#greek myth fic

[hycinthrt]

something about laodamia and polyboea being two sides of the same coin or whatever

i was still upset that i didnt get to write more about her so here’s ?something?

[z-eusie]

warmth of the hearth

The hearths on Olympus have gone out. Hera and Zeus jump into action immediately to find and help their oldest sister.

characters: hera, hestia, & zeus.

warnings: none.

[pelideswhore]

final chapter!!!

reblog and leave comments/kudos :D enjoy

[superkooku]

That fic was very nice to read :3

I love how you took the time to establish Odysseus and Telemachus' lives. I do feel that he'd calmly accept death, not trying to flee it like Sisyphus did before him.

Penelope dying before Odysseus is admittedly sad, though less so than Anticlea letting herself die thinking her son wouldn't come back.

It's also very powerful to see Odysseus lie until his very last words and how Telemachus' "rest well, old man" can both be a "good night" but also farewell.

I'll check out part 2 in the near future.

Also, I'm pretty stoked about that whole Diomedes being a god thingy.

The Death of Odysseus

So...I decided to chop myself some onions today! This idea was in my head quite some time! I am planning a Part 2 of this but I believe this can also stand on its own! As the title says...

Telemachus was marching across the hall slowly and steadily while supporting the body of his old father. Surely the celebrations for the harvest were going very well and people were having fun but the new King of the Cephallinians had to excuse himself to escort his father to his chambers, for he had apparently drunk more than what he should have and needed his rest. He didn’t mind that little break. Telemachus was never fond of huge crowds anyways and he liked some quiet and solitude. Ever since his father finally came back home after his redemption trip he often spent more time with him than with the servants! He had so much catch up to do with him and so much to talk about and learn from him! As the years passed and Telemachus finally grew old and experienced enough to become king at his own accord, Odysseus gave the throne to him, just like his father before him had also done, and he promised to support him. For Odysseus himself, his life seemed to have been completed with happiness. After his son got married and he brought to this world his beloved grandson, Perseptolis, whom he named after the family tradition himself, his happiness was completed. He had nothing more to expect. He felt his heart was filled with happiness and calmness after a lifetime of worries, torture and ordeals! His son had grown, he was doing a marvelous job as a king, and his grandson was strong and healthy, growing every day! What else could he ask for! Odysseus was already 79 years old, just a few hours away of his 80th birthday. Age was taking over his body pretty fast, especially given the ordeals he had gone through; his bones were often complaining, his arms and fingers often suffered from stiffness and pain, especially when the nights were humid and cold but Odysseus welcomed that pain with happiness. He had grown old when so many others wouldn’t even dream of and he was generally healthy; he still had all of his teeth and most of his hair and his wits were sharp as always, not deteriorating by age. He would praise Athena every day of his life for this. Somehow he would hate to become an imbecile with age, or so he used to say, he would hate to become a burden to his son especially given the sorrows he had given him unintentionally all these years back. Telemachus chuckled as he fixed his staggering father onto his body better.

“Now, now, father!” he said playfully, “I swear to gods, the older you get the more like a child you act!”

Odysseus chuckled.

“Well, my son, I am now old man, I have no responsibilities anymore other than catering to my family’s garden and play with your son and dear grandson of mine; gods bless him! I believe I earned myself the privilege to act so!”

Telemachus rolled his eyes.

“Even so, you shouldn’t have drunk so much! In your age you should watch your health better!”

Odysseus once again chuckled and made a dismissive move with his hand.

“Oh well…” he said nonchalant, “Wine is one of the few pleasures I have left in this miserable world at my age, my son!”

“Oh, father!” Telemachus scoffed, “Come on now!”

“Either way!” Odysseus shrugged, “This year’s brew was just too good to resist! And you did very good job selecting it and choosing the perfect time for the sea water to be mixed in it! You made it hard to resist!”

“Father! You’re unbelievable!”

“Part of my charm, I’m sure!”

Telemachus couldn’t help himself chuckle softly as he led his father to his bed chamber, to his beloved olive bed. Initially Odysseus had given that as a wedding chamber to his son and his daughter-in-law but for the past few months Odysseus had made this request if he could live his last days in that room where he gave life to this family, where he used to share with his mother his nights and early mornings. Odysseus was devastated when Penelope died. He mourned her for weeks. However Telemachus saw also how calmly he took it. They both grew old and finally enjoyed their lives. That last tribute of Odysseus closing her eyes seemed simply to close that circle. Odysseus mourned but he didn’t despair. He greeted her death like an old friend and thanked all gods that it found his wife healthy and happy and that she died peacefully in her sleep. Penelope had also requested that she were to be transferred to her old bed a little before she died; this was where she had left her last breath. Therefore, after Odysseus made the same request, Telemachus feared his father had sensed his own death coming, thus making him even more careful and worried of him. His father was dismissive of it, of course, and in a way he was right; he wouldn’t be around forever, but to Telemachus the news of losing his father were too sad, too scary to comprehend even if it was the most normal thing in the world. Either way he now led his father to his bed, slowly and steadily and assisted him to it. Odysseus sighed in relief as he was placed upon the mattress and assisted out of his sandals by his son. His son often did this; he attended to him himself, not asking the servants to do things like this. It was as if he was trying to make up the lost time. He breathed deeply again as the bed sheets were paced above his body as well as a blanket his wife had loomed for him; his favorite. It pictured an intricate pattern of olive branches, moly flowers and waves circling a ship that roamed close to a mountain-like island. The ship had three figures standing on them embracing. Penelope had spent months on this blanket and she had given to him as a gift a few years before when he was complaining for the pains in his body from the cold. His father could hardly part with it lately. He even jokingly (or perhaps not so much) said that he wanted this blanket to be his funeral shroud, covering the sheet.

“Is it comfortable?” Telemachus asked

“Yes, thank you…” Odysseus whispered

His hand slowly touched Telemachus’s cheek, feeling the black, curly, bushy beard covering it along with his warm flesh. He smiled affectionately with moist, onyx-black eyes, perceiving those blue eyes of his wife’s to him. Yes, Telemachus was their pride and joy. He took the best out of both of them! He had his strength, his resilience and he had taken his mother’s eyes, her kindness…her wisdom… Yes, Odysseus was proud of what they had done. This pride was exceeding any of the labors he performed in any war; any praise he ever received in his life seemed insignificant before this result he had before him…

“You go back to the celebrations, my son…” he whispered affectionately, “Go back and have fun…don’t spend the rest of the night here with your old father… I will be fine…”

Telemachus scoffed softly, feeling strangely emotional. For some reason his own eyes felt almost watery.

“You silly old man!” he whispered cupping his father’s hand on his cheek with his own, “Anyways, are you sure you are okay? I can ring for someone to come and attend to you”

“Positive…” Odysseus whispered, “I am fine. I will just sleep. I am really tired”

Telemachus shook his head defeated.

“Fine, but please do not hesitate to call if you need anything”

He stood up to leave.

“Telemachus”

Odysseus’s hand holding his wrist made him stop. He turned to look at the old, white-haired figure of his father’s.

“Thank you…” the tormented king whispered, “…For everything…”

Telemachus half-chuckled, again not sure why he was so emotional all of the sudden. Perhaps he too had more to drink than he should have and it affected him.

“What?” he asked, “That sounded almost like a goodbye…”

Odysseus smiled. His smile was calm and his eyes were glistering in the moonlight.

“What an idea!” he whispered, “There is much life left in these old bones! I buried many much younger than me! I have plenty of years ahead of me!”

Telemachus chuckled.

“Rest well, old man” he whispered and kissed his father’s brow

Odysseus could only nod as he watched his pride and joy, his son who grew strong and healthy, leave the wedding chamber where he was born into, with his crimson cape waving behind him. He smiled as he was alone in the moonlit room…his eyes shedding two tears.

He knew it was a lie.

It was the last, white lie Odysseus of Ithaca was to say…his last goodbye to this world and he wanted to see them off all smiling and celebrating. He didn’t want his last memory to be of his son crying or closing his eyes. This was the last task he had to do himself; alone. He didn’t have much time left and he knew it…and yet he felt calm. He had fulfilled his purpose. There was nothing else for him… He was happy.

*

He was breathing heavily. His large chest (not as muscular as it used to be) was moving up and down with each breath. He looked up at the canopy of olive branches and smiled. His eyes then moved to the side, to the window that had a clear view of the sea… His eyes filled with tears but these tears wouldn’t shed.

“Death will find you at ripe old age…peacefully…away from the sea…or by its salt huh…?” he whispered chanting the words of Tiresias

Death was something he considered so many times in his life; both with aversion and fear as well as with wishful thinking. Now he felt calm. He could hardly understand how he had survived so long; how he lived longer than many other men of his time; longer than his beloved Penelope… Now he knew it was his time drawing near… There in his favorite bed, under his olive tree…looking at the sea that gave him so much happiness so much adventure and so much torment… He felt calm. He closed his eyes for one second lifting away the tears that had filled his eyes.

“Odysseus…”

The unworldly and yet somehow familiar voice brought him back to reality. He opened his eyes to see that tall figure he never thought he would see again in his life; one of the few people that he wished to have met again and never did. His tall, square figure shone with incredible warm light, dressed up in a fine armor incorporating intricate patterns of feathers instead of plates. His magnificent plumed helmet brought up his dark eyes and the beard that adorned his cheeks and chin. He had a sword to his hip just like he could remember. His skin shone like golden, his long, brown curly hair neatly falling down his back under the helmet. He smiled without wanting to at that rigid figure before him.

“Diomedes!” he whispered

Diomedes smiled.

“It is I, Odysseus…indeed…”

Odysseus chuckled in delight.

“Wow…” he whispered, “I heard you bastard turned into a god by rumors but, on my word, I never expected to see it with my eyes… Gods you look the same as I remember…you haven’t changed!”

“Nothing and everything has changed…” Diomedes said in his deep, soothing voice

A god then! Odysseus didn’t know if he had to feel proud or a bit envious of him! However after years and years he spent on earth and learnt humility in the most painful ways, his envy was reduced to minimum. Diomedes deserved it, if half the stories that reached his ears about him were true. Besides who would want to live forever like this? He had people waited for him somewhere else too…

“So…” Odysseus whispered, “If you are here…that means…I am dying…right?”

“Yes…” Diomedes whispered.

That was definitely Diomedes he remembered. He never beat about the bushes and always came straight to the point.

“And you came to take me…”

“I asked Lord Hermes for the honor…yes.” Diomedes replied, “I was assigned with this task.”

“I see…”

“Are you afraid…?”

“No” the answer was simple; direct, “I have lived a long life…I have seen my son grow, I held my grandson in my hands…I nourished him too, to become a young man, I held my wife as she breathed my name one last time… I have nothing else to live for. My time would come… Death does no longer scare me. Death is not unknown to me…”

“Do you have any regrets?”

Yet another direct question. He breathed in and out once, looking upwards in thought.

“I would be a liar if I said I had none…” he finally confessed, “Many good men found death by my hand…many wicked too… I did many things I am proud of and many others I would always carry with me… The lives that fell under my command; both friends and foes alike are always present at my conscious”

“The war of Troy…”

“The war of Troy” Odysseus agreed, “Ten years we fought. Ten years we bled. Ten years we killed…and killed we did!”

“You and I especially”

“Quite so.” Odysseus agreed. “They called you ‘Lord of War Cry’; they called me ‘Sacker of Cities’… The titles would haunt us for the rest of our lives…”

“We bore them all our lives”

“Yes…we did…” he consequently scoffed, “And look at us now! You a god…and I an old man in my deathbed…who would have thought!”

“Do you want to linger a bit further…?”

Odysseus looked around once more.

“No” he replied, “I have lived everything any mortal could live. I am tired, Diomedes. Please take me now…I have nothing else to expect…”

Diomedes smiled one of his known, half-smiles. Child-soldier to the end; a man born and raised in war.

“I am to accompany you to your journey for a little while”

Odysseus smiled again.

“The journey to the Underworld is not unknown to me…I have not many surprises to expect… But I appreciate it…”

Diomedes extended his hand to him.

“It is time…” he whispered, “Time to go…”

“Yes…” Odysseus whispered, “I have one last request…”

“And what is that…?”

“Can I see my homeland one last time as I go…? Please…do not deny me this last thing…”

Diomedes smiled.

“Of course…”

Odysseus cried. He felt the last tears run down his wrinkled cheeks.

“Thank you…”

He took the hand of his old friend and closed his eyes. Once more, the much-enduring Odysseus accepted his fate… The last thing he saw before his eyelids blocked his mortal flesh eyes was the canopy of his olive bed and a tiny glimpse of the starry sky beyond…

***

My oh my what have I done indeed!!!! And be warned I was writing this while listening to this amazing piece of music from anime Tasogare Otome x Amnesia! I never manage to go through without tearing up with that one! TT-TT

So according to the prophecy of Tiresias Odysseus would die of ripe old age peacefully but ironically the translation from the phrase "εξ αλός" can be both translated "by its salt" or "away/out of its salt" so either his death would come "by the sea" or "away from the sea".

Somehow I tried once again to combine them! XD as you know me I cannot help myself. So Odysseus dies "away from the sea" in his bed at night but "by its salt" for he drank wine mixed with sea water before his death. There you go!

The age was picked so that Telemachus would be in his 40s when this happens. In a way he is at the same age as Odysseus was when he was at the final wars of Troy.

Yeah I imagined Telemachus being almost a copy of his father too apart from some more height and the eyes of Penelope (which were chosen randomly to be blue)

Tlemachus's wife is not named because the two prominient theories is either he gets married to the daughter of Nestor's or to Nausicaa. I sometimes tend to lean towards the second one solely because I find it interesting but I leave it to your imagination.

Perseptolis being named by Odysseus was part of an idea discussed with @ditoob before how the grandfather or grandmother leaves the name to the grandchildren after Autolycus names Odysseus.

And Diomedes is here!!! Imagine if these two never met so many years and meet when Odysseus dies!!! The idea was too much stuck in my head to ignore! So yes lo and behold my idea of a small dialog between them.

I hope you like it!

[daffydalcop]

Interview With The Vampire Relationship as Greek Mythology

Claudia and Madeleine as Orpheus and Erudice

Lestat and Nicholas as Apollo and Hyacinth

Louis and Armand as Odysseus and Calypso

Armand and Daniel as Eros and Pysche

Lestat and Armand as Theseus and Ariadne

[koipalm]

in the myth of eros and psyche, her last task is go to the underworld and retrieve some of persephone's beauty. so here's her in hades, where zagreus hasn't found his mother yet. the 'beauty of persephone' she brings back are gifts from zagreus, as he's the last of his mother's beauty in the underworld

[superkooku]

I love Apollo's characterization in this ! His silent wrath, almost serene, when he's seething inside in reality. He tries to keep his composure, especially when he's faced with someone as cunning as Athena. He's sure of his choices, sure to fight for what he wants to protect and no one will convince him to do otherwise.

Apollo is neither a furious warrior nor an impulsive beast but a passionate deity who vicariously lives through his favored mortals and his family. He won't go out of his way to wage war but if any of those dear to him are hurt, his wrath is as rapid, silent and deadly as the shot of an arrow.

I'd only imagine him lashing out in anger when really put against the wall, with no means to do anything else than scream.

Honestly, even though it's tagged as Epic, it fits him a lot in general. Apollo in Epic is very relaxed and detached from this (for the 20s we see him in) but it's nice to see him with another spectrum of emotions. When he's really invested in the issue.

“Pallas Athena,” he greets softly. There is no affection in his voice, barely any intonation save for stiff, long-practiced neutrality. He continues wringing the water from his hair like she’s not intruding upon the sanctity of his purification ritual, “Have you already had your fill of victory?” 

His calmness is… off-putting. Unnatural. Like the stillness of the sky before a horrible storm. She’s grown accustomed to his icy silences, the dark looks thrown when their father isn’t watching, the barely restrained disgust when he’s forced to hear her speak of her tactics and methods for obtaining unquestioned victory. She knows Apollo isn’t weak-stomached - of all their kin, he is perhaps the most practiced in death - but he is not a warrior. He finds no glory in death-bringing, no meaning in the intricacy of war-work. For him, it is a job, a task that must be completed for the continued equilibrium of the mortal world. It means he can still be hurt by war’s savagery. And he had been hurt. Repeatedly. She had personally seen to it. No matter how good he was at his work, Phoebus Apollo was still an emotional creature. Not weak-stomached perhaps, but still soft. Tender. 

“I’ve something important to discuss.” 

He’s languid when he unpins the remaining length of his hair. It falls in heavy, swirling waves, rich gold which threatens to drag upon the ground if he hadn’t deftly grabbed the ends and tied them round his thigh. “I know you have little concept of ceremony but this is a bit ridiculous don’t you think?”

His dark hand reaches for one of the vases of oil stacked neatly on a little jut of rock that acts as a ledge. Athena intercepts him, standing a little taller to convey her graveness. “It’s very important. I only need a moment of your time.” 

She expects him to sigh, to cross his arms petulantly over his thin chest and complain that the war is over and so is her access to him every hour of every day. She expects to have to remind him that the battle isn’t finished ‘til the Acheans have vacated Trojan soil, to coax him from the little solitary cave of mourning he’s obviously built himself so he can see his job to its total completion. 

Instead, she gets another look. Calm. Dark. Horrible.

Apollo does not sigh, but it is a very near thing. “A moment and nothing more.” 

“The Acheans will begin their preparations to return soon,” she takes hold of the vase and carefully passes it to him. It smells saccharine, like rosewater or something similar. Like perfume to hide the stench of death. “I need your word that you will not hinder them on their journeys.” 

Their fingers brush as Apollo accepts her offering. It’s always odd the way his warmth radiates past all logical barriers. Athena can feel the chill of the water alongside the heat of his fingertips. Somehow, it is the cold that lingers despite all his warmth. “I do not make impossible promises, Athena. I want Neoptolemus,” he says. She stops as though struck. “The rest will have my blessing if they but ask.” 

“Phoebus— “

His eyes are like congealed blood when he looks at her, dark and tar-like upon an altar’s surface. “I want Neoptolemus. And I will have him.” 

How similar his tone has become to Father’s in these long years acting as his mouthpiece! Though his words are soft, the finality in his voice brooks no argument. How easy it is for her heart to soar at the prospect of a fight. Her warrior’s mien shutters all her feelings away like she’d never taken her helmet off. Her clawed finger pokes harshly into his chest, he’s marble hard under her touch. “You already had Achilles. You’ve no right to his son.” 

She regrets the words the moment they leave her lips. A stupid mistake; a feint when she should have dodged altogether. 

Apollo’s face goes slack and still. Serene, one would say, if they were a fool who had never before seen the shape of his wrath. He stands to his full height, broad shouldered, the flickering ends of his hair the only signifier of his displeasure, “Who said a thing about Achilles?” She huffs but does not answer, unsure of where his anger lies if not at the foot of Pelides. “Polites. Eurypylus. Priam. Helenus’ jailor. Andromache’s conqueror. If it weren’t Odysseus’ lot, Neoptolemus would have thrown Scamandrius from the tops of the balcony himself. What other reasons do I need?”

[mer-acle]

The first birth of Athena

Before Athena emerged from Zeus, she was born to her mother, inside of an environment made for anything but life

CW: Stillbirth (temporary)

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Metis swallowed hard, cradling her newborn daughter to her chest, wings protectively wrapping around them both.

It should have been the happiest moment of her life. But all she felt was cold dread.

The infant was small, way smaller than she should be, and pale as ivory. She lay perfectly still in her mother's arms, and she wasn't breathing.

"Athena," Metis whispered. Her lips gently brushed against her daughter's clammy skin. "Mama's here, Athena, please, just breathe. Please-" Her voice cracked.

The weight of Zeus' essence, always working against them ever since he had consumed them, pressed down more oppressively than it had ever done, like the new life was an insult to his divinity.

"Athena," Metis repeated, gently rocking the baby in her arms. "Breathe, my dearest, breathe for me."

She carefully pressed her hand to her daughter's chest, hoping to spark a reaction, make her cough, or anything...

She hadn't endured all this to watch her daughter fade to nothing.

Athena's wings rested limply against Metis' hand, a few downy feathers brushing against her skin.

Metis felt panicked tears slip down her face as she ran her thumb over her daughter's chest is circular motions, humming the broken tune of a lullaby.

Nothing.

Metis lifted her head to look into the unforgiving void, swirling with Zeus' energy that didn't want them there.

"You have to stop this," she whispered. "Zeus, please, let me keep her, I beg you."

She had no idea if he could hear her. At any rate, the void around her stayed still, uncaring that her baby wasn't moving.

Metis swallowed hard, cradling Athena closer to her chest, patting her back below her wings.

Her mind was racing almost too fast to keep up.

Zeus' energy almost knocked her to the floor, and Athena's small body seemed to go even colder.

Tears slipped down Metis' cheeks uninhibitedly.

"I won't lose you," she whispered. "I will not lose you, Athena."

She gently opened the baby's mouth, then briefly closed her eyes to materialize her own divine energy. If Zeus was working against his daughter, she would work for her.

A sliver of silver energy traveled out of Metis' mouth as she exhaled, into Athena's small body.

A low rumble like from thunder ran through the void. Metis flinched, wings shielding Athena more closely. The baby still didn't move.

"Come on," Metis whispered. "Come on, you're a fighter, my little one." She breathed out more energy. I need to see her... Oh fates, please, I need to see my baby open her eyes...

She felt her own essence flickering, complaining about being broken up and shared this way. She didn't care. If she had to shatter herself completely to make Athena live, she would.

Another breath, another sliver of silver into her baby's mouth. Zeus' essence pressed against her wings, an oppressive weight.

Metis took a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to Athena's forehead.

"You're so strong," she whispered brokenly. "You're so brave, my little girl."

A shudder ran through the small body in her arms. Metis exhaled in a soft sob.

Athena squirmed, her little face scrunching up. A weak sound escaped her mouth, more of a whimper than a cry, but her chest rose and fell shakily.

Metis laughed tearfully, cradling her daughter close.

"There you are," she whispered. "There you are, my little warrior. It's alright, Mama's right here."

Athena whimpered again, more strongly this time. Her tiny wings stiffened and shook behind her.

Metis kissed her again, caressing her daughter's small face.

"Athena," she murmured, wanting the girl to hear her name. The baby cooed softly, almost a chirping noise, then her eyes flickered open.

Metis caught her breath, meeting her baby's gaze for the first time.

Dark, almost black, with yellow flecks. Zeus' eyes. Almost. Metis frowned, looking more closely. A faint rim of silver around the iris, the same color as the energy that had brought her to life in this inhospitable environment.

Athena cooed again, yawning.

"You're perfect," Metis whispered tenderly, fingers gently brushing over Athena's skin. "You're beautiful, and you're mine, my little girl. I'll do anything for you, little Nea, I swear to you, anything."

Athena moved a little, tiny hand closing around the fabric of Metis' chiton. Her small body shuddered, then she started crying.

"There," Metis whispered, rocking the little goddess in her arms. "Shhh, it's okay. I know it's not nice here. Shhh." She wrapped the baby into her himation, holding her close.

She knew it wasn't over, not close. Zeus' essence was only barely kept at bay. But she was holding her baby and comforting her, and for that moment, she was the happiest she has ever been.

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[hycinthrt]

i always wanted to die clean and pretty -chapter 4: ludus

“You came,” he said, his voice calm but clear. 

Hyacinthus tried to smile playfully, though he felt it was more of a frown.

“You stopped calling for a while. I was starting to think you didn’t want to see me anymore,” he joked, reaching his side. Apollo’s eyes ran over his face, from his eyebrows down to his lips, still observing him. Hyacinthus leaned in closer, as though to help him find whatever it was he was looking for.

Apollo’s gaze returned to Hyacinthus’ eyes, like he had found it.

He shook his head. 

“I wanted to give you time to say goodbye.” His smile was small, almost tired.

[nessquik-icetea-sootyowl]

someone will remember us

I say

even in another time

🪼Pallas & Athena🦉

for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking

   is left in me

 

no: tongue breaks and thin

fire is racing under skin

and in eyes no sight and drumming

   fills ears

 

and cold sweat holds me and shaking

grips me all, greener than grass

I am and dead—or almost

   I seem to me.

~Sappho, fragment 31

Top one is fragment 147

Making this made me wanna cry lol. We need more Athena and Pallas content, their story is so beautiful and so tragic.

Little detail idk if people will notice but I’m really proud of; nymphs bleed red blood while gods bleed gold ichor. The gold detailing in the floor almost looks like it’s coming from Athena, like a part of her died that day with Pallas.

Pallas design was inspired by @mer-acle

I’ve loved Pallas and Athena’s story for a long time but her Fighting to be loved fic gave me the motivation to finish a full art piece on them!

I’m really happy with this and I love a lot of parts about it but I think my favourite is the bloody spear, I just really like the way it turned out!

Close up pics!

[gothamite-rambler]

Zeus: Hey! Hades, stop telling Hera she can do better!

Hades (counting the days for Persophone's return): Stop cheating on her.

Zeus: Hey, don't act like your relationship is all sunshine and rainbows! You did kidnap her when you first saw her.

Hades (reasonable defense): That did happen, but once Cupid's arrow effects wore off we spent time talking until it was safe to return her to the upper world. I got to know her, she got to know me. We both complained about Demeter. I treated her like a person and not a walking sex toy.

Zeus: Oh my me, you're not hot shit! You and Ares are-

Hades: Oh you are not insulting him! He has messed up, but he is leagues better then you. That and he believes in consent and not rape!

Ares (sipping tea): Thanks, unc.

Hades: No problem. Zeus, are we done here? Can you leave?

Zeus: What the here are you two even doing?

Ares: It's Wednesday. We hang out on Wednesdays.

Hades: I know that's shocking to you since you sucked so much at raising him.

Zeus groaned storming out in a huff.

[pelideswhore]

chapter 2 is up now :D

there was some leg space for trigger warnings on the first chapter, not for this one. take care peeps

leave kudos and reblog :) i’m also desperate for comments so pls fulfill that dying wish

[superkooku]

Wow ! That was a good one !

Between Odysseus' ruthlessness towards the maids, Telemachus' innocence fading away as he grows up (and after the suitors' murder), the dialogue, Calypso having literally traumatized Odysseus... you managed to convey all of the characters' feelings in such a powerful and natural way. I'll read more of your fics 😁.

One thing though, maybe you could add a "read more" section to make scrolling easier. But it has nothing to do with the story in itself.

Ruthless Justice

This fic is dedicated to my dear friend @artsofmetamoor as a gift! She had also expressed an interest to the events of the murder of the suitors but I decided to take it into a more tragic level; the excecution of the 12 maids and I added some random emotional scene afterwards! You are warned this fic includes dark themes!

The cries that filled the room were deafening. The young ears of Telemachus could not bear them. The slave women were forced to clean up the room from the corpses of the blasted suitors that nearly killed him and took the kingdom of his father. It was the first time Telemachus had killed. He still couldn’t believe it how easy it had been! It was almost easier than hunting wild goats and deer in the mountains of Ithaca! Some part of him had felt a wild pleasure, almost hedonic gladness, when he had stabbed that first body and continued. This hedonism increased by the happiness he felt that he was helping his father, that he was useful. He felt pleasure for this justice that was finally prevailing in the halls of his house; finally the constant harassment and insults his mother and himself had gone through was punished and he had finally found his father. He had witnessed his brain and his ferocity, his dexterity and cunning first hand! So far he had only heard of it from others that had met him and yet now he had actually seen it before him; his father who was no longer at the prime of youth he had managed to clean the hall of 108 men 10 or even 20 years younger than what he was. Some part of Telemachus wondered; how was his father in his prime? How much more ferocity in battle he possessed? How much more wits and wiles could he loom in short amounts of time?

However now that the first thrill of battle had gone, now they had finished cleaning the chairs of the hall with sponges and water, Telemachus was shocked at their own strength and results. He looked around at the hall that was basically full of wrapped bodies; the bodies that used to belong to vigorous, young nobles and his father now stood at the hall, hard as the stones that built that very palace. Odysseus was not a tall man (that much was a surprise to Telemachus, for from the conversations he had heard about his father’s strength and name he had expected him to be as tall as he was, perhaps taller), he barely stood at average height, maybe a little less, but his physique showed the power that his hardships built upon him. His raven hair, which had already started turning silver from time and hardships, was curly like his own and long till his shoulders; those strong shoulders burnt by sea and sun. A thick bushy beard was hiding a strong jaw line and mouth shut tightly closed. However Telemachus particularly noticed his stone look as the onyx eyes of his seemed soulless like glass even if they burnt with hatred and anger. Right now he could see before him a man who lived up to his name; “The Anger Bringer”. Odysseus was indeed enraged; that much Telemachus could tell. The almost full day of slaughter seemed to have created a curst thick like salt upon his face, just as thick was the blood that had splattered it, the blood he didn’t have much time to clean. And yet, despite all that, he seemed to stand naturally within that chaos; like only a war veteran would stand naturally amongst corpses and cries. He remained there as the lamenting women were literally dragged and pushed at his feet as he stood at the podium of the throne. He seemed like a judge; a ruthless judge ready to pass judgment. Telemachus had seen him angry, hopeful, crying, tender and then ruthless in his killing but now he was truly disturbed at the shadow that had passed over his face. He saw then the one that had come from war; the Sacker of Cities… Odysseus looked down at the maidens crying and struggling, as if they were insects.

“I took you to my home…” he said, his voice cold as ice and sharp as a knife, “I gave you a bed, fed you, dressed you…made sure you would want of nothing while you were under my roof… I respected your wishes…never mistreated you and this is how you repay me? By mingling with my enemies…the very men that wished to violently claim my wife and kill my son?”

Every word was a hammer upon a nail. Telemachus felt a shiver down his spine. He wouldn’t want to be to the other end of that look that was for sure! The women seemed pale like bed sheets; like the sheets that were covering the bodies they had gathered with their own very hands. He saw the other two helpers of theirs; the two herders Eumaeus and Philoetius, standing over the crying maidens, watching at their master with pride. Telemachus had never seen so much wild triumph to the old face of Eumaeus’s before. Never.

“Eumaeus….” Odysseus addressed him, “What is the punishment for treason?”

“Death, my lord” his voice didn’t even hesitate

“Quite so…” Odysseus nodded.

He glared at the slave girls like a hawk.

“Normally I should drag you all out and stone you to death!”

Odysseus didn’t have to yell. All he needed was to speak in that low voice that boiled with anger, like the bubbling water in a cauldron. And yet that was more than enough to emphasize his anger.

“However we have caused enough ruin already! And I shall not even spare one single sacred stone of this palace for you!”

One could wonder whether he was about to say he would sell them away or something of similar manner, which would already be cruel enough. However the king of Ithaca said;

“Philoetius! Bring me a long piece of rope! Eumaeus, help me bring these treacherous women out! They shall be hanged!”

The word sounded as terrible as I was clear and the women broke to a woe Telemachus had never heard before (and, by gods, had he heard enough woe in his house ever since he was a baby!). The screeches and the cries they released along with their already blood-painted hands trying to claw themselves out of the swine herder’s strong grip, nearly made him throw up.

“Father!” he protested, “you can’t be serious! They are just helpless women!”

His father’s onyx eyes stuck within his own and Telemachus felt that same shiver down his spine. There was fire in those obsidian eyes! The same fire of earth that had forged the volcanic glass that gave his eyes their color seemed to be now burning deep inside those black orbs; it was though a cold fire that burnt like the ice burns the skin!

“Is the betrayal of a woman less serious than the betrayal of a man?” his voice was sharp as a broken sword; sharpness you wouldn’t know where it would cut you the worst; the actual blade or the broken tip

“N-No…” Telemachus stammered, “B-But…”

His voice was being drowned by the shrieks of the women. He couldn’t stand it.

“Does the dagger being wielded by a woman draw less blood when it stabs you in the back than the one wielded by a man?”

“Father please!”

“Stay back, Telemachus!” his father commanded, pushing him out of his way, “You are not to see this!”

Telemachus felt his heart clench but he held his ground.

“No, father, I shall help you” he said determined, “If I am to become king of this land, I must help justice prevail!”

His father eyed him once more but Telemachus stood his ground. He was Odysseades Telemachus. He had to live up to his father’s legacy. Odysseus eyed him in wonder for one second but he did not protest his request any further. Part of Telemachus had wished he had. However he knew he had to be strong and stand by his father’s side. The cries of the female voices still haunted his ears as they went out to the trees of the garden. Odysseus pointed towards the direction of one of the trees. Telemachus gulped. He knew that tree. He had played so many times around it when he was a kid! He had named it “Troy” at some point, running around with his horse (in other words a stick he fantasized to be his horse when he was five) and he would yell at the people of Troy to open their gates for him, like he had imagined his father would be doing, on occasions scaring the birds that sat on the branches. As he grew older he would climb and sit on them, joining those birds, and looking over to the horizon as if waiting for a ship to appear, as if waiting to see the sails of the 12 ships of Ithaca arriving.

How weird indeed that Odysseus chose that particular tree for the execution hall to be built behind it! Telemachus never made that connection so strongly before!

As the men dragged the women out to their final spot; behind that said tree lay the dome of court where a small, confided space, where the women tied up with one single piece of rope from the throats like cattle being led for slaughter were crying and moaning. Telemachus felt his stomach turn. Oh, Athena, he prayed silently, please give me strength to do what I must! He felt then a gentle touch upon his shoulder; like the sun warming him with his rays. His racing heart slowed a bit in beat and he breathed in deeply. Yes, he could feel Athena’s reminder of his own strength. Yes, he had to do it. He was his father’s son. No one dared to speak at that moment. Apart from the endless woe of the women that were about to be executed, it almost felt like a macabre ritual that was about to happen. The women were forced to their final resting place; the narrow hall that was closed up by the neatherd and the swineherd. Telemachus held onto the end with both hands and sighed again, feeling weirdly calm. It was as if all his essence had gone numb. He was self-conscious that his father was looking at him. He almost felt him regretful as if he tried to release him from his task but Telemachus made a mechanical move with his head to stop him. I am Odysseiades Telemachus, he thought, this is my duty! Instinctually he looked towards the sky.

“May this be no clean death…” he heard himself whispering, breaking the silence and the cries of the women, “…that I take the lives of these women…for they were wishing for my head…both mine and my mother’s…when they betrayed us and lay with the suitors…”

His father made half a step forward. Telemachus had made his resolve

He threw the rope over the dome and pulled with all his might.

The cries stopped to give their place to chocking sounds.

Telemachus didn’t cry. He only sighed and closed his eyes.

Soon the haunting sounds stopped.

There was only the creaking of the swinging rope…

~ ~ ~

Telemachus chocked and coughed as he threw up the little contents of his stomach behind a bush. How strange, he thought, he didn’t feel the need to do that when he killed all those men he hated by his father’s side and yet he reacted upon an execution he performed with his own hands. It was, maybe, because he always learnt to respect women and protect them. Quite frankly he never raised a hand against a woman before in his life. And now he had, with one fateful move he had removed the lives of 12 women he considered helpless. And yet that moment of clarity it was as if Athena was speaking through him; these women are not innocent, he thought she said to him, they betrayed you and your father, they betrayed your mother’s secrets and led to more torment to her. They conspired to kill you.

“Then why…?” Telemachus thought, “Why was this so difficult?”

He felt two warm, calloused hands on his shoulders and looked up. He faced the tired look of his father’s; his face full of the blood of the victims they had killed. In one moment Telemachus felt self-conscious and realized he could possibly look similar to this. He turned his look away in shame. What would his father think? What would he say for his weakness? Instead, though, he heard him whisper:

“I am so proud of you, my son…” the voice echoed somewhere in his soul, “I understand that was not an easy decision to make…”

“F-Forgive me…f-father…” Telemachus stammered trying to stop the sobs that were chocking him, “I…I wasn’t strong enough…”

“You’re wrong, Telemachus” his voice was whispery and yet adamant, “You are strong, much stronger than any man I have seen so far. I understand the task that I placed upon you was not a pretty one or a pleasant one. And yet you fulfilled it with the bravery that many men didn’t show in thousands of wars. I am proud of you…”

Telemachus realized what had bothered him so much; his father indeed didn’t seem to separate women from men before the ruthless justice he threw upon them. Telemachus was taught to protect and respect women. However when Odysseus arrived at the hall and ordered the demise of 12 women with hardly even blinking disturbed him. How much had he changed? This was not the father that his mother was describing…nay, he wasn’t the father he had met in the hut of the swine herder that embraced him and kissed him like he were his own soul. He saw some of that father he met right now, to the father trying to console him but before? A few minutes prior he saw an executioner; not the father he knew and loved.

“But how much do I know him, really…?” Telemachus realized, “I first saw his face a few days ago… What kind of man is he? Really?”

Odysseus patted his son on his shoulders and helped him straighten himself. They walked past the tree where the women still hanged like doves from a hunter’s stick. Telemachus couldn’t look up at the blackened and bloated faces of death. Not Odysseus. Odysseus looked up steadily and steadfast. There hardly was a reaction on his face apart from a wrinkle playing between his eyes. He seemed tired, sure, he wasn’t feeling pleasure he wasn’t smiling and yet Telemachus wondered; does this man have nerves of steel or a heart of stone to look up so calmly? How much horror had he seen so that this gruesome sight wouldn’t make him avert his eyes?

“How…?” he whispered, “How can you take this…?”

His father was silent for one second until he finally decided to talk.

“One can get awfully accustomed to the face of death…when they have seen so plenty of it…”

His voice was almost dead; as if he was just stating a simple fact such as that the sun rises from the east rather than talking about the lives of people. That rubbed Telemachus in the wrong places even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“Sometimes…” Odysseus continued, “I feel like my heart has turned into stone… Sometimes I feel like it has no more space apart from you Telemachus…”

It took him a few seconds to realize what his father had just said. Perhaps not even Odysseus himself had realized it!

“What about mother, father? What about her?”

There was silence for one second. However that silence seemed to Telemachus more cruel than any other eternity in Hades’s kingdom!

“Father!” he urged

“Of course, your mother too…” Odysseus finally whispered, “I love her more than life itself! I did everything I could so I can come back to her…to you…”

“You doubted her!” Telemachus whispered in cruel realization, “Oh, gods! I don’t believe it! You doubted her! Even after everything she went through for you!”

“No!” Odysseus immediately retorted, “No, I didn’t doubt her! Not really…it is just…”

“Just what? I don’t believe you! After all these years she waited!”

“I know this” Odysseus retorted almost calmly, “Or rather I absolutely know now. However I needed to make sure…beyond any shade of doubt. This is why Athena encouraged me to hide who I was from your mother, even if it tore me apart inside…”

“But…why…?” Telemachus was almost in tears and he was struggling really hard to keep them under control. “Why would you even doubt her so?”

They had spent years on their own and for as long as he could remember his mother was always waiting, crying and expecting a miracle. He didn’t remember one day to see his mother genuinely happy. She was smiling or complimenting his accomplishments but he had never seen her truly happy; all their life was darkened by the shadow of his father’s absence; of the lack of information whether he lived or not and now his father said that he had doubt, no matter how small it was?! Odysseus sighed deeply and looked at his son. His eyes were almost pleading even if his voice was steady.

“Son…” he said gravely, “I spent years out there…years of ordeals and pain and…many of them changed me… I cannot say much…not now…however there was someone…a woman…”

He gulped. He almost seemed ready to cry himself.

“She…she did unspeakable things to me…for years I endured hoping to come back to you and your mother… She…she kept on planting doubts in my head for years… I didn’t believe her…I didn’t want to believe her! And yet…yet all those years… Telemachus I couldn’t do otherwise! My brain was rejecting what my heart knew… And so I had to make these two come together… I had to…! Please! Perhaps one day I will be able to explain to you…and then you will understand…”

His father began walking away but Telemachus, in the heat of adrenaline and battle didn’t seem ready to let go. Not yet.

“Does this have to do with some goddess Calypso?”

His father froze and then he saw him turn around and saw another emotion he never saw before; fear. There was pure terror on his face. All color had left it; his eyes as wide as plates.

“Where did you hear that name!?” his father croaked out, “Telemachus! Where?!”

“Father…” Telemachus was more concerned and surprised than pitiful at that moment, “Look at you! You’re pale! You didn’t turn pallid when you ordered the execution of these women and yet you lost all color at the name of that woman!”

“Telemachus!” Odysseus called out desperately

“Tell me what happened father! What does this woman have to do with this?”

“I can’t!”

“Please tell me! What did that woman do to you to make you doubt your own wife?!”

“I can’t! I CAN’T!” Odysseus’s voice rose in a constant crescendo, he held his head with both hands as if suddenly his head was splitting in two

“Father, please!” Telemachus urged, “Who is that woman? Who is Calypso?”

“Telemachus!” Odysseus grabbed the shoulders of his son

Telemachus nearly whelped feeling the unbelievable strength of those hands, squeezing him in almost bruising grasp but he didn’t make a sound. He stood his ground. He was his father’s son.

“Where did you hear that name?!”

“Y-Your friend told me about it…” Telemachus finally replied, “I traveled, father. I myself tried to find the answers that I was seeking…and in my travels I visited Pylos…and Sparta…there I met your old friend… He said he had a dream in which you were trapped at the island with some goddess Calypso, but he didn’t know more… You remember him, don’t you? Menelaus the king of Sparta…”

“M-Menelaus…”

He took some breaths and he seemed to find his composure. He slowly released his son. Telemachus noticed that indeed some color had returned to his face. How much had that woman done to him to make his father react that way?! How many horrors had this man experienced to the hands of that goddess so that he would turn pale in terror even if he was completely unhinged by more than 100 vigorous men?

“Yes…of course I remember… Menelaus…he was one of my closest friends…in Troy.” That little recollection somehow calmed him down, “I…I haven’t heard of him for years… Th-Thank gods that he is fine…”

“He is in good health from what I could see…” Menelaus couldn’t lie, he didn’t know much on Menelaus but he knew that ‘fine’ was not exactly the word that described him, “He misses you a lot, you know… He didn’t speak with so warm words for anybody else…”

A sad smile spread to Odysseus’s lips.

“I remember… Menelaus was a really dear friend to me…”

He passed his hand over his face to mop some of his sweat.

“Forgive me, Telemachus…I really didn’t want this feeling to be inside me in the first place but…please understand me…that’s all I ask. That and some time… I will explain everything when I can…”

Telemachus breathed in, defeated.

“I will not pressure you, father…” he finally said, “I understand it is hard. Forgive me for insisting… It is just…”

His father’s arms wrapped around him. That moment he stopped being the heartless judge. He was the caring father again..he was the one Telemachus first met; the caring, protective father…

“Please don’t apologize…” he murmured to his son’s ear, “You have every right to be angry…you have so many questions… I promise you, my son, I will do my best to answer them all…just not yet…I can’t…not yet…”

He pulled back and looked at his son’s eyes.

“Okay?”

Telemachus smiled sadly. Suddenly his own accumulated frustration from the events of the day was evaporated. He needed this breakdown and somehow he knew his father needed it too.

“Okay” he nodded in agreement.

Odysseus patted his shoulders.

“Good.” He said, “Let’s go in now and we must order to get ourselves cleaned now. We must, sooner or later, cleanse ourselves from this murder for we both look like we went mad!”

Telemachus scoffed a bit. He began following his father; never daring to look back towards that grim execution place.

“She didn’t ask, you know…” he suddenly said

Odysseus stopped and turned around.

“What?”

“Mother. When I told her about king Menelaus’s vision, she didn’t ask. She didn’t make any inquiries. She didn’t doubt your integrity not even for one second…”

He saw his father’s chest palpitating almost suddenly. His face almost twisted with another unspoken sob. He turned around, showing Telemachus his back.

“Thank you…” he murmured

Telemachus managed to see one tear running down his father’s bloodstained cheek. There was so much behind that silent cry! Telemachus knew his father was keeping many things inside; perhaps he even blamed himself for everything. He didn’t know. He only hoped that with that last comment, he managed to give him some peace of mind. Apparently either he was right or Odysseus was a very good actor indeed, for he was back to his previous steadfast and calm self. He was once more the king.

The King of Ithaca

The Anger Bringer.

***

Not much to say here. Homer said most of it before me.

I found it disturbing and interesting how it was Telemachus the one to pull the rope of the execution so I thought to add a bit ore angst to this and show this aftermath whirlpool of emotions that could be going on inside hm.

And of course Odysseus and the years of torment, especially Ogygia.

Also in the Odyssey Rhapsody 17 Telemachus does mention to his mother how Menelaus saw Odysseus imprisoned by Calypso but Penelope didn't react to it much. She either believed not much of it in her sorrow or at the same time she felt no need to react at the name of another woman because she trusted her husband.

Hope you like it.

[lovebillyhargrove]

A harringrove Greek Myths au

Where Steve has to go the world of the deceased to bargain with Charon - the ferryman who brings the souls of the dead across the river Styx to Hades -

For the soul of Billy Hargrove, Steve's lover.

Billy is not on the other side, yet. He's still in the ferry. It means, there is a wild chance.

Will Steve seal the deal? What will he offer?

[cosmicourple]

yooooo, where all the Poseidon x Odysseus x Zeus fics at????

n I don’t mean tagged separately, AKA Poseidon/Odysseus & Zeus/Odysseus, no, I mean Poseidon/Odysseus/Zeus.

srs where the threesome smashin’ fics all at 😭😭😭 there’s literally only TWO WORKS ON AO3 LIKE-??????!?!!!!!??????😭😭😭😭😭

No, guys, Guys seriously, BELIVE me when I say I need to read more stuff about these three:

1#: fucking aggressively (& Ody’ getting sandwiched)

2#: fucking around, homoerotic fights & hateful tension style (AKA typical God(s)-and-Mortal shenanigans which may include kidnapping, murder, tragedy, complex + shitty feelings n emotions, Death, lots pride + arrogance/ignorance on the God(s) part (& also prob Odysseus bc come on,,), onesided feelings, brutality against Mortal(s), Immortals somewhat trying to rap theirs brains around the views, opinions + generally jst how that Mortal sees n feels about the world around em’ & more-)

3#: fucking aggressively but Odysseus somehow takes charge (blame my fucked up thoughts of the Vengeance Sage for this one 😋👍👍)

4#: dealing w/ each others insufferable personalities (and families oh ho ho, dont get me STARTED on the potential tomfuckery to be had that that heffsaas >:))) (lol I would O.O.C so many characters for my crack-treated-(sometimes)seriously thoughts :”))

Anniflamma started dis, I’m going to (try) and make it bigger >>>:3

(edit: I am aware there are already threesome fics of them jst tagged separately but bc it’s a threesome, I would prefer if they were tagged all together bc????? That’s what it is anyway right?????????????????? Idk lol)

[violent138]

I really see Tim and Damian's relationship as very much like Apollo and Hermes' (see: cattle robbery, bribery, complaining to Dad but ultimately Dad just shrugs and goes, sorry kids you gotta get along).