#odypen brainrot

[duckinpink]

Goddess Penelope and devote Odysseus

[garden-of-rambles]

Okay so I’ve read some headcanons and fics about the challenges Odysseus and Telemachus would have finding their footing as father and son, and they’re great! A lot of them feel very realistic or moving.

But I gotta admit…

I feel like all it would take is for one of them to start talking about how much they love Penelope, and that’s it, there’s no going back after that.

Odysseus has found the only other person who loves talking about her as much as he does, and Telemachus is quite happy to go on about it forever. He grew up hearing tales of his father while watching his mother hold everything together. Then when Odysseus is finally home it’s stories of Penelope that they trade, and its that more than anything — the love for her that they both feel so innately — that helps them bond, and learn to be father and son.

[shipperofthenineseas]

I was debating whether or not to make more odypen art. In my headphones, wyfilwma starts playing. It’s fate. I have to now.

[garden-of-rambles]

Since ao3 is down today, enjoy a little snippet of another @odypenfest fic that I'm working on!

[garden-of-rambles]

lead me back to you, epilogue: Nostos

It's finally here. Thank you so much to everyone that has followed along with me on this journey. I truly can't articulate how much it means to me. I have met so many wonderful people and had such a lovely experience because of writing this fic, and its largely because of all of you.

Thank you. I hope you enjoy the epilogue even half as much as I have loved writing this story.

As she had on so many lonely nights all these past years, Penelope lay in the bed her husband carved for her, and stared up at the canopy of branches above. More intertwined now than they had been at the start, so much so it was difficult to identify the points where they had once been separate.  And so too did Penelope lay — finally, finally — with Odysseus. Though, it had taken care and persuasion for him to be willing to hold her so close, out of fear of aggravating her injuries. She knew that was his main reason (it was clear how much he wanted to be close with how his hands hovered near, how his eyes rarely left her) but that did not make the notion any less painful, and it was only her distress that made him relent.  The other motive for his reluctance was guilt, and she hated it almost more than she hated him not touching her, or the mere seconds that he left her side. It sent fury crashing through her, made her want to scream and weep all in the same moment.  Perhaps it was true Odysseus’s choices led to what occurred, but she had made plenty on her own, and followed where the path of them led her, even as it brought death to others, and she emerged stained and ruined and bloodied on its other side. As had he. And so they laid together, bound further by all that they had done to achieve this. Yet, as entwined as they were — breathing in tandem, a sensation that was almost too sweet and nearly convinced her she was dreaming — it was not enough. It was not all she had wanted, and hoped for, when her heart and mind imagined it. She cursed herself for the despair this brought her — how could she be at all unhappy when Odysseus was finally in her arms? — but the bitterness remained.  That he had to hold her so carefully. The guilt that came to his eyes as his gaze lingered on her injuries. That her wounds made him look away from her at all. That they could not join their flesh as she so desired, as they had not done since their shared dream years ago. It was more than simply wanting him (though oh, she wanted him, wanted him with a burning ferocity that threatened to burst from her skin).  It was about not having all of him, unrestrained. As she needed to give herself to him in turn. It was the same all-consuming sensation that caused her to panic when he left her side, when she did not see him speak and breathe and eat and be alive here and in front of her. To be denied any of it, after waiting so long already… It clawed at her lungs with every breath.  But, in spite of these selfish feelings, her joy was not diminished either. It radiated from her, like a living thing all its own, threatening to erupt from her heart and bloom from her blood, and she held to what she had of him, as she would any part of Odysseus within reach. Even when it had been in dreams that vanished like smoke from her grasp, or when that too had only given them a wall of silence and separation. When she was nearly driven mad (or perhaps she had been, for how well could one recognize their own madness?) with equal parts hope and despair. As precious as it had been painful.  Penelope clung to it, with all that remained of herself (for there was no piece in her that was not his, that she would not give to him freely, even when they were both fractured and kept apart). So too did she cling to him now, with the same fierce desperation and sharp happiness. Because any of him was better than none at all, and she could never, ever return to that awful nothing. She would not survive it.

[garden-of-rambles]

Don’t know if you’ve ever seen this but there is this Italian illustrated Odyssey book for children and has this really cute odypen art you might like :)

I HAVE NOT SEEN THIS AHHH it's adorable!!! You are absolutely right, I love this. Thank you so much for showing it to me (and the rest of us!!)

[garden-of-rambles]

I need odypen fic (both pre and post Odyssey) where Penelope and Odysseus manipulate someone to their ‘end’ whether politically or literally and it’s really them having 3-D chess level foreplay.

Whether it’s something long term planned, or them naturally playing off of each other in the moment, I just need more fics of them manipulating someone together and then not being able to keep their hands off of each other afterward lmao

[garden-of-rambles]

Like Golden Aphrodite, Chapter Two

The second chapter of my last @odypenfest smut fic is now out! Featuring married odypen scheming and manipulating together, and Odysseus losing his mind with desire for a pregnant Penelope...

Penelope had only been his Queen for a little over two years, yet Odysseus could hardly wrap his mind around the notion that he once ruled and lived without her.  That he had spent years without waking to see her lovely face, or feeling her body — so soft, seemingly molded by the Gods to fit perfectly against him — nearby. Once, it had been expected that he would rise alone, and make choices for the kingdom without hearing her opinion. Once, his meals had been mainly political or solitary affairs, occasionally spent with his family, but never a routine he so eagerly anticipated (because now he always shared them with her). There had been a time where it was normal for the halls to not ring with her laughter, for his eyes to rise and not seek her out first, always. How had he done it? Despite having lived those years before ever knowing Penelope, that was a question he couldn’t answer. The very concept of it eluded him, almost as if it were a dream he struggled to recall upon waking. Besides, he had little need or desire to remember, not when the days ahead would be made better simply by seeing her at his side.  And what a wonderful sight she was. Whether it was at her loom, fingers deft and confident in the beautiful creations that would emerge, the map of them laid out within her mind. Or standing before their people, proud and glowing and reminiscent of queens from great tales. Or as she directed their household, making sure all duties were attended to and finding solutions to situations before they even became problems. Head held high, bright eyes glittering like gems of their own whenever she smiled, shining curls bound with ivory pearls, or braided to hang down her back in silken vines. The dark strands were often inlaid with flowers during spring and summer and even toward winter, leaving her looking to all as if she were a nymph birthed from nature itself rather than being the daughter of one. She wore some blooms now like a crown: crocus flowers, and their striking purple-blue petals were the exact same shade as her dress. Silver bracelets glinted at her wrists whenever she gestured, while matching earrings and necklaces caught the light as she laughed, her smile as brilliant as the jewelry. He was far from the only one helpless to look at her when she so naturally drew the eye, though the other men did not dare more than some brief lingering glances. There were countless other moments in Odysseus’s memory when her loveliness was unmatched: those times he led her to a hidden corner or unoccupied room to have her against a wall or pillar or even with just his own strength to hold her. She flushed so prettily then, all the way down her neck and to the swell of her breasts as she tried and failed to not make any noise, begging for him to be closer, to give her more, please my King, please — — then there was today, as they hosted important guests within their halls, and Odysseus found tearing his gaze away from Penelope to be an utterly impossible task.