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somepsychopomp · 3 days ago

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A Fair Contest

So a little bit ago I drafted an idea for an AU where, instead of the golden apple saying 'to the fairest' it says 'to the most amorous king'

And instead of the ladies fighting over the apple, it's Zeus & Poseidon. In order to determine who exactly is the superior lover (and king + who gets bragging rights), the two brothers select one (un)fortunate mortal that both of them shall take to bed...

and the judge they select for their little contest is none other than Odysseus.

(Takes place pre-Trojan War. In fact there's basically no Trojan War to begin with. Also Odysseus is betrothed but not yet married to Penelope)

Consider this chapter 1 of this fic. I really hope I can finish it because I stayed up to almost 4 am writing this, which is amazing because I've been dealing with a major cold and writers block for a while now

Word Count: approx. 4400

There's no smut yet but I do confess to giving Ody a bubble butt. Also in a world where Ruthlessness never happened/is yet to happen... Poseidon has a thing for strong thighs & is absolutely smitten with Odysseus

Also in my head, I'm imagining Neal's character designs but I think I've kept it vague enough for now that you can imagine whatever designs you like

+++

The wedding had been a most splendid sight, with revelry among both men and gods. The small mortal king, Peleus, was of course honored to host such a wide variety of the gods and have them witness his union with the divine Thetis. Zeus gave the couple his own blessing and permitted Dionysus to pour out his strongest wine for the occasion.

Well into the night, the attendees danced to a tireless band and feasted upon the finest foods available. Gods mingled with mortals, some sneaking off with a young maiden or cupbearer for some more illicit fun.

All was going well until the first beam of daylight shone upon a pedestal that no guest noticed before, where a golden apple awaited.

Curious onlookers clustered around it, wondering where it could have come from. The mortals believed the apple to be made of real gold, thinking it was a lavish wedding gift. The gods were equally mystified, knowing that something so perfect and beautiful could only be given by one of their own. Hera pursed her lips at the sight of it.

The king of the gods made his way to the center of the crowd, the other guests parting for him with their eyes averted in deference. He regarded the apple with mild curiosity, having a treasury greater than all of Greece’s wealth upon Olympus. A ribbon was tied neatly to the apple’s stem with a message embroidered upon it.

“To the most amorous king.”

Zeus chuckled at the oddity of this little present and moved to take the apple.

Only for another hand to grab it at the very same moment.

The two gods stared at each other.

“What do you think you’re doing, dear brother?” Zeus asked, the smile falling from his face.

Poseidon rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Taking my prize.”

“You?” Zeus said, his voice dripping with outrage, “You dare defy your king like this?”

Poseidon’s voice turned sharp and cold. “I am lord of the seas! The gift doesn’t say ‘to the king of the skies’, now does it? No, you read it yourself.”

The mortal guests, including King Peleus, began to make their quick exit from the venue. Some of the lesser gods were also making their sneaky escape, fearing the worst was about to come.

Hera approached her husband and wrapped her arms around his own, “Darling, it’s just an apple. If you want one, I’ve got a whole orchard full.”

It was true that Gaea, the very earth itself, gave Hera a grove of enchanted apple trees as her wedding gift. The trees were immune to all illnesses and sprouted fruit of pure gold all year round. In all likelihood, this very apple was stolen from the Queen’s orchard.

The god-king’s most favorite child appeared at his other side in an attempt to soothe his growing rage, “Father, listen to Queen Hera. This is a trick meant to sew discord, nothing more.”

Zeus ignored his daughter Athena as if she weren’t there.

“Let it go, my love.” Hera said, “After all, why have one apple when you could have hundreds?”

Zeus gave her a sharp look, his golden eyes burning with a harsh, radiant glow. The queen of the gods was so taken aback that she shrunk away under the weight of his glare. Zeus said, “I am the god of judgement! No matter how trivial of a token it is, I will not let my brother take what does not rightfully belong to him!”

Poseidon threw his head back and laughed, not one to be daunted, “Oh, is that so? And how will you prove that it doesn’t belong to me, hm?”

He tossed the golden apple into the air, catching it in his other hand. Zeus bared his teeth and snatched Poseidon’s wrist, unwilling to let elder brother even hold the thing.

It was now apparent to all the remaining gods what this was really about.

Neither king would secede when their pride and egos were in jeopardy. For either of them, letting the other take the apple now, after they’ve already started bickering, would mean admitting they were the more feeble lord, a less competent lover. And such a slight against their reputations would never stand.

“Ahem,” a voice said.

A lovely woman with flawless bare skin for all the world to admire, a translucent shawl draped around her arms and roses in her pale tresses, stepped forward.

Zeus barely spared her a glance. “What is it, Aphrodite?”

She smiled, though not without a hint of mischief in her eyes, “I think I have the solution to this little conflict of ours, one that will minimize any substantial damage to our family… or the known world.”

Zeus inclined his head in interest. Poseidon gave the goddess his ear, as well. Zeus let go of his brother and the sea god set the apple down.

Athena bit her lower lip, knowing that Aphrodite’s schemes were almost never more than just that: schemes. Games to amuse herself with. She had something else in mind.

Aphrodite snapped her fingers. A large, circular mirror gilded in silver and gold appeared in the air behind her. The surface rippled the same way a pond did when met with rainfall.

A beautiful young maiden with a long braid of black hair tended to her garden. The image rippled and was replaced with what was clearly a princess being dressed for the day by her servants. Again, the image shifted and showed a handsome young man in a short chiton as he shepherded his flock of sheep.

Aphrodite said, “Now, I’m sure you two could spend eternity bickering back and forth, boasting of your skills and past conquests, but as the goddess of love myself… why not have more of a practical examination?”

The two brothers exchanged a look, coming to the same conclusion.

“You want us to share a lover?” Poseidon asked.

Zeus added, “And have them decide?”

Aphrodite winked and gave them a cheerful smile. “Well, what do you say? There’s no shortage of pretty boys or girls across the land. Come, take your pick!”

Zeus stroked his beard, a few sparks crackling across his fingertips. Poseidon crossed his arms in contemplation.

“Father, Uncle!” Athena said, trying to catch their attention, “This is madness, can you not see?”

But neither god answered her. Athena was in disbelief.

All this over a golden apple that neither needed or really wanted. This was all about their reputations as accomplished lovers, which they shouldn’t even have considering they were both married men.

And Aphrodite, it was clear she was only doing this to make a story out of it, the way she and her son Eros loved to couple mortals together, only to break them apart. No doubt some terrible fate will befall the chosen victim, no matter who they named the superior lover.

In Athena’s mind, she could only imagine the loser of this game casting some bitter curse upon the poor mortal as revenge. But that was the fun of it for some gods, to see the doomed fate of some poor soul after getting mixed up with the divine.

Behind Zeus’ back, Hera threw her hands into the air before storming off, summoning her chariot pulled by winged horses to return her to Olympus.

Athena threw a disappointed look at Aphrodite before leaving as well, deciding to go where her counsel would be appreciated.

+++

By mid-morning, Odysseus’ back and brow were already covered in sweat as he endeavored to finish the roof over his wedding bed before an unfortunate rain could sully his hard work below.

The house he was raised in was perfectly fine, but with all the servants and guards on top of his family, it was not the largest of castles. It was also an old thing in constant need of repairs. Odysseus always envisioned a proper palace atop Ithaca��s mountains, one where his own family could grow large and have plenty of space to themselves.

So, before the eve of his wedding, he endeavored to complete the house of his dreams for his new wife to enjoy. He started with their olive tree, a living symbol of his devotion to his betrothed. Odysseus labored day and night to carve part of it into one of the four posts for his wedding bed, taking extreme caution to not cut away so much that the tree would die.

The largest bough of the olive tree would overlook one of their windows, with a perfect view of the vast ocean beyond it. Odysseus already carved the other three bed posts and constructed the frame, but there was always more work to do. As the common larborers constructed the foundation and walls for the other rooms in the palace, Odysseus went to work constructing the roof for his bedroom.

With a sizable living tree in such close proximity to his quarters, he trusted no one but himself to complete the project without damaging it.

Taking up hammer and nails, hauling wood and stone, and fitting everything into place almost entirely on his own was unusual for a king. Odysseus knew this, but the labor brought him joy like no other. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, imagining opening the door for the very first time as a married man. He would carry Penelope to their wedding bed, built entirely by his hand, and spend the rest of his life with her.

Focus, he told himself.

For now, Penelope still dwelled in her natal homeland of Sparta. As soon as her new home was completed, she would set sail for Ithaca.

Odysseus wiped the sweat from his brow as the sun beat its rays upon his back. Maybe it was foolish to fear the coming rainfall, but he could see the grayish clouds on the horizon.

By midday, he was hopeful he could have the roof finished by nightfall. As Odysseus dropped from one of the wooden rafters into his nearly-complete bedroom, his tunic must have caught on a nail or perhaps a large splinter. He heard the sharp tearing of fabric and grumbled at the gash across his front. One of the room’s alcoves had some of his clothes, since he didn’t have time yet to build the chests or wardrobe.

Thinking better of a tunic, Odysseus merely replaced it with a rectangular length of cloth fastened at the waist. It was something his mother wove, a lovely shade of blue to match the sea, embroidered with red and white thread.

From somewhere nearby, he heard the familiar clicking of an owl’s beak coming to greet him. He smiled and turned around, draping his tunic over his arm as his mentor approached him in the form of a brown and white speckled owl. She sank her talons into his arm and flapped her wings as if in outrage.

He let her perch on the alcove’s lip as he fasted a leather pauldron to his left shoulder. She hopped back on and Odysseus could feel her talons clench and unclench even through the tough leather.

“What troubles you, Athena?” Odysseus asked.

He set out through the bedroom’s heavy oak doors, finding himself in a long hallway that was finished, but not yet furnished or cleaned.

She spoke into his mind, Sometimes, I wish I could belong to any other family but my own.

Odysseus chuckled. “I’m sorry to hear.”

While he loved his parents and sister dearly, he knew that Athena often butted heads with her siblings and uncle.

Odysseus counted the windows that still needed shutters and curtains, along with the patches in the roof that had yet to be filled in. Farther along, the great hall where they would entertain guests was still only a skeleton. Only half of the supporting beams and columns were installed and the whole place reeked of sweating men.

Athena paid the laborers no mind as the citizens of Ithaca bowed for their king as he walked by.

You know I’m not one for gossip, but I fear something terrible is about to strike the land.

“Is that so?” Odysseus asked, his smile dropping.

Yes, a terrible tragedy yet to come in the form of my Uncle Poseidon and my father.

A servant approached Odysseus with a serving platter. He took a cup of water and drank deeply, and snatched a small bowl of olives before going on his way.

“They’re angry with us?” Odysseus asked, fearing what this might mean for his people.

No, Athena said, accepting an olive and biting into the tender flesh with her sharp beak, Not quite, but their egos are yet again showing themselves. If you find unusual weather patterns in the next few days, pay them no mind.

“Ah, I see.”

In truth, he didn’t understand Athena at all. But she seemed in the mood to vent about her personal feelings and seeing as she didn’t do so often, Odysseus was careful to listen.

Athena clacked her beak in irritation. Odysseus bit into his own olive as he felt a sharp nibble on his ear before she started combing through his damp hair. She must’ve found something in his hair, a bit of dust or a wood chip, because he could feel her tugging at him.

How goes construction on the new palace?

“Every day, I can see the way it’s growing.”

Odysseus passed by a group of men sitting in a loose circle, taking swigs from a water skin as they fanned themselves. One caught sight of Odysseus and they all scrambled to their feet.

Odysseus held out a hand to put them at ease, “Catch your breath if you must. A tired man is more prone to making mistakes, and I will not have any in my new house.”

The men all sighed in relief and went back to their break, waving goodbye as he continued onward. Athena cooed to show her approval in his decision. He thought her mood was improving, but not a moment later, she said, I just can’t believe them sometimes.

“Oh?”

Odysseus thought Athena said her piece already. She clicked his beak right in his ear.

You would think that the god of law and order would have some sense in his head. But no! Apparently my mother Metis still possesses it. If only Father would listen to her, if not me.

Odysseus said nothing, having never heard Athena speak like this before, especially about her father. He thought it best to remain silent; perhaps Athena could complain about Zeus without punishment, but he knew far better.

Athena clicked her beak with a different sense of urgency and Odysseus gave her another olive. She held it in one foot while balancing on the other, dropping the pit when she was finished devouring the flesh.

“You seem awfully worked up,” Odysseus said, “Anything I can do to lift your burdens?”

Athena shook her head. No, I’m afraid this is something that no one man can solve, as frustrating as it might sound.

He crossed the central courtyard and approached the war room, one of the few nearly-complete parts of the palace, where his chief architects and advisors were waiting to update him on their progress.

Though Odysseus was primarily trained in the art of war, he was also well-versed in song and poetry, history, oratory, and arithmetic, all courtesy of Athena. He wasn’t an expert in architecture yet, but he had his own hand in designing the layout of the palace.

“Good day, my friends.” Odysseus said, parting the curtains that served as a makeshift door until the palace was fitted with proper ones.

One of his elder advisors squinted at Athena upon his shoulder. “My liege?”

Before they could go over any potential issues in the construction or their budgetary concerns, Odysseus wandered over to the window and let Athena take off. She disappeared through the trees, though he knew he’d see her again soon.

+++

Despite the fact the sun was about to set and the two godly kings had been bickering all day long, Aphrodite hadn’t lost her patience yet. In fact, she was even reveling in her task at hand.

They moved their business to her abode on Olympus, where her many mirrors were put to good use. Zeus and Poseidon scoured the lands for a suitable judge to measure their sexual prowess, each of them interested in different aspects of what made up a potential lover.

Zeus was pleased with just about any pretty face that breathed, but Poseidon was a bit pickier with appearances. He didn’t want his maidens or young men to be too skinny, and he seemed to have a preference for those with strong legs. Aphrodite could certainly work within those bounds.

At the same time, Poseidon was more open to sharing a lover with some previous sexual experience, thinking it’d make the whole process easier. Zeus wrinkled his nose at the idea and insisted he wanted someone “new”, not wanting to muck about after some vastly lesser mortal man had his way with their chosen judge.

Aphrodite agreed that was a good point, so instead of letting the two kings squabble, she put her talents as a matchmaker to good use. After a brief consultation, she put together a list of minimum requirements that satisfied both gods.

One, their shared lover had to be attractive, preferably with appealing legs.

Two, they had to be virginal.

Three, they all agreed that the mortal should come from high standards, so some form of royalty. They could be a princess or a prince, or even someone lesser than that, but anyone of a noble bloodline would be preferable to a random maiden. Of course, both kings had their fair share of peasant-girl chasing, but for such an important competition, Aphrodite understood their concerns well.

And lastly, the judge should be someone intelligent. Someone who wouldn’t buckle under the pressure of their assigned task and would be able to use not just their body, but logic to determine the true and indisputable winner.

No doubt each god had their plans to bribe the judge, but who wouldn’t?

If it was Aphrodite competing for the apple, she wouldn’t hesitate to pull out a few tricks of her own. An idiot might be easy to bribe, but that also meant they’d be easy for the competition to bribe as well. To each of the male gods, an intelligent lover would certainly be able to recognize a superior bribe.

“Sadly, your stipulations exclude Helen of Sparta,” Aphrodite said, waving away the image of Helen in her largest mirror, “She’s had children by now, though she’s still quite lovely.”

Poseidon made a noncommittal sound, as if he might reconsider, but Zeus urged Aphrodite to move onto the next candidate with a flick of his wrist. The two of them sat before her best mirror, looking almost comical in her rose-colored, dove-ingrained armchairs.

They went through a few more potential candidates, including Penelope of Sparta and Ctimene of Ithaca. Neither god was very impressed by her choices, but just as Aphrodite was about to move onto the next candidate, Poseidon held out a hand.

“Wait a moment,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “Who is that in the back?”

“Oh?” Aphrodite asked. She returned to the image of Ctimene. She was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, her veil fluttering in her wake as her handmaidens walked with her. They seemed to be exiting some great ruin, but on closer inspection, the gods could see men at work. They were building a great palace, it seemed.

Well, great by the standards of mortals.

Behind Ctimene, a bare-chested young man held out a hand and seemed to be directing a group of others. Aphrodite’s mirror rippled and showed them the young man in greater detail, leaving young Ctimene out entirely.

“Oh,” Zeus said.

Aphrodite concealed her eager smile, more thrilled than ever at this sudden twist. She examined the young man’s features, including the sharp angles of his nose, his dense locks of dark brown hair, and his high cheekbones. He bore a striking resemblance to Ctimene. As the goddess of love, there were a few other details Aphrodite could parse out just by looking at him, but she would conceal her thoughts for now.

She said, “Why, that would be none other than King Odysseus of Ithaca!”

Though the young ruler was about the same height as his sister, he was no slight-of-frame weakling. His broad shoulders complimented his strong chest and arms, certainly the build of a warrior. His stomach was a flat plain and below his garments, well muscled thighs teased them almost playfully.

A pale scar ran along the inside of one of his thighs, but it only added to his character. Though Poseidon maintained his interest, Zeus scoffed.

“King, you say?” Zeus nudged his brother, “You know what that means.”

Poseidon was still appraising Odysseus’ thighs, “Plenty of whores in and out of his bed?”

“Actually!” Aphrodite said, clapping her hands, “You’ll be beyond pleased to know that young Odysseus here… is virginal.”

Now that had both gods’ attention. The King of the Gods seemed incredulous.

“How old is he?” Zeus asked.

“Twenty years, my dearest king.”

“And he’s still a virgin?” Poseidon asked, his eyebrows flying up in surprise. “Why? Is he stupid?”

Aphrodite giggled behind her hand, “He’s determined to save himself for marriage, like a maiden! But it can’t be helped. I do believe he’s Athena’s pupil, after all. And I’m sure she holds him to what she perceives as a high standard.”

Aphrodite rolled her eyes, “Whatever the case may be, he’s remained celibate thus far. Perfectly ripe and ready to be plucked, if you would.”

The gods of the sea and sky shared a look.

Zeus said, “Show us more.”

Aphrodite was more than happy to do exactly that. She waved her hand and the stationary image of Odysseus began to move. There was no sound to accompany the vision, but all three of them remained silent as they watched Odysseus work.

He carried multiple rucksacks full of supplies up the spiral staircases of his house while other laborers stopped to eat their dinner. He seemed more than intent to get somewhere, not stopping until he came across a large bedroom with the roof still letting in sunlight in a few patches. Interestingly, while the bed was large and well made, it lacked a mattress or rug thrown over the rungs. Perhaps that would come later.

Odysseus hopped out the window, seemingly ignorant to the fact there was a steep drop right below him, as he grabbed hold of a tree bough and climbed into the roof. It looked like he was intent on using every last bit of sunlight to his advantage as he finished laying out the clay shingles.

The sweat across his body glistened like stardust as the sky above him glowed with the most beautiful shades of red and gold. He put his strong body to use by covering the few bare patches of his rooftop, stopping only to retrieve a shallow clay bowl from his pack, filling it with oil and floating a wick on top before igniting his lamp to give him a bit more light.

Zeus snapped his fingers. In an instant, Hermes was fluttering at his side.

“Yes, Father?”

Without taking his eyes off of Odysseus, Zeus said, “Contact Helios. Tell him to wait a while longer before dusk arrives.”

Hermes spared Odysseus a brief glance before nodding and flying off. Though the mortal didn’t seem to notice, the sun did indeed stop setting.

Odysseus set down his hammer to dab his sweat-soaked face with a rag. He was tiring now, but intent on finishing his job if the determined look in his eyes was any indication.

Poseidon held up one hand and curled a finger toward himself.

The hammer that Odysseus just set down began sliding toward the edge of the roof.

“Brother…” Zeus warned.

Poseidon said, “Trust me.”

Odysseus snatched the hammer before it could fall, but found himself quite close to the edge now.

Poseidon cupped his hands around his mouth and blew softly. A wind coming off Ithaca’s coast kicked up, carrying the salty scent of the ocean with it. As Odysseus stood with his hammer, he raised his other hand to shield his eyes from the sudden gust of wind that ruffled his hair and clothing.

Aphrodite’s eyes widened, instantly recognizing the game Poseidon was playing. She added her own flare as well, using just the slightest twirl of her finger to undo the belt holding young Odysseus’ garments in place.

The poor young king seemed baffled by his sudden misfortune, moving swiftly to capture his garment before the wind could steal it away. Aphrodite froze the image without being told to do so, but she was quite proud of her timing.

Odysseus stood in all his mortal splendor, revealing his tan skin scarred by past adventures. He was healthy, with the body of an athlete and his arm outstretched to better display the toned muscles under his skin.

“What a surprise!” Aphrodite said with mirth, tracing her finger along the surface of the mirror, “Look at his little dimples!”

Indeed, a twin set of dimples rested over his lower back, no longer concealed by his clothing. But that was not all. Some men were cursed to be rather flat in their rear, leaving them looking awkward or incomplete at times, but Aphrodite was equally pleased that Odysseus had something worth looking at below his dimples. In addition to the well-defined muscles in his shoulders and back, he sported the most grabbable bottom.

If Odysseus was not doomed to be the plaything between kings, Aphrodite might have been tempted to take him for herself.

She held out her hands as if Odysseus was nothing more than an exotic animal on display. Poseidon was leaning forward in his chair, his head tilted with interest. Zeus, too, seemed sold at last. His golden eyes sparkled more brightly than usual as he traced over the little king’s backside. He ran his tongue over his teeth.

Aphrodite smiled, “So, my dears… what do you say? Is Odysseus of Ithaca to be your judge?”

#epic the musical #epic odysseus #odysseus of ithaca #zeus epic #epic poseidon #poseidon x odysseus #zeus x odysseus #Odysseus: haha I'm in danger #also instead of Penelope unraveling the shroud...#it's Ody tearing apart his palace to delay his wedding until he can trick the gods into leaving him alone

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aftgficrec · 4 months ago

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ack finally caught you guys open <333 thanks for all your work! I was wondering if you have any newer longer fics with realistic characterisation and writing (similar to profenity’s works maybe?) and also any non-fox Neil/andrew fics? Thank you!And sorry for the tall order;;🙏

You’ll find an abundance of non-fox andreil in our recent Staff Recs: Writers post. On our tags page under AUs, explore the shops and jobs sections or other themes from fantasy to band aus.

Fandom writer profenity is known for long, meaty explorations of canon characters and themes. Their ongoing WIP ‘The Unkindness of Ravens’ has more than 380k words and 12k+ kudos! Find it in this Raven!Neil to Fox ask under former writing name crazy_like_a. The author interacts with fans on tumblr @hopingforcoordinates.

We’ve featured or referred to profenity’s ‘Lessons in Cartography’ and sequel ‘The Cartographer and the World’ in many asks. I’m listing some as a doorway to similar works. For something newer, try the Kevin-centric ‘A Falling Star’ series, featured here. If this answer seems cobbled together — it is. This is my subjective, limited attempt at catching lightning in a bottle. -A

check out other works in these asks that feature profenity’s ‘Lessons’ series:

must read fandom classics here

post canon continuation of The King’s Men here

Neil fights with Jack here

andreil exploring feelings, intimacy and sexuality here

in character andreil smut here

small selection of ‘not new’ recs:

‘Hold me close, in fact bury me’ and ‘Trust Fall (And Welcoming Arms)’ here

‘Black As Is The Raven, He’ll Get A Partner’ here

‘progress comes in small steps’ series here

‘Inked Truths’ series here

‘Baltimore Blues’ here

long recs for a return to fandom here

A Falling Star series by NikNak22 [Rated M/E, 245011 words, 3 complete works, Updated Nov 2023]

NB: the author credits inspiration to ‘To Be Certain We'll Be Tall Again’ by fullyvisible, featured here, now complete.

Part 1: Dead of Night (E, 101589 words) It’s Kevin’s senior year at PSU, and things are…okay. But that changes when a single question from a nosy reporter sends his life spiraling. The descent is slow and maddening – memories and trauma from his past weave together to form the image of the man that stands there today. As Kevin begins to look around him with a new and critical eye, though, he’s no longer sure that man is who he wants to be. So the question is - when faced with the truth, is it a case of Kevin finally getting what he deserves? Or is it about time to prove a lot of people (including himself) wrong? Aka the fic that’s all about Kevin Day.

tw: torture, tw: abuse, tw: child abuse, tw: rape/noncon, tw: alcohol abuse, tw: psychological abuse, tw: depression, tw: self esteem issues, tw: body dysmorphia, tw: body shaming, tw: bullying, tw: assault, tw: homophobia, tw: racism, tw: self harm

Part 2: Darkest Before Dawn (M, 52365) “This is finally it, isn’t it?” Jeremy whispers. “Oui,” Jean says softly on Kevin’s other side. “I believe it is.” And for a moment, they look so lost. Just two little boys about to go out and face the big, wide world. So Kevin searches until both of his hands find one of theirs. He doesn’t look at them, though he feels their gazes on him. He just breathes deeply and closes his eyes. Then he squeezes their hands as he tells them, “I can’t wait to see what you’ll do next.” AKA the highs and lows of Kevin’s life after graduation and into the Pros.

tw: self esteem issues, tw: panic attacks, tw: minor character death, tw: implied/referenced assault, tw: implied/referenced eating disorders

Part 3: In the Light of Day (E, 91057) It’s been almost five years since Kevin graduated from PSU. Five years that he's played Exy professionally. Five years since he’s learned to live on his own. Five years after discovering he’s in love with his best friends, former USC Trojans Jeremy Knox and Jean Moreau. Five years since he’s figured out, they will never love him back. So, when Jeremy and Jean invite him to their house for Christmas this year, he knows this is it. It’s the finale. The last hurrah. The swan song. The final act. It’s time he lets them go, lets this foolish, one-sided love go, once and for all. But he might find this is harder than he ever expected.

tw: depression, tw: bullying, tw: self esteem issues, tw: body dysmorphia, tw: imposter syndrome, tw: implied/referenced eating disorders, tw: gaslighting, tw: ptsd, tw: dissociation, tw: implied/referenced abuse

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adamsrcnan · 5 months ago

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little snippet of the jerejean 10 things au i'm working on !

Jean put his arm up, pushing Elodie back into her own space and said, "Put your seatbelt on." He turned the key, shifting into reverse as the engine came to life under him.

"You're no fun." Elodie pouted.

"This is news to no one," Jean said, checking his rearview mirror. Jeremy Knox and his band of Trojans were still hanging out far too close to the rear end of his car. He scowled.

"Whatever," Elodie said, leaning over once more to address Kevin. "I'll certainly be there, Kevin."

"Oh? Will you?" Jean said, fixing her with a look again. His eyebrows raised at her audacity.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her chin up, "Kevin invited me."

"Kevin can go to hell."

"Kevin is still here," the man in question chimed in. "Don't listen to him, Elodie. He's just PMS-ing"

Jean turned his incredulous stare on his best friend before stepping on the gas jerking the car back. Kevin yelped pulling back out of the window, while someone shrieked as the youths behind his car all scattered out his way.

Elodie yelled, "You almost hit Jeremy you jerk!"

Jean grumbled under his breath, "Then I clearly wasn't trying hard enough." Elodie stuck her head out of her window, calling back "Sorry Jeremy!"

Jean vaguely registered the boy shouting back, but he was already turning the car and peeling out the school parking lot as fast as possible.

stay tuned for more !

#made good progress on the first chapter and i really loved this little interaction i wrote so i thought i'd share #hope you guys like it 🥺#jerejean #jean moreau #jeremy knox #kevin day #elodie moreau #i love writing elodie so much already #aftg #tsc

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minyard-05 · 25 days ago

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okay i'll elaborate bc im clinical about this shit.

but disclaimer beforehand, this is all INSPIRED BY THE SITUATION. This isn't me shipping Petekay or trying to say "THIS is what happened back in 2005-2006!!" this is me having a roman empire and applying it to my favorite couple because I can see them in a SIMILAR situation caused by their OWN characterizations. I HAVE to clarify this because I refuse to have people thinking I ship real people 💔

My thought process is as follows: In a modern-ish band au sort of thing without exy, I think the Ravens would rebrand to be a sort of emo rock band and the Trojans would rebrand to be a pop punk sorta thing. Jeremy would be like Pete Wentz type of chalant, ykwim? Like he'd run a tumblr blog where he pours his heart out and typically isn't afraid to just showcase his feelings (so long as he considers they aren't detrimental to his image.) and would 100% write a song like Fourth of July (my roman empire god. just this week i listened to it 121 times in a DAY.) Or Jet Pack Blues.

And I think Jean would be the type to get into a relationship, be completely into it and clearly reciprocate but then have a blank period where it's unclear what causes the disconnect behind the scenes. I just see Jean maybe having a momentary emotional blockage where he denies himself a meaningful and healthy relationship either due to self-doubt or just insecurity.

And since I already see Jeremy as having a fragile heart, considering he wears it so openly, I think he would have the creative outlet capable of writing songs that bleed his emotions onto the voice of the singer.

im evil and can see this with kevjean too but i love jeremy too much to focus on just kevin being jean's homosexual yearning, let him move on to a new heartbreak dammit

ok going to clarify: i know nothing about Pete Wentz but i am definitely curious about this AU now. love the ravens taking on what i assume is going to be an MCR type of standpoint? but yea all this sounds cool as hell honestly

(sidebar: no idea abt pete wentz but i think jeremy knox would have a tumblr blog anyway tbh)

tagging my partner bc its invested too now lmao @lonelymoonlight-mp3

#orpheus speaks #anon #every ask i get about this i get a little more curious

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specialagentartemis · 8 months ago

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@needlesandnilbogs Alternate answer I was considering giving:

This is the title that could go with the Murderbot Diaries concept I probably won't actually write but rotate in my mind occasionally. I call it "Trojan War AU" in my head but really it is like Ultimate Bad End. The Corporation Rim has had it with this little freehold continuing to pop up in various places making a mess of things with their media, academic, and legal advocacy for things like "construct rights" and "planetary colony independence" and "welcoming escaping contract-slaves" and "corporations having to abide by laws," and are considering Preservation's rising prominence in these things to be a threat to their business models and general capacity to control their people, so they band together and muster a thousand spaceships and bomb Preservation to shit to Send A Message. Possibly including a false surrender which is Illegal but what do they care, who's going to hold them to account. It's sad it's tragic Indah is Hector and dies just as heroically and some of the Preservationers can escape and regroup on the continent that's mostly uninhabited and still in the process of terraforming and harder to track down people there. The CR has blown the station out of the sky, reduced the primary city to rubble, and Made Their Point. Mensah, her family, Pin-Lee, and Bharadwaj manage to escape to the continent; lots of other Preservationers including MB's other humans were caught in the post-war roundup of the main city which the CR went. Hey. Free workforce. Dividing them up and shipping them off to mines and factories and such because what do you do with a conquered population just sitting there for you to not have to even pretend to pay. (And then ofc Murderbot has to go track them down and rescue them because it couldn't do much on its own against a whole invading force besides try to get its humans to safety, and even though the war is over like hell is it gonna let the CR forces prevent it from doing that job.)

I sometimes think about this when I'm in a Tragedy Mood but it's probably not something I'm gonna write.

#especially now honestly

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tyriq-edits · 8 months ago

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In the Plain Nysa -

First Draft of the Prologue

This is an early draft of the prologue for my planned Vashwood Fanfiction "In the Plain of Nysa”.

Given this is an early draft, keep in mind that this entire chapter and even its inclusion in the final product are still subject to change.

I also haven’t written fanfics in almost two years so I am a bit rusty and thus any and all constructive criticism is very much welcome. However PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS BEFOREHAND

Content Warnings: Kidnapping, Gore, Blood, War, descriptions of amputations, mentions of murder, attempted murder, descriptions of physical torture, whipping

This level of violence presented in the prologue draft will not appear in the rest of the fan fiction however.

For further informations about this AU and its lore just look at the "in the plain of nysa” tag on my tumblr page

Prologue Draft under the cut

“Hold him down, Pylon”

“What do you think it is I’m trying to do, Lysander?”

Pylon shot his fellow soldier an annoyed look before redirecting his gaze down to the blonde youth struggling against all three trojan soldiers as they tried to keep him down on the floor.

Youth might be the wrong term to describe the wriggling gent beneath him, after all this “youth” was not just a few years but centuries older then Pylon and his comrades combined. For this boy, trashing his body around helplessly like a freshly caught fish on land, to escape his captors’ grips, was indeed a god.

Vash the recreationist.

Vash the bringer of order.

Vash the dancer.

Vash the god of peace.

It felt almost unreal to Pylon that this lad, who was flailing his legs around and fighting against the band of Trojans keeping him pinned to the ground, weiling like an abandoned kitten crying out for its mother to come and save it, was indeed an olympian. Weren’t the gods supposed to be almighty? So how come that they, a group of mere mortals, had been able to capture the messy-haired god of peace and his sister, the goddess of victory with such ease? How come they had been able to kill the goddess of victory with such ease? How come they were gonna kill the god of peace with the same amount of ease right now?

“Iphition, go get a rag or anything to stuff his mouth, he’s gonna wake up the entire neighbourhood at this rate” Lysander hissed at the youngest in their group.

“I can’t keep the brat down and also get up to grab some rags at the same time, Lysander!”

“I’ll take over for you” Pylon declared, now instead of clasping both his hands around the deity’s right arm, reaching out to grasp both of Vash’s wrists and keep them pinned above the blonde god’s head.

“Thanks Pyl” Iphition, releasing the god’s left arm from his clutches, rising from the floor, patting some of the dirt off of his garments before turning around to find anything of use to keep the divine being quiet.

Pylon did not dare to let his eyes linger on his comrades' filthy clothes longer than necessary. Those filthy…. Defiled….Bloodstained garments. Yet, looking at Lysander’s or his own vestments did not offer a more delightful view either. For they were equally filthy, equally defiled and equally blood stained. Stained with the blood of the Tesla. The blood of the goddess of victory. Reminding them of what he and his brothers in arms had done. And what they were about to do to the divine gent looking up at them with pleading, teary blue eyes.

Then again, Pylon thought, this entire room, a dark and dingy basement underneath one of Troy’s countless taverns, wasn’t hailing any differently than their attire. The floor they were kneeling on and keeping the sobbing god pressed against, was still painted in the now dried up, crimson blood of victory. In the dim flickering light of the handful of oil lamps they kept lit, Pylon spotted some loose feathers from her wings strewn around the room. The stale blood splattered onto them, having lost its warm scarlet hue and rust-coloured crust having taken its place.

It is not like killing the dual winged goddess of victory had been their plan from the start, Pylon kept trying to tell himself. It was an act of desperation. They had planned to merely kidnap the goddess of victory and her younger brother and keep them within the walls of Troy to assure Troy’s victory and a quick end to this war.

Their beloved city had been sieged by the Acheans for up to 9 years at this point. 9 years since their Prince Paris had kidnapped fair Helen of Sparta. 9 years since Menelaus had taken up arms to get his wife back. 9 years of being trapped within their own cities.

They were simply tired. Tired of waking up every morning, wondering which ones of their friends they would be forced to bury that day, or if it would be them ending up on the funerary pyre. Tired of living in fear for their family’s safety should the Acheans succeed to defeat the Trojan army and storm their city.

They had first discovered the god of peace, the youngest of holy siblings. Pylon could still clearly see in front of his inner eyes how they had spotted the son of the stars scurrying across the battlefield, hasting to the side of any wounded soldier he could find, putting his hands on them and healing their injuries. Yet what stuck out to the Trojan soldier the mist was how the deity seemingly did not discriminate between the two fronts. Whether you were a Trojan or Achean, if Vash the recreationist saw a wounded warrior he’d run to his side and help him get back on his feet.

So, they took him. When they thought no one on the battlefield was paying attention they simply grabbed the Olympian and dragged him towards their homecity.

And that was when Pylon and his two brothers in arms caught the sight of the goddess of victory flying overhead, leading the Achaean army. Pylon gazed at the ethereal deity, his mind going blank from the sheer awe, when suddenly his and Tesla’s eyes met. Those icy blues seemed to stare right into Pylon’s mortal soul and he physically felt a freezing cold shudder through his entire spine.

That was when the Trojan had realised that Vash, still being dragged towards the gates of Troy, had called out towards his sister the second he saw her. That’s when Pylon understood. That was not the gaze of a benevolent goddess of victory. This was the hateful stare of an older sister seeing her kin in danger. The trio had acted before they could truly process their thought process. Pylon remembers all too vividly as Lysanderhad had taken out his bow and arrow and pierced one of the goddesses’ wings with one clear shot, making her plummet down to the earth.

It was not meant to happen that way. But they had captured two Olympians. They only wanted to keep Victory and Peace in their city in hopes their presence alone would lead to Troy’s glorious triumph over the Acheans. By keeping victory locked and chained up in this basement and by making peace heal only Trojan soldiers from now on. That was the plan. They were going to let them go back to their fellow Olympians the second the Acheans had been defeated.

But it did not happen that way. Mighty and victorious Tesla kept trying to escape so they had to hack off her pure white pair of wings. But yet she kept on defying them. And the Acheans kept winning battle after battle. So they had to make her see that she had to work for them. Maybe then they would finally receive the blessings of victory. So they cut off her feet and legs next. Yet the Acheans kept winning.

So the trio began to grow desperate in the face of the Achaean army getting closer and closer to storming their cherished hometown. They even tried whipping the goddess’s darling baby brother Vash in front of her with such velocity that chunks of his skin and flesh flew off with each crack of the nine tailed whip. However this ended up being counter productive rather fast as well. For even though seeing her little brother in such pain had managed to sway the fair haired goddess of triumph to let the Trojans win some battles against the Acheans at long last, the injuries inflicted onto the god of peace proved to be so severe that he had become physically too weak to even crawl towards the hurt Trojan soldiers, let alone heal their wounds.

Having seemingly been backed against a wall with their “safe ticket to victory” refusing to work for them and their “divine healer” out of commission, they saw themselves forced to act fast.

So , in a last act of despair they did the unthinkable. They took an axe and hacked the goddess of victory into tiny little pieces of bone and flesh, handing them out to the soldiers so each and everyone of them would be fighting with a bit of victory at their side. A finger for Aeneas, a toe for Polybus, an earlobe for Glaucus…

It is for the safety of our friends and family. For our home… is what Pylon tried to tell himself as he watched Lysander’s axe come crashing down onto the poor goddess. The sounds of her flesh being ripped open, the bones cracking into halves and quarters and the goddesses piercing screams slowly dying down…. no matter how much Pylon tried to delude himself with thoughts of “we are doing this for our loved ones” he could never forget them. Hearing them every time he closed his eyes had been plaguing him every night since they had murdered Tesla. A part of him almost hoped the Acheans would just kill him at this point so he could finally be freed from this guilt.

Yet, at the same time looking back at their horrific act, what had shocked Pylon more than the fact that a deity could be wounded and killed in the first place, was how human their blood seemed. He recalled the stories his mother had told him as a small child. How gods could not bleed. How through the deathless beings’ veins flowed instead the ethereal fluid of ichor. He had always imagined for it to shine golden like the sun itself. But instead it was red. Like his.

Yet they still had one last problem: Their joker, Vash, who was supposed to provide infinite healing to the Trojan troops was still far too weak to actively heal any of their soldiers. So Lysander suggested to do it all over again.

“Please”

The pathetic little whimper ripped Pylon out of his thoughts and he once again looked down on the tear filled eyes of the youngest star born deity.

“Please. You don’t have to do this. Please”

His grip tightened, leading to another sob escaping the blonde’s throat. He could not exactly say why the Olympian’s please made him so angry. Was it truly anger he was feeling? Or was it perhaps guilt? But for what exactly? Guilt over murder? But he had killed countless men over the past 9 years on the battlefield. How is this any different from the countless innocent men he had slain before the gates of Troy?

“You think we’d do this if we didn’t have to?” Lysander growled before Pylon could even get a chance to answer Vash himself. The oldest among the three soldiers glared at Vash, while holding down the deity’s legs so he’d finally stop kicking the air around them.

Staring at his companion’s face, Pylon couldn’t help but notice the deep dark bags underneath his eyes, the glassy haze laying over his pupils like thick fog, the new strands of grey hair adorning both his beard and mane. The Trojan had known both Lysander and Iphition since his earliest childhood, literally having grown up with them like brothers. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling as if both his comrades had aged far more rapidly in the past few days since the goddess’s death than over the entire past decade since this forsaken war’s beginning. The way both their faces have grown haggard, with their deeply sunken in eyes, a permanent frown plastered over profile, acting as witnesses to sleepless nights his friends must have suffered through lately. Just like him. Pylon knew he could never say it out loud but it was almost strangely comforting to know that he was not the only one battling with this whirlwind of emotions their cruel deed had left behind. Be that as it may, Pylon also could not rid himself of the underlying realisation that he barely recognises his two best friends anymore. Were these men, pushing aside their own discomfort as they readied themselves for yet another godly slaughter, the same two boys he had shared so many happy moments with over the course of his life? As much as Pylon hoped that they could all just return to the how things used to be after the war, joking with his friends as they shared wine and freshly picked fruit, he knew it was not meant to be. Daring another glimpse at his companion’s face he was once again met with the harrowing reality that the pain, grime and the haunting spectre of their shared sin most likely had changed the three of them for all eternity on every level of their existence with no hope of going back to their once careless and hope-filled younger selves. From their physical appearance all the way down to the very core of their soul.

“Iphition what’s taking you so long?! We are running out of time. Troy is running out of time.” Lysander yapped at the youngest of the trio. Observing his youngest friend’s gloomy expression and paleness, Pylon knew that Iphition was struggling with the shame of their crime on the inside just like him. Despite his comrade’s lifelong reluctance to verbally express his thoughts and feelings, the soldier had known the olive-skinned man long enough to pick up on quirks and hints when Iphition was being plagued by or uncomfortable with something. Such as for example right now him having taken his sweet time trying to find some cloth. He had been stalling time. Trying to prolong the time to perhaps mentally prepare himself before the… execution.

“I’m here, I’m here.” Iphition mumbled, approaching the two other warriors, holding a simple linen cloth in his hand “it’s not much but it’s the best i could find.”

“Well then hurry up, stuff the brat’s mouth and go get my axe.”

“Got it” Iphition responded, more to appease Lysander than because he is somehow eager to watch yet another Olympian get dismembered, kneeling down once more beside the blonde god.

“Please. Please, I am begging you. Don’t do this!” The Olympian wailed, his eyes fixed on Pylon with the same intense stare as Tesla when she had first seen him on the battlefield almost a month ago at this point. Yet his eyes were not filled with righteous rage. They shone with… hope? Pity? Or was it perhaps sadness? Whatever it was, just looking directly at this pair of deep blues made Pylon’s heart wrench and he instantly averted his gaze, looking instead at some imaginary point on the opposite wall.

He heard the muffled sounds of Iphition forcing the balled up piece of cloth past Vash’s lips and vaguely noticing as his comrade went to grab Lysanders trusted axe before once again grabbing the blond god’s left arm and keeping it pinned to the ground.

Pylon felt his heart rate picking up when he could see Lysander’s shadow on the wall. Axe in hand, risen up high over his head. Pylon couldn’t tell if it was the flickering of the candles’ flames or not but he could see his friend’s grip on the axe seeming a bit… shaky? It was almost as if Lysander were hesitating.

However the soldier had no chance to ponder that thought any longer as the stifled screams and cries for mercy and the panicked trashing of the god beneath him was the only thing the soldier registered before he could feel the blast of cold air hitting his face as Lysander’s axe came crashing down onto the god’s left arm.

Another muffled cry of pain rang through his ears before it slowly ebbed into pitiful sobs of pain.

“That was the first arm.” Lysander’s booming voice broke the silence “Now onto the right on-“

Suddenly the murky basement’s door got thrown open, flying off of its hinges, the windblast of the the sheer force blowing out all the candles and oil lamps strewn around the cellar.

“Who in the Chronos’ name do you think you a-“ Lysander attempted to yell at the intruder but his voice failed him the very second he saw it. Even while hidden behind a boar tusk helmet he could see them clearly. Those same golden locks and those captivating blue eyes.

“L-Lord Nai!”

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tma-entity-song-poll · 11 months ago

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Battle of the Fear Bands B2R4: The Corruption

BlackBoxWarrior:

“A song about a man struggling with his health (be it mental or physical). The song makes the treatment seem inhumane and just as terrifying as the initial problem. It’s almost like he’s getting sicker and sicker but just won’t die.”

youtube

Thermodynamic Lawyer:

““Disease is her primary language” - every line of this is filled with rot and disease and bugs and it’s 100% corruption.”

youtube

Lyrics below the line!

BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA:

Well he collapsed with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome on the E.R. floor Panic attacked, anaphylactic and ataxic The way he spun his butterfly risked all six his phalanges Roman candles at both ends in his synapses And the method with which he recycled his humors Trojan Horse'd his Blood-Brain Barrier and raised the LD-50, yes, yes And through flight-or-fight revelation shame the Black Box Warrior He skipped this town and headed straight down history Shields himself from reason in a Kevlar baby-blue Tuxedo Quilted from the finest fibers, flesh, and fiberglass, and flowers His ego a mosquito, evil incarnate good incognito Pops placebos for libido, screaming, "Bless the torpedoes"

For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down

Well, he was wearing stolen rubber shoes and wrapped a poison ivy noose Around his Lotus jugular when they came Well, they found him with a map to every victim of his love And a tattoo of a blue jay on his face And they waited for his vital signs to lie and let a flatline cry A hymn out in Hungarian Harmonic But he cocked his noggin, through his stoma sang, "For auld lang syne" "Happy birthday to the succulents, I'll die your hydroponics" His rib cage was a hornet's nest, palpitations set the beat His vagus nerve a turk's head knot, an axel hitch, a carrick bend He wondered if Christ Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee Auf wiedersehn, au revoir, he gripped his wits right by their ends

For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down

Hello, welcome, why don't you take a seat? Get comfortable, relax, take a second if you need to Now what's bothering you? Well, why don't we start at the beginning Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence? Did you have xenon orchid sinews spilling down the outer center of your Blooming Escher/Mandelbrot head? And how about claustrophilic tendrils clapping caskets closed on seven-knuckle thumbs Did you get along well with the Gideon Bugler pineal glands? Your projector eyes casting sci-fi's on your STR'd strands? Tell me about your nerve to steal nerves of steel from under Bacchus' bloody nose Did Namibian Himbas tie-dye you, your ears pierced with a Phineas Gage flagpole Did you die before your day? Thursday traction, Tuesday titration My hope is to assess through my objective report of Your subjective conjecture Whether this proprietary bled of expertise and seasoning works as well as this Transorbital ice pick Holistic ballistics, you got a better idea? It's about the best we could come up with, what, you think ideas spread because they're good? No, they spread because people like them So now here we are once again, holding As it were, a mirror up to your mirror I guess it's just something people do

A bloody knife to split your infrastructure, wine to rev your motor function Coital machinations of the dead Well, you mainline your animus, karate chop your abacus And learn to be an animal instead But I never did think you better than this, your modus operandi causes Nazi/Skoptzyism and suicide Why to thine own self be true when it is you who are the problem Not the things you do but something sick inside Lithium and Dialectics, boy you really is defective CBT don't seem effective for that Cluster B, accept it Offer up your innocence, please ignore the side effects You've lost your mind and almost lost your life before So you'll be fine

For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, and why would you want to look back? I mean, it's no good looking back, so try to look forward now For what? For what? For what it's worth If they were going to get you boy, they would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down…

Thermodynamic Lawyer Esq, G.F.D:

(I hold myself in contempt) Tearing the hair off a black baboon's skull Here's a bitch with some four-thousand names Vomiting lies through her theremin throat As some businessmen pick at her brains Pulls back skinny lips to reveal a proboscis Seems Seth Brindle's at it again Tears pages from spines as she judges the cover And shamelessly spoils the end Blood vessels drying and curling inside are Unfurling from out of her wrists Well, she wrings out a snake and collects all its poison Intending to learn it to hiss Foams at the mouth with a head full of acid And giving some poor illness the blame Knocking the pieces the fuck off the chessboard Insisting that she's won the game So all that I see absolute entropy As the chemical bonds fall apart Well, it seems she broke me But I swear she could not break my heart She could not break my heart, oh lord Makes up excuses for throbbing black bruises And uses them to her advantage Never came down from her last trip, oh Jesus Disease is her primary language Garbled and gruesome, her words so absurd Like a herd of transmissions from Apollo 13 No apology, I request misery So no rest 'til I've twisted her chest round my knee So squeal like a trolley wheel, cry like a baby With autism strapped to a ceiling fan Soil your visage with mucus and twisting of features unable to stand Buckle your knees looking up at me And beg me to spare thee the back of my hand For the sake of humanity, die of your blight We're blessed, you're barren as Mojave sands So all that I see absolute entropy As the chemical bonds fall apart Well, it seems she broke me But I swear she could not break my heart, whoa Now all that I see absolute entropy As the chemical bonds fall apart Well, it seems she broke me But I swear, she can go fucking die (kill yourself) You can go fucking die (kill yourself) Go fucking die (kill yourself) Kill yourself and go die

#the magnus archives #tma #poll #the corruption #Will Wood #Youtube

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ammstify · 8 months ago

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Welp, I'm gonna finally talk about it, especially since my moot @greetings-inferiors told me to do it, and my best friend said it was okay!

The self indulgent Persona AU I made for my friend and I's silly, gay, adult men ocs because I'm obsessed with this franchise!

(***NOTE: This post will be split into two parts, 1. To give both characters equal attention, and 2. So it's easier to read! Also will be referring to the characters by their first name initials, sorry!)

Firstly, let's begin with a slight introduction to our first character who I will be discussing; My best friends OC and special man, F.

F is a 27 (if 2022) year old guy, or 32-33 during Persona 3's time (2009-2010), or 41 during Persona 5's time (2016). Regardless though, he's a chubby-ish dorky blond that's a mixture of masc punk and cozy femme cottagecore (depending on the day), who loves nature, playing the guitar, cooking, and hiking through the woods. He is very sweet, excitable, kind, and a complete and utter dork that tries to find the good in everything.

However, much like many ocs of mine and my friends, he also has his own trauma and demons. But, through the love and support of his boyfriend/husband N (my handsome man), he learns to overcome and live with the trauma, while healing the metaphorical and physical wounds on his body into scars.

F's chosen Persona of course is the Mythological hero of the Trojan War, and the central character of Homer's Iliad, Achilles! The Persona takes the form of a humanoid person, with both masculine and feminine qualities, their body wrapped around and balancing upon their golden spear as if it were a pole dancer.

Most of their body is suspended in the air other than for one foot, which touches the floor, representing how all of Achilles' body was impervious other than his heel, due to it being the only part not dipped within the River Styx as a baby. Alongside that, not only does Achilles' body being suspended represent him being a pseudo-demigod, but also F's high on life attitude, feeling free and happy but still having his own vulnerabilities.

The overall Persona's clothing scheme is a sort've punkish Greek armor, combining a leather strap harness with a corset. Its arms are covered with mesh, studded leather bands etched with the alchemical symbol of Achilles, elbow pads with etchings similar to his shield, spiked wristbands, and fingerless studded gloves. Around their waist is a loose cloth skirt, similar to the red cape Achilles often is depicted donning. They also wear clunky platform boots with Greek sandal styled strapping, with an arrow pierced through the heel of the foot touching the floor. And last but not least, atop the Personas head is a studded Trojan helmet, where a long and luxurious mane of golden hair spills out from the top, taking the place of the plume.

For F, the feminine and masculine qualities of the Persona's outfit represents both his love of punk themed clothes, but also his comfort within his sexuality and gender. The mesh around its arms, the big platform boots, the spikes, and the mohawk are all common items that F has worn before. And in terms of mythological lore, Achilles was regarded to be a masculine and feminine man. During a part of his life, he even comfortably hid as a woman while living on the island of Skyros. It also gives off a sense of etherealness by making the Persona stand out, while balancing colors of black, white, gold, and red, common colors associated with both F and Achilles!

I'm not entirely sure what Arcana Achilles would be, but I'm kinda learning towards either Sun or Chariot! It would likely utilize Agi/Fire magic but focus more on physical skills and some general skills, like Tarukaja, Makajama, or Marin Karin!

So what about his SEES costume? Or his Phantom Thieves outfit in the Metaverse?

For his SEES gear, it would probably be a punk, modified earthy green denim jacket with all sorts of patches and messy writing, with the SEES armband over his left arm and shoulder. F would have a simple tshirt, with baggy 2000's style jeans, some clunky boots, and a black half skirt with a white belt and his Evoker! And over the shoulder, like Yukari and Junpei, he'd have a connecting white strap where he'd hook his big shield as his weapon. Very chaotic and messy, but very him!

Also yes, his weapon is a shield because I couldn't figure out where to places Achilles' signature shield, and thought it would be fitting if F carried one! Not to mention, a tactical shield or ultimate weapon of Achilles' shield would be SICK!

And no, it was not intentional that F too is an excitable, blond haired, pansexual punk with a Persona that represents masculinity and femininity, that uses physical skills and carries a shield, like a certain other someone whose name rhymes with Manji.

....

Mostly.

Anyway! For his Phantom Thieves costume, its kinda simple and a little similar to his Persona! Only, F would have a studded black chest plate, with a black-brown under shirt/cover for his arms, gloves with silver knuckles and red palms, puffy black-brown pants, and some big clunky belted punk boots. He would also have a similar around the waist and over the shoulder belt to carry his shield, and a red wraparound cloth to emulate the skirts Trojan's wore. Like Achilles, he too would have a black and red Trojan styled mask, with studs and spikes lining it, and his mohawk poking through! Think kinda like Yoshida's design from ScruffyTurtles Adult Confidants AU! But yknow, a little more punk!

Of course, we can't forget his Codename, which would just be.... Trojan.

Yeah, its a little simple abd on the nose, but I liked the idea since its befitting of him! The only alternative would probably be Valkyrie, but he's not really Valkyrie themed, and I don't wanna use Titan since ScruffyTurtles used that for their AU Yoshida!

So you might asking, "Ammy, the guy is almost ten years older than the entire cast of Persona 3, and would be in his 40's during Persona 5. What setting would he be in??"

Honestly? Probably none of them! But I just liked the idea of him and N as older Persona users, similar to Zenkichi from P5 Strikers, Kasukabe from P5 Tactica, or the entire cast of P2: Eternal Punishment! Realistically, neither of these characters would probably interact with or exist during the games, let alone even INTERACT with the casts! I just liked the thought of them discovering themselves and fighting with their own Personas, with their own unique attacks and stuff!

As for the other elephant in the room; "Why doesn't he have a Persona 5 themed Persona that's a trickster?"

Well, there's a few parts to this issue.

Because F and N are lovers that aid each other, I wanted their Personas to be characters that are connected together, representing their complex relationship and devotion to one another.

In terms of Tricksters who were actually a gay couple, there was only that really came to mind recently: Stede Bonnet aka "The Gentleman Pirate" and Edward Teach aka "Blackbeard.

While a smart idea, not only do I feel weird using characters who many associate with Our Flag Means Death (a kinda-but-not historical fiction show which is VERY popular.)

But also the main issue; Both of these tricksters were AWFUL people in real life. Stede Bonnet was someone who kept slaves and was a bumbling buffoon who admittedly, caused more harm than good as a pirate. I think it'd be awkward and idiotic on my part to give him to either characters, since F isn't racist and N is POC.

Meanwhile Blackbeard on the other hand was ruthless, FAR more ruthless than Kidd, who SA'ed women, took slaves upon his ship (though he did free some), and likely more.

And overall, their relationship was... Not really gay in real life? They were more awkward friends, and aren't quite like Achilles and Patroclus, whom of which had a lot of romantic subtext within their respective ancient epics and stories.

So, unless if someeone can find a historical gay couple/pair who had gay subtext, who were tricksters, I'm sticking with Achilles and Patroclus! (Also yeah spoiler, Patroclus is N's Persona!)

Anyway, this is getting pretty long so, I hope you all enjoyed reading this! This took awhile to make, but my best friend encouraged me to ramble about it and I thought it'd be a fun, slow way to introduce you guys to our boys! Especially sine they will be slowly becoming more prominent as times goes on.

Keep a look out for Part 2 where I write about N and his Persona, Patroclus!

Part 1 - Part 2

#writing #rambles #persona series #persona 3 #persona 5 #persona oc #my ocs

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