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viperwhispered · 6 months

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Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner.

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

#twisted wonderland #jamil viper #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #woop it sure has been quite the burst of creative energy lately #especially since this has apparently been sitting in my drafts since last august #but now you have it #I certainly can’t promise to keep up with this rate of writing (in fact I can promise I won't) but hey let's enjoy it while it lasts #and yes I’m hopping on the “jamil using arabic terms of endearment” train #I’ve read so many fics doing that that at this point it feels more natural than english ngl #even if english would probably be more canonical #also is it a *good* way to go about it to just pretty much just force someone to rest like this? probably not #is it sometimes the only way to get stubborn people to stop for a bit? perhaps #and is it something I might do?#...possibly #also oh boy can you tell that I'm avoiding jamil's dialogue like the plague lately?#I really need to reread so much of his stuff to get a hang of his voice again #(also if you notice typos pls tell me because they always bug me)#(or other wonkiness because I'm not a native speaker and sometimes things just go silly)#anyways hope y'all enjoy!

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puppyeared · 3 months

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i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

#im reading that post that says artists are directors of audience reaction and not its dictator:#'you cannot guarantee that everyone viewing your work will react as you are trying t make them react. a good artist knows that this is what #allows work to breath. by definition you cannot have art where the viewer brings nothing to the table ... this is why you have to let go of #the urge to plainly state in text exactly how you think the work should be interpreted ... its better to be misinterpreted sometimes than #to talk down to your audience. you wont even gain any control that way; people will still develop their opinions no matter what you do #im thinking abt this again cuz i was thinking maybe the thing that lets adventure time work so well the way it does is cuz it doesnt #take itself too seriously that it gives the audience enough room to fuck with subtext and then fuck with them back yknow. i think it was #mentioned somewhere that they werent even planning to run with the postapocalyptic elements that are hinted in the show but changed their #mind after the one off with the frozen businessmen and dominoed into marcy and simons backstory. on the other side there are stories that #explain too much to let the story speak for itself and i think it ends up having to do more with the crew trying to lead ppl in a certain #direction than expand on what they have and i see a lot of this with miraculous. like when interviews and tweets are used as word of god in #arguments and it becomes a little stifling to play around with it knowing the creator can just interject. u can say its the crews effort to #engage with its audience but it feels more like micromanaging. and none of this is to say there ISNT room for stories that spell things out #theyre just suited for different things. if sesame street tried abstract approaches to themes and nuance itd be counterproductive #a lot of things fly over my head so i need help picking things apart to get it- but it doesnt have to be from the story itself. ive picked #picked up or built on my own interpretations listening to other ppl share their thoughts which creates conversation around the same thing #sometimes stories will spell things out for you without being so obvious abt it that it feels like its woven into the text. my fav example #for this might be ATLA using younger characters as its main cast but instead of feeling like its dumbed down for kids to understand why war #is bad its framed from a childs point of view so younger audiences can pick up on it by relating to the characters. maybe an 8 year old #wont get how geopolitics works but at least they get 'hey the world is a little more complicated than everyone vs. fire nation'. same for #steven universe bc its like theyre trying to describe and put feelings into words that kids might not have so they have smth to start with #especially with the metaphors around relationships bc even if it looks unfamiliar as a kid now maybe the hope is for it to be smth you can #look back to. thats why it feels like these shows grew up with me.. instead of saving difficult topics for 'when im ready for it'#as if its preparing me for high school it gave me smth to turn in my hands and revisit again and again as i grow. stories that never #treated u as dumb all along. just someone who could learn and come back to it as many times as u need to. i loved SU for the longest time #but i felt guilty for enjoying it hearing the way ppl bash it. bc i was a kid and thought other ppl understood it better than me and made #feel bad for leaning into the message of paying forward kindness and not questioning why steven didnt punish the diamonds or hold them #accountable. but im rewatching it now and going oh. i still love this show and what it was trying to teach me #yapping #diary

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shannonsketches · 3 months

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Every time I talk to a DB fan who doesn't know or doesn't agree that the whole franchise is an adventure comedy first and an action series second I feel insane but then I find an old Toriyama interview,

You made some comedic scenes where you have minor villains Pilaf & co. appear; how did you come up with a balance between laughs and fierce battles? Do you pay attention to the difference between comedy and battle in making a work “entertaining”?

I believe that, when you combine comedy and serious battles, both of them might come alive even more. As for me personally, though, I much prefer drawing dumb jokes to battle scenes.

as a bonus, every time I'm like 'idk I didn't really like most of the DBZ movies prior to Yo Son Goku and Friends Return and BotG,' and get the 'whAAaaT they're so gOOD' (from my brother, tbh askdjs) but they all seemed really Action-Drama and About the Fight Scenes and I'm like 'meh kinda boring tbh' I get to gaze upon,

In the latest movie, Toriyama-san, you participated in the production from the scriptwriting stage for the first time. What is the reason for that? Was there anything you noticed in coming face-to-face with the work after so long?

I was told about a project for Dragon Ball in its first animated film in a long while, and I read the story outline; while the beings “Beerus, God of Destruction” and “Super Saiyan God” (which goes above Super Saiyan) were interesting, the themes were heavy, and I felt that the world was a bit different from Dragon Ball. Rather than telling them about this or that problematic spot, I thought it would be faster if I just wrote it out concretely, and while I had intended just to give them a model―”for example”―my hand wouldn’t stop, and ultimately, I ended up writing almost everything, including the dialogue. I am reflecting on the fact that I did something terribly rude to the scriptwriter.

Akira "It was bad so I fixed it, oops" Toriyama, Absolute Legend

#I saw someone on Reddit say Toyotarou's Super was “sloppy bad fanfiction” and “WHAt was Toriyama thinking” as if Toriyama didn't write #the outlines and personally approve reject and give notes to Toyotarou the entire time aklsjdaljk #Like baby tell me you've never read the manga without telling me kljsajdka #Tell me you've Never Read Toriyama's Writing Even One Time without telling me #god i can't imagine what the original botg was going to be if Beerus' name was Virus #Toriyama looked at a Goku Saves the Day script and went “What if Goku loses immediately and needs Everyone's Help in order to even compete”#“What if this movie was about Vegeta and how much he's grown actually. What if Dragon Ball was idk... like...fun and meaningful”#“What if Goku gets his ass beat right away and can't win this fight even WITH help What if the best he can do is just Be Entertaining”#I hope you are enjoying your afterlife mr t i love your choices so so so much #Like my ABSOLUTE respect to the directors and board artists and animators and actors and crew who do amazing work in those films #but 90% of toei's producers and staff writers can meet me in the pit tbqfh #like granted it's been a long time but I feel like I enjoyed the REALLY old ones like Tree of Might and Worlds Strongest??#But Broly was SUCH a huge turn off and the future trunks movie was kind of my last straw for caring about any of the EU stuff askldj #gen the only part of the anime I like at all anymore are some of the unhinged choices the dub cast makes because you can tell #that they're having fun when they're not spending six hours screaming into a mic and that is extremely valuable to me

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shady-tavern · 2 years

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A Symphony of Song and Music

The music had started a fortnight ago, during one of the darkest nights of the autumn season so far. It hadn't been the songs and tunes of the fae, those you knew well and knew even better to avoid them. That was your job around here, after all, to keep monsters away from your village.

You lived in a small cottage right on the outskirts and you and one other person spent the entire day with ensuring warding plants grew well and no charms had broken. Two people were always chosen, usually those without families and spouses or children, to try and keep everyone safe of the monsters.

The good part that you and the other warder were usually taken care of by the village in return and you could lead quiet lives away from the hubbub. As long as the two of you went around the village to warn them about impending monster issues, such as the howling of wolves on full moons and when you noticed traces of the fae or others in the woods, all was good.

Towns had more warders than villages, depending on how big they were, though such precautions sadly weren't always enough. You had heard of a maiden disappearing with a faerie knight, the faerie woman taking her during a pale dawn. Another village had lost their shepherd to a kelpie and a traveling merchant had been found torn to pieces on the road two months ago.

It wasn't always easy, but you and everyone else made do and so far you had done a good enough job. Of course there wasn't a way to keep every single creature away, but you knew how to make things unattractive, to ensure the air smelled of plants that they hated.

Sometimes the villagers gathered, rattling pots and pans and screaming in an impressive threat display to chase of smaller, skittering things that still dared to creep close.

The music, however, the one you heard nearly every night, with exceptions to full moons and when the fae were riding in the mortal world, felt different. It wasn't magical at all, didn't cloud the mind and fuzzy the senses. If anything, it had sounded sad and melancholic at first.

So sad in fact, that one night you had sung back at it. The music had stopped briefly, before continuing in a cautious but more upbeat tune. It had become a ritual since then, once the villagers had fallen asleep, you would step outside, keeping a coat wrapped around you against the growing cold of late autumn and you sang back.

Sometimes the tunes were cheerful, more jigs than anything else. Other times they were slower and sweeter, songs you would sing with your fellow neighbors around fires and during festivals. You made sure to sing loud enough that you could be heard and the sound seemed to travel well enough.

You had no idea what exactly was playing out there, only that whatever monster it was, you never saw hide nor hair of it. It seemed more than content to have someone to make music with. Even if you might not have the best singing voice, you were passionate and often made up songs on the spot, some funny and silly and others heartfelt.

You had no intentions of seeking the monster out who played so beautifully, you weren't quite so foolish. Even if they didn't mean you any harm, there were other creatures in forests as big and old as the one bordering your village.

Your neighbors had, so far, no idea of what you were doing. Your cottage wasn't right beside the other houses, mostly so you could cultivate protective plants properly, and the other villagers hadn't heard the music playing, so if they did hear you sing, they simply thought it an adorable oddity of your person.

People generally tried to stay away from the forest, unless they needed wood or mushrooms and wild berries. Autumn was often your busiest month, creating protective necklaces and filling pouches with herbs and others with salt and iron. Just in case. So far, everyone had come back again.

Until the baker's son didn't at the very end of autmn, straddling the beginning winter. The children had played hide-and-seek at the edge of the village and he had decided to hide among the shrubbery. No one could find him, no matter how everyone searched. The hunter, however, found a trail leading away from home.

The choice, now, was to give up and consider the boy dead, or a group went deeper into the forest, where it was darker and the air felt different, to keep looking. You volunteered to come along after a moment of nervously wringing your hands. You were the one who knew the most about monsters and how to keep them away. That was your whole job after all, even if you personally hadn't actually met a monster face to face before.

So after making sure everyone was as prepared as possible, with an entire satchel filled with warding materials in tow, you stepped past the part of forest the villagers had cultivated for themselves.

You had never quite considered just how creepy the woods could be, beyond the few moments when you wondered what else was out there. What some of the noises you could hear riding on the wind could mean. It was far colder here, where the sun barely fell through the thick canopy and the cold air was saturated with the scent of trees, damp earth and moss. And it was very quiet.

The hunter led the charge and everyone else nervously clutched whatever weaponry they had been able to gather, axes and pitchforks and one even had a slightly rusty, plain dagger, as long as your entire forearm.

"Shouldn't it be louder?" One of the farmer's whispered nervously. "I mean, shouldn't we hear birds or insects or something?"

"Not when bloodthirsty monsters are around," the hunter answered quietly, her voice grim. You kept glancing around nervously, fingers tight on the flap of your satchel, ready to reach in and pull out whatever could help you.

You were reasonably sure that the werewolf pack lived a little further west and if it had been faeries, you wouldn't have found a track to follow in the first place. That left a plethora of other creatures, however.

The stillness around you suddenly felt like it was holding its breath and all the hairs on your body felt like they were standing straight between one second and the next, a cold sensation dripping down your spine like melting ice.

You barely had the time to open your mouth, before leaves rustled and branches creaked and monsters descended. You had half a second to realize that those creatures, reaching as far up as your elbow, were goblins, before people screamed. Goblins were slim and with massive yellow eyes and sharp, sharp teeth.

They were armed and worst of all, while you could see the boy being held by another up in the trees, they had no weakness you could take advantage off. Iron didn't burn them, elderberries didn't twist their senses and salt didn't make it impossible for them to come close.

Fighting was all you could do, your heart pounding hard and fear had risen to settle around your throat like a too tight necklace. The cold of the air suddenly felt like a chill from the depth of winter itself.

As you stumbled back to duck behind the hunter, since you had only a kitchen knife to protect yourself with, you frantically wondered just why goblins were here. They usually lived in the caves and since the forest and hills were big and old enough to offer plenty of food and crystals, they didn't attack villages.

Your group was forced to break up, especially when one of the goblins shook the boy with a screeching giggle and the boy cried. His father, who had been to your left nearly the entire time, ran for him while ignoring the hunter's call, followed by two friends and suddenly things were far, far more dangerous for you and everyone else.

"Get back!" the hunter shouted and shoved you out of the way of a jabbing spear. You had no idea how to actually fight, but you could toss things from your satchel at them, distracting the goblins with a fist full of salt, which actually landed in the eyes of one, who howled and wailed horribly.

The rest, however, were now livid. Fumbling to reach into your bag to grab more salt, you began to pelt the goblins with the panicked hope to both distract and keep them at bay long enough that the farmer could finally get his boy back. Those who had brought pitchforks were definitely at an advantage now.

Two more goblins were quick to join and you were forced to back up quick, now also tossing your other prepared warding tools and pouches. Their skin didn't get hurt by nails, but they still didn't like getting pelted by them. Before you realized it, they had thoroughly separated you from the group and this time, when you reached into the bag, your hands found nothing but a few stray salt grains.

There was no way you'd manage to win with your kitchen knife. Not when you had never used it for anything but chopping vegetables.

The goblins paused and when they realized no more things came flying at them, they grinned, wide and toothy and nightmarish. When they jumped forward, all you could do was run.

Nearly stumbling over a root, you raced off into the forest, your heartbeat rushing in your ears and your body felt suddenly both too flight-light and fear-shaky. The goblins called out and then you heard them follow, feet thundering across the forest floor.

You ran as fast as you could, leaping over fallen branches, tearing through thorn bushes without stopping, barely feeling the sting and scratch along your skin, the tears left in your clothes.

Rationally, you knew that you shouldn't let yourself get separated from your companions. Rationally, theoretically, you knew quite a lot about how to battle monsters, how to twist your body to avoid being stabbed fatally and a number of other things.

Reality was it's own kind of beast and you were not prepared for it. Not at all.

Your breathing was so hard it felt like it was stinging your lungs and throat, eyes glancing around in a panic as you tried to figure out where to run, where to be safe.

You only realized that the goblins had chased you to one of the hills closest to the village when suddenly there was the opening of a massive cave in front of you, silvery spider webs the size of houses spanning between trees larger and older than you had ever seen before.

Stumbling over a rock and crashing against the stone, your knee open and bleeding now, you scrambled to turn around. The goblins, however, were slow and wary now, chattering back and forth before quickly advancing on you. But where they had been nasty and triumphant before, now they carried an air of urgency. This wasn't a chase anymore, but it would be a quick death.

Right up until you sensed a new presence behind you, emerging from the cave entrance and the goblins all froze. You had never seen a monster pale before, but they suddenly looked ready to faint, their hands starting to tremble hard enough that their weapons rattled a bit.

You didn't want to turn around. By the way all five goblins were focused on something above and behind you, a single fixed point, the monster was big. Far bigger than you and so far it had been utterly silent.

The goblins were rambling now, a language you didn't understand as they backed away, looking terrified and nearly scraping the floor they bowed so low. Your heart was racing so hard you felt your pulse pound in your throat, your legs and arms trembling so hard you didn't know if you could stand up again, your body feeling frozen in place.

You didn't want to turn around and face whatever was there. You didn't want to see what had scared goblins so badly they had run without even trying to fight or trying to bargain to at least kill you.

All you heard was your fast breathing, until finally you could make yourself move, feeling like a creaking, rusty hinge as you turned your head to look back. Nothing was there.

Blinking, you shifted to glance around more, but you couldn't see anything, not outside at least. Nothing large trying to hide among the tree tops, no massive footprints leading anywhere.

Now that panic wasn't trying to gobble up your mind to leave nothing but feral survival instincts behind, you noticed that the cave entrance showed signs to once have belonged to goblins. There was scratchy writing along one outside wall and the remains of what must have been robust, simple huts and buildings along the outside.

Blinking, you suddenly knew why the goblins had acted so unusually. Something had chased them away. It couldn't have been recently either, considering how destroyed and largely removed the remains of the goblin settlement were. You would guess it had been a few weeks since something else had claimed this cave.

Something that, utterly unexpectedly, hadn't killed you. Getting up and limping slightly at the pain in your knee, you slowly backed away, unwilling to strain whatever goodwill ensured your heart remained beating.

"Thank you," you still said, voice a little shaky, because you were grateful and you didn't want to be rude to your invisible savior.

You had no idea how far the goblins had gone, so you warily and with a small limp walked on, clutching your empty satchel like a useless lifeline. You met no monster, to your relief and when you managed to find your way back to the frazzled group of your neighbors, you were glad to see they had gotten the boy back.

They were just as glad to see you return largely unharmed, though in all fairness, your bleeding scratches and bloody, now swollen knee had been a byproduct of your escape. The goblins actually hadn't directly harmed you, thankfully.

Wary and hurriedly you returned back home, where the boy's mother and sister greeted them with cries and tears. You limped back home to treat yourself and sit down.

Even with how glad you were that all had gone well, there remained a subtle tremble in your limbs for hours.

That night you heard the music again, but the tune was entirely new. It was so very soft and had a questioning note to it. At least, you thought so. You only sang a little that night, preferring to just listen and let the music calm you further. You were almost asleep at the end, sitting wrapped in a cozy blanket out on your little porch, leaning against the wall, your eyes slipping closed.

As you went to bed, you decided that you absolutely needed to get better at your job. It didn't feel like enough anymore to just ward off what monsters you comfortably could. Especially when something huge and obviously frightening had unseated an entire goblin settlement so thoroughly they were still terrified of it.

.*.*.

Life returned to normal after that incident. Well, mostly. People were more wary, warning neighboring villages that the goblins might cause more trouble and keeping a closer eye on their children. As snow began to fall outside a mere two days after the goblins kidnapped the boy, you were busy looking through all your notes and the notes of previous warders to see if there was more you could do.

Slowly however, as snow began to cover the ground thickly and nothing more happened in passing days and weeks, the frantic restlessness and urgency in you calmed a little.

Winter was always the quietest season, some monsters hibernated and others stayed firmly in their territories to defend them from any roaming creatures. Others again were busy with survival and as long as no village was too close to their territory, they usually didn't bother to attack.

Of course there were a few incredibly smart ones which knew exactly how hard it was for humans to properly fight back or hunt in deep snow and used that to their advantage.

The music stopped as well, though you kept a window cracked most evenings, allowing a bit of chill to seep inside so you could keep an ear out. Sometimes you still sang, because you had gotten used to it so much and because you really enjoyed it. Even if you missed the music, you still had fun.

As soon as spring arrived and snow began to melt, the music was back. Slow at first, as if its master was still a bit sluggish, but you found yourself smiling widely.

You had missed the music more than you had expected and once or twice you even fell asleep to it, snuggled into your bed with the window wide open. After a particularly passionate song that left you breathless and grinning so wide your cheeks hurt and that got you complaints from neighbors, you truly wanted to know who your mystery musician was.

Previously the knowledge that it must've been some kind of monster to live and survive in the forest had made you too cautious to even consider the idea. But now that the music had brought you so much joy and it felt like someone was waiting for you every night, you wanted to give something back.

The next time, after the music started along with the moon rising above the tree line, you sang once again. At the end of your last song, you added a little line that you would leave a gift and you placed the parcel against a tree, marking it with the first tiny flowers from your garden.

It was gone the next morning and instead a purple crystal the size of your palm was left behind. It was beautiful and someone had clearly taken care to polish it a little and smooth some of the rough edges.

The next night you left freshly baked bread and jam and in return the mystery musician left a necklace, a piece of turquoise hanging from a simple leather cord. You put it on immediately and went through the day with a smile.

It became a sort of ritual after that. You didn't leave gifts for each other every night, but sometimes you woke up to a gift waiting at your tree and sometimes you left something. You never expected to be given something in return, but it still made you happy. It felt like, whoever was out there, enjoyed your time together as much as you did.

And, if you were being honest, someone who might care as much about you as you started to care about the musician.

As spring progressed, you left more flowers and one morning you were delighted to see that the musician had woven them into a flower crown and left them at your gate post. Of course, once you wore it, people began to talk. They had started to wonder at the trinkets you gained overnight, but now that you wore flowers it seemed something had been confirmed in their minds.

"Is someone courting you?" the miller asked with a big grin and you drew up short. Was this courting? Or just friendly appreciation? Did you want to be courted?

Murmuring a platitude, you returned back home and took stock of all the pretty and lovely things you had been given. Many were thoughtful as well and it showed clearly that the musician had paid close attention to what you had been singing, especially the songs you had made up.

Even the flower crown was part of it, you realized. It wasn't just a sweet gesture, but last night you had been gripped by a bit of yearning and had sung about a sweet love gifting you with a crown of spring and dancing below the moonlight.

You could lie in wait for the monster, they definitely knew who you were after all. But...it felt cheap and unfair.

You mulled over things for a few days and decided that, yes, you'd like to meet the monster. So you left a note with your next gift and more flowers. When you woke up, another flower crown made of your flowers was waiting for you, though nothing else.

You felt a little disappointed, but only for a moment. The monster might need just as much time to think about it as you did. Or maybe it didn't wish to meet, maybe it wanted to keep things as they were. You'd be happy to continue like you were and you were willing to hold back your curiosity for, well, it felt like you had made a friend. You'd respect your friend's decision.

You got your answer a few days later, scribbled in a slightly scrawly hand on the back of your note.

'I am rather frightening', the note began. 'But if you wish to meet, I will see you and if you never wish to hear from me again, I will respect that choice.'

You were determined to not let their looks sway your opinion. No matter how monstrous or strange they might be to you, someone who played so wonderfully, someone how so often played for you couldn't have a bad heart. And that was what truly mattered at the end of the day.

So you left another note, telling the monster you'd meet it at the pond near the village. It was far enough in the forest to ensure no one would see you and yet close enough that you didn't feel too worried about other monsters. Well, not quite. You were still nervous whenever you thought about the goblins and how defenseless you had realized you really were after that attack.

You waited patiently, at one point sitting down on a fallen tree, right up until you heard rustling behind you. The sort of sudden rustling that felt very deliberate.

"Maybe don't turn around yet," a melodic voice spoke up, softer and more hesitant than you had expected. He sounded nice, nearly as lovely as his music. "It's nice to properly meet you. I hope you're doing well?"

You only realized you had started to grin wide when you opened your mouth to answer, "Yes, I am. I'm so glad you agreed to meet. Your music is beautiful."

"Thank you." He sounded like he was smiling, a note of genuine joy threading through his voice. "I love your singing. You're so creative and so fun, I love coming up with new music for you to sing to."

You couldn't help yourself, you gripped the tree and leaned back far enough to look at him, your head tipped back. The view was rather upside-down, to be fair, but even like this you could see that he was big. Big and leaning against a tree, his many legs tucked close to be comfortable.

His lower spider half was the size of a draft horse, fuzzy and kind of sandy-gray. His skin was much the same color and his eyes were dark, his long hair moon-white. He looked startled, jerking back a bit and ducking his head as though to hide his many eyes and fangs and curling further into himself.

He was frightening, true, but your heart was still soaring from his lovely compliment and so you grinned wide.

"Thank you. Your music is so beautiful, I couldn't help myself. I love listening to you play." Your grin gentled to a little smile. "I hope you didn't mind me joining in. You just, well, you kind of sounded really sad."

He peeked at you, blinking and there was a baffled, cautiously hopeful expression on his face. "I was very lonely," he answered after a moment. "So it made me really happy to hear a voice answer."

Straightening and swinging around on the log to look at him properly, you gestured for him to sit with you. Or, well, sit if he could. He approached very slowly and you saw the conscious effort on his part to look smaller. He settled down a respectful distance from you.

"What made you want to play?" you asked and with that question you managed to slowly ease him out of his carefulness.

By the time you parted ways, he stopped looking like he was walking on eggshells around you, ready to retreat at the drop of a hat. And, yeah, he was scary, you could easily admit that, but he was also fun and as sweet and charming as his songs once he relaxed enough to talk freely.

You looked forward to meeting him again.

.*.*.

You met more and more frequently as spring warmed and turned it's flowering blossoms towards summer. Sometimes he visited you after playing music and you met him by the forest, making sure he didn't have to approach the village if he didn't wish to.

You honestly had no idea how your neighbors would react to you being friends with a drider, but not every monster was horrible and they weren't quite so narrow minded as to mindlessly throw hate around.

You exchanged gifts in person now and you were delighted to see him grow flustered and flattered in equal measure. The smile he gave you in return was the sweetest, softest thing, even with his fangs.

"Thank you," he said, his fingertips brushing yours ever so slightly as he accepted the gift, holding it close to his chest as though it was precious.

It was this moment that you realized, oh, you had absolutely fallen in love, hadn't you?

"I, um, I thought of something," he said, fiddling with your gift, which was a satchel you had made yourself and maybe the carvings and decorations on the leather wasn't as perfect as from a professional, but you still liked how it had turned out. "Can I pick you up tomorrow?"

"Of course." You were incredibly curious now. "I look forward to it."

He perked up at your words and you noticed the way he shuffled a little closer, now far less reserved than in the beginning. You had to admit that your hindbrain still startled for a moment when he skittered towards you at top speed when he was excited to see you, but you were too happy to see him be himself than ever let it bother you.

You parted ways and you waited rather impatiently for the next day. You still took your work seriously and ensured everyone was as safe as they could be in the world you lived in, but you regretfully declined an invitation to eat at the tavern. Instead, you waited until no one was watching and slipped away into the woods.

Your drider friend was waiting for you by the pond, looking equally nervous and hopeful-excited.

"This way," he said and you followed him. It didn't even occur to you to be worried and while there was a brief moment of concern about other monsters, knowing you weren't alone settled your nerves near immediately.

"I've been working on this for a while now," he said while leading you through the forest, weaving effortlessly around trees, occasionally using them to lever himself across shrubbery.

The moment he realized you had a harder time following through the underbrush, he hesitated. "Um, if you'd like, I could help you?" He held out his hands in offer.

Curious and grateful and maybe your treacherous, enamored heart leapt at the idea of being closer, you accepted. The moment you reached back, you found yourself lifted effortlessly and deposited on his lower half. You genuinely had no idea what the specific term for his parts were, but the fuzz was really soft and he twisted his upper body enough to peer back at you.

"Alright?" he asked, soft and hopeful and you reached out to pat his arm.

"I'm perfectly fine."

He smiled, sweet and relieved and when he walked on, he didn't have to slow down for your short human legs to keep up. You could freely admit that it was genuinely quite fun. He was fast and swift and you arrived in no time flat.

To your baffled surprise, he stopped in front of the very cave the goblins had once chased you to.

"I live here," he said, crouching down to make it easy for you to slide down. "I promise it's more comfortable than it looks."

"Wait," you said, reaching out thoughtlessly to grab one of his legs. He stopped immediately, looking back at you questioningly and with a hint of concern. "Last autumn, when goblins chased me here..."

"Oh." His brows furrowed and for the first time he actually looked more monstrous, as anger made him bare his fangs. "You don't have to worry about the goblins anymore, I chased them entirely out of this area." He anger slipped away again as easily as water as he glanced back at you. "I hope you didn't get hurt that day?"

"You saved my life," you answered and gestured for him to come towards you. Curious, his head tilted slightly to the side, he bent down and stilled entirely when you threw your arms around him. "Thank you."

"Oh. Of course." Slowly, almost hesitantly, his arms came up to wrap around you in return. "I'm glad I could help. I should have known they'd cause trouble when they lost the territory fight to me."

You let go after a moment and, feeling brave and glad that the monster from back then had been him all along, you took his hand. On second thought, considering the mass of spider webs, you should have guessed as much.

"So, what did you want to show me?" you asked and your heart leapt with joy when his fingers curled around yours in return. He was always just a little cooler than you, unless he spent enough time in the sun to warm up.

Taking you into the cave, you realized that it was indeed cozier than expected. For one, it was dry inside and sunlight fell through one hole in the back and onto the biggest spider web you had ever seen. There were more holes overall so the place was brighter than expected. There was a next of furs and carved shelves filled with trinkets and things. There was even a mural painted on one wall, showing birds surrounding a griffon in flight.

"It's beautiful," you said and he straightened a bit, looking proud.

"Thank you. Though this wasn't what I wanted to show you." He swiftly clambered up the walls to the thick strands that connected the walls above. "I hope you like it."

When he began to pluck at the strands, you understood how he made his music. It echoed a little within the space, explaining how it had been loud enough for you to hear. Awed, you watched as he played, moving in a sort of dance to reach and pluck and weave his music as swiftly and surely as he must've woven his webs.

You slowly sat down on a nearby, fur covered rock and stared up, your heart beating faster. It was a melody you had never heard from him before, luring and light and utterly enchanting. If you hadn't been in love before, you would have fallen in love right now.

When he finished with a last tune and a flourish, you felt stunned and your heart was nearly aching with how full it felt and you jumped to your feet, clapping and hooting and grinning wide.

His answering grin was just as wide as he skittered back down, dark eyes bright and his hands found yours as soon as you reached out to him.

"This is your song," he said, soft and nearly quiet in the large cavern, the last tune having faded already. "I wanted to have more to offer than words. My dear, would you do me the honor of allowing me to court you?"

"No need for that," you answered. "I already fell in love with you."

The smile you got in return was bright and downright boyish in its joy. "I love you too," he answered, fast and so happy a laugh laced into his voice. "I'll still court you, because you deserve it. Because I want to show you how much I love you."

You gave his hands a squeeze. "Then let me do it as well, this goes both ways."

"Yes." He leaned forward, only to catch himself. "May I kiss you?"

"Oh, absolutely." And you reached up to cup his cheek as he bent down towards you.

His kiss was as sweet as his heart, as captivating as his music and as lovely as what you shared.

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vyunok-obyknovenniy · 11 months

Text

A little analysis of this part in the Odyssey:

Reading time: ~10 minutes

Book 23, The Great Rooted Bed, Fagles' tr-n There he sat, leaning against the great central column, eyes fixed on the ground, waiting, poised for whatever words his hardy wife might say when she caught sight of him. A long while she sat in silence … numbing wonder filled her heart as her eyes explored his face. One moment he seemed … Odysseus, to the life— the next, no, he was not the man she knew, a huddled mass of rags was all she saw.

“Oh mother,” Telemachus reproached her, “cruel mother, you with your hard heart! Why do you spurn my father so—why don’t you sit beside him, engage him, ask him questions? What other wife could have a spirit so unbending? Holding back from her husband, home at last for her after bearing twenty years of brutal struggle— your heart was always harder than a rock!” “My child,” Penelope, well-aware, explained, “I’m stunned with wonder, powerless. Cannot speak to him, ask him questions, look him in the eyes … But if he is truly Odysseus, home at last, make no mistake: we two will know each other, even better— we two have secret signs, known to us both but hidden from the world.”

Odysseus, long-enduring, broke into a smile and turned to his son with pointed, winging words: “Leave your mother here in the hall to test me as she will. She soon will know me better. Now because I am filthy, wear such grimy rags, she spurns me—your mother still can’t bring herself to believe I am her husband.<...>

Telemachus is a precious baby, we've established that.

But he does act a bit like a brat with Penelope a couple times. Of course I don't think that any of that is malicious or that he doesn't love her, but he's still being a bit of a brat.

They both suffered, their pain was similar, but also very different, their experiences and the way they processed it were different as well.

Moreover, at this moment Telemachus has already spent some time with Odysseus. They already had their meeting/reunion and they already cried it out (to an extent. I'm sure there's more crying they'll do afterwards). They even had a father-son bonding activity (a.k.a. the slaughter of the suitors). Telemachus got to know his father at least a little bit over the past couple of days and at this point he processed and accepted the idea of Odysseus being back.

Penelope, on the other hand, was told about it just a moment ago. She can't immediately go "oh, you're saying Odysseus is back? Wonderful, let me greet him", no. Odysseus wasn't away on a short hunting trip or something, he was away for two whole decades, half of that time he was pretty much thought to be dead by most people (the first half wasn't that much better, as he could've still died any time during the war, but at least he wasn't lost, Penelope knew where he was).

Now she needs time to wrap her head around what is happening. We even see her thoughts as she goes to meet Odysseus:

Penelope started down from her lofty room, her heart in turmoil, torn … should she keep her distance, probe her husband? Or rush up to the man at once and kiss his head and cling to both his hands?

She wants to reunite with him, she wants this to be true, but she can't be sure of anything now. They have been apar for longer than they knew each other. Does he still love her like he used to? Is he the man she loved? Is it even the real Odysseus in the first place? She needs to process everything, as well as confirm all the information herself, and Telemachus, at least at this moment, doesn't comprehend that. He's acting quite immature, scolding his mother for not immediately believing and accepting that Odysseus is back.

This is a very interesting detail. First it once again shows us that Telemachus still lacks a lot of maturity, despite having been on his coming of age trip. He's still very young.

Yes, he definitely grew a lot in that short time, but it would've been impossible for him to learn everything at once, he still has a lot of that immaturity left in him, there's still a lot of room to grow and that's completely understandable. We, as people, grow for our whole lives and Tele is doing remarkably well, especially considering his circumstances.

Another interesting thing about this part is that it shows Telemachus', perhaps a bit childish, impatience. He is a kid, who finally met his dad (and his biggest hero), he knows that his mother was suffering and grieving for pretty much his whole life (with things getting a lot worse over the past decade). From Telemachus' perspective Odysseus' return is supposed to solve all their problems, especially since their biggest problem, a.k.a. the suitors, was just taken care of and it wouldn't have happened without Odysseus.

Telemachus just wants a happy family. His dad is back and seems to love him, the suitors are gone, now his parents should reunite, his mother will stop grieving and everything will be perfect. This is something he dreamt of his whole life and it's finally so close, but his mother doesn't immediately believe him. She doesn't immediately accept Odysseus and Telemachus doesn't understand why. He is too preoccupied with wanting things finally to be okay, that he doesn't take time to think about what Penelope must be feeling. It doesn't even occur to him. Perhaps it's also partially the need to be believed and listened to, which is also something he lacked growing up around suitors and being treated as a child, but I'm not diving into that right now.

Odysseus, on the other hand, understands what's going on. He assures his son, that everything will be okay. He pretty much does a more adult version of "mom and dad will take care of this, you go play for a bit". Odysseus understands Penelope's reaction and goes from there. Of course he wants to be in her embrace as soon as possible, but considering everything she has been through, he definitely can't just suddenly grab her and do what he wants. This is his dearly beloved wife and he wants her to take on that role voluntarily, like she did before, he wants her to accept him as her dear husband, like she did before, and for that he has to let her do it at her own pace. He tries to meet her where she's at, to do this reunion on her terms, to assure her, that he is, who he says he is and who others tell her he is.

This is just so amazing and I love their relationship so much (T▿T)♡

I also love Penelope's reaction to Telemachus' words. She doesn't react negatively, she is remarkably calm and part of it is probably the shock from what's happening, but still, she is "well-aware". I think that she knows Telemachus really well, because even though he has surprised her with how much he matured, he's still the same boy, he's still her kid. She most likely understands where Telemachus' outburst is coming from and doesn't get angry, doesn't scold him for his impatience, she reassures him. She lets him know, that he doesn't need to be scared of things falling apart and that she isn't looking to reject Odysseus. She's looking for Odysseus and she hopes she can find him in that familiar and strange man before her. She just needs time, but she will be taking the effort to search for what she's looking for, now that she has a way (she wouldn't have been able to go searching for Odysseus at sea, but now he's, supposedly, right here and she will handle it like the queen that she is).

#the odyssey #this is just my interpretation of this scene #you're completely free to interpret it differently #I wrote this analysis a while ago and now decided to share it here #hope you enjoyed #odysseus #telemachus #penelope #they all care about each other so much and they've been through a lot #just give this family all the happiness #please TT #tagamemnon #greek mythology #the “reading time” mentioned above is how long it took me personally to read this whole post properly #I just find time estimates like this helpful when I'm about to read something long #obviously not everyone's time would be the same #someone might read slower. others might read faster and that's okay #I just thought this might be helpful to someone like it usually is to me #certainly no harm in putting it here)))#odyssey rant

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