late-to-the-party-99

[late-to-the-party-99]

Songbird (Pt. Four, Finale)

A lone siren realizes her echo isn't her own. It's that of Echo, invisible and only able to repeat the words of others. They find a way to grow close anyway... and to break some curses.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

---------------------------

The rain continues for several more days. They fill some of the time with long stretches of quiet, but not silence. There’s too much gentle sound for it to be silent. Ligeia can hear Echo in the currents of the wind, soft and whistling. She whistles back, and she wonders if Echo can hear her heartbeat.

For the rest of the time, they tell each other the worst jokes that come to mind. “Why did the oxen cross the road?” Echo asks.

“If you say ‘to cross to the other side,’ I will find a way to dunk you.”

The air shudders with that hiccupy laughter. “To — to—” Echo says, the pebble trembling with restrained mirth. 

Ligeia can’t keep the grin off her face. “Don’t you do it.”

“To — oh, look. The rain’s stopped.”

Sure enough, the clouds part and sunlight floods the cavern. Ligeia squints in the sudden glare. “So it has. You’re safe, then. For now.” She snickers. Echo snickers back.

Together, they take off and fly out of the cavern. “I might have an idea for how to breach the weak spot,” Ligeia says. “It’s not a very, um, elegant solution. But that's all I have.” 

Ligeia perches on the edge of the cliffs. She rakes her talons through the gritty soil. With Echo swirling close by, she scoops up a pebble and flings it. In the distance, it bounces off the barrier with a faint tinkle. 

Echo pauses mid-stretch towards the chart in the dirt.

“Please don’t laugh,” Ligeia says in a smaller voice, hunching her shoulders.

“I’m not laughing. I don’t have any ideas, so I’m in no position to judge.” Echo brushes against her side. “We can try it.”

“Alright.” Ligeia blows out a sigh. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

Soon, the air fills with hurtling small stones. They sail off the island and strike the wall, a faint shimmer of the barrier becoming visible where they land. The impact ripples outward over the wall until it fades into nothing.

“Maybe they aren’t large enough?” Ligeia muses, her brow furrowed. She scratches at the ground to grasp a larger stone. Then, something creaks behind her. She turns around to see the wind straining to heave one edge of a boulder off the ground. 

“Wh— wait, let me—” Ligeia has no hands, but she manages to push her head underneath and heave the other end of the boulder onto her back. Together, she and Echo inch to the edge of the cliff.

The air bunches up around her. She can feel the hum of Echo’s concentration, summoning as much of herself as she can. She ripples, straining to hold the stone high. She is close and solid against her back. 

Then the air twists. Snapping to attention, Ligeia bends her knees. She springs up as the air does, and they heave the rock off her back.

Her heart pounds like hoofbeats in her chest. The air flies by her ear, tendrils of wind snapping like muscular tendons. She feels Echo’s palpable strength. She feels her warmth, her closeness breathing next to her cheek. She feels herself lean into that touch—

The rock slams into the barrier with a bone-rattling, metallic crash. She jerks at the sound, jerks away from the touch.

“I guess brute force isn’t an option,” Echo says, sagging.

“I — no.” Ligeia clears her throat. Her face feels warm.

“The barrier… it does feel different, though.”

She perks up. “Wait, really?”

“It’s less tingly,” Echo explains, circling around her. “I think it might be weaker.”

Ligeia spreads her wings and dives, catching the air to glide towards the edge of the barrier. She feels the prickling over her skin and feathers, but it’s fainter than she remembered. “You’re right,” she calls over her shoulder. 

As she makes a banking turn to fly back, her wings graze another dip in the invisible wall. She squawks. “Wh— there’s another weak patch!”

Echo rushes up underneath her, tendrils like fingers reaching out to feel the wall. Her rippling jolt confirms she found the same.

Together, they alight back down on the island, Ligeia perching in one of the trees. “I don’t understand,” she says, her brow furrowing. “That area isn’t a place where the ships enter.”

“It isn’t,” Echo says, churning in thought. “And it wasn’t there when we last checked the barrier.”

Ligeia nods her head. “That means it’s new.” She hops a little further down the branch and looks out over the sea. “Is it too much to hope that the curse is weakening over time?”

“…it might be. It was a god, after all. They hold onto grudges like a hunter grips their prey.” An odd, bitter note enters the air as Echo speaks, turning sour all around Ligeia.

Ligeia coughs a little at the scent. “Are you alright?”

“What?”

“You sounded a little upset, then.” A pause follows. Ligeia backpedals, fluttering her wings. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m alright. I’m just… upset that someone would do this. To you, I mean.” Echo shifts, some tension creeping into the wind. “Maybe I should look for answers.”

“Where would you—”

“Outside.”

Ligeia falls silent. For a moment, she thinks of all the air leaving the island. She thinks of the warmth dying away. Her feathers wilt and she shrinks, pulling her shoulders up to her ears.

But it’s a small island that they stand upon, with an even smaller cavern. Echo is vast and sprawling, and it makes sense that she would feel the need to move. There’s a hint of excitement in the rustle of the leaves.

And tension seems to thrum through her. She holds herself now at more of a distance, twisting and coiling beyond Ligeia’s wingspan.

…she needs this, Ligeia realizes. She needs some time to herself. And if I want her to trust me, I need to earn it.

She breathes in, then breathes out the tightness in her chest. “That’s a good plan.”

“You… you don’t mind?

“It’s your choice. I mean, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was worried. But I won’t lose you if you go away for a little while.” She manages a small smile. “And it’s definitely not a loss for you to stretch out and be happy.”

Echo says nothing at first. Then, little by little, the air relaxes. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

“I’ll throw some walnut shells in honor of you,” she says with a slight laugh.

Echo laughs back, warm and dawning with some kind of brightness. “I’m so touched.”

“Only the best for my dearest friend!”

Crackling with energy, Echo brushes against her before swirling away. There’s purpose and urgency to her, a ringing in the air like tempered steel.

***************

The days go by. Ligeia disassembles, then reassembles her nest, weaving grass and twigs into bedding. It isn’t as easy to fall asleep, but she manages. She takes long flights. She whispers stories to herself at night, feeling more and more of the rhymes and verses return to her.

No new weak spots appear in the silence. 

Then, while out on another flight, the air begins to spiral around her. She smells jasmine. “Echo?” she asks, her face lighting up with a smile.

“‘Echo!’”

They soar up and up, fluttering before spiraling down into the cavern, laughing all the while. “I missed you,” Ligeia says. She realizes her eyes are damp.

“‘Missed you,’” Echo says back, rushing to engulf her. The cool air drapes itself over her shoulders, and Ligeia churrs in delight.

“How did it go? Did you enjoy yourself?”

The pebble rattles out of its corner. “It was nice to explore,” Echo admits. “There’s so much I saw — so much I want to tell you. But the barrier!”

“What about the barrier?” Ligeia asks, leaning forwards.

“…I heard very little about it.”

“Oh.”

“I think it happened long enough ago that the mortals don’t talk about it often.”

“So there’s no information we could use?”

“Well, there is one thing. Supposedly, you’ll only be freed if a ship sails by without its sailors diving overboard.”

“But how would that—?”

“Exactly,” Echo says, the wind heaving in a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Ligeia insists, shaking her head. “You did everything and beyond what I’d have asked of you. I’m so thankful to have someone like you.”

The air warms by a few degrees. “Me too,” Echo admits.

“Really?”

“I loved traveling. I loved flying around the world and seeing it, but… you weren’t there. I wanted to talk to you, to hear your jokes. I want to share it with you.”

A red flush creeps up the back of Ligeia’s neck. “I want that, too.”

Echo startles. The scent of jasmine grows stronger, sweet and hopeful.

“I… um, did you—” Ligeia swallows hard. “What else did you do?” she blurts, fanning her wings. It’s somehow very warm inside the cavern.

“I tried to talk to some people.” And in an instant, the cavern cools. “I tried.”

“They didn’t listen?”

“No.”

Ligeia frowns. She tries to think of something to say, but Echo keeps talking.

“I almost forgot what it felt like — how it felt to have nobody listen to you anymore. I didn’t even think about my old friends.” The air shudders, as if Echo is drawing in a shaky breath. “They did listen to me, once.”

Ligeia shifts closer. Her eyes and ears are open, and so Echo continues.

“We’d talk for hours. Sometimes we made a contest out of it, and I would always win. I felt proud of myself for talking so long, and they applauded me and cheered, and—” She breaks off for a moment, the pebble faltering. “And one time, I looked into the audience and saw him clapping.”

A shiver ruffles Ligeia’s feathers. She curls her toes against the floor, and Echo twists beside her.

“He approached me. He asked me to talk to his wife, since I was so good at it. I saw the lightning in his eyes. I heard the thunder in his footsteps. It wasn’t a request at all, really.”

I can imagine, Ligeia thinks. She remembers the driver of a flaming blue chariot.

The air trembles. “So I did. And when she learned what I’d done, I — she—”

Ligeia wishes for the first time in years that she had arms instead of wings. In place of opening arms for an embrace, she fluffs out her feathers and leans into the air. She finds it swirling and shuddering, but it leans against her.

Echo doesn’t speak for a long while. Ligeia keeps listening, though. She can hear the rise and fall of the wind calming beside her. She hears her feathers rustle as the air shifts and settles around her shoulders.

“It’s not your fault,” she says, her voice soft.

The pebble circles back over the chart. “I know. It isn’t all her fault either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well. Maybe a little.” The wind jumps in a soft, hiccuping squeak, like weak laughter. “But he was her husband. The one time she rose against him, he left her dangling over the abyss for days.”

The anger cools somewhat in Ligeia’s chest. Still, she draws in a deep breath. “That didn’t make her right. She attacked and injured you, the person who also had no choice.”

“‘No choice,’” Echo agrees aloud. “But the worst of it,” she continues with the chart and stone, “wasn’t what she did. It was how no-one listened after. And the less they listened, the less I could see my own hands.”

“You felt like you were fading away?” Ligeia’s veins turn to ice at the thought. 

“I did. At least, until now.” Echo presses down, settling in close. “You listen to me. And I feel like I’m here — like I’m here more than I’ve ever been before.”

Her veins thaw. “For as much as it’s worth, I feel like you’re real too,” Ligeia tells her. “You’re air, but I can feel you. You feel… warm. Safe. And I’m so very glad that you’re here — that you’re with me.”

“…me too.”

And the cave grows warmer still. 

*************

One day, while feeling the walls, a faint shimmer of a hand and fingers flashes by. Then another day, it’s an arm. The wavering shape of a shadow grows in Ligeia’s peripheral vision. Echo feels more and more solid against her at night, when they lie curled together in her nest.

Ligeia works up the nerve to ask her about this. Echo goes very quiet, then scratches out, “I noticed it too.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I became like this after years of people not listening to me. But now…” Echo twists around her. In the corner of her eye, she sees the faint outline of an arm flex itself. “I think I might be developing a body again. Sort of.”

Ligeia tilts her head. “How do you feel about that?”

“Nervous. It isn’t bad — not at all. But I don’t think I’ll ever look how I did before everything.” The wind whistles a high, taut laugh.

“However you look, you’ll always be beautiful.”

The words slip out of Ligeia’s mouth before she can stop them. Echo goes still around her, stiffening. “‘Beautiful?’”

“I…” Oh, it’s too late to take it back! I don’t want to take it back! “You’re beautiful. Smooth, gentle, kind, and — and wonderful. To fly with.” Ligeia stutters herself into silence, pinning her feathered shoulders to her ears.

Echo doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” Echo says at length. The words peel out of her, slow and strangled. “You didn’t at all. I — I think you’re beautiful, too.”

Ligeia chokes on her own spit.

“Are you—”

“Let’s go.” Ligeia bolts for the maw of the cave and takes off, her heart hammering in her chest. 

They don’t say much to each other as they search the walls. While she works, Ligeia hears an odd sound. It starts out slow and soft, almost inaudible. But then it begins to swell around her. It grows louder. It’s someone humming, she realizes. 

She’s humming.

And then a second voice joins her. It’s a little delayed, a little raspier. Echo’s hum sounds like the rustle of leaves on the wind, soft and reedy like air blown through pan-pipes. 

Ligeia harmonizes with her on instinct. Their voices mingle, shivering in her ribcage. Her heart squeezes when Echo’s voice swirls closer, and she hums back. Echo hums warm and close to her ear. She turns her head and feels air sigh over her face, towards her lips—

She stops humming.

Echo jerks away. She twists like wringing hands, but Ligeia turns and flies back to the cave, shaking all over. Her mind spins.

By the time she returns to herself, Echo is still silent. 

***************

Silence is safety, Ligeia thinks to herself for the first time in a long while. Silence means you don’t hurt anyone. Silence means no-one can hurt you.

Echo doesn’t touch the chart. She’s still there, of course. There’s still the shifts in air pressure, still the glimpses of hair and shoulders in Ligeia’s peripheral. Even now, she doesn’t leave her. But she doesn’t speak.

Silence is safety.

There’s only the waves and the wind. There’s only the whirl of Ligeia’s mind, throbbing behind her temples. There’s only the faint buzz of the invisible walls.

Silence is safety.

The ache in her bones is slow, flaring up in the joints before spreading up her wings and legs. It’s like the muscles in her body are coiling, tensing in anticipation. 

Silence is—

The invisible hooks pierce her skin with no sound.

She jerks to her feet. Her voice is hoarse as she rasps, “Is — is there — Echo, do you see a ship?”

Echo startles, ricocheting like a clap around the cavern. “‘Ship,’” she says back, a dawning horror in her voice.

Ligeia keens. Her talons scrape over the floor, her feet dragging her body to the entrance. “Don’t — don’t let me—”

The wind rushes closer than it has in days. Echo shoves, straining against the wires that pull her forwards. Invisible hands land on her shoulders with weight and grip them tight. 

The whites of sails appear on the horizon. Ligeia’s face crumples. “It’s not working. It’s not — no, don’t stay here!”

“‘Stay here,’” Echo cries back, protesting. The hands grip tighter, even if they can’t push Ligeia away from the edge. She wraps herself around her in a shivering embrace.

Ligeia only freezes for a moment. Then, she throws herself into the touch. The other voice bubbles up in her throat as she leans in, dragging out of her in a smooth and eerie warble. Echo stiffens around her, but she doesn’t let go.

It’s the song to sailors again. It’s the same perfect, gentle crooning that isn’t hers. Ligeia is silent even as her throat harbors another voice. She forces herself to look over the sea and watch as the ship begins to slow.

And then, another voice joins her.

“‘Lost heart… red sea… coming for me…’”

What are you doing? Ligeia asks with wide eyes. 

I won’t leave you, Echo says with a squeeze of her shoulders. Her voice is raspy and delayed, and still as beautiful as ever. 

Then the ship hesitates in its turn towards the rocks. Something is unsteady about its path, all of a sudden. Ligeia’s never seen a ship do that before.

I’ve never had someone else sing before, she realizes. The thought flashes through her mind like a lightning bolt. Echo seems to notice it too, her voice faltering before rising again. The ship jerks with each repetition, swaying as if in confusion. It twitches in the sea.

Silence — what good does silence do? Ligeia asks herself. I’m already unsafe. I’ve already lost everything. I’ve got nothing to lose…

Echo curls closer to her.

…and everything to gain.

For the first time, Ligeia pushes back. Her voice is rusty like the creaking hinges of a chest, something dusty and hidden curling out from under the lid. It’s not beautiful. It’s not soft. It’s hers, and Echo sings with it. 

Her vocal chords writhe, strained by two voices in one throat, but Ligeia sings out like she doesn’t need to breathe. Echo is beside her, and she’s all the air she needs. Their voices are raw and ringing and for each other. It’s full of all the emotions they share for one another, for everything they have and love. 

The sailors shake their heads, thumping a hand against an ear. Their eyes lose the cloudy dullness. As Echo and Ligeia’s harmonies distort the air, the other voice tries to fight them, tries to shriek out, but they’re putting on a show that could never be ignored. 

The ship swings away from the rocks.

All at once, the other voice cracks in Ligeia’s throat. The wires in her limbs snap. And something in the air builds and builds and builds until her ears pop.

Ligeia falls to her knees, gasping. “It’s — it’s over?”

Echo shudders around her. “‘Over,’” she breathes back, confirming it. “‘Over.’”

They collapse against each other, laughing and crying. Arms of air wrap around feathery shoulders. This time, when Echo’s breeze passes near her lips, Ligeia leans in. 

***********

“Ready?”

“‘Ready.’”

Ligeia slips her head through the strap of a satchel, woven with grass and dried seaweed.  She tosses her head and shrugs the strap over her shoulders. Echo helps her adjust the bag until it rests at her side. Her touch is so light, so gentle against her feathers, and she can’t help but chirp. 

Echo chirps back, pitching it up so it becomes laughter. “I love it when you do that,” she taps out on the chart on the ground.

“I’m glad at least you find it amusing.” Ligeia hops to the entrance of the cavern. “We have another chart, some food — is that everything?”

“‘Everything,’” Echo agrees. “Now let’s go!”

“Alright, love,” Ligeia laughs. She spreads her wings and leaps.

They fly together from the cavern. This time, no wall rushes up to meet them. This time, they tangle together with no hesitation, no shame. We’re coming for you, Ligeia thinks. We’ll find you, my sisters. And then no barrier can hold us anymore.

Ligeia hums as they soar through the air, a smile on her face. She smiles even wider when Echo hums back.

#my writing #my fiction #greek myth #greek mythology #siren #sirens #echo #echo greek mythology #zeus #zeus greek mythology #hera #hera greek mythology #curses #breaking curses #wlw #sapphic romance #romance #sfw writing #slow burn #songbird #queer romance #writeblr

[late-to-the-party-99]

Songbird (Pt. Three)

A lone siren realizes her echo isn't her own. It's that of Echo, invisible and only able to repeat the words of others. They find a way to grow close anyway... and to break some curses.

Part One

Part Two

---------------------

“The rain’s too strong,” Ligeia says, squinting at the dreary drizzle outside. “I don’t think I can fly in that.”

“We can wait,” Echo says. “All we need is something to do.”

Ligeia chuckles. “When I find a library, I’ll let you know.”

“You like to read?”

She sinks back into her nest, pulling her wings close. “I did. My mother had scroll after scroll of poetry. All the songs and verses you could ever want,” she sighs.

“Your mother sounds like a lovely person.”

“She was. But we have no scrolls here. Though… I do remember them. Maybe…” Ligeia pauses, realizing what she’s about to propose. I haven’t done that in so long, she thinks. Not since with her.

But Echo is right there, patient and soft. She smells like the rain outside, but sweeter — with a hint of jasmine. 

“…we could take turns telling stories?” Ligeia suggests.

“I don’t know many stories, though.” Echo gusts past her to rustle in the corner, scooping up discarded walnut shells. “We should use these for something. A game?”

“Why don’t I supply the stories, and you supply the contest?”

The wind grows lighter and looser. “It’s a date,” Echo teases.

***********

“See, this is why you’re my favorite.” Mistress giggles behind her hand. “Please, could you sing more to me tonight?” Her eyes shine a soft green, her skin aglow in the violet light of dusk. She smells of lavender and jasmine. 

“I would love to.”

Mistress leans close with a whisper, meant for only the two of them: “It’s a date, then.”

*************

A flush rises to Ligeia’s cheeks. Giving her head a brisk shake, she hops out of her nest and stumbles out of Echo’s way.

“Ready,” Echo taps out. “It isn’t much, but it’s a start. We compete to see who’ll throw these shells the farthest.”

“Alright.” Ligeia clears her throat. With a faint tremble to her voice, she begins.

She doesn’t sing. But she chants, weaving a tale in rhyme about a hero who fell for Love himself. As she speaks, the words returning to her with practiced ease, she tosses the shells. 

“You’re a very good storyteller,” Echo says when she finishes.

Ligeia manages to fling her pebble onto the grass. She smiles, her stomach fluttering. “I think you might be trying to distract me so I don’t get so many points.”

“…maybe.”

She snorts, and so does Echo, pitching up the sound into a light laugh. “But thank you,” Ligeia says. “I’m glad to hear I still have some of my skills.”

“You must’ve been very popular.”

Ligeia’s smile fades a little. “Only with one person.”

“Who were they?”

“Uh.” Why do I feel like this? It happened so long ago. It’s not like Echo is your — no. No. Just stay quiet. Don’t say—

“I’m sorry,” Echo says, cutting into her thoughts. “I shouldn’t—”

“It’s fine! I just… I haven’t thought about her in a while.” Ligeia draws in a deep breath, rolling the shell around in her talons. The words begin to push their way to the surface. “We grew up together, her and I and my sisters. We all kept her company.”

“What sorts of things did you do?”

“We picked flowers, we sang, and we told stories.”

“That sounds fun,” Echo says, a wistful note entering her voice.

“Yes.” The shell crackles in her grip. “She and I were the closest, though. She liked my stories the best, and she spent the most time with me. We were friends.”

“You seem to have cared about her very much.”

**************

“She’s married.”

The Lady stands before them, Ligeia and her sisters kneeling at her feet. Her voice sounds brittle, the sweetness gone and replaced by something thornier. “The Underworld took her, and my brother — he approved of it. I couldn’t do anything. Nobody did anything.”

The grass around them wilts from green to yellow.

“You didn’t do anything,” the Lady snarls.

Ligeia’s head snaps up, tears shining in her eyes. “What could we have done?” 

“Anything other than standing there.” The Lady’s hands curl into fists. “Anything other than letting my daughter be taken away to such a cruel fate.”

“My Lady, please—”

“She’s married to that man. My only daughter is gone for several months of the year!”

“My Lady—”

“Did you not care?”

Ligeia jumps to her feet. “I love her! You think I don’t grieve at her marriage?” 

Silence falls over the glade. Her sisters stare at her. The Lady stares at her. The Lady’s eyes glow gold like wheat in the sun, bloodied by a red dawn. “And what good was your love?”

*************

Ligeia finds herself blinking back tears. “I wish I loved her enough to save her.”

There’s a beat of hesitation, the air turning over itself. Then, Echo flutters down and close to Ligeia, like a pair of arms. 

This time, emotion swells in her chest. She can’t choke it back. Her face crumples. She draws in a ragged breath and finds the air close and cool. Beyond the hope of return, she leans into the touch and sobs, heaving her shoulders.

The sound is ugly. It’s the sound of a grieving woman. But as it pours out of her, the thorns catching in her throat, she feels her chest loosen. She feels Echo’s touch grow firmer and even closer to her, becoming a true embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispers later, her ability to speak with words recovered. “I needed that.”

“You did,” Echo says. She feels so gentle, so kind and warm. “You deserve to grieve what you lose. This person — she sounds like she meant a great deal to you.”

“She was my first love,” Ligeia admits, swishing her tail feathers. 

“And you loved her enough. That wasn’t why you lost her,” Echo says, pressing closer. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“She deserved better, though. Both her and her mother.”

“So did you.”

Ligeia blinks, then manages a small nod. “I… you’re right. We all did.”

#my writing #my fiction #greek mythology #greek myth #sirens #siren #greek mythology sirens #echo #echo greek mythology #persephone #persephone greek mythology #demeter #demeter greek mythology #wlw #sapphic romance #romance #sfw writing #slow burn #songbird #queer romance #writeblr

[late-to-the-party-99]

No joke, this was me in kindergarten! I didn't grow up in a religious family, and I had no knowledge of Christianity until my school's first assembly.

We had to say the pledge of allegiance and there was that line of America being "one nation under God." And I thought, "God? Like... Bob? Who is that?"

#religion #christianity #tales from real life

[late-to-the-party-99]

Hmm well might as well purr

#aww! #cats #cute cats #cat photos

[late-to-the-party-99]

This can save lives of many Black people who were wrongly convicted and arrested on drug possession charges. Please spread!

#signal boost

[late-to-the-party-99]

^They're currently taking donations for Maui mutual aid

#signal boost #hawaiʻi #maui wildfires

[late-to-the-party-99]

Part Two! Two witches are forced to cohabitate in order to raise the baby promised to both of them.

This comic was based on this post. (You can also see my old version on the link if you wanna see how far it's come.)

If you enjoyed this make sure to check out Part One, and if you feel very generous and had a nice time you can drop me a Ko-fi. Comics are a labor of love and money really helps out while I'm in school!

#aww! #comic #other people's awesome art! #romance #fantasy #witches #magic #queer fiction

[late-to-the-party-99]

Part One! Two witches are forced to cohabitate in order to raise the baby promised to both of them.

This comic was based on this post. (You can also see my old version on the link if you wanna see how far it's come.)

If you enjoyed this make sure to check out Part Two, and if you feel very generous and had a nice time you can drop me a Ko-fi. Comics are a labor of love and money really helps out while I'm in school!

#comics #other people's awesome art! #witches #magic #fantasy #queer fiction

[late-to-the-party-99]

I stare at the search warrant in his slender, white hand. I look back up at his face. He's smiling at me now, his canines gleaming in the dim room. His brass badge gleams too.

"You finished cop school pretty fast," I say. Stall him, I tell myself.

"That's the beauty of it, isn't it? So few requirements and regulations to impede me."

He speaks with the languid drawl of a predator that's already caught its prey. From the way his pupils dilate, I know he hears my quickening heartbeat.

Don't scream. Not yet.

I swallow hard. "Beautiful or not, I didn't write that," I say, pointing at the search warrant. "It's not my invitation."

He folds his hands behind his back, the warrant crinkling. "Well, now. The stories only say I need an invitation."

I take a step back. "What about the stories showing people saying 'no' at the door?"

"Eh." He takes a step after me. "Artistic interpretation is so variable. Besides, this place isn't yours. It belongs to your landlord, who was very understanding."

Fucking Jim.

Always saying I'm too loud, and for what? I don't even scream; he says that 'cause I'm -- no. Focus. Focus on the damn vampire.

"What's the warrant for?" I ask, stepping back again. My backside bumps against the table. My plant pots rattle, dirt showering the floor at my feet.

He takes another step after me, shrugging. "Growing marijuana," he says. "You still have your lovely plants in the window. These modern cellular phones let me take a picture and alter it until the plants appeared quite different."

"A judge accepted that?"

"To be honest, I don't know if I'm truly excellent at mesmerizing or if he was that desperate to break for lunch."

"Of course." I fight to keep my voice at a medium volume, sneaking a hand on the table. "I'd say the latter. You're not so cool, you know?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh, I know. It's taken me far too long to corner you. But I'm here now."

"No. You still don't get it."

His smile falters.

The scream bubbles in my throat. "You think you've got modern tech down to a tee. You think you know loopholes, but you really don't."

His canines extend from his gums with a pop. "I'm tired of--"

I slam my palm on the switch to my plant-grower light.

He blinks for a moment in the sudden glare, his pupils shrinking. Then he reaches for my arm, laughing and leaning in towards my neck. He leans into the circle of light cast by the lamp.

He sizzles.

"UV light, motherfucker," I say.

His smile vanishes, replaced by a twisted grimace. Smoke pours through his sleeves and pantlegs, billowing out his open, gasping mouth. He stumbles towards the edge of the circle of light.

I can't have that. "You're a cop now," I say, grabbing his arm. "We stop 'em by shedding light on their shit... and by raising hell."

I finally let out my scream.

The windows shatter, spewing broken glass on both of us. The floor shakes with the reverberations. Picture frames and chairs fall over with a crash. Outside, car alarms start to blare.

And he can't move. Pinned to the floor by my voice, he writhes in place, his body dissolving into ash beneath him. His oily hair ignites, tiny flames framing his shocked, crumbling eyes.

I'm another thing he didn't know about as much as he thought. It's not that hard to look into my family tree, to see who my father married. But I can't say I'm surprised. I can't say much of anything right now, since I'm still screaming and all.

His coven is the closest thing he has to a family. They'll hear my scream. They'll know I'm heralding his final death, even if it's only seconds before it happens.

And even better, they might think I'm heralding their deaths too. Then they might leave me alone for a change.

But for now, I open my hand and let the last of his ash fall to the floor.

There's rapid footsteps coming up the stairs. I know what I'll tell Jim: That's what a banshee scream sounds like, idiot.

“Vampires can’t enter your house without being invited!” you yell. The shadowy figure steps through the busted door, holding a search warrant. “True.”

#writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writers on tumblr #my writing #my fiction #response to writing prompt #vampires #monsters #banshees

[late-to-the-party-99]

These are really great points! I agree with all of this. I also think that Artemis asks Agamemnon to sacrifice two other things he'll take from others: a family and a kingdom.

As said above, you rip families apart in war. You take thrones and crowns from rulers. Iphigenia's sacrifice is the impetus for Clytemnestra turning on Agamemnon, preparing an axe for him. She separates her children, sending them away from home and to other kingdoms -- sometimes in marriage, but always in exile. His children turn on Clytemnestra in turn.

The House of Atreus is never quite whole again. Mycenae is never Agamemnon's kingdom again -- just as Priam and Hecuba's family and Troy crumbles.

in middle school during my Intense Greek Mythology Phase, Artemis was, as you can likely guess, my best girl. Iphigenia was my OTHER best girl. Yes at the same time.

The story of Iphigenia always gets to me when it's not presented as a story of Artemis being capricious and having arbitrary rules about where you can and can't hunt, but instead, making a point about war.

Artemis was, among other things--patron of hunting, wild places, the moon, singlehood--the protector of young girls. That's a really important aspect she was worshipped as: she protected girls and young women. But she was the one who demanded Agamemnon sacrifice his daughter in order for his fleet to be able to sail on for Troy.

There's no contradiction, though, when it's framed as, Artemis making Agamemnon face what he’s doing to the women and children of Troy. His children are not in danger. His son will not be thrown off the ramparts, his daughters will not be taken captive as sex slaves and dragged off to foreign lands, his wife will not have to watch her husband and brothers and children killed. Yet this is what he’s sailing off to Troy to inevitably do. That’s what happens in war. He’s going to go kill other people’s daughters; can he stand to do that to his own? As long as the answer is no—he can kill other people’s children, but not his own—he can’t sail off to war.

Which casts Artemis is a fascinating light, compared to the other gods of the Trojan War. The Trojan War is really a squabble of pride and insults within the Olympian family; Eris decided to cause problems on purpose, leaving Aphrodite smug and Hera and Athena snubbed, and all of this was kinda Zeus’s fault in the first place for not being able to keep it in his pants. And out of this fight mortal men were their game pieces and mortal cities their prizes in restoring their pride. And if hundreds of people die and hundred more lives are ruined, well, that’s what happens when gods fight. Mortals pay the price for gods’ whims and the gods move on in time and the mortals don’t and that’s how it is.

And women especially—Zeus wanted Leda, so he took her. Paris wanted Helen, so he took her. There’s a reason “the Trojan women” even since ancient times were the emblems of victims of a war they never wanted, never asked for, and never had a say in choosing, but was brought down on their heads anyway.

Artemis, in the way of gods, is still acting through human proxies. But it seems notable to me to cast her as the one god to look at the destruction the war is about to wreak on people, and challenge Agamemnon: are you ready to kill innocents? Kill children? Destroy families, leave grieving wives and mothers? Are you? Prove it.

It reminds me of that idea about nuclear codes, the concept of implanting the key in the heart of one of the Oval Office staffers who holds the briefcase, so the president would have to stab a man with a knife to get the key to launch the nukes. “That’s horrible!,” it’s said the response was. “If he had to do that, he might never press the button!” And it’s interesting to see Artemis offering Agamemnon the same choice. You want to burn Troy? Kill your own daughter first. Show me you understand what it means that you’re about to do.

#tagamemnon #greek mythology #ancient greek mythology #iphigenia #trojan war #the oresteia #agamemnon #clytemnestra #orestes #electra #house of atreus #greek tragedy #analysis #other people's awesome analysis #(to which i add my two cents) #artemis #priam #hecuba

[late-to-the-party-99]

A short comic I’ve done for @ibenkrutt

#oh this is great! #such a cool idea #greek myth #greek mythology #ancient greek mythology #oedipus #the sphinx #comic #other people's awesome art!

[late-to-the-party-99]

I think we have enough feminist Medusa retellings thank you very much.

How about instead we explore how Perseus risks his life to save his Mama?

#i think that ovid's telling of the medusa myth has its value #i think this telling has its value too #both tell very interesting and emotionally resonant stories in my opinion #heck you could even try to tell both stories in a retelling #but neither is inherently more “correct” than the other #it just depends on what you want out of the story #and it's very true that this is supposed to be a suicide mission for perseus so it makes his struggles all the more tense and engaging #greek myth #greek mythology #ancient greek mythology #medusa #perseus

[late-to-the-party-99]

What is the story of frankenstein except the story of the minotaur where the minotaur gets to tell his story and what is the story of the minotaur except the story of a child carrying their father's hubris until it's the death of them, like all children do, in the end

#literature #myths #greek mythology #frankenstein #mary shelly's frankenstein #the minotaur #asterion #such excellent comparisons here #other people's awesome analysis

[late-to-the-party-99]

I love it when characters are immune to psychic attacks/emotional manipulation magic/psychoactive drugs or whatever, but for DEEPLY mentally ill reasons.

Fear gas? I already have an anxiety disorder. Also you don't know the meaning of fear until you have a category 5 autism event in the middle of a social scene and know you'll get severely punished if you act out

Depression aura? Bitch I live an economically productive, nutritionally balanced and physically active life that other people rely on like this.

Haunted? How would my ADHD ass even know?

Pain machine? Hm. If your machine's "10/10" is my "4", I should probably talk to my doctor about better meds.

Oh, we're all mutually unintelligible? This is Tuesday with Autism and Audio Processing issues.

There's something very cathartic about a character facing down the horrors and laughing because the antagonist can't even get close to what they already live with.

#yes! #that first one especially resonates with me #fiction #writing #writing ideas #characters

[late-to-the-party-99]

A vampire who is also an author saw the advent of "AI writing" and "AI art." They teach students in a classroom in their little space station how to make art themselves, how to go through the process of writing and all the emotion and meaning that entails.

Vampires living in the 31st century who were bitten in the late 20th century or early 21st century.

War on terror era soldier constantly paranoid about terrorist excursions within humanity's empires. Dresses in Kevlar when going into battle during the age of power armor and force fields.

"Amercian psycho" looking businessman from silicon valley who hangs out with space nobility. Everyone is very uncomfortable with his ties to brutal systems of exploitation, and even more so how he draws a connection between modern systems of exploitation and 21st century capitalism.

Environmental activist who travels with colonization crews and is obsessed with terriforming empty planets. Gets a weird sort of euphoria seeing empty words become lush when to everyone else it's normal. They either only drink animal blood due to pacifism, or only drink human blood due to vaganisn.

If you have ideas for more reblog or comment with them.

#vampires #fiction #writing #writing ideas #my writing ideas #response to a writing prompt #this is a cool prompt op! #thank you for sharing it with us

[late-to-the-party-99]

HERE WE GO MOTHERFUCKERS

#i'm so glad they did this #here's to supporting them in their next actions #unions

[late-to-the-party-99]

Weapon. They needed a weapon. Unfortunately, all they could come up with was an ancient torchstick that wasn't even on fire.

They hefted up the torch anyway, heart trapped somewhere in their throat, and backed up another step.

Three of the undead lurched towards them. They had the swords, the bastards. They were probably actual fighters too, once, not little idiots who should have died before ever being dragged to this nightmare place.

Maybe they'd get lucky. Maybe the torch would be sufficiently stake-like.

Given the terrible slurping noises the protagonist had heard behind them as they scrambled out of the ancient temple, the screaming that went quiet, they didn't think they'd get lucky. Maybe it was karma.

"Careful now," came a voice. Less raspy, more silken, more alive - but not one that the protagonist recognised. "If you back up any further, you're going to tumble right off the cliff. And wouldn't that be a waste?"

The protagonist didn't dare glance behind them to check if it was true, but they couldn't stop their attention from flicking up.

The beautiful stranger lounged a top of the great door, hastily locked again, watching. They waggled their fingers in a 'hi'.

Maybe falling off a cliff wouldn't be so bad, given the alternative. The protagonist still didn't want to die. Stupidly, they didn't want to die.

The undead lunged for the protagonist's throat.

The protagonist swung the torch wildly. It impacted. It just...didn't do anything. It would have at least winded and doubled over an actual person. But the undead...

The stranger leapt down, landing cat-like in the fray. They had none of the frantic movements of some of the lesser undead; ravenous and rabid.

They clicked their tongue and the undead all stopped, eyeing the two of them warily. They skittered back from the stranger.

The stranger pulled the sword from their own belt and offered it, hilt first, to the protagonist.

"Duel wield?" they offered. "Bit more of a fair fight."

It wasn't remotely, but the protagonist would still take it, with trembling fingers.

The stranger smiled at them. all sharp teeth and searing crimson eyes. They bowed their head. Then they stepped smartly out of the way again and the undead once more advanced.

It went a little better with an actual sword. The three undead were - if not dead - no longer capable of mauling the protagonist's throat. It wasn't good enough.

The protagonist crumbled to their knees, gasping in pain. They clutched the sword loosely in their hand. They touched a hand to their shoulder. Bloodied. Burdened with teeth marks. Their vision swam.

The stranger stopped in front of them, still smiling.

The great door rumbled with the force of bodies slamming against it, trying to get out. The protagonist very much doubted anyone in there was still alive in the traditional sense.

"This is fitting," the stranger said, gesturing at them. "I like this."

Dizzy, the protagonist lurched off their knees and lunged again, as clumsy as the undead had been. They certainly couldn't just wait to die.

The stranger merely stepped aside and let the protagonist stagger a step, before swiping their legs out from beneath them.

The protagonist hit the ground hard. The sword clattered out of their hand. The stranger plucked it up, tucking it neatly back into their holster.

"Who are you?" the protagonist managed. They began to push themselves up again.

"You woke me up. In the temple."

The protagonist swore quietly. "Yeah - about that -"

"-I thought the prophesied one would be a better fighter. Less willing to spill their magical blood. You are them, aren't you?"

"No."

The stranger laughed softly, delighted, and grabbed the back of the protagonist's neck, like scruffing a misbehaving kitten. "You're pathetic." They sounded entirely too endeared by this fact. "Come on." They dragged the protagonist bodily away from the cliff edge, past the bodies of the undead, back towards the terrible, terrible door.

The protagonist thrashed.

Predictably, it did no good. In fact, it did the precise opposite as they left blood in the dirt and the three bloody undead began to heal before their eyes.

The stranger deposited them with startling gentleness on their knees again. They stroked their fingers through the protagonist's hair, taking a moment to calm them, all soothing noises and shushing sounds. The other arm hooked around the protagonist's throat, cradling them securely against them. Trapped.

The two of them looked at the door.

The protagonist could still hear the undead behind it. They wailed and clawed - nothing like the figure behind them.

The other undead kneeled in a circle around them and the stranger. The protagonist didn't like the way they looked at the stranger - like they were everything, like they were god. It was far more lucid than they had been before. They looked less zombie-like too. More real.

"Don't do this," the protagonist said into the silence. "Please don't do this."

They already knew what would happen if they touched their blood to that door again.

"Our people are hungry," the stranger replied. "They have spent so long in the dark and the slumber, waiting for you. You can't abandon them now. We can't abandon them now."

The protagonist shook their head. They wanted to say something daring and clever, but there was a whimper caught in their windpipe.

"It's not so bad." The stranger held them a little tighter. "You're going to help them. They won't be quite so brain dead once they've had a bit of you. They won't slaughter everyone."

"Just most people?" It came out choked.

"Depends entirely on if most people are willing to accept my rule, my saviour."

"I'm not - I didn't - I didn't want any of this."

A week ago, they hadn't even known.

"I know," the stranger murmured. "I know you didn't. Children of fate rarely do. That's why their hands must be forced by destiny."

"My hands were forced by cultists."

The stranger shrugged. "Destiny takes many forms."

"You killed them. Let them-"

"-My people were very hungry. Who was I to deny them? Besides." The stranger bowed their head, so their lips brushed the top of the protagonist's head. "They hurt you."

"You hurt me. Your people-"

"I wouldn't have let them get too rough. I just wanted to see what you could do. I don't think anyone expected you to escape the temple and seal the doors again in the first place. Lucky I was around!"

Lucky was not the word that the protagonist would have used.

"Just reach out a hand," the stranger murmured. "And all this can be over. You will be a hero."

"To the undead."

"To what is yours. To what you belong to."

Maybe it made no difference in the grand scheme of apocalypse, but the protagonist didn't reach out a hand that time. They expected the stranger to bark out an order, for the undead to wrench their palm forward and bleed them like the cultists had. A lamb on an altar.

The silence stretched.

The stranger couldn't make them.

The realisation struck the protagonist heady, impossibly light-headed with hope. They didn't understand why, or how, or much of any of the horror. But if the stranger could make them, they would have already done so.

The protagonist laughed. Wild. Delirious. Their head tipped back against the stranger's chest.

"They suffer in there," the stranger said. Less amused. More quiet. "They are trapped. Help them."

"No."

"This is what you were made for. Promised for."

"Then maybe," the protagonist said, "destiny should have asked for my opinion first."

"Please," the stranger said, and the protagonist didn't know what to do with that. "Please."

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. That begging wasn't how the story went, was it? Ancient evil didn't beg.

"No," the protagonist said, a little softer. "Sorry."

The stranger let go.

The protagonist crumbled, gasping, on the door stop.

"Then I suppose." The stranger stepped up to the door, pressing a longing hand against the stone. "We're doing this the hard way."

#whoa! #this is stunning #such rich character voices #and a fascinating dynamic between our protagonist and the stranger #very unsettling and complex and powerful #writing #fiction #other people's awesome writing! #the apocalypse #undead