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slothquisitor · 3 months

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There for the Taking

In which Liv has a crisis, and Astarion is kind of mean. Or what if your good character was just a tiny bit tempted by Astarion's suggestion you take over the cult? Thanks to TheWyvernRising (on AO3) for letting me borrow Rowan and also naming the fic. Titles are hard. Liv x Astarion, 4.6k, just angst.

Also on AO3.

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Blights and shambling mounds sharp as razors leap from the darkness. Here the shadows cut and slice. Despite her hypervigilance in this place, Liv is surprised all the same. She lobs a bolt of fire at the nearest blight, hoping that they might be vulnerable to fire damage. It explodes into flames and needles, and she feels as if she’s being stung by a hundred bees at once on every exposed bit of skin.

Astarion has used the distraction to try and get close, stepping around the back side of the shambling mound. He gets in two quick dagger strikes before the mound’s long, vine-like branches snap his way. The tendrils twist around his feet, pulling him down to the ground where the mound rips into him.

His name catches in her throat as she uselessly screams his name. It had been a bad idea to come up this path. It had been her decision, and she had walked them right into an ambush. They’re looking for a house Halsin had seen, apparently surrounded by wildflowers in this bleak and desolate place. It might well be the key to breaking the curse on this land, but right now, she’s not sure why they’re bothering when everything here wants to kill them.

And Astarion hasn’t moved. His pale skin is marred with gashes and scrapes, and he isn’t fucking moving.

Karlach is trying to get to the mound while contending with two smaller blights, and Shadowheart is slowly making her way toward Astarion’s still unmoving form. Liv hurls another spell at the mound, determined to give Shadowheart a clear path. Liv had been trying to conserve her magic, but the fight is looking far more dire than she’s comfortable with. She isn’t about to lose any of her friends to fucking trees .

She conjures a tiny mote of flame that snakes into the backfield and then explodes into a fireball. The outward in a burst of heat very nearly engulfs Karlach, her great axe slicing and splintering through a blight. A few more strategically fired scorching rays and swings from Karlach’s unrelenting axe, and the last of the cursed trees fall. Liv is breathing hard, her magic sputtering. Despite her best efforts to stay out of the fray, her arms and face are covered in small cuts from exploding needles, they sting as her sweat runs into them.

Shadowheart’s spiritual guardians dissipate, leaving them in darkness once more. She’s kneeling at Astarion’s side, and Liv realizes with a certain degree of horror that his injuries are much worse than she thought. And it hurts .

She knows what this is. What they are. She doesn’t get to cry out his name when collapses. She doesn’t get to have her heart squeezed vice-like while she watches Shadowheart’s healing magic pour into him. That’s not what this is.

Shadowheart swears as a healing spell does nothing, and then looks up at Liv. “I need a scroll!”

Liv digs into her bag, drawing out one of their precious scrolls of revivify. They’ve only had to use these twice. Once when Lae’zel was knocked into a chasm by a minotaur in the Underdark, and another on Wyll after a thunder arrow knocked him into the lava of the Grymforge. They’re lucky to even have these scrolls, to have options to avoid the finality of death. But it doesn’t help her feel any less panic as she hands the scroll over with shaking hands.

This sort of magic isn’t her forte. She can craft a fireball, mimic lightning, and throw up shields to protect herself, but she has no spells for moments like this. She cannot heal or ease anyone’s pain. She’s barely been able to craft them healing potions. All of her magic…her studying…what is it for if she can’t truly help people?

A moment later, filled with a burst of divine magic, Astarion’s eyes open. He’s alive. Well, as alive as he was before anyway. And the tightness that had settled in Liv’s chest loosens. She’s more than simply relieved; she’s grateful. She wants to yell at him about being too close to enemies, at his infuriating cockiness, and she wants to pull him into a hug, make sure that he is in fact alright.

She doesn’t do any of that.

“That nearly ended me,” he says quietly. He’s inches from death’s door, his skin a collection of bruises and cuts, but he’s fine. He’ll be fine.

“Only nearly,” Shadowheart replies with a small smile of triumph.

They’re all looking a little worse for wear, and one glance up the path tells Liv that this is a dead end anyway. “This is certainly not the right way. Do we need to go back to Last Light?” Liv asks.

“And risk another ambush?” Karlach asks, eyes darting about the darkness.

“We should take an hour here, at the very least,” Shadowheart says, hands still hovering over Astarion’s wounds. Her magic glows a bright blue and the worst of his wounds stitch together.

She doesn’t love the idea of waiting around here in the darkness or something else to find them, but Karlach has a point. They can at least light some torches and keep the worst shadows at bay for now. Around them there is nothing but the crumbled remains of what was once a tower, perhaps it was a lookout on this ruined battlefield. “Alright then, let’s take an hour.”

She busies herself setting up a perimeter of torches, but it’s not quite distracting her from the image of Astarion crumpled on the ground, all life gone from his eyes. It’s startling how precarious all of this feels, and how much she cares . There are many things from her past life she has tried to leave behind, but caring for those who wouldn’t give a second thought to her doesn’t seem to be one of them. It’s stupid, really. She’s at least ten years too old for this sort of behavior and far too clever for it besides. She knew what Astarion was when she met him in that clearing and she knew what he was offering. Looking for more is simply an exercise in heartbreak.

And yet. Her foolish fucking heart wants anyway.

She sits down against the base of the tower, as far away from Astarion and Shadowheart as she can manage and still be within the safety of the torchlight. She pulls out her spellbook and begins looking for anything she might have learned that she can prepare, something that might be more fucking useful.

It surprises her when Astarion shuffles over, cradling a health potion and still battered and bruised despite Shadowheart’s healing. She curses her stupid heart for racing when he sits down heavily beside her.

“Well, I think I might have argued to stay in camp today if I’d known the trees were going to attack us,” he says. “Really, what is it with this godsforsaken place? It’s downright awful.”

“Really makes you miss dirty goblin camps, doesn’t it?”

“Shockingly, yes,” he replies, flashing her a slight grin before downing the healing potion with a grimace.

And then he tips his head back, eyes falling closed as he tries to rest. She lets her gaze linger on him a moment longer, convincing herself that he is in fact safe. Then, she turns her attention back to her spellbook and tells herself that his presence beside her means nothing. Right?

***

Shadowheart’s healing magic had done good enough work in bringing Astarion back from death’s door, but there was something vaguely disquietening about having been dead. It’s a different sort of death than what he experienced when Cazador turned him. Still hurt like the hells though. He feels a disconcerting distance between himself and his own limbs as if he hasn’t quite settled back within his body. In some ways it’s kind of pleasant, to be floating above his body instead of trapped within it. It’s easier to pretend he’s somewhere else.

And he does, for a while. Though Liv’s shifting and the quiet sound of her turning the pages of her spellbook occasionally pull him back. But even that is kind of nice. It’s…easy to be with Liv. It’s not like that with their other companions. Karlach and Gale make him tired. Wyll and Shadowheart are fun to trade words with, but even they feel like work. Lae’zel and Liv seem to be the only members of their little group who seem to value a comfortable silence. And Liv seems to always sense when he doesn’t want to talk, seems content to just be.

Liv had looked…bothered when he’d come to. Her expression was schooled into something cool and impassive, but her eyes…her eyes were filled with worry. He thought for a moment she might fuss over him, express some outward concern for his safety the same way he’s sure she’d yelled his name when he fell, but instead, she’d simply stepped away. It had seemed almost forced. Even after tendays of traveling together, he’s not sure what’s going on in her head half the time.

So perhaps that is why he presses forward, headlong into a conversation that might be best left alone. “So…Moonrise towers approaches…”

“Assuming we ever actually make it there, yes,” Liv replies, not looking up from her spellbook.

“You know…I feel a connection with you. Like we’re two souls walking the same path,” he says. That gets her attention, gets her to look up from her spellbook. There’s something that looks perilously close to hope in her eyes. Something about it bothers him and he almost abandons the whole conversation. But there’s no time like the present, and he needs to know what it is she plans to do. “You might be a little naive in the ways of the world, but I see promise in you. Ambition .”

She frowns and whatever had brightened her eyes dims. “What do you mean naive?”

He needs to be careful with this. Guide her to the conclusion he’s come to. Gently. “Just that you…have a big heart. You like doing what’s right. So I was thinking, what would be the right thing to do when we get to Moonrise Towers? When we come face to face with whoever is controlling the parasites in our heads.”

Her brow furrows. “The right thing to do would be destroy the cult and end its evil forever.”

Ugh. Really? She’s unwilling to let go of this ridiculous hero streak of hers. He rolls his eyes. “Gods. No…try to think outside the box. Just a little.” She’s clever, he’s begging her to consider the implications. “Consider the parasites in our skulls and think - how many others have the mind flayers infected? Hundreds? Thousands? And they’re not just goblin trash - there are powerful people in the worms’ thrall. And whoever’s waiting at Moonrise Towers controls it all. But if we can take that control from them, imagine the power we’d wield.”

“The power we’d wield? Are you…you’re being serious,” Liv says, words slowly rising in pitch. “What is it about me exactly that would lead you to believe I’d have any interest in that kind of power?”

She sounds almost hurt, offended, even. It surprises him, but he doesn’t stop pushing. If only to see just how far he can before her careful control breaks. “So much for hoping you had ambition. I’m just saying there’s an opportunity here. If we can control the tadpoles, we can keep ourselves safe and liberate the world from this evil.”

“By making people our slaves? I thought you of all people would see the problem inherent in that.”

Anger flares in him, bright and fast and razor sharp. She doesn’t know anything . She’s never had to experience what it’s like to be powerless, to have no control over your own fate. If there is power on offer, and if there is a way for him to gain an advantage over Cazador he will fucking take it. “So much for thinking you had ambition. Isn’t that supposed to be the hubris of wizards? How utterly wasteful.”

She closes her spellbook with a snap, leaning far away from him. “This is clearly going to be surprising to you, but I don’t want power. Certainly not that kind.” Then she stands and brushes the dirt from her robes.

“You don’t have to be so wet around the ears about it,” he laments. He knows that he’s hurting her feelings and probably jeopardizing whatever this thing between them is that he had fought so hard for, but he can’t seem to stop. He's always doing this, pushing her and watching for the point where her patience, her unyielding kindness finally breaks because he doesn't seem to know what else to do with these things she offers him.

She stares at him for a moment and shakes her head. “You know, saving you from Cazador and liberating everyone with a worm in their head aren’t mutually exclusive.” And then she walks away without another word.

He’s sure she believes what she’s saying. She’s fundamentally honest. Even when she’s convincing cultists that their group is friendly or persuading mad doctors to let their nurses slice them to ribbons, she’s not a liar…so he’s not sure why her comment gives him little comfort. The tadpole is the thing that’s set him free. It’s given him back his life and given him the advantage over Cazador. He’s no longer compelled, controlled, chained. And even after everything he’s told her, she would strip that protection away, make him a slave to Cazador’s whims once more.

He doesn’t know how to tell her that her world is different from his. That cruelty has ruled his life for longer than she’s been alive. He knows what survival really takes.

She wants to help him. He knows that; he can sense it whenever he tells her about his life under Cazador’s thumb. But she doesn’t understand the power, the absolute control because she is too damn afraid of taking it herself. But what he can’t fathom is why….she grew up with power, in power. And yet…she seems so damn afraid of it. Their dream visitor offered her power too, and she absolutely refused it. Even Gale had at least been willing to hear their guardian out.

He’s going to have to apologize for this whole conversation later when she’s not so upset and he can be convincingly contrite. A part of him rankles at the thought, at the memories it stirs up. But he’d had a plan, it wouldn’t do to ruin it all now.

***

It’s late in Last Light, but Liv can’t stand to be in camp tonight. So instead, she sits at the bar by the fire, nursing a glass of…something. She’s not really sure what it is, the label was too faded to read, but it smells strong and tastes just sweet enough that she welcomes the burn with each sip. She’s not alone in the downstairs of the inn, though the other folks here are just as solitary as she is this evening.

Almost everyone left in the bar area is mourning in some way, Harpers who lost friends on the road. Tieflings who were separated from friends and kin. Flaming Fist who feel they failed their Duke.

Liv feels like an interloper. She’s not mourning anything except perhaps the future heartbreak that��s sure to crush her sooner rather than later. She can’t shake the conversation she had with Astarion earlier today. Would he take that sort of power for himself? Does he think she would? Is that what he really thinks of her?

She’s been accused of being many things she doesn’t find particularly accurate over the years. Some have found her cold, too impassive, too unmoved by things. Others still have told her she is too passionate, too set in her ways and her belief in right and wrong. She’s not sure if the truth lies somewhere in the middle. Most days the only thing she feels she has in excess are feelings. She feels too much and too deeply, and simply ends up hurting too much of the time.

She wishes that she didn’t want Astarion to be the person who knows her best. Especially when he’s so wrong about her, but then…there had been a moment. A small, small part of her was tempted. Just for a moment. It made her sick.

Perhaps he did know her well enough to know she’d be tempted. Well enough to echo words she’s heard before: a lack of ambition, a bad wizard, what a waste. Fuck.

“Mind if I join you?” asks a soft voice at her side, and Liv is startled from the downward spiral of her thoughts.

Liv recognizes the elven woman, Rowan. She’d been injured badly when the inn was attacked, and while she’s not a Harper, it’s clear Jaheira trusts her. She doesn’t really want company, but perhaps it can’t be worse than whatever one wizard pity party she’s been having for gods know how long. She summons a smile she doesn’t particularly feel. “Not at all.”

Rowan sits beside her, her long red hair falling like a curtain between them. She tucks it behind her ear and sighs. “You’re looking a little too long-faced to be the long-awaited hero here to save the day.”

Liv liked being the hero back in the Grove…before she realized how heavy the weight of expectation could land on one’s shoulders. Hope shone in the eyes of the tieflings from the Grove when she and her companions arrived here to Last Light, and she couldn’t help but meet that hope with promises and reassurances she’s not sure she can make good on. Even when she tempers expectations by promising nothing more than to look for friends and kin…it still feels dishonest.

“Isobel is the real hero here. We couldn’t make it more than a few miles down the road today before being ambushed by shadow-cursed trees,” she says. She doesn’t mean for the words to twist bitterly in her mouth as she speaks, but they do anyway.

Rowan watches her, amethyst eyes sharp. She doesn’t say anything for a long while. “Are you alright?”

This is the one question that goes unasked amongst her companions. It’s been avoided for tendays now, ever since it became clear that they’re no longer in immediate danger of turning into mind flayers. The answer itself is fairly obvious for them all, who would be alright under these circumstances? And Liv is tempted to force a smile, to be a good little Vires.

“No,” she whispers. There’s something freeing in the admission, given to this stranger. She doesn’t want to interrogate why it is so much easier to admit this to someone she hardly knows instead of her friends. Her eyes burn so she takes another sip of her drink, keeping her gaze focused on the far wall.

She has a tadpole in her head and everyone wants her to save the day, and she is falling in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same. She and her friends are flung into danger every day and today she has nothing to show for it, but scrapes and bruises and new nightmares to haunt her. Halsin keeps looking at her like she can help him break the curse on this fucking land…and the heroes in the books she’s read never mentioned the fucking anxiety that comes with all these people relying upon them. She’s not cut out for this.

After all, Astarion had looked at her and said to himself that she’d want power, no matter the cost…and is there something buried in her soul by her fucking family that she can’t smother no matter what how she tries? Sometimes her last name feels like a stain she can’t wash out.

“Oh shit,” Rowan says, offering her a handkerchief and pouring more of whatever she’s drinking into her glass. “I was really trying to help, not make things markedly worse.”

It’s then that Liv realizes she’s crying, tears streaming down her cheeks. It takes some effort, but she manages to slow her breathing down and get a hold of herself. Gods, she can’t remember the last time she cried, much less in front of someone else. “You’re very kind…I am so sorry. It’s just been…a bad day.”

Rowan nods, looking at her with concern. “Just…slow down. It’s alright.”

It’s not, but Liv is grateful for the assurance anyway. She can sit here and have a drink with a stranger and be perfectly normal. She’s sure of it. She takes a sip of her drink and nods. “You’re looking better than when I last saw you,” she attempts.

Rowan snorts softly. “You mean when my insides were practically falling out of me?”

“Yeah…sorry.”

“Just lucky there are plenty of good and willing healers around,” Rowan says, and Liv doesn’t miss the way her gaze wanders to the door where Halsin sits vigil over the man who had somehow survived the Shadowfell.

Isobel and Halsin and Shadowheart have magic that is actually useful; magic that actually helps people. “Very lucky,” she agrees.

“You know, at the risk of providing unsolicited advice…I often find that things look better in the morning. Nothing drains the hope out of a situation like being tired.”

Liv nods. “You’re right.” She’s unlikely to find any answers at the bottom of this glass anyway.

“For what it’s worth, you’ve already done a lot for the people here. Don’t let whatever defeat found you today keep you down.”

Liv pushes up from the bar, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. “Thank you for the company.”

Rowan offers a smile. “Any time.”

She wishes she had something more to offer than thanks. She worries over the interaction all the way back to her tent, as if admitting she’s not okay has opened up something, some vulnerability that everyone else will be able to see. It’s an old fear…and not very generous in the face of the kindness she received tonight.

Their little encampment next to the inn is quiet, the fire has already burned down to the embers. She doesn’t want to see Astarion, but some part of her can’t resist glancing at his tent anyway. He’s not there. Which is just as well. She’s not sure what she’d say to him anyway.

She glances up at the bright moon, at the shield Isobel keeps around this place, and tries to tell herself that all the hopes she carries aren’t misplaced.

***

Astarion has spent a tedious hour hunting around Last Light for any creatures he can drink from. He’d managed to find a few small animals, and he tries to remind himself that he’s survived on far less and far worse, but it’s hard to remember because he’s hungry now . Besides, animal blood doesn’t hit quite the same now he’s had the blood of thinking creatures.

But they’ve spent their days fighting shadows and trees and shadow-cursed zombies, and so he’s had to make due in other ways. He could ask Liv for blood; she’s been willing enough in the past, but there’s something about the fact they’ve slept together that changes everything about asking for her blood. He seduced her for safety, for security, asking for her blood in addition to that feels like taking far too much.

He takes and he takes and he takes. Beyond the sketch she drew of him, he’s never taken anything from her that wasn’t already offered. And he’s not sure when it began to bother him, but it happened sometime between figuring out that the sadness in her eyes only truly disappears when she has something to offer someone and realizing that she never asks for a damn thing. He is well-versed enough in starvation to recognize it in another, but he can’t figure out what she could possibly be lacking.

He sees her coming down from the inn towards their encampment. She’s pulling her long hair loose from the tight bun she keeps it in most days. She’s almost to her tent when he intercepts her, falling into step beside her. She jumps when she notices his presence.

“Gods, don’t do that,” she says. “Where in the hells did you come from?”

“I was simply walking back to my tent. I can’t help that you’re unobservant.” He wants her to ask him where he’s been, so he can tell her about his less-than-successful hunt. Perhaps if she offers her blood it will feel less like taking.

But she doesn’t.

“Well, good night then,” she says without looking at him. He can smell the alcohol on her. She drinks little, so it is more than a little surprising. Warning bells are going off in his head. Something is wrong…off. Suddenly, this thing between them feels tremulous and fragile.

“Are you upset with me?” he asks. Genuinely curious. She doesn’t seem the type to hold a grudge, but he’s been wrong about her before.

She looks back at him, brow furrowed. “No, Astarion. I’m not upset with you.” The words are brittle things, but they don’t ring false.

“A pity. I’ve been told I’m quite good at apologies,” pitching his voice down, filling it with dark promises. The sentiment isn’t true. He’s been told he’s good at groveling, and that’s not the same thing. But it’s a half-truth; it’s the only thing he seems to have to offer her.

She’s feeling distant, and something about that makes him want to grasp tighter to whatever this thing is he’s orchestrated between them. As if he could wrench back the simplicity, the surety he felt when he invited her to join him after the tiefling party.

“I’m tired,” she says. It’s the truest thing she’s said so far, and it feels suddenly the most dangerous.

She doesn’t want him. It’s the most freeing thing in the world, there’s a certain relief at her refusal, and yet some part of him is disappointed.

He doesn’t show it; instead, he smiles. “Well then, goodnight, my dear.”

She disappears into her tent without so much as a glance behind, and he is the one left there standing in the darkness, wondering what it was she actually needed this evening and why he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

He had intended to twine himself so inextricably to her that the safety, the brightness, and the implicit trust she is afforded would fall easily on him too. And it has. The hope and expectations she was loaded up with the second she appeared at Last Light have followed him too. But it hasn’t filled up whatever lives inside him, whatever empty void is left of his heart.

He’s startingly glad she turned down his company and simultaneously worried that he’s lost the only skill he’s ever had. He likes being in her presence, likes talking with her. She has an ability to listen when others talk in a way that makes him feel seen and heard. Who wouldn’t want her undivided attention when it feels like that?

And that’s all this is, isn’t it? An enjoyment of her attention. Nothing more. He tells himself that she’s getting just as much out of their little arrangement as he is, but even as he thinks it he’s not sure it’s true.

Perhaps whatever has gone wrong today is simply a byproduct of their surroundings, of the general disquiet in this place. Perhaps tomorrow will be different, better. Perhaps she will keep offering him beautiful, impossible moments of comfort…and he will keep taking them. And perhaps it won’t bother him.

#astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate fanfiction #astarion x liv #bright lost things #slothquisitorwrites

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dndeed · 8 months

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Crit Role Miniature Rollout: C3E53 Ripples

With Andrew Harshman

An analysis of the minis used on CR.

Love a throne room battle! So much cool stuff in a throne room. Loads of precious, delicate, treasures and neato decorations! (I've heard of a "bull in a china shop", -BUT THIS IS RIDICULOUS!

Such is life in the throne zone, it's time for Crit Role Miniature Rollout Campaign 3 Episode 53!

Sweet map! The urban stone road mat is from Mats by Mars and the dungeon tiles are Dwarven Forge, but specifically, the Emperor's Palace Marble Pack. Which is sort of a reskin of the Dungeons of Doom set.

The marble effect I'd say is quite good. Very readable, very distinct, very nifty. Also, sprinkled into this scene is a Mantic Games carpet, a Pathfinder Battles Crimson Throne throne, and one mystery throne.

I just loooooove this Emissary of Purphoros model! The sculpt itself is very nice. And the literal-glitter-infused translucent starry void plastic/paint combo is OUTSTANDING! Five outta five stars. Also impressive, this model is a rather faithful recreation of the original Magic the Gathering Theros art by Sam Burley:

Coincidentally, Sam Burley would make for an excellent minotaur D&D character name!

See ya next sesh!

#critroleminiaturerollout #criticalroleminiaturerollout #critrole #crit role #critical role #criticalrole #dwarvenforge #dnd #dndminis #mtg #magicthegathering #theros #magic the gathering #sam barley

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mirahuyooo · 1 year

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Stranded (I) | jhs

— But, darling, if you hadn’t fallen, you wouldn’t have met him—the one who’ll render you mad and drunk with his love so much that you’ll never want to find sanity again.

word count: 10,458 (PART I) contents: ANGST, fLUff, drAMa, Theseus, stages of grief but its kinda all over the place, rUNAWAY PRINCESS!!! yikes, betrayal yIKES, implied drugging, hEARTBREAK, you have a sucky sucky childhood, daddy issues, a lot of artistic interpretation but I think this is my most favorite one AAAAAA, not necessarily accurate (i mixed up a lot of versions and made up some shit), a bit historical?? idk anymore, Greek Mythology AU pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader Inspired by Dionysus and Ariadne

[masterlist] | check out [Elysian Tales] & [BTS as Greek Myth Icons]!

A/N: HeRE iT ISSS! I HAVE BEEN SO EXCITED TO FINISH THIS LIL SHIT Hobi’s story is an ABSOLUTE favorite 😭💖

P.S. i've divided these into three due to limit issues so stay tune for the next part! ☆⌒(*＾-゜)v

START. | ▷ 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽

A heavy feeling rests in the pit of your stomach, as the ship continues to sail away from the land that birthed and raised you. That island was all you had ever known and yet there it was, having gone much smaller as time progressed—even the grand palace is now barely visible from such a distance, much more the people trying to pursue you.

You have committed treason—something you were well aware of. You had betrayed your father as an accomplice to your monster of a half-brother’s murder and had eloped with the very man who took its life.

A large part of you argues that you had done the right thing. Your half-brother was a vicious monster, who had slaughtered innocents in the maze you were forced to represent. He was an accursed reminder of the atrocity your late mother had done. Before his death, you had witnessed first hand the people being fed into the labyrinth as some sickening game guised as a sacrifice.

You, as your father's daughter, had been made mistress of the labyrinth as soon as you came of age—subjected to all sorts of pleas, cursing, and threats that its victims had thrown at you. Their voices echo hauntingly in your head, as the memory of people walking into that dark pit and never returning constantly mar your mind. It is a nightmare you cannot escape from.

But that, now, has changed.

You, as princess of your people, have done justly to assist a foreigner in ending such pandemonium. The Minotaur is dead and with that, you have greatly helped in ending your father’s cruelty. You are a hero.

So, why does it feel like something’s amiss?

“Princess?”

A voice greets you from behind, startling you into staring away from the kingdom you were leaving behind. Butterflies erupt as you see Theseus before you with the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on his striking features. You smile softly as he lightly bows to you. “Theseus,” your voice radiates adoration as you say his name. “What brings you here?”

The chill wind of early autumn tousles his dark brown locks as he stares towards the fading form of Crete with you. “We will be stopping at the island of Naxos in a few hours,” he tells you with a side glance your way. “The captain and I deemed it best to rest there for a while and replenish any supplies we lost.”

“Of course. That seems sound,” you could only nod, not knowing much of maritime welfare after all. What you do know, however, was that the sea was as fickle as the god that reigned over it. You supposed that it was better to prepare for any catastrophe, than to expect everything to be smooth sailing.

Feeling a hand on the small of your back, you come back to your senses, only to see Theseus waiting for you. Only then did you also realize that on your shoulders was his cloak. It envelops you with warmth. “It’s late, princess,” he nods towards the quarters. “It’s been a long day, too. You must sleep.”

Words coming out a stammer, you clutch the cloak in your hands. “Yes,” you shyly blush as your heart hammers in your chest, “You too.”

The hero beside you smiled kindly, gesturing with his hand this time. “Let us go then,” he invites you, warmly—and for someone so used to the dark, cold walls of Crete, you couldn’t help but swoon.

What a blessed woman you are.

You arrive at Naxos around late in the afternoon, taking a small boat or two with Theseus and a few members of the ship to a secluded part of the island while the rest stay to man the ship at a distance. Docking a great distance away from a small town, the land that greets you and takes you away from the roughhousing of the waves greatly comforts you. There were big rocks surrounding the little beach—something Theseus thought would do well to hide and border the camp.

A group began laying out the tents for the night, many hands trying to make quick work. You did your best to assist them in any way, but you were met either with cold glares or dismissive waves. You then attempted to help a frail boy struggling to carry a crate, but he, too, doesn't seem so fond of you. "I'll be fine in the hands of my people, princess," said the boy, voice calm but eyes failing to hide his contempt, as another fellow came to help him instead.

It was clear to you.

You may have aided their hero in slaying the Minotaur, but your conscience and reputation was still drenched by the blood of their people—the people that you couldn't save any sooner. In their eyes, you were still a princess of Crete—still the mistress of the maze that brought them before the gates of the Underworld.

And so, you endure their unwelcoming gaze, looking for something else to make yourself useful—for something else to prove you worthy of their trust.

While the experienced went to hunt animals for a meal tonight and the journey ahead, there were others that were tasked to retrieve some supplies from the local town. You decide to join them, but, in an instant, you are pulled aside by Theseus, who was already dressed for the hunt. "Where are you going?" he asks, voice hushed but with a little panic.

Furrows form between your brows as his sudden interruption holds you aback. "I want to help," you earnestly declare, but the conviction wasn't quite present, so you clarify yourself further. "I will accompany them to town an—"

"We cannot risk you to be seen in town, (Y/N)," Theseus exasperates, harsh tone taking you aback. "It'll bring us more trouble than we already have."

Your hastening heart seemed to stop altogether. "Ah… right…"

How come you never thought of that, (Y/N)?

He sharply inhales, breathing almost stopping altogether, upon seeing the flash of hurt in your eyes, your determination faltering. Theseus eases a little then, lacing a hand in yours while the other caresses your cheek. "Why don't you…" his mind reels as he thinks of a compromise, "why don't you help gather some wood for the fire later?"

Your eyes lit for a moment, but soon began to contemplate. Wood for the fire—yes. That seems accomplishable.

"Alright," you say, mustering a meek smile as you did.

With that Theseus called forth a young man. Andreas, he addressed him—the same boy that had refused your help with the crate earlier. "Take her with you to fetch some firewood," he tells him, and while the boy nods, you could tell he was hesitant.

Theseus turns back to you with a smile, happy to have settled this. The fabric that embraced your shoulders was moved to shield your face, his careful touch tingling against your skin. "Be careful," Theseus then instructs, urging you to still keep your identity secret, lest your father had sent out soldiers for either of your capture.

"You, too," you attempt to smile, a hand gently squeezing his own before the two of you part, worried but hopeful.

Andreas never spoke a word with you as the both of you gathered what you needed from the forest. In your arms were a bundle of sticks you thought were similar to what you saw him pick up. You couldn't really find it within you to ask, for fear of being seen bothersome by the lad.

"Why help us now?"

You nearly jump at the sudden words that reach you. Looking up, the young boy was standing a few feet ahead of you, his back turned as he did. "I'm sorry?" You stammer, unsure of what he meant. "What do you mean to say?"

You were greeted by a ferocious glare. "You let us suffer for years, but now you helped our people escape," Andreas sneered, "why?"

Tears sting your eyes but you blink them back. "I…" you began, but your mind seemed to run blank. "I needed strength," you say, mustering enough words to express your thoughts, "and a chance to go against my father..."

"Your prince is both," you give the boy a soft smile, hoping it would ease him.

Theseus was your key—not only to freedom, but also for repentance.

Still, the young boy scowls, brows furrowing so deep together that you fear they might never go back to normal. "I know my sins cannot be absolved for doing this," you plead, taking a step forth, "but I swear, I never found any joy in your suffering."

Andreas scoffs, but says nothing. He, instead, goes back to his task of collecting firewood and ignoring your existence. A shaky outbreath escapes you along with a few tears running down your cheeks but you wipe them away and focus on your task, too.

Idly tying the bundle with a rope, you began to think of your future.

Theseus had promised to make you his queen upon returning to Athens, but how easy would that flow, if your history as mistress of the labyrinth remained in their minds? What queen would be welcomed and loved that way?

You sigh and push such thoughts away. You'll deal with it when it comes, you tell yourself. A long journey awaits you, and you haven't even made it to Athens yet. Surely, a time will come for you to show your promising prowess to the people.

With that hope, you were a little more resolved and ready to return to reality, taking more time in indulging yourself with your surroundings.

The island was very much smaller than the kingdom you were accustomed to, but it certainly felt much more welcoming. Nature surrounded you as leaves crunched at each step beneath you. The sky in a blur of warm colors being tainted with the impending night.

It felt oddly serene—more soothing than you have been treated at the camp. A part of you was tempted to stay here instead.

Then, it came to you.

You were alone.

Heart shattering just a little, you stood up from where you were crouching. All around you was darkness. "A-Andreas?" you call out, voice shaking as you look into the expanse of the forest. "Where are you?"

Instead of a response, your ears pick up the sound of music instead—a flute perhaps, being played somewhere, but the direction seemed to lead further into the forest rather than out. Goosebumps littered your skin from the cold and the shiver that ran down your spine. It may be someone from the town, or a group of travellers like your own, you reason, but such news would either be bad for someone in hiding like you.

"Lost, are we?"

There was a sudden voice that filled the air—slurred but mischievous—rendering you to drop a few sticks as you whirl around like a fool looking for the source.

Who was that?

"Up here, dear."

The voice says again, the sound luring your eyes towards a tree nearby. Splayed across a big branch above was a dashing man—ethereal, really—looking down at you through barely opened eyes, as the early autumn wind gently blew on the part of his robe that dangled from the tree. He gives you a lazed grin as he pulls out a small flask from somewhere behind him. "Would you like some?" he then asks as he takes a generous swig of the drink, thin droplets of watery red running down his chin and onto his collarbone.

Is that wine?

Taken aback by his presence, you tear your eyes away from the stranger and gather what had escaped from your grasp moments before. He's inviting—tempting—but you mustn't stray. "No need, sir," you politely tell him, "I'm not thirsty."

No less from a stranger.

The young man nonchalantly shrugs. "Shame," he says, taking another swig as he makes no further comment.

You couldn't bear to dilly dally any further either—no, not with the darkened sky already upon you. Wait… a dark sky?!

With the realization that the night was settling in, panic settled in you. "Oh no," you huff, hurriedly gathering the ends of your dress to ready yourself to bolt back to the camp. "You should get down there before you fall, sir," you give the stranger a hastened smile. "Farewell!"

Not waiting for his response, you ran.

—and run you did.

It was ungraceful—something your late governess would've greatly frowned upon—but you make it back with only a few moments of getting lost. Your chest heaved as sweat ran down your skin, but the proud look you had on your face for coming back soon fell.

There was a bonfire already lit in the center of the camp, bright as could be.

The chatter lessens at your arrival, a few looking at your disheveled state, while Theseus approaches you. "What happened?" he asks, brows furrowed. "Andreas said you walked off on your own."

You glanced at the boy, who immediately avoided your eyes, almost sorry for what he did. Forcing a smile, you turn your attention back to Theseus and give him the bundles you gathered as you went along with the boy’s narrative so he wouldn’t be in trouble. "Yes, well," you cleared your throat, "I thought I saw something, and became distracted. I'm sorry."

Theseus doesn't question you any further, only nodding as he looks at the wood you gave him. "Ah…" he then grins, throwing a stick or two into the already roaring flames. "Thank you for these," he says in an attempt to assure you, "it'll keep the fire alive tonight."

You muster a smile back, nodding as you watch the fire crackle strongly before you. "Ah…" you idly hum, "you're welcome."

A nasty bout of hurt and irk began to bubble within you at how effectively useless your help was. You see the amount of wood Andreas gathered, realizing that, with how many they were, they only made your meager bundle useless. You could've easily not accompanied him and the group would've been fine for the night. Your effort and time was wasted, and yet remembering the weight of the situation is the water that douses your fury.

The people here have been hurt by your kingdom, and Theseus was the one that came to save them from their terrible fate.

Even if you are to have Theseus by your side, it comes to you very well that you are the foreigner amongst them—one against many, with no favors amidst your graces other than Theseus' gratitude and affections. You cannot give them your fury—not fully at the very least.

And so, you sat idly by the fire, listening to their merry chatter in your silence. The fire began to seem like images at some point—people dancing, twinkling stars, a merriment unlike any other—and it coaxes the beginnings of a smile out of you.

"Here."

Knocked out of your stupor, you look up at whoever sat beside you and see Theseus with a bowl of some soup. You gingerly take it from his hands. "Thank you," you meekly say, taking an idle spoonful to your mouth.

All the while, Theseus makes an attempt to salvage the silence between you both. "We caught two boars in the forest," he began, nodding towards the canopy of trees surrounding the camp. "A few of the others took one of the boats back to the ship to give the meat of one boar to the rest there."

You hum, scooping one of the meat chunks in your bowl. "Sounds wonderful," you tell him politely as you chew, "the cook did great work with the soup, as well."

Such words were a bit coated with sugar. No one will like the salt of the thoughts sitting in the back of your mind—not when any of you are in a position to complain when survival is essential. It wasn't the tastiest of meals you've ever had—the flavors clash at some bites—but it should fill the belly just enough.

Next to you, the Athenian hero nods thoughtfully. “Ah, yes, Leda managed to make a meal out of what little we had,” he hums, “I’ll let her know you liked it.”

With nothing more to say, you only nod, not forcing yourself in engaging idle chatter with him. You didn't have it in you to. You suppose that after the journey you feel… tired? despondent?

Either way, your lack of motivation easily lets silence conquer the air between you and Theseus. He didn't seem to mind, spending time conversing with the captain about the boat and the travel ahead—a talk which easily slips past your head as you lose your train of thought in a daze looking at the racking fire ahead.

Your bowl lasts a little under half-filled in your hands by the time you decide on the last spoonful for your fill of dinner. A light chill of the sea breeze comes and goes, making you take your shawl off your head and wrap it around your shoulders once more.

The stretch of standing up bears a light grunt from your lips, catching Theseus' attention. "I think I'd like to go and rest now," you softly declared with a tired, tight-lipped smile—an excuse really but it wasn't a complete lie.

Theseus looks quite surprised by your announcement. "Already?" he says, almost to himself, "but you haven't finished the bowl…"

You fluster, but hand him the bowl nonetheless. "I apologize for wasting, but I really am full," you say. “The day has been… eventful. I think some shut eye would be good."

A furrow forms between Theseus’ brows, but he questions you no further. "Alright…" he sighs, pointing to a tent ahead. “That tent, over there, is yours,” he tells you, watching as you nod and smooth out your dress.

He, too, soon stands up, but he offers you a smile instead of walking you to your tent. "Sleep well, princess.”

Eyelids already growing heavy, you could only hum as you tread through the sand. "Good night."

The dream that Morpheus brings you that night was bizarre for someone who has lived the way you have.

You were in a palace of sorts, though you hadn't any idea where and why.

Around you were drunken bodies who surrendered to the feel of the music that clouded the entire room. The melody of a flute lingers in the air and though you can't quite tell where you've heard it from, it’s somewhat familiar.

You, yourself, were feeling light-headed, swaying to the music. Someone brings a chalice to your lips and you let them.

The wine dances along your tongue—so addicting that you couldn't help but gulp more.

"That’s right, drink," said a soft voice in your head, encouraging you further. "Ease yourself from your worries."

You almost do.

—but someone in the distance catches your eye. Standing in the midst of the sea of people, he stares at you relentlessly, and your heartbeat races and the haze in your head wears itself down. You forget whoever it was that handed you the chalice, forget them as you continue to look in the distance.

He's gone.

Where is he?

The world begins to spin around you—so dizzying that it makes you clutch your head.

Still, you try to reach where your eyes last saw him.

"Theseus?"

Your eyes had trouble fluttering open, but as soon as you did you were stricken with a pounding in your head. Was it possible for a dream to have such an effect? What was the dream even trying to say?

A groan leaves your lips, eyebrows scrunched together at the unpleasant feeling. The pain doesn't ease soon, and you attempt to massage it away, but as you move your hand, you become aware of the emptiness at your side. All of a sudden, it became so easy to forget the dream that you had.

Brows knitting much closer in confusion, you will yourself to get up and look around.

The tent is empty—almost untouched.

Has Theseus and the others gotten up already?

There was an attempt to stand and look around even more, your legs shaking as you do so. The clay pitcher on a nearby crate leads you to become aware of just how much your throat feels parched. Paradoxically, you also have the urge to vomit.

Nonetheless, you made a grab for the pitcher. The water flows down your throat in greedy gulps as you shakily hold it in your hands. Your headache slightly eases, but it's inconvenience is still there to torment you.

What did you eat last night to upset your head and stomach so?

Crawling out of the tent, the striking sun glared down at you so much that another hiss leaves your lips. You were only plunged further into bafflement, shielding your face from the heat. Seeing the sun so high up in the sky could only mean that it's well around noon alre—

Where's everyone?

All too suddenly, you were wide awake. Your hand falls to your side, letting the blistering heat of the sun strike down onto you. The deafening silence around you mirrors your thoughts as you try to take in what was going on.

The fire had long extinguished, leaving only charred wood and ashes.

There were no longer other tents but your own.

Most hauntingly, the ship was no longer at the visible distance as it was before.

At that moment, you couldn't breathe.

It takes everything in you to will yourself to move, carefully walking around what used to be the camp the crew had set up not more than half a day ago. There had been three or four more tents set alongside yours. There had been a large cauldron for the soup over the fire. There had been crates of supplies gathered from their hunt and travel around the nearest town.

All of that, gone.

Your eyes were frantically scanning for answers—anything to make sense of it all. There were marks in the sand—movement, many of them, leading to where the boats used to be. These were the telltale signs that you refused to believe.

Your heart pounded against your chest, and even as the wind blew your hair over your face, you didn't move an inch—couldn't—in your disbelief. "No," the word crawls out of your lips, hoarse from both sleep and hurt. You rub at your teary eyes furiously—even as they hurt.

"Wake up, (Y/N)," you tell yourself, "Wake up."

In the distance, you see the rocks that surround the beach, and an idea immediately comes to you. With barely any hesitation, you run—stumble—towards them, all as pebbles, shells, coarse sand, and force make your feet hurt instantly, but the panic in your veins rendered you reckless and desperate.

The struggle in climbing the harsh terrain was immediate for someone like you, who was taught to never do such rowdy, unladylike activities, but you couldn't bring yourself to give a damn at that moment. It could be the very key to the answer you were looking for.

And, unfortunately, it was.

The sea breeze blew the strands of your (h/c) hair to and fro, as wisps of the sea trickled onto your skin. You looked over towards the horizon, staring at what used to be the ticket to your freedom. The ship has sailed so far away that it was barely the size of the pebbles that stung your feet. It would be a futile attempt to try and swim towards it.

(Gods, with what offense your father had done to Poseidon, you never even learned how to swim.)

You hope it to be a terrible mistake—perhaps, some sorcery from a witch or the exhaustion from yesterday's voyage making their heads weary. You don’t know how any of those could be, but you would take anything other than the dread looming over you.

“Theseus!!!”

You cry out his name, desperate, your hold on the boulder only tightening, hurting your palms and heels. “Theseus!” you sob, your entire body shaking as your head pounds yet again at the volume and force of your yelling. The backlash of your brain sends you faltering—and, eventually, falling off of the rocks.

A voiceless cry and a hiss forces tears to fall from your eyes as you land harshly on your back. It hurts. Everything hurts.

You could feel the sand flitting onto the gashes that undoubtedly would’ve been all over your skin. The sea—that damned sea—nips at your bottom half where it reached you and makes your damned wounds sting even more.

This is just a dream. It can’t possibly be real, can it?

You rack your brain for memories of the warm light that had come in the form of Theseus—he who had come to you for help and promised help in return.

Yes, of course it isn’t. This is just a dream.

Theseus swore he would bring you to Athens with him, where you would be away from the clutches of your father’s wrath. He swore to protect you. He swore to introduce you to Athens as his accomplice and that you would spend a great life together. Together—that’s what he had promised you.

Forcibly, you fluttered your eyes shut.

This is just a dream—a nightmare.

You’ll soon awake to the real world, awake by Theseus' side. You’ll both go on into the ship and the voyage will continue until Athens comes to the horizon. He’ll protect you. He’ll come back. He'll—

You open your eyes again, ribs hurting as you take a greedy intake of air. You weren’t at all back inside the tent next to your hero. No laughter or chatter to be heard around you.

You were still at the shore, helpless and away from a ship that only navigated further from you.

You were alone on an island with a few supplies at your call, but little to no experience of surviving in such a cruel world.

Theseus was gone. He had deserted you.

Your fists clenched at the blurred image of the ship’s massive white mast engraved in your head. It was taunting you.

Relentless tears streamed down the curves of your cheeks, and you found it hard to get yourself up from the grainy ground beneath you. The very man you decided to trust with your life had now left you for death. Was this what you get for betraying your father? Had you not done the right thing after all?

“THESEUS!!!”

His name rips through your throat raw, as if he could hear you—as if it would've mattered.

"Theseus!" You scream again into the sky, your entire body aching from the fall and the heartache all the same. Your hands bury themselves in the sand underneath you, crushing whatever sand they could hold in order to try and satiate some of your anger. "How could you do this to me?!" you wail, bringing your good arm over your face to shield yourself from the blinding sunlight—from the world in general.

You remember seeing his face as that of a stranger—of how you saw him walk in with the new line of sacrifice, of how he told you of your kingdom’s terrifying reputation, of how he emboldened you to join his cause.

I trusted you.

Your heart aches, remembering his smile, his touch, his words—all of which had deceived you in turn. Theseus was the warm light gracing your life—the one that guided you out of that wretched place.

I loved you.

In the end, he was but a flame that scorched you.

You would rather die than bear a torture like this. At the very least with death, the pain ends. Your soul would reach the other side, crossing over to the Underworld where you could drown yourself in the Lethe River and forget.

Forget the humiliation, the betrayal, and the foolish endeavor your life has become.

Forget the kingdom that made you and the kingdom promised to you.

Forget the man you gave your all to—your honor, your heart, your life.

As it seems to you, the gods plan to do nothing—perhaps, it is a punishment in and of itself to forsake you, to let you rot away. You could hardly lift a finger in your state of mind and body—could barely breathe without a sob slipping past your lips.

Eyes fluttering close, you settle for the next best thing to death—sleep.

Maybe then, you will never awake.

However rare such times would be, he would often go looking for places if he wanted to spend some time alone for himself. Naxos, being a land where he is most welcomed to call his domain, seems to have a lot of such places for him, which is why he wanders off around here as often as he does.

This time, the faint sound of waves began to reach his ears as he treaded the forest. Another beach but he doesn’t at all feel like going for a swim out in the open—not when the sea reminds him of the many times sailors have tried to kidnap him and sell him for a price.

However, Agrios, beside him, seems keen on the idea, halting and staring intently towards the direction of the beach. “Do you want to go on a swim?” he asks, nonetheless following him out of the forest line. “Perhaps I should’ve brought your siblings along…”

The beach was relatively peaceful, beautiful for a little gathering too. It'd do well to tell his people of this, but, as of the moment, it was still too open for his liking. He might be seen by someone he doesn't know or someone he does know and ruin his time alone.

Perhaps, he'll instead go to that little cavern he found a fortnight ago. It should be around here, somewhere…

"Oh?"

Something catches his eyes, stopping him from his thoughts—a lone tent sits amongst the sand with a bonfire long dead and out. A curious case, he thinks. Many travel through Naxos in their journey, but what's a camp like this doing so far away from any of the towns?

Just as he came to snoop inside the tent, something from the corner of his eyes caught his attention as well. In the distance, he sees something by the rocks, Agrios already ahead of him and inspecting whatever it was. He walks closer, curiosity getting the best of him—as it always does.

A woman.

As it had turned out, the very same one he faintly recalls meeting in the forest last night. The sunlight grazing the beach certainly makes her beauty much more apparent than the previous night where he had only spared it a glance beneath the darkness of the eve. "Oh my," he clicks his tongue, as his eyes flit over her sorry state and a frown unconsciously settles on his lips.

He wasn’t one to be too nosy, but he feels immensely compelled to look her over. Carefully leaning his ear against her chest, a faint heartbeat confirms that she was still alive. At a closer glance, he sees the tear stains that mar her cheeks and also takes note of how the pesky sun had left her skin a bit dry and sunburnt. Down the line, inspecting the wounds that ran down her arm, the frown upon his lips running deeper. So much pain, he thinks, shaking his head.

Above all, she shouldn't be left out in the open like this. "This is no place to sleep in," he tuts, looking expectantly at Agrios. “Don’t you think?”

The animal merely blinks back, eventually forcing a sigh from his lips. “Fine,” he grumbles, gathering her in his arms as he lifts and heaves with a grunt. He hasn't been doing much else other than drink, dance, and sleep, so this may indeed be an unfortunate downside of his reckless living. (Still, it somehow feels nice to carry her like this.)

Assuming that the tent nearby was hers for the taking, he carries her towards it, and places her onto the haphazardly assembled sheets and pillows. Her hair splays out and over her face and neck, but he soon makes sure she is in a comfortable position. Sleep, after all, is a great pleasure to have just as any.

As he dries the sea-soaken parts of her, the woman still shows no signs of regaining consciousness, her chest softly heaving in a slow and steady pace, and leaving him in silence. He doesn't worry himself just yet, however—after all, why would he?—knowing well he could call upon a certain someone for a little favor if he really needed to.

And so, he looks around the small tent, taking note of the sparse decor and the mere two piles of crates that Agrios has decided to sniff and inspect. Curious, he gets up and opens the top crate, seeing some clothes, blankets, and other trinkets along with a piece of paper.

Take care of yourself.

Another piece of the puzzle lays itself before him, and he doesn't like it one bit. He places it back in and sets the first crate down to gain access to the second one. Were these all that was left for her?

The next crate, as it turns out, were some rations good enough for a week or so. This makes an idea pop in his head, realizing that the young woman will most likely wake up hungry. He smiles softly at Agrios who has taken place near the makeshift bed. “Come on," he ushers the large cat to leave the unconscious woman alone. "Why don't we play chef, hm?”

The moment you came to, you were made aware of the ache in your head, along with the way your eyes could barely open when you will yourself to. All too suddenly, the lack of warmth by your side gives you flashes of what took place, but, for a moment, you think it to be a dream.

Some sort of commotion reaches you as you gain more hold of your consciousness. Incomprehensible mumbling turned into faint bits of a conversation.

"—ow could you be so cruel to me? I raised you!"

You could see a faint form of two shapes outside your tent, and yet the ruckus only seems to come from one voice.

"Don't you dare use that attitude on me, you little brat."

Getting up was a feat in and of itself, your muscles ached as you put all of your strength into just sitting up alone. Biting back a grunt, you do your best to crawl toward the opening—

"AHHHH!"

The scream that ripples from your mouth hurt your throat, but you could hardly think. In fact, you could hardly move.

A beast peers it's spotted head through the opening of the tent, large golden eyes boring a hole through you in alarm as if you, too, had shocked him. You could only stare back, paralyzed in fear with tears stinging your eyes.

"What happened?!"

All of a sudden, the tent opens further, moved by a man who reveals himself to you, not at all alarmed by the beast, but alarmed by you.

A moment of silence passes and it soon comes to you that this man seems to be the same stranger dangling from the tree last night. You crawl away from the tent opening—away from them. "Who are you?" you sneer, "and what is that?"

The man, himself, seems to snap out of his own stupor at the realization that you were talking to him. He scoots himself inside a little, not too close to you, but within the tent nonetheless. "I'm…" he pauses, "Hoseok, and he is my companion, Agrios."

Companion? That beast is his companion?

Another thing from his response soon also confuses you. Oddly enough, he didn’t answer your question readily—as if he had to think of it. "You don't seem certain of your name, sir," you raised your brow at him, defenses still up against the stranger and his companion.

Not at all bothered by the harsh edge of your words, however, he chuckles at the slip up you had pointed out to him. "I'm Hoseok," he repeats with more conviction, but the seriousness your glare bore didn’t impede his lollygagging. "Now," he instead pipes, turning around for a moment—only to reveal a bowl of fruits. "Are you hungry?"

You may have had no intention answering his invitation, but your stomach answers for you—a shamelessly loud grumble that renders your cheeks ablaze in embarrassment. The stranger laughs, but doesn’t tease further, only taking your hand to place the bowl in its care. “Feel free to nibble,” he urges you, “if you want more, you need only to ask. I caught some fish and roasted them outside.”

His excitement and openness truly takes you aback. Does this Hoseok not have suspicions against a stranger like yourself?

You raise the bowl back to him. “No ne—”

Your words fall short, slain by a gasp at the sight of your hands and arms—clean and free of the gashes you could've sworn marred your skin just hours ago. What’s left of them were faint red lines that tingled if you look or think about them too much. "My wounds…" you stammer, as you gawk at them in disbelief. "H-how?"

Hoseok doesn’t at all bother to take the bowl of fruits from you. "I know of a good healer," he simply tells you, getting up but sweeping the tent entrance open and tying them to the side so that your eyes could catch a glimpse of the little bonfire he had brought back to life from the previous night. Fortunately, his companion also follows him outside.

Though hesitant, you shakily push yourself up, cautiously crawling over to stop by the entrance. "Wounds don't heal in an instant," you call out to him, "for how long have I been unconscious?"

The stranger crouches by the bonfire, eyeing the fishes he had over the fire. "For about an hour or so now, and, as I have said," he turns to flash you a grin and a wink. "I know a really good healer."

In spite of your doubt, something else pulls you away from the situation as your stomach begins to churn at the sight of the fish cooking and make you salivate. Tempted, you were, you relent to a grape from the bowl he had given you. Some juice dribbles down your lips, but it quenches some of your hunger and thirst.

Looking back up, you see him and the spotted beast patiently waiting for you by the fire. Hoseok grabs one of the cooked fish skewered with a stick, offering it to you in case you prefer the distance from them.

Eyes flitting from the smoking fish and him, you hold yourself back for yet another question. "What exactly are your intentions with me?"

“None,” he assures you with a shrug, looking around the beach. “I was simply strolling through and saw you,” he then says, “thought you might need the help.”

I didn't need help. Stubborn, you were, but still, you eye the fish that was roasting over the fire.

The stranger seems to take note of this. “There’s nothing funny with it,” he then assures you, chuckling a little as he nods to his companion, who was now chewing on something. “You can eat over there, if you’d like.”

Finally, you idly take hold of the stick—you swear, your stomach let out a cry of relief. “Thank you,” your manners compel you to timidly tell him this as you take a bite out of the fish’s flesh.

Hoseok smiles warmly, the sight and feeling of it making your heart clench. “You’re welcome.”

For the hour that followed, Hoseok and Agrios stayed with you as they ate, and as some subtle form of gratitude, you let them. You kept your distance, stayed by that little tent of yours as Hoseok tells you of the towns he knew around the island and the general path towards them.

Whether he knew your tragic case of abandonment or not, he makes no mention nor pry of it, and you don't tell him of your wanted status either. It would be best to stay away from strangers.

And so, well into the afternoon, you usher them away after falsely promising to remember his guidance, the man and the beast disappearing into the forest with no more than themselves with them. (The fishes he caught but didn't cook, he gave to you for dinner, and this notion guilts you inside for being so cold to them all along.)

Here you were, once again left alone by the sea.

By this point, you have gained some strength—enough to leave the shell that is your tent to finally gaze at the waves you've been hearing ever since you woke. The golden sun sits amidst a sky of oranges and pinks, its light sending the sea glittering as it's readying to leave its throne for the nightfall.

It was a taunting sight—beautiful, but taunting.

Yet, a voice in your head murmurs a treacherous thought to soil the fragile peace you were in.

Have they reached Athens by now?

Your lip trembles but you trample it beneath your teeth, hoping to kill the incoming tears. It's successful—to some degree. Though the pain in your heart hasn't at all gone away, the streams that ran down your cheeks were not as fierce as before.

In the silence, you were left to wonder what had transpired in the hours you were unconscious. You have reason in you to believe the key that had led Theseus to leave you were his people—they were, after all, the very reason he had snuck into Crete in the first place.

Had they convinced Theseus to leave you?

Had he been tricked by them in some way?

Or, had he no problem agreeing with them at all?

Your heart shatters at the thought of the latter, but your mind soon drifts to what Andreas had said in the woods.

You let us suffer for years…

There’s reason and right in his anger—in their anger—this you knew well. They do not owe you forgiveness nor forgetfulness for the cowardice you’ve done to them in the years before.

If you had been a braver person against your father’s harsh reign, would they have found you befitting to take the place next to their hero?

If you had tried a little harder to be of help during the travel, would they have had a change of heart and taken you with them?

If you had—

Nonsense, there’s nothing you can do about the could-have-beens. You've already betrayed your people. You've already left. You've already messed up.

At the end of the day, the bitter truth now is that you’ve been stranded here—already alone and away from Crete and Athens all the same. Mayhaps, that is why you’ve been left like this—your salvation and your price to pay, your escape from Crete and banishment from Athens altogether.

You will belong nowhere else.

With not much left to do nor care for the view, you crawl your way back into the tent where it's a little more quiet. The immediate thought of sleep comes to you as your eyes land on the makeshift cushions, and the same thought as before crosses your mind.

Sleep. Let’s sleep.

It was then your train of thought stops. An animal pelt cloak—one from a dark grey wolf, you think—had been near the bedding, something you vaguely remember taking off of you when you woke earlier. Theseus doesn't have one—you would know—which can only mean that it was another token left by that stranger earlier.

A part of you is irked to be left with this, as it's a reminder of yet another man who entered your life unannounced. Such things aside, you were reasonably grateful too, as it's something you can make use of.

Enough thinking, another part of you insists, reminding you of what you had thought to do in the first place. Sleep.

A sigh leaves you as you lay yourself down, and with no other warmth to encase you, you relent in reaching for the cloak, curling within its hold and fluttering your eyes closed.

A sense of unease blossoms within you, forcing you away from the realm of Morpheus. It's dark, even after you awoke from the abyss of your slumber. It must be nighttime already then. Have you slept for that long?

Another thing registers in your head as you regain more of your consciousness. You become aware of the damp walls of the tent and bedding, of the chill in the air, of the sound of rain.

What on Earth—

The row rumble from the sky sounds like that of a beast, freezing you in an instant with the wolf pelt tightly clutched in your hold. A bright strike of lightning across the sky faintly illuminates the tent, squeezing a screech from your lips at the deafening thunder that follows it.

You could tell that the rain has no plans of surrendering any time soon. The waves themselves are getting angrier by the minute, crashing against the shore and rocks as if to give them a beating.

Zeus and Poseidon must be furious.

A curse leaves your lips as you see more of the rain soaking the tent, droplets already forming to come down at you. The howling winds aren't showing much kindness either. You don't know for much longer your tent can hold. At this rate, you'll be drenched, too.

Gathering your bearings, you sit up and push aside the discomfort of being in slightly damp clothes, and heave the cloak over your head. You give yourself a moment to think of where to get yourself a better shelter from the storm.

The forest might do well to aid you, but it'll also house other creatures—some of which may have the capabilities to kill someone as defenseless as you. Perhaps, you can find a large, pointed stick to us—

"Hey!"

You jolt as you hear a voice outside. Is that…?

The tent flaps pry open under someone's urgent grip, and you see the person you had suspected it to be. As he tries to catch his breath, Hoseok looks you over with a dismayed shake of his head. "I knew you'd still be here."

You look at him with your mouth agape. “What brings you here?” you question over the downpour, brows furrowing together.

The man adjusts an umbrella over his head, promptly leaving your query unanswered. “Come along,” he instead tuts as he urges you out of the tent. "This is no place to be in the middle of a storm."

The tent shakes as yet another thunder booms across the sky, causing the two of you to flinch. “Now,” he says, “will you be stubborn or will you let me help you?"

The umbrella he's carrying struggles against the wind, what with it being made from only wood and leaves. The gentle curls of his black hair cling onto his forehead, forcing him to swipe them back. "I think it’s a great time to accept, hm?” he says, an uneasy chuckle forced past his lips as he tries to secure a better grip on the umbrella.

With a deep intake of air, you push yourself up and come out of the tent. This brings a smile to his face, one that you choose to ignore. “Fantastic,” he muses, as you duck beneath the struggling shade of his umbrella. "Nothing else?"

"None," you curtly tell him. I have nothing left.

The stranger was caught off guard for a moment, but he soon nods and gestures to the dark forest ahead. "Come," he says, "I know a place."

Although the trees keep most of the howling winds at bay, the mud cakes the ends of the worn dress you were wearing, turning the faint pink an ugly brown. The rough ground makes you walk carefully too, lest you step on anything that can make your bare feet hurt any more than it already is. The darkness of the forest terrifies you, and a part of you urges you to cling onto the stranger lest you get lost in the midst of the storm on your own.

Doubt, however, gnaws away at you at the same time, making you keep a little of your distance. You steal glances in between calculating your steps and following his lead. Can I truly trust this man?

The possibility of his betrayal makes you spiral into multiple other possibilities. If he dares to do anything, then I can shove him or hit him with something, and make a run for it.

As this plan for a what-if forms in your head, Hoseok takes note of your wariness—of how you cocooned yourself within his old wolf cloak, of how you gingerly inched away from him, and of how guarded your face is even as you were occupied with your thoughts. Understandable, he thinks, but it won't do her well to be sick because of the rain.

Leaning the umbrella over to your side, he once again thinks of the quickest path to a shelter he knows of. It’s around here somewhere.

Still, that won't seem to make the journey any less difficult. The rain was stubborn—as stubborn and proud as a man he knows—the thunder bellowing every once in a while to scare the daylights out of you. Though the forest was easier to navigate for the likes of him, it definitely doesn’t make it any less pleasant to tread through. He, himself, feels unpleasant walking through the forest in a state like this.

A surprise, however, soon comes to the young man. It appears that, at some point, you have noticed the position of the umbrella, and your conscience couldn't seem to take the unfairness for his side, because you had let your bodies huddle a little closer. Your hand even lightly holds onto his tunic as you look elsewhere.

Hoseok hides a smile at all of this. How sweet of her to care.

It was fortunate for the both of you that it didn't take too long for you to have reached your destination—just as the umbrella was about to give up, too. He steps under the stone roofing, arm gesturing with a welcome. "Here we are," he sings, tossing the umbrella aside and wringing out the rainwater from his clothes.

You gawk at the structure of the building as you step under its shade, the frown and furrow between your brows deepening. It was dark—especially with much of the moon obscured by heavy rain clouds—but you could make some sense of your surroundings. “This is a shrine,” you tell him, matter-of-factly, staying put where you were.

Hoseok stifles a chuckle. “And?”

A frantic trace of panic besets your face at his lack of concern. “We may offend the deity that reigns over this place,” you scold him, crossing your arms across your chest.

This refusal comes across as puzzling for him. He supposed all mortals are devoted in some sense of respect and fear for the gods, but you were walking too carefully on eggshells—driven mostly in fear. Have you or your family offended a god before?

Hoseok doesn't linger on the thought any longer, giving you an assuring smile instead. “It’ll be alright,” he tells you, “Trust me.”

It’s my shrine after all.

Still, doubt mars your expression, your mind being too stubborn to give in to his assurances. "We mean no disrespect here, after all," he attempts to reason, "just shelter from the storm, yes?"

You give it a few seconds, eventually nodding timidly. "Right," you say, almost as if you were still trying to convince yourself that this won't incur divine wrath. You shed the cloak from your shoulders as you take your first steps to follow him into the shrine.

Inside, a few torches persevered, showing a myriad of offerings laid out on an altar. Something else, however, draws Hoseok's attention elsewhere. Prayers and offerings to gods in a shrine were obvious, of course, but one of those in the altar held a prayer stronger than the others.

The young god turned his focus into hearing whatever words were left by whoever made them. Multiple voices echo through his head…

Lord Dionysus, we thank you and this island for becoming a brief respite for our weary travels. As told, to you, we leave a maiden of fair beauty and heart. May she make wonderful company.

His eyes widened, coming to a stop. A maiden? Who—

“Are you a follower?” you ask him out of the blue, having noted his ease in navigating through the premises. “Whose shrine is this?”

Hoseok, knocked out of his stupor, was startled for a moment, looking back at you as you continued to take in your environment. Nonetheless, once he gets a hold of himself, he doesn't answer the first of your questions, simply the "who" of it. “Dionysus,” he tells you, watching as a hint of recognition sparks in your eyes.

“The wine god?”

Hearing this, something warm flutters within his chest. Recognition feels quite nice, he thinks, as he doesn't hold back the grin that comes to his lips. “You know of him,” he muses, quite pleased. “Not many do.”

Hoseok hasn't been here in a while, as he isn't one to be too zealous in his duties in the first place, but this shrine is one of the first ever built for him by his followers—proof that he's made some sort of path to the pantheon. Even then, he has a long way to go. He's a wandering new god, not at all embraced by many, when they view wine, frenzy, and pleasure as things that get in the way of the philosophy and intellect that many Greeks praised.

As he takes off his own rain-sodden cloak, you tuck the fur cloak onto your arm and idly look around. “I’ve heard tales from my brothers’ teachers in passing,” you tell him, gazing at the art carved into the wall of a merry feast. “He brought wine to the world, yes?”

A part of him is tempted to swipe the wine from the offerings and chug it, but decides against it, lest it sends you in a panic over discourtesy to the gods and whatnot. “Mhm,” he instead happily hums, “a marvellous invention, isn’t it?”

My magnum opus.

Fiddling with the fabric of your dress, you purse your lips together at the thought of the wine this stranger seems to be so proud of. You’re not quite sure of how to respond to him. On one hand, you have lived to understand the perils of losing oneself to wine—how they can turn the angry, angrier and the sensible, nonsensical. On the contraire, the notion of losing yourself to wine and forgetting all else tempts you. “I haven’t tasted much of it,” you simply go on to say, “but I suppose it is.”

At this, Hoseok whips his head towards you. “You suppose?” he repeats, eyes starting to glint at the prospect of challenge. “Please do remind me to bring you all the wine in the world to taste.”

You lightly scoff at his musings. “Well it’s certainly not appropriate to do so now,” you gesture to the rain outside and the state of you both. “We’ll wake up with a fever otherwise.”

Those words take a few seconds to register in the man’s head. “Oh, right,” Hoseok quips, fiddling with his ear as he thinks to himself. I forgot about that. Humans and their fickle bodies.

Looking around his shrine for something that could be a change of clothes for you, he soon returns to you with a colorful fabric. “It's not the most fashionable," he chuckles, "but it’s the best I could find."

The gesture seems to have taken you aback. "Oh—You didn't have t—" the words were a scrambled mess on your lips, but ultimately ended with, "Thank you."

Hoseok gingerly places the fabric into your hands, his own brushing against your skin. Her hands are cold. "Most welcome," he hums thoughtfully, “I will leave you to change then, yes?”

With the chill in the air, Hoseok had deemed it good to light a small fire to bring some warmth inside for you as you change. Though raised by satyrs in the wilderness, foraging, unfortunately, truly wasn't his strongest suit—this he knew well as he had struggled to find some decent kindling for the both of you.

Eventually, he had managed to come back to the shrine with the wood, and some fruits for the two of you to nibble on. The fire was born from one of the torches still lit. It crackles before you both, very much alive since he had imbued it with his power to not perish so easily.

Between the both of you was silence, a little bit more comfortable than before—one you, surprisingly, break.

“Why did you come back for me?”

Hoseok stops chewing on a wild berry midway, brows rising for a moment when the sound of your soft voice takes him aback. “Come again?”

Deep in thought, it takes you a while to turn to him, brows furrowed with genuine confusion. “We’re strangers to one another,” you tell him, “and yet you would come for me in the midst of a storm and help me find shelter…”

You ask him the summary of all the inquiries in your head. “Why help me?”

Truthfully, Hoseok doesn’t have an answer to that himself. It had been a spontaneous feat, taking you back to your tent, but something in him told him to take it a step further—to tuck you in with his fur cloak, to fetch you something to eat, and to call upon his half-brother for a favor to tend to your wounds.

When the rain began, he had pushed back the thought of coming to check on you, telling himself that you could’ve found yourself shelter already—that you’d be fine on your own—and yet, here he was.

A shrug of his shoulders was all he could do. “I suppose…” he murmurs, mulling over his words. “You reminded me of myself, in some way or another…”

When Hoseok was born yet another bastard of Zeus, he lived most of his life in the wilderness, constantly having to flee from the wrath of Hera and other such threats to his life. Even before he had discovered his divine potential, he wasn’t quite welcomed in either Earth nor Olympus.

Lost and helpless—that’s what you two are.

“Why not help?” he simply muses in some sense of kindred.

It felt foreign for him to participate in such soft conversation. He had been so used to nonsensical, slurred discussions that lead to nowhere, or recklessly screaming to song and dance alike.

The silence that follows makes him—a god—squirm as you stare into the fire, lost somewhere in your head. You made no rebuttal against his statement, which only makes him even more antsy.

In spite of his impatience, however, he could tell you were hesitating to speak of something, and so, he lets you simmer in your thoughts just a bit more. It takes another moment of silence before you break it yet again. “I committed treason by helping someone escape with their people. I fled with them,” you confess, voice shaking, “but they all left me while I was sleeping.”

His brows knit together, envisioning the gist of the events that had taken place. Though he had spent most of yesterday in a drunken haze, he had heard the nymphs talk of a group of travellers in passing through the—

Wait a minute.

The prayer earlier rings in his head, and he soon gawks at you, who continues to gaze into the fire in solitude. You can't possibly be the maiden, right?

Well, you are of fair beauty, but no, no, no. If you were, surely you would've been left in better conditions.

Either way, Hoseok thinks betrayal is such an ugly thing that neither god nor mortal likes the notion of. He knows not what led you to commit treason, but to have forsaken your people to join others, only to have them forsake you is a terrible thing. “What a load of bastards,” he abhors, before partly jesting. “Shall we ask the gods that their ship sinks?”

A light scoff leaves your lips as you shake your head at him. Hoseok watches as you say nothing more of the tale, and he knew it well not to pry any longer.

The wine god finds it astonishing how similar yet different the two of you are. Both cast aside in some way or another, and yet the two of you walk different paths. While he ventures recklessly, you tread the same, paved path you’ve ever known, too scared to break away lest you get your heart broken again.

You should learn to let go every once in a while.

“My name is (Y/N)...” you tell him, knocking him out of his little reverie. Your voice was quiet and hesitant, but you still willed yourself to look at him properly, eyes carrying sheepish guilt. “I apologize if I was rude to you.”

Hoseok couldn’t help the smile on his face as he realized that he had earned enough of your trust to know your name. “Glad to finally put a name to a face,” he muses, “and, rest assured, I hadn’t taken any offense, at all.”

A soft, grateful smile blooms on your lips, illuminated beautifully by the golden glow of the fire. This hint of happiness instantly makes Hoseok wonder what pure bliss would look like for you. He hardly holds back his mischief, as he tilts his head with a teasing grin.

“Does this mean to say we’ve become friends?”

At this, you roll your eyes. (But you smile all the same.)

START. | ▷ 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽: @dreamamubarak @unknownwalkingobject @park-jimin-isnt-real

#bts au #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts writings #bts greek myth au #bts greek mythology au #bts gods au #bts imagines #jung hoseok imagines #bts jung hoseok x reader #jung hoseok x reader #bts jhope x reader #jhope x reader #jhope imagines

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chatte-noire · 8 months

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Light bringer x scheming

an appreciation and condemnation of the schemes, moves and manouvers in light bringer. who served them the coldest, and who was bamboozled? This is only about stunts, not about morals or likability.

Lysander:

Lysander's scheming took a whole new level and I was really surprised at the little coup he staged with atalantia in the collosseum. In the first half of the book he really had the monopoly on well placed and daring maneuvering.

I think his best stunt was the compromise on the dockyard of venus, managing to keep apollonius, and win the carthii and julias block while simultaneously showing up atalantia, reinforcing the alliance with the rim and starting the attack on mars.

I wouldn't have expected him to be able to hold the alliance with applelonius for even a few weeks, now its been a whole book, I'm exited to see if Darrow can use the minotaur against lysander in red god.

yes in the attack on phobos he wasted ships and men and money and copied darrows helldiver strategy.. but he also surprised virginia with his strategies and finally took enough of phobos to have the upper hand in negotiations, something I wouldn't have expected him to be able to do. esp. after atlas called phobos impregnable.

Darrow:

in the first half darrow honestly took the scheming L. when I read the excerpt 2 weeks before buying the book I was CONVINCED that they didnt just land in apollonius obviouss trap, like pls let this be a trick. Darrow is such an experienced schemer, he must have expected a trap? but no he was like, tattoos look right, must be my bestie in this easily accessible prison. Its especially naive because he broke apollonius out of deep grave and so knows that apollonius knows how he would plan a prison break. and that backup plan was also flimsy, I expected better from him haha

on Europa Darrow had a nice scheming comeback, like recreating the Dead Horse strategy and beating Fa? Iconicc. bringing both obsidians (with a vote) and rim (with diomedes' oath) closer to democratic values? inspiring. Brokering collaboration between Rim, Daughters and Obsidians? A strong feat. that speech with the daughters was nice too.

but.. (and I'm not saying it didn't cost him a lot and will probably keep costing him dearly in red god) lysander still kept his scheming level established in the first half of the book. so much trickery, let's see how long he can keep it up before he drowns in it. He was backed into a corner by atlas but managed to trick both Atlas and Cassius, defeat the rim and gain a horrible weapon with one move.

It cost him the Rim Alliance and his humanity, but we already know his morals and ideology are a feeble construct held up by delusion and wanking off on silenius. and the rim armadas were destroyed by atlas so to lysander it probably only seems like a temporary loss until they come crawling back to society when hunger defeats them.

Sevro's stunts were refreshingly constant and awesome. Like.. escaping apollonius and fighting him in his own house?? rescuing his bumbling saviours? and the most bestest move: convincing the Daughters of Ares to work together with them by holding such an iconic speech like.. wish we would have gotten to see that in first person. just like Volgas ascension as obsidian queen. They both had such iconic and smart moments off screen. pierce doesnt want them to steel the stunt limelight me feels.

Aurae was able to follow her goals throughout the book, while managing the boys, the daughters of ares and diomedes. she had an emotional and moral bond to each one of them, but managed to stay true to her own values even as the parties were conflicting.

honorary mentions:

Lyria smuggling herself unto the archie, she knows how to take advantage of her size, even more impressive because darrow had the same experience with rhonna and still didn't realise (or didnt care?)

Apollonius snatching up Darrow and Cassius

Virginia having an informant in the Society (her clone bro?) and her making a pact with and freeing the obsidians. I would have loved to see more of her, she always delivers top tier schemes (except for when she is outschemed by society rats).

they were outschemed, honorary mentions:

Volga following Fa: even if he wasn't Atlas puppet,,, he's still such an obvious upholder of Gold values and tyranny, but volga didnt want to see any of it. this makes her following him so horrible, I hope it doesn't all get blamed on Atlas, I mean Volga was fine with everything except for atlas' involvment. I don't know if she was naive or blind or ignorant or greedy but that was some top tier delusion.

Lysander bedazzling himself: this is the most hilarious and complete trickery. That guy just believes every fucking excuse he can give himself, he just gobbles them up. He might have freed himself from his AA Puppetduo, but the real puppeteer in his life is his delusional ideology and hybris.

Atalantia: she had such a good and safe plan, she just didn't realize that lysander doesn't care for his friends enough. now she is some ships and influence poorer, lost her watchdog, her nephew/lover (ew) and the grip on Lune's heir

Diomedes: Lysander had him wrapped around his lying finger and he did nott see that dishonorrr coming. Cassius didn't see it either, but I think he would have tried to save lysander anyway. The himbo bamboozlement lost them the garter and Cassius was murdered, at least he could kill Fear on the way.

#this is not a measurement of merit #just of trickery #lysander obviously won the scheming contest #he tricked everyone and then himself #but darrows comeback was iconic #he entered with nothing but his name and his bros and left with a fleet and two new alliances #but my favorite stunter was sevro #I didnt expect it after his lack of screentime and they tied so well to his character development #in red god I wanna see some more tricks from the shes and the gays #light bringer spoilers #light bringer #red rising #darrow of lykos

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buffyathena · 1 month

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Tag Game

1. Do the dare of the person who tagged you in the game.

2. Write up three concepts* for a fic that you'd be interested in either writing or reading, but resist the temptation to write it before you've completed the tag game.

3. Come up with an easy dare that the ones tagged can do. Be nice!

4. Tag those writer friends of yours to do the game.

*You can do this in any way that you want, really. Like describing the world/setting the story would take place in, write a summary of this hypothetical fic, write a small blurb that gets the idea across, do it through headcanons... don't feel forced to do it in any one way.

I was tagged in this ages ago by @sweetlikesunflowersandhoney

My dare was to post a bit of writing that I love. I picked this section from Luck Be A Lady.

“Not a lot to tell,” Anetra lies, stalling while she gathers her courage—or stupidity—and comes up with something to say. She’s going on the assumption that Sasha doesn’t know she works here, and she keeps it that way. She sticks to the bare minimum, because though she might like Sasha, it would be stupid—even more stupid than what Anetra’s already done—to trust her that much. She spins a tale of working some boring office job, coming here on weekends to get a break from it. She says that she’d like to get away from the noise someday, figure out what she really wants to do. It’s a hint of honesty in the lie, a dream she really did have once, when she first started the job and thought it was one she could leave easily.

The more she talks to Sasha, tucked away in this little table, the more she believes it, the fantasy and glitz of the casino overtaking her rationality and reality. She believes that she’s not working a dangerous job with dangerous people. She’s just a normal person, on a normal date. She believes she could really live this life, a life beyond work and sleep. A life beyond the danger and desperation oozing through the walls of this casino. A life with Sasha.

I like it because I like the glamour of the casino around them, while Anetra starts to actually feel something real as Sasha draws her in.

For my concepts:

Character A is sad and depressed and moves into a new place. They plant a garden, and a garden fairy helps them grow the garden and start to feel better. I feel like I’ve done versions of this premise but whatever, I imagined it as sashnetra.

The mermaid au I did a drabble of. Anetra rescues mermaid Sasha and they grow closer while living together. Lots of talks about being human.

A fic where a Queen is looking into marriage proposals but not really liking any of the choices, because they’re in love with their loyal knight and don’t know it. I actually have this almost completely written with Queen Ra’jah (who I ended up writing as ace) and knight Icesis. I’ve considered posting it or switching it to sashnetra, or even posting both.

Honorable mention to the beloved Minotaur au Mar and I came up with.

I’m very late to this and I think a lot of people did it so I won’t tag anyone.

#tag game

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analvirgo · 21 hours

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The Duality Complex of the 12 Signs

Aries: Ram/Sheep Complex (Mars)

Ram: Aggressive, Loud, Brave, Risk Taking, Rushed, Heartful

Sheep: Soft, Quiet, Fearful, AntiRisker, Slow, Cold

Taurus: Bull/Minotaur Complex (Ceres)

Bull: Gentle: Happy, Vibing, Dreamy, Sleepy, Lazy

Minotaur: Infuriated, Absorbent, Nightmarish, Awake, Hyper

Gemini: Twin Complex (Mercury)

GoodTwin:Loud,Gossipy,Smart,Provoking,Happy,Opportunistic

DarkTwin: Quiet,Trusting,Simple,Advocating,Mellow,Humble

Cancer: Crab/Lobster Complex (Moon)

Crab: Nonchalant, Nurturing, Sensitive, Slow wit, Intuitive

Lobster: Territorial, Neglectful, Repressed, Sharp, Instinctive

Leo: Lion/Sphinx Complex (Sun)

Lion: Wild,Charismatic,Energetic,Experimental,Noisy,Brotherly

Sphinx: Tame, Petty, Leisurely, Stubborn, Quiet, Tyrannical

Virgo: Virgin/Whore Complex (Chiron)

Virgin: Reserved, Polite, Helpful, Practical, Sober, Honest

Whore: Openminded, Rude, Messy, Delulu, Addicted, Liar

Libra: Balanced/Unbalaced Complex (Venus)

Balanacer: Loving,Charming,Harmonious,Analytical,Proactive

Unbalancer: Hateful,Disturbing,Chaotic,Ignorant,Trollish

Scorpio: Scorpion/Phoenix Complex (Pluto)

Scorpion: Vengeful, Mysterious, Grudgeful, Misunderstood, Dark

Phoenix: Forgiving, Familiar, Evolving, Understood, Lighthearted

Sagittarius: Archer/Horse Complex (Jupiter)

Archer: Optimistic,Opportunistic,Standout,Protected,Lucky

Horse: Worrisome, Picky, Blend, Aetheistic, Unlucky

Capricorn: Devil/God Complex (Saturn)

Devil: Greedy, Trad, Sexual, Authoritative, Selfkept, Disciplined

God: Generous,Polytheist,Prudent,Freewill, Connected, Childlike

Aquarius: Servant/Vessel Complex (Uranus)

Servant: Serving, Humanitarian, Alien, Technical, Gifted, Ignored

Vessel: Serviced,Antihuman,Earthy,Simple,Scrutinized,Popular

Pisces: Downstream/Upstream Complex (Neptune)

DownsteamFish:Positive,Enduring,Big Picture,Hopeful,Asleep

UpstreamFish:Negative,Fragile,Detailing,Independent,Awake

#astrology #zodiac signs #Horoscope #Divination #Duality #Complex #Magic #Bipolar #Aries #Pisces #Capricorn #Virgo #Scorpio #Gemini #Sagittarius #Cancer #Leo #Aquarius #Taurus #Libra

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cosmicaldeity · 2 years

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i wanted to do some pride art of my wiwis but i dont think i’ll have the time so i’ll just post this portraits i did of them earlier this year

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hannahssimblr · 5 months

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—OCS as OBSCURE ASSOCIATIONS

Tagged by @lynzishell Thank you!!💖

ASSOCIATIONS for… Jude

ANIMAL: Tiger

COLORS: Red, Green, Black

MONTH: August

SONGS: The Less I Know the Better - Tame Impala

NUMBER: 9

PLANTS: Marram Grass

SMELLS: Salty air & clothes fresh out of the dryer

GEMSTONE: Aquamarine

TIME OF DAY: Midnight

SEASON: Summer

PLACES: Beaches

FOOD: Salt & Pepper Pretzel

DRINKS: Americano

ELEMENT: Water

ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS: Scorpio Sun, Scorpio Moon, Leo Rising

SEASONINGS: Cayenne Pepper, Smoked Paprika

SKY: Cloudless and blue

WEATHER: Sunshine

MAGICAL POWER: Time Travel

WEAPONS: Feet

SOCIAL MEDIA: Instragram, Facebook

MAKEUP PRODUCT: Lip balm

CANDY: Jelly rings

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: Plane

ART STYLE: Cubism

FEAR: Dying Alone

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Minotaur

PIECE OF STATIONARY: 6B graphite pencil

THREE EMOJIS: 🌤️🥨🎨

CELESTIAL BODY: Mars

I'm tagging @sirianasims @bakersimmer @simstrashkingdom @beachyserasims @greensleeves101066 and whoever else wants to <3

#sims 4 #tag

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sarcasmiclife · 9 months

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Light Bringer spoilers ahead tread lightly

So this has been wandering around in my head non-stop since I started the Iron Gold tetralogy. It has been foreshadowed, lampshaded, cited and referenced multiple time in all the three books of the tetralogy.

The Rat War.

First mentioned when Dancer and Darrow talked about not being able to sleep. It lasted three years and Dancer fought in all of it. Everyone who fought could never forget it. No one bragged about those victories, no one mentioned those nightmares.

That was all given to us in Iron Gold. We forgot it. It was a step in the ladder of freedom.

Then Dark Age. Darrow, his few Howlers and the Free Legions, The Heart of the Republic military, are stranded in Mercury, cornered by Atalantia and fated to a hopeless battle. The Rat Legion, best of those who fought in the dreaded Rat War is among the Free Legion. We get so many references it is thrilling.

When the first battle on Mercury was won by Darrow, after a lot of casualties, the Rat Legion was the only one that seemed to have enough energy to help with relief efforts. Even while they were put on R&R, they were out helping the wounded. And all that after they had held Heliopolis for half a day against Ajax, who is a nightmare himself to half the Republic navy. Even after that, they are purging the Gorgons, without anti-rads, and still being the sturdy pillar of the remaining Free legionnaires.

There are absolutely none in the Republic who don't respect and admire them to the ends of the worlds. And none in the Society who doesn't dread having to fight the Rat Legion. Not in the tunnels, not on the surfaces.

It is without question the most fabled legion in the Republic, right after the Howlers and the Pegasus Legion. And it is all Reds. All Red soldiers from Mars, arguably the lowest Colour in the Society.

The Rat War, lead only by the Reds and Obsidians, the weakest and the dumbest according to the Society, is a tale of horror almost a decade after. And it will always be.

The Fear Knight, undoubtedly the scariest motherfucker alive in the whole Solar System was haunted by the Rat War. It was extreme how even the memories of it can chill the veterans to their bones, that is not to even think about the second coming of it.

There are so many Red veterans and Obsidian heroes from the Rat War, though not more than the casualties. And not one of them not eternally haunted by the deeds they did in the mines.

And then, finally, finally, we are given a brief description of how the Rat War was fought, followed by a short demo in Light Bringer. It was enough to chill the readers, especially after the Minotaur and Cicero were straight up whipped out of the tunnels after that. And then to see how just the threat of it was enough to make grown Golds pale. Those who have fought in it, and those who haven't.

In the end it wasn't the Golds or their ships or their artillery or their legions of trained gray soldiers who broke the chains completely from Mars. It was the Reds, in their own mines, with Obsidian braves. All by playing with darkness, sounds, temperatures and fear raised by the war chant of Obsidians. It was what made the Society's Golds shake in their limbs even years later.

And if that isn't the peak of strategy and psychological fear and the genius of Pierce Brown, I don't know what is. The Golds could smash Reds like ants but they wouldn't fight the Rat Legion in their own lifetimes.

I am personally so amazed by it I don't know if I crave a short Rat War spin-off, or just want to live in mystery for the rest of my life after reading THOSE little vague stories.

#i also think this is kind of something between Badass Normal and Death From A Thousand Cuts but i am not very well versed in tropes #pierce brown #red rising saga #red rising #golden son #morning star #iron gold #dark age #light bringer #red god #light bringer spoilers #rat war #rat legion #just plain badassery

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hunenka · 26 days

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The Minotaur in the Palace | Red Rising fanfic

Apollonius knows the Ash Lord betrayed him, sending him on what will probably end up being a suicide mission. But how can one resist the chance to meet face to face with the Reaper of Mars and get his full, undivided attention?

(Set in 747 PCE between Morning Star and Iron Gold, but contains spoilers for events mentioned in Iron Gold.)

Available on AO3.

#my fanfic #red rising saga #darrow of lykos #apollonius au valii-rath #iron gold

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ariesgamesandminis · 3 months

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Major restock is in from Iron Wind Metals!

20-172 Sovetskii Soyuz Heavy Cruiser (3057) 20-202 Goliath GOL-4S 20-265 Commando IIC 20-285 Harasser Tank (2) 20-313 Lightning Attack Hovercraft (2) 20-353 Zephyr Hover Tank (2) 20-409 Joust Medium Tank (2) 20-417 Marksman MBT M1 20-427 Main Gauche Light Support Tank (2) 20-439 Dart DRT-3S / DRT-4S 20-455 Plainsman Hover Tank (2) 20-5000 Lightning Fighter LTN-G15 20-5043 Omen (Standard) 20-5044 Eldingar Hover Sled (2) 20-5088 Hollander III BZK-D1 20-5099 Bruin (Standard) 20-5101 Gunsmith CH11-NG 20-5104 Orochi OR-2I 20-5126 Gun GN-2O Prime 20-5141 Shadow Hawk SHD-2H 20-5214 Jade Phoenix Prime 20-627 LRM Carrier (2) 20-634 Epona Pursuit Tank Prime (2) 20-682 Komodo KIM-2 20-702 Corsair Fighter CSR-V12 20-725 Cavalry Attack Helicopter 20-727 Karnov UR Transport 20-740 Behemoth Heavy Tank (2) 20-785 Demolisher II Tank 20-800 Hex Bases (4) 20-880 Blackjack BJ-1 20-907 Black Hawk-KU BHKU-O 20-938 Mars Assault Vehicle (Standard) 20-946 Blitzkrieg BTZ-3F 20-995 Legacy LGC-01 20-9122 Battleforce Hex Base 99-201 Large Flat Top Hex Base #1 99-202 Large Flat Top Hex Base #2 99-203 Extra Large Flat Top Hex Base BT-004 Afreet Battle Armor BT-006 Phalanx Battle Armor BT-007 Rottweiler Battle Armor BT-009 Trinity (Ying Long) Battle Armor BT-015 Arcadia BT-029 Sloth Battle Armor BT-031 Infiltrator MK 2 BT-036 Triumph Assault BT-055 Titan BT-062 Hover Bike BT-063 Track Bike BT-064 Trike BT-065 Minigun Cycle BT-066 Scout ATV BT-068 Trinity (Asterion) Battle Armor BT-072 Sabutai Micro Fighter BT-077 Transit Micro Fighter BT-085 Turk Micro Fighter BT-100 Thrush Micro Fighter BT-107 Transgressor Micro Fighter BT-113 Batu Micro Fighter BT-118 Shilone Micro Fighter BT-133 Corona Battle Armor BT-152 Vandal Micro Fighter BT-175 Lyonesse Micro Escort Ship BT-176 Aquarius Micro Escort Ship BT-187 Djinn Battle Armor BT-198 Tengu Battle Armor BT-200 Shedu Assault Battle Armor BT-201 Nephilim Assault Battle Armor BT-226 Fast Recon BT-228 Angerona Battle Armor BT-230 Kopis Battle Armor BT-237 Recon Infantry BT-238 VTOL Infantry BT-239 Jump Support Infantry BT-240 SpecOps Paratrooper BT-249 Branth Aerial Beast Infantry - On Ground BT-277 Boggart Quad Protomech BT-285 Sprite Ultra Protomech BT-321 Hover APC BT-324 Shadow Hawk LAM SHD-X2 (Fighter) BT-327 Stinger LAM MK I STG-A1 (Fighter) BT-354 Pendragon PDG-3R BT-370 Kurita Infantry (3) BT-371 Davion Infantry (3) BT-372 Savannah Master Hovercraft BT-376 Minotaur Protomech BT-388 Salamander Battle Armor (3) BT-390 Fa-Shih Battle Armor (3) BT-406 Trebaruna TR-XB (Standing) BT-427 Balac Strike VTOL (Standard) & (LRM) BT-434 Leonidas Battle Armor BT-444 Flatbed Truck (2) - Cargo & Wpn options BT-467 Hierofalcon B BT-475 Carrion Crow A OP-097 Generic Missile Launcher (3) OP-098 Missile Launcher Front Panel (3) OP-099 Gauss Rifles OP-100 Ultra Autocannons OP-102 Inner Sphere PPC's OP-104 Extended Range Lasers and PPC 20-825B Bulldog Tank Turret

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elecktrum · 8 months

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4 and 18 for the get to know your author ask meme.

4) favorite character you’ve written

Oh . . . that’s a tough choice. I adore most all the characters I write, even as I put them through hell. My short list of favorites is six characters long, all male. I always have the worst time writing women.

My all-time favorite to write, though, I think would have to be Peter Pevensie, High King of Narnia, from the Chronicles of Narnia. He has so many characteristics I aspire to, and he’s remarkably caring and worthy of being a king. What’s more, he’s fun to write – smart, witty, a bit thick at times, and a hell of a good commander in the field. I’m a freak who loves to write battles, and knights in armor swinging legendary swords and fighting minotaurs and giants is just too tempting for me. Mind, now, his brother King Edmund is a very close second simply because he’s a world-class wiseass who just lends himself to over-the-top drama.

My favorite of the moment, is, of course, Avocato from Final Space. He’s so much fun to annoy.

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

Off the top of my head, definitely The Lord of the Rings. That’s, like, the foundation of storytelling for me and a large part of the reason there are so many songs in my Narnia stories. I would also say the Iliad has always had a huge influence on me – the rawness of battle, the small details that help set the scene, the sheer emotion of the characters in their overwhelming anger and sorrow and grief, is nothing short of breathtaking. And then there’s Beowulf, with all those magnificent kennings and action sequences. Patrick O’Brian’s sea stories has greatly influenced the way I write dialogue. His banter between characters is peerless, and remarkably witty. I also try to emulate Edgar Rice Burroughs’ descriptive style from his ‘Princess of Mars’ series. His descriptions are brief, but so remarkably clear that you know precisely what the thing or species he’s describing looks like. Plus he built a world that blends sci-fi and fantasy, laser guns and sword fights.

#final space #avocato #high king peter #king edmund the just #chronicles of narnia #iliad #beowulf

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ashxketchum · 4 months

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2023 Tumblr Top 10

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Percy Jackson slayed a Minotaur when he was just only 12, he fought against Ares the god of War, he battled countless strong...

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Percy Jackson The Chalice of the Gods more like Percy Jackson and his undying love for Annabeth Chase

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Created by TumblrTop10

#tumblrtop10 #opla #pokeani #digimon #kuroshitsuji #i hadn't even realised that the percabeth text posts would be this high hehe

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staysaneathome · 2 years

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Put That Thing Back Where It Came From (Or So Help Us Both)

“…aaah! Waaah!”

Martin shuts his eyes and lets his head relax further onto his pillow under it, trying to slow his breathing and will his hearing to stop working. He’s exhausted, it feels like it’ll be a matter of moments before he finally drops off to sleep—

“Waaaaaaaah! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Martin pulls both sides of the pillow up around his face and muffles a small scream into it.

He’s just finished his night shift at the convenience store, and he only has a few hours before he needs to get up and ready for his afternoon shift at the shelter. And yeah, sure, his cheap apartment complex has extremely thin walls, but when he’d moved here his neighbor hadn’t been the kind of person who sounds like they’re torturing a small animal, so he’d figured it would be alright.

Then again, the kindly old goblin who used to live next door to him moved out not long ago, back to his clutch’s home in Amsterdam or something. And the person who’s just moved in clearly is not as considerate as their predecessor.

He lets go of the pillow, then groans when he realizes one side has gotten snagged on his horn, again.

This can’t go on, he decides as he sets about untangling himself and kicking off his blanket. He knows from experience that if he just tries to bury his head in the sand and live with it that the noises will just get worse. Better to endure the discomfort of knocking on a stranger’s door early on and ask them to keep it down so that his sleep will stay uninterrupted down the line.

Plus whatever’s wailing sounds positively heartbroken. And the animal lover in Martin has never been willing to stand idly by if someone’s making one sound like that.

He can feel that the fur on the back of his neck has gone cowlicky, and he attempts to smooth it down and shake his fringe out of his eyes as he raps smartly on his new neighbor’s door.

He can feel his shoulders hunch automatically, his customer service smile coming out. Martin knows he’s big, even for a minotaur, and he wants to put his new neighbor at ease even if he’s feeling fed up and exhausted.

There’s a soft, dry susurrus of sound behind the door, like dry leaves rasping against each other on a forest floor.

Martin can barely keep his eyes from fluttering shut when the harsh snap of locks being undone has him snapping to attention as well.

The door creaks open as the occupant shoves themself through, glaring up at him over the rims of their square glasses, eyes rich and deep. The hair falling across their forehead is velvety black, peppered with strands of grey like light shining off silk. A smart-looking button-up shirt is rolled up to their elbows and partially unbuttoned, giving Martin an unwitting glimpse of the slim, svelte form and black chest binder beneath. Below their waist, a tail of rich, deep green scales glitters in the fluorescents of the hallway, appearing to extend far into the apartment behind them.

Martin feels his breath catch.

Oh. Oh no.

This person is incredibly handsome. Almost too good-looking to really feel real, you know? Someone so far out of Martin’s league they’re not even batting in the same proverbial park. This person is in the 02 in front of millions of people, universally beloved, while Martin’s still down in a requisitioned council playing field, not even worthy of rowdy kids’ taunting. Hypothetically, he means.

Ooh, Martin’s in trouble.

“What.” Says the insanely handsome lamia in a deep, smooth, masculine voice. “Do you want.”

“I-uh.” Martin has to swallow to get his throat working, make his thick-feeling tongue form actual words. “Hi? I’m, uh, I’m Mar-Martin, Blackwood! Martin Blackwood, yes, I, um, live at the end of the corridor? Right, right next to you, actually, and-and I couldn’t help overhearing some, some noises? And normally, I wouldn’t mind but I just got off of work and I’ve another shift in a few hours, so, so I was wondering if there was anything you needed. Help? With?”

It takes a lot of willpower for him not to turn right around and brain himself on the wall behind him in response to that word salad.

The lamia scoffs, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “Well, Mr. Blackwood, unless you happen to have a degree in veterinary sciences, I very much doubt that you’ll be in any position to help me whatsoever.”

Martin’s about to protest that, okay, he maybe doesn’t have a degree, but he’s worked at a no-kill shelter for five years now so he could be considered more of a help in this particular field than maybe the average person.

But then he catches sight of what’s cradled in the lamia’s arms, and.

Well.

That’s certainly. A Creature.

In the impossibly pretty lamia’s arms is something small and hairless, apart from a patch of thick curls on the top of its rounded head. It’s a little bigger than a loaf of bread and the sort of color that Martin’s learned to associate with classroom furniture, the shade of brown kindly described as “neutral”.

It has four chubby legs, but its each of its forelegs end in an odd, starfish shape with five protrusions that’re eerily similar to hands, while its hind-legs end in a flatter, rectangular shape, also with five protrusions. The main body is also pretty chubby-looking, with small folds of skin forming where it twists and wriggles. For some reason it has a blue and pink garment covering its lower body.

It’s face is oddly flat, overall. There are two rounded things on either side of it’s head that Martin assumes are ears. There’s an odd dimple between its nose and its mouth, which is full of mostly flat, white teeth. It’s eyes are screwed shut and leaking what could be water, but also could be some other kind of clear and potentially toxic fluid. Whatever is coming out of its nose definitely is.

It’s whimpering like it’s contemplating starting up the racket that it had been making earlier again, but doesn’t know whether it has the strength to do so.

“What is that?” Martin can’t help breathing.

The lamia draws themself up, cuddling the creature closer with an imperious look. “This happens to be a cat, if you don’t mind.”

Martin looks at the lamia. Looks back down at the creature, whimpering unhappily in their arms.

“I’m sorry, in what world is that any sort of cat?”

The lamia’s expression mixes indignation, outrage, and a pout that Martin finds unfairly adorable. “They-they can’t help that they were born with a few, a few mutations!”

“A few?!” Martin can’t help the octaves his voice is reaching, even as it makes his ears flick. “Yeah, I suppose you could say that, if by ‘a few mutations’ you mean they’re an entirely different species!! Their ears aren’t even in the right place, they’ve got no whiskers, an-and do they even have claws?!”

The lamia hisses at him, fangs out in a threat display, but that causes the creature in their arms to let out a dangerously upset whine. They instantly are focused on it, bouncing it gently while making soft shushing noises until it settles once more.

Martin pinches the bridge of his snout.

“Look.” He sighs, weariness in his bones. “Has it. Has it eaten anything today?”

“You think I didn’t try that?!” The lamia hisses, sans fangs this time. “I, I gave them dry food when they arrived, and they ate a few pellets of that but then they wouldn’t touch it, or the wet food I opened!”

Martin privately feels the creature at least has a modicum of taste, because he wouldn’t touch what goes into most wet cat foods either.

“Maybe it’s not up to really digesting those foods yet.” He suggests. “Have you got any baby formula? Or, or milk in a pinch?”

The lamia makes a face that Martin suspects means ‘why on earth would I have either of those things’.

“But they’re not a baby.” They mutter. “I ordered an adult cat. Look how big they are!”

Martin looks. And whatever it is, it is quite large for an infant, even if its behavior puts him in mind of puppies or kittens crying fretfully for their mothers.

“Sometimes some breeds can be bigger than others. Like—like Maine Coons, you know?” He says, conveniently omitting the fact that he severely doubts any domesticated cat could get that large.

The lamia looks doubtfully at the creature.

The creature opens its eyes to stare dolefully back up at them and Martin, hiccoughing.

“Look, wait here a tick.” With that, Martin jogs back to his apartment, grabbing his keys out of the door where he left them.

He doesn’t have any formula lying around, but at the bottom of his bag he does find a feeding bottle that he rinses out with steaming water just in case. He also has fresh milk in for tea, so he grabs the carton.

He takes a moment as he locks his door behind him to desperately hope that whatever this creature is, it’s one that can digest cow milk without problem.

He returns with his bounty to where the lamia is waiting. “May I come in?”

“O-oh.” The lamia shifts, moving out of the doorway enough that Martin can shuffle through. “Ri-right, of course.”

Martin enters the apartment. It’s fairly neat all things considered, only a few boxes left unpacked and everything. The only mess is a box with several blankets spilling out of it and a vast assortment of cat paraphernalia, including one food bowl of kibble and another of water, both with a splash radius. A tin of wet cat food is going off on the counter.

Martin discretely sweeps it into the bin.

“Right, it might be a good idea to maybe give their face a wipe with a warm cloth or something? Can’t imagine having all that drying on them is very nice for the poor mite.” He holds up the milk carton and bottle. “I could warm this up on the stovetop for them if that’s alright with you?”

“Of, of course. Uh, saucepan’s, saucepan’s just in that cabinet there.” The lamia points out one of the lower cabinets as they snake over the floor towards the bathroom.

Martin bends over to get it and nearly clonks his head on the inside of the cupboard when the lamia’s voice comes, “My-my name’s Jon, by the way. Jonathan Sims.”

“Oh, oh, er, nice to meet you!” He calls back, spotting a work lanyard discarded on the counter by the stovetop that bears the same name and a fancy-sounding workplace.

The lanyard also has He/Him under Jon’s name in slightly smaller font. Martin files that information away carefully as he half-fills the saucepan, places the milk temporarily in Jon’s fridge, and turns on the heat.

“So, you, ah. You placed an order for a cat?” Martin asks as he warms the milk on a low heat.

“Mm.” Jon’s voice sounds distracted over the sound of running water. “You’re being very good now, aren’t you? Just need to get under your eyes here…”

“How, um. How come you didn’t go to a shelter? There are some pretty good ones nearby…”

The resulting silence has one of Martin’s ears flicking nervously.

“…Didn’t want to run into someone I knew there.” He thinks he picks up over the water. “Besides, I spoke with a representative of the Rescue Center on the phone, and their website was very comprehensive.”

Martin tilts his head, watching the pot. “Oh? Think you could contact them again then? See if the, uh, cat has any special care needs?”

A mutter that’s too quiet for Martin to hear even as the water’s turned off is his only response.

“Beg your pardon?”

“I said the number’s been disconnected.” Jon’s voice comes from directly behind him, making him jump. “And the website url keeps bringing up a page saying ‘it doesn’t exist’ or what have you, which is ridiculous, because it was just there yesterday—!”

Ah. He got scammed then.

Martin switches off the heat before the milk starts to steam, moving it to another hob to let it cool a bit before pouring it into the bottle.

Jon is behind him, the creature bundled into his arms. It’s blinking at him sleepily, sclera slightly pink. It looks…a little bit better? Martin really can’t tell.

Martin attaches the nib to the bottle, and after testing the temperature, holds it out to Jon. “Um. Do you want to…?”

The lamia’s face is briefly consumed by wild-eyed panic, before a superior expression covers it and he turns up his nose. “Not all of us are mammals, you know.”

Martin draws his hand back, mildly stung. “Hey.”

“No, I mean.” He groans, drawing a hand down his face, before peering up at Martin over his glasses. “I wish I could say I’m better when I’m more awake, but I’ve been reliably informed I’m not. I apologize. I meant that I don’t…have any experience, in this style of feeding. Is there. Is there some trick to it?”

Martin, damn him, melts despite himself. If questioned on his quick capitulation later, he’s going to blame it on sleep-deprivation. “Not, not really? If you don’t feel comfortable, I could always show you…?”

Jon and the creature almost appear to exchange glances for a moment.

Jon slides closer and, with an incredibly reluctant expression, holds the creature out. “Just. Mind you’re careful with them. They’re, they’re delicate.”

Martin takes them carefully, giving Jon a reassuring smile. He tries to pretend he’s treating one of the animals at the shelter instead of…whatever this is. “Hello, you. Are you hungry?”

The creature watches him, suspiciously.

But when he holds the bottle close to their mouth, they latch onto the nib with surprising gusto, sucking down the warm milk greedily. One of their forelegs even comes up to clumsily grasp at the bottle.

“Easy!” Martin chides, chuckling quietly. “It’s not going anywhere, duck, you can take your time.”

“I am not,” Jon objects, slithering closer. “Calling them that. It’d be ridiculous to own a cat named Duck.”

“Why not?” Martin teases, head feeling foggy with exhaustion. “S a good name, Duck. Could call them Robber instead. Robber of Sleep, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

The creature says nothing, just keeps emptying the bottle, eyes half-lidded.

“Don’t be mean.” Jon’s pouting outright now. It’s just as unfairly adorable as it was before. “…Do you want to sit down? You look…”

“Thanks,” Martin yawns agreeably, too tired to even question when Jon leads him over to a cushioned, circular structure with an odd, canopy-like overhang made of wood and a pair of quilts.

It won’t dawn on him ‘til later that this is most likely Jon’s bed.

In the moment he keeps watch as the creature gradually empties the bottle, eyes drifting slowly but surely closed as Jon pulls himself up onto the structure behind him.

“I could, ah.” He murmurs, trying to twist around to face Jon under some vague idea that not doing so would be impolite. “My work at the shelter has a book. Big book, on all sorts of animals and their diseases and mutations and care and stuff. I could take a look at it f’you. If you like.”

Jon’s eyes glint in the dark behind his glasses. “S please. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Martin huffs a soft laugh as he puts down the empty bottle, shifting the creature up to his shoulder to prepare to burp them, rubbing their back gently. “No trouble. Happy to help.”

He’ll just close his eyes for a moment, he tells himself. Just a moment, and then he’ll make his excuses and go. Just a moment…

Martin wakes up a little too warm and comfortable, with the creature snuffling softly on his chest, Jon’s head pillowed on his shoulder, and his not-inconsiderable tail tangled up with Martin’s legs.

He is also thirty minutes from being very late for work, if his cheap plastic watch is any indication.

The easy part is moving the creature off his chest onto Jon’s, and gently shifting Jon’s head off his shoulder onto a pillow.

The difficult bit is attempting to untangle Jon’s tail from his legs. Particularly since it keeps tightening to keep him in place, like a python around its prey.

He ends up toppling off what he’s realizing to his own mental panic is obviously a bed (extremely handsome Jon’s bed!!!) in his attempts to free himself. Somehow this clatter doesn’t wake the two occupants.

He then wastes time dithering over whether he should leave Jon a note, then over what he should write the note on, then over the fact that for all his neatness Jon somehow doesn’t have a table or any chairs, and ends up leaned over the countertop scribbling his phone number on the back of an instructional pamphlet called ‘Your Cat Friend And You’, along with instructions on how to make the creature more warm milk and some reassurance about how he’ll be back later but call if there are any problems, any at all!

It isn’t until he’s fled Jon’s apartment, grabbed his own bag, and is on the bus towards the shelter than he realizes that he signed the note, love, Martin.

This time he doesn’t hold back from attempting to brain himself on the bus’s safety pole.

His boss at the shelter is a lovely orc, who’s extremely understanding about his flailing attempts to explain that someone came to him with an animal emergency, which is why he hasn’t showered or changed clothes from yesterday. She even offers him paid leave, if he wants it.

That makes him feel even worse, if anything, because she is a genuinely good, lovely person and Martin always ends up feeling a bit like a heel whenever he can’t quite live up to that himself or leaves her in the lurch. Part of his brain (one that sounds a lot like his mum, if he’s honest with himself) whispers that she’s genuine in a way that he can never hope to be.

Still. He waves off her offer, places himself on feeding and cleaning duty to make up for the trouble he’s caused, and only allows himself to ask to look at the office encyclopedia once.

She agrees, of course.

Martin pours over the book on his break, an extra strong cup of tea at his elbow to help make up for skipping his morning dose of caffeine, trying to place what on earth kind of creature is in Jon’s apartment.

It’s an excellent encyclopedia, with glossy, high-definition photographs of various animals accompanying through descriptions of their habits, health, and care.

The creature is probably a mammal, as it was warm and has no feathers, scales, or exoskeleton. It’s not hairy enough to be any kind of bear, and didn’t have any claws, ruling out many other predators of that type. It has no hooves, so it’s not an ungulate. It’s teeth are too dull to be a raccoon, koala, or a badger. It’s too big to be a naked mole rat, a mouse or a pooka. The ends of its hind-legs are the wrong shape for chimpanzees, bonobos, gorillas, or any other kind of ape, though Martin feels that these are probably the closest.

It certainly isn’t any sort of cat, domestic or otherwise.

He gives a small groan, munching on the rich tea biscuits that serve as his lunch. He’s almost starting to think it’s not here, that Jon was somehow scammed into taking some sort of—of alien under his wing.

There is one last entry, right at the back of the book.

It’s the only one without any photographs, instead using an artist’s rendition of the animal described in the text on the opposite page.

It looks fearsome, regardless. A bear’s feet and an ape’s hands, chest like an orc and legs like a tengu, a merperson’s head filled with a raccoon’s teeth and a cow’s eyes, downed all over with thin, fine hairs.

Humans, Martin reads, were apex predators at one point in time before their extinction, specializing in endurance and tool crafting to catch their prey. Due to their ability to adapt nigh-impenetrable defenses against their predators, their species bred like wildfire, causing an overpopulation crisis that nearly took the planet down with them.

These animals were highly dangerous, the book says. While extinct, any potential resurgence of their species is a matter of international concern.

Martin shudders and begins flicking back through the book, trying to find a more likely candidate.

After all, what’s the likelihood of one of those turning up in this day and age?

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