#see through the eyes of another

[1introvertedsage]

[dykedvonte]

I think depictions of Anya being cruel to Curly or drawing out his suffering are artful and chilling but completely miss the point of the story and her character.

I'm not saying she doesn't deserve to have that "I told you so" moment with him but not in something callous or cold. Even if that is how it happened, she'd immediately feel guilty cause at that point she's not tormenting her tormenter or even the person truly at fault. She's doing something cathartic, similar to how Jimmy likely hits Curly to release rage he can't against the rest of the crew. She'd see herself as no different when she'd come back from the moment and see Curly cowering at her. She wants someone to take responsibility but how does being cruel to the defenseless help? Why would she want the power Jimmy has over her over Curly?

The idea of her extending someone else's pain is just so against the struggles she already faces and how she can't even bring herself to cause someone pain even to help them. Her very desire is to release herself from her own suffering and I doubt she'd even fine some sort of guilty release in being cruel to another.

[ricky-mortis]

Mariah Rose Faith Casillas, the woman you are.

[kbsd]

when a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your eyes

OR: what were we supposed to take away from episode 4 if not ‘bucky is a war widow’

[thinwhitedoc]

SHERLOCK | Martin Freeman as John Watson

[old-skyguy]

Every time I see people reduce Franziska von Karma to "haha bitchy immature lady with a whip" I get viscerally angry.

[teatime-at-4]

Domestic headcanon:

MK, at some point during a Monkey Movie Night(TM) while Wukong is making the popcorn, is practicing his glamors and he mimics Macaque's appearance, who promptly mimics MK in return as a joke.

But then WuKong walks back in. There's just a moment of silence before he goes "something is wrong here" and walks back out.

Wukong couldn't place what was wrong exactly because while he could tell glamors were at play he of course could not see through them, because of how strong both MK and Macaque are.

after a few seconds of silence bth MK and Macaque lose their shit.

and now they at random unpredictable intervals, with no rhyme or reason, will just glamor themselves to look like each other and then change back after a while. They want to see how many times they can get away with it before WuKong realizes what they’re doing. He hasn't figured it out quite yet, but he now has a sneaking suspicion on what's going on after Macaque, disguised as MK, accidentally called him WuKong instead of monkey king. Mk is somewhat peeved that between the two of them, it's the master manipulator with a record of impersonating people who slipped up first. But as of now, the shtick is ongoing.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

AUU FUCK I FORGOT I MADE THIS. it started out as a single little sketch and hten i woke up with glass in my arm. dont look too hard at the lighting. or the lines. or the anything. this whole fuckin episode was so fun HAHAHAH i love skin and terror.

[imerian]

My (very old) loscar brooch (?) that i just now made doodles for

More pictures under cut

[justaz]

need post magic reveal/ban repeal where magic is free and everyone grows in their knowledge of just what magic is and how it works etc, etc. merlin (isn't one for bragging about his powers) doesn't really mention much about his magic so people just assume he has enough to get by with like chores but not enough to catch the ire of uther EXCEPT for gauis, lancelot, and arthur bc gaius and lancelot have known about him for years and know what he's capable of and arthur sat merlin down and demanded all the stories so arthur knows he'd be a formidable opponent but he doesn't really get it yk? so he's like "yeah merlin has magic and he's capable of defending himself and camelot so he's probably on the more powerful end of the spectrum like every other sorcerer who is powerful"

and then i need merlin to be Different. like noticeably different. like idk a sorcerer is like trying out to be court sorcerer (bc merlin doesn't want another job dammit arthur give it morgana or someone-) and they perform this elaborate spell that captivates merlin and he starts asking all these questions and the sorcerer is like "yeah it's super difficult, it took me months to get it right and it takes years for some others-" and they cut themselves off bc merlin was just like "i wanna try" and does it perfectly first try. the sorcerer is seething.

camelot is hit with a heatwave and everyone is suffering and arthur is just like "morgana can you make it rain or something? it's too hot to breathe." and morgana is just like "no you idiot i can't just bend nature to my will. it doesn't like that." and merlin finally arrives with waterskins full of nice, cold, refreshing drink that the knights are frothing at the mouth to get. arthur complains again and morgana huffs and merlin is like "has he been like that this whole time?" and morgana nods with a groan and merlin laughs before going "i can try something" and leaves before anyone can say anything and arthur looks at morgana and is like "i thought you said nature doesn't like to be controlled?" and she's like "it doesn't" and then they all chase after merlin but he's chilling in the courtyard with his eyes closed, not even chanting, and then the sky starts to darken as black clouds roll in, the temperature plummets and then...snow begins to fall. in july. they all end up having a snowball fight.

a power hungry sorcerer comes along and is like "emrys....he's perfect....just what i need...teehee" and casts some spell over merlin and begins to siphon his magic and his power and merlin feels waves of his magic flood through the connection and into the sorcerer and like he's a mix of panic and concern bc yeah this mf is taking his magic but they're taking his magic. merlin tries to bargain or talk them down while the knights and arthur try to attack but the sorcerer keeps pushing them back and ignores merlin and is like "i want power, i want your power" blah blah blah monologue time and they swing another wave of magic out at the knights and knock many out while killing some and merlin is just like "ok no that's all folks thanks" and starts to push his own magic through the connection. the sorcerer has this wild gleam in their eyes and they feel more and more power fill them and it's like a high until it gets too much and they frantically try to sever the connection and their telling merlin to stop but merlin is just like "i thought you wanted my power? i'm giving it to you" and continues to flood the sorcerer with his magic until gold begins to trace their skin and they idk explode or smth and then all the magic flies back into merlin and he flexes his hands. unnamed knights 3, 6, 22, 53, and 55 still died so it's a tragedy.

a bunch of sorcerers are entertaining at a feast (kind of like the trickler) and they cast illusions all around the room that look real enough (unless you look too closely or touch it bc they are somewhat see through and your hand would pass right through them) and it's a fun and joyous night. later that week, the knights bring it up during their break while training and merlin is like "sure, what illusion should i cast?" and after some back and forth, he settles on the illusion of a dragon. it's around the size and age of aithusa bc that's all he has to go off of and it's gold since he took inspiration from the pendragon crest all around the area. it jumps around and flaps it's wings to get some air and it's all fine and dandy until elyan goes to poke his hand through it's ribs but meets physical scales and he jumps up into percival's arms. merlin looks closer and is like "oh. its real. whoops." and leon is like "whoops?? you make a real life dragon and all you have to say is whoops?" and merlin shrugs and is like "it was an accident" and leon about keels over from a heart attack "an accident? how do you accidentally-" the dragon is considered a gift from magic to camelot and helps further heal the wounds of uther's purge.

idk just like merlin being casually the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth and unnerving people just by how little he seems to care about his shows of power but they're all like "well he's just doing all these small things that don't harm anyone and he doesn't even seem to realize just how powerful he is so what can ya do?" and they leave it be and make peace with merlin being Like That. and then camelot/arthur is attacked or smth idk and then everyone gets to see exactly how powerful and dangerous merlin is

[1introvertedsage]

Opinion is really the lowest form of human knowledge. It requires no accountability, no understanding. The highest for of knowledge is empathy, for it requires us to suspend our egos and live in another's world.

~Bill Bullard~

[rcmclachlan]

Trademark: Top-tier Bucktommy writer + generally Cool + getting Buck pregnant

Thank you + thank you + thank you!

[averlym]

"now, doesn't that look nice?" [insp]

[thereareotherwaysofpersuasion]

The Storm of Vengeance Which Consumes

Yeah. It's that scene. The swiss cheese scene. The Sushseidon scene. But it's Poseidon POV with a lot of internal emotions. This was written as part of a personal series I'm working on where one of my OCs is looking into Poseidon's history and experiences this memory.

A lot of this was inspired by the various fanarts/animatics I've seen. Such as Gwendy's use of Hermes' sandals, HAH Studios' Get In The Water (specifically Ody's hand on Horseidon's nose), sloansloan's Ody pulling Poseion's hair. So if you're reading something and are like "hmm, this seems familiar" it was probably inspired by something. The discorporation is part of the lore in my series.

Enjoy!

Words: 2300 Warnings: Torture (obviously), graphic descriptions of violence, uhh. Yeah. It's that scene, soooo Characters: Odysseus and Poseidon (with various others mentioned/referenced)

Anger consumes his heart, his mind sharp and clear on the currents of vengeance. The mortal escaped him once. But not this time. His shadow consumes the single man on a raft, his towering figure of water imposing an air of terror. At long last, it will be over. At long last, he will have his revenge. 

“We’re both hurting from loss. Why not leave this here and just go home?” the mortal offers, pain in his features as he pleads. 

The words make the god hesitate. The anger that has carved a home in his heart leaves his chest aching. The minuscule hope that he could let this pain go, that he could be free from it; it tempts him. Could it really be that simple? And yet— “I can’t,” the near broken voice of Poseidon leaves his mouth. 

The mortal dares to raise a hand in offering. A soft gesture. 

And despite himself, the god leans down towards it, ready to receive it. He’s desperate for the relief from the storm, desperate for it to finally be over with.

“Maybe you could learn to forgive,” the mortal offers a gentle smile. 

He stops short, his face a mere few feet from the mortal. What is he doing? Is he, the King of the Seas, swayed by a few silver words and a decade of chase? Is his resolve so fragile? His eyes sharpen. “No.” He pulls back, his form cracking and growing as more water rushes up to join his form. 

The seas grow rougher, almost becoming like solid glass pillars. The wind swirls around harder, creating tornadoes of water.

“Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves,” he declares his mantra once again as he raises his trident, spinning it before plunging it into the water. “Die!”

The water shatters into thousands of rugged pieces. The raft on top of it falls into the depths. 

He watches the mortal that has evaded and outsmarted him at every turn finally sink beneath his power, finally drowning under his wrath. A sharp sense of satisfaction stabs at his heart, adding to the burden of vengeance he carries. But he counts it as worth it. Because he finally did it. His mission is complete. His anger is satiated. 

At least it should be. Why does it feel like he’s not done? He killed the man. He enacted justice. For his son’s pain and his own pride. Why does he not feel satisfied?

The wind continues to whip around, stringing out his long wet hair. The storm rages on. Both outside and within. At long last, he turns to leave.

“Poseidon!” a voice screams in anger behind him.

He turns, his eyes widening. 

The mortal floats high in the air, windbag in hand and Hermes’ winged sandals on his feet.

Fury fills the god as the mortal has once again escaped his demise. He bares his teeth and turns fully around. He barely gets to raise his trident before he feels himself being pummeled. 

Though the mortal’s weapon can’t break his skin, the speed at which each blow is delivered leaves him dazed. Like six hundred men are beating his body. Like the souls of the mortal’s lost crew have come back for revenge of their own. Water is knocked from his form in showers of droplets from every strike. His eyes try to track the mortal, but he’s nothing more than a blur in the air.

In the span of a mere few seconds, his form has been beaten down to its smallest height. His concentration has been shattered, his vision spinning as he falls from the sky, landing on a rocky outcropping.

The first thing he notices when he opens his eyes is the storm of his design raging around them. The second is the mortal standing at the rock’s edge, looking out at the consequences of his actions. A twisted sense of irony and victory worm their way into his heart despite his aching body working to heal itself from the borderline magical onslaught. 

And he laughs. 

“You idiot,” he spits at the mortal, pushing himself up by the rock behind himself. “Can’t you see? You sealed your fate just to beat me!” he continues laughing. The pitiful thing about mortals. For how clever they think they are, their hubris will always be their doom. “You really thought you could control my storm? That it would bow to your whims, King of Ithaca? You will never get back! And it is all by your own hands. Just like the lost lives of your crew.”

The mortal’s head slowly turns towards the god drunk on power. “You’re going to call off that storm,” he growls as he stalks towards him.

A scoff leaves the god. “Or what? You can’t kill me.”

The mortal bends down towards the golden trident laying between them. “Exactly.” He picks it up.

The trident shines in the hands of the descendant of Hermes.

The god’s eyes narrow in confusion at the statement. But as he looks at the prongs coming closer to him, then the mortal’s no longer human eyes, a new sensation fills him. One he hasn’t felt in centuries. The predatory steps unlock something almost human within him.

Terror.

“Wait.” The god starts trying to get up. “Wait!”

But he isn’t fast enough. In his arrogance, he let the mortal breach his weakness. In his own hubris, his own haughtiness over his immortality, he forgot the warning of Prometheus’ fate. Immortality can be a curse.

The metal embeds itself in his chest, pinning him to the rock. For the first time in eons, the cosmos hears him scream. For the first time since Titanchomy, he feels real pain. The sting of a death he cannot have, the tearing of flesh, the warmth of ichor seeping out of his wounds like currents withdrawing from oceanside caves at low tide.

And when the barbed ends are withdrawn, it pulls his body with it until a foot on his stomach stops him. He gasps as the metal is freed, but the relief— if he can even call it that— doesn’t last long. He sees the next blow coming and raises his hand to stop it. 

But the mortal sees this and aims directly for the shoulder.

His arm goes numb, limply falling to the side as he cries out again.

“How does it feel to be helpless? How does it feel to know pain?” the mortal mocks as he dislodges the weapon with a struggle, the barbs getting stuck again and pulling more flesh with them.

His ears burn at the humiliation, his chest tight as he breathes laboredly. His mind is assaulted with the sting of pain, an overwhelming force like none he’s ever experienced before. No one dares to strike the King of the Seas, especially not in a truly hazardous way. No one… except Nobody.

The next stab plunges into his stomach, slicing through muscle and intestines. His own howls join the chorus of wind and thunder.

It is no doubt music to the mortal’s ears as he continues to lay out the god’s sins against him, as he continues to enact his justice.

The god slides further and further down the rock, his eyes and markings glowing as his body desperately tries to heal itself. He’s never been discorporated before. He’s never had his physical form stripped away from him. He’s never experienced the shame of being trapped in his own domain from his failures. But as his body is torn to shreds by the overzealous mortal, he fears for the first time that this may actually be it. This may be the first time he experiences as close to death as gods get.

His power is split between trying to heal himself and trying to start a counter attack. An earthquake, a tidal wave, anything. 

But the mortal, once champion of the Goddess of Wisdom, accounted for that too. And he strikes where he knows it will hurt. The soft flesh of the abdomen, the already broken ribs and pierced lung, the knee, the other shoulder. Every blow breaks the god’s concentration, keeping him trapped against the rock. “Look what you’ve turned me into!”

The god can’t help but comply, staring up at the monster of a man he made. A mortal pushed too far, a man immeasurably beyond his breaking point. It’s almost in slow motion as the god’s gaze fixates on a droplet of rain washing his ichor off the mortal’s face. He can only breathe laboriously, unable to attempt to stop the trident from sinking into his collarbone.

The mortal grabs his hair, pulling the god’s head back to look at him. “Look what we’ve become.” 

His eyes sting, his throat raw from his screams. He’s lost the strength to even try to turn his face away, to fight back for control of his head. The warm vengeance that kept him on the shores of Ithaca for ten years has been transferred into the mortal, leaving the god cold and broken. 

Like a forest that has been consumed by wildfire, leaving fragile dead trees in its place. Like a hurricane that levels towns, like tidal waves that wash everything that was once held dear out to sea. The god has lost everything. A new monster was birthed from his storm of vengeance. 

And even when he thought he finished it, even when he got what he wanted, it didn’t feel like enough. He was left disappointed, unsatisfied. Killing the mortal didn’t end the storm. His revenge has consumed them both, eating them alive as the god’s father had once devoured him.

Up until now he thought Zeus stripping him of his divinity and enslaving him to a mortal king was the worst blow his pride could be dealt. But another mortal king is proving him wrong.

The mortal throws the god’s head backwards into the rock, twisting the trident as he pulls it out.

The god gasps, clutching his stomach. This has to end. He has to make it stop. Before he fully experiences defeat. Before he takes on more shame. “Enough,” he orders.

But who is the king to stop? Who is wielding the trident? And so the mortal continues his assault, reopening half-healed wounds in the god’s shoulder.

The god squeezes his eyes shut, a long groan of agony leaving him, “Stooop!” He feels sick as his voice dips further and further into desperation, pleading with the mortal, begging of all things. He cries out louder, as if the mortal couldn’t hear him the first time over his ranting.

But no. The mortal did hear him. The begs were clear as day. And they were ignored. “You didn’t stop when I begged you!” The trident’s aim is true, an extension of the mortal’s emotions, plunging into the god’s throat and left eye at the same time.

The god’s body locks up, convulsing. His whole head is engulfed in pain, the sharp point that penetrated his eye having sunken into his skull. His remaining eye widens as what would have been his loudest scream is silenced by the prong piercing his vocal cords. The sweet metallic taste fills his mouth and drips off his lips. 

The scene goes black. For a moment, he feels himself slipping away. No. He can’t give the mortal that satisfaction. He can’t let him win. Even if he already has. He barely hears the distant words of the mortal, though is mouth is slowly moving, “You…”

“You told me to close my heart! You said the world was dark!” The mortal makes an upwards strike with the trident, lifting the god’s body off the ground a bit to glare at him.

The god weakly glares back with one blue eye flickering in its glow. “Monster!” he cries out, hoping that will break the man, hoping that will end this torment.

But instead, it just seems to fuel the monster in the man as he rips the trident out. His response to the accusation comes in the words the god was so fond of as he raises the trident, unknowing how close he is to finishing the job, “Didn’t you say that ruthlessness is mercy upon our—”

And the god’s resolve shatters. His own words being used against him are almost more painful than his own weapon. “Alright!” he cries out.

The mortal hesitates, trident raised overhead.

The god forces his remaining eye open, though his sight of the mortal is obscured by rain and blood. “Please,” he rasps, brought to his lowest of lows. Subjected to begging for mercy from a mere mortal.

The mortal grips the trident tighter before dropping it with a clang.

The wind and waves die down as the god’s vision flickers. His head slumps forward as the scene turns dark. He barely feels his body hit the cold rocks. Every muscle pulses in pain. He doesn’t know when the mortal flew off on Hermes’ sandals. He doesn’t know how long he laid there trying to heal. Perhaps Apollo would be gracious enough to tend to him. But as time goes on, no one shows. He’s left alone on the tiny island, laying in his own ichor. Olympus has shunned him, probably mocking him.

The god finally begins to move, though immediately crying out as a sharp pain flares in his chest, a crack sounding like something broke. He lays back down, but the pain doesn’t lessen. His head gets lighter and lighter. His body gets weaker. It feels like fluid fills his lungs. Which shouldn’t be a problem, he can breathe underwater. But apparently he can’t breathe ichor.

There’s no storms for months. The tides are the calmest anyone has ever seen. Not a single earthquake is recorded anywhere. For the God of the Sea was nowhere to be found in the mortal world.

[byemambo]

KIM NU RIM AS DOHOE

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (2024) | 1.01

Ready to get my heart crushed by another Hwang Da Seul production </3

[youngpettyqueen]

do you ever think about Garak waking up and seeing Julian in that chair, uncomfortably crammed in and slumped over asleep, and wonder how he must've felt when he realized Julian wasn't going to leave