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Odys in pixel form!
I only had 80 x 80 pixels to work with but I think he turned out pretty good 👍
Literally i cannot explain how many times a DAY i listen to these songs mf these are absolute masterpieces and bruh BRUH whenever i hear the ‘nah don’t be modest/ i know you’re a goddess/ so let’s be honest/ you are Athena’ I COLLAPSE, on my KNEES, i know nothing of what blood may be because this is the only thing that flows thru my VEINS
Ze/Zyl/Zyx/Zylself
I have crafted what i think of to be completely gender-removed pronouns. I wanted them to kind of sound natural but in a way that didnt easily mirror he/him/his or she/her/hers. These neos are open for use to anyone, but i would prefer they be kept as entirely nongendered. Thats not saying a demigirl, for example, couldnt use them, but if someone was looking for “masculine” or “feminine” sounding neos id prefer this set not be included.
Usage as:
Ze went to the park, I went with zyl. Ze brought zyx dog and i brought mine. We had a good time, but ze decided ze needed a bit of time to xylself, so I drove zyl and zyx dog home.
Don’t let that face fool you that is the same little bastard who - according to my sister - barked at the sun.
"When Night Loved the Wanderer”
(an unspoken version of Odysseus’s return)
It was the seventh year of his exile on the shores of Calypso. Time had passed like a silent frost over Odysseus’s shoulders—his body remained strong, but his soul was weary, like a bow stretched too far. He stared out into the great night after night, his eyes empty and dreamy. He still loved Penelope. And nothing, not even the promise of immortality, could fill that void.
One of the moonless nights, when even the goddesses of silence seemed to be asleep, a cool wind descended upon the island. It was not of the sea, it was not of any known god. It was a presence.
“Why don’t you go, Odysseus?” she asked, and her words filled his chest like a forgotten childhood memory.
There, between the shadow and the wave, Nyx appeared—not as a being, but as an overwhelming silence. Her hair was woven from the sky without stars, her voice was a murmur from the depths of the world. He could not see her, but he felt her. She needed no form.
— Because I am a prisoner… willingly and against my will. Calypso keeps me here, but my pain does not come from her. It comes from the time that grinds me down, from the longing that never dies, from the sleep that gives me no rest. The nights are no longer mine.
— Then I came to take them back from you, said Nyx.
That night, Odysseus slept deeply, for the first time in years. And he dreamed of a house that smelled of old wood, a torch burning at the door, a woman with clear eyes who was weaving in silence.
When he woke up, Calypso was standing at the edge of the sea. She was crying.
— You can go, she told him. Poseidon calmed down. Zeus fell silent. Another power, older than all, has reopened your path. The night itself chose you.
Nyx did not lead him like Hermes. She did not take his hand. But every night of the journey, the clouds parted. The stars showed him the way. The sirens fell silent. The monsters slept. The waves were gentle.
At one point, on an unknown shore, he asked the wind:
— Why do you help me?
And the wind, carrying the shadow of Nyx, whispered:
— Because your love, mortal, was stronger than all the eternities I have seen. And I, who never loved, envied you in silence.
And when he finally set foot on the land of Ithaca, his heart beating like a forgotten tambourine in his chest, the night was clear, perfect, like a promise kept. And somewhere, in the silence of the stars, Nyx looked at him one last time.
She did not touch him. She did not speak to him. She just left him a moment of pure peace.
And she was gone. For the night never stays—it only watches and loves in secret.
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