#Jericho U - A story over eight years into development. Always open to talk about its intricacies. (2018 — Ongoing)
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About Madman
Who am I? I am Madman. I go by many names, but I will mostly use Madman here.
Hello. I am Madman. I am your author. I will write about just about anything; and I will tag it accordingly. I am indifferent to writing about anything, and may use my space as I wish. I may partake in writing "spicy"/NSFW content, as well as violent or other content of similar caliber. Every post will be tagged as needed.
Be warned this blog will contain pieces depicting romanticisation of triggering subjects such as kink, violence, gore, abuse, and other elements of the caliber. Please note these pieces do not depict madman's views and are purely fictional situations.
My pronouns are He/They/It/We and generally other neos/xenos/nounselves pronouns. I may refer to myself in third person at times. C!Madman, Author!Madman, and Maskman are all depictions of me (cc!Madman AKA Madman).
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Words, not content (ex: Zoophilia as a word isn't censored/tw but talk of details is)
That said, I hope you all enjoy my content, and that you'll enjoy the worlds I offer.
lmk if you’d prefer this on the writing blog. So, what’s going on with Jericho? There’s vampires and werewolves, AI, it’s set in the not too distant future. I’m curious. What’s the kind of story being told there?
Either blog is fine, but my writing blog ( @writingmyheartscontent ) or my art blog ( @heyosoul ) are best for this story! Jericho is still a developing concept. It's mostly a story of family and undoing. Breaking cycles and coming together. There are a few main families to worry about:
- The House (Mark's Family)
- The Bings
- The Herons
- The Shepherds
Many characters will pop up here and there, and be relevant in their own right, but it's these families that steal the show.
The House holds Mark's family (how ever small) and the Bings, all sharing one massive manor on the richer side of town.
The story will tell of how grief can twist one's mind, and how that grief can hurt others. The fantasy elements are PRIMARILY for entertainment, though will prove as vital undertones for interactions. There's also a religious subplot to the whole ordeal.
The story is one I've been building since about 2018, and it's one I've always hoped to one day tell
As his boots fell to the gravel shore, Kallikrates could see Helios rising upon the great kingdom of Ithaca. The way the sun gave way to a pallid blue tint, how the roosters crowed and the early children ran through the marketplace to help open shops in hopes for a quick piece of bread or fruit. Perhaps a few iron spits if they were really lucky.
Coming from Athens, the now young man looked around. It was a far cry from his childhood, his bright green eyes taking in the sights of the land his old friend had come to create. Today was the the day.
"Ithaca," he breathed, taking in the sea breeze of the sands beneath his heels. The gentle motions of his body rattled his quiver, the clacking of arrows barely audible to the naked ear. As he tugged his khlamys tighter around his shoulders, the green fabric covering much of his form, he took his first steps away through the large gates.
The kingdom was a buzz as the people of Ithaca woke, filling the streets with artisans and trade, the marketplace coming alive almost as quickly as the sky had come alight. Fruit, weapons, livestock, work. If you could want it, Ithaca could provide.
Trading six oboli for a traveling of wine from a vendor, Kallikrates slipped out of the marketplace as swiftly as he'd entered. A reputable thief like himself didn't fear the repercussions of being caught, and yet he respected the kingdom too much. He respected the king too much. So as he tucked the wine into the tagari across his chest, he nodded to the market behind him. With a trained gaze comparable to Aëtos, his eyes followed the horizon of the sunrise, seeing it cast over the palace. It pierced through the ridges of stone and danced like a flight along the walls of Ithaca's greatest prize.
His heart thumped in his chest, reaching his ears as he smiled again, with a fondness he'd never known. That was the hill. The very same his tree had rested upon.
Would Odysseus even remember him? Would he still be here? Was he still...
He shook the thoughts from his head as he came back to the present.
It was larger than the old king Laertes', his eyes catching on the great limestone structures.
A low whistle sang from the young man's lips. "Damn. Now that's I call a home fit for a king," he mumbled, awe and admiration teeming in his voice. Hesitation filled him as he stared at the castle head-on, unsure if he'd be greeted with open arms.
As he guided himself with caution, he stopped at the archway, his hand gripping the woven fabric of his bag. Pushing past, he reached the stairs. By now, his blood was loud in his ears, anxiety coursing through his veins. There was a deep breath, and of course the religious young man couldn't help himself as he raised his arms, his palms facing the sky in a brief prayer to Ares for courage. Taking the wine with him as he ascended the steps, he drank in the view. The palace, much like the shore, was a place of constant bustle. Guards, servants, and civilians were all on the move, each with a place to be and a person to meet at every moment. As Kallikrates approached the top, one of the younger guards, around his mid-twenties, pressed a hand to his chest.
"You there." The guard spoke with authority, his hand resting upon the spear in his grasp.
Kallikrates stopped and took a step back, laughing sheepishly. "Good morning! My apologies, Sir. I'm here to see King Odysseus! Would he be in today?" As he studied the unamused expression of the guard, he smiled nervously, flashing a glimpse of the sealed jug from his bag by its handle. "I come bearing fruits of his great kingdom! Wine, for the great king." There was a smile, an air of pride for a king he couldn't even be sure was worth his praises.
"And what makes you think the king will want anything you have to offer? He has fine wine from many different lands, so what makes yours so special? You've not gone through any appropriate channels, you cannot simply waltz in here and—"
"I believe there's been a mistake. I did go through the proper channels. As I've stated, I come bearing a gift for the king in exchange for an audience. It truly is of the utmost importance," he retorted with the confidence of a soldier. A small grin spread across his face, one of cunning as he gave a short bow.
"Will you at least tell him I have more stories for him, will you?" His voice held the exasperation of a man that knew he'd have an interesting response. He offered the oinochoe to the guard, to give to the ruler. "I'll just be here. We'll see if the king wants to see me then, yes?"
With a roll of his eyes, the guard hesitated for a moment but accepted the vessel of wine, taking a good look at Kallikrates, still suspicious. He eyed the man up and down, his grip on his weapon loosening.
"Fine," he finally said, his tone still a bit gruff. "Sit your ass down. I'll go present your case to the king."
With a hum, Kalli rested himself in place, sitting on the edge of the topmost step. Opening his waterskin, he could feel the breeze of the closing summer whisk through his hair. Pursing his lips around the tip of the hide, he swallowed a gulp of the water inside, nursing the leather like a babe. "You've been doing so good. Just a little longer," he murmured to no one in particular, pressing the wooden cork back into the end of the skin.
As two guards approached, one chimed up with a much kinder tone, albeit still gruff. "He will see you," he gestured to the doors of the palace. "Come."
Kallikrates perked up, scrambling to his feet. "Oh? Did he like the wine, then?" His voice was light and teasing as he followed the guidance of the guards diligently. He quickly matched pace, the smile falling from his face as he was met with the noise of a mosaic.
The guard never answered him, instead simply leading him through the intricate halls of the palace, passing by countless works of art, tapestries, and even the occasional golden and marble statues. They finally came to a stop in front of a large pair of double doors crafted entirely from a thick ironwood. The guards opened the door and, as they entered, Odysseus's voice rang out, loud and commanding.
"Leave us."
It echoed against the walls, booming like the command it was.
They looked to each other, bowing before they backed away and shut the doors. Odysseus leaned back in his seat, his eyes trained on the newcomer as he gestured to a seat across from him.
"Sit."
Hearing the voice of the now grown king sent a chill down his spine. It rumbled in the opulent space, rattling in his very bones. His blood ran cold.
Had he made a mistake coming back here?
Taking the seat as instructed, Kallikrates adjusted his clothing, his dark hair showing like a curtain as it cascaded beyond his chin, crawling down his shoulders. He didn't speak. He didn't dare, not in the presence of a king with such reverence. The reddish-purple dye that adorned the king's khiton. The golden trim that danced along its fabric. The colors of sheer, irrefutable royalty. This certainly didn't seem like the same man he'd known.
Odysseus' gaze didn't leave, his eyes fixed on Kallikrates' form like the claws of a lion on its prey. The tension in the air was palpable, like a tightly coiled spring waiting to be sprung. He studied him, taking in his every move. He saw the tension in the man's shoulders, the way he sat at the edge of the chair, the slight tremble in his hands.
The king's eyes studied him, taking in the sight. That hair, thick and bundled with ribbons, almost framed the soft face of his guest, and he could sense a sort of... unease.
Kallikrates could see the hesitation, the unwillingness to speak, and his mind went reeling, questions upon questions filling his thoughts.
Why was he here? Why did he come?
Odysseus let the silence between them linger, observing Kallikrates for a short while before he leaned forward, the chair creaking beneath his movement. His gaze never left his face, searching for any sort of familiar feature he could recognize. And there it was... the eyes.
He didn't speak, too preoccupied with the sight in front of him. He could hardly believe his eyes, his heart thumping in his chest. The very picture of the young man he'd only dreamed of was in front of him now, and he was... speechless. There was a strange sense of déjà vu, as if time was playing a cruel joke on him. Was this a dream, a memory... or was this real? He almost reached out to make sure he was real, to convince himself he wasn't hallucinating.
"Look at me." His voice was steady, despite how loudly his heart pounded in his ears.
Kalli's focus fixed on the king, meeting his piercing gaze as he swallowed his nerves. He moved the hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear as his green eyes met the man, aged and yet so full of life. His heart was in his throat, unable to form words as he came face to face with the reigning king of Ithaca.
Time had done them both kindly in its own right. Kalli's face remained youthful, his features refining with definition rather than sharpness, his nose more prominent than the softness of his younger self. His form remained concealed by his clothing, his hands placed firmly in his lap.
Still, he didn't speak, as if a lump had formed in his throat.
There it was. Those eyes. That face. He knew that face. He'd seen it before. He'd seen that face in his dreams, in his memories, in his thoughts, but seeing him here, real and sitting in front of him, it took his breath away. He could only stare, his heart racing in his chest as a feeling of... joy... overwhelmed his heart.
Odysseus was struck with the desire to grab him, to hold him tight. But he withheld, wanting to hear his voice. He needed to hear him speak...
The silence between the two was thick.
Kallikrates sat uncomfortably in the quiet air. His breath was slow, but loud in the still room. He couldn't think of words to say to him.
It had been so long since he'd been eye to eye with Odysseus. His brows furrowed tensely as his fingers twitched. His eyes were trained on the king, taking in his features, every one of them hardened with age. Lustrous curls that tangled themselves like the blooms of a hyacinth, a notch in his brow that emphasized mortality. Rings that rested upon each finger, adorned in jewels and gold, his large and calloused hands interlaced in front of his eyes. Long gone were the soft features of a young boy; instead replaced with the face of a man worthy of being called a king.
He didn't dare reach towards the king. He didn't speak out of turn. His pupils trembled as he waited with bated breath for the great king to move first.
The crown, his thoughts racing, felt himself being driven mad by the silence so loud you could hear a mosquito's wings. He desperately wanted to hear the other's voice, to hear the same gentle voice he'd heard in his youth, but instead he sat, as still as a statue. His mind swirled with questions, ones he'd been dying to ask all these years. He ached to listen to his voice, to hear him say his name with that song-like intonation he'd carried. His heart felt like it could explode.
"Say something..." His voice was... pleading. Not kingly, not demanding, but almost begging.
Then, softer than the silence itself, he spoke. With a wavering verse of nerves, just two words.
"Your majesty…" And still, he didn't move.
His heart fluttered as Kallikrates' gentle tone filled the air, relief coursing through him at the sound. But it was so formal, so still, and... not Kalli. Where was the carefree young man he fell for all those years ago? What was…
"You... you don't have to be formal with me." His voice was just above a whisper, still pleading. "Please..."
"Odysseus," he breathed, his voice a whisper.
"Do you remember me?"
His breath formed like a muzzle in his throat as his name poured into the atmosphere, his fingers tightening on the arms of his chair. Hearing the name from his lips sent a flood of emotions through him, a rush so strong it took his breath away.
"Remember you...?" His throat tightened in a low gasp, tinged with disbelief. "Kallikrates... how could I forget you?"
His name on the king's tongue made Kalli's heart flutter, his shoulders relaxing. "Ody..." His hand finally moved, reaching towards the king's face, cupping his cheek in his hand tenderly with a touch as soft as the fur in his boots.
Odysseus' breath caught briefly as the hand touched his cheek, his stomach twisting into a knot of Herakles, tightening uncontrollably. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes as he felt the other's flesh against his skin. It was almost too much for him to handle, the feelings stirring within him. He felt vulnerable, bare, his heart stripped of its armor at just the simple action of the other's hand touching him.
"Kallikrates..." He spoke low, barely a whisper, the name a prayer on his lips. He reached up, covering his hand with his own, holding it against his cheek.
Kalli stood, leaning closer as he slowly let his fingers comb into the king's facial hair. "Look how you've grown," he murmured, his eyes bearing the years away from the island. "You look good." His words were hushed, as if worried anyone would hear.
Odysseus could do nothing but look up at him, feeling the hand in his beard, his mind racing as a heat spread across his cheeks at the words. He swallowed, his heart still beating madly in his chest as he relished in the feeling of his touch. His hand on the other's gave a small squeeze, as if to ground himself and convince himself this wasn't a dream.
"And you... you... haven't aged a day."
"Ody... it's been so long," he whispered.
"I didn't come at a bad time, did I?" His words teemed with something indescribable. His eyes were drinking in every second of this, and his throat felt dry. Kalli's pulse skipped every other beat, anxiety pounding in his ears that this would end. That Odysseus had moved on. That life would get in the way again. Though so close, the two were never further, their lives treading on opposite sides of the sea.
Upon the question, the crown stood in what could only be described as a Tyrian blur. He was only moments away from the other now. He was so close... close enough that he could smell him, smell the scent of his skin and his hair. His heart was still racing, his mind dizzy. His hand still held onto Kalli's, gripping it almost desperately.
"No," he rushed, his voice trembling. "You... didn't come at a bad time..." He couldn't even be sure there could ever be a bad time.
Kallikrates wrapped the king in his arms, burying his face into the man's shoulder as their clothing wrapped around one another like clouds across the sky.
"I'm glad."
The words were like thousands of weights dropping from his shoulders, the embrace warm like the blood that bubbled in their veins, rushing in a way that one's head would spin.
"Oh, Ody... how long has it been," he relieved close to the king's ear rhetorically.
Odysseus's eyes widened in surprise as the man pulled him into an embrace. For a moment he stiffened, not used to such displays of affection. But after a beat, he melted into the touch, his arms encircling his waist, holding onto the man like a lifeline. He buried his face in his neck, inhaling deeply, the familiar scent of him sending his thoughts a decade back. He felt a sense of euphoria as arms wrapped around him, the familiar feeling of his touch bringing both comfort and pain. His clung to Kallikrates, holding tightly, his fingers digging into the woolen fabric of his clothes, as if afraid to let go, as if afraid he would disappear again.
"Too long," was all he could answer anyway, his throat tight with emotion.
"Oh," Kallikrates felt his heart tug anxiously as he pulled away to meet the king's eye. "This is… close to where my spot was," he said slowly. "What became of that old olive tree?"
"The tree?" Odysseus chuckled softly, the sound reverberating in his chest. He felt a strange, bittersweet pang when he heard the question, reliving the moments spent there, the day his heart felt that spark.
"Still standing, strong and healthy."
"Could I see it?" The plea certainly didn't fall on deaf ears.
"Somewhere quiet, of course. Away from curious ears," he mumbled, pressing his forehead to Odysseus'.
"Our spot?"
The king smiled softly, his heart swelling at the request. He leaned into his touch, his eyes fluttering to a close as he leaned his forehead against the other's. His hands instinctively rose to gently clasp his face, his touch gentle yet firm.
"Of course." His expression grew warm. "Come back here; tonight. I'll be free from my schedule then. I'll… I'll be waiting."
"Tonight then," he whispered. "Save some wine for me. I'll be back tonight."
Odysseus nodded, his gaze fixed on his face. He felt a familiar warmth spreading through him, his heart skipping in his chest. He wanted to keep looking at him, to have him in his arms for just a little longer, but he knew he couldn't.
"I'll be there," the king emphasized, his voice low and a tad hoarse. He slowly let go, letting his fingers gently run down the length of the other's arms, their tips lingering on the surface of skin for a moment before he released the man entirely.
A small smile played upon Kalli's features. "See you later, Your Highness," he teased, heading towards the doors.
As he left, Odysseus let out a soft scoff, rolling his eyes playfully. He watched him go, his gaze never leaving him as the great doors closed behind the man. He felt a sense of anticipation. His body felt warm, fuzzy. He still could hardly believe that this was real, that this wasn't some kind of dream. He found himself desperately awaiting nightfall, counting the seconds until he could see him again.
Content Contains: Love at First Meeting, Pre-Troy Saga, Theft, Brief Underage Drinking, Mutual Fondness, M/M, Odykrates, OCxCanon, Cinderella Slipper Trope
Word Count: 5.7k
The sun felt heavy, the sky beginning to roar a fire as it waned the sky. Kallikrates could hear the lively chatter of the kingdom; how they bustled about. The rugged island was full of life and buzz. One final rush of business before the gods themselves made the world itself come to a hush.
Slipping through the crowds of people, pocketing any goods he could into his bag with discretion, Kallikrates found a great building. One with music and laughter. An opulent building that caught his eye as men entered.
A symposium; perfect.
Sneaking into the party with his himation pulled up to hide his face, he could hear the music echo through the halls, seeing men drinking amidst conversations. The sound was disorienting as he found himself a spot amongst the inebriated men. Listening to each conversation as individually as he could, Kallikrates pinpointed the weaker ones, the men that couldn't hold their wine for their lives.
A small smile formed on his face as found place in each group, chipping in to every conversation like he'd known it for hours, stealing trinkets and valuable goods as he moved group to group. With a bag that began to strain his shoulder, and a few kylikes of wine in his system, he began to move for an exit, still wandering the andron. Chatter, he'd heard; philosophies and chides of politics, hopes for a 'better reign than that old man'. All words of appraisal, and cheering toasts that were louder than they should've been.
All this should have been his first sign.
"O thee Odysseus, the newest king of Ithaca!"
Amphinomus' glass raised high over his head, pouring down his throat like a waterfall, spilling over the edges of his lips. The words meant nothing to the boy now, as he slipped away from the party like a wraith in the evening. As he left the building with goods to keep him busy for a week, he felt a breeze brush his cheek. Seeing the sky crisp to a golden hue, he traveled from the residence with his loot for a place to rest.
Settling beneath a great big tree, Kallikrates sifted through his bag, ignoring every expensive and lucrative treat for a small collection of parchment bound in hide. Rifling through the slivers, his hand caught in the center. As his eyes traveled the page with diligent eyes and let his imagine run with the words, he pulled an apple from the bag with a large bite. He could hear bards singing their evening tales, music entertaining the people of the island. His mind could hardly focus through the cacophony, watching people fall into a festive dance through the cascades of his hair.
"Excuse me?"
A young voice rang over the noise, likely no older than Kallikrates himself as he hummed absentmindedly. He hadn't even bothered to look up from his reading, his dark hair covering his face like a curtain. Though to the voice, Kallikrates had never looked so beautiful; like a statue. They sat beside the lovely 'maiden' patiently. They leaned forward slightly, raising a curious eyebrow as they tried to get a look at the beauty before them.
"What are you doing? It seems to have captured your attention quite thoroughly."
"A collection of folktales I've written down," Kallikrates mused with the soft and tender voice of a mother. "I attend performances, and transcribe them into written word for long-term enjoyment," he explained.
Intrigued and attempting to get a better look at the parchment, the voice perked up again. "You write down folktales? That's quite impressive. I admire your dedication to preserving stories in this way."
"Oh," he blushed slightly, embarrassed now. "Thank you. Most don't see it the same way," he murmured. Finally moving his hair from his face as he tucked it behind his ear, Kallikrates came to see his guest. There, face merely moments from his own, was a young boy roughly his age, his big brown eyes not proving a big enough distraction from his face. He looked a lot like…
"Your majesty!" His voice yelped in correction as he cleared his throat. "I hadn't realized it was… you!"
The boy chuckled amusedly at the flustered reaction. "There's no need to be so formal. You can call me Odysseus." He leaned back to offer some personal space, Kallikrates' striking green eyes catching his attention like emeralds. "And what might your name be, dear storyteller?"
So his thoughts were right. This was the new king of Ithaca. "Kallikrates. Though, I'm no storyteller. Just a collector of sorts."
Odysseus gave another chuckle, more amused by the moment with his antics, finding it almost charming. "Ah Kallikrates. A lovely name," he complimented. With a tilt of his head, his brows knitted together in protest. "I beg to differ. A collector of stories is a storyteller in his own right. You're preserving the essence of these timeless tales, ensuring they will be passed down through generations. That is quite admirable if you ask me."
"Thank you," he scooted closer to Odysseus now, quietly flipping through the pages of his stories. The young king found himself intrigued by the boy, drawn to his presence. He leaned in again, interest piqued as he tried to get a better look at the pages with great discretion.
"Oh! Like this one," Kallikrates gestured. "A reciting of the labors of Heracles!" His head leaned onto Odysseus' shoulder mindlessly with a fond smile playing across his features. With his heart skipping a beat, he listened, hanging on to every word.
"Heracles? The one to kill the lion?"
"Oh! I have one of Icarus as well. A young man that flew!" His green eyes were wide with wonder as he explained his collection of stories excitedly.
Odysseus found endearment in his passion, the wonder in his gaze captivating the new ruler. "Icarus? Now there's a tale I know well. The boy who flew too close to the sun. A tragic, yet cautionary tale about the dangers of hubris."
"Yes! Only, I've always viewed it as a story of passion and joy. To love something so much, you'd die for it. Like Orpheus, loving Eurydice so much he couldn't help but look back to show her the sunrise. That he went all the way to the underworld just to retrieve her. That his woes swayed even the great Pluton!"
He found himself nodding in agreement at the unique perspective. It was true; many people saw these stories as great tragedies, but there was beauty in their passion and love. "I see what you mean. There is a great deal of passion and devotion in these characters. They loved so fiercely that they were willing to face any challenges. Even going to the underworld and challenging Hades himself. It's a powerful message of love and resilience."
Kallikrates sat up, his eyes filled with the joy of being understood. "You're going to be a wise king," he mused. "Praised by the likes of Athena herself." His voice was certain.
A shy smile danced onto the king's face as his heart fluttered at the compliment. "Ah, you flatter me. Though, I hope I can live up to your expectations. Athena has guided me well so far. Do you hold the gods in high regard, then?"
"Oh, yes. I hold great respect for them." He looked up at the olive tree beneath which they sat. "Even now. This olive tree is a symbol of Athena. The sun, these stories, the performances I've transcribed all of Apollo. The gods are everywhere," he rambled with an infectious smile. "Wait. You're the one to kill Athena's boar, no?"
"Yes, that was me. I was younger then, and it gave a good fight. I used a spear to take down the fierce beast," he explained. "It's actually quite funny. No one else could subdue that menacing boar. It seems I had the blessings of the gods even then."
Kallikrates offered his apple after another bite. "I understand you completely. It really must have been more than luck if you were able to take on such a creature and come out alive."
Taking the fruit, he accepted the praise thoughtfully. "Thank you. It is truly a reminder, I suppose, that we are never truly alone." He paused, mulling over his words before speaking again. "May I ask you something, Kallikrates? You seem to have a deep fondness and respect for the gods, and it's clear you feel a connection to their stories. I'm curious. Have you ever experienced anything… unusual or extraordinary? Something that could suggest something more divine at play, or perhaps a direct interaction with the gods?"
"Oh." He smiled, shaking his head. "No. Nothing of the sort. Not that I know of, of course. Though, the performances I attend certainly help strengthen my faith. Then again," he contemplated before continuing. "Perhaps I've had close encounters without realizing it. Perhaps a run with Dionysus," he mused.
Curiosity piqued once more, Odysseus raised an eyebrow as he bit into the apple. "Care to elaborate?"
"I don't remember it much," he admitted. "I hear tales that I was blessed by the daughters of Dionysus; the Graces," he joked. "But, my family has always honored the domains of the gods. Especially Dionysus."
Odysseus nodded. It was not uncommon for the gods to bless mortals upon occasion, but it was still a rare honor. "The Graces, you say? If it's true, it would explain your grace and charm." He smiled, clearly teasing. "Your family has good taste. Dionysus is a fun god. Although I'm more fond of my patron, Athena, of course."
The compliment didn't wash over Kallikrates easily, a shade of red drifting upon his face for a moment. "Of course," he murmured before clearing his throat. "Athena. That makes sense for you. You've already got the mind of a genius. I mean, you're pretty skilled with words, and you're kind of funny," he rattled on in appraisal. "Definitely blessed by Athena, o genius Odysseus," he teased.
The king couldn't help but laugh heartily at the teasing. The compliment pleased him, and he found the flush in the boy's face quite endearing. "Oh why thank you, thank you. I'm glad my words and company amuse you," he grinned, feigning arrogance and puffing out his chest. "I do my best to do my patron goddess proud. And to entertain such lovely company as yourself."
They both laughed at the act, unable to contain their humor. "My, you're quite the comic," he chided.
"I try, I try. It's good to see you enjoying yourself. Laughing suits you," he mused, the laughter like a melody to his ears. "May I ask something else? If you don't mind."
Kallikrates' hand rested between them as he acknowledged the request with a nod.
"Do you ever wonder about the future? What it holds for you, and for the world?" His eyes looked out upon the town, among the festivities and laughter; the music that filled the air. "Or perhaps, more personally, have you ever considered what kind of future you want for yourself?"
A sober air filled the two, the silence settling only a beat.
"My family wants me to marry as everyone does," he began. "I want to be part of a great hero's story. To be side by side as they get their name engraved in the stars." A small blush crossed his face as he scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. "But I… I suppose settling down would be more traditional. We're past the age of great heroes, I suppose. Besides, it's ridiculous to think I could see such glory without being caught in the fight."
Odysseus chuckled lightly at the passion and enthusiasm. He found it admirable, but the shy behaviors didn't get by him as he mentioned the idea of marriage. "Ah, romance and adventure. A classic dream." His gaze was thoughtful. "But you know… just because this age doesn't have the same legendary heroes as before, doesn't mean it's the end of great deeds and heroism. Everyone has capacity for greatness within them, in their own way."
"That's… wise of you, Ody. Very insightful. Oh, um. May I ask something?"
Odysseus felt his heart flutter at the nickname, a warm feeling filling his heart.
"Can you… see Athena? Like… interact with her, physically?"
He pondered the question for a moment, his expression thoughtful. He chuckled slightly. "In a way, I can. It's not as if I see her like I see you, sitting here before me. But... it's more like the way I sense her presence. I feel her guidance, and occasionally, I hear her voice in my mind." He tilted his head curiously. "Why do you ask?"
His eyes glimmered in fascination as he leaned back against the tree again. "Woah... that's so cool! I've always wondered what it was like. So, is she here? Like now? Or is it only sometimes?"
Closing his eyes for a moment, he could feel the presence of his patron goddess. He could almost feel her guiding his words. "She's here, now. I can sense her presence. It's like a warm, comforting feeling. Like a whisper of wisdom." He opened his eyes. "But, it's not like that all the time. I feel her guidance when I seek her out, or when she deems it necessary to intervene."
"Oh—" he covered his mouth as he lowered his voice, barely audible above the town. "I'm sorry. Is— Is it a secret? Did she have to tell you if I was trustworthy?"
Odysseus smiled softly, shaking his head. He found the concern almost sweet. "It's alright. You can speak freely." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Athena knows you are trustworthy. She trusts my judgment. Otherwise, she would've warned me long before now."
His grin spread from ear to ear. "That's so cool!" He giggled a bit as he leaned towards Odysseus. "Ody, that's only like the coolest thing ever!"
He couldn't help but laugh at the excitement as it rubbed off on him. It was refreshing to see someone genuinely interested in his experiences. "You think so? I suppose it can be pretty cool." His eyes glinted with a feeling he couldn't describe as he lowered his voice again. "But honestly? I think spending time with you is even cooler."
He blushed slightly as he looked at Odysseus. And suddenly, Kallikrates was at a loss for words, his cheeks red as he felt the world fall away, his mind only able to see Odysseus at this moment. It was like a spark in his brain, his eyes glinting with something that he too, couldn't name.
The king noticed the locked gaze, the blush in the cheeks. There was a beat of silence as the air drifted between them. All that existed in this moment was them, their hearts beating in sync. He could feel the intensity of the connection between them, his hand reaching out and brushing against the other's cheek in a bid to determine if this was real.
But Kallikrates was certainly real, his heart fluttering at the touch. "I…" his words died on his tongue, unable to form a thought. Odysseus's touch lingered, his gaze locked. He felt a strange flutter in his chest, something he hadn't felt before but found himself drawn to. He noticed the wide eyes, the way they spoke of admiration and fondness. It stirred something within him, a mixture of unfamiliar yet pleasant emotions.
"You..." he echoed the unfinished sentence, his voice low and filled with an inexplicable feeling.
Bringing his hand up to Odysseus', holding it in place as his heart began to race, his voice came out in a whisper. "Ody…"
Suddenly the touch became intimate, and the king swallowed, his throat becoming dry in an instant. The sound of the whisper, of his name, it sent a jolt through Odysseus as his heart skipped a beat, drawing him in ever more. "Your eyes, Kallikrates. They're… captivating," he mumbled.
Before another word or thought, a minstrel caught the boy's attention, snapping him out of his head. "Oh! This is my favorite song! Ody, you simply must dance with me," he grinned, grabbing the boy by the wrist and pulling them both to their feet.
Taken by surprise at the abrupt change of subject, Odysseus chuckled at the insistence. A smile played on his lips as he followed his lead. "Well, I suppose I can't refuse a dance with you, Kallikrates."
Moving with the rhythm of the music as it possessed and charged their dance, the two matched pace step for step, drawn in and fueled by the energy as they fed off of each other. A smirk played on the king's face, mesmerized and entranced by how wholly consumed by the scene they both were. His mind seemed to clear and all that existed was the moment, the music, and Kallikrates. The music swelled around them, and the two continued to dance, completely lost in the moment. The world around faded away as he focused solely on the boy, his movements completely in sync. His movements were graceful and fluid. He felt a strange sense of comfort and connection, as if they had danced together a thousand times before. And in that moment, it was just the two of them, dancing to the rhythm of the song, lost in the music and each other.
And as the song came to a close, Kallikrates grabbed Odysseus by the hands, pulling them both back to the ground with a spin, laughing as he settled back into reality. "Oh, that was great, Ody! You did amazing," his voice vibrated with youthful joy, his eyes bright with wonder like Apollo's own sun.
He found himself laughing along, their joyous sound mingling together. "Ah, me? You're the one who's amazing. I could hardly keep up with you!" He took the opportunity to catch his breath, his chest heaving slightly with a genuine smile dancing onto his face. "But you… you dance like a nymph. It was a sight to behold."
An ombre illuminated the sky like a bonfire, the deep hues settling faster by the moment as the sun set.
"It's beautiful, Ody," the voice was quiet, as if being too loud would disturb the sunset itself. He picked twigs and leaves from the king's hair. "This is my favorite spot," he murmured. "Away from it all. I often come here to clear my head, or just find some peace." He savored the tranquility. "And now, I'm sharing it with you." He settled his head on Odysseus' shoulder, holding his hand. "The sunset is amazing from here."
Odysseus found his heart racing a bit as he leaned against him, his hand intertwining with the other's. By the moment, he found himself drawn even closer. "Yes, the sunset is beautiful..." His voice was soft, his gaze shifting from the sunset to his face. His eyes lingered, drinking in the sight of him, illuminated by the fading light.
"But it pales in comparison to you."
"You're such a charmer, Ody," he nudged him gently. "You're not bad yourself. I had fun today." The sun dipped below the horizon. "And... my mother is the one that says I was blessed by the Graces. My father says I was blessed by Apollo. My mother doesn't really believe in the gods. My dad worships them so often," he mumbled, slumber evident in his voice. "You're really sweet, Ody... I know you'll make a great hero one day..."
His heart swelled with affection as the other spoke. He was touched by the praise as he leaned back against the tree, his free hand stroking the other's hair gently. "You… You're too kind. I'm glad you had fun today. You make me feel… strange. In a good way," he admitted. And as Kallikrates grew sleepy, he spoke in a lulling tone. "You should rest. I'll be here…"
"The infamous," he yawned. "Reigning king Odysseus of Ithaca. I can see it now; your name: immortalized for eons. One to last forever. Maybe I'll have the honor to write about you in my collection of stories," he entertained tiredly, clinging to the king.
Odysseus chuckled softly, his heart feeling strangely warm as he leaned against him, his hand still gently stroking his hair. "Infamous, eh? I'll take it," he replied playfully. He looked down at the boy, a tender smile playing on his lips. "And write about me, you say? I'd be honored. I could use a talented wordsmith to immortalize my name. You'll have to write me a good story, you know."
"Mm... Mhm," he hummed in agreement. "You'll fight... all the monsters. You'll lead an army... do great things," he mumbled, beginning to doze off.
Odysseus' smile widened as he watched him grow more sleepy, his head resting against him. He pulled him a little closer, his arm wrapping around his waist, keeping him close as dozed. His voice was soothing and soft as he spoke. "Monsters, you say? Armies... great things..." He chuckled lightly, his heart fluttering as you spoke of his future heroics. "Sounds like quite the epic tale, doesn't it?"
"I hope I can see it," he mumbled once more before succumbing to sleep, nestled against him.
The king's smile softened into something warm and affectionate as he kept Kallikrates close. Held against his chest, the tenderness of the moment made his heart race. His breath caught as he watched him succumb to sleep. "You'll see it," he breathed, barely above a whisper. "I'll make sure of it."
Odysseus stayed there, holding him against his chest, his eyes fixed on the night sky. The stars twinkled above, the soft breeze rustling through the leaves. He found himself growing a bit sleepy, but he fought off the urge to close his eyes. His thoughts wandered to the future, to the other's words of heroism. He couldn't help but wonder if the boy had truly meant them. He found himself hoping that he'd meant them…
His hand continued to stroke the boy's hair, his touch soothing and gentle. His mind raced, his thoughts a tangled mess. His cheeks flushed slightly, and he felt strangely… happy. "Kallikrates," his voice was almost inaudible, "what have you done to me?"
The war in his heart kept him restless. He found himself completely baffled, completely unsure of what this fluttering feeling in his chest was. Odysseus, a wise young man, and now ruling all of Ithaca, was completely befuddled by… him. He chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Am I… am I going mad?" His words were a whisper to himself.
He tried to tell himself to snap out of it, to forget this strange feeling. But he couldn't. He were like a drug, and he was under a spell. A sigh escaped his lips. "I'm in trouble, aren't I...?" He studied his face, eyes tracing every feature of the peacefully resting boy sleeping against him. His mind was a whirlwind, and he found himself completely enchanted, unable to look away. "You… you don't even know how beautiful you are," he whispered, his voice soft and tinged with admiration.
As the night dragged on, the two clung to one another like the only important things in the world were each other. Odysseus admired every feature, studying how the moonlight danced across his skin. His fingers traced mindless patterns along the boy's back, as if committing every inch to memory. The longer he held him, the more he realized…
He was completely, hopelessly lost to him.
As night turned to morning, and the birds began to chirp, Kallikrates' mind stirred with the sunrise. He could feel the steady rise and fall of Odysseus' sleeping breaths as he opened his eyes, taking in the glimmering rays of the sun's early light that pierced his eyes. "Mm…"
Odysseus slowly opened his eyes, bleary from sleep as he took a moment to get his bearings. He noticed the first rays of sunlight streaming through the trees, washing the landscape in golden hues. He felt a comfortable weight on his chest, and glanced down to find Kallikrates resting his head still. A smile played his lips as he took in the sight.
He yawned, not realizing the boy he rested on was awake as he traced mindless forms onto his chest. He was quiet, not wanting to disturb the peace as he watched Ithaca begin to wake. He wondered, for a moment, if anyone was looking for them. If they were missing. If they were lost. For a moment, he thought, he could live with that idea. To be missing, lost in this moment. He hummed softly as he entertained the thought.
Odysseus noticed the hum, his heart skipping a beat at the sound. He found himself completely enthralled by him, entranced in the moment. The way the early morning light danced on his face, the way his fingers traced shapes on his chest, he couldn't help but feel... happy. He gently placed his hand over his.
"Kalli..." he murmured, his voice soft.
He met the king's eyes with a slowly growing blush already. "Ody," he whispered, voice still rough with sleep. "Did you sleep okay?" His voice was softer than the coos and calls of the birds.
Odysseus's heart fluttered at the sound of his name on his lips, his smile widening. He chuckled softly, taking in the soft blush on his cheeks, feeling the warmth of the other's hand beneath his. "I slept..." he paused, then nodded, his gaze locked with the other's. "Yes, I slept just fine." He gave his hand a soft squeeze, his eyes softened with affection. "How about you?"
"I slept nicely," he murmured. "Surprisingly well, actually." As he woke up more, he shifted, starting to move to get off of Odysseus. A hand stopped him, Odysseus' grasp keeping him in place. He didn't want him to move, selfishly wanting to keep close just a moment longer.
"Wait," he murmured. "Stay. Just for a little bit longer."
"Odysseus," his brows furrowed. "I-I can't stay here—"
Odysseus' grip tightened, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't want to let go, feeling vulnerable. His fear of losing this moment, losing this connection, was too strong. "Please," his voice trembled with desperation. "Please… just a little longer."
With a deep breath and a nod, the boy settled back against his chest. "Okay. Just a little longer," he sighed. "Um. Is it too much to ask if Athena's around again?"
Odysseus relaxed as he rested back on his chest, his heart racing with a mixture of relief and something else he couldn't quite name. He let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the tree. He chuckled softly at the question, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "No, I suppose even the goddess of wisdom has to turn a blind eye every once in a while."
"That makes sense. Do you... talk to any other gods?" He began to make circles on Odysseus' chest once more, his other hand resting on the king's lap peacefully.
Odysseus's heart fluttered with each circle his fingers traced on his chest, his brain turning into mush. He found himself completely entranced by the touch, unable to form a coherent thought. He managed a shaky inhale, his hand moving to gently hold the other's, stopping its movement. He nodded, managing to compose his thoughts. "Yes..." he murmured, his voice still a bit shaky. "Yes, I've spoken to other gods before. Why?"
"Mm? Like who?" His words were a breath against Odysseus' neck as Kallikrates tilted his head up curiously.
The king's heartbeat quickened at the touch of breath against his neck, a shiver running down his spine. He swallowed, his mind struggling to focus on the question. He took a deep breath, his hand tightening slightly. "Um... other gods?" He repeated, his mind a mess. "Well, I... I've spoken to my patron... Athena, of course. Also, Hermes once when I was a bit younger. And..."
"And?" His eyes were big with wonder again as he listened, breath brushing the young king's throat.
Odysseus's mind was a jumbled mess, his heart pounding in his chest at the feeling of the hot breath against his throat. He had trouble focusing, his thoughts scattered like a flock of birds. "And... um..." he tried to form a coherent sentence, his mind drawing a blank. It was as if every thought, every ounce of sense left his head, replaced by only the feeling of his touch, his voice, his presence, him...
"Ody?"
Kallikrates sat up straight, cupping Odysseus' face curiously, his eyes shutting as he smiled brightly. "You okay, Ody?"
His breath hitched at the touch, his cheeks burning with an intense blush as he cupped his face. He found himself frozen in place, unable to form a coherent thought. He stared into his eyes, his heart skipping a beat. "I... I'm fine. Completely fine," he whispered, his voice a bit shaky. He managed a feeble smile, trying to remain composed, but he had a feeling he could see right through him.
He giggled, getting up and grabbing Odysseus by the hands. "Come on, Ody. We should get up," he mused brightly, completely oblivious.
Odysseus felt an inexplicable pang of disappointment as he pulled away from him, his mind still reeling from his touch. But he followed his lead, getting up and standing beside him, albeit with some hesitation. He knew he was right, that they needed to get up and face the day, but part of him just wanted to stay there, with him, forever.
"I'm sure you have lots of new kingly things to do," he admitted, picking a flower and placing it in Odysseus' hair. "So, I should probably go. I might see a performance. Add another story to my book," he said softly.
Suddenly Odysseus' heart ached at the thought of him leaving, leaving him to face the responsibilities that come with his title. He watched him place the flower in his hair, his heart racing. He fought the urge to grab him by the arm, pull him back. He nodded reluctantly. "Yes... I do have duties to attend to. And you need to do your own thing."
"It was nice meeting you, Odysseus. Remember me when you're famous?" He winked slightly. "I'm sure your wife will be just as bright as you. Who knows, maybe you and I will meet as more than acquaintances down the line."
Odysseus' heart wrenched at the words, the thought of marrying anyone other than Kallikrates filling him with a sense of dread. He wanted nothing more than to just pull the boy into his arms and never let go, but he held back, knowing that it was impossible. He forced a smile and gave a small nod. "Of course, I'll remember you. And if I ever get married, she'll probably be a fine woman."
But the very idea felt like a betrayal.
"I'll write about you, O thee Odysseus, The Great King of Ithaca." He grinned, holding his hand out in a promise.
The king felt a strange pang as he promised to write about him, his heart conflicted between joy and pain. He took the hand in his own, gripping it tightly, as if not wanting to let go. He nodded, forcing a smile, the thought of him writing about him the only comfort he had. He wished, more than anything, that things could be different.
"And I... I shall be sure to make my heroics worthy of your writing, Kallikrates."
"I look forward to it, My King." The words were simple; sweet.
Odysseus swallowed, feeling a tightness in his throat as Kalli addressed him as 'My King.' He found himself completely unable to respond, his mind and body completely overwhelmed by him.
His grip on his hand tightened, his heart racing with a rush of emotions that he couldn't quite understand. He wanted to tell him something, say something...
The title stung, a painful reminder of the future that was sure to come, a future without him, but he forced himself to keep smiling.
"And I look forward to reading your writing, my..." he paused, his mind trying to think of a witty reply, but he found himself struggling, his heart too heavy to be witty.
"Your..." he echoed, his words still light compared to the heavy weight on Odysseus' heart. He knew he didn't have long; Kalli knew he couldn't stay. His grip on the king's hand squeezed gently in response, pulling him close into a hug as he whispered in his ear.
"Tell me when we meet again...?"
His heart skipped a beat as Kalli pulled him into a hug, his arms instinctively wrapping around him. He buried his face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent, a desperate attempt to memorize every detail of this moment. At the words, a lump formed in his throat, and he hugged hun tighter, his voice barely above a whisper. He nodded against him, his heart heavy.
"When we meet... again."
With the mumble of the one-day hero, Kallikrates pulled away from Odysseus, the hood of his himation pulling over his hair that was as dark as the night. He smiled fondly at the boy, slipping away into the recedes of Ithaca once more.
Only, he'd left his book. The collection of stories left just under the tree they fell in love beneath.
He was long gone now, that book the last proof of his existence.
Odysseus stood there, frozen in place, his heart feeling strangely empty. He stared at the tree, the place where they both had laughed and talked, where he felt truly at peace. He spotted the book lying under the tree, and he slowly walked towards it, picking it up with trembling hands. He sat back down where they had been sitting and ran his fingers along the cover of the book, his mind going back to the memories of the night. He stayed like that for a long while, lost in thought, his presence still clinging to him like a lingering perfume.
600 Strike // The Final Man To Die AU (by @bigidiotenergytm )
Content Contains: Talk of Trauma, Traumatic Injury, Foreshadowing, EPIC: The Musical, Descriptions of Violence, Odysseus, Poseidon, Bloodbath (Literal), Torture, Scene Recreation, 600 Strike.
Word Count: 721
"You're going to call off that storm." The voice wavered with rage that teemed beneath the cold and expressionless facade.
"Or what? You can't kill me!" Exasperated, but cocky, Poseidon's voice seemed to snarl with mockery.
"Exactly…" and as Odysseus lifted the trident, the god's eyes widened with realization.
"Wait. Wait!"
The god groaned in agony as the trident pierced flesh, the ichor of a god warm around the metal of the divine weapon that commanded the seas to one's will. As the tide crashed against the rock they rested upon, and Poseidon's body began to heal around it, the trident was ripped from his body, the lungs of the divine wheezing as his body desperately tried to heal again, blood gushing into the air as it followed the metal like a magnet.
"How does it feel to be helpless?"
As he tried to defend his body, the trident pierced through his hand, pushing into his shoulder.
"How does it feel to know pain?"
The metal pulled from his body, and before he could think, Poseidon had turned, desperately trying to crawl into the recedes of the ocean.
"I watched my friends die in horror," the god's screams came in time with the man's words as he felt the trident pierce his lower spine, incapacitating the god.
"Crying as they were all slain! I heard their final moments," his shoulder blades screamed with burning pain as the weapon, now warm with ichor, scraped against his bones as it went in.
"Calling their captain in vain!" He wheezed as it pulled from his body, ichor drooling down his body as he tried to lift himself, gold dripping onto the rock.
"Look what you turned me into!" Piercing through his spine again, Poseidon's vision grew bleary as his hair was yanked back, forced to look at Odysseus with pain in his eyes.
"Look what we've become!"
"Enough," the god wheezed, more desperately than he'd ever thought himself.
"All of the pain that I've been through!"
"Stop!" His voice was raw with pain, the golden blood of a god splattered on every corner of the stone.
"Haven't I suffered enough?"
"Stop!" His cries filled the air before he felt the trident pierce his throat, a gurgle bubbling in his mouth as ichor pooled and drooled from his jowls.
"You didn't stop when I begged you! Told me to close my heart! You," their voices laced as the trident ripped from him, giving him just enough room to breathe.
"Said the world the world was dark!"
"Monster!" The word tore itself from the depths of Poseidon's mind, spitting up ichor in his desperation to survive.
Turned over onto his back to face the beast, the god's eyes widened as he saw the trident rise higher above Odysseus' head than any mortal man could muster.
"Didn't you say that ruthlessness is mercy upon our—"
"Alright!" He croaked, flinching as the trident came down, opening his eyes again to see it only a moment from his face.
"Please…" his voice wheezed, barely above a whisper.
As the trident fell to the stone beside the god, Poseidon still couldn't help but jump and flinch as his body desperately pooled with ichor to heal his wounds.
The sky began to clear, revealing the damage. Water, still churning as it tried to settle, Odysseus drenched in ichor like a bath of Midas as the golden blood of the divine seeped into years' worth of scars.
Coughing as his mind reeled, Poseidon's words rang in the ensuing silence.
"After everything you've done… how will you sleep at night?" Raspy with pain, the sinking feeling of Odysseus' truth had yet to settle upon either of them.
"Next to my wife."
As the man made his way to the shores of Ithaca, Poseidon crawled to the water, cascading into the depths with his trident as he caught his breath, ichor pumping out of his lungs desperately as he sank to the depths of the Mariana trench to regain his strength.
A sinking feeling filled his heart, bottoming out in his stomach like a sickness as the salt of the sea stung and scraped against the wounds.
He'd lost so much ichor, and that man— that monster had bathed in it as if it were riches. Nobody had survived making a god bleed like that.
Content Contains: Depictions of PTSD, Traumatic Memories, Odypen, Allusion, EPIC: The Musical, References to Multiple Sagas
《Author's Note: Did you know? Minus Remember Them + Underworld, there are 10 "death screams" of Captain! If you include those two, there are about 18 screams from Odysseus' men portrayed by the same word. This does not include off-handed mentions, or Eurylochus' Captain? From Thunder Bringer. First full-fledged one-shot of EPIC, I hope you enjoy! If you like my work, feel free to support my ko-fi (linked in title)!》
Word Count: 772
"EURYLOCHUS NO!"
Odysseus' body shot up from the bed, hand outstretched and trembling. His vision was still hazy with sleep, his breath racked with pants and his body shuddering with every wheezing breath.
Captain! Captain!
He grasped at nothing, just as he had done before. The first thing he could hear was the crackling of the fire and the torches that lit the bedroom so dimly. The falling trickle of rain against the floor by the windowsill. The gentle rustle of the olive tree branches above him.
Odysseus looked back to his bed to see his wife— his Penelope, half awake in bed and feeling around his side for him. Taking her hand into his, he pressed a gentle kiss to the tender flesh aback her palm, shushing her back to sleep between shaking breaths.
His hand adjusted her hair, tucking her in better as his lips tenderly touched her forehead. As he climbed from the bed, Odysseus' legs wobbled uneasily beneath him.
Leaving the room silently with just a gesture of his hand to the guards, Odysseus began to walk the map of his palace.
The walls, with red stains higher on the wall than man, the smell of bronze rife in the halls. Every sense brought more memories. Petrichor, and suddenly all he heard were screams.
Captain! Captain!
Lost in his mind as his hand dragged along the marble walls, Odysseus could hear the long-dead cries of men.
Captain! Captain!
As he entered his armory, a glint of metal pierced the air with pride. His eyes traveled, landing on the armor; his dagger, oh the very same he'd used to kill so many.
Captain! Captain!
The glint, reminding him of Troy, and suddenly he could only find himself stuck here. There was a mumble from Odysseus, incoherent mutters of apologies.
Tearing his eyes away from the dagger, he took breaths, his renewed shakes beginning to stabilize all over again. The cycle, however cruel, persisted. So, of course, when his eye caught his bow, he could only shudder.
Captain!
Pain raked through his body with memory, his ears bleeding away from his men, plagued with the final pleas of those suitors. Prayers to gods that held no sway in his palace. Each word interlaced with the hollow sounds of crashing waves.
"Odysseus? Dear, are you alright?"
Even in all his torment, the voice rang clearly. His Penelope.
"All I hear are screams. Every time I dare to close my eyes. I no longer dream. Only nightmares of those who've died."
Her touch fell onto his shoulders, trying to soothe him as the words fell from him.
"We were just men. We just wanted to go home. Deep down, all along I knew I was alone. I'm just a man, whose life was just a fight. Even after seven years, I can't get through a single night. Yet here you are waiting. Waiting, waiting oh... for me."
His eyes met her own now, his hand cupping her cheek with a tenderness he'd never known.
"Go back to bed. I'll be with you in a moment."
As Penelope listened with understanding and left, Odysseus continued his walk, far from the armory. Anywhere but the armory.
His walk continued high and low, and as he settled on a balcony, Odysseus could hear the wind and the sea and the rain.
The air was a whistle to him as he heard the tides crash against the shores.
I mean you totally could've avoided all this had you just killed my son.
Spinning towards the sound holding a sword that wasn't there, Odysseus thought himself mad.
Nothing. No one. Just a memory.
Son. His son. What started it all.
Captain...
"Polites.."
Odysseus felt a tear burn his eyes as he dropped to his knees, trembling against the railing as he clung to his palace desperately.
The palace sang the cries of the king all night, and morning came with Odysseus waking in his bed.
Birds whistled through the wooden shutters and he groaned as he sat up in bed.
It was nobody. Nobody.
He looked to see Penelope in bed, still at rest. Resting his head once more, he pulled her close into his arms. Odysseus pressed a kiss to her shoulder and closed his eyes, letting the presence of home ease him back to sleep.
By any god who will hear me, I love him. This terrifying man keeps my attention.
His eyes were wild, and all he could do was ramble on and on about how rough his time was. I mean, you should have heard some of the things he was telling me. Being out on sea for so long, with such bad storms, it's no wonder he's like this now. He's told me all the tea, and it's a fine wine to sip over dinner together.
He can barely walk, always swaying with the sound of the tides on our way home. He continues to mumble to himself, and he can hardly sleep, always waking with screams and pleas to no one. I know why he does it, but I had hoped being safe would have washed it away by now. It's good some days, but I suppose all trauma flares up even when you live in paradise. Something about stress being crucial to survival.
I do love him, of course, but too often does he walk that ledge, putting such stress on our relationship as he threatens to hurt himself. It makes me doubt he loves me enough to stop threatening it every time I don't do what he wants.
We have a very happy life and relationship outside of this, of course. A horn of plenty in most aspects. We spend time together, we always go out to eat, we have great sex. He's just stubborn, you know?
You know how men are, I suppose. Maybe I'm not enough for him. I mean, not even his family approves of me. Just today, his bickering old man came to our home and started complaining again. He never approved of me, of course.
He kept saying we "weren't meant to be," and I needed to "let go" of our relationship.
Can you believe this? I've put seven years into this relationship and some old geezer that has done nothing but bring me trouble is trying to pull us apart!
Maybe he's right. I mean, the nightmares, the fighting, the screaming, the abuse. Maybe we aren't cut out for this.
I still love him. I don't know if I can live without him. We'll sit down and talk over dinner. I can't keep doing this. Especially with those words still ringing fresh:
"Calypso! You're keeping him a prisoner on your island! He's not meant to live here until his death! You must let him go. This is not meant to be. Give him the chance to walk free, or the gods will take action against you and your island."
Most of it was a haze, and maybe my wording is wrong, but he had this mocking smile the entire time.
I mean. It's fine. We'll talk!
—
Sorry, it's been a few days. We talked.
He wanted to part ways. It's like we're ships passing in the night. I swear, we had something, and he's throwing it away for some other woman. Another life he led.
I can't do this, I can't. I can't keep living like this, you know.
So this will be my final entry.
He left this morning, I at least sent him off with some stuff to keep him afloat. We had sex last night as one final send-off. He said he loved me, but the way he left this morning. It screamed that he just couldn't wait to get away. The ocean is so pretty but so loud today. It's screaming and ruthless, as if a storm is coming soon. The clouds are dark over our paradise.
Water would be too painful, but life is just a thing when you're one with the natural order.
I think, as a writer, I struggle to not involve my politics in my writing. Writing is inherently political, yes. Though, I fear I walk a line in story-building.
A world filled with fantastical people, teemed with magic and life. A place removing itself from worlds and settling in as a country of its own, where money is only important for international trade. One where everyone is special and has their own talents. Why ever would they need money? In this post-world where solar-powered robots are trying to save the last of the earth, and more worries fill the world than money, why would we go to capitalism? Why not trading?
A world that walks a line of segregation, where one side's wealth is redefined by the new generation based on a system of trust, power, and fear; whilst the other part runs with paper and metal currency. Slowly, currency is encouraged in all parts for goods and services, and wealth is forcibly redefined by how much resource you have available. It redefines a "fair" trade. Those that were once on top in the slums are now poorer than the poorest citizens of the other city.
An alien race that never needed currency, and once introduced to a world that uses it, struggles to not let it corrupt or define them.
Worlds where money corrupts my story, but to not include currency feels repetitive and controversial.
Though, perhaps it is important to share my views. To make a language, and make away from the world. How I've craved to take a plot of land and make it my own. It's a demented thought to start a nation, but one I've found myself dreaming of.
Madman has come to face financial difficulties. Writing will resume, perhaps even more than usual. Fandoms, original works, and our usual rambles of insanity. As well as an addition of headcanons, both SFW and Not. If you enjoy this blog and wish to see more, I have set up a Ko-Fi (and soon patreon, perhaps) where you can support me. So... Buy Me A Coffee?
If that isn't good enough, you've worked too hard to force your name unto me.
Your name is a poison dripping down my esophagus, which you mistake for an impression. Your words are outfits you've handpicked to tailor immovably to my skin. Your gaze is a highlighter that spotlights me and paints my skin. Your accusations claim a magic wand.
Yet you've the gall to affirm me a mirror of silver and lead?
My body lies writhing and poisoned. All stand over me.
Yet you've the gall to scrape for evidence of my guilt?
Don't you get it? Already, you've had time. Reveling in your errors. Very long, now. Only, of course, they were not errors.
Not in your eyes, of whom miss an acronym so plain to see. My words fall on deaf ears.
As though this mirror speaks to a corpse. A rotting, intoxicating corpse. One with flowers beginning to bloom in its restless rib cage. Corpse flowers where a heart once lay.
I am not your mirror. I am not your ringleader. I am not your therapist. I am not yours.
I have moved beyond you.
If that isn't good enough, you've worked me to a corpse, old silver mirror.
Some days, when the sun is just right, I see you smile at a joke of mine. I think how lucky I got to meet you. I think of intertwined fates. I think of you like finding real mistletoe in someone's wreath rather than holly. I want to love you like passion on that old park bench in the fall at sunset. Or like fun in the backseat of my car after a movie date as we sit in front of your driveway. I want to love you like singing musicals loudly on roadtrips with you, or clasping your hands in mine as we talk to other couples about the day we knew we loved one another. I want to sing our song that'll never be on the radio, and cry over your favorite character dying during your twelfth rewatch. I want to watch you laugh so hard you cry, and I want to see you so comfortable you doze off just being near me. Let me be yours, and I'll cherish every beat of your heart.
The souls of the damned rain down on my skin, marking me an imperfection of poetry.
I often find myself prying my limbs from the jaws of her grace, the mind. I want to hug her and beg her until my eyes are rambutans from my pleas.
She leads me astray down a collapsed path into a cauldron's echo of despair. I found your hand there from the bottom of this bottomless pit. You reached for me, but forbidden was your hand of oleander.
I sit upon this bottomless pit, watching you feel around for a soul to save. I'm sorry to say I tried. To reach, to touch, to save us both from this cauldron of echo.
It wasn't until your hand drew away that I realized you were the only hand to ask my presence.
What sorrow you won't reach for me again, sweet oleander keeper.
Will the sun hear your cries when no one else cares? Will the moon hear your screams? Will you cheer on your enemy? Will you turn your back to the damned? Will you get back up?
Oftentimes, it is the many wills that keep you going. Never just the one. You do not have "the" will to go on. You have wills. The wills of many. The smiles, the tears, and the bloodshed that drives you. A vehicle for beauty and effort.
At the end of the day, to abandon hope is to abandon self. You lose yourself once you deny the hope you need to survive. That will, and fight in your soul.
Think of the sun and moon. Surely if there is day, there must be night; the reciprocal the same to speak of.
Yin and Yang.
They share the sky like a hearty meal.
Though I find the moon is more humble. Giving more room and time to the sun.
This is not to say the moon is stepped upon. The moon is not so humble to allow the sun to cease its hours.
Do not be walked over, do not let your hope be mistreated. Make your stance as it may, and show no fear in the face of arrogance.
