#narcissus writes

[transfemzedaph]

Something about Joel, Etho notices, is that he's loud. He's loud all the time, making jokes or commentary or, most reccently, flirting with Etho.

Except sometimes he's not. Sometimes he's silent. At first Etho thinks something is wrong. Quickly he realises otherwise, Joel is only ever quiet around people he trusts, people he doesn't feel the need to fill the space around them with words. Or when he's concentrating really hard.

Joel is quiet after he proposes the idea of Etho placing his bed next to his. Thats the first time Etho experiences it. Etho agrees quickly, placing his bed there, hoping to avoid making Joel uncomfortable.

Etho figures it out that night, the whole bedtime routine almost silent apart from a few noises from Etho. It makes Etho uncomfortable, worried about Joel. Joel snuggles up to him and says a quiet goodnight as they get into bed together and it finally clicks for him. Joel feels safe here. Joel feels safe with him.

[narcissuswritings]

worst part of this is finding names for characters that dont exist.

[a-lady-and-her-quill]

Beauty is terror, whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. -The Secret History

[sarafangirlart]

SUPERGIANT!!! MAKE NARCISSUS THE SON OF SELENE AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

[mournfulroses]

Rita Dove, from The Selected Poems of Rita Dove; "The Narcissus Flower,"

[rosquinn]

so this is basically demian nargold beneath the wheel and every shoujo yaoi hesse wrote right

[sirdolraan]

Meditations

((DWC Feb 2025, Day 1, Hypnotic/Star, @daily-writing-challenge CW: None ))

Beledar's light shined brightly down on Dolraan as he stood on the wall, gazing up at the giant crystal. Some part of, aspect of the worldsoul, filled with life-giving light, as well as terrifying shadowy power that tempted the great evils of the world. And a song that could only be heard by those who were attuned to the Light, like himself. Lorellai, Spiru, even Janosis once they'd dug him out of Azj'kahet, couldn't hear it, even though the Radiant Song had come to all of them. But here, in Hallowfall, he could hear the crystal's song, soothing his mind and warming his heart.

No wonder the Arathi had decided to live here. It was, in every way that mattered, a blessing unlike any other. Beautiful. Affirming. Almost hypnotic.

"Penny for your thoughts, champion?" Dolraan turned to see Quartermaster Steelstrike walking up behind him, carrying two steaming mugs of tea. "Saw you head up here, thought you might like something warm to drink."

"That's very kind of you, Quartermaster," Dolraan smile as he received the mug, taking a sip of the tea. "As for my thoughts, too many and not enough. Questions that just lead to more questions. Even by my standards, this has been a very eventful time."

"I don't know whether to be impressed or worried, considering your stories. And please, we've shared a dinner table, you can call me Auralia, I won't tell the general," she said, winking. Her gaze turned up to Beledar. "You know, you'd think after years and years you'd get used to it, but it's still just so… magnificent. I'm glad to know that you outsiders can also look to Beledar for peace while you think."

"It is among the most remarkable things I've ever encountered, and I can say that with confidence. I think I agree with your historians; that you were brought here to safeguard it. I can't say that we'd have been able to stop Xal'atath's assault on it if not for the Arathi having established yourselves down here so well."

"I certainly like to think so. After all we've been through, all we've lost," she said, looking down and rubbing a ring on her finger, "having it mean something is important."

"I think it would have meaning, even if it was just a fluke. Because you gave it meaning. You made a decision, you built homes and families, and you work every day to keep everyone safe and happy. That's the Light, back where I come from."

"You have a real talent for making things big things seem simple," Auralia chuckled.

"I've spent the last five years teaching and training, I had to get good at it or I'd be embarrassed by my students, or ridiculed by my squire. Can't stand that thought."

"Well, I can understand that motivation. A toast, then. To keeping everyone safe and happy, even if it's as simple as sharing a warm mug of tea."

As Dolraan tapped his mug with Auralia's, Beledar shined brightly down upon the paladins below, her song audible to those who could hear it, echoing with notes of safety, and happiness.

[phoebastria-albatrus]

modern UDAD headcanons

•i feel like ulysses works retail and the olympians and suits are just the really weird customers. the vault tree is a shrub in a pot in the break room given to him by penelope

•orpheus performs at goth and punk clubs as a single artist. people give him money because they feel bad.

•bonus narcissus. sometimes he shows up and does interpretive dance to whatever he sings

•heracles does boxing. i dont have much more to say here. maybe he does part time as a renfaire guy because have you been to a renfaire? bro would love being apart of the fake fights

•oedipus is just a normal doctor. he’s probably that guy in fics characters come to when they have been injured. orpheus and heracles are weirdly enough the two most common for him to see. orpheus falls off stage a weird amount of times and heracles literally fights for a living. he absolutely hates everyone.

•ariadne is in school for computer science and programming. she regularly does cybercrime for random good causes (god forbid women do anything)

[oocooartistry]

Look At Yourself, Narcissus

So uh, I wrote another poem guys. I had a lot of fun when I wrote Achilles, Near Invinvible the other month and decided to do it again. I wanted to write a poem about Narcissus that demonstrates that despite his fixation he's not really seeing himself. Also how Echo is a hypocrite. Anyways enjoy XD

(Poem under the cut)

Look at yourself, Narcissus, how far you've fallen down. You stare at your reflection here, and yet don't see your broken crown. Your clothes are worn, your ears won't hear. You do not see past your veneer. Please Narcissus, look at yourself, and see for once your sorry state. I feel that death is drawing near; I cannot help but mourn your fate.

What do you see, my Narcissus, within that crystal pond? For if you saw how thin you've grown You would not seem so fond. The strength you had has long since flown. You've been reduced to skin and bone. Though haggard, you still find some loveliness reflected in your face. And seeing as that's all that's shown, you still refuse to leave this place.

Look closely, dear Narcissus, at how your body's growing weak. You've been reduced to just a shell, but think that you are at your peak. These lies of beauty are a spell, your vanity's been made your hell. You see, but are not seeing, and though watching you don't know. Please realize how far you fell; the "you" you see died long ago.

Look at yourself, sweet Narcissus, as leaves around you start to grow. You cannot hear my desperate cry, my pleas a soft and weak echo. I cannot help but stay and try, to watch you as you live a lie. I'll wait beside you, Narcissus, and beg you 'til our dying days. I do not wish to say goodbye, yet cannot bear to break my gaze.

[spocks-kaathyra]

domestic butch4butch aliens for day 5 of @startrekfemslashweek with the prompt "learning your language"

these r my ocs Cressida and Eyal :)) Eyal is Nal's little sister! read abt her family here and her mommy issues here

[writers-in-moominvalley]

Mythological parallels.

[narcissuswritings]

" Stelle held her still with a hand on her chin, forcing her to make eye contact with herself in the mirror. She took in the sight; her hair undone, face flushed, and collar fastened around her throat.

That damn collar. The colour of the leather matched the silk of the lingerie she wore. It was intentional, meant to be an extra mark that Stelle was hers. Now it just looked like an accessory to her own outfit, like putting a matching bow on the dress of a doll.

Kafka did not have time to lose herself in the thoughts of being "Stelle's doll" before that traitorous girl spoke once more. "

[marlynnofmany]

Lookie what I got! The rarest of collector's editions, with only one in existence! (There's an @ symbol in place of a © on the title page.)

(There's only one because I fixed it after I ordered my proof copy.)

Someday this will be very valuable, for sure!

[im-an-anthusiast]

Ditches and Spiders

God, his forearms ITCHED.  Ugh – they sang a horrible siren song, to which the only answer was the raking of claws, the bloody contact of skin and nails. Or whatever. He clenched his fists, twisting them, rolling his wrists, and watching the taut, lean, yet somewhat gaunt muscle flexing under his scarred skin. Calixte hated the scars so, so much. They weren’t ugly, contorting, or shredding, and they weren’t spirals of thorns or carved spines. They were “beautiful”, twisting, mending – spirals of petals and curving stems. Calixte always hated the mix of lily flowers curling up his arms in a monotone white of scar tissue. They made him sick. His entire lunch – half of a white chocolate granola bar – tickled the very top of his throat, acidically ghosting over the roof of his mouth. He ought to practice Magic again.  

He applied the Sepal Balsam. Almost half the container coated his forearms thickly, massively surmounting the blood below it. Was that... wait... quadruple- no, pentuple the recommended dose? Perhaps that was why he could feel his pain fade into such intense numbness so quickly that in mere seconds he could not feel his forearms at all – and could, in real-time, watch the open wounds, cuts, gashes, and lacerations riddling his forearms and climbing up his bicep close, and twist at themselves, forming sickeningly intricate floral shapes, layering onto those already there. What a disgusting toll he has to pay, really. And, sure, he could always not push himself so much or just wait for himself to heal, but how would he get better, then? The best around don’t just rest. No pain, no gain, after all! He just has to push himself a little harder, surely...! 

The gloves contracted around his arms. They squeezed and cried at the Magic pouring into them, pushing and lashing at his flesh. The gloves wrung his arms, and blood dripped out from their hems at his biceps. All for... him.  

The bouquet strained in his arms. The paper tore open at the pressure pushed into it, flowers spilling around his flesh. Ditch and spider lilies both wrapped around his forearms, slipping from his embrace one by one. All from... him.  

“Are you proud, dad?” 

[claudiasommers]

“ I do not blame Narcissus. I, too, find joy in the cold kiss of a reflection. ” -- Claudia Sommers, 'And You Can Quote Me On That'

[the-oracle-of-versel]

Thoughts like that are why we have daffodills by the lake. Your sweet echo is dying to know , if she repeats your wisdom- will you finally see her? Or is it when you see her logos° that you might finally turn to her. Why must she become the sun for you to see her grace. Cast your ego aside for just one moment, oh dear narrssicus , and look at the moon.

°ration/words (philisophical reading) or emination of the divine (gnostic reading)