A/N: This is fluffier than what I usually write, but I couldn't help it. I love him sm wtf
Part 1 of ???
You went about your routines as usual—watering the garden, cleaning the halls, fixing any imperfections in the palace, and even helping other servants when needed.
It wasn’t unusual to see you wandering around the palace; after all, you were the queen’s favorite assistant.
No one really knew why or how you and the queen were so close, not even you. But you knew there were both benefits and drawbacks to it.
Including being a target of the 108 suitors now living under the same roof as you.
As much as you wanted to continue your duties as usual, they never failed to hinder your responsibilities.
You were heading toward the palace dining room. Though it was the last place you wanted to go, you had to pass through it to reach the kitchen to prepare something for the queen—who also refused to set foot in there.
So far, so good, until you stepped into the hallway. The once loud and distracted suitors were now eyeing you.
You swallowed nervously, the lump in your throat growing, but continued forward, treading slowly so as not to attract more attention than you already had.
You made it to the end of the hall, believing you were safe, until you felt someone grab your wrist and pull so hard you almost lost your balance. You looked up and saw one of the queen’s most persistent suitors: Antinous.
The man had a proud smirk on his face as he looked down at you, still holding onto your wrist. He’d made multiple attempts to converse with you, all of which you declined, so you weren’t entirely surprised that he’d resorted to these measures.
"Ah, well, if it isn’t the lovely slave herself.”
That pissed you off.
You knew you couldn’t do anything about it, but if you could, you’d have slapped him by now. Instead, you jerked your arm away from him.
But that didn’t stop him. He grabbed you again, this time by the arm, with a much tighter and more painful grip, making you gasp in pain.
“Whoa now, where do you think you’re going? You don’t think you can just run off that easily, do you?” he taunted, leaning closer to your neck, his voice low.
“We want the queen, and since she’s unavailable, I guess we’ll have to settle for you.”
You glanced behind you, noticing all the men in the hall staring at you with intense gazes filled with hunger, desire, and thirst.
Frightened, you hurriedly tried to break free from Antinous’s grip. He chuckled softly, holding you tighter and pulling you closer. You struggled with all your strength until, finally, he let go. But it wasn’t because of your effort.
His gaze had shifted—he was no longer looking at you, but at something, or someone, else.
Backing away from him, you looked behind him and saw none other than the queen’s son, Telemachus.
He was gripping his sword, pointing it at Antinous.
“Leave her alone.”
You were surprised, to say the least. You and Telemachus had never really spoken. He usually avoided you whenever he ran into you.
You never understood why. Every time you saw him, he’d dash away like a startled deer.
But now, here he was, standing in front of you, holding a sword to one of the suitor’s neck.
Antinous raised his hands sarcastically, a smug grin on his face as he glanced between Telemachus and you.
“Alright, I’ll leave her be, little wolf.”
He walked past you, but as he did, he whispered, “Don’t think I’m done with you yet, slave.”
You recoiled instantly as he let out a shameless laugh.
You and Telemachus watched him walk away, and then you quickly exited the dining hall.
Catching your breath, you adjusted your hair and robes, trying to calm yourself. No suitor had ever approached you with such aggression before, and now Antinous had gone to these lengths? It was terrifying.
Your thoughts were interrupted when you realized Telemachus was still standing in front of you, staring at you like a deer caught by a hunter.
You raised a brow, confused. Did he see something?
“My prince, are you… alright?” you asked, still somewhat shaken. After all, he did just save you. Maybe he was in shock?
“Shit, shit, shit, shit—” was what was running through Telemachus’s mind as he stood there.
He hadn’t really thought he’d get this far. All he saw was you in danger, and his instincts had taken over.
But now that he had actually saved you, talking to you afterward wasn’t part of the plan—if he even had a plan.
He was practically begging the gods that you wouldn’t notice the inconvenient pink hue on his cheeks because that would only make things worse.
He had gone to such lengths to avoid you, to ignore you, to ward you off—foolish attempts, all of them—and now here you were, standing right in front of him.
He waited for you to tell him that you knew. Knew he admired you, probably too much.
His lips quivered slightly as he stared at you, unable to stop himself. Come to think of it, he’d never noticed how beautiful you were up close. The shape of your nose, how perfectly it fit your face. The look in your eyes, with the soft tint of color. And your lips, how pretty they looked, even when they smiled just a little.
“Fuck, I’m staring,” he muttered under his breath, snapping out of his trance.
Which you definitely heard.
You tilted your head slightly. Was he okay? Had Antinous done something to him?
No, he was just a nervous wreck because his childhood crush was standing right in front of him, and he was so not prepared.
If Athena was watching him right now, this was definitely not a battle she had prepared him for.
With a silent, desperate cry, he cleared his throat, trying to make the situation less embarrassing than it already was.
“I-I’m fine. How are you?”
…
Seriously? THAT’S the best you could do?
He stared at the ground, trying to mask his shame. Maybe if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him either, right? Zeus might as well strike him down with lightning.
He was about to punch himself when he heard something.
You were… laughing?
He looked up to see you covering your mouth, short giggles escaping your lips.
Was it bad that he found them so pretty?
Eventually, you calmed down.
“Thank you, my prince, for saving me back there. Truthfully, I wouldn’t know what to do if you hadn’t come to my aid. So, thank you.”
You bowed your head, expressing your gratitude.
“How can I repay you, my princ—”
“N-No! It’s fine, please! I don’t need anything. You’re safe, that’s all that matters. I wouldn’t want anything bad happening to you, so just…”
And now he was rambling.
Nice going, Telemachus. Might as well confess to her right here and now, right? Just go for it!
Before he could continue his spiral, both of you noticed a familiar silhouette approaching. As she got closer, you immediately recognized her.
And she did not seem pleased.
“Queen Penelope! Forgive me, I was delayed on my way to the kitchen. I’ll quickly fetch your meal as you requested—”
“No, it’s alright, Y/n. You are not the one I am concerned with.”
Her gaze shifted sharply to Telemachus, her eyes almost piercing through him.
The boy’s soul nearly escaped his body when he saw the way his mother looked at him.
“Son, come with me.” Penelope turned and walked away without another word.
Telemachus glanced back at you, taking in your beautiful presence one last time.
“I…”
“Quickly, Telemachus.”
If there was one thing he didn’t want to do, it was anger his mother. He feared her more than any god.
“I’lltalktoyoulaterbye!” he blurted out as he hurried to catch up with her.
That… was something. For a first impression, it wasn’t that bad, right?
Right?
Ah, shit.
He followed Penelope as they walked through the halls, still unsure of where they were headed, but he kept his pace with her.
Eventually, they reached the palace garden. A place where Penelope liked to unwind, where Telemachus often rested, and where you, conveniently, loved to work.
The queen sat beside the marble fountain, and Telemachus followed suit. A comfortable silence fell between them as they enjoyed the peaceful moment. It had been some time since they’d spent time together, and both of them treasured even the smallest moments.
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.
I wanted to request a child reader who doesn't like talking to people but shy way- but bc she feels like there is no point in it also is a genius but doesn't go to the akademia bc of financial reasons so alhaitham adopts her? Also, kaveh and alhaitham act like parents towards her? Like kaveh scolding her for not making friends at the akademia and scolding alhaitham bc he is not a good example? Basically, kaveh being the worried mom and alhaitham being the cool dad
Sorry if this request was too long and specific 😅 I had this brainrot for a long time and wanted to share it with you
tags/warnings: child reader, typical kavetham bickering, reader is considered a genius, reader has no parents, a little bit of angst regarding reader's backstory
notes: WOW THIS IS SO SO LATE!! I'M SO SORRYY, I've been having a really hard time with my mental health.
she/her pronouns were used in the ask, but the reader is gender neutral so everyone can enjoy. sorry if that's not what you wanted!
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
— For as long as you can remember, you were alone. In a house that brought back nostalgia, but those memories were buried deep into your mind, and no matter how hard you tried to dig them up, they stayed hidden.
— You took up small jobs around sumeru to get by, to at least look presentable in public. Even though it was considered child labor, you didn't care. Although when it came to speaking to people, it was difficult. People could be stubborn and rude, you didn't grow up knowing social cues or ways to respond. So, the only option you had was not speaking.
— When you didn't respond to the person that was talking to you, they either assumed you were mute or that you were rude and just didn't want to speak to them.
— Once, you were out in the desert in search of materials for your employer. You had crouched down as you spotted something shining underneath the grains of sand. It was a gem, and it looked quite expensive. The next thing you knew… you were surrounded by people in outfits that you hadn't seen before. Each and every one of them had a sort of red blind fold on. They demanded that you hand it over.
— You couldn't get a response out as your body froze up in fear. Just as one of them was going to swing their weapon down, it was intercepted by a sword.
— It was a man in green, before anyone could react the man knocked out the people who were previously surrounding you. Your eyes sparkled in awe, watching as the man swiftly landed on his feet. His head turned to you, causing you to flinch at his cold eyes, but they slightly softened in something you couldn't quite put your finger on.
↳ Your mouth hung open as you stared at the man in green. He beat up the scary looking people, he… he was so cool! Your eyes sparkled and were basically radiating light. His head turned to you, his eyes were narrowed, and that made you jump and quickly close your open mouth. The man started approaching you — you, not exactly trusting him, looked around for an opening to run away. The man knelt down to your height, yet still at a comfortable distance, his eyes trailed over your face, taking in your features and searching for any injuries. A small bead of sweat ran down the side of your face, discomfort written on your face. “Do you have anywhere to go?” The green man asked. You reluctantly shook your head. Your former house — that was barely staying together - didn't really count. He offered you his hand. “Would you like to come with me?”
You stared at the hand that he held out, should you agree? I mean it's not like you have anywhere else to go, and you weren't exactly made for hard labor jobs… you put your hand on his and nodded, he stood up with your hand is his. “My name is Alhaitham.” He said while looking down at you expectantly. “I'm (Name)...” You muttered but you could tell from his nod that he heard it.
— When you went with Alhaitham, you expected to be taken to an orphanage or taken to the authorities, yet that wasn't the case. He had taken you to his house and given you clean clothes, a warm bed to sleep in and… a roommate?
— After you had taken a bath and changed, Alhaitham had sat you on the couch and explained that he wasn't the only one who lived in the house. You really hadn't expected it since he seems like the type of person to like his alone time, but you understood.
— Once Kaveh came home after a long day of dealing with indecisive clients, he was met with you, and Alhaitham engaged in a game of chess and… The former was actually losing. To Kaveh It felt like a fever dream, so his only response was to stand in the doorway. But once he realized that there was someone other than him and Alhaitham in the house, and that someone was a CHILD.
— oh boy, Kaveh is immediately asking 1000 questions per minute. How did you get here? Where are their parents? Do you even know if they have any other relatives? and so on and so forth.
— Once Kaveh and dwindled down from his flurry of questions, Alhaitham explained your situation.
↳ Kaveh put a hand on his chin as he took in the information provided by his roommate. He hummed “So… they're staying with us?” He asked Alhaitham with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, that's right.” The scribe nodded and crossed his arms, Kaveh sighed “Alright…” He trailed off and met eyes with your wide ones. “I'm Kaveh, nice to meet you, (Name)” He gave you a small smile. Your mouth turned into an ‘o’ shape ‘he's pretty’ you thought.
— As the days went by and the three of you got adjusted to living together, Alhaitham noticed something peculiar about you. You were much more perceptive than other children, often pointing out details that even some adults couldn't have seen, and you learn surprisingly quickly for a child your age.
— You also took a strange interest in the akademia. Whenever you, with either of your guardians, would pass by the akademia, your eyes would be immediately glued to the entrance doors. Alhaitham, seeing your subtle hints of interest, decided to talk with Kaveh to see if they should enroll you in the akedemia.
— and surprisingly, it didn't take much convincing to get Kaveh to agree. The both of them had acknowledged your perceptive nature, quick 5 interest in the akademia. They decided to give you a chance, since it seems that you never had a proper education. They sat you down to tell you, and once they did… you lit up, a rare but well received squeal escaped your mouth as you rapidly thanked them as you ran up to hug them. Your wholesome reaction forced a smile out of Alhaitham and a hearty laughter out of Kaveh.
— You loved your time in the akademia, learning about different plants, animals, and complicated equations that you came close to solving. The only slight problem was… that you didn't make an effort to talk to other kids your age. It was just that you went the best at talking to people, and you got really anxious when you did. It didn't help that you froze up when someone approached you.
— Alhaitham in return, assured you that you didn't need to interact with people. You just needed to focus on your studies and yourself, but Kaveh had the opposite opinion. He believed it was essential to have friends or just people to talk to. It would build up social skills and help with public speaking. At Kaveh's rambling, Alhaitham muttered a quiet "Don't listen to him”, yet Kaveh heard his remark and started to scold him for encouraging the anti-social behavior. Although you kept Kaveh’s advice in mind, you weren't planning on public speaking or speaking to people anytime soon.
Tagging @tivosstuff @meefy @wri0thesley and anyone that wants to do it & hasn't been tagged yet because tumblr doesn't want to make names pop up and my brain is fried tonight
...I don’t know what to think about the second image, but I think I look swell at least. 😌
I’ll tag @teabutmakeitazure, @harmonysanreads, @beloved-blaiddyd, @stickyspeckledlight, @ddarker-dreams, and @holydayaria! Of course if anyone else wants to do it, go for it!
I know I couldn't quite copy my persona but it's still a decent attempt I think haha. I'd like to imagine by "so much fanfiction" it just means so much fanfics of me being in on hurt/no comfort fics, for real /hj
Ty for the tag ^^!!! I won't tag anyone but feel free to join in (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ!!!
warning: no spoilers, gn! reader, pining/soft sunday, Sunday info dumping as usual
summary: where Sunday will do everything except confess, and you just think he’s emotionally stunted.
a/n: i read about birds for this
halovian courting rituals
1. Gift giving. Like their close bird companions, Halovians participate in 'nuptial gifts,' a form of gift giving to a potential partner.
You were walking into the Oak Family Headquarters, Dewlight Pavilion, sent to deliver some letters. Although, you’ve been here before, it was still a bit nerve wracking to be in such a place, undetached from your usual position as a lower end employee.
The entrance to Oak Family Head’s office was right in front of you. You bite your lip, shifting the documents to your other arm and knock.
“Nightingale Famil-“
The door swings open. The family head holding the door stands to the side.
“Ah,” Sunday says your name, “it’s you.”
Your eyes widen, blinking a couple times. He remembers me?
“Yes, it’s nice to see you again Mr. Sunday. I’ve come with documents from the Nightingale family detailing a new plan for the dreamscape.”
He looks a bit disappointed?
He chuckles, then calls out to a lone employee, “you’re dismissed for today, I’ll take care of the rest.”
The Oak employee dips his head and leaves. Watching him leave fills a pit in your stomach.
“Mr. Sunday, is something wrong?”
Sunday sits up suddenly, “Oh, no. Not at all.” It’s that movement that makes you realize that he’s been fidgeting with something in his lap…Is he always like this?
“I guess I was just a bit surprised,” he smiles, looking down to the side. You caught him.
“Surprised? To see me?” Although Sunday and you have met a few times. It was always business, just like now—well maybe he did stare a bit intently at you before, but something really was different this time!
He looks up and sheepishly slides a box across the table. “Take it as…being a good part of The Family.”
For a few moments, your eyes set upon him. What is he planning? It’s a small box. Almost nothing could fit in there. You lift the top up.
You gasp. Earrings worth more than your entire life’s salary. You slam it shut.
“M-Mr. Sunday. This really isn’t necessary. I just—“ you ramble on. Sunday places his gloved hand on yours.
“Please, take it.”
Looking into his eyes, you realize that putting up a fight with the Oak Head won’t get you anywhere. You reluctantly take the box.
2. Preening. Similar to nature, touching a Halovian's wings is an intimate gesture to show one's interest in a romantic partner. Someone should never touch a Halovian's wings without asking!
Soon after, you come across Sunday again. This time at the Nightingale Family’s institution. You were putting away blueprints, plans and documents your coworkers left laying around haphazardly. When a familiar voice calls out to you.
“Good evening. Working hard, I see.”
“Mr. Sunday?”
He approached you, then looked around the room. He seemed to realize the situation you were in and scorned your coworkers. He mumbled something about you and moving to the “Oak Family.” As he spoke his wings were fluttering. They looked smooth and soft.
“You’ve been staring at my wings. Do they interest you that much?” He chuckles.
“Well, they are very pretty but—“
“Would you like to touch them?” A light blush spreads across his face. Despite that, he seemed perfectly poised. His hands clasped behind his back, standing straight and looking right at you.
“I-is that alright?” tumbles from your lips. You hesitantly reach out.
“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”
Upon touching them, Sunday’s wings twitched away from you before settling down. The feathers are soft and plush. Some are darker in color while others are more pale. They’re surprisingly fluffy. A bit like fur but more delicate.
The blush darkened, his gaze shifted off to the wall. His composure utterly broken, his hands fidgeted behind his back.
“Did you know that birds groom each other as a social activity? It occurs between…ma-members of a flock.” He sputters. What is he saying?
Your fingers stroking his feathers create a flutter within his stomach. He leans into the touch. Taking that as a sign to continue, you reach farther up, a light brush into the coverts of his feathers. Sunday gasps and pulls away.
“…You must take good care of them. Are all Halovian wings soft like yours?”
He wishes that moment would never end.
3. Song. During courtship rituals many birds of different species tend to sing and dance. While that is popular among Halovian people, some may chose show affection through instruments instead.
One day, a notice appears at your door. Upon examining it you realize it’s an invitation from Sunday, instructing you to his office within the Dewlight Pavilion.
Could it be about the documents you sent him last time? You wrack your brain for any possible explanation. He had been acting weirder than usual.
Heat build up in your face upon recalling Sunday’s recent appreciation for you. The earrings that are far too expensive to wear anywhere, and even worse—you bury your face into your hands. In a profound display of unprofessionalism, he let you touch his wings.
Still, every muscle in your body jittered with excitement, even though it shouldn’t.
♫ ♬ ♩
Suddenly, the closer you got, the more the hallway echoed with the sound of a violin. Slowly, you carefully stepped towards the sound, till you found its source.
Sunday was playing the violin. You couldn’t help but freeze where you were and watch him. He truly did look like angel. As he drew his bow across the strings, the light from the window shined down on him. His hair reflected the light appearing almost white. Was he always this beautiful?
Abruptly, he stands up, “You’re early. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” you closed the door behind you, “I didn’t know you could play. What song was it?”
He places the violin down on his table and approached you, “It’s ‘Salut d’amor,’ one of the first pieces I learned how to play,” Sunday put his hand behind his back, “the dream master was the one that taught me.”
“It was very pretty, I can tell you’ve been playing for a long time.”
“Thank you.” A light blush spreads onto his cheeks, but it’s gone before you can realize it.
A loud silence sweeps the room. The two of you avert your eyes. This side of Sunday feels so different from what you’ve been told. He always maintains a professional barrier. But if so, what was this?
Sunday calls your name, “how do you feel about me?”
“What?” The question is so out of the blue, you must’ve heard wrong, “I think you’re a nice guy—“
“I meant as a partner, I thought you knew. Was I not obvious enough?” He mumbles over the last sentence.
“I—well—“ you stumble over your words. He was serious. The earrings, the wing touching, the invitation. You dismissed it as him buttering you up. The ‘most handsome man in Penacony’ as delegated by the latest magazines, had feelings for you?
Your face felt so hot, you felt as if you could combust into flames at any moment, “I feel the same.”
His expression softened. “That’s a relief, I don’t have to cancel those reservations then.”
“Reservations?! Mr. Sunday-“
“Just Sunday. I’ll pick you up later then,” he smiled, then placed his hand near your ear, as if looking for something, “Oh, but this time remember to wear those earrings.”
a/n #2: soft Sunday is real, did u see how protective he was of Robin in the quest? i need more hoyo. feed my delusion
the no Kaveh rerun news made me so mad I snapped out of my bedrotting phase sat down and drew him on maternity leave in one sitting and then passed out from exhaustion
