#my wiriting

[timesthatneverwere]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Raphael/Tav (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Raphael (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate), Haarlep (Baldur's Gate), Mephistopheles (Dungeons & Dragons)

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, POV Third Person Limited, Power Imbalance, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Mutual Pining, Raphael is obsessed with Tav, and you know it, infernal deals, Dry Humping, Rough Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oral Sex, Size Difference, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, Comfort Sex, Boot Worship, praise/humiliation, Somnophilia, Dreams and Nightmares, Blanket Permission

Summary:

Tav is not feeling quite herself these days. The Netherbrain has been defeated, but the lingering damage from all the tadpoles she has absorbed along the way has just begun to manifest, and grows ever deeper. On top of that, she has failed to deliver the Crown of Karsus to Raphael, for it was torn to pieces during the battle for Baldur's Gate. With the Emperor missing and her companions gone, she must face her fate alone. Fortunately, the devil she knows comes to her with an offer that she can't refuse.

[rainbow-nerdss]

Fever

for @loveyouanyway as part of @911fanworksfestival 💙

Buck/Eddie 3.8k Rated T

Buck wakes up earlier than usual, no light coming through the curtains. Heat radiates from the other side of the bed, making him sweat uncomfortably. He rolls out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom, splashes some water on his face and arms in an attempt to cool down. Eddie’s still asleep when he goes back to bed, which makes him pause.

Usually, Buck can barely roll over in his sleep without rousing Eddie—mumbling something about being woken up, pulling Buck closer, kissing his shoulder, complaining about Buck leaving the bed cold. Now that he thinks about it—Buck’s usually the space heater out of the two of them, Eddie cuddling close for warmth. Buck sits on the edge of the bed, reaches out to put a hand on Eddie’s head—he’s warm. Too warm.

Now that Buck’s awake and paying attention, now his eyes are adjusted to the darkness, he can see the flush of Eddie’s cheeks and hear the snuffly sound of his breaths. 

Read on ao3

[timesthatneverwere]

WIP Wednesday Thursday...

Thank you so much, @flamemittens for tagging me! (Stealing the post title! Mwhahah).

I have written very little this past month but I might be able to post a couple of unedited snippets.

This is from upcoming (whenever upcoming) chapter 6 of The Devil that Knows You:

There they are. Her greatest treasure. Her most prized quarry. Under a veneer of quiet indolence, she lies her trap. She can barely contain her enthusiasm as the unsuspecting prey delivers itself, reassured by experience; by the many times it did this without consequences. All part of her design, of course. Prey must be lured into a false sense of security. She wraps her legs around her hunting trophy, refusing to let go. Hers. Her chew toy.

And a little something for that Illusive Man x Fem!Shepard oneshot that I really want to finish at some point... sometime... in the future...

At the first sign of yet another headache about wreak havoc on her mind, Shepard deploys a moderate dose of medi-gel and continues her way down the hallway. All the money in the Galaxy and one would think that they would at least spare a few credits on real plants for ambiance, but it's all holograms. The colors are pretty, granted, but they have nothing on the real thing. Or perhaps that’s just her Mindoir upbringing acting up. Again. She will never be able to shake off Mindoir. The massacre at Torfan wasn’t enough. The Battle of the Citadel wasn’t enough. Her efforts in Horizon weren’t enough. Now, the whole  Bahak System is gone - a blaze that spread through the Galaxy map, hollowing it out. It felt so unreal, watching it in real time, but she was unable to take her eyes off it. And still, that wasn't enough.

Progress is slow but I'm trying my best over here.

No pressure tags for @djmorn @adevilyoudo @tantive404 and @judithmactir

[krankittoeleven]

💛 please? :)

From the wip of part 4 of my young nanago series, enjoy a big snippet as a holiday treat! Thanks for the ask!

Kento’s stomach rumbles uncharacteristically as he scans the options available at the vending machine before him, unsure of why he’s acting like there might be something different on offer from yesterday. Usually he finds some solace in the predictability and consistency of it. It’s easier to quiet a craving when you know exactly where to find your desire, but lately his life feels like it’s straying further from anything reliable and consistent.

His indecision is, however, a symptom of a larger problem, which is not the choice of snacks available, but the fact that he’s even hungry at all this time of day. His stomach has grown upset and vacant since hearing that he might be needed for a high level mission later in the day and it’s somewhat nerve-wracking to be left on the hook about it. His missions were rarely referred to as high level regardless of his newly minted status as a grade one. There are stronger, more experienced sorcerers than him; and then, of course, there's Gojo.

“Are you Nanami-san?”

Kento frowns at his reflection in the vending machine glass before turning to look down at the spiky-haired boy who’s standing next to him. He’s not a student— he’s too young and Kento knows them all, anyway. He’s also too young to be wandering campus alone but going by his dark hair and serious expression—he frowns almost as much as you Nanamin!—Kento has an idea who he is.

Two dogs that are not dogs come trotting around the corner, further confirming his theory.

“I am Nanami,” Kento says, following the admission with a polite dip of his head. “Are you Fushiguro-kun?”

Immediately he’s met with squinting suspicion. “You know me?”

Beside them, the vending machine beeps, reminding Kento to make his selection.

“We haven’t met,” he assures the boy as he makes his choice, pressing buttons with half-hearted enthusiasm, “but Gojo-san has spoken about you on several occasions.”

“He has?” Fushiguro asks with wide eyes. One of the dogs, the white one, approaches, then head butts the boy on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over with its playfulness.

“Yes,” Kento confirms and then his own curiosity gets the best—or worst—of him. “Gojo-san must have mentioned me, if you know who I am.”

“Mentioned?” Fushiguro echoes. A roll of his eyes accompanies what sounds like a sarcastic tone. “He doesn’t shut up about you.”

[punchyhorse]

The night is dark and deep.

It was something his mother used to say, tucked comfortably into a stuffed chair, warm and safe before the hearth, a cloud of smoke drifting lazily around her head. At the time, as a child, Steve had found it profound. There were terrors lurking in the night, but so too were there wonders. That single phrase used to awaken his curiosity, more than his fear, keep him up until sunrise, staring out the window at the dark forest surrounding the estate. Dreaming of a world just out of reach.

Now, with the weight of age and experience behind him, he knows she was drunk, and high, and bored. Desperate to seem mysterious. Interesting. She spent so long around empty headed nobles, it was only a matter of time before she became hollowed out herself.

Shame.

The night is dark, and deep.

He finds himself thinking it as he’s roused unexpectedly from sleep. The fire hasn’t yet burned down to embers and the kids are sprawled around the clearing on their bedrolls. Dustin is snoring. It sounds like stone grinding. He lies still, eyes barely open, staring into the black woods, waiting, repeating those words again, again, a mantra, unsure of what prompted them.

The night is Dark. And Deep.

He understands better now, he thinks.

It’s the eyes he sees first. Glittering gold and reflecting the dying fire light, they peer at him. Steve’s sword is barely a foot away, easily within reach. He doesn’t yet move.

Then it’s the breathing, no more than a breeze and barely stirring the leaves of the bush, kissing the underbrush as its head lowers. Those eyes shine white for a brief moment. Steve matches breath for breath.

The night is dark.

The smell comes next. Wet dog and hot, rancid air. Rotting blood.

And deep.

It lunges and Steve reacts. Rolls out of bed, blankets falling away as he grabs the hilt, slaps the sheathed blade hard on the snarling muzzle, sending the scabbard flying. It hits Mike, who flails into consciousness cursing. Blade bare, Steve plants his feet and readies himself.

Before him, the Beast unfolds, and unfolds, and unfolds, taller than it should be, bigger than he thought possible, looming and heaving, slavering jaws open. Its claws look like they could rend chainmail with nary a thought. Its canines are as long as his middle finger.

Around him the kids are rousing, yelling and cursing. Scared.

The night is Dark and Deep. Untold terrors and wonders hide beneath its cover. One of those terrors stands before him.

Steve moves.

He doesn’t remember the fight.

He knows there was one, by the damage to the clearing, by the blood coating the bedrolls. They trod through the fire at one point, scattering embers everywhere, alighting a dead bush. The smell of burnt hair lingers.

The armour saved his life.

Dustin, prior, would spend anywhere between five minutes and a short eternity each night heckling Steve’s decision to wear his chainmail to sleep in the wilderness. Five minutes to forever per night of inescapable mockery, as he gathered firewood, started a fire, cooked the paltry offerings of the night, with a brief interlude for hunting. Five minutes to the beginning of purgatory listening to a brat years his junior criticizing the lessons of preparedness drilled into him as a squire himself, that hurt no one but him, that they, until now, had no need of.

Dustin no longer makes fun of Steve’s caution.

So it was, by the grace of paranoia and a solid shot to the eye courtesy of one Lucas Sinclair, Stephen Harrington survived a tussle with a Lykind.

He did not, however, emerge unscathed.

The cut, while short lived, is deep, rent across his chest and belly, exposing bone and blood. Dustin takes any opportunity to remind Steve that he’s one of three people to have ever touched Steve’s internals. Robin takes every opportunity to smack them both on their ear and chant, “Never Again,” as she walks away.

Steve, for his part, feels that’s unfair of her, since he’s never desired to know the precise texture and temperature of his guts, but that argument never manages to sway them.

To hear her tell it, Steve’s soul divorced his body many times that night, held together with thread and a prayer while wet flesh refused to stay closed under their hands. The healing was slow, so slow, yet inhumanly fast. By morning his destroyed torso was whole once more with only an angry red scar to mark the wound and Steve was on his feet, swaying and stumbling worse than a drunken sailor in a whorehouse, but alive and intact. Miraculous. He was fine.

Everything was fine.

Until the full moon.

[natcaptor]

Ooh tell me about Such a Fucking Nightmare!?

That one has a title and a concept and NO WRITING DONE bcos ????? Got distracted.

It’s about a guy who has been having recurring dreams about the apocalypse his entire life and they’ve always been the same. But then they start to change as he gets closer with his friend/crush/boyfriend and suddenly they involve him rushing through the apocalypse with the dawning horror that comes from knowing someone you love is dead. And it’s his fault because they shouldn’t even be involved and he was supposed to do something to stop this and he failed. And he can’t tell them any of it when he’s awake because they’d think he’s crazy, but that doesn’t stop him from screaming himself awake at night with their name on his lips and visions of digging through the burning rubble of their apartment building seared into the backs of his eyelids.

The actual story will involve him trying to figure out why he’s having this dream and also the fact that the apocalypse is coming but his 19year old ass is NOT the one meant to save creation but he is going to have a role and he needs to decide if his feelings for this person are enough to start this relationship knowing that this could happen at any time.

[doublegoblin]

Last Line Tag

Big McThankies for the tag @mysticstarlightduck

This'll be a shorty of course so to tag away @asterhaze @tailoroffates @tisiphonewolfe @gummybugg @quisyop and of course anyone else

I couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah sure thing.” It was a lie. Dave’s idea of an easy assignment was still very much a sink or swim kind of ordeal. Luckily Peter had an on-site lifeguard. With the sound of only the rattling of hidden machinery; we descend.

[therearemorethings]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Criminal Minds (US TV), Criminal Minds: Evolution (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Luke Alvez/Penelope Garcia Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez (Criminal Minds), Emily Prentiss, Tyler Green Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, Kissing, Flirting, Banter, they are so in love it's disgusting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s16e04, Fix-It, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, the word unprofessional is thrown around way too much Series: Part 4 of Season 16 Fix-It Summary:

I'm still re-writing season 16, the happy way. Penelope's POV. She's stopped running from her feelings. Kind of.

[dyslexic-writtings]

Death by a thousand paper cuts

Pain only when you tried to move

So you didn't

Smothering you spirit thick and sweet

Like brown banana mashed for bread

Like an old heavy blanket

Familiar and warm

Air sowarm and still

Made you long to catch a breeze

Every soft still breath

Made you feel like stopping

Your hope bleed out

You were sick of still air

Sick with stifling sweet

Sick of not moving for pain

Sick

So sick

So tired

Your greatest wish was to pause the world

And sleep

And not have to get up

To be anything

[doublegoblin]

While the assignment was complete it wasn't finished. What caused this beast to become trapped? What powers are at play? Why does reality have a hole in it now? And who is this strange interloper?

[dyslexic-writtings]

I heard that for some adhd is like having an untrained dog.

For me I feel like little red ridding hood,

And the wolf.

I am a girl who needs to catch a will'o the wisp to save her village,

But it stays ever out of sight and reach;

Except the breif moments it flickers into view before darting out of sigh.

Sometime it is just within reach,

Only to be gone the moment she would wrap her fingers round it.

I am that girl after an impossible thing to grap,

And I am the wisp.

I am a fountain unceasing.

I am a well so dry it holds only dust.

...

It is maddening

[dyslexic-writtings]

The soul my be in the eyes,

But my heart is in my mouth.

Not on my shoulder.

No, I hold it clenched gently in my teeth.

I keep it warm wrapped up in my lips.

That's why, I think, mouths captivate me so

[thudworm]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Barbie (Movie 2023) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Margot Robbie's Barbie/Gloria (Barbie 2023), Gloria & Sasha (Barbie 2023) Characters: Margot Robbie's Barbie (Barbie 2023), Gloria (Barbie 2023), Sasha (Barbie 2023) Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Love Confessions Summary:

The FBI probably wouldn't be too happy to learn that Barbie hasn't returned to Barbieland as expected. So what better place to lie low than a picturesque lake house.

[dumbasswithapen]

can we just listen to Disabled people when they say what accommodations they need??? Like it really isn’t that hard to just take someone’s word on what is best for their own body! Whether it’s more or less or different than what you deem they need it really isn’t your place to say!!!

Sometimes, people need more than they show! Especially if they’re used to being in pain all the time, then they won’t always display that discomfort.

Sometimes the accommodations someone needs are different than what you assume. A friend who struggles with noise sensitivity may ask for you to turn on a different type of music, instead of turning it down, and if that is what they express they need you don’t have to say “oh no I can just turn it down!” and ignore them saying that that isn’t necessary because your idea of noise sensitivity is different than their own experiences and needs.

And sometimes people need less than you try to provide! Or simply don’t want that accommodation at the time! And here’s the crazy part: this applies even if what they say to do could hurt them. Obviously this isn’t a rule for every situation*, but for some it absolutely is. If your friend wants to tag along for, say, a hike, and they have joint pain it isn’t your place to add in “oh no but they can’t do [the hike]! They’ll be in pain! We have to do something else to accommodate them!” If that person expressed a desire to go, especially if offered other options prior that wouldn’t hurt them, let them live. Let them do the thing that puts them in pain, because Disabled people don’t always want to be shoved into a little box of safety. Absolutely sometimes they do, and some might always want to, but if they don’t, then let them make their own choices for their body. Just as anyone else does. You go out and get drunk, even if it gives you a hangover. You go skating even if you’re shit at it and scratch up your knees a bunch. Just because someone is Disabled doesn’t mean that they can’t do the same thing and do that fun thing that hurts them.

I don’t know if I’m displaying my point how I want, so here’s my own example: I am allergic to the cold. Anything below 60 degrees (f) I get hives. Any water cooler than a fucking warm shower I get hives. My joints don’t do great when it’s cold out. This does not mean that when I say I want to go swimming, you can say “oh but you can’t you’ll get hives!” Or “no you can’t do that you’ll be in pain!” Because. I know that. I know that. I know my Disability better than anyone else can, and I can ask for accommodations I need. I am not a child to be wrapped in bubble wrap so I don’t get hurt. My body is my body and I can do with it what I want, and face the consequences. Likewise, just because I said I wanted to go swimming doesn’t mean that when I don’t want to go out and muck around in the snow it is anyone’s right to say “oh but you wanted to swim earlier, so obviously it isn’t that bad for you!” Or “oh it’s fine it’s not that cold! Just wear a sweater!” Because at that time I need and want different accommodations and that should be listened to and considered accordingly, as far as it can be in that situation.

Seriously. Just listen to us. We are in our own bodies. We know ourselves. It really isn’t that hard

*a situation where this point would be null is, for example, a situation where the person has been peer pressured into doing something, or one where you know the person well and know that the endurance of pain is a self-harming behavior

[nightmarearian]

Turns out, Odysseus thinks hysterically, being on a magic island with a Titan’s child for seven years has… affects.

What the fuck, he thinks. Calypso and Hermes looks just as confused as he feels. (Which rules out that this might be one of Calypso’s schemes. She can’t truly act for the life of her; It’s always in her eyes and she can’t do a long act).

There are scales on his arms. And legs. And neck. And basically everywhere, actually. They come in patches and in different concentrations; The biggest batch is the one already consuming his abdomen, and meeting with the ones growing on his thighs and just generally his legs The other highest concentration is on his elbows, and they spread faster down towards his hands.

They’re a mix of sea-green-blue and gray; Some of the pale-soot colored scales bounce off a warm hazel or sunset-orange in the dappled sunlight that leaks through the trees. The gray - and especially the warm-gray - patches have some dusky gray and sepia feathers peaking out, in between the scales. The most of them are around his neck or from his elbows through his forearms. His hands have grown into aqua tipped webbed claws as well.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck, he thinks on a loop. As he huffs a hysterical laugh, he can feel his teeth having sharpened into needle point snake-like fangs and on that point - his tongue has thinned into something rough and forked. A snake’s tongue as well. The panic increases. (There are whispers in the wind now, feeling of his dead crew).

His ears twitch as he looks at his reflection in a nearby stream, peacefully running like everything in Ogygia, and - holy mother of Zeus what the fuuuuck

His… ears (can he even call them that? His hearing still seems the same…) have transformed into… fins? They remind him of the sirens’ ears, actually, though a bit wider and thinner. They’re mainly the same sea-green-blue color that the scales decorating mainly his lower half are, only fading into a cool blue gray as they near his head. …Are those more feathers behind his fin-ears??? (Scratchy ghost hands reach out of the water, like they did the River Styx. Not real, not real, he automatically tells himself, ignores them).

He turns back to the two gods, who are still staring at him; He feels his fin-ears(???) dip down in panic.

Hermes at least seems like he’s thinking - and worried - even if Odyseeus can’t see his eyes. He doesn’t want to look at Calypso much for anything, but the quick glance he gives seems to spell a similar expression, if not with a bit of… anger. Or disgust. (He hopes it’s the latter; He still feels a spike of fear at the anger. Nothing good ever came of her, much less of her anger).

(Odysseus doesn’t notice in his hysteria, but as his breathing picks up, his legs fuse together, into a snake tail. Hermes catches the moment).

Hermes seems to have thought of something, as his shoulders drop just the slightest and he slowly floats towards Odysseus, as if he was an unbroken horse (or monster, Odysseus thinks. He did say he’d become the monster but this- this is-), holding his hands in front of him in a placating gesture.

“Calm,” Hermes breathes in soft voice. Odysseus tries to follow the god’s orders. “Calm,” Hermes whispers again.

He’s done this before, he thinks, as he turns his gaze on the grass floor, unfocusing. Despite whatever in his gods forsaken travels or the war. Shut it all off. (turn off your heart, a ghost Athena murmurs behind him. Not real, he knows. Follows anyway. Why didn’t he listen to her all those years ago.)

Odysseus can’t do it as.. cleanly as usually could with the whole… well. But he tampers it down a bit. Evidently at least Hermes is willing to help. (He ignores his thoughts on how Penelope might react). They’ll… figure something out.

He tries to think about it calmer; He can feel his panicked tangled thoughts flow into a familiar, calmer weaving feeling, like whenever he makes a good plan and all it’s variables. Is it a curse from Poseidon? The fins and sea-green make him think that, if not for the feathers that are definitely not part of the Earthshaker’s realm. The feathers actually make him think of Athena but- but she didn’t answer him earlier- or did she? Hermes seemed uncomfortable and oddly tightlipped about… something; Something happening in Olympus, Odysseus can guess that much. Regardless, the most of… this seems to a snake. Snakes are either of Athena, Hermes, or Ares.

“d...eus,”

Odysseus has never even met Ares, that goes to Diomedes, he absentmindedly thinks - only Hermes and Athena, and the silver & sienna scales and feathers are very in their domain, however, Hermes obviously doesn’t know much about it, so he can really only think it’s Athena - the myth of Medusa flashes in his mind - except again, he points out against himself, the fins. They’re so clearly Poseidon, and he knows the both of them - Athena better - enough that he knows they’d rather impossibly die that work together for something as so small as a curse.

“Ood...seuusss,”

But if Poseidon can hold a grudge and he knows Athena well enough to know that she does to, as much as she denies, but still then, why would it be years after - is it cause he called to her?

“Odysseus!” Hermes half yells. The mortal in questions jumps, standing again. …When did he stop standing in the first place …wait a minute was he higher than usual earlier? Think about that later, Odysseus tells himself, shaking off the familiar feeling of fading into his thoughts.

Odysseus looks up towards Hermes, who looks a bit worried, but not as panicked as he did earlier. Odysseus looks back down at himself. There are still some scales and feathers, but considerably less. His hands have dulled down - they’re still sharper than usual, but they’re not claws, and the webbing between them is similarly less.

He feels around his mouth. His tongue is still… forked, but that’s all - still a human tongue otherwise; his fangs are still sharp, though.

“Yesss?” It’s harder to speak with a forked tongue and fangs. There’s a slight hiss and lisp at the end of the word.

Hermes doesn't respond, glancing at Calypso, then Odysseus, then Calypso again before partially turning to her, lips pressed, adopting a colder expression, like he did when he was addressing Calypso earlier, to tell them Odysseus was finally free. Hermes nods his head towards the general direction of Calypso’s ‘home’. Calypso opens her mouth, indignant, but the pressure in the air increases as Hermes’ wings stretch up and out, spreading the feathers in an act Odysseus can somehow instinctively tell is meant to intimidate. Calypso closes her mouth, still looking upset but cowed, and she runs off.

Hermes turns back to him, the wings furling back into resting near the god's ears, pressure in the air lifting. He stares for another moment, before sighing and giving Odysseus a small smile, infinitely softer than his usual mischievous ones.

He floats towards Odysseus (careful and gentle and so much unlike Calypso-) and tucks some of his curls behind his slightly-webbed ears, careful around the scales; he lightly ruffles his head like he used to when Odysseus was so, so much younger.

"Should be fine, my friend," Hermes whispers. "Rises with your emotions, no?" Hermes watches the wheels turn in Odysseus' head. Yeah, Odysseus thinks, mind blank in a good way that it hasn't been in a long while. Okay. He nods. "Smart, kid," Hermes whispers.

One of Hermes' ear-wings twitch, and his head minutely tilts towards Calypso's 'home' before tilting back to Odysseus. Hermes softly runs his hand behind Odysseus' head and leads him towards the beachside. There's a raft bobbing back and forth with the waves.

They're really letting me go, Odysseus walks towards the raft, water splashing against his legs. He turns back to Hermes who- is gone- wait no; Hermes flits back from somewhere, wings fluttering and a moderately large basket full of food, water, and clothing in his hands that he pushes into Odysseus' hands.

The god gently hurries Odysseus onto the ship, and after setting down the basket helps him push the raft into the open sea. With Hermes' help, Odysseus is far enough out to barely see the shape of Calypso, once she made to the coastline; Odysseus turns his head away from her. From Ogygia.

Hermes stays with him for a while, until Ogygia's silhouette is shrouded in fog, fading into sky. Hermes watches it fade away, as Odysseus keeps his eyes trained to the open sea (Captain-).

The messenger god turns back to Odysseus, and hovers in front of him. He lightly ruffles his hair again, and his hand cups the side of his head as Hermes ducks his head down and presses a kiss to his great-grandson's forehead.

"Call my name, and I shall be there," Hermes murmurs with a fond smile. With that, Hermes dissipates in a quiet flutter and feathers.

-

ok. so. this developed into great-grandfather hermes. uhm. yeah. anyway. so, in procrastinating on this I now have a full tag for monster-ody-au, it's called Ithacan Naga AU.

*ody has been dissociating his entire stay on Calypso’s island, besides maybe the first year, where he hadn’t spent enough time to be affected. His heightened emotions at leaving cause the actual affects to show, btw.

So! There's absolutely a ref post with a verrry long conversation in the replies that talks about it but to formally do it/add onto it: > Ody's scales are mainly/usually sea-blue-green to gray/purple, but changes colors based on lighting! > Ogygia isn't meant to be inhabited by normal people (or smth), so after seven years + Calypso's inherent magic (as a titan's daughter) it changes Odysseus into basically what Ithacans/Ody would be if he was greek monster, which is why he doesn't notice it & why it's overall very natural. -> Ithacans would really just be sea-snake nagas with some feathers. Ody is special cause he's a descendent of Hermes (and maybe Zeus) & Athena blessed, so he gets wings. > He's venomous! > He can "unhinge" his jaw (Snakes have an extra[?] bone called a quadratic bone that connects the top half of their skull & their jaw, which lets them extend it more. The jaw is also in two parts & has a stretchy ligament to let it stretch). > Full length naga, Ody is like... 27-33 ft? > He has three pairs of wings, one of the small of his back, near his waist, and the other two on the side of his snake half. > He gets gills! Three near his human ribs, a few several spaced out throughout his snake half.

Small headcannons that make a cameo in this: > Hermes used to hang out with little Odysseus (and Ctimene) before Athena (and Ares) came along and chose Ody (and Mene) > Ody has schizophrenia (and PTSD, by now).

...my battery is about to die & I can't remember anything else so that's all for now

[vxxampz]

Brokeback Mountain; “You know I ain’t queer” scene w/ GyJo

written by me :3

—.°

The fire gleamed gently, shifting around the busted up kettle, scuffs and a layer of charcoal have decorated the bent metal. Johnny idly poked at the piece of lamb meat roasting over the flames with his knife; ‘he needs a new one soon’, Gyro thought, glancing between the comestible and his partner. His green eyes were held lidded and comfortable, casting long stares before the thought of looking away provoked him.

Johnny’s eyes stayed fixed on the food, only shifting when he felt them closing subconsciously when he got too lost in thought. Something deeply rooted itself in his mind, Gyro could see it, the way his fingers moved and the tension between his muscles. He had felt it too, of course, but didn’t dare tread into the dreaded territory; it was a conversation he truly wasn’t prepared for, one he wanted to avoid. He believed that they could live in silence, a comfortable and non-confrontational silence. Unspoken words would lead them through their relationship, and nothing would ever have to be said. This preconceived notion was quickly sent up as an ember with the sparkling flames as Johnny’s voice broke through the air.

“This is a one shot thing we got goin’ on here,” his voice was blank, so factual that Gyro wanted to rip his heart out from its resting place between his ribs. He licked his lips nervously, pressing them tightly together, he was fighting the words that formed from his hastily beating heart, and desperately trying to cling to the ones his brain fed him instead. He could taste the bitter green pigment smudge across his tongue.

“It’s nobodies business but ours,” his hands came to rub at the grass he had been strewn out upon, small fractions of dirt nestled into his nails as he ripped a small chunk of green from the earth. His eyes drifted back to Johnny, who still refused to look at him.

“You know I ain’t queer.”

The words had stung with a harshness Gyro felt he never experienced before; his lips locked together once more, the tip of his tongue pressed against the back of the golden coverings adorning his teeth. The outlawed term made his arms tremble, he swallowed thickly while thinking of some sort of escape; an excuse for his actions, a denial of them completely. Gyro knew that his existence was a crime unforgivable by God, a sin you could not wash from your hands.

“Me neither,” is all he could say.

As a silence fell over them again, Gyro could see the semblance of dried lamb blood crusted onto Johnny’s hand.

—.°

thats all thank u have a lovely day (๑>◡<๑)!!!