Fic Requests And General Writings

Requests are open :)

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Hi! I’m Rain Bug, and I like writing.

I take requests for short fics, 500 words max. These are completely free. Please understand that these take time, and I may close requests sometimes to focus on my own things.

Fandoms I will write for:

Epic the musical

Six of crows/anything from the grishaverse

Supernatural, though I haven’t finished it yet (AND NEVER WILL BECAUSE ITS FUCKING GONE)

Wicked

They Both Die At The End

Song Of Achilles and Circe

Marvel (maybe)

Welcome to Night Vale

Hadestown

Arcane

Greek mythology in general

Kpop Demon Hunters

Dead Poets Society

Mouthwashing

Newsies

That’s all I can think of for now, but if you have another fandom in mind, I will write it if I know it.

Things I will not write:

Smut (I can do a bit, but I’m not good at it and it’s not fun for me if the whole request is just “these two fucking”)

Incest. This one’s a hard no.

That’s all I can think of for now, but I’ll let you know if your request goes against my rules.

Also feel free to tag me in posts like “someone please write this”

My ask box is open to requests!

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So I had a thought about after the Underworld saga

Odysseus paced the deck, a hand running through his gray-shot hair, grayer still in the moonlight. Prophets and their stupid visions. They could never just give a single straight answer, could they? No, they just had to be cryptic and rude and essentially useless.

This prophet was no different. The worst part was that somewhere along the way, Odysseus had actually had a chance, a real chance to get home to his wife and son. No longer you. Not anymore.

No, all he could do now was try, and hope to the gods that the prophet was wrong somehow. He hadn’t been alive in a long time, perhaps his sense of prophecy was addled by his own death. Maybe Odysseus still had a chance.

He stopped in front of the mast, the figurehead leaping across the waves. He would make his chance. He would take fate and bend it to his will. He would raze a thousand cities, if only he got to be with his wife, meet his son, just once. Screw that prophet. Odysseus would make it back home.

Creaking planks alerted him to someone behind him. He turned to see a tall, muscular man clinging to the railing.

“Eurylochus. Couldn’t sleep?” Odysseus said by way of greeting.

Eurylochus shook his head. “Too much on my mind.”

“Mine too, my friend. It seems tonight is the perfect night for that.”

Odysseus let the conversation die. Both men needed the quiet, he thought. The simple act of being next to each other could be enough.

Eurylochus, his second-in-command, his brother. His wedding to Ctimene had been beautiful. Odysseus remembered giving Eurylochus a pep talk before the ceremony, the poor man’s nerves were so bad. Polites had needed to give him some of the wine meant for later, just to calm him down.

If only he could be here now.

“If I don’t make it home, I want you to.” Odysseus’ words surprised both men.

“What?”

“That prophet Tiresias. He said that it was no longer me who would make it home. I want it to be you who does.”

The more he spoke, the more he realized that his words rang true. Eurylochus was practically his family, and he would make sure Odysseus’ sister was happy. He could be an uncle to Telemachus and a friend to Penelope in Odysseus’ stead.

Surprisingly enough, Eurylochus shook his head. “If one of us makes it home, brother, it will be you.”

“But-“ Odysseus protested.

“You know it’s true. You would fight every god on Olympus if it meant you could go home. You won’t let some prophet stop you.”

Odysseus’s lips cracked into a grin. “Damn right I won’t. But you’re still coming home with me. You and the rest of the crew.”

Eurylochus only nodded in response.

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New name alert

[charas-epic-fics]

Epic the Musical Prompt #7:

Telemachus has nightmares.

Once, when he had a nightmare, he peeked into his parents’ room. They could comfort him.

But the prince paused at the door when he heard his father crying into his mother’s arms. “And… and then she ate six of my men!”

Telemachus couldn’t disturb them with his own nightmares. Odysseus when through actual trauma. Odysseus fought sea monsters and gods. Odysseus had a reason to have nightmares. He didn’t.

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Post by @im-so-normal-i-swear

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · I’m baaack · The suitors were back. Eating their food, taking their space, making Telemachus shrink into himself until ther

Teehee (not several months late nooooo)

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I’m baaack

The suitors were back. Eating their food, taking their space, making Telemachus shrink into himself until there was nothing left.

They were everywhere he went. So many, too many to count. Faceless bodies leering at him like a pack of starved animals, dying for a meal.

He needed to get out of there. He walked towards the exit, slowly at first, building speed. Soon he was crashing through the horde at a full sprint. The exit wouldn’t get any nearer, no matter how hard he ran.

A firm grip on his wrist stopped him. He tried to pull away. The sharp movement did nothing against the ironlike grip of his captor.

Still struggling, he looked up at the man. His features wouldn’t stay still. One moment, a scar traced his face, the next, sharp teeth filled his mouth.

“Did you miss me?” A hundred voices spoke as one.

“No.. no, no, let me go!”

He twisted his wrist and pulled back as hard as he could, but the man’s hand only tightened as he grinned.

“No!”

Telemachus sat bolt upright in his bed.

Shaky breaths rattled his chest. He dragged a hand over his sweaty face. His whole body was shivering, and his hair was plastered to his face.

This was fine. This was normal. Everyone has nightmares once in a while.

Not this frequently, said a nagging voice in the back of his mind.

Telemachus shoved the thought away and settled back down under the blanket. It was just a nightmare. He was a grown man, he would be fine.

He let his eyes drift shut. Antinous’s face swam behind them, mocking him.

He was not doing this tonight. His eyes snapped open, and he pulled himself out of bed, taking his blanket with him as a sort of cloak to ward off the sudden cold.

Just this once, he told himself as he slowly padded down the hall to his parents’ room.

A light flickered through the crack between the door and the tile. Voices joined it, speaking in hushed tones.

“…Not your fault, my love, I don’t blame you for a second,” Penelope was saying.

“But, she, I had sex with her, and now I’m dreaming about her–“ Odysseus sobbed.

“It was a nightmare. You have a lot to work through, and I’ll be here every step of the way, okay? Just because you had sex doesn’t mean you wanted it, and it doesn’t mean I would stop loving you. You’re always my husband, remember?”

A soft sniffle was barely audible through the wood. “Okay.”

Telemachus backed away. His dad was having a nightmare about his time on Calypso’s island. This was a much bigger issue than Telemachus’s own. Odysseus had literally been to the underworld and back, and here Telemachus was, wrapped in a blanket and ready to complain like a child.

Granted, he hadn’t told them much about his journey yet, just the basics. Still, Telemachus knew that it must have been more than anyone could bear. He needed Penelope to help him, not Telemachus to come whining about some silly dream.

He turned, nearly tripping on his blanket-cape. Bare feet tiptoed back towards his room, trying to get out without being noticed. This was a private moment. He didn’t need to intrude on it.

Flickering orange light flooded the darkened hallway. A soft sigh came from behind him.

“Telemachus?”

He froze, then turned, blanket still draped over his shoulders.

Penelope reached a hand out to him. “Come. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Nodding sheepishly, he shuffled into his parents’ room. It still had the olive tree bed, even after all those years.

Telemachus made sure to drop the blanket by the door where it wouldn’t be noticed. He was too old for such childish comforts. Keeping his eyes trained on the floor, he sat on the edge of the bed.

A hand rubbed the small of his back. He startled at the soft touch, then realized that it was Penelope trying to comfort him.

He jerked upright. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here. This was a waste of your time, I’m gonna-“

Before he could finish his sentence, another hand gently pulled him back down onto the olive bed. It was Odysseus, who held Telemachus’ discarded blanket in his other hand.

“My son. Nothing you could say is ever a waste of my time.”

Penelope nodded. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Telemachus’ throat ached with restrained tears. How could he feel like such a failure, when his parents were sitting there waiting for him to open up? Who was he to deserve this?

As if reading his mind, Odysseus leaned over and wrapped his arms around his son. “It’s okay.”

The tears that were threatening him finally spilled over, tracing ghostly lines down his cheeks. A sob tore from his chest, then another. What felt like years worth of pent up emotion came pouring out, soaking Odysseus’ chiton in snot and tears.

At some point, Penelope had taken both of them in her arms. The Ithacan royal family stayed there for a long time, and if Telemachus felt his parent’s tears through the fabric of his chiton, he didn’t mention it.

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Gelphie Big Bang fic time!!!!!!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

It’s a Victorian AU, Elphie and Glinda are (of course) roommates and they get to explore the nuances of growing into society ladies together. There’s an absolutely gorgeous art piece made for it by @/a_no_ia on twitter, please go give that some love too :)

Anyways enjoy!!

@gelphiebigbang2025

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Ugh guys I’m way too obsessed with kpdh so here’s a little thing I wrote

Miyeong handed me her child, face glowing with a smile unlike any other. The warm bundle of blankets wiggled and I cooed, teasing the covers away from baby Rumi’s face. My best friend’s daughter kicked and squirmed in my arms.

“Isn’t she the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen, Celine?” Miyeong asked me.

~~~

Rumi was running around a playground, screaming with all her new friends. I sat underneath a tree, watching. This was good for her. I didn’t normally let her run amok with other children. I knew that she was just a child, a future hunter, but still, she was part demon. I would never let her get hurt by any other kids, even if it meant making playground trips as rare as matching snowflakes.

She giggled and reached up for the monkey bars, probably daring the other kids to see how long they could hold on. She was having the time of her life out there.

As she was fighting to keep her grip on the bars, kicking her legs as if she could swim up, her shirt sleeve rode up her arm.

Ice ran through my blood. I would not let her patterns be seen. My dau–my best friend’s daughter would not be seen as a demon.

I leapt up from the grass and pulled Rumi off the monkey bars. “Come on, we’re going home.”

“Wait, what? No, I wanna stay!”

“We’ve been here long enough. Let’s go,” I snapped, yanking her sleeve down.

Rumi hung her head as I set her onto the ground, fingers reaching for her sleeve. I had taught her that. I was the one who taught her to always be sure her patterns were hidden.

~~~

“Celine,” Rumi said, lying on her back and gazing up at the clouds.

“Yes, my girl?”

“When I meet the other hunters, can I tell them who my dad was?” She fiddled with her sleeve as she spoke.

My expression hardened. “No.”

“But why? We’ll be friends, why can’t I tell them?”

“Rumi, listen to me. Under no circumstances can you tell them. Your whole purpose is to defeat the demons, not to become one.”

“Okay.”

I couldn’t pretend I didn’t hear her voice crack.

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This is a thing I wrote with my OCs. Not what I normally do, but posting it anyways

Corythia trailed her fingers through a patch of moss on a tree, humming a little melody in time to the rushing creek. The moss bloomed under her touch, as did this forest. She was its guardian, its protector, its goddess.

No mortal had ever set foot in her forest. She had never let her guard down long enough for that to happen. No, her leaves, her branches, her soils remained unseen and whole.

Corythia had never left her forest before. She’d had friends before, nymphs, each as fleeting as the next, and each has had her own stories to share. She saw the world through their eyes, but never her own. She could have left, but that would mean abandoning her source of strength to be overrun by those who would take and take and take until there was nothing left of her. Leaving meant dying, and letting every creature in this forest die with her.

She stood. The wind tossed her hair and skirts, and carried fallen leaves along with it. She slowly followed it, taking her time. She had endless amounts of it.

Each tree she passed, each root was as familiar as a lover’s touch. She ran her hand along the bark, assessing each tree for injury or rot.

The breeze took her to the edge of her woods, where foliage met sand and rock that melted away into salty ocean. She stood there for a long time, letting the spray hit her face and the sounds rush over her ears. The ocean was peaceful, and she was grateful to the wind for guiding her here.

A haunting melody floated through the salt-stained air. It sounded almost like a woman singing, although this woman wasn’t like anyone Corythia has ever heard before. This melody was alluring, poisonous, and ever so gentle. Corythia wanted nothing more than to wander down the beach and find whoever was singing like this.

She lifted up her skirts and picked her way down the rocks towards the ocean. The song got louder as she got closer to the sea, glittering in the sunlight. The rocks were sharp under her feet, and the salt stung her eyes, but she had to know who was singing.

Corythia stopped at the edge of the rocks, and the singing cut off abruptly. A woman was sitting on a rock, far out in the water, further out than Corythia would have ever dared to go.

The woman had silvery hair cascading down her back in waves. Her skin was smooth and slightly blue, and she had turquoise fins on the sides of her head. She shifted, and a long, finned tail draped over the side of the rock.

A siren. Corythia should have known.

Her head turned sharply. She had seen Corythia. She was too far away for Corythia to read her face, but before she could try, the siren dove gracefully into the water.

“No, wait,” Corythia called, reaching an arm out.

The water hissed softly as it hit the rocks. The gentle waves rolled towards shore. The sky was blue and unyielding. The siren was gone.

Just as Corythia was about to turn and leave, a shadow moved underwater. The siren popped her head above the water, and she brushed the hair out of her vibrant yellow eyes.

She gave a lopsided grin. “I’ve heard of you.”

Corythia’s shoulders tensed. “You have?”

“Yeah, everyone has. You’re the guardian of that forest, the one who’s afraid to leave.” She lifted a webbed hand out of the water to point.

That was too far. “Well, I didn’t come here to be insulted by some siren. If you’ll excuse me–“

“Wait.” The siren looked panicked for a moment. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I just…” She sighed. “I’m Arisbe.”

She turned back towards Arisbe and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Corythia. Goddess of this forest.”

Arisbe flushed and traced a finger over the cracks in a rock. “Goddess, huh? What’s that like?”

The corners of her lips quirked upwards. “I’m not fully sure what you’re asking.”

“Is it, I don’t know, different from what you imagine a mortal would feel like?”

“I think… I don’t know, it’s silly.” Corythia rubbed her arms and looked away, embarrassment colouring her cheeks.

“I think a little silly would be good for you.”

Corythia furrowed her brow. What was that supposed to mean?

“I, no, I meant that in a good way,” Arisbe hurried to say.

Corythia let out a sigh. “Alright. Being a goddess… it’s a bit thrilling. I feel every branch, every creature in that forest. It’s a part of me, I think, or it is me.”

“Aren’t those the same?”

“No, they aren’t. It’s also a little scary sometimes. If my forest dies because I’m not here to protect it, I die too, and so do all the animals that live here. I’ve… can you keep a secret?”

Arisbe nodded. There was a truthfulness to her expression.

“Okay. I’ve never left my forest. I barely even come out here, to the ocean.”

Expressions flickered across the siren’s face. Shock. Pity. Determination.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to change that. When you’re ready. Not even goddesses can be cooped up forever and stay sane.”

Corythia recoiled. How dare she, some common siren, pity her? How dare she suggest that Corythia was unhappy in her home? No, this was not happening. Corythia wouldn’t have it.

She stalked forwards, the hem of her dress brushing the surface of the water. “You mock me. You do not get to come to my home and tell me what to do. You presume a lot, siren, but you may not presume that you can entice me away from my home with your filthy song.”

She was yelling at that point. Every leaf on every tree shook with her anger. It’s not fear. It’s caution. I am protecting my home from this threat.

Arisbe raised a hand to try to intervene. Corythia cut her off before she could do anything. “Get out. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Corythia-“

“Leave.”

Roots exploded from the earth and lashed towards Arisbe like whips. Dirt flew into Corythia’s hair and eyes. Even the sea was roiling, dragging at Arisbe’s tail.

Corythia was going to ignore the way her voice broke when she told the siren to leave. She stared out at the sea for a moment, breathing heavily, then turned on her heel and walked back to the forest, where she was safe.

Safe from gorgeous sirens who wanted to uproot her entire worldview.

The next morning, Corythia wandered by one of her creeks, arms wrapped around herself, lost in thought. Birds chirped at her, singing their morning tunes.

The melody almost sounds like Arisbe’s song…

Corythia shook her head. This was silly. Arisbe had been a distraction, something that would have harmed her in the long run.

But a little harm would certainly make life a bit more interesting.

No. What was she thinking? Arisbe was a bad idea, and besides, there was no way she would come back, not after Corythia had lashed out at her like that. It was useless to speculate.

A few minutes later, she was standing at the edge of the ocean again.

She gazed out at the horizon, waiting for a ripple out of place, a shadow underwater, anything to show her Arisbe was there.

Nothing. She didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry.

She turned to leave. This had been a foolish mistake.

“Corythia?” A musical voice was behind her, paired with the sound of waves rushing onto shore.

There she was. Her siren, floating there in all her sparkling, finned glory.

Corythia was suddenly reminded of her outburst. She hung her head. “Arisbe, I’m sorry. I was trying to protect myself, and I had no thought for your feelings. I only saw you as a threat. I have no way of knowing if you’ll hurt me, but I’m willing to try.” She took a deep breath. “I want to see everything you can show me.”

Arisbe’s face lit up. “Are you serious? I mean, I would love that.” Her tail fluttered excitedly in the cold water.

Corythia waded into the ocean for the first time in her life. The salt stung her legs, and her dress floated behind her. She reached out her hands and took Arisbe’s. “Congratulations, siren. You’ve managed to bewitch a goddess.”

Pink blush spread across her scaly cheeks. “I, um, then let’s hope I can keep her.”

Arisbe’s hands were warm and smooth. Corythia could feel her fins brushing against her legs underwater. She leaned forwards slightly, tilting her head towards Arisbe’s.

“Just… be patient with me, please.”

“Anything for you, my lady.”

[charas-epic-fics]

Epic the Musical Prompt #7:

Telemachus has nightmares.

Once, when he had a nightmare, he peeked into his parents’ room. They could comfort him.

But the prince paused at the door when he heard his father crying into his mother’s arms. “And… and then she ate six of my men!”

Telemachus couldn’t disturb them with his own nightmares. Odysseus when through actual trauma. Odysseus fought sea monsters and gods. Odysseus had a reason to have nightmares. He didn’t.

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Ok so I haven’t posted since (checks notes) April. So. Have an apology Telemachus and Penelope thing

Telemachus stood on his tippy toes, straining his neck to try to seem taller.

“See, Mama, I’m so tall,” he said, then promptly lost his balance.

“Did you have both feet flat on the ground?” Penelope teased, ruffling his curly hair.

“Yes, I did,” Telemachus insisted. He crossed his little arms and gave a mock pout.

“Are you sure?” she singsonged.

“Well, maybe I cheated a teeny bit.”

“Oh, well if that’s the case, we’ll have to try again, won’t we, little wolf?”

Telemachus hummed in agreement and pressed his back to the wall, feet flat on the ground this time. He fidgeted his hands excitedly, waiting to be measured.

Penelope bent down to mark the wall with her knife, her dark hair brushing Telemachus’s face.

After a moment, she stepped back. The wall bore a fresh line, with the words Spring, 6 beside it.

“I’m so tall, Mama.” Telemachus pointed out a line that read Spring, 5. “Look how much I’ve grown!”

His mother’s hand rested on a line above any of his. The word beside it was a bit too high up for Telemachus to see from where he was, but he knew what it said.

Odysseus.

Penelope’s face grew sad, the corners of her lips tugging downwards.

Telemachus frowned to match her. “Are you okay?”

Penelope looked down with a start, then gave a small sigh. “Yes, I’m alright.” She crouched down to be at Telemachus’s eye level and laid her hands on his shoulders. “Your father is coming home soon, alright? Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. He will return.”

“Okay…” Telemachus looked down. “Will I be taller than him? When he comes back, I mean.”

Penelope laughed. “I hope not, honey, but I think you eventually will be.”

That was the dream. Telemachus knew Penelope didn’t know when his dad would be back, but he really hoped he would get back soon. Was it silly to miss a man you never even knew?

The scratch of the knife against wood was a familiar sound by now. Every season of his life, he had stood against this wooden wall, waiting to be measured. Penelope wanted Odysseus to know when Telemachus outgrew him. She wanted him to have some semblance of growing up with his son.

The war was over, and Odysseus hadn’t returned. Diomedes had gone back to Argos, Nestor was sitting on his throne in Pylos, though he was old enough to have died several years ago, and even Neoptolemus, Achilles’s son, had made it home safely.

“All done,” Penelope said, stepping back.

Telemachus turned towards the wall. The new mark read Summer, 13. It was above Odysseus’s line for the first time.

“He’s gonna come back, right?”

Shadows crossed Penelope’s face, and she turned towards the window. “He will.”

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Hello so ahem you should go read Chapter 3 of A Way To Get Home

Its the songs Survive and Remember Them from my boy Eurylochus’s pov

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A little bit of my wip that I’m so close to done! This took me a whole lot longer than I thought it would lol

Damn it’s late I need to sleep

I got the ideas out yay!

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Post by @im-so-normal-i-swear

💬 2  🔁 4  ❤️ 14 · I had an idea and I’m sorry in advance · Telemachus wandered through the halls, trying his best to avoid everyone. He didn

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehegegegegeggegeehhehehehehehehhehehe anyways I love my boy

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I had an idea and I’m sorry in advance

Telemachus wandered through the halls, trying his best to avoid everyone. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

Beaten, bruised, humiliated.

Back from searching for his father in vain. He’d returned a day early. He’d given up, like a coward. Maybe his father really was dead, and he was the son of nobody at all.

At least he’d found a sort of friend along the way, though he didn’t want to think about the way Pisistratus blushed when he dropped him off in Athens. He definitely didn’t want to think about those nights they’d shared in dingy rooms, sharing a bed. He had bigger problems at hand than a silly crush.

The suitors had beaten him to a pulp. He had lost, even with the help of a powerful goddess. Even worse, he’d fled only days after, to go find his father. Telemachus knew they didn’t believe a word of it.

He gritted his teeth. Antinous was going to pay for making him feel this upset, this…useless. He’d trained under Athena for some weeks now, he could beat him. He could rip him limb from limb.

Telemachus’s steps faltered. Had he really let that man drive him to this kind of anger? He shook his head. He couldn’t let Antinous change him.

His feet carried him through the halls, brushing a hand against the wall, touching every crack to ground himself. He wanted to go to his room and hide for a while. He could tell Penelope about this later, but for now he was exhausted, and if he was going to be honest, a little bit scared.

Had it not been for Athena, he would have died.

Telemachus stopped and shook his head. These kinds of thoughts were what would get him killed. He had trained, yes, but he still needed to stay alert.

Never show them you’re scared. They will rip you to shreds.

Penelope’s words from years ago surfaced in his head. She was right. He had to stay strong. For her.

Antinous’s voice floated through the palace, barely audible, cutting off Telemachus’s train of thought. He seemed passioned, and Telemachus thought he could hear other suitor’s shouts of agreement. What were they doing?

Ignoring the pain in his still-aching ribs, Telemachus ran as quickly as he could towards the voices. His muscles were sluggish and weary from travel, but that wasn’t important right now.

The voices grew louder and clearer as he sprinted towards them. He began to hear snippets of words. He slowed to a walk, stepping lightly to avoid making noise. A potted plant sat at the entrance to the dining hall where Penelope had set up her challenge. Quiet as a mouse, Telemachus crouched behind it and peered around the corner.

Antinous stood on the long wooden table, sandals crushing ceramic, voice carrying over the crowd.

“…a diplomatic mission,” he was saying mockingly. A chill ran down Telemachus’s spine. “And he arrives today. This is our chance at power, boys. We have one shot.”

Cheers rang through the room. Fists pounded, wine sloshed over the sides of cups.

“I say we gather near the beaches, wait till he docks his ship. We board it, and we cut. Him. To. Pieces.” He pounded his fist into his palm and strode across the table.

The men shouted their assent, and Antinous raised his hands to quiet them.

A strange sense of detachment settled over Telemachus. Surely, this couldn’t be real. It was just a dream. The suitors–no, intruders–surely weren’t planning his brutal death. This wasn’t his life. It couldn’t be.

Antinous continued, oblivious to the man hiding behind the corner. “I’ll drop his remains into the ocean, and when precious Queen Penelope wonders where her darling boy is, what’ll we tell her?”

“Nothing!” A hundred voices boomed, then dissolved into drunken laughter.

Antinous grinned, a slimy, toothy expression. Telemachus grimaced. What more could he be planning?

After he let the laughter die, he kept speaking, voice now hushed.

“And when we’re done, who will be there to guard the queen’s bedroom at night? Who will keep us from breaking down her door?” His voice got louder and louder as he went on.

“Nobody!” Came his response, one hundred seven men roaring their answer.

Telemachus felt sick. He had to tell Penelope.

He bolted towards her room.

“Mom, Mom, please,” Telemachus cried, barreling through her doors.

Penelope stood up from her loom, startled. “What’s wrong, my Little Wolf?”

Telemachus flinched.

Hands striking his face, his ribs, his arms, bruising and breaking. “Not so strong now, huh, Little Wolf?”

He shook the memory off. Bigger problems, Telemachus.

Telemachus took a deep, steadying breath. “It’s the suitors, Mom, they’re planning to kill me, toss me into the ocean, make it so you won’t find out, and then, and then…” his voice trailed off and he looked away. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell her. She would be so afraid. Telemachus wouldn’t be there to protect her.

Penelope took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. “Telemachus. Son. Tell me what’s wrong.” Her voice was strong and steadying.

Telemachus looked up from the floor, eyes watering frustratingly. “The suitors… they’re planning to kill me, and then…” How could he say this? “And then I won’t be there to protect you from them. They’re planning to–they’re planning…”

Gods damn it, he was such a coward.

“Hey. Telemachus. Look at me.”

He wiped his eyes quickly, then lifted his gaze from the floor.

“We can stop this. We just need…”

Telemachus knew what she needed, or rather who. Odysseus. The father he never knew, who was twice the man he ever would be.

Telemachus was snapped from his self-pity by screams rattling the palace walls. Battle cries followed. Apparently, he couldn’t leave the suitors alone for more than five minutes.

Telemachus leapt up and grabbed his special double-pointed spear, folded right now, from his pocket. It was commissioned by Athena, engraved with an owl symbol, and crafted by Hephaestus himself.

“Telemachus, wait,” Penelope ordered, but he was already running out the door.

Dashing through the halls for the third time that day, Telemachus unfolded his spear.

Thank you, Hephaestus, for making such a perfect weapon. Athena, lend me aid in battle. I will make you proud.

The screams grew louder as he got closer. He rounded the corner into the dining hall and skidded to a halt.

Bodies littered the floor. Antinous’s corpse lay on the table, an arrow sticking out of his neck. Red dripped from the suitors’ wounds and covered the entire room.

Telemachus’s hands faltered, and his spear dipped, just for a moment. He had never seen such violence in his life.

Good riddance. One less problem to deal with.

Telemachus gripped his spear and crept towards the only darkened hallway. If the attacker was using arrows, the suitors would want to be covered by darkness, so they wouldn’t get shot.

A group of suitors huddled in a corner, weapons shaking, terror in their faces. One of them turned and saw Telemachus, standing like a ghost ready to kill.

–––––

“Telemachus, do you know what happens when we hurt other people?”

Ten-year-old Telemachus stood shamefully in front of his mother.

“Mom, it’s not fair. I wasn’t going to hit him, but he kept calling me names, and he said, he said that I was the son of Nobody,” he whined.

Penelope took her son’s face in her hands. “And do you feel better, now that you’ve hurt him back?”

–––––

“Lower your weapons.” Telemachus’s voice held strong. “And I’ll ensure you’ll be spared.”

Shit, was he really doing this?

“Not when the king is trying to kill us all, Little Wolf.”

The men jeered and raised their swords. However, all their bravado couldn’t disguise the fear in their eyes. Telemachus could use that.

“Trust me, I don’t want to have to hurt you, but I can and I will.”

He would ignore the ‘king’ comment for now.

The leader–Melanthius?–grinned sickeningly. “Brothers, we can use him to trick the king! Capture the boy, make the king obey us! And if he doesn’t listen, I’ll break the kid’s hands.”

Tens of men swarmed him, shouting. Telemachus fought harder than he ever had in his life. Dodge, roll, stab, block, kick, fight, fight, fight. Stay alive at all costs. Swords came at him from every angle. Telemachus could feel himself tiring.

A man, cloaked in shadow, aimed an arrow at the fray. Telemachus wouldn’t have noticed him if it weren’t for the red headband, fluttering in the corner of his eye.

Telemachus realized what the attacker was trying to do. He went limp.

The arrow flew, right into Melanthius’s chest.

Telemachus scrambled away, picking up his dropped spear.

“Mer…mercy,” Melanthius begged.

The attacker’s eyes narrowed. He raised his bow, stringing an arrow with perfect precision.

“Mercy?”

He loosed the arrow. Melanthius fell.

Man upon man fell to the attacker’s hand. Telemachus yelled out a battle cry and joined in, fighting side by side with the man.

They were a perfect duo. The man swung up to the rafters. Arrow after arrow sailed down. Telemachus stayed on the ground, spinning his double-tipped spear into the hearts of suitor after suitor. Screams filled the air once again, accentuating the sharp tang of blood.

It didn’t take them long to kill every last one.

The attacker swung down from the rafters and let his bow drop to the floor.

Telemachus was on him in an instant. He shoved him up against the wall and pressed the tip of his spear into the man’s throat.

The man did nothing to stop him. Why wouldn’t he fight him?

In the darkness, Telemachus saw the attacker’s face for the first time. A mole on his right cheek, a crooked nose, graying hair, scars tracing his skin.

Telemachus shared that mole. He had the same nose. He had the same warm brown eyes.

His spear clattered to the ground.

“Father?”

“Son.” The king’s voice was choked with emotion.

Telemachus was the son of Nobody no longer.

[rain--bug]

A little bit of my wip that I’m so close to done! This took me a whole lot longer than I thought it would lol

Damn it’s late I need to sleep

I got the ideas out yay!

[rain--bug]

Your Eurylochus fic has like no paragraph spacing on AO3! Check to make sure AO3 didn't eat them because walls of text are no fun to read.

Ok I’m gonna need someone to walk me through how to do this very patiently because I’m so new to ao3. I’ve seen this too and I wish I knew how to fix it please help

[witless-winion1]

OH OH OH!! I can help!!!

So what you want to do is to make sure you’re typing/editing in “Rich Text” mode! If it’s in HTML mode, you have to go through and add things like <p> and </p>, <em> </em> (italics), things like that, for paragraph spacing, italics, bold, like breaks, everything. Every single time.

HTML:

Rich Text:

And then you can edit it however you like from there, but make sure to keep your spacing consistent to avoid confusion!!

Happy writing, fren!!!!!

[rain--bug]

Thank youuuuuuuu youre the best this is so helpful

[rain--bug]

(pounces on top of you)

FOUND YOU!

:))))))))

Hooray!!!! Qldjksbdksbid I am very sane I swear

[rain--bug]

Give me that Scylla thing you said you were gonna write or ill eat you anyways love you, buddy system, yada yada 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

I got you pookie beat

Scylla lifted her dress over her head and slipped into her spring, warm from Helios’s sun. Willow leaves and rose petals drifted across the surface, tangling in her long blonde hair. She closed her eyes and sank underneath the surface.

The sweet, clear water soaked into her skin as she floated there, delighting in the luxury of her private spring. Her hair swirled around her in a cloud, and her body became weightless in the sun–bright spring.

Scylla was beautiful, enchanting, and by the gods, she knew it. Her sunlight hair flowed like a waterfall. Her tanned skin was unblemished and perfect. She had golden eyes framed by luscious black eyelashes, and she always knew exactly how to enhance her looks with jewels and clothing. She was a vain creature, but anything that looked this good was allowed to be.

A golden leaf drifted by, the exact colour of her eyes, trailing a sweet-smelling sap. That was odd, Scylla had never seen that type of plant before.

As an immortal naiad, Scylla had never seen anything that couldn’t be explained with a simple “the gods are fighting, darling”. This leaf felt unnatural, riddled with purple veins and pulsing with sap. Unnatural, and frankly, unpleasant to look at.

Scylla reached out a delicate finger and touched the leaf.

It began to spin in the water, faster and faster. Golden sap–oh gods, it looked like ichor–filled the spring, rushing towards her.

She tried to swim away, but the sap was faster, writhing like Medusa’s snakes. It wrapped around her wrists and ankles, tearing at her skin, her eyes, her hair. It swirled around her in a vortex, taking pieces of her with it.

Her hair was ripped from her scalp. She reached a hand–a claw?–out to catch it, but it dissolved in her fingers. She could feel each bone in her body as it shattered, then re-formed, shredding her perfect skin, turning her into something horrible. Scales pushed their way out of her body. She grew and grew, heads and tentacles and teeth made to kill. Her ichor mixed with the plant’s sap, muddying her crystal waters.

Scylla’s new body was burning with pain. Her claws, still fresh, scratched at her scales, ripping them off, swipe after agonizing swipe.

She was screaming by now, a haunting sound, rattling her aching bones. Scylla couldn’t have made that kind of sound. No nymph could. Nothing she knew could have thrashing tentacles, and six massive heads filled with teeth.

Only a monster could.

~~~

The first time ships came to Scylla’s cave, a dark mockery of her old spring, she hadn’t eaten for months. She was still immortal, but in her new, monstrous form, she felt hunger and pain and sorrow.

Terrified of being seen as she was now, she had found this cave, far from where she’d lived before. She had planted herself in this spot, and she had no plans to come out and face her family, ever.

The ships floated into the strait, slowly, almost nervously. There were three of them, each one laden with mortals, running around trying to get wherever they were going. Were they leaving home? Returning? She couldn’t ask. She had lost her language along with her lovely blonde hair and lithe naiad body.

Scylla turned her ugly heads away. She might have looked like a monster, but she would not become one. She was better than that.

But weren’t mortals so plentiful? Weren’t they so fragile? Besides, there was a chance they wouldn’t make it home anyways. Travel was dangerous, and wasn’t she just another part of the dangers now?

Her stomach screamed at her, begged her to take a bite. Just one mortal, just one.

Before she could think, react, stop herself, all six heads darted out from her hiding place.

The mortals shrieked and rowed as fast as they could. Their efforts were useless. Six heads dove down, six heads snatched six screaming mortals. Six men died to fill her stomach.

Tears flowed from her eyes. Had she really killed six men? Was satiation worth it, to know she stole fathers, friends, brothers? Could she really live like this? Scylla wanted to go home to her spring. She wanted to kneel to Circe, for that was who had turned Scylla into this, and beg her to change her back. She wanted her old naiad life back.

The next few times the ships came, Scylla didn’t hesitate. She lifted her heads and brought the ships closer with her tentacles, taking six, twelve, eighteen mortals if they were slow enough.

She still felt that pang of guilt, gods, she did. It tore her up inside to kill that many. As a nymph, she had never killed before.

At least, she didn’t think she had. Time was becoming… odd. She couldn’t remember certain things, and some details were fuzzy. She knew she had been a nymph once, beautiful and cruel, but not a monster. She had started out as an ethereal creature, she knew, but what colour had her hair been? How had her body been shaped? Did she ever have fingers that didn’t end in claws?

The only thing she had kept from her days as a nymph were her golden eyes.

She never looked at her reflection anymore. It was too painful.

When the ships returned, Scylla didn’t see mortals with lives, with families. The ships were devoid of life and thought. Nothing aboard them mattered, not really.

Scylla only saw food.