#I’m passionate about the Odyssey

[thesteamhunk]

Ooooh epic girlies (mostly on TikTok) I am BEGGING you to learn the mythology because no. No no no Circe and Calypso are not girlboss. No you do not want to ship them with Odysseus.

Girl I am begging you. Do not call original Odysseus a cheater I am still saying it. Don’t go down this path girl. Hold my hand and we will read the myths together so you understand

[maeo-png]

Simon Petrikov, Healing, Self-love, and a smidge more of Greek mythology if you really squint

“Ulysses” poem excerpt by Alfred Tennyson // Fionna and Cake Episode 10 “Cheers” // “Exitlude” by The Killers // “Cheers” // “Talk To Me” by cavetown // “a poem traveled down my arm” by Alice Walker // “Cheers” // “Ulysses” book by James Joyce

[jokeroutsubs]

📝ENG Translation: Elle Men Special: A Fashion Odyssey with Kris Guštin

Article written by Ajda Gregorc, published in the November/December 2024 ELLE Slovenia Magazine. Print and digital versions of the magazine are available for purchase.

Scans and English translation by @kurooscoffee, review by @weolucbasu and a member of JokerOutSubs, proofread by IG GBoleyn123.

Full article translation, scans, and Spotify link are under the cut 👇

🎧 Article available in audio form on Spotify.

Elle Men Special: A Fashion Odyssey with Kris Guštin

With Kris Guštin, the music author and guitarist of Joker Out, we escaped to another side of music, and with that, to his other passion. We talked about style and everything connected to it. There will also be no shortage of this in the band's third album, titled 'Souvenir Pop', which is released on the 15th of November—one week after the issue of Elle you’re holding now. How perfectly synchronised we are!

PHOTOS URŠA PREMIK, STYLING ALENKA BIRK

At Ljubljana’s Moderna Café, on a fresh but lovely autumn Tuesday, when everyone’s still at work or in school, he arrives in a dark green jacket with a checkered pattern, awesome trousers, and her necklace. This time, the menu is not serving music and life, but matcha and "all things fashion." I’m in a regular trench coat and a white T-shirt, but luckily he doesn’t judge people by their style—instead, the style might be what piques his interest to converse, if it's good, of course. Besides, he's the one being interviewed. So, let’s begin! AJDA GREGORC

Interviewer: When did you first discover your personal style or the field of fashion? Was it in childhood or a bit later?

Kris: I roughly divide my life into two periods: before I first held a guitar, and after. When I really got into playing and ventured into music, my world opened up in all areas. Discovering fashion definitely falls into this second period, so the post-high school era. To be completely honest, my style in high school wasn’t something I’m particularly proud of today. (laughs) My girlfriend and I still have a photo of me wearing cargo pants and a black sweater, which is a proof she truly loves me, since that look was far from the best choice. (laughs)

When did it evolve from just a aesthetic impression to self-expression?

My first contact with fashion as a form of art or expression was during our band's first music video or fashion shoot, when I realised that this is also something you need to consider as a musician. At first, it seemed to me like a fairly peripheral element, but as our career developed and we met new people who gave us more insight into this, I began to understand its significance, what I could personally gain from it, and what we as a band could gain. This quickly developed into standard practice. I was increasingly exposed to fashion; we had more and more costume rehearsals and stylings, and two years ago, we even got our first proper stylist. And then I really committed to it—at around nineteen or twenty. Before that, my philosophy was always to "just wear whatever I first find in the closet," but then I shifted to "I'll wear things that would make me stand out from others". But this process was a long one.

So, your style development with the band inspired your personal growth too? I’ve always wondered if a young person is compelled to mature in every area when so many 'big things' happen all at once, as they did for you.

Maybe you do "grow old" in terms of personality sooner. Yes, at first I wanted, and still want, to primarily express the difference or uniqueness that I feel inside myself through music, but then I discovered that this goes very much hand in hand with fashion, so I started looking for my expression there as well. Today, it's almost an equally important part of my day.

Which fashion ideas or directions attract you? You’ve probably encountered a lot of inspiration during your travels on tour, right?

Definitely, but speaking purely origin-wise, I think I’m just like any other rock musician—we draw from the rock aesthetic of the ’60s and ’70s, which was also very "in" when my fashion awareness was born. Back then, around 2016 to 2018, here were a lot of flamboyant shirts on the music scene, with a slight hippie influence, which was the starting point. Only later did I start getting interested in slightly more modern clothes. When I was younger, I found myself in street fashion, that sort of Eminem-esque, hip-hop vibe, so very baggy clothes, which I then began to reject when I made the shift toward the ’60s and a slightly psychedelic aesthetic. It makes perfect sense, as humans tend to jump between extremes. When I had worked through that style, I started discovering the aesthetics of the ’80s and late ’90s, which was also reflected in music at the time. The best example that comes to mind is Dua Lipa’s previous album, which was in the style of the “new ’80s,” and the fashion matched that as well. Today, the early 2000s style has come back, but I haven’t fully decided whether I like it or not. As a musician, I was, of course, initially inspired by other music groups. Arctic Monkeys were a big inspiration for us both musically and visually, as was the whole British rock scene, including bands like The Kooks and Oasis. That entire aesthetic has always been strongly present with us. I doubt there’s a single inspiration board at our shoots that doesn’t include a photo of one of those bands or, for instance, the Beatles. And that aesthetic has always been close to my heart, too.

Rockers have always been associated with more masculine fashion elements, while in recent years, many male musicians have been experimenting with more feminine style elements (for example, Harry Styles and Lenny Kravitz). David Bowie was already the one who back then started to blur these fashion boundaries. You, too, wear such pieces and dare to stand out with them.

It happened quite naturally, as the stylists we worked with always chose slightly more “unmanly” clothing for me. This doesn’t necessarily mean women’s clothing, but rather somewhat more androgynous pieces, which I quickly embraced. I found them interesting and appealing because there’s a lot of fresh expression in that style that I don’t find in traditional men’s clothing, though I don’t want to overdo it. I also started experimenting with them personally, choosing many more varied colours. For a while, I was very fond of pink, and lately, I’ve been playing around with orange. On the cover of the album 'Demoni', I wore an orange-pink sweater.

Are we, as an audience here, already mature enough for a musician to present his feminine side through fashion? Does that require courage?

It does, there will always be people who won’t understand you. But for me, when it comes to the stage or a shoot, I’ll wear anything, and if I feel good in it, I don’t worry about what someone thinks. When I walk around "in civilian clothes," however, especially in Ljubljana, I am still aware if I’m dressed somewhat "untraditionally." There’s a certain boundary that I still need to break within myself. On stage, it’s easier because it’s not necessarily a hundred percent my expression; I’m playing a certain character, but personally, sometimes I do need some courage to show up in a particular style. However, the awareness of being different is stronger in Ljubljana than in other parts of the Western world. For example, I never felt that way in London, but still, our capital isn’t the worst when it comes to this.

Speaking of influences, what about other artistic or cultural movements?

I love art deco, the aesthetics of the '20s and '30s, though it doesn’t influence my daily life. In terms of photography, Damon Baker’s black-and-white style is beautiful. The vintage camera aesthetic has recently won me over, which will also be reflected in our band. Musically, over the past year, I’ve been listening to old Italian chansons and older French music, chansons as well, so I’m clearly feeling very retro this year. (smile)

Will the third album visually stand out from the previous ones then?

Yes, it will be very different. In the last two, we used a lot of colours, but there won’t be as many in this one.

Style can be an excellent tool for expressing an artist's authenticity, but with increasing success, the artist can also become its slave; the line is thin. Do you ever feel the pressure of having to express your fashion style in your private life as well?

No, I’ve never felt like my style owns me; it’s always been the opposite. I’ve always felt like I want more, like I want to dress even better than the day before, especially when it comes to my music career. Perhaps style only hangs over my head a bit when I have no inspiration and would rather wear sweatpants on an ordinary, relaxed day. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but then I do think about what would happen if I ended up somewhere in the middle of the city dressed like that.

It seems that Joker Out has developed a distinct style despite outside influences.

Yes, today we are already very complete in our style. Others have definitely had an influence on us, and I think it’s great that each of them tried to express themselves through us – it was interesting to experience how Joker Out was seen by Ponorelli, and how Andraž Drobnič or Karlo Kirri did. Of course, there is a difference in this, but it also aligns with the development of our music and aesthetics, so all these influences are very welcome.

How much of your personal fashion identity is therefore reflected in Joker Out?

Maybe, as someone who is not an external observer, I can't answer that, but I can say that I was always one of the first to give feedback to the stylist when we were creating our outfits, approving moodboards, and so on. So, I have definitely shaped our style in a direction that suits me. On certain "blind stylings," when we just dressed up, I quickly threw something on myself and then helped look for pieces for the other band members.

What about this photoshoot, where Alenka Birk took over the styling? Did you let her take the lead with her tactics, or did you collaborate on fashion choices? How did the communication go?

I didn’t know Alenka, who, by the way, is an excellent stylist, before. She was recommended by Urša (the photographer, ed.). Later, she confided in me that she had also worked with my father. Alenka focuses on elegant men's fashion, which is a departure from this more fluid fashion; and this suited me because I had never really been photographed in a men's suit, jacket, and tie. I wanted to try something new. I hadn’t seen the outfits before the day of the photoshoot when we met in her small studio in the morning. There were nine of them in total, and we only swapped out a piece or two in at most three of the looks.

This is more of an exception than a rule in fashion photoshoots. Does that mean you felt good in them?

Yes. In some more so, obviously, but in others, you have to trust the people you're working with. When I first look in the mirror, I always keep in mind that if something isn't optimal, it doesn't mean it won’t work well on camera. Even if the pants are too short or creased, it's still worth photographing them, because the photo can be edited later, whereas on stage, it's a different story, and everything has to already be perfect in the mirror. Working with Alenka was very simple; we clicked really well, and I will definitely work with her again.

How linked are your confidence and the way you feel on stage with your styling?

Very connected. As a musician, you want to enjoy yourself as much as possible on stage, and the people who come to listen to you and pay for the ticket deserve to see you at your best, which means you have to feel good in every aspect.

You recently attended Ljubljana Fashion Week. Which of the local fashion designers do you like to follow?

As far as the Slovenian fashion scene is concerned, I’m still quite the beginner, so I only knew the designers we had worked with. This was my first time visiting the Fashion Week.

Which shows did you watch?

On the first day, all of them. I didn’t like everything, but what stuck in my mind was Sarivalenci¹ with their somewhat "country club", Lana Del Rey vibe, and golf moment. I also really enjoyed the Belgrade Fashion Week, as there was an obvious Balkan touch, which I would love to see more of in Slovenia.

¹Sarivalenci is a Slovene high fashion brand created by fashion designer Sari Valenci.

You are a fan of vintage clothes and second-hand shops. What do these pieces have for you that new ones don't?

Honestly, I don’t know if there’s an objective explanation why. I started getting into it because it was popular, and at the same time, it gives you the feeling of getting a more unique piece. At the same time, you're shopping sustainably and not contributing to the production of unnecessary new textiles on Earth, which is great, but I would be lying if I said that’s my main motivation. What I like the most is the experience of "flipping" through clothes, where each piece is different, like a treasure hunt, compared to regular stores where you "flip" through the same clothes in different sizes.

Did your mum, who comes from the Netherlands where people have been aware of this for many years, introduce you to this concept?

I wouldn’t say we talked much about it at home, but I literally lived it. This is probably true for Slovenians in general – almost all the clothes I had as a child were from older peers, or I would take something from my dad, too. When I was done with wearing the clothes, my brother would wear them too. Every piece of clothing that came into our house was passed around, which is a great practice, and it’s still like that today. My sister "stole" half of my sweaters, my mum sometimes takes something too, Maks borrows jackets from my dad, which I’ve also done myself. It's like we all share one big closet! (laughs)

So you have influenced each other’s style in your family, or rather, you still do so? Who has otherwise had the most influence on your style in the past, and who does today?

I don’t remember ever looking at my parents as role models in this regard, as I didn’t really think about it back then, but they definitely influenced me, at least subconsciously. When I see how my mom dresses today, I see parallels with my own style, so she probably did influence me, perhaps more than my dad. As for street style, which I mentioned at the beginning, it might have been inherited from my uncle, my aunt’s husband from the Netherlands, who wore loose sweaters and listened to hip hop. My mum also had an uncle from the Indonesian side of the family, whom I never met, but he was very eccentric. Some of his clothes made their way to us over the years, and when I looked at these pieces in the closet, I was fascinated by how they reflected his personality. Asian fashion became a bit closer to me because of this, and I might even explore it someday.

The heart necklace you wear all the time, even today, is from your girlfriend. Do you ever dress your girlfriend or does she dress you?

My girlfriend is very fashion-oriented and has played a big role in my fashion development. She has always encouraged me when I tried new clothes that, at the time, seemed more radical to me. In this way, she partially shaped me. We also really enjoy shopping together. She dresses me more often than I dress her, which means I ask her for opinion. There have also been times when we’ve dressed the same when it comes to basic pieces; we’ve never really styled each other, but there will probably be time for that in the future.

Where do you like to go for vintage pieces in Ljubljana? Did you find any gems while on tour across Europe?

Textile House Vintage Shop is, in my opinion, by far the best in Ljubljana. The next one is Humana on Stritarjeva street, where I find something every now and then. Abroad, we’ve visited many vintage shops in Dublin, Paris, and London. In the latter, I always go to Brick Lane, which is a street with vintage shops in the east side of central London, where the more hipster area starts. The downside is that it quickly becomes quite an expensive experience.

What kind of information can you deduce about a person based on what they’re wearing? Who, in your opinion, is truly well-dressed?

A person’s style is never a reason not to engage in conversation with them, but it is a very strong stimulator of my interest in that person. If I think someone is really well-dressed, I automatically assume they might think similarly to me and be interested in the same artistic, musical, or visual directions, so I’m more eager to talk to them. However, I’ve often met people who didn’t seem interestingly dressed, and later realised they were amazing people, even if they dressed completely casually.

Your audience expresses itself very differently in terms of fashion, as your parents also mentioned in a recent interview for Elle. How do you as a band perceive this?

Yes, what they meant was that it is no longer the case that you have to be "appropriately" dressed for a rock concert. When we observe the audience from the stage, I would say that the most typical thing for our time is that we are no longer genre-bound. Not just musically, but also in terms of fashion. 30 or 40 years ago, you would see people at a rock concert in leather jackets, black shoes, and jeans, and that was it. Today, you have flamboyant outfits with blue and green hair in one corner, gothic style in another, and of course, people in simple t-shirts and pants somewhere in the middle. And no one feels like they don’t belong; everyone sings our songs, and that’s really nice.

- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

❗Please do not repost without credit, and if you quote, please link back to this post!

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 0.8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Moodboard | Recommended Listening

Synopsis: Bradley keeps a close eye on the other students, nightly dinners become a regular occurrence. Malcolm feels further away than ever. A phone call in the middle of the night causes a swift change in plans.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. 18+ minors dni

…

Bradley wakes up with the sun. All of those West Coast mornings and thin, green floral curtains in his grandmother’s house. The sun spilling through them and alerting him to the Chordettes playing downstairs on grainy vinyl. That meant his mother was cleaning. Lemon-scented disinfectant, her sitting on her knees polishing the hardwood with a rag. The effortless warmth of her voice drifting through the walls.

He exhales. Sunlight seeps through his eyelids but there’s no Chordettes album today. No lemon scent. Just a dusty room and one of his students sleeping six feet away. His eyelids flutter, blinking through the early morning light. A slow turn of his neck allows him to check the clock on the nightstand and doesn’t affront the stiffness that these cheap mattresses give him either.

It’s early. About four hours before Luke would naturally rise, anyway. Bradley hits the alarm and pushes himself upright with a soft sigh. He doesn’t have to be quiet when he’s getting out of bed, that kid could sleep through a hurricane.

They have a lot in common. Lots of similarities in the way they were raised. Bradley likes him beyond just being his professor. In different circumstances, they would be friends. But, Bradley has always kept that line in the sand clear. Until now. Until you had kissed him.

Showered and dressed, Bradley’s up before most of Verona. The soles of his shoes are quiet against the cobble. Italian leather from almost a decade ago. A gift from an old friend that have held up well. The only dress shoes he’s got.

It’s bright out. Bright enough that Bradley’s squinting through his Ray-Ban caravans already, but it’s not too hot just yet. There’s a wind that makes the loose white of his button-up billow against his tanned skin, fighting to work free from being neatly tucked into his belt.

Enzo’s out on the steps by the time Bradley gets there, which means he is late. Teaching hasn’t ever been Bradley’s passion, but it makes way for him to study and — in theory — he gets his summers off. It allows him to write.

“Good morning.” Enzo greets him with a smile. Bradley’s not much for the business side of things — he would have better luck at counting the shades of blue in the sky than he would at figuring out schmoozing. Enzo knows this, and Bradley knows that he knows this. “How’s the book coming?”

“I’m not sure,” Bradley answers with a broad shrug. He tucks the gold frames of his sunglasses into the part of his shirt. “I’m not sure I’ll have it finished by the end of summer.”

Olive-skinned and about fifteen years Bradley’s senior, Enzo looks the part of a sleazy salesman even if he’s just a curator when his lips twist up into a smile. “Something’s got you a little distracted, hm?”

The straight ahead stare, the deep, slow breaths and the unwavering tight line that his lips are pressed into; Bradley’s reaction is easily readable — and Enzo’s close enough to get hit if he keeps it up. He knows that. Towing the line is his specialty.

“Just joking. Here, let’s go in.”

Three soft-sounding steps inside and Bradley’s back where he was this morning. Ten years old and laying on his back in the twin bed in the bedroom at the front of his grandmother’s house, smelling artificial lemon.

He turns his head just a little, his eyes lingering on the mop being pushed around the tile floor, as Enzo leads him further inside.

Being published is what professors dream of. Having someone decide that their little ramblings are interesting enough to publish. Bradley’s study focuses on two things that are inherently interesting to begin with — sex, and power.

His research may be tedious every now and again but the content is always rich. His morning spins by and before he knows it, it’s time to meet you again. You’re ready for him when he gets there, tugging open the door before he has knocked.

But, you don’t look excited to see him.

Cheeks flushed, your body language suggests to him that you would have a decent future as an offensive lineman. His gaze flickers up, over your head and into your seemingly innocent hotel room. Powerless as he scans the room, you just hope he can’t figure out what it is that has you so rattled.

You had aimed to finish before he had arrived but time had gotten away from you.

“So what are we doing today?” You try.

“What are you writing?” His eyes are already on it. The open stack of lined papers, torn out of the notebook already, sitting on the vanity by the wall. Your perfume is next to it and you’ve got the stationary set that your mother got you laid out neatly next to it.

“Nothing.”

He looks down. First, at your face. Wide eyes and baited breath. Then, at your hands suddenly resting against his chest like they’ll hold him in place. His lips twitch.

“Nothing?” He repeats to you. Enjoyment seeps through his words, amusement tugs at his lips and he lifts his right foot to take one step forwards. “Mind if I take a look?”

Instantly, your fingers are curling into his shirt and you’re throwing your weight at him to keep him where he is. Bradley huffs out a sound of amusement, passing you in one swift stride as you claw at his button up to slow him down.

“Don’t, Bradley, it’s stupid — I was just messing around. I don’t want you to read it.”

His fingers brush the top page as you plead with him, tugging at his sleeve, trying to change his mind. He lifts it nonetheless and shoots you a grin, making a show of clearing his throat.

“Dear Juliet,” He pronounces, turning his attention back to the page from you.

“Bradley, please don’t.” It’s not fun anymore. You’re quiet and resigned to him doing whatever he pleases. Embarrassment teems through you.

It’s a familiar kind of crushing feeling. It’s never just feeling small, it’s never that simple. It’s being made small. Every inch that you shrink, you’re squished down further until you’re nothing.

You can see it in his face, the exact moment that he reads his initials on the paper. It had seemed too personal to use his name. Back when this had seemed like a good idea at all.

He doesn’t read on. The paper sits still in his hand as he turns his head towards you. You stare back at him, preparing yourself. Tongue poised, ready to spit whatever venom he deserves after what he says next. Eyes wide, and sad.

“I’m sorry.”

He sets the paper back down as he had found it. It’s not his to discard, it wasn’t his to read. Bradley steps forwards and wraps his hands gently around both of your biceps.

“That wasn’t cool,” He tells you quietly. Bradley knows a couple of different languages, and he’s confident that he’s speaking English now, even if you’re staring at him like he isn’t. “I didn’t realize what it was. I was just trying to mess with you. I barely read any of it.”

Silent, you blink a few times. He’s still there with his big, heavy hands anchoring around your biceps. He’s waiting for you to say something back.

Slowly, your brows draw together. Your eyes flicker over every inch of his face, looking for some fault that will give up this little act.

Suddenly, your mind is made up. This is an act. He’s not sorry, men rarely are. You straighten your back and lift your chin, if you were a cat your claws would be out and ready. “You’re such an asshole.”

The clock beside your bed, the hands don’t move, and yet it feels like you can hear something ticking. Maybe your heartbeat. He’s staring back at you, not moving, but he’s going to have to soon — it’s his turn.

“I know, honey,” Bradley’s hands open and he releases your arms, only to open his and wrap you in them. Your face presses into his chest as he rubs a hand along the small of your back. “I didn’t mean to.”

You’ve received plenty of life lessons on what it means to be a woman. Your grandmother, your mother, your aunts and cousins, teachers and friends. Not one of them prepared you for this. In your scope, apologies come in the form of jewelry or luxury vacations.

No one had ever prepared you for a man to look into your eyes and tell you that he is truly sorry.

“I just wanted to put it on paper, get it out of my head,” You mumble into his shirt, inhaling the notes of wood and warm spice in his cologne. Your hand rests against his stomach now, unclenched. Your body is soft against his. You relax out of all of that tension and let him hold you. “Make some sense of it.”

His palm hugs the base of your skull, cradling you against his shoulder. His cheek rests against the top of your head. He gives you a slow nod.

“You should finish it.” Bradley tells you.

“Yeah. Maybe later.” You hum. It’s nice, to be held by him. He strokes a hand softly over your hair.

Within this city, within the walls of the first space that you have had to yourself in three weeks, in this brown hotel room — you have let yourself be his.

Tomorrow, you’ll move on to Venice. The decision is yours, to leave him and all of this insanity right here — forever between these four walls — or to let go.

Bradley’s thumb trails the nape of your neck. He can feel you deep in thought. Just once, he would like to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. “Could be our activity for today. Write it in Latin, think of it as a translation activity. I won’t check it.”

Lifting your head, you stare up at him, lips pursed in distaste. “If you don’t check it then what’s the point?”

“Confidence.” Bradley tells you. You feel his open palms trail your back until they hit your belt. Then, they skim around to rest safely on your waist. “The more you practice—“

“Yeah, yeah…” Both hands push against his chest as you wriggle out of his arms and turn. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Let’s sit outside. It’s a nice day.”

The eighth of June. The day you sat in a public garden opposite a fountain, laying on your front in the grass while Bradley sat in front of you, propped up against a tree. It turns out that when Bradley says he knows a place, it’s usually worth listening.

“What’s this place called?”

“Giusti Garden.” He tells you, working on something of his own in his lap.

“And what is it?” You ask him, trailing the end of your pencil through the dictionary. He looks up at you, his own pencil stilling for a second.

“A palace, originally.” Blinking through the lenses of his sunglasses, Bradley glances down at the page in front of him and back to your lips, pursed in concentration. “Pretty popular. Mozart, Gorthe, Ruskin— they’ve all visited this place.”

“Huh.” You hum.

This time when his gaze flickers up, you have moved. Your lips are parted, you tap the rubber at the end of your pencil against your bottom lip.

Mid-sentence and stuck, you turn your head towards him and he’s already looking at you. He read what was on that paper the first time. He reads hundreds of essays a year, he has mastered the art of clearing a page quickly.

Admittedly, he hadn’t gotten through the whole page, but he’d noticed that you had stopped halfway through a word at the bottom.

He read all about it. How confused you are. The new feelings and the difficult thoughts. Malcolm and how much he loves you. How guilty you are. How furious with yourself you are.

Selfishly, Bradley wonders if you’re writing the same thing now. All of those biting looks and harsh words — Bradley feels like he’s just starting to understand, and he likes the person behind it all.

He’s grown up enough to know that you’ve got enough people messing with your head back home. Whatever that letter helps you realize, Bradley has already decided that he isn’t going to say a word about it.

It’s still bright out by the time that your letter is signed and sealed, tucked into your bag. You straighten up, brushing off your front as Bradley collects his things behind you.

“Here.”

Lifting your head, you almost miss it. He watches your eyes land on the folded piece of paper extended towards you. Your lips quirk softly as you reach out and take it from him.

Breeze catches your hair, you comb it off of your forehead with one hand as you open up the paper with the other. Three different pencil sketches sit on the paper.

The largest is in the centre. It’s of your face and your shoulders, elbows propped up against the grass and your lips pouted slightly as you study the book before you. The lashes, the slight misshape of your polo collar, the tip of your nose. He’s got it down to a science.

The other two are just sketches. One of your face, turned to the side like it is in the drawing of you laying down. The last is of you looking at him, smiling. You don’t even remember what he had said. Neither does he. But he remembers that look.

“What’s this?”

Bradley just slips the pencil into the pocket of his jeans and starts walking, nudging his elbow into yours as he passes by. “You asked me to draw you, didn’t you?”

In truth, he assumes that it’s going to be a parting gift. Call him sentimental, but Bradley always leaves something to remember him by.

When he closes his eyes, he doesn’t remember his father’s face. He has seen it in pictures before, but never in memories. No, he remembers hugging his father’s legs, and sitting on his knee. He remembers the smell of tobacco.

The replacement dog tags. The gold chain. The shoes in the box in his mother’s wardrobe. The suit that Bradley never grew into — one day it was too big and the very next, he had already outgrown it. Those are what he has to piece together parts of his father.

When you’re old and married, maybe you’ll find the drawing and piece together the parts of Bradley that made you smile like that.

You trail behind him, white tennis shoes in the trimmed green grass. A white polo shirt tucked into lemon yellow shorts, your sunglasses sweeping your hair back off of your forehead.

In another life, he’d reach back and you would wrap your palm around his index finger. He would smile at you and you would be all kinds of giddy about this date.

But this isn’t that — it doesn’t work like that this time around. Someone could see you. Bradley knows now how you’re feeling. He knows that your fiancé is on your mind. He chose once, took Natasha’s choice in her own future from her. He won’t do the same to you.

“The dinner thing,” You call out from behind him, watching your shoes travel from grass to stone pavers as you pass by an intricately carved fountain. He turns his head and peers at you over the top of his sunglasses, looking over his shoulder. “Is that really every night?”

Before you’re even done with your question Bradley’s looking ahead once again, and you’re left looking at the plain white of his cotton tee stretched pliantly over the swell of his shoulders. “Until you all start treating each other with a little respect, I guess so.”

“All of us? — Come on, Bradley, don’t act like you don’t know who the problem is.” An incredulous scoff, barely paying attention to your own words as your eyes wander around the flowered garden. “She’s just a slut, and—“

He stops and turns. Your gaze snaps from double early tulips and their puffed yellow petals to Bradley standing before you — the look in his eyes is scolding before his mouth has even moved.

“Do you listen to a single thing that I say? — Seriously?” He asks you, brows drawn together and his lips pressed into a frown. You simply blink at him.

“What?”

“She’s a slut because she has sex with her boyfriend?” He challenges you, shaking his head. The past week, Bradley has been spoon-feeding you content about the sexual culture through the history of Rome. You nod like you understand and yet, you come out with bullshit like that.

He’s the one who challenged you. You simply answer back.

“She’s a slut because he’s not her boyfriend. They’ll both tell you that.” You tell him, defiance coursing through your veins in lieu of anything that might have helped you make a stronger argument.

“What does that make me? — You listen to my stories with a smile on your face. It’s not dirty until it’s someone you don’t like, huh?” Bradley asks. He’s right, you know that much. Bradley has indubitably slept with far more people than Robin possibly could have.

Still, maybe it’s his tone that makes you need to bite back so quickly. Hands on your hips and a scowl on your face, you stand off against him before the fountain. “What does it matter to you if I think she’s a slut?”

“It matters —“ Bradley stops and takes a deep breath. He leans in by three inches and you’re met with that familiar woody smell that just makes you want him even closer. “Use your brain. Whatever your mommy and daddy taught you back home is bullshit — you’re the odd one out.”

With that, he turns and starts away from you. He won’t leave you to walk home alone, but he will walk six paces ahead so that you’re clear with the fact that you have once again stepped on his nerves.

“I’m the odd one out for respecting my body?” You call out to him.

“Respecting it, ignoring it… same difference, right? — It’s your call, honey,” Bradley walks slowly closer until the toe of his sneaker brushes yours. He lowers his voice, calm. “But choosing not to have sex doesn’t make you better than Robin.”

“I’m not your honey.” You bite back.

“Right,” Bradley nods at you. He lifts his arms and drops them back against his sides incredulously. “But here we are.”

It’s an eleven minute walk back to the hotel. You stroll behind him, sullen like a scolded child. The letter feels heavy in your bag. He might not have called you a slut, but you’ve been put in your place nonetheless. The words would never pass your lips — but he’s right. The comparison’s right there in front of you, all around you. You’re living it.

She can’t be a slut for sleeping with one boy if you’re not for whatever you’ve got going on with Bradley.

You would hold it against her, crushing like a weight, if she told your story back to you. If she was the one with a fiancé at home and a professor who spent afternoons in her hotel room.

Still, your face is hot and you’re not ready to speak to him. Halfway across the herati patterned rug that covers most of the reception area, Bradley turns and looks at you as he tucks the arm of his sunglasses into the collar of his t-shirt.

Chin high and shoulders squared, your clear path is to walk right by him. Just as you always have when a man in your life has embarrassed you.

One step ahead, Bradley catches your wrist loosely, stopping you mid-stride. “Dinner’s in five. Remember?”

“I’m not going to dinner with you.” Your answer is simple and biting. Childish. He wouldn’t be surprised if you crossed your arms and stomped your foot.

“It’s not up for discussion. Everyone’s going.” Bradley explains. Right on time, he lifts his gaze and spots Pasquale headed towards the two of you from across the lobby. It’s not like he won’t have seen the two of you argue before.

He reaches you with a smile and stands at Bradley’s side. His bald head has caught the sun, reddened slightly with head. The smile lines beside his eyes always crease when he beams at Bradley. He stands almost an entire foot shorter. Looking up at him and grinning like a kid, even though he’s older than Bradley.

“Hi, guys!” He pats Bradley’s arm jovially and turns that wide, cheesy grin to you. “How is the revision going?”

Your eyes land on the professor and suddenly there’s something dark about them that has simply nothing to do with eye colour, and everything to do with the mood he put you in.

Pasquale lives in ignorant bliss for the two seconds that it takes you to settle your hands into the shallow pockets of your lemon shorts and narrow your eyes at the professor. “Bradley’s a self-righteous asshole.”

“But what else is new!” Pasquale tries. The laugh is forced out of him and nerves shake through it. He shoots Bradley an apologetic look. Bradley’s looking at you anyway.

“She got a C minus yesterday. Still trying to figure out if it was a fluke.” Bradley bites. Your eyes widen.

Sitting on his lap, wrapped in his arms as he told you how hard you had worked — how proud he was. His hand trailing your spine. His mouth soft against yours. Butterflies tearing through your stomach.

“I think I got too much sun today. I’m going to lie down. Enjoy dinner.” Fuck mandatory. Fuck every single student on this trip. Fuck this class, and fuck him in particular. Pasquale swallows softly as you turn on your heel and head for the stairs.

Bradley turns his chin towards the ceiling. He wants to like you, he wants you to like him. In the moments that you do, everything feels so easy. Like the breeze in early June. But when you’re hell bent on arguing with him — those are like those scorching hot summers back in California. Surrounding and heavy. Pressing in on him until he bites.

“A C… that’s not so bad. Right?” Pasquale asks quietly. Bradley turns his head and looks at him, there isn’t really an answer to give. A B is the average in his class, so no — a C really isn’t bad.

The thing about old Italian hotels is that they tend to be marketed towards guests looking to lead quiet lives — romantic getaways and such. Not young women fuelled by anger. The door slams and teaches you a quick lesson in cause and effect. The painting hung on the wall to the right of the bed wobbles in complaint, then bumps to the floor. The glass frame promptly shatters across the floor.

There’s an almost calm silence that follows. A few slow blinks, and the glass is still there. The frame is still shattered. There are pieces all across the floor. Bradley still said what he said.

The soles of your tennis shoes are thin and pliant, excellent for movement but not designed to fend off glass shards. Crossing the floor at that exact moment seems like far too much of a challenge. So, you press your back to the door and slide down it. Cupping your hands tight over your mouth, you clamp your eyes tightly shut and let it go.

The scream is muffled by your palms, but probably still enough to alarm other guests.

Your bag clatters haphazardly to the floor and you lift your face from your hands just long enough to examine the mess once again. Huffing out a sadder sound than you had intended, you push weakly to your feet once again.

Until today, Verona had been your favourite stop so far. Even with that spoiled, at least you have an en-suite here. You’re more careful with that door. You tug it closed and lock it behind you, toeing off each of your shoes as you go.

These old hotels have old water heaters too. You lean across to turn the shower on first and wriggle out of your shorts, dropping your polo onto the ground with them. Facing straight ahead, you stare into the little round mirror above the sink. It’s got molding all around it that was supposed to look gold once, but the peeling paint reveals brass underneath.

Your reflection stares back at you, sullen. It’s a portrait, just your head, shoulders and chest. Swallowing doesn’t make the thickness in your throat fade. You just blink at your reflection in the mirror. The cotton t-shirt bra hugged to your chest is modest and does it’s job — nothing more.

You’ve seen lingerie — you own lingerie. You have a white teddy with matching panties reserved especially for your wedding night. Bradley has most definitely seen lingerie.

A swift inhale is followed by a baited exhale.

The memory is so distinct, standing in a mall with your mother at the ripe age of twelve, watching her soured expression as she searched through the rack.

“Lace, lace, lace.” She had tutted. Back then, you had been more concerned about someone you knew seeing you here, shopping for your first bra. You hadn’t understood.

“Mom, just grab one. I want to go home. I don’t care what I wear.” You had whined, fidgeting on your feet and brushing awkwardly at the pleats of your dress. You’ll always remember the way that she had rounded on you, eyes wide like you had asked her to buy you a thong.

“Well you should, young lady!” Her voice always sounded scarier when you were younger, even though it had always been hushed and poised.

You have been a grown up for a while now. Lived outside of her home. Had your own bank account, car, clothes — and that voice still circles in your head.

The nightdress she had gotten you last Christmas is hanging on the back of the door. Malcolm hates it. He says it reminds him of his grandmother.

You look down at the thread scissors from your sewing kit resting on the shelf beside the sink. Anger has often led you to some of your best DIYs.

“So, we all have to be here… except not actually all of us.” Robin points out, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her striped t-shirt. Elbow resting on the table, Bradley turns his head to look at her.

“She’s sick, Robin, leave her alone.” Abigail mutters from beside her, pushing her fork around the plate of roasted vegetables.

“No, but I heard Bradley say mandatory. So, mandatory for everyone except—“

“Robin.” Bradley sighs, sitting back in his seat and frowning at her. The restaurant is dimly lit, almost ten of them are cramped around a table in the corner, and after your argument today, Bradley just doesn’t want to hear it. “I don’t want to hear another damn word.”

This is what Bradley hates most about education. Half of the time a punishment for his students is more of a punishment for himself, which this dinner just so happens to be. He wants them to like you. He doesn’t want to hear the bitter comments and the arguing.

Everyone’s eager to get it wrapped up and over with. It’s still early by the time that he heads back to the hotel — everyone else decides to go out for drinks again, without you. Making the entire thing pointless.

The knock at your door startles you. You wince as the pin slips into the tip of your finger, inhaling sharply. Abandoning the project on the bed, you push yourself to your feet and walk over to the door. You already know who it is.

Bradley’s gaze flickers down at the sweat shorts and T-shirt you’re wearing first, then back up to your face.

“How was dinner?” You’re already turning away from him again, stepping onto the bed and tiptoeing back across the sheets. Bradley glances behind him, then steps inside and closes the door.

“Are you done sulking?” He rests his hands on the leather belt wrapped around his hips. Sewing needle in hand, you lift your head and stare, silent. “I’m allowed to disagree—“

“Fuck you,” This time, you don’t give him a chance to finish. You turn your head and continue to thread the new hem. “What you said was cruel and you know it, this isn’t about a disagreement.”

His gaze turns towards the ceiling, hands still sitting atop his belt.

“It was. I’m sorry.” He mutters with an exhale and a shake of his head. Bradley looks back at you finally. His brows draw together and he takes a step into the room. “What are you doing?”

“Hemming.” Your answer is short.

Briefly, Bradley presses his tongue into his cheek and considers just saying goodnight. Then, he notices exactly what it is that you’re working on.

“Did you cut that in half?” He’s already crossing the room and craning his neck to get a better look. Unluckily for him, you’re finished. He watches you look up at him through your lashes and lift the nightdress, then stand up from the bed. “Oh, you’re ignoring me now?”

The door to the bathroom swings shut behind you, the thin wood does nothing to muffle your voice. “I’m not ignoring you.”

Bradley’s attention has already waned. He’s looking at the paper on your nightstand. His drawing from earlier is uncurled and illuminated in the light of the lamp, below that is your address book — opened to a page with Malcolm’s name. Dotted around are little pink hearts, his number neatly written along the line.

“Are you snooping?”

Bradley flinches, turning back towards you with a swift inhale. He remains silent, lips parted as you march from the bathroom to the wood-framed mirror about three feet from where he’s standing.

Aware of his eyes on you, you study the new garment. It sits a few inches above your knee, just above mid-thigh. The sweetheart neckline keeps it sweet. Bradley’s eyes flicker briefly downwards in the reflection. With the window open, he can’t help but notice your nipples peaked against the light cotton blend.

“What’s this?” He asks quietly.

“I wanted a change.” You answer him.

He lifts his gaze to your face, just in time for you to turn and face him. Half an hour ago, you were talking to your fiancé — and yet, you’ve got no shame in searching for Bradley’s approval like this. Maybe you aren’t as pure as you had once thought, or as your mother would like you to be. But for now, standing in front of him, you aren’t ashamed.

Malcolm had called you today from his office. He was eating a sub that one of the interns had grabbed from him and he was telling you about his week. Numbers and figures.

You had thought of everything you could tell him. Juliet and the views of the city, sitting under the tree in that garden this afternoon. Bradley.

“I’m sorry that I said what I said.” Bradley tells you. Maybe it’s just because he’s desperate to get the conversation off of the light fabric you’re wearing, but something tells you that he means it. “It was childish, and you’re right, I was being cruel.

Barefoot, you take four short steps forwards until you’re standing right in front of him.

“I’m not saying you’re right — but I shouldn’t have called Robin a slut.” The admission comes with a small, lip-twitching smile. Bradley’s hands reach forwards and curl around your hips.

“She is annoying. I’ll give you that much.” Bradley concedes. Your mouth twists into an eager grin as you press closer and shift up onto your tiptoes. Bradley steadies your hips and follows you in until your mouth is on his. Slowly, sweetly. His hands skim along the yellow fabric experimentally. He hums as he pulls away from you. “So, what’s with this?”

“You’re right. I was ignoring my body — I like the way I look in this. I like my shape. I can still respect myself without covering up so much. Right?”

Fuck. Bradley stares at you for just a split-second too long. He wrestles with the realisation of what he has just done to himself. Sure, you listened to him for once and it was a decent lesson to learn — but his summer just got considerably harder.

“Do you like it?”

He trails his fingers lightly along the fabric, careful not to touch too hard and press it against your skin. Quietly, he hums. “Sure. It’s cute.”

Bradley’s mind is swimming as he is walking back to his room. Fine, he resolved the issue that he went up there to resolve. Now, he has presented himself with a much bigger one.

His hands press into the pockets of his jeans as he starts to contextualize how deep he actually is into this mess. He hasn’t ever thought about fucking a student before — not once. He detests the men he knows that fantasize of it. And yet, here he is, picturing his fingers bunching up that stupid nightdress.

“Hey, Bradley.” Luke grins, sprawled out across his bed in the dark, reading a magazine with a flashlight. Bradley flinches. The door shuts behind him and they’re in there together. “Natasha called from Turin! She told you that she’s going to be in Venice this weekend too, she asked you to call her back.”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27

[waltricia]

A list of what I believe are the main symbolic elements of Bridgerton S3

(I’ll try to keep descriptions as brief as possible)

1. Lighting. The first and last episode titles are “Out of the Shadows” and “Into the Light”. So, all lighting, particularly on Pen, will be very significant. Throughout seasons 1 and 2, she is often cast in shadow, while the Bridgertons shine in the light. In season 3, we’ll see more direct light on her.

2. Mirrors. Yes, I know, but it’s not just about sexy times. Mirrors have been used to tell us about Pen’s secret identity, LW. Her mirror self is the true, brave, witty, brilliant self that she keeps hidden. While you’ll often see the other ladies of Bridgerton checking themselves out in mirrors (in addition to the Featheringtons, I’ve also seen Daphne, Kate, Edwina, and Violet looking into mirrors), you’ll never catch Penelope doing so. That’s the deeper significance of the mirror sex scene- Colin encourages her to confront that self.

3. Greece. This is Colin’s big symbolic element. Greek mythology will be all over the costume and production design. Obviously, we know on a base level that he loves Greece. On a deeper level, Grecian symbols will be used to reference Ancient Greek stories and mythology that will add layers of depth to the love story. Ex) Homer’s The Odyssey is about a man who must journey throughout and around Greece in order to get back to his wife, Penelope. During his journey, Penelope has to fend off a bunch of suitors who are trying to get with her. Even though she thinks Odysseus is dead, she still loves him.

4. Yellow/Blue/Green. I mean, c’mon.

5. Swans. The Bridgertons are mute swans (the regular kind). Pen is a black swan.

Sir, that is a swan.

6. Flowers. Pen is a wallflower. And actually, the meaning of flowers have always been directly explained to us (lilacs, “symbolic of first love”, tulips “they symbolize passion”). Maybe we’ll get another quote about the symbolism of flowers in season 3?

7. Writing/letters/quills/journals. A Polin love language. 🪶💌📔 Literally though, when Pen first asks anyone about sex (yeah, it was Marina, awkward, I know but 🤷), she’s made to equate it with letters.

That’s all I got for now I think.

If you’re just watching Bridgerton because it’s pretty and cute and sexy, totally fine. Watch it however you want to watch it. If you want to go further, really feel things, maybe get a greater sense of catharsis, or at least get more of the ‘oh, damn!’ factor out of it, pay attention to the above elements. They will be shown and not told. If you are stuggling to understand what the symbols mean, hmu. I’m happy to help. I’ve only been on Bridgerton tumblr for a week and a half, but I can say I’ve already seen great analyses from @bingiessm @ktbeets & @sea-owl .

And if there’s anything I didn’t include, but should have, please let me know. I want to learn more, always. 💛

[ilions-end]

i’m obsessed with how quintus’ need to make posthomerica so morally edifying accidentally makes him portray the most intriguing odysseus i’ve come across outside of homer

quintus is notoriously uncomfortable with heroes not acting upstanding all the time, or having conflicts with each other, so achilles and ajax and diomedes and neoptolemus and everyone else aren't really allowed to have complicated feelings about anything, and if they disagree with anyone, the Correct and Moral opinion always convinces everyone within a couple lines and then they're all friends again.

but quintus has to collect (mostly) all the events that take place between the iliad and the odyssey in one straightforward narrative, including several shady and self-serving things odysseus does, so quintus' solution is... he writes them but just doesn't comment on them. none of the characters seem to notice whenever odysseus lies or omits part of the truth or follows his own agenda; the text itself lets those moments slide past without acknowledgement. and all the while of course odysseus is also brave, and strong, and passionate and tactically brilliant. he IS undoubtedly a hero.

it makes for such a crazy metanarrative because on the surface odysseus is following the same kindergarten morals everyone else is, but secretly he's playing his own game! it feels like i'm a character in the story because i'm listening to odysseus describe something that happened in an earlier chapter, and i'm the ONLY ONE who goes "wait, that wasn't what happened. ...was it?" it makes me diegetically think "oh okay i need to keep an eye on this guy, he's got everyone else convinced". he's not evil, he's not a villain, he has a ton of positive attributes! but he's the only one in the story who knows how to lie (he even seems to lie TO the story), and that makes odysseus hold so much potential power and danger.

[patrochillesvibes]

O and I have an other question how do you think Achilles will react once he finds out about the fact that Patroclus had slept Deidameia. Because I do believe Patroclus haven’t to Achilles about it .

<3 <3 <3

Ah, the single plot point in TSoA I disagree with.

🎵How do you solve a problem like Pyrrhus🎶

So if we’re all gonna suck Homer’s dick, then let’s all get on the same page that Deidamia isn’t in the Iliad. Or the Odyssey. You also gotta be careful with any source material mentioning Deidamia as most of this content was part of a smear campaign by the Italians coughDantecough.

Pyrrhus is such a random character if you think about it. Achilles was not married, otherwise Agamemnon wouldn’t keep trying to get him to marry his seemingly endless supply of daughters. Pyrrhus isn’t labeled as a bastard, but what else could he be? Achilles would’ve had to have knocked up some chick.

And isn’t it strange that Achilles would do this? I don’t want to say it’s not in character, but it seems strange compared to his prophecy-focused life. (Also, Patroclus and Achilles don’t have little bastards running around the camp, so do we really believe they’re fucking the slaves? If they’re fucking the slaves, where are the babies? Birth control and abortions were not that good in 1250 BCE. But I’m getting super off topic now.)

This is why I personally believe Achilles found a random baby, adopted it, and had Mother feed him ambrosia.

I’m very passionate about ^this headcanon of mine.

Now back to TSoA…

First off, remember that Patroclus is a LIAR. He is not just full of bologna, he’s made out of bologna. He wants us to believe he’s a feminist? Anti-war? A doctor? Achilles is perfect? Patroclus PLEASE!

But you have to respect the lies because TSoA is essentially an autobiography and lying is like the first law of autobiography writing.

I’d also like to point out the clever literary trick at the end of TSoA. The book ends with Patroclus and Thetis chatting about Achilles. She says “Speak, then” to get Patroclus to share his memories. Thus, the book is not so much an account of his life, but essentially all the memories he had to share with her. He wants to show her how glorious her son was, the side she never got to see, the human nature she shunned, Achilles’ mortality. So of course he’s going to highlight the good, even enhance it as well as downplay or even lie about the bad.

But back to your question…

What happened at Skyros? Patroclus wants us to believe a lot of non-con was going on. I low-key have a very messed up theory about what actually happened and why it happened, but I don’t want to get into it rn a blogger on here might be unhappy bcs of a related ask I coincidentally just sent them. So for simplicity's sake, let’s assume that the non-con did indeed happen. I think he told Achilles a half-truth. Something to the effect of mentioning having comforted Deidamia and given her an official farewell (of the husbandly kind) on his behalf. He used a lot of double-meaning words to allow Achilles to interpret as he pleased.

And how did he interpret what Patroclus told him? First he was relieved that he would not have to deal with her again. Then he was his usual dumb blonde self (Patroclus calls this 'trusting', Pat pls) and took the words at face value. And I wouldn't blame him for it. When traumatic things happen to you, you do what you can to cope.

And please don’t take this as victim blaming or non-con denial, but the last lines of Chapter 13 never sat quite right with me.

Sorry to keep harping on the lying. Part of me thinks the scene with Deidamia was either a hallucination-false memory sequence to reinforce that patrochilles is 2-bodies-1-soul -what happens to Achilles happens to Pat; and part of me thinks this was Pat’s sly way of showing Thetis how she hurt Achilles by enabling the non-con. Sadly, we'll never know the truth, so it's up to you what you want to believe.

I hope this rambling rant answered your question. Thank you for the ask! I LOVE LOVE LOVE The Song of Achilles and am capable of ranting and raving about it for hours at a time 😘

[klance-headcanons-official]

Keith and lance are so epic: the musical Odysseus and Penelope coded

Penelope was waiting for her man’s and dealing with suitors and lance was blissfully unaware that HIS man was in a fucking abyss for two years

EPIC!AU TIME 🤗 not the odyssey, idk much about the odyssey BUT I really like epic

So Keith is in odys place (I am NOT typing out Odysseus’s whole name, no sir)

And lance is in Penelope’s place

Keith is having to deal with the equivalent of a ten year war that became twenty years, dropping a baby off a ledge bc of the gods, lotus eaters, cyclops, doxxing himself to the Cyclops, his goddess(Athena.. probably) dipping bc he doxxed himself, the wind god giving him the wind bag, Poseidon, being close to seeing his husband then being whisked away because of his DUMBASS CREW OPENING THE WIND BAG, Circe, the underworld, being stupid when the Prophet is literally talking about him, tweaking and becoming a ‘monster,’ sirens, Scylla, 6 men dying because of Scylla, a mutiny, crew kills cows, Helios or Apollo telling Zeus, HIS CREW NOT LISTENING THEN THEM ALL DYING, trapped for seven years, tweaking and hearing the voices of his bestie, his mom, the ex bestie who started the mutiny, his goddess getting tf beat outta her by her dad so she could help him, Hermes helping him, Charybdis, Poseidon for like the third time, getting home, killing 108(?) suitors, then having to prove to lance that he is indeed Keith by telling him how he made their bed out of the tree they first met under. Yk how it is! Typing this out really made me realize how much ody did

Then lance having to deal with the equivalent of thinking his husband won’t be gone for long, but it ends up being twenty years, raising their kid who’s barely a year old, having to deal with rude ass suitors coming into his home and eating his food, drinks, eventually hurting his kid, AND this suitors? Yeah, they weren’t old enough to fight in the war Keith was in, so he probably knew these men while they were learning to walk! Meanwhile he’s weaving and unweaving a shoud(???) so the suitors fuck off til he’s done, a maid or something telling on him, so he has to make them do a challenge aka stringing Keith’s old bow, which is very hard, and shooting through 12 axes

Keith thinking only of lance and their kid the WHOLE 20 years. AND! The suitors made a plan to hurt lance and kill their kiddo 🤗 but then they all die so it’s ok

I think that ody is in the crowd while Penelope is speaking about the challenge? Then he goes up, Athena disguises him as a begger or something, strings the bow easily, shoots through the axes, then goes on his lil killin spree. And I think he’s nude while he does that. And I think that’s funny, anyways

I’m really passionate about this idea, sorry

- Vee 💜

GUESS WHAT, new saga (the vengeance saga) out on Halloween! :33

I have no idea what that is but it sounds cute and I trust u so 👍👍

[ody-my-ssey]

First post yipee,this account will mostly be focused on posting epic/ odyssey content,mostly desings I do,starting with the bad guy cuz I had so many concept and ideas (sorry for the lack of consistency in faces)

First we gave the facial traits. I wanted to give him more wolf-ish traits or traits that are uncommon in humans and that even if,they are beautiful they would be seen as “this guy is not human” Wich shared with his personality will fit.

Or the “husky aesthetic” wich I made up while writing lmao.

Now bout the clothes and general looks. At the start I thougth this guy was sort of a contrary of odysseus

So I made him big,buff clashing with ody being a short king and not very buff

Then I realized it was the other suitor who could be more antítesis so I decided to still keep the body shape like that to do contrary with telemachus hence he has a beard and and more bodyhair despite (in my desing verse) him being at maximun 22

Now again about the clothes and jewerly

Based on the answer of hymnoneides(sorry if I wrote it bad) on how they see him as a rich pampered young man wich has sense after all I don’t think some guy could d try to woo the queen but again I wanted this “I’m so full of myself I show my body”(it doesn’t works)

His palette is mostly redish(with gold,greys and browns) we all know what red means:

Blood,violence,anger even passion wich mostly for bad than good are traits that represent this guy

Also a contrary of my telemachus design wich has more blueish calm colors

The jewerly is mostly me just drawing gold not more explanation

Same with the wolf pelt is based on the user that I put in the third image but other than that it’s just the vibes

If you asking why I want to do some telemachus-Antinous antítesis with looks n all

It’s just that for me they are like in very very simplified terms the good guy(tele) n the bad guy(Antinous)

I’m going with this thought for em

And I think that’s all,comment all you want,like be kind if you wanna point something and that’s all hope you enjoy this and next arts.

[kinopeachy]

random paulirosa (pauline x rosalina) headcanons because i’m bored

this is a mix of canon and AU headcanons that i basically already posted on twitter so might as well publish this post instead of letting it sit in the drafts 🤷

pauline and rosalina would meet through mario of course. rosalina would be drawn to pauline because of her beautiful singing (she performs at a mushroom kingdom festival) and pauline would be drawn to rosalina because of the mysterious aura that she gives off.

mario introduces pauline to rosalina as his old friend, and rosa knows right away that pauline is someone she can trust. pauline is very charismatic and approachable and even if rosa is an incredibly introverted person, she feels at ease being around her. pauline is that kind of person — she knows how to make anyone feel comfortable with her.

having not spent a lot of time on earth for centuries, rosalina is fascinated by pauline and how much of an ordinary human she is…and the intricacies of her job as the mayor of new donk city and how that compares to her role as the protector of the cosmos and mother of the lumas…when rosalina was a child she lived in an age where women could not have had such a job so. to see pauline being successful in what she does…rosalina thinks it’s so cool

pauline would be the mom friend out of her, peach, daisy, and rosalina 100%…rosalina is too tired being an actual mom to the lumas to be a mom friend. in regards to how she’d act with rosa specifically, she would be gently reminding rosa to take care of herself or would notice when rosa is overly stressed

i think pauline is pretty good at establishing a work-life balance (she knows how to have fun but also gets what needs to be done done) so i’d imagine she gives rosalina many tips on how to still be on top of her responsibilities but not so stressed all the time. i think in rosa’s time women were not really taught this stuff at all, i feel like they were taught to just kind of suck it up and do their job and rosa internalized that.

i have this weirdly specific AU for them in mind (based off the odyssey rosalina concept art) where rosalina is a starving artist with a guitar and a dream and nearly homeless living in a run down apartment with a big black dog (polari). she’s a college dropout who majored in physics and really wanted to continue her education but she’s broke af and her parents kicked her out of the house so she had no choice but to quit school for now

rosa works a dead end minimum wage job that she desperately wants to quit. she busks on the street in her free time, singing and playing guitar which has been her passion/hobby when she was young. she’s incredibly lonely and is incredibly close to giving up on life

then she meets pauline, who’s incredibly wealthy and has aspirations for a political career but is pretty and kind and in her spare time loves to sing at the local club. pauline really likes rosa’s music, ends up befriending her, and invites her to be her guitarist and co-vocalist whenever she goes to sing at the club. they begin to make music together and eventually become close enough to the point that pauline learns about her living situation and offers to have rosa move in with her

they fall in love and the rest is history

[katerinaaqu]

Hi! I’m the anon who asked about Odysseus’ character changes and how you deal with them. Tysm for such a detailed and knowledgeable answer!

I’ve got another question if that’s alright. I’ve fallen in love with the complex and flawed but ultimately good Odysseus I read about in the Iliad and Odyssey. But when I started reading the other myths I kinda hated him lol (the myths themselves were good but Odysseus was…morally grey at best). I’m not one for liking villain-coded characters, complex or not. So I guess what I want to ask is would it be offensive to anyone if I decided to ignore certain myths and accept as “canon” per-say others? I know these myths are part of Greek culture and history so I just want to ensure I’m being respectful in my enjoyment of the characters

Thanks

My oh my thank you very much! Of course it is alright! I always love questions or comments to my fics and all. That is why I am here hehe.

Why would it be "offensive"? Honestly the only thing I would consider "offensive" is someone who uses the modern day adaptations to form "fandoms" about the Greek gods or myths as if the modern day is somehow "correcting" them or something apart from that as you can see from my previous answer I also do that when I write my stories.

Like I said before I should link the "anti-Odysseus wave" to the different wars or challenges faced during the time which called for war propaganda (or antiwar for that matter) so the idea of a guy using indirect methods didn't agree with the spirit of "noble war". Which was further enriched by popularity of guys like Eurypedes (pretty much like the overhype of things like Epic the Musical or Percy Jackson in modern day)

Some popular creators didn't particularly favor Odysseus methods, made him their anti-hero, got popular and so many other creators followed tye same spirit while Romans blasted it out of proportion due to their own propaganda against the guy that took their mythical city. Quite frankly even the ancient Greeks made choices among the versions they favored.

For example there is no doubt for most myths that Helen was at Troy. Homer says she willingly followed blinded by love to which later on Helen justifies that Aphrodite blinded her with passion so that Paris could have his new wife. Other accounts say she was abducted. Either way Helen herself was at Troy, no doubt about it. But Eurypedes wanted to justify Helen even further thus creating his play "Helen" to which Helen was never there, but her copy and that Helen was suffering from the unjust anger of the world plus the advances of the king of Egypt.

Even the ancient Greeks had "favorite versions" of the myth. I see no reason why not you too make the selection of your favorite versions and stick to them. I do too.

For instance the only other creator of antiquity so far that gives me somehow the same vibes (not as complete of course) as Homer is Sophocles. Many people pick their favorite material of mythology to enjoy. Quite frankly most homeric fans ignore for example Telegony and that is for obvious reasons. I am one or them. Telegony is not a continuation of Odyssey but rather a different tale that takes the Odyssey as a starting point. 😉

I hope that helps. Personally I get tired of people who only hear one version and claim it as the only truth (see for example Ovid and Medussa) but I just called that "ignorance" rather than "offensive" but I cannot see why someone would be ashamed that after a thorough research of the ancient sources they just settle more with those that resonate with them better.

I hope that makes sense.

[verdemoth]

i’ve posted this set of guys together in a lineup but i never got around to sharing more about them individually, so i’m gonna do that!

Tune here is an original member of the EEG, one of the first researchers approached by Sojourner and Pathfinder, the founders, back when the whole operation was just some barely funded passion project, and the properties of the Otherworld were poorly understood. She was a team leader for decades up until he met a tragic demise on what should have been a routine mission. He’s since been declared M.I.A. (in truth she Stayed Alive Wrong)

-> Tune and Odyssey were queerplatonic partners. They met each other in their school years and hit it off quickly. They signed on with the project as a package deal and for years they were a team of two and both set out for field research and exploration, but following an Incident that injured them both, Odyssey left the field for a different role and the various teams were consolidated into one unit for safety reasons. As a precaution, future expeditions would need at least three active participants.

-> Tune was very confident and self-assured, and naturally fell into a leadership role within the new system. He had a knack for assessing and utilizing the strengths of her teammates and encouraging teamwork and communication.

-> In the early days they were quite cocky and perhaps a bit too reckless, but the decades of her employment with the EEG mellowed her out somewhat. What really drew her to the initial job offer was the thrill of adventuring in uncharted lands full of unknown dangers.

-> In general, Opportunity tended to prioritize the pursuit of knowledge above his own safety, though being in charge of a team who depended on her for their own well-being helped to balance out this impulse.

-> In that early incident, Tune received a concussion that had lasting effects in the form of frequent migraines and insomnia. She wasn’t very vocal about her struggles, and he was more inclined to push through the pain than slow down and wait for it to pass.

-> Age didn’t temper her active lifestyle, either. As she neared her 50s they were still up to shit like free climbing vertical cliffs to get a good vantage point (and for the fun of it).

-> She was up to just that, on a mission with her sibling Spirit and friend Curiosity when a terrible, unnatural storm hit without warning. The Otherworld had always been a turbulent place, the landscape and climate always changing, but the team’s experience and technology should have been enough to sense the shift coming, but it caught them unawares.

-> Tune and his two teammates lost contact with mission control and each other for more than an hour. When the storm cleared, Curiosity and Spirit and the two constructs accompanying them were all recovered, but no trace of Opportunity could be found. Reluctantly, the team came to the decision to abandon the search.

-> Opportunity still exists, in some form. They haven’t had a run in with her old team in the few years since her disappearance. Mentally she’s not all there, retaining only their instincts and basic desires. He’s generally passive, but whatever the storm did to him left them with a connection to the shifting terrain of the Otherworld, which responds to their presence and volatile feelings. She’s usually surrounded by a storm like the one that changed her. He wants to be found, but… if she encountered and recognized her team, it’s likely he would seek to drive them out with force in a misguided attempt to protect them from the Otherworld’s many hazards.

[dreadhorsegirl]

Looking for people to follow!

I’ve mostly been on Twitter…but as that’s a sinking ship, I’m moving my fandom space to here!

Fandoms I’ll post about:

Dragon Age: HUGE fan of DAI, and I appreciate the older games too. My favorite character is Solas, and my own OC Lavellan. But truly, I love so much about this story and the characters in that world. I’m also ~newish~, as I just started gaming and playing DA 2 years ago.

Assasin’s Creed: More specifically Odyssey, and somewhat Valhalla. HUGE Kassandra fan.

Red Dead Redemption: I love RDR2, it’s a brilliant and well done game and there’s just something lovable behind all that roughness with Arthur Morgan.

She-ra and the Princesses of Power: the writing in this series is truly wonderful—specifically with Adora, Catra, and how their stories come together.

Lord of the Rings: my first favorite epic high fantasy—and a message that still inspires me daily. The books, the movies, I love it all.

What I’m about:

I’m about being passionate about what I love, and being supportive to my friends.

I am here to simply nerd out, be a dork, and have fun with my faves!

What I create:

I’m a new streamer! You can find me on twitch as dreadhorsegirl.

I’m a fic writer! ‘friendofwords’ on ao3. I’m currently writing a missing scenes solavellan fic, you can find it here.

I draw! Or…I did; it’s been a while. But I’ll post my older work!

Video game Photography! I’m relatively new, but I love playing around.

I would love to find fellow dragon age peeps, but I’m also not about ship wars or dealing with antis or toxic mentalities…if you’re cool with what I love, and want to have fun with dragon age, and arn’t about putting others down…then I’d love to follow you!

[invisibleicewands]

Spooky monks and Michael Sheen murals: behind the scenes of new BBC drama The Way

Michael Sheen says he wants viewers of his new drama The Way “to feel like what it has felt like for the last 10 years of living” in the UK.

That is, “in a society where you don't know if you're in a horror film or a sitcom,” he told viewers at a Q&A for the show on Monday night. “Something that feels life and death stakes suddenly goes incredibly surreal and absurd, and then goes back to being incredibly scary again.”

The Way, which is due to air in February, follows the Driscoll family in the old industrial town of Port Talbot on the Welsh coast. Estranged from each other, they nevertheless have to set out on a cross-country odyssey to safety when they become tied up with civil unrest in the area.

In addition to making a cameo appearance in the show, The Way also marks Sheen’s first directorial role.

“I was never going to direct it. And then they said it's going to be in Port Talbot and then I have to direct it,” he joked.

“And the original seed of the idea was, I had this idea about watching a British family being uprooted and you didn't know why. And having to kind of flee their homes and go on the journey across Britain and then get across the channel. So it was a sort of refugee journey in reverse to the way we normally see it.”

It is also a passion project for the Welsh actor, who grew up in and now lives in Port Talbot himself – while the cast, who are majority Welsh, mostly grew up in the same area.

“There was so much of him in it,” said Steffan Rhodri about Sheen, who plays dad Geoff Driscoll (and who went to drama school with him). “I mean, you see a bit of Port Talbot. The one bit you didn't see is a massive wall with a mural of him on it.”

Was it hard to film the show without including it? “It was very hard,” Sheen joked. “We came very, very close – I mean, we were literally around the corner from it, and Callum made me go and have a photograph with it between takes. So that was difficult.”

‘Callum’ is Callum Scott Howells, best known for his performance in Russell T Davies drama It’s A Sin. He plays the disaffected Driscoll son, Owen – whom we first meet as a lonely figure looking for connection, and who gets caught up in the riots that sweep the town.

“It says in the script, James put something like, ‘we don't know why at this point, but he's feeling something. He’s there now, and he’s present’. And that for me kind of said everything. Like he doesn't he doesn't even know why he's rioting, but he's doing it,” Howells said.

“That was something that I really kind of threw myself into, and Michael was great in allowing me to do that. Yeah, those riot scenes were so fun, we just got to go nuts, you know. I headbutted a riot shield… because I’m nuts.”

The show itself also features the writing talents of James Graham, best known for political film Brexit: The Uncivil War and BBC crime drama Sherwood.

“We talked collectively about not wanting a traditional dystopian future, which was, which was really grim and bleak,” he said. "I think we all got excited by imagining the reverse of that... what if it was the myths and the legends and the folklores that embed themselves in our national psyche. Do they trap us? Do they inhibit us?"

The end result, he said, was a "contamination of genres." Not just social realism: the second episode becomes "a road movie, or an adventure movie on foot.

"So you start to see these elements of the myths and legends that the family carry with them become those stories we grew up with like Watership Down and Wizard of Oz, and it becomes very fantastical and weird."

[fabi2kool]

‧₊˚✧5 YEAR ODYSSEY✧˚₊‧

10 YEARS AHEAD: In ten years I will God willingly be 29. If all goes well I am a dentist by now, specialized, who knows only time will tell. I would have graduated for a couple years by then so hopefully I have a stable job maybe working at an institutional dentist. My biggest hope is that I didn’t throw in the towel. I wonder where I went to school, high school me wants to hope usc dental school college freshman year me thinks I’ve lost my marbles and don’t want that much debt and hopes for me to not stay enclosed to something my younger self hoped for. Its okay for things to not go exactly as you want. As of now I just want to go somewhere with the least amount of debt possible and graduate enjoying the journey. I’ll be pushing 30, that reminds me of that one friend's episode but hopefully I’m not too far from my parents by then and feel good about where I am in life. Everyone around me will be even older, jeez. Scary thoughts. My nephews will be around my age now, I hope they're going down a good path. Overall I see myself close to my family, with the job I’ve always wanted, and doing something good with that. So far I haven’t figured out what, but hopefully by then I should. 

Tangentially Related Path: Girl if I’m not a dentist I have no clue what I could be, props to doctors but that doesn’t seem like my jist. Maybe a nurse but ehh. There's nothing tangentially related I would do if I’m being honest, I’d probably start a business. Nothing major but something that for sure gives me bank. Anything else I’d want to do requires me to completely change the course of my life right now. 

Entirely Different life path: I think about this quite frequently, if I didn't put so much pressure on myself would I have tried so hard? If I hadn’t found the “perfect” answer as to why dentistry would  be pursuing something else? I don’t particularly like the idea of letting myself imagine what could be instead. Only because there's so many other interests completely unrelated to dentistry I could choose. In a different life I’d want to be a lawyer, more specifically an immigration one. I  think its an ideal career. I'd be passionate about the direct help I could be to those who remind me of my parents, only I’d want to do more to influence the children of immigrants. Children like me and my friends who grew up not knowing of all the opportunities out there. I know I’ve been blessed with great parents who worked as a team and had my mom to guide me and my siblings almost all the time. However most of my friends didn’t have that, and its a recurring cycle for the majority, so something with more of a direct impact to my community.

In the end I want the same thing in different ways, to somehow give back to my community. The ways to get there are completely different, but my hopes are that I am a dentist because it’s something I want for myself. I hope that through my career I can help people who don’t have the luxury of affordable healthcare and in that way inspire others to pursue higher education, to know that they can have other options than what is stereotypically believed.

[sunlightmurdock]

I've been obsessed with you since forever but the The Odyssey has taken me to another place in my obsession. Can I ask you your thoughts on the story? Like what do you think about this bradley? about honey? like are you also obsessed with this story? who do you love? who do we hate? is this your favorite bradley?

my thoughts on the story are that I’m extremely sad it’s fictional and that I’m not living that reality rn

I have an extreme soft spot for this bradley, he’s quite a complicated guy and he’s not even that fond of being a teacher which can make him seem like an asshole. But he is extremely passionate about the things he cares about, and he’s got a good moral compass. I think he can be a little black and white about things once his mind is made up, but everyone’s got their flaws

honey is very similar. She can be very standoffish and her values can be kind of grating, but you can tell that she’s a character who is literally grappling for some sense of self. She goes back and forth and even goes against her own values constantly, and I really feel for her because she just doesn’t know what to do. She’s been second guessed and has made herself into what other people want her to be for a long time, and we get to see her kind of come into herself through the story.

But yes I’m obsessed with this story, and the timeline of them falling in love, and the way their personalities mesh. I will say that we def hate Malcolm.

And I won’t say that this is my favourite bradley, but he’s definitely up there.