#(odysseus is fresh out of killing suitors)

[brainrotcharacters]

That last "I love you" sounded so wispy like it began with "Hi" watch those two in the middle of tangling with each other innocent cuddling or otherwise and then they giggle like children seeing each other in front of them again after 20 years

[somepsychopomp]

K so I can't help but imagine wolf hybrid Odysseus coming home & finally getting to spend time with his son (who inherited his papa's wolf features)... and the two of them finally get to engage in play

It's not like when Odysseus was a boy & his idea of play was to dig holes in his mother's garden or to chase rabbits through the woods.

It's not like when Telemachus was a boy & his idea of play was to envision himself as his father on the battlefields of Troy, only to have his childhood cut short once the suitors began to arrive in droves.

For the first time in their lives, each of them have another wolf to interact with! And the instincts they've long since learned to suppress come bubbling to the surface.

Shortly after his return, Odysseus sneaks Telemachus out of the palace at night to go on a romp through the woods. Once they're out of earshot from the palace, he tells his son to shed his cloak and shoes- they won't be needing them.

Soon enough, he's proven correct. The father and son are chasing each other through the foliage with not a care in the world. There are no eyes on them, no judgement between them. At first, Telemachus finds it disorientating to be running free through the dangerous woods at night. And not only that, but being given permission to sprint on all fours if he so wishes.

The feeling of the earth beneath his hands and paws, all the smells in the forest, and the thrill of running through the cool air... it's exhilarating! Telemachus lets out a howl and instantly tries to quell it, since it wasn't "proper" behavior + the suitors used to take his howling as an invitation to beat him.

But from somewhere off in the darkness of the dense woods, another wolf howls back in response. Telemachus skitters to a stop and chases after the source of that foreign howling. His nose prickles from the scent of another wolf- heady, warm, so strange and yet so familiar.

Odysseus tackles him from the side, sending them both sprawling across a bed of flowers.

And it smells so good!

Telemachus is on his back and rolling in the crushed flowers, luxuriating in the fresh, fragrant scent rising into the air. Why did he never try this before?

"On nights when I snuck past the palace walls, your grandfather would have to come searching for me."

Telemachus freezes and stares up at his father. They both have the same amber eyes that seem to glow in the moonlight. Telemachus has always been able to see very well in the dark and could tell that his father (his father!) is staring off into the distance, lost in thought.

Odysseus laughs softly, "More often than not, he'd find me not too far off the path, rolling in either the scent of carrion or flowers."

"Carrion?" Telemachus asked.

Odysseus nods. "Have you smelled it before? I mean, before my return."

There had been plenty of carrion in the halls when his father came home. Telemachus was tempted once or twice to rub his hands or tail over a dead suitor, something in his soul telling him to do so. He resisted, not only because there were so many dead bodies to get rid of, but because he knew the vast majority of the kills rightly belonged to his father alone.

Odysseus' eyes turn to meet Telemachus'. "It's something about our nature. We're drawn to the dead. Perhaps we want to leave our scent on the slain so the world knows we did it."

Odysseus lays down in the flowers alongside his son and stretches. He opens his mouth wide to yawn and Telemachus cannot resist sticking his nose in his father's mouth. He wants to gather as much information about Odysseus as possible. Not just his past, but what he last ate, whether he's in good health, etc.

Odysseus freezes, his surprise melting into some heavenly medley of joy, love, and companionship. At last, he's with the one person who shares in his instincts. He couldn't count the number of times he did this exact same gesture to his loved ones- his sister, Penelope, Polites.

Odysseus lightly nips at Telemachus' nose in jest. Telemachus is not the fearful pup he once was, though. He retaliates by letting a growl from the back of his throat. It's not a real threat, far from it. He tries to pitch it in a way that it sounds more inviting.

Soon enough, the father and son are rolling over each other in the flowers, tails wagging as they attempt to best the other in a wrestling match.

Though Telemachus is younger and has more raw energy, Odysseus has the experience. He very nearly has Telemachus pinned in such a position that his son won't be able to wriggle out of, but Telemachus has learned from Athena to pinpoint where his enemy was vulnerable.

He gets smacked in the face by his father's tail once, twice, nearly three times before he can successfully bite down on it.

It's not a hard bite, no blood will be shed. And yet Odysseus, the reigning king and first Wolf of Ithaca, yelps high and sharp like a pup. He's not even remotely hurt, has felt far worse pain than this, but falls backward to expose his belly. Telemachus pounces on him.

"I've got you, Father!"

In truth, they're both far too old to be playing like this. Odysseus had so much of his kindness ground away until his heart and mind were as sharp as a blade. Telemachus was far too large to be roughhousing like a little boy, climbing over his father as if Odysseus' body was meant to be his playground.

They both know they're too old for this, that too many years have gone by, but they don't care. Odysseus has dreamed of playing with his boy for twenty years and Telemachus has wished day and night his whole life for someone who could understand his wants, his instincts.

Odysseus wraps his arms around his son and holds him close.

"Well done, my son."

[lyculuscaelus]

Answers

(My EtM secret Santa gift for @betterbekind ! Merry Christmas!)

Sometimes, he would dream of the bright sun, the fleeting cloud, and the forested mountain that lay above the waves.

Sometimes, he would dream of a verdant branch of olive, casting a shade on him, blessing him with a sense of safety.

Sometimes, he would dream of a large fleet, radiant with high spirits of its crew, launching into the rosy-fingered dawn with many oars ploughing a salted field that was the wine-dark sea itself.

And sometimes, he would smell the fresh scent of soils, blinking his eyes bright with innocence, wondering why the donkey had suddenly halted by his side.

And sometimes, he would feel the warmth of the cradle, hearing his own name in his sleep, when a tender voice whispered gently, “…then I shall keep you far from war…”

And sometimes, he would notice the song of winds, wordless, like the sobbing of two parents.

But sometimes he would dream of those suitors. They always came in groups, playing, yelling, cramming his father’s palace with their filthy forms and noises of revelry.

And sometimes he would dream of their words—haunting, like the neighing sea.

For they said, “fight, little wolf; entertain us like you always do.”

For they said, “cry, little wolf; only your misery will comfort you.”

For they said, “die, little wolf; your incompetence will be the end of you.”

And he would think of those times when he failed to punish the suitors; and he would mourn the old days when seas and forests were all he could dream of; and he would grieve for the journeys he failed to start—the journey to prove himself worthy. Worthy, as the son whose blood echoed the name of a great hero.

But he never felt like it.

Odysseus would’ve killed them all so long ago, the moment they revealed their intent to woo my mother; Odysseus would’ve taken the crown and reigned over this kingdom already, instead of sitting in the courtroom mourning for a king forgotten, a father lost; Odysseus would’ve done so many feats before he even found himself stuck in a bedroom, dreaming of all the things he could never do.

And he would scream silently, in a dream that felt like reality.

Or was it the other way around? He didn’t know that anymore. Days were only pretenses of joy, while nights…

Well, only nights knew his silent tears, when he mourned for his father…when he mourned for himself.

I am no legacy of my father. When he thinks of me, I will only be known as a failure.

Because that’s what I am—a failure. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be the son of Odysseus.

Please. Just tell me I’m wrong—tell me, before it becomes all I can remember, all I can believe…

Please. Somebody…anybody…

And it was always silence that answered him.

Silence. Just another name for loneliness.

And sometimes, it was the very silence that shall wake him from his dreams.

Tonight was no different.

Telemachus opened his eyes to stare into the dark ceiling.

The dream still felt vivid. It was just like every other nightmare of his—full of taunts, full of grief. He was almost used to them at this point. They’re just dreams. They can’t hurt me.

No. Not on the outside, of course; but Telemachus couldn’t face what lay within. At least, not now, when the suitors were still—

Wait. No. He corrected himself quickly. The suitors are dead already. Killed by the very man I wish to meet for the first time in twenty years, only two days ago.

Telemachus shook his head with a bitter smile. It’s almost as if nothing has changed. I know my life is different now, but somehow it still feels the same—as if the suitors have never truly gone; as if my father has never really come back; as if there hasn’t actually been any victory.

Hard to believe, isn’t it? 

He let out a heavy sigh.

Guess I’m just not used to happiness like this.

Climbing out of the bed, putting on a chiton quickly, he walked to the door before realizing it was only in the middle of the night.

Doesn’t matter. As if I’m not used to waking up at this hour already…

He pushed open the door to welcome a silent hall, where only darkness would be his company. Sometimes breezes too, if the gods were keen enough to send those.

If only…so that he’d make it home so much earlier. So that we’d need to face no sorrow like this for years.

He paced quietly in the halls empty of the living.

If I start humming, will it startle anyone from their sleep?

He wasn’t sure. But a tune had already flown out from his mouth, dissipating into the air. It was a song Phemius used to sing.

It was about the Nostoi—the return of heroes. There were all the Achaean kings—Diomedes, Nestor, Idomeneus, Agamemnon…and eventually, Menelaus, when he became the last Achaean hero to make it home—

Before my father did, that is. He mustered a smile. But surprisingly, there isn’t any song for him…yet.

Telemachus was musing when he came across a huge pillar.

Maybe there will be. In days to come, perhaps, when people weave their memories into songs, songs into epics…

“Can’t sleep?” a new voice came suddenly, startling the young man. Telemachus almost raised his fists before realizing who it could only belong to.

It was the voice of a fresh old man, a bit hoarse due to years of seafaring; but there was a commanding tone lying underneath, for it probably wasn’t a stranger to war-cries and orations. There was only one man who could wield a voice like this, Telemachus knew.

Even though it wasn’t a voice he was used to hearing.

“Father?” he called softly, trying to locate the source with no success.

“The moon is still young,” he heard his father murmuring. “There’s nothing to see but the stars. Stars who relate their stories, who keep the night sky from loneliness, who are keen enough to guide the sailors home, if the sailors are still keeping their eyes open to all this.”

“Where are you, father?” Telemachus prompted with a question.

“Somewhere, in the dark, where my rest lies alongside my vigilance.”

That’s not a helpful answer… Telemachus thought to himself. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping too, father?” he asked.

“Ah, yes, sleep. Last time I fell asleep letting go of all my worries, it ended with…well.” that was all his father replied.

Telemachus waited for a moment, but his father didn’t continue. So Telemachus spoke out again. “But you were in your bedroom—with mom,” he said, walking a few more paces to the direction where he heard his father answering. “Why did you come out here?”

He heard a heavy sigh, then came a sound almost like sobbing. Telemachus almost found his way there before hearing his father’s reply.

“I…I was afraid. Afraid of hurting your mother by accident,” the great-hearted man muttered.

Afraid of hurting mom? Telemachus remarked in shock. What could it possibly be—a nightmare? Just like one of mine?

No. Maybe father’s was way more eventful. But still…

“What were you trying to do, father?” he asked again.

“Hiding,” there came the reply—Telemachus was almost certain it’s the right spot— “No. But that wouldn’t be necessary…she’s not here—she can’t lay her hands on you anymore, Odysseus,” the sacker of cities was whispering to himself. “No, you’re safe now. That’s Penelope by your side—yes, Penelope. The one who loves you. The one you love. You’re home now, Odysseus. It’s your own son you’re talking to. It’s alright. It’ll all be fine…”

The next step brought Telemachus to a turn where he felt someone suddenly approaching—

—and ran into a fierce embrace, as his father held him so tightly that he couldn’t even stretch out his arms to return a hug.

“It’s alright now…” he could still hear his father murmuring. “You’re safe now. You’re safe at last.”

“Father?” Telemachus could only muster the strength to ask. The hug felt even heavier than the first one they ever had, only a few days ago. But his father was so aware of himself then, not like…this.

What could have happened to the man of twists and turns in his days of missing?

It was after a moment that lasted like years that Odysseus decided to let loose the embrace, finally facing his son in the darkness, still putting both hands on his shoulders, now speaking in a tone so much softer. “I’m sorry, Telemachus…I shouldn’t have let you see me like this. This isn’t what a father should act like…I’m so sorry…”

“Father, don’t be,” Telemachus reached over to hold his father’s hand. “Just tell me what happened, maybe? If you wish to, that is.”

His father sighed. “Nothing…just some bad memories. Something that haunts me in my sleep—picked some of them up in these years of wandering.”

Telemachus lowered his head and mused. Just like those dreams of mine…

Then he felt a touch on his face. Telemachus raised his head to meet his father’s gaze in the darkness, as Odysseus continued slowly. “But I might tell you all my stories…maybe some other time, when our hearts aren’t so laid down by the weariness of sleep. It’s nothing I haven’t endured before, really. But what about you, Telemachus? You did not go through a long trek with all the hardships—what could’ve woken you in the middle of the night?”

This time it was Telemachus who heaved a sigh. “It’s…nothing. Just bad memories.” Something that haunts me, too, in my sleep. Something I picked up in these years of waiting, wondering, dreaming.

“Of those suitors, I presume?” Odysseus prompted.

“Yeah,” Telemachus replied with a nod. “Maybe more. But for the suitors I dreamt of their faces, smirking in mockery; I dreamt of their words, saying nothing but taunts…”

“What did they say?” he could tell his father’s eyebrows were creasing when saying this.

“Father…” Telemachus didn’t expect this. Should I tell him or should I not? Only the night keeps my secrets—should I let father know this, too? “It’s pretty much just nonsense, really. It’s not like they can hurt me—”

“But can they?” 

Well…yes. A lot, actually. 

But it’s just something I don’t want to admit.

“Father, trust me—I can tackle them, all of them—I mean, most of—some of them…I guess.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” his father only responded.

I know…but I just don’t want to bother you with this…

Telemachus lowered his head.

“Father, there are enough matters kept in your mind now. I just don’t want to trouble you with yet another problem…a problem I’m supposed to overcome on my own. But instead I just keep failing…”

“In that case,” Odysseus was saying. “Why not share the burden with me? Share it with your dear father who’s been waiting for ages, to help you out in your time of need—something I failed to do for so long…but no longer. Share it with me—let us carry your load together. What better thing is there to do as father and son?”

A smile was playing on Telemachus’s trembling lips. A smile that tasted bitter, like the sadness of tears.

Yes, he’s here now, Telemachus��your father is here at last, after all the years of hoping—hoping he’d hearken to your distress, wishing he’d give you his counsel, dreaming he’d comfort you with a smile…he’s here now, ready to help, as a father he always wanted to be, reaching out to the son who lives beyond his memory.

And how can I reject something so beautiful, like this?

“Thank you, father, thank you so much…” Telemachus could only mutter. “It’s something I never thought I’d need…”

His father only replied with a gentle pat on his shoulder. It felt warm, like the heart of a hearth, where home lies.

So Telemachus took a deep breath, facing his father at last.

“But I just want to know…do you think I’m a failure, father?” he finally mustered the courage to ask.

Odysseus’s expression was almost unreadable in the darkness. But Telemachus could tell he was apparently surprised. “A failure? Who has been keeping your mom safe while I was making my way home? Who has been my aid when we slaughtered suitors? If anyone dares to call you that, Telemachus, I swear I’d—”

“Father? It’s me,” he cut in before Odysseus even finished that curse. “I call myself a failure, in my dreams.”

“Telemachus…”

“I know I might’ve proven my strength, my courage, when days ago we slaughtered those suitors. But I couldn’t help but think back to those times when I failed,” his voice was cracking a little when he answered. “And I know that all this happened because of me: it’s my fault that I failed to dissuade all those suitors to leave with my speech; it’s my fault that I couldn’t keep them from wasting our wealth, our livestock; it’s my fault that I didn’t take vengeance upon those suitors, something I could’ve planned out already…”

“You did what you had to do as a host,” Odysseus answered calmly. “You gave them Xenia like any noble man would do. It’s never your fault that they overstayed your welcome—you rewarded them with death, something they deserved from the start—you did well, Telemachus, son of mine.”

Telemachus blinked his eyes in surprise. But is it…true?

“Do you…really mean it?” Telemachus almost broke into tears. “But I failed to live up to your name—gods, I failed so miserably. I didn’t carry the crown young, something you have done so long ago. Do you content yourself with stories only? No, you’ve sought out adventures, winning so much glory…”

“Telemachus,” his father cut in, murmuring in a voice so weary. “You know I mean it with all my sincerity. You know I’m proud of you as who you are—not who you want to be. Have I ever spoken of the weight of the crown? It has deprived me of the joy of childhood—does that sound familiar to you? And have I ever told you how I left our homeland against my will, forced on a path to seek glory in war, to add weight to my name with all my sufferings? I do not ask for any of these—but they come to me. They always find me when I do not wish for their presence. They haunt me just as your nightmares. Do you think I can hide my tears behind a strong heart? No, I weep even more than you ever could. What you just saw that happened to me…it’s only an echo of what haunts me from within, of all the things I’ve seen and gone through—something I pray that should never happen to you.”

Telemachus listened quietly, his head dizzy. If only I knew…if only I knew all this so long ago.

“Father,” he replied softly, a moment later. “Father, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be, son,” he felt the caress on his face, as his father reached out again, sharing the warmth of a weary palm. “Know that I’m right here with you—that would be enough.”

Telemachus smiled—just a little.

“But…there’s something else,” he could feel his heart aching as he said this. “This might sound ridiculous…but deep down I dwell on it, a lot. I know how everyone tells me how I resemble you in form—something I have no way of knowing…until now. But do I ever have your strength in me? They said that I have your eyes—but do yours blink with naïveté? They could hear you in my voice—but does it ever echo your authority? They saw your shadow in me—but isn’t that all there is? Just a shadow, living in the light of your glory…”

“And does that make you any less the son of mine?” his father responded gently. “You don’t have to be me—you don’t need to be like me to be known as a hero. A hero that you already are. Don’t you see? I don’t wish for you to lead a path like the one I treaded, with so much sorrow and pain. I don’t want you to end up like me, suffering too much for something so easily achieved for others. No, you deserve a life so much better than the one I left you with. And you know what, Telemachus? We’ll make it a reality—just you and I, your mother too—this is something only meant for you.”

This brought a gasp from Telemachus. How do I only get to feel the comfort of family so late in my life?

“I couldn’t take from you all the sorrows you’ve been through,” his father continued. “But I can make sure the same thing never happens to you, ever again. Know that I’ll find every opportunity to give you happiness—you deserve it, Telemachus, and now I finally have the chance to give it to you, after all the years of my absence from your life. On this I give you my promise—know that nothing will stop us. Know that all your waiting wasn’t fruitless, after all. And know that I’d trade the world, Telemachus, just for you.”

Telemachus finally gave in to his sobbing—was it joy? Was it sadness? Telemachus didn’t know, but it was the best feeling he could ever have asked for, really. It was the realization of the fact that his family was actually complete, at last. It was the hope that nothing grievous would’ve happened to them, ever again. It was the knowledge that he had found the reassurance from his father—the acceptance he most needed, coming from the sacker of cities, the great honor of Achaeans, the hero he most admired—his very own father.

And wouldn’t that be the best kind of relief, after all?

So he buried his face in his father’s embrace, putting his head against that sturdy chest, feeling the shelter of those gentle arms. Tears streamed down his cheek like plowing, laying down two trails of solace. In his laxness he noticed his father joining him too, as his own hair felt the tender touch of teardrops, drenched in happiness, at last.

And he was joyful, for it was no longer nothingness that answered him.

And he was grateful, for silence could no longer haunt him, in his dreams, in his reality.

And he immersed himself in that embrace, rejoicing in the very answer from his father, after all the years of questioning.

Maybe tonight was different, after all.

[dootznbootz]

dootz. dootz i read an into on the odyssey and it said that penelope enjoyed attention from the suitors. the 108 men who kept harassing her and eating her son’s whole inheritance. bc she had the sudden urge to walk past them and was upset by the bird dream. what—

Okay, so a lil confused on whether you mean "an Odyssey article or post" or read the Odyssey itself and are worried about the fact that "she enjoyed the attention of the suitors".

In general, anyone who ships Penelope with the suitors has a screw loose.

The whole "sudden urge to walk past them" was caused by Athena.

Then goddess Athena with the glittering eyes put an idea in the mind of wise Penelope, Icarius’s daughter—to approach the suitors, so she might truly stir the feeling in their hearts     and acquire more honour from her son and husband than she had before. With an unnatural laugh she spoke out and said:  “Eurynome, though my heart has never once desired to show myself                               before these suitors, it does now, shameless though they may be. And I’ve got words to say to my own son—he would be better off not mingling with those arrogant suitors. They may say nice things, but they’re making plans for nasty schemes in future.”

(Book 18, Johnston)

Personally, I've always kind of seen this as Athena wanting Odysseus to SEE how the Suitors are when they see Penelope in order to make him angrier. He's seen how they treat Telemachus to a degree. Now he can see how they are about his beloved wife. It's also a way for him to see how she's still his lil schemer wife :3

The suitors in their hearts felt immediately overwhelmed, consumed by sexual desire. Their legs grew weak. Each of them prayed that he could go to bed with her. 

Long-suffering Odysseus was pleased that she was getting them to give her gifts, with charming, soothing words, her mind on other things.

(Book 18, Johnston)

(one thing I love about Homer, is that like, despite something being sexually violent in nature to any degree, he's never explicit but still makes the point across of what's happening. It's like, a breath of fresh air because it's not really used as "shock value")

Like, it's for Odysseus to get angry about how they're looking at Penelope most likely, AND to show how these men don't really respect Penelope. A lil bit of contrast I believe as well to show how the suitors see her verses how HE sees her: Suitors see a hot woman and behave disrespectfully while Odysseus sees a intelligent woman playing these idiots like a fiddle to get her way.

And the Bird Dream? Someday I'll write up that essay about how Penelope knew damn well that was her husband under that disguise (still cautious ofc. but she knows that's Odysseus. I'll fight everyone on that. I'm so tired of people downplaying Penelope's intelligence.) But the sum of it, whether it was a real dream or not, or some scenario she came up with on the fly in order to test this beggar some more.

In general, the geese that were killed in her dream were the actual PETS she has. She has like, 20 geese as pets. THAT'S why she's "sad". Like, I'm a pet owner, if I got an omen of something that involved something I wanted but also included my pets dying?? I'd be a lil torn too.

I find it reallyyyy fascinating with how Penelope's name basically means Duck/Goose (usually duck, but they're both water fowl sooooo), and while I don't think it was any symbolism for her there. I think it's something interesting :3

Either way, don't get too worked up about it, Dear Anon. <3 I think Penelope wanting the suitors is honestly not too common of a belief, that it's like, something you gotta worry about. It's all good :3

[nohbdywrites]

A Telemachus FAN story. In the Epic Musical universe. Original character storyline.

CHAPTER THREE

As Odysseus drenched the sands with tears, Kalokairi looked over her shoulder to the sea. Dusk slowly approached and she furrowed her eyebrows with a sigh. “Take all the time you need. I’ll go get us some provisions, fresh water and wood for a small fire.” She says as she walks past him.

Odysseus rose up, wiping away his tears aggressively with a silent nod. His head turned towards another direction though as Kalokairi disappeared within the woods. He looked toward the hill that would lead to the village underneath his palace. A place where the Ithacan woman and elderly lived. Where the suitors take slumber. His heart turns colder still, the burn of Aries within his eyes. So he sat there, pondering.

Kalokairi continued on, her hand at the hilt of her blade. A blade very special and dear. She was here on Ithaca for a very special reason. In search of something that’ll complete a tool of great use that she plans to use to complete her entangled quests. But for now, she set that aside. For she was going to bring Odysseus home, and doing so they need food and rest that was in order. It was what’s best.

She went on, for her hunting weapons lost to the sea. But she had throwing knives strapped at her thigh under her chiton. It was enough because being a daughter of Chieftain, it was excepted to be able to hunt with anything; including her bare fists. Her father said, “it is the way if you’re not exceptional as my kin to lead strong one day, for you to be discarded my daughter,” said the great Oukonunaka. So she made it so her tribe could never question her abilities at the ripe age of six years old. She listens to the sounds of the local creatures that lurked in this heavily wooded isle. Crowded together, waiting and preying for their next meal. But from afar her toned ears recognized a skitter so fast and made of wind. It was a stag, perfect for her hunt and to fill their bellies as Odysseus plans his next move.

Within the mud she found tracks. The grassy exterior revealing more information than any normal person could gather. Hooves small with short width the size of a pig or boar. Long strides hooves of deer, and that beautiful stag not to far away from her. There were other tracks, letting her know that the isle of Ithaca was indeed still known of wolves. But they seem to have lead a trail maybe a day or so ago far to her east. Their tracks near dried out, and barely unrecognizable. She followed that stags trail. It was running through here near minutes ago. From the brush, she found her coverage. She stalked the stag, watching as its long antlers twisted and turned. The ear twitch, the wag of its tail unbothered and unknowing of its soon to be end.

With a flash of light of the sun on metal and at a perfect angle she moved to, the small blade left her hand and imbedded into its left eye. The stag, jolted to move forward and with a weak wobble, fell with a twitch to the forest floor. Her hunt was over for the night. In the land of Artemis, she had witnessed as she watched with an impressed eye before returning to bathing in her beautiful, cool spring. It is said only a single blow should kill your game, and Artemis wouldn’t let this go unnoticed.

Kalokairi dragged that stag back, and Odysseus looked to the side to her as the massive creature lay next to the station she’d use to skin and cut its venison. She gathered their water, she gathered the herbs she could find quickly. Came back and began her work yet again. It was silent between them. But as she had gone, Odysseus looked to the large creature and couldn’t believe this stranger; this woman had taken it out without ten times the arrows used to take down any larger creatures by the old Ithacan hunting parties. And yet, there wasn’t a single arrow protruding from its pelt. Only the dribble of blood spilling from its left eye. And the disfigured eye socket, left a void to stare back at the old King. Who was this woman? And where on earth did she really come from?

Odysseus, who didn’t want to sit around so much. Began to dig a hole that would be used as a campfire to keep the flames low and unseen. He set up a cooking station, and by the time he finished Kalokairi returned.

“You’ve been busy.” She says to Odysseus.

“I can’t allow my guest to do all the work.” He says softly, stoking the fire.

“And yet my troubled friend, you shouldn’t need to worry to bid me with guestly greetings until you are situated back home.” Kalo stumbles gracefully on her words. It made Odysseus yet again crack a grin as he looked down at the fire.

“Then you may know my situation.” He hummed back. For Kalokairi had already scouted the town, and the palace from atop in the darkness.

“Men have entered your domain and feast in your palace. From what I’ve seen, they’re treating no respect to your home. Your wife, she hasn’t taken another match. For all I saw her do is weave a shroud in a corner occupied by no other man aside her maids. Your throne empty as if no one sat since you left for Troy.” She explains to him the details she scouted.

“You’re a dangerous girl.” Odysseus tittered softly. Her impression growing to be more respectable than he could ever plan. “Cunning, and quick.” Her likeness evolving as he learned how she worked, operated and her thought process. That even the great goddess of wisdom turned her head to peer toward this young warrior the Cherokee gods even favored back on continent. “Be careful among the Greek men, Kalokairi. They’d take great offense of a woman being to close to what a real man should entail.”

“All men are still men. Nothing different from back home.” She replied, and then turned to skin the stag, and soon put meat on skewers for their meal, and cooked a gentle herbed and vegetable stew.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

“What land did you say you came from?” Odysseus rose an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say where.” She takes a bite of the venison. Her hands washed in the waters of the sea. “I come from a place far away. We call it Turtle island, for it is believed that the land formed upon the back of a giant turtle during its creation.”

“A giant turtle?” Odysseus tilted his head. He let out a small laugh. “That be quite the sight.”

“We have murals dedicated to the story among a bunch of our tribes. It is known.” She nods, chewing her next bite. She didn’t show much decorum, but Odysseus didn’t mind.

“Not many woman know how to take down a whole stag without a bow. Not many woman do what you do at all.” He began taking small bites of the venison before his hunger began to eat away at his stomach. So he devoured the meat, the delicious taste making his mouth water. 

“Your Greek goddesses may be immortal, but they’re still woman. I take great likeness to the goddess Athena, although I am reading more about Artemis. She’s good at the hunt, I hope to honor her with this stag. Of course, I still need to learn more about how to properly do offerings in these lands.” She peered toward the remains of the skinned and dismembered stag. “So, why can’t mortal woman pick up a sword or a bow just as much as a man? Doesn’t it really tamper with pride to the point you’d lose all honor?”

“It’s very unheard of. But as eras transform, I’m sure the likelihood of woman fighters will progress.” He begins, spewing his thought as he continued to eat. “Us men wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves if all the woman took to the sword more often though. Yet, there are the Amazon’s. You’d fit right in with them for sure.”

“Amazon’s….” Kalokairi trails. “Huh, I’ve heard someone mention them at the beginning of my time in Greece. But my Greek was very bad then.”

“Oh?“ Odysseus took a large bite of his stew now, as he had brung up his bowl.

“Someone said I terrified them. Thought I was one of the Amazon’s.” Kalo looked down at her bowl in her hands now, then she looks up to peer into his eyes. “These are fierce men and woman no?”

“There are no men.” He said bluntly, wiping away some broth from his lips. “Just very scary warrior woman. I’m glad throughout all the troubles that came my way, I didn’t have to deal with them too.”

[fernofstar]

I know that Ody drops the trident after stabbing Poseidon into submission with it, the clang in the song is very dramatic and audible.

And I also know that Ody killing all his suitors with the bow that none of them could string is very cool and very epic and suitable for the moment and everything.

However, would it not also be cool if Odyssues, fresh from torturing a god, rolled up to the party with that diety's divine weapon in hand and used it to clean out his house? He doesn't have to keep it on the mantle after since that would just be ASKING for it, but he could just chuck it in the ocean or hand it off to Athena after, right?

I'm sorry I'm just picturing monster Odysseus, a shadowed cloaked figure, silhouetted in the light of the doorway, his feet and the trident stained with golden ichor.

You think the suitors would have fought back if he was using Poseidon's Trident?

[thethreefaes]

~Time to Heal~

Short story in the Epic AU based on @bigidiotenergytm rp

~Time to Heal~

The following nights after the eradication of the suitors were blessed with dreamless sleep. All parties involved so exhausted that their minds and bodies allowed them the simple pleasure of uninterrupted rest.

Odysseus found himself between his wife and son. An arm wrapped around each of them and holding his family close to him in sleep. Penelope holding onto him and resting her head on his chest to listen to his heart. A reminder he was real.

Telemachus clutched his father’s arm and pressed his head into his shoulder. His father was there. Solid and real. He felt safe in his home again.

The fae sisters were too weak to get back to their isle. Odysseus had shown them the hall of empty guest rooms. The faes taking all the blankets and pillows from the rooms and creating a massive nest in one. The women curling around one another and wrapping wings over top. A protective nest as they let their magic return.

But the quiet could not last. Not with the horrors they had all faced. Not with the fear and anger still so fresh. Not with years of pain and regret festering under their skin.

It started with Telemachus. The young prince returning to his room to sleep in his own bed. He’d awoken in the middle of the night in a panic. Visions of the suitors breaking down his mother’s door. Making good on their plan.

He’d ran out of his room. Dashing down the hall and to his parents room. Telemachus threw open the door ready to fight. His father waking and dodging a punch. Odysseus was quick to grab his son and pin him to his chest. Telemachus still in his dream fighting the suitor. Only for the low and comforting sound of his father’s voice to bring him back.

The prince felt shame at attacking his father. Apologizing and trying to explain. His mother sitting up in bed and crying as she realized what her son had dreamt. Telemachus stayed with them that night.

As the night terrors continued for the prince, they began with the king as well. Some nights Odysseus waking in a cold sweat. Struggling to breath as his body continued to believe he was drowning. Clawing at his throat.

Other nights he’d wake up screaming. Covering his ears as all he could hear were the screams of his crew. Screams of all the men that he’d gotten killed. That he had killed.

But the worst nights were the ones he’d wake up feeling arms around him. Pushing the goddess away from him in disgust only to realize it was Penelope. His Penelope. Who looks at him with such pain. Not because he’d pushed her away, but because he’d told her of the goddess and she still haunts him.

Penelope pulling him back into a tight embrace as he apologizes over and over. Asking if he’d hurt her. If she was angry. And his queen hushes him with gentle words and even gentler touches.

It was becoming too much. The king refusing to sleep unless he was past exhausted. Working himself to passing out in hopes of those dreamless nights.

Then, Lyra kept appearing at night. The faes had been going back and forth from Ithaca to their isle. By day they assisted in the palace. Got to know the knew land and people. Then, by the time the sun was setting the faes would leave to rest on their isle.

But Lyra could feel something was wrong. Her Caras… their eyes were dull. Dark circles got heavier as the days and nights past. Her magic screamed at her that they were in pain. Not a wound she could physically heal. Something more.

So the little fae would return to the palace after everyone had gone to rest. Perching on ledges or balconies and listening to the sounds of the night.

Telemachus was the first to wake with his nightmare. Making his way to his parents’ room and standing outside the door. Staring.

“They’re safe.” Telemachus spun around and hit Lyra’s shoulder. The fae didn’t flinch at the attack. Only smiling up at the prince and taking his hand as his sleep clouded brain tried to catch up.

“Come young prince. Your mother and father rest. You should as well.” Lyra guided him down the hall. Back towards his room.

“No suitors haunt these hall. You and your father made sure of that. Now these halls will only know laughter and joy again.” She continued to speak. Tele smiled dreamily at that. Yes. Him and his father had been sparing and laughing that day. His mother calling them both children.

Telemachus went back to his room that night and slept. Calm and pleasant dreams finally filling his head. He’d not remember his interaction with Lyra the next morning. Only feeling rested and in a better mood.

Lyra would favor her left arm for a while. Hiding the bruise from all others. The injury would heal quick and she would not allow the Prince to feel guilt over something he could not control.

Telemachus’ nightmares eased quickly after that. Lyra catching the moment he’d start to stir and meet him at his door. Uttering the same comfort and reminders. His tired face shifting from scared to calm. Turning and going back to bed.

His father often woke later into the night. The moon hanging low when the terrors would wake him.

Lyra would wait outside the bedroom door. If he stayed with Penelope, she would leave them be to comfort one another. And the nights he’d storm out or sneak out if he didn’t wake his wife, Lyra followed.

At first she simply followed behind him silently. Curious to know where he’d go. Lyra would watch as her Cara trained in the courtyard in the dark. Doing all he could to get the restless energy out. To exhaust himself.

She watched as he’d sit by the fountain. Watching the water and listening to the silence around them.

She watched as he silently wept. Back against the wall and curled up, looking so small.

Odysseus was aware of her. At first telling her to go back to the guest room and sleep. She’d only stare at him with her big green eyes. Lyra uttered not a word to him. Only followed like a pup.

But when he’d exhausted himself from training, or crying, or simply became too tired to remain upright she’d go to him. Wrapping a wing around him and pressing close to his side.

Lyra would hum or sing that strange lullaby in her native tongue. Or other times she’d tell Odysseus stories of her childhood. And even fairy tails from her home. Filled with magic and happy endings.

And whether it was what she was saying or just the sound of her voice, Ody found himself relaxing. Found the pain and terror fading from him. Some nights he’d fall asleep against her. The little fae staying awake to watch over him.

Other nights they’d walk together back to his room. And he’d return to his wife’s side and rest easy the rest of the night.

The days after these nights would find Lyra napping in the sun more often. And should anyone ask she’d simply praise the warmth of the sun and the comfort of the grass.

It would be many nights later that Odysseus would break the routine. He’d interrupted Lyra’s lullaby with a simple word.

“Why?” Lyra stopped and looked at him confused.

“Why what?” The king shook his head. He seemed frustrated this night.

“Why do you do this? Why do you exhaust yourself to sit with me? Why do you spend your nights watching over me and my family?” He was resting his face in his hands. Pressing the palms into his eyes in hopes to stop the tears he could feel.

“Why? Because you are my Cara. You’re all my Caras really. And you need me.” It was said so simply. As if that explained everything. And to her, it did. But Odysseus couldn’t understand. He stood and moved away from her wing. Away from the warmth and comfort.

“Why tire yourself for me? Why put yourself through sleepless nights for me? I don’t deserve this! I don’t deserve such kindness. Not after everything I’ve done.” He paced before her. The rage flaring only to fizzle out into despair as he spoke. Lyra remained sitting and watching.

“What have you done?” She tilted her head. Odysseus looked at the young fae sadly. She was a child. She couldn’t understand the horrible things he’d done. She didn’t need to be haunted by such things. He shook his head. Lyra seemed to understand though. Her eyes gleaming in the dark.

“Odysseus.” Ody looked at her in surprise. Never had she used his full name. Ody or cara of other nicknames. Never his name.

“I’m young for faes, yes. But I’ve lived through my share of pain, regret, and horror. True. Nothing compared to your trials, but I’m not a child to protect from your past.” Lyra held a hand out to him. Ody took it and felt her pulling him down besides her again. He let her. Watching curiously.

“Don’t allow your past to overshadow your present and future. Let the ghosts rest so that you may as well.” Odysseus felt like he was looking at a completely different fae. Lyra, the kind and childish fae, was much more mature than he’d thought. Looking in her eyes he could see the wisdom she held.

His hand went to her wrist. Pulling the sleeve up to expose the scarred skin. Lyra let him, not even flinching as he touched the raised skin. Gentle fingers tracing the scars.

“You’ve seen the ugly side of humans. Could you still call me friend if you heard all that I’ve done? Learn of my monstrous side?” Lyra smiled and placed a hand over his.

“I only see a man that did what he had to, to get home. A man weighed down by guilt. So speak. Let it out. I’ll never judge you.” Her words were enough for the tears to fall. Odysseus tucked himself beside her as her wing wrapped around. And then, he told his tale.

It would take many days and nights of talks between the two. But Odysseus was no longer alone in his battle against his guilt. Lyra besides him. Helping him open up. Helping him see himself as others did. Not a monster. But a man. A father. A husband. A king.

Odysseus opens up more to Penelope. He finds himself sleeping more through the night. Nightmares still occurs but when he wakes he’s able to lay back besides his queen. Holding her and breathing in her scent. It grounds him to the present. Not letting the past overshadow the beauty he has now.

Healing takes time. And luckily for him he had a fae child that was willing to give him the time. Show him the way. And an ever growing family to support him.

[tomorrowedblog]

Friday Releases for December 6

Friday is the busiest day of the week for new releases, so we've decided to collect them all in one place. Friday Releases for December 6 include The Order, The Return, Y2K, and more.

The Order

The Order, the new movie from Justin Kurzel, is out today.

Based on a true story, an alarming surge in violent bombings and bank robberies in the Pacific Northwest leads a weathered FBI agent into a deadly cat-and-mouse game with a charismatic domestic terrorist plotting to overthrow the US government.

The Return

The Return, the new movie from Uberto Pasolini, is out today.

After 20 years away, Odysseus (Fiennes) washes up on the shores of Ithaca, haggard and unrecognizable. The King has returned from the Trojan War, but much has changed in his kingdom. His beloved wife Penelope (Binoche) is a prisoner in her own home, hounded by suitors vying to be king. Their son Telemachus faces death at the hands of these suitors, who see him as merely an obstacle to their pursuit of the kingdom. Odysseus has also changed—scarred by his experience of the Trojan war, he is no longer the mighty warrior from years past— but he must rediscover his strength in order to win back all he has lost.

Y2K

Y2K, the new movie from Kyle Mooney, is out today.

On the last night of 1999, two high school juniors crash a New Years Eve party, only to find themselves fighting for their lives in this dial-up disaster comedy.

Devils Stay

Devils Stay, the new movie from Hyun Moon-Seop, is out today.

After the sudden tragic loss of his daughter following an exorcism, a renowned heart surgeon refuses to face the reality that his child has died, despite declarations from medical examiners and even the priest who performed the expulsion. But as the funeral rites begin, mourners start witnessing unnerving changes to the girl’s body, leaving the priest to wonder whether something much more sinister—an evil more ancient than Catholicism itself—may once again be looming over them all.

Get Away

Get Away, the new movie from Steffen Haars, is out today.

A family’s vacation to a remote getaway takes an unexpected turn when they discover the island they’re on is inhabited by a serial killer.

How To Kill Monsters

How To Kill Monsters, the new movie from Stewart Sparke, is out today.

The sole survivor of a blood-drenched massacre must team up with a rag-tag bunch of rookie cops and lawbreakers to fight off an invasion of monsters from another dimension.

Lake George

Lake George, the new movie from Jeffrey Reiner, is out today.

When ex-con Don (Shea Whigham), fresh out of prison, visits mobster Armen (Glenn Fleshler) to collect some money he’s owed, he’s instead assigned a final task: to take care of Phyllis (Carrie Coon). Don tries to carry out the job, but he finds he can’t pull the trigger. Instead, the pair of misfit oddballs set off on a road trip together, as their lives and standing with Armen become entangled. Phyllis soon reveals that she has designs of her own and proposes a little tag team action to Don: combine forces with the aim to steal money – a lot of money – from the people who want her dead. Don must decide whether his allegiance lies with Armen, or with the wily, charismatic woman he was supposed to kill.

Nightbitch

Nightbitch, the new movie from Marielle Heller, is out today.

A woman (Amy Adams) pauses her career to be a stay-at-home mom, but soon her new domesticity takes a surreal turn.

Oh, Canada

Oh, Canada, the new movie from Paul Schrader, is out today.

Aging filmmaker Leonard Fife (Richard Gere), still fiery despite his battle with illness, wants to tell his life story, unfiltered, before it’s too late. As the director of acclaimed documentary exposés, he has much to be proud of, but his Vietnam War draft-dodging and his past relationships harbor thorny truths. Leonard sits for an extended interview with his former student Malcolm (Michael Imperioli), relating candid stories about his younger self (Jacob Elordi) in the tumultuous 1960s and beyond. At Leonard’s insistence, his wife and indispensable artistic partner, Emma (Uma Thurman), bears witness to it all. His successes are held up against his failings and, as the man is cleansed of the myth, Leonard must confront what is left.

Striking Rescue

Striking Rescue, the new movie from Siyu Cheng, is out today.

After his wife and daughter are killed by assassins affiliated with a brutal organized crime syndicate, a Muay Thai fighter (Tony Jaa) goes on a furious rampage through the city on his quest to hunt down the killers—and make them pay.

Sujo

Sujo, the new movie from Astrid Rondero and Fernanda Valadez, is out today.

When a sicario is murdered, four-year-old Sujo is left orphaned and at risk. Surrounded by violence, the boy grapples with his fate as he grows into manhood, realizing that fulfilling his father’s legacy may be inescapable.

The End

The End, the new movie from Joshua Oppenheimer, is out today.

From Academy Award-nominated director Joshua Oppenheimer comes a poignant and deeply human musical about a family that survived the end of the world.

The Girl With The Needle

The Girl With The Needle, the new movie from Magnus von Horn, is out today.

Struggling to survive in post-WWI Copenhagen, a pregnant young factory worker is taken in by a charismatic woman to help run an underground adoption agency. A deep connection forms between them, until a unthinkable discovery changes everything.

The Invisible Raptor

The Invisible Raptor, the new movie from Mike Hermosa, is out today.

After a top-secret experiment goes wrong, a hyper-intelligent invisible raptor escapes the lab and begins wreaking havoc in the surrounding neighborhood. When the creature’s identity is uncovered, it soon becomes clear that a disgraced paleontologist—alongside his ex-girlfriend, an unhinged amusement park security guard, and a local celebrity chicken farmer—is the town’s only hope for surviving the raptor’s ravenous rampage.

Werewolves

Werewolves, the new movie from Steven C. Miller, is out today.

In WEREWOLVES, a supermoon event has triggered a latent gene in every human on the planet, turning anyone who entered the moonlight into a werewolf for that one night. Chaos ensued and close to a billion people died. Now, a year later, the Supermoon is back…

Paris Has Fallen

Paris Has Fallen, the new TV series from Howard Overman, Oded Ruskin, and Hans Herbots, is out today.

When a terrorist group attacks a high-profile event with the French Minister of Defense as their target, protection officer Vincent Taleb (Tewfik Jallab) finds himself working with street-smart MI6 operative Zara Taylor (Ritu Arya) to save the day. But when events take a dark turn, Vincent and Zara realize that the plan extends beyond just one politician. Can this unlikely pair stop Paris from falling to a man determined on vengeance?

The Sticky

The Sticky, the new TV series from Brian Donovan and Ed Herro, is out today.

The Sticky is a comedy-drama series about Ruth Landry, a maple syrup farmer who, in defiance of a heartless system, assembles a team to undertake the Canadian heist of the century. The target: the country’s multi-million dollar maple syrup surplus.

Maybe In Nirvana

Maybe In Nirvana, the new album from Smino, is out today.

[crispys-corner]

Odysseus is the BEST Greek Mythological character because his entire story is like “I just wanna see my wife again please gods let me see my wife and son” for ten fucking years after already being away for ten years at war. Like Odysseus and Penelope truly love each other and it’s rare to find a marriage in Greek Mythology that is as stable and loving as theirs. And yes I say that even with Odysseus’ trip to Calypso’s island and the fact that he immediately murders 108 men when he gets home, but they had it coming.

But let’s talk about their bed. Let’s talk about Odysseus and Penelope’s bed. When Odysseus finally gets home he disguises himself as a beggar(after meeting his son for like the first time) to spy on the court and Penelope. When he is assured that his wife has stayed faithful and isn’t in danger, he reveals himself to her. Penelope wants to make sure it’s Odysseus and not another suitor trying to trick her, so she’s all “oh my husband so happy to see you but before we get to making sweet homecoming love can you move our bed? I want it to be against the opposite wall.” Someone not Odysseus, who was not aware of their bed, would have been like “yeah whatever” but Odysseus is like “you know that’s impossible, our bed is a tree.” And it is. Where their bedroom is there was an olive tree growing, and they built around it, and carved out their bed from its boughs. The tree is still planted, still alive, and immovable. The bed is representative of their marriage: sturdy, stable, alive, unmoving, and a gift from the heavens(olive trees had special significance). In the very same scene after Penelope confirms it’s Odysseus he tells her that he and Telemachus(their son) need to kill the suitors that have been making a mess of the place, so he tells Penelope to get all of her servant girls and bring them into their bedroom and hide there, because no one would dare enter the bedroom of a noble lady. Thus the bedroom takes on more significance, as a place of security and safety. A place where no blood shall ever be spilled.

This SHOULD be the marriage that gets woobified, not Hades and Persephone. I know everyone loves that kind of dynamic but Persephone WAS NOT A WILLING PART OF THE MARRIAGE. Penelope stayed faithful to Odysseus for 20 YEARS because she never doubted that the love of her life was out there somewhere doing the same. Like I’m not trying to be trad or whatever the fuck, I’m just reading the Odyssey and getting emotional. Whoever made that post that was like “the best straight man characters are the ones that are just like ‘I really fucking love my wife’” hit it right on the nose, man. The Odyssey is a breath of fresh air after like, all the other myths.

[a-reading-journal]

I have always wanted to read the Odyssey but after doing research between all the available translations at the time I could never make my mind on which to pick, because none of them seemed appealing. Then a few years ago I read an article on the Guardian about this translation by Emily Wilson when it came out and thought that this would be the version for me.

The translation notes that make up the first hundred pages alone are worth the purchase of the book, in addition to the chapter summaries, pronunciation guide, and character/location glossary at the back.

The text is so contemporary, accessible, and very readable. The action scenes move by quite quickly, and a lot of the domestic scenes really give you a sense of what life was like for some of the population at the time.

I suspect that it’s partly due to Wilson’s incredible translation, but the story is not just revolving around Odysseus here. A lot of the slaves and women are given their fair due, as well as a handful of elderly characters, and Odysseus’ son. An example from Book 5 has us empathizing with Calypso and other women, even while Odysseus speaks of her negatively later on to his wife - probably to shift the blame away from his own adulterous actions, 

Calypso shuddered and let fly at him. ‘You cruel, jealous gods! You bear a grudge whenever any goddess takes a man to sleep with as a lover in her bed. Just so the gods who live at ease were angry when rosy-fingered Dawn took up Orion, and from her golden throne, chaste Artemis attacked and killed him with her gentle arrows. Demeter with the cornrows in her hair indulged her own desire, and she made love with Iasion in triple-furrowed fields - till Zeus found out, hurled flashing flame and killed him. So now, you male gods are upset with me for living with a man. A man I saved! Zeus pinned his ship and with his flash of lightning smashed it to pieces. All his friends were killed out on the wine-dark sea. This man alone, clutching the keel, was swept by wind and wave, and came here, to my home. I cared for him and loved him, and I vowed to set him free from time and death forever. Still, I know no other god can change the will of Zeus. So let him go, if that is Zeus’ order, across the barren sea. I will not give an escort for this trip across the water; I have no ships or rowers. But I will share what I know with him, and gladly give useful advice so he can safely reach his home.’ 184.

What surprised me was how sexy and violent everything was. Odysseus and his men are all described as handsome, tall, and with gleaming, oiled muscles. The murder of the Cyclops, and the suitors at the end, are full of blood and pierced bodies. Gleaming weapons are lovingly stored and brandished about.

Highly recommend this to anyone who has been Odyssey-curious, or even someone who has already the story and is looking for a fresh take. The translation choices are incredibly well-researched and backed up.