human!harley with the mute!player.

・Was originally a struggle to communicate due to the language barrier. The doctor was initially stumped as to why the higher-ups would place a nonverbal assistant down here to work with him, but eventually got used to the silence your presence had.

・Harley, while never admitting it, does appreciate the attention to detail you put into writing reports. A good listener is always nice.

・You hold a small 'Playtime Co' notepad tucked into the pocket of your coat whenever you're working.

・Be lucky you write fast AND with nice handwriting, he would not be waiting forever to get a simple answer from you, his patience is very short.

・Because you specialised in child/adolescent psychiatry before majoring in cardiology, he values your input and opinion on matters regarding the mental and psychological aspects of the children he operates on.

・Everyone will and forever think you're crazy for working under the man for so long without quitting or him firing you.

・Early on, Harley did struggle to comprehend what you were trying to tell him sometimes. Missing a head nudge, point, or not carefully looking through what you wrote for him. Misunderstood a lot.

・Nowadays, it's easy for both of you to flow into a rhythm of work during the day, either together or apart. Reports you wrote always made it to him on time and with everything needed. The materials and equipment he needed were always there, and in the middle of it all was his content, little assistant.

・A lot of the time, when he would go on his rambles, you'd be wandering in the office, overhearing everything. He always knew you were there, but it never really mattered what you heard or didn't; he knew you'd never blab about it to anyone important.

・Despite being his assistant, don't think you have it easy. He still barks orders at you during the day to get things prepared, get reports done, even get his coffee order.

・You'd climb the social hierarchy fast. Anyone who can deal with Harley on a day-to-day basis gained nearly everyone's respect down in the labs.

・ Harley never really paid attention to the social aspect of his job, but if he witnessed some of the other scientists talking to you a little too often, he'd swoop in, complaining about 'not being able to find something' and whisk you away.

・After some time in this job, the notepad wasn't really needed during the day. The flow state you and the doctor had fallen into did not require many words from you. (Harley filled the empty silence with his own words, though, of course.)

・After his eventual disappearance, you were transferred over to Dr White to work under him. He never quite had the genius Sawyer did.

doctor!harley with the mute!player.

・The doctor was quite surprised to see you after all these years, still nonverbal as well. He found it amusing and nostalgic.

・The two of you fell back into the rhythm. Harley boasts and rambles while you do the dirty work of what he asks you to do. Like old times.

・He watches through the cameras as you trip and fall, gain new marks and scrapes, squint his eyes as he notices your body twitch from the pain and stress of running around tirelessly.

・How can one simply do this all without muttering a single complaint, just like how he once knew you!

・He would definitely consider not killing you and to kidnap take you back under his wing as his assistant once more.

・Coming face to face with him in one of his many bodies would be strange for him. Were you always this short?

・Coming face to face with him in one of his lanky robot bodies would be strange for you. Why was he so unusually tall?

・"Well now, this is a rather interesting turn of events." He would stare down at you, watching your face morph into slight surprise, alongside uneasiness in your stance.

・He watches as you fetch out the notepad he remembered you carrying around during his working years, the simple 'Playtime Co' branded notepad. "Harley?" He watches you write. He's glad you've retained your neat handwriting.

・"In the flesh, little germ."

・He'd never admit if but he would actually open and close convenient doors for you around the prison if he were feeling particularly cheeky.

・Doing your snooping around the prison, you find old offices where you and Sawyer used to conduct research and write reports in. Harley actually purposely never moved things around in those areas; they were too memorable to move around and wreck. Traces back to his humanity.

・Even though he's a certified sociopath, you still can't see him as anything other than the annoyed, picky, and standoffish boss you had the pleasure of working under all those years ago.

・Evil laughs very loudly when he's revealed to NOT be dead revived at the end of chapter 5. You just stand there staring at Giblet, who just gives you a 'what the fuck?' look.

a/n: my friend who is MASSIVELY obsessed with mbtis ran up to me the other day and told me harleys mbti would be most compatible with mine which uh THATS SICK AS HELL WHAT THE but yeah that totally wasnt my main inspiration for writing this request.

Chris had convinced himself he knew the ins and outs of the party - for her benefit, for her safety, security, to help her. But he failed her.

He shouldve known things like these werent entirely predictable. He wanted to know, he wanted to control it so that she wouldnt get hurt. It had come so easy to him up until know, quick thinking to solve any problems yet this time his quick thinking was its own problem.

Dotty felt better in the garden, the people there were less focused on being as vocal and disruptive as possible. There was still noise but there was air. Chris could monitor everything easier too.

When he thought back he had to reassure himself, it had been fine hadnt it? He didnt leave her when she was already tense? he didnt miss something? Someone? Anyone wouldve made the same mistake?

He needed it to be the truth or he could never forgive himself.

Life for dotty had two stages: eyes glued open or eyes glued shut. In that moment, they were definitely open.

Their movements were predatorial - she guessed only if predators wanted to make it extensively clear they were talking about you maybe, but threatening and stalker-ish all the same.

She didnt put up a fight when chris left, not really able to as a result of living life like a frozen deer in headlights.

Regardless, she really didnt try to stop him. She wasnt actually thirsty either but it was the sentiment, he liked his role of protector - he got maybe too comfortable in it during that moment. He left her outside - which isnt entirely equal to burdening her to perform in front of the entire population, though it definitely felt like it.

The muttering voices became slightly clear, enough to piece out “go, go, go” whispered lowly.

A tall boy with a tall shadow and a second ‘shadow’ consisting of three girls and another tall boy. He stood in front of dotty expectantly. Maybe she was supposed to leave? Well, if hes giving her the chance then-

“Do you have a name?” the (surgically glued to his hip) laugh track followed their role behind him.

she couldnt respond even if she wanted to - which she didnt.

He grinned smugly. “You dont? Wow, youre like an abandoned dog.” he spat out.

It hadnt completely felt like that until he put the words in her head. But Chris always came back. She needed him to. especially now.

dotty could name all of them. It was clearly a game but she didnt know what the prize at the end was supposed to be.

He stepped closer, movements for once stealthy and smooth as if rehearsed - leaning down condescendingly.

“You know youve made yourself sub-human. Made up shit because youre lazy but now you cant go back on it.”

He licked his lips - much more predatorial this time.

“You did it to yourself. You cant blame us if we test it.”

She wished shed flinched more when he grabbed her wrists. She wished she fought back more than just trying to grip her feet to the floor. It was all useless. Wasted efforts despite the fact she tried harder and harder.

It was five steps till the edge of the pool. She thought she had those five steps to work up strength, maybe he'd even stop. Maybe it was a bluff.

At three steps she was swung around, trading positions so dotty stood unbalanced where he just was - so he only had to push.

Her ankle hit the concrete edge as she fell in, before choking on water as it surrounded her. The liquid burned into her eyes as she pushed herself higher, enough to be above the surface.

She coughed and sputtered, trying to work on breathing, hand protective over her throat. The water brimmed at her neck, a reminder of how close she still was to it - she still wasnt safe.

A set of hands gripped her shoulders, tight on her skin, enough to scream at her instincts that she was in increasing danger.

“Yell for help and i wont do it.”

Her eyes widened, throat closed and only mentally screaming. He wanted her to yell but god did she wish she could more.

She tried to elbow back, just to get pushed forwards. She tried to smack at his grip but he didnt budge, only applied more pressure downwards. Her back was secure against his chest, slipping below the surface once again.

She thrashed around as much as she could, limbs thrown away not caring for how much she was contorting them. She needed to get him off. It felt worse that she could see herself. The clear water made everything crystal clear - almost mocking the fact she was failing in her fight for her life. She could watch herself put up a fight but it was entirely useless.

His hands ripped away. Dotty didnt waste time questioning, she reached over the water, flailing around to pull herself to where there was air. She clawed the wall, choking out and probably spitting though that was the last of her focus. She looked under herself to the water surface, glass shards swimming to the pool floor.

She felt hands on her arms again and instinctively pulled back this time. She was met with his eyes. Much more familiar and far less threatening. He looked almost terrified.

“Come on, you got it.”

He made her feel weightless, pulling her up high enough to put her knees on the surface. He let go of her hands so she could secure herrself, just for him to get tugged away from her.

Skin met skin aggressively, chris’ face ricochetting back from the other tall boy's fists.

The hits didnt relent, barely giving chris the opportunity to fight back. His knees gave out, the boy worked to straddle his chest to continue pummelling his face in. blood spilled down his face.

Both pool water and tears streamed down dotty's face. She cried out, wailing non sensically and crawled onto her feet to run over to him. Chris yelled at her to stop but she couldnt - instead she smacked and pushed the boys head, just to get more strongly shoved away in retaliation. Dotty sobbed in the spot she fell in.

The other boy from the boy had finally climbed out, blood running from his head from the glass bottle chris had thrown at him. She wished she couldve gone back, let herself die in that pool so that chris never had to suffer because of her again.

Everyone outside watched in horror, as helpless as dotty. The gasps felt comedically coordinated, mocking her once again that her misery was comedic to anyone not associated with her.

She swallowed her tears, working up her effort and standing up next to the two of them. She raised her foot and use every piece of strength she had to kick his skull. He jolted back and felt to the side of chris. She replaced where he had been, laying on his chest and now cradling his face, making herself a human shield.

She sobbed even more at the weak sight of him. She choked on her cries, holding them back as she shuffled on the floor to place his head on her lap.

Dotty shook her head at herself, feeling entirely to blame. Chris shook his head too, only to disagree with her self blaming spiral of thoughts.

She caressed his face, shifting the hair away from his eyes. He looked broken and bloody, but now calm.

“‘S okay, ‘m okay.” he steadied his own breathing. “Dont cry.”

He reached his hand up, wiping away her tears. Dotty wished she could nag him about not talking, watching the way speaking tugged at his already split lip.

“You okay?” he formed a small smile, finding irony in his blood covered face to her tear soaked one - its clear he was the most not okay. not that it mattered to him.

He turned his head to kiss at her palm that cradled his face. Breaths completely steady now, finding relief just in meeting her eyes.

“I should get up off the floor.”

He sat himself up slightly, resting his back on a nearby chair. Dotty placed herself properly on his lap, facing him to press healing kisses on every inch of skin that didnt have his blood on. Once she was satisfied, chris wiped his blood with the bottom hem of his shirt, groaning from the sensitivity of his skin.

Dotty formed a deep frown, earning a sympathetic smile from him.

“Im okay. promise. just need five minutes.”

He shut his eyes and leaned back, hand searching for dotty to pull her to lay against his chest. She avoided surveying her surroundings at risk of feeling embarrassed.

She layed back and gripped onto his shirt. It felt much safer now that she could hear his heartbeat. It was steady. They were both okay.

Odysseus was and always will be her love; she will find no other love more profound and amorous than the warm devotion she has found in him. She is reminded of that timeless adoration every day she rises and falls on the bed he had thoughtfully carved out of the olive tree they had first met under. Every day, she is reminded of their fateful encounter. She remembers his winsome smile, the way his bright eyes captured the golden sun, the way his luscious hair perfectly framed his handsome face; he was the epitome of boyish charm. But her husband has matured since then, having been crowned king and ruling graciously before leaving to face further hardships and misfortunes on the harsh battlefields in Troy. She can still recall the heavy burdens that weighed her beloved’s broad shoulders the day she first entered that theatre with their young son and many others. 

How she cried that day, cried at the sight of him, burying herself in his strong arms, his touch familiar and tight. She remembers him crying as well, his brawny embrace trembling around her. There was a distinct desperation in his fingers, tense and anchored to her, but also a hesitance, as if he couldn’t believe her existence before him, as if she were a ghost that could disappear with a simple touch. Then there was Telemachus. Their sweet boy, who shyly tugged at his father's chiton for equal attention, made the two drop to their knees and pull him into the centre of their arms, the centre of their world. It was as he pressed into his father’s broad chest that Penelope witnessed her brave and vivacious son shed tears for the first time, clinging to his father as her husband whispered apologies into his ears over and over. Like father, like son. The two already shared the trait of appearing strong to many, only to collapse into themselves when in the presence of their loved ones. And it made her cry happy, sad, bittersweet tears. 

The small family couldn’t bring themselves to fully separate after that and sat together throughout the musical, always touching, sometimes squeezing each other closer, and others pulling a little apart for breath, but never far enough to stop touching. They needed to know the other was still there, willingly chaining themselves together. It was painful to watch helplessly as the powerful figure of her husband was forcibly eroded by the harshness of the gods and the hardships of a war he never wanted to be a part of. It broke her heart to see her beloved in such a state. The dreadful future presented to them in the verses of songs made time drag by at a snail's pace, their hearts in their throats with stones in their stomachs, until it was finally time to return to their original place in the universe—apart and distant—as if no significant amount of time had passed at all. It was a cruel reality to face. Suddenly, time was moving too fast, and Penelope couldn’t hold her Odysseus for long enough, nor could her son. 

When they were finally dispersed and returned to their rightful places, Penelope held her darling son for the hours and hours it took for him to process what had just happened, never spilling enough tears to leave her shoulder soaked through, however, only lightly dampened. Penelope remembers Telemachus focusing on his breaths, often clamping his eyes shut and focusing before releasing a long and shaky exhale. He was steadying himself, trying to be brave and faithful to the first promise he made with his father. It was as admirable as it was saddening; her sweet boy had to grow up so fast despite her efforts to slow such a maturation. As a mother, Penelope tried to shield him from as much suffering as she could, but there was always a limit to what she was capable of. It seemed, however, that focusing on her role as a mother as well as the illustrious Queen of Ithaca was enough for her son; soon, she would share in Telemachus’ inner strength. 

Despite the many days and weeks that have passed after the foretelling of their futures, it still felt surreal. 

Penelope often wants to dismiss the experience entirely, but there was a stubborn part of her that loved to hope that it was all true and that she would not have to wait so long for Odysseus to return, now that they all knew what the devastating outcome a few damning decisions would lead to. Her husband is a clever man; it was one of the many alluring traits that had drawn her to him. He’s rarely the type to make the same mistake twice…

…So why could she not believe it when the silhouette of twelve black ships emerged on the horizon?

Why did she freeze when she heard the excited barking of Argos, Odysseus’ loyal canine companion, ringing out from the shores and echoing across the entire island of Ithaca?

Why was she so speechless when she rushed to her mother-in-law and sister-in-law with news, her son running at her heels with glittering eyes and a cherubic smile? 

“My son…is he finally home?” Anticlea asks in a shaky voice, her eyes turning glossy as she’s helped to her feet by an equally trembling Ctimene. If Ctimene's brother is finally returning home, then her husband will be home too. Could it be? Ctimene, with watery eyes, looked towards her sister-in-law, daring to hope, daring to fall into that soft, sweet and seductive optimism that, after all these years, she would finally see her husband again, her Eurylochus.  

Finally, Penelope smiles, tears falling from her lashes as she huffs in relief, “Yes! The ships are on the horizon, he’s home,” She catches Ctimene’s eyes, flooded by tears as she covers her mouth with trembling hands, “They’re both home.” The group reach for each other, including Telemachus, succumbing to their strong emotions and comforting each other in a tight embrace, but not for long.

They run to the shores, Telemachus sprinting ahead of the trio while his mother and aunt keep beside his grandmother, who struggles to carry herself without assistance. None could bring themselves to reprimand him; however, they could all connect with his desire to reach his father as soon as possible. 

“My apologies, my daughters,” Anticlea utters, her regret sincere, but her eyes never leave the silhouette of ships as they grow bigger, inching closer from the horizon.  

“There is nothing to apologise for, mother,” Ctimine laughs wetly, not caring for her dishevelled appearance. She leans into her mother’s side, needing her support just as much as she needed hers in locomotion. 

“We will arrive at the shores in time.”

Just when Penelope, Anticlea and Ctimine make it to the shores, they smile fondly at the visage of Telemachus playing with Argos, who was spritely with life once more; injected with a happiness that rattled his ageing bones in a dance that illusioned him into a fresher appearance. Somehow, the loyal hound was aware of his longest and dearest friend’s return home, cementing an assurance in Penelope’s heart that she would be seeing her husband very soon.   

⊹ ࣪ ﹏ 𓊝 ﹏ 𓂁 ﹏ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

The scent of thyme and pine washed over Odysseus as the ship neared shore, home. The fragrance was so achingly familiar it made his ribs sore from his hyperventilating lungs, his breath greedily taking in the intimate air, desperate to exchange the stale saltiness of the ocean that had long since settled heavily in his lungs. His eyes darted across the beach, searching, until—

There.

His mother stands. Alive, well and breathing… Her shawl flutters in the wind as she smiles brightly. Kind and gentle, not lost, not haunting. Behind his blinking eyes, he’s tormented once again by the phantasmic image of his despairing mother in the underworld, where she faithfully waits for his return; the heartache in her voice, evident. Since seeing that ghostly image of his mother in the underworld, her familiar warmth turned just as phantom-like as her new image, Odysseus has been flooded by guilt. Never before had he felt like such a failure of a son than he did in that moment and the minutes, hours and days after. It made him sick to his stomach with the determination to reach home in good— better time. 

Standing filially beside her was Ctimene, his sweet, little sister. She’s grown a lot since his departure, and he takes the time to soak in her more adult impression, only to chuckle to himself when his subconscious mind filters her to a familiar conception, the one he’s most accustomed to. To the one with scraped knees in her effort to follow him about, lost without his assurance and guidance; to the one with puffed-out, sun-flushed cheeks after succumbing to his lighthearted teasing; to the one who often stepped into his space and clung to the back of his chiton out of shyness; to the one of his most adored sister. When their eyes connect across the waters, her gaze doesn’t linger on him long. Her olive eyes check his figure briefly before decisively moving to fix on the figure beside him. Without turning his head, Odysseus already knows that her eyes have settled on Eurylochus. 

And then, Penelope. Sweet, lovely, beautiful Penelope. As clever as the sagacious owl, as elegant as the graceful swan and as beautiful as the heavenly dove. It felt as if he was seeing her for the first time all over again, his mind turning to mush as his body flushed from head to toe. She stands at the water’s edge, her toes tickled by the teasing waves that dance back and forth over the wet sands, but she pays it no mind, her eyes locked onto him as firmly as his are locked on her. Even from this distance, he could see the way her hands clutched at her chest, a known habit that he knew she used to keep herself grounded, covering her rapidly beating heart as if to temper down its charging pace. The gesture makes him smile, and he mirrors it with his own hand, clutching the fabric of his chiton over where his racing heart lies. 

“Father! Father!” Telemachus is there too, shouting to the heavens; the joy of his return, evident on his cherubic features. He bounces around the sandy shore with his oldest friend, Argos, who barks and howls and rises to his hind legs with his tongue out as if to say: I am so glad to see you home again, old friend. Both happily share in each other’s glee at the simple sight of him, Telemachus’ face alight with happiness as Argos does merry spins over and over, his tail wagging enough to elicit worry that it may break off.

Focusing solely on Telemachus, Odysseus is almost brought to his knees. Gods, his baby boy has grown up so much. He remembers having the same thought when he was first brought to the dark theatre with the rest of his crew and a slew of other pertinent characters, but no one was more important than his son and wife. It had only been a few weeks since Odysseus last saw his son; however, he couldn’t help but wonder if his son had grown just a little taller, his hair just a little messier, and his features just a little more adolescent and less juvenile. Although it brought him great joy to see his boy so happy and healthy, Odysseus vows never to miss another day of his son’s life again. 

He’s back now, and he will stay until his dying breath, eager to make new memories with his beloved and be the father he never had the privilege to be. Odysseus feels his grin grow wider at the thought, making his cheeks ache at the strain, but he doesn’t care. He would finally be together with his family, complete, whole, safe and sound. Odysseus’ vision blurred.

The moment the hull scraped an inch of sand, Odysseus was moving, leaping into the shallows with no thought for dignity. The seawater was soaking through his tunic and sandals, but he barely felt it. 

Telemachus and Argos met him halfway, their happiness infectious. Telemachus cheers and raises his arms as Odysseus scoops him up and holds him close, keeping him in his arms and on his hip as Argos jumps up on his hind legs, placing his front paws on Odysseus’ thighs for leverage as he laps at the hand he brings down to scratch behind his ears and deliver long-awaited affection and closeness. Unable to hold back, Odysseus drops down to his knees, the shallow sea water splashing beneath him as he pulls both into a tight embrace. Telemachus wraps his small arms around his father’s strong shoulders and buries his face into his neck as Argos licks slobber all over his face, tail wagging away merrily.  

Penelope meets him as soon as he gets up and walks onto the drier sands, escaping the lapping waves with Telemachus on his hip and Argos attached to his ankles. His Queen raises her arms, her smile longing and painted with relief, then, as soon as he’s close enough, her arms wrap around his neck too, tight and secure. Her breath brushing over his skin, her body pressed against his, her familiar comforting fragrance embracing him just as tightly—the salt of her tears where she pressed her face to his shoulder.

"You fool," she sobbed, laughing wetly into his neck as she pressed a flurry of kisses against his stubbled cheek. "You stubborn, brilliant fool.”

“Upon my return, my wife, in our first meeting, calls me a fool.” Odysseus smiles through his words; never before had he enjoyed being called a fool. “I missed you, my Queen,” He stares deeply into her eyes, “my Penelope…” Lost in each other, they lean in for a deep and passionate kiss, smiling into one another's lips when they hear Telemachus articulate disgust and squirm out of Odysseus’s hold, running to his grandmother, who laughs at his whining before gently telling him to leave his parents to reunite in peace. 

With his arm free, Odysseus pulls Penelope into him more, enclosing her in the tight ring of his arms as he buries his nose into her hair, inhaling the lavender she’d always worn, and knew—this was the scent of peace.

“Thank you for coming home to me, my love…” her shaky voice meets his ears, her lips brushing over his as she speaks.

“I will always find my way back to you.” He seals the vow with another deep kiss.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏ 𓊝 ﹏ 𓂁 ﹏ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Eurylochus lingered on the ship a moment longer, his chest tight and his nerves restless. Finally arriving home feels too real and too good to be true; he thinks it's all a delusion. Nevertheless, his feet carry him to Ithaca's familiar sands, the very same sands he had last departed on ten years ago. Around him, his crewmates rushed to reunite with their loved ones, desperation and relief filling the air, contagious and soon seeping into his own veins.

As his eyes searched the beaches, Eurylochus finally set his eyes on a familiar pair of olive pools. Ctimene. His beloved. With her sandals in the sand and the glittering sun in her eyes, she stands before him like a sweet mirage, her dress elegantly draped over her shapely silhouette. Her apparition appears frayed at the edges, coloured in soft pink hues and brighter lighting. It's as if she were glowing, making the rest of the world disappear around her. Their marriage was arranged, but their love for each other had just begun to flourish before he was called to participate in the war against Troy, fighting beside his brother-in-law and friend. Never before had the world been so cruel.

Ten years had passed. And Eurylochus dreaded to think that the first spark of endearment between them, exhilarating and addictive, had withered away pathetically, divested too soon for it to bear fruit. Like a small flame deprived of air. Like a shy sapling deprived of sun. He has many regrets, and leaving like a stoic soldier had been one of them. There was no effort on his part to comfort his Ctimene as she tried to come to terms with sending him off, just as their kisses were beginning to burn their lungs with desperate passion; just as their embraces lingered for longer than usual; just as affection seeped into their gazes when regarding one another; just as they were beginning to fulfill their marriage vows to love…their flame was abruptly smothered.

Back then, Eurylochus believed that his stoicism was a comfort as it meant he was confident in returning home to her, silently urging her to foster the same confidence, but he was mistaken. If it weren't for that musical showing or you, the fair maiden, he never would have made it home. He should have hugged her, kissed her, whispered sweet assurances into her ear so that if the first reality in that musical had become of him, at least, the last memory she had of her husband would have been a sweet one. Now, he faces her doubtfully, shamefully and embarrassed, yet the past cannot be changed. So he should stay true to his strong character at the very least and face her head-on.

"You took your time.” Ctimene's sweet voice cuts through the crowd, meant for his ears only. Shocked, Eurylochus takes a hesitant step forward and looks, really looks at her, finally catching sight of the tears in her eyes. Could it be? "Did you not want to come home, my love?"

Without a word, Eurylochus rushes forward and pulls her into a tight embrace. All internal talk of facing her with squared shoulders and eyes full of conviction disappeared at the mere sight of her tears. He is just a man, not a soldier, a man who misses his wife dearly.

It didn't get past him, the fact that she had called to him lovingly, with the same sweet endearment he remembered she had just begun to shyly call to him before he left for Troy. It made his heart pound and his extremities grow lame. And yet, there was a profound strength within him that pushed him forward towards her, not caring for the slippery sands or the crowds of people surrounding them; he'd rather desperately cling to the small light of hope her sweet tone gave.

His calloused hands are overcome with the urge to roam her suddenly familiar curves and savour the feel of her body against his with his face buried into her neck. An intimate reunion. She had always smelled so fragrant and sweet; he couldn't get enough. It almost brings him to tears with how warmly her familiarity comforts him.

"I'm sorry, sweet Ctimene…"

Ctimene, overcome by equal parts joy and relief, unleashes her grief through free-falling rivers of tears. She sobs into her husband's strong shoulder as he tightens his arms around her and pulls her impossibly close.

"Why did you have to leave like that?" She refers to his unemotional and impassive departure, a strong suppression of his internal rage and objection against the conscription for Troy ten years prior. "And why return like this?"

"I have many regrets," Eurylochus confesses, reluctantly easing his hold on her to pull back just slightly, enough to stare deeply into her beautiful, tearful, but glittering eyes, "I will never conceal these strong feelings from you again. Just—…" Eurylochus hesitates momentarily but wills himself to continue, internally vowing to commit to a new, vulnerable side of himself, "just tell me…"

…Tell me you miss me…

He couldn't bring himself to finish, but Ctimene smiles, already understanding his unsaid words and brings her small hands up to lovingly hold his face. She then brushes noses with him and whispers closely, her lips brushing over his own, "I missed you…I love you. Thank you for coming home to me…"

Eurylochus smiles brightly, unsuppressed and all-feeling, "I missed you too. I love you too. Thank you for waiting for me…" He will, now and forever, answer to all of her calls. He is no longer the stoic man he pretended to be all those years ago; his unsaid words back then almost drove him to the depths of grief. He would have had much more to regret if he hadn't returned home on this destined day.

At last, they shared a long-awaited and tear-stained kiss; their flourishing love was finally allowed to bloom without restraint, nurtured by their commitment to one another and their bright future together, abundant with romance and secrets meant for only the two of them.

The beach was a chorus of weeping laughter and wet, jovial cheers. In the middle of it all, you stood with tears in your eyes, a witness to your beloved characters, now, close friends' happy ending and reunion with dearly missed loved ones.

Elpenor’s mother cradled his face as if he were still a little boy—though that was the case for all mothers, no matter how much time passed—her thumbs brushing his scars with gentle caution, afraid to hurt him further but assuring that he was now in safe hands. Despite the otherwise embarrassing closeness to his mother as a grown man back from war, Elpenor laughs and grins with a shimmer of tears coating his eyes, happily embracing his mother in return.

"I'm home!"

"And home you shall stay! I will make sure of it." His mother replies, her voice filled with conviction and tears as she squeezes him tight. Swamped with all number of joys, Elpenor laughs aloud heartily, his happiness echoing to the distant ends of the sandy beach.

Perimedes collapsed into his father’s arms, both of them shaking after much delay, mainly due to their pride as men. Nevertheless, love wins all. The two were of equal height and looked largely the same except for the evident wrinkles in his father's countenance compared to Perimedes' own. Growing up, his father was never the type to openly show affection; the typical Greek man and father of his household, never allowing his disabling limp to hinder his position. Rather, Peremides remembered his father working and disciplining him much harder to compensate for his own shortcomings. And yet, here his father was, cradling his son as if he were a small babe once again, no longer constrained by his sentiments.

"You did well, my dear boy…"

"…Thank you, father…"

Wives kissed sun-weathered cheeks and faded scars, children clung to legs they barely remembered but found comfort in, and old friends clasped forearms, grinning brightly through globulous tears. Emotions were high but electric and buoyant.

Finally…finally!

You stood at the centre of the chaos, your heart too full to move, and almost bursting at the seams with joy.

This—this was why you helped them so willingly. Not for glory, not for thanks, but for this: the way Polites’ breath hitched as a grey-haired woman (his mother, it had to be) cupped his face and whispered soft sentiments to him, wiping away his falling tears as he wiped away hers, both of them grinning through it all; the way Odysseus knelt to press his brow to Telemachus’; the way even Eurylochus, ever gruff, let his wife fuss over his travel-worn cloak and his newly acquired scars.

A hand slipped into yours as you're fully absorbed in the moment, breaking you from a hypnotic trance fueled by addictive glee. Turning to your side, you're met with sweetly smiling eyes and a handsome face. Polites smiled down at you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in silent, gentle appreciation. "You did this," he murmured, voice velvety soft and praising.

You shake your head and look down—no, it was all of us—but he squeezes your fingers almost insistently.

"Look at them," he said softly. You follow his eyes as he scopes out the scene with a satisfied grin on his lips.

The first thing you see is a father swinging his giggling daughter onto his shoulders. The next, a wife, tearful but smiling, tucking her face into her husband’s neck. Then, an old man with wrinkled hands and thin, white hair, weeping into his son’s crown. The air smelled of salt and citrus blossoms as distant citrus trees waved their branches in the sea breeze as if dancing in celebration. The wind carried snippets of laughter that it stitched together in a haphazardly attentive manner while old songs were sung anew, enriching the air with festivities.

Polites leaned in close to whisper a soft but meaningful: "Thank you.” Your smile wobbles with emotion as you turn to look upon his blurred countenance, wanting to say something, but ultimately remaining speechless. Knowing just what to do, Polites opens his arms and gently guides you into his chest, hiding your tears in his chiton as you let the joy of Ithaca cradle you both.

High above, the sun warmed everyone's skin like a blessing, just as Odysseus ushered everyone to his palace for celebration. "Let me host a feast for all at my Palace! Everyone is welcome! The entire island is welcome! We shall celebrate this joyous return until we can no longer stand!" Resounding cheers echo amongst the crowd, and everyone soon begins to move up the island, away from the beach and towards the very palace Odysseus had built up, stone by stone. They are all led by the leader himself, his hand tightly interwined with his wife's, which he intermittently brings up to kiss the knuckles of, while his son and Argos trot happily at his other side.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏ 𓊝 ﹏ 𓂁 ﹏ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

It wasn't until Odysseus passed through his grand front doors and commanded every servant to organise a grand feast that he finally noticed a significant absence in his halls. Turning to his beloved, he searches her eyes for an answer as he tilts his head in question.

"My love?"

"Yes, my King?" Penelope hums, leaning into him further. She knows where her husband's curiosities lie, but loves and misses the sound of his voice too much to answer before he has the chance to ask her himself.

"Have no suitors come to claim your hand in my absence?"

"…No…" Penelope observes Odysseus' expression closely, curious about his somewhat odd response.

With a thoughtful hum, Odysseus meets his second commander's eyes before locking gazes with those who seem to have had the same realisation as him. They, too, hadn't forgotten about the events of their potential future and had their hands placed upon the handle of their swords in preparation; their weapons having yet to be discarded despite the flurry of emotions at the sandy beaches. "I wonder why that is…"

"I suppose it is because you have returned home at a good time."

"What a shame…" Odysseus huffs, lovingly caressing his wife's face with his knuckles. "I was somewhat looking forward to massacring a few hundred men over your hand."

Penelope narrows her eyes and slaps his shoulder lightheartedly, "I am not a prize to be won."

"No, you are not," the darkness in Odysseus' eyes visibly lifts as he softens to adoringly savour his wife's sweet face, "forgive me, my love, I mispoke." Having overheard the interaction, you slip your hands out of Polites' hold and come up behind Odysseus to helpfully deposit something into his hand. The item made a dainty sound, similar to the shuffling of beads against each other. Penelope wanted to question your appearance behind her husband; however, Odysseus was too quick to draw her attention away by presenting a small, delicate bracelet made of light blue seashells. "I hope that this humble gift can make up for my shortcomings as a man."

Penelope takes a moment to observe you over Odysseus's shoulder as you deposit another small but sweet accessory into Eurylochus's rough hands as he holds his wife close. An excited smile lights up your pretty face as you step back to stand beside the man she recognises as Polites to observe the exchange between the husband and wife duo. Deeming you harmless, she returns her attention to Odysseus again.

"I accept your gift of apology," With a toothy grin, Odysseus carefully slips the bracelet onto her wrist and secures its clasp before leaning down to whisper against her ear. Clearly, he had seen her cautious eyes upon you.

"I will tell you all about her soon enough, my Queen. You're going to love her."

"So you are the one who is responsible for bringing my husband home," Penelope acknowledges after slipping away with you and Ctimene to her private quarters. Your wondrous smile is disarming and sweet as you nod. Finally, Penelope lets her guard down and gives an appreciative nod in return. "Then I thank you."

"And I as well," Ctimene adds with a gracious nod of her own, her glee barely restrained behind her somewhat familiar grin — you enjoy seeing the similarities between her and Odysseus; it's clear that they're brother and sister. Their dynamic is teasing but loving, and full of laughter. It's been an honour to see their reactions as they weren't featured in the musical.

The three of you are accompanied by Odysseus' refined and soft-spoken mother, Anticlea. She sits back, overseeing the scene with a straight spine and a soft expression on her face; she looks content. "We are all very thankful for your contributions. Odysseus hasn't been able to stop singing your praises since the start of the feast."

Tucking your chin in shyly, you smile at the three, bashful under their beaming stare. This is one of the moments you're a little saddened by the fact that you can't speak. There are so many things you want to say to them. Even just seeing the three alive and happy gets you emotional. Penelope still has a lot of youth in her face, and despite already having a somewhat wrinkled appearance, Anticlea's expressions still shone with freshness. This journey was for them as well as those on the ships; you're only grateful to have been able to make a difference to the same characters that mean so much to you.

Trying not to get too emotional, you surrender your thoughts for a more favourable, lighter topic. You motion for them to cover their eyes with a reassuring look. As soon as their eyes were closed and blanketed by their hands, you quickly brought up your inventory to take out the two dresses you had prepared for Penelope and Ctimene, as requested by their adoring husbands. Penelope's was an elegant blue piece with an open back. The silk fabric was secured behind her neck with plenty of excess fabric left to drape down her exposed spine like a scarf; it also left her shoulders exposed, but accentuated her slim waist before elegantly flowing down to her ankles.

For Ctimene, you also prepared a silk dress, but this time, in a burnt orange that shone like a jewel as it traced her curves. It was also floor-length with spaghetti straps and ruching on one hip to better fit her shape before splitting in a high slit.

Both women gasped at the beautiful pieces you presented them with. They had been eying your uniquely beautiful way of dress, curious and envious, but never expected to be presented with such a wondrous gift. Your dress was more fitting of the cottagecore aesthetic, but for a celebration like tonight, you thought these dresses would be more fitting for the two women. You can gift them better-matching dresses to yours another day.

"How wonderful!" Ctimene awed as you handed her the silk orange dress.

"You shouldn't have…" Penelope sounded a little breathless as she brought the blue silk to her chest.

They watched as you shrugged your shoulders casually, their eyes glowing with fondness, before you stepped forward to assist them into the unusual dresses. It took you a long time to make each dress, but it was a worthwhile effort when they looked so beautiful in it.

"The fabric is so smooth," Penelope whispered in astonishment, an attentive hand softly tracing over the fabric around her hips.

"I want to show Eurylochus…" Ctimene flushed as the words escaped her, especially when her eyes found the high slit cutting up the dress to her mid-thigh.

"But first…" Anticlea steps up to you, surprising everyone as she had been mostly silent up to this point, "We must give you an equal gift, child. An even exchange."

"Yes," Penelope smiles at you, her attention leaving the dress, "it is only fair."

"How exciting! I will find the suitable accessories." Ctimene claps her hands in glee before zipping to a wooden dresser, while Penelope opens up a closet space, and Anticlea leads you to the centre of the room. The atmosphere made you feel giddy. As much as you adored the crew, Odysseus, Eurylochus and Polites, their company cannot compare to one surrounded by fellow women who indulge in your innate girlish nature.

"I-I…" Odysseus was speechless as Penelope stepped back into the main hall, where the feast was being held. His jaw was slack, and his fingers twitched to pull her into his arms.

Holding back a smirk, Penelope drifted towards her stuttering husband and whispered up at him as soon as she was close enough, "This is the part where you say I'm the most beautiful woman you've ever witnessed in life…"

Odysseus lets out a brief chuckle, relieving some of the tension in his shoulders, "You truly are…"

"…what?" Penelope wanted to hear him say it all.

"You truly are the most beautiful woman I've ever witnessed appear before me in life." The two giggle in unison before sharing in a deep kiss, not caring for the surrounding company, who whistled and cheered them on before continuing with the celebratory feast.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

"As silent as ever, I see?" Ctimene pries as she approaches Eurylochus, who had turned to stone as soon as he caught sight of her. She wasn't really serious; she could tell by his expression how awed he was by her appearance, and that was enough for her. Being able to read his silence has always been a source of pride for her as his wife.

However, Eurylochus was a new man, someone who didn't want to live in regret for not simply speaking up enough for his wife. The very woman he loved most dearly and preciously in the world. "I was speechless, you're too beautiful for a man like me..."

"Don't insult me so…" Ctimene comments without any malice or hurt as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, bringing his tall frame down to accommodate her shorter stature. "I was the one who said 'yes' to having you as my husband."

Eurylochus gives her a rare smile as their noses press against each other, "And I think myself the luckiest man alive every day for your generosity." In an attempt to hide her bashfulness, Ctimene pushes up onto her toes and locks their lips together. When did her husband learn to speak so sweetly?

⊹ ࣪ ˖

You appear behind Penelope and Ctimene, smiling brightly as you witness the exchange between them and their husbands, both men with whom you've become close friends. Your chest warmed with a sense of fulfilment and happiness that dared try to burst through the cage of your ribs. It was almost painful, but it was steeped in so much sweetness, you didn't care to stop yourself from feeling it more.

"F-fair maiden…" You finally noticed the sudden silence that had swept through the hall of feasting men. Turning to the voice, you find Polites with a rosy blush dusting the sun-kissed skin of his cheeks as he adjusts his glasses adorably at the sight of you. Behind him, you recognise many familiar faces that made up the crew you helped return home as they stare at your new attire. Smiling bashfully, you take a couple of steps forward and do a twirl as if to ask 'How do I look?'

Penelope, Ctimene and Anticlea had dressed you in a traditional Greek peplos dress. The white fabric draped over your frame in elegant lines with a gold band circling your waist before it draped the rest of the way to the floor. The neckline scooped down your upper chest before securing over your shoulders, where a flowy cape fell down your back. Ctimene had done up your hair and secured it into place with two golden, olive-leaf combs that circled your head like a crown. She also had you wearing gold bracelets and two gold arm cuffs.

Seeing you in their way of dress had Polites devoid of any coherent thoughts and internally reprimanding himself when you tilted your head and pouted, as he had nothing to say after your elegant twirl.

"You're so pretty, fair maiden!" Elepnor cheers from where he's sat beside his mother and Peremides, who had a warm blush on his cheeks from the sight of you.

"She's always been pretty," Perimedes comments as he takes a sip of his wine in an attempt to cover his flushed cheeks.

Their outburst had opened the floodgates of compliments to burst forth from the rest of the crewmen, who cheered you and sang praises of your outstanding beauty. It made you look down shyly…but you still hadn't heard anything from the man whose words mattered a little more to you. Looking up again, you squeak silently at the surprising sight of Polites suddenly approaching you. You didn't know what to do except watch him shyly as he stepped up to you, gently taking your hand in his and bending at the waist as he brought your hand up to his lips, where he kissed your knuckles.

"I didn't think you could get any more beautiful…" Polites straightens to face you with a smile on his blushing face. "I seem to have forgotten that you have a wonderful habit of proving me wrong." Giggling sweetly, you give him a slow nod of thanks as a warmth blossoms over your cheeks, and you can't help but stare deeply into his eyes. Polites clears his throat and steps aside, motioning to the many tables laden with food, "Shall we feast?… I believe it's finally our turn to feed you well, fair maiden."

⊹ ࣪ ﹏ 𓊝 ﹏ 𓂁 ﹏ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

You were told that the celebrations would last an entire week - you didn't believe it at first, until the end of the third day. There was still talk from crewmates and their attending families about staying the night once again and of what they looked forward to doing the next day. There was dancing and singing and feasting, minor competitions of strength and wit between friends and even some acts of passion between reunited spouses and lovers in the shadows of torchlight. Odysseus and Penelope were very preoccupied behind closed doors, despite the ongoing festivities, to the point that you needed to entertain Telemachus with Polities so that he wouldn't go on to disturb his parents' passionate reunion atop their marital bed.

There were no complaints on your part, however. It was refreshing and heartwarming to spend time with Telemachus, still a young boy. He hadn't been forced to grow up quite so fast, nor had he ever been threatened by strangers reeking of ill intent to surrender his mother to them and accept a new father. He smiled without a care in the world and played around without a worry. He had you running around with Argos in the lush garden of the palace, had you learn how to play the lyre as he banged on a tympanon, and he even pulled you into multiple pretend fights with pretend wooden swords. Happily, you indulged in his whims without a second thought, earning his friendship and favour to the point of him becoming pouty whenever you got distracted or pulled away by crew members, especially Polites. Rather than take you from Telemachus, however, Polites happily asked to join in on your games until he, too, became a dear friend of Telemachus. With the addition of Polites, much of your time was spent listening to him recount childhood stories with Odysseus, a subject that always fascinated Telemachus, keeping his attention the entire time. You would be the one to sit beside him on the grass, both of you eagerly listening and requesting more stories of the past, to which Polites was all too happy to oblige.

It was the fourth day of celebration, and you were getting accustomed to a routine. You expected to have a quiet, peaceful breakfast, but were surprisingly joined by Odysseus and Penelope, who you hadn't seen for the past three days. There was no grand or awkward greeting between you, only quietude, and a slow operation of limbs as plates were topped up in comfortable silence. It appeared as though everyone wanted a peaceful morning.

"I thank you for befriending Telemachus, fair maiden," Odysseus brings up in the midst of your morning meal, some of his energy replenished for the day. You shrug and give him a teasing look as a reply. He understands your unspoken words and laughs before flashing you a thankful look. "I was able to spend precious time with Penelope, undisturbed, thanks to you. I owe you a great deal, now more than ever." Your shoulders shake as you laugh a silent laugh, the couple across from you only smile in content and lean into each other lovingly.

"Whatever you wish, we will do our best to fulfil it." You're already shaking your head before Penelope finishes her generous offer, making her frown in mock dissatisfaction. "I won't hear of it. As soon as you have the smallest wish for something, you inform us right away. As my husband said," The two share a brief look before returning their attention to you, "we owe you a great deal."

With a slow nod and a warm smile, you thank them for their generosity, and breakfast continues in comfortable silence, the sun barely creeping above the horizon when another figure enters the hall. Their face is new, that of a stranger, but their eyes reflect a familiar wisdom. It can't be…

Time stops while a familiar ticking continues in the background. Penelope is frozen in place while you and Odysseus stand and greet the goddess in disguise.

"Athena! Welcome!" Odysseus greets with a bow, his tone light and his grin wide, his demeanour infected with merriment. "Have you finally come to join the celebration?"

"I'm afraid not." Athena smiles down at her pouting friend, "You are free to celebrate to your heart's content; however, I am here on more important matters." Athena's gaze moves onto you. With a faint nod, she returns your voice so that you may express yourself in her pocket space.

"It's good to see you again, Athena," you greet with a smile as Odysseus' jaw goes slack beside you. He couldn't believe his ears!

"Likewise, little one."

"You can talk!" Odysseus grasps your shoulders and gives you a gleeful shake, cheering with laughter. "Haha! This is wonderful! How suited your voice is for you, so kind and so full of warmth." You stare into Odysseus' soft gaze, smiling wider when his hand comes up to pet your hair. "I never thought I'd ever hear you speak. What a privilege…" curiosity makes his brows furrow, "but how is that possible?" The two of you look back at Athena, who patiently waits for Odysseus' delight to simmer down.

"In this space, I can restore your previous manifestation." The goddess explains, but you both remain silent, prompting her for further explanations, "You are not of this world, little one, but in the one you were born into, you could speak. That is how." Her clarification only opens up another question.

"What is the meaning of this?" Odysseus asks, his speechlessness robbing him of the strength to properly articulate his thoughts. He wanted to ask more divulging question but was unable to. Where was he to begin?

"I am here to give you a choice, little one. Either you return home or stay here. Your existence is shaky, but with the blessing of a certain goddess, you will be able to travel back to your world safely or continue to remain here peacefully."

"Go back? What?! "Odysseus exclaims, not expecting an answer, as he was too busy trying to comprehend the situation. He knew that you were special, but to think that you came from another world entirely. He takes several moments to digest the information and slowly comes to terms with it. After all, you've shown otherworldly abilities; it makes sense for you to be…otherworldly. However, just as he accepts that thought, another strikes him with worry and regret. Coming from another world and having Athena propose that you decide on whether to stay or go meant that there was a possibility of you leaving. And he doesn't think he would ever be ready to accept such a decision.

Nevertheless… was that really a decision he could make for you? He had no authority over your choices. If that was your wish, he needed to keep his mouth shut and his heart locked; it would bring him a great deal of sadness to see you go as he had grown so fond of you, but he would be overstepping his bounds, and he would be exercising too much greed. It's entirely selfish of him to accept your help in returning to Ithaca but protest your desire to return home yourself. Odysseus straightens his shoulders, his face solemn as he looks at you. This was a decision you had to make yourself without any influence.

"…who will be the one to bless me?" you ask, even though it's not the most pressing question you needed answers to.

"She's a close friend of Hermes. Hecate, Goddess of magic, spells, the moon, night and crossroads." Your eyes widen. Hecate wasn't a goddess featured in EPIC: The Musical, but you shouldn't be surprised at her existence here. This world isn't limited to only those in the cast and the happenings of just the musical. It has more nuance and life than the songs you had grown to love. This is a real world where your beloved characters live, in addition to many others.

"Why Hecate?" Again, you find yourself asking a question that isn't urgent but one you're most curious about. "I'm already blessed by Hermes, God of travellers, trade and boundaries, isn't that enough?"

"As a traveller, yes, that's fine, but you aren't a simple traveller. You wield abilities akin to magic as well… that would be a little unreasonable not to account for. Hecate is quite fond of magic, and she finds yours unique but in need of protection. And, sometimes, protection means letting it go such that those who covet it menacingly cannot find you." Athena watches your expressions, patiently waiting for you to come to terms with her reasoning and the implications of her statements before continuing. Odysseus had stiffened up at the inference of harm coming to you and immediately hardened his expression, grinding his teeth at the thought. There isn't a chance in this world that he would ever let that happen. "There's a balance that needs to be maintained, afterall. It is a rule worth abiding by." You nod along but don't meet her eyes. Everything made sense. If you wish to continue staying here, you need to sacrifice your ability to utilise Animal Crossing game mechanics and be normal. But if you were to return home, you'll become normal again anyway, so it's only a matter of where you wish to be.

"Does that mean I'll be able to speak if I choose to stay?"

"Yes, of course."

"How will I be able to return home?"

"Hermes and Hecate have been working on a solution for a while. Hermes spoke a great deal to Hecate, and she has grown endeared towards you. She's willing to open the door to your home while Hermes safely guides you back. As soon as you inform me of your decision, I will let them know, and things will proceed from there."

You take a moment to think to yourself. Athena's tone doesn't pressure you into making a decision right away; rather, she's remained neutral throughout the exchange and patiently awaits your answer alongside Odysseus, who has forced himself to stay silent, quietly observing your pondering features and keeping his thoughts to himself. It was a hard decision. Go back to what's familiar. Or remain in a world where you've made a name for yourself, but sacrifice the one thing that's given you that status. You don't know what to do…

"May I have some more time to think about my decision?"

Athena nods in understanding as Odysseus takes your hand in his and gives it a comforting squeeze. You give him a small smile in thanks. "Of course. But only until the end of this week's celebration. I will return to you then. If you ever decide before that time, feel free to call for me in a private place. I will be around." That meant that you only had three days left.

Of those three days, you spend most of your time playing with Telemachus, savouring your moments spent beside Polites, Odysseus, Eurylochus and all of the many friends you've made amongst the crew, namely Elpenor and Perimedes. They were a dynamic duo you will sorely miss. All is well on the first day, with Odysseus being the only one who truly understood your troubled mind, while Polites and Eurylochus, and even Telemachus, slowly begin to notice your more distracted constitution and infrequent smiles, as your time for contemplation ends.

It was now your final day to make a decision, a decision you still have not yet made. Out of kindness and concern for you as a friend, many have asked about your well-being, hoping to understand or make you smile and distract you from your troubling thoughts. But they only succeeded in unintentionally overwhelming and pushing you to leave for some space alone to think.

With a sigh, Odysseus approaches his best friend and brother-in-law, pulls them into a private corner and finally tells them of your predicament, the encounter with Athena and the choices you were given. Eurylochus immediately frowns as Polites is flooded with alarm. How he had been allowed to take the little time you had left for granted was unfathomable to him, betrayal creeping into his heart as he turned to Odysseus.

"Why hadn't you informed us sooner, friend?" Polites presses, desperation dripping from his words.

"It was not my place to tell you," he says, exhausted. It had been weighing on him the past few days, and he felt drained of all energy despite the jovial atmosphere surrounding the celebrations. Penelope had quickly noticed but didn't press him for answers when he refused. She could do nothing but comfort him. "I had expected the fair maiden to ask me to explain the situation to you in her place, but she had not done so. I resolved to tell you on the last day if she hadn't yet. I apologise, brothers…"

Polites bites his bottom lip, "I want to comfort her… am I even allowed?"

"This is a decision she must make for herself." Eurylochus reiterates, sharing in Odysseus' thoughts on the matter, but places a hand of comfort on Polites' shoulder. He, too, was saddened at the thought of your departure. You had taught him many things, and he would have liked to enjoy more time with you beside Odysseus and Polites, but he knew that this was a much harder reality to accept for Polites and Odysseus. "I'm afraid your presence will stir her opinion. It's best to leave her be for now. When the time comes to say goodbye, I'm sure she will let us know so that we may be allowed to say our proper farewells then."

But… you never returned that night.

You didn't warn them that you would be departing, and so… they were never able to say their goodbyes. The men go to bed with heavy hearts after searching the grounds only to find you missing entirely. Odysseus and Eurylochus were desolate to know of your departure, but Polites was heartbroken and consumed with grief. He, at least, wanted to say his goodbyes…

When the morning sun rises the next day, it brings with it the ending of the celebrations and the sadness of your departure. The previous night, after finding you missing, Odysseus gathered everyone together in the halls and announced that you had returned to your home as they had returned to theirs.

There were many protests at first…

"That can't be!" Elpenor objected, tears already surfacing as his lower lip trembles, "She was happy with us. Couldn't she have stayed a little longer, at least?"

But many eventually grew to accept your leave. You deserved to return home just as they had; it would be selfish of them to deny you that when it was all they ever wanted the past ten years.

"She's returned home, Elpenor. She is where she belongs. She'll be happiest there." Despite Perimedes' words, he too begins to shed tears just as freely as his burly friend, the two of them pulling each other into a hug for comfort. In his heart of hearts, Perimedes wanted you to stay too.

"We didn't even wish her farewell and safe travels…" Elpenor sobbed into his friend's shoulder, his words hitting all observers in the chest, especially Polites. If only they could have said goodbye…

…

…

…

"Oh no, what's happened?" A voice cuts through the sorrowful atmosphere. It's kind and filled with warmth, feminine and sweet, familiar in that it twinkled like a bell… similar to a giggle many of the crew had grown to love.

Everyone turns to the voice, and gasps of shock echo across the hall at the sight of you carrying several basketfuls of those juicy, abnormally large fruit from your island. They couldn't believe their eyes. They all believed you to be gone. Every man had spent most of the night searching the palace and island for you, only to realise that you were gone without a trace.

"You're here? And you can speak?" Polites asked, approaching you with slow, hesitant steps, his eyes wide with disbelief.

You tilt your head with a confused smile, "What do you mean? Of course I'm here," your eyes fill with a different type of warmth as he stands before you, eyes watery but smiling wider than he ever had. "I'm here to stay."

Polites, unable to help himself, pulls you into a tight embrace as you hurriedly drop your baskets of fruits at a nearby table, "Then where did you disappear off to the whole night?"

"Well~" you giggle deviously and meet eyes with Odysseus over Polites' shoulder, "I may or may not have gone searching through that little shed of mine."

Those who know of your circumstances with the gods and the caviats that come with either choice (namely Polites, Odysseus and Eurylochus), give you a questioning look, only to roll their eyes and smile in relief when you mouth a familiar name at them: Hermes. The god of mischief strikes again.

"Your great-grandfather's mischievous antics are certainly ones to behold, my King." Eurylochus voices sarcastically as the two observe your embrace with Polites, only to be pulled out of the man's embrace and hugged between Elpenor and Perimedes, who haven't gotten themselves to stop crying yet.

"Indeed… just don't hold it against me," Odysseus chuckles, relief and happiness flooding his chest as you, with the help of Polites, send the crew and their loved ones home with a fruit of their choosing, ending the festivities and starting a new, peaceful life on Ithaca, home.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

"I wanted to ask fair maiden…" Polites whispers against your ear, the two of you waving off the last few guests together, your baskets now empty. He stands behind you, towering over your figure and having to lean down to speak intimately into your ear.

"Hmmm?… What is it?" He holds you in place by the waist, his fingers tracing the folds of your peplos so you're only able to turn your head and tilt your chin up, speaking in an equally hushed voice back at him. A couple's private exchange in whispers.

"Now that you can speak… may I have the honour of knowing your name?"

You smile and whisper into his ear like a secret. He awes at the sweet syllables you utter against his ear, speaking them aloud, trying them himself and smiling at the shapes they make of his tongue and lips.

"A beautiful name for a truly beautiful maiden."

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a/n : and that concludes EPIC: The Fair Maiden ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)♡ thank you all again for following and staying by me on this amazing journey, it didn't start out serious at all haha! (you can tell by just the premise of the story) ( ≧ᗜ≦) and there were some ups and downs with my choices on where to take the series atop real life stuff so it was a little disheartening at times ૮(˶╥︿╥)ა but now it's a series that i absolutely adore and holds a special place in my heart, and it's all thanks to you darlings and your enthusiasm for it. i hope i did the ending justice for you! i also hope you know that this isn't the end, as i will be writing some short imagines on potentially other scenarios that this series could have taken (*cough*aged-up!telemachus x reader/if the suitors where there and hit on reader*cough*)

Selective mutism can be caused by a variety of factors such as an anxiety disorder, self-esteem issues, speech problems, and etc.. Yours stemmed from. . . poor family relationships, to put it delicately.

Coming to Twisted Wonderland was like both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because you made it out

A curse because, well, YOU WERE TOSSED INTO ANOTHER WORLD WITH NO TIME TO PROCESS. So, of course, your anxiety levels spiked.

It took you a bit to figure out how to explain to Crowley that you struggled with selective mutism, and even when you did, he took it as you trying to say you were entirely mute. You supposed you could live with that. It would definitely help quell the intrusive questions and ignorant statement if not just by a bit.

It took a while, but you managed to get comfortable enough around Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts to talk. You had grown to see them as the family you never had. A family you chose.

You weren't sure whether to classify Grim as a younger brother or a son, but you figured that wasn't all that important of a distinction for you to make. He's your family and that's what counts.

When you did finally talk for the first time around this little group they were certainly shocked, Grim more so than the ghosts. However, they were patient and allowed you the time and space to explain (even if that was because the ghosts held Grim's mouth shut).

In the end, you all decided it was probably best that you keep the reality of your muteness a secret as people knowing could cause problems (and just be annoying for those too ignorant to understand or too curious to understand personal space).

When you first met Leona, it was when you stepped on his tail in the botanical garden. You bowed profusely as a way of saying sorry, but he either didn't get it or didn't care.

"D*mn Herbivore." He growled. "You think you can just step on my tail and get away with it? Not even gonna properly apologize for waking me with your foot digging into my tail?"

Clearly, he had not been paying attention at orientation. You were never too great with confrontation, quite frankly, it scared you, so you ran. You could hear his angry shouts from behind you as you booked it out of there, but you paid no mind to his words (not that you could even hear them with the blood pumping so violently in your ears from the adrenaline).

The next time you met him, like truly met and talked to him, was after the spelldrive game when you got nailed in the head with the disk.

When the unusual group of Ace, Deuce, Jack, Ruggie, Leona, and Grim came into the infirmary you were understandably wary. Afterall, Leona hadn't exactly made a stellar first impression.

However, your opinion shifted a bit when a little ball of energy and pure joy came bursting into the room to meet Leona. You had felt some sympathy for him after seeing his dream, you didn't have the best family life either, but you also weren't a massive jerk. A hint of worry grew in your stomach when you saw the small lion jump on Leona's bed and bounce on his stomach, but you froze when you saw the man's reaction.

He may have seemed harsh to most with the way he treated and talked to the child, but you could tell he was anything but. The way his eyes softened ever so slightly and his muscles relaxed. And, if you didn't know any better, you would've sworn you saw the corners of his lips twitch upwards just a bit.

The way someone treats their family can tell you a lot. The way Leona treated Cheka told you a lot.

You turned your attention away from Leona to sign something to Deuce (he learned a bit of sign language from his mom).

Leona would have cursed had Cheka not been right there. Great. Now he felt like an *ss.

Perhaps that guilt is what led him to so easily letting you stay in Savanaclaw during book 3.

He led you up to his room and told you how to fold out the couch (it was a futon). However, other than that, he didn't say much.

The only word you heard him speak the first night was a brief "sorry". He didn't elaborate on it, but you were fairly sure you knew what he was apologizing for.

At some point, you had made a habit of lightly tugging on your friends' sleeve when you needed their attention. Out of habit, you accidentally did this to Leona once. You didn't even notice until you saw the other Savanaclaw students' horrified faces. You whipped around to apologize to Leona, but he looked entirely unbothered.

"What'd ya need?"

On the last night when you needed to get Leona's help, you didn't exactly have the option of yelling, and banging pots and pans didn't exactly cross your mind. At that moment, you were just so tired and so stressed that all you did was silently tear up.

When he noticed your crying he momentarily froze. His eyes widened to the size of saucers and he just stared at you.

You really had a knack for making Leona feel scummy.

Before he knew it, he was getting up and trudging across the room.

You flinched.

Leona mentally bashed his head into a wall repeatedly.

"I'll help. . .just. . .cut it out with the water works." He handed you a tissue box and that was that.

You grew steadily closer over time, but he didn't hear your voice until around the end of book 6.

You had gotten back from STYX and your dorm was still in shambles, so you were left to stay at Savanaclaw. Other dorms were going to offer, but before they could even open their mouths, Leona sighed dramatically loud and announced that he guessed you'd have to stay at Savanaclaw sing you had absolutely no other options.

You trudged into his room together and watched as Grim immediately conked out on a plush chair next to the couch.

Leona was about to collapse on the bed (he was too tired to shower or even change clothes) when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his torso and a wet spot forming on his chest as your tears soaked through his shirt.

He was not cut out for these kinds of situations.

Despite this thought, he soon sighed and wrapped his arms around your back as well. The two of you stood there like that for what felt like an eternity before the silence was finally broken.

And not by him.

"I-I'm so glad you're safe." Your voice was hoarse from lack of use, and your words were hard to decipher as they came out as more of choked sobs.

A million questions ran through Leona's mind at that moment, but none of them left his lips. Instead, he simply replied: "Yeah. . .'m glad you are too."

His questions could wait until tomorrow.

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