ἀγαπητός

Δώσε τόπο στην οργή. (Put anger aside.) ___ [independent, semi-active modern reincarnation blog for Patroclus, of the Iliad.]

[hamletthedane]

when somebody you don’t like asks you to do something

[achillitatos]

reading the note, his eyes widen in disbelief.

     patroclus has the nerve to take the piss? when achilles is this ANGRY?      that’s the stubborn arrogance patroclus doesn’t even know he posses.      but he shakes his head,  his mood  BAD  enough  not to  bother with a      reply  at all, raising his chin, a  tightening  of the  jaw, folding  his arms.

crushing the piece of paper in his fist, he ignores the other boy as best he can, the TENSION sharp between them, enough to cause a  buzz in the air. again, he forces the thought that he doesn’t need patroclus. that he doesn’t need this boy in his life.

      he wants an apology. anything less than that, and it’s the cold shoulder.            (    an apology for what, exactly, he wouldn’t be able to tell you.    )

[xpatroklos]

achilles can be angry all he likes, but the world doesn't stop for his rage and neither will patroclus.  so yes, he has the nerve to take the piss, because in the grand scheme of things, achilles' anger is something that needs to be controlled, not something that needs to be catered to.  so he sees no reason to cater to it.  other people can do that if they want to.

that said, he really didn't think that some levity would be this much of a calamity.

staring at his carved-out silhouette for a few moments, examining the signs of anger written across it, patroclus sighs.  he won't get any further today, most likely.  achilles is evidently quite set on finding him an irritant today, which is not unusual, but still, they've had more productive interactions.

he turns his attention to the teacher without further protest, looping out notes instead of paying too much attention.  even achilles can't be angry about nothing forever.

[achillitatos]

fuck, it’s that smile; the one that isn’t directed at him, the one that’s sweet and sinister and snarky and sarcastic. in fact, patroclus can mostly be described using words beginning with ‘s’.

    (  snarky, sarcastic, sexy, strange, strong, suspicious, sinister,         sassy, singular, smart, sneaky, stubborn, stupid, serene ——  )

it goes on, achilles’ hands closing tightly on the desk, his own pride the only thing keeping him from talking, wondering if patroclus is going to look at him like that for the whole lesson. it takes him moments to try and figure out something he can do, other than outright hit patroclus in the face ( again ).

eventually, he writes a note in greek.

if he can’t talk, then he’ll write; a neat way to get around his pride

εἶ ένα πέος.

at least if they get caught passing notes, the teacher won’t have a clue what to think.

[xpatroklos]

the note lands on his notes, and he only barely avoids smiling in triumph, but instead brushes it away for a moment to keep reading.  once he's done with the page, or done pretending to read it, anyway, he pulls the notebook towards him and sees the tight curls of greek.

and achilles has the nerve to call him a nerd.

this time he does flash a smile before he scrawls a reply--his greek is substantially less neat than his english, still perfectly readable, but shorter, letters leaning left, downwards strokes thick and sideways curves shallow.

το ένα παίρνει να γνωρίζει ο ένας.

he quietly slips it back across.

[achillitatos]

remorse wasn’t an emotion he welcomed.        guilt, that feeling when he passed by  patroclus in the halls,         the  weeks he’d spent  trying to search for a fitting apology        and the battle between his PRIDE and his GUILT holding it        back, ignoring the bruises and  bandages, too  easy to spot.

he fully expects patroclus to never speak to him again. after all, what sort of friendship continues after a fight like that? had he broken bone? had he left scars? but he wouldn’t apologise, not when patroclus expected him to.

        & he’d successfully managed to avoid him for this long.

patroclus looks a mess, the bruises yellowing around his eye, dishevelled and hurt. and when the other boy takes the seat beside him, achilles tries not to act surprised, and tries not to smirk at how he’d won this one.

        arms fold over his chest, and he makes a conscious effort not to reply.

[xpatroklos]

patroclus doesn't expect an apology because he's not a total idiot.  in fact, he's not sure he really wants one.  it would be honestly worrying if he did.

he smiles, a quiet, sweet thing, which hurts because it pulls at his nose, at the guy who's still staring at him as if he's going to move.  he's probably asking for it.  and his doctor actually specifically told him not to get punched in the face again.

looking back to achilles, he sees how patently he's Not Paying Attention and rolls his eyes so hard they nearly fall out of his head.

fine.  two can play that game.

he takes out his books and labels and dates the page neatly, then starts reading through yesterday's notes, looking away from achilles.  he hums under his breath even though it hurts his nose.

he has no doubt achilles can keep this up all class, but he'll come around eventually.

[xpatroklos]

patroclus waits until he can take off the nasal splint and the bruising around his eyes has gone down before he even tries to do anything.  there's a bump on the bridge of his nose, subtle, that wasn't there before, and it's still not especially fun to touch, but he doesn't look like he's been beaten bloody anymore.  the bruise across his ribs is still fading.  and even at 'trying to do anything' it isn't much, he just takes the seat next to achilles in history from a massive swim team jock who will probably pay him back for it later.  this involves a good bit of maneouvering and hedging his bets that he won't be getting hit in front of the teacher.

    ❝ ... ❞

it takes him a moment to figure out what to say.  he thinks about not saying anything at all.

    ❝ how did you do on the test. ❞

[deermemehost]

Alignment Tracker

[xpatroklos]

      Chaste ◌◌◌◌●◌◌◌◌◌ Lustful    Energetic ◌●◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌ Lazy    Forgiving ●◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌ Vengeful   Generous ◌●◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌ Selfish       Honest ◌●◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌ Deceitful            Just ◌●◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌ Arbitrary      Merciful ◌◌●◌◌◌◌◌◌◌ Cruel       Modest ◌◌◌◌●◌◌◌◌◌ Proud      Prudent ◌◌◌●◌◌◌◌◌◌ Reckless  Temperate ◌◌●◌◌◌◌◌◌◌ Indulgent      Trusting ◌●◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌ Suspicious     Valorous ●◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌ Cowardly

[achillitatos]

eyelids close, hiding fiery green eyes.

                            (   why do you did you need to cause this, patroclus?                                 don’t you know  he can’t control this  black  rage?                                 how the  hurricane  doesn’t  stop until  it’s blown                                 itself out. why did you need to  kickstart this war?  )

if it was a test, he thinks blindly, he would have failed it. he has no control, he has nothing but rage and confusion and desperation. BLOODLUST and compassion, a twisted sense of connection which only comes from patroclus’ blood on his knuckles.

          ❝     & you’d let me?   ❞

it’s an afterthought, the hurricane relenting. a thought which isn’t anger crosses his mind and he latches onto it, just because he knows a minute longer his fingers will be around Patroclus’ neck, choking him to see how much blood he coughs back up.

        ❝     if i walked away now.          you would believe me? tell me, patroclus,             because i can’t tell ——                                          —-- what is it you care about?  ❞

[xpatroklos]

patroclus has to clear his throat and blood paints his lips red when he wets his lips, the inside of his mouth tastes like wet metal and for a moment he thinks he could gag on the taste. but he doesn’t, keeps that down along with anything angry he could say. he lost the anger when he was dealing with the pain and now he’s just got to keep it down. it’s easy while he’s distracted by the blood running down his face. it’s probably not so much, but coming out of his nose it seems like rather a lot.

    ❝ today, i would let you. ❞

he doesn’t say that he’s almost certain achilles would come back. he also doesn't say that at the moment, he's not sure he's physically capable of chasing achilles even if it were advisable. he's not sure it is. achilles is perplexing sometimes--sometimes he understands him entirely and has no idea how, but mostly, he wonders: if achilles claims so much not to want him around, why is it that he seems to want to be chased? for someone as generally straightforward as patroclus--especially when it's hard to think about it too hard--it's difficult to understand. momentarily his eyes are too old for him. his voice is tired.

    ❝ --i care about plenty of things.  you, even.  i just try not to punch them, so you might not be able to tell. ❞

[facinaoris]

I couldn’t get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.

[xpatroklos]

[ friendly reminder to all 1.5 of my new followers: this is a sideblog, so i can’t follow back.  but if you want to do shit you should hmu ]

[achillitatos]

red blurs his vision. it’s a burning anger which he can’t surpress. it’s not directed at patroclus, not completely. but is his anger ever aimed at anything or is it a contempt for this world he’s thrown into?

           —-- a world in which he does not belong.

patroclus looks like hell. red smeared over his cheek, dripping down from his nose, his lips tainted, his nose swollen. had it been any other person, any person in the world, achilles would have hit him again just to shut him up. but he doesn’t; both hands on patroclus’ shoulders, he pins him to the lockers, their faces close.

           ❝     you think i hit you because you can’t stop me?   ❞

it’s said with contempt, his voice wavering with white hot RAGE, with a confusion that is a pain somewhere in his chest, a pain he knows comes from patroclus.

           ❝     you don’t deserve SHIT, patroclus. not a moment of my time.                    and you know. if you’re what i think you are, you know why.   ❞

[xpatroklos]

the longer achilles isn't hitting him the more time he has to box up the pain and learn how to think around it--when achilles pushes him back and the back of his head hits the lockers, it hurts more than it would, ordinarily, from all the hits his head has already taken, and for a moment his knees almost buckle, but achilles is pinning him there and that's good.  he doesn't fall.  he won't fall.  he's straining with himself not to fall.  it's getting easier as he has more time.

    ❝ i think you hit me because you can't control yourself. ❞

if he were sadist enough to enjoy kicking a man while he's down he wouldn't have helped him when he was in the pool.  his voice is getting more collected at the same time he's fighting to keep himself from slurring, although it sounds a little choked because he has to keep swallowing the blood running down the back of his throat.

    ❝ and i think if i didn't deserve your time you'd be walking away. ❞

he knows this, but doesn't know how he knows it.

[achillitatos]

too angry to feel any remorse,       he barely registers anything other than the pounding in his ears,       the blood on his knuckles and the adrenaline heating his system.

(  there’s something all too beautiful about that rage in patroclus’ eye.  )

     and the words, chosen just to provoke him, do exactly their job.      barely hesitating before tightening his fist and lashing out again.      even harder this time, enough to knock someone weaker right out.      but not patroclus. though another punch might do him this time.

& he doesn’t need to say anything.         he should leave patroclus there, bloody and in pain.                he shouldn’t bother even looking back at the mess he’d left.

[xpatroklos]

dimly, patroclus registers that people are starting to watch, but no one is doing anything, so it's fine.  a more sober part of his mind reminds him that it would only be in his favour if they did do something.

he gets his hands up to block before achilles hits him, this time, expecting it, but it doesn't matter, he hasn't got the pure strength to actually stop his fist.  it hits him through his hands against the side of his nose with all the kindness of a bullet and he thinks his nose is broken this time, and the pain is blinding and the edges of his vision are hazy, balancing difficult.  his shirt, too slick against the metal behind him, threatens to slide him down to the floor where he leans too hard against it to keep standing.

it would be very easy to lie on the floor and give into his disorientation, which is why he keeps his feet, eyes unfocused, breath hissing through his teeth.  his things are scattered on the floor, and, stepping on a pencil when he moves his foot, he almost falls again.  it's so hard to remain upright.  he wipes a hand across his mouth, dizzy, and it comes away red, smearing blood against his cheek.  it's a struggle to reply coherently past the pain; that he manages it reminds him of being on his knees in armour he doesn't remember putting on, bleeding into the sand.

    ❝ what are you waiting for, achilles?  go on, hit me again, i clearly can't stop you. ❞     he is, however, a fucking idiot, and his voice, where it manages an expression that isn't pain, swirls with furious disdain.    ❝ i'm sure you can make up something i did to deserve your pointless anger if it ever enters your head to think about it after you're done. ❞

[rabbitinthemoon-blog]

Love isn’t soft, like those poets say. Love has teeth which bite, and the wounds never close.

Stephen King (via allheroesforhire)

[achillitatos]

for a moment, achilles almost, so nearly hits him. it takes a lot to hold back, fingers bruising his wrist. pushing him again, forcing him against the lockers.

but the moment comes when he manages to pull himself away, instead questioning why patroclus appears to be such an ASSHOLE when all achilles had done was pull him from some boys trying to drown him and tease him a little.

but as he turns to walk away, he feels that smirk which must fall over patroclus’ lips, and he SNAPS turning, faster than a snake, fist colliding with face.

                         ❝    you’re a fucking dick, patroclus.   ❞

[xpatroklos]

he isn't smirking when achilles decks him, wasn't even thinking about smiling, and he's not surprised to find that he hits hard, swinging from the hip.  the force drives him backwards into the locker with a resounding clang and the pain doesn't register until the extremely fleeting numbness leaves.

after that it's agonizing.  he'll have a black eye tomorrow, a bruise riding high up his cheekbone, and he curls for a moment, swearing in greek, as if protecting his vitals before his hands fly to his face and he straightens, eyes wild and hair disheveled with the movement.

he breathes shallowly against the pain as he lowers his hands and looks up at achilles, muscles straining with how much he wants to hit back, but doesn't.  his nose is bleeding sluggishly onto his upper lip, and his voice is hoarse, fury evident.  it hurts to move his jaw.

    ❝ and yet no one is punching you.  funny how that works. ❞

[xpatroklos]

[ friendly reminder to all 1.5 of my new followers: this is a sideblog, so i can't follow back.  but if you want to do shit you should hmu ]

[westexaswind]

au where patroclus and achilles are happy

[achillitatos]

it’s impossible, he thinks to himself, his tongue pressing to the side of his cheek to hold back the latent anger which already radiates through those tight fingers, bruising into patroclus’ wrist. 

                                       ❝   i wonder, you know.   ❞

                  he doesn’t release him, if anything, just holds him tighter,                   feeling like shoving him again might not go totally amiss.  

   ❝   do you have any emotion?  i know you do, despite this cover up act.          i mean, would you give a shit if  anything   happened  to someone?          someone you care about? or is it that you don’t really actually care?  ❞

[xpatroklos]

patroclus, in a moment of familiar rage, thinks about the fact that achilles no longer expects him to fight back and about how easy that would make it for him to just slam a knee between his legs and drop him, break his wrists free and tell him how's that for emotion and walk away, but he suppresses the urge, the tendons in his wrists relaxing, a tell he hadn't noticed until it had dissipated.

    ❝ of course i do.  i just don't intend to give you any ammo. ❞

that is a lie, mostly.  and the implication behind his next words is entirely untrue.

    ❝ and besides, it is the quickest way to make you mad. ❞

[achillitatos]

really, it takes him a few moments to really clock it.        he and patroclus have been — ( can you call this friends? ) for a while, now.        and though achilles knows it’s based off annoyance and mutual all out hate,        god, this boy still has a way of getting under achilles’ skin, no matter what.

❝     what makes you think you’re so much better than anyone?  ❞

                                     the question is blurted, too much pent up agression,                                      he turns, grabbing patroclus’ wrist and twisting it so                                      the boy’s back hits the locker with a delicious force.

❝    and don’t say 'you can talk', because i’m really curious, patroclus.  ❞

[xpatroklos]

patroclus goes with the half-blow easily enough, doesn't glance over achilles' shoulder to see who might be watching like he usually might--he forgets to, and besides he forgets to care.  he pauses.

    ❝ i don't. ❞

which is partially the truth.  the rest of the truth is that sometimes he knows he's better at some things than some people, not out of any particular arrogance--he barely possesses an arrogant bone in his body--but because it's the truth.  he is more patient than achilles is.  he knows this.  he considers it a fact.  his wrist is limp in achilles' grip and his jaw is hard, anger restrained.

   ❝ i'm no better or worse than anyone else.  i just answered your question.  sometimes it is literally that simple. ❞