╰┈➤𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ━━ ❝You've always been my little muse.❞
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you're the object of many powerful men desires; from gods to warriors...they all want 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 🇵🇴🇸🇹-ᴇᴘɪᴄ: ᴛᴍ!ᴀᴜ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙
📖A mythic slow-burn, spiralin...
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: ahhh! im happy you guys enjoyed my other headcanon/drabble oneshot haha tbh i have a bunch of these ranging from pretty much everywhere/anything from 'what if'aus etc, to alternative choices; so like think of things i managed to post for divine whispers but are too much small word count to post haha, but yeah, i'll pretty much might upload these whenever i have time/or someone's comment remind me of a scene i wrote and i'll dig through my docs to fix up, etc. hahahah (but yeah this little chappie is full of stuff i was researching about odypen, specifically the theory of them being married for years before having telemachus 😭😭💔) but yeah just a small update, i'll try to update the next chappie tmr/layter today thank you all
𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: odysseus gave mc the title 'divine liasion' to kind of bridge the gap between mc and his son, like a lowkey olive branch or a way to give her a role that would keep her close but still protected. 😩 (BTW THANK YOU SANMAO from Quotev for jogging my memory of this lol)
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The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting soft amber light across the wooden walls of the study.
Maps lay spread before Odysseus like a battle waiting to be fought, inked lines and fraying parchment curling at the corners from years of handling. He sat hunched at his desk, one hand resting on a goblet of wine that had long since gone lukewarm, the other holding down a scroll as his eyes flicked over strategy reports from the western coast.
Across the room, Penelope sat by the hearth, quill in hand. Her writing was smooth and elegant, like the sweep of her wrist was practiced even when her mind was a world away. She was drafting a letter—he didn't ask to whom. Probably a cousin on the mainland or one of the allied queens who still wrote in spirals of gossip and veiled concern.
The only sound was the gentle drag of her quill and the occasional sigh from Odysseus as he reread the same line for the third time without absorbing it.
It was quiet. The kind of quiet that came only when a queen and king had learned to share space without needing to speak.
Then—three sharp knocks. Quick. Nervous.
Penelope's quill stilled. Odysseus lifted his head, gaze narrowing.
"Enter," he called, voice low but firm.
The door creaked open, and in shuffled a young servant—barely more than a boy, really—hair mussed and eyes wide like he'd sprinted the entire length of the palace. He bowed, words spilling out before he caught his breath. "M-My lord, my lady—pardon the interruption, but I—I thought you should know."
