#odyssey/epic au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mochiwrites · 22 days

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gentle touch of morning

( a small scarian epic au piece <3 reblogs do more than likes! )

It’s funny.

Over the twelve long years Scar spent fighting, leading his men into battle, the thought that kept him going was his eventual homecoming. Every waking thought was of his husband and son, and Scar’s reason for living, for breathing, was his family. As he sailed rocky waters, faced monsters and gods alike, lost men after men, Scar wished for nothing more than to be home, to awake with his husband sleeping beside him.

But as he stands in his home, the one he most intimately knows, Scar feels… wrong. Out of place. He’d woken up early, savoring the sight of Grian’s sleeping face (he could never get tired of it), and felt so restless that staying in bed for any longer seemed impossible. So Scar took to walking around his home.

He and Grian built this place up, together. The memories are some that Scar looks back on fondly. He could never forget it, no matter how much time he spent away from it. Scar only fears that it has forgotten him.

Scar takes easy steps, walking and reacquainting himself. He notes the pictures, most of them being of his son. He hardly sees Grian in any of them, perhaps one or two, less than a handful. And the ones that Grian is in, his smile doesn’t light up his face. It makes Scar frown.

He wanders for a bit, traversing each winding hallway with careful movements. It’s as if he fears the house may collapse at any moment, or some attacker may jump from the shadows, perhaps a god will catch him off guard and finish him off. Not even in his home does he feel the full safety he’s supposed to. These walls feel foreign, unfamiliar. Even if he can picture everything clearly in his mind, knows this place like the back of his hand. Scar still feels like a stranger.

Eventually, he finds himself in the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway, catching sight of another person.

His son.

His little Pitta.

Well, not as little anymore, as a young boy at fourteen. But to Scar it still feels like he’s just an infant that he could cradle in his arms. Another thing time robbed him of. So many missed moments, opportunities, to watch his son grow. And while Scar knows that there are still many years to come, to see, a piece of him mourns the time he lost.

For a moment, Scar keeps quiet. He watches his son, taking in his dark brown hair and hazel colored eyes. He’s the striking image of both Scar and Grian somehow, even if they aren’t related to him. But Scar loves him all the same; would move mountains to give him whatever he needed. He can’t help but wonder what kind of person his son is, what he likes and dislikes. Does he resent Scar for leaving? Does he consider Scar his father, or a stranger who left a loving husband alone for years on end? He doesn’t want to find out. Not now.

Scar stands there until he can’t anymore, finding hazel eyes landing on him. He watches the way in which Pitta’s eyes light up, turning all shiny and bright when he notices his father. He turns away from the counter, abandoning the slices of bread he had taken out. He smiles, and gods, does his smile look like Grian’s. “Papa!” Pitta greets, the timbre of his voice cheerful and soft.

“Hey, Pitta,” Scar returns, heart melting each time he’s reminded that he’s finally returned home. He never thought it would happen, that maybe it’d take him longer, or maybe something would strike him down on the way back. But against all odds, fourteen years, and Scar is home. His son stands in front of him.

“What’re you doing awake? Is dad up too?” Pitta questions, raising a brow at him.

“Uh…” Scar blanks, unsure of what to say. It’s not like he’s going to tell the truth, Pitta shouldn’t have to worry about him. Scar has already caused him enough pain, there’s no need to cause more now that he’s actually here. “Gria— your dad’s still asleep,” he stammers. The words feel awkward on his tongue, like they shouldn’t be there. This life of domesticity… he doesn’t know how to go about it. It isn’t just some enemy he can cut down.

The very thought makes him nauseous.

“Oh!” Pitta blinks at the response. “Well, that’s… good.” He nods to himself awkwardly, and Scar hides a grimace.

He… really doesn’t know how to interact with his son.

There’s this dark curdling of doubt in his mind that begins to creep up, settling over him. He’s afraid. Worried that this is one thing he’ll never overcome. It’s a familiar feeling, an old friend, a once enemy turned begrudging shadow. It’s a feeling he experienced in battle, traversing home, taking his castle back from scoundrels that dare to stain it. But there is a new fear that joins it, overwhelming like a tidal wave.

Does he even know how to be a father?

Scar feels his breath sharpen just a tad, skipping a beat and hastening. He can feel hands curling around his throat, beginning to press into his skin. He feels it tightening on him, the grip firm. The pressure starts off as something light, until the fingers of Fear dig deeper with each shakingly quiet breath. It gets stronger and stronger, straining his lungs until he can feel his throat being squeezed, choked.

“Papa?” Pitta’s voice breaks him from the spiraling thoughts, from the overwhelming fear sneaking in.

The hands around his neck relax, and the terror recedes, sinking back into the depths of his mind momentarily. He allows himself a moment to breathe, a chance to suck in a soft breath and recenter. His vision clears, and he becomes aware of the way his heartbeat pounds in his ears, loud like a drum.

He manages a smile, “I’m uh, gonna go check and see if our Sleeping Beauty is awake.” Keeping his eyes trained on his son, Scar tries to maintain his light smile. He takes a few small steps back, slipping into a casual mask. He’s gotten quite good at it over the years of putting on a brave face. “Be right back.”

Pitta watches him, brows creasing in concern as he goes. “Oh… okay,” he answers, sounding resigned as Scar retreats.

Scar turns around, and brings himself back to the beautiful olive tree where his Grian is fast asleep. The sun shines down on him, cutting through the green leaves. The light spills into their bed, painting a halo in the soft yet sandy blond locks of Grian’s hair. He rests in their bed, eyes shut and face relaxed. His body is curled somewhat, the blanket tucked just over his shoulders.

Staring at him, taking in the near angelic sight, Scar takes a few breaths to calm himself. He walks over to their bed, sitting down on the edge, right beside Grian. He contents himself with just sitting there, watching the rise and fall of Grian’s chest. It feels a little easier to breathe, with the love of his life right here, peaceful. Scar can almost allow himself to pretend he lives in a world where he never went to war, where he never had to leave his family behind. He can almost allow himself to pretend he was the husband and father he should have been.

Chest aching and overflowing with doubt and regret, Scar reaches out. Tenderly, Scar brushes some of Grian’s hair away from his face. He ever so softly tangles his fingers in the silky strands as he rhythmically cards through his hair. Scar’s expression softens, chest swelling with love for the man before him. He drags the pads of his fingertips along Grian’s head, feeling the soft locks under his touch.

He can’t imagine what it was like, doing so much alone for so long. Scar has always believed Grian to be strong, the strongest person he knows. But this? Scar doesn’t think anyone could compare, not even the gods.

Not in the way it matters, at least.

His thumb idly strokes Grian’s cheekbone, loving and sweet. “I’d be lost without you, my light,” he murmurs. Because it’s true. Scar would’ve given up a long, long time ago if he didn’t have Grian and Pitta to come home to. Grian is his rock, his eye of the storm, his compass. Scar is caught within Grian’s orbit, forever wrapped up in him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this man. Grian kept their home in one piece. He raised their son. He handled whatever it was that Scar couldn’t in his time away. Grian held out hope for fourteen years that Scar would come back to him.

Scar owes him everything and more. But most importantly, Scar owes him his love. And by the gods will he offer every last ounce of it, every drop. Scar is a man. No general, and certainly no hero. He is just a man who wants to pour his heart and soul out for his spouse. Scar is just a man in love.

Beneath his touch, Grian’s face twitches, and he begins to stir. “Mmm… Scar?” he mumbles, still groggy and waking up.

“Good morning, my love.” Scar smiles at him, brushing away a particular curl of hair before stroking his cheek. “Sleep well?”

“‘ink so, yes. It was warm with you,” Grian answers, leaning into the hand on his cheek. “What’re you awake for?”

Scar pauses, if only briefly. “Uh, well, y’know. Just admiring my pretty husband while I have the chance,” he answers, which isn’t entirely a lie.

Grian looks at him with clear suspicion, but doesn’t push. Instead, he sighs quietly as pushes himself to sit up. “You can do that when I’m awake too,” he teases, leaning to press their lips together. Scar is more than happy to sink into it, using the hand on Grian’s cheek to angle his head slightly, deepening it. The kiss is sweet, loving. It’s slow and patient, carrying the patience of fourteen years within it.

When they pull away, Scar rests their foreheads together. “I guess I can, yeah,” he agrees softly. “Mind if I take a few more minutes to admire him?”

Grian smiles, kissing the corner of his mouth in return. “I suppose.” Scar simply smiles, and gods is he happy to be home. No amount of fear could ever leave him unhappy to be back with the loves of his life. Never.

#mochi writes #vexed epic au #scarian #hermitshipping #I am fine and have very normal feelings about this #I wanna post this on ao3 at some point #but I need to figure out how I'm formatting things #and what exactly I'm writing #so for now tumblr can have this :D #ALSO PITTA IS PIZZA!!!!!!#THE LLAMA!!!!!!#hello to any main taggers who happen upon this #no I don't know how I got to making a scarian au based on the odyssey either #blame the musical and brain rot /silly

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ibrithir-was-here · 1 year

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So discovered the Epic musical and it’s fantastic , and of course my sentimental self immediately went to “Ok but what if Odysseus actually did raise Astyanax as his own —fluff/angst with a happy ending AU” 😅

So anyway here’s some quick rough doodles on that premise, might be more later

#my art #epic #epic the cyclops saga #epic the troy saga #epic the musical #epic the ocean saga #homer's odyssey #odyssey #odysseus #astyanax #Odysseus epic #epic Odysseus #epic au #jorge rivera herrans #greek mythology #greek epic

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nikoisme · 10 months

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tw for descriptions of zombies, death, slight gore and body decay (decomposition)

The Odyssey but Odysseus died at Troy. Yet his drive to see his wife and son was strong enough for him to lift his rotting limbs. He stumbles around - a corpse should not move. He has only one goal in mind: Ithaca, Penelope, Telemachus. His body is weak and frail, it constantly collapses and fails him. His body wants to return to the earth. He should be in the ground right now, his body grass and moss. But his mind lives, and he lifts his body off the ground no matter how long it takes him. His mind and body are divided, both long for their own goals. He makes no sound but a whisper: "Ithaca. Penelope. Telemachus." He doesn't remember where his home is. But he keeps whispering. People hear him. He can't talk, can't think anything except those three. They will ask him, "Who are you?". He can only give them a glassy stare, haunted and utterly wrong. It's not natural. He only murmurs "Ithaca. Penelope. Telemachus." and glances away, before dragging himself away. He has no name, at least not one he can remember. His mind consists only of those three thoughts. They think him a mad man. No one recognizes him as the king of Ithaca, his face sunken and destroyed. Even if someone did recognize him, well - Odysseus died at Troy, after all. They try to capture him, but no one dares approach that walking mass of rot and blood. They try to kill him. Arrows tear through the remaining muscle. Spear tips poke out of his ribs. He will collapse on the ground, they will think he died. But it's only his body. They cannot kill what's already dead. So he will push himself up - moments, hours, days or weeks later. And he stumbles on. And he whispers. He can't hear or register any words that people speak. He will only turn his head when he hears someone say Ithaca, Penelope, Telemachus. He follows those whispers. They get more frequent, until everyone around him is saying those three words sacred to him. Until his thoughts materialize before him.

Okay so now I have two endings:

1. A bit of his mind gives away when he reaches Ithaca, when he kisses her shores. Another fragment is gone when he holds his son in his arms, when he kisses him. He sees the suitors, 108 men trying to get their hands on his wife. On his Penelope. It's enough to make him think straight, at least for a bit. He wants to kill them right then and there. But Telemachus stops him, he has to restrain him. Odysseus obeys. It's easy to put something so breakable and weak under control. But he only thinks of suitors' blood. And eventually, they shed it. Odysseus is like a beast, death itself casting doom upon anyone his sunken eyes land on. And finally, he sees Penelope. His mind gives way when he is in her arms again, when he kisses her. His mind has no thoughts anymore, he reached his goal. There's nothing to hold his body upright anymore. No goal to reach - well, except one. One he should've reached on the beaches of Troy, a decade ago. Death. He finally dies the next morning, going still in their olive bed.

2. He is slow. His body is weak, he trips everytime his toes touch the ground. He is slow, but it's okay. He doesn't have to stop, he has no physical needs to meet, except the one of his mind. Not his heart, that one has been dead for a while now. And he follows the words of others, echoes of his own whispers. And he reaches Ithaca, eventually. But the people are different. They wear different clothes, they speak a different language. No one says those three words. It should have been obvious, the way those names slowly faded as he went from city to city, land to land. He was slow, too slow. Penelope and Telemachus are gone now. They have been dead for who knows how long. But his mind's needs are not met, the drive is still there. So he wanders the lands, searching for something long gone - always whispering under his breath.

I'm very fond of both endings aughh, I'll need to write this down sometime.

Another version is where Odysseus' personality and mind have been slowly chipped away over the course of his journey until he became nothing but the embodient of his drive to see his wife and son. His body is forgotten, thin and torn. He is dead. Perhaps he is not. It's hard to tell at this point. When does a man die - is it when his heart stops beating and blood stops rushing in his veins, or when his mind is gone? (probably would get the first ending).

#the odyssey #odysseus #penelope #telemachus #greek mythology #epic the musical #tagamemnon #i have this fascination with the concept of zombies #and every piece of media I'm interested in has been zombie-ified #i have so many zombie AUs #i have no plan to stop #i already zombified the iliad #kind of

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that-guy-in-the-chiton · 11 months

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Harry Potter meets Homer: Odysseus and Penelope as a Slytherin couple.

#Greek mythology #mythology #greek mythology art #mythology art #odyssey #epic the musical #odysseus #Penelope #Harry potter #harry Potter au #slytherin #Harry Potter art #harry Potter fanart #two smart alecks: gotta be my favourite couple dynamic #odypen

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octag0n-l0v3r · 1 month

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Octavian but in @praetorialreject 's 'Octavian as Tiresias AU' :P

#:3 #mutuals #octavian hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #percy jackon and the olympians #octavian pjo #pjo octavian #tiresias #the underworld saga #epic the musical #epic the underworld saga #no longer you #the odyssey #my art #my art <33 #octavian tiresias AU

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msicecreamy · 13 days

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No matter what he tried, it seemed that the world was against Raydysseus in his goal of returning home...

Is all his suffering in vain? Hasn't he done enough?... What if... What if he is the problem?...

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My Raydysseus QnQ!

#rayman #raymanubisoft #raymanfanart #art #raymanau #rayman au #raydysseus #rayman raydysseus #the odyssey #epic the musical #epic the underworld saga #epic mickey #epic monster #au #alternate universe #ms ice cream #msicecream

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twilights-stuff · 8 months

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Took a break from studying and decided to self indulge myself with an GF X Odyssey/Epic au

Ford is now Odysseus babyyy. Basically just like in the book as well as in the musical, Ford spends 20 years away from his home Ithaca, his beloved twins Dipper and Mabel and his brother Stan who became a regent taking over Ford's place while the king was away for war and raising his niece and nephews for the last 20 years. Still figuring the other stuffs tho. Mostly based from the musical rather than the myth itself but I also took some creative liberties.

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fangirlofallthefanthings · 2 months

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[CW: Injury. Odysseus meets someone... I wonder who they could be 👀]

The trees blurred past. The wind rushed in Odysseus’s ears. He would think this ride was exhilarating if he were in control and on flat ground. But with every second that passed, Odysseus was closer and closer to falling out of the saddle. He wrapped his arms around the horse’s neck and held on for dear life. The horse breathed heavily as it ran, sweat running down its flanks and neck. Odysseus’s hands were slipping, so he tightened his grip. The horse only panicked more. It bucked up and down as it ran, jerking its head from side to side.

Odysseus saw brightness quickly approaching as the horse sped down the path. They burst through the bushes, and his vision was momentarily white as his eyes adjusted. The horse ran in a zigzagging pattern, and Odysseus nearly slipped from his saddle. It bucked and stomped as it whinnied in fear. Odysseus grabbed the reins tightly again. He heard shouting some distance away and saw that he was near the castle.

The horse panicked more at the people rushing to the scene and started trying to buck Odysseus off. The young prince held on tight, but the reins he wrapped around his hands started getting too tight. He couldn’t feel his fingers, which were beginning to turn blue. He adjusted his grip and released the pressure.

But at that moment, the horse reared up again. Odysseus’s feet slipped out of the stirrups, and he fell. Odysseus tumbled backward over the croup, his legs up in the air. His arm shot back, an instinct to catch himself he wasn’t aware of.

The heel of Odysseus’s hand hit the ground first. Pain bolted up his arm, and he cried out. He landed hard on the grass, throbbing pain running up and down his arm. Out of the corner of his eye, Odysseus saw the horse turn toward him in its panic, pounding its feet. The horse reared up, and Odysseus felt like ice was coursing through his body. He covered his head with his good arm and curled his body tightly, bracing for an impact.

But it never came. Odysseus felt the ground near him shake with stamping hooves and heard the horse neighing, but he wasn’t hit. He opened his eyes, unsure of when he closed them.

A boy was standing above Odysseus and faced the horse. His arms were outstretched, and he guided the fearful animal away from the prince on the ground. The boy’s hair was short with tight curls, and his clothes were dirty and patched up in several places. He looked about Odysseus’s age, maybe younger, but he looked as experienced as the best horse trainer in the castle.

The horse backed away and bucked its head, but the boy slowly took the reins. At that moment, Ctimene, Eurylochus, and Polites rode out of the forest, dismounted their horses, and rushed to Odysseus’s side. They helped Odysseus to his feet as he held his arm to his chest, the pain worsening.

As his friends and sister helped him back to the castle, Odysseus couldn’t help but look back at the stable boy calming the horse, hoping to see the face of the one who saved his life.

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