#epic shot

[golddustsoul-rarities]

Fleetwood Mac live in 1978

© Sheila Trosclair

[alter-bridge-fanatic]

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Danke Berlin, looking forward to show #2 tonight! Photo: Olaf Heine

[wallpapersmonster]

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[nothing-impt]

I love how the Epic community all unanimously agreed that Athena and Dionysus don't understand how humans are born

(Telemachus just fell down a flight of steps)

[anniflamma]

(BURSTS THROUGH THE DOOR) ANNI. ANNIFLAMMA.

WHY'D YOU GOTTA DO POOR TELEMACHUS DIRTY LIKE THAT IN HOLD THEM DOWN- (affectionate)

was NOT expecting it to be THAT gorey G O D

Me sitting here, knowing that Jorge keept telling me to tone down the gore when making this.... 😐

[sloanslone]

Small thought: isn’t it technically Hermes‘s fault that Poseidon got impaled because he did in fact give Odysseus the windbag?? 

Oh yea you're so right!!

Hermes is such a confusing character because I think he still would help bring Poseidon to Apollo's clinic 🙌

[dootznbootz]

Sorry, not sorry but I see this too often and it bothers me :)

Before people get mad: Notice how I put “Me and Penelope fans” there? I know there's others. this ain't about you <3

edit: This is about how people in the fandom prioritize Odysseus and Telemachus (and even Diomedes, who is not in the Odyssey) despite the Odyssey also being HER story as well. I've seen many fics about Odysseus and Telemachus in their youth, and never really seen that for Penelope.

[dreamsy990]

drew some of my fav ody designs! wasnt originally meant to be also replicating the styles but thats sort of just how my brain works. except i didnt copy the lineart styles of anyone here so its DEFINITELY a bit uncanny for a couple of these (LOOKING AT YOU QINNY IM SO SORRY) but whatever

the designs featured here (from left to right) belong to: me, @gigizetz, @neal-illustrator, @irunaki, @bigidiotenergytm, @qinnyanimation, and @foopsie-daisy

[alter-bridge-fanatic]

Love this photo ❤️ credit: Rick Mapes

[l-bubee-l]

Cloudy with a chance of bitch.

—

[ao3-anonymous]

Fastest Growing Fandoms on AO3 This Week (10/22/2024)

Every week I pull data on how many fics are in each fandom and compare to the previous week, then calculate the percentage increase to determine fastest growing fandoms.  Since this naturally skews towards smaller fandoms, I have included the same data filtered to Over 1k, 5k, & 10k fics.

Overall:

Over 1,000 Fics:

Over 5,000 Fics:

Over 10,000 Fics:

Source: AO3 Fandom Dashboard

[1mm4d13]

Well, that was just prime.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

⟣ rose quartz - Odysseus

A/n: I did it, Reader (aka) takes Penelope's place, you are his wife

Prompt used:

⟣ rose quartz (love) - "i have so much love for you.”

The bedroom door creaked open.

For a moment, all was still.

Your breath caught in your throat as you turned from the window, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your dress while the other clutched a sword tight. The night air was cool, but your skin burned with the possibility of what—who—stood before you.

Your heart ached at the sight of him, the sword falling from your grasp as the metal hit the floor with an echoing clang.

“Is it you?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reality before you “Have my prayers been answered?”

Odysseus stood in the doorway, a shadow of the man she remembered.

His eyes, once filled with laughter and mischief, were hollow, dark with the weight of unseen horrors. His frame, once strong and unshaken, was leaner, his stance rigid as though even standing was an effort. His smile—gods, his smile—was broken.

And yet, he was here.

He had returned to you.

“Or am I dreaming once more?” You murmured, stepping closer, afraid to blink. Afraid that this must be a cruel vision.

Odysseus exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself in the moment, but he did not move closer.

“I am not the man you fell in love with,” he said at last. His voice was low, roughened by time and war.

Your brows furrowed, your chest tightening as you searched his face for the man you had waited twenty years for.

“I am not the man you once adored,” he continued, his gaze downcast, his fists clenched at his sides. “I am not your kind and gentle husband. And I am not the love you knew before.”

Your throat tightened. You could feel the tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You had spent decades dreaming of his return. You had imagined this moment countless times—his arms around you, his voice whispering your name, the warmth of his presence beside you once more.

But he was standing before you, and it was nothing like you had imagined.

Odysseus finally looked at you then, and for the first time, you saw it.

The doubt. The fear.

The question that weighed heavier on him than any war ever had.

“Would you fall in love with me again,” he asked, his voice quieter now, weaker, “if you knew all I’ve done?”

You swallowed. “What kinds of things did you do?”

His jaw tightened.

“Left a trail of red on every island,” he admitted, his voice like gravel, like regret. “Traded friends like objects I could use. Hurt more lives than I can count on my hands.”

You felt your stomach twist, your heart aching at the pain behind his words.

“But all of that,” Odysseus continued, his voice desperate now, pleading, “was to bring me back to you.”

The words pierced your soul.

He had fought, he had suffered, he had become something else entirely—but all of it, all of it, had been for this moment.

So you stepped forward.

“If that’s true,” you murmured, “could you do me a favor?” Your eyes scanning him, as if this could still be one of the gods to deceive you

Odysseus frowned, watching you carefully.

“Just a moment of labor, that could bring me some peace,” you said, your voice soft, testing. You turned slightly, gesturing toward the wedding bed, the very one he had built for you two all those years ago.

“See that wedding bed?” You asked. “Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here?”

Odysseus stared at you.Disbelief flashed across his face, then hurt, then something dangerously close to anger.

“How could you say this?” His voice was hoarse, betrayed.

“I built that wedding bed with my own hands,” he said, his voice growing sharper, his breath coming quicker. “Carved it into the olive tree where we first met—a symbol of my love everlasting.”

He took a step closer, his brown eyes burning into yours. “Do you realize what you’ve asked me?”

You did not move.

“The only way to move it,” Odysseus rasped, “is to cut it from its roots.”

Silence fell between them.

Then—

Your lips curled into a small smile.Only your husband knew that.

Only Odysseus knew that truth.

You took a step forward, lifting a gentle hand to his war-worn face, your fingers brushing against the rough stubble along his jaw.

“So I guess that makes you him,” You whispered.

Odysseus froze.

His breath was shallow, his body tense beneath your touch.

And then, slowly, something in him cracked.

“Y/n…” he whispered, his voice breaking.

And in that moment—the twenty years between them collapsed.

You wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself against the body you had longed for in the empty nights.

“I will fall in love with you,” You whispered against his chest, “over and over again.”

Odysseus let out a shaky breath, his arms finally coming around you, crushing you to him.

“I don’t care how, where, or when,” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion. “No matter how long it’s been. You’re mine.”

Odysseus squeezed his eyes shut, his forehead dropping against yours, his hands shaking as he held you.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing away the tear that slipped down his cheek.

“Don’t tell me you’re not the same person,” you whispered. “You’re always my husband.”

Odysseus let out a broken laugh, his arms tightening around you as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

God did he miss this, missed you in his arms, how soft you felt in his arms.

“And I’ve been waiting,” You whispered, your lips just a breath from his.

“Waiting…”

“Y/n,” he murmured, voice raw.

You closed the distance between them, pressing your lips to his, the first true kiss in decades, the kind that mended wounds and stitched two souls back together.

When you both broke apart, your breaths mingling in the stillness of the room, you asked the only question that mattered.

“How long has it been?”

Odysseus swallowed, his hand threading through your hair as he whispered,

“Twenty years.”

You exhaled, pressing your lips against his once more, as if you could make up for every second you two had lost.

“I love you,” You murmured against his lips.

Odysseus let out a shuddering breath.

And then, in the quiet of the night, beneath the roof of the home he had fought to return to, he whispered the words he had been holding in his heart for twenty years.

“I love you too.”

There was no hesitation now.

No doubt. No fear.

Only him and you, the way they had once been, the way you both had always meant to be.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you could melt into him, to never wanted to be apart from him again.

His lips traced the curve of your throat, the edge of your collarbone, learning you all over again.

And when he lifted you, carrying you back toward the wedding bed, there was no war between them anymore.

No battle. No distance.

Only love.

When you had awoken, the dawn was barely breaking, the soft blue of morning creeping through the windows.

And you were not alone.

Odysseus lay beside you, his body half-draped over yours, his arm curled around your waist as if he feared you might disappear.

His breathing was deep, steady.

For the first time in twenty years, he was home.

You turned slightly, running your fingers through his dark curls, watching as his brows twitched, as he stirred beneath your touch.

His brown eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep.

For a moment, he simply stared at you.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

A true smile.

A smile that belonged to you, and you alone.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.

You smiled back, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Good morning,” You whispered.

And in that moment—Odysseus knew.

He was exactly where he was meant to be.

[fatcatlittlebox]

McKay: "There's a rich metaphor there of things that don't belong together being coaxed together, and complementing one another, and balancing one another. That's very much what's going on emotionally with Galadriel and Sauron..."

Payne: "Even the mithril itself, we're saying is a certain kind of alloy, because we tell this potentially apocryphal backstory about it. Whether people want to treat it as canon can or not, it's this struggle between good and evil that was fused together in a moment of lightning."

Inspired by this post and more meta about it here.

[ribbittrobbit]

The Gunner Channel: where the ball is always rolling up