#odyssey homer

[hecates-corner]

The Greeks were horny as hell describing Odysseus.

Like wdym “short king, but an actual king, 😋😚 broad chest and 🥺 perfect 😳 proportions 😍😍 fast and smart and sexy 😤😩 MASSIVE thighs 😨🤤🤤 and sweaty and sad and sooo tired 😖😏🤩” is this a dating profile??

[pelideswhore]

NOSTALGIA | CHAPTER 20

TAGLIST: @koruga @min3tta @athamad @sworebytheriverstyx @wolfythewitch @dauntless-and-assiduous @maraudersforlife5922 @instarss @ahouli-lia @eggbreadboi @starlightqueen34 @quill-is-brainstorming @scoopac @ellisthen @margaretkart @nysus-temple

NOTE: You can choose whether to read the fic under the cut or on ao3. I hope that after the archive being down for so long you will leave a comment or reblog, it really makes my day! As for the fic, we finally have a reunion now :’) i have read SO many research papers just for this scene, i will take no criticism on the matter. i am more of an expert than homer.

THE REUNION

Odysseus stepped into the courtyard, now clean from blood, sweat, and seawater. The slavegirls were gone. The air was filled with smoke from the large bonfire and wedding music, just as he had ordered. Though he could see the blood, to any outsider behind the locked gates, it would sound like Penelope had chosen a husband. No one would know of their deaths for now.

The tables had been emptied, cleaned, and set up straight again and Odysseus returned to his seat, watching Telemachus help the swineherd and some other slaves clear the ground of blood. He took a single braid in his hand and toyed with it, closing his eyes. Eurycleia had braided his hair the way he had always braided it before the war; loose, hanging off his scalp, and adorned with cuffs. He was at home now, after all.

When he opened his eyes, Penelope was standing at the entrance to the palace with Eurycleia by her side. He jumped up at the sight of her, but she just stood in the doorway. Instead of the black chiton, she wore a violet one that exposed her arms, the cloth falling to her sides instead of being pinned at her wrist and elbow. She held the dress up, as though she had been running.

The world faded away around him. He approached her like in a trance, without any control of his limbs. All he could feel was the wobble in his knees and the hammering of his heart. All he could see was his Penelope, unsmiling, unmoving, in the door to his palace.

“Why are you treating him like a stranger?” Telemachus asked. Even his voice was faded.

Odysseus shook his hand at him—not even he knew what the gesture was supposed to mean. “It’s alright,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else, “it’s alright. She knows me. She’ll know me.”

Eurycleia left—Odysseus did not know where to nor did he care—and he was alone with his wife in the courtyard.

“Penelope,” he said, louder now. His voice cracked. “Do you not recognize me?” She just stared at him, unaffected. Her eyes pierced through him, like arrows delving right into his soul. Her eyes remained empty while his filled with tears. “Look— look at this.” He quickly pulled his short tunic up and her eyes trailed down to the scar. “Remember this? It’s me.”

She said nothing, but her chest began to rise and fall faster. She recognized him. Surely she recognized him. And even so, she faced him with a heart of stone. Then, she smiled. Without dimples. Odysseus frowned. “Excuse me, Odysseus,” she said, “for being so cold-hearted. I wouldn’t want to accept a stranger as my husband.”

“I know.” He blinked and a tear fell to his cheek. “I know.”

Penelope did not make a move to kiss him, to hug him, to touch him, so Odysseus stepped forward himself and grabbed her arms and squeezed them once before his knees gave in and he fell, digging his face into her lap. He grabbed fistfuls of her chiton, clutching on like he was clutching onto life, and soaked the dress with tears, the saltiness trickling into his mouth. Was she disappointed that he was back? Did she really want to remarry one of the suitors? Had it been more than a decoy?

She put her hands on his head, stroking the braids. “Eurycleia, set up a bed for my husband outside our chamber.”

Odysseus looked up at her and huffed an ironic laugh. The crying had stopped as suddenly as it had started. “You’re going to make me sleep outside?”

Penelope wiped his tears away. “You can’t blame me for being faithful to my husband,” she said. “You’ve been gone for twenty years—I don’t know you anymore.” Her eyes trailed over the new scars on his arm, on his wrist, on his shoulder. Anywhere skin was exposed, there was a scar.

He just stared at her and she continued with her order to Eurycleia. “Our bed,” she added. “Pull out our bed and let him sleep there. Surely he misses his bed.”

“What?”

She looked down again. “Is something wrong?” She smiled. Again, no dimples—something was wrong. Of course something is wrong. She’s forgotten the bed. Or worse—

“Have you let a strange man dig out our tree?”

She fell onto her knees in front of him so they were level and cupped his face. Dimples. “What tree?”

“Our marriage bed,” Odysseus explained, his voice choked. “The bed I carved into a tree with my own hands. Has a strange man dug out the roots of our olive tree?”

Her eyes filled with tears and she threw her arms around Odysseus, kissing the scar on his collarbone. He did not even remember where he had gotten it from. “You know me better than that, Odysseus.”

He remained frozen, hands hovering hesitantly behind her back. “What were you on about?” he whispered into her ear.

“I had to know that it was you. Only you could get so angry about moving a bed.” She put her hand on his cheek, eyes flitting to his lips, and whispered, “I’m sorry. Forgive me, but I had to do this.”

Penelope closed the gap between them, pulling him into a long kiss. He returned it, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly, hugging her like a wave hugs the shore. His heartbeat slowly adjusted to hers. Their mouths parted, foreheads and noses remaining together. “So, are you going to take me to bed or what?”

Odysseus smiled against her lips, scooped her up, making her squeal, and carried her up to their room. As they ascended, joy filled him from the inside like he was landing on Ithaca for the first time again. He was not shipwrecked anymore—he was here, with his wife. His Penelope. His home.

[two-bees-poetry]

twenty years across the sea

[sydney-empire]

"I'll become the monster."

[jugganautism]

🔱🩸 HOW DOES IT FEEL TO KNOW PAIN ? / YOU MONSTER !

[attendingthetale]

having an iliad summer. doing a ton of brooding. might be blinded by selfishness and/or rage. considering unexpectedly dying to my hubris. hopefully that wont have devastating effects

[official-english-major]

Telemachus's life post-Odyssey has the potential to be so funny bc bro is suddenly going from the son of, essentially, a single mom to the son of two VERY in-love middle aged sweethearts who never had to learn boundaries about what is/isn't appropriate to say around their kid.

Penelope: I knew that "beggar" was you the whole time, you know.

Odysseus, laughing: Oh, really?

Penelope: You can disguise a lot of things, but I'd know that ass anywhere.

Telemachus: I am begging you guys to keep it in your pants for ONE family dinner.

[pelideswhore]

i am so so normal about them

Tree bed scene makes me absolutely insane it's like you've just spent your entire poem lying and obfuscating and tricking and half-truthing and then your wife does it right back to you and. You fold. You let her win. Wily Odysseus recognised by his wife because of his honesty. You leave for war with a lie of madness and you come home with truth. Do you ever think about love???

[bethfuller]

odysseus and athena

find me on instagram!

[vor-leser]

"Didn´t you say that ruthlessness is mercy?"

[blueliliesblueroses]

Storm // EPIC: The Ocean Saga

[hecates-corner]

RIP Odysseus, you would’ve loved Apple Maps

[pelideswhore]

when i write, i do the equivalent of poking odysseus with a stick and then shaking him in a jar

[greeknerdsstuff]

⚠️It does not justify their actions in a culture and period full of war and suffering⚠️

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

when the first thing your long lost husband does with his son is brutally murder over 100 people

it’s gonna take a while to clean up

[jugganautism]

i keep forgetting to post here mb yall