aristos achaion.

Parker had never been so grateful for the weekend to arrive as he had been the day before at the knowledge he could spent this whole Saturday for himself. He’d been sleeping worse than terribly lately, plagued with nightmares he didn’t understand, in which everything smelt like rotting flesh, burning wood and the metallic stench of blood that he didn’t know how he recognised. It scared him, as a man used to knowing and understanding much of the world around him, to not have any idea where such strong, visceral thoughts that feel somewhere between madness and memories have come from. 

The only solace, embarrassing though it was, was the fact that Austin Pelham’s face was so constant in his visions - smiling, frowning, sometimes round with youth, sometimes so thin and stern that it seems the weight of the world is on dream-Austin’s shoulders. ‘I must be going mad’ he’d mumbled to his dogs in the early hours of the morning as he lay awake constructing false memories of the two of them teaching each other to swim as children, as if they had know each other better than now-forgotten passes in the hallways of their boarding school. 

That had been hours ago, and he hadn’t been able to shake thoughts of the golden-haired almost-stranger ever since, even as he’d risen from bed, walked the dogs, cooked breakfast and pottered around his apartment aimlessly for hours. The knock on the door gave him a fright, but both his hounds merely lifted their heads, snuffled, and went back to their naps - clearly of the opinion that there was a friend on the other side of it. It was safe to say that Parkerwas surprised to see the man who had occupied such a steadfast spot in his mind’s eye standing on his doorstep and a blush colored his cheeks at how sheepish he felt having had them, but the smile that curved his lips spoke for itself at his happiness to see him. 

“Austin? Hi…” He felt instantly self conscious of his oversized hoodie and soft sweatpants in the face of the most handsome man Parker had ever seen, and he fiddled with the too-long sleeves as he watched Austin with uncertainty. “It’s, um, it’s really nice to see you.” He offered earnestly, a little lost for words in a way that he barely ever was. 

it is a miraculous thing. despite his anxiety, in spite of his nerves, a calming sense of peace washes over him the moment the door opens and the sight of patroclus’ form becomes visible. “the one and only austin pelham, at your service.” achilles leans forward, chin dipped ever so slightly, as he mimics the submissive gesture to the best of his over-exaggerating ability. it lasts a few seconds, five at the most, before he straightens his posture, a chuckle leaving his lips as he does. perhaps it is not so miraculous after all; putting him at ease has always been one of patroclus’ most prominent talents.

“likewise.” achilles nods. “it’s been too long since the last time i saw you.” and though he may be, once again, over-exaggerating a little bit, he does mean it too. it is evident in the way his eyes roam, taking in every possible detail of patroclus’ appearance with the same intensity as a thirsty man gulps down a bottle of water after spending a day in the scorching heat of a desert. he makes notes, commits them to his memory and promises to protect them like they were his most prized possessions — and really, they are. 

control yourself. he does not remember.

and now it is his cheeks’ turn to switch color, embarrassment over his own mistake coloring them a bright shade of red. achilles drops his gaze to the floor as he draws in a couple of calming breaths. that is precisely what he needs to get everything back under control. when he lifts his chin, eye contact automatically re-established, his expression is filled with mischievous joy, boyish excitement. “call me entitled if you want, but i don’t like how i have to compete with this... teacher, this normal job thing, for your time.” he pouts — another display of dramatics he has an affinity for. “i don’t like it. gets in the way of my plans more frequently than is acceptable.” 

it briefly crosses his mind, what patroclus thinks of this sudden show of theatrical brattiness. he has no way of knowing, but he can only hope it appears to the other man as endearing rather than irritating. nevertheless, achilles softens his voice when he speaks. “i know it’s your day off, so i’d like to take you somewhere.” he announces. “and before you ask, yes, i was presumptuous enough to reserve things for us without knowing if you’re actually free.”  the laugh that follows has a sheepish quality to it. “so if my intuition didn’t completely fail me, you have around”—he sneaks a quick glance at his watch—“15 minutes to get ready. maybe closer to 10.”

it is a mere glance, a barely-there glimpse, of her that he receives ; but it is captivating enough to root him to the spot. other sounds ( mostly disgruntled grumbles of other swimmers who would like to get out of the pool but cannot because he is blocking their path ) become meaningless white noise as he turns his head to get a proper look at her. and it is her. an expression of surprise flashes across his features before achilles runs his fingers through his wet mop of hair. he is here ; patroclus is here ; other heroes are here ; gods themselves are here. it only makes sense that she, once again, has been dragged into a mess she does not deserve to be a part of.

the man’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he regards the plain door before him. it should not be this challenging — it is just a date, after all, is it not? a simple knock would do and, if the stars aligned, patroclus would be home and respond positively to his suggestion. the slight tremble is visible in his hand as he lifts it; and though his knuckles touch the door, he does not knock. momentarily, fear overtakes him. it is not just a date. when it comes to patroclus, nothing is ever just something. it has to always be wonderful and indescribably perfect. anything else is a failure — and that thought, in relation to patroclus, is something he cannot stomach.

achilles’ eyes flutter close as the nervous pit in his stomach grows. he inhales, although shakily, and his exhale is not much better — but a few rounds of that, he finds, do calm the worst of his nerves. the former hero opens his eyes ( he does not wish to look like a complete fool in front of his beloved ), knocking twice before he steps back. now all he can do is wait.

but if it isn’t the most nerve-wracking wait of his existence.

The change of pace of their conversation was rather sudden, to Alexandre. While, yes, he was typically good at relationships, the sudden 180 of this talk left him reeling a little bit. Even with the hand in his hair, even with the tugging that he knows that Austin knows he enjoys, Alexandre has to focus himself on what’s upsetting the other man so much. But, as Austin speaks to him, Alexandre can feel his heart softening, knowing that there’s something that he has to do in this situation - that there must be something that he can do to help true love flower. 

Leaning forward to kiss Austin’s forehead, Alexandre rested his chin in Austin’s curls afterwards, trying to think about what to do in the situation he’s found himself in. He could take Austin’s phone, text the boy, find a way to get the two of them together, but he knows that there’s an important conversation to be had before he does anything rash such as that. 

“That’s… awfully sad to hear…” he starts, choosing his words carefully. “While I’m sure it’s not your fault that he doesn’t remember, you certainly don’t feel blameless, do you…? As if there’s something you could do to go back in time and hold him and ensure that he’ll remember you for the rest of eternity…” Thinking about it some more, he shifts slightly in his seat, sighing softly to himself. “Unfortunately, that isn’t possible. I know it must be painful to see him and be reminded that he has no memory, but, sometimes, to ensure that you achieve your love, you must first suffer through pain. Do not… cut out your pain and, therefore, him from your life. To live is to feel these things; love, passion, desire, arousal… pain.” Pausing again, Alexandre searches his old friend’s face for a hint of what he’s thinking about at the moment.

“My best advice is this: if you really do love this man as you say you do, suffer through the pain, start anew. If he doesn’t remember you, there are likely a lot of different things in his life, as well. Get to know this new him. Grow with him. Think of him not as your missing love but as the real version of a man you dreamt. Fall in love with this new him, and allow him to fall in love with you, as well.” 

“I know you will think of a love lost every time you look into his eyes, but see the joy that you can make in the same eyes again. See how you can make him happy, see if he is still the man you want this porch and grandchildren with. Even if he does not remember you, offer to take him on a date. See who he has become in your years apart. The things he will tell you may surprise you; you may fall even more for this man who he is today.” Alexandre pressed another kiss to his hair, nodding. His advice felt pretty solid. “And if you’d like me to talk to him to see if he’d like to be with you either before or after your dates, I’m more than happy to help.”

at first, as his mind processes what alexandre tells him, a sigh escapes from achilles’ lips. if only it was so simple. if only he could dismiss the other man’s words as nothing but lies, but here’s the catch: he cannot. he knows all too well that the concepts alexandre listed are the cornerstones, the very foundation, of humanity and life. after all, had he not felt the most alive just moment before leading the myrmidons into a battle? had he not felt the most invigorated when he had lain inside his tent, with patroclus’ body above him? had he not felt so terrifyingly mortal when the knowledge of hector’s actions had caught up to him? 

passion, arousal, pain. he had never felt as alive as he had during those moments. but that had been then; millennia have passed since then. everything has changed and it is not quite so simple anymore.

“it’s not so easy, alexandre.” he mumbles against the skin before he accidentally ( or so achilles tells himself ) presses a brief and gentle kiss there as well. “trust me, i know better than anyone that the course of true love never did run smooth”—or however that famous line went, he cannot recall—“but my situation is far more complicated than that.” with mild reluctance, achilles forces himself to pull back, away from his temporary safe haven and back into the ugly reality. well, not entirely — his arms ( again, accidentally ) lift so that he can comfortably wrap them around alexandre’s neck. 

 he opens his mouth, for he really really wants to explain the situation to his friend; but alexandre is quicker. quicker and crueller. 

“absolutely fucking not.” achilles spits out, the harshness of his voice a palpable thing. he withdraws his arms and shifts, his posture straighter and stiffer in a blink of an eye. “i know this... new version of him has a crush on me. i know, even now, he would say yes to everything i suggest. he would be so patient and kind and whatever. but you see, alexandre, i don’t want anything with this version. i don’t want to talk to him, touch him, see him, love him because it’s not permanent. i don’t give a damn about this parker. i just—” and just like that, in the middle of his sentence, all of his energy drains away. he blinks, momentarily frozen ( shock? embarrassment? ). he doesn’t know just how long the silence lasts, but eventually he turns in his seat toward the bar, eyes absentmindedly checking the row of shots the bartender must have left there at some point.

“Achilles.” Hero of the Trojan War, and clearly one who had all of his memories intact. Other goddesses would have scoffed at his remarks, and taken offense to his tone, but Astraea wasn’t like her counterparts in that way. She had long taken her refuge among the cosmos by the time the war started, a mere observer as the worlds, both divine and mortal, fell apart. He would do well with a history lesson, but now was not the time for such things. “You’re angry,” her comment was simple as he sat, and she was unable to hide the way her nose scrunched at the smell of the smoke - she had never been a fan.

But, anger could be a powerful thing. Anger enacted change. So, Astraea closed her book, crossed one leg over the other, and turned to face the hero next to her. “I cannot say that I know any of any god who would willingly become mortal,” Even when they descended to earth, so many of them had kept, and shown, their powers. No one knew why they were here, but Astraea could venture to guess that it went far deeper than any one being, there was something far greater playing in the picture that she couldn’t quite place a finger on. “So, tell me. Will you sit here and let that anger fester, doing nothing to change it? Or will you let that anger drive you to do something?” 

“in the flesh. pleased to make your acquaintance.” he dips his chin as the words flow out of his mouth, all exaggerated and evidently false charm. perhaps there would, yet again, be consequences for his display of hubris — though they are both trapped in all-mortal bodies, she is still a goddess. wise men would bow before her, shower her with the respect she most likely fancies herself entitled to. but achilles is not one of those men. he will not recognize her as his equal; so instead of self-imposed modesty, he meets her gaze, unflinching. in  addition  to that, he thinks, surely the consequences of his defiance cannot be worse than what has already been done to him.

“i did not say you chose to become mortals.” the hero explains calmly. “you may be in the dark too, alongside us mortals, but i am certain it is your fault nevertheless. one of you angered someone they shouldn’t have, and now we all are punished for it.” the thought prompts him to shake his head and, after a perfect ring of smoke slips out from between his lips, turns his gaze away from her. what else could have prompted something of this magnitude to happen? he blinks once, twice, as he considers it. nothing else. it is their fault. it always is.

although he holds little interest in casually conversing with the divine, her next words do catch his attention. they tug the corners of his lips, and though they meet a bit of resistance, ultimately they curve upward into an amused smile. “spare yourself those worry wrinkles, astraea. i do not intend to remain idle for much longer.” achilles speaks before he places the cigarette on his lips for one last drag. his inhale-exhale cycle is brief; with nimble fingers, it does not take long before the cigarette is out of his mouth. “i’m going to find patroclus, make him remember, and then we will leave this mess behind.” he drops the cigarette to the ground, squashing it with his shoe. “as for the rest of you,” he continues; and now he too turns so they may look into each other’s eyes again. “i’m not going to waste a drop of my energy on fixing your situation. it’s finally time to repay some of that selfishness you have bestowed upon us over the years.” something cruel, maybe even sadistic, falls over his features like a mask. “for all i care, your lot could spend the rest of your existence rotting in these frail bodies. if i knew how to fix this, i would rather die than share it with you.” an exception or two pops into his mind, but the man swiftly shoves those thoughts aside; this is not the moment to think about them.

“so how does it feel, goddess? how does the prospect of being weak for all eternity make you feel?”

“Mais oui, but you still seem to love me,” he teased in return to the scolding. He never let anyonescolding him actually affect him - it was like water off a duck’s back. He can tell that that wasn’t meant to be a friendly jab, but he let it slide - there was clearly something that was upsetting Austin, and Alexandre would get to the bottom of it, eventually. If he decided that he cared that much that night, that is. He did notice the genuine smile that finally made its way to the corners of his lips, though, and Alexandre gave him one in return. “Well…” he started, tilting his head to the side slightly. “You keep me around because I am very good in bed.” Smiling over at him, Alexandre leaned forward against the bar, resting his chin atop his knuckles.

He combed his fingers of his free hand through Austin’s curls, shifting slightly in his chair to make the both of them more comfortable in this position that they’d managed to find themselves in. The other man looked like he needed a good night’s sex followed by a good night’s sleep, and Alexandre intended to help him with both of those things. Whatever it was that was upsetting his old friend would be out of his head by morning. 

“Mm - non; your go-to drink is my go-to drink, as well. We just both happen to have good taste.” One may be surprised that he chose tequila over a good wine, but the Frenchman didn’t care; tequila made him feel warm and fuzzy inside, and it got him drunk much faster than wine would. Wine was made for sipping around a dinner table; tequila was made for nights on a dance floor or in a partner’s bed.

The difference in Austin’s posture is palpable - there’s something that affected him between their banter, and Alexandre looks over at him, brow furrowed slightly. That slight furrow became much deeper when Austin ordered five shots for himself. Five shots plus the tequila sunrise was far too much alcohol, especially because Austin was mixing the liquors without a care in the world. Not that Alexandre would turn down the shot - he’d do it, despite the fact that he hated vodka - but there was something off about this whole situation. 

Looking over, Alexandre noticed the tears in Austin’s eyes. Reaching to him, he gently gripped the other man’s chin between his thumb and index finger, using his free hand to wipe the tears from his eyes. “You can get wasted and forget everything while I suck your cock later. That sounds like a perfectly lovely night, to me.” Leaning forward, Alexandre kissed his forehead, then the corner of his lips. “I do not plan on regretting tonight. I haven’t regretted a single night with you prior.”

achilles’ teeth sink themselves into his lower lip. soon  enough the force will be strong enough to draw blood, but the man cannot find it in himself to care. “no.” he insists; and though he would prefer otherwise, his voice trembles. “you don’t— you don’t understand.” even though his eyes are closed, he can feel alexandre’s hand on his chin, his lithe fingers gently dancing across his skin as he wipes away all the escaped tears. it is a soothing gesture, yet there is no distinction between this and alexandre just backhanding him. patroclus would have touched him like this too, had he born witness to achilles’ moment of vulnerability. he would have known exactly what to say to lift his spirits, erasing even the tiniest trace of misery from every fiber of his being. 

but  patroclus is not here. parker rhee, the teacher from astoria, is holding him hostage, and no one knows when those greedy gods ( for it must be their fault ) return him to achilles’ side.

”i know you haven’t regretted any night with me before, but listen—” his eyes open, although lazily, and his hand sneaks its way into alexandre’s mop of hair. “it’s different now. i really wouldn’t be good company right now.” the other man’s lips do feel nice against his skin. if only he could enjoy it. if only he did not feel the need to explain his situation more in-depth. if only the ghost of patroclus was not there to haunt every moment, sleeping and waking, of his existence. but it is, so with some reluctance, achilles tugs at alexandre’s hair and pulls him back enough so they may look into each other’s eyes.

“there is this guy.” achilles says, though voicing it creates yet another invisible lump in his throat and threatens to fill his eyes with tears. “i’m in love with him. i’ve been in love with him since i was a boy.” he cups alexandre’s cheek softly, absentmindedly stroking the skin. his gaze follows the movement of his thumb, watching and not watching at all. “it’s the kind of love where you want to spend the rest of your life with this person. grow old and sit on the porch of your home and watch your grandkids play while you hold hands.” what a lovely image — and completely achievable in this era. “all that cliche-ish shit.” he chuckles, a humorless sound. “that’s how i feel about him. that’s what i want with him.” despite his misery, his lips into a ghost of a genuine smile.

but like all things beautiful, the smile’s death is equally swift. his hand stops its movement abruptly and, with surprising sharpness, achilles meets alexandre’s gaze. “he doesn’t remember me.” he states; and now, with his free hand resting on the other man’s other cheek, he is holding his face between his hands. “he doesn’t remember me, but he acts so nice toward me.” with each word, more and more of his desperation bleeds through. “he’s so nice and kind and perfect, but”—a shaky inhale—“he doesn’t remember me anymore.” a tear slides down his cheek, a sign that more is about to come. in an effort to prevent that, achilles lets go of alexandre’s face. he wraps them loosely around his neck; and the curve of alexandre’s neck is where he buries his face too. “it hurts so much.” he whispers against the skin. “i don’t want it to hurt anymore.” a pause as he closes his eyes again in an attempt to lose himself in the music of the club, in the scent and proximity of his friend. “help me.”

Parker was quiet as he watched Austin go about the clearly very practiced ritual of lighting his cigarette. The smell made him want to crinkle his nose up, but he resisted the impulse on account of not wanting to make Austin self-conscious of his coping mechanism at a time when he clearly needed to lean on it. Parker watches him with soft, curious eyes - he expected him to be a little more easy-going, maybe, or at least more arrogant as he supposed famous actors should be. Instead he seem standoffish, distracted, and more melancholy than anyone Parker had met in a long time. 

For a moment, he tried to remember Austin back at school - but nothing really came to mind that would indicatewhether this was normal for him or not. He supposed it was for the best, considering the fact that likely he’d changed anyway since boarding school. Parker wondered if he had changed much since those years of his life that he looked back on with a rather large amount of disdain. He’d been such an overachiever at school, still trying to impress a family who’d never looked twice at the fact he was topping all his classes, making sports teams and joining so many extracurricular activities that he barely had time for the things that actually made him happy. Parker was better at that now - at looking after himself, at not caring what other people thought of him. And yet here he was, mincing over the way that Austin Pelham might be perceiving him. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He answered, the weight of the words proving that he was not one for empty niceties, even to near strangers. Austin had been honest with him, the least he could do in return was take an interest. Parker finds he rather likes it when Austin smiles at him, and the sound of his chuckle which conjures up memories he didn’t know he had of lyre strings humming - it seems familiar in a way it shouldn’t, but it becomes far too strange a thought to pursue any further. He grinned, tilting his head to one side. “Nobody needs to know that you’re not cool and very pathetic. I’m good at keeping secrets, don’t worry about that.” It felt so much like home to stand here and joke with this man that he’d never met before in his life - more like home than the house he’d grown up in, or his boarding school dorm, or even the apartment he lived in now, surrounded by his things and dogs and the sound of his own tuneless humming. It spooked him a little - was this being starstruck?

“Listen, I usually reward myself after these walks with a coffee - I go to this really quiet, hole-in-the-wall place nearby. You’re welcome to come, if you want - I have some pretty good gossip about people we went to school with that might just distract you from your melancholy.” Parker was sure he’d say no, but it was the act of extending the hand of friendship that mattered to him. If Austin had few friends he could count on here, he knew that he least he could do was at least distract him from whatever was furrowing his brow for as many moments as he could. “No pressure though, obviously. I’m sure you’re busy.” 

even when his mind is still recovering from the utter shock and heartbreak that is patroclus not having his memories yet, achilles cannot help but smile at what must be his attempts of sympathy. the other man does not know austin pelham personally, aside from those false memories of attending the same boarding school. he  certainly does not know austin pelham the actor; and he does not have the faintest idea of the man beneath this mortal mask. patroclus does not remember him, does not remember them, but still he exhibits that same kindness. still he tries to comfort him the way he used to. and although part of it serves to deepen his own pain, achilles cannot deny the instinctual way his own body relaxes and actually feels comforted. 

“that is surprisingly kind of you.” he forces himself to say, even if there is no genuine surprise from his side. patroclus has, after all, always been a better man than i. “most people i know would, without a failure, capitalize on this rare glimpse behind great austin pelham’s pr facade. they would be tripping over each other in a race to get to the office of the illustrious miss vandertrap.” there is no bitterness behind his words as he speaks, even though someone would likely be horrified by his casual tone when he mentions the superficial relationships. he has entertained his fair share of adoring admirers and obsequious hyenas, both in his first life and during austin’s existence, all willing to abandon him the moment he ceases to be of use to them. 

“if you are thinking of worrying for me now, you can stop it right there.” he continues because he knows patroclus. he knows that, even if he has no recollection of their lives, he will still worry. patroclus cannot help that great heart of his, regardless of his form. “i knew what i was getting myself into when i chose this life.” a wave of unwanted sadness washes over him at his own words. he might have chosen this fate instead of that laced with obscurity, but he had not known the consequences of his actions back then. he had only known the main points; had he known of all that entailed, he would have chosen differently.

achilles lifts the cigarette back to his lips, his eyes once more focusing on the other man’s dogs that seemed to be blissfully unaware of the tension between the two humans. he gets perhaps one, or two at most, proper inhales of smoke and nicotine before patroclus speaks again. and instantaneously, no matter how pathetic it might seem, achilles turns his head to face the other man — the existence of his cigarette already forgotten. “i’m actually not that busy since i’m supposed to be taking a little bit of time off.” he explains. “so i would love that.” maybe a stronger man could have stayed away, prevented himself from experiencing any additional heartbreak. but when it comes to patroclus, achilles has always been, is now, and will always be weak. “is it a dog-friendly place or should we—” embarrassment colors his cheeks red as it hits him just how forward he was, “—i mean, should you take them home first and then we can meet up at the coffee place?”

His Achilles heelthe mortals called it - Dionysus had to stifle a laugh at the idea that a hero like Achilles would ever be felled by a snivelling, selfish prat like Paris of Troy without some help. So literal they were, in their interpretations of the ancient history that Dionysus had witness with his own two eyes. It had been the death of Patroclus that had killed the Myrmidon leader, so blinded was he by love and rage and loss that he had let his guard down just enough for those Trojans to take the chance they needed. 

Dionysus in divine form had never known true fear, but in this mortal prison he found himself arrested with fear as Achilles took hold of him and began to threaten. The god of wine had seen from above the way he had mown down Trojan’s with the sword Hephaestus had made for him at his dread-nymph mother’s behest, and he had noticed the fewer number of libations poured to him by soldiers in their cups after Achilles’ aristeiaon the plains outside the walled city. He was a man worth fearing, even with Austin Pelham’s non-demigod blood flowing in his veins, Dionysus was no fool. 

“Did I?” Dionysus feigned a confused frown, though after a moment a sinister feline smile marred his features now that Achilles was not completely in his space, ready to bite. “What if I’d seen your Patroclus?” He asked, always the devil’s advocate. “Surely that kind of information is something you’d be willing to answer me for?”  

Dionysus scoffed. “Your lack of piety shows itself, Achilles of Phthia, that dread nympth you have for a mother did you a disservice in placating the Olympians on your behalf. You forget that I was mortal once too - my was mother as free of ichor as your father. My skill has never been on the battlefield or in combat, I will not pretend, but I know my way around a mortal body. We are not so different, you and I.” He snickered, wondering if such a comparison would boil Achilles’ hero blood. 

the reaction is automatic, and he has absolutely no time to even consider concealing it. as soon as the cursed lips of the mad god before him form his beloved’s name, achilles’ body tenses. right away, it is ready for another fight, regardless of the consequences that might follow defying the decisions of the fates. there is something dark, something primal, something angry, in his narrowed eyes as he regards dionysus. he may not be privy to the secrets of the world, but he suspects that, just like the city of troy, dionysusis not fated to fall by his hand. yet with every passing second, the allure of that option increases in intensity.

“you are lying.” achilles announces, suspicion leaking into his voice with each pronounced word. already he had erred by revealing the effect even the mere mention of patroclus’ name has on him. he would not give the god any additional ammunition to be used against him, even if it meant denying that which he holds closest to his heart. “you have not seen patroclus.” he shakes his head. “if you had, your demeanour would not be so nonchalant. given the inescapable nature of your kind, you would be crueller in the way you choose to hold it over me.” achilles pauses as he steps forward, giving dionysus a thorough look before he speaks again. “so consider your offer disregarded.”

atdionysus’ comment, achilles rolls his eyes. “if you have a problem with something my mother did, i give you the same advice i offered hephaestus. you ought to find my mother and direct your complaints to her, for she may actually care.”  the hero explains as his fingers find his phone and fish it out of his pocket. he drops his gaze to the screen, though half of his attention remains on the god. 

“do forgive me for not recalling your birth story correctly.” another exaggerated eye roll accompanies the words. “after learning of, i am not certain, perhaps fifty of zeus’ bastard children, you begin to lose your unique stories. it is simpler to remember a general one.” 

@ohqstarters

With the significant amount of time that had passed since Astraea had lived among the mortals, she had forgotten how utterly frustrating it was. That frustration had only grown with the current state of the world, and the current state of her being.

Orelia was fine, Astraea supposed. But being so young meant that no one actually listened to her, and Astraea found herself growing increasingly tired of being stuck in such a place. Changes needed to be made, and it was becoming clear that while stuck in Orelia’s body, she would not be able to effectively petition for any of them.

Still, there were some aspects of mortal life that she had found that she did not mind as much. Dusk had settled over the city, and the stars would be out soon. Even now, Astraea found comfort in the celestial sky, and she moved through the park, eager to find an empty bench to settle in to for a bit. When she did, she happily took a seat, pulling out a book, content to stay put until the stars would guide her home.

What she did not anticipate, however, was the shadow that covered her page. Looking up, she raised a brow, “Can I help you?”

“no, you cannot.” achilles spits out, his sharp words laced with venom. somewhere in the distant back of his mind, he objectively recognizes she has done nothing to warrant his ire. maybe it is not wise to openly display his anger at anyone who oh so foolishly think it smart to speak to him. perhaps it would be a good idea to control himself — but then he turns his head toward her, eyes quickly assessing her, and his anger flares up again. as far as he can remember, astraea had not played an active role in the trojan war, thus reducing the likelihood of her having done something to earn his spite. but regardless of the role she has in his life, she is a goddess — and considering his, their, current circumstances, he cannot find it in himself to even feign chivalry.

parker: omg that would be a total dream i'd love to see the look on their smug faces if u showed up. i just /know/ they would stop having a go at me - honestly i'm not above just name dropping u to intimidate them at this point

parker: well, either way ur a good son. i'm sure she appreciates it. if my mother rang me and i picked up i think she might genuinely have a heart attack

parker: [ he feels his heart swell at how grand a gesture austin mentions, casual as ever. he can't tell if he's serious, or if this is just the kind of talk movie stars employ to make people blush in the late-night darkness where thankfully nobody can see. ] i could never ask that of u, you're far too generous. but i will hold very tight to the fact u even offered that next time i dissociate at my desk

parker: peppa pig is this british anthropomorphic pig who haunts the existence of anybody who has had to spend more than two minutes with any small child. i can't even wear my glasses to work anymore bc they tell me that makes me look like the dad pig and honestly... it hurts, my glasses r cute and those children have no taste

achilles: so text me the address and the best time and ill be there

achilles: thats... unfortunate :( [ so even in this existence, those greedy gods had not been kind to his philtatos. make that another addition to his already long list of 'reasons to dislike the gods'. ]

achilles: u didnt ask, i offered. theres a difference.

achilles: the offer still stands. it will indefinitely. and i swear on my honor that i have no ill intetions.

achilles: that says very little to me, but if what they say is true, that u look like the dad pig, then i already like the character

meme friday / send a flower to hear 🌼… a story about the past.

as soon as the question reaches his ears, achilles casts his gaze downward. he does not have to look up to feel their intense stares, eagerly awaiting which story he decides to share with them. and he does have stories, an endless supply of them; for what are dead but made of memories? maybe they expect to hear tales of his childhood back in phthia; or snippets of the years spent in mount pelion with chiron; or perhaps glorious accounts of warfare from the decade they spent on the beach of troy. surely those are what they expect to hear, but those are not the stories he treasures anymore. 

so he tells another one. 

“contrary to popular belief, i was not unbeatable.” achilles speaks, mirth creeping into his expression. “what makes this story even more hilarious is the fact that it involves an element of which my mother is a goddess.” a chuckle escapes from his lips as he lifts his gaze up to glance at his audience. “it was a quiet afternoon. patroclus and i, and briseis, were just enjoying our rare free time.” pretending as if the war and the prophecy were only stuff of nightmares. “swimming became the topic of our conversation, and i challenged briseis to a swimming race at the end of it. i was a highly competitive person, you see.” achilles shakes his head fondly. “and i lost the race. i actually lost the race. though,” he leans forward conspiratorially, “my suspicions tell me she cheated.”

meme friday / send a flower to hear 🌺… a secret.

“the number of people i have supposedly bedded is greatly exaggerated.” a smile tugs the corners of his mouth upward. “but i enjoy some of the more outlandish rumors, so i don’t bother commenting on them publicly.”

meme friday / send a flower to hear 🌸… a curious fact.

“i’m not fond of having to exercise. everything was simpler when my mother’s blood ensured i had no need for such activities.”