epicsfanshitposting

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.*crawls out of a dark hole *

scylla theory for her lyrics in... scylla.

so my theory is that (EPIC) Scylla was doing some… really dark stuff, and Circe found out (cause we know that Circe was the one who cursed Scylla into being the monster). The "dark stuff" was this.. truth&control spell (like the classic magic-slaves or something- the spell reveals the darkest parts of people and then makes them slaves or something), or something. It was dark, like blood magik or something. So Circe cursed Syclla to be the monster we know, and Scylla is repeating her spell as well as Circes curse (this is the second part, after Scylla says "Hello")

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and now we sit here with pleading eyes for a musical. like the world has never known

THEY MET

THIS ISNT A DRILL

JORGE RIVERA-HERRANS AND LIN MANUEL MIRANDA HAVE OFFICIALLY MET

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A post shared by Jorge Rivera-Herrans (@jayherrans)

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it has just come to my attention that a "spherical cube" does, in fact, exist.

head in hands existential crisis send halp

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I can't help but wonder, Astyanax

Oh, my son, ne'er allowed to grow, Oh, my boy, sweetest joy I know, Days ago, I held you gently in my arms, Your time has flown, no...

Used to say I'd make the storm clouds cry for you, Used to say I'd capture wind and sky for you, Helm aside, I held you; would've died for you! Oh, you faced my foe...

I can only wonder, who you could've been Things you could've suffered, the fights you'll never win All I ever wanted, was a peaceful world and home Born in war and torment, but today you rest your soul

My son, you're not alone!

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Our Disney Prince <3

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unrelated but whyyyyyyyy does Hades look like Alexander Hamilton... is it just me?????

POSEIDON (and Jay) Mini comic / Context of Ody!Jay

Wn lo que hago por dar un poco de Lore 😂😂 (es llanto)

Ody received a divine favor and is cocky when he has security and that's why he went to bother Poseidon. Plus, he's the one who gave Hades the idea for the trident replica 👀

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I'm alive I swear

Wait no that's a lie I'm still dead from ithica saga

I made an armour for the little wolf, what do u think? ;)

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Recently became obsessed with all things Tiresias (the prophet)

Design inspired by @nothing-impt (WHY IS HE SO ADORABLE?????)

Probs gonna end up as an au (it is an au now methinks) but yeah have art.

Please forgive me for not posting. I'm back!!!!!!

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yuppers

SHAKING VIOLENTLY

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*resurrects from the dead*

Did anyone else notice... in the Ithaca saga

That will Ody says Penelope and Telemachus a lot

Noone says his name. Once.

Maam. Sir. He has. A name. ODYSSEUS.

No you don't get an explanation for my inactivity bcuz I don't even know how I forgot to post

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I do you one better, when does the ripple become a tidal wave???

Nice argument bro. Unfortunately for you, the meteor is coming

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how dare one of my favourite artists box up another of my favourite artist.

Opens up the box

Be nice

Im alive 🙋

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To all those people's who need a hug

"FIRE THE CANONS!"

"sir"

"sir sir sir"

"WHAT?"

"i dont think that was a canonball"

"Wait what-"

"I think it was a person"

"Was it-"

"I think so sir"

"SEND OUT THE ROWBOAT! WOMAN OVERBORED"

"Sir dont you mean overboard?"

"No, she only does this when she's bored"

"yes sir"

*I land next to you and hug you*

Love you (:

*vanishes*

Pls do not reblog with LGBT or Palestine or Ukraine it anything like that.

I choose to stand out if these things online so please respect my boundaries.

However, Reblogs are always appreciated (:

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only 10 months and 2 days older but 1, it counts and 2, who's counting? (:

ao3 turns 15 today

reblog if youre older than ao3

(there's a lot of people asking about this, but the legal age to use social media is 13, except in few countries. so yes, there are people here under 15)

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"I called you came"

Great idea. Top notch. Ten out of ten.

But what if we went a little something like this:

"You came, I hadn't called"

"You came again, and I realised I was calling for you, I just didn't know it"

"You came, even though my call came from hell"

"I came, not because you called, but because I needed to"

"I came, because you called"

"I came, because if I didn't I don't know I would keep going"

"And then you called, but I couldn't come"

"then you called, and I wanted to go, but I couldnt"

"you kept calling, but if I went the consequences would be too much"

"you stopped calling, but I never stopped trying to protect you- from me"

"and finally I called, and you came, not soon enough to save me from myself, but soon enough to hold me when I died"

"and then you called my name, and I came back"

"you called, and I came back, because you were my everything"

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Tw: ghosts, mention if abuse, blood, angst in general

You know what?

Let's stop this healthy sunshine polities business.

There is no way that that boi whos gone through wars with his "open arms" does not have trauma.

Give me ptsd child-abused polities.

give me polities that pushes his open arms policy so much that he become maniacal.

And Im not talking about like insanity, but forced sunshine when his candle is flickering, growing dim, and the world is getting to much and he can't hold it together anymore.

Polities whos laughs are insane, Polities who forces himself to see the good, Polities who's relieved when that someone dies or that friend leaves because now the won't have to deal with the world, deal with him.

That they won't have to see what he's seen, go through what he's gone though, and if they have, then it's relief that they won't have to suffer anymore.

And not in a good way either. In a shove-the-grief-away-why-are-you-crying-I-thought-you-were-the-happy-kid.

Polities who's only words are "greet the world with open arms" because he's forced himself not to have any other words, because he has to be the sunshine, who else could do it? What else are you good for? Your nothing but a burden, Polities, so be good at something or just don't exist!

Polities who sings to himself his own words at three in the morning, when its his watch and the emotions come crashing down and out. Polities choking on his own tears as he rocks back and forth, singing, singing, singing, until he loses his voice and his throat starts to bleed.

Polities who snuck a lotus plant onto the ship and eats a seed when it gets too much, not enough to enchant him, no, just enough to make the pain stop.

Polities who smiled when he died, finally, finally free, and then breaks even more inside when he's stuck on the lotus island, singing his words to noone.

Polities whos emotions grow and grow and grow until their forcing their way out of him, but because h has no tears to shed they come out as blood, trickling out the corner if his eyes, bubbling up out of his forever-unhealed throat.

Polities.

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Quick thing

Talkin about Odysseus ghosts

Why? Cause I'm an introverted English lit student who likes making people suffer alongside me.

Anyways enjoy.

=============

Polities is blue. Blue like tears running down face and hands, blue like the condensation on a cold glass of water, blue like the tinge of the lotus flowers, blue like Telemachus eyes, blue like Athena's quick thought space. Polities is close, always close, always asking asking asking to be heard, to be listened too. To be learned from. To be remembered and cherished and responded too. Polities is falling apart, fading, little by little as he is forgotten bit by excruciating bit. He is never cared for, never responded too, never listened too. Polities is the siren call, begging, begging with a blood-flecked voice driven dry by his singing and the lotus flowers, to listen hear learn but Ody never does, never listens never learns never remembers. Polities is the unhealed heart, the unheard cry for help, the hidden grief. He is the flowers wilting on the grave, still beautiful and filled wits message and a promise, but ignored and forgotten all the same. Because he always is, isnt he? He's never been heard and never will be. Not in his story.

Eurylochus is orange. Orange like diluted blood, orange like the sunset, orange like the rusted blade. Eurylochus is quick to follow, quick to lead, quick to forget the consequences, quick to lay the blame, quick to draw the first blood. Yet he is also hesitant, paranoid, planning ahead and ahead into the future, slow to act up, slow to accept defeat. Eurylochus is clinging, doubting, always doubting, clinging like syrup the colour of blood and sunsets. Eurylochus is the rusty blade, never learning, never advancing, always holding onto the past. Eurylochus is the man driven insane by the things they have seen, unable to recover, unable to move on, unable to see the present day. Eurylochus is trapped by his own brain, syrupy-slow and stick and soft.

Anastayx is purple. Purple like royalty, purple like lotus flowers, purple like wine, purple like blood-stained seas. Anastayx is silent and still, frozen in time, in the limbo between laughter and mourning, joy and sorrow, forgiveness and revenge. Anastayx has no voice, no song, because he never had the opportunity to make one before his life was ended on the whim of a distant god. Anastayx is falling, ever falling, falling from grace, from memory, life slipping through his fingers faster and faster as his eyes say everything that needs to be said. Anastayx is the silent heartbreak, the unfinished story, the broken pieces left to collect dust but silently accusing that you did this. You left me. You ended my story before it could begin. It's. Your. Fault.

Anticlea is green. Green like tropical plants, green like the loyal protective snake, green like the life she lived to the fullest. Anticlea is slow, methodical, a mother teaching her stubborn, reckless child, slowly rocking him, trying to bring comfort. Anticlea is the vine that wraps around a tree, whispering to it tales of the heroes of old, bringing beauty for a short while before decaying slowly, softly, flowers falling petal by petal onto the forest floor, soon gone and forgotten as the tree grows older and unrecognisable before her invisible eyes and hands. Anticlea is the silent bystander, voice and memory lost to time as she stands in the background, a husk of a memory, a silent plea.