#like i feel that is powerful enough in itself

[occamstfs]

Tailgating

Uptight Benji tries to force his way though rowdy tailgaters to get to work. How was he supposed to know the stupid game was such a big deal? Seems he’ll be learning in short order after having a beer or two to take the edge off.

Spin on one of my favorite older stories on here, also named Tailgating! Slightly shorter fratification, burps and personality changing sunglasses ahead! Also only a few days left to vote for the Talismen finale, there's a clear favorite but anything can happen! Enjoy this little ode to sweaty bodies and hoppy breath! -Occam

The roads around the campus library are closed for the big game, but Benjamin was still determined to host his Office hours. He knew there was some kind of football thing today but had no idea it was apparently the biggest of the year. Some bowl game or massive rivalry or something, He didn’t care- doesn’t and will never care, in fact . He’s done good work avoiding the jeering crowds of drunkards so far as he sneaks across campus. Nearing the home stretch however it’s clear there is no way around. He must somehow power through the horde.

Benji makes it a few good yards into the festivities unassailed, dodging elbows and spilled drinks like the best of them. Unfortunately the prudish academic takes time to grimace and sneer when one of the behemoths burps loud enough to make him flinch, pausing just long enough to become irrevocably caught in the chaos. 

Like an animal held by the scruff of its neck, Benjamin finds himself in the clutches of Bruiser, president of the school’s new Beta Delta Alpha chapter. “Yooo lil bro! What’s up? Looks like you’re not havin’ a good time?” Stuck in a meaty hand and between instincts of snide remarks and swift flight he opts for smarmy sarcasm, “Nono you bovine brute I’m having the time of my life on this commute.” Bruiser narrows his eyes, “hmmmm I dunno dude.”

Feeling the man’s sweaty, surely beer-covered palm soaking through his shirt he swats at it, “Ugh, the idea of work foreign to you hedonistic morons?” Bruiser’s lip twitches into a smile as he reaches to grab something with his free hand, “ohhh you’ve got work lil bro?” The hairs on the back of Benji’s neck stand on end as he feels something shift in the man’s expression and he tries to bolt away, Too Late.

Bruiser forces a massive mirrored visor onto Benji’s eyes and the prude freezes. His vision is shaded a dark burnt orange and his eyes scramble, the only remaining part he seems able to move himself. Bruiser releases his shoulder and pats his back, “Welcome to the party bro hahah!” Benji cannot see the man’s own eyes glimmering through his new visor, though as he leans in close all his senses are overwhelmed by how powerful the scent of beer is on his breath, “Here lil bro, let me help you chill out.” Despite disgust, despite fear, despite everything in him begging him to flee, the scent of beer on Bruiser’s thick breath fills him with an overwhelming thirst.

Benjamin doesn’t know how a tall boy ends up in his hand, but he can guess what is soon to happen when Bruiser turns to shout, “Yo bros! Lil Benj over here is gonna kill a tall boy in one gulp!” Through his tinted visor he sees the can raise to his lips, no one can see his eyes widen from fear as beer begins to pour into his mouth. Try as he might to slow the flow, to close his mouth, to not swallow he is totally unable to move. And then, his eyes lose focus for half as second, why would he want to stop drinking it?Did he like beer? As it continues to flow into his mouth he can’t imagine not liking it? ‘S pretty good. Despite his body willing itself through the can, in its paltry state he could never manage to drink this quickly. Rivulets of the swill spill out of his cheeks and down his jaw, staining the recently shaved upper lip and cheeks darker, a mustache never given the chance to thrive begins to sprout. Benji’s throat burns from the effort of racing to down the drink, through with each gasping swallow it becomes easier, more adept at performative drinking competitions, tight to the can his mouth widens into something cruder, made to be loud. And then he’s done

Tossing the can to the ground without a care Benjamin stands, swaying back slightly despite having only had the one drink. His hand pats his stomach and it jiggles slightly, the tall boy must be expanding in his stomach or something. He grimaces as it grumbles, his neck reflexively tenses as he feels a burp coming up. He can’t, no surely not- the glasses squeeze tighter on his head and he laughs once, wouldn’t it be funny though?

Bruiser watches with as smile as he sees the meek man’s torso begin to fill out as he fights the urge to burp. Beneath the visor his eyes surely go glassy as his midriff is exposed and soon enough covered by a treasure trail climbing up towards his chest. Buttons begin to pop from the beer-stained collar of his shirt as something a little less defined than pecs begin to hang on his chest. Impatient with the nerd’s hesitation, Bruiser steps in and pats the man on the back. 

With the slightest encouragement from his bro, er- from this frat bro, Benji lets loose. *BRGURRRP* It lasts a few seconds, it’s not alone *BUURRP* Immediately Benji’s mind returns and he again tries to take control of piloting the machine that is his body. His arms feel heavier as they hang limp from his shoulders, his neck falls back as from another back pat and the shouting of Bruiser he burps again, *BURRP* shorter, deeper. He feels his arms straining his sleeves and a gut that shouldn’t be there pushing against the buttons of his shirt.

Stains begin to make themselves clear in his pits as he grows sweaty from the effort of, drinking? Growing? Struggling to keep his mind? His declining mind accelerates as the smell of his own musk begins to assail his nose. He’s unable to fight the urge to laugh as a hand unfamiliar, clumsy and thick scratches into his pits. He has the clear memory of putting deodorant on his almost hairless pits this morning before leaving the house for, uh- surely not to come here right? 

No no, he had something to do. It’s Saturday. Usually on Saturdays he has work? “YO BENJ!” Bruiser shouts into his ear, “YOU WANT ANOTHER DRINK?” Benji nods wordlessly as whatever shred of himself is left in his mind tries to remember. Yeah he had work, it’s why he’s wearing this button up- He looks down to see a stained shirt, skin clearly peaking through a litany of tears through. He grumbles as his head hurts, he scratches at his itchy chest as it begins to pattern with hair. Suddenly his nose twitches as he smells something. 

Grimacing at the stink he moves to smell his own pits and laughs once more, unaware he’s caught himself in some perverse feedback loop. Man though, he would’ve sworn he sprayed some axe before heading out? He scratches his chin with his pit-sweat covered fingers as he remembers sniffing them at the house and flinching before spraying the forests with at least a few coats. Yeah he’d never leave for, uhh- looking down he sees the shirt has now completely shredded off, leaving him topless as his beer gut continues to fill out and shift 

His once waifish treasure trail spreads to cover his thickening waist as he grows a beer belly that makes it clear this is not his first rodeo. Looking down at his meatier torso his mouth falls open as his struggling mind grinds slower, he’s not- this isn’t him. His body rocks as Bruiser returns and throws an arm around him, “Sorry it took so long BJ- You know how it be huhuh! Had to show a couple bitches who was boss!” 

Benj reflexively raises a fist to bump his bro, discarding a bottle he can’t remember downing to do so, nor does he realize that he seems to be in control of his body once more. Scratching at his crotch he goes to grab the drink Bruiser brought him and he remembers he can always ask his main bro what’s up, “Yo uhhhh, Bruise? Did I have somethin’ tah do today?” Bruiser smirks as he hears the man’s plodding, clearly thoughtless voice, “Fuckin’ yeah bro! You had to show those fuckers who’s boss!”

BJ stares mouth ajar for a few seconds as his existence recontextualizes itself. Sure he’s a student but C’s get degrees huhuh, Bruise’ll have a job for him at his dad’s firm when he graduates anyway. The new tank’s mouth grows into a wide smirk as he remembers that the only thing college is about is having a blast. “YEAH DUDE!” All eyes turn as the man’s new voice tears through the tailgate party, “LET’S SHOW THOSE BITCHES WHAT A REAL FOOTBALL TEAM LOOKS LIKE!” Foam sloshes out of his cup as he raises it in the air, before pouring it on himself and shouting some more.

His resounding cheers are echoed by the crowd of people around him, many almost spitting images of himself and Bruiser. Burly beer soaked men guffawing and toned men only concerned with vanity muscles, all drowning themselves in jungle juice until the game starts. Most frats on campus have sororities over for the shindigs but not the ΒΔΑ guys, no their quarry is all those fuckers who think they’re too good to have a good time. BJ smirks as any prior desires are completely paved over by the idea of molding some pansy little fucker into a real man, just like him, just like his pres.

Indeed he and Bruiser go about the crowd like predators, hungrily seeking out people who were harangued to come to the game. Offering wallflowers drinks and watching as their hair bleaches platinum, pecs bursting through newly bought faux jersey’s. Giving frat-thirsty twinks a chance to become their quarry sweat stained sunglasses and delighting as they fill crop tops to bursting, new furry bellies and hairy below the belt bulges making their intentions clear for all.

 In no time at all Bruiser has a platoon of brother’s behind him, all suddenly excited for the game and otherwise finding the newly stubbled mouths of their fellow brothers. The president’s eyes scan the rowdy crowd around him with glee, excited to sample his new brothers after the game, but none is he more excited to ravish than his new number two, BJ.

When kick off nears he bumps his new brother on the shoulder, the same he clutched when the fucker thought his prissy little job was important. “Yo bro, game’s about to start- Let’s head on in-” BJ’s glassy eyes wrinkle with a smile as he begins to stumble alongside his bro, excited to watch his team stomp. Excited to just watch another game. “LET’S FUCKIN’ GO BRO!” His drunken voice dull and louder than he could dream to near before meeting Bruiser

Even as Brusier clutches his ass his mind stays focused on the upcoming game, though his cock bulges in his shorts either way. His own hand clutches at his bro’s defined waist. God it’s been like a decade since the last rivalry game, and to watch it right by his Bruiser. Man, BJ wouldn't miss this for the world. 

[24galaxies]

My Home

Story line:- Azriel is sitting next to Elain as you sit by the fireplace reading. You’ve been staying with Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand for the past two months in Velaris. You’re a mortal but Rhysand says you have different abilities that no mortal should be able to have. For example, winnowing or teleporting. Azriel is in love with Elain Archeron even though Elain already has a mate.

Azriel x Reader

The crackling of the fireplace was the only sound that filled the sitting room. It should’ve been comforting—warmth wrapping around me like a favorite blanket—but tonight, it felt oppressive. Maybe it was because of him.

Azriel sat across from me, his form sharp and precise in the soft firelight, every inch of him exuding the kind of quiet power that left me breathless. As usual, his focus wasn’t on me. He was next to her—Elain Archeron. The golden one. The one with a mate.

I closed my book for the third time in as many minutes, unable to focus with the two of them so close. It wasn’t that they were doing anything inappropriate—Azriel wouldn’t, and Elain…well, she didn’t seem to notice his lingering looks. But I noticed. I always noticed.

I hated how it made me feel. A bitterness that lodged itself in my chest, turning my heart into something small and sharp. I wanted to tell myself it didn’t matter, that Azriel could love Elain if he wanted. But it wasn’t just love. It was something deeper. Something quieter.

And that made it worse.

I stole another glance, careful to keep my movements subtle. Elain was speaking to him, her voice soft and melodic. Whatever she said made Azriel smile—not a big, broad grin like Cassian’s, but a small, fleeting thing. I hated that I wanted to be the one to pull that smile from him.

“Y/N.”

The sound of my name snapped me out of my thoughts, and I looked up to find Azriel’s hazel eyes locked onto mine. My heart skipped, the intensity of his gaze startling me.

“You’re frowning,” he said, his voice low.

I blinked, scrambling to compose myself. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he insisted, tilting his head slightly. “Something wrong?”

It wasn’t fair. That look, that tone—like he cared. Like I was more than just a mortal girl who happened to land in their world.

“No,” I lied, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

His gaze lingered, like he didn’t quite believe me, but then Elain spoke again, drawing his attention back to her.

And just like that, I was invisible again.

I didn’t stay in the room much longer. The fire was too warm, the tension too thick, and I needed air. Slipping outside, I welcomed the crisp night breeze that kissed my skin. Velaris was beautiful at night, the stars scattered across the sky like shards of silver.

It had been two months since I arrived here, and I still wasn’t sure if I belonged. Rhysand had insisted I was special, though I wasn’t sure what that meant. Mortals didn’t winnow, didn’t teleport from one place to another in the blink of an eye, but somehow I could. And no one—not even the High Lord himself—could explain why.

I let out a sigh, rubbing my arms as I wandered the gardens. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. Maybe I should’ve stayed in my world, where things were simple and I wasn’t caught up in…this.

The sound of footsteps startled me, and I turned to see Azriel standing a few feet away.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady.

I shook my head, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened at the sight of him. “Just needed some air.”

He didn’t move closer, but his presence alone was enough to fill the space between us. “You left in a hurry earlier.”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Interrupt what?”

I glanced at him, biting my lip. “You and Elain.”

Something shifted in his expression—subtle but there. His shadows swirled around him, their movements restless.

“Elain and I…” He trailed off, as if searching for the right words. “It’s not what you think.”

“Really?” I challenged, folding my arms. “Because it looks pretty clear to me.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I cared for her. That she could be—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter.”

I stepped closer, my chest tightening. “It does matter. You can’t just…pretend it doesn’t.”

Azriel’s gaze snapped to mine, sharp and intense. “Why do you care?”

The question caught me off guard, and I opened my mouth to respond, only to realize I didn’t have an answer I was ready to give.

“Forget it,” I muttered, turning away. “Goodnight, Azriel.”

I didn’t look back as I walked away, but I could feel his gaze burning into my back.

The tension between us only grew after that night. Azriel kept his distance, but there were moments—fleeting glances, accidental touches—that left my heart racing. It was maddening, this dance we were trapped in.

It wasn’t until Cassian suggested sparring that I found an outlet for my frustration. The training yard became my escape, a place where I could channel all the emotions swirling inside me.

“You’re getting better,” Cassian said, blocking my latest strike with a grin. “But you still telegraph your moves.”

I rolled my eyes, adjusting my stance. “Maybe you’re just predictable.”

Cassian laughed, lunging at me with renewed vigor. I barely managed to dodge his attack, stumbling as I tried to regain my footing.

“Careful,” he teased, winking. “Wouldn’t want Azriel to think I broke you.”

My cheeks flushed, and I glared at him. “Shut up, Cassian.”

“Make me,” he challenged, his grin widening.

Before I could respond, a voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Enough.”

Cassian and I both turned to see Azriel standing at the edge of the yard, his expression unreadable but his tone leaving no room for argument.

Cassian raised his hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll leave you two alone.” He shot me a knowing look before sauntering off, and I resisted the urge to throw my sword at him.

Azriel approached slowly, his wings tucked tightly against his back. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said, brushing the dirt off my clothes.

He didn’t look convinced. “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard.”

“I can handle it,” I snapped, more sharply than I intended.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he took a step closer, his voice softening. “I know you can. But you don’t have to prove anything to me.”

My breath caught, his words hitting me harder than they should’ve.

“Why do you care?” I asked, echoing his question from that night in the garden.

Azriel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped even closer, his hazel eyes locking onto mine.

“Because I see you,” he said quietly. “Even when you think no one else does.”

My chest tightened, and I opened my mouth to respond, but he closed the distance between us before I could say anything. His hand cupped my cheek, his touch warm and grounding, and then his lips were on mine.

The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, but it quickly deepened, years of longing and restraint breaking like a dam. His shadows swirled around us, cocooning us in a world that was just ours.

When we finally pulled apart, Azriel rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my skin.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he whispered. “I was afraid.”

I smiled, my hands tangling in the fabric of his shirt. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

For the first time since arriving in Velaris, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Over the next few weeks, everything shifted. Azriel and I found a rhythm, a quiet understanding that didn’t need words. He still had his shadows, his secrets, but he let me in, piece by piece.

Elain…she seemed to understand, too. There was no bitterness, no resentment—only a quiet acceptance that made me respect her even more.

As for me, I finally started to feel like I belonged. Rhysand’s court wasn’t just a place; it was a family, one I was proud to be part of.

And Azriel?

He was My Home.

[corvus-frugilegus]

The real tragedy of the Dellamortes is how inevitable Illario's betrayal was.

Caterina's refusal to really see either of her grandsons for who they are sets all three of them on this path. Lucanis's mother was Caterina's favourite, she was probably the person Caterina had in mind to succeed her. That loss, the loss of so much of Caterina's legacy had to have been devastating. She'd built so much and it was all torn away in a single conflict. All she has left in the wake of it is two young boys and this tenacity that will not allow her to give up on what she's built.

So she puts it all on Lucanis. The son of her favourite (bonus angst if he looks like his mother). She's unable to see this sweet boy who loves wyverns and just had his life ripped apart for who he is. She just see's her legacy. The daughter she lost. She puts it all into him, he's pushed into the role of favourite.

Lucanis responds to this by shoving down the parts of himself she doesn't want to see- his gentle heart, his love of wyverns, the little boy who needs to be loved. If he's good enough, strong enough, the perfect crow, the perfect granson- then and only then will she love him, will he be safe.

And then you have Illario! There isn't as much to go on in the text about his family or what he was like as a boy but there's a few things we can pretty confidently infer. Like Lucanis, Illario violently loses everything he has at a very young age. All he has left are the other two Dellamorte's.

But he isn't the child of Caterina's favourite. She isn't automatically putting all of her legacy on his shoulders the way she does Lucanis. He still gets the training, and what we do see in the wigmaker job and the wake and even in the codex entires in the game is that Illario does become a comptent and capable crow. He has a level of skill that I suspect is broadly expected of house Dellamorte, he was trained by the first talon herself. But the Illario we meet as an adult has this laissez-faire affect and presents himself as a seducer and a bit of a peakcock. He also very overtly refers to himself as Dellamorte-the-lesser and at the end of the wigmaker job when they're discussing the title of first talon you can feel the resentment below the surface.

For Illario it's not about the power and the prestige that comes from the title of first talon. It's not even about having the title itself. It's about FINALLY earning Caterina's love and respect. Things he undoubtly never felt as a boy.

How could he? When he's a child the only two people he has left in the world have this special bond that he never gets to be a part of. His only caretaker has a clear favourite and she shows it. He's lived his whole life in Lucanis's shadow, and a shadow that Lucanis never wanted to cast! Which if anything just adds insult to injury for Illario.

Lucanis has everything Illario wants and he doesn't even want it.

I imagine as a boy Illario tries SO HARD to win her love, her favour, he'll do anything to feel like he's loved and wanted and valued. And when after YEARS it doesn't work even though Lucanis clearly doesn't want the role he's been forced into? Illario gets resentful, he gets angry, he starts acting up. He becomes the suave peacock, the grandson who fucks up sometimes- probably not because he's bad at being a crow but because at least Caterina's ire is attention. It's a scrap of love.

Illario and Lucanis love each other. They're brothers. Illario resents Lucanis for being loved and favoured. Lucanis wants nothing more than to give it all to Illario. Illario doesn't want that he wants Caterina to love him on his own merit. At the same time (pre-inner demons) Lucanis will never actually give the title up because it means he's loved, he's valued, he matters.

The title of first talon has been synonymous with emotional safety and love for these two for their entire lives, and it's twisted them up so badly.

The real irony of it all is that this whole time Illario is so much more like the person Caterina wants Lucanis to be. Her heir, the Dellamorte best suited to be the next first talon has been right there infront of her all along, but she's so caught up in grief and legacy she misses it. She never really see's either of her grandsons for who they are.

I actually suspect that when it all comes to light, even though she's furious with him, Caterina finally starts to see what she's been overlooking in Illario all along. And Lucanis who's started to heal... well I think she's starting to see him too, and the truth of who he is is something she'll struggle to face.

When the day finally comes that Lucanis tells her he doesn't want the job, when him and Illario both accept that their lives have meaning outside of Caterina's opinion of them, is the day that the Dellamorte's can maybe start to really see each other.

[raguonmynieceandnephew]

The Hell of Wait

Imagine this: You are the Queen of Ithaca. You gave birth at most like 5 months ago and your husband is gone to fight a war. You are now to raise this kid by yourself. The war itself takes ten years. You get the news he won, and the other kings are back in their homes, but yours is still there. He probably died. Now you have to entertain suitors who believe he and all the 600 men he took to war died and they turn out to be the a gang of assholes that pester you and your son. You wait.

You and your mother in law still believe he will come but he takes so fucking long she dies of a broken heart. You keep waiting.

You are forced to keep serving the suitors, forced to spend stupid amounts of money everyday on food and wine, throw banquets, parties, allow your home to be desecrated and is forced to house the freeloaders, no matter how much unsufferable they are, because of divine law. And you can't even complain because said divine law is the only thing that protects you from them aswell, at least for now, but you know it's only for a while. They are dangerous power hungry monsters, led by a fucking sociopath who bullies your teenage son and jokingly threatens to SA you on a daily basis, and he is so bold he does it to your son's face. Still you wait, no matter how much it hurts, you wait.

Yes, you know Zeus will punish them if they do anything, but the punishment means the crime has already been committed, so you are fucked either way. The safest thing to do would give in, but you refuse. Instead you risk your life and plot a whole scheme to fool those men and buy time for his arrival, if he's still even alive. Night after night you unthread that shroud, knowing that if any of them see you do it you are done for (ayyy). But you do it because you have faith, and you prefer to suffer the consequences that forsake the man you love. You choose to wait some more

The day you feared the most finally arrives, you have to pick and there's no running from it anymore, but you still find a way to buy more time, even if it's a few more days: The Challenge. String a bow, shoot an arrow through some axes and voilá. Perfect plan, doable enough so they can't question it but hard enough so they won't be able to do it. It works, but now the suitors are pissed and are about to raid the castle. It's over. But still, you remain waiting. if that's the last day of your life, you will spend it steadfast, unbroken, unwaivering. Waiting.

I love this part, not only because it's beatiful, but because we see that she is fucking pissed. She is very fucking angry at all she's been through these goddamn 20 years. Miraculously your husband arrives just in time, and deals with the situation, the wait has paid off, You can finally see the man you love after 20 years, you can finally RELAX and the first thing he does is fix his lips to question your love? Shit, i'd be fucking pissed too!

And i love how Ody gets angry at the bed thing but instantly recognizes her feelings when she claps back and he just pipes down and shuts up. He recognizes that he might be just a man, but she is just a woman too. She was fighting monsters and storms of her own, and she knows that if he went through half of what she's been through (and she can see he's been through A LOT) and fought as hard as she did for their love, then it doesn't matter what horrible things he has done, cause if she was in his shoes, she'd do 10x worse.

I fucking love this damn musical.

[choc-ice-on-wheels]

Humor me but I was trying to explain to my friend about how it feels to enjoy trains. Even as a novice I cannot help but romanticize them and wanted my friend to see through the mind of an engine or how I imagine an engine sees itself.

Imagine being so strong and nothing can really hurt you. You’re in a perfectly safe space made just for YOU (the rails) And your job is to go FAST as fast as you were made to be. Or to be strong and to be as strong as you were made to be. You were made to be fast and strong! There was intention in your design. Science, engineering, something real, something you aren’t taught to believe in the walls of a church. Power you can touch, see, and feel. You are imagination made real!

A person has to live under constraints and social pressure. And although you were made for people, their rules that restrict you like speed restrictions or what color you must be painted will never eclipse the truth of what you are and what you were meant to be.

Imagine being a thing built to work and LOVING to work and WANTING to work and when you’re tired, there are people who will fix you and you pay them with your work which also pays you! You are compensated by your mere existence and your usage! And people tell you you’re marvelous and strong and beautiful and it’s true because you are!

It’s like!!! Living an absolute perfect truth. And when you’re speeding down the track whistling as loud as you can for you’re meant to be loud and going as fast as you can because that’s what you’re meant to do; when you’re doing that, you’re living in perfect happiness.

The happiest one could ever be! No biological desire no concept of denying yourself your ultimate calling. Just doing what you’re made to do and loving it unconditionally. And being praised for it and never needing money because it means nothing to you! Incredible.

I just think it would be the most amazing feeling ever. But also!The saddest feeling to be broken! To be unused and waiting in a museum or a siding or a scrapyard. To be told you’re useless. To be melted down for some unknown purpose and to never feel the wind across your frames again and to never scream at your highest pitch that you’re alive and you’re loud enough to drown out the rest of the world! To be silent and only to take up space until you are removed from the beautiful rails and destroyed.

To no longer be what you were made to be. So cold you crack and rust away. And people only speak of your glory in past tense and blame you for things you couldn’t control.

Didn’t I do a good job?

Didn’t I pull? Didn’t I push trucks around nicely? Didn’t you get to where you needed to go? Did I ever treat your destinations as unimportant? Did I ever ask you to justify the direction I took you in? All I ever asked was to be what I was meant to be.

Now you say I’m too expensive. That I take up space. That no one will take care of me anymore. That I’m bad for the Earth I was made from and the living things on it I was made for. Why is this my fault?

Why is any of this my fault? When you made me this way?

Didn’t you benefit from what it took to give me power? Weren’t we all working together? I’m not sorry. I’m just sad.

So many times that came that never had to. So much work left undone. If I were an engine with my life cut short, how I’d cry over the loss of what could have been!

But no one would hear me. I can only be heard when I’m doing what I was made for. My truth only can be spoken when I’m given a voice.

I don’t know! I think trains are neat.

[sinister-sincerely]

hi sin... :3c ... >:3c

we care youuuuuuu 💜💜💜

much sillies!! & much lovely art!! from @midnight-mourning @luckyyyduckyyy @soupdweller @wyervan & i, for you!!! 🫵

we hope that you are doing well! and that you are taking care, giving yourself grace through the highs & lows alike. it's not always easy, but you're not alone. hopefully this gets a laugh for ya to enjoy 💜

& in the future, if you'd like to draw together, or simply chill ambiently... the offer is always open!

... In full disclosure this took me a wretched amount of time to pull myself together to actually respond to.

(Its a long one, just a heads up. I do think its worth it though)

To say I was floored~ moved~ touched~ The words pale in comparison.

I believe the saying that a measure of someone being a good person is how they treat those that can do nothing for them.

And here I am, a stranger, being shown a kindness that I am not so sure I deserve but am grateful nonetheless.

To think that anyone, let alone all of you, amazing writers, artists, … people I respect and admire thought of me for even a moment to do something like this.

Depression- it holds me back a lot of the time.

It convinces me, like I am sure it does MANY of those readin' this, that your absence in this community, in this world, would not be felt.

There is a reason that I am a part of this community.

Its because it has a way of pulling together some of the most wonderful people I have ever had the pleasure of getting to know.

Now. I wanna return some of that kindness and talk specifically about the ones that pulled together to do this for me. (And also a few that are never far from my mind too)

@divinit3a

You are one of the only people I know that can just be there and your presence felt. Charismatic in the most brilliant way, I love the way your personality shines through everything you interact with (whether that be your writing or something as simple as a Tumblr post)

There is a reason that when you entered the community that people were drawn to you. You have an ability that is both captivating as it is striking in how powerful that magnetism is.

I am so grateful I get to know you, and I am so excited to see what else you create whether that be in this community or elsewhere.

I will always be a supporter, a fan, and most importantly a friend.

Read their stuff!

@midnight-mourning

Sometimes I get caught up in the fact I actually get to speak with the person who has wrote one of my favorite works on AO3.

I first stumbled upon your fic the day it was published and immediately fell in love with the snarky depiction of Sun (and the beautiful mysterious Moon) that you created in a world that has so much more left to be uncovered.

You manage to balance your life along side updating which in of itself seems like such a superpower that I envy to the core.

You also floored me with the kindness you've shown through out us chatting back and forth. Sometimes I feel just in awe that I can say we know eachother…

@luckyyyduckyyy

Talk about someone I've been actively following for awhile- Lucky, your ANE fanfic was one of the very first I read when stumbling upon the DCA community! It inspired me to take a chance at writing myself and posting it for the first time.

If I hadn't come across you- well, I wouldn't be here now… How do you even begin to pay that back?

I have no idea how I can thank you enough for doing that for me, let alone thank you for doing the above for me…

Its my hope that I get to continue to be friends with you, learn more from you and maybe one day manage to give back a fraction of what you've given me…

@soupdweller

AHH! Hi! So- I have no words but thank you.

I've admired your art for a very VERY long time and its such a cool, (and a bit) intimidating (but in a good way) gesture to have this coming from you too.

Your rendering is beautiful.

The way you laid out the DCA's internals still give me steampunk vibes in the BEST way with the colour palette~ I can gush forever but I also wanna seem cool and somewhat mysterious in that 'kinda quiet way'…

… I'll cut that out for now ^^

on a serious note, thank you, you don't know me very well but you still did this and what I mentioned before about the measure of being a good person- that describes you.

@wyervan

… Would it be weird for me to say that anytime I think of the DCA as humans I can't for the life of me not picture the AU forms that you created that has single handedly metamorphosized into a community Slasher Y/N multiverse?

That is an amazing talent, I am just in awe at what you've managed to not only do, but also how you've brought so many people together!

I have so much to say, and yet I don't wanna put my foot in my mouth by actually following through with the amount of admiration I wanna express.

Thank you for taking part in this for me, we don't really know each-other much just yet but I hope that changes. You seem like such an amazing person, I'd love to gossip about skinny, scrawny, somewhat unhinged guys with you sometime.

-

I have a few people I wanna shout out too

@amarynthian-chronicles:

Thank you for always supporting me, even when I don't think I deserve it. You've been an amazing person to me, and I hope I get more opportunities to return the favor

@gniteruirui

Gosh. You've been such a beautiful person to get to know this past year or so. Your artwork gives me life, and seeing your name pop up in all the ways it does makes me smile.

@lets-zofifi-stuff

I hope you continue to have more good days vs bad- I hope the sun shines on you and you always find random luck whenever its needed.

You were one of the first people I made friends with here on Tumblr… I may have also looked back and saw that you even made a post about me when I left Tumblr the first time.

@bubbiethesaur

I don't have enough words to express how much I adore you for just being you. Thank you, I hope I can be a friend that deserves you.

I just wanted to tag you- You are so talented, wonderful, and kind.

Something about you just makes me smile whenever I see your username come up. I've always wanted to get closer to you, friendship wise, but I also get scared because you're so cool.

I've been working on it.

Just know that our conversations in Qwille's discord have always been some of my favorite moments in this community.

@maldefekt

Thank you for reaching out to me- even that most recent time when you saved me from something I know would have haunted me forever!

I am looking forward to getting to know you more

[namelessprayers]

cheng xiaoshi doesn't have a poet's soul and he isn't particularly romantic about anything, but he knows love and he knows grief, and he also knows that he has the soul of a photographer if nothing else; which is to say that he tries to hit pause in every moment, to savor it and appreciate the life as it goes, as it is then and after.

though, the point of the picture is rooted in sentiment, so maybe that is slightly romantic, and whatever the original message was is often intended to withstand or change itself over the course of time, which is poetic to some degree if he really thinks about it.

how intentionally that all is a part of the craft, cheng xiaoshi isn't too aware of, but he sees it in a way, when the light falls just right on an old memory and properly brings it to life. it's different to lu guang's powers, it's simply a biproduct of the process, of what it means to be a photographer. the camera both purposefully and accidentally takes a piece of the subject and engrains it as something greater than what fleeting value it once had while accentuating what already existed.

with a soul so intrinsically bound to photography, cheng xiaoshi would think it obvious that love and grief are both tied into the art form, specifically in relation to his own work, and yet, lu guang fails to get the message. but, to his credit, he at least understands that the grievances they have after certain jobs are best combatted through constant photography for cheng xiaoshi.

around those rough patches, lu guang allows cheng xiaoshi to take as many pictures of him as he wants, just to help alleviate the nightmares or the lingering feelings from the client that makes the shake of cheng xiaoshi's hands just a little too troubling.

but, the fact is, the majority of times that cheng xiaoshi wants to frame lu guang's face in the lens of the camera, it's not driven by a sense of grief or by a need of distraction. it's love, such clear affection, placed in the photo because it's too much to handle. it's also a given that the love there is partially fueled by the grief of knowing lu guang won't always be there, and there's a huge chance that if he ever died, cheng xiaoshi wouldn't be able to handle it.

the pictures are keepsakes, memory banks, some sort of manifestation of existing and anticipatory grief; although, cheng xiaoshi argues that it's all related back to love, not just for the craft, specifically for lu guang.

cheng xiaoshi is pretty sure he dangles the answers in front of lu guang's face every single day. he never says 'i love you' outright, but it should be conveyed clearly enough in the physical proof, the touches and the photos. he isn't sure why it is, frustratingly and almost laughably predictably, that lu guang doesn't seem to get the message even after all this time spent doing it.

still, cheng xiaoshi's content to hand lu guang album after photo album with dozens of shots, each one a testament to something different he loves about this life, most especially pertaining to lu guang's presence in it. one day, he hopes the meaning will finally be conveyed the way he intends it to be given, quietly, like something fatefully clicking into place.

but for now, cheng xiaoshi assumes they have all the time in the world just as they've always had before; so why rush it?

[charliepoopyfart]

Hellooo I’m still very new to fanfiction but this is kinda a prequel to my viktor x goddess reader. Can also be read as a standalone.

———

The ambient hum of Viktor's laboratory was comforting in its familiarity. The rhythmic clinking of glassware, the occasional whirr of machinery, and the faint scent of oil and metal surrounded him as he worked. He leaned over his latest creation, the soft glow of hextech crystals reflecting in his sharp eyes.

He was so focused he didn’t notice the sudden shift in the room—the air itself seemed to tremble, growing heavier with a strange warmth. A shimmer of golden light materialized behind him, growing brighter until a voice, soft yet commanding, broke the stillness.

“Viktor.”

Startled, Viktor turned, his cane scraping against the floor as he steadied himself. His breath hitched as he took in the figure before him.

You.

You stood there, otherworldly in your radiance. The glow that surrounded you was like the soft light of dawn, and your very presence seemed to make the lab’s artificial lighting pale in comparison. Your eyes, deep as the cosmos, held a gaze that pierced into the soul.

“My lady,” Viktor said, bowing his head slightly, his voice reverent. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

Despite his composed demeanor, his heart raced. It wasn’t every day a goddess descended into the realm of mortals, let alone into his humble workshop. And yet, this wasn’t the first time you had appeared before him.

You had always been fascinated by mortals—by their ingenuity, their fragility, their persistence. Viktor, in particular, intrigued you. His brilliance, his unwavering determination, and the glint of hope in his amber eyes set him apart. Over time, what began as curiosity had grown into something far more profound, though you hadn’t intended it to.

Tonight, you had resolved to tell him.

“I…” You hesitated, an unusual thing for a goddess who had commanded storms and shaped mountains. But emotions, raw and unpredictable, were not something you wielded with ease.

“I have come to tell you something important.” You stepped closer, the glow surrounding you softening, becoming warmer. “Something I had not anticipated.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering in his eyes. “Is there a threat? Something I should prepare for?”

You shook your head, a small smile gracing your lips. “No, nothing of the sort. It is… something far more personal.”

He tilted his head, curiosity replacing concern. “Personal?”

You took another step forward, close enough now that he could see the faint shimmer of stardust on your skin, the way your eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies. “Viktor, in all my years, I have watched mortals from afar. I have admired their strength, their creativity, their resilience. But never have I…” You paused, searching for the right words.

“Never have I cared for one as I care for you.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Viktor’s eyes widened, his normally sharp mind momentarily failing him.

“You… care for me?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your expression softening. “More than that. Against all logic, against the very nature of what I am, I find myself drawn to you, Viktor. Not just as a mortal with remarkable intellect, but as a man. I—” You faltered, your divine composure cracking ever so slightly. “I love you.”

Viktor stared at you, his mind racing. He had spent years immersed in his work, believing that the pursuit of knowledge and progress was his sole purpose. Love had been a luxury, one he had thought beyond his reach.

And yet, here you were—a being of unimaginable power, confessing feelings he had never dared to consider.

“I…” He began, his voice unsteady. “My lady, you honor me beyond measure. But I am… flawed. Mortal. You could have anyone—anything—why would you choose me?”

You stepped even closer, close enough to touch. Tentatively, you reached out, your hand brushing against his cheek. The warmth of your touch sent a shiver down his spine.

“Because,” you said, your voice soft but resolute, “it is not your perfection I admire, but your humanity. Your determination, your kindness, your brilliance—all of it. You have shown me a beauty I never thought to find among mortals.”

Viktor’s throat tightened, and he found himself leaning into your touch. For a moment, the weight of his cane, his failing body, his insecurities—all of it faded away.

“If you are certain…” he murmured, his voice trembling. “Then I am yours.”

A radiant smile broke across your face, and for the first time in centuries, you felt truly mortal in the best possible way. You leaned in, your forehead resting against his, and whispered, “As I am yours, Viktor.”

The lab, with its cold machinery and faint hums, seemed to fade away. In that moment, it was just the two of you—a goddess and a mortal, bound by a love that defied logic and transcended worlds.

[aesthetically-dying101]

The Crimson Throne

Act 5- Beneath the Crimson Sky

A/N: i made an attempt to write a battle scene and the results are... meh? I think its not my greatest work but HEY! it gets better

Act 1, Act 2, Act 3, Act 4

The battle had turned into a hurricane of chaos. Sukuna’s throne room, a symbol of his reign and power, now looked like a warzone.

Shattered stone, charred walls, and the acrid scent of cursed energy hung thick in the air. Sukuna himself was a storm at the center of it all, his crimson eyes blazing as his claws tore through the mutineers with ruthless efficiency. His loyalists—what few remained—fought valiantly, but the sheer number of traitors was overwhelming.

Jogo, battered and scorched, hurled another fireball into a cluster of curses only to be countered by an ice-wielding mutineer. Yorozu’s shadowy form twisted and contorted, locking down three curses at once, but even she was beginning to falter under the onslaught.

Sukuna, snarling in rage, lashed out at another wave of attackers. His claws slashed through cursed bodies like paper, and his cursed energy radiated in powerful bursts, but it was clear he was holding back. His energy reserves were thinning. He couldn’t use his Domain Expansion—not now, not with this many enemies. He’d need to conserve every ounce of strength to survive this mutiny.

But even the King of Curses could feel the tide beginning to turn.

*-*

You had tried to stay out of it. You really had. The fight wasn’t yours to fight, not really. You were human, and no amount of stubbornness or cursed energy was going to change that. But then you saw it—the mutineers targeting the humans. The cooks, the attendants, even the stable hands.

You’d seen the flash of claws, the spray of blood. And it was enough to make your decision for you.

You didn’t even remember stepping into the fight, not fully. Your body moved on instinct, driven by something primal, something that screamed at you to protect the lives Sukuna’s rule had allowed to continue. Your hands burned with cursed energy as it surged to life, unbidden, growing, twisting, reaching.

The first curse that lunged at you never even made it within striking distance. Vines erupted from the ground beneath it, sharp thorns wrapping around its legs, binding it in place. It screeched, thrashing, but the vines only tightened until it was nothing but a shriveled husk.

You stared at your hands, at the green glow of cursed energy that pulsed through them, and something clicked. You didn’t understand it—not fully—but it didn’t matter. The energy answered to you, and you weren’t going to waste it.

Another curse charged, claws aimed straight for your throat. You ducked, sliding to the side, and as you did, roses bloomed in its path. Not harmless flowers, but crimson blossoms with razor-sharp petals. The curse screamed as it stumbled into the blooms, its body shredded to ribbons.

You moved without thinking, weaving through the chaos of the battle. Wherever you stepped, plants grew—deadly vines, thorn-covered roses, towering stalks that crushed curses beneath their weight. It was as if the palace itself had come alive, fighting alongside you.

Sukuna noticed you, of course.

He always did.

Even in the chaos, even as his claws tore through another mutineer, his eyes flicked to you. His little flower, standing amidst the storm, wielding cursed energy with a ferocity he hadn’t expected. His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

He didn’t say anything—didn’t have the time—but there was a flicker of something in his gaze as he turned back to the fray.

Respect? No, it was something darker, something more complicated.

Uraume, bleeding but unyielding, found you amidst the chaos. Their voice was sharp as they deflected an attack aimed at your back.

“What are you doing?” they snapped, their cursed energy slicing through the attacker. “You’re human, you shouldn’t—”

“I don’t care!” you shouted back, your hands glowing as another wave of cursed energy erupted from your palms. Vines shot forward, ensnaring two more curses. “I’m not just going to stand here while people die!”

Uraume didn’t have a chance to argue. Another group of mutineers surged forward, forcing both of you to fight.

The air was thick with the stench of blood and cursed energy, the sound of cracking stone and wailing curses reverberating through the throne room. The battle raged on, an uncontrollable storm of violence and chaos. The mutineers pressed forward in relentless waves, their hunger for rebellion fueled by desperation. Sukuna, Uraume, and you were the last line of defense, each of you holding your ground, even as the odds continued to stack against you.

Sukuna’s claws sliced through the air with inhuman precision, each swipe cutting down curses in seconds. His power was undeniable, his ferocity unmatched—but even he couldn’t hold back an entire army forever. You could see it in his eyes, the faintest flicker of exhaustion. His cursed energy, though vast and potent, was beginning to ebb, depleted by the sheer number of enemies surrounding him.

Beside you, Uraume was a storm in their own right. They danced through the chaos with deadly grace, their cursed techniques sharp and unforgiving. Their movements were fluid, almost beautiful, but even they could feel the weight of the battle pressing down on them.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could last.

Your cursed energy, that strange, foreign thing inside you, surged again as you willed the vines to grow. They erupted from the cracks in the stone floor, a wall of thorns and flowers twisting violently around you and Uraume. The flowers bloomed as if in response to the violence, sharp thorns like daggers catching curses mid-strike. It wasn’t conscious. You didn’t understand what you were doing. But you couldn’t stop yourself. The energy, the plants, it all seemed to respond to your desperation.

A curse leapt toward you, a hulking creature with jagged claws and a grotesque mouth-with way too many teeth. Before it could get close, a thick vine shot from the ground and impaled it through the chest. The creature shrieked as it crumpled to the floor, its body twitching before falling completely still.

You barely had a moment to breathe before another wave surged forward.

“I’m not going to stand here and be a distraction,” you muttered under your breath, steeling yourself. You knew you were human, but in that moment, you felt something more. Something powerful, something alive within you. You weren’t just standing at the sidelines anymore.

A group of mutineers charged in, their cursed energy radiating with a twisted hunger. You turned toward them, your hands instinctively raising, and the ground beneath your feet trembled. The vines were alive—alive with your will. As the mutineers ran toward you, the plants responded, twisting into monstrous shapes, thick roots and sharp flowers lashing out. The curses were caught, pinned by thorns, their movements slow and erratic as the plants consumed them, strangling them in their own twisted beauty.

Sukuna, his movements sharp and brutal, glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a brief flicker of interest crossing his face. He had seen you before, watched you from the shadows as you played with your strange abilities, but now—now, in the midst of battle—he could feel the full weight of your cursed energy. The raw power you wielded, even if you didn’t understand it, was undeniable.

“You’re not half as useless as I thought,” Sukuna muttered, his voice cold but tinged with something that could almost be mistaken for respect.

You didn’t respond.

Your focus was elsewhere. But his words lingered, a dangerous acknowledgment in the air between you.

Another wave of mutineers stormed toward you, this time with renewed ferocity. You fought back with a surge of energy, planting your feet firmly, and the ground beneath you cracked open. Flowers—huge, blackened roses—burst forth, their petals sharp like razors. The curses were caught in the onslaught, blood splattering the stone as their bodies were torn to shreds. You could feel their cursed energy drain as your plants sucked them dry.

But even as you fought, the palace seemed to tremble. The mutineers were relentless. You heard their roars, their grating voices taunting Sukuna as they pressed on, their sheer numbers swarming like locusts.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his claws raising once more. He lashed out, his cursed energy so concentrated it felt like a shockwave. His minions had scattered, but more poured in, relentless in their attack. You felt the impact of his cursed energy, and for a moment, the overwhelming force of it was almost too much to bear.

Uraume, ever watchful, moved beside you, cutting down a handful of mutineers in a blur of motion.

“We need to get through them, now,” they said, their voice low and strained. “Or we’ll be swarmed.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You extended your arms, and the plants answered—rising from the ground, thick and fast, strangling anything that dared approach. The roses wrapped around the mutineers like living chains, the flowers growing larger and sharper, constricting with every passing second.

It wasn’t enough.

The mutineers had realized your strength, and they were now focused on you. More and more poured in, their cursed energy swirling around you like a storm. You fought back with everything you had, your body shaking from the exertion. It was becoming harder to focus, harder to hold the wall of thorns steady.

You felt the world around you blur as another curse reached for you, its claws drawn back. You raised your hand in defense, but it was too fast. A curse slid past your barrier, slashing at your side.

Pain shot through you, sharp and blinding.

Sukuna, still locked in his own battle, turned. He saw you falter, saw the blood seep from your side, and for a brief second, his gaze darkened. His claws dug deeper into the mutineers before him, his expression twisted with fury.

“Stay out of my way, little flower,” he snarled, his eyes flashing. He moved faster than you could track, his monstrous speed cutting through the mutineers like they were made of paper. But even as he fought, his gaze flicked back to you—his little flower—and the flicker of something colder, something calculating, passed through his eyes.

And in that moment, you felt the weight of it—the shifting balance of power in the room. It wasn’t just about survival anymore. You were caught in the middle of something far darker than you could have ever imagined.

Together, with your cursed energy thrumming through the air like an electric storm, you and Sukuna fought back. But there was no denying it: this battle was far from over.

*-*

The palace was quiet—too quiet for what had been the site of carnage only moments ago.

Dawn crept across the ruins, painting everything in hues of gold and red, the light spilling over broken stone and lifeless bodies. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the cloying scent of scorched earth. Smoke curled into the early morning sky like ghosts.

You stood in the middle of it all, legs trembling, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The vines and roses that had fought beside you were now still, their lifeless tendrils slumped across the battlefield like discarded corpses. Each labored breath felt like dragging yourself through quicksand. But you remained standing.

You couldn’t afford not to.

Not yet.

The heat of battle had long since passed, leaving in its wake a bone-deep exhaustion. Your cursed energy had been stretched too thin, burned too bright. You could feel it flickering, waning like a dying flame. But you weren’t just exhausted—you were empty. The once-familiar hum of power that had thrummed beneath your skin was now silent, replaced by a hollow ache.

It was over.

At least for now.

You turned your head, your gaze finding Sukuna through the haze of fatigue. He stood at the center of the destruction, his crimson eyes sharp and unyielding, his expression unreadable. He was drenched in blood, though none of it was his own—proof of his monstrous strength. He didn’t look at you immediately, his focus scanning the battlefield for any lingering threats.

Your legs shook harder, the strain of standing becoming unbearable. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold yourself upright, but pride forced you to try. You’d fought beside him—beside Sukuna. And somehow, you’d survived.

I should move, you thought, your mind sluggish, disconnected. I should… do something. Say something. Anything.

But your body refused to obey.

When Sukuna finally turned his attention to you, his gaze pinned you in place. There was something unreadable in his expression, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. His lips moved, but all you could hear was a distant ringing in your ears. You squinted, trying to focus, to read the words forming on his tongue, but it was useless. The ringing was deafening now, drowning out everything else.

Your vision blurred, the edges of your sight going dark. Your knees buckled, but you forced them to lock.

Not here. Not in front of him.

Not after everything.

Stay standing. The thought was desperate, stubborn. Just a little longer. He’s watching. You can’t fall now.

But your body had other plans.

You felt it before it happened—the weightlessness, the complete loss of control. Your legs finally gave out, and you were collapsing. The world tilted, right as the light of dawn spilling over Sukuna’s expression as he moved toward you, too quickly for you to process.

The last thing you saw before the darkness consumed you was his face, etched with something unexpected—a flicker of irritation, of frustration, of… something else entirely.

Then, nothing.

*-*

The next time you woke up, it wasn’t to the heavy scent of blood and destruction, but to an odd sense of warmth and comfort. It was different—peaceful. For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought you were back in your old village, lying in the soft embrace of the earth, the hum of the trees around you soothing your tired body. But as your senses sharpened, the weight of reality pulled you back to the present.

You were in a garden.

The faint scent of flowers and the earthy richness of the soil surrounded you. The garden was lush and untamed, with roses twisting around tall stone columns and vines creeping up ancient walls. The palace had suffered, but this corner remained, hidden from the worst of the chaos.

The soft, rhythmic buzz of insects filled the air, a strange comfort in the wake of so much violence. Your head rested against something soft, but firm—a pillow? A cushion? You couldn’t quite tell, but it didn’t matter. It was something.

It was… peaceful.

And then, you remembered.

The mutiny. The battle. Sukuna. You. You had fought alongside him. You had collapsed. The world had blurred and—

"Sukuna." The thought came as a jolt, and you snapped your eyes open, panic rising in your chest. Your body felt too heavy, too warm, your cursed energy still sluggish as it tried to recover. The familiar, low thrum of power had settled in your chest again, though it was weaker than usual.

You groaned softly as you shifted, trying to sit up. There was a stiffness in your limbs, as though you had been unconscious for longer than you remembered.

A movement caught your eye, and you looked toward the center of the garden.

There, sitting on a stone bench under the dappled sunlight, was Sukuna. His imposing presence still clung to the air like a thick fog, but he didn’t move. He was just watching you, his crimson gaze unwavering, lips set in that eternal, unreadable smirk.

"You're awake." His voice was low and smooth, an undertone of something you couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Annoyance? It was hard to tell.

You blinked at him for a moment, your mind hazy, trying to piece together everything. What had happened? The fight, the mutiny…

And then, you asked it, almost without thinking.

"Is there a war among the curses?" Your voice was cracked, tired, you sounded like an old toad trying to sing.

Sukuna’s gaze darkened, a glint of something sharp flickering behind his eyes.

"Yes," he said, his voice colder now, laced with a bitter edge. "One that I did not anticipate. They are foolish to challenge me, but I’ve let them run wild for far too long." His hand moved lazily, gesturing to the remnants of the garden. "This place was a haven, untouched by the chaos. They don't understand what they've stirred. But they will learn."

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking into you. This was only the beginning, wasn't it? The peaceful lull of the garden only heightened the looming tension that was growing within the palace walls. You could feel it, in the air, in the way the roses bloomed almost aggressively now, their vines twisting and turning as if reacting to the shifting atmosphere around you.

Your eyes flickered to the side.

"What about… Uraume?" you asked quietly, noticing the familiar silhouette lying in the corner of the garden, a small bundle of their cloak wrapped tightly around them.

Sukuna’s gaze shifted briefly to Uraume, his expression almost imperceptibly softer.

"They’re resting. I had them take a break after all this mess. They're more useful to me alive than dead."

There was an odd silence after that, thick with meaning. You studied him—his face, his posture, everything. The king of curses, the one who controlled everything, who could end you in an instant, was now surrounded by the remnants of his power. There was no arrogance in his demeanor now, no boastful air.

He was simply… present.

He almost looked.. handsome? No, he couldn't be that. Well-he looked at peace, bathed in the warm sun, surrounded by the plants.

Still, you couldn't help but ask, the question bubbling out before you could stop it: "Why me?"

Sukuna’s crimson gaze snapped back to you, the edge of his lips curling upward into something predatory, though his eyes held that flicker of something deeper—something unreadable.

“Why you?” he repeated, as though the answer should be obvious. “You may not know it yet, but I can feel it. You have potential. You might be the only one capable of surviving what’s to come."

You stared at him, confusion muddling your thoughts, your own cursed energy still too slow, too weak to fully make sense of his words.

"I don’t understand. I’m just… a healer."

A cruel smile tugged at his lips.

"Exactly. That’s what makes you dangerous. And that's why I’m keeping you close. You’re not as helpless as you think. And one day, you might just prove useful in ways you can’t even imagine."

He leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving you. "You should be grateful, flower. You get to stand here and witness my reign."

His words settled heavily between you, and despite the weight of them, something in your chest fluttered—a twist of something that felt like dread, but almost… curiosity too.

Sukuna had been watching you, tracking your every move, studying you in ways you still couldn’t understand. And despite the fear that bloomed in your heart when you thought of what that could mean, a strange part of you wondered… What did he really want?

And why was he starting to sound almost… fond?

A/N: ALSO! i will be posting a bit less for the next week and a half.

Masterlist.

:)

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 7

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 3,724 of 19,250

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The festivities start before the sun sets. I watch as it sinks below the horizon, a fat red apple amongst the crooked charred tops of green houses and shops. Its dying light falls gently on the shoulders of ladies and gentlemen as they arrive, like a glowing kiss of welcome as strokes of real gold, gold that could be minted, bathe their cheeks and laughter-filled smiles. They arrive in pairs, by themselves, in whole parties that tumble out of stuffed carriages. I watch from the window of my room, having already been done up for an hour at that point. I have dragged the vanity stool over to the window so that I can watch better. Anything to pass the time as I wait for the inevitable final guest of the party: myself.

I have no desire or intent to go down to the feast because I knew that he would be there: the Wizard. Every stroke of the makeup brushes this afternoon felt like porcupine bristles being dragged across the skin of my cheeks, eyelids, and lips. The lips had stung the worst, right in the spot where he had touched his thumb. It was embarrassing really, the way I fell for it all. Emily didn't know anything about what had happened in the throne room, but her words from weeks ago echoed in my head as she wound locks of my hair around the hot iron. You're not the first dummy to try and sleep her way to head maid. The fact that I wasn't the first one was what was eating at me. Was this the kind of treatment that they got? How many had there been before me?

I shake my head at that. No, not before me. I am not a part of any line of women who would sleep with the Wizard, and I do not want to be any part of that line. I'm sure he has needs that are natural to his human body, just the same as he needs to bathe or dress or sleep, but I refuse to think of him like that. It feels disrespectful to even think that he could be so carnally biased that sleeping with him would earn you a higher rank and station, rather than merit.

The thought of him brushing my lips stings me again and I wince, getting up from the window and throwing myself on the bed. There is something about watching the guests arrive that is causing my mind to lose itself, fixating on... I grit my teeth as I push my face into the pillow, not even trying to protect the curls Emily had set or the makeup that had been painted. The cotton pillow is soft against my made-up face and when I try to breathe in, my lungs are confused by the lack of oxygen. Good. If I knock myself out maybe I'll get out of the whole thing altogether.

There is a knock at the door and I dig my claws into the comforter. It's only been a few minutes since Emily left the room and already someone is coming to bother me. I breathe in the pillow quicker, hoping to speed up the process. There's the sound of the door opening and then an unexpected voice.

"You planning to fall through the floor to get to the party?" Bruno says. He bats at my shoe. "C'mon. He wants you downstairs."

What? So he can embarrass me? It was one thing when we were in the darkness of the control room, or even teasing remarks in front of Humak, but to do it in front of hundreds of strangers? "I'm not going," I muffle into the pillow.

"I don't know what you said, but you'd better get up before I make you," he says.

I turn my head just enough and find myself involuntarily sucking in clean air. "I said 'I'm not going', okay? You can't make me."

"For Oz's sake," he says, and then he yanks me by the ankle as I squeak in protest. "This is the hill you're going to die on? A stupid party is worth your sister's life?" He yanks me once more and I tumble to the floor, the wind going out of me in a yelp.

"No! I'll run away!" I say, scrambling to my feet. I say this, despite never having thought about it before or knowing how I would survive outside of the Emerald City with no money and a second mouth to feed. I don’t even know how I would get out of the palace without a guard stopping me.

"You look fine," he says. "Now, let's go."

"No," I say.

"What the hell is wrong with you?” he says “You see a ghost or something? There's food downstairs and drinks and dancing.” Dancing. The thought of the Wizard's hands on me again, the knowledge that I'd fall for it again like an idiot... The Wizard had magic in more ways than one.

"I don't want to dance," I say, "...with strangers, that is. Have you seen the Arjiki guards? They're frightening." They aren't, but it's better than confessing my relational problems to no-nonsense Bruno. What would he know of... whatever the Wizard and I were?

"Well, then you can dance with me then," he says.

I blink, having never considered the possibility before. The party would be better than hiding in my room upstairs because I would have an excuse to not see the Wizard. How could he dance with me if I filled my entire dance card with other people? Up here I ran the risk of him slipping away from the party to come torment me in private. "You mean it?" I ask. Bruno simply offers his arm, and I take it.

We take our time walking down to the Grand Ballroom. I ask Bruno how Leo is doing. Apparently, he got in trouble at school the other day for beating a kid up on the playground. I ask him if the kid deserved it and he laughs, asking me about Fileah instead. There's nothing new to report back besides telling him I'm trying to be on my best behavior so I can see her again. We don't talk about the riot. I hope Fileah has stopped talking about it by herself as I hadn't had the chance to tell her to. The Wizard has been keeping me busy with etiquette assignments and other stupid tasks that seem to take up the whole day past when visiting hours are over. As we enter the Grand Ballroom, I can feel the puzzle piece of the confusing social training click into place and realize that he had this party planned for a while and was truly planning to surprise me.

Tulle and taffeta skim across the floor in coiling circles as partners guide them along, sometimes breaking off and weaving in and out of the ladies and gentlemen, all the while laughing. Toward the front of the room parallel to the wall, and on the dais there are tables laden with food. As we draw closer I can see suckling pigs that have been roasted until bronzed, the skin pulled so tight that you could taste the way it would crackle in your mouth without ever sinking your teeth into it. There are turkeys that have been herbed and stuffed and are twice the size of the biggest one I've ever seen. In between the meats are bowls so big that you would have to carry them with both arms filled with buttered turnips, roasted brussel sprouts, sugared beets, whipped and airy potatoes, and several others that I ignore once I see the towers of desserts. The guests who are not dizzying themselves with merriment have taken seats along these tables, filling their plates with any and all of the offerings.

The table on the dais is packed. Fiyero, Humak, and some of their guards that I had seen earlier are seated on the left, a few strangers are seated on the right, and in dead-center there’s him. The Wizard's lips are pressed together in a hard line, goblet draped lazily in hand, and an empty seat beside him. His eyes are scanning the room, and I know he is looking for me.

"This was a mistake," I say, pressing against Bruno to try and get past him.

"I'll be here and ready to dance with you when it's time," he says reassuringly. He takes my wrist which now has a dance card attached to it. Someone must have slipped it on me while I was salivating over the food. Quickly, he pencils his name into two or three slots – I'm not sure how many as I'm watching the Wizard stare at me, not once breaking the gaze – and then he guides me up to the dais. "I'll come get you when it's time."

I climb the stairs on the right side of the dais, trying to find a seat that hasn't been taken already. Unfortunately, all of the seats at the table are labeled with place cards, little bits of cream cardstock that have been etched in curling script with names and titles. I try to keep my eyes on the whirling bodies of the dance floor and away from the Wizard's tiger-like gaze. The dancers seem to have moved onto a reel, two great ovals smashed together as couples take turns dancing down the aisle of refined and all-green and gold clothing. I watch intently, even as I take my seat next to him, even as I can smell the spiced cloud of his cologne, even as I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my face to make it so hot that I wonder if I have a fever and might be excused from the party to undisturbed bed rest.

We sit like this for an eternity, letting the full orchestra swallow up our unsaid words, until a familiar voice asks, "Are you a big dancer?" It's Fiyero, goblet in hand, and much more fashionably dressed than the last time I saw him, a satin blue military jacket perfectly accompanying his blinding smile and the twinkle in his eyes.

I have to ask him to repeat himself, feigning that the orchestra is too loud to hear him. He does, and I swear I could go down to the Unionist chapel right now and thank the Unnamed God for getting me away from the man sitting next to me. "Oh yes!" I say. "I love dancing. I don't get to do it much, so I'm really trying to take it all in."

Prince Fiyero laughs at that. "Wouldn't it be better to take it in on the dance floor?" He offers me a hand, and I don't have to think twice before taking it.

I don't have to imagine that Fiyero is a heartbreaker back in Winkie Country. I can feel my own butterflies flap their wings in curiosity at how graceful and perfectly gentlemanlike he is: the way his hand warmly guides me by the waist, the way he laughs at anything that I say and always has the perfect banter ready to shoot back. Even his eyes, his hair, and his teeth are perfectly perfect, and yet I am still not completely sold. Stopping me from falling for him fully is almost equally the shock that a prince has asked me to dance with him when I had been sharing a bed for warmth and stealing ribbons weeks ago, and the fact that I can still feel the Wizard's eyes on me.

I look to the dais, and even though we are a good hundred feet away, I can see the anger seeping from him, how Humak who was sitting to his right looks at him nervously as if the man in the satin green tuxedo were going to explode and kill him in the process. Good, I think. It was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine. It wouldn't hurt him to see me dancing with the enemy. It's just a little harmless fun so maybe he'd stop trying to mess with my head and toy with me.

I'm not familiar with the dance that plays next, but Fiyero is such an excellent partner that everyone who looks at us would think I had known it my whole life. He jokes with me about how the party hadn't really started until I showed up and I almost believe him. By the end of it, I have a stitch in my side from all of the dancing and the laughing. I feel as if I could down an entire bottle of fizzy wine the way I'm out of breath and giddy to go again. I don't need the wine as I feel a strange warmth spreading within me. Looking at Fiyero, I'm more than glad he came to the Emerald City, and not just glad that he got me away from the Wizard.

"Come on! Come on!" a man in spectacles that pinch his pupils into reptilian slits shouts. "Let's play a game of Blind Man's Buff!"

This sends the crowd into a tizzy of excitement, young women shrieking with delight and pushing each other, the gentlemen gathering closer to the bespectacled man.

"Blind Man's Buff?" I say, grabbing Fiyero's arm. "What is it?"

Fiyero's grin spreads wide in excitement and he pulls me into the throng of those who have had enough of dancing. The man in the lizard glasses is now waving a white scarf as if it were a flag of surrender as the mob pushes in.

"Who shall be our Blind Man?" Lizard Eyes asks.

Fiyero pulls me forward and pushes me to the front. "Take her!" he shouts, waving my hand above my head. "She's a virgin!"

"A virgin!?" Lizard Eyes exclaims.

I'm short-circuiting over them discussing whether I've slept with anyone before when Fiyero whispers in my ear, "It just means you've never played before, love." The butterflies are now beating their wings in earnest.

"Yes! Yes!" Lizard Eyes says. "It will be a special Lurlinemas treat, then. A real game to remember!" Quickly, Lizard Eyes blindfolds me, the world going dark as the soft and warm cashmere is wrapped snuggly around my eyes. Despite the scarf being white, there is still a green light that comes through, and I realize just how truly green the entire palace and city are if even a thick scarf can't block the verdant glow. "Should we make it a special game?" the voice of Lizard Eyes says.

"Lover's fate!" Fiyero shouts out.

"What's that?" I try to ask Lizard Eyes. However, I can't see him, and my guess as to where he is remains in the last place I saw him. I reach out to my right and touch nothing but air. This earns a laugh from the crowd.

"Lover's fate!" people agree, some even starting a chant.

"Lover's fate it will be!" Lizard Eyes says. He must have moved back behind me, I realize, turning in that direction. "You will have to search the room looking for people. Once you grab someone, you must identify them." He giggles.

"Sounds easy," I say. I hope I catch Fiyero, I think. He's familiar enough and I wouldn't mind an excuse to touch that perfect face of his.

"Well, it would be, except you can't use your hands," Lizard Eyes says. "You'll have to kiss them to figure it out."

I want to rip off the scarf and go hide under one of the banquet tables when Lizard Eyes grabs me by the shoulders and starts spinning me around and around until I'm so dizzy that I want to lay on the floor until my head comes back to normal. Even if I lay there all evening, it would never stop the spinning on account of how many strangers there were and that I would have to kiss one of them. The thought makes my stomach go cold, so I know that I have to find Fiyero. Maybe I’ll be glad that I came to the party after all. Maybe...

The mob that had gathered around Lizard Eyes is now quickly dispersing and reeling back in. Their whoops and hollers are growing distant and then occasionally they bump past me in taunt, but I don’t care. Frankly, there are too many of them, and I'm trying to pick out Fiyero's voice. The slight Winkie accent is what I'm looking for, the way it sparkles. I think I hear him 10 feet diagonally to the right of me. I go chasing after it and can hear his laugh as I fall through the air in my attempt to catch him.

"If I had known you wanted to kiss me that bad," he says, "we could have skipped the dancing."

I'm following his voice once again, trying to sneak up on him. "Okay," I say. "So then get over here." Another snatch and a miss.

"Nuh-uh," he says. "I'm undefeated in this game. You can kiss me afterward if you really want to."

I make a dash for him and miss the grab again. I stomp my foot, willing him to hold still.

"You know, you're supposed to chase other people too," he says. Another missed grab.

"Well nobody told me that," I retort back. I fake going after other people, trying to keep his location in mind. When I'm satisfied with enough squeals and laughs, I taunt him again. "Maybe you're undefeated because you're scared."

"I'm not scared," he says. 8 feet to my left. I reach for the rustle of a skirt that I hear closest to me, pretending to chase it as I make a semicircle to cut him off. I shoot my hand out and grab hold of an arm clad in a soft satin. The blue and gold dress military jacket.

"Too easy," I say with a smirk. The room has gone silent and I can't stop grinning at the thought of the Arjiki prince kissing the Wizard’s special guest. Serve’s him right. "Kiss me."

His fingertips are warm as his hands cradle my face. The room is still holding its breath as I feel just the brush of his lips against my own.

"You call that a kiss?" I whisper. "Kiss me."

His lips crush mine openly, an invitation. I let my tongue slide against his lower lip as his tongue slips against mine and into my mouth, pressing my tongue back into submission. It's everything I can do to not fall into his arms and let him carry me out of the party. He was certainly better than any schoolyard kisses and there was a promise of domination in the way his tongue danced with mine that sent a thrill up my spine.

When he pulls away, his name is already on my lips as I tear the scarf off. I don't make it past the first syllable.

It's him. There's a look of hurt in his eyes and I can't help but feel like an idiot. I was so wrapped up in the idea of kissing Fiyero that I couldn't even recognize the same small scars that had touched my hands earlier that day or the way his mustache and goatee had scratched the delicate skin of my lips.

So many things are crashing and burying me like an avalanche: the way he's looking at me, the way the room is still silent and staring at us, the way Fiyero has a shit-eating grin and I can tell he's holding in a laugh, the way I liked it and still want more. This last part is what sends me running from the room and out into the winding halls of the Emerald Palace.

I need to get away from him, to think this out. How was I ever going to face him again? I remember telling Bruno about how I would run away, and now I'm seriously considering it. How much could a train ticket possibly cost? Fileah and I could probably run away and live in the jungle off of the fruits of the forest until we found somewhere nice in Munchkinland to house us. Maybe Bruno had some family outside of the Emerald City that could hide us.

I burst through the hallway and find myself back in the throne room. Sweet Oz, anywhere but here. The face is well hidden amongst the vines again. I consider going up into it to cry – it'd probably be the last place he'd expect to find me – when I hear a queer wooden sound. It sounds like a penny made of wood is spinning around and around before it falls flat. Then the crash happens, followed by cursing.

I run over to the source of the commotion to see Humak Tigelaar with a funny-looking object in his hands.

"Humak," I say through a tear-constricted throat, "you're missing the party."

Humak laughs nervously at this, agreeing with me. It is as he's trying to slip away that I realize what he's holding.

"The Grimmerie," I breathe.

Humak's smile drops and instantaneously he's bolting into the hallways.

All I wanted to do was to be left alone, to just go somewhere where no one would find me while I tried to sort out what would be best for me, what would be best for Fileah. No, in truth, it was just what would be best for me. If I had really been selfless I would have played whatever part he had set for me and done it happily. Ribbons were a fraction of his generosity, and she could have had anything in the world if I had just played the stupid part.

I feel like Lizard Eyes has spun me around and around for a second time as the machine that is Oz the Great and Terrible seems to be floating up with its ropes towards the ceiling, the ceiling falling to the floor. I stumble, feeling for any sort of familiarity or guidepost in what to do, and I keep stumbling, footstep after footstep until I reach the entrance to the Officer's wing.

My voice sounds a thousand yards away as I yell for help.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! In celebration of the Ithaca saga release (and yes, I am still sobbing over that ending), here's an Epic au that's been rolling around my head for far too long! Enjoy!

In a few mythology stories, there is a theme of "if you kill a monster, you become a monster yourself." And, with the theme of Odysseus abandoning his humanity and becoming a monster being so prevalent in the second act, why not take it one step further?

What if, when Odysseus nearly killed Poseidon with his own godly weapon, some of that divine power found its way into Odysseus? What if the combined power of wielding the trident and the act of defeating a god and spilling his ichor ascended Odysseus unwillingly into godhood?

And, given what Odysseus was doing when he attained godhood, what of Odysseus specifically became the god of monsters?

By the time Odysseus has finished mutilating Poseidon and sails the short distance to Ithaca's shores, the ascension is already almost complete, despite Odysseus's resistance to it. When Odysseus finally sets foot on Ithaca's beach, he is no longer human at all. He is, in many ways, no longer himself.

Sure, he looks human enough at first glance, but his shadow writhes with twisting, monstrous forms, and his form blurs around the edges if one looks for long enough, as if he had to put conscious effort into appearing human.

It takes all of Odysseus's concentration to both keep himself looking human and to put one foot in front of the other, determined to ensure that the first time his family sees him again, they see him, not some monster.

But then, Odysseus finds the suitors. He hears Antinous speaking of killing his son and doing vile things to his wife, and suddenly, Odysseus doesn't feel like holding back the writhing, howling beasts under his skin anymore. No, no, he is going to revel in releasing them on these dogs.

Odysseus, still unseen by the suitors, lets his mortal disguise disappear in an instant, and a horrible roar has the suitors all stiffening with primordial terror, their minds frozen at the sight of something that their instincts screamed was a predator, unlike anything they had seen before.

The beast that they now beheld, which seemingly appeared out of nowhere, was horrific, with its body shifting and changing between all manner of monsters. One moment it was a hydra, then in the next it was a minotaur, and then it took the form of a chimera. The suitors watched in grotesque horror for a few seconds as the beast's body could not decide on a shape, its head and eyes and limbs always shifting, before the monster took a step towards them, its clawed foot shaking the ground.

At that, the suitors suddenly realized that this was real and that they were in a room with this creature. And then, all hell broke loose as the 108 suitors screamed with terror and scrambled away from the monster in all directions.

Then, the hunt began.

The monster chased them down the long hallways of the palace, killing any suitor it got its hands on. Some were shredded by its claws, others trampled under its feet like bugs, and some were even devoured with a single bite of its jaws. And all the while, The beast showed no mercy, no remorse, and no signs of that its bloodlust was even remotely slaked.

One suitor, when cornered by the beast, got on his knees and begged for mercy, only to be crushed with one swipe of a club that had manifested itself from the beast's body, which now took the shape of a savage cyclops.

Soon, blood painted the walls and floor of the palace, while the surviving suitors armed themselves for battle. After all, it was impossible to flee from the beast, so their only chance was to fight it.

However, at the armory, Telemachus appeared, back from his diplomatic mission and demanding to know what was happening, asking the suitors about the beast. Then, Antinous, one of the only surviving suitors, got an idea.

He ordered the others suitors to hold Telemachus down and tie him up as he explained his plan. They could still go through with their previous plot if they played this well enough.

After all, the beast out there was clearly either a punishment sent by the gods or a god in of itself. And the only way to appease a god was through an offering or sacrifice.

So, the suitors could present the bound prince to the beast as a sacrifice, which would appease the gods. After all, a blood sacrifice of a royal held great significance.

And when Penelope was mourning her poor, sacrificed son, Antinous and his men would be hailed as heroes by all of Ithaca for appeasing the monster, and Penelope would have no choice but to wed one of them.

Telemachus was screaming with rage and fear behind his makeshift gag as Antinous finished explaining his plan to the other suitors, who enthusiastically agreed to it.

Together, the suitors dragged Telemachus, his limbs bound with rope, out into the hallway, where it took the monster only a matter of seconds to find them.

Telemachus' eyes widened with shock at the sight of the monster, with its ever-changing limbs and body. The only constant feature on the beast was its ferocious glowing red eyes, which chilled the prince to the bone.

Antinous kicked Telemachus forwards towards the beast, sending him sprawling out over the floor.

"Great beast! We know not why you are here, but we humbly apologize for whatever wrong this kingdom has done to you! Please, accept this honored sacrifice: Telemachus, the prince of this land, and leave us in peace."

The monster, for the first time since it appeared, stood still, though its form still shifted fluidly. The suitors watched with baited breath as the beast ever so slowly inched forwards, towards a squirming and terrified Telemachus.

As the creature got closer, however, its form stopped changing as much, until its seemed to stabilize, taking on the shape of a giant human figure, but its body and face were featureless, simply a mass of shadows, except for its ever-present red eyes.

The now human-shaped monster picked Telemachus up in of of its hands slowly, handling him far gentler than it had any of the suitors. On the ground, Antinous and his men watched on in barely-contained excitement, overjoyed that everything was going as planned.

"I take it that you accept and are appeased by this sacrifice, great one?" Antinous, ever confident, spoke up.

The beast was still silent, giving no indication that it even heard Antinous, with all of its attention still focused on Telemachus, who was convinced that this was the end for him.

Gingerly, the creature rearranged its hold on Telemachus, until it was cradling him in its arms as a human would with an infant. The suitors look on in confusion, unsure what to make of this. What kind of monster cradled its sacrifice? Why wasn't it mindlessly slaughtering the prince just as it had the other suitors?

Then, the creature's gaze shifted from Telemachus to the suitors, filling them with an instinctive fear that told them to run. But before they could even take a step, a massive serpent's head shot out of the creature's chest, devouring all of them in a single bite. Telemachus, still bound and gagged, screamed with terror at the sight of it.

The beast, with Telemachus still trapped in its arms, started lumbering its way through the halls again, swiftly killing any remaining suitors it came across while the prince shook with terror in its arms.

After a while, the beast had finally killed the last of the suitors, leaving a trail of mutilated corpses and blood throughout the entire palace. There would be no one left inside the palace except for Telemachus and... his mother.

Telemachus came to this horrifying realization as he recognized exactly where the monster was heading. It was going to his mother's room, and the reinforced door would not protect her from this creature.

Telemachus renewed his struggles against his bindings, begging as best he could from behind the gag, "not her, please, not her!"

But the beast, of course, did not listen, and continued its path of destruction until it reached Penelope's door, still carrying the furiously squirming prince in its arms.

The doors, reinforced with bronze, did not stand a chance against the monster's strength, and Telemachus was forced to watch on in horror as his mother screamed at the sight of the beast, and he could do nothing as the monster grabbed ahold of her with a gigantic hand.

Telemachus had felt helpless and useless many times over the years as suitors invaded their home and disrespected his mother, but that was nothing compared to the sheer hopelessness and terror of seeing his mother struggling in the grasp of this monster and being unable to even move.

Now that Penelope was in his grasp, the monster slowly, almost gingerly, made his way to the throne room, trampling the scattered and bloodied corpses of the suitors that were in his path.

There, in the middle of the throne room, the beast finally sat down, halting its rampage through the halls of the palace at long last. Penelope and Telemachus, still trapped in the monster's arms, held each other as close as they could, trembling with fear at the massive, gore-covered monster that held their lives quite literally in its merciless hands.

(But little did they know that, as the hours went by, the monster would slowly shrink, diminishing in size, until it revealed a man, a very familiar man, underneath it all. And that man would like nothing more than to hold his family close for as long as he can.)

And that's all for this story! I might do a continuation if the inspiration strikes! Please let me know if you'd like to see a continuation!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[sunshinemoon3341]

I JUST LISTENED TO THE ENTIRE ITHACA SAGA SO SPOILERS AHEAD

The Challenge:

We start off with a Penelope song! And I swear she eats this up!!! She only has 2 songs but she goes crazy with the vocals!!! Her voice is genuinely like lotus, I am just absolutely entranced and just cannot stop listening for even a moment!!!

Penelope saying “husbands old bow” while the suitors say “old husbands bow” is subtle but so meaningful and shows how differently they think of Odysseus!

The “Waiting” callback from the underworld!

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Hold Them Down:

I’d listened to sneak peaks and snippets from like a year ago but hearing the actual version!!!! Antonious’s voice in this song is insane!

Don’t you dare hurt my baby Telemachus!!

What is their problem with his bones!!! “You’ll have run out of bones to break when you and I are through”(Little Wolf) and “Hold him down while I slowly break his pride, his trust, his faith, and his bones”(Hold Them Down)

The way they talk about Penelope gives me worse shivers than the beginning of Thunder Bringer. But it’s also very telling of what the suitors actually think of Penelope!! They don’t care about her as a person. They just want the crown, and the power.

Bye bye Antonious!!

Overall great villain song. One of, if not, the best I’ve ever heard. I feel conflicted about liking this song because the lyrics are so dark but the song itself is sooooo good!!!

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Odysseus:

Right off the bat, I love the name. The only names in song titles are monsters(Polyphemus, Scylla, Charybdis) so the title being “Odysseus” indicates that he has become some sort of “monster” and that’s a really cool form of symbolism to show it!(you can also hear the monsters names in the background throughout the song)

DO NOT talk about his family like that!

I like the “Where is he?”(Legendary) reverberation. It’s a nice touch!

He stole their weapons!!! This is some Athena level stuff!!

“You don’t think I know my own palace? I built it!” no notes! That line is one of the most perfect lines to ever grace Spotify!

It’s interesting that the suitors asked for mercy. They know as well as Odysseus does that if he didn’t show up who knows what they would have done!! It’s more of an attempted trick than it is an actual apology.

The way the suitor suggests “open arms” and Odysseus doesn’t even let him finish!!

Odysseus shows his cleverness and why he deserves the title “Warrior of the Mind” in this song.(though he is clever in many other songs).

DONT YOU DARE TOUCH TELEMACHUS!!!!!

Again with the bones!!! “I’ll break the kids hands”. Just leave the kids poor bones alone!!!

That voice after Odysseuss says “mercy”!!

This song was brutal, perfect and I get why Athena told Ares the Odysseus “wanna gonna make everybody b|eed”

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I Can’t Help But Wonder:

Heartbreaking!! So cute!!

They both just want to be good enough for each other!! They missed each other soooo much!!

I’ve never cried during any movie, play, book, anything and got almost got me

ATHENA!!!!

The Queen has returned!!!

All the “Warrior of the Mind” callbacks!!

She’s sorry for what’s she did to him! She feels like she turned him into this. This is the the closest thing Athena’s ever gotten to an apology.

He forgives her(or close enough)!! He’s not gonna dwell on all the things he could have done differently, he just wants to see his wife!!

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Would You Fall In Love With Me Again:

Again Penelope ATE THAT UP! I still cannot get over her voice!!

She acknowledges that he’s a bit different but to her he’s still the love of her life!!!

THE WEDDING BED!! Odysseus seems hurt when she asks him to move it. She proved that he’s still the same man!!

The “Waiting” callback again

So cute, so romantic, so beautiful!

————————————————————————

Perfect ending. After everything he sacrificed he was able to get back to the people he did it all for.

10/10 no comments, no suggestions, absolutely nothing!

I’m so excited to see what everyone does next!! I hope Epic grows bigger than I could ever imagine!

I still think the play should have ended with “And that’s my Journessy”

Tysm for reading my little rant

[webanglikethat]

⋆⁺₊❅. Lonely winter, cradle my heart.

Pairing: Vyxaria x Walter. Words: 4004. Tags: for @agattthaa’s birthday, @eeriedreamer, @malbontesmrs and @liykaii — thank you for always believing in me. & shoutout to tswift for writing peace, give it a listen!

🎼 “could it be enough, if I could never give you peace?, ts.

Raindrops fell down the window, as if chasing trails they were afraid to lose, slithering down like snakes on a fresh slippery bruise. The wind whispered against the walls, similar to how waves crash into the shore with more strength each time, as if seeking something, demanding it. The room was dimly lit and warm, but the heart of the succubus felt anything but.

It was truly pathetic; and the worst part was … she knew that.

A creature like her had no use for pain or sadness, let alone grief, but her heart felt consumed by it.

Vyxaria laid on the bed, eyes closed, replaying over and over the scene that would haunt her till her bones decayed, and her spirit vanished — …. Xantheia stabbing her.

Surely that couldn’t have been her Xantheia right? Not the Xantheia she spent all of her valuable moments with – not that succubi were supposed to have valuable moments, not with mortals, and certainly not with each other. But Xantheia had always been her exception. The Xantheia who laughed with her under moons swollen with silver light. The one who would trace her fingers along Vyxaria’s cheek, murmuring words too sweet to belong to their world. The Xantheia that would sit on the thrones of kings they’d manipulate, pretending that the kingdom now belonged to them. The Xantheia that – as human said – took her under her wings, as if some kind of protecting angel – and oh, how cruelly heaven turned out to be another fake.

It couldn’t be her Xantheia.

Maybe she imagined it. Maybe the chill of the air perforated her stomach. She had read somewhere that the mesosphere of this world was becoming weaker – whatever it meant. She hadn’t understood it then – for what did she care for human science? It made no sense to her nor brought her any kind of advantages — but now it cruelly reminded her of her own figure. Wasn’t she just the same? Once impenetrable, now fractured. Once strong, now laying on a bed of a house she couldn’t call her own, in a world that didn’t listen to her, eyes that closed which betrayed her with the same image under her lashes and in the depth of her iris. She could almost feel it, that weakening, spreading through her veins like frost, breaking apart everything she thought she was.

She pressed her hand against her chest, fingers trembling as though searching for a heartbeat. Of course, it wasn’t there; there was no pulse to find. There never had been. But now, the absence felt louder, deafening.

How could someone miss what they had never needed before?

What good was power, when she couldn’t even protect herself from a mere memory?

She closed her eyes, damning her own figure. Centuries of hunting, scheming, attacking, and yet all it took was one betrayal to crumble her down. Her chest heaved, and before she could stop herself, a sob clawed its way out of her throat, as if begging to finally be let free – something she could never be. It was raw, jagged, unfamiliar – a sound she didn’t recognize as her own. Her grief had welled up, transporting itself from her organs to her mouth, climbing the soundbox of her lips, and it finally bled. 

The flood was open.

Dark blue drops bruised her bedding, as if to shame her, drown her into her incompetence. Tears spilled over her lashes, unbidden, and the sky itself seemed to react, for the wind got stronger, smearing the windows of her room, the jalousies of her face.

No, no, no. 

This wasn’t her. This couldn’t be her.

The storm outside screamed as though mocking her, ridiculing her for behaving like a weak mortal whose heart had been broken, but her own grief was louder, more strident, intrusive, pushy as if to say - yes, I know, and I’m already punishing myself.

She tried to stifle the sound, dissect it with her fingers clamped over her mouth, but the battle had been lost long before it began. It couldn’t be buried, it was implanted. And so, the roots of pain grew over her figure, reaching her neck, and in a twisted way, it reminded her of the touch she so desperately wanted to forget.

Vyxaria wished she could turn it all off. She wasn’t supposed to feel in the first place, perhaps a curse disguised as a blessing. She was a soulless creature, mistress of the night, conquistador of men and women alike. So why, why did she now feel like a spider in the corner of someone’s room? Weaving, weaving, weaving till her fingers bled.

Feelings weren’t for her.

She was not for this world.

She wasn’t for her “home world”, either.

A Soulless creature who felt too much. Foreigner on earth, stranger at home. Everywhere she went, it wasn’t enough. She was rejected, as if her mere presence was a toxin nobody could withstand – too eager to be purged, buried, forgotten.

She wished she could reach into her stomach, cradle her bones and caress the spot where her body’s warmth had been cascaded with blood, warm blood, blood that had begun at her hips and ended at her head, where it ultimately stayed, festering the remains of the cavity of her ruin.

It was pathetic because all the times she had been hunted, she had assumed that one misstep would lead her into a trap. One day she’d be too slow, maybe she’d slip, perhaps she’d accidentally turn around and be hit right in the chest. It would be a scheme, a well thought plan, a step-by-step approach for her downfall. 

But alas, the world sneered at her, for it wasn’t strength, desire, fury or confusion that brought her down, but affection. 

Pure, unbridled affection.

She should have never let it into her chest, but she didn’t notice the way her guarded bridge opened itself for the closest thing she had to family. Her castle had crumbled overnight, both by the admission and the betrayal. It was nauseating, the kind of disease you cannot name. Maybe in fifty years humans would look at her, dichotomize her bones and blood, and classify it after her. ‘The plague of trusting’ – and so, she’d be immortalized as a weak, fragile creature whose sin had not been existing, but trusting.

Vyxaria pressed a hand to her abdomen, feeling the presence of the phantom wound. It lingered, and lingered, and lingered, braiding itself in the marrow of her being.

Pathetic. Truly fucking pathetic.

The name burned on her lips, seared through her arms and dissipated in her legs — for yes, the blade might have only plunged into her stomach, but it spread like a wildfire through the rivers and valleys of her body.

Perhaps this was the hell humans so ardently feared.

Fires of hell, daughter of seduction.

Maybe this was her home call.

Caught in the place that she had sneered for others.

A spider, suffocated by its own construction.

A knock broke through the storm’s howling, pulling her away from her thoughts. She rolled her eyes, the sound reverberating in the small room, against the mournful rhythm of the rain. Even with tears on her face, she could feel annoyance. Of course, of course she wasn’t graced with silence when she needed it!

Another knock, this one softer, almost hesitant, tentative.

There was only one, who could treat even her door so softly.

Only one who had ever treated her so tenderly.

“Vyxaria?”

The voice was unmistakable — she could’ve written down the notes of his talking if she were to go deaf. It was accompanied by a warmth that didn’t belong in the cold chaos of her night, or the tempest of her mind.

Walter.

She didn’t answer. Her throat felt dry, and the thought of facing him — of being seen like this — was unbearable. But Walter was nothing if not persistent. The entrance door creaked open slowly, just enough for him to step inside.

“Vyx? The door was open. Are…are you here?” If the demon felt anything at the nickname, she didn’t show it. She quickly stood up, annoyance replacing her hurt. How dare he intrude? How dare he be here? But as she thought that, something else intruded her heart too. Blue warmth, the colour of his eyes.

She wouldn’t let that drown her too.

“Don’t come inside!” she yelled at him, now standing up in her room. She couldn’t risk him seeing her like that. She was a mess, both inside and outside. He couldn’t view the unravelling. It wasn’t meant for her body, nor his eyes.

“Vyxaria… I’m not going to leave unless I know you’re alright”, he whispered, as if trying to not intrude with his voice. Even then, he respected her space, as if it was some kind of human being. He was too nice for his own good, she thought with a slight grin. Maybe he had been right, maybe they should’ve just stayed out of each other’s orbits – she brought nothing but upheaval.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, as she left her bedroom. She was going to regret it, she could feel it in her bones. Her voice was shaky despite her attempt to sound biting. “Always needing to be the hero.” 

She finally reached the living room, where he stood. As soon as their gazes met, his softened, while hers hardened. She knew her eyes were probably red, she knew her hair was probably a mess, she knew but yet… she let him witness that. Her hair was falling like a curtain to shield her expression, but even in disguise, Walter knew her too well.

“Maybe,” he replied softly, stepping closer, his movements deliberate and slow. “But heroes don’t walk away when someone they care about is hurting.”

Her breath hitched, the word care ringing in her ears, unwanted but impossible to ignore. She clenched her fists tighter, her nails digging into her palms. What was she thinking? She couldn’t. She couldn’t let him in. What was care in the face of death? 

‘Care? Is that what this is? Your way to look better?’, she answered, trying her best to sound enraged. But she wasn't. She wanted him to feel it, to reject it, to reject her. But she never could do the opposite.

“You don’t get it,” she added sharply, her voice cracking despite her best efforts to sound composed. “You think you can just — what? Walk in here, say the right things, and fix this?” She laughed bitterly, her fists clenching. “This isn’t something you can fix, Walter. I’m not a cloth for you to iron and smooth over. I’m not a crease you can undo. I’m not a toy whose batteries have been drained. And you’d be foolish to think otherwise”

Walter flinched at her words, but he didn’t back away. Let the waves of her anger overtake him, he thought –  as long as she reached the shore of understanding. He clenched his hands, to stop himself from reaching for her. The action didn’t go unnoticed, making the demon’s hurt bleed even faster. Even then, he respected her choice, even if it tore him apart. “That’s not true,” he said, stepping closer despite her glare. “Whatever you think you’ve done—whatever’s tearing you up inside—”

“Stop!” she snapped, her voice rising as she took a step back, putting distance between them. Her legs hit the couch, but she didn’t care. She needed space, needed air, not whatever this was. “Don’t act like you know what this feels like. You don’t know what it’s like to be … betrayed by an embrace that turns into the gates of death. To be—” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard, forcing the rest of the words out. “To lose the one thing you held onto. This world isn’t for me, Walter, and now I lost my only bridge to home. Or whatever that world was. I can barely call it home now, can I?”

His gaze softened, his iris moving in confusion, understanding, and fear all in one. He could see the same reflected into her own face. ‘This isn’t your f–’

“Don’t you dare tell me it’s not my fault. I let her in, Walter. I trusted her. I wanted to trust her. I let myself believe—” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep going. She might as well unlock the vault and let the contents spill. “I should have seen it coming. I should have known. Affection isn’t for creatures like me. I should have known better. That thing? That thing you clutch so desperately? It’s not in my chest. But for a moment it felt like it. And I liked it. I liked that feeling..”

“For a moment, I let myself forget I was a succubus. And now I feel anything but. Look at me!”, she almost screamed. His eyes had never left hers, but he knew what she meant. “I’m a mess. But I don’t break. I shouldn’t break. I’m the one who conquers, who breaks, who disturbs, who crumbles and separates — and now … now I’m this”, she spat out the last word, as if it was choking her.

Walter moved closer, step for step, till the distance between them was of arm reach. It wasn’t hesitation, far from it. He wanted nothing more than to extend his hand, let her face be caressed by his affection, to unravel the strings of the pain that chocked her and transform it into jewelry to be adored. He wasn’t here to challenge her or further rattle her — when, and if, she wanted to, she’d be the one to close the gravity between them.

He spoke again, "You think being unbreakable is strength, that it is something to admire and parade – and I can understand why! We were taught that, you and I. But even those stones that you admire in passing in the streets? They crack under pressure, Vyxaria. That doesn’t make them useless or futile, does it? And you — God, you're more than that. You are so much greater than the parts you’ve lost or feel like you’ve abandoned. So let yourself break if you must — because even in pieces, you'd be more whole than anyone I've ever known. You're not a simple  'this.' You're so much more."

The words hung, like roots on a wall, battling her, confusing her… comforting her, all at once. Vyxaria hated how they made her chest tighten. Hated the way his presence, calm and steady, made her want to crumble. She wanted him to leave, but she needed him to stay. To stay, stay as he was — stay with his ocean filled irises, his sweet smile that always reached his eyes around her with his shoulders that would slump when laughing, guards falling down as if to welcome the mistress of the fortress home.

“What do you think this is?”, she whispered, brows furrowing. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I want to be here for you” his arms were shaking as he raised them, as if to touch her face. And she let him. She finally let him. His touch met her skin, and waves of pain met the shore of tenderness, the moon’s somber light mingled with the gleam of elliptical celestial bodies. 

“You have no idea what you’re asking for”, she muttered, leaning into his touch, even when her mind asked her not to. She felt his fingers move tentatively, as if not daring to break the moment, as if afraid of breaking her. 

“Perhaps. Perhaps you’re right. I don’t know what happened, I don’t know how to undo it, I don’t know how to come up with words that can alleviate it. But I know you. And that’s enough for me”

Her breath hitched at the sincerity of his voice. They weren’t words that could be faked, no, not when his voice sounded like he had been hit himself by the dagger. And for once, she didn’t know what to say, how to retort, how to push him away, to change the situation in her favour.

And it terrified her.

Not because his touch hurt her, but because it didn’t.

The clouds lifted from the sky, and she finally crashed into him, shores welcomed home, at last. It felt like a magnetic pull, a thread pulling her closer and closer, and she followed it, she trusted it, she let it happen. Because it was him, it was Walter. Her arms found the back of his neck, his hands the dips of her waist, and they held each other as if lost in the sea, as if their gazes were the only lifeline available.

“I hate you”, she whispered, “No you don’t”, he replied with a smile that finally bloomed again. Winter unfurled, spring brought its suitcases and sat down. It felt like a promise, one she didn’t dare accept, but at the same time couldn’t fathom refusing. She traced the lines of his smile with her fingers, and he let her. He’d let her do anything, even destroy him, if she needed to. He’d drown in her sadness if it meant saving her from it. Not that she needed saving, that part was clear. Not a bayonet, not a spear — perhaps a shield, a crossbow. He could be that for her, if only she let him.

Her nails dug into his shirt, as if holding onto him could keep the flood contained, but it was too late. The dam had broken, and she was drowning in it, spilling the parts of herself she swore no one would ever see. Tears unraveled again, this time quicker, as if they knew they now had a vessel, something that would catch them. 

Walter simply held her closer. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t push her away, he didn’t grab her and scream at her for how pathetic it was. He simply stood there, held her as if the mere proximity could heal her panic, his hands circling the back of her neck, as if to soothe her. She hated how easy it was to fall, if he was there. She hated how easy she let herself crumble because in his eyes, she wasn’t a wrinkle. She hated how he was her truest undoing, and at the same time, the only shore she wanted. Her rusting armour fell, and instead of glaring at her scars, he held her. And she knew, deep down, that she didn’t hate it.

He pulled away only to be able to look at her, and before she could react, his lips pressed to her tears, as if they were bandages keeping the flood at rest. The world was in pieces, draining on the floor, bodies circling in the bleeding rain. But here, here she was at rest. In the final storm, what is there to do if not stay? Everything else drowned in the wreckage, but it was her whom he held onto. She was the only real thing. He simply caressed her face with his lips, as if to absorb the pain she couldn’t name. 

She didn’t push him away, instead she let him kiss away her pain. It was new, unfamiliar, and she didn’t know how to react. She was used to pushy hands, tore clothes, messy lips and selfish demands. She didn’t know what the procedure was for affection — perhaps he would have to teach her. But it didn’t matter, nothing did when he looked at her and wasn’t afraid of what he saw. The inundation slowly stopped, and he smiled at her — something crashed, clung, ached in her chest. His fingers softly wiped the remains of her pain, and with him, she could pretend it was never there — but for once, she didn’t want to. She wanted him to view her, not the artificial figure she put up. The rawness, the anger, the ugly and the messy — for his eyes only.

She searched her mind for things she could say, sentences that would explain what this meant for her, but instead she rushed out “… Well, were you that thirsty? I didn’t take you for a guy who liked salty things”. As soon as she did, she cringed at her attempt to let a joke break the tension she had created, but he looked at her and pure unbridled laughter broke from his throat. It wasn’t a polite, perhaps nervous chuckle or the forced sympathy filled grin she expected. It was the kind of laughter that rattled your body, that made you shake your head in disbelief, and your eyes light up. And she liked that, being the reason of his reaction. She liked being the cause of his eyes closing in joy, his hands rising to cover his face as he laughed and laughed. 

“Oh, Vyx…”, he replied, still laughing as he now held her even closer, “You’re lucky you’re not allergic to demons”, she added with a shrug, her hands reaching again for the back of his neck. She liked the position, she never wanted to be untangled again. 

“Vyxaria, not even an allergy could stop me from reaching out for you”, he continued with a smile that began on his face and ended in her eyes, as if the very essence of his joy ended in the vast depth of the affection on the stage of her face. It travelled from his hands to her legs, and there it reached for her chest. She didn’t know how to respond, not with words, so she simply leaned into him again, breathed in his scent, and smiled to herself. A pure, gentle smile. 

“You’re impossible”, she whispered against his shoulders with a grin she couldn’t veil.

“For you, I want to believe the opposite”, he admitted, holding her by the waist, as the sun finally turned to greet the two lovers. A little too late, she thought to herself, but she didn’t care, not when he held her Ike this. 

And perhaps, Vyxaria could never give him the kind of peace he desired — she didn’t even know how to, but perhaps, they could still be enough.

Maybe the sky would bleed again, and the sun would hide to worlds they couldn’t reach — but they could be more. Fire to warm, protect, guide. So fierce it could create a new dawn, just for them. So soft it would erect sanctuaries.

“Does it always feel this …empty?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She let the words find place on her tongue, and freedom in the space between them.

He didn’t answer at first, afraid his words might break the fragile stillness between them, so he simply held her tighter, lulled her. One day, he decided, he’d sing for her – the way his chest did when she touched him like this. He gently cupped her hand in his. His thumb traced the delicate curve of her knuckles, a silent promise he didn’t know how to voice. 

“No,” he murmured finally, his voice low and steady. “…not when you let someone stay.”

It wasn’t the grand confessions or fervent kisses she thought she would experience — it was more. The warmth of a hand that didn’t let go, the quiet strength of someone willing to hold her loneliness until it was no longer just hers. To be a vessel, a repository. To pull the strings of sadness of their chests, and make a sweater out of it to share.

Vyxaria and Walter both knew they weren’t perfect, and they might never be, but this was enough. It was enough to just exist, to be in each other’s orbit and let their hands find home in the dips, curves and heights of their bodies.

The rain outside stopped, windows finally shining again, and spring bloomed, fragile yet relentless. In the chest of the azul eyed merman and the succubus’s stirred soul, something new began to grow.

It wasn’t peace, but it was something more.

And it was enough.

It finally was enough.

[rainachaeri]

THIS IS SO SILLY AND CUTE I LOVE ITTT

i just spent the past five minutes laughing at this help

Can I just say tho that indigo is a little TOO cruel for banning choccy milk for A WHOLE month like wtf this guy is evil

The worst part is if Athena really did lose she WILL honor that deal and she really won't be drinking her beloved chocolate for a month! Ooooh she's gonna be so sad T^T AND I WILL BE TOO LIKE and now I'm wondering if she'll be sad enough that Indigo would start to feel bad to the point he'll take the deal back so that she can drink chocolate again

I'm not sure about that one tho. Indigo's motives right now are rlly hard to understand, and I dont even know if the guy himself understands wtf he actually wants to do

It's actually hilarious how Athena locked in tho, literally going super saiyan with the yellow aura and RED EYES?? Girl rlly did the anime protagonist power up PFFTTT

Its gonna look so different from what actually happens when Athena uses her godly powers tho, but we'll get there

ough but I love that last panel so damn much with Ath in the middle being her happy self while all the skeleboys surround her wearing varying expressions from anger, shock, confusion, AND THEN THERES DUSK WHO'S JUST HAPPY FOR HER EEEEEE

ITS SO PRECIOUS I LOVE IT T^T

THE BEST COMIC TO END THIS YEAR FOR ME <3 HAPPY HOLIDAYSSSS (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

Oh and I almost forgot for the credits

This comic would not exist if weren't for the very lovely @orisretr0 and her comment! <3

(idk if I should actually show a screenshot of the comment itself but anyone is free to find it here and just scroll through the comments oreo has the same username)

And so she casually beat the Olympic sprint world record in for the sake of her chocolate milk

Last minute comic for @rainachaeri Merry Christmas :)

[ilynpilled]

to be fair with the death thing and martin i do think that ygritte quote is so relevant:

like maybe eventually some of these characters that we feel it would be more powerful to have live do fall. and it can be during the series but not before they “live” and fulfill certain “possibilities”. like yeah death is terribly final and life is full of possibilities etc. and it will continue to be full of them until the day you fall. and every action and attempt in itself has meaning, despite even final result. that is kind of the thesis of the series and its brand of romanticism.

[abby-howard]

I'm going to be asking a lot of artists I follow this question, but how did you develop your style? It SEEMS like most people find their style and stick with it forever, just making improvements and iterations. I tend to work in a lot of different styles because I enjoy doing that, though I know there are things I gravitate towards as well. But I wonder what your journey was and how you got feedback and improved while staying true to what you enjoyed?

Hi there!

I definitely wouldn't say that I've found my style and stuck with it forever-- I feel like each of my projects has asked for a certain kind of art, and has presented new challenges that push me in new directions.

Some of that comes from seeing someone else's work and having something click into place that might fix errors/faults in my own, and then I might try to incorporate that, such as bigger outlines on my characters to help distinguish them from the background, or maybe a way someone else simplifies eyes that can help make mine look less weird.

When I first started drawing, I can see where I encountered certain influences because my sketchbooks suddenly switch to incorporating some new stylistic element that I liked from whatever I was reading/watching at the time. But it was never QUITE right, it was never just copying, there was always something ~wrong~ with it. And that wrongness was my style! As much as I hated it, that was what distinguished my art from being just a copy of someone else's. I hate it less now, and understand that other people see something there that maybe I don't, because it's just what happens when I filter other people's work through my head. My soul, if you will.

There are definitely through-lines with my work, driven by what I like drawing and what comes easily to me-- hatching is almost always a major component, and I like making expressive characters. Here's some of my earliest available stuff, from my old webcomic:

Then not long after that, I started The Last Halloween, which pushed me to challenge myself in both layout and style:

And here's the same comic, years later:

And here's a series I did for kids, where I had to use full color and lay off on the hatching, as well as learn how to reconstruct animals that we have no photo references for, which is definitely a place where style comes majorly into play, whether I wanted it to or not:

Then there was the horror book I did, where I tried to push my work to be less cartoony overall, and to work very hard on improving my hatching:

Then I started work on Scarlet Hollow, where I incorporated a limited/muted palette and had to once again push myself to make less-cartoony art, as well as learn more consistency so I could draw sprite sets. This was a big challenge for me, and has helped me grow as an artist so much!

And most recently, I wrapped up work on Slay the Princess, which required that I go back in the cartoony direction, but in a very different way than I was used to. This took a lot of sketching to figure out, and there's still a decent amount of artistic stumbling in Chapter 1 while I settled into it.

She's drawing on anime/Disney influence, but each Princess required a bit of stylistic variability. Some are more anime, while some are more realistic than even the Scarlet Hollow characters.

So I wouldn't worry too much, honestly! A person's style is often something that reveals itself over the course of their career, rather than something they choose and then try to stick to forever.

Even if you don't think you have a style, you do. It might vary a lot piece by piece, especially if you're trying to closely imitate another person's art, but the more work you do, the more you'll figure out your own strengths and interests!