#Writing Tir giving Ody a kiss on the cheek felt so off all of a sudden

[thrpr0phetuseek]

[ they hum, resting a hand atop his head and brushing through his hair ]

“Nonsense. You’ve comforted me, your presence alone is enough, now I’ll comfort you.”

[ it takes some thought before they can truly begin to fathom a response, but eventually it comes ]

“When I first saw that prophecy, it was in that moment with you. I didn’t know who you were—the songbirds never give names—and I didn’t know anything of what you had gone through. All I knew, was there was this man. It wasn’t until you turned around, when you stood there with your wife, covered in blood and broken beyond repair, I finally got an understanding of who you were. Odysseus, listen to me. That had always been destined for you. That journey home. You were always going to end up home eventually, and you were always going to slaughter the suitors. It never was going to be your wife and son, not if the whole prophecy had changed. You never would, neither would they. Moirai knew what the gods would do to get you home. They knew there were certain things that they could do. They could get away with.”

“They’re vengeful now, but they’ll rest eventually. Give them time. You understand, those were the sons of the men you went to war with. Unlike your crew— those ghosts learned to forgive because they had someone to teach them that way. They got to know you for you, in every good and bad way. The suitors never had that chance. They were bruised and bloody, lost and insecure. They knew nothing of you, so they did as they pleased and loved what they did. They’re vengeful now as any soul would be, and they may be vengeful years later, but by then, they’ll have realized for the best of you that of which they did, and if Moirai choose, they’ll finally meet the fathers they never could.”

“I know it’s hard, love. It will be for many years to come. We’ll all be here to support and help you, though, and we won’t ever make you face it alone. You understand that, right?”

ooc: I see the anons are still tormenting Tir - feel free to save this until after or place it in a separate time. Up to you! (Spoilers for the Ithaca saga, of course. When does a man become a monster? /silly)

Time in the underworld was imperceptible. Somehow, against that well-known fact, this break felt longer. Odysseus had been gone; his voice silent and his presence invisible. The only remaining piece of him was the seashell threaded charm that clicked on Tiresias' staff when shifted.

Then, he was back. The king stepped onto the island with sandal-clad feet, approaching the prophet with a small, weak smile. His cape is back, clipped over his shoulder with an old pin he had long forgotten. The depiction of the owl had been carved away, redesigned with scales.

"Hey there, star." He greets. Odysseus' voice is heavy with the weight of so much left unsaid. Tales of monsters and mistakes. Mortal and familiar. His heart is still fighting against his mind each night, and his eyes reflect the tiredness. Guilt clawing silently at scars.

[ the prophet, sat at the bottom of one of the cliff faces, barely moved. Even looking up, it didn’t feel like they even were looking. Everything about them seemed just as tired, but they seemed more broken than before, and their voice reeked of desperation to get out of their self-fed isolation ]

“What? Who—? Oh. Ody. Oh not now, please love, I can’t— not today, okay. You’re tired and I’m— . . . you don’t need to keep visiting, now. After everything. You made it back. Go enjoy your time, will you? Be with your family. For me.”

[just-a-mer]

"I know I was. But all it's done is add more faces to haunt me when I sleep." He leans forward, resting his head in the crook of the prophet's neck. "Twenty years. Twenty years. If I had been stuck one more minute, it would have gotten my son killed. And my wife - " the words catch in his throat, and the tears from earlier slip past the barrier he had created.

The king angles his head to avoid letting them land on Tiresias. Taking a moment to steady himself and push back against the images threatening to swarm him, Odysseus wipes away his own tears with his free hand.

"Apologies - I was supposed to be the one comforting you." He chuckles softly.

ooc: I see the anons are still tormenting Tir - feel free to save this until after or place it in a separate time. Up to you! (Spoilers for the Ithaca saga, of course. When does a man become a monster? /silly)

Time in the underworld was imperceptible. Somehow, against that well-known fact, this break felt longer. Odysseus had been gone; his voice silent and his presence invisible. The only remaining piece of him was the seashell threaded charm that clicked on Tiresias' staff when shifted.

Then, he was back. The king stepped onto the island with sandal-clad feet, approaching the prophet with a small, weak smile. His cape is back, clipped over his shoulder with an old pin he had long forgotten. The depiction of the owl had been carved away, redesigned with scales.

"Hey there, star." He greets. Odysseus' voice is heavy with the weight of so much left unsaid. Tales of monsters and mistakes. Mortal and familiar. His heart is still fighting against his mind each night, and his eyes reflect the tiredness. Guilt clawing silently at scars.

[ the prophet, sat at the bottom of one of the cliff faces, barely moved. Even looking up, it didn’t feel like they even were looking. Everything about them seemed just as tired, but they seemed more broken than before, and their voice reeked of desperation to get out of their self-fed isolation ]

“What? Who—? Oh. Ody. Oh not now, please love, I can’t— not today, okay. You’re tired and I’m— . . . you don’t need to keep visiting, now. After everything. You made it back. Go enjoy your time, will you? Be with your family. For me.”

[thrpr0phetuseek]

[ they heard his sigh, then listened intently as he recounted what they saw ]

“You don’t have to continue, dear. You’ve suffered enough.”

[ they shift, pressing a light kiss to his cheek, then going back to rubbing his hand ]

“You were in the right. Sometimes it just needs a shift in the light to see, and then a whole new world of understanding opens up.”

ooc: I see the anons are still tormenting Tir - feel free to save this until after or place it in a separate time. Up to you! (Spoilers for the Ithaca saga, of course. When does a man become a monster? /silly)

Time in the underworld was imperceptible. Somehow, against that well-known fact, this break felt longer. Odysseus had been gone; his voice silent and his presence invisible. The only remaining piece of him was the seashell threaded charm that clicked on Tiresias' staff when shifted.

Then, he was back. The king stepped onto the island with sandal-clad feet, approaching the prophet with a small, weak smile. His cape is back, clipped over his shoulder with an old pin he had long forgotten. The depiction of the owl had been carved away, redesigned with scales.

"Hey there, star." He greets. Odysseus' voice is heavy with the weight of so much left unsaid. Tales of monsters and mistakes. Mortal and familiar. His heart is still fighting against his mind each night, and his eyes reflect the tiredness. Guilt clawing silently at scars.

[ the prophet, sat at the bottom of one of the cliff faces, barely moved. Even looking up, it didn’t feel like they even were looking. Everything about them seemed just as tired, but they seemed more broken than before, and their voice reeked of desperation to get out of their self-fed isolation ]

“What? Who—? Oh. Ody. Oh not now, please love, I can’t— not today, okay. You’re tired and I’m— . . . you don’t need to keep visiting, now. After everything. You made it back. Go enjoy your time, will you? Be with your family. For me.”