#as...7 years spent with Calypso and just...ESCAPING her.

[dootznbootz]

I’m so curious, do you have any hcs for Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus post-odyssey? I just love their little family so much, and like, the olive tree bed scene where Penelope tests him gets me EVERY time

SO MANY! They kind of get...dark though, because they're a LOT about his PTSD. There's PLENTY of Fluff in between but...I plan for it mostly to be about them all helping him with his PTSD. It's a lot of "Comfort" fics.

I plan for Odysseus to be restless and try to force himself to be normal. There are times when he'll be like "I'm going to go run around the island. I would like for you to come with" as being alone kind of stresses him out sometimes. Penelope and Telemachus usually go with him for RUNNING but he will walk with his dad :) It helps with his restlessness. and also just staying active. (especially as this was something OdyPen did often in their youth) It also is a way for him to reassure that "Hey, I'm not going to disappear on you. That's NOT what I want. I just need...release." basically. Fuck the Telegony

I actually have it where he doesn't tell Penelope about Circe and Calypso at first...It's something he's ashamed of and just...it's HARD for him. He's so focused on the fact that he's with Penelope and that's ALL he's wanted all these years. It's who he's longed for. I even have him make an Oath about how she's all he's wanted...He's not struck down...So that's true. It's why Penelope doesn't push too hard with asking at first because she knows him. Eventually, she has a moment of "Hey...I know it's probably painful...but you have to stop hiding this from me...I love you, you silly man. I know that you love me too...I just want to help."

He overhears Telemachus talk about Menelaus and he's happy they're well and that they're happy together. and Penelope mentions how "OFC they're well. They love each other and any good spouse would understand that when the gods are involved they have no choice" and Odysseus gets quiet as Telemachus rambles on and hides his face. He's just... so happy. Penelope would probably understand! Yet he still is afraid to share.

OdyPen had a conversation in their youth about how Tyndarius is such a good man for loving his children equally and understanding Leda didn't have a choice. Odysseus asks Penelope if she still thinks that. She's had an idea something happened and ofc she says yes, she still feels the same way. And he just cries into her chest. He doesn't spill everything yet. but it's a start :'D

He gets nightmares a lot. He tries and hides a lot from Telemachus (especially the Circe and Calypso stuff) because he wants to focus on being a DAD now.

(Ofc, I have it where Penelope invites Menelaus and Helen to Ithaca for Helen and Odysseus to talk about what THEY went through. And Penelope asking for advice from Menelaus...)

They all have "normalcy" eventually. But it's HARD. :') Love and patience help though.

[perpetualdaydreamerr]

Upon the Eternal Shore: An EPIC the Musical Fanfiction (Chapter 10)

Snippets of the 7 years Odysseus spent with Calypso.

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CONTENT WARNING: heavily implied r*pe, non-con, victim-blaming, emotional abuse, PTSD, descriptions of violence. Please consider before reading.

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Day 1,703

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The morning felt heavy in his limbs. It was as though the dewfall rested on his body, heavy as stone, and held him down. He didn't want to leave the bed, couldn't fathom having the energy to fulfill the obligation he'd accepted. It was easier to stare out the window, watch the way the sun’s rays refracted against the glass. Far simpler to become enchanted by the dance of the shadows created by the tree that grew in front of the palace. Ever bending, ever curling. A persuasive hymn.

The energy to get up came to him all at once. A sharp, stubborn tick that pushed his feet off the side of the bed, made him stand. Pulled him towards the wardrobe, helped him dress himself. The faintest whisper of determination. He wasn't sure who brought it forth, how it was able to survive in the bedroom’s stifling air. And yet it did.

The goddess was waiting for him outside, bright eyed and enthusiastic. She had been positively delighted when he'd made the arrangement the day before. A day together, and arrows in exchange.

The two started off, side by side. An effortless path.

Calypso floated beside him, her perfume tying itself to her painted smile. “May I ask what you want arrows for?” she asked, leading the pair of them away from the marble palace. She had complete dominion over the activity of the day, and the King of Ithaca merely followed.

“...I want to practice shooting,” Odysseus responded honestly. “It's been years.” He'd had to reteach his body so much, recently. How to endure labor, how to tolerate physical strain. In turn, his body had reminded him of old habits. Building, running, swimming. Things he'd been proficient at in another lifetime. Before the island. It begged and nagged him to return to them. He entertained the idea now that foreign, subtle persuasion towards productivity had been born again in him.

“Were you a good archer before?”

“...An excellent one.”

“Oh, really? Why don't you show me?” She mused, clasping her hands together in front of herself. “That's what we can do today. I'm not in the mood for shells, anyways.” She reached over, draped her hand on his shoulder. He felt the weight of his old quiver materialize against his back.

He nodded, pleased by the proposition. It would make the day less of a waste. He touched his hand to the quiver and ran his finger across an arrow. It was an old, familiar sensation. His body remembered.

They walked together, side by side, down the cobblestone path. He'd go to a clearing by the cliffside, where tall pines stood. There'd be plenty of targets to aim at. Leaves, animals, bushes. The anticipation in his stomach grew. He'd see whether the skill had died during his time on Ogygia. He prayed it didn't.

“You know, I learn more about you by the day… Do you ever wonder anything about me?” Calypso asked. Her words cracked through his busied mind.

He tilted his head towards her. There on her face was the familiar look of expectation. Deep longing twisting around her features. It was a look he knew well; one that often preceded outbursts of emotion, expressions of frustrated disappointment.

He tried to configure a question in his mind. Something to satiate her quickly. “...Why are you stuck here?” A stark question, one that he realized afterwards he probably shouldn't have asked; but it was the only thing he'd ever particularly wondered about her. The goddess was hellbent on his captivity. He'd attempted before to convince her to leave with him- to abandon the island together. She'd made it clear that it wasn't possible, that she couldn't leave, even if she was interested in sailing away from the paradise. He wasn't sure if it was simply another trick or not. Whether she too was just as incapable of escape as he was.

Calypso’s face contorted. A dreary expression of melancholy took hold of her eyes. He regretted his question, and she spoke. “...A long time ago, there was a war between the titans and gods,” she explained, her voice gentle as a passing breeze. “My father was a titan… I was just a girl at the time. I didn't understand what was happening, not really. Only that my father needed my help. I tried my best to assist him,” She looked at him, tried to see if he understood.

He did. He nodded slowly in comprehension. She was cursed by the gods, confined to the island as a punishment for her crime.

“...And will the gods ever…?”

“No. I… I have no reason to believe so, anyways,” a dry laugh tumbled out of her lips. Cold and bitter, stained by years of withering hope. “And I don't… have the privilege of dying. I've been here for a hundred years, and I'll be here a million more,” she whispered, the words drying up as she spoke them. She became silent, swallowed her voice.

He watched her. He hadn't ever seen her look the way she did now. It was desperate, raw- marked by vulnerability that wasn't conjured or masqueraded. Visible grief at a life spent entirely alone. He could see it, somehow. What the island had done to her- how it had aged her, despite her eternal, divine youth. Twisted her into something she hadn't been before.

Something formed in his chest. An emotion he hadn't managed to feel in years. A foreign object, slowly developing in his heart, growing against his better judgement. Something that should've been impossible for him to feel for her. Something he could hardly manage. Miniscule, but genuine. Pity. “...I'm sorry, Calypso” he murmured, somehow meaning it.

He made eye contact with the nymph. In her eyes, a pool of water. Genuine sadness cradled the brims of her eyes. She nodded, looked away from him. For a moment, he could see what she was. What she had been, long before he had arrived.

A silence settled between them. Nobody spoke but the wind and their footsteps. Whispers of the past crept through the air. Quickly fleeting, impossible to hold. The echoes of time.

They approached the clearing of the forest. “...Well, anyways,” Calypso broke through the tension between them. Her voice was now returned to its typical intonation. “Let's see what you've got, hm?” She smiled, handed him a longbow he hadn't realized she was holding.

Odysseus nodded. He took the bow from her, feeling its weight in his hands. Lighter than the one waiting for him in Ithaca, but heavier than the ones he used to practice with. He stole an arrow from his quiver. The movements were smooth and methodical, reminiscent of a time long since passed. He knocked it, feeling the tension of the bowstring grow tighter and tighter.

He stepped back towards the cliff, getting distance between himself and the nearest tree. Along its curled bark was a knot in the wood. A natural bullseye, teasing him. He narrowed his eyes, concentrating on it.

He felt a breath leave his body. Steady on the balls of his feet, he felt the wind rustle against him. Heading east, only slightly. He felt the influence on his arrow, predicted it. He turned the arrow’s head ever so slightly. He released his hand.

The arrow cut through the air in a whiz. It flew, straight and precise, the evidence of practice in its flight. It pierced the center of the knot with a satisfying thud.

Odysseus’ gaze fixated on it. Dead center. After so many years, he had fired a perfect shot. Excitement threatened to rise in him. He was still a seasoned warrior. The island hadn't taken that.

“You're a brilliant archer!” the nymph praised aloud, her voice warm and light. She clapped her hands together. “How long has it been since you've practiced?”

The question gave him pause. It was simple enough, and yet it reminded him of a painful reality he had tried to neglect. He wasn't sure how long he'd been on Ogygia. When he'd first arrived, his count had been meticulous. But somewhere, somehow, in the midst of exhaustion and misery, he'd stopped counting. He cleared his throat, tried to force back the growing discomfort in his chest. “I… don't know. How long have I been here, Calypso?”

“Not terribly long- I just meant that you haven't reached for your bow recently, that's all,” she dismissed, a sweet smile lining her lips.

He shook his head, unsatisfied by her answer. He knew she knew. “No, I mean… how many days?” How many years? He looked at her, silently pleading for honesty.

Her eyes caught the slightest golden glow as he stared back at her; he was unsure if it was the sun or something else. She hesitated, but spoke. “...One thousand, seven hundred, and three,” she replied, the words leaving her mouth like a poem.

A shiver danced across his spine. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the number settle in his mind. 1,703. An impossible length. A horrific amount of time. 1,703 days. 1,703 nights.

He felt bile threaten to rise in his stomach. Over 4 years. How much taller had his son grown in that time? How much of Penelope's hope had dissipated? He gripped the bow, tried to steady himself. He couldn't let his pulse grow swifter, couldn't let his mind spiral out of control. He sucked in a deep breath, made himself hold it.

He took another arrow from the quiver and aimed it, upwards now, to a beautiful crimson bird sitting on a high branch. He had to focus on what was real. What he could hold. What he could control. The bow. The bird. The arrows. Physical and tangible.

His arrow tore through the air, struck the creature before it had the chance to turn its head. He stared, watched as it fell. A red echo, dropping through the air. Beautiful and dead.

“Nothing tries to fly away here,” he commented softly, fixating on the bird. A victory undeserved, irregardless of the size or distance.

“...I could make you moving targets,” Calypso offered, standing up from her sitting position. She took stones from the ground. Her eyes began to glow, and the rock changed colors- warped into clay, light and thin. Targets the size of apples. She stepped back and threw one in the air. It was impossibly light, flying high above the treeline as if carried by wings.

Odysseus turned quickly, aiming the longbow up. He felt a rush of adrenaline course through his veins. He fired. The arrow cut through the sky and found its target. The clay ruptured in half, crumpling mid air.

Calypso cheered. He felt another twinge of pride. She threw another. This one began to twist in suspended figure eights, twirling clockwise aggressively. He aimed, let another arrow fly.

It went just to the side of the target, missing it. Odysseus quickly reloaded, faster than he knew he still could. He aimed again, and this one hit.

“I just need practice,” he mumbled, loading another arrow as the goddess prepared another target.

He continued firing at them, hitting most, and only growing more determined when he missed. The arrows were endless. It was methodical, corporeal. He lost himself to it. Felt every arrow leave the bow like a bird in flight. Watched as the wind bent it, pushed it towards its target. It reminded him vaguely of his youth in Ithaca, when the best thing a young boy could be was a good archer. All of the hours spent drawing his bow, learning the skill through sheer determination and time.

He dared to imagine himself back home. Any great skill he still had wouldn't show itself on a battlefield ever again. He'd resign himself to being a mentor. He could teach Telemachus. He imagined himself, standing beside a boy who hadn't ever known a father. He imagined teaching him everything he knew. How to feel the wind against his hand, how to account for it. How to twist an arrow in his thumb to feel its weight. All of the secrets that would be whispered down their family line, father to son, a thousand times over. He allowed himself to dream. Arrow after arrow flew.

Her voice cut through his trance, demanded he come back to reality. “You're incredible,” she swooned. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, how many targets had been struck. She'd gotten creative with them- making them different shapes and sizes, moving at different distances in different shapes. She paused now, standing up from her position on a nearby fallen tree. “Won't you show me how to shoot? I've never tried to fire a bow before.”

Odysseus cocked his head in her direction, his perception of the goddess returning. He'd gotten lost in the practice, halfway forgetting where he was. “I doubt you've had much of a reason to use one,” he replied, his statement teetering on comedic. He returned the arrow in his hand to the quiver.

“I haven't,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders. She approached him, determined but light. “But it looks fun! Show me?”

He wanted to continue practicing, but as he watched the goddess, he remembered the price of the arrows. A cost he'd agreed to. He nodded. “You'll want a shorter bow for yourself, this one will be too tall,” he said, holding up his own as if to prove his point.

She looked down, picking up a stick that had fallen nearby. In an instant, it curled, warping into a longbow more appropriate to her height. She stepped beside him, holding it. She turned her head up towards him and smiled.

“Try shooting the tree,” he offered, gesturing back to the tree he'd started on. It was close to them now, easy enough for a juvenile boy to strike. He remembered training young men before, how their eyes had darted away nervously at his gaze and instruction. Boys, really.

Calypso took the bowstring in her hand, pulling it back. Her hand was wrapped around the grip awkwardly, too high and loose. The arrow shifted in her hand, wobbling up and down.

Odysseus frowned, watching the clumsy attempt. “Watch me,” he offered, taking his own bow and holding it up. He drew it back, trying to display the way he held its center. “You need to move your hand down. You're off center, that's why it's moving like that.” He had seen many such mistakes with young soldiers, had corrected them more times than he could count.

Calypso moved her hand slightly, a frown on her lips. She fumbled again with the string, pulling it back, but not nearly far enough. A soft huff left her lips. The bow wobbled again, unsupported by her stance. “I just can't get it,” she complained. “...Won't you help me?”

Slowly, mechanically, he moved towards her. Stepped behind her, keeping his distance, but lining up his arm beside her’s. “Move your hand and grip it-” he murmured, pushing her wrist with his fingers. “And keep your elbow straight, that's the most important thing. You need there to be enough tension.” He nudged her arm, raising it higher. “Keep your shoulders square and move your legs apart.”

“I can't pull the string back far enough,” Calypso decided aloud, disregarding his other crtiiques. Her head moved towards him ever so slightly. He could smell the perfumed oil on her skin. She leaned against him, let her hair graze his jawline. “Won't you help me pull it?”

She was a goddess. He'd seen her turn stone to clay, and yet she was unable to draw back a bowstring. The peace that had settled in him when firing the arrows was slowly dissolving, developing into nausea. His body knew what she wanted before his mind did. Tension blossomed in his arms, traveling through the rest of his body like a venom. And yet he reached his arm around her, put his hand over her’s. He pulled the string back further. She'd fire the arrow, and he could go back. She could go back. He made himself look at the tree before them. One strike, one success, and she'd be pleased.

“Let go on three, two, one…” he counted quickly. They both let go, and the arrow whizzed through the air. It struck the tree, a few feet above his previous shot.

“Look at that! You're the best teacher!” Calypso sang pleasantly. She turned to the side, faced him directly. The longbow fell from her hands. Her body was against his’ in an instant- their skin overlapping.

“...Thank you,” he managed, immediately overwhelmed by the pressure against him. He stepped back instinctively, his eyes darting back to her.

She smelt like honey, suffocatingly so. Sweet, sickly sweet. Her eyes were wide, round as the seven olives, filled with the temptation of favors that demanded payment. “Why don't you allow me to show my appreciation…” she whispered. She put a hand to his waist, curled it inwards. Persuasive and hungry.

“Calypso, please, he whispered, taking gentle hold of her wrist. He didn't move, didn't jolt away the way his mind demanded he did. He'd dissolve the moment, let her lust leave naturally with the breeze. He'd turn her attention away, distract the nymph.

“What's the matter?” her voice came out in a melodic whine, wrapped around his neck and choked him. She moved her other hand to his shoulder, her chest now flush against his’.

He tried to remain calm, tried to compose his voice into something more persuasive. “I just… don't want to spoil our day together,” he insisted, carving a smile onto his face. “Let's keep practicing, it's been so long since I’ve-”

She pulled her hand from his grasp. “I won't spoil anything, Ody. You'll love this. Let me show you…” Her arms were around him again, her lips on his neck. Her lips, moving like a spider, crawling across him, faster, ready to paralyze him.

“Calypso, I don't- I don't want to take advantage of your kindness, let me- let me shoot for you, why don't you watch-” his words broke up, became frantic. His mind lost its edge, dissolved away as fear took the place of wit.

“Shh,” she whispered against his skin. Her hands moved faster now. She pushed herself against him, rocking like the tides.

He felt panic take hold of his body. Fear seized his hands, made them shake. His stomach turned, tension and nausea fighting for dominance. “Calypso, please,” he pleaded. “I don't want to right now. I'll do anything else you want, anything,” He'd pull the clouds apart if she wanted, tear down the palace brick by brick and rebuild it, rearrange the stars in the sky if it pleased her. In a sudden jerk of restraint, he tried to pull away. “Just not-”

An involuntary cry left his mouth as piercing pain jolted through his ankles. Blades, ripping into his skin. Then more, then more, puncture wounds, crawling up, searing and sharp. He didn't have to look down to know what was taking hold of him; thick vines, covered in thorns, working their way up his legs.

“Why do you fight me, Odysseus? After so many years? After everything I've done for you?” Calypso cried, her voice raised, dripping with ire, its sweet sugar shell now gone. Her fingers grasped his face, forced his eyes to meet her’s. He preferred the thorns, couldn't fight either. Her nails curved in, cut into his face. “Why do you make it so hard to love you?”

And then her lips were against his’. Hot and bitter, the tears that had sprung from her eyes salting his tongue. His heart tore through his chest, terror gripping his body. The pain in his legs grew more agonizing, the thorns growing and twisting. He felt the rush of his blood watering the plants that only grew with her frustration. Her hands tangled in his hair, her madness sucking the breath from his lungs. He was choking, drowning, dying just like his soldiers, just as helpless. Her hands moved, crawled across him in a crazed conquest. Unrestricted, unwilling to restrain themselves. Forever demanding. There was no ceiling to stare at, no way to force his mind to die to time. He was stuck, rooted to the ground. Rooted to reality, on Ogygia, with the goddess.

She tore herself away from him. Off of him, moving away. In a sudden flurry, with unclear provocation. “I didn't mean to get carried away,” he heard her say. He could still feel her skin. He could still smell her. He could hardly hear her.

A gasp left his lips as the thorns abandoned the sheath of his skin. They curled downwards, back into the earth. So quickly he hardly caught a glimpse of them.

His legs were covered in trails of blood. Wrecked with punctures, dark red, coated with the smell of metal. They began to contort, shifting as a gold glow enveloped his legs.

He watched as the injuries withered away like rapidly decaying vegetation. The thorns had entirely returned to the ground that bore them. Every scratch, every welt melted off his skin.

There was no evidence of what had happened besides what clung to his memory. What would live in his mind, and resurface in the late hours of the night. His body would remember, even if there weren't scars.

“Take another shot. I want to watch. You're a brilliant archer, Ody.”

Her voice like a spell, once again a sweet song. The tears had dried on her face, and her eyes sparkled in the sunlight. His own blurred. He couldn't force breath back into his lungs. It was too heavy, too hard.

“Take another shot.”

He could still taste the salt on his tongue. His hands curled in and out of fists. He tried to focus, tried to bring himself back.

He would do as he was bade. He could hardly see, and yet he found the discarded longbow. He took it in his hands again. His trembling hands. He held it up, drew it back. He wasn't balanced, his shoulders weren't straight.

The arrow flew from his grasp. It wobbled as it left him, teetered in the wind. It landed to the right of the pine- toppled to the ground, its flight broken. It clambered against the ground with the same inaptitude of his breath.

“Try again, my love. You'll get it this time.”

He could feel the phantom sting in his leg. Or perhaps he had orchestrated that in his mind. Or perhaps it didn't matter at all.

He took another arrow. He aimed. He fired again.

-

Link to other chapters

[mdwatchestv]

The Magicians 3x12 + 3x13: Hail to the King, Baby

Better late than never, here is the finale wrap up of season 3 of the Magicians. Maybe this is so late because I was decimated by the Magicians thoroughly recapping itself in a manner so comprehensive and aggressive that I was briefly unable to continue on. Josh's recap of the 40th timeline to Penny 23 was so snappy and entertaining, it sent me into a wild fit of existential despair - how does one recap a show that recaps itself? Josh even had sex charts, and comprehensive notes showing the kind of recap mastery  you will not see on this blog.  Thus is the charm and the fury of the Magicians, a show that refuses to be tamed, categorized, or even written about coherently. Long may it reign.

It was especially interesting, here at the end of season 3, to look back via Josh's recap to season 1. Q and Alice wearing the Brakebills sweater vest set was especially strange to remember, and illustrated how far this show has ventured tonally since its earlier days. While season 1 was not without its batshit crazy moments, its Taylor Swift sing-a-longs, its 39 timelines, the show still felt like it was trying to color inside the lines. This was a story about young witches and wizards on a quest to defeat a great evil after all. This good vs evil storyline crept into season 2, where we finally saw the Beast's demise, but by then he was almost an afterthought as the Magicians ached to move on to bigger, wilder subjects than just one evil wizard. So now that we are in season 3, what is the Magicians about? Sure there is a quest to restore magic, but the show has broken free of it's "defeat the bad guy, save the world" mold. Antagonism and heroism can be found within individual characters, within moral battles about who is worthy of magic, life, and freedom, and within questions about how to govern a body of people (and talking animals) selflessly.

Nowhere has this intricacy and complex development been better illustrated than in the unending power struggle in Fillory. After seizing control from the Children of Earth, Tick Pickwick wants to put a country impoverished by the lack of magic and radical mismanagement back on the economic track. A Fillory run by actual Fillorians rather than magicless Earth children who were really just puppets for the Fairy Queen (another ruler trying to do the best for her people no matter the cost). Honestly the worst that can be said for Tick is that he betrayed our two most fiercely beloved characters, which although a grave offense from an audience point of view, actually had pretty noble intent. The Fillory storyline ended in a standoff of three different rulers, all of whom were trying to do right by their citizenry. It's a complex situation with many shades of gray and no real "right answer" in the context of the Fillorian world (no matter where our audience sympathies may lie). What a brilliant and odd place for a show initially advertised merely as "Harry Potter with sex, drugs, and partying" to end up.

Coming into episode 3x12, our magic troop has recovered all seven keys but one (key #6), which we know to be held by the Fairy Queen and is currently being used to prop up the Fairy Realm. Margo and Eliot are willing to give the Fairies full Fillorian citizenship and protection in exchange for the key, but they are no longer the rulers of Fillory, and don't have the magic to reclaim the throne from Tick. No magic, no power, no key, no magic. So they do what any self-respecting ousted monarchs do: force an election they intend to win through trickery and witchcraft. What begins as a genuine play for the Fillorians love (and votes), quickly devolves into a pissing contest between Eliot and Tick. The two attempt to one-up on another, Tick with policy, Eliot with outlandish empty promises. Feels...so familiar.

This storyline hit such a nerve with me that when Margo was announced as the surprise winner and new High King of Fillory, I burst into sudden, surprised tears. These tears only intensified as Eliot put aside his flaring ego to kneel before her and pledge his allegiance. "WHY AM I CRYING," I screamed at my boyfriend and cat who only stared back at me with wide terrified eyes. Why indeed. Maybe it was because Margo's genuine interest and acceptance of her populace (she was elected as a write-in candidate by talking animals) was able to cut through a cock fight. Margo who has perhaps suffered the most for Fillory: she has been showered in the blood of her suitors, married off to Joffrey's, and even lost an eye. Margo who started this series as a hard-partying mean girl who has risen to the top without compromising her own sense of self. Margo who once called her rival a chalky twat, Margo who brought a gun to a magic fight, Margo who has a creepy fairy eye. Margo who is now King, because a King can be called whatever the fuck they want.

Margo's storyline is also but one of the storylines this season that featured powerful women rising into their power. The Fairy Queen, who began this year as a villain, had one of the most season’s powerful turns. After proving herself to be a staunch advocate for her people rather than a malicious baddie she sacrifices herself in order to guarantee eternal safety for her people. Although I couldn't help wondering why no one had brokered such a deal before, but whatever it's done now, and I now cannot wait until Jamie Ray Newman gets her ass handed to her (a sentence I never thought I’d type). Julia also spent the season reconciling the power she was given by Our Lady Underground, eventually accepting it and nurturing it until it gave her (literal) god-like strength. But my personal favorite journey this year was that of Fen - the knife makers daughter who was married off to a king. Fen has really been through it, she lost her unborn daughter, her fake daughter, and even some toes. No matter the complexities of the fairy's sitch, there is no doubt they have done our girl Fen dirty. And so seeing Fen sitting on the Fillorian throne as Acting High King, and standing by the Fairy Queen's side attempting to aide her until the bitter end, was especially meaningful.

So with High King Margo on the throne, the magicians finally have all 7 keys and the final chapter of the quest book. They need to take the keys to a magic castle where the Knight in the story went to rescue her father, and is now apparently the eternal jailer of some terrifying monster. After hunting down Calypso, the nymph who imprisoned Odysseus (obviously), she explains that the the castle Blackspire (the literal opposite of Whitespire) is the castle built by the gods in order to hide all their fuck ups and also holds the magic fountain. Calypso’s lover and popular fire-gifter Prometheus crafted both the keys and the key quest in order to identify magicians worthy enough to take on the jailer mantle. However creating the keys robbed Prometheus of his strength and he was killed by his enemies. Calypso is pissed about this, but if I know anything about Prometheus (and the show The Magicians) it's that he is kind of a hard guy to kill. A foreshadow perhaps?

Our questers head out to the prison with a variety of different motives. Quentin has agreed to take the place of the Knight as eternity prison guard in exchange for entrance to the castle. Alice, originally wanting to help the Library siphon the magic for themselves, now wants no one to have magic because to her magic leads to bad times (she's not wrong). Eliot and Margo are not about to have Q go off and be a guard forever and are going with the shoot first ask questions later approach (gotta love em). Julia is absent as she has ascended to full god status and is off drinking tea and wearing a lot of highlighter (relatable). Upon arriving at the castle they discover what the Knight has been guarding is not so much a traditional monster, but rather a strange young man who acts like a child. Unfazed, Eliot shoots him. This seems to have been effective, and no one questions the sudden mysterious disappearance of the Knight.  But before our group can finally unlock the magic fountain and restore power, Alice, hopped up on fairy powder, destroys the keys! After all we have been through this season to collect these goddamn keys, this was a real dick move. While Alice is attempting to escape Margo's righteous shanking, she sees the Knight now seemingly possessed with the golden light that lived in the "monster" Eliot shot. Not good!

Back at the fountain the day is temporarily saved when God!Julia, motivated by her sidekick Quentin's courage, descends and uses her power to create seven NEW keys. If only she had done this from the beginning. But this act apparently robs her of her golden god magic, at least for the time being. The magic fountain spurts back to life, but the victory is short-lived as JAIME RAY NEWMAN and Dean Fogg appear with the Library's siphon. These characters have really been testing me. The Library seizes the means of production, I mean all the magic, thereby granting them total control of magical ability and knowledge. Presumably Dean Fogg aided in their scheme in order to guarantee a magic allowance for Brakebills, but this shows a surprising lack of faith in his own students who not only defeated The Beast, but have performed a number of miraculous feats. He of little faith.

Time cut to the future, while magic is still spotty  the more shocking twist is that our gang has been stripped of their memories and sent off to live among us mere muggles in the real world. Ironically Alice, the one who planned on starting a new life, is the only one who remembers what happened in the castle and is being held captive in the Library. She understands that the monster in the castle was NOT the young man, but rather whatever was inside of him. An unending want or need that appears as pretty gold lights and is now unstoppable.

Normally twists like this where characters lose memory, or their bodies are EXTREMELY stressful for me (the Faith/Buffy swap still causes tension). The idea that things are not as they should be (Dreamland I and II also traumatizing) and the regular flow of events has been thrown out of order is distressing to my order-craving brain. However with The Magicians every weird device is usually enjoyable, and often the weirder the better. Watching a  clearly possessed Eliot psychotically stalking an amnesia-stricken Quentin down the streets of Vancouver gave me a surprising sense of excited glee rather than nervous dread. Whatever happens on The Magicians, no matter how incoherent or strange, at least you know it won’t be boring. What’s more this is a show that will seemingly never settle into complacency, it is a creeping vine 

LINGERING QUESTIONS:

Penny 23 seems to have fully taken over Penny 40's storyline, with even the Unity Key acknowledging the swap. Whatever is going on with Penny 40 in the Library has been kept under wraps, but surely he will have a part to play in helping to free Alice.

Kacey Rohl is also running around wild and free in this timeline with her memories in tact! Possibly a valuable ally for those hoping to save the main crew.

Speaking of returning from the dead, Harriet and Victoria supposedly died when their portal between worlds collapsed, but we didn't see any bodies so I can't help feel like this isn't exactly permanent. 

Now that Margo has had her memory wiped I guess Fen is just continuing to rule Fillory. Is anyone going to tell the Fillorians what's going down? Are they going to receive magic from the Library? Likely no, but they do have a new population of fairies who have their own ungovernable magic- handy!

Also Poppy (aka Felicia Day) is wandering around in our world after skipping out on Quentin and co. Technically she is still a Brakebills student I think!

Now that we know there is a whole world of gods, will we be getting more visits from them? Did Julia totally blow her chances at divinity by making the replacement set of keys?

Thank you for reading along this season! Stay tuned to this blog for new coverage, likely of Westworld. Theories galore.

Love ya, MD

One more Margo gif for the road:

[agent-7-at-your-service]

The Hamartia Arc Recap (Incomplete)

Characters mentioned (special thanks to)  to @inklingleesquidly @myzzy @son-of-joy @teamuntyblue / @ryan-sign-guy @ask-hybrid-havoc @alphadeathsquad @alpinesquid​

This is still a rough draft, place wait for official release.

The Document (Brief Recap of the Trinity Arc and the Odysseus Arc)

The Sealant Rebellion

Prologue

“Breaking News: Return of the Amemasu Federation of Hokkaido

It appears after years of the island’s silence since the Great Turf War, a federation thought to have fallen has risen from its ashes. Rumors spread that they’ve been rebuilding since the end of the war, and records about the nation are long gone.

The people behind the return of this forgotten nation go by the name The Brethrens of the Brine. There is still no insight to their leader, their beliefs, or their activities.

We are being informed to instruct the Citizens of Inkopolis to remain calm and stay tuned for more information.”

BrineFire

Agent 7 and Marie meet once again in an abandoned park. It is the same park where they’ve danced during the Fancy Party vs Costume party, where Agent 7 proposed to Marie, and where they’ve spent most of their honeymoon. But now things are different: it is where Agent 7 and Marie go their separate ways and see other people – their divorce is official.

“So… I managed to be the Agent I want to be, I got the girl, had her leave my life, almost lost her to some ammonite, and things are changing in Inkopolis – what next?” --Agent 7, BrineFire

Agent 7 would find an Octoling named Ampth who was present in the part, having overheard what has just happened between Agent 7 and Marie. He was only there to collect his thoughts. Ampth saves Agent 7 from an attempted murder from a propelling drone. It left a dart containing an icy brine solution. Agent 7 decides to meet Ampth some other day in some other place so that Ampth can continue dealing with his thoughts.

They would meet in Port Mackerel where they ended up discovering a trade between Leviathan and the Great Amemasu Federation of Hokkaido. Calypso, leader of Leviathan, traded an inkling clone named Cassandra in exchange for information from a ghost sharkling named Hector Norman, and his soldiers from the Federation.

Ampth is shocked to hear that Calypso is a genetic clone of Marie, and his exclamation left him and Agent 7 detected by her. Calypso reveals Hector Norman, his organization The Brethrens of the Brine, and the Great Amemasu Federation of Hokkaido to Agent 7. She also reveals the newest clone, Cassandra who is a clone of Callie with foresight on an event of the next day.

Mercury arrived on time to make sure Calypso doesn’t harm Ampth, and Mercury is still a bit miffed by their last cooperation.

Calypso mentioned Agent 7’s father, Jason Gatzling Cassius Sr., who was a veteran of the Great Turf War. She is willing to give Agent 7 the information she received, and it was revealed Hector’s revenge on Agent  7’s father.

Transistion: Reignite the Great Turf War

The Speech

Sins of the Father?

Three days later, Agent 7 and his little sister Pammy (Agent 7.5) make a trip to Calamari County via train. He was going to drop off Pammy at his mother’s manor to stay for a while. At the train station, they meet two inkling twins named who asked Agent 7 to pick a card from either the red deck or the blue deck.  Agent 7 picks the blue deck and gets a 7 of Diamonds. When the twins leave them be, Agent 7 feels they’ll meet again.

On the train, Agent 7 and Pammy meet two agents who recognize Agent 7. The two agents are named Roxanne Lannister (Agent 27) and Marcellus Valentine (Agent 36) from the United Kingdom and United States respectively. They were drafted to come to Japan for diplomatic reasons. They decided to join Agent 7 and Pammy on their trip to Calamari County to kill time.

Once in Calamari County, they were escorted to Cassius Manor where Agent 7’s mother, Darla Gatz-Ling Cassius, was waiting for them. Darla welcomes her son and Pammy back, and she helps them inside.  Agent 7 introduced his mother as a former field medic of Conesnail Splatoon during the Great Turf War.

Later, Agent 7 privately talks with his mother about Hector Norman which shocks her. Darla explains that she was supposed to take part in a mission with his father, but had to be discharged due to pregnancy. It was called Operation Sea-Bream which was a mission Agent 7’s father took in before his heroic sacrifice.

During the Great Turf War, a private military company called the Amemasu Bayline promised to support the Squid forces in exchange for sovereignty over the island of Hokkaido as it’s own nation. The agreement was fragile to the point where the Amemasu Bayline broke it by seizing the island for itself. That’s where Hector Norman comes in. He along with two factions, The Sealine of Uchiura Bay and The Lakeline of Lake Tōya, formed a triumvirate, forming the nation–”

“– The Amemasu Federation of Hokkaido.” Agent 7 recalls the news mentioning it.

“Exactly, and the broken oath outraged some of the Splatoons. Your father was given permission to lead a liberation campaign and apprehend Hector in Operation Sea-Bream. Hector tested him somehow….. I heard Hector got killed in the end. And he made haste later to help in the final battle against the Octarians. The federation was supposed to dissolve after the Great Turf War….” She then covers her mouth. -- Darla’s conversation with Agent 7.

Darla remind Agent 7 about his father’s will and suggests he finds whatever his father left in Inkopolis.

As Agent 7 leaves to return to Inkopolis, Agent 7 is saved by another drone who tried to shoot a dart at him.

Transition: Raps and Beats

Agent 7 meets Callie and Marie again with Pearl and Marina. Agent 7 meets an ally of his, Fang from the Alpha Death Squad. After Callie, Marie, Pearl, and Marina go off on their own errands, Agent 7 takes Fang to Bigfin Grotto to help with something.

Agent 7 tried to locate whatever his father left in Inkopolis according to his will. Fang helps by marking an unexplored area in the ancient subway systems built by the human race. Agent 7 thanks her, and she adds in keys to an ATV to help him along the way.

The marker was on an area underneath the Tohoku Shinkansen train route.

The Sparrow Finally Calls

Agent 7 meets Blueshift at the entrance to an abandoned subway. They talk for a moment about Marie and later about a few friends in Inkopolis. A runaway cargo truck force Agent 7 and Blueshift into the subways. They had to explore the subway system together. Agent 7 explains his situation to Blueshift.

Eventually, Agent 7 finds the ATV that Alpha Death Squad supplied him. Both he and Blueshift get on and started driving their way to their destination. The ride wasn’t that long as Hector’s infantry ambushed them, making them escape the subway system and crash into their destination.

Robin and her friend, Mint, both find the two in the area, and they end up in the mess. They’re forced to cooperate with Agent 7 and Blueshift to fight off Hector’s infantry and unknown Brine Unit. Robin was able to defeat the Brine unit.

Afterward, Agent 7 finally finds what his father left him: A bullet train and a final note:

“Son,

I didn’t realize that the consequences that Hector made were promised. All of Hokkaido was after me and only me after leaving the island. And I was able to escape it at a cost. Afterward, they remained on that island, giving up the chase. And what happened after you knew from your mother as my sacrifice for the Inklings to win against the Octarians.

I am sorry for not being there. I’m sorry for not being there to see you grow up. Whatever you are now, I am proud of it. And what I told you to do earlier – to promise to never befriend the Octarians – I take it back. That’s shouldn’t be you.

If you found this letter, I ask you to prepare Inkopolis for the worse to come from Hector’s nation. This situation I am sorry to put you in.

Your father,

Jason Gatz-Ling Cassius Sr.”

It was a mission Agent 7’s father started, and now he has to finish it.

Revenge of the Railgunning Octo-Train

Bigfin Splatoon prepare Agent 7 to a trip to Hokkaido. Agent 27 and 36 meet Agent 7 again with a familiar face: Vladimir Shepherd. They join Agent 7 on the trip.

When the bullet train departs, they encounter an old enemy of Bigfin Splatoon. It was an octoweapon called The Railgunning Octo-Train. They manage to defeat it.

Afterward, Agent 7’s rival, Sarah Phenotyne arrives on a hovercraft to drop off another ally for Agent 7,  an Octoling soldier from Sarkhalin named Laguna “Garza” Rayne.

They make their way to Aomori Bay.

Side Story: Tenkai & Fate of Mistuhide Revealed

Erikka returns to Earth once more to meet Indo and to find her brother, Mitsuhide. They track him all the way to a monk’s monastery before tying up loose ends with refugees in Inkopolis. Mitushide was alive and has remained in the monastery as an exile, trying to reflect and start a new life.

Transition: The Sea Fleet / Sail to Hokkaido

Agent 0 turned out to have snuck his way into the bullet train and join Agent 7. Agent 7 and Laguna make their way into the bay to commandeer one of the ships in a mercenary fleet paid by Hector. Agent 7 meets the twins from the Inkopolis train station who are offering either a red keycard or a blue keycard. Agent 7 picks the red keycard.

Agent 7 and Laguna steal the fleet’s fastest ship and they sail their way to Hokkaido after killing the fleet’s commodore and disabling most of the battleships.

Urchinball

Agent 7 gets to meet his father’s enemy, Hector Norman, and they have a conversation over the Great Turf War. Hector justifies his actions, saying that the Inkling broke a promise with his nation and that Agent 7’s father was a thorn in Hector’s side.

Hector then started getting under Agent 7’s skin, mentioning his relation with Inkopolis residents, his family, and his allies. He begins a “social experiment” on Agent 7 once he leaves Hokkaido.

Returning to Hokkaido, Agent 7 brings The Great Barrier Reef Treaty Organization back and announces concern about The Great Amemasu Federation of Hokkaido. But during the speech, he becomes poisoned with a cocktail of hallucinogens which caused a scene in the meeting. Agent 7 ends up in an induced coma.

And it turns out Agent 0 was behind this for he was forced to poison Agent 7.

Transition: The First Move

Blueshift interrogates Agent 0. Agent 0 confesses that he was forced into poisoning Agent 7 with the hallucinogen. Captain Cuttlefish arrives on time to clear Agent 0 o any wrong doing. Agnet 8 was with him at the time.

Lee and Robin check on Agent 7, and they meet Darla who explain what happened.

Dr. Julia Noh, an ally of Agent 7, was also there to try and help cure Agent 7.

Blueshift and Agent 0 arrive to ask Darla everything she knew about Hector Norman and Agent 7’s father.

--Splat from the Past

Darla was having trouble sleeping when she heard about the poisoning of Agent 7. She couldn’t leave his side or the hospital. An acquaintance of Agent 7 named Damien Zendall came by, meeting Darla at the hospital. Darla considered getting a therapist in to help her son and figure out what’s been troubling him.

Darla and Damien soon end up part of a game in Hector’s Social Experiement on Agent 7. They were forced to fight off Shadow Marshalls (they were armed with a unique ink-based skatter shoes) and keep them away from Agent 7, testing if there will be anyone to defend Agent 7. They were able to fight the marshals off with the arrival of Agents 27 and 36 as reinforcements.

The next day after the social experiment, Agent 7 is relocated to another room in the hospital. A therapist help reveal what’s been going on with Agent 7.

Therapy Part 1

Therapy Part 2

Agent 7 ends up in another coma; Darla is convinced by Damien to help fight this. Darla allows doctors to follow a procedure to treat Agent 7 of his condition.

That night, Agent 7 spiraled down in madness as the poison was withdrawn from his body. He was, however, able to recover at the cost of ending up in a catatonic state.

--No Idol Plays It Better

Bigfin Splatoon was ordered by Darla to find a way to snap Agent 7 out of his catatonic state. Grace (Agent 8) joined them along with Laguna to travel to Iwo Jima, where Calypso resides.Hector plays another game in his Social Experiment, sending his mercenary fleet to stop them. With the help of Grace and the relief army of Calypso, Bigfin Splatoon was able to negotiate with Calypso.

Calypso disguises herself as Marie, and she was able to snap Agent 7 out of his catatonic state. Soon, Marie arrived late after hearing Agent 7 was recovering.

--Transition: Inevitable Pain, Optional Suffering

Agent 7 and Marie make up after Agent 7 confesses what he said during therapy. Marie forgives him and offers him another chance in their relationship.

[dootznbootz]

I think “confused woman” refers to the meme where that woman looks very confused while running the numbers in her head.

oooooh THE MEME

this thang? :D

okay yeah, that makes more sense :P I genuinely thought it was like "Odysseus is confused and thinking about Women." which yeah, I think about Penelope a lot too sklfj dslkjf

Okay with that in mind-

ngl, I love how Odysseus tries so fucking hard to either escape fate and/or change it. The cattle, @backpackingspace said some good shit on Scylla:

Yes, Odysseus is a lil shit. There are times when he's rude, cruel, selfish, etc. (I mean Book 8 of the Iliad where he leaves Diomedes to die? 👀) But when it gets down to it. He really DOES care. and he especially cares about his men. He tries SO hard to keep them all alive (Elpenor was an odd case. Odysseus wanted OUT of Aeaea.) But Fate already had plans...

Sometimes I think about how fucked up it is that Odysseus spent most of the Odyssey being a fucking sex slave for Calypso. ;~; Not only that, but do you think that Odysseus thought that maybe this was just another "bump" in the journey? That, surely, even if he is away from home for 20 years, the rest of the journey won't be spent HERE, right? That, maybe, he won't be in this hell for 7 years. Only for time to drag on...

[perpetualdaydreamerr]

Upon the Eternal Shore: An EPIC the Musical Fanfiction (Chapter 15)

Snippets of the 7 years Odysseus spent with Calypso.

---

CONTENT WARNING: heavily implied r*pe, non-con, victim-blaming, emotional abuse, PTSD, descriptions of violence. Please consider before reading.

---

Day 2,579

-

The aging king spent most of his days sitting beside a tree, listening to the endless, softly sung songs of the nymph. Although he was still mandated to spend an hour or two walking and keeping well, she relented and accepted his request to have some time to sit in peace in the afternoon.

He tried to imagine himself becoming so still that the very earth enveloped him. His legs would grow rigid, and his arms would develop into young branches of laurel like the nymph Daphne. A tree would be a fine thing to be, he thought, lonesome in age and wisdom, but free from the pursuit of memory.

Odysseus wouldn't have noticed Calypso’s changed disposition that day, had it not been for the lack of song. She approached, eerily quiet, and sat an arm's distance from him. Both details were highly unusual. He motivated himself to turn his head and look at her.

Her eyes were captivated by pools of water, her skin terribly pale. Terror married melancholy in her expression, unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

“What's happened?” He asked, his voice coming out rough and harsh. He cocked his head, trying to better see her through his blurred vision.

“...Someone's here,” came the low whimper of the nymph. Every word dripped with dissolving control.

Odysseus felt the beat of his heart begin to pick up in pace. He moved, shifted out of his sunken stance with a start. “What?” He asked, disbelieving at first. He’d assume it to be a ploy of her’s, had the look of anguish on her face appeared any less genuine.

“There's someone who- wants to…” she was unable to finish her statement, grief enveloping her all at once. She began to weep, the tears that had gathered in her eyes falling. “Odysseus,” she interrupted herself, moving closer to him, taking his arm. “I have one final gift to offer you.” Her dark eyes took on the resemblance of gold. In her hands materialized a cup. Inside, a vivid yellow elixir that smelt of honey and apples. Sweeter than anything he had ever seen before, desperately appetizing. “If you drink this, you'll become immortal, my sweet darling. Your body will never age, and your mind will stay just as it is now. My clever, darling love.”

Where had the concept of finality originated? One final gift, after hundreds over the years? “What are you talking about? Who's here?” He asked, bewildered by the sudden eruption of energy. His eyes caught the gold liquid in the cup, reveled in how it glimmered. He was drawn to it like a magnet. He could almost taste the perfect brew.

“It’s ambrosia,” she continued. The nymph pressed the cup into his hands with quiet hope. “Drink it, and you'll never die, my love. The only thing I ask in return is that you don't leave me. Not now.”

His mind digested what she was saying. Realization met him, though he could hardly comprehend it. Someone was here. There was some means of escape. Odysseus stood as quickly as his rigid limbs allowed, letting the cup fall from his hands. The sweet elixir spilled, melted into the sand as he began to run.

“Odysseus!” came the terror-clutched wail of the sea nymph.

He didn't answer her. He ran. He pushed his feet into the sand with such desperate speed he slipped. He pulled himself up, kept going.

“I’ve been here for so many years- so many lifetimes, and you leave me to suffer alone? Odysseus! Odysseus, please!” Her voice like a siren, bellowing behind him. He ignored it. Odysseus tore down the shore, trying to find the visitor who had brought such misery for the nymph, such hope for himself.

“Odysseus!”

She was closer now, behind him. Closer, closer. But in the distance, he saw something. The most beautiful thing he'd seen in almost a decade. His raft standing upright in the water, where it hadn't been before. The glorious mast pierced the sky in the horizon.

“Don't you remember everything we've been through, my love? All I can think of are the days we've spent together- the stews I fed you, the way you moved your head when I brushed your hair- you can't convince me none of it was real! Tell me it wasn't real! Tell me I've made some mistake by daring to love you!”

And suddenly she was in front of him, billowing like a storm cloud, clutching his arms. He couldn't move, couldn't keep pushing forward. His view of the mast was obstructed. He could see only her, the goddess, his tormentor, his withering, suffering victim. Her dark eyes assaulted him. They searched his desperately, trying to find commonality.

And in some perverted way, they surely found them. Odysseus took her face in his hand. “I love you, Calypso,” he mustered, his eyes’ truly meeting hers for the first time, for the last time. “Because I can no longer bring myself to hate you; just as I don't hate the sun for rising, or the wind for shifting the grass. You’re too familiar to forget, and too pitiful to loathe.” He watched her face wither more and more as he continued. Her eternal youth, dying before his very eyes. “I've endured you for seven years, Calypso, and in seven years you could never fully possess me. I hope someday you find the peace you never offered me.”

The most horrible of screams captivated the air. Her grip lon him ightened in her grief, and he pushed her aside. His legs carried him to the raft. Age and inexperience ached his legs, but he felt none of it. He drew nearer, and the nymph’s cries slowly weakened.

He looked back only once. He saw her standing still, victorious on the sands of her isle. Her face was wrapped with a brilliant, divine smile. Beside her stood a man rich in years, with flowing white hair bustling from his head. Age had long since stripped the handsomeness of his likeness’ youth, and all that was left was a perpetual gaze of mourning. They held hands. All of time eclipsed the scene. A future that wouldn’t be.

Odysseus looked forward again. The raft was clearly in view now, a figure standing atop it.

The trickster Hermes stood waiting. The first figure he'd seen in 7 years that existed beyond the boundaries of his own mind, beyond Calypso. His relative grinned as he approached, hanging off the mast as if it were a swinging vine. His curls glistened in the sun. A laugh escaped his mouth, warm and light. “You’ve been here for long enough, wouldn’t you say?” he exclaimed, twisting about the wood.

The strategian couldn’t conceptualize why the god had come. Why he had pushed the raft to the sea, offered him mercy after so many years of torment. He asked none of his questions and merely fell to his knees in reverence, in gratitude. “Praise you, Lord Hermes!” he bellowed, his voice ragged with emotion. “You’ve taken pity on me, praise you!”

“The truth is, you have a message to deliver, old friend,” his glimmering companion sang. Odysseus heard his light feet leave the boat and step onto the sand beside him. A glistening wine bottle was dangled in front of his eyes. He looked up. “I came across it some time ago- but I figured you might want to deliver it yourself.” The immortal winked, pressing it into his hands.

Odysseus took it. He looked down, saw the curled, withered note resting at the bottom of the glass. The breath in his throat halted as bittersweet remembrance choked him. His fidgeting fingers found the top, but his hands trembled too intensely to pry the cork from the mouth of it.

“You don't need to open it,” advised his winged great-grandfather, a smile curling on his lips. “I trust you know what it says.”

Odysseus’ amber-tinted eyes closed. Even through his eyelids, he could see the warm kiss of the sun. Memory returned to him slowly, and for once, it was welcome.

“I am King Odysseus of Ithaca, I live, and I will return home,” he whispered. The salt of his tears clung to his tongue. A laugh, light and free as a crimson bird, tumbled from his lips. His feet pushed him up. His ankles trudged into the water, carried him to the raft. He climbed atop it, now higher than the clifftops of the isle. He took the sail in his hands, feeling the familiar coil of the rope, and unwrapped it.

“Indeed you shall,” Hermes replied, lighthearted glee picking up his words. “Now if you might excuse me, I have my own message to deliver.” His eyes shined with a sharp silver. His wings fluttered, and the immortal whisked off in the direction of Ogygia.

Odysseus did not turn back to watch him. Never again would his eyes fall back on those sandy shores. The vicious fecundity of the isle, the treacherous paradise that had enveloped all of seven years.

The wind behind him, Penelope as his guide, the King of Ithaca set sail.

-

Link to other chapters

[perpetualdaydreamerr]

Upon the Eternal Shore: An EPIC the Musical Fanfiction (Chapter 4)

Snippets of the 7 years Odysseus spent with Calypso.

---

CONTENT WARNING: heavily implied r*pe, non-con, victim-blaming, emotional abuse, PTSD, descriptions of violence. Please consider before reading.

---

Days 357 & 471

-

He had traced every corner of the island more times than he could possibly count.

In the months that had passed, he'd requested more papyrus from Calypso multiple times. What had started off as an initial sketch of the island had developed into excessive record keeping of every detail he could possibly capture in writing.

He found a sturdy fallen log nearly twice his height. He painstakingly spent weeks laying it down along the coast, hurling it over itself, and doing so again and again until he had measured a given dimension of the island in his own new metric: “one log”. This gave him a reference point for everything else, something to build off of.

His drafts only became more and more meticulous from there. He was convinced that somewhere, in the heart of the island, there was a puzzle he had to solve. Something about its shape or characteristics that held the key for his escape. Perhaps a combination he had to repeat back to the goddess. Maybe a hidden treasure that needed to be found and presented to her. It was the only idea he had left.

There was absolutely no means of physical escape. She never left him alone, not truly. On the multitude of occasions he'd tried to swim away in a blind flurry, he had quickly been apprehended. Any raft he had attempted to build had been immediately sabotaged. The wood would rot overnight, the sails would come undone. Trying to paddle away on a partially built one was just as futile as swimming. If he got off the island, it wouldn't be through obvious means. It would be through wit, as so much had been on this journey.

Sometimes, when he spoke to himself, his voice would startle him. It had been an eternity since he'd heard anything more than the gentle breeze over the waves, the etching of his stylus, and her voice- always her’s.

“You make beautiful maps,” Calypso told him one evening, sitting beside him near the campfire. “They look like little pieces of art.”

“...Mm,” he mumbled. His voice was terribly dry, and it was uncomfortable to speak. On certain days when he became horribly entranced with his work, he didn't remember to drink water.

Calypso held onto one of his creations in her hands. A map of the northwestern quadrant of the island, detailed with every major boulder and natural feature. “It's so… exact.”

“That one isn't, not yet,” Odysseus mumbled. His voice faltered, and he met it with a harsh cough.

Calypso frowned. Her eyes glowed, and she touched a hand to his neck. He took a breath, and the familiar dryness ceased.

“You need to remember to drink water, my love,” she tsked. She looked back down at the paper, squinting her eyes. “...How is it not finished yet? It's so well done.”

“It isn't at all to scale yet. I haven't measured the distances of any of this from the coast- or the cliffside. It's all approximated,” he explained. He shook his head. “Not to mention if the angles are even slightly off on my measurement of the perimeter…”

“Why do you labor so extensively for a map?” She questioned, shaking her head. “It isn't as though you find yourself lost here.”

“What else would you have me do, Calypso?” he asked her. The words were simple, but they gathered a heavy weight as they fell from his lips. He looked at her- haggered and hopeless. This was his final idea. His final hope.

She pursed her lips. Pity crossed her eyes. The appearance of it, anyways- he couldn't bring himself to believe it. He looked back down at his map. It didn't resemble anything, not yet, but it would eventually. It would if he got all of the measurements just right. He'd solve the puzzle. He'd find the way to escape.

-

He hadn't resisted her that evening. He hadn't fought, hadn't yelled. He rarely did anymore. It didn't matter either way. It always happened, no matter what he did, or tried to do. He found it easier to stare up, to let it pass by. Oftentimes, he was able to enter a dream-like state during the act. He would focus on the shimmering marble ceiling- become utterly lost in the shapes he swore he could trace out. Pigeons, and grape stems, and faces. He forgot how much time had passed, where he was, who he was. Gone, lost in the lifeless stone.

He didn't realize it was over until she spoke. Until her words, escalating in volume, forced him out of his stupor.

“Odysseus? Ody? Ody?” She was repeating, over and over, like a hum. It grew in his ear, a buzz, a perpetual buzz, until he found the strength to turn his head to the side. To look at her.

“What?” He croaked. His throat felt like it was being torn apart by flintrock.

“I just… wanted to say that- I'd let you go if I knew for certain that you'd come back. I swear I would. But there's no way for me to be sure of that.” Her fanciful words cascaded against the stone of the room and echoed. “...And I just can't stand the thought of letting you go. Of being alone again.”

He looked back in her dark eyes. They appeared black in the twilight. Black like Syclla’s. He felt nothing in response to her comment. He never did care for her excuses. Her reasoning never mattered to him, when the end was the same. Captivity. The island. Her sweat stuck on his body.

“...Is there any point in my begging you again?” he murmured. He sounded older than he had even a year ago.

“Ody…”

“I'll do it. You know I will.” He stared into her eyes. He had done it numerous times before. Pleaded with her on his knees. Begged like a coward.

“Odysseus, you should go to sleep, my love. You'll be tired tomorrow.”

His eyes returned to the ceiling. It had almost been an entire year. He shivered, though it wasn't cold.

-

Properly mapping out the positions and dimensions of features on the island proved to be exceedingly more difficult than simply measuring the perimeter. The unevenness of the land made his log measure roll and shift more often than not, resulting in agonizing re-measurements that took weeks to complete. The tides, though considerably more temperant than the ones found on any other island he'd been on, still changed to some degree. He realized only weeks later that that would've certainly messed up his already pre-established measurements. He would have to start over.

It took him months to fully develop a system to mitigate the problem. He cut down trees and refined them into posts. He dug holes around the entirety of the island- every three “logs” apart- and buried the posts inside of them, forming a makeshift grid. That would serve as the primary reference point for all other calculations.

Calypso didn't say very much more about his work. She followed him around every day, occasionally lending a helpful spell to assist him. When the rough bark of tree trunks tore open the blisters on his hands, she'd be there, golden-eyed and delicate, ready to heal it. Every morning and evening, she prepared him food, and throughout the day, she'd bring him water. He accepted the assistance, hoping that properly sustaining himself would enable him to be faster, smarter, more efficient.

It gave him a sense of purpose. Labor that easily filled up the daylight hours of each day. He gained more weight, more muscle. He cut his hair to keep it out of his way. It was a new way of life.

He stared down at one of his maps one evening after he'd finished supper. She'd made him some sort of stew to eat- though he hadn't paid any real attention to it. Rather, he was fixated on the newest development he'd wrapped up during the day.

“...What'll be next for your maps?” Calypso asked, watching his eyes travel over the papyrus. “...Now that you've finished the river?”

Odysseus didn't look up. His eyes scanned, searched- trying to decipher anything that he hadn't been able to piece together yet. The river had been finished today, which had been one of the most tedious pieces of the map. Several new units of measure had had to be created. Smaller pieces of wood were refined into “half logs” and “quarter logs”, allowing him more flexibility and accuracy. It reminded him of the tedious nature of designing and building his palace, but more prone to error given the imperfection of natural tools. The illustrated river would never be perfect, but he'd done his best to recreate the natural curvatures and fluctuations in it. He'd been hopeful that this was finally the solution to his problem- some answer, hidden in the twists and turns…

“Ody? Can you hear me?”

He was typically more successful at blocking out the drone of her voice, but now it merely distracted him. He looked up, hoping to satiate her with a response so that he could observe it in peace.

“...What're you going to add next?”

“...Trees,” he murmured. He wasn't sure what else to do. He'd already added the three large oaks in the northeastern quadrant, and he'd loosely sketched in where the island was the most densely populated with them.

“Don't you already have trees on there?” She pried, gesturing to one of his sketched forests.

“...I’ll count them. Get them all,” he decided softly. Nothing on his map stood out yet. It had to be a more complicated puzzle. Maybe the sum total of trees, or birds, or stars… Numbers converted into letters, condensed into words, a riddle…

“...That'll take you forever, my love,” Calypso replied carefully. Her eyes were wide and sympathetic, looking over his face. It reminded him of how his mother used to look at him when he was ill.

He ducked his head down to look back at the map, avoiding her eyes. She would never help him find the answer, of course. If anything, she'd lead him astray- waste more of his time. When he found the answer, it would be entirely through his own intellect.

“...Ody, you've done a brilliant job making these. You don't need to count every tree. You're driving yourself crazy, ” she said after a moment. She bent over, reaching for the stack of rolled papyrus that sat next to him. “...Why don't you come to bed? You must be tired. You aren't thinking clearly.”

He shivered. His eyes darted up at the sky. “It's not dark yet,” he mumbled, shaking his head rigidly. “Give me a little more time, and I'll go.” He squinted at the shape of the river. Perhaps a key shaped like the curve of the water. But how would he fasten a key without supplies? Where would such a key even go? Maybe he could ask her for metal- cut the design into it by hand. Or maybe it was the shape of the cliffside instead- it too resembled the uneven bending of a key edge…

He could feel her eyes, but he no longer cared. He merely looked at the map, trying to find whatever solution had to be sitting right in front of him.

-

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[perpetualdaydreamerr]

Upon the Eternal Shore: An EPIC the Musical Fanfiction (Chapter 3)

Snippets of the 7 years Odysseus spent with Calypso.

---

CONTENT WARNING: heavily implied r*pe, non-con, victim-blaming, emotional abuse, PTSD, descriptions of violence. Please consider before reading.

---

Days 40 & 47

-

The day after Calypso gifted him the bow, he spent the day walking around the island with her, just as promised. She had been remarkably chipper, telling him all of the names she had given to the various features of the island. The spring that poured out the clearest water Odysseus had ever seen was nicknamed “Little Sky”, and the rocky cliffside of the far northeast was “Giant's Playground”. Every name conjured up a story of how she had decided on it, which then provoked her to stare at him expectantly until he mustered a smile or some other sort of verbal encouragement. She'd then babble on, wrapped up in the world she had created in her mind.

It wasn't that the day was terribly painful aside from its end. It merely felt like a demonstrable waste of time. He wasn't able to train, or build, or do anything other than entertain the goddess.

But just as promised, his quiver was filled with sturdy, handsome arrows decorated with feathers and painted gold.

Out of principle, he reserved them. He continued hunting with traps, and by the end of the week, he had only used one of them. The sole arrow was lodged into the bow and shot at a distant tree, puncturing the center of its flesh.

He hadn't lost his skill in that regard.

He reasoned that at the very most, he would only have to spend one more day with her in order to fill the quiver. He'd do it immediately before his escape- once he had figured out precisely how he'd do it.

That aspect of his plan was foiled when he found the quiver empty the next day. All of the arrows had entirely disappeared.

She had laughed when he questioned her. “We made a deal,” she’d said. “Once a week.”

And so he'd found himself wasting yet another day on the shore beside her. The assigned task was looking for seashells that she would turn into jewelry and decorations. It was evidently a favorite pastime of her’s, as the palace was embellished with hundreds of the specimens.

Odysseus was up to his calves in the water, half heartedly participating in the sport, when Calypso spoke.

“Who's Hector?” she called out, intercepting the silence that lingered between him. She turned towards him, soaking in his look of confusion. A carnation blossom laid in the dark braids in her hair, and her eyes shone in the embrace of the sun. “...You talk in your sleep, haven't I told you?”

Odysseus frowned. Was the goddess truly so isolated? She'd told him before that she was unable to come or go, but somehow he hadn't been able to fathom that an immortal was truly so unaware. She must've been the only creature alive that didn't know about the war. “...He was the Prince of Troy,” he replied, crouching to take a spindle-shaped golden shell from the water.

“Was?”

“He was killed in the war,” Odysseus added. He still remembered the day Achilles drove the spear into his throat. He could still see it, if he closed his eyes.

“...Were you in that war?” Calypso followed, her voice curious and light.

Odysseus jostled his hand in the water, shaking off the little grains of sand that were nuzzled in the shell's crevices. “Yes,” he confirmed.

“Were you important?” she continued, sinking up to her knees in the tides.

Her question almost made him laugh. “Yes,” he replied, bemused. There in the sun, he felt almost light.

“How?”

“I'm the King of Ithaca,” he said. The words felt heavy, almost inaccurate. He was a king without a throne, a sword, or a crown. He looked to the horizon. How far away was his kingdom?

She seemed deterred by the comment, quieting for a moment. “...Why did you join the war?” she asked instead.

“It’s complicated.”

“Well, we have all day, don't we?” she replied, her voice pleading and melodic. The breeze caught her hair, and Odysseus watched as it flew behind her face. He looked back down at the shell, holding it up to better examine.

“...When I was a young man, I was one of Helen of Sparta’s suitors,” he explained. It wasn't a topic he was particularly fond of, but he could feel the pestering that would result if he didn't speak. “She married another man- King Menelaus- but she was later kidnapped by a prince from Troy, called Paris. It started a war. It was my obligation to go and help rescue her.”

He could feel the heavy weight of her gaze. “Did you love her?” she asked. Her tone sounded casual, but he could feel the weight behind it. A hidden avalanche.

“No.”

“At all?”

“Not at all. I've only ever loved one woman,” he said. He looked again to the sea. She was there, somewhere. He felt his chest grow heavy. He felt his lip twitch. He had to believe she was waiting for him.

He looked back to Calypso, when a new silence took hold of the air. She hadn't responded- and when he looked at her, he could see why. The slightest glimmer of hope had captured her face. Her dark eyes were wide and gleeful- and a timid smile overtook her lips.

“My wife,” he clarified firmly. A wicked sense of pleasure overcame him as he watched her ill found hope shatter, and her smile melt. He couldn't help but smirk. A malicious, embittered smirk.

“...Resist though you might, Odysseus, you will love me, just as I love you,” she said slowly, hurt and anger consuming her previously gentle tone. “We're soulmates- and we'll be together until the end of time. You will never leave this island.”

A glow entered her eyes. She had uttered similar sentiments before, but this felt too sincere, viciously promised. She moved towards him quickly, like a serpent, unencumbered by the water. He backed up towards the island, made it as far as the water’s edge before she took his chin in her hand and moved to connect their lips.

His upper body was suddenly frozen, paralyzed by a spell. He couldn't pull back. He was helpless before her, a pathetic doll- but he found his legs malleable, and he took his chance, kicking her knees with as much force as he could muster.

The goddess hadn't expected it. She let out a cry of pain, and falling back on the plush sand beach, she looked up at him with a mixture of confusion and offense. The two sentiments melted quickly, brewing into an expression of pure rage.

In the altercation, her spell broke. He turned away quickly, anticipating her quick response. He began to run- towards the heart of the island, away from her, but it was of no use. It never was. Sand erupted up from the beach, wrapped around his ankles, and solidified into rock. His momentum threw him forward, his ankles unmoving-

A thick, wet pop forced his breath into a scream. Blinding, burning pain shot from his ankles up through his body. His legs spasmed involuntarily, fighting against the agony that had developed in a fraction of a second. He trembled on the ground, trying to find a reprieve that didn't come. He felt his vision blur as he grit his teeth, repressing any other cries from leaving his mouth.

“You might have been a brilliant soldier in Troy, Odysseus,” came the bellow of Calypso, still laying in the sand. “But I wouldn't recommend you try and fight me. I don't know why you insist on making this harder than it has to be!”

-----

The first present was a wardrobe made of sparkling ivory. Inside, various articles of clothing suited to his body. Wool chiftons of various colors, chamlays embroidered with various designs, sandals and belts. It was more clothing than he recalled owning even in Ithaca. Next came a dagger lined with rubies and sapphires. That one had been particularly aggravating, considering the amount of time it had taken him to make a knife months before. Then a comb, and perfumed oils, and wine. Lavish gifts that took up space in the prison cell of a bedroom he was brought to every night.

She'd started giving them every morning after the altercation on the beach. She didn't offer an explanation, and she didn't demand thanksgiving. Rather, it provided a few moments of awkward tension before he set off for the day’s tasks.

He didn't care for any of it, but the wine gave him an idea.

It was entirely stupid at face value. The sort of thing one would find in a children’s story. Even so, once he thought of it, he became increasingly determined to act on it.

The only problem was that he lacked all of the necessary supplies. He also had no way of acquiring them, except for the goddess who plagued him. He loathed the idea of asking for her assistance- loathed what it might cost him. But he contemplated what had already been taken, what would be anyways, and decided he didn't have anything more to lose. Not his mind, not his body, not his dignity.

“...Can I ask something of you?” He asked her one evening, his eyes fixated on the leaping fire before him.

Calypso faltered, surprise enveloping her gentle features. A smile quickly replaced the initial reaction. “Of course! What is it?” she replied, taking the opportunity to step closer to him.

His first request of the goddess that wasn't merely to leave. “...Could you give me papyrus, ink, and a stylus?” He requested cautiously, finding the courage to look back into her eyes.

She tilted her head slightly, considering the request for just a moment. “Of course!” She replied. Her eyes began to glow a vivid gold, and the requested items materialized before them.

He waited, watching her. He was almost certain it would be met with a demand for an explanation- or worse, a requested payment. Something that would add to the burdensome guilt that already ensnared him. “...Thank you,” he said eventually, when no follow up came. “I appreciate it.”

Calypso beamed, her smile glittering and hopeful. “You're welcome!” She replied. “Let me know if you think of anything else. I want this island to feel as… homely as possible for you, my love.”

He hated how genuine she sounded. Still, he mustered a smile.

-

His hands trembled as he wrote the letter in the late hours of the night. He was halfway convinced the papyrus was enchanted, that she'd be able to read it somehow. He couldn't risk upsetting her and ensuring his plan was foiled. He would say only what needed to be said.

When finished, he folded the note carefully. On the very front, he wrote: “To Queen Penelope of Ithaca”. The stylus caressed the letters slowly, carefully, adoringly. His Penelope. It was a hopeless attempt, but he was running out of ideas. He had to dream that it would reach her.

He tucked his note into one of the empty gifted bottles of wine. He pushed the cork into it, willing it to stay shut, to stay dry. He touched the glass to his lips like a madman, whispered to it, asked it to journey far. Further than he could.

He tied the bottle to his thigh and dressed himself. The following morning he went to the shore, heart beating. He submerged himself until he was up to his waist in the water, still dressed. In his hand was his fishing spear, a guise for his true intent. Underneath the protection of the water he slid the bottle into his hand. He glanced back, finding the goddess watching him from the beach. She smiled at him. He looked back at the water and dropped the bottle.

There was no reason to believe it would ever reach her. It was a work of spontaneous lunacy. But he had tried everything he could think of, and he was running out of options. Even if there was a fraction of a possibility, he had to try. She had to know he was here. That he was alive.

The words of the letter rested on his lips. He repeated them like a prayer. He whispered them to the sun, to the tide, and his family, hidden somewhere behind the horizon.

“I am King Odysseus of Ithaca, I live, and I will return home.”

-

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