#i should dig into that lol.

[non-un-topo]

Wish there was an elixir that wasn't alcohol that you could take that just makes you write/draw and not care about the quality of your work or about what your potential audience might think

[nucrests]

hihi 👋

The last makeover of these three! Literally none of them look the same anymore lol 😂

[leverage-ot3]

okay I’ve seen a lot of posts about sterling just being crowley and. guys. the implications just hear me out 😭😭😭

bending lore slightly here BUT let’s say crowley’s body was once inhabited by a human and crowley is possessing the body (maybe he kills the initial inhabitant bc he doesn’t care)

but he still has the guy’s memories. he doesn’t bother keeping up appearances with his ‘ex wife’ because he is too busy building up his hell empire. BUT for some reason he can’t quite identify, he still feels something towards his ‘daughter’. he lets the divorce happen and doesn’t feel the need (or desire) to fight for custody, but he can never quite forget her, to cast her out of his mind for good

some hijinks ensue with the leverage team. it’s mostly because even a grind culture demon wants some off time every once in a while, and for him the insurance investigator stuff is more of a hobby. interacting with the leverage crew is very low stakes for him, and honestly, quite amusing. they aren’t on his level power-wise, but that ford character gives him the mental exercise he hasn’t experienced in, well, he can’t even remember

he can feel their frustration and anger when they learn he has become employed by interpol and feeds off it. it’s great, and relaxing in a way he is never able to achieve while conducting hell-related business

one year he gets wind that olivia is in a really bad situation associated with his ‘ex wife’s’ new husband. he’s selling vital hardware to terrorists, and while that might actually be the kind of chaos he would normally support or be entertained by as the king of hell, something feels wrong about letting olivia stay anywhere near that man

he calls upon the body’s adversaries. he wouldn’t admit it, even under duress, BUT he feels slightly fond of them. nate for the three dimensional chess they play, sophie for her ability to charm and disguise, parker for her chaos and slightly unsettling nature (it’s the autism swag and being bad with human interaction but he doesn’t know that lol), hardison for his unapologetic intelligence and eliot for his hardened violent past and take-no-shit persona (he’s fun to tease)

they perform exactly as he expected, right into his carefully crafted plan. and then olivia is under his care and things get more complicated. he keeps her FAR, FAR away from anything related to the supernatural (heh). no one can find out about her, ESPECIALLY not those imbecile hunter brothers (if for nothing else than the embarrassment in revealing he has a weak spot)

not sure how to work it into this post but I also want to add that somewhere along the way he develops feelings for nate and sophie. the frame up job is near and dear to my heart and you can’t convince me that isn’t fighting as flirting behavior. his interpol persona is more of a side hustle so to speak, but he finds it fun (relaxing, even) to fill that role. there aren’t any obligations of other demons, bothersome hunters, or anything like that. nate and sophie are low stakes, except, they aren’t, really. they make him feel things he can’t ever really remember feeling. his heart beats fast when sophie sat in his lap and cradled his face, his hands sweat when nate gives him that certain smug look. he’s exasperated by the way they can run circles around him like no one else has ever before. they annoy him and get under his skin in a way no one else can and it’s infuriating. but also not, at the same time. maybe he likes it

and then the long goodbye job happens

hear me out and suspend your belief here for a second, because I can’t remember if crowley supernaturally knows when ppl die/are dead or not.

so nate is in interpol custody and the interviewer is obviously out of her depth. (most people are, when it comes to nathan ford.) he walks in and pours the man a drink, but he’s fuming. somewhere along the way he came to care about the team. hell and suffering is literally in his (official) job description, but he can admit (only to himself) that he admires what they do. it’s not for him, not anything close to where his passions and interests lie, but he respects their drive and purpose. he is also aware enough to acknowledge that they are a family, a group of misfits that never belonged quite anywhere except to each other.

and nate fucking blew it up, ruined it, because his vice is being so obsessed with the end game that he is apparently willing to let his team, his family, the people that anchor him to reality, die because the ends supposedly justify the means.

not this time. not to sterling crowley

he is enraged. he can admit within the confines of his mind that he cares for nate, for sophie, even for the other three (though nate and sophie have somehow made it a hierarchy where they are more important to him. which he will dissect later in private. maybe.)

nate let them die, he let sophie die, and for what? the black book? hell below, crowley would have made things easier somehow, if he knew that this was where nate’s sights had lied. he would have prevented this somehow. he wants to have prevented this. he doesn’t want any of them dead and is too afraid to check and verify because that would make it real. the idea of sophie (or any of them) somehow making it to hell instead of heaven would probably break something in him he might not be able to repare fully.

he yells at nate- he’s angry. hellfire burning in his heart because everything is ruined. the deaths aside (however hard it is to set them aside in his mind), nate will not recover from this, not ever. this will be the start of the end, he is sure. a miserable, guilt-ridden existence where he drinks himself to death and nothing will save him. it plays out in crowley’s mind in a thousand different ways that are beyond painful to conceptualize, even in theory.

the story starts to unravel and there is a game afoot. a solemn, miserable, infuriating game because the con is still in session because parker is alive and in the building- which sets another fire alight in his chest. ‘parker even know you got hardison killed?’ he rages for her grief when she finds out. he knows it will double when she finds out eliot has perished, too, because he isn’t fucking blind.

but nate is a brilliant man, lest he forget too quickly. they are all alive, and somehow still the entire crew slips through his fingers. he’s not even angry (he never would have been- he doesn’t actually try too hard to catch them. it’s about the game, not the consequences). he lets them keep the black book because he’s fucking exhausted and honestly, they more than earned it.

‘now we’re even. tell sophie to drive carefully’. they will never be even, not really. crowley would never admit or agree that being human is the superior state of being, but that have made him feel human in a way he doesn’t actually mind. they keep him on his toes and match him in a way unique to them, they remind him that there are other things than the realm of hell. not necessarily bigger than hell, but maybe just as important in a different sense.

watching the van drive away, something inside him settles. when he walked into the interrogation room that day he thought this was the beginning of the end. it’s not the end at all, not an end to anything. it’s a continuation of their story. maybe, he thinks, a beginning to a new era in it

[namazunomegami]

A healthy dose of stalker Geto thoughts

a/n: FYI, thats the result if you lock me up in an empty room with my laptop and a playlist full of mareux, NIN and MSI. At least I got a newfound love for Closer now bc some years ago a fic ruined the song for me lmao

Before you ask, yes, I have mental problems. But likes and reblogs are still appreciated <33

wc: 1919

cw: geto is fucking delulu, online stalking, serial murder, poisoning, dismemberment, geto cooks his blood into a meal, implied bondage, kidnapping, reader was abused, corruption, reader is forced to torture and kill their abuser, gore

credits: nakatsuji sakutaro for one of my fave geto fanarts ever <33, my dearest @notveryrussian for proofreading, my criminal pedagogy teacher for some interesting details about organized criminals lol and arone_cosplay on tiktok bc his scream au cosplay was the sole inspiration when I started writing

The dark content is heavy with this one so there's nothing wrong if you won't interact with this post! If my horror enthusiast bestie says that this shit is scary, believe them. Minors are gonna get kicked, obviously.

He’s definitely not that “Joe Goldberg from You” type of stalker. He despises the guy, he watches that show to have a laugh. It’s his form of disaster tourism. Geto is almost the antithesis of Joe. I was a big fan of the first season of You so let me elaborate. Joe has a savior complex and he latches onto any conventionally attractive rich woman in his proximity and tries to mold them into his ideal type (which is vulnerable, dependent, innocent, and forgiving) and when shit hits the fan he becomes a whiney little bitch saying stuff like “aww, but I did this all for you :cc” because he’s in complete denial about his crimes and psychopathic nature. Geto is the opposite, and what makes him so fucking scary is that he doesn’t need to convince himself that his actions are right. He knows he’s right.

Also, he won’t put on a fucking cap and go out on the streets to stalk you. That’s just a dumb decision, he has a job to do, and it’s easy to recognize him. But that doesn’t mean that he won’t do it in his spare time, from a comfortable distance. He only needs one of your socials and digs up every little detail about you. Your entire lore. Pictures shared by your relatives when you were just a little kid, he tracks your friends’ accounts (he wants to make sure that you’re surrounded by the right people), all the locations, cafés, restaurants you share on your instagram highlights, your celebrity crushes, all the playlists you made on spotify, everything. He gets to know you before you’re even aware of his existence, you’re an open book to him before he talks to you. It’s so easy to get a feel of your essence in the online space, use the tremendous information to his advantage, surprise you, win you over with his fake thoughtfulness.

"Aw, you’re so sweet, how did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

Yeah, a lucky guess, he just scrolled your twitter until 4 am to reach your first ever post.

The easiest way to understand how his mind works is to look at his MBTI type and I’ll try to hold myself back to not flood you all with my everlasting love for Jungian psychology and cognitive functions. INTJs are meticulous, skeptical, analytical, practical, everything is centered around a bigger, more complex system, a spiderweb of thoughts. Their subjective ideals and values have the utmost importance. They get lost in the details sometimes, but they manage to prioritize creativity and rationality in their actions and thought process. So, if we want to pick a category among murderers, he’d definitely belong into a mission oriented type (canon is my only proof for this). He couldn’t care less about money, power, or satisfying his needs for control. He’s the personification of punishment in his mind.

Evil is petty, he is petty, but not so much to just deal with every single nuisance in the shape of a person (looking at Joe again lol). He won’t go after the Karens at your workplace or the shitty classmates who just wanted their name on your assignment without any contribution. If he kills, he must kill for a valid reason and does it brilliantly. Calm and level-headed, organized, devoid of anger or any intense emotion. He makes awful lot of preparations for a kill. He studies the victim just like he studies with you. Their schedule, relationships, habits, social media presence. He’d rather arrange the scene to give the impression of an accident. Mixing cleaning products, fucking around with the heating system and letting them die of carbon monoxide poisoning or a house fire (an easy kill if the victim smokes). He rarely lets himself get carried away and get all bloody and gorey because he knows how much effort he must put into disposing of the body. But he does feel like a god during the process. That he rules over life and death. That he has the divine right to decide who should be removed from existence.

The only slightly risky thing he allows himself, is to put his earphones in and call you up while dismembering a corpse. Good thing that his grandma has no use for that big ass meat grinder, a literal jackpot for getting rid of the bodies. His voice is soothing, so sweet you can turn into a blushing and giggling mess, but you can still hear the loud chopping noises as he severs the body parts right at the joints. He shrugs it off that he’s just meal prepping.

You believe him, you don’t question him further. But he does cook a delicious meal just for you and sends it to your workplace. And you have absolutely no idea that he was thinking about cutting up the ingredients with the same knife he killed his victim with. Luckily, he changed his mind. You don’t deserve to have any remnants of a lowlife in your system. But the idea was nice, just like how modern witches tie their favorite person to them. There’s something ritualistic about blood consumption in his mind that he can’t explain. Hopefully, a few drops of his own didn’t ruin the meal. At least you weren’t complaining about the metallic taste. He doesn’t mind he has to live off on two cans of Monster because he pulled an all-nighter. You’re falling head over heels for him so it’s worth the suffering.

The only thing that makes his heart ache is that as your relationship develops, he must use you to forge his alibis. He immediately copied the keys to your apartment, without your knowledge of course. Sometimes he drops by when you’re absent, goes through your stuff, sniffs around, looking for trinkets. He comes over specifically when he plans to kill his next victim. Sneaks out in the middle of the night, kills them, then goes back to your place and crawls back next to you. And he’s as silent as a cat, as a phantom, as a ghost.

He’s a fucked up man in every aspect. You think he’s too hyper fixated on restraints and bondage. He’s far too keen to spend an excruciatingly long time arranging the rope in an aesthetically pleasing way, or have the gag’s and blindfold’s colors match perfectly. His creativity and imagination are running wild when you’re the rigger. You almost question his sanity when he asks you to use cable ties and masking tape on him. What does he want? To feel tortured? Deep down he’s fascinated with the feelings a potential victim might experience. A taste of distress, vulnerability, helplessness that he usually has no chance to feel, yet he’s thrilled about it. You still won’t suspect a thing, everybody’s got a weird kink or two that they can’t explain, right?

He knows that one day, you’ll discover his secret. That he can’t hide it forever and even though he justifies his vile actions by giving it a noble cause, he must earn your forgiveness. He deliberately kept those who hurt you mostly alive. Whether it’s a bully, the shittiest ex known to mankind, or an abusive parent. He knows he has no right to kill them. But he can bring them to your basement, gagged and tied up. The best birthday gift ever is to let you have your revenge, right? Or maybe he just wants somebody as irredeemable as him, like he’s undeserving of anything nice in life so he must break it, tarnish it, ruin it. The world is a such a cruel place for kind spirits, he feels the need to corrupt them. Bring them down to his level.

He lined up a bunch of tools, a wooden bat, scissors, knives, razor blades, a hatchet, a hammer. He transformed the basement into a makeshift rage room. You don’t dare to cry, run, or scream at him, the person before your eyes makes you freeze completely, your features are distorted in dread. An old response got triggered, your nervous system remembers those years, you’re flooded with memories. You feel yourself regressing back to the victim you once were and that’s the process that Geto wants to stop once and for all. It’s so strange that you find safety in his presence and his firm hold above your elbows. He’s looming over you like a shadow, a shroud. Like the devil on your shoulder. Cooing in your ear to pick up something and have fun, let your rage cloud your mind, make them relive your pain. Don’t worry about a single thing because he will do all the clean-up. And you have no idea why, but you accept.

It’s strangely comforting. You feel in control, all-powerful, accomplished. It feels better than it should. It feels so right but it shouldn’t. There’s no guilt in you, only endorphins running rampant in your veins. The dopamine rush enslaves you, fills your brain with white noise. The pain does fade a little or something just irrevocably breaks in you. Maybe you’re just as fucked up as him and you managed to bury it in the deepest corner of your psyche. All bottled up for years like the most exquisite French wine, chained just like a beast but now it’s freed. Your reward is a bloody pile of flesh and guts that once was a person, and utter devotion gleaming in Geto’s eyes.

Your consciousness gets clearer, you notice the sensation of being drenched in blood and sweat when the realization hits you that there’s no going back. Now, you’re sticked together for life. You know his dirty little secret and now you’ve forged your own that he can blackmail you with if you ever want to get away from him. But why would you do that? You’re everything he needs and he’s all you have.

[chiiroptereh]

Went on a mushroom trip on New Years, saw this random image on my phone and it spoke to me. He is like a deep sea organism comb jelly copepod looking thing to me

Always so fascinated by my shroomy art, it's somehow even more colorful than usual and looks nothing like how it was supposed to, lol! Definitely going in my wallpapers folder

[ellydraws]

(20/01/2021)

This is a piece of a commission of a character who I played in a D&D campaign called Zeitgeist: The Gears of Revolution who is half-my-character and half-NPC, requested by the author of the campaign for publication in another campaign set in the same world.

It is both the character Kasvarina Varal, whose story I did not write, and my own character, Summer, Eladrin bard, who over time remembered and confronted the fact that she was indeed that very same Kasvarina Varal, pictured here.

Our GM was posting updates to a forum that the author of the campaign watched and commented on, and when I came into the game a little late, the two of them decided in secret to me, and in an act I would forever consider One Of The Coolest Things To Ever Happen To Me, that my character had accidentally fit several criteria for an extremely plot-pivotal NPC, and that I would from then on being playing that NPC.

Five years later we finished the campaign and I began drawing a piece that I uploaded to the internet as a work-in-progress and I never returned to it. Three years after that, the author of the original campaign reached out to me and asked me to complete it for publication.

I was extremely happy to be given the opportunity not only to finish this piece but to give it the time and care that matched my feelings for it and this character's place in my life.

[i-wiggle-i-squirm-bc-i-am-a-worm]

Unnecessary discussion about Chat Noir and the Drums

There’s something I love so much about Chat playing the drums in Horrificator. This is something that’s been on my mind since I was 13, so hold on here.

First, obviously, Adrien also plays the piano - which obviously still has a lot of meaning!! - I’m not here to diss on the piano, there’s a lot of freedom of expression in every instrument type and music expression in general, but there’s a reason why some people are more inclined to different instruments, and I think there’s a lot more to it than just sound, but feeling as well. The role you play. How it feels to play it alone vs. playing it with others, if it’s typically something that you can play alone vs. in a group.

So first, the piano, and how I think it relates to Adrien’s character, plus how it relates to those points.

The piano, let’s be real, is something that a lot of us were forced to take lessons for at some point. It’s something that has ties to high society (there’s a HUGE discussion and so much more to say about that, but let’s not go there) and honestly?? I think it works pretty well with symbolizing the obsession with perfection that Gabriel shoves onto him. I’ve known many piano players, and while some genuinely loved playing it, it was always easier to somehow stumble onto someone with a deep hatred for it after being forced into lessons. Whenever I asked them why they hated it, I got almost the same answer every time: “I need to be perfect.” (Along with people saying that they were forced to lol)

Then there’s the role you play. You can play with people in a band, an orchestra, as an accompanist, a duet, at a bar with a bunch of people singing - whatever - music has many forms, and many different connections. But the piano is something you can play solo, no need for anyone else. It isn’t what you can do with other people that I’m focusing on for this, it’s the fact that you don’t need anyone. You can play alone, and it’ll still be fine. You can be alone, and you’re still fine - perfect even - which is something that Gabriel shoves down his throat, resistant to him playing with his friends by touching on this ideology.

Which is a glimpse into how he sees Adrien, and how Adrien experiences life. He can be alone, in fact he’s more perfect when he’s alone. And when other people are added, the attention to his perfection is taken away bit by bit, until he’s not good enough. He has to play solo in concert halls, on stage for everyone to watch, not in the back of a bar, playing with his friends.

Alright, so now we move to Chat Noir and the drums. The main play of this fake essay. 

It would be so easy to just ignore everything and just go “haha, he’s the energetic one, so ofc Ladybug gave him the drums! And they’re an easy instrument to play, etc.” but that’s far from the truth.

Ok, so I’m not a drum player or percussionist in any way, but I am a bass player, and genuinely love the drums so much because they’re incredibly important, and here’s my cheesy analogy: the drums are the heart of the band, keeping everyone on beat, it’s what you feel at the centre of it all. The band is nothing without the drums, without the percussion (The bass is what connects the band to the beat of the drums, kinda like the blood vessels, but sadly this ain’t about bass).  Like do you know how easy it is for a band to fall apart if they don’t have a drummer??? You need a drummer. You literally can’t survive without a drummer, because even if you manage to work together, use the bass as a backing, whatever you try, there’s still not much of a heart left.

But besides that, do you know how hard it is to play the drums??? You can’t just throw someone crazy, or energetic there just because “crazy drummers lol” you need someone who listens. Who can set the beat. Someone you can rely on, because they are the person in control, even if they aren’t as flashy as the guitar player. Reliable is the word that comes to mind. The drums can make or break a band.

And wanna know who that reminds me of?

Yeah. I highly doubt that the writers put this much thought into a random five second scene in an episode of season one, but it fits with Chat Noir SO well. 

Unlike the piano, the drums are almost solely played in a group setting - you need other people, and other people need you - he needs other people in his life, his friends are needed, but they also need him. Ladybug needs him, along with all the other heroes in Paris, whether he sees it or not. He seems to get in a state of thinking he’s not needed, but i do really think he’s the emotional glue that keeps the team connected, the heart that keeps them beating. If he’s isolated, he can’t quite reach his full potential that he can when he’s allowed to be around others, just like they can’t reach their own without him.

But on top of that, I think the stereotypes of the drums actually works in his favour for the next part. 

Breaking free from his dad, and being his own person, letting that fame go and embracing what he wants... well, to some that would look stupid. 

Relating it to music, the piano is flashy, you can play it solo, it sounds impressive, looks impressive, and people won’t think you’re just hitting pots and pans in the garage when you say you play it. But the drums are underestimated, a lot of people think you don’t need much practice, that they’re just the guys who sit at the back of the stage, not doing much, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Just like Adrien finally being who he wants wouldn’t be stupid, it could never be stupid, but there’s a stigma. But letting go of his flashy, solo life, and being the heart of his friend group is something that I think makes him truly happy as Chat Noir, and hopefully he gets to be like that as Adrien too.

Like Plagg said, Chat Noir and Adrien are both the real him, and I think the drums capture that perfectly. The heart and freedom, the meticulousness (rather than perfection) and steadiness, those are good qualities of a drummer.

I dunno, I just think it fits.

(sdfghjklkjhgf again I should state that acoustic versions of songs exist, and you can play songs without a drum and it sounds fantastic, but I’m not going into that today. Just talking generalization, and playing in a group setting). 

[tianshiisdead]

tbh, defending against an abuser by making public the slurs they called you and how they told you to your face they hoped your people would be genocided, and then getting your words dismissed as 'fandom drama and cancel culture' and being told you speaking up is 'what makes fandom toxic'... this is why poc online either don't say anything or are driven out of fandom spaces lol

[traincoded]

When is the Women’s World Cup?

It will begin on Thursday, July 20, 2023 to Sunday, August 20.

All the key dates are as follows.

First match: New Zealand vs. Norway — July 20 followed by Australia vs. Republic of Ireland

Group stage: July 20 – August 3

Round of 16: August 5 – August 8

Quarterfinals: August 11 & 12

Semifinals: August 15 & 16

Third-place playoff: August 19

Final: August 20

Where is it being held?

Of the 64 matches throughout the tournament, 35 will be played in Australia and 29 in New Zealand.

The latter will host the first game of the World Cup at Eden Park in Auckland while Stadium Australia in Sydney will be the venue for the final.

Here is how the groups look.

Group A: New Zealand, Norway, Philippines, Switzerland

Group B: Australia, Canada, Nigeria, Republic of Ireland

Group C: Costa Rica, Japan, Spain, Zambia

Group D: China, Denmark, England, Haiti

Group E: Netherlands, Portugal, United States, Vietnam

Group F: Brazil, France, Jamaica, Panama

Group G: Argentina, Italy, South Africa, Sweden

Group H: Colombia, Germany, Morocco, South Korea

[jellicle-chants]

Another gem pulled up from the dark depths of Youtube. Demeter is apparently played by Anna Barrett, and she and Bombalurina's actress were only 16 at time of performance.

[pastelhooman]

mister death centipede please can i have your hands in marria- *gets swatted like a fly*

----- timelapse -----

[risingsunresistance]

it's 2023 and drm is asserting boundaries against nsfw and truthing/shipping. how did we get here from 2020

[end-orfino]

It just all feels more pointless now. I think i lost some of the spirit. I dont know if its temporary or how to get it back

[phantomdecibel]

FUCK you: re-canonifies your Flower!AU

Anyways what if Polites actually still dies flower au au (bit o context in the tags, just so this drabble makes a bit more sense since it doesnt exactly follow canon aha-)

Rattlesnake Root

shield, step carefully.

Watching Ajax rush across the deck, calling out orders while cradling little Astyanax in his arms, the realization hit Odysseus like a brick.

This is what Polites had meant.

Eurylochus’s voice still echoed in his ears — but Odysseus wasn’t hearing any of it. Everything sounded muffled, like he was listening to (one of) his best friend chew him out from underwater. He must have started yelling louder, because the teenager glanced over at the two of them, something Odysseus hesitated to label as anything other than concern written across his face.

He wanted to yell.

He wanted to scream, keep shooting venom like arrows, jump up and pace, even.

Instead he stood, hands clasped over the rail, staring blankly past the blurred shape of his friend. It was both too loud and yet too quiet and annoyingly chilly and somehow everything was way too bright. It felt like there should be a storm brewing overhead, yet the only rain falling came from his eyes. The sun shone down unapologetically overhead, and Odysseus fought back an unintelligible scream.

This is what Polites had meant, what he’d pleaded back in that forest.

If you don’t talk to us, if you don’t trust us, then how can we help?

He’d thought he’d had it all under control, that his own hangups weren’t affecting anyone else, but clearly he’d been wrong. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or just plain ignorance, but Odysseus had fucked up, pushed too far.

He wanted to sob.

He was already crying, Odysseus realized in a vague, sort of detached way. His face felt… damp, and tight from the salt already starting to dry. Something hit his hand; again and again and again, and rolled down his knuckles.

Eurylochus yelled again, throwing his arms out, and Odysseus flinched.

How long had this been brewing?

How long had he been pushing his crew, his friends to the edge? For how long had he been pushing them to the side, ignoring their concerns and needs, forcing them to pick up his slack?

…when had his efforts to protect them start to hurt instead?

Slowly, Eurylochus’s face came back into focus.

His mouth moved and Odysseus could, technically, hear him still, but the words themselves were lost to the buzzing in his head. The tilt to his eyebrows would have looked angry — really, really angry — to anyone else, but Odysseus knew his friend. Eurylochus was angry, sure, but mostly he was just worried (and tired, so tired, and grieving, too). The man’s eyes glistened wetly, shining with unshed tears.

Odysseus barely noticed as he started to shake.

He did this. This was his fault, the result of his negligence. Polites was dead because of him, and now he was driving away the other person he should be supporting, looking after the most.

Odysseus clenched the rail tighter, clearly hearing it creak under his grip. Eurylochus’s voice faded in and out, nothing but background noise.

He’d failed.

Odysseus blinked once, twice, trying to alleviate the pressure growing behind his eyes. The tears, which had been slowing, built again, suddenly, and everything was just too much.

Oh. He dimly realized again. I did this.

And Odysseus…

…Odysseus broke.

Odysseus broke, tears falling like a waterfall. He choked on a sob, shaking violently, as his knees wobbled and knocked together. Eurylochus’s voice, angry and harsh, snapped back into focus, and Odysseus keened weakly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, falling to his knees as he swallowed back another sob. “I’m sorry-“

Desperately, shaking all the while, Odysseus clutched at his friend’s chiton, head pressed to Eurylochus’s knee. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry-“

Eurylochus’s angry rant trailed off into shocked silence as Odysseus tripped over his words. Apology after apology spilled from his lips as he sat shaking on the wooden deck of the ship, legs collapsed awkwardly beneath him. He didn’t dare look up as silence crashed against the ship like Polyphemus’s club crashing against men and stone, just kept choking out desperate apologies into the empty, oppressive air.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sobbed, like a mantra. “I’m sorry,”

The moment seemed to stretch for an eternity; a terrifying, heart-stopping eternity.

He couldn’t do this.

Odysseus- he couldn’t. He’d tried, fuck he’d tried. Tried to carry every burden he could, tried to protect his people, and look where they were now.

It was all a mess, a fucking disaster.

And- and Polites was gone, now, really truly gone, never-coming-back gone.

Dead.

And Eurylochus would be too- not dead, not if Odysseus had any say in it, but gone, leaving.

Leaving him, because Eurylochus would do what was best for the crew.

Odysseus was just dead weight.

The leg he leaned against, clutched in desperation, was pulled back, and Odysseus let it go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, trying and failing to blink away his tears as his hands dropped down to dig his nails into his own knees instead. Something thudded against the ground ahead of him, but all Odysseus could think was ‘this is it’.

This is it, this is where his friend, his last surviving best friend, his brother, even, left him.

And by the gods if he didn’t deserve it.

“‘msorry,” his words slurred together. “‘msrry’msorry,”

He deserved this, for hurting his friend and daring to proclaim otherwise. Why should Eurylochus stick around? Odysseus wasn’t worth the work. He hunched in on himself some more.

“‘msorry,” he might have begged. Please don’t go. You have every right to, but please, please. Don’t leave me. “‘msrrymsrrymsor-“

Odysseus coughed.

Oh, that was odd.

He couldn’t breathe, for a moment there, air knocked from his lungs as his chest collided with something warm and solid. Something strong tugged his forwards, pulled him tight against it.

Warm arms wrapped around his shoulders, and Odysseus suddenly found his head tucked into the crook of Eurylochus’s neck as he shook. He tried to choke out another apology, but Eurylochus held him too tightly to properly speak the words.

Oh.

Oh.

Odysseus shook some more, hands slowly worming their way from his knees to clutch this time at the front of his friend’s chiton.

Eurylochus was hugging him.

Eurylochus. was hugging him.

Odysseus sobbed again.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to force out again, but Eurylochus just pulled him impossibly closer.

“It’s okay,” his friend whispered, voice hoarse. “It’s going to be okay.”

mans is a bit harsh on himself :,)

He doesn’t q u i t e get the point, but he’s getting there-

Anyways so flower au; asty lives and also @hahahaghosty and I are soft for lil ajax :P

I know I always say this, but they were a huge inspiration for this (bc they fuel me w like 75% of my writing ideas lmao-), so thank you a whole lot!! wouldn’t be possible without ya :) they're really fucking awesome, go check out their stuff!! do it- Do It Now-

anyways that all from me for now, thanks for reading :P

(me: check out the tags for some context :) also me: throws way to much shit in them-

just. just read the beginning and end and itll all make sense if u wanna)

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

the seventh virtue drafting journey is soooo crazy to me bc I did the 10k day in may 2021 & then exactly a year later I was 60k into the manuscript & then from august 2022 to early march 2023 (a tiny bit over 6 months) I wrote the remaining 138 000 words LOL

[aeide-thea]

die eigentliche Frage: wie viel Duolingo muss ich noch machen, bevor ich hoffen kann, hier auf Deutsch zu schreiben?

(viel mehr, bevor ich etwas Interessantes sagen kann! aber die Katze sitzt jetzt auf mir, was nicht interessant zu hören, aber ganz angenehm zu erleben ist. 😽)