Artness
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Buck laughed, but his heart ticked with familiar, ridiculous nerves as Eddie tapped the folder against his palm. When Eddie looked that delighted to share something, it was usually about Chris. And when it was about Chris, it was usually about Eddie by extension—some beautifully earnest essay about bravery or soldiers, or an art project where ‘Dad’ had been rendered with heroic proportions and Buck as the guy in the corner with a goofy smile.
It was fine. It was more than fine. Buck had worked his way from the periphery of this picture, frame by frame, until he stood inside it; he could be the guy in the corner, smiling. He could be the second mention. He could be extra.
Still, the old echo stirred: not necessary. Replaceable.
Or, Chris writes an essay in class about his hero. It isn't who Buck expects.
Bookmarked by Artness
14 Feb 2026
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Buck stood in the greeting card aisle like it was a minefield. Rows of glossy, pastel-colored sentiments stared back at him, each more saccharine than the last.
His fingers hovered over one with a watercolour bouquet, then dropped like dead weight to his side. He shouldn’t be here.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about her—Athena.
He was fooling himself, wasn’t he? Thinking he could belong to someone like Athena. She was strong and righteous and fierce. He was a bleeding wound of a man, stitched together with borrowed strength from the people who kept loving him anyway.
Athena didn’t need that. She didn’t need him.
Or, Buck can fight fires and face death, but saying “Happy Mother’s Day” to Athena? That’s terrifying. He’s not her son, not really, but on a day meant for mothers, Buck dares to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s hers anyway.
Bookmarked by Artness
14 Feb 2026
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This is Why We Fight – Run, Polites by ElementalWinter
Fandoms: EPIC - Jorge Rivera-Herrans (Albums)
21 May 2025
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Polites stumbled through the gnarled brush, bare legs catching on thorns, cloak shredded and damp with blood. His left hand, trembling and slick, pressed hard to the side of his throat. The wound burned, hot and raw, pulsing with every heartbeat. Blood still trickled, a slow river staining the collar of his tunic and the front of his armor, which was half-buckled and askew.
Only one thought was pushing him forward: Ody.
Now, he was bleeding his way home.
He’d been on patrol. The Trojan patrol was supposed to be leagues away. The scouts had sworn it.
But a blade had whispered otherwise.
Or, while on patrol, Polites is attacked and left for dead. He overhears the Trojans' plan to assassinate Odysseus and the other Greek leaders. Now, Polites is in a race against time to save his friend's life.
Bookmarked by Artness
14 Feb 2026
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My Son, I'm Finally Home (Or, Telemachus's Birthday) by ElementalWinter
Fandoms: EPIC - Jorge Rivera-Herrans (Albums)
25 Dec 2025
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Seven days.
The thought pressed against Odysseus's ribs like a blade. Seven days until the boy who had learned to walk without him, who had learned to speak his name like a prayer and a wound, would turn eleven. Seven days until Odysseus would sit at his son’s table, look into eyes that had learned how to live without him, and pretend that ten years of absence could be bridged with bread and smiles.
Or, as Telemachus's eleventh birthday approaches, Odysseus spirals and finds comfort in the only way he knows how: planning, and planning, and more planning. Unfortunately for him, Telemachus appears to be indifferent to Odysseus's plans and suggestions. So Odysseus turns to the only other thing that can bring him comfort: Polites.
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Bookmarked by Artness
14 Feb 2026
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All I've Ever Wanted Was to Reunite with My Own by ElementalWinter
Fandoms: EPIC - Jorge Rivera-Herrans (Albums)
09 Dec 2025
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Telemachus finally broke the companionable silence, his voice soft but direct. “Uncle Polites… where is your family?”
Polites smiled—warm, easy. “Where? Little lion, it’s right here,” he said, sweeping his hand lazily in a wide arc. “They’re all around me. Your father. Your mother. Eurylochus. Ctimene. You.” His grin turned sly. “Especially you. The troublemaker-in-chief.”
Telemachus laughed, but only for a moment. The smile faded, replaced by a faint furrow between his brows. “No, I mean… your first family. Before us. The ones you came from. The ones who held you before you were big.”
Polites’s smile thinned, a loose thread pulled at the edge of an old tunic. He sat up a little straighter. “Oh,” he said quietly. “That family...”
Or, Polites reflects on his birth family and the moments that changed his life forever. He reminds Telemachus about a very important rule: family are the people you choose, not the blood you share.
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Bookmarked by Artness
14 Feb 2026