasn’t seen or heard from him neither have we. She can’t keep doing this” My curiosity has peaked but I try to distract myself with the remainder of food on my plate. The conversation moves on and soon he’s bidding the individual a goodbye and hangs up. A moment of silence follows and my gaze peers over to him. “Oh no, I know that face. What’s going on?” His eyebrows are furrowed as he absent mindedly shakes his head. I grab his hand from across the table and he looks up at me with a sigh. Yet, he doesn’t pull away from my grip, instead opting playing with my fingers. “It was Junmyeon. He was calling about Jongin’s where abouts. He’s been very detached as of late. It’s beginning to concern us” I stare back at him blankly realizing it was my turn to speak. “Ah, well I’m sorry that you’re stressed about it” I pat his knuckles in an attempt to comfort him the best way I know how in this instance, before robotically bringing my hands back to my side of the table. Silence comes over use again as I mix my rice with the spoon hoping to god that he’d drop this; as comfortable as he felt disclosing his issues with me. “Ahreum... did you happen to run into him, despite my great escape plan” his chuckle is dry and I can tell he wants to make the question seem as light as possible, but it just isn’t.  Anxiety knitted into his voice and I feel bad. “No” I respond plainly without a bat of the eye, not bothering to look up from my plate. As much as I wished to comfort a soul as kind as his own, this was beyond my levels of empathy. I would never want to be the girl to undermind the situation by reminding Yixing of the past he already knows so much about or ask for him to pick a side between me and his fellow member/friend. That was unfair and what kind of person would I be if were to ask this of him. But I couldn’t help but wish he’d come to the conclusion on his own; that if Jongin could betray me in the way that he did with the longevity of our union, wouldn’t that mean he could do that to everyone. Admittedly, it was a selfish mindset to have. It completely opposed that of Yixing’s. As much as Jongin’s choices during that time put a strain on him and Yixing’s friendship, in Yixing’s mind we’ve all made bad choices at some point. Naturally some were worse than others and harder to swallow but none of us were saints. As openly as he disagreed with how Jongin handled the affections of my heart, he would never use of relationship as the basis to judge who he is as a person; believing that everyone was multidimensional and greater than foolish mistakes. He was a saint and I could agreed that this might be true, but it’s also possible to be 4D; having multiple variations in character of a sick bastard. I knew at best the most I could get out of Yixing was the promise that karma would be sure to induce the pain he inflicted upon me onto himself at some point during our lifetime; a justice that was highly unsatisfactory in my opinion. It was a wonder why I felt the need to lie to him. It made it worse knowing that I wasn’t sure why I was doing it the first place. Maybe it was because I knew Yixing’s kind heart would take it upon himself to try to console Jongin, rather than allowing him to brood in anxious-self pity like I wanted. Or maybe cause I knew that Yixing’s kind heart would find a thousand questions to ask me in relation to my emotional stability after my ex and I’s reunion. Hm, the answer was simpler than I thought: Yixing’s kind heart or my lack thereof. “Maybe he saw you inside? What time did you arrive?” My spoon clatters against the plate. I have officially lost my appetite. “You can’t possibly believe that I’m responsible for his state” I asked cynically. “No Ahri, it’s not that I think you’re responsible” his voice defensive. “Then what exactly are you implying?” “That there’s a direct correlation” My scoff interjects. “I’ve seen this behavior from him only once before. Jongin does not wallow in sadness, distress or grief. If he’s sad he’ll cry, if he’s happy he’ll laugh, if he’s—“ “I’m waiting for you to make a point” He sighs at my dismissive tone, “he doesn’t stay at home anymore and doesn’t tell a soul where he runs off to. He hasn’t been eating with the group and has been showing up late to rehearsals and work related outtings. Kyungsoo is usually the one who could get him to open up and that’s never been a problem but according to him, the answers he gives are vague and robotic. Yesterday he caught him outside smoking and he reeking of alcohol. Jongin hasn’t smoked in years and resents drinking alone” “Tough but none of what you said implies that it’s me. You’ve said you’ve seen this behavior before? Then maybe it’s about the girl. Ask her” my stance was unmoving as well as uninterested. “It isn’t” he tossed the thought aside without any consideration. “How is it possible that you’re more sure that this is my doing rather than the girl’s?” “She doesn’t have a clue where he is most of the time. He’s cancelled most of the plans he’s made with her since the event and has hardly returned her phone calls. She calls the house now because she can only reach his voicemail. As ideal as they seem, she’s never been able to have such an impact for him to be rattled this way. The only time I’ve ever seen Jongin like this was once” “And..?” I pushed “And that’s when you left Korea” Silence surrounded us. “You don’t believe me” I nod at his assumption, “I think it’s absolute bullshit” He sighed nodding, knowing it was useless to press me on the matter. My mind would never change. “Why do you still look constipated in thought, Yixing?” “Because I know that he knows” he said confidently. “Do you have any theory that actually makes sense?” He glared at me playfully but responded anyway. “Yeah, Baek” What? My eyebrows raised in curiousity watching him begin to eat again. “I don’t get it. Why would you assume Baekhyun would tell him?” He looks up at me as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world, “have you forgotten what Baek is like? How much he enjoys getting people riled up? Playing devils advocate?” As right as he was about Baekhyun’s mischievous personality it still didn’t click for me. “Oh come on Ahri, let’s not think so simple-mindedly. As dazed as I was that night, your interaction with Baekhyun is still crisp in my mind. The way he spoke to you: so forward. Making his intentions for you so obvious, in such a blunt manner, he might as well have written it down and mailed it to everyone within hearing range. But that’s exactly what he wants: for the room to know his intentions— that you’re his prey. As playful as it might’ve sounded to you at the time. It wouldn’t surprise me if he brought it up with Jongin for reactions sake. He’s aware that wanting you is immoral. He would take it upon himself to ask permission in the same blunt manner knowing damn well Jongin had no rights to you in the first place. He’d give him an iniquitous forewarning, stating his corrupt objectives and let him know the offer has already been placed on the table and all he needs is a seal of approve. It would amuse Baek to no end watching Jongin go against his better judgment. He knows he’d pick pride over his emotions” It feels like I’m watching him unravel the da vinci code. Though the truth behind everything was a lot less sinister and complicated. The scenario wasn’t entirely far fetched. Baekhyun had a lot of good in him that could never be discredited but, his good nature could easily be misconstrued or forgotten when his polemicist side comes into play. His teasing was sometimes too much for people to handle, hard to swallow for those who are sensitive and closed-off. Regardless, it was hard to hate someone like Byun Baekhyun. “Even if that were the case, though I highly doubt—” Yixing rolls his eyes. “I think Baekhyun wouldn’t allow Jongin to get to this of point of anguish” but I would. “Oh please, I’m sure he’s seeing it as Jongin letting his ego get the best of him. Basically, putting himself through this for no reason. Baek will turn this into some unnecessary, self serving life lesson. It’s part of his god complex” I chewed on the inside of my cheek. The animosity in his voice pushing me to come clean but I pry a little further. “Did something happen between you two while I was gone?” He sighs deeply, “No. I just didn’t appreciate his tactlessness. Being so forward with you when we were there for work, addressing you around all those influential people like you’re one of his loose flings” His voice is disapproving and evidence of his protective side peaked through his thoughts. I reach for his hand again, sending him a playful smile. “Babe, I’m no child. Believe it or not your Ahri has dealt with her fair share of prospects and suitors who; crazily enough, have attempted to woo her.  I’ve dealt with men like Baekhyun before-“ “I know what he wants from you and I can practically see the screws twisting in his mind. Baekhyun is overindulgent, it’s hard for him to truly be satisfied because he can’t bridge the line between his wants and his needs. He moves lethally when his greed overcomes him till he’s blinded by it and it’s all he sees. I’ve watched it become obsessive, he feels it needs to be quenched no matter the cost. This is why I wouldn’t be surprised if he went to Jongin. The way he looked at you that night... I know his thoughts are driving him insane. You think he hasn’t managed to bring you up? He’s already fucking fixated on the idea of you. He has no inhibitions when it comes to this. He looked like he would’ve consumed you if he thought we weren’t looking, like you were offered to him as a bounty to take for his own. I’ve watched him drive women mad with his hedonistic pursuits. I’ve seen him wrap himself around their mind like a snake with simple whispers of sweet nothings so they could give into him; tilt their head back so he could sink his teeth into they’re throat and pervade them with venom” He sighs deeply, trying to calm himself before he continues, “Baekhyun is a man now Ahri, and any man can see that you’re a woman to be desired. A man like him is looking for ownership: over you, your body. He wants to possess it, ruin you for someone else. I know you’re grown and can make your own decisions and I don’t doubt you but you’ve always liked to see the good, even when alarms were blaring all around you. You’re a new toy to him, you’re off limits and it excites him. He’s anything but innocent and he will pursue you. This is what he likes: the thrill of the chase, especially one which is taboo, and eventually the reward and I can promise you, your feelings will be disregarded just like Jongin’s”

Yixing’s need to protect me seemed... misplaced. It made no sense to me because at no point had I ever indicated being the slightest bit interested in Baekhyun or his advances. No, Yixing was hiding something from me and I have every intention of finding out what that ‘something’ might be.

ch. development: hermione & motherhood

That Helen did something shitty to her own daughter, it is widely known. Of course Hermione wasn’t the target of her decisions, merely a victim of the circumstances among thousands of people whose lives were deeply affected by Helen and Paris’ elopement, but still, this raises the question: what did this child mean to her mother that she would abandon her for the sake of a lover, someone she had been entertaining in her home for what, two weeks? What kind of mother does that?

To make sense of this story for my interpretation, some points had to be observed.

Long text below the cut. 

First, it wasn’t her choice to go to Troy, and therefore she did not abandon her nine-year-old to go frolicking with a hot foreigner in the East as deliberately as was accused. Though she was not coerced by Paris, Aphrodite did promise him that he would have her in exchange for the apple and the deal was done before Helen could have said a word about it. She did not see him as a kidnapper, he was her lover. It’s hard to explain her perspective concerning the elopement and the Trojan War without being a bit long-winded, but things are never simple with Helen: she is deeply religious and intimately connected to the Gods, as soon as she sees Paris she senses the power of Aphrodite that draws her to him, she knows it’s no mundane business. I’m sorry, but Helen wouldn’t simply ask The Fates to fix their weaving because she wants to be home with her child. 

On that note, yes, she DOES want to be home. But to be frank, I do not believe Hermione is her greatest attachment to Sparta. It’s Sparta itself that is Helen’s priority. That is not to say she doesn’t care for her daughter. Helen cares very much for Hermione, she enjoys her company and is deeply interested in her education, which she regrets not being able to oversee, but she feels no sense of maternal devotion or attachment as might be expected. Neither does Helen understand how Hermione’s experience differs from her own, given that Hermione technically an only child whilst Helen was raised with six siblings (not counting the bastards who undoubtedly existed and the godly siblings), and they both had very different experiences with the men who raised them: Tyndareus being rigid and severely demanding whilst Menelaus was loving and affectionate.

Aside from Hermione, motherhood as a whole is a tricky subject for Helen. In this order of priority, it’s her duty to her people, her family and her husband to bring forth a child, so she does, but even though it is the base of Spartan culture to give it as many children as possible, she is evermore reluctant to become pregnant a second time in either of her marriages. In the case of Paris or Deiphobus it’s pretty simple, Helen won’t have a Trojan child. (It’s nothing personal Trojans, but Menelaus isn’t bringing just his bros, the army he’s leading is actually her army, do you honestly believe Helen thought you’d win the war? Pfft). But when it comes to Menelaus, well, Helen would have gladly carried more of his children in an ideal world, but unlike Tyndareus she doesn’t underestimate the curse of the House of Atreus. Just consider the odds. How uncommon is it for royal families to start killing each other for the sake of a throne? Tyndareus was exiled from Sparta by one of his brother before Helen was born, he prepped her for the throne and therefore taught her well about the dangers that come from the ambition of those whose blood brought them close to the throne. Though she and her siblings were united and never had such problems, Helen was consequently suspicious of her remaining uncle and wary of the idea of giving Hermione siblings, particularly when her father’s family was accursed and could potentially become destructive for Sparta.

To conclude, as long as she was a queen, occupying the position that she did, it was hard for her to be deeply dedicated to raising children. Besides it’s just not her thing. I won’t go into detail here but Helen is not an idle, decorative queen: her responsibilities are vast and concerns both earthly and spiritual issues for the land and her people. Ideally she would have had the chance to educate her child properly as her mother and Tyndareus had done to her, but her dedication is first to the Gods, then to Sparta and only after that Hermione and/or any other child she might have had.