‧₊˚── Request: "kassandra being so down bad for reader she suddenly feels like she has no game whatsoever bc she's actually FEELING something and it feels so real and she's just "... i need to talk to mater" and she's bee-lining to myrinne to ask her for advice and this was inspired by a lot of her classic buff loser moments in game. kassandra is a loser deep down and i feel it in my whole soul."
Word Count: 2.5k
Content/Warnings: sfw, fluffff, gender neutral reader, canon typical violence, painfully awkward!kassandra, useless lesbian!kassandra, ow this one got me right in the mommy issues, myrrine is getting laid apparently, pls excuse typos they are inescapable
A/N: THRILLED to have received this request and was giggling kicking my feet writing it. i was starting to miss writing fluff just as this request came in and got so excited reading it, so thank you SO so much to the anon that requested it!! i hope you feel just as giddy reading it as i did writing it hehehe
𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
Kassandra does not concern herself with the gods.
She doesn't need to. Not when every trial she's faced has been dealt with by her own hand, with no help, for as long as she could remember.
She doesn't want to. Not when so many of those trials wouldn't have happened if humans had chosen not to act on behalf of the gods.
So, despite the grating debates with philosophers at symposiums and the unrelenting lectures from her mother at family dinners, Kassandra has decided: no gods. No thanks.
That is, until she's faced with beautiful people.
Because when it comes to matters of the heart, Kassandra is— to be frank— completely daft; something you're quite tickled to learn when she walks up to you one evening at a military camp in Lokris the day before your campaign begins.
Her jaw is set. Her gaze, steely. She's all business, marching steadily with her head held high.
Until you take off your helmet.
You're almost certain that you see her trip over air, but you're far too distracted by her wide-eyed stare to give it any more thought.
"Is something the matter?" you ask, your features contorting in growing confusion.
She blinks rapidly— shakes her head twice.
"No! No, not at all. I just… I just wanted to… introduce myself," she finally settles on saying.
You nod. Slowly. Tentatively.
"I know who you are," you reply, lips quirking up into a grin. "You introduced yourself to everyone before we set up camp."
"Right. That's… yes. I did, didn't I?"
You assume the question is rhetorical until the silence between you stretches long enough to suggest that an answer was expected, but just as you open your mouth to give one, she cuts you off.
"Sorry," she chuckles airily. "I just, um… wanted to make sure there wasn't anything you needed from me before tomorrow's battle."
How sweet, you think. The warm smile you give her betrays the thought.
It also makes her face go beet red.
"I'm alright for now," you nod, "but I'll let you know if that changes."
"Yes!" She blurts. "Please do. Just, uh… yeah. Yes. If you need anything at any point, say the word. I'll be right there. I mean— not right there; that makes it sound like I intend on following you around for the entire campaign, and that would be…"
She trails off as she comes to the realization that only two things will save this interaction:
Being struck down by Zeus himself, or shutting the fuck up.
"I understand," you giggle. "You're welcome to follow me around all you like. Thank you, Kassandra."
And with that, you walk away, moving on to sharpening weapons and tending campfires.
Kassandra stays exactly where she is for longer than is natural. How could she possibly act natural after an offer like that? After hearing how pretty her name sounds on your tongue?
When she finally walks back to her tent, she promptly falls back onto her bedroll, stares up at the roof of fabric in horror, and prays to Aphrodite that she won't make an ass of herself like that again.
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
Unfortunately, Kassandra manages to make an ass of herself on three more occasions before the campaign ends.
The first happens during a battle in full swing. You catch sight of her taking a nasty hit and make your way over, cutting down a handful of Athenian soldiers on your way.
"Good to keep going?" You yell over the chaos, one hand on her arm.
Her head snaps toward the sound of your voice in an instant.
She looks down at the shared contact, then back up at you, then down again, then up once more.
"Y-yes," she replies, "I'm alright. Thank you… you didn't have to—"
She's cut off by the roar of a very dramatic opponent diving toward you for what he thinks will be the most epic kill of his life.
You promptly drive a spear through his throat.
She looks down at his leaden body, tsking. "Left himself wide open, am I right?" she asks, shaking her head.
You might begin to contemplate just how strange this woman is— and just how much it's beginning to grow on you— if it weren't for the raging battle taking precedence.
"Right," you slowly nod. "Let's, uh… get back to the fight, yes?"
"That's right— you're right. The fight."
She turns to an approaching enemy and hopes to get skewered.
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
The second occasion happens a few days later. She approaches as you're cooking over a campfire, determined to make conversation that doesn't end in total humiliation.
Technically, she succeeds. The conversation begins with it.
"You alright?" she hears you ask, and her stomach drops as she realizes she's been staring at you as she contemplates what to say.
"Oh— Yes, I'm fine. Just… wanted to come check on the food."
You snort, looking back down at the stake of meat roasting in your hand. "You hungry?"
She finds that your dry wit is still wildly charming, even when at her expense.
"So… are you from Sparta?" she inquires after a moment
You look back up at her, confusion flashing across your features.
"I am," you reply. "It's, um... It's a requirement for being one of their soldiers, if I'm not mistaken."
Your lips quirk up into a grin. Hers press into a thin line.
"Right," she blushes. "That's, uh… that is correct."
"You haven't lived here for a while," you mention. "When did you leave?"
"After I was thrown from Mount Taygetos as a child."
"You were what?"
Kassandra's eyes go wide upon seeing the horror on your face.
"No! It's… It's okay, really. I'm okay. No big deal."
"That's a big deal, Kassandra."
There it is again. Her name on your tongue. She hardly gathers herself in time to respond after hearing it.
"I suppose I've come to regard the whole ordeal a bit too flippantly after all this time," she chuckles breathily. "I apologize."
A soft, warm smile appears on your face.
"You've nothing to apologize for. Speak of it however you'd like. I'm sorry it happened, though."
She isn't able to reply before another soldier beckons you over. You ask if she wouldn't mind roasting the meat for a moment, and she almost drops it entirely when her fingers brush your own as you hand it over.
As you walk away— poorly concealing an amused giggle— she finds herself praying once more.
Dear Aphrodite, grant me one conversation that doesn't make me want to crawl into a hole and die, and I'll start going to temples to do more than spy and steal.
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
It's after the third and final moment of indignity that Kassandra decides enough is enough.
The two of you join a small group going down to the river for a wash when she notices you hesitating to take a steep step.
She's thrilled at the opportunity to extend a hand to you, ascends when you take it, beams when you finally make your way to solid footing.
And then, she promptly loses her own.
It's as she's looking up at the sky after having slipped and fallen on an acorn that Kassandra realizes the gods don't seem to be listening to her pleas for suave.
So she seeks out the next best thing.
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
"Mater?"
She steps foot into her childhood home, the smell of fresh bread wafting through the air.
She calls out for her mother again, making her way to the kitchen where Myrrine is furiously chopping vegetables. Kassandra has long since given up on trying to correct her mother's questionable knife skills, but her habit of opening her arms to hug Kassandra while still clutching said knife? That much has got to stop.
"Mater," Kassandra says once more, chuckling in exasperation as she promptly takes the blade from Myrrine's hand and sets it down on the counter before stepping into a hug. "No knives in hand when you're greeting someone, eh? It's threatening."
"We're threatening women, Kassandra," Myrrine argues before pressing a kiss to Kassandra's cheek. "What's the matter with that?"
Kassandra walks over to the kitchen table, sighing as she sits down.
"We're off-putting women," she grumbles, picking at a hangnail.
"Off-putting?" Myrrine echoes, offended. "Who's off-putting? I do quite well for myself… Can't you see my glow?"
Kassandra's face twists in disgust at the sight of her mother's cheeky smirk, her wiggling shoulders.
Myrrine, for one, is highly amused by her ability to embarrass her daughter, giggling to herself as she watches her daughter shake her head.
Her laughter softens when Kassandra's eyes drop down to her lap.
She doesn't see this version of her daughter much. The one that looks unsure, defeated, smaller. So much smaller that for a moment, Kassandra looks like an awkward teenager.
Myrrine's chest goes tight with a familiar grief as she remembers that an awkward teenage Kassandra is not an image she can actually conjure.
But Kassandra's here now, and even after nearly 20 years apart, it took Myrrine hardly any time at all to learn to read her.
"There's someone you fancy, hm?" Myrrine knowingly inquires.
Kassandra looks up at her mother through her lashes.
"Possibly…"
"Well, that's a good thing," Mryinne chimes, "isn't it?"
"It would be if I knew how to talk to the people I fancy!" Kassandra complains, gesturing wildly.
Myrrine laughs, her head thrown back and her himation swishing at her feet as she pads over to Kassandra. She sits down across from her, offering her hand palm-up on the table.
"It surely can't be that bad."
"It is that bad, Mater."
Kassandra reaches out, but only to grasp her mother's thumb. Myrrine smiles to herself. Kassandra held her hand this way as a child, too.
"You've at least tried to make easy conversation with them already, I hope. That's the first step, isn't it?"
A harrowed look settles into the lines of Kassandra's face.
Maybe it is "that bad," Myrrine thinks.
"I tried, yes," Kassandra responds solemnly. "It ended swiftly after I told them I was thrown from a cliff 20 years ago."
A bark of laughter escapes Myrrine before she can clap her hand over her mouth to stop it.
Definitely "that bad."
"Stop," Kassandra whines, burying her face in her hands. "It's not funny…"
"I'm sorry, moró mou," Myrrine chuckles, getting up to wrap her arms around Kassandra's shoulders; to place chaste kisses upon her dark hair.
"What do I do?" Kassandra pleads, words muffled. "I swear, every moment I've had with them has gone to utter shit."
"Oh, Kassandra," Myrrine coos. "Have you considered that it's part of your charm?"
"Mater," Kassandra chides, hands dropping to reveal narrowed eyes, "don't make fun of me. I'm serious."
"I'm serious," Myrrine argues, looking down at Kassandra with a smile.
"Consider this: you're incredibly strong. So valiant. Smarter than most philosophers and strategoi alike."
Kassandra chortles at her mother's obvious bias, but lets her head fall against her chest, anyway.
"All those brains and all that brawn… but you still wear your heart on your sleeve. You stumble over your words—"
"And my feet," Kassandra adds, cringing as she recalls her very first interaction with you.
"And your feet," Myrrine chuckles, squeezing Kassandra's shoulders, "all because you laid eyes on someone you care for. Isn't that all anyone wants? Someone who trips over their own feet for them?"
Myrrine may have a point. Kassandra has always found awkwardness rather inviting herself.
"Well… not everyone wants that. What then?" Kassandra ponders aloud.
"Then," Myrrine begins, sitting back down across from Kassandra and taking both of her hands in her own, "you wait for someone to come along who doesn't ask you to be anything you aren't. If this person you fancy is at all deserving of a wonderful girl like you, then they ought to like you exactly as you are, eh?"
A reluctant smile pulls at Kassandra's lips.
"Okay… so I just… keep being awkward, then?"
"Keep being awkward," Myrrine shrugs, standing to make her way back to half-sliced vegetables. "But, perhaps… save the cliff story for the first date."
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
"Keep being awkward."
Not quite the input Kassandra was expecting to receive.
But, she heeds the advice, anyway. Takes every stumble— physical or otherwise— in stride, and hopes you'll happen to find it charming.
Correction: she prays that you'll find it charming, because— Gods— she's only fallen harder with every passing day.
And now it's the last day. Everyone's packing up after a successful campaign, clasping each other on the shoulders, bidding each other well on their journeys home.
And she's shitting bricks as she walks up to you; a mirror of your very first interaction.
"Y/n?" She calls, seemingly having lost every ounce of confidence she just led this army to success with.
You turn to face her, a wide smile spreading across your face as you rise from where you were folding up a bedroll.
"Kassandra."
Please, Aphrodite, don't let that be the last time I hear them say my name.
She takes a deep breath, willing herself to tell you just how fond of you she's grown, to ask where you're going, how to reach you, when she can see you again—
"Heading for Korinth, I hear?"
Kassandra blinks twice as your words cut through her thoughts. She nods, her words breathless as if she'd been running as quickly as she was spiraling.
"That's right."
You hum in consideration.
"That's quite a long trip."
"It is," she winces.
You hum again.
And then, you lock eyes with her, your lips pulling up into a smirk.
"Some company would be nice, don't you think?"
Kassandra may be categorically dense when it comes to romance, but she is not dense enough to miss the way your eyes just swept up and down her figure.
"A-are you… is this— was that—"
"I'm flirting with you, Kassandra."
Her eyes go wide. Her jaw goes slack. Only after a silence that lasts so long it leaves you biting the inside of your cheek in an effort not to laugh does she incredulously repeat,
"You're flirting with me?"
"I've been flirting with you the entire campaign…"
"You've been flirting with me the entire campaign?!"
You finally burst out into laughter.
"Is that so hard to believe?"
"Yes!" She exclaims. "Yes, because I've done nothing but make a fool of myself around you!"
You laugh even harder— because it couldn't be truer— but still, you assure her,
"I think it's cute," you shrug.
"Do you?" she questions, brow raising. "Well, then… I suppose my mater was right."
You tilt your head. "About what?"
"She, uh... she said my awkwardness is charming," she snorts, rubbing the back of her neck. "That if you were the right person, you'd 'like me exactly as I am.'"
You pause for a moment. Your eyes narrow. And then, you smirk again.
