#The battle of claw island

[shadowrunner8236]

Check tags for the prevs info!!

Great example of getting a timeline down for charecter evolution, thats a great way to keep score and make your story very clear!

@everyone

Tell me your commanders lore in the tags i wanna read

As there are no restrictions for this im gonna warn minors to consider all possible content warnings before reading the tags!

PLEASSEE go crazy pick one to three of your commanders and info dump to me about it all i want to see you guys writing and ik most of you are waiting for some one to ask so heres some propmts to help you out if you need!

Prompts

What drives them?

Whats their personal goal?

How does their culture (wherever they are from in your lore) affect them? [Ie do they go to festivals, miss home, have a grudge with a clan, person, or collage? Etc]

Do they have anyone they love?

Did any of their loves perish, who and why?

Do they have a major regret or loss?

U can make this a therapy sesh for them its ok

A dream they clung to, a hope or goal (if any) that kept them going through it all, or alternatively drove them to their end~

Go crazy go off the cuff! I wanna read so this may get reblogged a few times on my main!

[lovebun-com]

Gjinkas of my favs 🤭

[halffulltubofmintchip]

Me going through the battle of Claw Island knowing damn well what to expect but still getting hit with an emotional brick

[sidereon-spaceace]

YES

WOOO YEAH SWORD TIME

[mythology-void]

okay so I was doing a Research™️ about ancient Greek etymology as one does and I found some Things that made me want to Violently Claw My Arms Off please allow me to force feed you my discoveries

So there are 2 words for "not" in ancient Greek, depending on the context: ou and mē. Having introduced himself in the Cyclops episode as " ou tis", or No-man, he then stabs Polyphemus in the eye. When Polyphemus' brothers come to check on him, they say this:

"... surely no man [mē tis] is carrying off your sheep? Surely no man [mē tis] is trying to kill you either by fraud or by force?"

Right after this, after the other cyclopes ditch Polyphemus, Odysseus's inner monologue goes something like this:

"Then they went away, and I laughed inwardly at the success of my clever strategem [metis]." (pronounced mEH-Tis)

Now, there's a difference between mē tis and metis. [mē tis] (pronounced mEH-Tis with a space between the syllables) is the literal translation for "no man". Metis is a word for extreme intelligence/cunning, which is something Odysseus is famous for.

Now, there are several examples of abuse of metis/intelligence in the Odyssey, but I think the juxtaposition between [mē tis], or the concept of anonymity, and metis, or extreme intelligence, is REALLY interesting. Odysseus's adoption of the title "No-man" was characteristic of metis--it was a really smart move that simultaneously hid him from the cyclops and avoided any future consequences. It was a highly effective strategy all wrapped up in a nest little package with a bow on it.

But when he revealed himself as Odysseus of Ithaca, effectively throwing off No-man (anonymity and [mē tis]), that was characterized as idiocy--he's essentially doxxed himself, and now he's doing to (spoiler alert) get tossed around the Mediterranean by Poseidon for the next 10 years.

This is really interesting because it lets you see the parallels/codependency between metis(intelligence) and humility. When Odysseus refused to allow himself to go unnoticed (hubris) he suffered for it. BUT when he declined instant glory/satisfaction (kleos) in order to achieve the long term goal of survival, he was rewarded with Athena's favor (pay attention. This part is important).

And this situation repeats itself MULTIPLE TIMES in the Odyssey--the EXACT SAME THING happens near the end of the book, with the suitors. When. Odysseus is dressed as a beggar and the suitors/Antinious are abusing him, he ACTIVELY CHOOSES not to react--he doesn't stand up and rip off his disguise and start hollering "TIS I, ODYSSEUS OF ITHACA! FEAR MY WRATH"

No. He sits there patiently and waits. He plans and schemes and quietly orchestrates their downfall without alerting them of it. Why? Because he learned his lesson the first time this happened. He buried his rage and adopted what was, according to Grace LA Franz, a more feminine form of metis, weaving a web of destruction for his enemies that ultimately resulted in their total annihilation (see Weaving a Way to Nostos: Odysseus and Feminine Metis in the Odyssey by Grace LaFranz). His patience allowed him to win the whole prize--no questions asked, no 10-year-long-business-trip strings attached--just the sweetness of a full victory. And he is, once again, rewarded with Athena's favor--both in the battle with the suitors and in the aftermath (cleanup/reuniting with Penelope).

This really reinforces the idea in the Odyssey that Odysseus's defining characteristic is not just his intelligence--it's his ability to learn from his mistakes. He used what he learned at the Lotus Eaters Island against Polyphemus--the Lotus Eaters drugged his men, so he drugged Polyphemus. He used what he learned from Circe and Polyphemus against the suitors--Circe used false sweetness and honeyed words to lure his men into a trap, so that's exactly what he did to the suitors. His hubris on Polyphemus' island cost his whole crew their lives, so he intentionally left well enough alone until the right time. He didn't just learn from his failures--he turned them into BATTLE STRATEGY.

i don't care what anyone says that is completely totally and objectively awesome

[jockpoetry]

because I have already cleared the map and have shrines in all the main cities. I went from just having Wind temple done to fire ✅ and lightning ✅ so I’m like. Do I. Do Lanayru now?

[sleepymarimo]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫.

summary: one time zoro pushes your affections away and another time when he begrudgingly accepts them. pairing: zoro x gn!reader cw: none, zoro being a cutie and confused about soft feelings an: just some fluff bc I have a headache and I wanna give him a hug :( wc: 1.2k

it seemed like zoro had always let the oddest things to happen to him.

he’d let chopper climb atop his head, tiny hooves brushing through strands of moss green hair. when the reindeer’s soft fur tickled the skin of his cheeks, he didn’t blink.

he’d let usopp cling to him in fear, idly looking around with a bored expression as the sniper tugged at his hakama or pushed him right toward whatever threat lay before them.

the list goes on and on, the ever stoic swordsman never really putting in the effort to actively resist his crew mates or the occasional curious animal.

with that in mind, you figured that you’d be able to get away with some gestures of your own.

after a particularly rough battle, you’d been so utterly happy that your arms wrapped around the rugged swordsman, squeezing him tight.

you blame it on the adrenaline, not those pesky feelings of yours that you refuse to acknowledge.

it was an innocent embrace, imbued with nothing but affection and glee, yet that didn’t stop him from tensing at your touch.

the next thing you remember is being pushed away, gently but firmly, and feeling dumbfounded.

“the hell are you doing?” he had roughly questioned, brushing off your much-too-sweet touches from his person.

uncomfortable.

he was uncomfortable and he hated it, not particularly fond of feeling so vulnerable from something as simple as a damn hug.

looking between him and your still awkwardly stretched out arms, you come to a sort of realization.

zoro didn’t just let things happen to him. no, he allowed them. every touch and tug and pinch was permitted, actively decided upon by the marimo.

that fiasco was almost a whole week ago, the thousand sunny now barreling through the rolling waves of the sea in the hopes of reaching a winter island.

even as the air became colder, the clouds darker, you continued to simmer.

unjustifiable annoyance creeps into your brain just thinking about how he pushed you away, your cheeks burning with embarrassment and hurt alike.

he didn’t feel that bad.

the swordsman had boundaries, which was understandable, set in place for the sake of self-preservation.

that small flip his heart did when he felt you hug him? the boiling heat that clawed up from his chest to his cheeks and to the tips of his ears? absolutely not.

he didn’t want to deal with that, especially after a fight and with the rest of the crew watching.

it took time for you to adjust your actions, to maneuver around the barriers he’d set in place for himself.

being the stubborn little thing you were, you decided to throw yourself into the jaws of the tiger once more.

you try your luck on a brumal morning, a light frost already starting to form on the deck. it seems like the water is still, the sea easily parting as the ship effortlessly glides on its surface.

the observation deck is your destination, where you’re sure the marimo will be.

and indeed he is, outwardly unaffected by the biting cold.

meticulous as ever, at least when it comes to his craft, he sits on a mat and polishes his blades. shoulders relaxed, but eyes sharp, he goes about his task with precision.

he knows you’ve just entered the observation room, thinking that a nod of his head and a small grunt is enough of a greeting.

the scent of steel and polish hang in the air as he continues, figuring that you’d come in to grab something.

he doesn’t expect to be what you want. what else was he good for besides swinging a damn sword around?

you mask your nerves and step inside, taking brisk steps towards the swordsman. it’s now or never, you think, quick to take a seat behind him on the mat.

with slow and gentle movements, you situate yourself into your preferred position.

your chest presses into his back, the rough material of his shirt not enough to keep you from resting your cheek there.

your inner thighs hug his outer ones, the firmness of the muscle beneath forcing you to hold back a shudder. sealing the deal, you loosely wrap your arms around his midsection.

“good morning.” you mumble, speaking to him as if he were a deer about to bolt.

silence is what you get in return and you wish you could peer into that thick skull of his to see what he was thinking.

warm.

that’s how zoro feels at first, before something akin to discomfort starts to gnaw away at him.

his hands come to a stop, his head lifting as he stared ahead and processed just what the hell you were doing.

there’s a split second of stillness- a period of time where he decides if he wants to revel in your touch or bask in his solitude for a moment longer.

it feels like eons pass before the tension is broken, fizzling into nothing as if it didn’t exist in the first place.

his hands resume their task of polishing his prized swords. the muscles in his body relax and everything else suddenly melts away.

he grants you permission.

he allows it.

“morning.” he grumbles back, speaking with an air of nonchalance that contrasted with how fast his mind was racing.

it’s a delicate balance, as frail as the thin layer of ice starting to form on the glass windows.

you know now more than ever to hold off on the banter and teasing, unless you wanted to get bucked off.

taking what you’ve been given, you’re content enough with releasing a deep breath and letting the rise and fall of his back lull you into a light doze.

time seems to pass slower in this world, in this little pocket of tranquility which exists only for the two of you.

when you finally decide to loosen your grip and pull away, he lets out a noise equivalent to a growl.

he’s almost offended.

one of his hands holds your wrist in place, his grip firm. he’s never been good at displaying tenderness, his words unintentionally gruff. “oi, where are ya goin’?”

he releases your arm, almost daring you to defy him. his muscles relax once more, calloused hands resuming the tedious task of polishing steel as he picks up his next sword.

his tone is softer, spoken as a mumble as if he was afraid of saying too much. “just stay a little longer.”

the request has you momentarily astonished, eyes widening a tad before you got a grip on yourself. your arms settle back around his waist, a pleasant buzz spreading in your chest and down to your toes.

you were well aware that this was a rare opportunity, one that you could not and would not pass up.

so, you let out a sigh and rest your cheek on his back once more.

his aura seems to encapsulate you, making you feel safe and at ease.

he’s satisfied with your reaction, how you effortlessly unwind and how your breaths even out.

once again, he’s warm.

zoro decides that he can spend hours just like this.

for the crew, he could always be a demon. for you? he wouldn't mind being a bit more human.

[comatosebunny09]

off the grid [ snip ] | sylus

summary: he says he has some business to attend to. it's increasingly hard to follow through with you looking like that. genre(s): romance, erotica warning(s): cunnilingus, female anatomy, explicit language now playing: buzzin - alina baraz

He says he has some business to attend to. Always on the move, even while on vacation.

You don’t pose much of an argument. Offer a slight pout, clawing at the side of the king-sized bed where his body’s residual heat and indentation still reside.

Sylus promises he won’t be long, locking eyes with your reflection in the mirror. Finishes buttoning his shirt, straightening his collar, and fussing with his cufflinks. Turns with a hand stuffed in his pocket to fully appreciate the view on the bed. And what a pretty picture you pose.

You’re quiet, playing on your phone. Have the gall to be so gorgeous, hair fanned around you on the pillows like a halo, breasts swelling at the top of his dress shirt. Thighs thick as honey, legs splayed open on the ivory sheets. His fingers twitch with the need to touch, and something primal stirs in his belly.

You catch his gaze over the rim of your phone. Offer a demure smile and a wave before returning to whatever’s got you so enraptured.

His chest swells with emotion. There’s this gnawing feeling telling him not to leave. Telling him he belongs at your side for the rest of the day, drawing little sighs of his name from your mouth, touching you until the moon sits high in the sky.

It isn’t often he gets to sweep you away like this. Has you tucked all safe in a beautiful bungalow on an island far away, the air thick with salt and the idle crash of ocean waves enmeshed with the calming cry of distant seabirds.

He studies his feet. Shakes his head, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck while losing an internal battle with himself. He leans against the dresser, wondering how much longer he can stave off this deal he’s worked so hard to orchestrate. And yet—

You giggle, tickled pink by a video on your socials. The sound of it makes his heart pull. He pads towards you without thinking, wrapping a tender hand around your ankle. Smooths his thumb over the bone, watching you with all the fondness of the world.

Sighing, he resigns himself to his decision. Glances off to the side as if the beach outside the window can offer some sort of solution. He pulls at the buttons he so carefully fastened on his shirt. Prowls over you like a jaguar onto the bed, caging you beneath lean muscle and heat.

“Fuck the deal,” he husks with pinched brows, dipping down for a taste of your lips.

You squeak. He hums all throaty, smiling against your lips, expertly plucking your phone from your lax hands. Kisses honey-slow, committing the texture of your lips to memory whilst slowly easing your hands over your head, twining your fingers together. Pushes a knee between your thighs, stopping just shy of your muff.  

You melt into the kiss. Keen all pretty for him, and he swallows the adorable sounds you make. Chuckles low and alluring, maneuvering his hips between your legs, anchoring you to the bed with his weight half on you.

“Thought it was—oh—important,” you breathe when he breaks away to brand your neck with the heat of his lips. You even have the audacity to smell good, like night-blooming jasmines and blackcurrant.

“Was,” he parrots on a deep rasp, mouth on an unhurried excursion over your throat, and your laughter is bewitching. Heady, transitioning into a pleasured exhale when his teeth scrape your carotid. He maneuvers your hands together to shackle your wrists with one of his, freeing up the other. “Nothing outweighs this.”

He drives his point home, knuckles dragging down your belly, down, down, down to the rim of your panties. You arch, and he bows into you when his palm closes around your muff, and he’s open-mouthed on your neck, his dick thick and throbbing against your thigh.

Two fingers curl inward, teasing the seam of your pussy. You bite your lip. Throw your head back, doing that endearing sad puppy thing with your brows, and he admires the sight of you with parted lips and half-slit eyes.  

You’re so pretty like this. So perfect, your mouth kiss-swollen and wet, formed around a whine. You arch so nicely for him as his fingers play between your legs, stroking you until you’re nice and wet. Swollen and pulsing, outer labia spilling over the seat of your panties.

He wastes no time when the earthy scent of your pussy reaches him. Lets your wrists go, easing down your body and between your legs in favor of something more appealing. Licks up the span of your cunt, tasting you through the cotton of your panties. Growls something distant and abrasive, gaze flicking to yours through the headiness.

His irises burn like the flicker of a flame. And he doesn’t look away as you ruck your hips up against his tongue, chasing that sparkling edge building in your stomach. You thread shaky fingers in his tousled hair, guiding him into a maddeningly slow rhythm, your hips stuttering each time his tongue encounters your clit.

He briefly takes his eyes off you to drag your panties to one side, and his mouth waters at the sight. Your pussy is all sticky and sweet, the pucker of it beckoning him in. He spreads you nice and open with two fingers. Looks at you once more before diving in, working your pretty pussy with a wide and sweltering tongue.

You’re scrambling for purchase of the sheets. Wrap your legs about his shoulders, keening all pretty for him. Rock your hips in tandem with the slow roll of his tongue, and he reaches out to tangle your fingers together at your sides to anchor you.

continued here.

[l-uminescent]

˚⁀➷｡˚ REVENGE [PART TWO TO KINSLAYER] ━━━ AEMOND TARGARYEN X FEM! READER

part one.

synopsis: following your brave defeat of aemond targaryen in the battle of rook’s rest, your dragon silverwing delivers your body back to your mother in dragonstone. as you are discovered, a swearing of revenge is made as your body burns in its funeral pyre.

request: kinslayer is so good. would you ever write a little drabble to see the sadness of her family. especially her mother? also to see how this changed the dance. would you ever write a different ending? where before she fell silverwing saves her. like toothless did with hiccup. i adore it and need more. only if you want to of course.

notes: a bit longer than a drabble but i hope you enjoy anyways😭 thank you sm also to @dracaryxzs @hikaerys @delightfulbluebirdtidalwave & @quickamateur for requesting a part two of the black’s reaction to the reader’s death. i had so much fun exploring what the characters would feel like, esp jacaerys. tbh i don’t think i would write an alternative ending bc i just love writing angst wayyyy too much (it’s a problem)

there’s also a lack of jacaerys requests in my inbox which i think you should all fix by pressing here!

warnings: brief descriptions & mentions death, funeral pyre, angst, feelings of sadness after a death of loved one, burning, self-blame

word count: 1.9k

THE SHRIEKING SCREAM OF SILVERWING WAS THE ONLY THING THAT COULD BE HEARD FOR MILES. it was a shriek of pure pain, a cut wedged so deep had made its home in the poor dragon's heart as she had no choice but to watch on as you plunged your sword into aemond targaryen's eye. silverwing had tried her hardest to swoop down and rescue your body as both you and the man you loved plummeted to the ground in each other's arms. your limbs were intertwined with aemond's, your soul's holding the same love they had held many years ago in your final moments.

your body had crashed to the forest floor from the great height, dying immediately - still weaved with aemond's.

another heart-wrenching scream was heard from silverwing as the bond you two had shared had completely severed with your death. all she could do now was search the forest for you and bring back your fractured body to your mother. 

silverwing had gently picked up your body in her claws, so not to bring you anymore damage than the fall had done. she had completely disregarded the body of your previous lover, sword still plunged in his eye. small whimpers left her body as she rose slowly into the air flying back to dragonstone, having lost another rider had left the dragon in an immense amount of pain as you had reminded her greatly of the good queen alyssane, her first rider.

aegon having fled the battle the moment he had witnessed aemond's death had left rhaenys velaryon, your grandmother, with too little time to come to your aid. piercing cries escaped her lips as she could do nothing but watch you fall to your death. knowing this is what you had wanted still did not heed the tears that escaped her lilac eyes, nor did it stop the blame she held for herself as she accompanied your dragon back to dragonstone, wishing over and over that it had been her instead of you, something she knew she would wish until the end of her days. 

the shrieks of pain silverwing had let out alerted the dragon's on the island as she drew near. many stirred at the noise in fright, but none seemed to be as fretted as vermax, who had replied to silvering's bellow with one in return.

with the sound of her two children's dragon's shrieks, rhaenyra knew something was wrong. her gut instinct had told her something had happened to you, as jace remained safely within the castle. rushing to her balcony, she fixed her gaze intently across the sea for any sign of you, holding her breath as she noticed silverwing's flapping wings over the horizon. as she drew closer rhaenyra's eyes scanned her saddle, and noticing you weren't atop it her eyes flickered hastily down to her trembling claws. 

she was clutching your lifeless body. 

tears streamed down rhaenyra's face as she fell to the ground. uncontrallable sobs left her lips as her body violently shook in pain. admitting defeat she crumbled against the pillars of her balcony. as she did, her eyes bore into the sky above that painted in blues purples and oranges alike. she cursed at all the gods she could as it dawned on her this was what the sky held when lucerys had died just moons before. no amount of screams or curses at both the green's and gods would ever stop the blame that rhaenyra held for herself for your death, she knew you were not ready for battle yet she still sent you anyway. 

your heart still held onto the embers of girlhood which was seen in the way you teased jace, the joy you found when you played with your younger brother's and the soft smiled that adorned your lips as she combed and braided your hair with a gold plated brush. you were too young to pass. you were meant to outlive her, to live a happy life with a husband and children who you adored - something you would never get to do it now. rhaenyra's painful screams were carried off into the wind, her grief-stricken body stuck to the place she had fallen, as her gaze at the sky hardened. she swore that whatever force had killed you would be killed in return. she knew it would never bring you back, her only daughter was gone from this world, but she needed for herself to seek revenge in your name.

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

it had been jacaerys who had went to greet your dragon. the poor boy did not realise anything was amiss at first. he trodded happily down to your dragon to congratulate you on your first victory, proud of his younger sister. it wasn't until he noticed silverwing's sad demeanour, how her entire body trembled in despair, curled up into a ball not allowing any guard to pass through the wall she had made. as jace approached the dragon she murmured a small cry as she began to uncurl, the strange behaviour making his mind run rampant and tears start to prickle in his eyes.

no. no.

it was only a matter of seconds before jace's knees buckled, falling to floor where you lay stretched out on the floor. 

he couldn't believe it, you were so full of life only a mere few hours ago. 

reaching for you, he pulled your head onto his lap, cradling your body as he did. he couldn't stop the tears that poured from his cheeks landing softly on your skin, as sobs erupted from his lips. he had hoped in some delusional way, that you would somehow awake, that if he just stayed by your side cradling you, you would return and call him stupid for worrying so much.

the pain of lucerys had returned tenfold. he was meant to protect you, you were his younger sister for gods sake, only a year between the two of you, you had been as thick as theives. always teasing each other, throwing food across the table when petty arguments broke out. the two of you had stuck by each other's sides as you became aware of the questions that arose from the colour of your hair when luke was still too young to understand. you were meant to stay by his side, he had long since planned to make you his hand as you had always been there as his biggest advisor - the person he had trusted most in this world.

jacaerys like his mother, blamed himself. he should have been their to protect you, because that's what brother's are for, right?

there was no doubt he was a targaryen in that moment. his wetted eyes dried with a rage he had never felt before. he too swore at the sky, cursing every green, every god who had willed your fate, his voice breaking as he did. jacaerys did not care what life lay ahead of him in that moment, being heir was long from his mind as he bellowed that he would exact your revenge even if it meant he would die too. 

shallow breathes were taken as he brought his brown eyes onto your closed ones, still laying still in his lap. his anger had quickly faded at the sight of you again, his chest vibrating as he struggled to regain oxygen into his lungs. the softer side of jacaerys velaryon had once more returned as he allowed his forehead to rest against your cold one. his hands absentmindedly began to run through your hair, whispering soft "it will be okay" and "i love you's" as the tears silently fell from his glassy eyes, unsure of whether it was to reassure himself or you.

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

rain drops fell from the sky in a heavy rhythm, landing in small plops the cliff side where your family gathered for small funeral pyre after your body had be retrieved. it had been jacaerys who had suggested the place, knowing how you and luke had enjoyed coming up to sit peacefully and read together. 

the somber mood was evident as the rain continued to poor from the sky, each person having their heart ripped out from their chest all over again as they looked upon you body. you had almost looked like you were sleeping if it wasn't for the fact you had turned a sickly pale colour, and your chest failing to rise and fall with the inhale and exhale of oxygen.

the group of targaryen's, velaryon's and silverwing the dragon, gathered around the small wooden pyre as they said their final goodbye's to you. daemon had approached the wooden frame, placing the sword your drove deep into your lover's eye next to you that he had managed to retrieve. he hadn't been aware of how much the sword had meant to you, but to him it showed the fierce love and protection he had felt. despite not being his own daughter, he had loved you like one - always taking the time to teach you the art of sword fighting despite the other knight's looking down on it. he returned to his wife's side who nodded him in gratitude for loving her little girl the way a father should.

tears threatened to spill from jacaerys glassy eyes as he began to approach your body next, his hand clutched little joffrey's who was still too small to understand where his elder sister had left to and why she had yet to return. he had placed the letter's the two of you had exchanged when he had visited the north, the fascination you had for the wall had always brought a smile to his lips when you had asked him questions. even now, a watery smile played on his lips thinking of it as he returned to his place next to his mother. 

small sniffles could also be heard from the two targaryen girls - rhaena and baela - who stood on the opposite end of the pyre, the two girls reminiscing on the time you did spend together talking about boys, and giggling as you gossiped whilst sewing. their grandmother stood tall next to them as she gripped both their hands tightly, grounding herself with the thought that you would have wanted her to project the love she had for you onto your two cousins whom you had loved deeply.

the last to approach the pyre was your mother. her silent demeanour had been an obvious sign that her sadness had been replaced by a vicious anger that would not be calmed. leaning over the wood, she had placed the gold plated hair brush next to you, the very one she had combed your dark locks earlier that day creating the style you had always favoured, recalling how you had always begged her to do whilst you were still alive. 

rhaenyra's lips left a ghost of a kiss on your forehead before she stepped back. calling silverwing forward in high valyrian, the dragon let out a number of whimpers and cries as she knew what came next. 

"dracarys"

a single tear drop shed from rhaenyra's eyes as she turned away from the burning embers, her promise of revenge at the forefront of her mind. 

"broken by the loss of one son, rhaenyra targaryen seemed to find new strength in the loss of a second. her eldest daughter's death hardened her, burning away her fears, leaving only her anger and her hatred."

[zarnzarn]

1/2/3/4

reverse Odyssey au where polites is still on the ships when Poseidon arrives, and that last bit is enough to push Odysseus to beg him to stop, to spare the men he spent ten long years fighting hard and bitter to save. 593 men is no less amount after all, not for a small island like Ithaca, only three generations old. he'll do anything, anything at all, blind him, torture him, kill him- just let his men go; they were not the ones to blame.

Poseidon considers, staring down at the king with the odd grey eyes that he knew the origin of. Athena would be furious, after all- so why not take away the one thing her favoured pet was known for?

the crew rushes towards their captain, their king, as shouting emerges from the other boats, as he hits the deck convulsing, grasping at his throat. the cries of his men rend the air as his legs melt into oceanspray, remerging as a fish's tail, Odysseus gasping for air wildly, his tongue a mess of mangled flesh on the main deck, unable to talk or breathe.

they have no choice but to pick him up and tip him into the sea, and they watch in horror as he falls beneath the waves and with a flick of the tail, disappears.

six hundred men chase their king down, following the odd silver glint that appears once in a while above the blue water, following the strange cursed monster that Elepnor sees when he falls drunk into the ocean one day. follow him all the way back to Ithaca, where the people gather on the shore to cheer their arrival.

telemachus is all of ten and untameable at the return of his father's ships, running past the guards and the priests to the dock, where the soldiers and heroes are all setting down the ramps, strangely quiet, unsmiling in the face of ten years of gore and bloodshed being done. Penelope catches up to him, laughing as she cranes her head up, scanning the ships to see which one- which one had-

she only has to time to see euroluchus' shame-filled tears and polites guilty devastation, feeling her heart slowly sink to the ground, when there's suddenly a splash and an outburst of screams and propped up on the dock is a man with a fish's tail and familiar curls and razor-sharp teeth and eyes that are solid grey. the soldiers cry out in horror and thunder down the ramps to them as the monster reaches out- and Penelope can't do anything, frozen, as it reaches out and places a webbed hand with deadly claws on her son's cheek, caressing almost; and her breath catches when it looks back up to her, and she knows the face as well as her own, knows the grief and fear and knows it is her husband-

Then the pounding footsteps from the closest ships and the guards behind reach them, and Penelope only has time enough to scream to stay their weapons, already shoving Telemachus behind her and reaching out to shield off any spears or arrows from battle-strung men who'd shoot first and ask questions later-

Instead she only feels the brush of cold skin under his fingertips for the briefest of moments and then she's caught up in a fisher's net, tangled and alone. More nets are thrown, men crying out for their captain with desperation and fear, Polites running straight past her and leaping off the dock to swim after him-

But her husband is a descendant of Hermes, and Odysseus is gone.

Penelope listens to the story that night and does not cry, sitting straight-backed in the face of her family sobbing around her, of the five hundred and ninety-three men staring at her with grief and guilt alike, of being the only widow in the kingdom. Pets Telemachus' wild hair and remembers his father's, and thinks.

"You have told me much," She says finally. "But I'm still to hear a single, solid plan."

The room rustles as all the heads swing to her.

"Plan?" Eurylochus says finally. Anger burns as soon she looks to him, but she pushes it down firmly- rage will not win her anything.

"Yes. A plan," she says, "To bring my husband back home."

Telemachus unfolds at her feet and stares up at her with a hopeful grin, echoed slowly on the faces of the men around the room. Penelope smiles back.

"My husband spent ten years fighting for his people to make it back home," She proclaims. "Let's wait at least that long before we give up on him, yes?"

The answering cheer shakes the walls of the palace and echoes through the streets of Ithaca.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

@anotheroceanid

Between Calypso’s island and his home, on a rocky shole surrounded by mile-high waves under a black sky, Odysseus became a monster. And like all monsters, he eventually watched all his loved ones die without him. 

At first, he didn’t notice. In his relief to be home and his joy to get to know his wife and son again, Odysseus didn’t realize how strong he was until he reached out to hold his wife’s hand and accidentally snapped her wrist. After that, he couldn’t stop noticing how different he was. Everything felt fragile, like spun glass under his fingertips. His form flickered like the wind, one moment strong and steady with the face of a man, the next moment shadowed and looming and clawed and every inch reeking of danger. He could see farther than his son, hear further, and one day Odysseus looked Telemachus in his face and realized they could be mistaken as equals rather than father and son. 

His family grew old while Odysseus stayed the same.

Well, not the same. Odysseus changed in far more horrifying ways. 

Eventually, his family died. First came Penelope, weak and frail and beautiful as always, passing away gently in her sleep, in his arms. Then his Telemachus, decades later in a sickness that swept across the island. Then his son’s son, then that son’s daughter, and her son, and on and on until his last descendant drowned in a flood that buried the whole island for a day. 

When he finally left Ithaca, the first time he’d left since he came home, the world had changed. And Poseidon’s children were everywhere.

Every single one of his son’s children were dead. Yet Poseidon just… kept popping out more and more bastards, like there wasn’t a target on each and every one of their backs. So Odysseus became the arrow.

Odysseus usually avoided eating demigods. There had been one son of Ares on Ithica who harassed his great granddaughter that Odysseus dealt with, but for the most part, he kept his human morals. But he always made an exception for the children of Poseidon.

They weren’t his favorite demigods to eat, by far–too fishy, and Ocean demigod meat always had a weird texture, like eel but tougher. But the joy Odysseus got from Poseidon’s screams of agony, screams Odysseus could hear every time one died, screams Odysseus could hear from anywhere on the globe, gave greater satisfaction than pleasure ever could. 

Many demigods had been sent to kill him. At first it was only Poseidon’s children, seeking him out in revenge for their lost siblings; a noble cause, so Odysseus killed them quickly and properly buried them with payment in their mouths. Then it became quests, demigods sent for the “glory” of killing the Monstrous King of Ithaca. Those, Odysseus killed slowly, ripping out their stomachs with siren’s talons and leaving them to die in pools of their own blood. He didn’t even spare his old friend’s children, nor his relatives. 

Then, the Prophecy. 

Odysseus had lost track of time since the reveal of the Great Prophecy. At first, he’d kept busy by killing Poseidon’s children still; a few had survived the second moral world war and were already older than 16, so Odysseus could hunt them to his heart’s content. But as the well of available revenge dried up, so too did the demigods chasing after him become… younger. Children baby-faced and desperate to survive Odysseus in battle and Odysseus… he couldn’t kill them. Not children, so small and shaking and unable to hold their knife correctly as a child barely old enough to fight stared up at him with watery gray eyes. 

Men, he could kill. Women, he could kill. But children?

Not again. Please don’t make him do it again.

So he disappeared. It wasn’t the first time he’d lay low out of the Gods’ gaze, so Odysseus let the decades wash over him until, finally, he heard rumors of Poseidon making landfall in New York. 

He’d known his old foe would slip up eventually; it wasn’t in Poseidon’s nature to keep himself from ruining young women’s lives. 

Slipping through the streets and alleys of modern New York, it took Odysseus weeks to catch the faintest trace of Poseidon’s scent. Demigods had a weak scent as long as they relied on their parents. It was meant to protect them. But the Kronide’s children always had strong scents, even as babes. 

Odysseus couldn’t figure out how old Poseidon’s newest bastard was, but no matter how young they were, the child was strong. He could smell it in the back of his throat. 

Triangulating the scent, Odysseus approached the rundown apartment building and scowled. Gone were the days where a lover of Poseidon was draped in fineries and set up in a golden palace. He took a moment to pity the poor mortal woman. She had to suffer the indignity of having that thing as a lover, without any of the perks her predecessors enjoyed; not only that, but soon she’d have to confront the reality of being a parent that has outlived their child. Odysseus pitied her, truly. 

He didn’t want to do it. But he would. It would be better for the babe if it never grew up into a pawn of its father, and better for the mother that she wouldn’t need to die at the hands of a less considerate monster. 

The sky rumbled overhead as the first fat drops of rain fell on his head. He looked up. Natural occurrence or divine attention? Either way, few gods would interfere with his task, if they noticed at all.

The lock crumbled under his grip and Odysseus crept into the building like a thief. Each floor stunk with humanity, of beer and tobacco and sweat, but the salt of the sea grew stronger with each floor until he finally found himself at a corner studio apartment a few floors off the ground.

This lock, he picked with ease. The sanctity of the home did not protect them as he snuck inside. The apartment was shockingly full, stuffed with oversized furniture that cluttered the already cramped apartment. A thin pathway carved between the back of one of three sofas and the wall led Odysseus to the back of the apartment. A bed had been pushed against the apartment’s sole window–lightning flashed outside–and against that bed, a crib. 

He inspected the mother first. Young. Not as young as he and Penelope had been when they met, but younger than Telemachus had been when he returned home. She was thin too, lean but the baby fat still clung to her face. Poor girl. 

Poor, poor girl. 

His attention turned to the Sea Spawn. It wasn’t big, smaller than Telemachus when he left for Troy, and his scent was just a wispy hint of ocean. If he hadn’t been following Poseidon’s scent, he would have had no idea this child was more than mortal. 

Odysseus loomed over the crib, studying the creature inside. With siren’s talons, he traced the pudgy babyfat of its cheeks. It huffed softly, struggling against the tight hold of its swaddle in their sleep, and Odysseus unconsciously smoothed out the wrinkle on their forehead with the soft flat of his finger. 

They did not look very much like Poseidon. Maybe with their skin color, but little else. Though perhaps Odysseus wasn’t the best judge; he’d sworn on his life that Telemachus looked just like his Penelope, but she’d claimed their son to be his copy in every way. Odysseus didn’t see it then, and didn’t see his enemy now in this babe’s face. 

Odysseus stood over the crib, his massive frame casting a shadow over the small, sleeping form. His claws hovered mere inches from the baby’s chest, but his hand trembled. This was Poseidon’s child. He could smell it clear as day, better than any other monster before him. Odysseus was practically made to murder Poseidon’s children, his very being honed to track them down and kill them, so why was he hesitating–? 

Lightning flashed, the light reflecting off shiny words on the crib’s backboard. Painted above the baby’s head in streaky gold paint was the name Penelope.

His breath hitched. He blinked, his monstrous form stilling as though time itself had paused. Reaching out a hand, he touched his wife’s name. “Penelope?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, rough from disuse. He said it again, this time louder, as though speaking the name would summon a ghost from his past. “Penelope.”

The child stirred in sleep, her tiny face scrunching as if disturbed by the sound.

He could barely think over the ocean of blood rushing in his ears. Poseidon’s child was named after his wife. Had he…? Was this a deliberate offense or mockery? Had Poseidon named the child after her to taunt him, to twist the knife of his losses deeper? Or… his crimson gaze turned to the mother. Was this her doing?

Did she think naming her child after his wife would stay his hand?

Worse of all, was it working? 

Odysseus knelt, his monstrous form folding into itself, making him seem smaller, almost human. He stared at the child who bore his wife’s name, his mind warring with itself. The rage that had sustained him for decades demanded he finish the task. But… Penelope. 

[contentloadingandstuff]

A Little Relief - Mualani x Male!Warrior!Reader

A/N: The MO for this one was "write, don't think". Hope you enjoy! CW: Vanilla smut.

The recent Abyss crisis meant the People of the Springs needed to always be on guard. Mualani wasn’t very happy with this state of things, but the situation did have an undeniable advantage - she got to see you fight. 

In the heat of combat, you were a sight to behold - more impressive than each man she saw battling in her life. Each monster that approached you was served with a flurry of efficient, but brutal strikes from your claymore. Your muscles, drenched in sweat and blood, flexed smoothly under the weapon’s weight as you smashed it down. Despite this you were deceptively quick, able to doge the claws of a Rifthound before cleaving it in half with a primal warcry on your lips. It wasn’t uncommon for the beasts to freeze at the power of your voice, even if just for a moment. They feared you, as subtle as it was - their Abyss handlers had to force them to attack you. Even if they managed to land a hit, you would just grit your teeth, growling in anger as you retaliate.

After each fight she would see you at the tavern, downing whole cups of beer with your brothers in arms, roaring with laughter and comparing kills. But you weren’t just a brute, far from it. Mualani watched countless times as you helped the wounded and the elderly, fighting without hesitation to ensure their safety. You care for those around you, rarely letting any of the warriors under your command fall during battle, and when they did, you mourned with their families. You frequented any festivals there were and weren’t ever afraid to dance your heart out on stage. And you were good with kids, shamelessly going along with their games and making sure they were safe while at it. The sight of the little ones climbing on top of you was as heartwarming as it was… exciting. 

Mualani couldn’t tear her eyes off of you, off your scarred, powerful body. She couldn’t get enough of you telling her to stay back before charging into the fray, or wordlessly commanding your saurian with your eyes alone. You were a hunter, a warrior, a force of nature, a man. A man that poked the buttons in her brain, absorbing her attention and filled her body with a dull, restless tingle. You talked, you got along, you went out together, but her body needed you. Mualani wanted to feel your hands sink beneath the hem of her bottoms, she wanted you to wrap your big, warm hands around her boobs and pin her small hands to the bed as you fuck her dumb. 

She talked to you, but never told you about the heat pooling between her legs every time you spoke, groaned or placed your hand around her shoulders. Was it too early? She could only hope to alleviate the urge at night, moaning into the pillow and desperately thrusting her fingers into her wanting pussy in a pitiful attempt to simulate the feeling of a real cock inside her - your cock. Her mind wandered to your shirtless form, imagining the bulge forming in your pants before you would pull them down and nestle yourself inside her, using her as a relief for your masculine urges; the orgasm from grinding her wet slit disappointing.

One day she couldn’t take it anymore. When you rode off on your saurian for a regular shore patrol, she followed suit, catching you near a small sandy island.

“Hey…” she said, touching your stomach; the hard muscle wet with seawater. “How about a break?”

You shook your head, but before you could reply, Mualani looked up at you with a knowing smile and a blush on her face. Her hand went down, resting over the belt. Her finger tugged at the clip keeping it in place. “Need a hole, brave warrior~?”

Your lips crash against her, you having to lean down to reach her level. Mualani smiles against you, holding onto you with her hands on your shoulders. Her tongue is quickly overpowered by yours as your hands roam over her tanned body, as if checking her to see if it would suffice. 

Mualani doesn’t resist as she feels your hands pull her down by the waist. Her blue eyes stare at you, her lips curling into a smile as she unbuckles the belts and releases your dick from its confines. Her hand wraps around the shaft right away and she brings it to her face, giving your swollen head a long lick. The taste is hot, heavenly in her mouth as she sinks her head down, engulfing your length with her warm throat. 

Groaning, you watch as she bobs up and down, drooling over your dick as her tongue grinds against your frenulum, creating delicious friction that makes your knees tremble. She doesn’t bother to muffle the slurping, as she worships you. She hums to herself - such a strong man, and yet he trembles under her-

“Mngh-!” Her thoughts are interrupted as you shove your dick all the way inside her. Mualani gags around it and her hands latch onto your calves for support as you fuck yourself with her throat. Her drool mixed with precum leaks from her mouth and splatters onto the sand below with each powerful thrust. 

She feels you throb in her mouth. You pull her by the hair to look at you. There are tears in her eyes from your rough treatment, but her hand is working hard between her legs as she feels you reach your peak. “Mualani…” you moan weakly, speeding up as your body tenses up. With a groan of satisfaction, you sheathe your cock for the last time and unload inside her warm throat. Her eyes never leave your face as she audibly gulps down your essence, one hand gently massaging your sack to coax more out. 

After pulling your cock out with a pop!, Mualani stands up on shaky legs, leaning against you for support as she gets her breath back. 

“Uh, you have no idea how much I needed this, Y/N.” She chuckles, wiping her mouth with her forearm. Mualani catches your hand by the wrist and brings it to rest on her clothed breast.

“How about we finish things up here and go home for more~?”

Thanks for reading!

[freakassfemme]

(Smut) Captain's Quarters - Yara Greyjoy x CisF!Reader

Summary: Princess Y/N, sibling of Queen Daenerys, has returned with her sister for a visit to the Iron Islands. These visits used to be more commonplace, but the two have not visited the islands since before the Battle of Winterfell. Y/N has a strong attachment to the islands, but finds her attachment has extended to its reigning monarch in a new, unfamiliar way.

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: loss of virginity, oral sex, fingering, praise kink (kinda), the works

A/N: Long time no see! I got so sick and tired of there being no reader insert for Yara that I arose from the dead with 4.2K words of yara-posting. Yara-yearning, if you will.

NO MINORS BEYOND THIS POINT

The night was surprisingly warm for the Iron Islands, and the salty mist of the beaches hung heavy in the air and clung to the sway of your hips and undone hair. Your hands clutched your silken robe shut as you leisured through the sand, a soothing waft of lavender from your recent bubble bath hitting your nose with a gentle breeze.

You paused at the base of the shore, where the brine nipped at your toes and you tilted your head back, deeply inhaling into your chest. Your eyes slipped shut.

It wasn't often you and your sister were able to visit the islands, but gods above, you had missed it. Queen Yara had earned a special place in Daeneyrs's heart after her proven loyalty to the Dragon Queen, and thus routine visits were necessary to uphold the alliance between the Greyjoys and the remaining Targaryens. Sometimes it felt like you had grown up here, and sometimes the coldness of Pyke felt more familiar to you than anything back home, despite how long it had been since you had returned.

You would never admit it, but something about the sea and the people on this particular side of the world had consumed you during all these years of visits. Something about the people's wildness and the way it mimicked the ocean that mothered the island spoke to you and whispered to you at night and danced on your eyelids in spirals and swirls.

Some other nights, when the whispers never came, you would hold a large shell up to your ear and pray. The beloved gift had always answered you with the melodic pounding of waves against rocks, against ships, and lured you to sleep. In your dreams, you would sink into your deepest desires.

In this realm, much below the surface level of what was true and probable, you would find yourself standing beside an iron throne. This was not unusual for you -- you had been born to stand behind your brother, and then readjusted to beside your sister. Your duty had always been protecting the honor of this seat and whomever presides in it, and yet this integral piece of your mind, heart, body and soul vanished in these moments, and instead, you found yourself for once atop of the throne.

Well, atop of its monarch.

Clawing at the throne, which was not particularly jagged and sharp like the one your sister sat upon, and clawing at the crowned, whose calloused hands curled inside you and rough lips whispered filthy promises to you in a voice that sounded an awful lot like

"Yara!"

You stumbled away from the shore, whose once soothing pulls had now gone ice cold and stabbed at your feet and at hem of your robe. Your hand readjusted the collar of your robe out of instinct, as your sense slowly settled, though your burning cheeks lingered a bit too long.

Turning towards the disturbance, your eyes caught on the closest (and largest) docked ship, whose windows and deck harbored light and celebration. A group of sailors and soldiers drank merrily and called for a straggling participant, who marched towards the boat and waved them off, enjoying the attention in her own way. In this moment, you were grateful that the shadows of the cliffs behind you hid your so very clearly out of place figure.

Your attention followed Yara as she boarded the ship, and despite the distance, you could make out the way they all greeted her with a clasp on the shoulder, pat on the back, or smack on the bottom. The corners of your mouth turned up at the raw, unabashed display of admiration.

Shudders ran down your back and you ignored the way your stomach turned. For a moment, you thought about heading back to the castle. Nauseatingly, you thought about knocking on your sister's door and spilling these secrets to her and beg for direction, a command, anything.

Daenerys was the closest thing you had to a mother, and the urge to crawl into her arms and wait for guidance on this troubling issue consumed you as it always had, but you were a woman now, a delicate one, but blossomed and bled nonetheless, and you had witnessed your own sister's call to these womanly urges, and it was incredibly reminiscent of this pull you felt to the Ironborn Queen.

Your mind wandered back to your arrival this morning.

"It has been so long since I've returned," you said to Daenerys as you marveled over the aged walls of Pyke. Your hand danced across the slotted stone, digging your finger into chipped areas and rubbing your thumb against the in-between space.

Daenerys smiled knowingly, hands clasped softly in front of her. Missendei, Tyrion, and Greyworm trailed closely behind.

"How long has it been?" You murmured, mostly to yourself.

"Not since before the war, my lady," Tyrion added, and you turned to him, nodding with a solemn smile.

"It has been nearly that long since I have seen the rest of the Greyjoys, as well. Not since Theon."

Tyrion and Daenerys nod respectfully, reminiscing on Theon's death and the bravery that presumed it. A small silence ensued.

"I never understood how you have adapted so well to this cold, my lady," Missendei said, sweetly cutting the silence.

"She is a dragon," Daenerys replied, reaching out to brush a bit of her sister's hair back into place. "She provides her own warmth."

The throne room was modest in size but exuberant in its carvings, luxurious enough to suggest status but rugged enough to represent the people it ruled. You couldn't help but admire it all, it being so vastly different from the outright lushness of Mereen or even Dragonstone.

Of course, the architecture was not the only thing you were interested in. You turned your attention to the throne, and immediately stopped. Your sister continued for only a few steps more, taking her place in front of you.

"Yara," Daeneyrs greeted with a warm smile.

Yara strutted forward with an unmatched level of confidence, and you couldn't help but stare at the way her leather tunic hugged her strong shoulders. You were used to Yara not dressing like any other lady you had known, but couldn't help but always think the natural defiance in her pants and boots exuded power and self-assurance. Yara looked somehow more bold and stronger than you had ever seen her, and it was admirable in an unfamiliar, indescribable way.

"My queen," Yara bowed in her own way, a half-smirk ever-present, "It is an honor."

The two clasped arms, and Daenerys smiled before turning to you.

"I'm sure you remember my little sister, Princess Y/N."

Yara's attention followed, and you couldn't help the way you held your breath and stared up at her with widened eyes. It was like you were seeing her for the first time.

"Princess Y/N."

Yara said your name like she was trying it on, but in truth she had always used formalities in this way, especially towards you. In your aw-stricken mind, you'd like to think that her gaze softened a bit. She had never looked at you like this before.

"Your return has been long-awaited."

She outstretched her hand, and you took it with both of your hands, feeling yourself relax into it. Your eyes watered a bit, and you squeezed, unable to avoid the way you beamed up at her.

"I have missed the islands dearly."

Your sister had given in to her own desires, and she had lived to tell the tale. Perhaps you would too.

The ground seemed to push you towards the ship, and by the time your eyes unglossed and you regained clarity, you found yourself standing at the base of the footway. You of course had been on many vessels that belonged to the Iron Fleet, and you knew the people on board rather well, but you couldn't help but feel nervous now. These men were rather drunk, and you knew you probably should have an escort this late. Not even status could always safeguard a lady from the hands of depravity and sin. Stupidly, you grabbed on to the ropes of the ramp and pulled yourself aboard.

Immediately the overwhelming stench of ale and piss cause you to wrinkle your nose.

"Gods above," you whispered to yourself. Though you had been quiet, the sailors very quickly took notice of your presence.

"Princess!" one called, waving at you with his mug of ale. It sloshed over the sides and splashed, narrowly missing you. The men around him jokingly scolded him.

"Come on Ravos, you don't want to ruin her dress," a dark haired, stout man called Yohn slurred.

"Don't look like she's wearing much of a dress to me."

The men turned to you once more, and your ears burned, now with a much more uncomfortable feeling as they eyed you. One coughed and shifted on his feet.

You wrapped your robe tighter, straightening yourself up like you had been taught. You narrowed your eyes slightly, and responded directly to Ravos.

"Where can I find Yara?" You asked, hoping you exuded more authority than the piece of meat you felt like.

Reacting much more appropriately, he turned and pointing towards the North end of the ship.

"Captain's quarters," he grunted, avoiding eye contact.

You nodded, and the fifteen or so men stumbled backwards to allow for a path.

Carefully you stepped over puddles of questionable substances and shards of glass, maintaining as much grace and fierceness as you could muster. Behind you, the men resumed their activities, seemingly already over the drunken encounter. You knocked once on the Captain's door, before hurriedly slipping inside, eager to escape the sailors.

As you shut the door and turned to face her, you had to carefully force out a normal respiration rate. Yara was propped up in her chair with her boots resting on the desk, holding her own stein, though her sobriety seemed much more intact.

"Hello, princess."

Yara didn't bother hiding her surprise. She set her stein down and dropped her arms to the ends of her arm rest. A smirk creeped across her face, and she leaned her head back as she very obviously eyed you up and down, legs spreading a bit for a better view. Despite her brute persona, she did seem to try to hide the way she stuttered over the V of your robe.

You noticed anyways.

"A little far from the dressing room, are we?" She nodded at your outfit. You blushed and nodded with a smile. She smiled back and sat up. "You should know better than to walk around alone at night like that, especially here."

"I'm not alone now," you replied softly. Here in the candlelight, she was able to see you fully.

Yara took notice of the way you wrung your hands together, the way your eyes were glued to the loose laces of her tunic, the rose hue of your cheeks and ears, and your long, snow-white hair falling in loose curls around you.

Yara had known you for half a decade at this point. When she first met you, you were a scrawny, timid little girl who watched from Daeneyrs's shadow. To be fair, you were still quite shy, but you were a woman now, not nearly the little bird of a lady that you used to be. Now, in the warm lighting, she could see that these days you were more of a snow leopard than a cub, and you looked almost regal.

For a moment, Yara wondered what you would look like on the throne instead of your sister. Her hands squeezed at her chair at the idea, and she concluded that that was an image that would inspire millions.

Yara's eyes returned to your face, recomposing her commanding demeanor. She shrugged and stood, traipsing leisurely towards you.

Your eyes' followed each other, studying the other until they met. Yara had never looked at you this way, not that you could recall, and the curiosity in her face sent a thrill down your spine and fueled your ego.

"Oh, but I am as much as of a predator as any man out there, princess," Yara countered.

Peculiarly, you stepped forward, taking Yara by surprise at this newfound confidence. She watched you, and noticed something lurking behind your irises, something Yara was very familiar with and could feel exuding off of your body, but ten fold. She knew why you had come.

"And I am a dragon," You murmured, meeting her eyes without hesitation. Up close, you looked even more feral than before, with the sea spray making a wild mess of your hair, and each rock of the boat interrupting your breaths.

Yara backed up to sit on the edge of her desk, and you followed, keeping the distance small but not yet close enough. Yara waited for you to make a move with unusual patience. You raised your hand to caress the open area of her shirt with your palm, then push it aside just a few inches to trace her collarbone with your index and middle finger.

"Are you scared of dragons, Yara?"

"Anyone in their bloody right mind is scared of dragons," she replied, watching your hand as her breathing grew heavy. You giggled, reaching your hand around to cup the space between her ear and neck, letting your thumb rub her jaw.

"Are you scared of me?" You spoke quietly, like it was a secret meant to be kept safe between the two of you.

"I'm hungry for you," she growled, eyes heavy with desire. You felt your core throb in an entirely new way, letting out a small whimper at the feeling.

Finally, Yara reached out, hand splaying across your lower back, where she could finally feel that the robe was the only thing preserving your modesty, and she could've fainted at the realization.

"I've never been with a dragon before," Yara confessed, halfway a joke, yet halfway entirely all too true. You brought up her other hand to truly cup her face, bring her attention to you.

"I've never been with anyone before," You whispered, and for a second Yara could see that familiar timidness she knew of you flicker between the lust clouding your vision. "You are the only person I've ever wanted."

Yara let out a small noise at this. "Then you must be starved."

You nodded, eyes falling to her lips.

"Can I?"

"Please."

The first thing Yara noticed was how warm you are. Your lips against hers were like fire, and your soft whimpers made her want to crawl inside the flames and be burnt alive. You practically fell against her, knees going week, but she grasped you with both hands and held you up.

This alone was like nothing you had ever experienced. Your ears rung from the intensity and your nails dug into Yara's skin ever so slightly, illiciting a gasp from her that you greedily swallowed.

Yara reached back with one hand, pushing herself off to stand, keeping you slotted between her legs. She turned you both, pushing you against the desk until you were sitting atop it now. You raked your hands over her shirt, grasping at it and pulling her as close as you could. Yara put her hands between you and undid the tie to your robe, hurriedly pulling it off your shoulders. She reached under your thighs, lifting you up by them and letting the robe fall on to the floor.

As Yara angled you on to the desk, you propped your arms behind yourself, baring your legs to her. She paused, staring at your bare form and licked her lips.

"Gods below," she growled, running her hands up your body. You shivered as they danced over your thighs and ghosted over your breasts. "You're fucking stunning."

Yara pushed back between your legs. The warmth of her skin against yours and the cold leather of her pants pressing against your bare sex made you moan. Yara shoved her hand back behind your back and laid you down flat.

"Such a pretty cunt," she whispered, tracing her thumb over you. You gasped at the touch, and watched as she brought it up.

"Do you know what this is, sweet girl?" Yara watched the way the wetness glistened on her finger, and you nodded your head.

She grinned, then brought her thumb to her mouth and sucked it clean. You whimpered at the sight, nearly panting now in desperation.

She leaned down to kiss to you and forced her tongue into your mouth. You moaned at the feeling and at the taste, grabbing on to the back of her head and pushing back with your own tongue. Yara groaned into your mouth and grabbed you by the neck, deepening the kiss, if that was even possible.

Yara's scent and touch and taste consumed you, feeding into every one of your senses and bleaching them until all that was left was her.

Finally, Yara put her hand against your chest and pushed you back against the desk.

"Be a good girl and open your legs a bit more for me," she commanded, and without a single underlying thought, you obeyed, gasping at the way your stomach turned at the petname. You watched with slightly parted lips, panting, as Yara sunk to her knees, staring into your eyes so intensely that you couldn't even think about looking away.

She settled between your legs and brought her hands to rest up on your thighs, just in case. You pushed up on your elbows, trying to see what she was going to do, when she pressed a firm kiss to your sex. You groaned, cheeks going pink, and Yara reacted similarly.

She kissed again, this time open mouthed, and gently sucked on your growing bud. You could feel your cunt pulsing, and your thighs quivered around Yara's head, but she held firm.

She licked stripes around your clit, teasing you before giving it a direct swipe that had you balling your fists and curling your toes.

"Yara!" You gasped, perhaps a little too loudly, because the voices outside of the room suddenly quieted. You froze, looking down at her in panic, but she didn't share the same concern.

Instead, Yara chuckled, murmured your own name against your cunt almost tauntingly, and without any warning, eased her tongue inside of you. Your whole body stuttered, and you slammed your hand against the desk. Yara gripped your legs even tighter and repeated the motion, and you couldn't find it in you to keep quiet, not with the way Yara was working you like she was eating her last meal.

"Fuck," you groaned, back arching. You head fell back, curls falling with it, and Yara swore she had never seen anything more stunning or satisfying. Yara's own cunt throbbed impossibly hard, but she continued her merciless assault, drawing curse after curse from you, until Yara was certain the men outside knew exactly what was going on and with whom.

Yara stood and pulled your hips closer to the edge of the desk. Holding you by your hips, she rocked her hips against your core, and you gasped at the new sensation. You grabbed her shoulder, holding yourself up.

Yara cradled your face with one hand, and you buried yourself in her arm, ear pressed against her chest, whining and whimpering. She pressed kisses into your neck, nipping at it and bruising it. Slowly, Yara stopped her hips, and just as you started to get question it, she spoke.

"You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?" She teased, and you cried out, nodding desperately into her arm. Yara laughed, and then when you felt her middle and ring finger prodded at your entrance, you clenched down, gasping.

"Relax, sweetheart," she whispered, kissing right behind your ear. "I'm going to take good care of you."

You shuddered against her, but tried your best to settle down. Yara started pushing in again, and you clenched again out of instinct, this time clamping down on her fingers. She groaned into your ear.

"You're so tight," she whispered, and you pulsed around her fingers, whining. Once she was entirely inside, Yara curled her fingers, and your whole body reacted.

Your legs wrapped around her, holding her in place, and your fingers dug into her lower back while you saw stars. You bit down on her arm, at least still attempting to keep quiet, and Yara moaned loudly. When you finally loosened you grip on her arm, she pulled your face back by your hair.

"Does that feel good?" She whispered against your lips, and you panted, pressing kisses between each breath.

"Yes, y-yes," You cried out, and she pressed a knowing kiss to your temple.

"I'm going to move them," she warned, and you nodded, eyes glassed over and lips parted. She kissed your fiercely, then held eye contact as she started pumping her fingers. You groaned loudly, then started moving your hips to meet her hand. As your body adjusted to the foreign feeling, you grew confident.

The sound coming from it was obscene, and you pulled Yara down to sloppily kiss her. Yara pushed harder, and so did you. Soon, you developed a rythym, and you could feel a pressure building up in your stomach. Yara glanced down at her hand, then back up at you, eyes unbelievably filled with even more lust. You followed her gaze and practically melted at the sight.

Thick, hot cream spilled out of you and on to Yara's hand, and gods above, her hand was huge. Her palm practically framed your whole cunt, and the sight made you dizzy.

Yara flicked her thumb over your clit, and you choked, grabbing her neck to hold you up from falling backwards. Your whole spine tingled, and your vision started to blur.

"Y-Yara, I'm," you gasped, but you weren't entirely sure what was going on. "I'm, I think I'm gonna -"

"Cum, sweetheart," Yara groaned. "You're going to cum for me." She pumped her fingers harder, and you sobbed into her arms, feeling your stomach ball up tighter, tighter, tighter, and then burst.

You screamed into her shoulder as your cunt gushed over her hand, and Yara moaned your name into your ear at the feeling. Your hips stuttered, but Yara kept pumping until you were shaking uncontrollably and babbling nonsense. Then, she eased out of you.

She tilted your head up with one hand, then brought the other soiled one between the two of you. You looked up with watery eyes and red cheeks, and watched as Yara licked your cum off of a few of her fingers. Then, she prodded your lips with the remaining two, and you opened your mouth, accepting it gratefully.

You pushed her fingers farther and farther down your throat, chasing that high and letting the bittersweet flavor swirl and cloud your taste and mind. You looked up at Yara through wet lashes, and she swore she could've creamed herself.

"Fucking hell," she groaned, and pulled her fingers out of your mouth, worried you'd probably suffocate yourself on them if she let you work at them any more.

You coughed and gasped, and regained your breath just before she pressed a firm kiss against your mouth. When she pulled away, you stared at her with wide eyes and she panted down at you. You couldn't pull a single word to say off your tongue.

She kissed your temple, then the side of your head, and rested her forehead against yours. "Gods below, are you sure that was your first time?"

You nodded breathlessly, swallowing thickly.

"You fuck like a-"

"- I want to do it again."

Yara pulled back, studying your face. Her face was expressionless, and for a moment during the silence, you were worried you had angered her, or somehow shamed her skill. Then, the corners of her mouth curved into a smirk.

"You want to do it again?" She asked, tilting her head until her lips were almost slotted against yours. You nodded your head.

"Is that okay?" You asked, no shyness left to spare.

Yara laughed loudly and kissed you. She stepped away, running her hands through her hair.

"Yes, fucking absolutely," she assured. She reached down and grabbed your robe. "But not in here, I have other things to show you."

You quickly got dressed. Your body shook, so Yara helped you with it extensively, and kept you steady. You looked up at her quizzically. "Other things like what?"

She grinned wickedly before pulling you up into her arms, one arm under yours and the other under your knees.

"You'll see, princess," she assured.

In her brutish style, Yara kicked open the door to her quarter's. The soldiers remaining on deck went absolutely silent, staring at the two of you with both terrified and amused expressions.

Yara coughed loudly and you buried your face into her shoulder to hide your embarrassment.

"If you gentleman will excuse me, me and the lady are going to retire for the night."

[hiraeth-wayfarer]

Hiraeth Creature #1220 - Thadra-Ilnua

"In a land far, far from ours, across the serpent-laden seas, the Harbour Lands rise from waves, straddled between existence and nowhere. This land once held folk, not sown from the souls of Fae, but from dust and water, in great pools beneath the boughs of ancient trees. They crawled out as raw, skittering creatures, more than susceptible to tooth and claw. Through time and luck, they eventually carved stone, bore flame, and stood upright to gaze at the distant, loving Moon. Once humble, the Harbour Folk grew cunning, shaping the land to their whims. Thoughts and ideas were ever racing, they brought the elements to heel, and became masters of the alchemical arts. They concocted medicines for every ill, conduits for the arcane, and even fashioned together living beings. A utopia true, the one thing they lacked was the closeness of the Moon, whose light felt ever distant. The more they peered upward, the colder the Harbour Folk felt.

The King of the Harbour Folk promised his people a Moon. In a grand experiment, the Harbour King chiselled away pieces of the Harbour Lands and gave them hearts of magic. Able to soar among the clouds, the people could live in the Moon’s airy domain so they could finally find a closeness they longed for. For a time they found comfort, but eventually they found something unexpected. A land across the sea: Hiraeth, ever present with beasts and folk innumerable. Nights framed in silver light saw the Moon Goddess herself descend upon the land, where all manner of souls bathed in her loving light. When this auspicious sign was attested among the Harbour Folk, the Harbour King grew mad with jealousy. They had wallowed in brine and mud, wrestled survival from the maws of beach-combers to eke out a kingdom, while across the sea sat fertile lands coddled by spirits, tending to an undeserving menagerie of stone-worshipping savages. For generations, the Harbour King had the Harbour Folk circling above, keeping track of any signs of weakness so he could begin butcher’s work.

Rumblings between realms began and Fae Realm warlords also felt entitled to their share of Hiraeth’s bounty. This sparked a great conflict as Fae fought against and for Hiraeth’s survival. The Harbour King sent in blades in the dark, pincers to cut and crush battle weary folk and Fae alike. Their cause was cutthroat, without an ounce of glory or sentiment worth song– actions seen by the Moon Goddess, who wept for their souls. She would not be the only witness for long, as the hunters were eventually caught by Hiraeth’s God Queen during her vengeful crusade against all interlopers. Her rancour seething to a pitch, she cast the Harbour Folk back to the sea and, while clenching the fallen tears of the Moon Goddess, she cursed the Harbour Folk to never find peace under the light of the Moon again. 

The sky grew eternally cold above the Harbour Lands. The Harbour King’s punishment branched out from his stricken body and the people grew heavy souls leaden with sorrow. So heaving their weight, they could not go upwards towards the Celestial Sea, but downwards into the depths of the ocean. Even those in the flying islands could not find peace, and slipped into the sky. Hearing tales that the mountains were the “Stairways to the Moon”, they built cities within their highest peaks, but their souls were buried into the rock beneath them. Their lot was to languish in the elements they once tamed. Their souls seeped into the Harbour Lands, the flora turned wild with the will of the tethered dead.

While Hiraeth met her own ruin during the Giant’s March, it built a memory of heroism and grace among those left to live onward. The Harbour Lands had no such valour or pride to latch onto, the Harbour King’s legacy tainting their history. Regardless, the Harbour Folk carried on, their inevitable fates giving them the perseverance to value life in every waking moment. Their long-lasting want to survive despite the sins of their forebears had led them to study all manner of secret alchemy and ritual. They returned to the great pools beneath the boughs of ancient trees where they first rose, and within them forged their own Moon of bewitching light. Rejected from solace, the Harbour Folk ferried their bodies and souls to a self-constructed sanctuary. The Second Moon hangs close to trees, a vessel for those who hope one day to be either forgotten, or forgiven."

[ixtaek]

They were all incredibly kind.

Zelda watched them as they helped the former residents of Skyloft—moving supplies, crafting tools, teaching the patrols how to defend themselves from the dangers of the surface.

The Hero of Hyrule demonstrated how to tell if water was safe to drink. “You want water that’s moving, and ideally deep.” He grinned as he ladled out of a bucket. “It’s best to boil the water and let it cool. That will get rid of any toxins and germs that might be lingering in it.” He tried to take a sip but the water poured out faster than he expected, pouring down his front as Kukiel giggled at him.

A vision flashed through Zelda’s mind, overlaying the scene. The Hero of Hyrule gripping a sword, blood dripping down his tunic as he struggled away from a monster clawing for his face. The beast cackled as the Hero tried to swipe at them while his shield arm hung limp, shield dragging—

She blinked, Hyrule’s laughter as he dumped a spoonful of water on Kukiel as well breaking through the vision. The girl squealed and shook her head to send droplets flying.

The Hero of Twilight and Time lifted a log into place, letting the builders work to secure it in the new cabin wall. The two seemed to have a bet going about who could hold it up longer. Their arms both shook from the effort of—

A boy, barely reaching her knee, breathing heavily as he shoved his shield forward to block a blow by an undead monster. The boy lowered his defense to fumble for his sword. The monster took the blow without flinching, long teeth slavering as it unhinged its jaw and screamed—

The scene dissolved into a long bridge. A snarling boar pawed at the other end, tusks stained with blood. The monster astride its back howled a battle cry, a small child held aloft on its spear. The hero to her left gasped in horror, his blue eyes locked on the child. He spurred his steed forward, sweat dripping down his face as—

“I yield, I yield!” Twilight yelped. The wall was already secured as the hero fell back, giggling. The Hero of the Wild accepted his ten rupee bribe from Time before continuing his tickle assault on his mentor.

A mere boy staggering as the lasers hit him in the chest, the side of his head gushing blood, arms still trying to hold up a shield to protect—

“Zel?”

She turned, almost falling against Link’s chest. Sky’s eyes were soft as they traced over her face. “Are you… What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She tried to smile, ignoring the wetness in her eyes. “I’m fine, Link. Just a little out of sorts.”

The divine blood in her burned. Link smiled and pulled her closer, hugging gently.

Soft hands wielding a flaming sword, lighting crackling through his body. Fighting a demon that should have been slain ages ago by the gods, by— by—

“… By me…”

“What?” Link held her at arms length so he could look at her face. “Zelda, what are you talking about?”

“All of you… none of you should have had to go through what you did!” Zelda could feel the tears on her cheeks. “Hylia shouldn’t have put you through all of that. She—I—used all of you! It’s all my fault for not defeating Demise sooner, before you ever had to step in and clean up my mess!”

She pushed away. Many people were staring now, villagers and heroes alike.

Falling from the cliffs as a giant bird became a smaller and smaller speck in the sky, the screams of his sister like—

—hounds baying in the distance, knights brandishing swords as his short legs fled—

—waves of foes overwhelming their defenses, his brothers in arms falling around him, the weapons clattering as they fell from their limp hands—

—the blade his grandfather made going flying as the blow meant for Zelda hit him head on, the wind ripping at his tunic as he heard the curse strike his friend—

She couldn’t stand it. Her feet were moving before she knew where she was going.

“Zelda! Wait!”

She kept going, the visions buffering her every which way. A mask clamping—his body fracturing—a traitor’s blade in—the island fading into—the malice clinging to his—tentacles lurching forward—his own face rendered in dark—reaching for her as a tornado sucked her away—

Zelda blinked, looking up. The impassive face of the goddess stared down, without a trace of pity. Hylia. The divine protector of her people. The holy maiden. Her.

The one who had failed, who had sent them all to—

—dark magic suffocating his split mind—sparking a flame so they wouldn’t claim his blood—the magic of the woods stripping his flesh—the dark water—the endless fighting—the intrigue—the—

“Why?!” She screamed. “Why would you do it to them? Why make them suffer?! They are just boys, and you—I—we break them down and don’t even care that we do! They must hate us for—“

“Why should we hate you?”

The voice made her wince, spinning around, covering her mouth. The heroes, all of them, stood a careful distance away, Link at the head of the group. It wasn’t him who had spoken.

The Hero of Legend ambled forward, looking up at the statue. His sharp eyes scanned the goddess, and he sighed.

“I was 11 when my uncle was killed. He held my hand as he died.” He closed his eyes, grimacing. “He wasn’t killed by Hylia, or the golden three. He was killed by a wizard called Agahnim.”

“When I was 12, my best friend got turned into stone.” Four shuffled his feet. “It wasn’t Hylia who did it. It was a sorcerer named Vaati.”

“When I was 10, I was trapped in a time loop trying to stop the apocalypse.” Time ignored the whispers by the others at this admission. “It wasn’t Hylia or the goddess of time who started that disaster. It was a demon named Majora.”

“And my sister got taken by the Helmaroc King!”

“My village children were taken by Zant.”

Legend looked at her sidelong. “And guess who was behind most of those threats?”

“Ganon.” whispered Hyrule, running a finger over his gauntlets. “It’s almost always Ganon.”

“But—“ Zelda scrubbed at her face. “But it’s my fault! Why didn’t I stop Demise before he could do that to you? What sort of goddess sends children to fight her battles?”

Time snorted, moving closer to her, careful not to invade her space till she nodded weakly. “Zelda, do you think we wouldn’t have done those things?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Ya think I wouldn’t have gone after my sister? No one had to make me!” Wind grinned. “In fact, nothing would have stopped me!”

The others nodded.

“But I saw it, the terrible things you went through! Hylia watched, and you suffered!” She gestured at them all. “What you’re still suffering! This quest—“

“Sounds to me like we have a goddess literally lookin’ out for us, even now.” Twilight crossed his arms, smirking. “Probably wouldn’t have ended as good as it has without you protecting us.”

“As good as it—“

Smiling and blushing as the newly awakened princess kissed him on the cheek—gripping the rails as the new land swung into view over the horizon—watching the reflected world bloom back into life as Lorule’s Triforce was restored—hugging the children as they rode back into the village—fields of blue flowers blooming underfoot as he rode along and watched the reconstruction—the proud smile of his father as he worked with the squadron instead of going rogue—joining Zelda and Lana as they stood before the cheering troops, Hyrule free once more—Malon looking radiant as she walked down the aisle—clutching their daughter, the first Princess of the newly founded Hyrule—

Link took her hands gently. “If Hylia didn’t care, why would she—or you—have watched out for us the whole time? If you didn’t care, why would you be so upset by what we’re going through, if our own free will?” Zelda sniffled, letting him hold her. “We don’t blame you. It’s Demise’s fault, or Ganon’s. Not Hylia’s. And not yours.”

She squeezed him, looking up at the statue. Her smile was gentle, her wings spread overhead, sheltering them all. She swore she always would watch over them.

Till the very end.

[l-egionaire]

My Warrior Penelope AU

Based on this post I'd done before. I've seen a lot of Warrior!Penelope AUs where the events of things are....pretty much the same as Odysseus's story. And while I can get why people do that, I wanted to give my own idea on how things might change.

At the start, things are mostly the same, besides Penelope being a chosen of Ares and more of a warrior, attracting Odysseus with her smarts and battle skills. Then, when the war breaks out, Penelope insists SHE go in Odysseus's place, citing numerous reasons (Helen is her cousin, Ithaca needs their king more than their queen, her not wanting their son to grow up with father). In spite of himself, Odysseus agrees to let her go, but does give her his bow as a parting gift to remember him and their family by.

The next ten years of war and the events through "The Horse and The Infant" and "Open Arms". play out the same way. But during her and her crews meeting with Polyphemus, rather than simply blinding the cyclops like her husband had, Penelope outright kills him with her spear....and then, in her wrath at having lost so many of her men because of their advice, she goes and slays each and every one of the Lotus-Eaters.

As she and her crew prepare to leave the island with the sheep they'd taken, a figure appears on the beach in a leapord skin tunic, the wine god, Dinoysus. He glares at her and explains that the Lotus-Eaters that she had killed had been HIS followers, and he was here to punish her for murdering them. As she was Ares's chosen, he couldn't outright kill her, but he could still punish her in OTHER ways. He then looked her in the eyes, and to her horror, she found herself suddenly surrounded by hundreds of horrible monsters, all having sharp teeth and claws, some wielding weapons. She withdrew her twin axes and began to slay them, some trying to hold her down or scratch at her, but she got out of their grasps and killed them with more ferocity until all of them were dead at her feet. Dionysis then smirked and snapped his fingers. The monsters then dissolved away....to reveal the bloody bodies of all her crew. Dinoysus claimed that he'd made her slay the ones who followed her just as she'd slayed the ones who followed him before vanishing. Penelope sank to her knees, her hands shaking and covered in the blood of six hundred men.

After a full day of crying and staying in a fetal position, Penelope took a ship and began to sail, trying to get home. Her lack of a crew forced her to stay awake nearly 24/ to keep the boat on course. And unfortunately, her troubles were only added to when she ran into a flock of Harpies. While she managed to fight off and kill most of them, they took most of the sheep meat she had and her food supply soon ran low even with rationing. Now close to starving and weak from hunger and sleep deprivation, she landed on the first island she could find. To her joy, the island was full of cattle....but in her hungry and tired state, she didn't notice the statue of the sun god. She slaughtered one prepared to cooked it....then, to her horror, saw the goldsn ichor spilling from its neck. Suddenly a massive thunderstorm blossomed out over the island. Zeus descended down from the Heavens and grabbed her by the throat. Saying how DARE she disgrace yet another of his sons by stealing his cattle. That she would need to be punished for her defiance of the gods, not just once but twice. He then got a lecherous smirk and said that the first part of her punishment would start now....and began tearing off her armor....

Once it was over, Penelope was once again left feeling disgusted, horrified, and broken, this time rushing to a river to scrub down every part of her body until she was raw. Even vomiting, the feelings of shame so intense. And she soon found what the second part of her punishment was when she boarded her boat, as the winds and waves were so strong that she was blown in one way, going farther and farther away from her home in Ithaca until she landed far away, in the Land of The Giants.

The Giants used their rocks to smash her ship apart and she spent the next ten years trapped in their lands. She lived like a rat, having to run and hide in caves and desolate places to avoid being eaten, stealing food from their huts and, in some harsh cases, being forced to kill their young when they discovered her.

Then, one day, after ten years, the goddess Artemis appeared before her in her cave. Ares had asked Olympus to give her freedom from her home and after agreeing, Artemis was there to assist her in getting home. The first step would be reversing her situation and making the hunted into the Huntress. The goddess gave her a quiver full of gleaming silver arrows and told her that, using her husband's bow, she would slay the giants as the quiver would refill itself over and over until she left the giants lands. Penelope thus took those weapons and her husband's bow and began killing the giants one by one, their men, woman and children, until their was no one to threaten her as she constructed a small boat to take her home. Artemis then appeared before her again and told her to sail every night, following the moon in the sky and she would arrive safely home.

She follows Artemis's instructions, eventually arriving in Ithica....and discovering to her disgust at den of betrayal. A group of men, having seen her husband as being weak for sending so many men off to die in war and taking so much time away from ruling to care for his only son, decided to work with corrupt members of his court and servants to slowly poison the king over the last ten years. Unfortunately, due to both Odysseus's hardiness to survive and a bit of divine assistance, Odysseus managed to survive their poisoning, though leaving him in a more abd more weakened state. They'd planned to use this day to strike the king and his son down and claim power for themselves...but Penelope arrived just as they'd been about to harm her husband. Filled with rage at seeing their hands on her beloved, Penelope raised her twin axes and slew every one of them. She'd killed 600 soldiers once. 107 were nothing compared to that. Telemachus returned home to find her holding up Odysseus. And, for the first time since she arrived at the land of the giants, Penelope removed her armors helmet to expose her face to her husband and son.

The reunion was full of love and tears and joy and sadness. But it was one they all felt was worth the wait.