The Door Creaked Open, Golden Light Spilling From Within.

The door creaked open, golden light spilling from within.

It looked like heaven—as if a slice of something glorious had been tucked away.

Mythria reached a hand for it, but Ella got there first, swinging the door open with a grin.

“After you, m’lady.”

The room was warm when she stepped into it, Ella’s boots echoing after hers, and the pedestal in the center beckoned.

She gasped.

“It’s real.”

Beside her, Ella looked close to tears.

“It’s beautiful.”

And it was—the leather bound book was bracketed by a delicate over cover, twisting leaves and furling branches stretching across its length.

They stopped in front of it, climbing the pedestal.

Mythria wanted so badly to hold it, but couldn’t bear to touch it.

Hello, it seemed to say. I’ve been waiting.

Ella sniffled, and wiped a tear.

“You should do the honors.”

Mythria blinked at her as Ella wiped tears from her cheeks.

“Are you sure?”

Ella nodded, and Mythria turned back to the book.

It was so pretty. She hadn’t known anything could be this pretty—and after all of these years of searching, all the pain, she realized it was worth it.

Her fingers closed upon the book, and she cracked it open.

As soon as her eyes read the first line, her body seized, crumpling to the floor.

She shook, pain lancing through her, iron twisting along her bones.

Above her, Ella simply watched curiously.

She took a handkerchief out of her pocket, wrapping it around her hand in order to pick up the book.

Mythria let out a keen, panting, before she was able to push herself up.

“You knew that would happen.”

Ella raised a brow.

“Of course. I’ve done my research.”

“So then why—“

“I’m honestly surprised you’re still alive,” she continued, as if Mythria hadn’t said anything. “I thought it would kill you.”

Mythria snarled, legs too shaky to stand.

“Traitor.”

Ella hummed.

“I did tell you I was from the Golden Ones. You just assumed I had renounced them.”

“What? So you’re stealing priceless artifacts for some unknown gods? Ella, please—“

“We are the gods,” she corrected, and with the light shining down and the book clutched against her side, she looked like one.

Mythria pulled her knees to her chest as something warm stirred within her.

Ella made for the door.

“One day,” Mythria called, “I will come for you. And you will rethink your own godhood.”

Ella stopped at the threshold.

She grinned.

“I look forward to it.”

Inside her, the power of the book thrummed.

You are the god now.

Mythria smiled, and after a long moment, stood.

She hated traitors.

“If I am a god,” she said to herself, “then it is time for a reckoning.”

The vault trembled, as if it could sense the power growing in her, and delighted in the empty book being stolen away, now simply a book and not a power container.

Mythria was the power container now.

And she was going to show them exactly what a god looked like.

I just had a possibly good or really stupid idea but - basically either hero or villain has some mild super speed power. they can’t outpace a car but maybe a moderately fast horse. Then someone ends up giving them caffeine and they just go hecking wild. Full on vibrating and talking at 80mph and is just completely hyper and the other needs to calm them down because the former is acting like a hyperactive puppy who just drank a full liter of Red Bull

“Hey. Hey,” the villain said, shouted almost, as the hero rushed by, letting the villain’s hair blow into a different direction.

This was beyond scary. This was ludicrous.

The hero was no potential threat, they had always been a background hero, conventionally annoying and distracting but not something the villain couldn’t handle.

But by all means, they couldn’t handle this.

When the hero eventually stopped in front of them, their hands on their hips, their elbows to the sides, they didn’t seem remotely tired. The villain took a step forward and tried to grab them but the hero just moved faster than usual, faster than possible, and gave a huge smile.

“What did you do?” the villain asked carefully. The hero always had sunshine for a smile, was always one of those who would talk to the villain before fighting, who would joke when the villain threw a car at them.

If the hero had participated in some kind of experiment, if they had done anything to themselves…

“The seething sea ceaseth and thus the seething sea sufficeth us,” the hero said as if it was an answer. They repeated the tongue twister, faster this time. And then again.

The words were already nonexistent in the villain’s ears, they couldn’t distinguish when one ended nor when a new one began. But the hero was saying it over and over again, flawless each time. The villain wasn’t able to keep up with them.

“Ey, what did you do?” the villain asked again. They noticed how large the hero’s pupils were and they were almost one hundred percent sure the hero had done some very funky drugs. Which was worrying.

The hero’s foot was tapping on the ground, going up and down and up and down.

“You look good today, have I told you that?” The hero was slightly jumping by now. Though the villain was always on edge, they lowered the weapon, too afraid the hero would lose control and start running into them at any given point.

“Don’t tell me a man in a trench coat came up to you and offered you some funny stuff,” the villain said. They swore they would defenestrate themselves if it was true. They would probably defenestrate the man in the trench coat, too. If there was a man.

“Now that you mention it, yeah. Yeah, there was a man in a trench coat. He was very charismatic.” The villain’s head shot up, probably jerkier than the hero’s movements.

“What?!” They felt how their pulse was going up, how they were ready to track that person down, to hunt them if necessary.

“Kidding! I was kidding,” the hero said, a laugh coming out of them. Now, they were looking around and started jumping higher as if to test their limits. The villain however was relieved, more than that.

“I just had a coffee or two, I don’t really know. So, are you gonna stand there and stare at me or are we going to start fighting now?”

The villain thought their fight had already ended.

But it didn’t matter. The hero kicked their ass that day and the villain wasn’t even mad about it.

“Wait—you’re the bridge troll?”

The little girl fiddled with the ends of her dress, lace curling over her fingers. Her hair fell in perfect ringlets, tied with a pretty bow. The darkness turned her hair to the deepest of blacks.

She smiled, all innocence.

“Yes. I could be something more scary, if that would help?”

Seraphina blinked.

“What?”

The smile took on an edge sharper than blades. Seraphina was afraid she might reveal a second row of teeth—she hated fae, especially the ones with too many teeth to count.

“I can be anything,” the little girl stated simply, and then she rose, twisting, bones cracking, until a cloud of darkness encompassed the bridge. When she spoke again, her voice echoed with the promise of pain and the sound of thousands pleading for help. “Is this form better?”

Seraphina choked on her own tongue, spine twinging as she grabbed for her dagger.

“No, no it was fine—“

“Or maybe,” came a voice she had long since laid to rest, “you’d prefer this?”

And then the bridge troll was wearing the face of her dead lover. Seraphina forgot to breathe for a moment, caught on the edge of tears. It was a blister that hurt, it was sticking your hand into the fire, it was breaking all your ribs. Seeing that face—even if the expression was all wrong, like spelling someone’s name with a different letter—hurt.

If Seraphina couldn’t feel her own breathing, she’d assume she was dead.

“Take off their face,” she said after a long moment, and the bridge troll obliged.

“Better?” The little girl said, and Seraphina nodded mutely. “Now, for prices. Most people give up one of their favorite memories, or maybe the voice of a loved one—“

“How much,” Seraphina began, clearing her throat. She eyes the coursing river below. “How much would all of the memories of a loved one be worth.”

The little girl paused, mouth open.

“I’m sorry?”

“How much would it be worth. How many passages across the bridge would all of my memories about someone be worth.”

The little girl blinked, then drew herself up, as if she had surprised even herself in her lack of calm.

“It would pay off years worth of passages.”

Seraphina nodded.

Below, the river thrummed with empty promises.

She had loved them, and they had died. They were supposed to both make it out. And now, here Seraphina was, alone but for a bridge toll, on a bridge in the middle of nowhere.

Well. Not nowhere. She was in that place her lover had always wanted to go.

She figured maybe if she went, her lover would feel it, wherever their soul was.

Now, though, her love simply felt like an arrow between her ribs.

“I’ll pay it.”

The little girl paused again.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. Take it. Pay off as much as you can so nobody who passes through needs to worry.”

The little girl fell silent. If she had any emotions, Seraphina hoped she would understand the enormity of the sacrifice.

Really, though, it was just a selfish need for the pain to stop.

“Alright,” the little girl said. “Give me your hand.”

Seraphina obliged. Her hand was warm in a way she hadn’t expected, and soft.

“Whose face are you wearing?” Seraphina whispered.

“Whose soul are you releasing,” the girl said back.

Seraphina looked once more at the river.

“The love of my life.”

As soon as she said it, as soon as she thought of his face, it was snatched from her mind.

No pain.

Just a neatly cut hole where something should be.

In front of her, a little girl held her hand.

She frowned, puzzled. She rubbed her eyes.

“What are you—“ when she opened them, she blinked again. The most handsome man she had ever seen was holding her hand, smiling roguishly.

“You took a bit of a fall. Are you feeling okay?” His voice sounded like home, and his face looked like it, like warm summer breezes and laughter at the hearth. For a second, something throbbed in side of her, a quiet I remember, before it whisped away.

“Yeah,” she said when she realized she had simply been staring at his face. “Yeah, sorry, i’m fine.”

His smile broadened.

“My name is Edrian, by the way.”

She blinked once more.

“Seraphina.”

The edges of his smile softened.

‘Seraphina’ he mouthed, as if testing it out.

“Can I buy you something to eat?”

Her hand was still in his. For some reason, she didn’t want to let go.

She studied his face, and was filled with such love, such longing, that she almost choked.

She felt like she had loved him for years.

“Sure.”

Edrian squeezed her hand, gently, then murmured her name once more, tugging her gently into town.

Behind them, the bridge was abandoned, and tucked between their clasped hands and traded memories, stolen love bloomed.

No. The fungi don’t need robotics. Stop attempting to name drop things that are irrelevant to the fungal gods. They will lay siege on your home, your family, your mind, and I will laugh as you cry and do the YMCA unwillingly, past the point of vibes and into oblivion.

And then I will eat toast with my funky fresh fungi friends :)

You know, as the concept of “zombifying fungi” becomes more and more popular, I notice it still referred to everywhere as like a “brain parasite.” So I guess a lot of people overlooked or forgot how in 2019 it was discovered that cordyceps and other similar fungal parasites leave the brain and nervous system completely untouched. They only control the muscles. They use chemical signals to make the muscles flex in real time where they want to go :)

like to reblog ratio

Reblogs require so much DEDICATION and willpower, like, you love that post so much that you wanna show everyone else how fucking awesome it is, That is a lot of energy, that is a lot of raw power. a like, thats just like a little guy waving at u from across the street, or he says something like " I like your shoes" but he's across the street so u barely hear him.

no bc the come out scene in the house of hades actually has no right to be this intense