Wishbone
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He has a deep scar that wraps around the inside of his thigh, trailing down to his knee, and when it rains, it aches. It has ached ever since he set foot in Aulis, even though the skies are clear and there is not a whisper of wind in the air. Perhaps, he thinks idly as he presses fingers deeply into his aching flesh, the presence of the gods functions much the same as the looming threat of rain. A swooping pressure in the air, a sharp ozone tinge in the back of his mouth, the sudden stillness of the world, an ethereal quiet.
Series
- Part 1 of Wishbone
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Killing floor by AsterAspera
Fandoms: The Iliad - Homer, The Odyssey - Homer, Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
14 Jun 2024
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As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can pick out Diomedes, cross legged on the bare floors of his tent, armour still on, sword balanced over his knees. He seems perfectly calm, gaze level and blank, posture at ease. But something about the scene strikes Odysseus as off, discordant and wrong. Despite his relaxed stance, his breaths come out strange and juddering, held for too long in his chest before being released in a stilted half measure.
Series
- Part 2 of Wishbone
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Slaughterhouse by AsterAspera
Fandoms: The Odyssey - Homer, The Iliad - Homer, Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
25 Jun 2024
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There is a sea of bodies in his home.
Red blood drips from overturned tables and pools in the hollows of pierced throats, pinkish white brain matter splatters out over the once ornate floors and somewhere he can see the dark, visceral tint of spilled guts. On the other side of the room, servants are picking their way through the bodies, lost and confused.
He can’t breathe. His heart is beating a staccato rhythm in his chest and he can’t fucking breathe.Series
- Part 3 of Wishbone
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Morgue by AsterAspera
Fandoms: The Iliad - Homer, The Odyssey - Homer, Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
30 Jun 2024
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Odysseus walks over to his side, movements perfectly controlled, like a marionette, and then drops carelessly to his knees by his side, heavy and graceless, his legs hitting the ground with a jarring thud. He can see the weariness in his friend’s eyes, the grief he tucks behind so many walls and twists and turns. And then he speaks, and his voice is rough and low, as if he has spent the earlier hours screaming.
“You fool, you godsdamned fool.” His tone is not angry, or accusing, just tired.Series
- Part 4 of Wishbone
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Summary
“You’re going to kill me,” Diomedes says one evening. There is still blood in his hair and up his arms and calves and splattered across his face and he’s kneeling all pretty and soft and sweet at his feet, gently unwinding the slippery leather straps, because his own hands shake and ache and tremble. He doesn’t look up as he says it, his gaze focused with that typical single minded determination.
Series
- Part 5 of Wishbone
