#centaur deceit

[a-french-coconut]

Travis Stoll (Part 4)

All the counsellors are seated around the pool table, Chiron towering over them in his centaur form.

There's some new faces Travis isn't used to see here.

Malcolm took Annabeth's place, his grey eyes are sullen, his blond hair a rat nest.

Ah. He does remember hearing Connor talk about how smart, amazing, clever, beautiful the son of Athena is.

Next to him is Miranda Gardiner, when she sees him looking at her she gives a small comforting smile. She's never been as bitter as Katie for the Easter bunnies.

Then there's Sherman for Ares who's new but the rest is familiar.

Jake Mason for Hephaestus, Drew for Aphrodite, his dear Will for Apollo and himself for Hermes.

As for the minor gods, Travis knows every counsellor.

Lou Ellen, Paolo, Damian, Chiara, Holly and Laurel, Clovis, Butch, all of them stayed under his care before Percy's wish to the Olympians.

He remembers fondly their departure from the Hermes Cabin. There had been crying, hugging as well as promises of always be there for them should they ever need it. He likes to think he kept that promise rather well, judging form the smiles he's receiving he doesn't think he's wrong.

"Children settle down, we have work to do."

"The prophecy is about Connor, I'm sure of it Chiron."

"I agree with Travis, in this context the youngest brother can only mean him", Malcolm adds.

"Any ideas for the questers ?" asks Miranda.

"Travis and me, tale as old as deceit must be a reference to Hermes stealing my father's cattle. Even more, the liar and the healer don't let place much more interpretations," reasons Will.

"I think I know where you headed," pipes up Lou, "the crying chants could mean the Underworld. Like, the screams of the damned from the Fields of Punishment."

"Charming interpretation Lou," he mumbles, shooting a small smile to the girl who only shrugs.

"You're clearly looking for a plant. One I suppose is from Persephone's garden. It is composed of flowers made from jewels which explains the gleaming petals and lifeless plants."

They all look at Drew with surprise.

"That's... that's actually a very good guess Tanaka," Damian says, shock written all over his face.

"You don't have to look so surprised. I think we have already established the fact that Aphrodite's daughters can be full of surprises, a lot of you know that."

"Miss Tanaka," warns Chiron, "this meeting is crucial to the survival of one of your campmates, please refrain from causing any kind of strife."

Drew huffs but otherwise stays silent.

Yes Drew, please don't mention the sensitive subject of Silena when my brother's life in on the line.

"Okay, so we know that Will and I have to go the Underworld and find a way to get the flower. All in two days, the scythe reaps at the end of the second day, it's Thanatos's one isn't it ? Connor got two days left, just like you said Will."

Two days to find an entrance to the Underworld.

Two days to convince a goddess to give them what they want.

Two days to come back with the cure.

It's not enough, the first day has already begun and they haven't even left Camp.

Travis's grips his chair under the table, fingers turning white.

It's not enough time and everybody in this room is aware of the irony.

A son of Hermes not being fast enough.

"Time passes differently in the Underworld, as it does in dreams by the way," yawns Clovis, "you cannot not try."

"What if I don't make it ? I have to be by my brother's side when he..." his voice cracks, "when he leaves us."

Clovis raises his eyebrow, "And if you don't try, you will be left with an everlasting doubt and guilt about doing nothing. I have travelled through so many dreams Travis, so many demigods consumed by regret. Connor will be into good hands here, surrounded by fiends. Your job as his brother is to do everything in your power to save him."

He concludes his tirade by face planting on the table, soft snores following quickly after.

"Now Damian, that's someone you can look with surprise," says Drew with a touch of admiration in her voice, "who knew Clovis could be such a philosopher ?"

Lou Ellen raises her hand.

"What about the price you are willing to pay ?", asks Holly, "obviously Persephone is not going to give you the flower for free. Gods, and me, never miss a chance to win something in a deal."

"She's right, a flower with the power the save someone's life..." Damian hesitates, "she'll want something equal in value."

Another life is left unsaid.

An eye for an eye, a life for a life.

Fair enough a deal, one Travis is willing to take.

"Travis, I'm not letting you go on this quest unless you promise not to sacrifice your life."

Will's voice is firm leaving no place for argumentation.

"What ? Will I have to go on this quest ! The prophecy says so."

"Don't lecture on prophecies ! It says that a liar must go on a quest to save a younger brother. It could very well mean Chris."

"Oh please ! We both know it means me ! Why would you not let me go on a quest to save my brother ?! You know more than enough what's it's like to lose them !"

"And that's why I don't won't to lose another one !"

Will's cracking voice leaves him silent. The others demigods are pointedly looking either at the ceiling or the ground, fidgeting uncomfortably on their seats.

The son of Apollo takes a big breath and looks in his eyes.

"Promise me, Travis, that you want exchange your life for the flower. I don't want that. Connor wouldn't want that."

Deep down, Travis knows his best friend is right.

"But", he says shakily, "it might the only way."

"It won't be. We'll find another one. We'll steal the damn flower if we need to. But you are not killing yourself."

Killing yourself

Killing yourself

Leaving Connor alone again.

Leaving Connor with the guilt of being alive because his brother died for him.

He crumbles on his chair and Will is instantly by his side, a comforting presence next to him.

"I promise you Will, I promise you I won't sacrifice myself."

The relief in the grip on his shoulder indicates him that Will believes him.

Chiron clears his throat.

"Mister Stoll and Mister Solace, please go back to your respective cabins and pack whatever you think is necessary. You are both experienced campers, I trust your judgment. You are to depart immediately."

Travis nods before standing up and leaving the Big House, not before the other counsellors wished him luck. He even received a bandanna from Paolo, the son of Hebe claiming it has magical properties.

Once he packed everything he needed and said goodbye to his siblings, he joins Will at Thalia's tree.

"Where are we going doctor ?"

"You're supposed to be the traveller, you tell me."

"You lack of knowledge is astonishing my dear friend, our destination is New York, Central Park."

"Underworld entrance I presume ?"

"You are sure you didn't inherit any kind of prophetic abilities ? You deduction skills are remarkable Watson !"

"Why am I Watson ? I'm smart enough to be Sherlock !"

"Watson's doctor dummy."

"And Sherlock's a drug addict. You're right, fits just like a glove."

Travis punches Will on the shoulder, the little brat snickering as he runs to Argos who's driving them to New York.

Hold on Connie, I'll save you, I promise.

part 5 posted !

[tuxedo-floracat]

All 1/19/2023 Update Item Text Changes

for anyone curious about all the item description changes, here they all are! format is:

Item Name

Original Description

Updated Descrption

and all changes to the text are italicized!

List under the readmore ⬇

Eye of Talona

These deceitful harpies claim to be defectors of Talona, striking out to forge alliances with dragonkind. Little do many know that they are actually her most talented spies.

These deceitful harpies claim to be representatives of Talona, striking out to forge alliances with dragonkind. Little do many know that they are actually talented spies seeking to benefit from conflict.

Dragonfish

Named by beastclans for its greedy appetite and 'stupid face'.

Named by beastclans for its greedy appetite.

Shining Feather Cluster

These brilliant blue and green harpy feathers are often affixed to various pieces of beastclan weaponry to symbolize unity.

These brilliant blue and green harpy feathers are often affixed to various pieces of weaponry to symbolize unity.

Condor’s Breastplate

It was once uncommon for harpies to wear armor, but recent run-ins with dragonkind have seen them prepare for the worst.

It was once uncommon for harpies to wear armor, but trade with centaur herds facilitated by longneck brokers has enabled them access to bronze armor.

Historical Text

A long, storied history of the rise of the beastclans is scrawled on this parchment, written from the perspective of a serthis too young to fight.

A long, storied history of the rise of the Serthis is scrawled on this parchment, written from the perspective of a Serthis too young to fight.

Simple Raptorik Sash

A simple waist sash emblazoned with the united Beastclan sigil. The fabric is rough and primitive.

A simple waist sash emblazoned with the united Beastclan sigil. The fabric is worn from years of use.

Crystalcourt Ambassador

Of those that are granted audience with the Crystalcourt elite, the centaurs are especially lucky. Beastclans cavorting with affluent dragonic society is almost unheard of. (Rockbreaker's Ceremony 2018 Holiday Item

Of those that are granted audience with the Crystalcourt elite, the centaurs are among the few artisans from outside Earth's sway. (Rockbreaker's Ceremony 2018 Holiday Item)

Harpy Ancestor

An ancient ancestor to harpy-kind that has never known the breath of dragons.

An ancient ancestor to harpy-kind that has never known the sight of dragons.

Greenwing Razorclaw

This warrior's uncanny ability to mimic draconic speech allows it to repeat the battle cries of its foes.

This warrior's uncanny ability to mimic the speech of other species allows it to repeat the battle cries of its foes.

Stonewatch Prince

Males are a rarity among harpies, and are forbidden from taking up a warrior's mask.

Males are a rarity among harpies, and it is unusual to see one take up the warrior's mask.

Windcarve Fugitive

Some harpies prefer solitude to participation in the hierarchy of their warrior society.

Some harpies prefer solitude to the cacophony of the cities of large harpy flocks.

Masked Harpy

Harpies build their nests in many of the same locations where dragons make their lairs. Territory is highly contested.

Harpies build their nests in many of the same locations where dragons make their lairs.

Mesacliff Royal/Noble

Harpy royalty is based less on who establishes the most valuable treasures, and more about established families.

Harpy nobility is based less on who establishes the most valuable treasures, and more about established families.

Stormcloud Harpy

Willing to make the best of a bad situation, these Southern Icefield refugees use their spelled snow to cool the ground where they keep their homes.

Willing to make the best of a bad situation, these Southern Icefield immigrants use their spelled snow to cool the ground where they keep their homes.

Tengu

Tengu will attempt to confuse and lead the unwary dragon astray.

Tengu will attempt to confuse and lead the unwary traveler astray.

White Squirrel

This species of squirrel spends its life on the ground, perhaps because it can't jump.

This species of squirrel spends its life on the ground.

Antlers (all 3 are identical)

Nice rack, but they probably aren't natural.

An impressive set of antlers, but they probably aren't natural.

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Pseudologos (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- The False God, The Dark Deceit by the people of Olympius

Father by Dolos

Sue by Elpis

Grandfather by Pheme

Age- 70 (immortal)

Location- Olympia, Olympius

Personality- He's very observant with a strong attention to the most minute of details. He's also narcissistic, highly manipulative, selfish, uneasily fooled, as well as egomaniacal. There's only a few beings he genuinely cares about. He has many girlfriends.

He has the standard abilities of a god. As the god of lies his other powers/abilities include truth sense, vocal mimicry, lie proficiency, criminology mastery, telepathy (is able to read minds), fraud inducement (can manipulate others to lie), shapeshifting (his skill is on par with Empusa), being able to create a variety of auditory, visual, & sensory illusions, as well as being able to communicate with/shapeshift into animals associated with trickery- like rats, wolves, snakes, jackals, hyenas, weasels, foxes, coyotes, monkeys, crocodiles, etc...

Pseudologos' primary abode is his cliffside mansion in the state of Olympia. The mansion is built out of adamantine glass, white marble, & black onyx. There are a lot of streakless windows and glittering chandeliers while the flooring is white marble with Imperial Gold accents. The interior design is cool, modern, & sleek with a variety of artwork, photography, and sculptural pieces with leather furniture, & metal, lucite, Imperial Gold, jade, and obsidian furniture pieces. He has a LARGE garage that houses his collection of luxurious sports cars. Pseudologos also owns a beach house on Shimmering Tail Island and an apartment at Bolt Towers, located in the Skyline neighborhood of New Olympus. He also owns a yacht called Olympian.

He has an animal companion- a dragon named Nyroxion. He's the second oldest & fourth largest dragon in all the realms, widely known as "The Black Beast." After Xuvra, Nyroxion is the most fiercest and aggressive. He's primarily covered in black scales while his belly scales & spinal plates are a dark blood red. The dragon has black horns, claws, and crests with dark red eyes & black wings with dark red wing membranes. Nyroxion is usually Pseudologos' mode of transportation. Dragon and rider have an unbreakable bond.

He's fluent in all the languages spoken in Olympius.

Members of Pseudologos' immediate family includes his younger brother Logos (god of stories), his son Dolos (god of deception & treachery), his niece Eikono (goddess of iconography & literature), his daughter-in-law Elpis (goddess of hope), and his granddaughter Pheme (goddess of fame).

His breakfast is usually prepared & cooked by his personal chef- a mountainous centaur named Montague (called Monty for short). Some of Pseudologos' favorites includes almond poppy seed belgian waffles topped with peach compote, cinnamon & cardamom crêpes topped with powdered sugar, baked florentine egg white omelets, and tropical fruit sorbets.

His favorite "snacks" are smoking cigarettes & cigars. Pseudologos treats himself with buying a few of the most expensive cigars at Ygró Veloúdo- the wine bar/premier smoking room owned by Agathodaemon (Daemon) (god of vineyards, grainfields, & luck). At 1.3 million drachmas a pop, the cigar is meticulously filled with rare tobacco sourced from the Underworld infused with a prestigious black pomegrante cognac, wrapped gracefully with a gold leaf, and is secured by a band with dazzling diamonds totaling 5 carats. He also partakes in weed & lotus dust.

He's proficient at forging signatures.

Pseudologos takes great pride in his appearance. In spite of his advanced age, he lives an active lifestyle and is in peak physical shape. His silver gray hair is neatly trimmed, his clothes expertly pressed, & his shoes perfectly polished. Pseudologos is a firm believer of quality over quantity when it comes to his belongings.

A go-to drink for him is a dirty martini. He also likes champagne, red wine, manhattans, whiskey sours, scotch on the rocks, mojitos, negronis, and vesper cocktails. A usual from The Roasted Bean is an olympian sized iced americano.

He doesn't have a close relationship with his brother. Pseudologos hates his younger brother's "greater-than-thou" attitude towards his lifestyle and firmly believes that the moniker of "Olympius' Grandpa" has gotten to Logos' head. He only sees him when there are monthly family dinners hosted by Elpis.

The accumulation of Pseudologos' wealth is one of the best kept secrets in all the realms. There are whispers about his dealings in the black market, but nothing definitive.

His favorite frozen treats are rum raisin ice cream & champagne sorbet.

He has his own crew of stringers that gather intel and photos for the paparazzi. For fun it's rumored that Pseudologos will be in a shapeshifted form as a maintenance worker at the royal palace on Mt. Olympus to gather more information- which is then given to The Oracle Scoop, the tabloid magazine owned by Pheme.

Pseudologos has a few tattoos- a small dagger on the inside of his left wrist, the saying "trust no one" written in Old Greek on the inside of his right wrist, a black widow on his chest, and a bunch of nightshade flowers on his left thigh.

He quite likes his daughter-in-law Elpis. When she visits him, she always brings in a fresh bouquet of flowers. They'll go to the beach to surf & afterwards Pseudologos will enjoy Elpis' homemade smoothie bowl, the blueberry açaí one being his favorite. He doesn't mind the jokes she makes at his expense and thinks that she is too good for his son.

For lunch Monty will prepare Pseudologos' favorite- grilled snapper and asparagus with herb-caper vinaigrette. If he's with a date, he'll dine out, often at The Crown. From the menu he likes the steamed miso custard with mushrooms & soy dressing, herb crêpes with olives and spinach, & grilled garlic crusted oysters with beluga caviar.

Pseudologos' relationship with his son has always been tense. He honestly can't remember the last time he said "I love you" to Dolos or showed any sort of physical affection towards him. Pseudologos is proud of the fact that he taught his son about the harsh truths of the world. That for deities like them, their worth is made, not given. He also refuses to tell Dolos anything about his biological mother.

His all time favorite dessert is baked alaska.

Pseudologos loves buying gifts for his girlfriends, daughter-in-law, & granddaughter.

He has recently released his signature cologne called Mystique. The spicy fragrance has notes of violet leaf, cyclamen, amber, bitter orange blossom, orris, & narcissus. Another notable feature is the black obsidian bottle with purple jade accents. A 8.5 oz/250ml bottle sells for 1,300 drachmas. The release day for Mystique happened at a Pithos Department Store in the Skyline neighborhood.

Pseudologos adores his granddaughter- calling Pheme "My little diamond." They keep in touch through text all the time and they visit each other often. He was one of the financial backers involved in starting up her Diamond Ave. fashion brand. When they spend time together they'll go to the spa, go shopping, & dine at a restaurant. At times their relationship has been tested- due to Pseudologos' constant flirting with Pheme's friends. Lately, he's been trying to let up on that.

A guilty pleasure for him is a wagyu, foie gras, & black truffle burger that Monty makes.

He has quite the social media presence on Fatestagram.

Throughout his immortal life he's been married well over a hundred times! In the pantheon Pseudologos is infamously known as "The Collector of Wives." He's been engaged even more times. Pseudologos rejects the notion of true love, but understands the want and desire to have a warm body close to him at night. Now, he keeps things casual with many girlfriends of many creeds. His long-time girlfriend is Lycana (Titaness of lycanthropy).

Pseudologos has also propositioned Aisa (goddess of lot & fate) as well as Apate (goddess of fraud & deception). Aisa rejected the offer while Apate hasn't given him an answer yet. He does feel a little guilty about the latter- seeing how Apate is his friend's daughter and that she used to work closely with Dolos.

In the pantheon he's friends with Erebus (god of darkness), Astrape (goddess of lightning), Empusa (goddess of shapeshifting), Bronte (goddess of thunder), Hysminai (goddess of fighting & combat), Kydoimos (god of uproar & battlefield confusion), Clymene (Titaness of fame & renown), and Hyperion (Titan god of heavenly light). Pseudologos was the official mentor to Aplistos (god of avarice).

He met Lycana's daughter Lykos (goddess of wolves) briefly a few weeks ago. Pseudologos doesn't have much of an opinion about her.

His carnal appetites rivals that of Zeus (god of the sky, thunder, & lightning). Pseudologos has a "little black book" filled with the names of all his conquests. He has slept with Empusa a few times and has even slept with Gaia (goddess of the earth). An upcoming "event" Pseudologos is looking forward to is a video he's shooting with Philotes (goddess of sex, friendship, & affection) for her adult website. He and Lycana got into a HUGE argument about it.

He broke his only cardinal rule when he said "I love you" to Lycana while they were having sex. When she tried bringing it up a few days later, Pseudologos said that he was high on lotus dust when it happened.

In his free time he enjoys lovemaking, golf, watching TV, tennis, sunbathing, clubbing, going to the casino, playing dominoes, going to the cinema, sky diving, billiards, poker, and going to the opera.

His favorite meal is lamb ravioli with champagne butter and sage.

"The perfect lie is the one that no one suspects."

[gleemax]

Come check out some tom quality ttrpg shenanigans!

Welcome to our whimsical & chaotic world where misfit Fae creatures stumble through adventures by failing forward. Join our ragtag team of centaurs, satyrs, frogmen, rat-witches, and halflings as they navigate a web of deceit spun by the enigmatic Jeremiah Jenkins. Will they uncover the truth of the flying castle?

[fauxraven]

The Time Paradigm [V]

pairing: Dream of the Endless x fem!reader

summary: questions, betrayal, answers and the love of a good dream

warnings: gore, allusions to smut, reader is horny?

word count: 3.8k

Enter the Dream, weary traveller

Chapter V: Library of Everlasting Deceit

As first centaur on Olympus, head chirurgeon and occasional husband of a demi-god, Chiron has seen more than what the whole of creation entails.

And yet, when she finds him in his anteroom, sharing her odd request, he finds himself rethinking his lives.

‘’You expect me to do what?’’

‘’Open it up. Pop it open, whatever, however.’’ She says simply, leaning back against a bookshelf stationed behind her stool.

‘’Open you up, you mean?’’

‘’I’m not familiar with the logistics. Just do what they do on CSI.’’ He blinks, drawing a sigh from her. ‘’The Closer? Forever? IZombie? I’m running out of relevant examples if it isn’t obvious.’’

‘’You are indeed a strange girl. But you are mad, if you think I’m going to do that to you.’’

‘’I would do it myself but I don’t know how. What’s this for?’’

A flash of silver shimmers under the sunlight—he snatches it from her curious fingers just as quickly. ‘’Just the scar, then. But only because you’re a menace to yourself and others. We should have you in chains.’’

‘’Kinky. Why no stitches?’’

He gets to work, slowly peeling the bandage off. ‘’The wound itself seemed—what in Tartarus?’’

‘’Like I ate Wonka’s chocolate bar, wrapper and Golden Ticket included, I know. On the plus side, my entrails could easily pay off five student loans. Probably only just one—come to think of it.’’

‘’As a doctor, I strongly advise you to leave and see it cleaned but as a man of science…’’

‘’Come on, Doc. I know you’re just itching to do it.’’

His bespectacled eyes lift, a sheen of maroon beads shimmering with curiosity. She knows victory.

‘’Only just a little then…’’ he mumbles in his heavy beard. Between one blink and the next, he holds the same strangely-shaped tools she couldn’t name to save her life. She ignores all dutifully save for one that looks an awful lot like forceps; it bears the same icy cold feeling when it skims across her torn flesh.

‘’What’s that for?’’

Sensing her sudden unease, he feeds her the directions one by one, explaining his ministrations as clearly as possible, after which he provides a drink of sorts and lets her lay down, exposing her broken skin and trembling eyelids.

‘’Are you hurting?’’

‘’No, no it’s okay. I don’t feel anything. Not a fan of blood though.’’

‘’Are you squeamish?’’

‘’Not squeamish, just… sensitive,’’ she groans, the tell-tale of clanging things and squishing insides burning a hole through her throat. He tips his head, lips upturning into a grin. ‘’Don’t mock me.’’

‘’I am not, mocking you. I simply find myself amused.’’

‘’That’s the definition of mocking someone.’’

‘’You threw yourself in front of a flying blade for the Lord of Dreams but you feel faint at the sight of blood.’’

‘’Not blood. Just… large quantities of it—especially mine. Okay?’’

‘’Okay.’’

‘’Get on with it, please.’’

It feels like forever and ever before he speaks again. The wet squelching fades away in the gilded background the anteroom provides.

‘’You have a beautiful sternum.’’

‘’Thanks. Why are we in your rooms? Where’s your medical practice?’’

Something drops in a bowl, leaving behind a hollow thud and more squelching.

‘’This is my medical practice. It might come as a shock but doctors are rarely needed on Mount Olympus.’’

‘’The whole immortality thing is really killing business, eh? Do you have a license?’’

‘’Hush.’’

‘’Yes, mom.’’

‘’There seems to be something lodged in—‘’

Crack.

‘’Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy—that better not be me!’’

‘’That is a lovely dress you are wearing. What shade of blue is it?’’

‘’It’s green. And I know you’re trying to distract me. It isn’t going to work.’’

‘’The Dream Lord asked about you.’'

''He did?''

''In the days you slept, he required to be made aware of your whereabouts. Your name. Your recovery. His sister tells me he meant to send a gift as thanks. I did find it quite peculiar, since you'd have entered his realm in three days.''

''I was too exhausted.'' Even then, from a table-improvised-stretcher, she feels a liquid feeling of longing dripping through the naves of her heart, filling it up with hope.

Could she return to the Dreaming? If not hers, at least some version of it? Did she want that? A pale copy of her home? What did it even look like, in this day and age?

Beautiful, most definitely, but bare of any lingering traces of their love.

''Why are they here? The Endless?'' she asks after a pause, painful images of churning emerald skies and dark sands fading behind her eyelids.

''They are guests of honor, under Zeus' protection.''

Some protection.

‘’But someone thought it would be a good idea to come at Dream with a knife?’’

‘’It did do damage—which you have mended quite impressively. The scar was just fading when I attended to him.’’

‘’You did? How did he—how is he? He says he’s alright but I know it’s a lie.’’

He spares her another glance over round spectacles. ‘’The Dream Lord is… the Dream Lord. He seldom speaks his feelings.’’

‘’You’re telling me. It took a month for—‘’ Blowing your own cover, way to go. ‘’—For me to open up to my friends, about my past.’’

‘’Whatever trials you may have endured, I’d say you’ve come out a very fierce young woman. Very powerful.’’

‘’You kind of have to say that. I mean, I was nearly a shish kebab. What did you tell him?’’

‘’That you were not my charge—that he should ask Adiona.’’

‘’Because Adiona’s my mom now, is she? She never tells me anything.’’

‘’Adiona is many things; sharing is not one of them.’’

‘’I think she just misses her heart.’’

She's stunned a centaur, how the turn-tables.

‘’She didn’t tell me anything. I’ve got an X-ray vision when it comes do these things. And I… guess I understand the feeling.’’

''Abeona is expected for Kronia. She shall not be sorrowful much longer.''

''Is that some sort of grecian holiday?''

''Kronia is... many things that my meager words cannot do justice, I'm afraid. It is held at the end of the harvests, when the offerings are the ripest—in a few weeks, you'll see.''

The coin drops with a clang.

The bowl holds it, letting it swirl in reddish water, washing away blood, tears and the heart-wrenching realization that she is expected to stay. And she would; she will, if he asks.

She sits up before he cares to stop her.

''What is that?''

''I don't know. A broken bit of blade?''

But it isn't a broken bit of anything.

In fact, it's a whole thing, full, round and slightly bumpy, a direct consequence of long days of aimless trekking through her insides.

She hasn't seen many in her life, always figuring they were only used by MI6, downright psychopaths, and that one guy whose subreddit is filled with death threats and promises of never hiding in a cupboard again—but she recognizes it instantly.

Lo and behold, gents of forgotten times and hopeless hopes: an AirTag.

⌛︎ ⌛︎ ⌛︎

An AirTag. A fucking AirTag.

Round as a button, tiny as a toddler’s tooth—complete with the half-bitten apple.

They put a fucking tracker in her abdomen; branded her like aging livestock, ripe for the taking.

But deep within the recesses of her mind, someplace anger has not yet reached, she knows the knife was initially meant for Morpheus and dreads.

Was this their plan? Tracking his every move?

She had serious doubts an AirTag in this time and age would be a breeze to follow through realms.

But, back to the matter at hand: the guy had stabbed and branded her in the same breath!

Nevertheless, she thinks she showed discernment and maturity in making the right call.

In fact, she’d promptly dropped the AirTag in water and then crushed it under her sandal for good measure.

She’d had a half mind to toss it out the window-that’s-not-really-a-window-at-all and watch it slam through clouds, but Chiron had stopped her.

Before his inquisitive gaze, she’d had no answers.

She’d simply left him the offending piece of technology for safekeeping and told her she’d be back for it, and off she’d gone on her quest for answers.

Of course, the AirTag itself provided a few.

Firstly, the attacker’s sanity was waning rapidly.

Secondly, the knife hadn’t been a knife at all for it had hurt Dream. Inflicting bodily harm on an Endless, no matter how slight, meant someone was scavenging this world with a weapon unlike anything this world had ever seen. Or ever will see.

Because the attacker was undoubtedly, unequivocally from her own time.

What did that have to do with her? What had she done?

Had that vile pointy-eared man crossed over with her? Had he been there, in the Library of Everlasting Dreams when it all went down?

A library, she thinks through her scattered thoughts, a library is exactly what she needs to find.

She stumbles through the endless halls—she's never been good at orienteering, has only a few memories of pitiful grades, muddy sneakers and a strong dislike for P.E, but she perseveres and treads the unknown natural habitat of the greek gods.

She's in love with an Endless, but the fact that she's on Mount Olympus remains the most challenging thing in her world, in spite of all she and Morpheus have put each other through.

Love is testing; love is rage and sometimes love is just love, but it has always been enough for her. And now that she finds herself deprived of it, she wishes for more.

But onto the AirTag and the gilded halls and the distant music and the bird.

The bird.

The raven, in fact, that stands in an open doorway, perched on twig-thin legs, sharp talons facing her disastrous sight.

Jessamy blinks, owlish ebony staring at her as though she can see straight through her soul; she'd worry, had she any.

''Quite a number you pulled the other day, hun. You disappeared on me; us girls have got to stick together, do we not?''

Obsidian beads flutter knowingly.

''You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a half-decent library around here, would you?''

The sound of her wings, and she takes off running after the raven.

Infinity blurs before her eyes in golden hues and sharp turns. She twists, darts through an arched hall and then pushes a heavy set of doors.

They burst open on a scene worthy of dreams.

An endless room, wooden bookcases stretch around her, stacked up to the grecian fresque painted on the high ceiling.

Idly, with her jaw on the floor, she follows the swirling shapes of lean muscle and dexterous limbs—it paints a story of gods and the creation of a world, all the battles and the loves and the sorrows and the clouds. Sharp javelins and sandaled feet—the gods are painted with exaggerated accuracy, the battle seemingly forming a perfect circle around a regal group of seven individuals.

Seven entities, all powerful, all determined, all engaged. Far away from the battle, running away from the fallout—but endless, in their presence.

She'd always admired that in him; his ability to steer clear of conflict, even when it so bothered him. She loved him for it and so much more.

She loved the Library of Dreams too.

This library, however huge, however rich, however woven with dreams, pales in comparison to the real article, the one where she's left her own heart.

But it will have to do.

Now, she doubts that she can find much about AirTags within these pages, but still she roams between the giant shelves, hoping to encounter a librarian of some sort.

Jessamy watches her, walks with her even, with nothing but the occasional flutter of a wing to acknowledge her companionship.

''Seen a book-keeper?''

Jessamy gives the slightest hint of a silent shrug—as slight as one can manage without shoulders.

She moves on.

‘’Hello?’’ Her voice echoes off the cracked walls, making it sound far away in a hazy dream.

Morpheus chastises her from above, sand sifting through his open hand, one finger of the other grazing his puckered lips.

A command.

A caress.

She can almost feel it, slipping through her fingers like his own golden grains.

‘’Where’s Lucienne when you need her?’’ She whispers under her breath, turning away from the ceiling painting, advancing to the shelves. She engulfs herself between two sturdy pieces of furniture, shielding away all hope of light and golden walls. She almost misses them.

She doesn’t read Greek.

She never ever has read Greek. She’d tried her luck on an app once—failed epically.

She only knows the letter ρ from old circular traumas revolving around seventh grade algebra. But the letters appear as they are, all Greek and Grecian and… swirling?

Before her bewildered eyes, the shapes curl, uncurl, turn and wiggle until the letters rearrange, reassemble and reform into her native tongue and alphabet.

Half-freaked out of her mind, she draws closer, brushing her finger over the various spines. All sorts of hardcovers with the same kind of gilded writings on the spines, distinguishable only by colour and size.

She plucks a green volume from the shelf; it gives a groan in return.

‘’The Loved and The Lost, by Circe,’’ she reads. ‘’Or How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.’’

Jessamy acknowledges her with a soft caw!

‘’What? I’m not completely clueless. Ha! Something else that doesn’t exist yet! Something else that is so very far from home.’’

She crams the book back where she found it. She isn’t here to reminisce, neither to wallow.

Another book falls into her hands, a hefty tome on genealogy.

‘’Nope. Not going there.’’

It snaps shut and shoves itself into the bookcase again. She follows the movement, finds the pattern. All the books in this section are labelled C.

Circe, Clio, Calypso, Chiron, and something called a Crommyonian Saw.

Just like any other library, she thinks, browsing through the shelves. She’s looking for something important, something big and nice and endless—

O.

Oceanus.

Ouranos.

Oneiros.

There aren’t any written by his hand specifically, but there is one that tells of his story. He’s been put in the title as co-author of his Memoirs of a Dream and it’s funny because she knows he’d be caught dead before he was associated to anything of the likes.

She reaches up on tiptoes; jumps, holds out her arm and stretches the skin that had been so meticulously stitched back up mere moments ago, to no avail. The book remains out of her grasp.

She asks Jessamy for help and the book finally falls into her hand. His hand. It’s hard to tell; sometimes, it’s like they’re the same person, sharing one heart and one bed.

But the pale hand that withdraws the thick tome is most definitely not her own.

She watches as it retreats, hovers over her head for a second and then falls into the empty air behind her.

She turns. His unwillingly narrated Memoirs paint a standoffish man, often cold, often dismissive—a king.

A king of soft, milky skin, nearly shining and burning eyes of twinkling stars. A coat of midnight dust and the universe itself. A heart of diamond and her.

But in truth, he is so much more. To her. To everyone.

He offers the book with a graceful hand, and she finds herself staring at the way his porcelain skin stretches across his lean fingers and clean nails. She’s always loved these fingers. She’s always loved every part of him. But his fingers, she could hold them, she could kiss them. Oh, the things these fingers could do—

She smacks herself internally. Something has drawn her from her stupor.

His lips are parted, his eyes expectant. He spoke when she could only hear the turbulent thundering of her own heart.

‘’Thank you.’’

He nods; the mimic is lost to the universe. She wants to kiss him, to feel herself melt against those pouty lips. Instead, she turns to Jessamy.

‘’Traitor.’’

‘’Jessamy had your best interests at heart.’’

She blinks. Holds the book to her chest. ‘’It’s so weird, the way you say her name. Without—‘’

Pain. Sorrow. Guilt.

‘’Thank you, for the book.’’

‘’You are very welcome.’’

Why does he have to say everything with such depth? Why does he always leave her trembling?

Kiss me. Hold me. Never let me go.

His eyes leave hers, she thinks she might faint. His sparkling gaze has found a new target—it ricochets across her new peplos as if it can see through the garment, to the freshly-bandaged wound.

‘’Chiron tells me it’ll leave a nasty scar,’’ she explains before he has the chance to say anything. And she can’t give him the chance, because she can’t stop at all. ‘’That’s fine. I’m told you dig those anyway. Not you specifically, I just meant guys in general—not that I’m trying to get with anyone. I’m not even trying to impress anyone, I’m free; free as the wind—but apparently he’s a god who’s also hitched so probably not the best comparison, feel free to stop me any minute now.’’

The words pour out of her gaping mouth with vivid accuracy, embarrassment and a thinly-veiled fondness he fails to acknowledge.

‘’I like the sound of your voice.’’

Fuck.

She clears her throat, stays her nerves, hangs onto the book for dear life.

I was doing research about you. I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry.

‘’I’m sorry I took off like that.’’

He looks offended she would even say those words. ‘’Do not be. You were in need of care.’’

‘’Obvs. But I don’t really know the social code here and everyone was being so nice.’’

‘’As they should,’’ his voice drops to the low baritone she’s heard only during bouts of anger and thorough afternoon delights. It leaves her weak in the knees. She feels hot all over, rendered thoughtless and speechless by that voice of his.

She would try to convince him that they have no obligation to her whatsoever, that all she’s done, she’s done for the most selfish reason of all—love—but under his molten gaze, she simply nods.

‘’You didn’t have to leave the party. Everything seemed… really fun.’’

‘’It was not.’’

‘‘You never came to see me.’’

Her chin dips and she almost misses the furtive blink his ethereal eyes give.

‘’I did not wish to encroach on your recovery.’’

‘’That’s…’’ Stupid. Hell. Love. ‘’Very thoughtful.’’

‘’I admit I have been restless, deprived of news of you. But in your absence, you did not once visit my realm.’’

Minor technical difficulties, she hoped.

‘’I was looking you up,’’ she surrenders with a whisper. ‘’Because I don’t like parties and because I’m also terrified of Adiona. Don’t tell her; it gives her power.’’

His eyes sweep over her beet red face and then fall to the book within her grasp. His lips twist into a sneer.

‘’Got something against books?’’

‘’Not all, but I advise you to tread with caution. Artistic license seems to be the author’s incentive when it comes to this volume.’’

‘’Why? Because she tells the truth?’’ There is no malicious intent behind her words, there never have been, but she can clearly see the shadows in the depth of his eyes. They expand, stretch, spread through the swirling cosmos of his sparkling gaze like the Beast of Judgement snuffing all hope of light—the end at the end of everything. The crimson jewel glows around his neck, shining a bright ruby red. She knows she’s upset him.

‘’Some truths had better stay buried.’’

‘’But is it a truth if it remains unspoken?’’

‘’The legitimacy of a statement does not lie in its wording.’’

‘’So a truth is always a truth? Wise words from the King of Lies.’’

‘’Very well—‘’ he makes to turn, to leave her all alone all over again.

He doesn’t wish to fight her, she realises. Because he cares—considers her, at the very least. Because she’s saved his life and he’s spent every minute of the past few days worrying to death over a woman who’d sacrificed her heart and sanity for him; to him.

‘’I would never turn away from your truth, Morpheus. Never have.’’

He isn’t angry.

She knows his anger all too well.

He is upset, yes, frustrated, dark, disgruntled; he has the personality of a wet cat, and when he turns to her, his eyes are clouded over, feral.

But this isn’t anger.

This is something else that makes her tenfold as frightened.

She offers truce—a dark hardcover filled with lies—stories, truths, everything in between.

He ignores it.

She burns even redder with shame.

‘’Where do you come from?’’

The Fates. ‘’New Jersey.’’

‘’Where do you really come from?’’

Adiona. ‘’Does it matter?’’

‘’More than anything.’’

‘‘Why?’’

‘’I wish to know you.’’

‘’You know my name.’’

‘’I wish to know more.’’

‘’Please, don’t do this.’’

‘’Why?’’

‘’Because I might tell you.’’

He pauses. Just as well; she’d break a thousand times over before she told him. Two thousand times afterwards.

He draws closer, by a single measured step—languid and lazy, calculated, purposeful and so very hot she feels she might faint. He treads cautiously, testing the waters.

He wouldn’t cross any boundaries, she knows this, but when his gaze burns into hers, she fears she might want him to.

She wants to.

His eyes pour a trail of gasoline across her flushed neck, over her heaving chest and the graceful slope where her neck meets her shoulder. She drops the match that lights her ablaze.

‘’You know my name.’’ Her voice whispers in the back of her throat. He stands too close to her fragile heart.

‘’Tell me more.’’ He repeats just as gently.

Sweet and sweeter memories come rushing back.

Tickling whispers of love and eternal devotion, tangled limbs and dream sheets, a heart and a question.

She gives in.

Breathless and quite literally hot and bothered, she takes a step toward him. Opens her mouth. Falls into his arms.

Wordlessly, he carries her limp form to Chiron’s medical practice.

She has fainted.

More on the consequences of love in Chapter VI: Mutually Assured Salvation

[phoebosacerales]

Manilius on the trigons

"But should you also wish to learn which related signs exchange affection and are subject to a destiny of friendship, connect the offspring of the Ram with all his trigon. Yet the Ram is a simple creature and shows more respect for the children of the Lion and the Centaur’s progeny than they for him. His is by nature a gentle sign, exposed to the harm that falls on gentleness; he is devoid of deceit, and his heart is as soft as his fleecy body. His fellow signs are marked by ferocity and a lust for spoil, and their covetous spirit oft impels them to break faith for their own ends; and their gratitude for a kindness is short-lived. However, in the double sign that has mixture of man we must reckon greater strength than is possessed by yours of single form, Nemean. Nevertheless, when the Ram’s offspring by each are harassed and smart under the aggressive violence and knavery of the pair, then he loses patience with the trigon; even so, few are the wars he wages and only when occasion demands, and for the outbreak of these the fierceness of the others is rather to blame. And so, whilst the trigon enjoys peace, it is a peace wherewith is mingled wrangling. Next, the sign of the Bull is joined to Capricorn, but their temperaments do not blend in fellowship any better; those begotten of the Bull are eager to embrace the Virgin’s children too, but often they quarrel. The issue of the Twins, the Scales, and the Waterman are of one heart and share a bond of loyalty which naught can sunder; and they will achieve conspicuous success in winning many friends. The Scorpion and the Crab endow their sons with the name of brother, and the progeny of the Fishes is also united with them. But there are frequently sly dealings as well. The Scorpion sows trouble in the guise of friend. And those whom the Fishes father at birth never keep in their hearts for long a constant affection; ever and anon they change their sympathies and now forswear their ties and now renew them, and beneath a mask of blandness unseen hatreds come and go."

Manilius, Astronomica. 1st century AD p. 131 - 133

[gobboguy]

Character Biography:

Fartbringer

Physical Description:

Standing at an imposing 9'1" and weighing 818 lbs, Fartbringer is a mountain of an Orc, his massive frame covered in rolls of jiggling fat that shake with every movement. His body is a testament to his indulgent lifestyle, with copious amounts of coarse, dark hair sprouting from his skin and a powerful stench that follows him wherever he goes. His skin is scarred from countless battles, with scars crisscrossing his plump flesh, telling tales of his relentless pursuit of power and glory and greater pleasures.

Formative Experiences:

Born into privilege as the son of Chief Uggut the Rich, Fartbringer was raised in one of the most prosperous tribes on Orc Island. The Wind Howler Tribe enjoyed the bounty of ample fishing waters, abundant harvests of Orcroot and Grok'nar, and the most fertile females among the Orc tribes. These resources provided Fartbringer with a strong foundation and a deep-seated desire for wealth and comfort. His upbringing instilled in him a sense of entitlement and ambition, driving him to seek even greater riches for himself and his people.

Rise to Leadership:

Fartbringer's ascent to power was marked by a brutal display of strength and cunning. At the age of 8, he challenged and killed his own father-the reigning Chieftain-in a ceremonial duel, claiming the title for himself. His victory not only secured his position as leader of the Wind Howler Tribe but also demonstrated his ability to command respect and loyalty through sheer force of will. Under his leadership, the tribe flourished, further enriching their coffers and solidifying their dominance.

Alliance with Gelbeg:

Drawn to Gelbeg's vision of a united Orc people, Fartbringer voluntarily assimilated his tribe into Gelbeg's cause. His desire for greater riches and power aligned with Gelbeg's goals, and he quickly became Gelbeg's trusted lieutenant and treasure master. Fartbringer's keen eye for wealth and his strategic mind made him an invaluable asset in the pursuit of their shared dreams of conquest and prosperity.

Personal Life and Legacy:

Fartbringer's voracious appetite for life extended to his sexual exploits. He boasts the most wives and children of any Orc alive, his prolific seed ensuring that future generations of Orcs will almost all bear some relation to him. His harem is vast, and his offspring numerous, spreading his lineage far and wide. Fartbringer takes great pride in this legacy, hoping that his descendants will rise to even greater heights in Orc society.

Admired Heroes and Hated Enemies:

Fartbringer admires ancient Orc heroes known for their strength, cunning, and ruthlessness. Legends such as Grak the Conqueror and Mog the Merciless inspire him, their tales of conquest and dominance fueling his own ambitions. Conversely, he harbors a deep hatred for the lesser races of Sidhedark, particularly the deceitful Centaur and the treacherous Humans, whose attempts to subjugate the Orcs have only hardened his resolve to see them crushed beneath Orcish might.

Personality and Habits:

Fartbringer is a larger-than-life figure, known for his boisterous personality and unrelenting drive. His favorite sayings include, "Wealth is power, and power is everything," and "An Orc's strength is measured by his conquests and his progeny." He revels in feasting, drinking, and the pleasures of the flesh, his indulgent habits a reflection of his insatiable appetite for life's luxuries.

Dreams for the Future:

Fartbringer's dreams for the future are intertwined with his hopes for his descendants. He envisions a world where Orcs dominate Sidhedark, their society thriving under the rule of his bloodline. He dreams of a legacy where his children and their children rise to positions of power and influence, securing the wealth and prosperity of the Orc race for generations to come.

[priestessofall]

thankss! (make sure to stay healthy, drink water, and sleep :D)

there are a ton of different deities, but honestly i think i might do themis? i think she already had a blog, but i would have to go check.

one of my friends was already going doing tyche so i probably wouldn't do that

i might also do apate, i believe she's the goddess of deceit/fraud? i will have to do more research though T-T

Ooc: I'm trying! My sleeping schedule is much healthier, but it sadlt clashes with the rp big time! Stay healthy you too!

Im sure whatever deity/mythos being you choose to embody will be marvelous! I'd love to see creatures like sirens, the minotaur, nymphs and centaurs one day around! We shall hope

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Opinion on Sanders Sides Centaurs, or any headcanons? :>

I think it’s cool. Headcanon that Centaur Logan basically adopts the centaur dark sides.

[5am-the-foxing-hour]

Rainbow Ridge Ranch

(Centaur AU)

(Art piece)

Thomas is the owner of the ranch that he inherited from a family friend, Thomas with help from his friends turns the ranch into a sanctuary and rescue home for Centaurs who due to different circumstances ends up in bad situations.

The ranch is big, with huge acres of land to it’s name, all from green fields, to a old oak forest and a clear lake, perfect for swimming in the hot summers.

Logan: He helps Thomas around in the ranch, lifting, repairing or building something. He has no problems with heavy work. He is smart, give this boy books he loves to read when he get’s some peace and quiet, he tends to lie down next to the apple tree and read in the shade. He grew up together with Thomas and Patton.

Patton: He loves to teach children how to ride and tend to spend a lot of time at the riding school an hours ride away, he is the one who tends to help the most scared children t ride, he’s the calmest during these moments and often offers the kid a hand to hold if they want it. When he’s not teaching the kids how to ride he is one energetic centaur. Dad Jokes, so many many dad jokes. If the ranch get’s a child centaur Patton is the one who helps them feel welcome to the best of his ability, he can be a bit strict at times, but he tries his best.

Roman: He wandered to the range when he was 14, lost and hungry after a terrible storm, no one made any signs of him being missed on the internet or in the city, Roman doesn’t really talk about it either, not a big fan of thunderstorms.

He wants to be in as many games as possible to earn all those shiny medals and rosettes. He loves horse jumping, but dressage holds a special place in his heart because then he can dress up in fancy clothes and show just how beautiful he is.

Virgil: He arrived at the ranch after someone called about an abandoned centaur in a rundown barn. Virgil was hostile and terrified of everyone when he arrived, hissing and stomping. Logan helped calm him down, and Virgil stuck close to the bigger centaur, Patton instantly adopted him when they met for the first time. He’s still a bit skittish around new people, he help the others around the range trippel checking that things are secure. He is TERRIFIED of runaway plastic bags. They are evil.

Remus: Remus was delivered to the ranch by family who had found him on a hike, in a rundown chicken coop. He was malnourished and a bit crazy. He eat weird things and Thomas and the others are trying to make him stop and eat real food. It’s going slow, but they’ve made him stop gnawing on the wooden beams.

Thomas and the others aren’t sure if Remus and Roman are related, they look alike, but they don’t behave like siblings.

Remus can at times get wild urges to just run, and they can come at weird moments, Thomas learned the hard way that there’s no stopping Remus if he needs to run. It took a week to repair the doors.

Janus: When Janus came to the ranch he was in really bad shape. Fast moments and sudden noises could lead to Janus either lashing out or running.

He was a well known dressage champion, but the woman he was in team with was abusive and made him train so hard he almost collapsed, he did collapse during a tournament, which was what sent him to the ranch. Janus does not let anyone ride on his back due to this.

It was actually the scrawny stray cat that has claimed the ranch as hers, that helped Janus to even consider the humans help. The weight blanket/cape helps him stay in the moment.

Roman calls the cat the Dragon Witch. she really likes to be with Thomas even if all he can do is to sneeze and try hist best to keep her out of the main house.

Dr. Emile Picani: He live’s close to the ranch, and is the ranch’s therapist. If he has nothing going on he will join Patton in teaching the kids horse riding. 

Being a centaur when you’re a therapist for centaurs makes it easy for the others to trust him. Even if it might take a few sessions before they open up about their problems, he has a group meeting once a month (or more if needed) where they all gather, both centaur and human to talk about things and work through some issues as a group. 

Remy: He doesn’t live at the ranch, he is the postal delivery, he comes over every day and gossips with the others about what’s going on in the city. Out of them all he is the fastest, but he also never stays still for long and are always moving in some way. No mater what time of day it is, he is always found with a Starbucks in his hand and his phone in the other, either talking lively with a friend or arguing about hours and schedules. 

- - -

Centaur AU Tag list:  @emovirgil-sanders, @ebony-wolf, @nashiraneko, @secretlyanxiouspersona, @romanasanders, @llamaavocado, @allycat31415,@lunareclipse-524, @i-sold-my-soul-to-thefandom,@punsterterry, @sleepyssnail,  @nightmaresides,

[merlybird500]

finally got my ass into gear and finished another ref for my centaur au

this edition: roceit

funnily enough, dee is technically a pony as he’s less than 14′2 

i kind of want to throw emile and remy into this au, but i don’t know what they should be. also centaurs? different mythical creatures? let me know if you have any ideas :)

hey @djpurple3 do you like them?

[sweetest-honeybee]

Some centaur Remus doodles and I removed the fur around the hooves but yeah him kicking deceit in the face is a mood

[sidespart]

Top five of your personal AUs?

Oooh this a great question!

AU where everything is the same except Roman has a tiny dragon 

Dark-Side Light-Side switcheroo-Au 

(I haven't done anything with this one yet but it festers in my brain) Victorian/Edwardian AU where Logan is the son of a Lord and Roman is his tailor. Over time Logan discovers he likes the dresses Roman designs more then the suits.... Pining! Gender non-confirming Logan! Fabulous outfits! The Stifling and Overwhelming Restraints of the Class System! More pining! probably a masquerade ball feat: Logan out dressing everyone in the world! The unbearable intimacy of a shared secret! The unbearable intimacy of being Known! So! Much! Pining!

Guardian Angel Roman AU

Sibling!Moceit enchanted forest AU

Ask me my Top 5 anything 

[waffles-is-a-bunny]

🐍Finally drew the snakey boi 🐍

[fangirltothefullest]

No matter what baby mine always makes me cry, ahh I actually really liked how cute they made dumbo in the 2019 movie.

[rusty-guitar-strings]

Cold-Blooded Liar - Chapter 1/2

Find part two here!

Summary: In mid winter, snow is expected. Deceit made mistakes, and now he’s suffering the consequences. He deserves it, though, right?

Rating: G

Pairings: implied logicality and prinxiety, can be read as platonic

Word count: 2104

Warnings: yelling, crying, hypothermia, injury/death mentions, angst, deceit the character, sympathetic deceit

Winters were cold. Obviously. Deceit knew that. He also knew that snakes weren’t fond of cold, as they got most of their energy from warmth, and being partially snake himself, he was no exception to that rule. That was the issue that led the naga to where he was at the moment: coiled in a tight ball in the snow, unable to wipe away the flakes falling on top of him, numb with cold. He stared hazily into the distance, frozen beyond shivering. Perhaps his blood was turning to ice. Suppose he stayed here forever, buried in snow, and no one found him until it had all melted and it was too late? Dee’s mind whirled, akin to the freezing snow that fluttered down around him. He bared his fangs at it, as if that would do anything. The naga watched as even his breath was chilled to the point of steam, rising from his lips briefly before it disappeared.

Silently, he contemplated his friends. His family, Patton would have insisted, had he been there. If he could even still call them that. The peppy puppy padre of a werewolf was nowhere near as vicious as stories made everyone to believe. He liked baking and playing fetch and laying in the sunlight that streamed through the large window. He liked cuddling and affectionate kisses to cheeks, foreheads, noses, hair, hands, anywhere and everywhere people would let him, and Patton loved, loved, loved his family. He was never, ever dangerous, Dee had come to understand, unless you threatened the people he cared about. He had also come to understand that, unfortunately the hard way.

The fairy, Roman, was naïve. He was predictable and easy to manipulate. He was, unsurprisingly, the first next to Patton to accept Dee into their home. He was all charming smiles and flourishing gestures and sweeping bows to make you feel like royalty. Roman was a man of theatrics as well, to the surprise of no one. Everything was a big deal. His toast popped up unexpectedly? Roman became a woman in a horror movie. Patton made breakfast for everyone with personalized blueberry shape in the pancakes? He was a god who bestowed a great blessing upon undeserving mortals. Virgil was wearing a skirt? A funeral was arranged for Roman’s confidence. Roman was princely and prideful and perfect, all the time, never stopping, no exceptions. Until Deceit made his mistake, of course.

Then there was Virgil. Edgy, snarky, harmless little harpy. Virgil wasn’t very loud unless he wanted to be. He liked the quiet, and he liked the dark, and he liked the calm. He liked Dee, too, because the naga was all that wrapped up in the body of a snake-human thing. Many nights were spent with the two curled up together in a blanket nest. Virgil would settle himself among the coils of his friend’s body, wrap a wing around his shoulders, and relax. The silence was comfortable. The darkness was nothing to fear. They never shared many words during this time, unless one of the duo needed comforting or calming. It was usually Virgil. If that was the case, Dee would turn on one of Logan’s classical CDs, curl himself gently around the harpy with blankets and pillows and tea, and just hold the younger and remind him to breathe. Virgil was snarky and sarcastic and stingy, but he was far from mean. His talons were sharper than his tone when he spat insults he never meant, mostly at Roman, but occasionally Deceit. He never meant them. Until he did.

Then, there was Logan. Of all the members of their messed-up little posse of creatures, he was by far the most intimidating. He was even above Deceit himself, which felt odd. Logan was a centaur, a towering Clydesdale who shadowed everyone below him in both height and intelligence. He was strong, stoic, and cold. Deceit knew the least about him, because he preferred to be left alone. But that was fine with the naga, he possessed no desire whatsoever to venture near the huge, thundering hooves. Logan had his own stable, where he kept to himself and rarely accepted visitors. The extra stall was to contain Patton when he turned, to avoid him causing anyone harm. He never did, Logan made sure everyone was safe. He didn’t let anything get past him, except a certain slippery snake.

In his defense, Dee had not come into their lives wanting to deceive them. (Patton would have been proud of that one.) He just had to. It was his job. He was paid to infiltrate other organizations or homes to unusual creatures and people, gain their trust and find out all he could, then report it to his boss. Then, he would return, and they would be terminated. The naga was exceptionally good at what he did, and that was why he had the job. He was good at gaining someone’s trust, he was good at faking friendship, he was good at not getting attached and pretending the deaths he caused didn’t sting. He was good at it. Until he wasn’t.

Dee made a mistake. He tripped up, he fell, he flopped. He did the one thing he wasn’t supposed to do. Deceit got attached. He had never been in a group- no, family. They were a family- that was that close. They were loving, truly loving, and accepting, and they made him open up in ways he knew he shouldn’t. He said things he didn’t want to and did things he wasn’t supposed to for reasons that were beyond even him, and yet... he didn’t care. Dee liked them. They showed him what a home was, that it was more than a place and a word. It was close people, and caring words, and kind gestures, and unconditional love.  Deceit had worked up the courage to ask Logan what that meant one day, after hearing the centaur use the word to describe Patton’s love.

“Unconditional means unrestricted, whole-hearted, or absolute,” Logan had explained, dark eyes leaving his book to meet Deceit’s. “It means that Patton loves people, regardless of their actions, mistakes, or unworthiness. I have yet to deduce whether it is admirable or perilous.” Deceit had shuddered as Logan’s cold, calculating gaze scrutinized his very soul. It was like everything he’d ever done had been laid out for the centaur before him to analyze, and his skin began to feel unusually hot with shame.

“Do you think he...cares about me that way?” Dee had finally inquired, picking at his nails and drawing out the ‘s’ a little in his nervousness. He couldn’t bring himself to drag his eyes away from Logan’s, blood pulsing in his ears and muscles tended to flee, should the centaur try anything.

Logan had only blinked slowly, then gone through the process of little actions he did when focusing, which Dee had previously observed. Tightening his tie. Nudging his glasses up. A hand raking through his hair and a flick of his tail to scatter the flies from his flank. His nose wrinkled slightly, and the left corner of his mouth turned upward in thought, or possibly amusement. Dee couldn’t have been sure at the time. “Undoubtedly. Patton is... simple. It is not difficult to gain his affection, but it is very difficult to lose it. I would not worry.” And then he had gone back to his book.

That night, Deceit contemplated this. For the first time, he found himself wanting people to like him, and not just because he had to. Because he liked them, and he cared about them, and he wanted to tell them the truth. He wanted to spill everything, because though Deceit’s very name embodied his lies, this one hurt. It twisted inside his gut like a thousand smaller versions of himself and pressed against his chest, aching and causing sharp pain and desperate to be let out. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. Dee was living a lie, as he always was, but he didn’t want to any longer. But Deceit, the liar, the faker, the snake, was born for this. And so he continued. Until he couldn’t.

It was two weeks later, early December, when he asked everyone into the living room. Deceit explained. He told the truth. He was sent as a spy by an organization who wanted to capture or kill them. He didn’t want them dead, he promised, over and over. He was going to find another way, he promised. He was going to fix this, he promised. But promises after lies were as solid as ice in summer. It was too easy to fall through.

Dee would never forget the looks on faces of his friends family victims. Roman was pale. His eyes were confused, stunned, as if he didn’t understand what had happened. He blinked, looked down at the floor, then back up at Dee. His wings, transparent and a brilliant ruby red, quivered once. He heaved a heavy sigh. “You are a snake, after all,” was all the fairy said.

Logan showed nothing. That terrified Deceit. He didn’t know if the centaur was angry, upset, or if he’d expected this. Logan was silent. He was a stone, a stronghold, a wall Dee could not get through. He held Patton back tightly.

Patton screamed. He screamed in agony and terror and anger and tried to lunge for Deceit, only held back Logan. The werewolf breathed in growls and whines, kicking and struggling and breaking Deceit’s heart mercilessly with his pleas. “Don’t do this! Don’t let them kill my family! Why would you this?! You don’t have to go, we can help you! Please!” The poor man worked himself up so much he started to turn unwillingly. The only words Logan spoke were soft reassurances into the werewolf’s ear, calming words that Deceit couldn’t hear. Even while the centaur soothed his wounded friend, his steely eyes never left the traitor before him.

Virgil didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His eyes told everything. When he glared, the darkness beneath them seemed to grow. His jaw locked, his fists clenched, his shoulders stiffened at Patton’s sobs, because how dare Deceit do this? How dare he break the heart of their family, betray the trust of the only person who might have loved him? Virgil’s feathers flared. His talons dug into the carpet, but he did not move. He glared at Dee and his shoulders shook as his breathing grew more ragged. His eyes displayed an angry, well-deserved message that he didn’t need to voice. How dare you? I thought we had something. I thought you were different. I thought you cared.

And Dee could only offer a pathetic half-smile. So did I.

The next moments were a flash. Patton gave up and slumped against Logan, sobbing openly. The centaur hugged him closer to his chest, cradling him quietly with a tenderness Deceit had never seen before, especially not in Logan. Virgil stomped his foot and snapped his wings open in a terrifying show, one arm thrusting out to point at the door as he shrieked, “GO!” His moment only lasted that long, however, because then the tears escaped and slid down his face. The harpy choked on an angry sob and clamped his hands over his mouth to muffle the noise. Roman’s arms weaved around him, gently turning him away from Deceit. He gently took Virgil’s wrists, encouraging and reminding him to breathe, then wrapped his arms around the harpy again. Virgil’s hands grabbed Roman’s shirt in a death grip and he stubbornly refused to look at Deceit. Roman locked eyes with the naga, however, then nodded toward the door lightly.  They needed space. Dee slithered out the door. He could feel the eyes of Logan on his back, and the last thing he heard the broken sobbing of Patton.

And so Deceit found himself here, a few days or maybe weeks later. Time didn’t sit well in his head. He was collapsed in the snow like an abandoned garden hose, halfway to death, and with the tears in his eyes freezing before they could even fall. The gray clouds in the sky wept snowflakes, but they weren’t for Dee. They were for Patton. They were for Virgil, and Roman, and Logan, and everyone who had ever suffered at the hands of Deceit. In his last moments, Dee refused to believe even the earth would mourn him. After all, why would it? He was a liar, a faker, a snake.