#epic fanfic

[im-so-normal-i-swear]

Penelope timeee

Penelope awoke with a start. A strange, misshapen figure was standing in the doorway to her bedroom, cloaked in nighttime.

With shaky hands, Penelope lit the candle on her bedside table. It was carved into the same olive tree where Odysseus had carved their wedding bed. How long would that have taken? How many hours of sawing and carving and smoothing wood? How many splinters carefully pulled from his hands?

The dim glow of her candle washed over the figure. It was a short, bearded man, covered with a hooded cloak.

A bloodstained hooded cloak—or wait, was it water discolouring the fabric?

The man lowered his hood, and Penelope saw his face clearly.

Odysseus. Her husband had returned from war at last.

Penelope practically fell out of bed and ran to him. She stumbled, and he caught her with strong arms, sinking down to the floor with her. Their tears mixed on their faces, and Penelope didn’t know who was crying more.

She put her hands up to his face. His salt-and-pepper beard looked so good on him. His eyes, his beautiful grass-green eyes, were the same. The mole underneath his left eye was the same. His skin was sun-beaten and rough, and his arms were stronger and leaner than they had been, but he was hers still and she was his.

Odysseus wrapped his arms around Penelope’s waist and pulled her closer, so that they fit together perfectly. Over the many years–how many years?–that would never change.

She pressed her lips to his, the first kiss they had shared in too long. Gods, how she had missed him. The lingering ache in her chest slowly eased, and she took a deep, calming breath for the first time in years.

“My love, how I’ve missed you,” her husband murmured.

Penelope buried her face in his neck. “But, the suitors, they’ll never believe it’s you…”

“It’s alright, they’re gone. I’ve dealt with them.”

Could that be true? Cpuld all her problems be gone, just like that? It seemed too good to be true, almost like a dream…

Gods damn it.

His voice changed. It was no longer gravelly with tears, but sweet, melodic, higher pitched.

“Wake up, Mom.”

Penelope’s eyes opened, struggling to adjust to the blinding sunlight. She rolled over. Odysseus’s side of the bed was empty.

She sighed. If only one day, the dream could be real.

Please come home, Ody. I need you.

Until that day, she would be waiting.

[devoting-waters]

Hypothetically, if a mortal died and a god wanted to return them from the underworld, would they have to trade something to resurrect them? I know it's pretty taboo to bring someone back to live in greek mythology, even some gods thought it was unnatural, but it still happened.

Of course this is for an EPIC fanfic and I looked up some stuff on Google so take that with a grain of salt, but I still want to incorporate some kind of Greek mythology accuracy with it.

I need answers please

[witless-winion1]

“Ah! Eurylochus, you’ve never met my sister, have you?…Well, this is Ctimene. Ctimene, Eurylochus!”

This was quickly becoming a problem. 

Eurylochus had never had many issues with sleeping. Sure, sometimes in the summer he overheated, or he’d be pestered with some random ideas or melodies in his mind. But never anything like this. It was like this image was harassing him, keeping him awake. He stared at the ceiling and rubbed his eyes with a soft groan. 

Why was the image of his friend’s younger sister, of all people, tormenting him, stealing sleep from him in the wee hours of the morning? It was maddening! 

He turned over on his side, then the other way, staring at the wall. 

The way her shiny brown hair dropped from it’s intricate updo. The dimples she shared with Odysseus. The way her hazel eyes had lingered on him. The quiet, pleased tone of her voice as she nodded to him with a smile and taunted him with a mere greeting. Surely she hadn’t meant to taunt him? But even if she did, how was she managing to estrange him from Hypnos’ domain so effectively?! 

Eurylochus sighed again, a bit louder then necessary this time, and forced his body to still, squeezing his eyes shut. If he held them closed for long enough, he would eventually drift off, right?

Right…

Eurylochus. Hah, look at that, he’s practically dead. Eurylochus!

He groaned softly as something smacked at his cheek.

Hey, not too hard. Don’t hurt him. 

Oh, he’s fine. Wake up already. 

Eurylochus’ eyelids fluttered, coming to awareness enough to swat at someone’s hand. “Wha- ‘m awake, stop that.”

“‘About time.” When he opened his eyes, he found Odysseus hovering over him and withdrawing his hand, while Polites crouched beside him. 

“You fell asleep while we were taking a break from sparring,” Polites supplies helpfully, noting his confusion. “Are you feeling all right, my friend? You seem exhausted.” 

“He’s not wrong,” Odysseus cut in, his arms crossing as he leaned on the same tree Eurylochus did. “Like a dead man walking.”

“I’m fine,” Eurylochus defended.  

Polites merely hummed. “Okay…I’m gonna go get you some water, then.” With a thankful nod from Eurylochus, he got up and jogged away. 

Odysseus looked down at him, eyebrow raising. “Having a hard time sleeping, are you? Anything on your mind?”

Eurylochus felt the lower half of his face warm. “No,” he said, and perhaps something in his tone was off, because Odysseus clearly didn’t believe him. 

“You’ve been acting kinda tired ever since last week,” he said, squinting down at where the taller boy sat on the grass. “And the only thing out of the ordinary that I can think of that happened last week is…”

Oh, no.

“..I introduced you to Ctimene.” 

Athena just had to take the prince in and train him to be so observant and quick. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, I’m sure you’re mistaken.” 

“Ah, so I’m onto something, then,” Odysseus smirked. 

“You’re chasing your own foolish imagination.”

“Not as much as as you’re chasing sleep. And my sister…”

Dear gods, these royal siblings. They were going to be the death of him. 

[sprnklersplashes]

this is your world, my darling (ao3) buy me a coffee

penelope and odysseus welcome their son to the world

requested tag: @mercurymasc

content warnings: childbirth

Her water breaks just as the sun is setting.

The cup she was holding falls to the floor, already forgotten when it rolls under the bed. She reaches rather blindly for Odyssues and wraps her arms around his shoulders as best she can. Carefully, he guides her to the edge of the bed, his heart pounding. She’s already biting her lip, blood pooling at the sides. Her eyes have fluttered shut. Odysseus taps her cheek and whispers her name; not quite realising his worry until she cracks open her eyes. The relief that flows through him could drown a city. 

“Hurts a bit more than I expected,” she says shakily. 

“All right.” He squeezes her hand. “I’ll go tell someone to alert the midwife. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be here,” she jokes weakly.

He kisses her head before he goes, then her lips, then finally her belly. It gets a smile out of her, and she ruffles his hair. She tells him it will be fine, but something in it makes it feel more like a question. Especially when it is cut off by a short gasp another contraction comes. Odysseus wishes there could be two of him. He presses his forehead to hers and tells her again that he will be right back.

Then he sprints down the hall, faster than he has ever ran in his life.

Despite his assurance, he completes little quests on the way back; grabs fresh linens from the cupboards, sends another messenger to Penelope’s family, says a quick prayer at Athena’s altar. Maybe he should include an offering to Eileithyia too, but he is short on time, and if he had his pick of the Pantheon, his patron goddess would remain his first choice.

It is only as he checks things off this list that the fizzing begins in his veins, and he has to fight to hold himself together, to not start jumping up and down the hall because they are having a baby!

They are having a baby.

When he returns to their chambers, he finds Penelope up again leaning against the table, her knuckles white as she grips the sides. Her slow, measured breathing fills the room, followed by a deep groan as she bends over. Odysseus hurries to her side and presses himself against her, using his whole body as a crutch for her. She leans into his touch and covers his hand with her own, then whimpers.

“I’ve got you,” he tells her. “I’ve got you. The midwife is on her way. Just breathe with me, all right? Like we practised.” She nods quickly, her face contorted in pain. 

“Ody,” she says, her whispered voice already straining. She presses her head into his shoulder, trembling not just from exertion. “I’m scared.”

He doesn’t need to ask why. Stories of women and infants dying in childbirth run rampant throughout Ithaca. Tenderly, he presses a kiss to her temple. 

“I know,” he tells her. “I’m here. It’ll be all right. I promise.”

His mother used to tell him not to make promises when the gods could intervene.

However, this is his wife. If the gods try to intervene, they will go through him first. 

By the time the midwife arrives, Penelope has given up on trying to be calm.

“Odysseus of Ithaca!” she screams. “If you ever put one of your goddamn babies inside of me again I will rip out this cord and I will fucking strangle you with it!” Her cheeks are bright red, her eyes blaze like a forest fire rages behind them. Odysseus nods and pushes her hair away from her face.

“I know, darling.” He wipes the sweat from her forehead, then gathers up most of her hair as gently as he can before securing it with a ribbon. Then, he refreshes the cloth, squeezes out the excess, and places it on the back of her neck. 

“Better?” 

Penelope sighs audibly and sinks into the mattress. When she opens her eyes, the fire is still there, tempered by the cold cloth. Odysseus smiles.

“I didn’t mean what I said.”

“I know.”

“I’m just…” She grits her teeth against another contraction. “It’s a lot.”

“I know.” 

Tears gather in her eyes and she pulls their joined hands to her chest. He can feel her heart, erratic and frantic, excited and frightened. Trembling, she presses a kiss to his knuckles. Her breaths come in short, swift gasps. 

“I love you so much,” she mumbles.

“I love you too, Pen.” He kisses her forehead. “More than the world.” Penelope laughs, though it quickly turns into a pained cry. Her grip on Odysseus’ hand tightens but he holds his tongue. Compared to the agony she is in now, a bruised hand is a small price to pay. Those bruises bear her handprint after all; how can he complain?

They spend hours waiting for her contractions to become closer. He never leaves Penelope’s side; he helps her take sips of water and wipes the sweat from her skin and distracts her by reminiscing over the past. He recalls how he bravely climbed the tree outside her window to steal one last kiss. Penelope snorts and adds that he got so spooked by Helen also being in her room that he slipped from the branch and dislocated his shoulder. 

At irregular intervals, the midwife and physician rush in and check her. Penelope holds herself together when they are in the room; she answers questions dutifully and honestly, remains silent as they examine her, nods politely when they tell her she is not there yet. She thanks them for their service and is sure to tell them how much she appreciates them. Every inch a Queen, even squatting with flushed cheeks and dripping with sweat. 

After they leave, she lets out every curse word she can, some of which Odysseus didn’t know existed. She screams bloody murder and tells Odysseus how she’s going to murder him and then profusely apologises and tells him she loves him. 

At one point, she looks at him with the most pleading eyes and asks him for her dagger. 

“I need to throw something,” she begs. 

“Throw the pillows, is that not why we got them?”

“I need to throw something and watch it split the wall in half.” Odysseus sighs and takes her face in her hands. Her skin is burning, her pulse races against his fingertips. 

“Pen,” he tells her. “You are my everything. I would bring you Olympus if you asked. However, we are not throwing knives in the room where you’re giving birth.” He cups her cheeks. “Not because I don’t think you could, but because we should perhaps avoid questions about why the Queen is throwing knives in the delivery room.”

Penelope huffs and scowls up at the ceiling. Odysseus pushes back her sweat-soaked hair and nuzzles against her damp skin.

“After the baby is here, we can go out to the garden and you can throw as many daggers as you like.” The corners of her lips quirk upwards, even as she gasps again.

“Can I use your bow too?” 

Normally, asking to use the King’s bow is close to treason. This isn’t normal though; this is Penelope. In labour, no less. He kisses her hair. 

“Someone needs to teach our baby to shoot.”

After an eternity, the midwife declares she is ready. Penelope squeezes his hand once more, not out of pain but for reassurance, and gets into the position the midwife suggests. Seeing her there, Odysseus falls in love all over again. With her shoulders squared and her eyes alight, she looks like a warrior and he would follow her into any battle.

“My King,” the physician says. “Perhaps you should wait outside. No doubt you have duties to attend to and this is the women’s domain-”

“Absolutely not.” At the exact moment, Penelope’s hand tightens on his arm. Odysseus covers her hand with his without looking away from the physician, almost enjoying the way he retreats in shame. “I am not leaving my wife’s side. Her business is my business.”

The physician mumbles an apology, then slinks away without even looking at them.

Penelope clings to him like he might disappear on her, though whether that’s genuine fear or trying to cope with the pain is up for debate. Gods, his heart hurts to look at her, biting her tongue against the pain, beads of sweat on her forehead. Above all, it hurts to see the fear flickering in her eyes, to see his steadfast wife wavering in the face of the odds.

Somewhere inside, he is overjoyed to be meeting his child soon. But gods above, surely there should be a way that would spare her this pain?

He has never felt more useless than when he refreshes the cloth and tells her it will be alright. The midwife tells her when to push and what she can see; even the physician, irritating as he is, has his uses as he checks her pulse and prepares painkillers. Odysseus, King of Ithaca, is perhaps the least useful person in this room right now. 

“I can see the baby’s head!” 

“Nearly there, Pen.” He kisses her shoulder, strokes her hair. It’s amazing, how she still looks as perfect as the day they met, seventeen years old, in the shade of an olive tree. Penelope looks up at him now, exhausted beyond measure, wrecked and radiant.

This is the last moment they’ll have with just the two of them.

With his free hand, Odysseus taps her nose, the same gesture he made after she agreed to marry him. She laughs breathlessly, the way she did when she said yes.

Then she screams. And screams. And swears. And sobs.

Then, among the shouting and the swearing, a cry. A whimpering, stuttering little cry that grows louder by the second. 

The world tilts. Time freezes. 

“It’s a boy,” the physician declares. He looks over at them, a squirming bundle in his hands, and Odysseus’ heart stops. “It’s a boy, your Majesty.”

“A boy,” Penelope gasps. "Ody, it's a boy!"

In a daze, Odysseus rises from the bed and crosses over to him. A part of him worries the wiggling blanket isn’t his son, that this is some cruel joke the gods have planned but then… He is holding him. That little weight in his arms, tiny legs tangling in the blanket and tiny fists against his bare chest. The boy is screaming and writhing like a snake and he is covered in blood and gods only know what else and he is chalk white.

Odysseus is completely, utterly, inconceivably in love.

“Hello there, little one,” he whispers. He runs his finger along his impossibly soft cheek. When he reaches his mouth, the boy immediately goes for his finger in an attempt to soothe. There are no words in Greek or any language that could convey this feeling. 

“Pen, look.” Gently, Odysseus eases himself beside Penelope and passes their son to her. He starts wailing immediately at the loss of his finger, the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. 

Penelope glows, golden light bursting from inside her. A single tear runs down her face and despite the exhaustion carved into her face, there is something new about her. Like she’s been reborn. She looks at him, tired eyes glittering.

“We have a son, Odysseus!” she squeals. “Oh gods.” She touches his chest with her finger. “Hello, little Telemachus.” 

With his entire, tiny hand, Telemachus grabs hold of her finger. 

Odysseus says his name in his head, over and over again. He can’t think of a more perfect sound.

Behind them, the midwife clears her throat.

“Pardon me, but we will need to wash the baby,” she says. With a sigh, Penelope hands him to Odysseus, a kiss pressed to his hair. 

The midwife goes to take him and Odysseus pulls back on instinct. Even Penelope, weary as she is, raises an eyebrow. They both know she meant no harm, emotions are just running high for everyone (least of all poor Telemachus), so Odysseus softens his face and manages a friendly smile.

“Thank you, but I can bathe my own son,” he says. “However, I will be grateful for your help.”

And he is. He lets her watch as he washes everything off the boy’s body and out of his curls (definitely from Penelope) and dabs him with oil. To make up for his earlier behaviour, he asks her if he’s swaddling the baby the right way, unexpectedly relieved when she says he is. 

He expects there will be many more unexpected worries in the future.

He offers Telemachus his finger again as they make their way back to the room, laughing softly at the determination in which he takes it. His boy roots against his chest too and Odysseus chuckles.

“I think you’re hungry, aren’t you, little man?” he asks. “Worked up quite the appetite on your way here. Don’t worry, we’ll get you fed.”

In the bedroom, the physician seems to be finishing his examination of Penelope.

“Well, your Majesty, everything seems to be in order,” he tells him. Odysseus doesn’t respond until he is once again next to Penelope, forcing the physician’s gaze to turn to her as well. He presses Telemachus into her arms and asks her how she feels before he turns to him. 

“You have my gratitude for assisting our midwife. I’m sure you learned much from her,” he says. Penelope hides her smirk.

“Indeed,” the physician says through gritted teeth. “I am sure you are both delighted. Especially as it’s a boy.”

“Oh, he could’ve been a minotaur for all I care.”

Penelope bursts out laughing, and even Telemachus’ gurgling sounds approving. The physician turns red and when he bows, he is as stiff as a board. 

Odysseus waits for the door to close before he mutters “good riddance” under his breath.

Then he looks at his wife and child, and all other thoughts are banished.

Penelope adjusts her chiton and after some failed attempts, Telemachus latches on. There’s a small hitch in her breath, a noise of discomfort, and then she exhales. Odysseus rubs circles onto her back, easing out the knots formed beneath the skin.

For a long time, they just sit there, fascinated by the way his little jaw moves. Odysseus leans into her shoulder, the past few hours washing over them like rainfall. 

“Pen, are you alright?”

“I told myself I wasn’t going to cry,” she sighs. Odysseus huffs a laugh and wipes her cheek.

“You just pushed another human out of your body. Crying is allowed.” 

Telemachus pops off her breast, milk dribbling from his chin. The two of them laugh as Penelope wipes it away. It’s strange, to not hear him crying. That first cry will forever live in Odysseus’ head, a reminder of what he now fights for. 

More than that, it’s what he lives for.

Penelope shifts over, letting Odysseus fully onto the bed. Slowly, she turns him around so that his head rests against his chest. They watch in awestruck silence as Telemachus looks around the room. Every corner of this room is new to him, floorboards Odyssues has tread a hundred times are as unfamiliar as the ocean’s depths. The world that Odysseus has taken for granted is a blank canvas for him to explore. 

They created this. Him and Penelope. A whole new world of possibilities opens before him, endless adventures, countless new stories to tell. He might have an entire kingdom and 600 men under his command, and the favour of a goddess, but none of them compare. 

This moment, here in this room, this is his entire world. 

[xfilesinamajor]

Commission by the incredible @kazimir29 of Eurylochus and Ctimene, which I requested partly to accompany my short Ctimene fic "Trapped" but mostly because her art is beautiful and Eury's my favorite.

[mer-acle]

Little Wolf pre-War fluff

*Ithaca, a few months before the war. Penelope came and interrupted Athena's and Odysseus' training bc of important King stuff. She had Telemachus with her. Odysseus said "Athena, you can watch him for a minute, right?". Athena just nodded. She's standing by a tree now, watching the small human take some unsteady steps. He stumbles, and she squats down to catch him. He grins at her.*

Tel: Theee-ah

Athena, vaguely amused: Yeah, something like that.

*He waddles around her toward her wings spread behind her for balance*

Athena: No. Fates, what is it with children and the wings? Telemachus, I said no.

*She folds them behind her. Telemachus looks at her, big eyes filling with tears. He points at the wings accusingly.

Tel, confused: Biiird!

Athena, firm: No, you cannot touch the bird.

*His lip quivers. Athena looks around to where Odysseus and Penelope are still talking, then back to the child that is about to start crying. She sighs*

Athena: It's those moments when I remember you are related to my brother Hermes.

*She spreads her wing again. Telemachus giggles with joy, making for it so fast he falls on the grass. Athena waits for a moment, seeing if he's hurt, then bites back a grin and covers him with her wing. A slightly softened cheerful shriek and giggle sounds from under it. Athena lifts it up, looking at the laughing child.*

Tel: -a-boooooo

Athena: Peek-a-boo? (hums) You are a fascinating little creature.

*She covers him with her wing again and he giggles happily. When she lifts it, he makes a chirping sound.*

Athena: That is not the sound an owl makes.

*She considers for a second, then produces a soft hooting sound through her hands.*

Athena: That's a burrowing owl.

Tel: Hoooo!

Athena, totally not caring about the child, totally not having chosen an owl that doesn't screech so he won't be scared, nu-uh, no sirreee: Yeah. Hoo.

Tel: A-booo?

*Athena sighs, then covers him with her wing again*

-----

Odysseus, later: You are better with kids than I thought.

Athena: Son of Laertes, you are this close to being sent for a run around the whole island.

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

'friends in higher places' au masterlist

tumblr posts:

the thread that started it all - part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

dinner scene - part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 (is planned)

poseidon snippets (not chronological) - part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (i have an idea)

other bits - potential future thoughts | a potential angsty idea |

ao3:

chapter 1 | chapter 2 (coming soon?) |

[eclipsedechoesofmywords]

"Just Us"

[Telemachus x fem!reader]

Masterlist

Summary: You have been overwhelmed, Telemachus wants to help.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, overwhelmed reader, fluff

Word Count: 870 words

A/N: First fanfic of my lovely <3 this is for the gals that get overwhelmed a lot(also extremely self-indulgent).

Telemachus stood in the doorway, as he looked at you. He hesitated, his hand gripping the doorframe. You were curled over the table, your head buried in your arms, your shoulders tense and unmoving. The room felt heavy, the air thick with something he couldn't quite name. This wasn't the quiet you often sought—this was different. This was a retreat, a withdrawal, and it worried him.

"Dearest?" he called softly, his voice gentle but firm, cutting through the silence.

You didn't move at first, and for a moment, he wondered if you'd even heard him. Then, slowly, you lifted your head just enough to glance at him.

"Do you need something, Telemachus?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it echoed in the room.

He stepped inside, his footsteps quiet, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace you'd carved out for yourself. "I just… I wanted to make sure you're okay," he said, his tone careful, measured.

You straightened slightly, though your gaze remained distant, avoiding his. "I'm perfectly fine, love," you replied, but the words felt hollow, even to you.

Telemachus frowned, his brow furrowing. "You don't usually lie to me," he said, his voice tinged with both concern and a hint of frustration. "And that? That's pretty damning."

You flinched, your hands tightening into fists on the table. "Telemachus—" you began, but he cut you off, his voice rising slightly as his worry spilled over.

"You haven't been talking, haven't been sleeping, have been angry at anything and everyone-" he started, his words tumbling out in a rush.

"Just-stop!" you snapped, your voice sharp and sudden, cutting through the room like a blade.

He froze, his mouth snapping shut, and for a moment, the only sound was the faint echo of your voice. You stared at him, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and then, just as quickly, the anger drained from your face, replaced by something far worse: guilt.

"Gods," you whispered, your voice breaking as you covered your face with your hands. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm so sorry."

"What's happening with you?" he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with tenderness.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands still pressed to your face as if shielding yourself from the world. "I'm just… so tired," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "Yet I can't sleep. And when I do, it's like my mind turns against me, like it's punishing me for something-"

He called your name and you stopped.

Telemachus stepped further into the room, his footsteps soft against the stone floor. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the way your hands trembled slightly. His heart ached for you, and though he didn't fully understand what you were going through, he knew he couldn't just stand by and watch you suffer alone.

"You don't have to apologize," he said gently. "I just… I want to understand. I want to help if I can."

You lowered your hands slowly, your eyes meeting his. There was a vulnerability in your gaze that he hadn't seen before, and it made his chest tighten. You looked exhausted, not just physically but in a way that seemed to go much deeper.

Telemachus moved closer, kneeling beside you so that you were at eye level. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your arm. When you didn't pull away, he let his touch linger, a small gesture of comfort.

"Tell me what you need," he said, "Tell me what you need and you will get it."

You shook your head. "I don't need anything. I'm just so, so tired."

"Then how do I help?"

"I don't know!" You let out a shaky breath. "I don't want to burden you with this," you murmured. "It's not fair to you."

"You're not a burden," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You're my dearest. My partner. My love. If you're hurting, I want to be there for you. That's not a burden—it's what I want. What I choose."

For a moment, you just stared at him, as if trying to process his words. Then, slowly, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, and felt the tension in your body begin to ease, even if only slightly.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice muffled against his tunic. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

He smiled softly, his hand gently stroking your back. "You don't have to do anything to deserve me. I'm here because I want to be. Because I care about you. And we'll figure this out together, okay? One step at a time."

You nodded against his shoulder, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax, even if just a little. Telemachus held you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm that had been raging inside you.

"Let's start small," he said after a while, his voice gentle. "How about we just sit here for a bit? No pressure. No expectations. Just… us."

You pulled back slightly, looking at him with a faint, grateful smile. "Us…that sounds nice."

[unconsciouslyreadingwriter]

This is literally the HIGHEST praise. I am to cause this emotion. Biting your phone? Overjoyed. Gnawing on your enclosure? I’m ecstatic.

GAHHHH I love how funny and sweet everyone has been on the fic :,)

[yourlokalescholar]

Astyanax lives AU doodles!

[im-so-normal-i-swear]

Ok so I had an idea about Ody’s eventual death

Hermes’s smile was tinged with sadness, something unusual for the god. “Hello, old friend.”

“Hello, Hermes.” Odysseus pulled his gaze from his body, wrapped in the funeral shroud lovingly made by Penelope, to the bag in his hands. His fingers clutched it tighter, and he looked up at the messenger god. “Do you think they’ll hate me?”

“They will be angry, but they could never hate their captain.” Hermes took Odysseus’s hand. “It’s time to go.”

Hermes’s hand tightened, so much that Odysseus’s spectral hand would have felt crushed under his godly strength. His feet left the ground, going faster and faster and faster, trailing behind Hermes like the trail of a shooting star. Maybe that’s what he looked like when he delivered souls, Odysseus didn’t know.

His feet touched down on the bank of the river Styx, where over six hundred familiar faces currently waited. Odysseus’s feet hit the ground soundlessly a moment later. This would take some getting used to.

“Goodbye, Odysseus of Ithaca. I’ll… I’ll miss fighting by your side.”

That may have been one of the most genuine things Hermes had ever said. Odysseus smiled and fiddled with his bag. “Hermes? Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, friend, you died,” he said. “Good luck.”

He vanished with a blur of orange light.

Odysseus took a deep breath. It was time.

He walked—slowly, so slowly—towards his old crew. One by one, they turned to face him. Their eyes fell on his bag, and his old, wizened face, proof of a long life. Odysseus wanted to hide it, but he knew he must remain confident in his decisions from all those years ago.

“Comrades.” His eyes fell on two faces he longed to see- one tall, clean-shaven man with dark skin, and one man with a red cloth headband and a mess of curly hair. “Friends. I come after years of keeping you waiting, and for that I beg your forgiveness.” His eyes fell upon Eurylochus. “But I hope that this can sate your desires to leave this place.”

His hands tugged at the string keeping his bag together, and it came undone, almost as if it were waiting for this moment. Six hundred men saw it open, and a murmur went through them. It contained gold—so much gold that they could all get across the river.

Whispers turned to murmurs, but nobody moved forwards to come get a coin. A huge gap remained between Odysseus and the six hundred men he outlived. His shoulders drooped.

One man stepped forwards. Eurylochus of Same, his second in command. He picked out a coin from the bag, then held it up in the air. “Let’s hear it for Odysseus, our captain.”

The murmurs started up again, until the sound of clapping came from the middle of the crowd. Polites.

Ghostly tears flowed down Odysseus’s face as more and more men joined in. They all started to move towards him, cheering for him. Cheering for the life he got to have. Cheering for the chance to finally be together as a crew again.

Thanks for reading! I’d just like to say that my Hermes transportation scene was mostly based on @witless-winion1 ‘s Ctimene fic.

[devoting-waters]

HOW DO YOU GET PEOPLE TO ASK YOU QUESTIONS ON TUMBLR IM GOING INSANE

[kqutie]

EPIC : THE FAIR MAIDEN (platonic ver.)

CHAPTER ONE : THE HUNGER ENDS

relations. : platonic various epic characters/reader -- platonic odysseus/reader ; platonic polites/reader ; platonic eurylochus/reader ; platonic elpenor/reader ; platonic perimedes/reader ; platonic odysseus' crew/reader

chpt. sum. : The crew get acquainted with your villagers while you discover a stranger washed up on your sandy beaches. You know exactly what to do... poke, poke, poke!

tags. :  female, mute reader ; pure comfort ; reader is a comfort gamer ; animal crossing new horizons game mechanics ; the crew are be simping ; crew have puppy love ; isekai and transmigration ; fix it fic ; characters know their future ; happy ending for everyone!

length. : 8.3k

a/n : Welcome to the pure platonic version of my EPIC: The Fair Maiden series, where I kinda got carried away with my Hermes simp-ery and self-indulgence.

The two versions will read largely the same but this version is for the darlings who don't want the romance and are here purely for comfort. I will do my best to make the two versions distinct, however, so that nobody gets confused and knows exactly what they're in for when choosing the one they would like to read. I WILL be keeping the puppy love aspect of the crew towards the reader though haha! That's too fun of a plot device to take away entirely (๑˃́ꇴ˂̀๑)

navi. | series m.list

Pulling away from your phone, you sigh in content and stretch. EPIC: The Musical had become an obsession of yours and now that it was complete, you were delving into fanmade content; a mix of animatics, fanart and fanfiction. You had just finished reading a fanfic of the characters reacting to their future via the musical before it ever happens. The final chapter ends with all the characters returning to their original places in the universe, eager to avoid the mistakes they have just witnessed leading to their demise and Odysseus’ change from man to monster. 

Before they could be sent back, Odysseus took a moment to lovingly bid his beloved Penelope and only son, Telemachus goodbye while the gods pledge not to interfere with his journey home as long as he doesn’t make the same mistakes. If they should encounter each other again, they will not be courteous and everything will unfold as it had been told to them in the musical. 

The ending left you with a feeling of hope. In the universe of that fanfic, Odysseus will know what to do for a brighter future and you have full confidence in him fulfilling that – he is the warrior of the mind, after all. 

It was still rather cold outside and leading into the evening, you were eager to bundle up in your giant beanbag chair with a blanket to play your favourite comfort game: Animal Crossing: New Horizons. First things first, however, you float into the kitchen to brew some tea and prepare a small plate of snacks. You have a lot of plans for your gaming session tonight. Your island was going under a huge revamp. For your new aesthetic, you’re leaning into a cottage-core theme, something rustic with flourishing wildlife, trees, flowers and beaten paths. You were going to miss your fun, rural town island but you’re very excited about the cosy vibes a countryside theme would bring. You’re sure the change will only elevate the cosiness of the game.

It was going to be a huge undertaking but you’ve paid all your loans, gathered all the recipes, furniture and miscellaneous items, played the DLC, unlocked everything there is to unlock, collected all the fish, bugs and art to display in the museum, and you have an island full of villagers you adore. Revamping the island is the most exciting thing you can do now that you’ve played the game to the fullest. Hence why you were preparing your favourite snacks to have with your best blend of tea. Even though you’ve technically ‘completed’ the game, you’re still eager to play it over and over again. 

When you were finally curled up in your huge beanbag, wrapped in your fluffiest blanket with your tea and snacks on the side table, all you had left to do was put something on in the background; naturally, you chose the ‘EPIC’ soundtrack. You were obsessed. 

Hopping into your island, you begin by erasing all your previous terraforming and rearranging your rivers and lakes. Everything you wanted to include had been planned out beforehand, all your new island decorative pieces were ready in your storage and you had your iPad with your mood board and notes showcasing your detailed plans at your side as well. Everything was going as planned. Your character was also wearing the perfect custom-designed dress for the occasion. It’s a long, flowing white sundress with blue accents that you’ve paired with the cutest white platform heels. It always makes you giggle to see your character wearing the construction hat with such a cute dress — it adds so much charm. 

As ‘Polyphemus’ begins to play, you shudder and press your lips into a thin line. This is the point where everything begins to change for Odysseus and your heart drops every time. However, you’re reminded of the recent fanfic you read and hope the author takes the time to write a follow-up where the characters change their fates for the better. You adore them all so much; you want everyone to have their happy endings, especially Odysseus. 

Focusing back on your island, you’re finally happy with the layout and bring out your wooden shed to begin decorating, pulling things directly from your storage. However, where the storage menu should be showing, there’s only a black screen. 

“What’s happening?” you ask yourself and press the buttons of your Nintendo switch randomly, confused at the suddenly unresponsive screen, “I thought this was fully charged…?” just as you begin to manoeuvre out of your curled-up seating, a sudden lightheadedness washes over you, making your eyes squint in confusion before you’re finally pulled into the same darkness as your screen. 

⊹ ࣪﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪˖

Odysseus etches the image of his wife and son’s faces into the forefront of his mind. They’ve been his anchor throughout the ten-year war with Troy and now that they’ve won and are on their way back home, he needs them more than anything —especially now that he knows the potential future ahead. Determined to avoid such anguish, Odysseus, commands his entire fleet to avoid following the birds despite their dwindling food stores. Having also witnessed their potential future, his men readily oblige. 

It was comforting to see that his bond with the crew had not suffered in the aftermath of the blessing they were witnesses to. Rather, they were moved by his struggles and his vengeance against Posideon, honouring every member with six hundred strikes. Their captain had made a god bleed for them, they dare not betray such a man. The musical was a moving epic that gave them the exact map to avoid if they wanted to reach home safely. 

“I’ll make it home soon, I promise,” Odysseus promised his loving wife, remembering the love and worry in her beautiful eyes. They were the same eyes he had fallen for, soaked in a familiar affection that only seemed to grow after witnessing their potential future. Nothing had changed. She still loved him and that was a huge comfort. 

“I know… I love you,” he replies with a searing kiss, desperate and messy after ten years apart. Pulling away, he looks fondly at his son who looks at him with admiration and love thinly veiled by worry. Looking at Telemachus felt like looking into a mirror, all except for the eyes he shared with his mother. His son had the same head of wild hair as his own, the same strong nose and straight brows as his own. 

“I don’t want you to go yet…” there were unshed tears in his son’s quiet plea and Odysseus had to pull his ten-year-old son into a bone-crushing hug. 

“I won’t be long. I know what to do now. I’ll get home soon,” Odysseus promises into his son’s crown and presses a firm kiss through his brown curls. Pulling away, he stares fondly into Telemachus’ eyes, his beautiful son. Had he ever seen a boy so perfect before? Only his wife could create such beauty and perfection, “Take care of your mother while I’m away,”

Telemachus launches himself into his father’s arms once again, burying his face into his strong shoulder, “Always, father,”

That final interaction has been replaying in Odysseus’ mind ever since he returned to the boat he and his crew had suddenly been swept away from. It felt like so much time had passed but they were returned to the exact location and time they were first taken from. What an experience that had been. A blessing and a curse all at once. To bear witness to such a horrific future was harrowing but Odysseus would take it as a lesson learned. He won’t risk the life of his best friends nor his crew ever again. They had survived the war against Troy, all 600 of them; they should be able to return home unharmed. 

“Odysseus, my friend,” Polites’ familiar voice calls to him, bright and merry but with a heavy weight upon it. He understands the reason without needing to ask. 

“Polities,” they greet each other with a smile, “I know you’re worried about our stores but we can survive without them until we find another island,” Polities doesn’t protest but nods in understanding. There’s a pause that stretches on but not in discomfort. The two merely absorb the moment, comforted by the knowledge that they have avoided a massive turning point in their journey. 

“We are here for you, my friend. All I wanted was to make that clear,” Polites looks at the crew rowing at the paddles, keeping a leisurely pace. “We are loyal to you, our captain, who has led us to victory after ten years,” Odysseus smiles and nods demurely at his best friend in silent appreciation, “that future has not happened yet, nor will it ever happen. I know that you will make sure of that.”

“If the crew should ever act up, we will be there,” Eurylachous steps up to the two of them with a somewhat hesitant air, his posture stiff. Events of the mutiny he led against his brother-in-law and friend had not been able to leave his mind ever since his first viewing. The tall second commander shudders to think of himself ever becoming the shrivelled-up, hungry, desperate and vengeful man who dared go against the captain he had first betrayed by opening the windbag. He was determined to avoid such a fate. What a sorry fool he had turned out to be. It was unbecoming and he had since been congested with guilt. 

Odysseus and Eurylochus silently take in the other. Eurylachous with a boulder of guilt in the pit of his stomach as Odysseus wears an unreadable expression. They were supposed to be brothers, friends, comrades. The people they had become in that future were not them now, and it will never be them. Ctimene’s face appears in his mind. They share a similar goal; to return home, to the wives they adore and had fought the grueling war for. 

The tension is broken by Odysseus who brings his arms up to wrap around their shoulders and pull them close, “Thank you, my friends,” All three share a smile and savour the bond they share. It was one they valued all the more now that they knew of their potential fates, and it was a bond they were unwilling to sever. If they could make it out of Troy victorious after ten years of conflict, they could easily protect each other and the friendship they share. “We will make it home. I swear it.”

⊹ ࣪﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪˖

It had been several days and yet, there was no island on the horizon, meaning no food to hunt and feed his men. Odysseus’ mind was reeling. This cannot be. Surely there would be some kind of island they could set anchor nearby. After taking the proper steps to avoid the worst future they could possibly think of, had Odysseus inadvertently condemned his men to a much more painful and agonising fate? Slowly, his men across all 12 ships had stopped rowing; they no longer had the energy. And the winds were close to nonexistent, providing no aide to his fleet’s sails. Should they have docked at the Cyclops’ island anyway but made a proper plan to steal the sheep instead? But that was too high of a risk, and everyone agreed that it was not worth it. What tragic luck was this? Was his crew doomed to never return home alive with him as their captain? Was the miracle they were blessed with a waste, now that he had given the wrong command? 

A headache begins to hammer at his temples and Odysseus groans, the rumbling in his stomach and the painful ache rippling from it was unquenchable. The image of his hauntingly starved self and crew flashes in his mind. The world seemed determined to make him suffer, though there was no god to blame; he had given the command to avoid the Cyclops’ island altogether — this was his fault.

“Captain!” Elpenor’s— their youngest crew member —shout brings him out of his spiralling thoughts and directs his, as well as everyone’s attention to a wooden structure that had suddenly appeared on their boat. 

“What is that?”

“This wasn’t in that musical,”

“How did it get on our ship?” 

Looking around, it appears as though this was unique to their ship only as none of the other 11 ships were causing the same chaotic murmuring as the one Odysseus was aboard. Of course. It had to be the captain’s ship this strange phenomenon occurs on. 

“It has a door, should we look inside?” Polites comments, reaching for the handle only to be stopped by Odysseus. 

“Let me open it,” he turns to everyone else and loudly commands that they step back and prepare for what may come from opening the door. After taking a slow breath in and slowly releasing, Odysseus finally flings the door back and jumps to the side as a body falls in a heap at his feet. 

The crowd circle the figure and are shocked to find a woman . She looks foreign with clothes they have never seen before. Where had she come from? Odysseus looks back at the slim wooden structure to find it already closed. Polites was the first to kneel beside her, cradling her head and gently urging the strange woman awake. 

“Polites, step away from her!” Odysseus commands as Eurylochus unsheaths his large sword and prepares for a potential threat. 

“She looks harmless, Captain,”

“That’s no excuse to let your guard down,” Odysseus snaps, flashes of another dark future playing in his mind. Had avoiding one grizzly fate led to another, darker one? 

Polities gives him a judging look, “Open arms, Captain,” his best friend wasn’t getting the point. Although Odysseus was appreciative of his friend’s boundless optimism, he wasn’t going to take any chances. 

“Just keep your distance, we don’t know how much of a threat she is until she’s awake. And if she is a threat, you’ll be the first in her way of attack!” Odysseus’ words don’t even allow a single drop of doubt to taint Polites’ determined stare. 

“Wait look! She’s waking up!” Eurylochus points his sword and gets into a familiar, battle stance, ready to pounce.

“Polities! Get. Back!”

⊹ ࣪﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪˖

Groaning, you turn away from the harsh lighting shining down on you and nuzzle into a comforting warmth.  

“It’s alright, Captain,” a distant voice assures, the shouting that follows only pushing you into the comfortable warmth further, unknowing of the effect your innocent action has on the individual currently holding your head in his lap. “She means no harm,” you then feel gentle pats over your head as the same kind voice urges you awake, “Hey there… can you wake up for us?”

Propelled to respect the kind and gentle stranger’s request, you brave against the harsh sun and will your eyes open. Blinking rapidly, you adjust to the world around you as you’re helped to a sitting position. You part your lips to ask what’s going on but no sound comes out and your confusion is evident on your face. 

“Hi there,” a warm face greets you, pushing away the confusion and worry at your sudden muteness. Gazing at the man before you, you can’t help but lean in with interest. His face feels familiar and you’re drawn to the curiosity of it. He wears square glasses and adorns rich, chestnut curls that fall over a headband. His skin is sunkissed and a little sunken into his angular bone structure, which makes you worry slightly, he doesn’t look healthy at all. He looks starved. “Uhh..” Polites smiles shyly as you reach up to cup his cheek with furrowed brows, “My name is Polites, can you tell us who you are, fair maiden?” 

You finally register the murmurs surrounding you and mutely gasp when you realise you’re surrounded by a circle of men, dressed in clothes typical of ancient Greek times. Everyone had the same sunken, unhealthy appearance as Polites. What was happening? 

“My friend asked you a question. Answer him at once!” a cold metal touches the underside of your chin and you’re forced to look up the body of a large sword and into the eyes of another recognisable figure. Eurylochus. 

This can’t be…

Shaking your head in disbelief and denial of the situation, you fall back into Polites’ arms, who sternly waves away his dark-skinned friend. “Sheath your sword, friend, she means no harm…” Polites’ arms circle you but he doesn’t pull you further into him, leaving space for breath between your body and his own. It was more comforting than you anticipated as you press your face into his shoulder, trying to deny the reality you were in right now. “Captain, Odysseus, please ,”

A sigh draws your attention away from Polites’ shoulder and towards a broad-shouldered man with bronze skin, dark, wavy hair and an imposing air of confidence and charm about him. Distinguishing him from the rest, he wears a purple cloak that’s secured with a gold pin on his shoulder; he’s the captain. Odysseus. Are you in the EPIC: The Musical Universe? Is this a dream?

“...if she meant to do harm, she would have done so already. Sheath your sword, friend,” Odysseus nods towards Eurylochus’ sword.  

“Yes Captain,” the second in command readily complies.

Finally breathing in relief, you turn back to Polites and take his hand into both of yours to shake happily in greeting. The solid feeling on his hand makes this feel less and less like a dream, which makes you all the happier that they don’t see you as a threat anymore. Otherwise, you would have become fish food. However, dream or reality, you were going to live this to the fullest as an EPIC fan. Your actions make the crowd release the tension in their shoulders. A handshake is a sign of peace and shows the absence of a weapon in one’s hands; Polites was right to believe in your innocence. 

“Haha! See, Captain?” Polites smiles at Odysseus, who shakes his head in disbelief but smiles regardless. Trust Polites, to make such quick friends, “May we know your name?” Polites asks after returning his attention to you. Frowning sadly, you shake your head and tap against your throat. You go as far as to part your lips and attempt to speak but nothing comes out. “Can you… can you not talk?” 

You shake your head in confirmation and miss the sadness shared between the men surrounding you both. “How should we address you then?” Odysseus asks aloud and you shrug your shoulders. You don’t really mind how they refer to you, so long as it wasn’t hurtful. 

“As long as it’s of no offence to you, can we call you by any name?” Polites asks, to which you readily nod and he smiles before thinking deeply, “How about we refer to you as fair maiden? It’s simple and you’re the only maiden here so, everyone will easily know it’s you,” without complaints, you nod and hear a murmur of the nickname amongst the group make its rounds; the crew testing the name for themselves. It makes you smile shyly. Although you love the main characters, you always adored the background vocals of the crew and to hear their murmurings was a little flustering. 

“How did you get here? Do you know?” Odysseus takes a knee beside you and you try not to look visibly awestruck by the closeness, “You fell out of that thing,” the captain points towards a familiar, slim wooden shed. It looks exactly like the shed you failed to access the contents of before you blacked out on Animal Crossing. Curiously, you stand and make your way over to the shed, the crowd parting and staring with interest as you do so.

Opening the door, a familiar storage menu screen finally reveals itself to you. And it’s full to the brim with all of your collected items from Animal Crossing. From the curious but unruffled looks in the crowd surrounding you, it doesn’t seem as though they can see the storage screen and you immediately close the shed door to shake your head ‘no’ at Odysseus, who looks disappointed but has no choice but the accept the unsatisfactory news. However, his expression lightens when his eyes drift upwards.

The Captain turns to his men and sends them to their stations at the oars, “Follow those birds, no matter how far they may lead us, it will be towards land. We have another mouth to feed so full speed ahead!” his words make your eyes widen and rush forward with your arms outstretched, waving your hands side to side and shaking your head — a clear expression against his command. In the distance, you can tell that Odysseus’ fleet is still composed of its full 12 ships so he will be leading them to Polyphemus’ island, where everything will take a turn for the worst and you don’t think you’re capable of going through such horrors first hand. 

Odysseus narrows his eyes at you, “What do you mean ‘no’?” he pauses for thought, “...do you know about the Cyclops too?” you’re shocked at his words. How could he know about the Cyclops if he has yet to set foot on the island? And if he’s already done so, why was Polites still alive?

You nod slowly. You do know about the Cyclops…

“We’re long past the Cyclops’ island, days past it, in fact,” he looks at you with caution, “...how do you know about the Cyclops?” Naturally, being unable to speak, you can’t explain your circumstances articulately but that was no longer satisfactory for the captain. Odysseus looks you up and down, taking in the unusual attire clothing you. It doesn’t look like any garments he has ever seen before. It’s a beautiful garment he would love to see on his wife but its unfamiliar style raises his suspicions, “What are you doing here? Are you another test from the gods? They promised not to interfere with my journey home unless I make the same mistakes as in that musical’s future!” your eyes widen at his words and you make the slow realisation that you’re not only in the universe of EPIC but specifically in the aftermath of the reaction fanfic you had just finished reading. You remember hoping the author would continue with a series that has the characters taking active steps to avoid their tragic fates. 

The hostility being raised against you, from the Captain, no less, didn’t bode well, however, so you rush back to your shed. You don’t know why you have your animal crossing storage shed but you were going to use it. It may be your only way of expressing your peacefulness without a voice. 

Opening the storage once more, you search through the categorised panels and select a basket of bread with your finger. The instant it’s selected, the basket of freshly baked bread appears in your arms and you turn to Odysseus with a smile, outstretching the offering as a token of your peaceful intentions. 

Odysseus stares at your offering of bread with a dropped jaw, similar to the one Eurylochus was displaying. How could you have been able to store freshly baked bread in such an innocuous structure? It was Polites who jumped forward with a shout of glee, “Fresh bread! My friends, look!” His words draw the attention of the crew from where they’re actively rowing the oars. The sight of food makes them stop and slowly approach with grumbling stomachs, eyes wide and mouths watering.  The closer they get, the more potent the smell of fresh bread becomes and there’s a chorus of grumbling stomachs surrounding you. “Is this for us?” Polites looks at you with a smile that widens when you nod in affirmation. 

“Wait! You take the first bite,” Eurylochus insists, cautious after witnessing their encounter with Circe. The rest of the crew heed his words and reel back as if subjected to an electric shock. They had almost forgotten the cautionary tale of the musical. Everyone now watches you with judging eyes. Taking no offence, you select a small bun and bite into it with a grin. Everyone around you watches with bated breath but cheers when you swallow and there are no negative side effects. Food! Finally!

“Thank you,” Polites nods at you with a grateful smile before distributing the basket to the crew members. Behind him, Odysseus is left speechless but soon meets your eyes with a similarly grateful expression. He and Eurylochous nod in thanks, which you bow in return to. The tension between you had fully evaporated. The crew do their best to evenly ration out the bread but a singular basket won’t be enough so you return to your storage shed and bring out more baskets of bread that you have saved up, grateful that cooking recipes was one of your favourite things to do on the game. 

“You have more food?” Odysseus voices beside you, suddenly very close and you nod with a bright smile, handing him another basket of fresh, warm bread. It appears as though, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve cooked the recipe, it comes out fresh and warm. You have five baskets of fresh bread circulating amongst the crew now and see if other recipes also come out freshly cooked. With a silent hum, you select the minestrone soup and out comes a deep ceramic bowl with hot, appetising soup filling it to the brim. Like in the game, the portion looks enormous in your hands and looks capable of feeding more than one person. This will go perfectly with the bread and you leave your shed to hand the bowl of soup to a small circle of men sharing a bread basket. They’re in awe of your offering and thank you endlessly, eagerly dipping their bread into the soup and savouring the delicious taste of food after days without. With a wide smile, you turn around and reach for Polites, who happily follow you back to your shed to help distribute more bowls of soup. 

“How does that thing work?” Eurylochus reaches out to the shed once all the food has been distributed but you quickly block his way and shake your head. Suddenly tense, Eurylochus nods and firmly turns away, his hand safely back at his side, “Understood…” This wasn’t a windbag but he wasn’t going to make the same, silly mistake as he did in that musical. Never. He’s just happy the crew and himself finally have some food to eat, the birds and a distant island without a Cyclops long forgotten. 

“Thank you for your help,” Odysseus walks up to you with a charming grin that you happily return, a warmth blooming in your chest at being able to help one of your favourite characters get home. Your easygoing, happy nature is very reminiscent of Polites and the Captain finds himself an easy victim to your warm and comforting presence, willing to follow your optimistic nature. Looking back at his smiling, feasting crew, he breathes a sigh of relief and bites into a round loaf he managed to take for himself as the bread baskets made their rounds. “Do you happen to have more food?” he suddenly asks, nervous of your response. “I have 550 more men to feed across eleven other boats,” he tilts his head towards the rest of his fleet, closely following his ship. Odysseus was ashamed to ask so much from one person but felt an immense feeling of relief when he turned to see your kind smile and warm gaze. It’s as if you were saying ‘ Of course, I do ’, eager to offer your help. 

“You have more food, fair maiden?” Polites cheers, eagerly volunteering to help escort you onto the other ships for a delivery of food. 

You shake your head but hold up a finger, wordlessly asking them to wait patiently. The 50 men of this boat had eaten all of the bread and soup you had stored so you had to make more from the crops and ingredients you had stored. All you needed to do was bring out your small kitchenette. Hopefully, game mechanics still apply when cooking and you’ll have enough food to feed the 550 hungry men left of Odysseus’ fleet. Returning to your storage, you easily bring out your kitchenette and follow the recipe for making more bread baskets and minestrone soup. It was easy enough, especially after realising that all you needed to access your personal storage without the shed was to think of it and it would readily appear for your eyes only. 

While you were hard at work making more bread baskets and soup, you urged Polites, Eurylochus and Odysseus to sit down and eat calmly. They had been watching you the entire time, jaws dropped in awe and eyes gleaming with admiration, their hearts beating with hope and almost brought to tears at being given yet another miracle. They were going to make it home after all! 

It took some time to make the first few baskets and soups for about five ships but, by that time the crew had already devoured their share and all eyes were back on you. Feeling shy, you convince them to focus their attention elsewhere by offering dessert via oranges. From living in the modern world, you know all about scurvy so oranges are the perfect fruit to offer; you make a mental note of bringing some oranges with you to the other ships too. The crew were delighted and eagerly devoured the abnormally large oranges you handed them. They were the perfect sweetness and were so juicy, that many who finished their share were left licking the juice from their fingers. They feel thoroughly fed, and, although it was a mere helping of bread, soup and orange, it felt like a feast fit for a king. Odysseus attested to that sentiment. 

“Is she a descendant of the Goddess of Harvest? The Goddess Demeter?”

“She must be,”

“No, she was sent to us as a divine intervention. She must have been sent by Hermes.”

“But look at the orange she gave us, it’s the biggest, most delicious and perfect orange I have ever seen. She must be a descendant of the God of orchards and fruit, Dionysus.”

“We are lucky to have her, she must have been sent by the Goddess Tyche of luck.”

Many of the crew members begin to speculate your origins, with some raising their voices above the others, their words coming out more clearly. But you were none of those things. You can’t even begin to explain how you got here and it isn’t as though you could even attempt to voice any kind of explanation. It’s quite flattering that they think so highly of you— enough to relate you to the gods and goddesses —but if any good person was capable of offering help then they would do so without regard for what it may cost them. And that was what you were doing. You were only doing what any good person would do. It’s just your luck that you happen to have the same skills and itinerary as your ACNH character. The only unfortunate thing is that you were made mute because of it too –at least most seem to understand what you want to say by paying attention to your actions and movements, much like your villagers.  

To distract from their high-praising musings, however, you get busy cooking enough food for the 550 other men left to feed, quickly filling up your personal storage after you had emptied it of the decorative pieces you originally wanted to dot around your revamped island. Once finally done, you turn to Odysseus and nod. The captain smiles widely, brushes away the orange juice from his chin and calls for a flag to be raised, signalling for the rest of his fleet to fall in line with his so that you could be escorted safely to deliver food. 

“Polites and Eurylochus will escort you. They will also explain your presence to the rest of my men.” Odysseus explains as you nod along and gently express that your shed doesn’t need to be brought with you. Again, Eurylochus nods and backs away, calling for two men to guard the shed while they make the food delivery. In the distance, you watch the boats easily line up and a wooden plank is provided to bridge the distance between two ships. Just as you are being led away by Polites. Odysseus calls out to you, “Fair maiden,” he bows at the waist, the rest of the crew following close after, bowing deeply and sincerely, “ Thank you ,” 

When the crew and Odysseus finally look up, they are greeted by your bright, close-eyed smile and the faint outline of pink and yellow flowers in the air surrounding your face. You’re a beauty, a kind embodiment of mercy bestowed upon them in their hour of need and they dare not take you for granted. 

⊹ ࣪﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪˖

The crew were dehydrated and hungry. This is the price they had to pay to avoid the Cyclops and, at first, they felt it was worth it. However, now that their stomachs were constantly aching, a heavy and painful reminder of their ravenous hunger, they were beginning to second-guess themselves. Growing weaker by the day, they left their oars, slowing their journey home considerably. There also weren’t any reliable winds to push them home. The gods were determined not to influence their journey home in this altered reality but that too had become a major drawback. They couldn’t see an end to it; their spirits were dwindling and the idea of stepping on Ithaca’s sands was now a distant dream.

It wasn’t until the flag was raised by their Captain’s ship that the crewmen dared to feel an ounce of hope. With what little strength they had left, they aligned their boats and set up the slim bridge across, connecting the two vessels. They recognised the first person to traverse the bridge: Polites, their optimist of a third commander. They also recognised the second person to come across: Eurylochus, their hardened second in command. It was the third person that they didn’t recognise, however. 

“Who is that second commander?” Lycaon asks, approaching the tall, sword-wielding Eurylochus but is unable to remain standing in his weakened state. He envied the commanders who could still stand so tall despite their harrowing situation.

“She is the fair maiden,” he answers simply. 

“Does she have no name?” 

“She cannot speak, but she is a blessing to us all,” Polites cut in with a grin, his eyes remaining on you as you cautiously cross the bridge, your long, flowing white dress dancing with the weak sea breeze. “Come now, I assure you it’s safe,” the headband-wearing third commander urges in a gentle and kind voice, softly pulling you to safety with his sweetness. “That’s it, good job,” he praises as soon as you make it close enough to hold his outstretched hand. He gently guides you to the boat’s perimeter and reaches up to hold your waist, where he then proceeds to lower you down with ease. If Polites was shocked at the amount of energy and strength your food had given him, he didn’t let it show but Eurylochus certainly did. Never before had he seen his gentle third commander display such brawn; perhaps it was his willingness to be a gentleman in the presence of a lady that helped aid his sudden show of burliness.

You smile at Polites, gratefully for his encouraging words. The gentle-mannered man was a great help at coaxing you across the rather dangerous plank.

Taking the chance to look around, you’re saddened by the appearance of these war-torn soldiers and crewmen. They had fought for ten long years and came out victorious but it appears as though they aren’t meant to stop fighting just yet. Now they were faced with the most formidable foe, Mother Nature and the seas ruled by one of the cruellest gods you think you’ve ever witnessed. In an attempt to soothe them, you offer a kind smile to which their sunken features are somewhat startled but not unpleasantly. It’s been a long while since they’ve been in the presence of feminine beauty quite like yours. And in their touch-starved, hungry and aching states, you appear before them as a miracle, a mercy upon their blurring visions before they succumb to hunger and their eventual deaths. 

“We call her the fair maiden, she is a very important guest of the Captain,” Polites announces with a smile, making the starved crew tilt their heads in question, slow to comprehend his words. Their third in command was the singular shining optimist of their entire fleet but they couldn’t believe how happy he was in such dire times. And why was he glowing and not sunken? Did you have something to do with it? “She is here to offer us help,” Polites turns to you, silently asking for a demonstration of your blessing while Eurylochus protectively stands behind you. He knows the desperate actions starved men will attempt in the face of the one thing they desire most, his Captain was also aware of this and both agreed that he be the one to protect you across the eleven black boats of his fleet. 

Nodding once, you walk forward and approach Lycaon. The starved man pushes back his chestnut locks so that he can observe you without the shadows of his overgrown and messy hair. Admiring your appearance, there’s something about you that's reassuring, he already feels safe and taken care of under the warm smile on your lips. 

“Good day, m’lady,” he bows his head in politeness after manoeuvring himself into taking a knee before you. If you were an important guest of their Captain, you were to be treated as equal to the Captain. Several of the other crew members who still have the strength to move, mirrored his actions. Soon enough, a majority of the men on board were taking a knee and bowing their heads to you. It made you a little shy and tuck your chin in bashfully, an endearing action to those who were able to witness it. 

Gently, you raise Lycaon’s head with your soft fingers under his chin, giving him a warm look before reaching for your inventory and materialising a fresh basket of bread and a deep bowl of minestrone soup before him. With a gasp and wide eyes, Lycaon looks between you and the food several times before finally meeting eyes with the second and third commanders. 

Was this a dream?

Polites laughs and Lycaon realises he had spoken aloud, “It is not a dream, my friend. The fair maiden is here to bless us with food, enough food to feed us all!” Polites then turns to the antsy crewmen looking ready to pounce from a distance, his eyes sharpening uncharacteristically at their savage appearance, “She has plenty to go around so I advise you all to wait patiently…” Polites lets his words sink in, only continuing when the men visibly reel back, ashamed, “If any harm comes to her because of your impatience and greed, you will be severely punished.  Understood?!” Eurylochus looked openly impressed from where he stood, nodding in approval behind his usually sweet friend. 

“Form groups of ten now and we will make the rounds,” Eurylochus’ firm command was immediately followed. The first group, composed of those who gravitated towards Lycaon, bowed their heads in gratitude and jumped at filling their stomachs the instant you returned the gesture. It was as if they had asked for silent permission and pounced when you finally gave it; they wouldn’t dare sabotage their chance at finally being able to eat a full meal. Before you could move on to the next group, however, Lycaon gently takes your hands with his calloused, and shaking ones to press a grateful kiss against your knuckles. 

“Thank you, my lady,” unable to speak, you convey your assurance by taking the hand he kissed and petting his head, softly trailing your hand down to cup his cheek and smiling when he leans into your touch. His tired but assured olive eyes flutter close to savour your softness and warmth. You’re surprised at the tears that fall from his long lashes but smile when you see his smiling lips littered with crumbs. 

You make the rounds with the rest of the groups and happily watch as they all have their fill. Thank goodness the animal crossing portion sizes are as unrealistically big as in the game; everyone could have their fill without having to deprive another of their portion. It was also helpful that when all the food was gone, the cutlery and tableware it came with also disappeared — no waste! 

Just as the first group was finishing up their meal, you returned to offer them several large, perfectly round, and juicy oranges as dessert. They cheer in delight and awe at your airy giggle. Despite being unable to speak, you manage to sound the sweetest, twinkling laugh they’ve ever heard. To be provided with delicious food on such hard times was already such a blessing but to receive it from a beautifully fair and kind maiden was an entirely new blessing atop that. Their hearts and minds can be at ease now, their stomachs full and their nights no longer filled with restless tossing and turning from the discomfort of hunger. 

After receiving the gratitude of the 50 men on this boat, you make the same trip to the rest of the 10 black boats left in Odysseus’ fleet. The experience was relatively the same, beginning with weary eyes and ending with cheers, sighs of contentment and endless gratitude. You can’t count the amount of crew members who have kissed your hand or cried tears of relief before you.

⊹ ࣪﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪˖

For another day or two, you repeat the same routine of feeding the crew a hearty meal you cook up on the kitchenette summoned on Odysseus’ ship, right beside your storage shed for easy access to ingredients. Thinking ahead, you make a bunch of bread baskets, from normal bread to the savoury and snack bread baskets and offer those with jams on your morning deliveries to each ship. That allows the crew to have some sustenance while you prepare their bigger meal later on in the day. You feel bad for being unable to offer more food but Odysseus assures you that you’re doing more for them than what is needed. 

“I can have my crew survive on just one meal a day, they wouldn’t dare complain after the hunger they’ve had to endure until you arrived,” Odysseus assures with a kind smile after seeing your anxious expression. However, you immediately throw up your hands and wave them about in protest, causing the Captain to look at you perplexed. 

“I don’t think she approves of that, Captain,” Polites laughs and claps his friend on the shoulder. Odysseus shakes his head and chuckles in light humour. 

“Then let me express my thanks for helping my crew. You are truly a blessing and have the biggest heart,” Odysseus bows at the waist like he did the first day you arrived and Polite quickly follows. Even Eurylochus bows from where he's stationed guarding your shed. It flusters you and you reach out to lightly tap their shoulders in assurance, as if to say, ‘It’s alright, please raise your heads,’.

“Those coconuts you gave out are also really helpful,” Polites nods towards the pile of coconuts on one end of the ship, “They’re a great way to quench our thirst. I’d say they’re more hydrating than water,” you clap in happiness and nod eagerly, your eyes closed as you smile and it escapes you how all three— the captain and his commanders —soften their gazes at the sight. They can only truly believe in Polites’ ‘open arms’ belief because of your boundless kindness and eagerness to help. 

On the second day aboard Odysseus’ ship, you cook up a treat by making the three pizza recipes available to you from Animal Crossing. The Margherita, mushroom and seafood pizzas were very well received by the crew along with the peaches you gave for dessert. They were eager to request more pizzas in the future if you were willing. On the third day, you made a bunch of Seabass pies (many of the men adored the fish design you put on top, they called it ‘charming’) and apples for dessert. 

For many, it was their first time having pizza and Seabass pie so it was really fun to see them, not only, satiate their hunger, but also openly react to something they were tasting for the first time. There were many satisfactory hums and excited, contagious gossip about what they liked most about a particular dish. They found pizzas fun and easy to eat while the pie was a wonderful layer of mashed potato, fish filling and golden crust goodness — a combination they had never encountered before but acquired an instant taste for. 

While you were sipping on a coconut milk drink between cooking sessions, some of the crew were eying you curiously but tried to make it seem as though they weren’t blatantly staring. It was quite endearing actually. You gestured to a particularly starry-eyed crew member and kindly motioned him over. Elpenor with his fluffy brunette hair, cacao eyes and bronze skin approaches with a small, shy smile, closely followed by his slightly taller friend, who sported wavy blonde hair that came down to his chin and greyish-blue eyes. 

“I go by Elpenor, fair maiden,” the broad-shouldered brunette introduces with a bow when he comes to stand before your curiously tilted head. You remember him as the one who unfortunately died after getting drunk and falling off of Circe’s palace in the musical. It was your guess that the man who followed him was his friend Perimedes. 

“And they call me Perimedes,” the musical portrayed Perimedes as a man who hides his true emotions, appearing nonchalant and jovial despite his depressed disposition. You can't help but feel an aching pinch in your heart for the man. Before you could realise it, your hand reaches up and cups his cheek, softly stroking your thumb over his stumble comfortingly. Perimedes’ grey-blue eyes widen and he frantically looks to Elpenor who grins widely at him, happy to see his friend be treated softly. “U-Umm… is everything well, fair maiden?” Perimedes asks, looking uncomfortable at your touch, but doesn’t pull away; rather, you feel him tilt his head towards your touch. You suppose his bad habit of hiding his true feelings persists and Elpenor, being his closest friend, remains close to him as a result. Both have become each other’s rock.

Shaking your head, you smile assuringly and slowly bring your hand back, giggling with Elpenor at the unknowing whine the taller blonde let out from the loss of your touch. Quickly, you offer the two your large glass of coconut milk and giggle when their eyes comically bulge in surprise. 

“Are you offering it to us?” Elpenor asks with wide eyes, hesitant to proceed. Surely accepting would be crossing the line. But you nod eagerly and softly thrust the drink towards him and Perimedes once again. 

“W-we can’t accept,“ Perimedes begins as Elpenor nods along, stepping back with his friend. Both are unable to stomach the sad look in your eyes and the pout that plays on your lips when you see them back away, and they look to the side in shame. Why was it so painful to watch you frown because of them? “That was your drink, fair maiden,” both sides continue to insist on their stance and it would have continued if it weren’t for Eurylochus walking up from where he was observing the scene with Odysseus and Polites, both of whom wanted to laugh at the situation. 

“You two have no authority to refuse the fair maiden’s kindness,” Eurylochus’ booming voice begins, making the two freeze up, “if she sees it fit to share with you, then you must accept. It’s rude to do otherwise,” you smile gratefully at Eurylochus who’s hard expression softens considerably in return and brings up a hand to pat your head. You’re much shorter than him and he finds that the difference has influenced the large feeling of responsibility and protectiveness he feels over you. “Well?!” his hard expression returns when he faces a slack-jawed Elpenor and Perimedes. 

“Then we kindly accept,” Perimedes begins, bowing at the waist with Elpenor quickly following. The large glass, even though you’ve already had your fill still had enough for both of them and you seemed happy to hand it over. Perimedes offers it to Elpenor who takes the first sip and immediately takes a liking to it. The bronze-skinned youth eagerly offers the drink to his taller friend before he’s even formed the words to praise such a refreshing, milky drink. 

“…It’s delicious! Go ahead and try it, my friend!” 

You and Eurylochus watch in satisfaction as the two don’t stop at just sharing with each other but move to their crew members so that they can have a sip too. Seeing what would happen next, you go about making more coconut milk drinks and hand one to Eurylochus to take back and share with Odysseus and Polites just as Elpenor returns asking for more on behalf of the other crew members. Looking over his shoulder, you smile at the crew members’ eager eyes but shy demeanours. These hardened men could act rather cute if they wanted to. 

navi. | series m.list

next. | two : the island paradise →

a/n : as you can see, the two versions read very similar to one another, it's just those slight changes but regardless of that, i did my best to make the two versions as distinct from the other as possible on surface level -- now everyone can have their go-to version hehe~ i hope you darlings enjoy! if you want to be on a specific taglist for a specific version, please just mention that version of the two and i'd be more than happy to add you!

[witless-winion1]

imagine Polites was in the courtyard for the last battle of Troy. Imagine he looks up from bandaging a comrade’s injury, and sees his friend. Helmet off, head lowered, face pinched in what could only be described as anguish. Polites would have called to him, but he knows better than to interrupt Ody during his Big Brain Thinking moments.

but then his friend raises something into view over the wall; a swaddle of white, and it’s squirming, enough that Polites could see it from where he stands, now frozen in confusion and inexplicable dread. Odysseus loved kids and babies, he wouldn’t harm one for any reason. Hell, he’d cried so hard when Penelope gave birth to Telemachus that he’d nearly passed out from dehydration. He’d spared every child in every battle in this ten-year war.

but his friend extends his arm, holding the swaddle precariously by the ends of the blanket, over the thirty foot drop onto the solid stone ground. The innocent baby just wiggles unconcernedly.

Polites opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say (because he certainly didn’t know himself) gets caught, and then his friend lets go.

and Polites can’t turn away as the white swaddle falls, a sudden, tiny cry starting from the hidden infant’s throat, that cuts off when it hits the ground, with a sound that Polites never wanted to hear again, and the white turns red.

Out of every horror he’s seen that night, that’s the one he dreams of when he eventually lays his head down to sleep.

He wakes thrashing, falling out of his hammock, and Odysseus’s hand jerks from his shoulder to his side, catching him before he can hit the ground and aggravate whatever minor injuries he got from the last battle.

Polites has always been a very honest person. Since boyhood, since he told his mother was sick because he ate too much sesamous when he was five, confessed to Odysseus and Eurylochus that he didn’t like hunting when he was nine, told his aunt she was too unkind to the less fortunate then them when he was thirteen.

when Odysseus asks him what troubles him, Polites can’t seem to bring himself to admit the truth.

when they sail for home, he forces himself not to avoid his captain. They’ve all done horrible things in the heat of Ares’ domain. but a baby? whispers his conscious.

Shush, he tells it. There’s a logical solution, there has to be.

and yet Odysseus offers none, and he is too cowardly to ask for it, and gods know he cannot make sense of it no matter how he tosses and turns with the rocking ship.

when they reach the island of the Lotus Eaters, Polites smiles at the funky little guys, adoring their blissful grin. He crouches and strokes it, cooing about how soft it is. Odysseus hums, unfazed, and grumpy. Polites can tell he hasn’t slept well the past few weeks. But he reaches down anyway and picks one up under the arms, studying it from every angle while the innocent creature just wiggles unconcernedly in his hands.

Polites can’t help the urge to gently pull the creature from his hands. He smiles to cover whatever tension there is, and places the lotus eater safely in the ground.

he reminds his friend that there’s no need to constantly be suspicious and prone to fighting; why not default to greeting the world with kindness and open arms? Even though trust may get taken advantage of sometimes, it would at least alleviate the risk of unnecessary blood spilled.

and as Odysseus looks away, Polites sees the pain in his eyes, staring at the Lotus eaters as they tumble around with each other. One drops suddenly from a low tree limb, and while Polites manages to stifle his wince, Odysseus is caught just off-guard enough to flinch when it hits the ground with a thump. The lotus eater got up and ambled off without a scratch.

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms,” Polites says softly, reaching out to grasp his friend by the elbow. “I see in your face, there is so much guilt inside your heart…”

Polites could see as the words hit home, his friend’s shoulders drooping as he looks up at him. His eyes are nearly akin to what Argos’s looked like when their ships sailed from Ithaca’s harbor.

“…so why not replace it, and light up the world; here’s how to start…” Polites gently squeezes his arm. “Greet the world with open arms.”

“Greet the world with open arms…” Odysseus repeated softly, leaning into him. Polites let him hide his face in his chest, wrapping him in his arms and letting him hide from the weight of his not-so-secret sins.

[theproverbialpen]

How would your character say “I love you” without using those words? (EPIC: Poseidon Drabble)

My friends and I just wrapped a session of a creative writing exercise where we only have 5 minutes to write for a prompt and I ended up writing some really sappy shit centered around my EPIC fic that I was actually pretty proud of :) No cut this time cause it's pretty short:

It was quiet offerings left on the shore. It was the starfish woven into every design. It was the best fruits from her market haul left on the altar by her gorgeous tapestry, warmed by the hearth. 

It was shy glances and small smiles. It was epithet after epithet, each one more obscure than the last. It was the way she cradled the shell close to her as she drifted off to sleep.

It was the gentle patterns she would trace into his chest after they had lain together, whether going at it like fervent animals or making love like it was her last day. It was the way she would sing to him, not with the seductive siren song he so loved, but with her voice. Her high notes and stunning vibrato. It was all the things that were uniquely her, things that she would show no one else—mortal and divine alike.

She would never say she loved him. Not in that way. It was something that bordered far too close to sacrilege, to the hubris so frowned upon by mankind and their fragile cities of stone and prose. She would never say something so audacious, despite her audacity in every other facet of her fleeting yet memorable life.

But Poseidon knew. He knew when she curled into his side, when they floated amongst his domain together, and when they bantered for hours just to enjoy each other’s company.

His little siren would never say that she loved him. But in a thousand ways and more, she showed him the depth of her adoration and then some.

((Line divider made by @plum98))

[sprnklersplashes]

five times telemachus sleeps in his parents' bed (ao3)

buy me a coffee!

Telemachus won’t even remember this. He is mere months old, and outside his palace his city is preparing for war. The kitchen table is weighted down by his father’s things, swords and daggers, a travelling cloak and provisions, stacks of paper for the letters he will write home. The air is heavy with grief for what it is to come, but Telemachus knows nothing about this. All he knows is that Father lifted him from his cradle and is taking him down the hall, pulling faces and babbling so that his little laugh fills the palace. He knows that his father loves him more than anything.

“Odysseus,” Penelope sighs. “You need to let him sleep in the crib. The midwife says he should learn to sleep on his own.”

“Let me have this.” He eases himself into the bed, shifting Telemachus from his hip to his stomach. “When I return he may not be in the crib anymore.”

“Odysseus-” 

Telemachus babbles and reaches forward, fascinated by his father’s beard and oblivious to the admission he let slip. Odysseus kisses the boy’s tiny hand, his heart already aching. To think that he’s had so little time with his son, and now has to leave because…

It’s not your place to question, a voice whispers. He can’t tell if it’s himself or Athena.

To his side, the sheets rustle and Penelope’s head comes to rest on his shoulder, her leg slipping between and tangling with his. If he only could, he would stay in this moment forever. His boy on his belly, his love by his side. It’s why he cannot say no; if anyone touched either of them, Odysseus would make the world burn to get them back. There is no bliss like this. 

“You be a good boy for your mama while I’m gone, all right?” he asks him. “And when I return, I’m going to teach you all manner of things. We’re going to go hunting and I’ll teach you to shoot and we’ll go sailing and oh, wait until Athena meets you properly. She will love you. She’s going to train you like she trained me.”

I did not agree to that her voice booms in his head, but for once he waves her off. Telemachus gurgles, kicking his feet with delight as he kisses him and that is all that matters. 

They lie there for some time, sitting in tender silence, until Telemachus’ eyes begin to droop. He blinks and rubs them and sways like a tiny flower caught in the breeze. Odysseus lowers him slowly, so he lies flat against his chest. His heart beats against the tiny body; a special melody to lull him to sleep.

“I almost don’t want him to go sleep,” he whispers. “I don’t want him to close his eyes and wake up without me here.”

“I know.” Penelope runs her feather-light finger up Telemachus’ back. Unlike Odysseus, she doesn’t hide her anger. She might not speak it aloud, because she has common sense, but he can feel it coming from her. And hell has no fury like his wife scorned. 

It is almost enough to make him stay.

Odysseus kisses her head. He doesn’t mention the tears running down her face, nor the ones gathering in his own eyes. Right now, he is here, and he has promised to return.

It will have to be enough.

2

It takes him a while to knock on the door. His cheeks burn, half-hidden behind his hands. Part of him wishes to run back to bed, to hide under the covers and pretend like nothing happened. But the palace is different at night, the corridors are longer and cast in shadow, and the silence is suffocating. Telemachus doesn’t know which steps he should take, if monsters lurk around the corners he passes so freely during the day. 

“Tel? Sweet boy, why aren’t you in bed?”

Telemachus looks up. Mama stands over him, hair messy and eyes heavy. He opens his mouth, only to give nothing but a feeble croak. The words he has learned over the past four years desert him in less than a second.

Luckily, Mama knows. She lowers down until she is his height and in no time sees the soiled nightshirt. Telemachus whimpers, a feeling he can’t yet name gripping him, and before he knows it his face is screwing up and his whole body is hot and tears are running like rivers down his cheeks. 

Mama pulls him close and lets him rest his head on her shoulder.

“It’s all right, sweet boy,” she tells him. “It happens. It happens, it’s all right. Let’s get you cleaned up now, mm?” She pats his back. “It’s all right.”

Telemachus keeps his head buried as they make their way to the washroom. The monsters don’t come after Mama, but he doesn’t want to look up in case one finds him and comes into his room later. 

Fear strikes him, sharp and sudden, and his sobs build.

“It’s all right, Tel. Mama’s got you.”

In the washroom, she doesn’t bother calling for a servant. Instead, it’s her who washes his legs with warm water and soap that smells like honey. It is Mama who places his damp nightclothes in the basket and pulls fresh ones from the cupboard. It is Mama who wipes his tears and kisses his head and braves the monsters to walk back to their chambers. Telemachus wishes he could be like her, he could be brave and strong and walk back to his chambers alone, but he can’t. He doesn’t know how to be brave yet, and part of him worries he will never learn. 

“Now, my boy,” Mama whispers. “Why don’t you sleep in my bed tonight, mm?” She smooths his hair away from his face. “Just in case there’s any more accidents.”

Telemachus nods, and when Mama wraps him in her covers and cuddles him, he forgets about the monsters outside. 

3

Telemachus has never liked storms. Not when he was a child, not when he was a baby according to his mother, and certainly not at 10. The problem is, he is the man of the house until Father comes home, and the man of the house cannot be running away from storms. He cannot be huddled beneath his covers with his hands clamped over his ears because he does not like the thunder.

He should not be shrieking when the covers are pulled from his head by his mother.

“Telemachus,” she sighs. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“I was asleep,” he protests. He doesn’t know why he continues trying to lie to his mother, not when he has been caught out every time, but he does. One day it has to work, doesn’t it?

Mother sighs, sits on the bed, and rubs his back.

“Come and sleep in my room tonight.”

“No,” he says. “I-I’m fine. I can sleep on my own.”

“Tel-”

“I’m not scared,” he insists, just as another thunderclap booms overhead. Telemachus jumps before he can stop himself, and his mother’s reaction is equal parts concern for him and equal parts ‘I told you so’.

In response, Telemachus can just scowl, not even sure who he is angry with. 

“Well, I am scared,” she says. Telemachus shakes his head; he knows Mother is not afraid of anything. “No Tel, I really am. I hate storms.” She shudders and whimpers as she peers outside the window. “And I keep thinking if only I had a big strong man in my rooms to keep me safe.”

“The guards are there,” he responds. But a smile tugs on his lips.

“Oh, them!” she scoffs. “They’re good, but I wish I had a proper hero to keep me safe until the storm passes.” She puffs out her cheeks and fixes Telemachus with her most pleading eyes. He buries his face in his pillow. “But, if I can’t have that, I shall have to return to my rooms.” She gets up. “Alone.” She steps towards the door. “Afraid.” Another step. Telemachus bites his lip to keep the giggles inside. “And sad-”

“Wait!” He jumps from the bed, breathless. “Maybe I should come with you. To keep you safe.”

“Oh Telemachus!” She touches her hand to her chest, eyes brighter than the stars. “You would do that for me?”

“Of course I would.” He strides up to her and takes her hand. “I am the man of the house now.”

Mother squeezes his hand, a slight hitch in her breath.

“Yes you are, my little prince.”

With a newfound energy, Telemachus surges into his mother’s room, wasting no time nestling in the blankets. Mother rolls her eyes as she discards her cloak and climbs in beside him, more grace any all the nymphs put together. She lets Telemachus have the whole other side of the bed and when she settles he grabs her hand, his heart thump-thump-thumping like a canon. 

“Tell me a story. Please.”

“Which one?”

He pretends to think, but there is only ever one answer.

“One of Father’s,” he says. “Oh! Tell me the one about Athena’s magic boar!”

“You’ve heard that one fifty times, Telemachus.”

“Please,” he insists, bordering on whining. Definitely not how the man of the house behaves, but at present he is just a boy in his mother’s bedroom. So he can get away with it.

“All right,” she says. Telemachus grins and wriggles into her lap. Stroking his hair, his mother begins the story, of how his father was out exploring with a patrol when he came across a boar in the woods. His friends wanted to move on, but Father knew something was different about the boar, something in the way the fur glowed…

As Telemachus listens, Mother’s voice drowns out the storm outside. He fights the sleep taking over him until his Father becomes Athena’s warrior of the mind. Mother was right, he has heard this story so many times, but he never gets tired of it. To know his father is one of Athena’s chosen warriors, known throughout Greece. Powerful, clever, courageous. 

Definitely not afraid of some wind.

4

He is fifteen when the suitors start arriving. 

He doesn’t like them, and no, it’s not just because they aren’t his father. It’s not because they call him small, or that they sneer at him when his mother’s back is turned, or that despite him standing at his mother’s side they act like he’s not even there. It’s nothing he hasn’t faced before; he’s spent his life pretending he doesn’t hear the whispers, the constant comparisons to his father and how he is all the things Telemachus isn’t. He can handle it.

It’s the way they look at his mother. It’s the way they move close and closer and that Telemachus’ presence does nothing to deter them. Their hands on hers at dinner, their greedy eyes roaming everywhere except her face. It’s the way their teeth clench, when she tells them she hasn’t made a decision, that she is still weaving her shroud, that she has a duty to her son first. Impatience builds until their palace stinks of it and Telemachus can’t get them out of there fast enough. He watches his mother, his unshakeable, unbreakable mother, shudder whenever they leave. She sobs, silently, whenever she thinks Telemachus can’t see her. He begins to resent the dining hall, the front entrance, each plate and cup that they have touched.

The worst is what he hears when they think he’s not there.

“I’ll take that fucking shroud and strangle the bitch with it.”

“We’ll make her pathetic brat watch.”

“Him! I’ll hang the kid with his own innards if I could. String him up like the flower garland he is.”

“Do you think she’d beg if we did?” One of them asks giddily. “Maybe she’d let us have our way with her if her precious prince was in danger.”

Thankfully, Telemachus has learned not to scream. He forces his fear down, down, down, and by the time he can breathe again, his teeth are stained red.

He doesn’t tell his mother. But when she comes into her room to find him already there, she doesn’t make him leave. All she asks is he puts the sword beneath the bed.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself with it.”

He does, but he keeps the hilt towards him and a smaller dagger strapped to his leg.

If anyone wants to enter his mother’s rooms without permission, they will go through him first.

He can be just as deadly as they are. 

5

The palace is quiet. Telemachus’ mind is anything but. He paces his room, afraid to lie down and close his eyes lest he sees it all again The hallways gushing blood, the tip of Antonius’ blade. Each man falling, one by one, as if torn down by an invisible wind.

Except it wasn’t wind or anything natural; it was his father. The space that sat vacant for twenty years is now filled and it is…. Everything. And incredibly, incredibly loud. 

As minutes and hours go on, Telemachus finds he can’t take it anymore. Voices overlap in his head, the walls of his bedroom are pressing inwards and whether it’s a trick of his mind or something else, he doesn’t want to find out. So he slips out with a blanket around his shoulders, and tiptoes down the now-scrubbed corridors to his parents’ room.

He’s barely knocked on the door before Father answers.

“Son?” 

Telemachus hesitates before slipping inside. The room isn’t as dark as he expected; a single lamp in the corner bathes it in a soft glow. Father is still awake, half propped up against the pillows with Mother asleep on his chest, her arm tight around his waist. Telemachus can’t shake the feeling that he’s interrupted something, even with Father beckoning him in. His eyes hold so much and he can’t help but wonder if he’s up for the same reason Telemachus is. That his thoughts were too loud to let him rest.

“What’s bothering you?”

Telemachus pulls on his sleeve, his breath shallow. 

“I can’t sleep.” 

Father smiles. Despite the heaviness in his eyes, it feels sincere. It’s a steady on his shoulder, a reminder to breathe, a warm embrace to keep him safe. A suggestion that maybe things will be fine.

“Come here,” he says softly. He hadn’t realised how much he needed to hear that.

Mother is pulled from sleep as Father shifts to make room for him. There’s a moment where she hasn’t realised the second person yet and she smiles up at Odysseus, completely free of lines and worry as if it’s 20 years ago again.

Telemachus feels blessed to have seen it. 

“Tel?” she mumbles when she notices him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He slides into the space his father left and reaches across to squeeze her shoulder. “I’m all right. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Mother nods, an easy smile gracing her lips. Propped up on her elbow, she leans over and musses Telemachus’ hair, chuckling when he protests. Father laughs too, and Telemachus feels it against his body. Solid, warm, real. Here. Alive.

Mother settles back into the bed, pressing kisses to Father’s bare shoulder as she goes. Father grins and again, it’s like Telemachus is watching a scene from twenty years ago, from a world where nothing bad ever happened and he grew up whole. And maybe it’s the late hour talking, but for the first time, he has hope he can be.

Especially when Father kisses his head. 

“Go to sleep, son,” he whispers. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

“I know,” he murmurs. He presses into his father’s side and sleeps soundly the entire night.