#Epic the musical fanfic

[k-nayee]

Wife to the Winds Epic: The Musical | ii

wc: 3.5k a/n: yeah I'm sorry y'all. I'm, a slow updater/editor. But I'm getting faster and better! Here's the animation for this part

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

recap

"You truly believe you can ensure my safe passage home? After everything?"

"With all my heart..."

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The salty tang of the sea clung to your hair as you followed Odysseus back to the creaking ships. The satchel against your hip jostled with every step, containing all of your life ever since the ambush of your village.

Midway through readying the ship for their long-awaited return, the men around fell silent as Odysseus approached.

Murmurs rippled through the crew as they watched their battle-scarred leader approach, a stranger by his side.

Reaching the center of the gathered crowd, Odysseus raised a hand for silence. A hush fell over, their gazes flitting between you and their captain.

"This one!" he boomed, aura carrying the authority of a seasoned leader, "is under my is under my protection. Do not lay hand upon her, show her the respect you may give to me."

Glances flicker towards you and stare intently, their faces etched with curiosity and a hint of something...more.

What it could be? You don't know, but you refuse to show it. Even riddled with fear and wary, you held your head high, posture radiating confidence.

That's when the whispers reached your ears: "A goddess, perhaps?" one muttered. "Sent to test us," another added, a hint of reverence lacing his voice.

'Wait...what?' You blink at this. Looking closer, you realize they are staring at you in awe, not lust.

You steal a peek at Odysseus, but his face remained impassive, any amusement he might've felt hidden.

'A goddess huh?' Your lips twitch, a snort of disbelief threating to escape your lips. Seems Odysseus initial shock towards you wasn't a one man reaction.

"Men!" attention is brought once more to the King of Ithaca.

"We have weathered storms. We have battled and sacrificed. Yet, victory lies within reach. Today," he brings a fist up to the heavens. "we begin our journey home!"

Cheers erupted from them, collective roars of relief and anticipation.

The rest of the day was a blur of activity: sails unfurled, oars readied for rowing—image of home ever the motivator.

Days bled into weeks, the endless blue horizon and rocking of the ship becoming your new normal.

The crew remained wary, interactions limited to curt greetings and exchanges. Your only solace came from occasional conversations with Odysseus and surprisingly, both Eurylochus and Polites.

Speaking of which, a tense discussion was brewing near the stern. Eurylochus, his weathered face etched with worry, was locked in a heated debate with the king.

"Six hundred mouths to feed," Eurylochus stressed, frustration coloring his voice, "and our supplies are dwindling! We may not make it far, we are running on fumes!"

Polites, ever the diplomat, step forth in hopes of calming the second in command. "We'll find a way, Eurylochus. Odysseus is a resourceful man—"

"Look!" Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by Odysseus himself, his gaze fixed on the sky.

You follow his line of sight, spotting a flurry of birds flying into the distance. Your brow raise at that, catching on to his proposal.  

"We watch where they go, and there we will hunt for food." Giving a firm nod, Eurylochus began giving new orders.

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Hours had pass, soon the Sun going down leaving the stars and moon as your only source of light.

"Captain!" Polities' cry breaks you out of your daily/night inventory checkup. "There in the distance: I see a light faintly glowing."

You quickly stuff everything back into your bag, rushing over to stand next to the Greek warrior and see for yourself.

He turns and gives you a bright grin, lightly bouncing on his feet. "Maybe it's a village lighting a fire? Who knows! They might even share some food."

"No." Odysseus shakes his head. "No, somethings not right. I see fire...but there's no smoke."

Eurylochus scoffed. "Let's raid the place and be done with it!" he barked, his hunger overriding caution.

Odysseus narrowed his eyes. "No," he countered, his voice firm. "There must be another way, one that doesn't involve bloodshed."

"Captain you can't be serious, we don't know of the danger's ahead! A—"

"Just!...just give me until sunrise," Taking a glance at the awaiting crew, his voice lower in attempt to quell their bloodthirst knowing just speaking of potential fighting would set them off. "And if we don't return, burn this place to the ground."

Odysseus turns to Polities, gesturing towards the approaching island. "Polites, gear up. We'll scout ahead."

"Yes sir!"

"I'm coming with you!"

The mortal king's head snapped towards you, frown creasing his brow. "Absolutely not."

Your voice rose in protest. "B-but I can help! I'm a fast learner. My skills..."

"There will be no debate," he states, voice leaving no room for argument. "The men are weary. They need their rest. You will stay and watch over little Ajax."

Anger welled in your chest as your teeth gritted. You storm off, the sting of rejection burning in your eyes.

Being reduced to babysitting(once again) felt like an insult to your abilities. You couldn't help but pout in disappointment as you watch the two sail step off the ship, crossing your arms with a glare.

The rest of the night crawled by, the time made longer from your simmering resentment.

It was sunrise when Odysseus and Polities returned, their faces were painted with apprehension.

"We've been told of a cave with food in the east!" he said "enough to last us on our journey back to Ithaca, even extra to spare."

You perk up at the news as men were called to arms. Pushing your way into the forming group, you stand before Odysseus who releases a heavy sigh upon seeing your wide grin. 

"Perhaps I can help assess the situation? My knowledge of—"

"We have enough help," he holds up a hand, silencing you with narrowed eyes. "You stay here with Ajax. Guard duty."

You bite your tongue to keep your anger from saying something disrespectful.

Taking a deep breath, you clasp your hands in a pleading motion. "Please. Just let me help. I-I can gather herbs, o-or even tend wounds..."

"There'll be no wounds," Odysseus says curtly. "We'll be in and out, quick and quiet."

And with that, he and his newly gathered group of men began venturing east in search of food.

Though your fists clenched in fury, you knew better than to disobey Odysseus directly. Instead, you waited, a plan forming in your mind.

It was then upon spotting the ever-cautious Ithacan Eurylochus right as he prepares to leave and catch up with the main group, an idea sparks.

You quickly approach him in determined strides. "Eurylochus, there isn't any proper medical supplies on board. I'm sure the men will gain injuries on their quest for food. And for that, I will need to go and get more herbs." 

Eurylochus barely glanced in your direction, more focused on ensuring his weapons are tied on correctly as he gives a dry chuckle. "Injuries huh? I'm sure medicine won't be needed for a little wound."

"You sure about that?" Offput at the chilly tone of your voice, he looks up only to be taken aback at the emptiness of your gaze. "Even the mightiest of warriors have fallen, crossing the River Styx from a mere scrape."

A tremor of unease ran through Eurylochus. He cleared his throat, the bravado gone

"Alright," he conceded, "but if anything goes wrong..."

"There won't be anything wrong!" you assured him quickly, smile bright and innocent as if you hadn't just traumatized this man.

Gesturing two nearby men to come over, Eurylochus gives you one final look. "Now, I'm trusting you to get what you need and get out. This is Lycus and Alexander; they will watch over you, so stay close. Understood?"

You bobbed your head enthusiastically, already launching into a flurry of excited instructions for your temporary bodyguards.

Eurylochus couldn't help but shake his head and sigh as he turned to leave. "Gods...Odysseus is gonna kill me..."

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The moment your feet touched the shore, a thrill shot through you. The air hummed with an unfamiliar energy, and the vibrant foliage swaying in the gentle breeze.

Years of training under your mother's watchful eye kicked in: You recognized the landscape instantly—the lush vegetation, the specific types of trees—everything she taught echoing in your mind.

Unlike Odysseus and his men trampling path, or the impatient stomping of your guards, you carefully navigated the undergrowth with practiced grace; steps light and sure.

Awe filled you as you surveyed the diverse flora. You stopped every so often, meticulously collecting samples in your satchel, murmuring a silent thank you with each pluck.

A memory flickered from your childhood's countless foraging trips; your mother kneeling beside you in a sun-dappled meadow as her hand gently guides yours. "Plants are lives of their own...they are deserving of respect, as would any other being."

Too caught up in reminiscing the past, you miss it when your small group stumbled into a clearing.

It wasn't until you noticed the men behind you stopping themselves did you pay attention to your surroundings.

There, in the center of the area was a group of figures. Their faces were serene, eyes filled with an otherworldly light.

You couldn't help but look at them in awe, tales heard over the years could never measure up to the—

The sound of drawn weapons snap you out of it.

"W-wait!" you cry, darting forward and placing yourself between the armed men and the peaceful Lotus-eaters. "Lower your weapons! They mean no harm."

Lycus, a gruff soldier with a gnarly scar on his cheek to match, scoffs. "They could be a threat, best get rid of them while we can" he grumbles, grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

Undeterred, you squared your shoulders and met his gaze.

"And as I said, they mean no harm. Pose no danger Look at them!" You gestured towards the Lotus-eaters, some of whom were staring at you with wide-eyes, others seemingly lost in a blissful daydream. "They wouldn't hurt a fly."

A tense silence hung in the air. The men exchanged uncertain glances, unsure of how to react.

 You pressed further, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Besides. I'm not moving, and Odysseus wouldn't be too happy if I got hurt...now would he?"

The mere mention of the formidable leader caused the men to flinch, images of Odysseus' fearsome wrath flashing in their minds.

Lycus grunts in defeat. "Fine." Reluctantly sheathing his weapon, Alexander follows suit in a mixture of annoyance and grudging acceptance.

The Lotus people seemed captivated by the scene unfolding before them. Their gaze remained transfixed on you, faces filled with a strange mix of curiosity and wonder.

You turn and offer them a warm smile, disarming the Lotus-eaters completely. Their gaze remained fixed on you, captivated not just by your courage and kindness, but also by your beauty. 

Unlike the warriors who had come earlier, bristling with aggression, you approached them with an open heart of respect and curiosity.

And they knew this...from the moment you stepped into the forest, you were being watched after all.

So watchful of those who arrived on their island, the Lotus-eaters had seen everything: your reverence for the plant life, your gentle touch as you collected herbs—it spoke all that was needed.

They felt—no, they knew your heart held no malice. So that's why they had no problem answering any question you asked.

Meanwhile, the men assigned to guard you grow bored from the lack of conflict. They began to talk to each other, attention drifting away from their assigned duty.

After all, you seemed perfectly safe surrounded by these serene beings.

Encouraged by your gentle demeanor, one of the Lotus-eaters hesitantly approach you. He's tall, a crown of woven leaves sitting on top of his curly-hair.

Shy and gentle eyes meet yours. A tranquil smile is etched on his face as he holds out a strange bulbous fruit within his cupped palms, its surface pulsating with an otherworldly glow.

You recognize it instantly for its legendary intoxicating properties, accepting the Lotus fruit with a grateful smile.

Knowing the dangers of the Lotus and its ability to induce a blissful forgetfulness, you carefully stow it away in your satchel.

The Lotus-eaters trill in content, their voices all speaking at once in a wave of pitches.

Straining to hear what they were saying, you slowly make out some of the words drifting through the air.

"...giant..." one voice rasped, low and conspiratorial. "...big as a mountain..." another chimed in.

You pause, a flicker of unease taking root in your stomach. 'Did I just hear that right?...'

"Excuse me," you began, your voice dropping to a hushed tone, "but I couldn't help but overhear something about a... giant?"

They eagerly nod, their excited chatter confirming your worst suspicions.

The Lotus-eater from earlier locks eyes with you. You sense a flicker of concern flash across his glazed eye before murky sereness takes place once more.

He spoke, voice deep and whimsy. "The one-eyed giant in the east? He owns most of the sheep,  calls himself Polyphemus..."

'Giant...sheep...cave...east...that means—' when the pieces clicked in your mind, dread coiled in your gut. Odysseus and his men...trapped with a monstrous cyclops?

This was a disaster.  You needed to get away, and fast.

Glancing at the warriors, still lost in their own world of boredom, a devious plan began to form in your mind.

You turn to the group of Lotus-eaters and lower your voice further.

"Listen," you began, urgency lacing your tone, "there's something really really important I need to get from the cave in the east."

You give a nudge towards the lounging duo guards. "Those men who came with me wouldn't understand. Plus they're not very nice...they've been nothing but mean and unhelpful!"

The Lotus-eaters exchanged glances. Even with their peaceful demeanor they could sense your worry.

"What do you want us to do?" the crowned Lotus-eater asked, his voice laced with alarm.

A large grin stretched across your face.

"Pretend to kidnap me!" you declared, barely able to contain a giggle. "Take me to the cave. There, I can handle the rest."

Their faces broke into wide smiles. Now this was a game they understood.

A Lotus-eater with eyes the color of the sky, clapped her hands in delight. "Oh that sounds fun!"

Before you could even blink, half of the group erupted in a playful ruckus of shouts and laughter; hurling small rocks branched leaves at the warriors.

The men sputtered in confusion as nearby plants and vines creeped down and snatched their weapons, leaving them flabbergasted and unarmed.

"What in Hades—" Alexander exclaims, eyes wide with confusion as his sword was yanked from his grasp by an unseen force.

Now for your part.

Taking a deep breath, you let out the most dramatic, exaggerated scream you could muster. "Help! Oh no! They are taking me! What ever shall I dooooo!"

The distracted guards turn in time to see the other half of the Lotus-eaters scoop you off the ground. You kicked your legs playfully, still crying out in mock distress. "No! Oh no! Let me go! Someone, save meeeeeee!"

As Lotus-eaters began moving to the cave, you grimace when realizing a little too late of your lack of fighting back and reaction to being taken. 'I hope they didn't see right through me. Probably should've acted a little more afraid.'

"H-hey!" You turn back to see Lycus' stressfully looking in your direction as he tries to dodge the sticks and stones, "They're kidnapping her!"

"We must save her!" Alexander chimed in, his panicked filled voice reaching your ears before you disappear into the foliage.

You blink in disbelief at their gullibility. 'Nevermind...'

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The further you were carried away from the clearing, the more the sounds of chaos faded into the background.

When you finally reached a safe distance, they gently set you down.

Once brushing off your clothes and looking around you immediately notice the Lotus-eaters brought you to the side of a mountain.

'Where's the cave...?' Confusion flickered across your at face as you try to understand why you where there instead.

Seeing your puzzled expression, the crowned-Lotus eater stepped forward with a gentle smile.

"We brought you to a secret passage," he explains softly, "It's a hidden way that leads to where the sheep are kept. The giant one may find you at the entrance, but this path is safe."

He gestures towards a cluster of branches and vines. Pushing them aside, he reveals a human-sized crack in the mountainside before letting dense foliage fall back over the cleverly concealed hole.

A warm smile spreading across your face at their concern and attempt for your safety. "Thank you!"

Leaning forward, you stand on your toes to place a soft kiss on the forehead of the crowned-Lotus eater who's been your main communicator of the time.

His cheeks flushed a deep scarlet red as he giggled, his companions joining in with flushed faces and shy smiles of their own.

"Good luck," he whimsically mutters, still blushing.

With a nod, you turned towards the secret passageway. Your heart pounds as you carefully push aside the branch and vines and squeezed through the opening.

The rough stone walls loomed around you as distant noises faintly echo in the background.

Air growing cooler and damper with each step as you ventured deeper inside, it wasn't until then did the faint sounds became clearer—multiple voices talking and sounds of sheep scuffling around. 

You pause at the edge of the cave, listening intently.

"Over here!" At the sound of Odysseus' commanding and calm voice, you immediately peek around the corner.

The first thing you're met with is an abundance of food and resources scattered all around: Jugs of wine stacked neatly against the walls, expensive cloths rich in color and texture, to even golden chalices and cups that gleamed in the torch-light cave.

And the sheep.

There were so many! So much, a few roaming ones were so close that you could feel the softness of their wool if you just reach out to tou—

Your nose scrunch up in disgust as a pungent wave of musk, grass, and a hint of manure hits you. 'Ugh...don't smell as cute as they look. That's for sure.'

Looking past the sheep, your body almost instinctively relaxed as you saw no signs of dead bodies or a murderous Cyclops.

Instead, you spotted the King of Ithaca standing alongside his 2nd of command and friend, onlooking as the other men got to work.

"Odysseus! Look at all this food...a-and all of these sheep!" Polites exclaims, you could even make out his bright smile all the way from here. "I can't believe it! This cave, it has all this for us to keep."

Eurylochus stood a few feet away, a begrudging nod of acceptance as he keep watch of the soldiers as they slaughter sheep and prepare to carry them to the ships. "I've gotta hand it to you both, this is quite the treat. More than enough sheep here to feed the entire fleet."

"Hmmm. I'm not sure. Looks too perfect, too good to be true." Odysseus seemed unconvinced. He shifted on his feet, glancing around as unease began seeping into his bones. "Why would the Lotus-eaters pass up on all this food?"

'Okay!' You take a step back, readying yourself for the potential scolding you most definitely were going to get for leaving the ship. 'You can do this...'

He sounds worried enough, so maybe he won't be too mad?

Taking a deep breath, you straighten you back and take a step out to greet the— 

"WHO ARE YOU?" A deep, rumbling voice echoes through the cave, making everyone freeze in their tracks.

Popping your head back around the corner, the blood drains from your face once you see the Cyclops.

Odysseus steps up with a confident smile. "Hey there! We're just travelers." He waves to the giant and motion to the others. "We come in peace."

The cyclops says nothing at first. He's monstrous, frame towering above so high you could barely make out his features—a single eye glowing menacingly in the darkness as it glared down at the Spartan warriors.

"YOU KILLED MY SHEEP. MY FAVORITE SHEEP. WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO DEAL A PAIN SO DEEP?"

You stumble back with a soft gasp and try to calm your racing heart. Your mind raced as you tried to figure out what to do.

"TIME TO DRINK—YOUR BLOOD OVER WHERE YOU STAND. YOUR LIFE NOW IS IN MY HAND."

Recalling the tales and stories of the cyclops' favored weapon (a massive club), you knew it was only a moment of time...

"BEFORE I'M DONE, YOU WILL LEARN THAT IT'S NOT SO FUN TO TAKE. YOU CAME TO MY HOME TO STEAL, BUT NOW YOU'LL BECOME MY MEAL."

Your hand flickered down to the weight in your satchel. With trembling fingers, you rummaged through it.

A Lotus fruit and bundle of dried Nepenthe and Poppy herbs are pulled out the bag, now in your hands. 'Please Gods....please. This has to work...'

"A TRADE, YOU SEE? TAKE FROM YOU LIKE YOU TOOK FROM ME."

[winxanity-ii]

JOIN US FOR A BITE

ship: polities x fem!lotus eater!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 6.1k a/n: Y'all forgive me, i'm currently addicted to EPIC: The Musical 😭😭😭 i had to get it out......so because i'm such a random ass person, expect a few one-shots of these 🥴

★·.·´🇪‌🇵‌🇮‌🇨‌: 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇲‌🇺‌🇸‌🇮‌🇨‌🇦‌🇱‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

In the dappled shade of overhanging trees, you, a daughter of the Lotus Eaters, moved with the silence of a whisper.

The island, your home, was a place of serene beauty and hidden sorrows, where every berry and leaf held stories untold.

As you foraged, the unexpected sound of low voices sliced through the quiet, a rarity in this secluded paradise.

In the heart of the island, where the sun played peek-a-boo through the lush canopy, you were lost in your routine of foraging, the familiar, comforting task providing a rhythm to your day.

The island was your sanctuary, a place where each leaf and berry whispered stories of peace and forgetfulness.

But today, an unfamiliar murmur shattered the symphony of rustling leaves and distant waves—a discordant note that prickled your skin.

Hiding wasn't something you Lotus Eaters did often; your island was a haven, not a battlefield. Yet, instinct took over, and you found yourself crouching under the embracing shadow of an overhanging tree, its leaves casting a mosaic of light and dark around you.

Your heart thudded a frantic rhythm, trying to drown out the low, masculine voices that sliced through the serenity of your world.

You couldn't catch their words clearly, just fragments floating through the air like leaves caught in a breeze—"too worried," "need to relax"—phrases that seemed out of place in the tranquility of your island.

Your curiosity piqued as their voices faded, swallowed by the whispers of the forest. The urge to look, to know, overpowered your hesitation, and you peered through the veil of green, your gaze snagging on flashes of gold.

Gold here was not a common sight. It wasn't woven into your garments or hoarded in chests; it was a color of the sunsets, not of men. Yet, there it was, adorning these strangers in the form of armor, glinting with a promise of other worlds, other wars.

Your breath caught at the sight of their swords, tools of harm so alien to your way of life, and a chill skittered down your spine.

They were heading toward your village, toward your people who knew no harm.

Panic, sharp and urgent, spurred you into motion. You couldn't just sit and watch. The safety of your village, of the gentle souls who had never known the cold bite of steel, was in your hands.

As you darted through the underbrush, the island blurred around you, a whirl of green and brown streaked with your anxiety. "Strangers are coming," you rehearsed in your mind, "armed strangers, with intentions as unclear as the shadowed depths of our waters." Your feet knew the way, carrying you faster than thought, driven by a need to protect, to warn.

Reaching the village felt like emerging from water, a sudden rush of air and noise. Your people, your family, they were all there, living their peaceful lives, unaware of the disturbance heading their way. You gasped for breath, words tumbling out in a rush, "Strangers… armed… heading this way…"

The village's rhythm halted, eyes turning to you, a mixture of confusion and concern blooming on familiar faces. Kio, your elder, stepped forward, his presence like a calm in the storm. "Tell me everything," his voice was the steady beat of the drum, grounding and solid.

As you recounted what little you saw and heard, the weight of responsibility bore down on you. You were a community that thrived on harmony and understanding, yet here you were, the harbinger of potential discord. "I saw their swords," you confessed, the words heavy, "weapons that shows tales of war and death."

The air was thick with unspoken fears, with the weight of what was to come. You stood there, amid your people, feeling the shift in the breeze, a harbinger of change, unwelcome and unbidden.

In that moment, you realized that the sanctuary of your island was no longer a given—and you can't help but wonder what the arrival of these strangers heralds for your people, for your way of life, and for the harmony that has always been your world's heartbeat.

As the last echoes of your warning hang in the air, a sudden rustling at the village's edge cuts through the stillness. You barely have time to finish, "We must hide!" before the underbrush parts, revealing the very strangers you feared. The village, usually a bastion of tranquility, pulses with a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to the darker-skinned man, whose presence seems to command the sun's rays, casting a warm glow on his deep-toned skin.

He stood out with a demeanor that contrasts sharply with the tense atmosphere, his short, dark curls restrained by a golden headband that speaks of valor yet does not overshadow his approachable aura. His face, framed by a full beard, is alight with a friendly smile, his brown eyes reflecting a depth of wisdom and kindness, suggesting a soul seasoned by journeys and battles yet untouched by their harshness.

He is clad in a heroic ensemble that marries form and function—a chest plate of polished bronze that narrates tales of past skirmishes, worn over a tunic vibrant against the natural backdrop of the village. Golden armlets encircle his muscular arms, shimmering with each movement, while a belt with intricate designs anchors a leather skirt, designed for the dual demands of agility and protection. His attire is completed with greaves and sandals, hinting at readiness for both celebration and conflict.

Beside him, a man with lighter skin presents a stark contrast, his rigid posture exuding a sense of urgency and latent power. His armor, less adorned yet no less formidable, speaks of a life spent in strategy and combat, his expression one of focus and resolve, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a commander's vigilance.

You watch, your gaze hardening, as Elder Kio and the other respected leaders step forward, their arms spread in a gesture of welcome that's as much a part of your culture as the lotus itself; it's a silent offering of peace and welcome, a tradition unbroken for generations.

The children, with their innocent faces peeking out from behind their mothers' skirts, gawked at the men, their usual playground of earth and sky momentarily forgotten.

The mothers, though curious, held their children close, sensing the shift in the wind, the ripple of change that these strangers brought with them.

A greeting that's supposed to be met with gratitude is instead met with tension.

The lighter one, his armor catching the sun's rays, draws his sword in a swift motion that cuts the air and the brief moment of peace.

The reaction is immediate. The elders halt in their tracks, their expressions morphing from open welcome to guarded caution. The villagers, their voices once rising in a harmonious welcome, now fall silent, their songs of greeting dissolving into a tense hush.

The children, sensing the shift, draw closer to their mothers, their expressions morphing from excitement to a dawning unease.

"Stay back!" the command ripples through the gathered crowd, a stark contrast to the open-hearted reception offered by your people; it acts as chilling reminder of the potential danger these strangers represent.

The villagers, once buoyed by curiosity and the novelty of new faces, now retreat into a wary distance, their initial welcome cooling into a collective apprehension; unused to such intensity, leaned in, their eyes flickering between the sword in his hand and the stoic expressions of their elders.

Yet, you, alongside the village elders, remain steadfast, your eyes locked on the two men who've disrupted the peace of your haven.

"We're only here for food," the lighter one said, his voice carrying the weight of command and desperation. "I need enough to feed 600 men."

The word 'food' echoed through the crowd, a simple yet profound need that resonated with every villager. Your people, always so giving, now faced a dilemma as the shadow of the upcoming drought season loomed over the island like an ominous cloud, now facing the prospect of feeding an army.

Elder Kio looked worried; his face, etched with the lines of countless smiles and furrowed brows of concern, now bore a look of deep contemplation. He's seen a lot over the years, and you could tell he was trying to figure out what to do. His eyes, reflecting a storm of thoughts, met the soldier's—an exchange brimming with the weight of unspoken negotiations.

With his stance firm and his expression unyielding, the pale one held Kio's gaze. The elder's eyes, usually reflecting pools of calm, now mirrored the tumultuous sea of issues before him.

The island, a paradise of peace and plenty, was unused to such extreme demands, and Kio's hesitation was a testament of the conflict within—a battle between the inner desire to extend a hand in hospitality or the impending need to safeguard their future against the looming threat of scarcity.

Before Elder Kio could open his mouth to offer a bit of help despite future trouble, the soldier cut him off, sensing the hesitation, sharpened his stance, "Stay back, I'm warning you," he repeated, his sword gleaming menacingly in the sunlight. "If we don't get back safely, my men will turn this place into blazes."

The threat hung in the air, stark and chilling. A collective shiver ran through the villagers, a silent wave of fear that you felt keenly. Your own reaction was immediate—a frown, a tightening of your jaw, an instinctive readiness to defend your home against this thinly veiled menace.

Yet, from across the clearing, your mother's calm gaze met yours. Her presence, unswayed by the lotus's usual soporific effect, served as a silent beacon of restraint. Her eyes, so like your own, whispered a message of patience and wisdom, cooling the fire of your indignation.

Around you, the elders, those first-generation Lotus Eaters who seldom displayed such collective lucidity, stood with a shared gravity. Their usual, dreamlike detachment was replaced by a sharp, collective focus, a rare and telling shift that spoke volumes of the gravity of the situation.

"Odysseus, my friend, it's okay to greet the world with open arms, no need to be harsh," the darker one spoke in a gentle tone, trying to dispel the tension; his words, meant to soothe, seemed almost out of place against the backdrop of his companion's stark ultimatum.

The lighter one—Odysseus—still on edge, shot a glance at his friend, his expression a mix of frustration and urgency. "We need to find food for our men, Polites," he insisted, the weight of his responsibility evident in his voice.

The villagers watched, a silent audience to this back-and-forth between the two men. Elder Kio, after a moment of anxious contemplation, stepped forward, his voice steady but his concern clear. "We can offer you some of our reserves," he said to Odysseus, "It's not much, but we're willing to share what we have."

With a nod from Kio, a few of the women villagers moved toward the storerooms, their steps hesitant but determined. Kio then turned his gaze to you and a small group of young villagers standing nearby.

With a subtle but firm nod, he signaled for you to assist in gathering the provisions.

Watching you all get into action, Polites' face lights up in with relief, nudged Odysseus. "See? You were worrying for nothing," he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

Just then, a young child, innocent to the tension, approached the men with a tray of refreshments, among them the lotus fruit. Polites reached out, his hand hovering over the fruit, drawn to its vibrant hue.

Odysseus's hand shot out, stopping Polites just in time. "Wait," he cautioned, eyeing the fruit with suspicion.

And as the little boy who had offered the tray turned to leave, Odysseus called out to him, "Hey, wait a minute, boy." His voice, firm yet not unkind, prompted the child to halt in his tracks and look back, a mix of curiosity and wariness in his eyes.

The boy, clutching the hem of his shirt, took hesitant steps back toward the two strangers. His gaze flitted between the fruit in Odysseus's hand and the stern look on the man's face.

"What's this?" Odysseus asked, holding up the luminescent fruit for the boy to see. The child, now standing a safe distance away, glanced at the fruit and then up at Odysseus's questioning eyes.

"I-It's what we eat here," the boy replied, his voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of the watching villagers. "It makes people happy."

Odysseus exchanged a quick, meaningful look with Polites, who wore an expression of dawning understanding mixed with concern. The child, sensing the men's unease, added, "It's good… it helps people forget their sadness."

Odysseus, still locked in his silent communication with Polites, missed the approach of an older teenager who came to retrieve the young boy. The girl, with a respectful bow, offered a gentle apology for the interruption, her actions protective as she guided the boy to stand behind her, his curious eyes peeking out from her leg.

As the villagers began to place baskets filled with an assortment of foods beside the men, Odysseus turned his attention to the girl. "Is what the child said true? You eat these?" he inquired, gesturing towards the lotus fruit in his hand.

The girl nodded, her eyes fixed on the ground, a hint of defensiveness in her posture. "Yes," she confirmed softly, "we use the fruit as a base for many of our meals." Her hand swept towards the growing pile of food offerings, which included more than just the fruit, illustrating the variety in their diet.

When the girl and child left, Odysseus picked up one of the fruits. "Look at this," he said, holding it high, its seeds emitting a faint glow. "Do you see how it glows? This is a lotus fruit. It's not just any food; it affects your mind, traps you in bliss." He then turned to Polites with a stern look, his words sharp and clear. "If we indulge in this, we could become like the lotus eaters here, essentially addicts lost to their escape, detached from reality."

With a gesture that carried a mix of disdain and warning, Odysseus dropped the fruit to the ground, his hand swiftly brushing against his pants, as if to rid himself of its influence.

You returned to the scene, arms aching slightly from helping to transport the village's food reserves, only to catch Odysseus's dismissive gesture as he dropped a lotus fruit to the ground. His words, laden with disdain, hung heavily in the air, criticizing the very essence of your people's way of life.

You felt a surge of emotions as you stood there, witnessing this display of ignorance. Anger bubbled up inside you, mixed with a deep sadness.

These outsiders didn't understand. They didn't see that the lotus fruit, while powerful, was not a chain but a choice for many who came to your island seeking peace from their troubled pasts.

You knew the stories well—of travelers and wanderers, lost souls who found solace on your shores, much like your own parents had.

You were a child of two lotus eaters who had discovered love and a new beginning amidst the island's gentle embrace. Unlike the outsiders' assumptions, you all lived in harmony, connecting deeply with each other's hearts and minds, a unity that was rare and precious.

Odysseus's words, though meant for Polites, echoed through the village, casting a shadow over the offered hospitality. The villagers' expressions shifted from welcome to wariness, their eyes reflecting a mix of hurt and disappointment.

The notion that your home, your culture, and your people were reduced to being labeled as 'useless' by those who knew nothing of your world cut deeply.

It was a stark reminder of how the outside world viewed the lotus eaters—a place of forgetfulness and oblivion, not healing and community.

The tension in the village was palpable, a thick veil of unease that hung over the villagers, all felt but unseen by Odysseus and Polites. Polites, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, took a modest step forward, his head slightly bowed, exuding a sense of genuine remorse.

"Lotus eaters," Polites addressed the villagers with a tone full of sincerity, "I apologize for the misunderstanding. We, as soldiers, must remain vigilant and at our peak, which means we cannot partake in your lotus fruit." While his apology was sincere, it didn't sit well with the villagers.

The fact that it was Polites apologizing, and not Odysseus—the one who had actually insulted the community—only intensified the villagers' resentment and frustration.

The villagers exchanged glances, questioning why the man who had caused the offense hadn't stepped forward to make amends himself.

Elder Kio, masking the village's collective discomfort with a practiced ease, responded, "The cave," he stated simply, his voice imbued with a reassuring calm that seemed to gently brush away the lingering tension.

Polites's interest piqued. "A cave! You're saying there's a cave where we could feast? Where might we find this food-filled cave?" His tone carried a mix of curiosity and relief.

Kio, with a gentle nod, extended his arm eastward, as if presenting a gift. "Eastward…There lies a cave you seek, abundant and generous, just as our village strives to be. It'll take 3 days and 2 nights to reach."

Gratitude washed over Polites's features, lighting them up with a grateful smile. "Thank you!" he exclaimed, his appreciation clear.

"You are most welcome," echoed the villagers, their chorus of voices a blend of politeness and restraint, a testament to their enduring hospitality even in the face of discomfort.

Kio then turned to you, his next words taking everyone by surprise—including you. "We also offer a guide's service to lead you there," he said, gesturing toward you. "She's the best on the entire island."

You felt a jolt of responsibility as all eyes turned to you. As Kio's gaze met yours, a silent message passed between you, clear and unmistakable.

You could almost hear his unspoken strategy: Feed them to the beasts, since they want to behave as such.

Understanding Kio's underlying intention, you stepped forward from the crowd, now the focus of Odysseus and Polites's attention. "I need just a moment to prepare," you told them, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts inside you. "Then, you'll guide me to your ship to gather more of your men before we start for the cave."

As you stepped out to meet Odysseus and Polites, their eyes landed on you, taking in your appearance for the first time. The tropical sun of your island home cast a warm glow on your rich brown skin, highlighting your beauty and the distinctiveness of your village's attire.

You stood there, embodying the spirit of your people with your attire that was both practical for the island's warmth and symbolic of your culture.

Your outfit consisted of a dark brown loincloth, complementing your skin tone, paired with a bralette fashioned from sparkling beads that caught the light with every movement, signaling your status and style.

Your hair, a cascade of back-length, fuzzy locks, was adorned with beads whose colors denoted your age and status within the village.

At 19, the azure and emerald beads woven into your hair were a vibrant mix, reflecting your youth and vigor, and marking you as one of the youngest warriors and hunters of your people.

Your arms bore white tattoos, striped patterns that ran up to your shoulders, interspersed with specks of blue and seafoam green, signifying your prowess and skill.

Around your lower stomach and navel, intricate grayish designs sprawled, symbolizing your single status and fertility, a visual marker that you are of age and ready to bear children, aligning with the island's traditions and its deep-rooted connection to the cycles of life and continuity.

Beauty marks dotted gracefully along the bridge of your nose and over your cupid's bow, drawing attention to your face, enhancing your natural features, and expressing the unique blend of strength and elegance that characterized your presence.

Polites's reaction was immediate as his gaze swept over you; his brown cheeks flushed a slight shade of pink, a subtle but telling reaction to your striking appearance. There was an unmistakable look of admiration in his eyes, a clear indication that he found you to be perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered.

Under his breath, awestruck, he murmured a phrase that likened you to the goddess of beauty herself, "By Aphrodite's grace…" His words were a whisper, a testament to the impression you'd made on him, acknowledging your beauty as one that could rival the goddess's unparalleled allure.

Even Odysseus, whose heart was steadfastly anchored to Penelope, couldn't ignore the striking presence you radiated.

While loyalty to his wife remained unshaken, he recognized the undeniable fact that your beauty was something extraordinary, a rare and captivating elegance, one that could easily stir the hearts of men and gods alike.

He thought to himself that your beauty was such that, were it known beyond this secluded island, it might provoke kingdoms to vie for your favor, much like they once did for Helen of Troy—igniting conflicts driven by desire and admiration.

You quickly made your way to your family's tent to collect the necessary items for the journey ahead. Inside the small, familiar space, you grabbed a satchel, packing it with essential items: a few lotus fruits, a canteen of water, a bow and arrows, and a knife, which you secured around your thigh.

As part of the preparation, you began to apply dark paint to your face, a method used by your village's hunters to meld into the night, a tactic you knew would serve well in the environment you were about to navigate.

Your mother entered the tent, her face etched with concern. She understood the gravity of your task, her maternal instinct overshadowing the usual lotus-induced calm. "I know you can handle this," she said, her voice laced with a mix of pride and worry, "but be cautious around those soldiers. It's not the giants that I fear for you, but the company you'll be keeping on this journey."

Your heart softened at her words, touched by the depth of her concern. Your mother, with her gentle spirit and enduring strength, had faced her own harrowing journey before embracing the lotus's forgetful peace.

The fact that her past might include such dark experiences, particularly involving men, made her caution all the more touching.

It was a reminder of the life she led before the island, the trials she endured, and the refuge she found among the lotus eaters. Her concern for you now, in the context of being alone with the soldiers, was a reflection of her own vulnerabilities and the protective love she held for you.

You met her gaze, your expression resolute, offering reassurance. "I'm the right person for this," you affirmed, echoing the confidence Kio placed in you. In a gesture steeped in your village's traditions, you pressed your forehead against hers, a moment of silent solidarity and affection that transcended words.

Pulling back with a smile, you reached into your satchel and gently placed a lotus fruit in her hand. She returned your smile, a gesture of mutual understanding and love, before consuming the fruit. Her eyes soon glazed over, a serene calm washing over her as the fruit's effects took hold, guiding her back to a blissful repose next to your father.

With a final, affectionate kiss on her forehead, you ensured she was comfortably resting before turning your attention back to the task at hand.

Your face now marked for the hunt, your gear secured, and your heart steeled for what lay ahead, you stepped out of the tent with a determined stride, ready to confront whatever challenges awaited with Odysseus and Polites.

As you traversed the winding path with Odysseus and Polites, the latter seemed increasingly eager to engage with you, his intrigue clearly sparked by more than just your striking appearance.

Polites's attempts at conversation were persistent, as he ventured to break through your focused demeanor with a series of stuttered, simple questions.

"So, um, do you… do you always assist with… such tasks?" Polites inquired, his voice wavering slightly as he sought to learn more about you.

You didn't immediately respond, your attention fixed on the journey ahead, but his persistent curiosity eventually drew your gaze.

When your eyes finally met his, he was met with a flush of embarrassment, his cheeks turning a noticeable shade of red. He offered a shy, somewhat awkward smile, his hands fumbling with his shield in a nervous gesture, betraying his unease under your scrutinizing look.

"And, ah, the… the paint," he stumbled on his words again, gesturing vaguely towards your face, "Is it… for camouflage, or…?" His question trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air, incomplete.

You observed his flustered state for a moment, the warrior seemingly at odds with his usual battlefield composure, now unsettled by the simple act of conversing with you. His earnestness, juxtaposed with his bashfulness, painted a starkly different picture from the soldierly demeanor you'd expected.

Odysseus, observing his friend's futile efforts, couldn't help but interject with a scoff. "I'm not sure why you're bothering," he remarked to Polites, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and disdain. "She's probably lost in the haze of lotus fruit, like the rest of them here."

This assumption ignited a spark of anger within you. Up until now, you had maintained a composed silence, but Odysseus's words struck a nerve. Turning to face him, your eyes flashed with indignation.

"How dare you," you began, your voice slicing through the tension like a blade, "judge us so arrogantly?" The words tumbled out, sharp and unrelenting. "Men like you—soldiers—are the very reason why so many seek refuge on this island. Some of us are survivors of village plunders, forced to witness the atrocities committed by armies, the horrors inflicted upon innocent lives."

Your gaze intensified, boring into his as you took in the full measure of the man before you. "You inflict unspeakable horrors and drape them in the guise of glory, yet you stand here, with blood still staining your hands, daring to pass judgment on us? On how we choose to heal our wounds?"

Odysseus's eyes shifted away under the weight of your accusation, a flicker of discomfort, perhaps even guilt, crossing his features as he was confronted with the stark mirror of his actions.

You paused, ensuring your next words hit home. "You know nothing of our resilience," you continued, your tone edged with a cold clarity, "And for your information, offspring of lotus eaters, like myself, aren't as affected by the fruit's power. We retain our minds, our memories, and, most importantly, our judgments."

The air hung heavy between you, charged with your spoken truths. Odysseus, now looking away, seemed momentarily lost for words, the usual confidence of the seasoned warrior faltering under the weight of your piercing glare and the bitter truths it conveyed.

In this moment of silence, Polites saw an opportunity to shift the atmosphere, perhaps lighten the heavy load of the conversation that had just transpired. He ventured to draw your attention away from the discomfort, eager to see a different side of you beyond the anger and the pain.

"So, uh…" Polites began, a cautious optimism in his voice, "Do the… lotus fruits taste like… regular fruits, or are they… different?" His question, awkward yet sincere, seemed to pierce through the lingering tension.

Your initial reaction was to maintain your guarded demeanor, but something about his genuine curiosity and the awkward earnestness in his attempt sparked a different response within you.

A soft laugh escaped your lips, not mocking but genuine, a sound that seemed to momentarily lift the heavy cloak of your responsibilities and the grim realities of your world.

Polites's reaction was immediate; his smile widened, his cheeks flushed with a renewed sense of hope as he heard the lightness in your laughter.

It was a sound, he realized, that he wanted to understand more, to hear again, not just as a distraction from the weight of the journey ahead but as a glimpse into the person you truly were beneath the warrior's exterior.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't so bad after all—a thought that, for a fleeting moment, allowed you to see him not just as a soldier from a foreign land but as a person capable of recognizing and respecting your humanity.

Over the two days spent guiding Odysseus, Polites, and the other Trojan guards to the cave, you noticed a shift in your own defenses.

While Odysseus and his men maintained a distance, treating you with a detached wariness or outright indifference, Polites pursued a different path. His presence was a constant by your side, his demeanor gentle, marked by a curiosity that felt genuine and devoid of judgment.

His questions, simple yet insightful, sparked conversations you hadn't anticipated. "What's life like on the island for you?" he'd ask, or "Have you ever tried Pastelis?" His inquiries, far from the prying or strategic, seemed to stem from a place of genuine interest, a desire to understand your world and perhaps to find common ground.

Even when the group settled down for the night, Polites's attentiveness didn't wane.

As the others succumbed to sleep or took up their watchful posts, he remained by your side, sharing stories under the blanket of stars. His tales of battles fought alongside Odysseus, of distant lands and fierce confrontations, offered a glimpse into his life beyond the armor and sword.

On one particularly windy night, as the campfire flickered and cast its glow on the weary faces of the slumbering soldiers, Polites drew closer to you.

With a thoughtful gesture, he unfurled the cape attached to his armor and draped it around the both of you, creating a shared warmth against the chill of the night.

There, beside the dwindling bonfire, with the sounds of the night around you and the rest of the troops lost in their dreams or watchful silence, a different kind of connection began to form.

The stories he told, imbued with his personal experiences, fears, and triumphs, resonated with you, bridging the gap between your worlds. His willingness to open up, to share the realities of his life beyond the battlefield, painted him in a more humane light, contrasting sharply with the silent, stoic figures of Odysseus and the other guards.

By the third day, with the cave's looming presence just a few hours away, your initial resolve began to waver. Polites' consistent kindness and attention gradually chipped away at the wall you had built around yourself; you found yourself engaging more with him, answering his questions, sharing glimpses of your life and views, which you hadn't expected to divulge.

His attentive nature, so starkly different from the others', made you see him in a new light—not just as a soldier but as someone who might truly be seeking understanding and connection.

The thought of guiding them into potential danger, particularly the danger represented by the giants' cave, made you question not only your mission but also the potential consequences of your actions for him and his companions.

As the ominous entrance of the cave loomed in the distance, you halted atop a hill, the wind carrying your firm words to the group of soldiers. "This is where I leave you," you declared, your voice echoing a mix of duty and unease. "I must return to my village."

The soldiers, heeding your announcement, resumed their march toward the cave, but Polites faltered, his steps slowing as he turned to cast a lingering glance in your direction. Odysseus, noticing his friend's hesitation, paused, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

Polites's internal struggle was evident, torn between his obligations and the connection he felt with you.

After a moment's contemplation, he jogged back to where you stood, his hand extended, revealing a small, shimmering coin. "This is an Ithaca gold coin," he explained as you examined the coin with a mix of curiosity and surprise. "Consider it a memento," he added, a gentle sincerity in his voice.

His next words were softer, imbued with a shy yet profound promise. "After we complete our journey, after I ensure Odysseus's safe return to his kingdom, I will come back for you," he vowed, his eyes searching yours for a reaction, revealing a budding warmth and longing.

In a fleeting moment, Polites leaned forward, his forehead gently pressing against yours, an intimate gesture that held significant meaning within your culture.

You felt a surge of emotion, your heart fluttering with a blend of surprise and warmth, as you realized he not only remembered this detail from your conversations over the past three days but also understood its deep significance.

This forehead touch, a symbol of profound trust and affection, was reserved for those you hold dear, those you would trust with your life.

The fact that Polites, a man from a world so different from your own, had not only remembered this but chose to express his farewell in such a manner, spoke volumes of his respect and growing affection for you.

Leaning back, Polites adds a tender kiss on your forehead; his hand then gently caressed the side of your face, a silent affirmation of the bond that had formed between you.

With a final, meaningful glance, Polites turned and hurried to rejoin his companions, leaving you with the weight of his promise and the gold coin in your hand.

After Polites's departure, you stood there, the Ithacan coin clutched tightly against your chest, a tangible reminder of the connection you'd just acknowledged. Odysseus's gaze lingered on you, his expression one of contemplation and perhaps, newfound respect.

Defensively, feeling the intensity of his stare, you challenged him with a sharp "What?" Odysseus exhaled deeply, his sigh carrying the weight of realization and regret.

"May the gods bless you," he finally said, offering a small nod of acknowledgment, a gesture that seemed to convey his admission of having misjudged you and your people. It was an apology, unspoken but clear in his demeanor.

As he turned to leave, your name on his lips as a farewell, you found yourself compelled to act. "Odysseus," you called out, causing him to pause and look back.

Approaching him with averted eyes, you reached into your satchel, the rustle of leaves underfoot marking your hesitant steps.

From your bag, you retrieved a lotus fruit, its familiar weight a contrast to the swirling emotions within you. Extending your hand, you offered the fruit to him, your voice a soft murmur, "Just in case you need it…" Your words trailed off, laden with an unspoken wish for his well-being, your gaze drifting past him, lingering on Polites.

There he was, amidst his fellow soldiers, his laughter a bright sound in the dense forest, his smile a vivid image that tugged at your heartstrings.

With that silent offering, you turned away, leaving Odysseus to contemplate the fruit in his hand, his expression a mix of gratitude and confusion.

As you walked back to your village, the gold coin Polites had given you felt heavy in your hand, a symbol of promise and longing.

Your steps were slow, each one a reluctant move away from the hilltop and the cave, away from the man who had unexpectedly captured your heart.

The promise of his return was a fragile thread of hope, and as the distance grew, you clung to it, letting the silent plea echo in your mind, a mantra to guide you through the days ahead…

Please come back to me, Polites...I'll be waiting.

A/N: my babbyyyyyy pollie 🥹❤️❤️❤️ also, testing out my hand at extravagant/poetic like descriptive writing for a college class, so forgive me if I went overboard with the imagery/visuals 🙈🙈

[tumblingghosts]

eurylochus time travel [snippet]

(i am going to add time travel to every fandom i am in, so help me-)

Eurylochus knows this is where it ends.

He knows he will not be returning to Itheca from the moment Odysseus is presented with that choice, from the moment Zeus tells him to choose. His captain, his king, his brother turns slowly—there is already grief in his eyes. He is mourning them, even before he opens his mouth to say the words: “I have to see her again.”

“But we’ll die,” says Eurylochus. He is resigned, more than anything. His anger is muted, and he feels oddly detached from the outraged protests that are cropping up around him. Odysseus has made his decision, and he understands.

Eurylochus’s own words come back to haunt him: You must carry all the blame! 

And he knows that Odysseus’s mind will not be changed.

Eurylochus is still, as the rest of the crew charges forward, weapons raised, fearful and enraged. This was their captain, who had led them to victory in Troy, who had salvaged their crew after the cyclops, who had saved them from Circe, who had sacrificed them at Scylla—and now, he was casting aside the rest of them. Eurylochus is a stone in a river, with the water rushing past, with the crew bumping his shoulders in their haste ahead.

Odysseus’s expression does not change.

He looks past the rest of the men—his men, his men whose lives he had given up for his own—at meets Eurylochus’s gaze. He does not speak a word, but Eurylochus thinks he can hear what he might say: I’m sorry.

Eurylochus does not know what words Odyssus sees in his eyes.

Perhaps it is: I understand.

Or: I hate you. Traitor. Deserter. Murderer.

Or: I love you. My king. My captain. My brother.

In those final moments, Eurylochus hopes it might be: I am sorry as well.

And the clouds converge in a divine, unavoidable, cataclysmic storm.

---

Eurylochus thinks he knows what to expect from death.

He and the rest of the crew had ventured into the Underworld. Eurylochus had seen Polites, had seen the faces of all the men they had lost. He would be another face in the ocean of the dead, another soul drifting in the shadowy realm, seeking solace in the company of those who had perished before him.

His afterlife looks like the crew that he had poured his life into. It is a kind sight, one with no starving friends, no tragedies that they had been forced to face. Many of them are familiar, but Eurylochus is first approached by Polites, the smile on his face as sure as the sun shining upon them all past clear skies.

“Will you not join the celebration?” asks Polites. He waves an arm broadly, to the men deep in their cups, before offering him a glass of wine. Polites nudges him until he accepts, amicably making conversation before he wanders off to mingle elsewhere.

What nice illusions death brings, Eurylochus thinks. 

Eurylochus’s sense of peace is disrupted when he glances down at his hazy reflection in his rippling drink. He reaches up to his face, to un-sunken cheeks and tireless eyes, and feels unease creeping up his spine. Eurylochus looks around him, to the unbroken ship he stands upon, to the fleet that is sailing adjacent, to the six hundred men indulging in a joyous victory—they had all been in high spirits after Troy, when the prospect of home was an expectation, not a fitful dream.

Then, his gaze falls upon someone who would not have joined in him the Underworld so soon. Odysseus looks younger, or perhaps it is simply because he is unburdened. He has not been aged by the stresses forced upon him, engaged in a conversation with Polites. Eurylochus had not seen Odysseus so carefree since—oh, he thinks. Since before the cyclops had dealt the blows that had killed their men and their morale.

And Eurylochus realizes: this is not what death is.

Eurylochus curses himself for allowing his mind to be enraptured by the foolish tale it had initially spun. Death is not an isle of happiness; the Underworld had been a grim affair. It had been their men trapped in their last moments—that fear that would never leave them, their soul bared for them to see, in the eternity that they would remain. 

Polites had been optimistic until his end, and in his unending spirit that would linger in those depths they had crossed to reach the prophet. But Polites had not been like this—not in what Eurylochus had just witnessed, had just interacted with. Polites had only been so bright in his memories. 

But this was far more vivid than a memory.

If Eurylochus was not dead…perhaps it was divine intervention. It must be. How could he explain living beyond the storm that had thundered down upon them all? He had died there, yet he was not dead any longer. He was not on the isle of Helios any longer. He was long before then, for reasons unknown. But what being would dare surpass a punishment delivered by the king of gods, the thunder bringer and lightning wielder himself? 

Eurylochus decides that he would rather not find out.

(...aaaand that all i've got for now, but i'll reblog this with an ao3 link when i finish up the full fic :D)

[imlivinginyourtrashcan]

hello epic community I’ve been in the shadows but I saw one post and got inspired

[scarlet-sam-chaos]

...

so i did a thing

(keep in mind this is pure crack)

...

i can't mansplain, manipulate, manslaughter my way out of this (manwhore it is-)

“She offered me everything, Zeus,” Odysseus continued, his voice low and intimate. “But I resisted, for my heart belonged only to Penelope. Like this...”

‘Witnessing this,’ Eurylochus thought as he watched Odysseus- still bleeding and wearing what was practically rags by now- sway dramatically, ‘was worse than being potentially dead.’

Hera, sensing the tension between the mortal and her husband, cleared her throat pointedly. “That's enough, Odysseus,” she interjected with a raised eyebrow, her tone carrying a hint of amusement.

Or, how Odysseus managed to save himself as well as his crew. He learnt that ruthlessness was mercy from Poseidon, and that there are other ways of persuation from Circe.

inspired by this post by @daisydoo90

Zeus: *shows up*

Odysseus: I don’t think I can “I love my wife” myself out of this one guys

Me: ...but what if you can?

[venus-de-mil0-09]

Does anyone have any fics about Odysseus and Telemachus just being father and son after the odyssey

cause I desperately need to read some

[xfilesinamajor]

Second in Command

There are days—more and more, lately—when he forgets that home even exists. The fig trees, the goats, the view from the palace at the top of the hill, stone floors and a soft bed, the background noise of the slaves gossiping, the sound of Ctimene’s laughter. It feels as if all of that was not a different lifetime, but an ancient fever dream, something that never really existed at all.

What does cheese taste like? All he can think of is the underripe fruit they find on the shores of tiny inlets, and the fish they catch and share. There’s never enough of either. Not enough for 42, let alone the 600 who left Troy two years ago.

At least he thinks it was two years. Elpinor was the one counting, keeping track, diligently marking every time the sun rose. Maybe it’s just as well he died on Circe’s island. There were no dawns in the Underworld, no storms or meals to judge how much time was passing. Were they there one day, or twelve? The constant hunger, fitful sleep, and strange visions made it hard to tell.

He had looked for Elpinor, down there. Because his death had been so fresh, and so stupid. To survive the war, the cyclops, the storm, the sea god, the witch, only to fall from a roof? Where was the justice in that?

He should know better than to expect justice by now, in any form. Most of the time, he does. Justice is a useful tool in ruling an island or fighting a war, but when it comes to survival…

Anyway, he didn’t see Elpinor in the Underworld. He saw the face of the first man he killed in battle, staring unblinkingly up at him from the murky waters, as if judging him silently. Just as he’d done when he fell to the ground outside the walls of Troy, the light of life fading from his eyes as one hand weakly crept toward the spear in his throat.

He could have screamed into the waters, as some men had. Demanded to know what the dead wanted of him. It was a war. He hadn’t asked to go, but he had vowed not to bring shame to himself and his family once he got there. He had a beautiful bride waiting for him, and parents to make proud, and whatever these Trojans had done to incur the wrath of Menelaus, he was going to do his best to destroy them. He has no business feeling guilt over the death of one pathetic enemy soldier. By now he is responsible for the deaths of hundreds. None of the others followed their ship through the Underworld, judging him with dead eyes.

What did the others see? No one spoke of it. Nireus had cried silently but constantly until he fell at last into sleep, Theasides had screamed and thrashed around as though he were being attacked, and Odysseus himself had stood there with his lips moving silently in conversations no one else heard. But no one spoke of what they saw. Not then, and not in the weeks that have stretched into months since they returned to the realm of the living.

Are they living? These days hardly seem to count as life. Perhaps they are all dead already. But the men are still hungry, the blazing sun still burns their skin, they still wake and sleep. When there were more of them, a whole fleet trailing behind, there were jokes. He doesn’t often remember his life on Same, but he does remember the early days of the trip from Troy. High on victory and spoils, full of hope and excitement at the prospect of returning home. The shouting and laughter had been loud enough to travel over the waters, spreading from one ship to another, infecting the entire fleet with happiness.

Sometimes he thinks of Polites and wonders how much would have changed if he had lived. Probably the captain would have listened to his foolish trust and naivete one time too many, and they would be in the Underworld already. He’d like to believe that. Because if it’s not true, then Polites…no, he wasn’t right! He had loved Polites, too, but that man had never seen the world as it truly was. He’d never seen the danger and darkness all around them. He’d been great with a bow, but he’d had no common sense.

And yet…Odysseus had trusted Polites. Had he lived, the captain might have relied upon Polites to guard the wind bag. Perhaps Polites could have persuaded him to trust Eurylochus, too. They could have taken it in turns, ensuring that bag stayed closed, and the captain wouldn’t have nearly killed himself from lack of sleep.

Sharing that duty would have been the smart thing to do. Hadn’t he said as much to Odysseus? Hadn’t he offered to share the burden? But no, the captain had been stubborn, as he always was, trusting the wind bag to no one but himself, going without sleep until first his temper began to crack, then his focus began to wane, and finally until the waking hallucinations began.

Eurylochus is the second in command. He couldn’t just sit back and watch his captain, his friend, his brother destroy himself in such a way! And yes, maybe…yes, he had been hurt that Odysseus would not share the responsibility. Weren’t they brothers? Wasn’t he next in the line of command? Why wouldn’t Odysseus trust him to watch the bag while he slept? No man on board would have dared try to take it from him by force.

The captain didn’t trust him. That was what it came down to. Odysseus hadn’t trusted him. He had chosen to destroy himself rather than accept help from Eurylochus. That truth had burned a deep, angry hole inside him and at last he had lost his temper, tearing open the bag to prove to himself that there wasn’t really a storm inside. The captain’s stubbornness had convinced him that the gods were playing games, giving them an empty bag and laughing as they watched to see how long Odysseus would deprive himself of sleep to protect this bag of nothing. He’d wanted to prove that he was smarter than Odysseus, that failing to trust him had been a mistake.

Instead he’d proved the opposite, and the guilt of that has been a constant companion to him ever since. The deaths of those 552 men at the hands of the sea god—he carries just as much of the blame for that as the captain. Odysseus was the one who told the cyclops his true name and left him alive. But Eurylochus is the one who opened the bag that brought Poseidon to them.

What would Ctimene think of him, if she were to see him now? He can imagine how he looks: burnt, scarred, emaciated, filthy, shoulders rounded by years of guilt and weariness. If that didn’t stop her embracing him, the knowledge of all that he’s done surely would. He left home to bring her honor, and nothing he’s done since the war is worthy of honor. All he can do is continue to look out for the remaining men as best he can.

Not that it matters. He’s never going to see Ctimene again, if she ever truly existed at all. He will never taste another bite of soft goat cheese or watch the wind rippling through the leaves of the trees on his island. It is not that he’s resigned to his own death, though there are moments when he thinks he would find it a welcome relief. No, he will not go down without a fight, not as long as his men need him, not while he still has a job to do. There’s a chance, just a small one, that they will find a place that has food, shelter, relative safety. With full stomachs, a week of good sleep, and no one trying to kill them, it’s possible that the morale of the crew might improve. It could be that life will become worth living again.

But making it home? The only one who still believes that is Odysseus, and how he continues to do so is anyone’s guess. It’s impossible. Poseidon won’t allow it. Defying the gods seldom ends well for those foolish and bold enough to try. The captain’s luck has brought him this far, but it can’t last forever.

The only big question remaining is what will come next. Gods? Monsters? Death? Peace? Or simply day after day of slow starvation, watching what little hope remains in the faces of his friends fade into desperation and madness? He doesn’t like to think about that, so he focuses on smaller questions. Which way the wind is blowing. How much safe drinking water remains. Whether they will catch any fish, or if they seaweed they chew on will make them sick. How long he’ll be able to persuade his friends to exercise, practice combat, stay active.

Whether the growing rift between himself and Odysseus, which gets progressively harder to ignore, is from the guilt of the secret he carries, or perhaps the guilt that Odysseus himself carries. Has he done something to upset the cold, harsh man who he used to consider a friend? Or is his captain simply angry at him because he still lives, when Polites does not?

How much longer can this go on?

[elixs-mythology-corner]

GUYS

GUYS

@daonedaonlyskh @unhinged-waterlilly @psychicbluebirdmiracle and @cloud-anon (because you've been claimed by my pinging habits)

I NEED HELP

I NEED A NAME FOR NYMPH THAT WILL LIKELY NEVER BE SEEN EVER AGAIN.

[theultimatenonbinarynerd]

Eurylochus's God Games

Introduction

Hello Epic Fans, I'm very excited to share with you something that's part of a Eurylochus Lives Au I'm pulling together.

Even before God Games came out I was really interested in the idea of other Epic characters having to have their own God Games to release them or let them live. Eurylochus is such a complex character and I knew right away thinking about a God Games about Eurylochus would be interesting as the arguments made for and against him would should the complex duality of his character.

So I then decided I was going to try use Jay's snippets we'd been given and conjure up my own version of Eurylochus's God Games. Honestly it was just a concept but then I wanted to use it for my au where Eurylochus gets resssurected from the dead.

Doing these snippets helped me really understand which God's should be swapped around or swapped out entirely. So I kept Aphrodite and Ares but added in Helios, Poseidon and Persephone. Ares, Aphrodite and Beaat Mode Hades were the hardest to write whilst Helios and Poseidon's were the easier parts. We are talking about the man that literally killed his cows and Poseidon would be mad Eurylochus spared Odysseus during Mutiny.

Then now with the release of The Wisdom Saga the parody has perfectly come together like glue. It was really hard though cos I didn't want all the arguments to be about what happened on Helios's island. But the Windbag and Helios's island are such important parts of Eurylochus's character arc.

Honestly it's not perfect but I'm really proud how this parody turned out. It's still got the high stakes and drama and it's super intresting. I hope I can inspire people to make their own games for other characters.

___________________________________________

___________________________________________

Conclusion

I wanted to save this for my Eurylochus Lives au but I've realised that it's too far in the future right now with how busy life is and due to how good it is I wanted to share it. Never in my life did I think I'd be writing a song parody where Circe becomes Eurylochus's lawyer but it's super cool.

I have to say Eurylochus is such a cool character and his reverse character arc compared to Odysseus is what makes him so interesting. A lot of Circes defences are what Epic fans have said and I hope the defences also humanise him a bit. Fingers crossed for that Eurylochus prequel.

Honestly it was really fun writing the parody and including other God's who don't have the spotlight in Epic. Helios is a super fun character to write and he will be in some of my other fics but in Eurylochus's God Games he is both super petty and considered about his challenging the Lord of The Underworld.

Any questions about my Eurylochus Lives au my asks are open.

I'm gonna share bits of the parody on tik tok but that's all I can do I'm afraid.

Happy reading Eurylochus fans.

-Melody-

They/Them

Tags: @tumblingghosts @caramellcandy

[chizue-witchery]

[k-nayee]

Wife to the Winds Epic: The Musical | i

wc: 1.7k a/n: currently obsessed with anything Ancient Greek right now - ESPECIALLY Epic lol. it technically picks up after the song, but if ya wanna here's the animation to it!

Traveler M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

You felt nauseas, sick with fear as you cautiously made your way through the stone corridors.

Distant clash of swords and muffled shouts of Greek soldiers rummaging the palace heightened your urgency. 

With every turn, the looming threat grows: facing an enemy and their weapon stained with the blood of those you've grown to know.

"Lord Apollo...Please...let me be there in time..."you prayed silently, the image of Astyanax's sleeping face urging you forward.

Thoughts racing almost as fast as your feet, you nearly miss a group of men around the corner.

"Imagine the glory we'll have after this!"

Too caught up in conversation, they miss the sight of you slipping into a dark alcove.

"Praise? Forget that! I'm claiming the prettiest whore out of the bunch. You seen all we captured? Deserve some softness after all this."

Hidden in the shadows you're able to take in the blood splatters and dirt on their passing frames.

"You got that right! One thing I'll admit about Troy, they have some nice women..."

You shiver at their crude remarks and wait until their laughter fades into the distance before moving once more.

After a few more dodges and turns, you find the narrow passage and squeeze through.

There, you travel the secret route you'd discovered months ago having spent years exploring every hidden nook and cranny.

The weight of the glass feeding bottle in your hand is a constant reminder of the innocence you're desperate to protect, even as the world around you crumbled. 'I'm on my way Astyanax...'

Inside the walls with only the sound of your heartbeat and the distant chaos; a haunting, pain-filled voice echoes through the air as you near the babe's chamber.

"...I'm just...a man..."

Compelled by the unexpected softness, you peek through a sliver of space at the ornately disguised door (its decorations masterfully concealing its true nature).

There, at the balcony, you're met with the view of Odysseus. And in his hands he drops—

Your heart stops.

No, it shatters.

The baby prince, your charge, your little Astyanax, is...

A heart-wrenching gasp escape your lips, the forgotten milk bottle slipping from your hands to shatter against the stone floor.

Odysseus's head snaps around.

The warrior within him awakened instantly, his eyes narrowing and scanning the shadows.

"Who's there?" he demands, voice sharp and commanding as it sliced through the quiet.

Hand already on the hilt of his dagger, he draws it with a sound that promised death and begins the search.

His feet echoes on the stone floor, each step feeling like a countdown to your end.

The air around you thickens with tension, you struggle to breath against the fear that threatens to overwhelm you.

In hopes of blending in the shadows you press your back harder against the cool wall.

'Be still...Be silent,' you chant even as your heart frantically beat against your ribcage.

Not even daring to breathe too loudly: your inhales and exhales are measured and deliberate despite the panic clawing at your throat.

Memories of Lady Andromache's warnings swirled through your mind—of men turned monsters in the heat of battle, their souls stained with the bloodlust of war.

"The taste of blood...changes a man." Dark brown eyes, somber and knowing, stare into your own. "Leaves him with a hunger for violence that's never fully sated..."

Her words, a distant and cautionary tale you never understood, now rang with terrifying clarity.

With Odysseus so close, the fear becomes so palpable it wraps around you.

Your eyes clamp shut when his footsteps nears, a feeble attempt to shield yourself from the impending horror.

Tears cascade silently down your cheeks in hot paths. There, you mourn not just for the young prince but for yourself and what may come of you.

Suddenly, the footsteps began to fade, leaving a silence so profound it feels like a scream in the void.

Minutes pass, each second an eternity spent in the clutches of fear. Then, there's a sound: the door closing—it cuts sharply through the stillness.

He left...

Relief washes over you, albeit tinged with the sorrow and shock of witnessing your charge's murder.

You wait. Counting each breath, allowing the minutes to stretch until it feels an eternity has passed.

No sound follows, no sign of his presence remains.

Emboldened by the silence and finally convinced, you allow yourself to move.

With cautious steps you emerge from your hiding spot and move toward the center of the room.

The need to escape, to distance yourself from this nightmare of death and close calls pushes you forward.

It's a relief short-lived.

Realizing the silence was a trick, it's already too late: arms encircle you.

The cold kiss of his dagger at your throat shatters any illusion of safety.

His body is pressed against your back, a wall of muscle and tension. You're acutely aware of him—the heat of his breath, the controlled movements, the slight shift as he adjusts his grip on the knife.

Your breath hitches from the terror and despair mingling in your throat, choking you.

"Not a sound," Odysseus whispers, his voice a lethal calm that contrasts the violent actions. "Now tell me: who are you?"

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Your life...choices...everything you had or could have depended on the mercy of the man who had just taken a child from the world.

Fear wars with desperation in your heart. 'Please...let this not be my end. I have so much left to live for...'

"P—please..." you stammer, the words barely escaping your lips. "I won't tell anyone, I swear it. Just let me go..."

"I said," he ignores your pleads, choosing to press the dagger closer for emphasis, "who are you?"

In a flash of desperation and unexpected courage, you act.

With a swift, practiced move born from hours of watching the palace guards train, you suddenly shift your weight.

Pivoting on your heel you wrench his arm away from your throat and use the momentum to twist his wrist; forcing him to drop and send the dagger clattering to the ground.

You jump back, chest heaving with exertion and the shock of your own audacity. You lock eyes with Odysseus who stares at you in stunned silence.

For a moment, he is visibly taken aback; eyes widening not just at the loss of his weapon but at the sight of you.

"By the Gods..." he murmurs, the edge of his battle-hardened demeanor softening as he truly sees you for the first time.

The fire of the torches cast a soft glow on your brown skin, making the stone of the palace around you seem even more dull.

Your hair is nothing he had seen before. There amidst the curls that frame your face, lays a bold streak of white that runs into the mass of hair.

However, it's your eyes that truly captivate him—they glimmer, a striking violet filled with an intensity of deep grief yet unwavering determination.

For a fleeting moment, the fierceness in his eyes dims as a cascade of thoughts sweep through.

Odysseus, a man who faced gods and monsters...

...a man who has navigated the treacherous whims of fate...

...finds himself lost in the mere mortal beauty before him.

In another life, he might have allowed himself to be drawn in; to explore your being and the depths of those violet eyes. 

The fantasy flickers through his mind of what could have been, momentary indulgence if you will.

Yet, as quickly as it arrived, it is quelled by his love and loyalty for Penelope. The memory of her steadfastness and unwavering faith in his return casts a shadow over any fleeting desire he might feel.

Taking advantage of his internal conflict, you find your voice and interject. "W-wait! I mean no harm nor am I an enemy! I was just trying to survive."

Curiosity piqued, Odysseus gestures for you to continue.

"I come from land that's oceans away, taken against my will. Here, I became a servant for Lady Andromache out of exotic curiosity," Your voice steadies as you speak, gaining strength from the truth of your words. "But then my purpose evolved and I became the caretaker for the prince—a child now dead, through no fault of my own."

The Greek king could only narrow his eyes at you in assessment, voice regaining some of its earlier edge. "And why should I spare you? You are, after all, of Troy."

"Not by choice!" you counter quickly, the words tumbling out, "I am no citizen of Troy, bound by loyalty nor blood. My life here was never of my choosing. My only wish is to live a life beyond wars, serving as a pawn in the games of Gods and Kings."

A smile wry of acknowledgment touches Odysseus' lips.

"You're clever," he admits as the tension in the room shifts, becoming less hostile.

"But why should I trust you?" he probes further, bending down to retrieve his dagger yet making no move to use it. "You, who managed to disarm me?"

Your gaze held a weariness it almost felt bone-deep,, "I have nothing left. The same ambush that brought me here as a servant...massacred my family. The only wish I have now is to live a life of medicine, as my mother was and hers before her. My hands are meant for healing, not for war. Let me serve in your kingdom, and I promise, my loyalty will be yours."

Silence hangs between you two, thick with possibilities.

Then, slowly, a smile begins to form on Odysseus's lips; the first genuine smile he's probably shown in years.

"A barter, then. You propose your freedom for my journey home?"

"Yes!" your voice is firmer now, pushed by his response. "I have skills, knowledge that can aid you. Take me with you, and I swear to devote myself in ensuring your safe return to Ithaca without further misfortune."

Odysseus studies you for a long moment, weighing your words and the sincerity in your eyes. "You truly believe you can ensure my safe passage home? After everything?"

You keeping eye contact with him, the intensity of your gaze unwavering. "With all my heart..."

The quiet that follows is heavy with contemplation, with the unspoken thoughts that flicker behind his eyes.

Finally, he nods, a decision made.

"Very well. But know this," he adds, his tone leaving no room for doubt, "any betrayal, and it will be the last thing you do."

[winxanity-ii]

EPIC: THE MUSICAL MASTERLIST

╰ ⌞🇲‌🇦‌🇮‌🇳‌-🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌

⨂ TELEMACHUS

⨁ ODYSSEUS/ULYSSES

⨂ POLITES

⨁ AEOLUS

⨂ POSEIDON

⨁ HERMES

⨁ APOLLO

⨂ ARES

⨁ MULTI-SHIPS

[tumblingghosts]

eurylochus smuggles polites out of the underworld :)

Odysseus has left to speak with the prophet.

Most of the crew has gone below deck, seeking refuge away from the faces of the dead that drift in the sea of souls. Eurylochus does not know what compels him to stay above deck, watching the waves of passing spirits, but he does. There are many faces that he is able to recognize from the eleven ships that Poseidon had overturned, though he knows there are many more faces that he will not see, and he mourns not being able to give all of the fallen friends a proper burial.

“What troubles you, my friend?” comes a light voice.

Eurylochus startles. “Polites,” he breathes.

Eurylochus had seen him earlier, a wispy mirage with a clear voice, addressing Odysseus as they entered the Underworld, but Polites is much closer here. Much more solid. Much more difficult to ignore, and with it, the wave of emotions are much more difficult to suppress.

He swallows hard. Here is Polites, drifting by as though swimming on air, with a curious expression and none of the fear that Eurylochus had seen on his face that chilling moment before the cyclops’s club had come down on him a second, and final, time.

Eurylochus’s hand goes to his opposite wrist—two bracelets.

He and Odysseus had each taken to wearing one of Polites’s golden bracelets in addition to their own; it was a sign of remembrance. But Polites bears no jewelry in his current form, nor does he have the cloth headband that Odysseus now wears around his waist, nor the draped cloth that Eurylochus had tied around his.

“Eurylochus,” Polites says, and draws nearer. “You have yet to answer my question.”

Ah, yes. What troubles him; there is plenty to answer to that, but the most pressing, the most current: “Merely the souls we have lost.”

“I am hardly lost; or rather, if we are speaking now, then you have found me.”

Polites speaks as though it is not a tragedy. He is looking at Eurylochus as though there was no true loss to be borne. Perhaps that might be the case from his perspective—it was only a matter of time before they all are laid to rest, to join the Underworld, but not so soon. It would be many years before they would reunite, Eurylochus would think. But he cannot be sure. He is often guided by the crew he has sworn to protect, but they cannot guide him through his current conversation with the souls that have been lost.

“We are not here to stay. Not yet.”

Polites drifts backwards, casual as you please, and Eurylochus has the overwhelming desire to call out, to plead for him not to go. But Polites does not go far. He is a shimmering being, casting a dim light in the darkness of the Underworld, and regards Eurylochus with a gentle smile. “I am here to speak with you now, Eurylochus. Is that not enough? You do not need to grasp at fleeting moments; they will always come to you when you need them most.”

But you were not, Eurylocus does not say.

Polites had no longer been with them as they escaped that wretched cave, entered with the hope of enough food to feed them all, and left with nothing but tragedy and misfortune. Eurylochus’s voice trembles as he speaks. “But I am still surrounded by shadows of those we have lost,” and the dead drifts by in a never-ending stream. “I cannot bear to look at the faces of our fallen comrades, knowing that we could not save them.”

“It is not your fault that the sea has claimed so many of us. It was the will of the gods, and sometimes the waves of fate are as unchangeable as the stars. You have your memories, do you not? Of our friendship, of our childhood, of our travels, of our battles—are they not dearly cherished despite the lack of new ones?”

Eurylochus attempts a smile, as he often had in the face of his bright-spirited comrade, but the expression feels weary. “I would have rather seen you alive, my friend.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Polites says, voice so very soft, as though he is worried that a louder volume might strike Eurylochus like a physical blow. He thinks that it very well might; it is a painful interaction knowing that, for all the words they might be able to share here, Polites is gone. His friend is gone, and everyone has felt it.

“Everything has changed without you here. I have missed you.”

“It will not be forever,” Polites replies.

He approaches again, swooping like a feather in the wind, offering an affable smile. He is close, so close that Eurylochus thinks his friend could be touched, could be held. Polites almost appears alive, if not for his ethereal glow. Eurylochus reaches out, and when Polites holds out his hand in turn, it does not pass through. He feels his breath stutter on that realization, and grasps on tight.

Eurylochus knows that there is a natural order to the world, that the dead are meant to rest, he knows this well, he truly does—but he has missed Polites dearly. He does not want to let go, but they must leave the Underworld when Odysseus returns. They must continue on their journey, back to Ithaca. Eurylochus knows the dead ought to stay in their realm, but there have been so many losses along the way, and Eurylochus is just a man.

With swiftness, Eurylochus pulls his friend aboard.

—

that’s all i’ve got for now!

this was pretty fun- kind of stretching my writing style to sound more formal-ish(?)

anyways, might post this on ao3 eventually but what happens next is eurylochus keeps polites as a stowaway until they’re out of the underworld. odysseus discovering him probably goes something line this:

polites: hi ody!

odysseus: *absentmindedly* hi polites

…

odysseus: *double take*

odysseus: POLITES??

odysseus: what?? HOW??

eurylochus: *the picture of innocence*

alternatively:

odysseus: what do you have there?

eurylochus: *looks at polites* a smoothie

(note: character designs are based on this post by @awnrii bc the idea of eurylochus and odysseus incorporating polites’ outfit into theirs has been emotionally wrecking me-)

[ilikebookssomuch]

OKAY so Hello Keeblr and/or EPICblr (is that a word?)

@nowjumpinthewater and I co-wrote a fic and for some reason, we started in the Thunder saga so there is no backstory but oh well, we'll get there :) here is her part (Mutiny)

My part is Thunder Bringer, so here it is! (Btw Keefe is Eurlochus and Fitz is Odysseus and also this is kind of Fitz/Ody's bi awakening)

OH, also this is half of @myfairkatiecat's birthday gift :D happy birthday!!!

FITZ'S POV

Thunder cracked the sky as a headache blossomed behind Fitz’s eyes. A booming voice from the darkening clouds rang out and his crew staggered to cover their ears. Lightning flashed and the voice formed solid words. 

“Fitz, King of Ithica. If I made you choose between taking your life or your crew's, why do I think they’d lose? Since you were all starving, you killed the sacred cows. For these actions, which of you will take the weight of the dammed and suffer a horrific fate?” 

Rain poured from the clouds, soaking Fitz as he crumpled to his knees in disbelief. It had been years since he had heard that voice. But the thunder and lightning made it obvious who he was talking to. Zeus, god of the skies. 

“Choose.” Fitz knew this was an order, not a request.

In a small, quivering voice, he said, “Choose?”

“Someone has to die today, and I’m giving you the final say.”

Time seemed to slow down as Fitz turned around, gazing at his crew. Their rain-soaked faces and fearful eyes. They had all endured so much pain. Could they take any more?

Then Fitz met eyes with Keefe. So much sorrow haunting that ice-blue gaze. There is so much power, so much power, and I’m the puppet here.

“Please don’t make me do this.” Fitz’s plea was barely audible over the cacophony of shouts and thunder. When does a man become a monster?

KEEFE’S POV:

Keefe felt Fitz’s suffering, his sadness, his heartbreak, his love– Focus, Keefe. He doesn’t love you. You opened the wind bag, you nearly KILLED him a moment ago. 

Fitz whispered, “Please don’t make me do this,” but the god of the skies didn’t answer. 

Keefe stepped closer, kneeling next to his best friend. “Captain?”

Keefe could sense the amount of regret in Fitz's words as he whispered, “I have to see her.” 

“But… we’ll die.” Keefe’s voice caught in his throat and a tear trickled down his cheek.

“I know.” Fitz sounded so torn apart, so desperate. As soon as he said those two words, Fitz was whisked off the ship by a massive gust of wind.

The last thing Keefe heard was a voice in his head saying, I’ll always love you before he and the rest of the crew were torn off of the ship by a tidal wave. The deep blue waters bashed against him as he struggled to stay afloat, but before long, the cold and the water seeping into Keefe’s lungs drew him under the waves forever.

[scarlet-sam-chaos]

with #manwhore au going around again, me being me is posting dis again:

i cant mansplain, manipulate, manslaughter my way out of this (manwhore it is-)

“She offered me everything, Zeus,” Odysseus continued, his voice low and intimate. “But I resisted, for my heart belonged only to Penelope. Like this...”

‘Witnessing this,’ Eurylochus thought as he watched Odysseus- still bleeding and wearing what was practically rags by now- sway dramatically, ‘was worse than being potentially dead.’

Hera, sensing the tension between the mortal and her husband, cleared her throat pointedly. “That's enough, Odysseus,” she interjected with a raised eyebrow, her tone carrying a hint of amusement.

Or, how Odysseus managed to save himself as well as his crew. He learnt that ruthlessness was mercy from Poseidon, and that there are other ways of persuation from Circe.

[fangirlofallthefanthings]

[Things are finally starting to get interesting! And Odysseus gets a divine visitor 👀]

That night, Odysseus was fast asleep—or as asleep as he could be with his arm wrapped in a sling and throbbing with dull pain. He was in uncomfortable unconsciousness, his sleep neither deep nor filled with dreams—just pitch darkness.

Then, a soft buzzing blossomed in the back of his skull. The darkness behind his eyes gave way to bright gray. He looked down and realized he was standing in a grassy field. Turning around, he found a tall lady sitting in a chair. A hood obscured most of her face, but Odysseus could tell she was beautiful underneath.

A vast blanket of fabric spilled over her lap, and she passed a needle with thread through it. Her embroidery gave birth to colorful images that Odysseus was certain could amaze even the most incredible seamstresses in the castle.

Odysseus had this dream before, but he couldn’t move in the past. This time, he was determined to know what it meant, and he could feel his limbs and feet solid beneath him. He slowly walked up to her, taking in her skill.

Odysseus watched as she stitched swirls of vines, blades of grass, and forests of trees. The tapestry taking form in front of him was grand and embellished with golden twine. Rich colors deeper than any he had seen danced across the cloth.

“Hello, little one.”

Odysseus nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. He didn’t think she noticed him, but her sly smile peeking from underneath her hood told him she had been aware of him for a while now. Odysseus felt his face heat up with blush, and embarrassment gripped his chest.

“You were a challenging mind to contact. I was concerned this would take much longer to get through,” she said as she finished outlining a leaf with gold.

“You were… Looking for me?” Odysseus asked hesitantly.

“Unless I am visiting a different boy that defeated a boar of my creation,” she replied with a shrug, “and you received that scar on your leg from elsewhere.”

Odysseus took a few steps back. “How did you know about that?”

The hooded lady just smiled. “I know many things,” she said, “Especially concerning challenges I have issued.”

“So you sent that boar?” Odysseus’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Who are you?”

“I am a being of many names. Many titles.”

“You speak in many riddles, my lady.”

The woman chuckled. Her laugh was refined and proper. Her hand politely covered her mouth, but Odysseus could see that her smile had a hint of danger to it. “And you are a very clever boy.”

“So I’ve been told,” Odysseus shrugged.

“I can teach you how to use that cleverness to your full potential.”

“Full potential?”

“Yes,” the lady said, “I would like to be your mentor.”

“But who are you?” Odysseus asked sternly, “How do I know I can trust you?”

The tapestry on the lady’s lap disappeared in a flash of gold. Odysseus gasped and took a few steps back as the lady stood up from her seat and grew to twice her original height.

She removed her hood, revealing wavy crimson hair decorated with precious pearls that shined like stars, and a silver circlet resting just above her brow. Her eyes opened and stared at him. They were completely gray and reflective, like the finest polished silver. Her cloak wrapped tighter around her, transforming into magnificent armor. The needle she wielded grew into a brilliant spear, its shaft decorated with gold.

A knowing smile spread across Odysseus’s face from ear to ear. Now, he knew it to be true. The appearance in a dream. The disguise. The gold in the tapestry and the skill of her embroidery. The cryptic words. And now this transformation.

It all pointed right to his suspicions.

“I knew it!” Odysseus shouted with glee.

The lady tilted her head, bird-like and confused.

“You’re one of the old gods!” Odysseus laughed as he jumped around the lady, “I knew you were!”

The goddess watched as the little prince jumped and danced around her. Odysseus could have sworn he saw the faintest smile on her lips, but he paid no mind. He had tricked one of the old gods into a false sense of security and made her drop her disguise.

“Very good… Now, who am I?”

Odysseus stopped celebrating in an instant, frozen in place. “What?”

“If you knew I am one of the old gods, who am I?” The goddess asked, “What is my name?”

Odysseus tilted his head and put his hand to his chin. “Well… You’re very tall.”

“Yes,” she laughed, “And?”

“You have armor and a spear! So you must have something to do with war. But… you were making a tapestry before. So that can’t be it.” Odysseus looked up at the goddess again. “Can it?”

The goddess shrugged. “The world is not so simple. Neither are the gods.”

Odysseus hums in thought. The goddess looked familiar to him, but something was missing about her.

“This is a trick question.”

The goddess smiled, dangerous yet curious. “And what led you to that conclusion?”

“You’re not giving me all of the information. With all due respect, there is a reason we call you the old gods, my lady. Very few people still give you worship,” Odysseus replied with a triumphant smile, “You’re not in the full regalia that is present in your statues. You look familiar, but you’re not specific enough for me to know who exactly you are.”

“Right again,” the goddess said as the circlet around her head began to glow.

The light melted and molded itself around the goddess’s head in dripping splashes like water sparkling in the sun. A drop landed on her chest plate and grew in tendrils in the center of the metal piece. Large shapes sprouted from her back in a shower of sparks, painting the dreamy sky above with thousands of stars for a blinking moment. Then the glowing stopped, revealing a helmet, a monstrous emblem of a lady with snakes for hair on her armor and magnificent, silent wings.

Odysseus stared in awe at the figure before him. She was like a more detailed version of the vine-and-moss-covered statues that sat high in the mountains, the stone smoothed and cracked with time. But the goddess was real. Intimidating. Her polished, silver eyes seemed to know his every thought. A strange power radiated from her—pure knowledge.

“Athena,” Odysseus said, “goddess of wisdom, strategy, and craft. That’s who you are.”

“Well done,” Athena said, “Though you are still very young, your logic is impressive. Enlighten me, what is your name?”

“Two can play this game, goddess. You know that as well as I do,” Odysseus said as he folded his arms with a smile, “You tell me. Who am I?”

Athena smiled. “Good answer. However, I already know who you are, Prince Odysseus.”

Odysseus’s smile slowly left his face, and he looked down at his feet. This was the goddess of wisdom, and she was looking for him. Of course, she would know who he was.

“Do not take my knowledge too harshly,” Athena said, “You passed my test and learned your first lesson: never reveal your true self unless necessary, and let your opponent think they made the first move.”

“So… You’re serious about training me?” Odysseus asked hopefully.

“Of course. As I told you before, I see great potential in you. Will you accept my offer?”

“Yes!” Odysseus exclaimed, but he quickly schooled himself to a more calm demeanor and cleared his throat.

“I mean, yes. I accept your offer, my lady,” he said with a slight bow.

“Good. Training starts the moment you are well. I will do all I can to make your recovery swift.”

“Thank you, my lady!” Odysseus said with a beaming smile, “This is amazing! A Goddess and human, the best of friends!”

Odysseus held up his forearm for Athena to bump, something he often did with Polites and Eurylochus. However, the gray-eyed goddess stared at him. Whether she was looking at his arm in hesitation or amusement, he did not know. Her polished eyes gave away no emotion.

“We shall see,” Athena mused as she turned to walk farther into the gray dreamscape, “For your next lessons, we will focus on patience.”

“Okay…” Odysseus said quietly. He put down his arm and quickly made his way to match Athena’s walking pace.

She seemed to almost glide with every step. Each movement looked calculated to be as efficient and silent as possible—the mark of a warrior in every aspect.

“This is where our meeting ends,” Athena said, “I have other matters to attend to, but I will not be far.”

“What should I do until we meet again? And how will I find you again?”

“Rest. I will make your sleep more comfortable tonight and complete our connection. Though you may not see me, I will be watching.”

“A connection?”

“You will know it when you wake,” Athena said vaguely, “I expect great things from you. With my guidance, you will achieve those great things. Until we meet again, little one.”

With that, the world around them melted like quicksilver, and Odysseus fell into deep sleep.

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