elishevart - Tumblr blog

elishevart · 5 days ago

Text

The Stygian Infant

A small wish fulfilling "Astyanax Lives" fic, in which Odysseus is given another option.

Odysseus told himself he wasn’t a monster as he walked towards the window.

The little bundle clenched in his hand stirred and gave a small whine of protest; his stomach clenched, and his steps faltered.

I’m just a man.

He forced himself to take another step.

Doing this now will ensure my family’s safety in the future.

He had never seen a window that looked so forbidding before.

I just want this business to end so I can go home.

...It shouldn’t feel so wrong.

The view was so high; it would kill a grown man to fall from this distance, let alone a-

Odysseus closed his eyes, biting down on his lip hard enough that he felt a sharp pang, and the coppery taste of blood on his tongue, and slowly raised his arm.

The cries were a little louder now, more persistent as the child struggled to free himself from his cloth prison.

Just go to sleep, little one, like you were when I found you. You shouldn’t have to be awake for this.

Forgive me.

His hand was trembling too hard, he could barely start to loosen his fingers’ grasp-

“I’ll take that, if you don’t mind.”

The voice was quiet, and somewhat raspy, but Odysseus heard it perfectly over the cries and the crackling flames of the city below.

It startled him into opening his eyes; his hand nearly dropped the bundle, but reflexively caught it again just in time.

Stupid fool; you could have ended this just now, he scolded himself, ignoring the flicker of relief in his heart.

Automatically his other hand reached for his sword as he spun around-

-only to immediately drop again when he saw the figure standing behind him.

Odysseus knew right away that this was another god.

He wasn’t shining with celestial splendor like Lord Zeus, or Athena, or even Hermes; but even in his dark robes and shadowed features, he couldn’t possibly be anything else.

And when Odysseus realized which of the gods he must be, he felt his heart clenching with dread anew.

“Well?” the Rich One demanded, holding out a pale hand, “I haven’t got all day. And neither have you, if you don’t want my brother to see that you haven’t carried out his orders yet.”

Odysseus looked down at the bundle; one tiny hand had escaped, little fingers wiggling plaintively.

He looked up at the impatient face-and without, for once, thoroughly considering the consequences of his actions, he offered the child to the lord of the dead.

To his surprise, he accepted the babe and tucked him into the crook of his arm with an unprecedented level of something that looked almost like tenderness.

The look faded back into annoyance as he met Odysseus’s gaze again; but he just shook his head and muttered, as he stepped back into the shadows, “Don’t know why that idiot enjoys playing these games.”

Within seconds he was gone, the child with him, and Odysseus was alone in the room, wondering what in Ha-what had just happened.

****

So many new souls surrounded the banks of the River Styx; many of them without proper burial rites, because their loved ones were dead themselves, and so were cursed to wandering the banks for a hundred years.

Persephone frowned, and twisted her hair between her fingers as she watched the latest cluster of Greeks and Trojan shades materialize.

Part of her thought she should be relieved that this war was over at last, but it all seemed so…wasteful.

Was it really worth starting all this for a stupid apple?

Not that it was actually about the apple, Persephone sighed to herself as she went to supervise those poor souls who had managed to somehow receive last rites and were being ferried across, if Hera and Athena had really wanted their own golden apples that badly they could have bargained with Mother for some.

No, this was to salvage their own hurt pride because a foolish young man-oh look, there he was over there, still bleeding from the wound the heartbroken Oenone had refused to heal-had chosen the love of a married woman over their bribes gifts.

Persephone tried to distract herself from her troubling thoughts as she made her way to the Hall of Judgement; Minos and the others were going to have their plates full today.

Goddess or not, by the time the last unremarkable foot soldier had been sentenced to the fields of Asphodel Persephone was exhausted.

She made her way slowly up the steps to the palace, instinctively giving the pomegranate tree a wide berth; even though she had made her peace long ago with being part of the Underworld for half of every year, seeing it still caused a small ache of longing in her heart for the chance to see the sun again and feel flowers growing under her feet.

…But, she reminded herself when she opened the door and saw a familiar tall figure pacing in front of their thrones, the Underworld had come to have its benefits as well.

“Hades?” she called, stepping lightly over the threshold.

Something about the way her husband turned to face her seemed…unexpectedly guilty.

As did the way he was clutching a small cloth bundle that he almost seemed to be rocking.

A small cloth bundle that was moving, and making noises that sounded like-

Her steps slowed. “Is that-”

Hades gave an embarrassed nod, and held out the bundle so she could see the baby nestled inside.

It wasn’t the first time the soul of a child, even an infant, had come to their realm, tragic though it was.

Despite the fact that they usually hadn’t lived long enough to accomplish great deeds, or even evil ones, Persephone used her influence as best she could to keep them out of Asphodel, lobbying for metempsychosis as often as possible so they would actually have a chance at living; the other patrons of the Underworld often grumbled that she was too lenient with the mortals, but would silence themselves at once at a look from her husband.

There were even occasions when Hades would allow her a chance to hold and comfort the newly dead little ones for a while.

But there was something different about this baby, she realized; his skin was a healthy, vibrant color that stood out against the dark and cold, and the dark eyes that stared at her contained a spark not usually present among the dead.

Persephone’s jaw dropped. “Is-is that-”

Hades nodded, and gave her a look that he would emphatically have denied was sheepish. “Yes, he’s alive. He’s Astyanax, the last prince of Troy.”

****

Hades had bribed Hermes to bring him the horn of Amalthea, and at once put it to work bringing forth a supply of milk for the little one.

Once he’d been fed and released pent-up air, Persephone made up a little sling and tucked him against her chest; he settled into sleep in a matter of minutes.

That done, she turned to Hades with a look indicating that she wanted an explanation.

Most mortals who imagined him as being an eternally grim, pitiless figure of darkness would have been flabbergasted by the way he hunched his shoulders and brought one mighty hand up to rub the back of his neck at his wife’s gaze.

“...My brother was forcing one of the Greeks to…well. Put an end to him so he wouldn’t seek revenge on his people once he was grown.”

Persephone wished she could say she was shocked that Lord Zeus would do such a thing. As it was, she could only flinch and cradle Astyanax a little more protectively.

Hades winced, and nodded. “I know. And…he couldn’t, or more likely wouldn’t , see that there are other futures available for him, and it’s always possible that he might want to rebuild his city’s honor if he learns the truth, but…”

Even though he didn’t say the words, Persephone agreed with what he was so clearly thinking: there was no honor in killing an enemy too helpless to fight back. Especially before they had done anything worth killing them for.

Especially if they were only a babe.

“What if Zeus finds out he’s here?” she asked after a moment.

Her husband smiled dryly. “He’s already expecting him to be here. I see no reason to mention that it’s not with all the usual requirements met.”

Persephone actually covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, before regaining her composure and moving on to her next concern.

“We can’t keep him here forever, though. Not while he’s still living.”

“I know.” Hesitantly Hades came closer and peered over her shoulder at the sleeping face, slightly squashed from where it was pressed against her chiton. “I thought he could stay at least until Zeus forgets about him.” Persephone could hear his eyes roll as he muttered, “Which probably won’t take too long,” and this time she couldn’t hold back a full laugh.

Astyanax stirred and grumbled, and she spent a moment rocking and shushing him until he settled again.

She was already thinking that Melinoë and Macaria might enjoy having a new playmate once he was old enough.

“What about the mortal?” Persephone finally asked. “The one Zeus wanted to kill him.”

Hades shrugged. “He’ll likely never have to see him again, not if we handle things properly.” He glanced upwards, in the direction of the mortal realm, and grimaced. “...And something tells me he’ll have more than enough blood on his hands before I next lay eyes on him.”

****

I don't really have plans for how to continue this, but I have been toying with the idea that after The Cyclops Saga Astyanax ends up with a ghostly Uncle Polites who is happy to help babysit him when Hades and Persephone are busy.

...There are some stories in which Astyanax survives, okay? Just let me have this.

#epic the ithaca saga #hades #persephone #astyanax lives au #epic the musical #odysseus epic #loved it!

8 notes · View notes

elishevart · 15 days ago

Text

Stanuary '25 - Week 4: Healing

I'm a day late but I'm still here! I figured I'd set this one in my Purposeful Abduction AU, in which Ford insists on being abducted by aliens and starts a life on an alien planet as a doctor. Meanwhile, Stan gets abducted by alien traffickers, and manages to escape, but is in very poor shape when he winds up at Ford's hospital.

This prompt is perfect for the AU, and gives me a chance to write Stan's recovery. Which, uh, I wrote a lot of. A lot more words than I thought I would.

Enjoy.

———————————————————————————————————–

Stan hunched over the sterile, futuristic toilet, trying to fend off another wave of vomit.

“Are you doing all right in there?” Ford’s voice called. Stan retched again, but nothing came up. He groaned loudly. The door to the tiny hospital bathroom opened.

“Didn’t say you could come in,” Stan mumbled. Ford pulled him up. Stan’s legs, weak from poison and malnourishment, buckled under him once he was on his feet. “I can make it back to the bed.”

“Sure,” Ford said, infuriatingly patient. He helped Stan back to his hospital bed. Stan immediately curled up into the fetal position, shivering.

“You poisoned me, I know it,” Stan muttered under his breath.

“The opposite,” Ford replied. “The antidote for the toxins you ingested yesterday has strong side effects.”

“Ugh.”

“Press the call button if you need to be helped to your bathroom again,” Ford continued. Stan rolled over to glare at him. Ford didn’t react, annoyingly remaining in professional doctor mode. “I’ll increase your fluids to compensate for what you’ve been losing from vomiting.” Finally, Ford looked up from the hologram screen of his clipboard. “Get some rest.”

“Not much else I can do.”

“Then you should get very good at it,” Ford said shortly. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room. The door closed behind him. Stan curled up into a ball as his eyes drifted shut.

-----

The mysterious liquid concoction in the cup in Stan’s hand was purple. A deep, rich purple. Stan looked up at Ford and the fish-headed alien that Ford had brought in as a “refeeding specialist”.

“You said this was a chocolate milkshake,” he croaked. Like the rest of him, his voice had taken a beating from malnourishment and poisoning. He hadn’t smoked a cigarette in months, but sounded like he went through a pack a day.

“It is,” Ford said. Stan shook his head.

“Nuh-uh. You put blueberries in this or something.” After a day in intensive care, he’d been moved to a general care room, to begin treatment that would help him recover properly. Now that he was no longer in danger of dying.

“Blueberries don’t exist on this planet.”

“But chocolate does?”

“Yes!” Ford said, sounding exasperated. “Centuries ago, visitors to Earth collected chocolate plants and brought them back here. The different environment, however, results in cacao beans that are blue, not brown.”

“This is purple.”

“The roasting process turns- oh for the love of-” Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just drink the damn thing. Dr. Quartir is a very busy fish who took time out of its day to observe you consume something for the first time in months.”

“Not the first thing I ate in months,” Stan said under his breath. “I ate that poison hot dog. That’s why I wound up here.”

“Stop being difficult. You know what I mean. If you keep this down, it will be the first step in being able to eat properly so you can get back to normal. Don’t you want that?” Ford snapped. Stan stared down at the milkshake again. He swallowed.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then drink the damn thing. Slowly.”

“Bottoms up,” Stan mumbled to himself. His stomach churning, from either nerves or anticipation, he didn’t know which, he brought the cup up to his mouth. The taste was heavenly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted chocolate so rich. Stan’s eyes widened. He tilted the cup back at a higher angle.

“Slowly, Stan,” said the fish doctor in its papery thin voice. Stan reluctantly took a small sip instead of the massive gulp he wanted. “Good.” Stan finished the rest of the drink. When he was done, Ford took the cup from him. Dr. Quartir tapped the watchlike band on its wrist. “I’m going to set a timer. If you don’t vomit before it goes off, we can officially introduce ingestible fluids into your diet.”

“Excellent. Dr. Quartir, should we talk in the hall?” Ford said. “Perhaps give Stan some privacy in case he doesn’t keep it down?”

“Yes,” Dr. Quartir said. The two exited the hospital room, leaving Stan alone.

Stan laid back on his bed to stare up at the ceiling. The possibility that he might finally keep something down at this point felt as likely as summiting Mt. Everest.

But as the minutes passed by and Stan’s stomach didn’t eject its contents, his hopes rose.

Finally, the door opened. Ford and the fish walked inside.

“Well?” Ford asked. Stan sat up, unable to fight the grin spreading across his face.

“Keep the milkshakes coming.”

-----

Stan grabbed the twin rails. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself up out of the hover chair to wobbly stand on his feet.

“Excellent, Stan, but remember, you have to use your upper body and lower body strength,” said the physical therapist, whom Stan had mentally dubbed Dr. Hardass because he couldn’t remember her alien name. Her voice was robotic, thanks to the translator Stan had to wear to understand and be understood. She was green-skinned, and like the other members of this planet’s dominant species, over seven feet tall.

Stan had to use the physical therapy equipment designed for children.

“Even before everything happened, my arms were stronger than my legs,” Stan argued. Dr. Hardass shook her head.

“Perhaps. But I imagine that your legs could still bear your weight and move you forward,” she pointed out. Stan grit his teeth. “We are focusing upon getting you walking. You cannot rely upon your arms. Now. Come towards me.” Stan muttered a few choice words under his breath. “Stan. If you do not start now, you may never do so.”

“Fine,” Stan griped. He took a deep breath.

Your arms are there to help, not to be the only way you stay up. Stan lessened how much he was reliant upon his arms. Immediately, being upright became a lot harder. Fuck. C’mon. You can do this. One foot in front of the other.

The first step was agonizing. Stan felt like his knees were going to buckle. The second step wasn’t any better. He could practically hear his ankles screaming at him.

Ultimately, Stan only made it halfway to Dr. Hardass before he had to call it quits.

“You are doing better,” Dr. Hardass said as she helped him back into the hover chair. “You have a great amount of resilience. Much more than I usually see from my patients.”

“...Really?” Stan said doubtfully. Dr. Hardass nodded.

“Before you know it, you will be jogging again.”

“I wasn’t a runner.”

“But you did do some form of exercise recreationally.” Stan looked at her, surprised. “I can tell by how easily you understand my instructions.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Stan looked down at the floor. “Yeah. I did boxing.” He sighed. “And I’d give anything to get back to it.”

-----

The doors opened with a loud woosh. Stan stepped inside and looked around, his eyes drinking in the sight of a gym on an alien planet. Most of the equipment looked similar to what was on Earth, probably because the dominant species of the planet was very similar to humans. But there were a few things that Stan couldn’t even begin to imagine how they’d be used. Equipment that looked like bench presses or leg presses, but were in shapes that a human couldn’t physically make.

The alien accompanying him, Ford’s brother-in-law Lute, chuckled.

“Your brother had a similar reaction the first time I took him here.” That got Stan’s attention. He turned to face Lute.

“You took Ford to a gym?” Stan asked.

“He asked. He was curious about how it would compare to one on Earth. According to him, it’s very similar.”

“Yeah.” Stan looked at a nearby alien doing chin-ups. The alien looked a lot like Lute to Stan, but he wasn’t sure whether that was because they were both blue. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Ford told me that you have some experience in gyms.”

“I was the sporty one,” Stan said. He looked down at himself. “I guess you’ll just have to believe I’m telling the truth,” he mumbled. He was still in physical therapy, but now that he was just about fully functional again, his appointments were slowly being phased out. Fully functional, however, wasn’t good enough for Stan. Which was why he wanted to go to the gym.

My legs and arms haven’t been this twiggy since I was five. I’ve gotta get back to normal. Or at least close to it.

“Since you have some experience, I’ll let you lead the way,” Lute said brightly. “You can suggest what exercises you’d like to do and I’ll let you know if you can do them safely.” Lute, whose human nickname was apparently from him mishearing Ford’s attempted nickname of “Luke”, was a physiotherapist. He wasn’t on Stan’s medical team, but due to his expertise, he was the only reason Ford was even allowing Stan to go to the gym.

Stan didn’t respond well to Ford initially outright telling him he couldn’t go. Luckily, Ford’s husband, Fiddleford, stepped in to suggest his brother going with Stan.

I’d probably be lost without a guide anyways. But it’s the principle of the thing. I’m not a fucking kid. Ford shouldn’t treat me like one.

“Stan?” Lute said, breaking through Stan’s frustrated thoughts. Stan looked at him. “Where would you like to start?”

“Uh…” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. He looked around again. “It looks like most of the equipment here is too big for me.”

“I would agree,” Lute said with a nod. He put an arm around Stan’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, I run into the same issue all the time.” Though Lute was more than a foot taller than Stan, he was considered abnormally short for his species, as was his twin sister.

“I was gonna ask if you guys have any boxing equipment, but that would probably be too big anyways,” Stan muttered. Lute frowned at him.

“Boxing?” he asked. Ford had taught all his in-laws English, so Stan and Lute didn’t need to use a translator to communicate. But every now and then, Stan would use a term that Ford hadn’t bothered to teach. Stan sighed.

“It’s the sport I did back on Earth. It involves a lot of punching.”

“Punching?!” Lute looked shocked. “That’s a sport on your planet?” Stan nodded. “Ford didn’t tell me that.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t very good at it,” Stan said under his breath. Lute snickered softly. “I’m gonna guess you don’t have anything I could punch.”

“Hmm.” Lute frowned. “No, there’s some equipment I can think of that would be beneficial to working the muscles involved in a punching sport. Some of it is even accessible to your size. This gym caters to multiple species, after all, and while my species doesn’t engage in bloodsport, some of the smaller species on this planet do.”

Bloodsport? Okay, whatever. Focus on the important thing.

“There’s stuff here that would help me get back to boxing?” Stan asked. Lute tilted his head one way, then the other.

“I believe so.”

“Great. Take me there,” Stan said eagerly. Lute shook his head.

“It’s too rigorous for you right now. You need to start off doing something that you can do slowly and gently.”

“Like what?” Stan grumbled.

“Swimming, perhaps. Do you like to swim?”

“…Yeah.”

“Great!” Lute beamed at him, showcasing the haunting needlelike teeth that his species had. “Then let’s go swim!” He leaned in. “Ford told me that our swimming pools are different from those on Earth. Apparently yours aren’t on the ceiling?” Lute shook his head in disbelief. He began to walk away. Stan stood still for a few moments, processing what he had just said. Finally, he gaped and chased after Lute.

“Your swimming pools are where?!”

-----

“Yeah, Uncle Stan, punch that thing!” Stan grinned at the encouragement from Ford’s oldest child, Proteus. He slammed his fist into the punching bag, eliciting a cheer from his nephew. “Wow!” Stan stopped to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his face and turned to face his small audience.

“You’re good,” said Lee, Ford’s nephew via his sister-in-law, Angie. And, depending on how things went, one day via Stan. Lee looked like the other members of the dominant species on the planet, with the exception that he had human-looking eyes, a trait randomly inherited from his human great-grandmother.

“Can you teach us?” Proteus asked. He was technically adopted by Ford and Fiddleford, but thanks to his shapeshifting abilities, often looked like he could be their biological child. That was the case today. Stan had insisted if they came to Human Town with him, Proteus couldn’t take his natural shape. Too many of the inhabitants of Human Town, a part of the capital city inhabited by abductees from Earth and their descendants, had negative emotions related to Proteus’s species.

Including Stan. The trafficker that had abducted him years ago was the same species as his nephew, currently staring up at him with starry eyes. Stan would die for his nephew. But still, seeing him in his natural state was too much.

“I might be able to show you two a couple things,” Stan said idly. “I mean, I’m the only one on the planet who can teach you.” He winked at Proteus and Lee. “I’ll even do it for free.” Proteus and Lee giggled.

After Stan had become healthy enough to get back into boxing, he’d run into the issue of there not being anywhere he could train. The lack of opponents was another potential problem, but the more pressing one was Stan not being able to get his hands on a speed bag. Luckily, one of Ford’s brothers-in-law was a carpenter, who knew someone that made custom exercise equipment and furniture.

Then, one day while at a bar in Human Town, Stan mentioned his boxing equipment to someone. That person happened to own the only gym in Human Town, and insisted Stan set up some demonstrations for any humans interested in learning about an Earth sport unheard of on this planet. Things snowballed from there, and now, Stan had a steady job as a boxing trainer at the gym.

Lee handed Stan his towel. As Stan was drying off, there was a polite cough. Stan dropped the towel and looked over at the doorway to the room. Ford stood there, a wistful look on his face.

“Hey, Sixer,” Stan greeted him. Ford nodded his head.

“I see the boxing is still going well.”

“Oh, yeah. Being an ‘exotic’ human that knows things about ‘exotic’ human culture is a pretty big draw around here,” Stan said. Ford nodded. “Have you told your kids you used to box, too?”

“What?” Proteus said eagerly. He looked over at Ford. “Really?”

“Our father signed us up for lessons when we were young,” Ford said. “But Stanley was always better than me.”

“Yep.” Stan raised an eyebrow at Ford. “We should put on an exhibition match.”

“Ah. No.”

“Oh, c’mon! We’d make a killing!”

“I don’t have any interest in putting on an exhibition match with you,” Ford said firmly. “You’ll just have to wait until one of your students reaches that skill level.” He paused. “Or until someone abducts a boxer.”

“Second one would probably happen sooner,” Stan grunted. “My students are too scared to put much power behind their hits.”

“Such is the difficulty of teaching,” Ford said sagely. Stan rolled his eyes. “Proteus, Lee, are you ready to go?”

“Yep!” Proteus said, hopping off the bench he and Lee had been sitting on. Lee nodded and slid off as well.

“Excellent.” Ford looked at Stan. “Enjoy your date with Angie. Where are you taking her?”

“That hole in the wall place on Zerbz Street.”

“Earthling Eatings?” Ford asked. Stan nodded. “I’ve never been.”

“You’ve gotta go there sometime. They’ve done some crazy sh- stuff with Earth food,” Stan said, barely remembering to censor himself.

“It’s good!” Lee piped up. Ford smiled at him.

“Stan has taken you there?” he asked. Lee nodded.

“I went, too!” Proteus said. Ford ruffled his son’s hair.

“If it has the seal of approval from the two of you, perhaps we should go there for dinner sometime.” Ford waved at Stan. “I’ll see you after your date.”

“Yep. See you later.”

“Bye!” Lee and Proteus called. The kids and Ford left. The large, circular door closed behind them. Stan sighed. He looked down at the electronic band on his wrist. It almost completely covered the scar from his poaching cuff. It was glowing slightly, signaling that he had a message. He tapped the band. A hologram display lit up above the band with the message from Angie.

“I’ll be there in twenty. I can’t wait to try food from your culture.” Stan grinned. He pulled up the hologram keyboard and typed out a response.

“Make it thirty if you want me showered.” After a few seconds, the reply came back.

“Deal.”

Stan waved away the hologram screen. He grabbed his all-in-one soap and began to head for the showers, whistling. His band chimed again. He tapped on it. The hologram screen popped up again, this time displaying a picture. Stan froze.

The bands required profile pictures for all users. When Stan first got this band, it wasn’t long after he was discharged from the hospital. Thus, the profile picture was of him near his lowest point. His face was gaunt, his hair stringy, his skin pale. He barely recognized himself then, and he barely recognized the picture as himself now.

At the bottom of the picture was an automated message.

“It has been two years since you set your profile picture. Would you like to change it?”

Stan went to press the button to open the camera. He paused. After a moment, he shook his head. He closed out of the notification.

“Nah. I’ve got a date to get ready for.”

#stanuary #gravity falls #gravity falls au #purposeful abduction au #stanley pines #stanford pines #lute mcgucket #ficlet

34 notes · View notes