#odyssey masterpost

[zarnzarn]

About the Reverse Odyssey AU (love it btw), do you think any of the Ithacans start praying to Hephastus? Just in case they can't get Odysseus back to human form, at least they can ask the God of inventing how to build a new palace that's half underwater.

oh god I have to continue that.... i have 3000 wips that ive gotten inspo for all at once are descending on me guys plus I am actively getting a master's degree bear w me for a few days

also OMG fuck yes!!! Ithaka is much more involved in this than in canon since a. they r not down 600 people who are immensely loyal to odysseus b. their king made a direct sacrifice FOR THEM literally no one else would have done this no other king would ever let himself be cursed to save his kingdom c. it's been 10 years and they all find it unjust because they'd all seen him weep as he left and know he and Penelope missed each other like crazy.

(plus he was very young when he took the throne! imagine a 13 year old telling u what to do and then being right. the people of Ithaka must have been very fond of him and most would have seen him as son-adjacent)

so one person has this idea one day, and they take it to the architects, who take it to the blacksmiths, who take it to the ruler of Ithaka. She pursues her lips as she looks at it, teeth grinding at the assumption that they would succeed but not overcome the curse, but allows them to do it.

So they start.

It is harder than their initial ideas demanded. First there is the matter of structures that do not stay down long enough to stick together, then there is the matter of how to secure them. Their dreams of beautiful underwater sculptures fall through as they struggle to conjure up even a basic shelter, even in the summer calm of the waters.

So, desperate and frustrated, they pray to Hephastus.

Ithaka is famous for its dedication to the goddess Athena, most of its temples under the king's ten-year rule being lovingly dedicated to the wisdom goddess. A separate group of smaller temples honors the other gods in the main town; but the main palace and most houses are painted blue and owl feathers and trinkets and sculptures are sold in the main market- the most beautiful of artistry is reserved for Pallas Athene alone.

But the blacksmiths and architects work together to build a small shrine worthy of the inventor god; with hidden catches and rotating idols and the best of their tools and ideas burnt at the fire kept burning at the base of it.

And after a few weeks- Hephaestus blesses them.

(He cannot make up for what he tried to do to Athena in his drunkenness and on Posiedon's inescapable goading. He was young and stupid and hurt and proud and drugged- he thinks she knows this, and has long since let it pass enough to stand beside him without a second thought; but will never be able to get over his shame- so the least he can do is this.)

But Ithaka's artists wake up with the same idea in mind and rush to the shrine in the early hours of the morning to give their thanks. Then they start building- floating large stones down at the far end to mark the range, until they have raised the wall enough to drain out the waters for them to work inside. They work fast, laying down the walls within days, until it joins to where the courtyard of the main palace creeps down the side of the cliff. From the palace itself, a tunnel is dug in the main room, wrapping around the mountain through the softer rock deposits, then travelling down to the sea.

They have the blueprints Odysseus himself had commissioned for his palace, and try to add in the carvings and structures accordingly. They dare not risk more than the smallest of owls carved into the stone entrance, wary of Posiedon's wrath at his rival. They work hard, encouraged by the people, helped by the Trojan heroes themselves- and strangely, their hands never feel tired and the ideas never stop coming.

The first test comes at the start of the monsoons.

The storms roll in angry and strong, battering against the island of Ithaka as furiously as always. When it is done, the architects are dismayed to find their hard-made palace flooded and destroyed, stone displaced or missing, with one collapse of the outside barrier causing three more within.

Dejected, they burn their tools at the temple forge once more, and then go to bed.

That next morning, the youngest of them wakes up with the thought- what if we used metal to hold them together?

The royal family gives them funding once more, and they commission for marble pillars to be sent from the mainland in exchange for their raw materials; these they sink to the bottom and drain the water once more. These pillars are erected and melted into the shifting sand with hot liquid metal, until they fuse into the rock. The roofed ceiling is replaced with live kelp and seaweed, attached to the top of the pillars and bound together. The walls are rebuilt quicker- with more labour coming in when they look closer to success than before, men with guilty eyes and stubborn determination ready to do the back-breaking, risky work.

The whole island holds its breath this time, as the monsoon rolls in and the ships return. The storms roll in and-

The wall has fallen completely, leaving the surroundings unsuitable for them to put it back up, letting the water back in.

But the building stands.

The celebration lasts all day and night, with all the workers being given a place of honor at the palace table itself for dinner. Even the royal family themselves are happy, for all the disappointment of another year of failure, and are grateful in a way that satisfies them more than the money ever could.

Yet there is still the second test- the tunnel to connect to the palace.

The main digging is complete; but as they reach the end they realize they do not know how they will open it to the sea without losing men to the outburst of the sea pouring back in. The Queen twists her lips when they go to her with the problem, thinking.

"This is such a bad idea," One of the men whispers.

"Shh," Eurylochus says, striking another spear into the final barrier. Two men come forward with hammers and push it in further, and they wait until the call comes in from the surface far above from the diver outside that the spear has gone through. "Don't tempt fate."

"You are such a nice, sane man, Eurylochus," One of the men moans despairingly, and he smiles, small. "Why are our royals all mad?"

He laughs, remembering a similar conversation from many years ago. He slips the rope around the loop at the end of the spear, and feels the nostalgia twist into sorrow once more, missing his captain, his general, his brother, his king, his friend. If only he had never kept that cursed bag. If only he had the courage to step forward first, not frozen in fear and shouldered the cost instead like a soldier should for their king, for Odysseus. Had not made mistake after mistake further, ordering Odysseus out of their reach in his panic to get him to the water, not being prepared with a net to catch him both times they'd seen him after.

He kept one on his belt now, at all times.

But until the skies and seas cleared, there was nothing to do except make sure Ody had a home to return to; that he could reach.

"Let's go," Eurylochus exhales, and they all grab the ropes attached to the dozens of spears and make their way back up the winding tunnel as slowly as they can, careful not to step on even one rope or pull too hard, and risk spelling doom for them all. Hearts pounding as they walk in the eerily silent tunnel, the dark taunting them, urging them to run. But they hold their nerve and come out at the pool created inside the main court.

Eurylochus climbs out last from the pool, and smiles up at Ctimene. She looks beautiful in the Ithakan jewels once more, holding herself with more grace and confidence than much richer princesses ever had, anklets tinkling.

She nods and then turns to the rest. "PULL!"

As one, the ropes spring up tight, straining until the spears come loose and men go falling to the floor with shouts. For a second nothing happens.

Then they hear the roaring.

He knows it's water, Eurylochus knows it has to be water- but it still sounds like a hoard of monsters, the shouting of a battlefield, the cyclops when he stole the lives of their friends in his fury. He can't help grabbing his wife and pulling her back, shouting for a retreat as the water rushes through the tunnel and bursts out in a terrible din into the pool, filling it to the top and then overspilling off the sides immediately.

For a heart-stopping moment, Eurylochus watches the water catch onto the feet of the people around, rising and rising, and he remembers Poseidon's cruel smile as he crippled and cursed Eurylochus' brother and thinks it's going to drown us all-

And then the tide recedes, and the water crawls back with it.

The plan worked. The palace of Ithaka now creeps down into the sea, enticing their wayward king to find his way back home, swim back to them and be happy, even if they never solved his curse.

All they have to do now is wait.

[electricphantasy]

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[greekmythcomix]

You Are Odysseus (Choose-Your-Own-Path Odyssey IF/Gamebook) Masterpost

OP:

Video: presenting ‘You Are Odysseus’ at the Classical Association Conference 2019

You Are Odysseus - writing an Odyssey Choose-Your-Own-Path book for education and fun

https://youtu.be/K_ztm5HRh3o

Fantasy Odyssey cast:

https://www.tumblr.com/greekmythcomix/725162898352128000/fantasy-odyssey-casting-im-working-on-the

WHAT IF IT WAS ALSO A TV SERIES?!

Sign up to mailing list:

https://ljenkinsonbrown.wordpress.com/you-are-odysseus-signup/

[averydistinctivewhump]

BTHB Masterlist

.

Red: posted

Blue: in progress

.

Sensory Deprivation: sometimes quiet is violent, Dimension 20: A Starstruck Odyssey - Barry Syx

More Expendable Than You: make me love myself so that I might love you, Dimension 20: A Crown of Candy - Theo

Slammed Into a Wall: do you still believe in one another, Dimension 20: A Starstruck Odyssey - Barry Nyne

Drugged: you fuck with them, you fuck with me, Dimension 20: A Starstruck Odyssey - Barry Syx

Hiding an Injury: we wear red so they don't see us bleed, Leverage: Con Artists - Roy

Tortured for Information: no greater innocence than our gentle sin, Dimension 20: A Crown of Candy - Theo, 2/3 chapters

Zip Ties: leave him alone, White Collar - Neal

Broken Ribs: rather go out in a blaze of glory, Dimension 20: A Starstruck Odyssey - Barry Syx

Voice Breaking: got a baseball bat beside my bed (to fight off what's inside my head), Dimension 20: A Starstruck Odyssey - Barry Nyne

Choking: breathless, White Collar - Neal

Manhandling: White Collar - Neal, WIP

Shock Collar: if I'm far from home, brother I will hear your call, Dimension 20: A Starstruck Odyssey - Barry Syx & Barry Nyne

Bound and Gagged: I can't hear you (I don't fear you), Dimension 20: A Starstruck Odyssey - Barry Syx

Black Eye: blocking the exit, White Collar - Neal

Dissociation: you've been lost but I won't let go, 9-1-1 - Buck

Whipping: do you walk in the valley of kings, Dimension 20: A Crown of Candy - Theo

Knife to the Throat: you can let your arrows sing, Dimension 20: A Crown of Candy - Liam

Forced to Watch: the blood on my hands scares me to death, Dimension 20: A Starstruck Odyssey - Margaret & Barry Syx

Captivity: Dimension 20: A Starstruck Odyssey - Barry Syx, WIP

[katakaluptastrophy]

Masterpost of TLT metas

This is mostly for my own reference, as tagging doesn't seem to guarantee something being findable on Tumblr...but if you like wildly overthinking lesbian necromancers in space, enjoy!

Overthinking the Fifth House:

What is a "Speaker to the Dead"?

Actually, Magnus Quinn isn't terrible at sword fighting

Imperial complicity: Abigail the First

Pyschopomp: Abigail Pent and Hecate

Did Teacher conspire with Cytherea to kill the Fifth?

What does the Fifth House actually do?

The Fourth and the Fifth can never just be family

Cytherea's political observations at the anniversary dinner

Abigail Pent's affect: ghosts and autism

Were the Fourth wards of the Fifth?

Abigail probably knew most of the scions as children

Magnus Quinn's very understandable anger

Fifth House necromancy is not neat and tidy

Are Abigail and Magnus an exception to the exploitative nature of cavaliership?

"Abigail Pent literally brought her husband and look where that got her" (the Fifth in TUG)

The Fifth's relationship dynamic

The Fifth's relationship is unconventional in a number of ways

The queer-coding of Abigail and Magnus' relationship

Abigail and Palamedes, and knowing in the River

Was Isaac the ward of the Fifth?

Did Magnus manage to draw his sword before Cytherea killed him? (and why he probably had to watch his wife die)

How did Abigail know she was murdered by a Lyctor?

Fifth House necromancy is straight out of the Odyssey

The politics of the anniversary dinner

Was Magnus born outside of the Dominicus system?

Overthinking John Gaius:

The one time John was happy was playing Jesus

Is Alecto's body made from John's?

Are there atheists in the Nine Houses?

Why isn't John's daughter a necromancer?

The horrors of love go both ways: why John could have asked Alecto 'what have you done to me?'

Why M- may have really hoped John was on drugs

What is it with guys called Jo(h)n and getting disintegrated? (John and Dr Manhattan)

John's conference call with his CIA handlers

Watching your friend turn into an eldritch horror

Why does G1deon look so weird? (Jod regrew him from an arm)

When is a friendship bracelet not a friendship bracelet?

Why did John have G1deon hunt Harrow? (with bonus update)

The 'indelible' sin of Lyctorhood and John's shoddy plagiarism of Catholicism

Are John Gaius and Abigail Pent so different?

What was Jod's plan at Canaan House?

John and Ianthe tread the Eightfold path

The Mithraeum is more than a joke about cows

When was John Gaius born? (And another)

John Gaius and the tragic Orestes

John and Jesus writing sins in the sand

John and Nona's echoing chapters

John's motivations

Overthinking the Nine Houses:

'No retainers, no attendants, no domestics'

Funerary customs and the violence of John's silence

Juno Zeta and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time

The horror of the River bubble

Every instance of 'is this how it happens' in HTN

Feudalism is still shitty even if you make it queer and sex positive

How do stele work?

Thought crime in the Nine Houses

The Houses have a population the size of Canada

What must it be like to fight the Houses?

You know what can't have been fun? Merv wing's megatruck on Varun day...

Augustine's very Catholic hobby (decorating skeletons)

Necromancers are not thin in a conventionally attractive way

Matching the Houses with the planets of the solar system

Why don't the Nine Houses have (consistent) vaccination or varifocals?

How would the Houses react to the deaths at Canaan House?

How does Wake understand her own name (languages over 10,000 years)

What pre-resurrection texts are known in the Houses?

Camilla and Palamedes very Platonic relationship

The horrors the Cohort found at Canaan House

Do the Houses understand the tech keeping them alive?

Overthinking House religion:

What do the Houses believe about death?

Was M's nun a Franciscan?

Cavaliership and arbitrary socio-religious structures

Ritual scarification

Sacraments and sacramentals

What did Silas think god wanted at Canaan House?

In defense of Silas

There's no such thing as a 'good' necro/cav relationship

Veiling and shaving in Ninth House cult practice

Tongue-in-cheek thoughts on Eighth and Sixth religion

A very long deep-dive on House belief and practice

Overthinking Harrowhark Nonagesimus:

'The meat of your meat...belonged to god' and 'that is how meat loves meat'

The horror of parental touch: Harrow, John Gaius, and Abigail Pent

Why is Harrow so obsessed with Abigail's hands?

Frontline Titties of the Fifth and transgressive necro/cav relationships

Harrow, Wake, and permeability of the soul in HTN

Bible studies for weird queer necromancers:

Epiphany: revealing god's child to the wider world

The Holy Innocents and the creche massacre

The Virgin Mary and Commander Wake

John Gaius and John the Baptist

Instantiating the Trinity and the Second Resurrection

What's the significance of Paul?

St Paul's theology of gender and sexuality and the House theology of cavaliership

Maundy Thursday: consuming another for eternal life

Harrow and the Harrowing of Hell

[dootznbootz]

(Thank you for the shout-out, Smitty! :3 )

OP, while I do disagree on your points, I will absolutely applaud you on all the hard work and dedication you've put into your thought process and essay. I KNOW how long it takes and how scary it is to possibly post something that could possibly be so controversial. Especially on tumblr. That takes a lot of guts <3 The Aeaea essay that @prompted-wordsmith put up was something I literally worked on for a month and was in my drafts for another month afterward as I was so scared to post.

With that outta the way, there's nothing I can really say that hasn't really been said already other than yes, please read multiple translations <3 Even if you had not read Wilson's, who is very biased, I would recommend everyone read at least 2-3 different translations because there will ALWAYS be bias and it is always good to see multiple reads.

Or even if the text doesn't give the clearest example and you misunderstood, it's nice to have another translation to go in order to try and get the full picture :)

Another essay (much shorter though, like only 5 mins tops lol) I have is also about how Odysseus and Helen are similar in their narratives, and I think it's actually pretty intentional by Homer that they went through similar events.

Odysseus and Calypso Were Lovers

As problematic as that sounds because WTF, hear me out because it's complicated and there's a lot to discuss. Trigger warning for sa. Also, not directly Epic: The Musical related; that's a whole other ballpark.

She trapped him on her island!

I'm not denying that nor am I denying how objectively messed up that is.

However, the captor and prisoner trope is one that does crop up in Greek mythology now and then.  The most famous example I can think of is Hades’ kidnapping of Persephone.  I have seen that situation blatantly called rape in the original story, and yet today, modern storytellers do like to revise that myth into a version that makes Demeter out to be an overbearing mother and Persephone's ‘kidnapping’ so to speak becomes an escape.  Personally, I think that is a very graceful way to make a barbaric story a bit more palatable to modern audiences.

So regarding Odysseus’ situation where falling in love with his captor is problematic…my thought process runs as, “Fucking Greek mythology and its weird idea of what constitutes as a love story.”

As a result, I have no serious thoughts on the morality of certain figures of Greek mythology because they frankly come from a time period where the people had a very different culture and set of moral values and ideas on what was acceptable. Therefore, it's futile to judge their stories by my own modern moral compass.

Where in The Odyssey does it say they were lovers?

The main line I can't ignore that strongly implies the nature of their relationship is Odysseus' farewell to Calypso:

“The sun went down and brought the darkness on. They  [Odysseus and Calypso] went inside the hollow cave and took the pleasure of their love, held close together.”  - The Odyssey, Homer, translated by Emily Wilson.

Keep in mind, she’s already told him he’s free to go.  He’s free to build his raft, she’s giving him supplies, and yet he says goodbye this tenderly.  Note the absence of Calypso using magic to compel him. If you cherry-picked this line, you'd find a fond goodbye.

Odysseus’ Tears

A lot of people making the ‘Odysseus/Calypso was a non-consensual situation’ argument like to cite the line that Odysseus cried every day on Ogygia.  And yes, he did weep every day he was there.  But this is the full stanza.

“On the tenth black night, the gods carried me till I reached the island of Ogygia, home of the beautiful and mighty goddess Calypso.  Lovingly she cared for me, vowing to set me free from death and time forever.  But she never swayed my heart.  I stayed for seven years; she gave me clothes like those of gods, but they were always wet with tears.” - The Odyssey, Homer, translated by Emily Wilson.

‘Beautiful and mighty….Lovingly she cared for me….she never swayed my heart.’  He speaks highly of her, not with hate or venom for her delaying him.

In my literature class where we read The Odyssey, the tears line was discussed and largely interpreted as Odysseus’ reaction to all the monsters he’d faced and losing all his crew and friends.  The PTSD of a war veteran.  From the cultural mindset of Ancient Greece, Odysseus was a king, and he failed his people when they all died under his command and he was unable to bring them home.  Similarly, the hero Theseus was once king of Athens.  He was usurped in absentia (Theseus being trapped in the Underworld at the time) and when he returned to his kingdom, he found another man on his throne, was forced to flee, and died a rather ignoble death when a supporter of his usurper shoved him off a cliff.  So Odysseus being a king who let an entire fleet die under his watch is certainly grounds for shame to the point of tears in the eyes of the Ancient Greeks.  And with an entire line-up of men attempting to court his wife and take his place, it drives home the idea that he was replaceable.

Also important to note:  He’s still miserable when he leaves Ogygia.  When he arrives at King Alcinous’ court, he is welcomed, provided food, shelter, and entertainment, but when the king checks in with his heartbroken guest, he pleads with him to tell him what’s wrong, which kickstarts the telling of Odysseus’ journey.

Odysseus was afraid of Calypso!

That said, it's also important to address this concept because this is Odysseus' reaction to the goddess telling him she is sending him on his way to Ithaka:

‘Goddess, your purpose cannot be as you say; you cannot intend to speed me home. You tell me to make myself a raft to cross the great gulf of ocean--a gulf so baffling and so perilous that not even rapid ships will traverse it, steady though they may be and favoured by a fair wind from Zeus. I will not set foot on such a raft unless I am sure of your good will--unless, goddess, you take on yourself to swear a solemn oath not to plot against me any new mischief to my ruin.’ The Odyssey, Homer, translated by Shewring.

His suspicion certainly suggests mistrust and fear that she intends to do him harm, and considering his track record of being hated by deities, that's understandable. This isn't exactly what you'd call a loving relationship. But this also brings up a weird contradiction in the poem. I would 100% say this was a completely non-consensual situation were it not for this line:

His eyes were always tearful; he wept sweet life away, in longing to go back home, since she [Calypso] no longer pleased him. - Wilson.

Not ‘she did not please him.’  She no longer pleased him.  That implies she 'pleased' him at one point and because of that, one could argue Calypso was a mistress and Odysseus eventually tired of her. (Probably long before seven years had passed.)

What Do The Translators Say?

I can't speak for all translators, but in the Emily Wilson translation, she includes a lengthy introduction describing Odysseus' world, the culture of Ancient Greece, the reasoning behind specific English wordage in the translation, etc. In the introduction, she refers to Calypso and Circe as Odysseus' affairs. Not his abusers. He also has a brief flirtation with Princess Nausicaa, the daughter of his final host, King Alcinous. Wilson then goes on to describe how these affairs are not a character failing of Odysseus in comparison to the treatment of Penelope where she is expected to be faithful and how that is indicative of a good woman.

Taking a step back from Greek mythology, consider the actions of King Henry VIII of England. Most historians agree that, for the first few years, the king's relationship with his first wife Katherine of Aragon was unusually good for the times. And yet he was an unfaithful husband, had at least one acknowledged bastard and historians speculate there were more. But while 'indiscretions' such as this were frowned upon in the Tudor Period, Henry VIII did not receive near as much criticism as Queen Katherine would have if she'd had an illegitimate child. If Katherine was 'indiscreet,' that was considered treason because she compromised the legitimacy of the succession and that was cause for a beheading.

Because misogyny. Again, different time, different moral values.

Misogyny in The Odyssey

Whatever one's thoughts on Calypso are, it is incredibly misogynistic of Homer to solely blame her for keeping Odysseus trapped while he conveniently ignores the plot hole that her island is completely surrounded by ocean and we all know that Poseidon was lurking out there just waiting for his shot at vengeance.  Odysseus is barely two stanzas off Calypso’s island before Poseidon goes after him.  It’s almost hilarious how quickly it happens.  The poem says Poseidon was returning from Ethiopia, not that he was there for the whole seven years, and Hermes clearly did not pass along the memo that Odysseus was free to return to Ithaka.  Although I like to imagine it was Zeus who forgot about Poseidon’s grudge against Odysseus, and Hermes, being the mischievous scamp that he is, did not remind him.

If one line in the text says Odysseus/Calypso was consensual while another says otherwise, which is it?

Honestly, I don't think there's a conclusive answer with just The Odyssey. I'm a hobbyist, not an expert, so I do refer to the judgment of translators like Wilson to make that call. If she and other translators say Calypso and Circe were affair partners and I can see the lines in the text to support that, I'll believe it and chalk up the rest as Greek mythology being problematic.

That said, we can also look at the opinions of other Greek poets in their further writings of the mythology:

“And the bright goddess Calypso was joined to Odysseus in sweet love, and bare him Nausithous and Nausinous.” - The Theogony; Of Goddesses and Men, Hesiod, translated by Evelyn-White.

“… after brief pleasure in wedlock with the daughter of Atlas [Calypso], he [Odysseus] dares to set foot in his offhand vessel that never knew a dockyard and to steer, poor wretch…” - Alexandra, Lycophron, translated by Mair.

Both seem to be of the opinion Calypso was Odysseus' lover.

Interestingly, Hesiod also writes in The Catalogues of Women Fragment:

“…of patient-souled Odysseus whom in aftertime Calypso the queenly nymph detained for Poseidon.” - The Catalogues of Women Fragment, Hesiod, translated by Evelyn-White.

The wording ‘detained for Poseidon’ implies Calypso was acting at Poseidon’s command or she was doing the sea god a favor or she possibly didn't have any free will herself whether or not Odysseus stayed on Ogygia. Either way, it does neatly account for Homer's aforementioned misogyny/plot hole.

But if Hesiod and Lycophron's works are not part of The Odyssey, why should we take them seriously?

You don't have to consider them canon. Just because I prefer to consider all mythology canon doesn't mean anyone else does. Just as easily, I could ask why we should take Homer's work seriously even though historians can't even agree whether or not he was a real person.

The truth is, Ancient Greece as we think of it lasted a thousand years.  Their culture/values changed several times and so did their stories to reflect those changes, and those stories continue to evolve to the modern day. Odysseus himself goes through a few different descriptions over the centuries, being described as scheming and even cruel in other works. So I consider modern works like Percy Jackson, Epic: The Musical, Son of Zeus, and so on to be just more cogs in the evolving narrative. Much like how retellings of Hades and Persephone are shifting to circumstances easier to accept by audiences today.

But why would Odysseus be unfaithful to his loving wife?

The loving wife he claimed as payment for helping out King Tyndareus? Yeah...Odysseus and Penelope's relationship may not quite be the undoubted loving one modern retellings make it out to be nor is Odysseus a saint in The Odyssey.

“A blast of wind pushed me [Odysseus] off course towards the Cicones in Ismarus.  I sacked the town and killed the men.  We took their wives and shared their riches equally amongst us.”  - The Odyssey, Homer, translated by Emily Wilson.

Raiding a town unprovoked, killing the men, kidnapping the women, stealing their treasure is not indicative to what we in the modern day consider heroic or good protagonist behavior. Also, at the end of the Trojan War, Queen Hekuba was made a slave and given to Odysseus.

As for the chapter with Circe, Penelope's name isn't even mentioned. Moreover, the wording of the Wilson translation gives the troubling connotation that Circe may have been the one who was assaulted.

Hermes’ instructions to Odysseus are as follows:

"...draw your sharpened sword and rush at her as if you mean to kill her. She will be frightened of you, and will tell you to sleep with her." - Wilson

She'll be frightened of him? Hermes is encouraging Odysseus to render Circe powerless by eating the Moly plant so she can't turn him into a pig, then threaten her with a sword, which does frighten her, and then sleep with her. That line of events is disturbing. Circe is the one who offers to take Odysseus to bed, sure, but there’s a strange man in her house, she’s allegedly afraid according to Hermes, and she’s unable to resort to her usual defense and turn him into a pig as she did with the others.  Under those circumstances, sleeping with an invader is a survival tactic.

However...after Odysseus makes Circe promise to turn his men back, she bathes him and gives him food like a proper Ancient Greek host. Yet before Odysseus accepts the meal, he puts his men first, saying he can't bear to eat until he knows they're well. So Circe turns them back, then Odysseus returns to where the rest of the crew are waiting on the shore. They're all convinced their comrades are dead until Odysseus tells them what transpired and they rejoice. All except suspicious Eurylochus who calls them fools for trusting Odysseus' word based on his previous bad decisions. Odysseus thinks about cutting his head off for speaking that way. Damn, that went from zero to a hundred fast.

But Penelope's name is missing from the story.

Odysseus only thinks of leaving Circe's island when his men speak of returning to their homeland, after which he goes to Circe about the matter, and she instructs him to go to the Underworld.

"That broke my heart, and sitting on the bed I wept, and lost all will to live and see the shining sun." - Wilson

Odysseus and his men all lament the idea of sailing into the land of the dead. So his tears and despair did not start with Calypso. Also, they return to Circe's island after the journey so she can help them make sense of Tiresias' instructions.

But setting all that aside, even when Hermes instructed him on what to do, Odysseus didn't make some grand speech on how he can’t betray his wife.  He doesn’t specifically say he’s crying for Penelope on Calypso’s island.  He doesn’t mention Penelope at all, and when King Alcinous asks him about his sorrow, Odysseus tells his whole story, barely bringing up his wife or his love for her.

So is Odysseus a good guy?

In all, Odysseus is a clever character who is known for using his wits to get out of any situation.  Polyphemus, the Sirens, Scylla, he had a plan.  The idea that he’s suddenly helpless against Calypso and Circe is out of character.  They may be goddesses, but they’re not exactly the heavy hitters of the pantheon, which is why Poseidon could absolutely order a minor sea nymph to stop what she’s doing and hold a man prisoner for him. And while Odysseus spends the entire story being thwarted by the gods, one could say he also thwarts the gods right back by refusing to give up.

Like most Greek heroes, I would say Odysseus is not what we today would call a hero. But when he shares a roster with characters like this:

Zeus:  Serial rapist

Poseidon:  Serial rapist

Hades:  Kidnapped Persephone (setting aside modern interpretations she went with him willingly)

Herakles:  Raped a princess named Auge  (Yes, really.)

Theseus:  Kidnapped Helen of Sparta when she was a child because he wanted to marry a daughter of Zeus, aided and abetted his cousin in an attempt to kidnap Persephone, abandoned Ariadne, etc.

Jason the Argonaut:  Tried to abandon his wife. (I say ‘try’ because he didn’t get the chance. His wife Medea killed the other woman first.)

Hephaistos:  Raped Athena after she refused him.

Achilles:  Murdered a child to prevent a prophecy from coming true.

...Odysseus's atrocities are weirdly tame by comparison. Even the narrative where he kills the infant Prince Astyanax, modern retellings usually give that role to the lesser known Neoptolemus. More on that here.

In the end, it's not necessarily thematically important whether or not Odysseus is good or bad. The core of his character revolves around his cleverness and ability to build and strategize and make his own way in the world he lives in. Rounding this out is Emily Wilson's commentary on the symbolism behind the tree bed,

"In leaving Calypso, Odysseus chooses something that he built with his own mind and hands, rather than something given to him. Whereas Calypso longs to hide, clothe, feed, and possess him, Athena enables Odysseus to construct his own schemes out of the materials she provides." - The Odyssey, Homer, trans. by Emily Wilson, Introduction Pg 64.

So were Odysseus and Calypso lovers?

Based on the above, my opinion is 'Yes they were, but with the caveat they were problematic af.' Because problematic themes like that are pretty par for the course in Greek mythology.

[simmerianne93]

[Simmerianne93]Portrait_poses_07

Hello everyone!!! How are you today???

Have you missed me??

I took a small break after the beautiful Valentine's collab i did with my dear friends and mates Herecirm and Simmireen (which btw if you haven't seen yet, tho I doubt it, you can find a masterpost here) but i'm back with more poses for you all.

I can't end the month of love without publishing this little pack of wedding poses that I really wanted to bring for you all.

A couple of weeks ago I saw some references in pinterest (my dear friend to have ideas) and i was like "I need them in my life", so... here you have some funny wedding portrait poses for your sims' family portraits.

Although the process has been a little odyssey, because I tried to convert the bouquets from "my wedding stories" gamepack and I failed multiple times trying to fix them (unfortunatelly there is no way for them to work good ingame xD).... I looked everywhere, and I finally found a bouquet (with the stigmata bone assign that was what i wanted) that can be used for these cute poses i'm bringing and for some other slightly more dynamic poses that i'll bring in the future (I still have a couple of references that I loved and would like to recreate them because they are fun and not the typical poses of looking statically at the camera).

Anyway, I'll leave you with the descriptions of this beautiful wedding pack, celebrating love until the end of the month:

----------

What is on it?

6 couple poses (made with a female rig and a modified male rig) + 3 all in one.

--- What do you need?

Andrew poses player

Teleport any sim by Scumbumbo or Mccc by deaderpool.

Pocci's wedding bouquet 

Instructions in the original post.

PS: tomorrow I'll be publishing my "coming soon" post, so keep an eye to take a closer look to all the packs that are coming next month.

——

TOU

Do not claim my creations as your own.

Do not re-upload or modify my creations.

Do not make money of my creations.

Do not include my creations in Mods folders to download.

Please follow my Term Of Use.

——

Download it now here — [Early access until March 21 st, 2024]

——————

If you want to support me:  Patreon | Ko-fi

All my poses overview: Pinterest |  Wix | Tumblr

More in-game preview pics of all my poses: Instagram

My socials: Twitter |BlueSky

——————

I really hope you like them and I will say in advance: Thank you so much for use them.

@ts4-poses

[astralnymphh]

𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.

summary: swept under your fossil gray wool blanket, a body deprived of slumber and living the effects of back-bending chores all around the farmhouse has you fatigued and yearning to supply the last ounce of energy with a bit of literature. eventually, ellie will set that book on rain check, and your fatigue, ..and her boredom. honestly, she'll definitely be the one to steal your energy instead of the book.  reader discretion advised: nsfw, mdni, usual playful bickering, one second of cuddiling, poetic ahh writing, very mild foreplay, hella dirty talk, lotsa swearing, oral (receiving) spitting, clit stim (receiving), petnames (babe, baby, good girl) footnotes: word count (2k), masterlist, palestine masterpost, read this, written circa 2023. (hence the writing style change)

radiance incarnate is what lies behind the glass pane just ahead of your bed-post. lunar light outstanding the dark night, never lacking a few stars that flecked the sky above the nocturnal forest, at least what you could perceive through a regular sized window. fusing with the comfortability of your mattress and cloaked in a warm wool blanket makes for a nice end-of-the-day reward while you immerse yourself in the realm of 'the odyssey'. ellie's not in bed. not in the room. she's presumably downstairs finishing up something, so not a clue of her coming is on your mind.

you wriggle around the soft bed altering your position to have one leg bent and the other draped over, the book upheld by the bulk of your thigh making it easier to flip through. page by page, word by word, space and time diminishes around you and is replaced by this entrancing world of mycenaean greece portraying the aegean sea. the room was dimly lit and still, minus the muted sounds of an owl and crickets chirping beyond the wooden walls. serenity lasts for a good half hour before an upsurge of hard rubber footsteps wake the floor by the bedroom door to the right of you.

"hey babe- ooh, what'cha reading?" ellie's voice grapples your focus to her profile, attired in her white shirt, grubby denim and converse that look like they've been dragged to hell.

"the odyssey." you respond as she begins to lurk closer, arms crossed.

she swipes her tongue across her lips, saying, "y'know.. savage starlight might be more.. fun to read?" in an obviously sarcastic note, creasing her brows together accompanying a brass smirk.

"to you, maybe. I actually enjoy this a lot." you cave the book over your chest, sitting like a roof, "you just don't have a mature taste."

"whadda'ya mean? comics are for everyone, and actually easy to understand." she clambers atop of your hips, descending her face upon you, "unlike the odyssey."

"pshh, the odyssey is a classic." you highlight.

"you're just mad that im right." 

you pucker a pout, slowly lifting the book between your noses till ellie knocks it down plumb on your collarbone.

"ah-uh," she intently strikes spires into your eyes with her persuasive peer, narrowing those lids in an undeniably tantalizing way, "can't ignore this now."

"you're right." you spat out and divided the space with your book again.

"c'mon.." she prys the book from your limp grasp, leaving it astray to the bed adjacent to you, "I'm here now, aren't I?" a humbly intimate whisper croaks from her toothy grin.

you banish your sight to the headboard above, pondering the words that would wisp from your lips, "I have a few pages left, babe, then we'll do whatever.."

"mmk, 'gonna lay on you though." she giggles and shuffles along the length of you, interlacing your limbs together and smushing her cheek on your stomach. her arms swathe your hips and tuck underneath your butt.

the book diverged from your fingertips finds its way back, cuddled between your thumbs and eclipses ellie's head from your vision. your pupils root back to the muster of sentences lining the page, with a certain breath gusting onto your mildly exposed midriff.

a scant minute survives before a husk is heard, "mmph- so warm.." the tip of her nose drags on your skin as she faces downward, marking an indulgent smooch to your abdomen. 

that brought a melliferous smile to draw out, instilled with admiration from her speckled kisses. it anchors your attention unwillingly when these kisses continue but you'd rather void it and tread on with reading as ellie treads on with a rampancy of taunting kisses. normally, this'd be blasé, but tonight, it's turning your tides.

ellie muffles, "wann' kiss every inch.." her nibbles subside in target of your navel, nuzzling on the pouch of your belly and biting your shorts' band, "fuck.."

"els."

"mhm?"

"what're up to?" the book slants down.

"you."

"elsies.." 

"just showin' my love.." her tone airs up and turns raspy. 

"I think it's more than that." you dig at her transparent peak in sensuality and prod her foot with yours.

ellie can't necessarily disprove this, she was blatantly horny but wanted to keep that 'under the covers' till you shared the feeling outwardly. a shameless smirk paints her mouth regardless, "y'know what I really wanna do?"

"what?"

a gnaw at her lower lip fracts the answer briefly, uttering, "I wanna eat your fucking pussy." and blunt she was, verdant eyes fastened to yours. she's so eager for you, clawing at your loins.

a shudder bolts the extent of your nerves and you clench around nothing but a throb at the contents of her question, visibly ruffled up by it, "babe.." 

"can I?"

nary a gloom of doubt inhabits your mind, the way she's laying on your body, patient to taste you revs you up like a torrent of arousal. oh my fucking goddess. it's making you go wild.

"yes.." 

"shit- m'kay, lemme just.." ellie wrinkles up the sheet in her fist, tossing it overhead till her head was obscured by it. the amber hue of her hair is subtle under the thin pearly sheet as she slithers down between the interstice of your thighs.

maybe the now carnal environment made it inconvenient to carry on with the perusal of your book, but you're elevating it back up from your sternum regardless. the vivid thought of her eating you out while you read is a bit elating, is it not?

ellie's cunning lips park at the epitome of your core, locking her biceps under your slack legs and dangling her still shoe-clad feet off the beds' brink.

"can't wait to see that beautiful fucking pussy.." her veiled voice has strings of raw ardor plucking in her throttle rippling onto your clothed entrance with a muggy pant on every word.

an unheard gulp passes through to the trench of your chest, sending out a reflex of sweet sensations to your pelvis, whimpering, "mhh- ellie.."

"shhhshhh.. i got'chu.." 

she begins to pleat your panties over themselves and slip them off your legs, whizzing them away to some lifeless nook of the tucked-in sheets.

"fuck.. shit-" ellie heaves in awe, even day after day of seeing you bare, it's so titillating to her, drool is abandoning her lips.

the paragraphs living on the pages merge into an unintelligible blob as your vision drowses and the only sensation you can detect is her breath lathering your exposed slit. an open 'ptui' is heard prior to a wet glob landing on your clit and evoking a jolt from your body.

"so sensitive.." she pokes fun at your reaction, slapping her digits down on your sappy pussy and rubbing the spit through your folds, which to much avail, juts your body again.

"fck!" you hack out a swear at each writhe and prod.

"yeah, like that?" 

the grip on your book tightens, causing it to tremor in your shaky hold.

"gonna taste so fuckin' good, mmh.." she murmurs to herself but you catch the gist since immediately after her lips envelop your clit and enlist deft torpedo laps to it.

a heap of pleasurous pricks throb in your cunt and garner a gentle mewl from your chords, whining, "gh- mhhhn.." tenderly in growing bliss.

ellie laps your clit in brisk flicks while sucking it up with noises similar to kissing resounding through the sheer fabric cascading over her head.

you observe the cover moving with every mild thrust of her head, creasing and shuffling with the halo of her hair. a hand prowls from the sheets' hem and searches for anywhere to rest, to which you beckon it to your breast.

she realizes this and gives it duo squeezes for good measure and her unemployed fingers knead the squishy flesh of your ass, all while smirking.

"mmhh~ I wanna see you.." you mumble into the whafted-shut book, knocking off the already sliding sheet with your knee to reveal a flushed ellie with her nose buried in your crotch, her pretty face poised between your thighs, stuffed in your cunt.

her irises hark this newfound horizon before her and diffuse an intense glare that shudders your soul, sinking her lips deeper into those parted folds and drinking up your sticky deluge.

her mouth disconnects with threads of saliva and slick following, "this pussy tastes s'fucking divine, you know that right?"

"y-yeah.."

"could go down n'you for breakfast, lunch n' dinner.. fuck- baby.." 

ellie retreats her keen tongue, dipping into your entrance and soaking up the lewd coating of your walls. oral sounds of her mouth practically having a make-out sesh with your puffy lips overflow the room and bounce like an echo betwixt your ears.

"ohh my godd.." your moans enhance and amplify in the sea of ebbing relief and flowing pleasure.

her pecan speckled skin tinted with rose is glazed with a sinful slick from how far she pushed her face in, a terribly arousing sight to behold when she withdraws to praise her own work.

"how's m'pretty girl doing?"

"s-so.. closee.."

"want' you to moan my name when you do, yeah?"

"o-okay.."

"I wanna know how fuckin' good I make you feel." her sharp curses stay unyielding in her expression.

"mh-mhghmm.." your throat clogs up in anticipation.

ellie pours over your bare stature one last time before gripping the back of your knees and pushing them up till your feet meet the sky.

"that's better."

her lips smash into your cunt once again and prove to be frothing with a craving for you, clenched brows and grunting into your groin intently. she explores every attainable inch like she knows it, licking up your pre-cum like it's the last fucking meal on earth.

"oh- fuck!" you wail out, webbing your fingers in her frizzed up locks by habit.

her inhuman speeds catch you out of the blue, binding her tastebuds with your natural taste and delighted in every millisecond of it. she hoists onto her knees and hovers over your bottom half, wriggling her tongue over your entire opening and sending that abused clit into overdrive.

"el-ell.. ellie! i can't fucki- ah!" a high squeak blazes from your gullet.

she blurts out, "cum on m'fuckin' face." submerged in your folds.

"els.. mh!"

it's the end for you when she starts purposefully moaning on your bud, finally ushering your climax to dull your senses and numbfuck your consciousness. your reality is painted with a globe of starlight just by the heavenly feeling of it.

"good girl..-fck, there there..." ellies gingerly tone conflicts with her devilish play, drinking up the breach of cum gushing from your orgasm.

"oof.. jeez.." you recline your legs once her hands flee, huffing your way down from the celestial heavens.

ellie clambers up and collapses next to you, a smug and prideful visage staring back at your profile. 

"did ya finish those pages?"

"erm, no." 

she butts off a laugh, "eh, well.." her palm advances your bangs, hooking them behind the conch of your ear, "ended up having more fun, yeah?'

"i- yeah.. I guess.."

"you guess?"

"coulda been a lot better."

"whaaaat?" she mimicked an offended countenance.

"like it's nothing to write home about-"

"u're just trynna rile me up!"

"what if I am?" you boldy tease, tutting your skull side-to-side.

and that's ellie's one weakness, teasing. her brows hike, hollering "ohhh- I see how it is!" and rolls on top of you and thrusts her pelvis down with clear intention, "c'mere-"

"fhmm--" her willowy finger seals your lips, heeding the provocation you've cast into her mind.

"you're on."

[wadesbedtimestories]

masterpost

*links and tags will be added as i go along!

main tags: all recs | leanne's recs | sent in recs | fic reblog | my writing | misc

word counts: <1k | 1k–10k | 10k–50k | 50k–100k | >100k

ratings: general | teen and up | mature | explicit

—basic tags—

fluff | humour | domestic

physical hurt/comfort | emotional hurt/comfort | misunderstandings | light angst | angst

happy ending | ambiguous ending | unhappy ending

whump* | dead dove* | dark fic* | major character death*

eventual smut | smut | pwp*

the pwp tag will be used for fics that are mainly/all smut, and the smut tag is for fics that contain smut but does not take up majority of the fic plot. the explicit tag is for fics with not just sexual content but also graphic violence etc. they will be given an explicit rating from 1 ❗️ to 5 ❗️

bottom wade | top wade | bottom logan | top logan

honda odyssey

—tropes and AUs—

tropes:

established relationship | getting together

slow burn | mutual pining | jealousy

love confessions | accidental love confessions

5+1

AUs:

x-men universe | no powers

soulmate | body swap

—wade and logan—

trans wade | trans logan

wade has ptsd | logan has ptsd | anxiety attacks

wade has self-esteem issues/insecure wade | logan has self-esteem issues/insecure logan

protective wade | protective logan

dark wade* | dark logan*

—*tags to block—

*these are tagged differently just so they're specific to this account, and you won't be blocking the tags across tumblr

p for pwp

k for kinky (weirder kinks)

d for dead dove/dark fic (includes dark wade and dark logan)

w for whump

u for unhappy ending

m for major character death

[wildbluesorbit]

Wounded II || JTK

…A Continuation of London

18+MDNI

Paring: Jakexreader(f)

LONDON SERIES MASTERPOST

A/N: It’s arrival is finally upon us… so sorry it only took three weeks:( I promise the wait was worth though; out of the whole series, this installment was my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE to create !! Shoutout to @tommie-gvf for editing:) I am beyond excited to hear what y'all think!

i didn't notice the last 2k words cut off (x)

Summary || Navigating through the aftermath of your argument, you can’t bring yourself to face Jake.

Content Warnings || toxic relationship, agoraphobia, haphephobia, explicit depictions of night terrors/panic attack, brief mentions of anger and physical aggression and bodily harm and murder/death and sexual assault, verbal aggression, reckless/distracted driving, brief mention of drug use, unsolicited touched, allusions to depressive and isolative episodes, [non-aggressive] unannounced entry into readers bedroom, a very brief boner lol

Word Count || 7.2k

— JAKE —

You wince at the strain of your stiff muscles propped against her bedroom door, eyes accosted by the morning light. The sequence of how the cold hard floor became your bed for the night is less than clear. Your only clues, the taste of liquor and guilt still bitter on your dry tongue, you are most likely the asshole. 

You will your aching body upwards, the pounding in your head follows your first step. You accomplish the odyssey that is the hallway to your bedroom and start on your appearance for the studio; the account of the night before depositing itself moment by moment as you ooze about your room. 

Still couldn’t get your puppy out of her little cage?

You cringe as you brush your teeth and fight your tangled tresses to loop into a low bun, a tangible distraction to repress the clawing conviction. 

I heard she won’t even let you pet her.

A huff escapes you as you slip on your socks and step into your boots. You grab your coat, intent on heading downstairs, but you instead find yourself not strong enough to withstand the gravity and accomplish your trek to the stairs; slave to the magnetic field of her bedroom door. You try to sketch out some impression of last night’s details, but clarity refuses to reveal itself to you. You study the ridges of the wooden frame and grumble to the clueless girl you pray is comatose on the other side.

The sound of your older brother calling you from downstairs breaks your spell as you shuffle towards the source.

The guy who put his hands on you has got nothing to do with me. 

Don’t you think you’ve carried this weight way too far?

Thick eyebrows furrow in your direction as a baffled Josh canvasses your face for any indication as to why you struggle to recite a simple breakfast order; your disconcerting recollections jerking you by the reins in and out of disassociation. You almost wish you could remain inviolable in your amnesic ignorance. 

When are you going to stop being so apathetic towards this?! 

You shake off your shame as you put aside the freshly delivered food on the kitchen counter for her to find after she wakes up. You lock the front door after Josh walks through and take a deep cleansing breath before you step into your car, knowing you can’t take this baggage to the studio with you. 

You don’t get to speak to me this way.

I’ll be out the door.

Your twin yells over the roar of the rumble strips from the passenger seat as you stray into the shoulder, “Jake?! The road!”

Fuck you, Jacob. 

Just another thing you have yet to do. 

You plug in at the studio, butchering and tripping over riffs of your own design. 

The completely broken and mortified look you painted on her face.

The vision curses you blunderingly dumbfounded.

“Okay, let’s take a quick five,” Josh says over his brother’s instruments while silently interrogating you from across the booth.  

You mentally rewind to realize you had completely missed your entrance.

An aggravatingly tone-deaf Sam challenges the sudden hiatus, “But we just started?”

Josh blusters his youngest brother a look that threatens unbridled rage. 

A sympathetic Danny steps in to rescue a clueless Sam from Josh’s wrath, “Sam, want to go get high?”

Like dangling shiny keys in front of a toddler, Sam’s attention is now fixated on Danny’s proposal. The two giggling men giddily scurry out of the booth up to no good. As soon as the exit door swings shut Josh stomps over to you, rolling his eyes.

He unpacks his authoritative older sibling's tone as his hands wildly comb through the air for your confession, “Okay, enough moping, out with it.”

You don’t even bother armoring a defense. You know very well you would end up confiding in Josh sooner or later. You ineptly unload every detail you can extract from memory in an iniquitous admission to your twin. 

You haven’t even finished speaking your closing statement when a pinching sting burrows against your skin as a result of Josh’s backhand assailing your bicep. You hiss through pressed lips and rub over the infliction with your opposite hand, yet you don’t dare challenge the considerably clement treatment. 

“You are such a prick sometimes, I swear,” Josh professes through gritted teeth.

You’re so consumed by your guilt you can’t even concoct an offense.

“Do you think she's going to leave- Fuck, I would never speak to me again,” you answer your own question.

Your pleading eyes frisk over Josh’s identical features, hungry for some kind of reprieving answer. Yet his same honest spirit that knots and kneads your stomach is the same one that always gravitates you towards Josh for counsel in the first place.

“I can’t answer that for you, but I think it's important you at least give her enough distance to think clearly,” Josh dismally warns. 

Your thumb and middle finger start at the crease of your eyebrow and rub outwards to your temples, tugging at your skin till your fingertips reach your hairline and fall through your tied-back strands, “Did I fuck this up, Josh?”

You almost wish you couldn’t read his expression of pessimism as Sam and Danny reenter the studio, bursting at the seams with a laughter that you can’t even fathom in this moment. Their giggles cut right through your exchange with your twin. Josh squeezes your shoulder and gives you a smirk of consolation before resettling himself in his designated portion of the booth. His way of wordlessly telling you to keep your chin up and you’d discuss it later. 

You try your best to adjourn your sins for now as you know it is time for studio work and studio work only, yet still stumble and topple through every note without a hint of grace until the very last beat of the session. 

—YOU —

”Went to the studio, will be back late.  Enjoy your day                 -J “

Jake’s handwriting on the cardboard coffee cup sleeve informs you of his whereabouts. You inhale deeply, allowing the sweet soothing aroma of your favorite roast to sweep you to a better day. You are also embraced with an alluring savory scent. You restively snatch the small paper bag on the kitchen island that rests against your drink to discover an entirely different note. 

“p.s. Jake bought you a muffin too but  I got hungry :) - the other J”

You smile to yourself and unfold the crinkled brown bag to discover the comfort of your favorite grilled chicken caprese sandwich. You giddily scurry back to your room to start your day. 

You’ve found that making lists and organizing your time usually helps your mind from wandering where it shouldn't. So, you do just that. You make your lists. You order things low in stock around the house. You check your emails. 

You know you should close your laptop once you finish your clients’ work. Yet you find your mouse hovering over a new search bar. Foolishly, the hunt for apartments has begun with only a few clicks; knowing damn well you threatened your leaving in anger and don’t plan on going anywhere.

But as you scroll through listing after listing you begin to feel like maybe it could be time to leave and move on. Maybe you are suffocating everyone, but they can’t bring themselves to tread through your undoubtedly trauma-infested waters, hoping sooner or later you’ll fall off like a rotting limb. Or maybe the problem isn’t you but your lack of a clean slate. Maybe Jake ties you to the root of the tragedy just as much as he shelters you and grounds you in its aftermath. 

Instinctively, your monitor is slammed shut as your breath begins to flee from you. Even if this is true you can't make a decision based on some childish blurt. This would take genuine rumination. Which you are incapable of, considering you aren’t a hundred percent sure this isn’t some impulsive ammunition aimed at Jake. 

You sweep your consciousness clean and distract yourself with other productivity. You journal and read and wander around till you’d find a guitar. You do whatever you can to keep yourself busy.

Before you know it, the day turns into a week. You had been going to bed early before the boys got home so you really hadn’t spoken to anyone. You hadn’t even been purposely avoiding Jake, but space is what you keep telling yourself is best for the both of you since the other night. 

It is only five in the afternoon when you hear car doors slam in the driveway from where you have been stuck in the same book for hours in the library. You instinctively shut the hardback with a smack and fly upstairs.

Even though it has been over a week, you aren’t yet ready to talk to Jake. You have certainly forgiven his assailment but you hadn’t yet figured out how to face him or his words. So you tuck yourself away in your room, never to be seen.

That is until you hear a light knocking at your door a few hours later.

You freeze, careful to not make a sound. You hope that silence will discourage whatever suitor is on the other side, enough to leave you alone. 

“It’s just me,” you hear Josh’s voice travel through your room. 

Still cautious, you impugn before moving a muscle, “Yes?”

“It's okay, Jake’s not here,” he says flatly. 

You exhale in relief but still inch the door open slowly. You guardedly investigate to discover it is, in fact, Josh and only Josh. You still greet him with narrowed eyes. 

“You can relax, sunshine, the man is on a liquor run,” Josh reassures you. 

You are accosted by his bugging eyes till he gestures to the slight gap in the doorway, “Can I come in or-?”

You ostensibly inspect him, “All right but I’m going to have to pat you for any wires.”

Josh throws his head back in a quick sharp laugh as he welcomes himself into your room, “Ha! Don’t threaten me with a good time, sunshine. But I would not spy for Jake. I’m strictly here on third-party business.”

He makes himself comfortable on your bed and sits resting against your headboard; something you’ve always admired about Josh is his ability to make home anywhere and draw close to anyone. 

Once he settles, he sets your pillows against the wall next to him and smacks his hand against your comforter a few times, ushering you to join him on your own bed. You roll your eyes with a smile and jump onto your designated spot next to him. 

You force a cheeky smile, “So to what do I owe this displeasure?”

He places his hands over his chest and feigns an offended gasp, “Well, I was just coming to check on you.”

You remind yourself that you are safe with Josh and it's only his way of showing he genuinely cares when he places his hand over yours. It's like running against the wind, but it's all you can do to not shudder and immediately pull away.

His speech carries concern as he lightly squeezes your hand, “I haven’t seen you in a few days. Is that on purpose?”

You tense a bit at the directness of his question, “Not really. You have just been going into the studio early and staying out late recently.”

“Well, just remember isolation isn’t good for anyone and-”

“Josh-,” you start but he sings over you to finish his sentence.

“...and we miss you,” he lovingly interjects. 

Your words come out sharper than you intend, “We? Who’s we?”

“Yes, we.” he mimics your satire, “Me, Danny, Sam, and especially Jake.”

“Well, obviously not too much if it's you here and not him,” your tongue instinctually retorts.

“He doesn’t want to suffocate you is all, believe me, he certainly misses you,” Josh rolls his eyes, making you curious about Jake’s behavior after your argument.

“Sunshine,” Josh cuts directly to his inquiry tired of tip-toeing, “What happened the other night?”

“Please,” you almost snort, “I’m convinced you and Jake secretly compare bowel movements. Don’t act like he didn’t already tell you every detail.”

“I mean he did,” Josh confesses, “I just want to hear what you have to say and see how you’re feeling. It might help you to talk about it.”

“Also, you’re gross,” he blurts and narrows his eyes. 

“As much as I totally want to relive your brother’s cruel words, Josh, I trust Jake told you everything like it happened but-,” you hesitate, the realization you might not like the answer just now seeping heavy into your bones, “what happened at the bar? Between Danny’s call and Jake's temper, I can tell something wasn’t right.”

Josh’s features drop with his shoulders and an exhale, “He didn’t tell you?”

You see an indiscernible visage dart across his features after you shake your head no. You recognize it as condolence as he carefully recounts that night in every stomach-knotting detail; depicting a very doleful Jake, a “bitch-for-brains loudmouth” as Josh put it and her insolent tears at Jake, followed by his solemn exit and dodged phone calls. 

Your heart writhes from its relocation in the pit of your stomach, almost sick at the thought. Your inability to leave the house is now bleeding into all aspects of his life and polluting his liveliness you loved so; a light that has seen you through the ugliest dark. 

Josh frees you from the quicksand of your spiraling thoughts with a fragmented one of his own, “He waits for you, you know?”

He must read the confusion on your face as he rephrases, coloring in the empty lines with a bit more context, “Every night- Jake- He’ll always have this stupid giddy look on his face when he tells us the good news that you should be joining that evening. And I know my brother, he genuinely believes it. I can tell he’s not being optimistic or even humoring himself, or you. Then when he shows alone, he’s never angry or upset. He’ll just tell us you were too tired or weren’t feeling up for the outing. But I swear to you- his eyes never leave the door. Even if distracted, his body is always facing the entrance. He’ll never admit it- I’m not even sure if it's a conscious habit, but he always holds out hope that you’ll show up. We all do- just can’t hold a flame up to him. I have yet to hear him speak a bad word of you or complain of your absence. He has such faith in you, more than I think you realize, and I have yet to see it dim. I’ve never seen Jake so far gone in love with someone and he only wants to see you grow.”

Your mouth opens to speak but all words seem 10,000 miles from your horizon. Your eyes begin to pool as you try to grab at any response, his last words poisoning any other ideations. Neither Jake nor you had spoken a word of “I love you” to each other since that harrowing night, much less did he mention being in love. 

You want to ask Josh a thousand questions of what he meant by that. What has Jake said? What has Jake done? How does he know for certain? You have to leave now, right? Wouldn’t that be the selfless thing to do? Yet, you can’t vocalize one.

The debut of your salty streaming eyes ushers Josh to reel in his sermon, “Look- you don’t have to say anything- unless you want to. I definitely want to hear but I don’t want to pry. And I don’t tell you this to make you feel bad, I’m just trying to give him some credit and it's something I thought you should take into consideration. Just in case you felt as if that might be impeding you. So when you do return, that's one less thing off your plate. I promise no one will look at you differently. We're all just so eager and ready to have you back by our side again.”

His immediate addition is an exact echo of his brother, “No rush though. You do what feels right, sunshine.”

You swipe at your glossy cheeks and only nod in understanding, still unable to grasp a word. 

“Alright, I also just wanted to let you know we have a flight in the morning and  we’re out of town for the next few days,” he steers the conversation in a less hazardous direction. 

“So you’ll have the house to yourself,” he playfully wags his finger in your face, “and no ragers, young lady. I mean it!” 

“No promises, but I’ll see you when you get back,” you pucker your lips, caperingly blowing him a kiss. 

“Unless you want to be a stowaway? No one would stop you,” his eyes grow wide along with his smile; the same one that always grants you such safety when it appears on his twin. 

You lark, “But then when would I have my party?!”

“Ah, clever girl,” he accepts his defeat. 

Josh takes liberty and scoots down to lay cozy in your bed, indicating he is going to regale you with his illustriously dazzling conversation. And he does. You catch up with each other on your weeks and he tells you what they plan to do on their trip. You ask him how Sam and Danny are doing, and then Jake.

Just as he's illustrating an anecdote of some embarrassing and eccentric stunt Sam pulled to infuriate Jake today, you hear the heavy steps of tired boots coming up the stairs. 

Josh’s story is totally derailed by his twin, “He sure is heavy-footed for someone so small.”

“You know you’re just as-” you start. 

“For my whole life, unfortunately,” he shakes his head in a faux grief. 

“Well, we have an early start and I was told I can’t be late this time,” he rolls his eyes, “I better head to bed.”

Josh exuberantly springs from the mattress to his feet and theatrically bows in a goodbye, knowing better than to attempt any sort of embrace. 

He pulls away to make eye contact, “Be right back, call if you need anything.”

“Will do,” you throw him one last jest, “Have a safe flight and don’t forget Sam’s leash!”

“Please, he’s Danny’s pet, not mine,” he scoffs and saunters towards the door, “goodnight, sunshine, love you.”

You tell Josh goodnight and return his love before he winks you goodbye and gently shuts your door, disappearing behind it. 

You giggle as the sounds of him dramatically stomping down the stairs in a motion to Jake’s prior thuds through your room. 

That night, sleep hides itself away from you. Josh’s words chase each other, crashing and rattling around your head like a pack of rabid wolves. With each passing second you can’t help but think of the warm-bodied man down the hall from you. 

Is he fast asleep, unbothered by you? Is he awake? Is he thinking of you too? Does your presence burden him? Is he fighting the urge to come see you? Is your name on his lips?

Your racing thoughts are broken by the trudging of a sleepy, no doubt grumpy, Jake. 

The footsteps travel from his room and seem to concentrate as they get closer to your door, until directly in front. You hold your breath as you hear Jake mutter something and hiss in frustration. You’re only able to make out his last words as they barrel from his throat. 

“Please, just- be here when I get back,” he implores the silence of an empty hallway.

Your chest pounds erratically, your heart threatening to escape its cage. It’d only been a week but you don’t realize how much you ached for him until your bones entered a state of conniption at the sound of his slumber-rasped voice. 

You know he assumes you’re asleep and these words aren't yours to hear. You can’t help but wonder if this is the first night he’s addressed your inanimate door. Your malaised heart sings a mourning song to the resentful tune of Jake’s boots dragging him towards the stairs and away from you.

A decent night’s sleep still refuses to slip into your covers with you, so it's the sun that puts you to bed. The next few nights prove the same. You try your best to fix your sleep pattern, performing laborious tasks during the day to tire yourself out but it renders useless.

You refuse to take any kind of relaxant, as the haze always takes you back to a sensation you never want to return to. You aren’t sure if it's Josh’s words or another bad storm on your horizon, but you have become an insomniac. 

It has only been 4 days, but each one is a bit more challenging than the previous; today rains over you like a hailstorm. 

You don't want to get out of bed. You don’t want to get up to use the bathroom. You don’t want to shower or get dressed. You don’t even want to eat.

You have no wants, only musts.

You must get up, must relieve yourself, must shower, must dress, and you must eat. Or you will not survive. You will die here, swallowed whole by nothingness. No one is here to tell you what to do. No one is coming to your rescue. 

Something different. Routine is a consistent companion until it is your cage.

A break. You convince yourself you need an unfamiliar happening to overwhelm your senses. An affair to shock you back to your feeble bubble of fleeting stability. A change in scenery.

You find yourself in a hysteric pace around that front door. There is nothing to lose at this point. No one here to witness if you fail. Everyone’s words run through you.

There is no rush.

But there is. You are already behind. This house is running out of oxygen. You are already rotting here. This habit will soon blur into home. 

You take a deep breath and turn the knob. Not daring to chart with eyesight first, you fling yourself through that open door as if at any moment you might be sucked back inside. 

The air enwraps you, brisk and cool. The undeniable fragrance of a distinct autumn breeze interrupts its commute, reminding you of how miserable you’ve been without it. Your sight is allured by your new porcelain shade in the sun; you have prodigiously neglected your melanin to a pallid skin tone you’ve never worn before. 

You propel forward, telling yourself to just keep moving. You secure your place at the end of the extensive driveway and unwisely decide you can make it down the sidewalk.

You should know better than to think you could outsmart panic without strategy. You feel storm clouds roll in thick all around you; and wherever there’s rain, thunder is sure to follow.

Suddenly the boundless reaches of the stratosphere isn’t enough to save you from the suffocation of the world crumbling fast around you. You pivot until you’re barreling back down the path you came. You almost lunge through the door and lock yourself back inside.

You gait about the living room performing your breathing and self-soothing exercises. All children’s play in the wake of your hijacking terror. You eventually catch your breath but the tremors bond with you. 

Whatever was eating at you earlier was only amplified by your brief spontaneous journey outside of the house. But you had foolishly led the demon inside with you, it is now clawing at the walls and howling throughout the halls. 

You search for sleeping pills having no hope to rest organically tonight, accepting their necessity to your survival. You only look at your bed before deciding it's not even worth the noble fit of tossing and turning. You make sure you are ready for bed before scurrying into Jake’s room and crawling under his sheets. Yet you still can’t shake the feeling of a lurking apparition. 

However, the ingested medication now emanating throughout your bloodstream is impervious to your stalking condemnation. You anchor your antidote to the soothing aroma of Jake present in his bedsheets as you are shoved into void. 

You recognize the alley as soon as you are there. Beads of frigid rain pelt against your pink achy skin. The crying sky creates a misty halo against neon lights and coats everything it dances upon with a bleary gloss.

You are pinned against the wall in an instant by that vicious and nauseating smile. You try to fight but all at once you are being poked and prodded and beaten into an involuntary submission. Until your rescuer arrives.

Too enervated to attempt escape as your oppressor is distracted, Jake lunges forward. Yet he never makes contact before he falls to the ground, a dark red dye seeping from his center into his clothes. You somehow escape your attacker to see him wielding a blade.

You run to where Jake is withering away on the glittering asphalt. You attempt to cradle him, but he hisses at your touch. 

Despite his wounds, he is the one to console you, telling you you’re perfect like he always does. Your only power remains in a helpless squeeze of his hand as he pours out onto the slick black top and you see his light flicker out. 

 – JAKE –

The headlights of the car illuminate your home sweet home as the chauffeur pulls up the driveway. The incline of the path almost causes light to leak into her bedroom window, where you hope she is fast asleep, deep enough that she won’t be bothered by the slight brightness.

You got home two days earlier than expected and you plan on surprising her in the morning. 

God, how you have ached for her, lit yourself on fire for her; all to let it sift through your grasp over some drunken slurs. You wanted her to have space, but hope tomorrow will hold mercy for you as you can’t restrain yourself any longer. 

The driver reaches the house and Josh and you exhaustedly crawl out of the vehicle. You retrieve your luggage before sluggishly dragging it and yourselves to the front door. You swear you grow weary with each second of jangling keys as Josh absentmindedly sifts through each metal shard; standing helpless till he feels the right shape in his hand. The click of the lock barely registers as you are greeted by the cool A/C of the foyer and the smell of home. 

All vitality spent on your journey, neither of you has spoken a word since you landed. As you start to head your separate ways, you bid each other goodnight through a silent nod. 

Only for it to be ambushed by her petrifying heart-grating scream, “JAKE?! JAKE?!” 

One might only assume you’re prey to predators the way you instinctively soar to the stairs, up to your level, and towards her room. Without a word, you hear Josh’s footsteps apace behind you. 

You almost slam into her door moving so fast. You swing it wide open, mouth agape as she is nowhere in sight. Your heart pounds in your temples as panic now starts to clamp tight around your chest. The only other time you recall this measure of a corrosive dread being the night you couldn’t find her anywhere at that party. 

“JAKE?!”

Another scream immediately reveals her location to you. You dart out of her room, down the hall, and into yours.

There she is. Under the warm glow of your salt lamp-lit room, wrapped in your covers, leaking eyes scrunched shut, a lump of muffled indiscernible murmurs and whimpers, and visibly shaking. 

“I think she is just having a nightmare,” you authoritatively order Josh out of the room, “I’m going to wake her, but you should go, I don’t want to overwhelm her.”  

You pad towards the bed and caress whatever limb you contact first, buried underneath your blankets. Gently, you begin to coo her to consciousness.

She springs to life, petrified by your unrecognizable silhouette under the poor lighting and only just emerged from her dream state. Clumsily, she slips off the bed and tumbles to the floor, disoriented and gasping for air.

The thud from her spilled limbs on the hardwood floor nearly syncs with yours, as your knees plunge to the cold surface the moment you register her fall.

You place your palms visibly out to her, indicating her safety, “Hey- It’s me. It's Jake. I’m home.”

“No- Jake- you- he- he’s gone,” she bewilderedly sobs out almost in a question. 

You aren’t sure if she is referring to your trip or something she saw in her dream and is convinced is reality.

You keep trying to rip her from whatever hallucination has its jaws around her, “No, baby, you're safe. You’re home with me, in Nashville. I got in early.” 

She finally seems to digest your words, her glassy eyes [partially] pacified by your newly registered presence before whispering your identification, “Jake?”

When it comes to her, your first instinct is always a consoling touch, but you have learned an unsolicited embrace only runs her further from your protection. However, you have to try. 

“Yes, babygirl,” you reassure before you approach, not wanting to spook her, “can I come near you?”

You’re astounded when she only responds by leaping into your lap and wrapping herself around your torso. 

Within an instant, your arms have gratefully found their seal around her waist. Your calloused fingertips ever so slightly sink into her buzzing flesh, wrestling with every muscle, willing yourself not to tear her apart. How have you starved for the shape of her, the weight of her, the warmth of her very skin. Fuck- to finally hold her again feels so fucking good. 

“Jake- this time- and- he got you- then you-,” she fights through stuttering breaths.

“Hey, no more of that,” you gently assert to sedate whatever terroristic figments are plaguing her in your arms, “I’m here now. I've got you.”

Still trembling, she nuzzles her face into your neck and hysterically rasps out, “Jake, please don’t leave me. I can’t- Jacob, I love you. I can’t lose you. I can’t take it!”

You have no idea as to what she saw in her nightmare, only that you have never seen one leave her this rattled. You can feel her at war with her own breath as her panic continues to steal it from her.

A trick from the therapist resurfaces and you take the dips of her waist within your firm grasp to briefly withdraw her from your embrace, “Hey, I’ve got you, but I need you to listen to the sound of my voice. Focus on what I’m saying, okay?”

You don’t wait for her to respond before taking her hand and running it across the material of your blue corduroy jacket, “You feel that? It's your favorite jacket of mine, the one you always steal when we go for a drive.”

You ever so slightly draw yourself back in closer to her, “I need you to take a deep breath. Smell that? It’s the cologne you bought me for my birthday?”

She concentrates on her inhalation, occupied with taking an exaggerated breath. She slowly begins to nod.

You can see the sensory stimulation starting to ground her so you attempt to redirect her focus, “And what did I promise? I need to hear you say it.”

She takes a long shaky breath, “You- You said no more leaving. You promised.”

You place her jaw safely within the shelter of your palm and press your forehead to hers; without warning, you’re captivated by a time of exigency to live off the same breath as her.

“That’s right, and I’m here now and I’m not leaving you again,” you vow.

You scoop her back into your arms and off the floor. She clings to you as you turn off the lamp and cradle her back into the fortress of your bed, curling up around her for safekeeping. 

You caress and console and coo until finally, her quaking stops and breathing evens out as she is welcomed back to slumber. The rhythmic rising and falling of her rib cage underneath your touch lulls you into your own dormancy. 

 – JAKE –

The headlights of the car illuminate your home sweet home as the chauffeur pulls up the driveway. The incline of the path almost causes light to leak into her bedroom window, where you hope she is fast asleep, deep enough that she won’t be bothered by the slight brightness.

You got home two days earlier than expected and you plan on surprising her in the morning. 

God, how you have ached for her, lit yourself on fire for her; all to let it sift through your grasp over some drunken slurs. You wanted her to have space, but hope tomorrow will hold mercy for you as you can’t restrain yourself any longer. 

The driver reaches the house and Josh and you exhaustedly crawl out of the vehicle. You retrieve your luggage before sluggishly dragging it and yourselves to the front door. You swear you grow weary with each second of jangling keys as Josh absentmindedly sifts through each metal shard; standing helpless till he feels the right shape in his hand. The click of the lock barely registers as you are greeted by the cool A/C of the foyer and the smell of home. 

All vitality spent on your journey, neither of you has spoken a word since you landed. As you start to head your separate ways, you bid each other goodnight through a silent nod. 

Only for it to be ambushed by her petrifying heart-grating scream, “JAKE?! JAKE?!” 

One might only assume you’re prey to predators the way you instinctively soar to the stairs, up to your level, and towards her room. Without a word, you hear Josh’s footsteps apace behind you. 

You almost slam into her door moving so fast. You swing it wide open, mouth agape as she is nowhere in sight. Your heart pounds in your temples as panic now starts to clamp tight around your chest. The only other time you recall this measure of a corrosive dread being the night you couldn’t find her anywhere at that party. 

“JAKE?!”

Another scream immediately reveals her location to you. You dart out of her room, down the hall, and into yours.

There she is. Under the warm glow of your salt lamp-lit room, wrapped in your covers, leaking eyes scrunched shut, a lump of muffled indiscernible murmurs and whimpers, and visibly shaking. 

“I think she is just having a nightmare,” you authoritatively order Josh out of the room, “I’m going to wake her, but you should go, I don’t want to overwhelm her.”  

You pad towards the bed and caress whatever limb you contact first, buried underneath your blankets. Gently, you begin to coo her to consciousness.

She springs to life, petrified by your unrecognizable silhouette under the poor lighting and only just emerged from her dream state. Clumsily, she slips off the bed and tumbles to the floor, disoriented and gasping for air.

The thud from her spilled limbs on the hardwood floor nearly syncs with yours, as your knees plunge to the cold surface the moment you register her fall.

You place your palms visibly out to her, indicating her safety, “Hey- It’s me. It's Jake. I’m home.”

“No- Jake- you- he- he’s gone,” she bewilderedly sobs out almost in a question. 

You aren’t sure if she is referring to your trip or something she saw in her dream and is convinced is reality.

You keep trying to rip her from whatever hallucination has its jaws around her, “No, baby, you're safe. You’re home with me, in Nashville. I got in early.” 

She finally seems to digest your words, her glassy eyes [partially] pacified by your newly registered presence before whispering your identification, “Jake?”

When it comes to her, your first instinct is always a consoling touch, but you have learned an unsolicited embrace only runs her further from your protection. However, you have to try. 

“Yes, babygirl,” you reassure before you approach, not wanting to spook her, “can I come near you?”

You’re astounded when she only responds by leaping into your lap and wrapping herself around your torso. 

Within an instant, your arms have gratefully found their seal around her waist. Your calloused fingertips ever so slightly sink into her buzzing flesh, wrestling with every muscle, willing yourself not to tear her apart. How have you starved for the shape of her, the weight of her, the warmth of her very skin. Fuck- to finally hold her again feels so fucking good. 

“Jake- this time- and- he got you- then you-,” she fights through stuttering breaths.

“Hey, no more of that,” you gently assert to sedate whatever terroristic figments are plaguing her in your arms, “I’m here now. I've got you.”

Still trembling, she nuzzles her face into your neck and hysterically rasps out, “Jake, please don’t leave me. I can’t- Jacob, I love you. I can’t lose you. I can’t take it!”

You have no idea as to what she saw in her nightmare, only that you have never seen one leave her this rattled. You can feel her at war with her own breath as her panic continues to steal it from her.

A trick from the therapist resurfaces and you take the dips of her waist within your firm grasp to briefly withdraw her from your embrace, “Hey, I’ve got you, but I need you to listen to the sound of my voice. Focus on what I’m saying, okay?”

You don’t wait for her to respond before taking her hand and running it across the material of your blue corduroy jacket, “You feel that? It's your favorite jacket of mine, the one you always steal when we go for a drive.”

You ever so slightly draw yourself back in closer to her, “I need you to take a deep breath. Smell that? It’s the cologne you bought me for my birthday?”

She concentrates on her inhalation, occupied with taking an exaggerated breath. She slowly begins to nod.

You can see the sensory stimulation starting to ground her so you attempt to redirect her focus, “And what did I promise? I need to hear you say it.”

She takes a long shaky breath, “You- You said no more leaving. You promised.”

You place her jaw safely within the shelter of your palm and press your forehead to hers; without warning, you’re captivated by a time of exigency to live off the same breath as her.

“That’s right, and I’m here now and I’m not leaving you again,” you vow.

You scoop her back into your arms and off the floor. She clings to you as you turn off the lamp and cradle her back into the fortress of your bed, curling up around her for safekeeping. 

You caress and console and coo until finally, her quaking stops and breathing evens out as she is welcomed back to slumber. The rhythmic rising and falling of her rib cage underneath your touch lulls you into your own dormancy. 

the last scene cut off (x)

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[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Congratulations to our winners!

Thank you to everyone who submitted characters, wrote propaganda, and voted in these polls! The past four months have been loads of fun for me, and I hope they have been for you as well.

I have one more two-round bracket planned, which will start tomorrow, and after that I have a couple of bonus polls to post, and other than that the blog will be pretty quiet until next September. I will, of course, continue to reblog other polls that feature podcast characters, so please send any you find my way! If you really like my polls, you can follow my other tournament blog @best-shapes.

Currently taking submissions for the 2024 Sexiest Podcast Character Tournament!

Main Tournament Masterposts:

Preliminaries. Round 1. Round 2. Round 3. Round 4. Round 5. Round 6. Round 7. Round 8.

Bonus Bracket Masterposts:

Round 1. Round 2. Round 3. Round 4.

AI Bracket Masterposts:

Preliminary. Round 1. Round 2. Round 3. Round 4. Round 5.

Bonus Polls:

Warren Kepler vs Elias Bouchard (sexy).

Jonathan Sims vs David Ward vs Khoshekh (pathetic wet cat of a man).

Sans vs Dᴇᴀᴛʜ vs Dyre Owed (fuck marry kill).

Warren Kepler vs Elias Bouchard (punch).

Glenn Close vs Jodie Foster (sexy).

Isabel Lovelace vs Glenn Close vs Dr. Carlos "the Scientist" Dave Robles (sexy).

Isabel Lovelace vs Dr. Carlos Dave Robles vs Glenn Close vs Cecil Gershwin Palmer vs John Doe/The Entity vs Carlos the Scientist (sexy).

Immortal Doll vs Nikola Orsinov vs Persnickety Pete (puppets).

Elias Bouchard vs Marcus Cutter (boss).

Non-Person Concepts (sexy).

April Fool's Day, 24 hours (boopable).

The Ruby Seven vs Odyssey-San (sexy).

Mod's AIs (best).

Arthur Lester vs Doug Eiffel (parent).

ACAB (sheriff).

Adaptations Polls (there's four of them).

Miscellaneous Polls

Statistics:

Main Tournament Part 1. Main Tournament Part 2. General Statistics Tag.

FictionPodSexyPerson's Bracket

Round 5. Round 6.

1st Place: Carlos the Scientist. 2nd Place: Cecil Palmer. 3rd Place: Lup.

[preciouslandmermaid]

quiet fury in your head [ix]

Dream of the Endless x AFAB!Reader!Goddess / Sandman Fanfiction

Note: I was working on the playlist I have for this story and it inspired me to get this chapter out. Truthfully, I had about 80% of the chapter already written AGES ago, and so all I had to do was add the beginning scene/tweak a few things lol

No use of Y/N. See part 1 for all the tags tbh.

Warnings: self-harm in a ritualistic way + blood/injury + angst

Rating: 18+

(Read on AO3)    ||   (masterpost for other chapters)  

The wind gently tugs at your cloak as you stand on the pier. It is wholly unnecessary to be here on the pier, but this is how Dream leaves for his Odyssey, and you’ve always enjoyed the cyclical rhythm of repetition. You were once a trio. There’s power in rituals and repetition. You won’t leave the Dreaming through the waters, but you’ll leave while standing on this pier, the same way Dream does.

“No fanfare or farewell,” Lucienne’s voice floats to your ears. “I’m glad I caught you before you left.”

“Are you?” You glance over your shoulder and your eyebrows tick upward. Lucienne is not alone. Of the Dreaming inhabitants, you bonded with Lucienne and Dima, but there had been other passing connections throughout the centuries. You had not felt them significant at the time, but the presence of Abel, Cain, and the Corinthian proves differently. I have touched their lives even if they have not touched mine. You turn and face the small gathering. The brothers, Abel and Cain, were less of a surprise than the Corinthian who stood with his hands in his pockets and the light reflecting off his sunglasses.

“I wished to give you this,” Lucienne says while passing a leather-bound book to your hands. Instinctively, you open to see the language written within, but blank pages flutter before you like a flurry of white moths, a storm of white sheets.

A fist squeezes inside your throat. “Your kindness is witnessed, Lucienne,” you respond stiffly. This is not an offering like the times of old. This is a gift. Lucienne, loyal to Dream and his Realm, took the time to give you something to remember her by.

“I admit I will miss your presence in the library,” she says, “and our lessons.”

“I will return to the Dreaming someday,” you inform her and her gentle, melancholy smile brightens and reaches her dark, intelligent eyes. Lucienne steps back, nods her head and, the brothers rush into the space she once occupied.

“Lady,” Abel bows, “my brother and I will miss your visits.”

Cain says, “We will miss your stories, especially.”

Throughout the centuries, there had been a handful of times when boredom and loneliness brought you to the brother’s home. You enjoyed watching their endless story – the death and rebirth – the tragedy and anger. It reminded you of your sisters. They’ve always allowed you to stay the for the evening if you agreed to share a story of your people—be it the other Gods or creatures of folktale.

“And your company,” Abel says with a sharp glance at Cain.

“I already said that,” Cain replies hotly. This is their destiny, the wind tugs at the hem of your dark cloak, and I cannot stay to watch it play out once more. You have your future to write. Sisters to bury. A friend to find. A new Godhood to shape.

“Be well,” you cut in before they can continue to argue, “and I will return with new stories.”

It may be a millennium before you return, but time has no bearing on a dream. The brothers bicker quietly as they shuffle back toward the shore. You draw your breath into your lungs and briefly hold it. The Corinthian’s golden head cocks to the side and is studying you when he approaches. You taste the memory of saltwater and bright storms. You will not be bowed by a Nightmare. You exhale and push your shoulders back.

“Have you come to claim your favor?” you ask softly. You feel Lucienne’s eyes on you and imagine how the sight may appear—Corinthian and yourself standing close and speaking in low, intimate tones, as the waters of Odyssey gently lap and wave beneath the dark pier.

His lips quirk. “No. Although, I’m happy to hear you haven’t forgotten it.”

“Of course not. I do not offer promises and favors lightly,” the haughtiness in your tone reminds you of your Old Self – the Goddess of Rage, the Lady Nemain of the Three Sisters. If he has nothing to offer and no farewells to give then I will be on my way. I cannot – I do not wish to delay any longer. I have waited long enough.

You say, “Farewell, Corinthian,” and a shroud of raven feathers encircles you as you vanish from the Dreaming.

************

You stand alone in a scorched grove of ash and blackened soil. The mountains in the distance are haloed by rings of gray smoke and rivers of luminous, orange lava spilled into the valley, inflaming dry brush and shrubs, and boiling once beautiful lakes into sulfur. The sky overhead flashes with lightning, and the air tastes of eroded stone and thunder, of smoldering wood and lonely, empty grief. Your fists clench at your sides.

The Otherworld was a place of verdant, wild fertility, and blue skies. Surely, it could not all be lost, could it? Something must have grown from the ashes. Your hope burns inside your chest.

“I am proud of you, pet,” Desire says, wearing Dream’s face. Their arrival is merely mildly surprising, though not wholly unexpected. You keep shifting through the black soil, pushing dirt with a stick and kicking aside rocks.

“I haven’t buried their tokens yet,” you reply.

“You will and perhaps...in doing so…” Desire trails off, smirking coyly.

You stop and cross your arms. It’s strange to see Dream wearing an expression like this one. It looks wrong and unnatural, yet your stomach clenches as if it is him. A low stirring of desire coils and you tamper it away. This is not your Dream. It is not Morpheus.

“What?” You prod against Desire’s continued silence.

“There’s still magic here,” they say with a wink before vanishing.

“Your secrets no longer tempt me,” you mutter, though Desire has long since vanished. There is nothing Desire can offer you. They cannot revive your sisters and would offer you only impostors. They would look, and perhaps act as Badb and Macha, but it would not be them. You are here to see the destruction for yourself and bury your sisters. Nothing more and nothing less.

All of the beautiful oak Dagda’s trees have been chopped and reduced to low stumps. Some were torn asunder from the earth and cast aside, their roots gnarled and twisted, or blackened into white-gray charcoal. Dagda. your Chieftain God had a white beard that twisted like tree roots and wise, ebony eyes—a face that you will always remember, but are destined to never see again. You swallow past the lump inside your throat.

It takes minutes or hours before you find the Heart Tree—Dagda’s magnificent oak. The symbol of his power and his standing with the Gods.

Or, rather, you find what remains of it.

The massive stump could fit an entire village within its rings. You drag your fingers across the rough, dark bark of its sprawling roots and then dig your fingertips into the divots and cracks with a strenuous exhale. The hem of your bloody dress catches on the jagged surface and you tugged it free, tearing it.

You ignore the rip and continue to climb.

You claw your way to the edge and pull yourself onto the flat, spiral-marked surface of Dagda’s Heart Tree. You do not stop crawling until you reach its center and collapse, face first, into the soft and sweet-smelling oak. Your fingertips are scarlet, blood seeping into your nail beds, and your hands are chaffed raw.

A raven lands near your forearm, “Lady Morrigan?”

“I am alright.” You lie, knowing her connection to Morpheus, and hating that he might see your sorrow and shame. The destruction is real. The death is real. There is nothing left of the Otherworld.

If only you had defeated Lugh, you might have saved your sisters and saved your home. Your nose squishes against the wood, and you breathe deep and seek an impression of Dagda’s magic within the layered bark.

Please, you beg the impassive wood, please, I do not wish to be alone forever.

The raven nudges her beak into your elbow. You sense that she is attempting to comfort you and wish you had any energy to smile or offer gratitude.

************

Dream sits on his throne, and holds your feather between his forefinger and thumb, and watches the play of light on the glossy, obsidian surface.

You have not moved from your fetal position on the large, forgotten tree stump. He watches through his raven – Myrtle—and his chest aches at the marks of grief shadowed beneath your eyes. He wishes to spare you from suffering.

Again and again, he considers summoning you to the Dreaming, using this feather like a sigil, and returning you to your rightful place beside him. But he resists the temptation. He has released you and you promised you would return.

He contemplates whether or not he made the correct choice. However, as long as Myrtle remains, he could take an odyssey into the Otherworld if you need him. He twirls the feather between his fingers and sighs. A sense of melancholy and regret found a home inside his chest. I should have followed. But I cannot abandon my responsibilities within the Dreaming for the sake of a whim.

************

Your weary bones ache as you walk. The feasting hall stands against the ashen backdrop like a skeletal, black behemoth. You pluck a piece of charcoal from the shifting ash and gravel and draw your old tattoos onto your skin. They had faded over time as your followers diminished and the rest of your pantheon died.

It’s time to mourn your sisters. It’s time to lay their tokens beneath the Heart Tree as Desire instructed.

You are the last remaining Goddess of a forgotten and abandoned worship. You are the last of your kind. And you owe it – to yourself, to the mortal you once were, to your sisters – to continue to live and find a way to rebuild what you lost.

You find the homestead that you shared and it is remarkably unburnt. A collection of small animal skulls hangs on red threads from the ceiling in Badb’s room and its rich, perfumed scent of dried flowers lingers in the smoky air.

You gasp and stubbornly wipe away the tears clinging to your eyes.

Macha’s room glows with warmth, swaths of carnelian and crimson fabrics are draped over the wooden beams, and elaborate woven rugs cover the floor. You snip a crow’s skull from its thread and collect Macha’s hairbrush made of horsehair. These tokens, you think, will suffice.

Lastly, you approach your room and behold the sight of a lifetime eons ago. The walls are covered with your favorite offerings—bronze spears that glimmer when the sun cuts through the open window. You break the tip of a spear and stand at the center of your sparse room with a rueful smile. Dream’s raven lands on the windowsill and caws.

You bow your head in silent appreciation. You had sensed her vigil. You know her presence meant Morpheus is watching over you as well, but that particular knowledge is harder to stomach.

You do not want him to be privy to this ritual. Your grief is choking your lungs.

It is not a long walk to return to the Heart Tree, though it feels as if it takes centuries. Your mind fills with a certain blackly-clad dressed individual in a starry cloak and unfathomable eyes. Oh, Morpheus. Your time in the Dreaming has softened you to him. You recall how he stood on the beach framed by cobalt waves with his hands clasped behind his back. You had watched his subjects and their subdued and hidden adoration of their Maker, and how even the blades of grass turned toward him.

He is an isolated, dark star in a kaleidoscope of wonder and radiance.

You wonder if it meant something that he offered you mercy, that he warranted you an exploration of the Otherworld because he felt some type of kinship to you. Could he see me as an equal now? You shake your head. These musings are useless. They serve little purpose but to make your chest ache with ruinous desire. You set aside all thoughts of Morpheus and his inscrutable sentiments.

The bronze spear tip is warm in your palm. You were once the Queen of Raven’s, weren’t you? You nudge against the raven’s mind, feeling Morpheus there, and learn the raven’s name is Myrtle.

You meet her dark eyes and see Morpheus in them, “I’m sorry,” You say earnestly, abandoning your sense of pride for this one, single precious moment. With a firm mental hand, you push his essence from Myrtle, and she flies– startled – into the air.

The soil is waiting.

You press the gilded point to your vulnerable inner wrist. A God should not be able to bleed. However, your weakened powers are heightened within the Otherworld, even if it is a shadow of itself. You bleed if you will it. A pinprick of deep crimson wells at the slight pressure of your hand.

“Farewell, sisters.”

You drag the point upward toward your inner elbow and rivulets of blood pour onto Badb’s and Macha’s tokens. You speak the poems of remembrance and farewell in a pleading and undulating tone that is reminiscent of your followers chanting beneath full moons. Your skin burns. The ash and dirt stir at your feet.

Your bloody fingers are freckled with dirt as you dig and bury Badb’s skull and Macha’s hairbrush beneath the Heart Tree’s roots. There. I have finished my task for Desire. I am free. I am free to live at last.

Your eyes snap backward into your skull. You see stars. You see your sisters. A rush of cold air whips around your face. You see Lugh’s laughing face. You see the glorious battlefields. The ground trembles. You see, through Myrtle’s eyes, that one of the volcanoes has erupted.

The Otherworld thickens with soot, memory, and supplication.

Morpheus’ face appears before you.

“You said you wished to see the Otherworld. Not that you wished to revive your sisters.” He clutches your bleeding wrist with wild, bright, and burning eyes. His voice is as impassive as stone.

Is that what I was doing? You wonder, though your dry lips cannot form the words. An icy panic latches itself onto your heart. The Otherworld is crumbling – it is dying. You feel it. A part of you, the part of you that is Badb, abruptly understands that the Otherworld has been waiting for your return. This is your fate and your doom.

Desire wanted me to come here...they said magic remained...did they know? Morpheus squeezes your bloody wrist. But your broken skin stubbornly refuses to heal. Did they believe I could revive my sisters in the end?

The Otherworld opens its arms to you. You are its doom and its epilogue. It wanted all its children home before it imploded like a dying star. You are a stream returning to the ocean. You are a plant wilting and rotting to compost. The Otherworld cracks.

“This is how it ends. You – Morpheus – were destined to be my undoing – my ruin.” Your voice sounds like Badb’s, raspy and weary and older than the stars themselves.

“You’re lying,” he seethes and his rage is cold. You taste his fear in the wind. I do not wish to leave you either, Morpheus. His eyes harden like black ice. If he does not believe you, well, it does not matter because the End is coming for you. Everything ends. Even Gods.

Something hot trickles down your cheeks.

“My fate is yours, Dream,” you shout over the cacophony of the tempest and volcanic earthquakes, “it has always been yours.”

Finally, you understand the prophecy. Nemain of the Three Sisters, The Banshee Queen, is meant to die in the arms of Dream the Endless. This is how your story goes:

He will always save you from Lugh’s poison. You will always venture into the Dreaming and marvel at its splendor.

Desire will always find you. Dream will always release you from the Dreaming’s prison...and protection.

You will always return to the Otherworld and bury your sister’s tokens.

And he will always lose you.

You will always be dead, worse off than a shade, with your name forgotten and history buried. You have already done this and will do it all again. This is what it means to be a God. A story. A written ending cannot be changed.

Perhaps the act of burying your sister’s tokens will be enough to return your sisters to the collective consciousness. Desire said there is magic here. You don’t need the whole tree. A small acorn of magic will be enough.

Let the stories sing of the magnificent Morrigan. Let her be courageous and devious, wicked, and wise. Let her contain all the fractured angles of a glistening gemstone. And let your name, Nemain, fall into dusted obscurity among the annuals of history. It will be enough. If you can change the narrative, in this small, wonderful way, then all of it—your loneliness, guilt, despair, grief, and longing—it’ll be worth it. You mentally sing your wish to the winds.

“No.” His anger thaws. “No.” He must’ve seen the resignation and sincerity in your face. “You promised you would return.”

You hold Dream’s face between your hands. You realize the wetness gliding over your face isn’t sweat or blood, but tears and you blink them away. Gods do not cry. And, more selfishly, you don’t want your final moments to be blurred.

“It would seem I am unable to honor my promise. I hope you will not hate me for it, though I will not fault you if you do.”

“I do not,” he says fiercely, his pale hands are marred with your blood, and they grip your face in desperation as the Otherworld collapses.

A faint, white light shines and sparkles through the fissures. A flicker of frustration etches across Dream’s usually calm, proud face.

“Come to the Dreaming.”

Even at the end of all things, you will not obey his orders. He would do well to understand that.

“I do not belong there,” you say with some difficulty, “you said so upon our first meeting and it was the truth. I am neither dream, nor nightmare, nor memory.”

“And what of my memories?” He pins you beneath his weighted gaze. “I do not forget so easily.”

You surge forward and kiss him with a tumultuous, wounded heart. Dream is motionless. You groan against his stubborn mouth, wishing for reciprocation, and hating the way your heart shatters at his stoicism. It is an odd feeling to let the tears fall.

You are not a creature of tears and sorrow. You are a herald of death and blood lust. Or you were. You were.

Dream slants his mouth over yours, adjusting, and you shudder, mollified.

You will fracture into oblivion and obscurity, yes, but at least you have this moment. In an era of solitude and bereavement, you will not face death alone. The dirt shimmers with light. You pull away from him with the solemn decision to face your death with your eyes open.

Morpheus’ intense expression steals the breath from your lungs. You burn alive like a sacrificial lamb in the light of his eyes.

“The Morrigan,” he whispers your name in reverence, “Queen of Nightmares.”

************ After the Otherworld shattered in brilliant light, his sister did not come and claim the Morrigan’s soul. This fact offers a paltry balm to his wounded heart. You might still yet live. Somewhere. Though Dream doesn’t know how to find you.

You do not dream, so he cannot find you within the Dreaming. And although your raven father no longer vibrates with echoes of your magic, he carries it with him, trapped in a desperate and melancholy hope within his breast pocket.

He cannot undo destiny. If it was your fate to become ‘undone’ – as you put it – then that was your fate. There is no bargain to be made, no trick to reveal, and no nightmare to banish. He considers calling upon his brother, Destiny, but what purpose would that serve? He knows how the story ends. He was there.

He focuses on his duties, his realm, and his creations.

It rains often.

He creates a Nightmare with black, feathered wings and sharp fangs, but struggles to complete the Nightmare’s eyes. He can only think of your eyes—deep, electrifying, the amount of swirling stars within them varying based on your mood—and he cannot get it right.

The Nightmare remains unfinished.

He doesn’t lament over the unfairness of losing you. He is Endless. This is the way things are, the way they were always meant to be, and it would be unproductive to whinge over it.

He has found himself at the stormy cliffside more often than expected. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back and focuses on remembrance—he’ll recall the sublime shape of your spine, the arch of your neck exposed to him with an up-do hairstyle, the play of your emotions across your face, fierce and breathtaking, even when sharpened with malice. He recalls the way your eyes looked on that final, fateful day. The galaxies within your irises had imploded, creating a field of black holes, and streaks of warping and bulbous light consumed the darkness before cannibalizing itself.

Another day, he returns to the mountainside where he secretly witnessed your first and only smile. He lifts his palm and lets the snowflakes settle on his skin with iced, tiny kisses.

He recalls your tearful expression, accepting his scorn, his denial, in light of everything you’d done. Your instinctive selfishness and desire for survival, luminous anger, and gilded conceit.

He doesn’t offer forgiveness or mercy for his creations. His realm requires ancient laws and stalwart order. That is how it functions. But he offered those gifts to you because you were not of his realm.

You were an outsider, who effortlessly wove yourself into the tapestry of the Dreaming – into him. He felt your touch, rich like blood, delicate as spring’s bloom, in the whispered nightmares you left behind.

Your final gift to him had been a kiss that seared his soul and bound him forever.

To him, none can compare, and he aches like a man starved for food at a banquet.

He has sensed Lucienne’s worry for him. However, she’s loyal and smart enough to not broach the topic.

He knows when others are speaking of you because they hush when he enters a room. Save for Corinthian. In the days after your annihilation, your death, Corinthian approached him and petitioned himself to search the living, waking world to try and find you.

He saw it for what it was. A poor, thinly veiled attempt to escape the Dreaming. He denied him.

Under the full, blue-gray moonlight, Dream stands in a field of pink camellias, pale red carnations, and purple heliotropes dappled with fresh rainwater. He pulls your feather from his coat and slides it across his lips – a poor substitution to your touch – but it’s all he has.

****

A/N: Flower meanings: pink camellias symbolize longing, pale red carnations symbolize an aching heart, while heliotropes symbolize eternal love/devotion.

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Ancient Greek and Roman music Masterpost

As our national epic, the Odyssey, did I'll start from the middle. Please listen to the sound of medieval Greek music and then come back. It's an exercise, I command you!

Middle Ages Greek music is speculated to be "slowed down ancient Greek music"! 😁 So, take notes on that!

Christodoulos Halaris - Anthology of Byzantine Secular Music

(Christodoulos Halaris was a prominent Greek composer, researcher, and musicologist. He focused on secular Byzantine and traditional music, incorporating his extensive research into a solid and singular musical language.)

After your warm-up (and perhaps some confusion) let's get into what you came here to see.

What Ancient Greek and Roman Music Sounded Like - A Beginner's Introduction

Α fantastic introduction by a composer, musician, and researcher who calls himself:

OKAY, OKAY, HE IS FARYA FARAJI, YOU GOT ME.

So, this is going to be another excellent video where he spits facts. He gives a great impression of how ancient Greek and Roman music sounded like.

And no, they didn't sound like the watered-down (north)-eurocentric "ancient Greek music" on youtube videos you find. (who's surprised at this point, after all this Northwestern appropriation) Unless they are made by Farya Faraji because… the man knows his shit (and our shit 😂)

By the way, I called it "watered down", not because I believe western music is lame, but because the performers apply western rules to ancient Greek music, stripping it of all the Heterophonic complexity.

In the video above, you'll learn how the lyre should actually be played!!! And what instruments have been in continuous use in Greece for more than 2.000 years! And see all the ways our ancient and traditional music is more complex than Western music - such as Western music can be more complex than ours in other ways! (as also stated in the video)

And before you ask: Why does ancient Greek and Byzantine/traditional Greek music sound Oriental? Well, that's just your ear and biases and Hollywood stereotypes, my dear friend. See, these sounds are not (just) Oriental! They are originally Greek, too!

Many tunes and the way of singing the West associates today with the Middle East came from the Greek world (where these tunes are still in use, mind you) or other Mediterranean countries. That's not to say that Middle Eastern nations didn't have these scales and twirls for a long time - because they did. That's their ancient music, too.

Please see the video below to make more sense of my ramblings:

The Greco-Roman Influence on Middle-Eastern Music

All of Farya's videos have their sources in the description so make sure to check them out!

Now you can better enjoy the Epitaph of Sekeilos you heard in the first Middle Ages video! You can also listen to another great version by Farya, where he uses the above ancient Greek principles he mentioned in his video. That's why his version actually feels fun to listen to, thank god! (Of course Chalaris also orchestrates the Epitaoh in an excellent way)

Personal commentary: I am happy to share Farya's work online because he put into words why reconstructions of ancient Greek music online don't sound Greek at all. Greeks have a hard time relating to it because... that's not our folk music. They sound boring like Chopin playing piano when he was 3 years old. (But by now you know why! 😉)

Of course, ancient and traditional Greek music are not identical and no one expects them to be. But given our history, our music history, and cultural evolution, we know the sounds of our music - as all people can identify the music of their land and area. I am glad my gut feeling was right and the music wasn't actually that simple. With the complexity of our ancient chants and the plethora of instruments we had in antiquity, there was no excuse for our ancient melodies to be that simple.

[tragicsibsshowdown]

The Siblings have been Selected!

are you ready to see your favorite sets of tragic siblings go head to head? Well here are you contestants entering!

Polls will be random for the first round and continue on from there bracket style!

And if you would like to make some propaganda… well just make sure to use the tag #tragicsiblingshowdown2023 bc I do wanna see it!

Azula and Zuko from Avatar The Last Airbender

Diluc and Kaeya from Genshin Impact

Donald and Della from Ducktales 2017

Nahyuta and Apollo from Ace Attorney

Vi and Jinx from Arcane

Caleb and Phillip Wittebane from The Owl House

Mari and Sunny from OMORI

Chara and Asriel from Undertale

Luffy and Ace and Sabo from One Piece

Lucas and Claus from Mother 3

Ingo and Emmet from Pokemon

Sam & Dean Winchester from Supernatural

Ed and Al Elric from FullMetal Alchemist

Eda & Lilith Clawthorne from The Owl House

Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli from Mo Dao Zu Shi

Miles Edgeworth and Franziska Von Karma from Ace Attorney

Dick Grayson and Jason Todd from DC

Dess and Noelle from Deltarune

Rillaine and Allen from Evilious Chronicles

Elsa and Anna from Frozen

Thor and Loki from Marvel

Garmadon and Wu from Ninjago

Klavier Gavin and Kristoph Gavin from Ace Attorney

Andrés, Guillermo, Kara and Tamara from Enderbomb

Natsu & Zeref Dragneel from Fairy Tail

Floofty And Snorpy Fizzlebean from Bugsnax

Adaine and Aelwyn Abernant from Fantasy High

Maki and Mai from Jujustu Kaisen

Strelitzia and Lauriam/Marluxia from Kingdom Hearts 

Sasuke and Itachi Uchiha from Naruto

NiGHTS and Reala from NiGHTS into Dreams

Thalia and Jason Grace from Percy Jackson

Bianca  and Nico Di Angelo  from Percy Jackson

Rameses and Moses from The Prince of Egypt

Mephone 4 and 4s from Inanimate Insanity

Taako and Lup from The Adventure Zone

Ianthe and Coronabeth Tridentarius from The Locked Tomb 

Dante and Gene from Minecraft Diaries

Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire from A Series of Unfortunate Events

Kamado Tanjirou and Kamado Nezuko from Demon Slayer

Hornet and The Hollow Knight from Hollow Knight

Killua and Alluka Zoldyck from Hunter x Hunter

Celestia and Luna from My Little Pony

Vash and Knives from Trigun

Mipha and Sidon from The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Lumine and Aether from Genshin Impact

Alice and Reko Yabusame from Your Turn to Die

Brambleclaw and Hawkfrost from Warrior Cats

Ponyboy and Darry from The Outsiders

Aaron and Alex Stowe from The Unwanteds

Shigeo Kageyama (Mob) and Ritsu Kageyama from Mob Psycho 100

Hiro and Tadashi Hamada from Big Hero 6

Shadow and Maria from Sonic 

Annie and Hallie from The Parent Trap

Ophelia and Laertes from Hamlet

Ajax and Teucer from The Odyssey

Yin and Jin (The Gold and Silver Demons) from Lego Monkey Kid

Starfire and Blackfire from Teen Titans

The Afton Siblings from Five Nights at Freddys

Kanna Kizuchi and Shin Tsukimi from Your Turn To Die

Hershel Layton and Jean Descole from Professor Layton

Stan and Ford Pines from Gravity Falls

Saeran and Saeyoung from Mystic Messenger

Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa from Star Wars

ROUND 1 MASTERPOST

Post-Round One Update

ROUND 2 MASTERPOST

ROUND 3 MASTERPOST

ROUND 4 MASTERPOST

ROUND 5 MASTERPOST

REVIVAL ROUND 1 MASTERPOST

REVIVAL ROUND 2 MASTERPOST

REVIVAL ROUND 3 MASTERPOST

REVIVAL ROUND 4 MASTERPOST

FINAL ROUND MASTER POST

[katakaluptastrophy]

Masterpost of TLT metas

This is mostly for my own reference, as tagging doesn't seem to guarantee something being findable on Tumblr...but if you like wildly overthinking lesbian necromancers in space, enjoy!

Overthinking the Fifth House:

What is a "Speaker to the Dead"?

Actually, Magnus Quinn isn't terrible at sword fighting

Imperial complicity: Abigail the First

Pyschopomp: Abigail Pent and Hecate

Did Teacher conspire with Cytherea to kill the Fifth?

What does the Fifth House actually do?

The Fourth and the Fifth can never just be family

Cytherea's political observations at the anniversary dinner

Abigail Pent's affect: ghosts and autism

Were the Fourth wards of the Fifth?

Abigail probably knew most of the scions as children

Magnus Quinn's very understandable anger

Fifth House necromancy is not neat and tidy

Are Abigail and Magnus an exception to the exploitative nature of cavaliership?

"Abigail Pent literally brought her husband and look where that got her" (the Fifth in TUG)

The Fifth's relationship dynamic

The Fifth's relationship is unconventional in a number of ways

The queer-coding of Abigail and Magnus' relationship

Abigail and Palamedes, and knowing in the River

Was Isaac the ward of the Fifth?

Did Magnus manage to draw his sword before Cytherea killed him? (and why he probably had to watch his wife die)

How did Abigail know she was murdered by a Lyctor?

Fifth House necromancy is straight out of the Odyssey

The politics of the anniversary dinner (and further thoughts)

Was Magnus born outside of the Dominicus system?

Overthinking John Gaius:

The one time John was happy was playing Jesus

Is Alecto's body made from John's?

Are there atheists in the Nine Houses?

Why isn't John's daughter a necromancer?

The horrors of love go both ways: why John could have asked Alecto 'what have you done to me?'

Why M- may have really hoped John was on drugs

What is it with guys called Jo(h)n and getting disintegrated? (John and Dr Manhattan)

John's conference call with his CIA handlers

Watching your friend turn into an eldritch horror

Why does G1deon look so weird? (Jod regrew him from an arm)

When is a friendship bracelet not a friendship bracelet?

Why did John have G1deon hunt Harrow? (with bonus update)

The 'indelible' sin of Lyctorhood and John's shoddy plagiarism of Catholicism

Are John Gaius and Abigail Pent so different?

What was Jod's plan at Canaan House?

John and Ianthe tread the Eightfold path

The Mithraeum is more than a joke about cows

When was John Gaius born? (And another)

John Gaius and the tragic Orestes

John and Jesus writing sins in the sand

John and Nona's echoing chapters

John's motivations

Is Alecto just as guilty as John?

John's cult (and what he might have done to them)

The horror of Jod

Did John get bloodsweat before he became god?

Some very silly thoughts about John and Abigail arguing about academia

Overthinking the Nine Houses:

'No retainers, no attendants, no domestics'

Funerary customs and the violence of John's silence

Juno Zeta and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time

The horror of the River bubble

Every instance of 'is this how it happens' in HTN

Feudalism is still shitty even if you make it queer and sex positive

How do stele work?

Thought crime in the Nine Houses

The Houses have a population the size of Canada

What must it be like to fight the Houses?

You know what can't have been fun? Merv wing's megatruck on Varun day...

Augustine's very Catholic hobby (decorating skeletons)

Necromancers are not thin in a conventionally attractive way

Matching the Houses with the planets of the solar system (though perhaps the Fourth *is* on Saturn)

Why don't the Nine Houses have (consistent) vaccination or varifocals?

How would the Houses react to the deaths at Canaan House?

How does Wake understand her own name (languages over 10,000 years)

What pre-resurrection texts are known in the Houses?

Camilla and Palamedes very Platonic relationship (further thoughts)

The horrors the Cohort found at Canaan House

Do the Houses understand the tech keeping them alive?

The scions from an external perspective (sci fi baddies)

Cav cots

The Nine Houses and feudalism

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[bookishblogging]

THE ILIAD: FOR DUMMIES ☀️ MASTERPOST

just kidding you're not a dummy, you're some hot stuff right there! i will be going through the entire iliad and giving you a general overview, some interesting plot points, additional context, and some other analysis tools to better help you understand the epic!

This post will serve as a table of contents (at the end) to my Iliad posts and a general overview that I will be constantly updating! I am using the Richmond Lattimore translation of the Iliad, alongside my companion book by Malcom M. Wilcock

Before we get into analyzing the actual Iliad, we need to get into some essential questions and context about the book

WHAT IS THE ILIAD:

The Iliad was written by Homer (this is actually debated but we can get into that later) around 750 and 550 B.C.E.

At its core, the story is about heros and humans. It's an Iron Age poem about an event, the Trojan War, that was supposed to have taken place in the Bronze age. The Iliad is considered to be a poem comprised of multiple books, 24 to be exact

This story is only a few days of the tenth and final year of the Greek siege against the city of Troy- this means it relies on the audience already knowing most of the basic details about the Trojan war and the gods themselves (don't sorry, I will provide this for you as we go along)

WHO IS HOMER:

The age old question: who the fuck is Homer?

Literally nothing is known about this dude except that he wrote (or was credited with writing) the Odyssey and the Iliad

People have referenced his writings for EONS. Archilochus, Alcman, Tyrtaeus, Callinus, and even Sappho have referenced the poems of Homer in their own works. These also were popular in fine art in the late 7th century B.C.E.

There is a general consensus that Homer was from Ionia- a territory in western Anatolia or modern day Turkey that was populated by Greeks who spoke the Ionian dialect, aka the birthplace of Greek philosophy. Want more info on Ionia? Click Here!

His descendants were called the Homerids/Homeridae

There is scholarly debate on if he even wrote both the Iliad and the Odyssey, or if he only wrote one, etc etc etc. This is due to some very specific differences in the structure of the words used (like the use of short vowels, and the seemingly unimportant semivowel of the digamma being missing from the epics...yeah it's a lot)

The poems were reproduced ORALLY. This means that the poems were passed down by word of mouth, which if I were to sit and listen to this entire book via a guy singing at me...idk man I think I would leave

All of this to say, we really don't know who Homer is. There's a lot more information about what he could have looked like, if he really did write the Iliad, and a million other things, but I've already talked your ear off and we haven't even gotten into the book yet. If you want more information about Homer, check out my sources at the end of the post!

WAS THE CITY OF TROY REAL:

Yeah. There were nine layers exposed at the site of where Troy was expected to be, and nearly fifty sublayers at the mound of Hisarlik

Troy was a vassal state: meaning it had an obligation to a superior state, which happened to be the Hittite Empire

Troy had a lot more allies than original fighters in the city, meaning they had many language barriers- making the army harder to control than the unified Greek enemy.

THE STYLE OF THE ILIAD:

Cause - Effect - Solution

The poem is concluded with a mirror image of its beginning: an old man ventures to the camp of his enemy in order to ransom his child

The poem foreshadows the death of Achilles in MULTIPLE passages! He knows he is destined to die young if he fights at Troy, and the demise of his lover (don't fight me on this) Patroclus gives us an even more extended foreshadowing of the grief that is to come

When Achilles dies, Thetis (his mom) takes his body from the pyre and takes him to a place called the White Island. It's not clear whether he is immortalized BUT the reference to Achilles funeral in the Odyssey states that Achilles is cremated and his bones are placed in a golden urn along those of Patroclus, and the urn is entombed under a prominent mound (tsoa fans...you're welcome)

This isn't really necessary knowledge but moreso something I think is cool: the backstory from the Iliad of an abducted bride also appears in the Sanskirt epic Ramayana (circa 4th century B.C.E.)

okay now here is the ACTUAL important stuff

Humanity is the center of the universe in the Iliad. Humans motivations and concerns generate action in the poem, while the gods are often reduced to the role of enablers or spectators

The style of the poem collaborates with the vision that the speciousness of this epic means that every thought and gesture, spear cast and threat, intimate conversation and lament CAN be recorded. It gives a consciousness behind the demands of the iliad that these interactions MUST be recorded, this attention to detail is another way of showing centrality and the worth of the human experience (Greek OR Trojan)

The Iliad is ultimately a poem about death, the chief elements that distinguish the mortals from gods are: Death shadows every action, and death is neither abhorred nor celebrated. Instead it crystalizes by means of this one theme, death in battle, the essence of what it means to be human (Life is a struggle each person will always lose, the question is how one acts with that knowledge)

Modern readers and analysis blogs will state that one's inner spirit is somehow the "real" self, however the Iliad assumes the opposite: The psykhai (soul, spirits) of dying heroes fly off to Hades while their autous ("selves") are left behind in the form of dead bodies

Glory is INCREDIBLY important in the iliad, why? If mortals could live forever (like gods) then glory would be useless. It's a commodity to be exchanged, and because of this it has an economic and symbolic reality

Companionship is incredibly important

Pity is also very important, it's the concluding note of the poem. Even the gods feel pity

THE GODS AND THE ILIAD:

The Iliad gains depth by the divine dimension shedding glory on the humans at Troy. The gods are so intensely concerned with warriors and their fates which elevates the mortals to a special plane

Mortals are only separated from gods because they grow old and die

The symbiotic bond of gods and mortals is always see-sawing between adoration and antagonism

Humans who get too close to the gods risk being struck down, case in point, Achilles. He's young, well-made, he's a warrior but also a singer/musician (the only hero to be seen doing such a thing), he looks and acts like Apollo. THEREFORE...it's no coincidence that Apollo is ultimately the god who slays Achilles, just as he did Patroclus

Poetry supplemented or even guided ancient Greek religious interpretation much more than the activity of priests due to the lack of any official religious text. This gave ancient Hellenism a very fluid nature

This was a long post, and it's only the first of many! I will continuously update this with more sources about the Iliad and answer any FAQs that come up! I love classic literature, and as a STEM student I need to entertain my passion somehow lol. There is a table of contents at the top of the post, as well as right here. This will be updated for each book of the Iliad I write about, as well as any supplemental posts I make about certain topics and themes as I go along. I am putting a LOT of work into this series of posts, so let me know your thoughts or anything you'd like me to change/add/etc! Happy reading!

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

(This is empty because this is the only post...more posts coming soon)

Sources/Citations/Additional Material

Homer- Britannica

Homerids- Britannica

Who Is Homer- The British Museum (fuck the British Museum)

Ionia Information- World Encyclopedia

The Hittites- Britannica

Ramayana Overview- British Library

Overview of Greek Mythology- Theoi

The Iliad- Overview via Britannica

Thetis- World Encyclopedia