#i hope this is “epically” enough for you

[kiragecko]

Authour’s Voices

I read fic for voice before anything else. Plot, tropes, canon compliance – they all pale in comparison to the word crafting. But voice is hard to describe, and referencing certain verbal tics is more likely to make an authour self-conscious than it is to flatter. So, here's my best attempt to describe the voices of some of my favourite fanfic authours – focusing on tone, subject matter, and the feelings they provoke, in a hope that I can get across at least a hint of how they sound.

@suzukiblu / suzukiblu / Rin (I read for DCU, Young Justice TV, Avatar)

REALLY intertwines characters thoughts and feelings in compelling ways. Inner monologues are a particular strength. Digs deep into what motivates characters and then lets them be insecure and angry because of those things. Writes REALLY close third person narration – ie. we are entirely in one person’s head, but the narration is using their name instead of saying ‘me.’ And we are ENTWINED in their head. Deeply. Maybe actually more in their chest -  the emotions are visceral and immediate. Very cathartic angry/overwhelmed ranting is a feature. People learning that they have inherent value. Romance/sex that is based on strong connections, and goes far deeper than hormones. A strong understanding of canon, used to write alternate universes that are much richer for that knowledge. Stories are cathartic, and leave you washed clean and energized.

@whetstonefires / Kieron_ODuibhir (/ Kieron) (I read for DCU, The Untamed/The Other Versions Of This Story)

Thoughtful, empathic stories that feel like they’ve spent months being refined to perfection. Also incredibly strong understanding of canon, with a much higher chance of showing her work on the page. A gift for searching out the nagging, poorly fitting pieces of canon characterization, and integrating them in her fic in ways that makes rereading the original a better experience. Beautiful, haunting, sentences. Feels like poetry makes me feel. A writing style that ALMOST feels intellectual, but is actually incredibly empathic. The knowledge is the vessel that carries the ... love? Respect? Maybe respect, and care, and dignity, that she has for the characters she’s writing about. Stories leave you quiet and satisfied.

@galaxystew / galaxysoup (I read for Avengers/Thor, Supernatural)

Careful, emotional, deep stories. There is a sense of immenseness, that the story can’t go too fast or it would become unstoppable. DEEPLY moving, gut-wrenching, stories told from just enough emotional distance to avoid overwhelming the audience. But they also about taking time to rest, both for the characters and the audience. Focuses on exploring and healing damaged relationships, (and damaged people), and never goes for the easy/trite solutions. Unassuming language and imagery that grounds the sometimes epic elements of her canons. Stories leave you grateful – grateful that the characters have reached that place, and grateful you got to come along.

@teland / Teland / Te (I read for DCU)

Stories have only the vestigial remains of a narrator. Almost everything is verbal or mental dialogue, usually without tags. (Ie. things like ‘Tim said.’) This would be frustrating with most writers, but Te’s character voices are SO strong and distinct that a story can start with an unnamed person talking and you immediately know who it is. She focuses on aspects of characters that many other authours miss (though some of that could be survivorship bias – perhaps she was part of a zeitgeist that hasn’t been preserved). She gets DEEP into the psyches of the characters she’s writing, dissects them, and then has them dryly comment on their displayed innards. Excels at characters that are very disconnected from their emotions, but also at characters who live immediately IN their emotions. Strong themes of identity and found family, though not in the way ‘found family’ is usually used these days. Symbolic, projected family? Stand-in, or sublimated, or substituted family? Something in that area. A lot of sex, which is also standing in for other things. Electric, transformative stories, with extremely long chapters that are hard to escape from when the world tries to call you back. Stories leave you alive to the possibilities, and maybe knowing more about yourself.

@angel-gidget / angel_gidget / Gidge (I read for DCU)

There’s an optimism and joy to Gidge’s writing. A ... cleanness. Hmm, what do I mean? I ... I’m not actually sure? But it feels refreshing and space-making, to read a Gidge story. It feels like they SHOULD be humorous, with the effects they have, but that’s not actually the focus? It feels like they’re light, even when the topic is heavy and treated seriously. It’s a really special gift, what Gidge has. Maybe the correct term is ‘conversational’? Yeah, there’s a matter-of-fact, conversational tone to everything she creates, and it lifts your spirits every time you read it.

@vmohlere / owlet (I read for Avengers/Captain America)

Absolutely brilliant way of using humour to tackle difficult subjects. Stories are so funny and positive, that it’s hard to realize how dark the things referenced are. It helps that they usually don’t become explicit until the characters have mostly processed them, and they’ve been defanged of a lot of their power. I’ve never seen someone else accomplish this, and it blows me away. Incredible OCs. Deep empathy for character’s specific needs, and focusing on what THEY’RE ready to focus on. Boundaries are not only respected, but taught. And all of this is happening behind a wry, clever sense of humour that invites you in to hang out for a while. One of the most joyful reading experiences I’ve ever had. I’ve used scenes to walk myself through bad mental periods. And I still think about their work every time I make a grilled cheese.

[rakiah]

You and Epic!Anon's ideas for the Twst Epic AU has absolutely INFESTED my mind and I love it!!! It got me to listen to the musical (I put it off because I was worried I would get obsessed with it and you'll never guess what happened once I listened to it 💀) and it's been SUCH a delight!

I can so vividly see Leodysseus with Siren!Vilope not being tricked 1) because of the wax thing and 2) "my husband would never be this nice, you lying fishface" 😂

Anyway, I just wanted to thank you so much for your art and ideas, and Epic!Anon as well, you guys are so incredibly creative and talented! It's given me so much joy and inspiration ever since I first saw it and I'm beyond excited to see what you have planned!

Have a wonderful day, you amazing star, you 🦁 👑

Oh hi Pink! :D

Ohohoho I’m glad I can infest people enough to make them listening to the musical! I would have loved to follow the full odyssey of the musical cause it’s truly amazing how it has been created buuuut on the other hand, I’m glad I’ve dived into it when all the parts were released :’)))

Totally picturing that reaction in front of the Sirens hahaha If you don’t mind, I keep that in mind [wink]

We can’t blame him being that feral to come back home, eh.

Odysseus!Leona on a regular basis:

Have you seen my husband? Of course I’ll do everything I can to go back to home.

Thanks for your words 💕 and let’s hope I manage to picture the full cast! 💪

Wonderful day to you too, you gorgeous being 🫶✨

[kradogsrats]

@dragonprincedrabbles prompt Harrow + Damian, Breathe

—

A particularly nasty cold works its way through the castle, the first winter after they move in. Even Sarai gets the sniffles, though fortunately no more than that. Being sick and six months' pregnant would be truly miserable.

Callum stays healthy, thanks to diligent hand-washing and restriction from the areas of the castle where germs are most freely spread, but he grows moody and standoffish. He was already struggling to adjust, obviously feeling like an out-of-place guest in the castle and seeing Harrow as more like a distant uncle than a stepfather. Sarai knows he needs time—the only way encourage growing into a home and family is to allow the space to do so, and then step back. She just hates seeing her son unhappy.

Then Claudia, the one playmate he's truly grown close with, gets sick enough to spend a week in bed, and he starts acting out in ways he never has before. Not even when Damian was dying.

Harrow spends most of that week with Viren, who is understandably beside himself over his daughter's condition, mild though it is. Once she's undeniably on the mend and Harrow's able to escape, Sarai shares her own frustration and worries about her son. Always thoughtful, he suggests that they go to the lodge—there's a blanket of fresh snow on the ground, and a change of scene and activities will do Callum good.

It's a fantastic idea, one Sarai is embarrassed she didn't think of herself. Of course, she's not exactly used to having an entire lodge to retreat to for relaxation.

The first few days go better than she could ever hope—he and Harrow sled, build snowmen and snow banthers, and have snowball fights more epic than any Border skirmish. Sarai joins them sometimes, though she feels a little too pregnant for some of the more vigorous activities and is content to watch from inside, sipping hot cider. Callum runs to her pink-cheeked and laughing when they come back inside, happier every day than he has been in weeks. In the evenings, he falls asleep on the couch, nestled between them as Harrow reads aloud in his deep, soothing voice.

Then the castle cold catches up with Harrow.

Sarai suddenly finds herself caught between overseeing regular deliveries of hot soup and honeyed tea to her husband and near-constant tantrums from her son. Everything becomes a battle—getting up in the morning, what food he'll eat for any meal and when, putting on warm clothes before going outside, baths, bedtime. After a particularly bad fit over wanting to go ice skating—it's not cold enough for Sarai to trust the pond's ice without it being checked—she gathers him up into her lap for a talk.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" she says, rocking them both gently back and forth while he snuggles in her arms. "I can tell you're having a lot of big feelings—are you sad or mad that Harrow can't play anymore? Do you miss the castle?"

He shakes his head against her chest, but says nothing.

"Did something happen that scared you? Have you had bad dreams?"

Callum hesitates, then buries his face in her shirt, clinging to her. "I'm sorry, Mom," he says through fresh tears. "It's all my fault, I'm so sorry—"

She shushes him soothingly, stroking his hair. "I'm right here. It's okay to be overwhelmed. You haven't done anything wrong."

He takes a hiccuping breath. "But I did! I—I wished that King Harrow would die, so we could go home. I just wanted everything to be like it was before, with Dad. Now he's—I don't want him to die!"

He's crying hysterically again, and Sarai holds him tight. All the pieces suddenly come together—this year's cold takes root in the chest, leading to a wet, hacking cough. Harrow's coughing fits, while already subsiding, had been loud and frequent for the first few days. Loud enough to be heard from nearly anywhere in the lodge.

She and Damian had kept the worst of his condition from Callum, but not everything could be hidden, especially if Damian was to have any kind of life in his remaining time. So Callum saw when he coughed convulsively until he strained to breathe, air barely wheezing in and out of his lungs. Even if that wasn't the case, he'd heard his father's labored, rattling breaths at the end.

"Oh, sweetie," she says. "He's not going to die, I promise. He'll be just fine in a few days."

Callum shakes his head wildly, clinging to her. "I'm sorry," he sobs again.

"It's okay," Sarai soothes him, rubbing slow circles into his back. "It's okay, Callum. Sometimes, when we're angry or scared, we think or say things we don't really mean. There have been a lot of big changes, and that can feel scary and unfair. I wish we could have done things differently."

She swallows around the lump forming in her throat. "Your dad—I was angry and scared for a long time, when we found out how sick he was. I was angry that he wouldn't get to see you grow up, and I was scared of what life would be like without him. I had a lot of mean thoughts about people who I knew loved me, and were only trying to help. I didn't let those thoughts take root, and I know you won't, either—you'll breathe, and let them out."

She inhales deeply through her nose and exhales slowly through her mouth, repeating until Callum was breathing with her. His crying slows as he relaxes.

"Harrow can't ever replace your dad, but whatever he becomes to you, I know he loves you very much." She hugs him close, smiling when he hugs her back. "How about this? We can toast some cheese sandwiches and bring some soup up to him for lunch, like a picnic. He'll be happy to see you."

Callum nods, rubbing his nose with his sleeve. Sarai pokes it lightly. "Then, if the Crownguard say the ice is safe, we can go skating."

"Maybe, instead of skating," Callum says tentatively, as he hops down from her lap, "we could play a game from the game room this afternoon."

So Harrow can play, too. All of us together. She smiles, levering herself up from the couch. "That's a wonderful idea, sweetie. Go pick one out, and I'll start the sandwiches."

She's still smiling as he scampers off excitedly, and she heads for the kitchen. Lunch and games with all three of them, together—it looks like they just might be becoming a family.

[k-nayee]

CHAPTER 18. A MORTAL'S LAMENT

A/n: eek! last installment for Act Two! y'all know the roll -  won't upload again for a lil bit to finish up on the next Act. love love LOVE the comments and views i've been getting, great to see my fellow EPIC fans out here. pls don't be shy to share your thoughts and see ya soon!🥰

❝And perhaps it is the greater grief after all—to be left on earth when another is gone❞

Warrior M.List | Act Two

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˚＊˚✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ˚＊˚

The days stretched on like an eternity, each dawn bringing fresh reports of Trojan advancements.

Two weeks had passed since Chryseis had been returned to her father. Two weeks since Briseis had been dragged to Agamemnon’s side.

In that time, the camp had become a pot of tension and whispered discontent.

Penelope and Diomedes had been unyielding in their punishment. One month without stepping onto the battlefield. No skirmishes, no glory, no purpose.

You understood their reasoning—to some extent—but that didn’t make the restriction any less grating.

Despite your confinement, Briseis managed to find her way to you during the late nights or early mornings. Her visits were a small solace in an otherwise maddening existence.

Though she bore the weight of her circumstances with grace, her spirit remained unbroken.

True to his word Agamemnon hadn’t laid a hand on her. But his barbs—cutting, vile insults—were frequent.

Briseis’ defiance was a quiet triumph; she only needed to mention your name and Agamemnon’s sneering would falter, his words dissolving into tense silence.

You’d always smirk when she recounted those moments.

The camp was not so fortunate. Achilles had withdrawn entirely, his fury at Agamemnon’s actions burning too brightly to be quenched by reason.

For two weeks the Prince of Myrmidons had refused to fight, and the ripple effects of his absence had grown catastrophic.

Captains and commanders were in near-constant uproar. Without Achilles’s presence Hector’s strength seemed unstoppable, his brilliance on the battlefield becoming a legend in real-time.

Whispers of doom hung heavy in the air. Hector’s forces, bolstered by divine favor, had pushed the Greeks back toward their ships and close to burning them.

The Trojan raids had nearly decimated the fleet—Ajax, Diomedes, and Penelope barely managing to stave off complete disaster even together.

It seemed the Gods themselves seemed to mock the Greeks, their loyalties clear in the endless string of setbacks. Morale plummeted further with every fresh loss.

It was Patroclus who approached you that morning, his face shadowed with worry and exhaustion. You had been leaning against the edge of your tent, absently watching the camp stir to life when he arrived.

“You’ve heard?” he asked, his tone weighed down by the obvious.

You nodded. “Hector’s driving us into the sea. If this keeps up we’ll be retreating home with our tails between our legs.”

Patroclus winced at the harsh truth. “Achilles won’t budge. I’ve tried everything. Nestor has tried. Even Briseis has pleaded with him in her own way.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve managed to get his blessing to lead the Myrmidons into battle, but only under strict conditions. He’s made me swear to stop at the ships and go no further. I’ll wear his armor to intimidate the Trojans, but…”

“But you know it’s not enough,” you finish for him, your eyes narrowing. “Hector won’t stop at the ships.”

The Myrmidons Second-in Command's gaze met yours, his desperation laid bare. “We need Achilles. Not just for his strength, but for what he inspires in the men. They’re losing hope.”

A long silence stretched between you as the weight of his words settled.

Finally Patroclus exhaled, his voice dropping as though sharing a secret. “If I push further...if I fight Hector maybe—”

“Don’t.” Your sharp tone cut him off mid-thought. Your expression softened slightly, but your words remained firm. “Don’t go further than what you’ve been allowed. Achilles gave you his blessing for a reason, and you’d do well to heed his warning—even if you think it might do some good.”

He blinked at you before a crooked smile pulled at his lips. With a playful roll of his eyes he muttered, “That’s exactly what he said.”

Despite the lightness of his words the shadow in his expression betrayed his stubbornness. You wanted to press further—to shake sense into him.

But you knew his resolve was set.

“Fine,” you relent, your tone losing its edge. “If you’re going to be reckless, at least be safe. And…” You paused, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “I guess I can go and try to speak with Achilles myself.”

Patroclus’ smirk softened into something more genuine, the gratitude in his eyes unspoken but obvious. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you replied with a wry smile. “I’m about to do the impossible.”

As he walked away, you lingered for a moment, staring at the distant horizon where the Trojan banners loomed like a taunt. Gathering your resolve, you made your way toward Achilles’ tent.

The structure loomed ahead, its entrance flanked by his closest guards.

Silent as you passed, their stoic faces betraying no emotion, simply stepping aside to let you in without question. The air inside the tent was thick with shadows, the flickering candlelight barely illuminating the interior.

Achilles lay cocooned in his blankets. His head just peeking out as he stared blankly at the tent wall.

The weight of his stillness filled the space. He didn’t so much as flinch when you stepped inside, letting the flap fall closed behind you.

"Is this what the mighty Prince of Myrmidons has been reduced to?" your tone was laced with teasing mockery as you stepped closer. "Hiding in his blankets like a sulking child?"

No response. Not even a twitch.

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes as you studied him. “Really? Not even a grunt? Gods, you must be worse off than I thought.”

Still nothing.

Sighing you move toward the bed and sit down at the edge near his head. His form shifted slightly under the weight of your presence, but he remained curled up, his face turned away.

Without thinking you slid a hand under his head, gently lifting to rest him upon your thighs. Achilles let out a soft exhale but didn’t resist, his blue eyes flickering shut as though the simple act of touch brought him solace.

Your fingers found their way to his hair, tangling in the golden strands as you began to lightly comb through them. The soft texture glided between your fingers and the tension in his body visibly ebbed.

The only sound heard was the quiet rustling of fabric as the Myrmidon leader sank further into the comfort of your lap. His breathing steadied, his features relaxed.

A fleeting smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the sight—this massive, fearsome warrior reduced to something so...human.

After a few minutes you broke the silence. “Is it Briseis?” you asked softly.

His face tightened almost imperceptibly, the faintest pout forming on his lips. The action was so juvenile you almost laughed.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you hum dryly. “She’ll be fine you know. Agamemnon wouldn’t dare lay a finger on her after what I did.”

That earned a reaction. His lips twitched and one eye cracked open to give you a pointed look. “I heard,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Nearly took the bastard’s head off.”

You smirked. “Nearly? I call that self-restraint.”

Achilles chuckled softly, but the sound was short-lived. He shifted slightly, the mirth fading as quickly as it had come. “It’s not just that,” he admitted. “It’s everything. This war, these people...I’m tired of it all.”

His voice was raw, tinged with something that sounded dangerously close to defeat. Your fingers paused in his hair.

“So that’s it?” your tone was sharp enough to cut. “You’re just going to let Hector run rampant—let Agamemnon destroy everything...because you’re tired?”

Achilles frowned but didn’t answer. Instead, he reached up and grabbed your hand, pulling it down to rest against his hair once again.

“The war will go on with or without me,” he said quietly. “Let Agamemnon handle it. Maybe he’ll finally get the death he deserves.”

You stared at him, your frustration mounting. “And what about the rest of us? Do we deserve to be trampled because you’ve decided to throw a tantrum?”

His eyes snapped open at that—blue and piercing. The two of you lock gazes, the air between you charged with unspoken tension.

Then without warning Achilles smirked. “You’re feisty when you’re angry,” his voice dipped into a teasing drawl. “You know you could always stay here. Sleep in my bed. That’d make me feel a lot better.”

Your jaw dropped, the sheer audacity of the man leaving you speechless. “Are you serious?!” you demanded before pulling your hand back as you moved to stand.

But Achilles was faster.

With surprising swiftness, he wrapped an arm around your waist and dragged you back onto the bed with him, his sheer strength making escape impossible.

“Achilles!” you hissed as you struggled against his hold. “Let me go!”

He grinned up at you unbothered by your squirming. “Nope. You’re too comfy. Stay.”

The two of you wrestled, twisting and turning as you tried to break free, your indignant huffs mingling with his laughter.

“Am I interrupting something?”

The voice froze you both in place. Your head snapped up to see Patroclus standing at the entrance of the tent, his expression caught somewhere between shock and amusement.

“I...what?” you stammered, your face heating as you realized the position you were in.

Patroclus’ wide eyes quickly narrowed into a grin, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “Well if I’d known being sad got you into our bed, I’d have tried it sooner.”

Your face burned hotter and you immediately started to stammer a response, but Achilles (ever the opportunist), took the chance to roll onto his back, taking you with him.

You let out a startled yelp as his arms pinned you against his bare chest. The heat of him makes your face burn in realization.

“Achilles!” you shriek. “Are you naked under there?!”

“Possibly,” he grins up at you, his tone far too smug. “Why? Does it bother you? Nothing you haven’t seen I bet.”

You took a deep breath as you glared down at him while trying to muster whatever dignity you had left. “You are impossible,” you snapped.

He smirked up at you, golden hair splayed out like a halo on the pillow beneath him. “Admit it—you love it.”

“Shut up!” you snapped, your hands smacking against his chest as your embarrassment reached new heights.

Patroclus, meanwhile, could only stand there and watch with a fond smile. He walks over to the bed, his russet skin glowing faintly in the dim candlelight as he leans down.

Without warning he presses a kiss to Achilles’ lips. The sight made your breath hitch.

When he pulls away Achilles’ cheeks were dusted pink and his eyes dazed.

Using your distraction, Patroclus turns to you before reaching out to gently cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His vivid blue eyes held yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race.

“I have to go,” he said softly. “Try not to cause too much trouble while I’m gone.”

You blinked, flustered and overwhelmed. Opening your mouth to respond, the words caught in your throat as he leaned in.

For a second you thought he might kiss you. But just as his lips were about to brush yours, he shifted, pressing a kiss to your forehead instead.

Your mind went blank.

By the time you managed to recover Patroclus had already stepped away making you realize he was wearing Achilles' armor. The bronze gold metal gleamed faintly in the dim light.

“Keep the bed warm for me!” he called over his shoulder, his voice laced with teasing as he made his way out the tent.

You let out a strangled sound, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it after him. Sadly for you the soldier dodged it with a laugh of his own.

Achilles laughed, his hands still resting on your hips as you sat atop him. “Relax,” he said, his voice low and playful. “He’ll be back before you know it.”

The tent goes silent except for the distant sounds of the camp preparing to battle—horses whinnying, men shouting, weapons clanging.

“So,” Achilles breaks the quiet with a purr, his voice laced with amusement. “What do you want to do while we wait for Patroclus to come back? We’ve already got one position down. Maybe just lose a few layers of clothes and—”

“As if!” you snapped, glaring down at him. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in bed with—”

“Where is ____?”

The voice from outside the tent was firm and insistent. Your head snapped toward the sound just as Patroclus’ cheerful and mischievous tone followed.

“Oh she’s in Achilles’ tent!”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, you didn’t even have time to process the words before the tent flap was yanked open.

Eurylochus and Diomedes stood in the doorway, their gazes flicking from Achilles—grinning smugly beneath you—to your utterly mortified expression.

Their eyes traveled to the scene: you straddling Achilles, your hands braced on his bare chest, his hands still casually resting on your hips as covers are wrapped around both your waists.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Eurylochus blinked, his lips parting as though to speak but no words came out.

Achilles, however, was positively beaming. “Ah gentlemen!” he said, his voice filled with mock innocence. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You tried to scramble off him, but his arms tightened around your waist, holding you firmly in place. His grin widened as you shot him a furious glare.

“T-this isn’t what it looks like!” you sputtered, your voice higher than you would have liked.

Diomedes raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because it looks exactly what it looks like.”

You opened your mouth, searching desperately for some way to salvage the situation but Achilles beat you to it. “There’s no need for explanations,” he says breezily as he rest his head back against the pillow. “We were just…getting comfortable.”

Your hands curled into fists, your face burning hotter than the noonday sun. “Achilles,” you growled through gritted teeth. “Shut. Up.”

The blond warrior only chuckled, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why? I think they’re enjoying the show.”

Eurylochus cleared his throat, his expression torn between exasperation and disbelief. “If you’re quite done…Captain Penelope requests your help on something.”

Right as Achilles reluctantly releases his hold you scrambled off him, tugging at your tunic in a vain attempt to smooth it. You send him one last glare as Diomedes gave a pointed cough to draw your attention.

“I suggest you make yourself presentable,” he said dryly.

Eurylochus nods, his lips twitching as though he were holding back a laugh. “And maybe next time, choose a less...hectic time for your comfort.”

Face buried in your hands, you groan loudly as Achilles’ laughter rang out behind you.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The low-hung sun in the sky casted long fragmented shadows across the camp.

Each step you took felt heavier than the last, though you refused to slow. The pounding of your racing heart was so loud it drowned out the sounds of the bustling camp.

Soldiers blurred past as you weaved through the narrow paths, their faces indistinct against the swirl of panic clouding your mind. 'Let this be nothing.'

The words repeated like a mantra, your panic rising with every step closer to the Myrmidon section of the camp as your injury throbbed with every movement.

It didn’t matter. You couldn’t stop.

Not when the urgent summons had come so unexpectedly.

The weight in the air shifted as you entered their domain. The usually proud and fearsome soldiers were subdued, their postures heavy with exhaustion and something darker—mourning.

Some tended to wounds in silence, their faces pale and grim, while others sat hunched over their weapons, hands shaking as they cleaned blood from the blades.

The sight only twisted the knot in your chest tighter.

When Achilles’ tent came into view you didn’t hesitate, your legs pushing faster despite the ache. The lack of guards at the entrance barely registered in your mind as you reached to throw open the flap.

Just as you did out stepped Eurylochus and Nestor. You froze mid-step, your gaze locking onto their faces.

Eurylochus’ expression was a blank mask, his lips pressed into a thin line. Nestor wasn’t much better; his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight.

“Eurylochus? Nestor?” you called in concern. “Were you summoned too?”

The two men froze for a moment, exchanging a quick glance before turning to you.

Eurylochus could only shake his head wordlessly and move past you in a brisk pace. Nestor lingered just long enough to place a gentle, almost apologetic hand on your shoulder before following after him.

Confusion bubbled in your chest as you turned to watch their retreating figures. “Wait—” you called again, but your words died on your lips as the tent flap shifted once more.

Penelope, Diomedes, and Polites emerged this time; their faces caught somewhere between surprise and discomfort at the sight of you.

“____” Polites was the first to break the tense silence. “What are you doing here?”

You raised a brow at his reaction. “I was summoned by a runner. Why else would I be here?”

A low curse escaped Diomedes as his jaw tightened. You caught a fragment of his words as he leaned toward Penelope, “I told them not to send for her.”

“What?” you asked, your tone sharp. “What does that mean? Why wouldn’t—”

“____!”

Before you could question him the broken cry of your name reached your ears.

You barely had time to turn before Briseis burst through the tent flap with tears streaming down her red face. She flung herself into your arms, her body trembling as she clutched at you like a lifeline.

“Y-You’re here,” she sobbed, “Oh Gods you’re here.”

Confusion took hold as you wrapped an arm around to steady her. “Briseis!” you exclaimed, holding her tightly as she buried her face in your shoulder. “Are you okay?! What happened?”

She could barely get a word out, her tears choking her voice into incomprehensible blubbering.

“Briseis,” you try again, quieter now, but the girl only shook her head against you, unable to form the words. 

Smoothing a hand over her hair, your own panic began to build as you glanced around for answers—but the camp surrounding Achilles’ tent offered none.

There were few soldiers nearby, and those who were avoided looking in its direction like it was the plague.

“Polites?” your voice break the silence as you looked over Briseis’ shaking form. “What is this? What is going on?”

Polites hesitated as if searching for the right words. “Maybe it’s...not the right time for you to go inside.”

“And why not?” you shot back. Gently coaxing Briseis into Penelope’s waiting arms, the older woman cradled the girl with soothing words as she buried herself into the Queen's embrace.

With Briseis momentarily settled you turned back to the tent. But before you could open the flap of the entrance completely, Diomedes moved swiftly, his hand closing over yours.

His grip was firm but not forceful, his face etched with something that looked like regret. “Don’t,” he said softly. “This isn’t something you should see.”

Even Penelope, who usually had no qualms about speaking her mind, remained silent with pursed lips. Though the look in her eyes echoed Diomedes’ and Polites' sentiment.

Frustration flared in your chest.

“I have every right to know what’s going on,” you snapped, pulling your hand free. “For the last time I was summoned here, so it must be important. Now I'm not leaving until someone tells me what in the Hades is—”

“Let her.”

Low, dull, and hollow; a voice slices through the tense air silencing everyone in an instant.

Your breath hitched as you turned toward the sound. You knew that voice.

Ignoring the others you pulled the flap open, your gaze sweeping the dim interior. Shadows danced in the flickering candlelight, and at first, the space seemed empty.

But then you saw him—slumped in the corner half-hidden in the darkness. Achilles sat motionless, his head resting back against the tent's post.

The faint glow of candlelight illuminated his face; his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen as they stared blankly at the far wall. Faint streaks of dried tears glistened on his flushed cheeks.

Even his golden hair hung disheveled over his forehead, his hands resting limply in his lap as though drained of all strength.

“Achilles,” you breathed, your worry spiking as you took a step inside. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

He didn’t respond at first, his shoulders rising and falling with a shallow breath. Then, barely above a whisper, he said two words that sent a chill down your spine.

“My fault.”

Your chest tightened. “What?” your voice faltered. “Achilles...what do you mean?”

His lips moved soundlessly as he muttered under his breath. You stepped closer, straining to hear the words that spilled from him like a broken mantra.

“It’s my fault,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have let him...should’ve stopped him…”

As you stepped further inside, the others retreated, leaving you alone with Achilles.

A soft brush against your hand made you pause. Turning, you saw Penelope lingering just beyond the tent flap, her hand rested lightly on yours.

She didn’t say a word but the gesture spoke volumes. Giving you a nod, she gently guides Briseis to join Diomedes and Polites as they moved out of sight.

Now alone with the Prince of Phthia, you shift your attention back to him, taking slow deliberate steps as you ignore the way your heart hammers against your ribs.

“Achilles,” you call softly.

He didn’t respond.

“Achilles,” you try again, firmer now. “Wha—”

You froze mid-step as your eyes caught a glimpse of something beside the bed. It was barely visible beneath the folds of a blanket.

Your breath stuttered as your gaze traveled downward, the details sharpening with each agonizing second.

A still figure lay on the floor shrouded in simple white garb. Two silver coins rested over closed eyes, their cold gleam catching the dim candlelight.

The sight made your stomach churn violently.

Vivid blue eyes that had always looked at you with warmth and fondness were now hidden—lifeless and unmoving. Skin, once rich with a warm sun-kissed glow, had faded to a pale ashen hue, the life drained from it.

“Achilles,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “No…”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze still fixed on the wall as his muttered words repeated like a broken chant. “Shouldn’t have let him go…it’s my fault…my fault…”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away as you took a shaky step forward, the tears welling up and spilling over no matter how hard you tried to stop them.

Knees buckling, you sank to the floor, your hands reaching as you hesitate just inches away.

You wanted to touch, to confirm that this wasn’t real, that the cold skin would somehow spark back to the warmth you remembered. But the sight of the hands folded neatly over his chest stopped you.

They looked rigid, devoid of the gentle gestures you had come to know—the way they'd ruffle Briseis’ hair, clap Achilles on the shoulder, or hold a spear with effortless strength.

You clutch at the fabric of your clothes as the weight of reality crashed over you.

“Patroclus?”

[mur4sak1]

What might be the Pokemon of the elves of the silmarillion?

The arts are not mine, the credit goes to the artists.

Hello! I know it’s a very stupid idea but with the end of "Epic: The Musical" all the people started to edit with their favourite pokemon and I immediately thought: "hey, why has no one ever thought about what could be the adventure companions of some of our beloved elves?" (Remember that English is not my first language so I hope I wrote in the best way <3)

Characters: Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Rog, Galdor, Caranthir, Fingon

Maedhros: Arcanine

“Arcanine are highly prized Pokémon, admired by many for their beauty and regal nature. Arcanine has been seen storing food (such as Pecha Berries) in the voluminous fur of its mane, and then feeding it to the baby Growlithes when they return to their nest.” I’ll be honest, I don’t see Charizard as a suitable Pokémon for Maaedhros at all. Maybe it would be before Angband when his whole life was centered around fighting and building his character, but after the torture, oh boy, he just needs love. So, why not a giant dog to heal him and distract him from his duties? Then just imagine how it would heal his soul to see him play with Elrond and Elros and feed them berries as if they were his puppies… and yes, those two twins would really be his children in the eyes of the red-haired elf.

Maglor: Lapras

The pokedex describes Lapras as “a social Pokémon that crosses the sea on the surface in large schools and goes into the depths of the sea only when it is looking for food. They are very docile and do not like to fight; they are currently very rare in nature. Their song is known in all the oceans. They are very intelligent and understand human language.” In short, it is literally perfect for Maglor. We all know how he left his land and his mother to protect his brothers from the violent ambitions of his father (I talked about it better in the specific part of Maglor that you can find here), crossing the entire ocean and reaching a completely unknown land. When necessary, however, he did not hesitate to show his hardest and most aggressive side, exactly like the Pokémon in the moments in which he had to venture into the depths of the sea and face all the dangers that it possessed. It is extremely sensitive and humble as an elf, a type of kindness and empathy extremely rare in Tolkien's world. Also, as we all know, Maglor’s distinctive element was his love for music and singing, just like Lapras. Singing melodies was a way for him to unload his responsibilities and frustrations without fear of weighing on anyone. It was also his way of communicating when the words of his language were no longer enough to express the pain he felt. I am sure that seeing so much of himself in a Pokémon would give him an unparalleled relief.

Celegorm: Luxray

“Luxray are extremely fierce predators, but if trained properly, they can become very loyal and faithful enough to protect their Trainer in times of danger. However, if Luxray is overused, it can become antagonistic and vengeful towards its Trainer. Luxray require a lot of pity and praise to feel satisfied, as they are highly proud creatures.” While Celegorm's selfish and proud nature is a perfect fit for a Pokémon like Toxtricity (Low Forme), I believe it would be able to form an even deeper bond with a Luxray. Celegorm seeks loyalty, respect and courage in those around it, and in a Luxray, it would see a partner who shares these same values. Such a bond would be based on a mutual give and take, with shared affection and understanding. Together, they would grow and learn, sometimes making mistakes, but never judging each other for not being perfect. In the end, however, Luxray would reveal himself to be Huan's alter-ego in a new form: he would remain at Celegorm's side, even in death, but would not hesitate to turn his back on him if his actions starts to go against his moral principles. In this way, Luxray would not only be a companion in battle, but also a reflection of the certainties that Celegorm seeks so much, but which, like any loyalty, must be earned and respected.

Rog: Bastiodon

“Despite his aggressive appearance, Bastiodon has a shy and caring nature. Bastiodon will do anything to protect the little ones in the pack.” Don’t ask me why, but in my head their first meeting went something like this: they meet, a little Shieldon without a family sees him, Rog looks him up and down, the pokemon starts to follow him, Rog turns around, tells him to go away, continues walking on his way, but then turns around and finds him still behind. PLEASE THEY ARE PERFECT TOGETHER! Rog is cold, distrustful and lonely, his Bastiodon is shy and clingy. Rog needs to feel useful to someone, Bastiodon needs love and a home. They would work in the dark of the forges together every moment and when the elf started looking for a tool he needed, he would turn around and find it in the mouth of little Bastion, ready to be useful with a smile on his face. Needless to say, they would protect each other's lives.

Galdor: Torterra

“Torterra is a Pokémon that tends to be non-violent. It is calm and patient, and will not be upset even if a Pokémon nests on its back.” Torterra is a solid and powerful Pokémon that represents the strength of the earth and nature. It has a massive and serious appearance, with a figure that suggests resistance and stability. If Galdor needed a partner that symbolizes his determination and commitment to protecting others, Torterra would be an excellent choice. It is also an extremely peaceful and altruistic Pokémon. The Torterra shell is an ecosystem in itself, and often many small Pokémon build a nest on it and remain there for their entire lives, without incurring any anger from the host. “Interestingly, the shell is built in such a way that it can absorb any impacts, so even during battles, the Pokémon that live on them do not suffer any damage.” And then, come on, it has a tree on its shell! I can already imagine Galdor naming his house after his Pokémon.

Caranthir: Marowak

“After evolving, Marowak has overcome the pain it felt in the Cubone state of never seeing its mother. Its behavior has become ferocious and wild.” I honestly don't think I need to add anything else, the description speaks for itself.

Fingon: Lucario

“Lucario are considered proud creatures and are extremely loyal to their Trainer. Lucario also seem to have an innate sense of justice, and given their ability to read the thoughts and emotions of others, they only trust those who have a strong sense of justice.” In short, if we were to only consider these characteristics, Lucario would entrust its very life to Fingon. The relationship between the two would not only be that of allies, but of true soul mates. Lucario, thanks to its ability to perceive and understand the aura of people, would recognize in Fingon the sincerity of his intentions and his refusal to bend to fear or hatred. The elf's persevering and altruistic character is known to all, qualities that would offer him the opportunity to bond with one of the few Pokémon in all of Arda that refused human contact. Fingon, on the other hand, would appreciate Lucario's sense of unwavering loyalty and balance between strength and wisdom. He would see Lucario not only as an ally in battle, but as a companion with whom he could share his mission of building bridges between divided peoples, just as he had tried to do with the sons of Fëanor and the rest of his people. They would be each other’s guides.

[ghostygenetics]

can u draw them in tutus epically

day five. obviously, this is called "tutus".

[chasingbutterfliesintoeternity]

I’ve gotten into EPIC: The Musical lately and an idea came to me that really wanted to draw. Problem is I haven’t drawn anything in years so I decided to do a sketch dump to gauge my skills/do character studies. Anyways I liked this so much I decided to post it in case the actual idea never gets drawn. Stay tuned for more (or not).

[imsosocold]

Didn’t know there was an official Twitter account made for Yoshida

Get it ‘cause he’s contracted to the yaoi devil ‘cause he’s gay-

[cheriafreya]

done with Vereinsamt, holy fuck this was even better than the previous chapter 😭😭 don't think they'll ever surpass this whole arc (the prisoner in the cave - e lucevan le stelle - vereinsamt), it was so amazing, I have no words.

[coconut530]

CW: Flashing (and fire)

Matches: Nevermore

[richardsondavis]

The reason why some in the Devil May Cry fandom refer to the Switch ports as a travesty is because the dips in frames on handheld and the input lag (I'm assuming if docked and are using a Bluetooth controller) is a few frames then playing Devil May Cry, especially the third entry as how it's meant to be played i.e, like a fighting game, is very very bad when you're comboing till kingdom come and that's how it's meant to be played.

[hey-scully-itsme]

still thinking about the count of monte cristo movie. some of it felt half-baked on a technical level (score choices, some weird edits, etc) BUT also it hasn't left my head since i watched it and i WILL be seeing it again on wednesday. enraptured by the count's sad brown eyes and long eyelashes. and his dumbass leather coat.

it's a situation where i wish the movie had more of the book but i also wish the book had a little more of the movie in it.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

"normal" meaning "unquestionable" & the embrace of that cropping up anywhere such as an aim to be on the unquestionable side of a Normal / Weird binary, thus surely being a comfortable effortless indelible version of Good that stems from "just be normal"

ppl out here like freud 2.0 where well they had the sufficiently normal Nuclear Household family(tm) experience so they're sufficiently normal for it, versus the weirdos who had the Questionable family times so as to end up with Issues, surely unlike all those who are Family Issue free, i.e. normal, no question. like how also Going To School is Normal, so of course there's that idea that anyone who didn't go to school normal style or did but Did That Wrong are the people made Weirder with Issues. & when what's Normal is what's Good is what's Unquestionable it's like why would i need to question it when it's so normal? why wouldn't some rando asshole nepo man be Meritous & Good at business when he's so Successful at it. speaks for itself, same as Your role of being treated entirely differently does, this can't be questioned, blame it on your own failures; again how the supposedly "questionable" experiences (unlike other ones, which need no Legitimate questioning) are pathologized like. people talking about disabled ppl's lacking "social skills" being this meaningful Driver of ableism just like poor people's lacking "financial literacy" being that darn cause of classism & resource extraction, the already Questioned vulnerable [you're just doing it wrong / failing] people are the cause of their own mistreatment, Normal people who are so socially & financially successful are helpless, this victim blaming (can't question it. Normal) sure totally doesn't speak to abuse being "normal" as well

which, good thing abuse totally isn't Normal i.e. in the territory of unquestionable things (with, obviously, the idea that Abuse (Real abuse, if you like) must be Exceptional in addition to, if not to Really be, "obviously" questionable) since if something can't be questioned then surely it's also How Things Were In The Beginning, Are Now, & Ever Shall Be (catholic prayer paraphasing re: god, for referential context) & there's just nothing to do but invest in & play into it For Success & resent / punish / try to eliminate disruption, like people just existing but doing it Weird, c'mon, be a better person please, obviously....meanwhile people out here approaching queerness in a way that accepts & acts according to the unquestionable normal of abuse of queerness, such that oh the "abnormality" of being queer (that is, "normal" people's abuse in the face of awareness of queerness) is unquestionable, such that Oh No, investment in that abuse now & forever world without end amen, & now punching down on the people who are just Being Weird & Disrupting this embrace of the norm: radfems invested in "all bodies will be classed as men & women & the former abuse the latter" & hate women who already disrupt this premise; pointing out ace exclusionism as terf logic just applied in the different context where queer vs nonqueer binary is neatly detected just as the gender binary is & people who already prove that & the way it's defined is not the case are the real problems, infiltrating Unquestionable (Normal) Queerness & delegitimizing it i.e. being The Cause of e.g. homophobic abuse, which will also unquestionably exist, so if we're gonna blame someone as Needing To Change it'll have to be uhhh already also affected Weird people who are ruining things, they're the Real causes of this abuse, so they're basically men, basically cis, basically straight. boooo to trans ace bi pan aro nonbinary gnc people....hardest to be binary gender "same sex" "romantic" "visible" Truly Queer couple currently holding hands in public or in front of family, & it's You Mfs who make it harder, not, yknow, the people who were already always embracing & perpetuating the abuse bolstering Normal(tm) Cishet Just Being Normal. and of course don't forget going after poly people & others disrupting / not accepting premises about Unquestionable Relationship Structures/Requirements. so not just being normal

also the beloved concept broken out that, of course, Being Normal = Being Good, b/c hello, unquestionable?? where it's like meaningless ideas that abuse is Abnormal like ":( hurt people hurt people" (inherently a framing to counter any response to [person is hurting me] that's not silent secret sympathy forever i guess. nobody's using this catchphrase to argue for Hey Quick let's all intervene to stop someone being hurt, lest they go on to hurt anyone themselves) like & yet everyone is hurt, yet not everyone is doing shit where these arguments are broken out after they're already getting away with nonsense & we're telling others to just stop complaining, while also not everyone isn't getting shit on for being "disruptive" & perchance the real hurtful problems for trying to Stop being shitted on, or just have a little more breathing room to day to day live while it happens. everyone's hurt bitch let's get you some "what's the actual patterns & context of supported power imbalance made emergently evident by whose choices & life are constrained & undermined & made smaller" like. or the expanded idea as that well all abuse comes from Being abused, i.e. the Cycle, never mind that abuse is everywhere as per its being Normal, & nobody's intervening every time it manifests despite its supposed exceptionality thus rareness & supposed indication that someone's Being abused to cause it. just gotta roll with it, wow. & pathologize being victim to it, abuser in the making, Vulnerable People are dangerous, those insulated & given more access to systemically backed power in an oh so Normal way are surely oh so Safe as well. the very rich families are all lovely havens. the abused people are treated so well & embraced & supported by all the more Normal people they encounter, certainly not Also isolated, bullied, victim blamed by these Normal friends family coworkers new partners randos in public randos who are "professionals"

but yknow uh literally just be normal lol. aaand post. and like "lol being Anti Being Normal? just like a weirdo" like yeah of course. and what, i'm gonna try to win the heart & mind of someone like "of course you have blue hair & pronouns" & convert them, as would definitely happen if only all transgenderists were Normal about it? and the perspective of "what Unquestionable Good is ever actually coming from striving to get to point at Others as Weird" involves going like "nooo i wanna see myself & be seen as Just Being Normal" instead of like having ideas / arguments about how to be considerate towards people which can be articulated in any other way & involve effort & said consideration (ft. anything able to be questioned)

[plusultrachaos]

incisions itchy

[lesbiangiratina]

… there are 2 testament centric chapters id love to scan even just for my own enjoyment but the thought of taking these books apart makes me sad. Maybe if i just. Squish it down hard enough itll look okay. I just want to have new testament images

[dumplingcatho]

s2 warrior nun time!!!!!!! plssss i hope the show will wrap up in a somewhat satisfying way cryingg