#ODYSSEUS DID NOTHING WRONG

[sowearecleariamhere]

Penelope could easily be painted as the damsel yearning for her lover, the woman without much agency waiting for her husband to come home (which of course we all know she isn't, she is a literal and metaphorical queen), and in a lesser story*) she might have been cast into that stereotype. I think that is why I love her almost yelling "You're mine" at Odysseus in WYFILWMA.

It is so possessive and decisive, ruling out any "buts". It perfectly underlines her steadfastness, her loyalty, her agency. She claims Odysseus as hers without question once she knows it is really him, that he is finally back home. She is seemingly offended that Odysseus even suggests that she might not accept him after how much he has changed. (She will make her own mind up about that, thank you very much, and said mind has been made up for 20 years btw)

It is not only that Odysseus has come home and now she chooses him. No, she has been choosing him over and over and over for the past 20 years with every action she took. It is not him coming back that now puts her in the position to choose him - it only reveals that choice, that there never was another choice other than Odysseus. Which leads me to my honorable mention:

Ody: "[...] You’ve been waiting for love."

Pen: "I've been waiting for you."

Penelope definitely had a surplus of suitors (108) and even if their motives might have been questionable, she could have easily found a new husband if that was what she wanted, maybe even one that genuinely loved her. But Penelope's love is Odysseus. Love for her is synonymous with him. No one else is even worth considering, she would rather be alone or even die before she gives any other man the time of day.

tldr; I love love LOVE the wording in WYFILWMA, how it shows how Penelope is just not taking this shit from her husband. She knows what she wants and that is Odysseus, even if it is not the original model but the slightly banged up version, the heavily traumatized, now with grey hairs probably, war criminal, ruthless god torturer version of her husband.

Because he is still her husband, goddamn it.

This might very well not make much sense bc I am insane over them currently

*) "lesser story" is not referring to the odyssey or saying epic is better than the odyssey, I mean to compare them both to any completely different work (or franchise if you will) that does not give characters agency where they should have it

[spellbound037]

Who wants a rant on why Eurylochus (in Epic) did nothing wrong? No one? TOO DAMN BAD!

SO! 1.) The wind bag. See, Odysseus did NOT, in fact, tell them what was in the bag. In the Odyssey, Odysseus tells no one what the wind bag is. In Epic, he tells Elpenor and Perimedes. None of that would matter, though, because Odysseus is also a well known liar. If the guy who lies constantly, including at points where there is literally no reason to lie, tells you the bag which is almost certainly full of treasure is actually full of air, that bag is full of treasure.

2.) Circe's island (with relation to his reaction to Scylla) Suggesting they leave the 14(?) men who Circe had taken is not the same as outright sacrificing six men. Circe is an extremely powerful spellcaster, much more powerful than anyone Ithaca had to offer. That meant that, if they got the men back, they would very likely still be pigs. Only Circe and a handful of other extremely powerful spellcasters could turn them back into men. meaning that they wouldn't actually be saving the men at all, they would be acquiring pigs. These pigs would be pigs until they died. It would be much better to simply leave the pigs with Circe and her nymphs, knowing they'd be taken care of, than to bring them on a perilous journey by ship when they knew they were being hunted by Poseidon.

3.) The mutiny. Valid crash-out, outright. Jorge has said that Eurylochus acts as the voice of the crew, and the crew has just lost six members. They're tired, they're angry, and the main things they probably remember right then are Scylla and Polyphemus. Whether or not any of this is Odysseus' fault, they (very fairly) blame him. If your boss is willing to fire you to get home a little earlier, report him to HR. If your captain is willing to kill you to get home, mutiny.

4.) The cows. By this point, the crew haven't eaten in days. This is inevitably leading to a Donner Party style situation, and looky here, there are a bunch of cows. And look again, LYING MOTHERFUCKIN ODYSSEUS says that you CAN'T eat these cows! Why? He won't say! (he doesn't in the song. He does in the myth, I think, but again, LYING Odysseus.) Hunger rewires your brain chemistry to do things that are utterly illogical for food. The other important thing to remember is that Eurylochus quite likely does not believe they're going to survive at all. They can't, actually. If they leave the island and the cows, they'll likely starve to death. As a demigod of sorts, Odysseus will take a somewhat longer time to starve to death, but the rest of the crew will very likely be dead in a week. If starvation doesn't take them, Poseidon is still trying to kill them! If Poseidon doesn't kill them, these men are still aging. If it takes them another year, even another six months to get home, they're not young men. More of them will die on the journey. They can't fight or run like they could 12 years ago, any danger they encounter will kill more of them. Dying here, with full stomachs on nice grass, very likely seems like the best option to the starved minds of the crew.

5.) The final, all encompassing, important point. Odysseus is familiar with the gods. His great-grandfathers are Hermes and Zeus, he was trained by Athena. This means that he likely has a much more grounded, personified idea of the gods. Eurylochus, and by extension, the rest of the crew, do not. Poseidon's wrath is not something to be avoided, it's the unquestionable end. Circe's curse isn't something to be undone, it's permanent. Helios' grief isn't something to be a little wary of, it's the very welcome grand finale to their journey. It will leave them as a tragedy, but it will end them, finally.

[arowithanotp]

thinking about how in God Games ares is the only god whose argument athena doesn't refute

Apollo: the sirens were trying to kill him first now they'll be cautious

Hephaestus: well the crew were a bunch of idiots

Aphrodite: a broken heart can mend

Hera: he's never cheated on his wife

meanwhile ares says odysseus is a coward who should've fought scylla head on instead of sacrificing his men. The only part of his argument athena counters is him calling telemachus pathetic and weak. All athena says in favor of odysseus is that if ares wants to see violence he should let him go. She never denies that odysseus messed up by feeding his men to scylla only implies that he learned his lesson

[minlicious]

i hate it when someone hates on my favorite character but their arguments are actually valid and make sense but i can’t agree with them because i made liking that character half of my personality

[bestiainfinita]

I had a discussion on Instagram about Eurylochus and wanted to share it here , the post where this conversation happened is irrelevant but it was about Eurylochus and the end of the Thunder Saga, anyways I made a comment and this guy’s responded:

Then I responded with this across some comments (I chose not to use screen caps for most of my things because they are a lot of comments and it might be over the limit of them, and I had the stuff I said saved):

Lol what are you in buddy???

First of all, since the start Eurylochus has had one objective in mind just like Odysseus, Eurylochus wanted to protect the crew and to get them home while Odysseus wanted to go home to be with his son and wife, that’s the main reason the diversion between Eury and Ody happened, because Ody cared more about getting home than about the crew, while Eury cared more about the crew than getting home.

In ‘Full Speed Ahead’ (Song 03) he tells Ody that they are out of food and they need to feed THE CREW so he asks the captain / king what they should do, because that’s is what he’s supposed to do, he proposes attacking and just taking the food because he wants to ensure food for the crew no matter what, this is also proveen in ‘Polyphemus’ (Song 06) when the first thing he says is “There are enough sheep here to feed the entire fleet” he was thinking about the crew again. Then in ‘Remeber Them’ (Song 09) he’s the one who ask “But captain, what do we do with our fallen friends?” because he CARES about the crew.

Also he not only cares about the crew but he cares about Odysseus too (he’s part of the crew but anyways), this is better shown in ‘Luck Runs Out’ (Song 11); “You could be caught off guard and lose your life” “I just don’t wanna see another life end” “You are like the brother I could never do without”.

Then in the same song (‘Luck Runs Out’) we understand why he opened the wind bag. He was afraid, he was afraid of the Gods and what they might do to him, Odysseus and the crew; “You could be caught off guard and lose your life” “Or piss off this God and infuse us with strife” “Don’t forget how dangerous the gods are”.

Now the Circe thing, y’all have very selective hearing and didn’t understood Eury at all, he is still afraid during this song (‘Puppeteer’ Song 14); he’s afraid of a Goddess, of Circe, he gave those men for dead because they were captured by a literal Goddess, and he is also afraid of what she might to to Odysseus and the rest of the crew if they try to face her; “Think about the men we have left before there’s none, let’s just cut our loses, you and I, and let’s run” “What if she can’t be killed!? — Will you chose to leave?”

By the way, I would like to point out that in this song (‘Puppeteer’) Odysseus says “There’s no length I wouldn’t go, if it was you I’d have to save, I can only hope you’ll do the same…” and Eurylochus responds by literally doing that, by trying to stop Odysseus from going into that suicidal mission, (let me remind y’all that the only reason Odysseus stood his ground against Circe was thanks to Deus Ex Hermes).

And another thing, some of you people like to say Eurylochus wanted Odysseus gone or blasphemy like that, then why didn’t he killed him in ‘Mutiny’ (Song 24), he had Odysseus stabbed and defenseless but he didn’t killed him, he and the crew just restrained him and treated all of his wounds, they didn’t want him dead, they just couldn’t trust him anymore and therefore couldn’t have him as his captain.

Then they said this (ignoring stuff I already talked about):

And finally I finished the conversation and responded with this:

1. I literally addressed the Circe situation in my previous comments, and explained how he gave those men for dead because to save them they would have had to fight a LITERAL GODDESS (remember they just lost 11 ships / more than 500 men to another God), and again, the only reason Ody won / was able to talk it through was thanks to Hermes’s intervention.

2. Again, I believe the treasure was a misdirection, and the real reason was fear, as I have explained before / in my previous comments.

3. If he wanted to forget what he did and act like nothing have happened, he wouldn't even have confessed in the first place, so it's obviously not about that.

4. That part was a metaphor, see how it is similar to 'Luck Runs Out' in the way that one was talking as a friend and the other as his title, in 'Luck Runs Out' Odysseus is the one talking as a friend while in 'Mutiny' Eurylochus is the one talking as a friend (we know because he called him "Ody" instead of "Captain"), so he was talking one on one and Odysseus was responding talking about himself about how HE wanted to go back to HIS kingdom HIS son and HIS wife ignoring what Eurylochus was saying to him as well as his concerns (like he did in ‘Luck Runs Out’), then the crew jumps in showing Odysseus that all of the crew thinks the same, that they are all tired, that they are all hurt, and that they are all hungry, something that Odysseus's own suffering has made him oblivious to, and now he tries to talk to the crew, to calm them and convince them, but he has already shown them that his priority is himself, so they ignore his pleading and try to give themselves comfort in the only way they currently can, try so solve the only problem they as mere men are able to, and so they killed the cattle to eat.

[nysus-temple]

hiii Nysus here. sorry for disappearing once again. i got stucked in the 8th circle of Hell (university)

[seeminglyseph]

For no reason in particular I am thinking about Agamemnon warning Odysseus in the original poem that Penelope might not be faithful based on his own experiences with Clytemnestra, never mind the context is entirely different and Agamemnon sacrificed their daughter before running off to war for 10 years and coming back a young slave princess. Like. Your experiences are not universal.

And like, Odysseus isn’t faultless in those goings on sometimes, and Epic the Musical would have like… probably a weird tone to throw…. All of That in there, but it does make me think a little about like… how many names from his introductory battle plan ended up in the Underworld by they were sailing through and how much of that is cresting the Despair Event Horizon as much as the prophecy?

Like the culmination of loss and his mother’s shade representing this ticking clock of “you will run out of time if you take too long. You are all mortal, the people you love cannot wait for you forever.” Feeding the desperation enough to make him ravenous.

[abearthatwrites]

A Brief Rundown of the IRL Ithaca Saga (to the best of my memory, in probably not chronological order)

jorge (creator, odysseus) decided it'll be cool to celebrate the ithaca saga with the epic cast via a trip to ithaca, greece

surely nothing can go wrong

mico (telemachus) seemingly found out about the trip with the rest of the fandom. he proceeded to plot a trip to ithaca

the epic cast dealt with multiple broken vans and missed a ferry by one minute. they had to cancel a stream because they were too exhausted

mico made it onto a plane

ithaca got hit by a typhoon, forcing them to move another stream indoors

mico got banned from tiktok. it was reversed

mason (tireseas) asked luke (zeus) to stop the rain. luke refused

the crew hiked up to odysseus' palace. they ran into a roadblock. mason looked into the future and did not see a way around it. (they found a way around it)

the crew found a well and sang their epic songs into it. except jp (crew) who just sang happy birthday

janani (aphrodite) also sang "royal we" into the well

anna (penelope) made it onto the plane to fly out to ithaca

hermes (troy) decided to take a plane to ithaca like a normal human instead of teleporting. he got side-eyed by a woman at the airport as he slept sprawled out in a chair. this quickly became a meme

hermes arrived in ithaca to the delight of everyone except jorge. mico also appeared in his videos. mico still had not updated anything after getting on the plane

anna's connecting flight got cancelled, leaving her stranded in a fancy hotel. she struggled to find the toilet in her hotel room

mico finally updated, claiming he was stuck in munich. mason appears in the video and gives him a water bottle, proving he is lying

the fandom believes mico anyway

mico is forced to post another video revealing he had been gaslighting us basically the entire time and was just delayed in getting to ithaca, that was all

troy and talya (circe), in character, talk about tea. troy says the tea tastes like her father's approval. earle (ares) then asks for 1000 cups and breaks down crying as luke cuts the camera

jorge posts a video apologizing for mico's absence, encouraging him to fly to ithaca, new york. mico appears in the background of this video

mico posts a video saying that he's finally in ithaca, but the crew is in ithaca, new york. jorge appears in the background of this video

jp films a behind the scenes video, calling out "some random guy" who just showed up asking if anyone knows jorge. it's mico

janani sings "royal we" again, but after she says "troy was breached" troy comes out screaming in pain. mico appears in the background of this, filming the video from two points above

it's time for the ithaca saga livestream... except it gets cancelled because the connection is bad and jorge's devices are dying

TL;DR: the gods saw the epic crew in ithaca and went "do you guys think it'll be really funny if we just. recreated the odyssey"

[arowithanotp]

"I watched my friends die in horror crying as they all were slain. I heard their final moments crying their captain in vain"

who gave six of their men up as chew toys to scylla odysseus who refused to tell any of their crew anything that was happening ever odysseus who drove their crew to starvation odysseus who sacrificed dozens of men with their own wives and family including your SISTERS HUSBAND odysseus who started this goddamn mess by DOXXING THEMSELVES TO A CYCLOPS???? WHO ODYSSEUS???????? WHOOOOO?????

[happypeachsludgeflower]

Ironically, after having obsessively listened to the entire saga on repeat last night, my favorite song was I Can’t Help But Wonder. It was my least favorite on my first listen through, but the more I listened to it and absorbed all the meanings and implications? I just. Loved it so much more 😭

There’s Odysseus finally meeting his son for essentially the first time (yes he held him as an infant, but he doesn’t know him as a person), there’s the fact that he spent twenty years wishing he could know his son. And then there’s Telemachus on the other side of the conversation who’s been dreaming of knowing his dad for twenty years and is worried his dad won’t love him?? Devastating. Imagine desperately loving and wanting to meet your child for twenty years and being told they worry you won’t love them??

AND THE LINE ABOUT ODYSSEUS TELLING HIS INFANT SON HE WOULD CAPTURE THE WIND AND SKY FOR HIM?? Guys. Odysseus literally captured the wind and sky to get home to his son and wife.

And then we have the reunion with Athena 😭😭 They don’t even talk about anything that happened?? I just imagine this scene of Odysseus saying, “Show yourself. I know you’re watching me,” just like he did when they first met, and neither of them say a thing about their argument, nothing about Athena fighting for him and saving him, nothing about everything that happened between the last ten years.

And without saying any of that, Athena goes straight into a roundabout way of saying, “You were right, I was wrong, and I led you astray.” She said, “I’m sorry,” without saying it. And there’s a beat of silence. Odysseus sighs. And essentially tells her, “No, you weren’t wrong. And I wasn’t wrong either. That world could exist somewhere far away, but it doesn’t exist here. I’m too old and tired to ever find it though, so you’ll have to make it exist someday for both of us.”

He forgives her in un-said words. It’s an absolution of the wrong Athena feels she’s committed. A goddess apologized to him, and Odysseus absolved her of her sins. Just. AHHHHHHHHHHH.

And then they part ways 😭😭😭 and there’s a tone in their voices that says it’s really their final goodbye this time. And they didn’t even say goodbye.

[fangirlofallthefanthings]

THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN SAYING THIS WHOLE TIME!!!!!!!!! OMG I FEEL SO VALIDATED!!!

"Which means, in this case, the pleasure Calypso could’ve brought Odysseus was only material: food and drink to keep him from starving, shelter to keep him from dying… and nothing more."

To take this FURTHER: It's Xenia. The thing that's literally one of the main points of the Odyssey. From that one line of "no longer pleased him," I knew in my BONES that it had to do with material gain. Food, clothes, nursing him back to health from drifting at sea for nine days. Nothing more.

Until she made it more.

This situation is so messed up yet so morbidly fascinating. It gives a stark window into the hierarchy and customs of hospitality in Archaic Greece. It's exciting and horrifying at the same time. It begs the question...

What if this was between a king and a banished princess? A nobleman and a lowly messenger down on his luck? A queen and a dismissed handmaiden?

Would people say the same about them as they do about Odysseus?

The Odyssey, book 5, line 151–155:

τὸν δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀκτῆς εὗρε καθήμενον: οὐδέ ποτ᾽(1) ὄσσε δακρυόφιν τέρσοντο, κατείβετο δὲ γλυκὺς αἰὼν νόστον ὀδυρομένῳ, ἐπεὶ οὐκέτι ἥνδανε νύμφη.(2) ἀλλ᾽ ἦ τοι νύκτας μὲν ἰαύεσκεν καὶ ἀνάγκῃ(3) ἐν σπέσσι γλαφυροῖσι παρ᾽ οὐκ ἐθέλων ἐθελούσῃ:(4) She (Calypso) found him (Odysseus) sitting on the shore—never once were his eyes Dry of tears, while his sweet life was passing away Lamenting his homecoming, for the nymph no longer pleased him. But indeed in the nights he slept, by force, In her hollow caves, unwilling beside the willing (nymph).

(1) οὐδὲ ποτέ: this is a good phrase to invoke pathos, as we see οὐδέ, “never”, being put alongside ποτέ, “once, at any time”, showing the picture of Odysseus crying on Ogygia since day one, never once free from sorrow. Notice, too, how this phrase comes first and foremost, presenting itself as a lead-up to the entire sentence, overshadowing this part with a sense of melancholy.

(2) ἐπεὶ οὐκέτι ἥνδανε νύμφη: I’ve been seeing a lot of interpretations based on this one single sentence, “…since she no longer pleased him”—but you know what? Just a reminder that in Ancient Greek, the word ἥνδανε (it’s 1st person singular indicative form being ἁνδάνω), with the meaning “pleased, delight”, is mostly used in the context of “being pleased with ransoms/words/food and drink…”, which is anything that promises material gains:

(e.g. “ἀλλʼ οὐκ Ἀτρεΐδῃ Ἀγαμέμνονι ἥνδανε θυμῷ”, Iliad. 1.24: but it (Achaeans’ assent to Calchas’s speech that promised ransoms) did not please the heart of Agamemnon son of Atreus; “…ἐμῷ δ᾽ οὐχ ἥνδανε θυμῷ”, Odyssey. 10.373: but it (Circe’s urging of Odysseus to eat the food) did not please my heart; “…μάλιστα δὲ Πηνελοπείῃ / ἥνδανε μύθοισι…”, Odyssey, 16.397–398: but he (Amphinomus) pleased Penelope the most with his words; etc.)

Which means, in this case, the pleasure Calypso could’ve brought Odysseus was only material: food and drink to keep him from starving, shelter to keep him from dying… and nothing more.

(3) ἀνάγκῃ: the dative singular of the word ἀνάγκη means “force, constraint, necessity” and sometimes even more, “torture; anguish, pain” (the latter is more seen in tragic plays), but here I believe the former meaning alone is more than enough to demonstrate the lack of consent in Odysseus when he slept beside Calypso.

(4) παρ’ οὐκ ἐθέλων ἐθελούσῃ: I love this line so much—the way Homer uses the participle of the verb ἐθέλω “to be willing” twice, each in different gender—the masculine nominative one for Odysseus being οὐκ έθέλων “ not willing”, the feminine dative one for the nymph being ἐθελούσῃ “too willing”, and putting them together to fit both the meter and the theme? This is literally perfect.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Odysseus: ...And thats everything that happened. Telemachus: Wow... I am sorry you had to go through all that. It must have been hard giving up your crew like that. Odysseus: I mean if Polites was still there it would have been. But after the mutiny you would be amazed how easy it was. Penelope: Deserved. (Casually eats) Telemachus: Mother, you cant be so callous! Penelope: The moment they mutinied they stopped being his crew. He did nothing wrong. This is a good lesson for you. Odysseus: Your mother is right, it was a dick move of them. Penelope: Odysseus, massacring a bunch of idiots is one thing, but I will not stand for bad words at the dinner table. Odysseus: Apologies my love. Penelope: Forgiven, now go back to talk about the part where you were stabbing Poseidon.

[norristeria]

Thy Trophy ! LN04

━━━━━━ Part of the LOVESICK IDOLS anthology!

SUMMARY 𝄡 Lando Norris will happily be your trophy boyfriend, even at his own event.

PAIRING 𝄡 Lando Norris x A-List Actress! FemReader

TAGS 𝄡 Fluff, Light Angst ( blink and you'll miss it ).

WORDCOUNT 𝄡 5.5k.

NOTE 𝄡 This is my first fanfic, and I wanted to find a happy middle between traditional writing and smaus⏤it's kind of a mess and the end is rushed but whatever. Way too many mythological references in this... Let's say that it is because Y/N is going to star in Nolan's Odyssey, alright? <33

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The printed words of the screenplay formed an unintelligible jumble that even your reading glasses could not unravel.

From the living room, Lando’s voice pierced the walls and lulled you into a sleep you refused to surrender to. Two hours ago, Christopher had sent you fifteen new pages of dialogue for you to learn; there was no way you were going to put this off until tomorrow—Mr. Nolan was not to be kept waiting, least of all for a project as Herculean as The Odyssey.

The book lay in your lap, long since abandoned on a page of the sixth book. Even Odysseus’ shipwreck on the shore of Scheria could not captivate you; it only drew you further into the depths of exhaustion.

A sigh pulled you away from the galleys and Phaeacian currents. Soon, the blurred but familiar silhouette of Lando filled your tired retina.

You did not need to see him to know he was tormented. His hunched shoulders and dejected gait spoke for him. Without a word, you placed the blue script on the couch and removed your glasses.

“What's wrong?” you asked softly.

Lando plopped down on the couch beside you, making Homer's work bounce off the floor. Already forgotten in the face of a loved one's urgency, neither of you thought to pick it up.

“The FIA wants to do this big event to launch the new cars.”

You frowned and let your fingers brush against his thigh to calm him down. When he was nervous, Lando fidgeted, as if his entire body was trying to express his anxieties when his words failed.

“Isn't that what happens every year?”

“It's different. They want to make a ceremony of it this year. At the O2, no less. With a red carpet and all that crap.”

If Lando shined under the cameras of the paddock and—even if he did not dare admit it—those of Drive To Survive, unforeseen events such as this one filled him with a sense of anxiety rooted in the comments that, for the past few months, malevolent people had been sowing on the Internet.

“Well, it's your lucky day. I happen to know a thing or two about ‘red carpets and all that crap.’ I could give you a few tips before the big night,” you giggled as you leaned over the coffee table.

Your cup of coffee, like the book, had been forgotten.

You grimaced when your lips tasted the cold brew.

“Or you could come with me.”

The cup clattered against the table and rattled the knick-knacks. A drop of coffee splashed on Homer. Another shipwreck for Odysseus, bitter and cold this time.

“This is… a big decision, Lando,” you finally spoke, taking care to articulate each syllable—as if its mere pronunciation could delay the inevitable.

If you want to live happily, you've got to live secretly. Those were the words you had been told repeatedly since your early days in the film industry. A motto that had ingrained itself in your skull and never left since then. Cameras belonged on the set, not in the intimate sphere, for they only consumed what was precious and left nothing but heartbreaking ashes.

You refused to let your love for Lando be reduced to a burnt film strip.

“I don't know.”

“Please, love.”

You picked up the Odyssey and slipped in an old receipt as a bookmark—a mere distraction, an attempt to waste time. Praying for the mundane to fight the unexpected, your fingers mechanically traced the curved waves of the cover, but even the sea could not drown the hurtful words of your former relationships.

“People will talk," you insisted. "They won’t care about the car or you, only about us, and I don't want that.”

Your ever-growing notoriety had destroyed many relationships, platonic or not. The jealousy and envy of men—such fragile, sensitive creatures—always took you away from Elysium fields and damned you to the infinite solitude of the Asphodel meadow.

You would rather plunge into the Styx than see Lando give in to the vices of the male ego.

A head came to rest on your chest and drew you out of your ruminations. In a loving reflex, your hand buried itself in Lando's brown curls. He sighed and nestled against your breasts, until you could not distinguish where he and you began.

“Let them talk and come with me. Please.”

For a few minutes, you said nothing, your gaze fixed on the cup of cold coffee and the Odyssey. What could you say, after all? None of your arguments would pierce Lando's will; the year you had spent at his side had taught you that. 

“When?” you asked, at last.

“February 18th.”

You tugged at a brown lock and watched it fall back into a curl before leaning over to kiss his forehead, just above a mole that—like all the others—you had come to love. You remained there for a while, lulled by Lando's familiar scent and the sensation of his warm skin against your lips.

A sigh rattled your chest and landed on your lover’s tanned flesh. He shivered at the sensation.

“All right, then.”

Lando straightened up and nearly head-butted you.

“Really?!”

“I can still change my mind.”

“Nope. Too late. You can’t take it back now.”

He caught your face between his hands and planted his lips against yours, murmuring a plethora of thank you that soon vanished in the fervour of his kisses. One of his hands slid from your thigh to the small of your back and pulled you closer to him.

As he abandoned your lips for your jaw, then your neck, Lando's head abruptly fell back against the couch when you pushed him away. Stunned, lips aglow, he watched you step over him and disappear into the hallway.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

Already, his voice was but a mere afterthought as your thumb scrolled through your contact list.

“I need to call my stylist," you mumbled. "If I'm going to face your fangirls and internet, I might as well do it in an archive gown.”

The car’s tinted windows were already losing the battle against the camera flashes. The separation was purely psychological—a fleeting moment of respite before the leap of faith, for the eyes were already overwhelmed by the blinding light. The poor souls forced to endure it became knockoff Tiresiases, prophets doomed to foresee the same immutable future: the night would be intrusive.

Already, hands had torn through the finely woven tapestry of personal space. Famous or not, dozens of fingers had dressed you, styled you, and painted you into an icon—one the vultures would immortalize, and the admirers, worship. Even now, pairs of hands fluttered around you. They adjusted your gown, retouched your makeup, and tamed the few rebellious strands that had escaped hairspray and pins.

This routine, you had come to associate it with film sets and glitzy events such as this one. The familiar motions helped you slip into character—that of the perfect public persona. Flaws perished under the burning lights, leaving only idols sculpted by the frenzied cult of fame.

You had grown to resent the offerings and prayers people scattered on your path daily. Fame had been born from your love of cinema—an unintended consequence, not a pursuit. A tragic heroine of the modern age—one among many in the industry—you had long cursed your fate.

Then, one day, a devotee had placed you at the centre of a liturgy of love you had never foreseen. Suddenly, you were no longer a damned Sibyl, but an Aphrodite, revered by one and only man.

Around you, the hustle continued, yet the quick movements of your stylist and makeup artist unsettled you less than Lando’s gaze, which burned hotter than the camera flashes. You felt his eyes wash over your glittering skin, your diamond-draped neckline, and, at last, your lips, rouge passion.

You—as much a Tiresias as a Sibyl—read with ease the subtle signs on your lover’s face.

Love birthed habit and familiarity, and nothing was more familiar for you than the spark in Lando’s eyes—desire, burning and bold, a need only touch could soothe.

When he lunged toward you, you slapped a hand over his mouth and pushed him away.

“I spent two hours getting my makeup done, Norris. Keep your filthy paws to yourself.”

He whined.

“Come on. Just one kiss!”

“No.”

He groaned and settled for a kiss to the back of your hand.

“You’re stunning,” he whispered against your skin, before letting your hand drop gently on his thigh.

In a vain attempt to escape his adoring gaze—and to let the flush on your cheeks fade—you dove into a flurry of caring gestures, becoming yourself a pair of doting hands. You straightened Lando’s collar, tucked back a few curls that had fallen across his forehead, and smoothed the wrinkles of his black jacket, tracing the firm shape of his shoulders with your fingertips.

“Such a handsome man.”

He smiled, his eyes sparkling with joy. It was hard to believe that only a month ago, he would have fought tooth and nail to avoid this Dionysian chaos. Now, he wore his confidence like a second skin—one you almost envied.

You turned your head and let your eyes wander to the window, beyond the glass: towards the Others, their gazes, their judgments.

“Ready to face Hell?” you joked, but it fell flat as anxiety slowly nested in your chest.

What if they didn’t take it well? What if they accused you of stealing the spotlight? What if they hated you for dating their favourite driver?

Lando caught your hand. His lips found their way between the diamonds and gold of your bracelets, warming the curve of your wrist with a kiss.

“With you by my side? Always.”

Your fingers intertwined. The weight of his hand in yours was a quiet anchor. Lando tilted his head, silently asking you if you were ready. No, you wanted to scream—is anyone ever truly ready for such event?—but chose to keep silent and nodded instead.

“Remember. I’m here with you,” Lando said before knocking twice on the window.

The door opened and Chaos swallowed you whole.

Lights and voices coiled into a thick fog, numbing your senses, but you forced a smile onto your painted lips. Already, you could feel Lando drifting away, caught in the fervour of the event, in the euphoria of the moment—today, he was the one being celebrated. Who could resist the sweet intoxication of adoration?

“This way, Lando!”

“Lando! Can you sign my cap?”

“I love you!”

Photographers and frenzied fans screamed at the top of their lungs to be blessed with a second of his attention. His name echoed through the crowd, and you felt pure joy seeing him so loved by others. The world had not been kind to him lately; knowing the internet did not mirror reality eased your anxious but loving heart.

Throughout the first rows of fans, your pinkies remained entwined, a constant reminder of each other’s presence—a silent I won’t let go. But soon, you let go, allowing Lando to shine. Alone. This was his night, his moment, and you did not want to pull him from the spotlight with your mere presence. Already, you could feel the atmosphere shift, hear your name travel through the crowd.

“Lan– Oh my god, is that...?”

“Y/N!”

You waved to the young girls but stepped no closer, instead motioning toward Lando with a nod, as if to say Look at him. Not me.

Farther down the red carpet, your lover had not yet realized he now walked alone, but his body, already, was feeling your absence; his fingers clenched, seeking yours, but found only empty air.

You did not look away from Lando’s back. Unwittingly, he had become Orpheus, and you, a Eurydice. Don’t turn around, you wanted to scream. You did not want him to see the space between you both—a shield against strangers, harsher than the Gods in their judgment.

But, for Orpheus would always be Orpheus, Lando looked back when his hand closed on emptiness one too many times. He searched for you in the crowd and frowned when he saw you so far behind.

An event coordinator, headset on, clipboard in hand, tried to usher him to the photocall but Lando refused to budge, his green eyes locked on yours. He reached out a hand.

You shook your head, smiling softly.

It’s your moment, you mouthed.

I don’t care.

Beside him, the coordinator was growing impatient, muttering into his headset and tapping his foot, while photographers shouted incoherent words—a chaotic mix of both your names. You knew they were after the most expensive shot of the night—and what better than that of the industry’s newest couple?

Please, he mouthed again.

Your heart skipped a beat. Who could resist those eyes? You hesitantly stepped toward the photocall.

Toward him.

The flashes exploded.

“Y/N! Y/N, I love you!”

“On your right!”

“Gorgeous, darling! As always!”

“Smile for me!”

When you reached his side, Lando did not hesitate. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him.

“I love you,” he whispered in your ear, as the crowd screamed and the cameras flashed.

Lando had yet to let go of your waist; you had become his constant solace in this labyrinth of glitter and pretense—his own thread of Ariadne, which he had woven stitch by stitch around his heart as a makeshift armor. You clung to him just as fiercely, already bored out of your mind.

“One last interview, and then we head inside,” he whispered before brushing a soft kiss on your cheek.

You stifled a sigh of relief. You had long since lost count of the interviews given, the rehashed questions, the trite answers Lando conjured with effortless charm. This red carpet felt more and more like a descent into the Underworld, inhabited by souls too curious to be sincere. The Asphodel Meadow stretched endlessly before you both; how much longer would you be condemned to wander through it?

As if sensing the flicker of frustration rising in you, Lando’s thumb stroked your hip gently as he guided you into yet another round of questions. He had become your Charon, steering you across the wreckage of media frenzy.

The journalist, another face in the crowd but far too cheerful for your liking, greeted you with a brightness that strained your already-fake smile.

“What an entrance! Everyone is talking about you both!”

What could one possibly reply to that? Luckily, Lando stepped in, offering a polished response that seemed to please the journalist, judging by her eager nodding.

You envied Odysseus and his wax; you were forced to endure the endless, hollow songs of sirens—human in form but no less vicious—ready to devour your words and regurgitate them in some twisted new order designed to wreck your image.

For the briefest second, you entertained the thought of diving into the Styx, never to return. You would rather drown than suffer through their tiresome, invasive questions.

The woman before you asked yet another question, but you tuned it out, choosing instead to scan the crowd of other attendees. You quickly spotted Oscar and Lily and offered a discreet wave, which they returned.

A pang of jealousy shot through you as the couple passed unbothered by journalists—no one bombarded them, no one tried to wring secrets from their mouths. They were allowed to breathe. They were allowed to simply exist.

You, however, felt suffocated by the scrutinizing stares multiplying around you like spores. These reporters didn’t care about Formula One—they were after a good story to tell. A good story to sell.

All the years you had spent mastering the art of answering dull questions seemed to vanish, buried beneath the indignation of seeing Lando’s victories silenced in favour of your love story.

A gentle squeeze at your waist pulled you away from your bitter thoughts.

"Sorry, what were we saying?" you asked, hoping your shining smile would suffice to make the reporter forget your lack of manners.

“I was just asking what you're wearing tonight,” she repeated.

“Oh!” Your hands instinctively smoothed down the satin of the dress. “An archive by John Galliano for Dior.”

“We didn’t expect anything less from you. As always, you look stunning! I love this pink, though I must admit, I’m a bit disappointed you’re not in orange!” the journalist chuckled.

You silently thanked your acting classes, and all the hours spent perfecting your fake laugh.

“No, I decided to go for something a bit more… discreet tonight. But I’m sure you’ll have other chances to see me in orange from now on.”

“Oh? Is that so? Should we expect Y/N L/N on the paddock this year?”

Lando’s gaze burned the side of your face, just as attentive—if not more than the journalist—to your reply.

It was a question you had not dared broach before. Cloaked in secrecy, some subjects had been left in dusty corners. Two months ago, the idea would not have even crossed your mind—for there was no way you would have shown up at a Grand Prix and sparked rumours.

But tonight, revealing your relationship had reshuffled everything. You no longer had to hide. You could love each other freely—for the better, or worse.

“Who knows?” you answered with a sly smile. “Maybe. I have to support the future world champion, after all.”

You did not need to look to know Lando was rolling his eyes, lips turning into a bashful smile. His hand squeezed your waist.

He adored when you loved him loudly.

“Do you think he has a chance to win this year?" the journalist asked. “He did finish just behind Max Verstappen last season.”

“I hope so. I believe in him, at least. And no matter the outcome, I’ll always be proud of him. He’s an amazing driver.”

You reached for his hand where it still clung to your waist, intertwining your fingers just as a PR staff asked the journalist to wrap it up.

“Have a wonderful evening, lovebirds! And Y/N, I hope to see you on the paddock soon.”

The champagne struggled to make its way down your throat. You had hoped to find some courage in the golden bubbles, but the cameras that tracked your every movement left a bitter taste on your tongue and spoiled the sparkling pleasure.

You set your glass down—too abruptly—spilling a few drops onto the pristine white tablecloth and catching others’ attention. Lando’s hand found your thigh, stroking and wrinkling the soft pink silk.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you muttered back, brushing a drop of champagne off your wrist. “Just… the fucking cameras.”

He hummed and dabbed at the champagne with his napkin. You watched him do so, heart threatening to burst out of your chest. He did it without a second thought. The casualness of it all, the tender touch with which he wiped your skin, made you blush.

You felt a sudden urge to throw your arms around his neck, but the gleam of a camera lens snapped you back to reality.

On the stage, bathed in red light, Jack Whitehall was shouting something about the show going on or some other nonsense. You had not listened to his monologue, too busy being hyper-aware of your own body, your every breath and blink.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed the camera crew starting to move. One of them crouched directly in front of you and aimed his lens at your face.

In the blink of an eye, you straightened your shoulders, tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind your ear, and put on a careless, effortless smile. It was as if your small breakdown had never happened, already pushed back to let Y/N the movie star shine.

Still, a crack appeared in the perfect illusion when your eyes flickered to the massive screen overhead.

It was still broadcasting Jack’s face, but a chill crawled up your spine—a bad feeling taking root in your chest⏤as your gaze wandered to the cameraman at your feet.

“That is when you know your sport is ridiculously minted. When you book the O2 for an event to announce the colour of a load of cars that are all exactly the same as last season. The only new thing this year is Lando Norris’s girlfriend—who is probably the only person in this room who doesn’t need an introduction. Y/N L/N, everyone!”

Your eyes had not left the screen and, soon enough, you were staring back at your own face. Next to you, Lando clapped and whistled, as thrilled as the rest of the crowd.

His stupid antics eased your nerves. Lando had always known how to calm you—a magical skill that he abused sometimes, using it against you during arguments or to have his way.

How grateful you were for it tonight.

You smiled and waved at the audience, praying for them to move on, but Jack was not done.

“When she walked in, the whole room stood up so fast I thought a tax inspector had entered the building!”

The joke pulled a genuine laugh out of you—perhaps the first of the evening. Lando lit up at the sound. He grabbed your hand and kissed it with a dazzling smile.

When your eyes met—his, full of pride, yours, mortified—he winked. The cameraman—and the entire arena with him—did not miss it, sending everyone into a frenzy when it replayed on the screen. You even heard a few awes from the audience, which did not help your embarrassment one bit.

You only let yourself breathe again when the cameras finally drifted away, Jack having found a new soul to torment.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t know he’d do all that.”

Lando raised an eyebrow over his glass of champagne.

His large hand was still resting on your thigh.

“What are you apologizing for? I thought it was funny.”

“They should be talking about you.”

He scoffed.

“The less they do, the better. Gives the haters less ideas. And to be honest, I’ve got other things on my mind tonight than lame jokes.”

“Like what?”

His hand slid higher as he leaned in.

“You in that dress,” he whispered against your ear.

“Behave,” you muttered through your teeth, trying to ignore the heat that bloomed low in your belly. “People are watching.”

“Even better.”

He kissed you.

Lando’s lips tasted like champagne and euphoria, leaving you so dazed you did not see the camera focused on you from afar.

You had been naïve to think Jack Whitehall would settle for one joke. Clearly, you had underestimated the comedian, who—between flirty exchanges with Charles Leclerc—had managed to sneak over to the McLaren’s table and settle in a chair beside Lando.

His sudden proximity could only mean trouble. You kept a wary eye on the cameras—once again pointed in your direction, though focused on Lando this time (much to your delight)—and silently prayed to fade in the background

To your dismay, the mischievous glances Jack kept throwing your way made it perfectly clear that vanishing was not an option. The British host had not forgotten about you, and he intended to savor your discomfort.

A technician—at least he looked the part with his headset and walkie-talkie in hand—gave Jack a thumb up, prompting him to straighten up. A red light blinked atop the camera. “We’re live!” an imaginary director screamed in your mind. Old habits die hard.

For a second, you let your thoughts wander to your screenplay and its fifteen new pages, laying abandoned in your suitcase back at the hotel. How you longed for Odysseus.

You glanced at the giant screen and relaxed upon realizing you were out of frame.

After an entire evening trapped under the spotlight, it was now Lando’s turn to shine.

And shine he did. Sun-kissed, smiling, utterly at ease—he was radiant. A tight knot, full of love, formed in your throat. There was nothing more beautiful than seeing someone you hold dear thrive.

A fierce surge of pride swelled in your chest. This man—as talented as beautiful—was yours.

“Guys, we’ve got so many amazing celebrity guests in the house. We’ve got singers here tonight, we’ve got actors.” His head popped up over Lando’s shoulder. “Hello there, Y/N.”

The camera panned to you, and for what felt like the hundredth time that night, you smiled and waved at the roaring crowd, pushing aside the déjà-vu rising inside to lean toward Jack. Your chin brushed against Lando’s suit-clad shoulder. The scent of his cologne curled around you in a warm embrace.  

Play the part.

A charming smile spread across your crimson lips. “Good evening, Jack,” you purred back.

That single line made the comedian stammer and giggled. He fanned himself with his cue cards and rattled off a clumsy joke.

You bit back a grin.

Men really were the simplest creatures.

Beside you, Lando straightened up and shifted in his seat—just enough to place himself in between the two of you and break your eye contact.

Oh yes, so simple.

“Those eyes. Well, you sure do know how to make a grown man blush,” Jack said with mock sternness, retreating slightly. Lando could be intimidating when he wanted to be. “But enough with you, we’ll talk more later.”

You were not sure if that was a promise or a threat.

“For now,” he went on, “there is only one man I’m looking to talk to tonight and it’s this man here. Mister Lando Norris!

You did not hesitate and joined the crowd’s euphoria, clapping so hard your palms began to sting.

“Lando, last season you came so close. Is this going to be your year?”

“It wasn’t that close to be honest. Max had it. But I hope so. I’m working hard. The team is working hard.”

Behind him, you nodded instinctively. You had witnessed first-hand the sleepless nights, the hours spent studying data, memorizing circuits, rotting away in the simulator. No one deserved the championship more than Lando.

“Well, I hope you’ll bring it home,” Jack said. “And hey, if you don’t, you can always play with girlfriend’s trophy collection. She’s got enough to lend you a few!”

Without warning, Jack turned to her.

“Y/N, by now you must be used to this sort of event. Is the F1 75 as glamourous as the BAFTAs or Golden Globes? I know there’s nothing for you to win here, which must feel a bit strange, but I swear you’ll love it—we’ve even got tire-shaped hors d’oeuvres.” He turned to the camera. “Suck it, Hollywood!”

“So far, it seems much less competitive,” you quipped. “I’m a little disappointed, to be honest.”

“You’re up for Best Actress, right?”

You nodded.

“Nervous?”

“Always.”

“Don’t be coy. Seriously?!” Jack chuckled. “Everyone knows you’re going to win! You’re basically the Max Verstappen of the movie industry!”

The giant screen cut to the Dutch champion, looking thoroughly unimpressed. You sighed inwardly.

I feel you, Max.

“Oh. Looks like someone behind the camera is telling me to go back to Lando. Bo-ring,” he rolled his eyes, “but I must oblige or else the FIA won’t pay me.”

Thus, Jack left you alone and turned back to your boyfriend. Hidden from the camera’s view, you hooked your little finger around his and squeezed.

“Lando, I wanna know what happens with an F1 driver in the off-season. What you get up to… Is it hard with all those Drive to Survive cameras in your face all the time to properly chill out? Were you able to Netflix and chill?”

You snorted as a boom mic dangled awkwardly above Lando’s head. Jack swatted it away, but your own memories remained, that of endless shooting days and drowsing sound engineers.

“I did. I’ll tell you what.”

His reply barely registered over the crowd’s laughter, but you heard it loud and clear and smacked his arm, cursing Lando’s cheeky side and his constant need to toss fuel on the fire.

“I spent some time with my family, my friends.” He exhaled. “Hum. Yeah, a bit of Netflix and chill. I did it all.”

The crowd roared. Jack burst out laughing. You buried your face in your hands.

“Best of luck this season. Give it up for Lando Norris!”

As the cameras moved on, you leaned toward Lando, your cheeks still flushed.

“Laying it on thick, aren’t you?”

He just shrugged in response.

“I want people to know you’re mine.”

A flurry of notifications pulled you from a well-deserved sleep. Beside you, Lando was still out cold, completely unbothered by the constant alarms. Last night had done a number on him—be it the never-ending ceremony or your rather eventful return to the hotel.

A dazed smile crept onto your face as the memories from last night resurfaced.

Though you did not want to, you dragged yourself out of bed and reached for your phone, which was still buzzing. It had landed on the floor in the heap of last-night crumpled clothes.

The whole pile reeked of champagne—a telltale sign of a night well spent.

Stifling a yawn into the crook of your elbow, you wasted no time to unlock your phone, the flood of messages immediately drawing you in—all from your agent. As you skimmed through them, your brows shot higher with each one until, finally, you tapped on the last: a link to a gossip page.

“Fuck.”

Ignoring the dull ache in your legs and lower belly, you rushed over to Lando and shook his shoulder.

“Babe, wake up.”

No reaction.

“Come on, get up,” you tried again.

When he still did not budge, you resorted to drastic measures and shoved him clean off the bed. He landed on the floor with a thud, muffled by the thick carpet of the suite.

“What the–?” he muttered, cracking one eye open as he straightened up and peered over his shoulder.

You kneeled beside him and shoved the phone in his face, screen brightness cranked to the max. He blinked once. Twice. His eyelids fluttered against the assault of light before he smacked his lips to chase away the dryness on his tongue.

“What am I looking at?” he asked, voice still hoarse with sleep.

“Read.”

The liveries' new engines for the upcoming Formula 1 season were not the only things to heat up the O2 arena last night. Hollywood royalty Y/N L/N made her grand⏤and completely unexpected⏤entrance on the red carpet, instantly overtaking the event.

It is fair to say that the actress, whose face has become a permanent fixture not only in theaters but also on the cover of Vogue or at the Met Gala, was the talk of the evening⏤as she always is. Draped in a pink Dior archive gown, the Golden Globe-winning actress turned heads the second she stepped in the arena... as Lando Norris’s plus-one!

According to inside sources⏤who were quick to spill the tea⏤the driver and A-List actress have been dating for over a year, but this marks their first official public outing as a couple. Talk about a hard-launch!

McLaren's golden boy⏤who came second in last season's world championship⏤quickly faded into the background as L/N stole the spotlight. And he didn’t seem to mind one bit, instead beaming with pride and fully embracing his new role as a trophy boyfriend!

One thing is sure, while he may be chasing a world-champion title on the track⏤as he reaffirmed last night to Whitehall⏤off it, it seems that Lando Norris has already won, for there is no trophy in this world better than Y/N L/N.

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Anonymous 2 hours ago

Y/N in vintage Dior with Lando trailing behind her like a good purse holder?? Iconic.

Anonymous 5 hours ago

Wait… they’ve been dating for A YEAR?? How did we miss this?? I need a timeline, a series, a podcast—SOMETHING.

Anonymous 1 hour ago

They make so much sense together. I'm already obsessed.

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Lando handed you your phone back and flopped onto the bed, curls matted into the pillow, one arm behind his head. You remained standing, determined not to be swayed by his distractingly sculpted biceps, now on full display.

A smug smile lit up his tired face. You had to fight against the overwhelming urge to slap it off.

“I guess I am your trophy boyfriend.”

You rolled your eyes as he burst out laughing and tossed a pillow square at his head. He caught it without blinking.

Those fucking reflexes.

“Shut up.”

He reached for you, arms wide open and eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Come here, sugar mommy.”

You flipped him off and walked out of the room without a second glance for him.

“Does this mean I can come to the Oscars with you?” he called after you.

[albumstar]

Something I'm starting to notice about this fandom; y'all can like Epic's version of Odysseus without trying to paint Calypso as a rapist.

Odysseus in the original tale did cheat on his wife. Several times. And there's nothing wrong with acknowledging that. But trying to paint him as blameless and all the other women as rapists for seducing him is not the winning move y'all think it is.

Like Tiktok is becoming the worst when it comes to the topic of Calypso.

[blessedbyahuntress]

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Four: The Scary Part? He's Tiny

Prev/Next

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 763

You stood at the helm of the ship, next to Eurylochus, who kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking. He’s rather awful at judging that.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, turning to him.

“What?”

“You keep looking at me weirdly.”

Eurylochus hummed, debating whether or not to tell the truth. He settled with telling half of it.

He shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe you in the slightest.”

Eurylochus was saved from having to try and stutter out an excuse by Polites, who sprinted up to you, barely acknowledging the second in command’s presence with a small nod as he turned to you.

Polites’s glasses kept slipping off his nose and he continued to adjust them as he spoke. “There’s an island- Ody thinks it might be- what the lotus eaters were- talking… about.”

You blinked. “Oh,” was all you said.

Polites raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” He demanded. “That’s the first thing you think to say?” You shrugged. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Eurylochus snorted in amusement and Polites narrowed his eyes mockingly at his friend.

Then the world seemed to move in slow motion. Eurylochus was speaking to you, but you couldn’t hear a word he was saying. You yourself seemed to move fine; you could shake out the stiffness in your arms and legs in normal time. You snapped your fingers in front of Polites’s face, but you didn’t get a reaction.

You heard laughter from above your head, and you looked upward.

“Reveal yourself,” you ordered.

“Hm… I don’t think I will.”

You smirked. “I meant, please reveal yourself, Lord Hermes.”

A handsome yet short man appeared before you. He had a mop of curly light brown hair and a black mask covering his eyes. The snakes that were curled around his staff flicked their tongues at you as the tiny wings on his sandals flapped. “How did you-” He looked down at himself in surprise and yelped. 

He gave you a reproachful look. “Please don’t do that again, little lady,” he said, shaking his caduceus at you.

You crossed your arms. “Hello, Lord Hermes. Please stop stalking me.”

Hermes giggled and glided around you, studying your stance and scars. “Now, now,” he chided. “You shouldn’t talk to a potential patron like that!”

You raised your eyebrows. “Patron?” You asked, unable to keep the skepticism from your voice.

“Oh, yes.” Hermes came to a stop in front of you, still hovering a few feet above the ground. “I’ve been watching you for quite some time, Y/N of Ithaca.”

“Yeah, I sort of got that part. Your voice in my head and all.”

Hermes laughed again. “Ooooh. Quick-thinker, too, I see.” The tips of his sandals skimmed the deck of the ship as he looked at you thoughtfully. “I think of myself as lucky to have reached you first, before any other god could offer to be your mentor.”

You blinked.

“Come on,” the god urged. “I’m sure Odysseus has told you of his own mentor, Athena? Shame she abandoned him.”

“I-I…” You couldn’t finish, your mind skimming through the possibilities of how this could end. “What could you offer? Why should I not wait for a different god or goddess like Ares or Artemis?”

“So glad you asked!” Hermes beamed. “I am the god of thieves. I will teach you how to steal more than objects in the heat of the moment. I will teach you how to detangle hidden meanings and important information from the most confusing of sentences.”

You tilted your head slightly. That skill sounded useful.

“I am the god of travelers,” he continued. “I can aid you in your journey home.”

“I am the god of speed. I can train you so hard, you’ll have more stamina than any man. You’ll be as fast as Achilles was.”

“I am the god of language, and I can teach you the skill of negotiating-”

“Let me sleep on it,” you interrupted.

“Oh.” Hermes gave you a sad smile. “You won’t be sleeping tonight.”

“What do you-”

Suddenly everything sped up, leaving you stumbling. Eurylochus grabbed your shoulders to steady you. You could feel Polites’s concerned gaze on your back as you grabbed Eurylochus’s forearms in an attempt to make the world stop spinning.

“Whoa,” Eurylochus said as you swayed slightly. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You opened your mouth to respond, only to slump forward.

“I forgot about how fragile mortals are,” Hermes giggled inside your head. “You might be having that sleep earlier than either of us expected.”

Then you blacked out.

[odyssiaca]

odysseus is generally seen as 'morally ambiguous' due to his not always being seen as the best of people- but this is a very modern and feminist take, and whilst nothing is inherently wrong with the idea of feminist takes and retellings, it skews what we have and already know of the myths, and this can be seen most predominantly in the character of odysseus. odysseus is two things:

- not meant to a hero

- not meant to be good

he is written as a man faced with impossible odds, and who loses some- if not all- of his morality in doing so. BUT where does the idea of him being 'bad' come from? the penelopiad by margaret atwood, a woman known for being quite vitriolic towards men of any kind. in recent years, people have picked up on three major things from the odyssey:

- the hanging of the maids

- odysseus cheating on his wife

- odysseus going mad at the end

NOW, to break it into points:

the hanging of the maids is so often seen in a feminist light due to margaret atwood, where odysseus is painted as some cruel, vile, disgusting predator who loathes women. this isn't true to the odyssey AT ALL. in the odyssey it is explicitly stated by the nurse that raised telemachus: 'i shall single out those who betrayed you, my lord' and by one of the maids herself- melantho: 'if we sleep with the suitors, when they become king we will be in favour with him.' and THIS is why he killed the maids. not because he was insane, not because he was bad, but because they had betrayed not just him- but his wife. not all the maids were killed, only those who slept with the suitors. the argument most often used for this is that the women couldn't say no, but this goes against what the maids themselves say in the odyssey when they believe no one to be watching.

odysseus cheating on his wife HE DIDN'T. but he is a man, and as a man, he cannot be raped. he is a terrible man for sleeping with circe and calypso when he could have- as epic decides to say- say no. which is untrue!! these are goddesses. titanesses. circe is the daughter of helios, and calypso is daughter of atlas. they could overpower him simply by looking at him. circe turned his men to pigs, even with the moly she could have easily done the same- or worse- to him. the idea of him choosing to and being unfaithful stems from madeline miller's, Circe which whilst not inherently bad, goes out of its way to put all men in a terrible light, because the heroes deserves no rights in feminist retellings. odysseus wanted to say no, but could not as hermes explicitly told him he couldn't. on the flip side, calypso threatens, ensnares him and only releases him when told to by hermes and the council of the gods. in the odyssey it is literally stated: 'and odysseus stayed on the shores weeping for home before joining the nymph in her bed.' he did not WANT to sleep with calypso, but was left with no other choice but to do so. this is a recurring theme for calypso.

but he is blamed due to his gender, and the idea of 'feminism' and 'patriarchy'.

and now, the real reason for odysseus being seen badly:

the telegony the telegony is a myth written after the odyssey with telegonus- son of circe and odysseus- as the main character. in this he travels to find his father and meet him, but accidentally kills him on the shore. (peneleope marries telegonus, and circe marries telemachus) but this is where the idea of odysseus' insanity comes from. in the telegony, it is stated he went mad after the war, and couldn't survive without bloodshed, and so he went out seeking war, and women, and battle, and went mad in this.

the statement: 'generous to odysseus' is wholly unfair, because he is a man forced to lose everything, assaulted, violated, tortured and imprisoned with no hope of survival. he goes to war knowing he won't return for 20 years, won't see his wife, and won't watch his son grow. he is a man not a god, or a demigod. he's just some dude doing his best.