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marvelstoriesepic · 4 months ago

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Small gesture, Big meaning

Pairing: Tfatws!Bucky x Shield!Reader

Summary: Sam and you prepare something for Bucky’s birthday with the little you can scrape together.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Sam roasting a poor muffin; Bucky being in his feels; bickering; subtle mentions of Bucky’s past

Author’s Note: Another little birthday fic because I felt like it. You might notice I'm extremely motivated to write lately. Let’s hope it stays that way. Hope you enjoy! ♡

Masterlist

“You’re putting too much faith in that sad little muffin.”

Sam is leaning against the rickety kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching with open amusement as you carefully place a candle in the center of the slightly misshapen muffin. It’s a little lumpy, a little too golden brown in some places, and has a slightly deflated top, but considering that you made it in a barely functioning oven with only the ingredients that are offered here, it looks pretty decent.

Supplies are scarce in this safe house, and baking has never been your strong suit. After all, as an agent of Shield, you don’t really have time for domestic stuff like that.

“It’s not about the muffin,” you shoot back, a little defensive. You are even a little proud of this thing, but you won’t admit that to Sam. “It’s about the thought,” you claim, adjusting the small happy birthday banner you both scrawled on torn notebook paper.

Sam hums, his smile not leaving. “Oh, the thought is loud and clear. Happy birthday, Bucky. Here’s a barely edible clump of regret.”

You narrow your eyes at his mocking tone. “Oh come on, at least I tried. You just stood there judging my culinary struggles.”

“I think you managed just fine.” His smile is so toothy. His voice so sarcastic.

Your eyes fall back to the muffin with a roll of your eyes. Sure, it looks a little rustic, but there is something satisfying about it. The last time you baked something isn’t even a memory in your mind anymore.

Your usual diet consists of protein bars and whatever passes for coffee in whatever part of the world you’re holed up in. But you made this. For Bucky.

And for something that isn’t a tactical maneuver, a recon plan, or a mission briefing, that feels like a win.

“It’s not bad.”

Sam snorts.

You throw him a glare.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there.

This isn’t just about Bucky’s birthday - it’s about reminding him that he’s seen, that someone gives a damn. That after all the decades of war, loss, and suffering, there is still something worth celebrating. Even if it’s just with Sam and you.

Sam clears his throat, shifting his weight. “He’s gonna act all grumpy about it.”

You take in a breath. “Yeah, I know. But deep down, he’ll like it.”

Sam softens.

You smile and light the candle.

The safe house you are in right now is tucked in some half-forgotten corner of Eastern Europe - somewhere off the grid but not completely abandoned.

The walls are cracked, the wood is old and worn, the air thick with dust, and the supplies minimal at best. It’s one of those places that’s good for disappearing, for catching a breath, and talking about strategy.

You three have been here for two days now.

There are only a few cans of food, stale crackers, instant coffee that tastes burned. The stove barely works just like the oven, the fridge hums as if it’s dying, and the water pressure in the tiny, rust-stained bathroom is a joke. But it’s shelter, and honestly even quite cozy, and that’s enough.

The situation with Karli and the flag smashers is getting tense. You are trying to track her movements, trying to predict her next move after the GRC camp attack in Latvia.

Bucky left a few hours ago, going after a lead - an arms deal happening at a dockside warehouse a few miles out. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s something, maybe another piece of the super soldier serum still floating around in the wrong hands.

You didn’t want him to go alone and tried to make a case for joining him, but Bucky just gave you that look. The one that said he isn’t going to risk anyone else. The one that said he is used to doing things on his own, whether he likes it or not. And with Sam needing to check in with some of his own contacts, that left you here, holding things down.

So you let him go, but still checked your comms every now and then, waiting for the static to break with his voice.

He should be back soon.

Bucky has not said a thing about it being his birthday.

Not today, not yesterday, not in any of the days leading up to it.

Not that this surprised you. You expected it, honestly.

To him, a birthday does not seem to be a marker of another year lived, but rather just another date on a calendar that is too far ahead of him. Another reminder of all the years he wasn’t really there. Not as himself.

He was his usual brooding self. Still and watchful, sitting on the couch in the corner, hands clasped loosely, tapping his metal fingers against his knee in that absent way he does when his thoughts take him somewhere else.

The only real indication that he even knew his birthday was approaching was the way he got quieter. Bucky is never particularly loud to begin with. But there was a shift, a deepening of whatever burden he carried around.

You caught him staring out the window yesterday, waiting for the sky to darken, for the day to pass by unnoticed, slipping through the cracks like so many others before.

So you didn’t bring it up. Neither did Sam.

You just started planning.

Because if Bucky wasn’t going to acknowledge it, you would.

Maybe not with something big, because he wouldn’t want that, but something. Something only for you. Only for the people closest to him currently. A reminder, even if he didn’t ask for one.

Because birthdays might not matter to Bucky.

But Bucky matters to you.

The door swings open with a push that is firm but not rushed, the kind of movement that says he’s been through a thousand doors just like it, in places just like this, and expects nothing on the other side but the same four walls he left behind.

You straighten. So does Sam.

A gust of cold air follows him in, causing the candle in the muffin to flicker slightly.

Bucky steps inside, his boots scuffing against the worn floorboards, the leather of his jacket creaking faintly as he shifts, pushing the door shut behind him.

You don’t think you’re even breathing as you watch him roll his shoulders like he’s shaking off the weight of the night - like if he just moves right, he can shrug off the things he doesn’t want to carry.

“It was nothing,” he says, his voice rough, sandpapered. He is already pulling off his gloves, shoving them into his pocket. “Just a few guys moving crates. Looked like standard weapons, no serum, no Flag Smasher insignias. Could’ve been anyone.”

His tone is gruff, dismissive. Almost a little bored.

“Didn’t stick around long,” he continues, metal fingers curling at his sides. “They spotted me. One guy ran, but the rest didn’t put up much of a-”

And then he looks up.

And stops.

His shoulders tense mid-shift, his mouth still half open from words that don’t make it out. His eyes tell the whole story.

They dart from you to Sam to the muffin in your hands, the candle still burning, wax beginning to pool unevenly at the base. Then to the tiny, hand-scrawled banner you quickly shoved into Sam’s fingers to hold up.

Bucky doesn’t move.

For a long second, he just stares. Not in the way he does when he’s sizing up a threat, when he’s tracking movement in a crowded room, when he’s calculating distance and angles and exits. This is different.

His expression isn’t blank, but it’s unreadable in a way that makes you shift from one foot to the other. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with what he is seeing.

“Happy birthday, Bucky.”

The words come out light, but there is something heavy in them, and you feel that your voice is a little hesitant.

Gripping the muffin a little tighter, you suddenly feel self-conscious about how small this gesture is, how little you were able to put together. It felt like enough before. Like something meaningful. But his silence is making you uneasy.

“Happy birthday, man,” Sam echoes, voice sincere.

Bucky blinks several times, needing to catch up. His features, softened in surprise, start to pull back together, a slow crease forming between his brows. His jaw tightens, lips are still parted slightly before he presses them together, as if cutting off whatever response had almost slipped out.

His eyes continue sweeping around, from the muffin, up to you, to Sam, to the imperfect banner. Something swims beneath the blue of his eyes.

“What is this?” His voice is hoarse, like the words catch somewhere on their way out.

Like he doesn’t already know. Like he can’t believe it.

He shifts his weight, arms hanging stiffly at his sides, metal fingers flexing just slightly, one of those little tells you picked up during your time working together.

He is off balance, caught without an escape route, with no blueprints for this kind of thing. A man who has walked through fire and war and every shade of hell, and yet, somehow, this little gesture, is what catches him completely off guard.

There is something vulnerable in the way he looks at you both, something unguarded in the way his throat works around nothing, as if searching for a response but keeps coming up empty.

Because this is not something he can punch his way through or bury beneath sarcasm and brooding.

It’s just a candle and a muffin and a banner and two people standing in front of him, remembering what day it is.

And maybe that’s what gets him the most.

Bucky doesn’t look away.

He has always been one to simply stare at things, but this is getting intense.

As if the whole concept of this - of being given something without having to earn it through blood or survival - is too distant to reach for.

“Damn, man,” Sam drawls, arms crossing over his chest again. “Are you getting so old now that you forgot what a birthday is?”

You don’t know if you want to punch the man beside you in the gut with every ounce of strength you’ve got or grab his stupid face and kiss him like the world is ending. Maybe both. Probably both.

Because the bastard knows exactly what he is doing. Knows how to crack open a moment before it can become too heavy, how to make things easier for Bucky without making a big deal out of it.

And it kind of seems to work.

Bucky’s expression changes in the way his brows furrow deeper. His mouth twitches - almost a frown, almost a smile, almost something in between. Then he exhales sharply, breath hitching before rushing past his lips a little unevenly. It’s a scoff, but it’s weak, like he can’t quite summon the energy to be properly annoyed.

His eyes fall to Sam, sharp but lacking real bite. “Shut up.”

But there is no edge.

No venom. Like if he weren’t so caught off guard, if he had a little more time to settle into this strange, unfamiliar warmth creeping into the edges of the room, he might have actually had something to fire back.

He shakes his head slightly, as if trying to dismiss the moment before it can sink in too deep, before it can reach whatever part of him has spent too long convincing itself that things like that aren’t for him.

His gaze drops again to the candle. The wax drips lower, the flame wavers.

Then his eyes sweep over the lettering of the banner in Sam’s hand, reading your handwriting carefully, over and over and over again.

You offer a warm smile and hold out the muffin toward him, tilting it slightly in invitation. The candle’s flame flickers with the movement.

“You gotta blow out the candle, Bucky.”

He glances at you then, one brow arching in that familiar, dry skepticism, like he is debating whether or not to argue the point. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t argue, only exhales another breath that is just a little shaky.

He steps toward you, slowly, as if closing the space between you and the candle is something to be made precisely, something to be considered.

Up close, the cut of his jaw is a little tighter, the blue of his eyes shadowed but not distant. His hands flex at his sides. Maybe a part of him still expects this to be something else, something with a catch, something not meant for him.

But you keep smiling, keep waiting, Sam keeps watching and after the briefest hesitation, Bucky leans in, breath ghosting warm against the tiny flame, and blows it out.

It snuffs with a quiet puff of smoke, curling into nothing.

Sam claps his hands together once, a low, easy sound that fills the space. “There you go, old man.”

You smile, a little brighter now, something in your chest disentangling at the sight of Bucky standing there, watching the smoke, looking slightly lost, but no longer frozen.

“Did you make a wish?” you ask lightly.

Bucky huffs out a breath. It might be a laugh but it is a little unsteady.

“Sure, doll.”

There is something in the way he says it. Something softer than usual, something a little worn at the edges but genuine.

As though, just maybe, he did not even have to make a wish. Because it already came true.

The candle’s tiny smoke disappears, leaving behind only the muffin - a little too brown, a little too lopsided, but warm in your hands.

Bucky stares at it, his expression unreadable in that way only he can manage, like he is feeling something too big to let show.

Sam sighs dramatically, eyes also trained on whatever you created there.

“Man,” he mutters, shaking his head, “it looked sad before, but with the candle out it looks even sadder. Like a single, abandoned biscuit in the middle of a war zone.”

You gasp, scandalized, turning to him. “Excuse me? This is a perfectly respectable muffin.”

Sam gives you a look, then gestures vaguely toward it. “That thing looks like it’s been through some things - like it’s seen battle, lost some good men, and barely made it home.”

You clutch the muffin closer to your chest. “I will not stand here and let you disrespect my baking skills in such a way.”

“What baking skills, huh?” Sam fires back, smirking. “You found a pre-mixed bag of something that might’ve been flour and might’ve been plaster, mixed it with a prayer, and threw it in the oven. I'm just saying, if that thing had legs, it would’ve walked away out of self-preservation.”

You open your mouth, ready to retort with the sharpest, most brutal comeback you can think of, but Bucky beats you to it.

“It looks nice.”

His voice is quiet but firm, stopping your bickering.

Sam and you both turn to look at him.

Bucky hasn’t taken his eyes off the muffin. His hands are still loose at his sides, his stance still slightly hesitant. But his expression is softened.

You don’t bother to hide your triumph as you turn back to Sam. “See? Barnes thinks it looks nice.”

Sam rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath about low standards and winter soldier pity points, but you don’t care.

Because Bucky - who didn’t mention his birthday, who never expects anything from anyone, who looks so lost in thought standing there in the poorly lighted safe house - thinks it looks nice.

And that’s more than enough.

You watch Bucky’s brow furrow slightly into something weighty, as if realizing only now, that you actually made this yourself.

His eyes shift to the uneven edges of the banner Sam is holding, to the way the lettering wobbles just slightly, as though you had to redo it a few times before settling on something half-decent.

Then his eyes move back to the muffin that has been made by hand - your hand - mixed together with the scraps you could find in the barebones safe house, baked in a temperamental oven that probably isn’t even meant for cooking anymore.

For him.

You made all this just for him.

His throat moves as he swallows hard, his lips parting slightly as if wanting to voice out something, but nothing comes up. His chest rises and falls, slower than before, as if he is trying to steady himself.

His jaw tightens just a fraction, but it doesn’t harden. It softens again slowly, and when he finally looks back up, there is something there you don’t think you have ever seen before.

A sheen over his eyes, so faint it might go unnoticed if you weren’t looking right back at him. If you weren’t watching him take this in, piece by piece, trying to figure out what to do with it.

He looks so touched.

So utterly affected by your gesture.

He spent so many of his birthdays forgotten, as someone wielded by metal and orders, to now come back to his temporary home, to his temporary family, who remembered long enough to plan a little something for him.

You don’t need to say anything.

You just glance at Sam, and he glances at you. He nods subtly, giving you a meaningful smile.

Because this matters.

Bucky releases a breath from deep within. It comes out slow, an attempt at trying to get his overwhelming emotions out, but it doesn’t seem to have worked that well.

His gaze drops for just a second, as though he needs to compose himself, before he looks back at you with something so gentle and exposed in his expression that it nearly makes you squeeze the fragile muffin in your hand to death.

This isn’t much. Just a tiny celebration in some run-down house out in nowhere.

But to him, it seems to be everything.

“After seeking to understand, it’s not the size of the action that counts. It’s the relevancy and impact of our action that makes the difference.”

- Heather R Younger

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dieticiankajal1 · 2 years ago

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The Surprising Benefits of Drinking Water for Weight Loss

In the quest for a healthier lifestyle and effective weight management, people often explore various diets, exercise routines, and supplements. However, one essential element that is frequently overlooked but can have a profound impact on your weight loss journey is drinking water. Yes, you read that right! Water, the elixir of life, can also be a powerful tool in your arsenal for shedding those extra pounds. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the surprising benefits of drinking water for weight loss and why it should be an integral part of your wellness routine.

Hydration: The Cornerstone of Weight Loss

Water's Role in Metabolism

Hydration is key when it comes to boosting your metabolism. When your body is well-hydrated, it functions at its optimal level, ensuring that all metabolic processes, including the breakdown of fats, run smoothly. In fact, studies have shown that even mild dehydration can slow down your metabolism, making it harder for you to burn calories effectively.

Appetite Control

Another remarkable benefit of drinking water is its ability to curb your appetite. Often, when we feel hungry, our body is actually trying to tell us that it needs hydration. By drinking a glass of water before a meal, you can reduce your food intake and prevent overeating, which is a common obstacle in weight loss.

Water as a Natural Detoxifier

Flushing Out Toxins

Our bodies accumulate toxins from various sources, including the environment and the food we consume. Water acts as a natural detoxifier, helping to flush these toxins out of our system. When your body is free from harmful substances, it can function more efficiently, leading to better digestion and, consequently, weight loss.

Kidney Health

Proper hydration is essential for kidney health. Your kidneys play a vital role in filtering waste and excess fluids from your bloodstream. When you don't drink enough water, your kidneys have to work harder, which can lead to kidney stress and potentially hinder your weight loss efforts.

The Thermogenic Effect of Water

Did you know that drinking cold water can actually help you burn more calories? This phenomenon is known as the thermogenic effect of water. When you consume cold water, your body expends energy to warm it up to your core body temperature. This process burns extra calories, albeit a modest amount, contributing to your weight loss goals over time.

Water and Exercise

Pre-Workout Hydration

For those embarking on a fitness journey, proper hydration is crucial. Dehydration can lead to reduced exercise performance, as it affects your stamina and endurance. Drinking water before and during your workout can help you push harder and achieve better results.

Post-Workout Recovery

After an intense workout, your body needs to recover. Hydration plays a pivotal role in this process by helping to repair and build muscle tissue. It also aids in minimizing post-exercise soreness, allowing you to stick to your workout routine consistently.

Practical Tips for Incorporating More Water into Your Day

Set Reminders: Use apps or alarms to remind yourself to drink water regularly throughout the day.

Carry a Reusable Water Bottle: Having a water bottle with you at all times makes it easier to stay hydrated, whether you're at work, running errands, or exercising.

Flavor Infusion: If plain water doesn't excite your taste buds, try adding slices of lemon, cucumber, or mint for a refreshing twist.

Track Your Intake: Keep a journal or use a smartphone app to track your daily water consumption to ensure you're meeting your hydration goals.

Replace Sugary Drinks: Gradually replace sugary beverages like soda and fruit juices with water. This not only aids in weight loss but also improves overall health.

Conclusion

In the pursuit of weight loss, the benefits of drinking water are often underestimated. From boosting metabolism and controlling appetite to detoxifying the body and aiding in exercise, water plays a multifaceted role in achieving your weight loss goals. It's a simple yet powerful tool that should not be overlooked. So, remember to stay hydrated and make water an essential part of your daily routine on your path to a healthier, leaner you.

#weight loss #weight management #Water Consumption #Healthy Habits #Water and Weight #Weight Loss Strategies

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innerchildabortionclinic · 1 month ago

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yk how people freak out about ultraprocessed food aiming to bypass your body's natural processes? it's funny how you don't hear the same narrative with diet marketed products when they have ingredients that will have you shitting yourself for 24 hours because it makes the total amount of calories lower. like this cannot possibly be good to consume. the servings of these products you also have to be more careful with, like I remember eating this low calorie ice cream once because I was curious and I noticed it contained an INSANE amount of indigestible insanity. i'm used to GI issues so I drank tons of water in preparation, but others online mentioned they had severe cramping after eating the product, likely because they did not expect such a reaction. it's still salt, fat, and sugar that make dessert foods appealing and companies have not come up with a SAFE way to create diet versions of these more calorie dense products. they tried with olestra in the 90s--people also ended up with digestive issues and thus it was largely phased out. that's because these "hacks" to getting around calories surround how the food is digested and metabolized;

if you've seen any talk from fitness influencers about brands like halo top it's basically this all over again. consuming small to moderate amounts may be fine, but all the marketing surrounds the idea that you don't have to consume small amounts of diet products because they have less calories, which is how people are getting sick. also what happened to "if you have to eat junk food you just lack discipline"? you could be eating frozen yogurt as a replacement for ice cream if it was really your health you were concerned about. i'm just saying when most of my diet consisted of 'low calorie xyz' I had such severe GI issues I thought I developed IBS or something.

anyway no doubt more of these low calorie products will be pushed by western companies as health food in response to people using ozempic to get rid of cravings. will be interesting to see where people end up because these are not sustainable diet strategies.

i've posted on this topic before and people got extremely defensive over using ozempic for weight loss and I just wanna say are that many people on here regularly purchasing ozempic for weight loss? or fantasizing of a future in which they are able to? saying this stuff will have coquette girlies coming for you for weeks guaranteed

#food science is interesting to me but it's such a polarizing topic due to the fearmongering and misinformation #similar vein to criticizing the pharmaceutical industry and then an antivaxxer assumes you agree with them #also for the anon who recommended UPF reddit - I am on there!#largely have eliminated my digestive issues now #just need to be careful

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dxrlingluv · 1 month ago

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It feels right.

WARNING —

This chapter will contain mentions of nudity and will involve slightly suggestive themes. This chapter will also contain small mentions of Hermes x oc/reader.

WORD COUNT —

9.1k

CHAPTER 2 —

Whispered Oats

PORTAL —

The air, already thick with the waterfall's mist and Eureka's potent aura, seemed to crackle with unspoken energy. Odysseus held the goddess's gaze, his mind a whirlwind of calculations, his heart a steady drum against the backdrop of the roaring cascade. The weight of his recent past – the burning towers of Troy, the cries of the dying, the hollow victory that tasted more of ash than glory – pressed upon him. Ten long years. Ten years of blood, strategy, and loss. He was a man desperate for home, for the scent of Ithaca's shores, for the faces of Penelope and Telemachus, yet here he stood, on the threshold of another unknown, facing a power that dwarfed any mortal king or hero he had ever encountered. This was not a witch, nor a sly nymph, as far as his instincts could tell; this was something more primal, more deeply woven into the fabric of existence itself.

Eureka's luminous eyes, ancient and profound, did not waver. The golden flecks within them seemed to swirl, like galaxies in miniature, holding depths of knowledge that could drown a man's sanity. When she finally spoke again, her voice, though still carrying that resonant, elemental quality, held a new note – perhaps a hint of weariness, or a deep-seated understanding of the nature of men like him, men who carried the stench of battle even in their pleas for peace.

"The island's song," Eureka began, her gaze sweeping over Perimos, who still stood enraptured, a gentle, almost beatific smile on his face, "is one of life, King of Ithaca. Of growth, of balance, of the intricate dance between predator and prey, bloom and decay. It is a symphony of existence, raw and untamed, a melody that has played since the dawn of this world, long before your kind first learned to shape bronze or whisper prayers to the sky-dwellers." She made a subtle gesture with a slender hand, a movement as fluid as water, and Perimos blinked, his eyes slowly refocusing. The blissful, vacant smile faded, replaced by a look of dazed confusion, then dawning awareness of his surroundings and the formidable company. He stumbled back a step, his eyes wide as he took in Odysseus, then Eurylocus, and finally, the goddess herself, his face paling.

"Captain?" Perimos croaked, his voice hoarse, his hand instinctively reaching for the spear he had dropped. "What... what happened? I... I heard... music. Such music..."

"You were listening, sailor," Eureka said, her voice softening almost imperceptibly as she addressed him, a hint of something that might have been sympathy in its ethereal tones, though her eyes quickly returned to Odysseus. "To something beautiful and overwhelming. You are unharmed. The island found your spirit... receptive."

Odysseus watched his man, relieved to see him coherent, though clearly shaken and now properly terrified. He gave Perimos a curt nod, a silent order to remain still and silent. He then turned his full attention back to Eureka. "And its guardian? What does she require of those who, by chance or fate, find themselves upon her shores?" He deliberately kept his tone respectful, yet firm. He was a king, after all, not a mere supplicant, though he knew better than to provoke a deity whose power was so tangibly manifest, a power that seemed to emanate from the very soil beneath his feet, from the air he breathed.

A faint, almost imperceptible sigh, like the rustling of leaves in a phantom wind, seemed to emanate from Eureka. It was a sound that spoke of ages, of solitude, of watching the slow turn of millennia. "This island, Odysseus, is a sanctuary. It has remained untouched by the... ambitions... of your kind for eons." Her eyes, for a moment, seemed to hold a shadow, a reflection of sorrows witnessed or perhaps foreseen, a weariness that transcended mortal understanding. "It is a place of peace, of rejuvenation. Not of conquest, nor of plunder. It is a lung of the world, breathing life, and it has little patience for those who would fill it with smoke and screams."

Her gaze sharpened, pinning Odysseus with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. "You come fresh from war, I can feel it on you. The scent of bronze and blood, the echoes of screams, the weariness of a soul stretched taut by conflict. It clings to you like grave dust, King of Ithaca. You and your men carry the storm of human strife into my calm."

Odysseus did not flinch, though her words struck chords deep within him, resonating with the clang of sword on shield, the snap of oar, the lament of women. It was the truth. The Trojan War, a decade of his life sacrificed at the altar of a stolen queen and broken oaths, was a brand upon his spirit, a shadow that even the bright sun of this vibrant isle could not entirely dispel. He thought of the fields of Scamander, running red, of Hector's noble fall, of the city's lament, of the faces of his own men, lost to spear or sickness. This island, with its vibrant life and overwhelming peace, was a stark, almost painful contrast to the desolation they had wrought and endured.

"We do," he admitted, his voice gravelly, the admission costing him a measure of pride, yet necessary. "Ten years we fought before the walls of Troy. Ten years away from our homes, our families. We seek only to rest, to gather what sustenance your island freely offers, and to repair our ship, that we might continue our journey homeward. We are not conquerors here, Great Goddess. We are merely... tired men, yearning for peace, for a moment's respite before we face the sea's embrace once more."

Eurylocus, ever practical but clearly unnerved by the sheer force of Eureka's presence, lowered his sword slightly further, though his grip remained tight. His knuckles were white. "We ask only for your forbearance, Divine One," he rumbled, his voice rougher than usual. "A chance to mend our wounds and our vessel. We have no quarrel with you or this place." He glanced at Odysseus, seeking reassurance, but his captain's attention was solely on the goddess.

Polites, ever the gentle soul, took a hesitant step forward, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and a desperate plea. He had always been more attuned to the whispers of nature than the clang of battle, and this place, this being, resonated with him in a way that Troy never could. "Your island is... it is the most beautiful place I have ever seen, Lady," he said, his voice soft but earnest. "We would do nothing to mar its perfection. The creatures here... they seem to know no fear of men." He gestured vaguely to a brilliantly plumed bird that had landed on a branch nearby, observing them with curious, intelligent eyes. "We only wish to survive, to see our homes again. To feel the soil of Ithaca beneath our feet."

Eureka listened, her head tilted, her expression unreadable as a stone idol's, yet her eyes, those captivating pools of galactic-blue and starlight gold, seemed to absorb their words, their fears, their desperate hopes. The golden flecks within them seemed to pulse slowly, rhythmically, like a slow, ancient heartbeat. She was, Odysseus realized with a certainty that chilled him despite the humid air, not just listening to their words, but to the intent behind them, perhaps even to the very beat of their hearts, the subtle shifts in their scent, the silent confessions of their souls.

"Survival," she mused, her voice a low hum that vibrated in Odysseus's bones. "A powerful motivator. And home... a potent dream. One that drives men to acts of great courage, and sometimes, great folly." She took another step, closer now, and Odysseus could feel the subtle shift in the air around her, a coolness that was not unpleasant, but undeniably other, like the air from a deep cave or the breath of winter in a summer land. The scent of unknown blossoms and damp earth intensified, mingled with something else – ozone, perhaps, or the scent of magic itself. "This island offers much, King of Ithaca. Its bounty is generous to those who respect its rhythms, to those who understand that to take is also to give, in some measure."

Her gaze swept over them once more, lingering on each man – on Elpenor, still trembling near the edge of the clearing; on Perimos, now looking thoroughly chastened and awed; on Eurylocus, his warrior's suspicion warring with a grudging respect; on Polites, his gentle heart seemingly captivated. Finally, her eyes returned to Odysseus, and they held him fast.

"I require no sacrifices of blood or gold, as some of your distant, hungry gods might demand." A flicker of something that might have been disdain crossed her features for the briefest of moments. "My price is simpler, yet perhaps more challenging for men such as you, men steeped in the ways of taking what you desire by force or by cunning."

She paused, letting her words hang in the air, the roar of the waterfall serving as a dramatic underscore, each droplet of mist seeming to carry the weight of her pronouncement.

"Respect," she stated, her voice gaining a steely edge that belied her ethereal appearance. "You will take only what you need, not what you covet. You will harm no living creature beyond the necessity of that need – and even then, you will do so with reverence, understanding the life you extinguish. You will leave no scar upon this land that time itself cannot heal. You will treat this sanctuary not as a resource to be plundered, but as a host whose hospitality you have been granted. Its roots run deeper than your understanding, its memory is longer than your generations."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, focusing on Odysseus with an intensity that made him feel as though she were peering into the very depths of his famed cunning, stripping away the layers of artifice he so often employed. "And you, Odysseus, son of Laertes, known for your wiles and your silver tongue... you will be honest with me. For this island hears all whispers, and I am its ears and its voice. Your deceptions may fool mortals, even some lesser immortals, but here, they will be as transparent as the clearest stream."

The implication was clear: deceit would not be tolerated and would likely bring swift, unimaginable retribution.

"These are my public terms," Eureka declared, her voice resonating with the quiet authority of the earth itself. "Abide by them, and you and your men may rest here, gather your strength, and depart when you are ready. Defy them... and you will find that this island, which offers such gentle sustenance, can also be a formidable adversary. Its beauty is matched only by its capacity to defend itself."

A thick vine, laden with trumpet-shaped flowers of an impossible blue, slowly snaked down from an overhanging branch, coiling gently around her arm as if in affirmation, its blossoms turning towards Odysseus like silent, watchful eyes. The very air seemed to wait for his response. He had faced ultimatums before, from kings and monsters alike, but never from a being who seemed to embody the very essence of the world around them. This was not a negotiation of power against power, but of mortal need against primal law.

Odysseus felt the weight of his crew's expectant gazes, even without looking at them. Eurylocus would counsel caution, perhaps even a swift departure if possible, though their ship was in no state for that. Polites would urge acceptance, charmed by the island's beauty and the goddess's strange majesty. Elpenor and Perimos would simply want to survive.

He met Eureka's gaze. "Your terms are... clear, Great Goddess. And for the sanctuary you offer, they seem just." He paused. "We accept them."

A ripple seemed to pass through the clearing, a collective exhalation from his men. Even the vibrant foliage around Eureka seemed to soften slightly.

But then, Eureka's expression shifted subtly. A new light, one that Odysseus could not quite decipher, entered her eyes. "Those are the terms for your men, King of Ithaca. For you... there is something more."

A knot tightened in Odysseus's stomach. He had anticipated this. Such power rarely came without a more personal price, especially for one such as he.

She raised a hand, a gesture that was not dismissive but clearly indicated privacy. "Your companions may return to their tasks. What I have to say now is for your ears alone, Odysseus."

Eurylocus looked ready to protest, his protective instincts flaring. "Captain, I do not think—"

"It is alright, Eurylocus," Odysseus said, his voice calm, though his mind was anything but. He gave his trusted lieutenant a reassuring look. "The goddess has granted us her protection, under conditions. I will hear what else she has to say. Take Perimos and Elpenor, see to the men. Begin setting up a temporary camp – well away from this sacred place. Polites, you may stay if the goddess permits, your gentle nature might be... appreciated here." He wasn't sure why he added that, but Polites' genuine awe seemed to be the only thing that hadn't put the goddess on immediate edge.

Eureka inclined her head slightly towards Polites. "The quiet one may remain. His spirit is... less discordant."

Polites flushed with a mixture of surprise and pleasure, bowing his head deeply. Eurylocus, though still visibly reluctant and suspicious, grunted his assent. He gave Odysseus one last searching look, then motioned for the other two men. "Come. We have work to do. And stay clear of any more... singing glades." He herded Perimos and Elpenor away, their backward glances filled with trepidation and awe.

Soon, only Odysseus, a still-entranced Polites standing respectfully at a distance, and Eureka remained by the thundering waterfall. The sound of the water seemed to grow louder, cocooning them in a sphere of sound and mist.

Eureka watched Odysseus, her expression unreadable. "You are a man of many layers, Odysseus. A king, a warrior, a husband, a father... a weaver of tales and a master of disguise. Your heart is a labyrinth."

"One learns to be many things to survive what I have survived, Goddess," Odysseus replied, his voice low.

"Indeed." She moved closer, so close he could see the almost imperceptible pulse of light within her skin, smell the scent of rain on dry earth and the perfume of a thousand unknown flowers that clung to her. Her presence was overwhelming, not in a crushing way, but like standing before a vast ocean or beneath a sky filled with countless stars – a sense of profound, humbling immensity.

"The island has granted you its temporary peace," she said, her voice now a softer murmur, almost lost beneath the waterfall's roar, yet every word was crystal clear to him. "But I, its guardian, require a different token from you. Not of gold, nor of sacrifice, nor even of simple obedience to the rules I have laid down for your men."

She paused, her luminous eyes searching his, as if seeking something specific within the depths of his much-storied cunning. "You have a... unique destiny, Odysseus. Threads of fate cling to you, thicker and more tangled than for most mortals. You are a fulcrum, a point upon which great events may turn."

Odysseus remained silent, his mind racing. What did she see? What did she want?

"My request is this," Eureka continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, a secret shared between them and the ancient stones of the waterfall. "There will come a time, perhaps soon, perhaps in the long years of your journey yet to unfold, when you will face a choice. A choice that will seem to have no right answer, where every path leads to loss or betrayal, perhaps even the betrayal of your own heart or the principles you hold dear."

Her eyes held his, unwavering. "When that moment comes, Odysseus, I ask that you remember this island. Remember this sanctuary, this brief peace you were granted. And in that moment of impossible choice, I ask for a promise."

"A promise?" Odysseus asked, his throat suddenly dry.

"A promise," she affirmed. "You will not speak of it to any other soul, not even your most trusted companion, not even your beloved Penelope when you finally reach her side. This is a vow between you and me, and the spirit of this isle."

Her gaze was hypnotic. "The nature of the choice, the specifics of the sacrifice, I cannot tell you, for the threads of fate are ever-shifting, and to speak too plainly is to invite their distortion. But you will know it when it arrives. It will reek of despair and necessity."

She leaned closer still, her breath like a cool mist on his face. "When that time comes, Odysseus, you will make one decision, however small it may seem, however insignificant in the grand tapestry of your struggles, in my name. One act, one word, one moment of forbearance or one moment of unexpected action, dedicated silently to Eureka, to the spirit of this untouched place. It will be an act that aligns not with glory, nor with cunning for your own gain, nor even with the most obvious path to your own survival or the dictates of your other gods. It will be an act... of true balance. Of unexpected preservation. Or perhaps, of necessary, selfless letting go."

Odysseus stared at her, the implications of her words settling upon him like a shroud. This was no simple boon she asked. It was a piece of his future, a claim on his will in a moment yet unknown, a secret that would bind him to her in a way that transcended mere hospitality. It was a test, wrapped in an enigma.

"And what if I refuse this... secret vow?" he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

A faint smile, the first he had seen, touched Eureka's lips. It was not a warm smile, but one of ancient, knowing power. "Then your stay here will be... significantly shorter. And the island's memory of your passage far less gentle. The respect I asked for earlier? It becomes a fragile thing without this deeper understanding between us." The air around them grew colder by a noticeable degree, the vibrant flowers seeming to dull slightly, the roar of the waterfall taking on a more menacing tone.

Odysseus considered. His men needed this island. He needed this island. The alternative was to face the sea in their battered state, a near-certain doom. And this goddess... she was not one to be trifled with. Her power was not just in her command of the island, but in her unnerving insight.

"And if I agree?"

The air warmed again, the colors brightened. "Then the sanctuary is truly yours, for as long as you respect its laws. And I... I will have a small anchor of my will in the turbulent world of men, through a man who is destined to stir its waters profoundly. A small price, perhaps, for the peace this island offers your war-weary soul."

He looked into her ancient eyes, seeing the weight of eons, the solitude of her guardianship. This was not a whim, but something deeply considered, something tied to her very essence and her connection to the world beyond her shores.

Slowly, deliberately, Odysseus nodded. "I, Odysseus, son of Laertes, King of Ithaca, give you my vow, Eureka, Guardian of this Isle. In that moment of impossible choice, I will act in your name, as you have described. This secret shall remain mine alone."

Eureka's faint smile deepened, a subtle shift that nonetheless seemed to make the very sunlight filtering through the canopy grow warmer, more welcoming. "The island accepts your oath, Odysseus." The vine around her arm pulsed with a soft blue light, then slowly retracted. "And so do I."

She stepped back, the intense intimacy of their shared secret receding, replaced by her more formal, divine bearing. "Polites," she called, her voice once again carrying its elemental resonance. The young man, who had been watching them with wide, uncomprehending eyes, started. "You may guide your captain back to his men. Show him the paths that are safe, the fruits that are wholesome, the waters that are pure. And convey to your companions that the eyes of the island are always upon them. Not with malice, unless provoked, but with... watchfulness."

Polites bowed low. "Yes, Great Goddess. With utmost respect."

Eureka turned her gaze one last time to Odysseus. There was a new understanding in her eyes, a shared secret that now bound them. "Rest well, King of Ithaca. Your journey is far from over."

With that, she turned and, with a grace that seemed to defy mortal movement, she stepped towards the waterfall. Instead of being battered by its force, the water seemed to part for her, embracing her, and in a shimmer of mist and refracted light, she was gone, as if she had merged with the cascade itself, becoming one with the living heart of her island.

Odysseus stood for a long moment, the roar of the waterfall filling his ears, the weight of his new, secret vow settling into his soul. This island was more than just a respite; it was now a marker in his fate, its guardian a silent, watchful presence in his future. He had bought his men safety, but at what personal cost, only time would tell.

"Captain?" Polites' hesitant voice broke through his reverie. "Are you... are you alright?"

Odysseus drew a deep breath, the air rich with the scent of life. He forced a reassuring smile for his young crewman. "I am, Polites. More than alright. We have found a true sanctuary." He clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Now, lead on. Show me these safe paths. Our men will be eager for good news, and for the bounty this island promises."

As they walked away from the sacred waterfall, Odysseus glanced back. The place looked serene, beautiful, untouched. But he knew. He knew that beneath that beauty lay an ancient power, a watchful consciousness, and a secret oath that now tied his destiny to the enigmatic goddess named Eureka. The Trojan War had ended, but his own, personal odyssey, it seemed, was taking on new, unforeseen complexities. The gods, in their infinite and often cruel wisdom, were far from finished with Odysseus, son of Laertes.

Later, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the temporary camp his men had begun to erect in a sheltered cove, Odysseus stood apart, watching the waves. He had relayed Eureka's public terms to his crew, emphasizing the need for absolute respect and restraint. They had listened, sobered by Elpenor's and Perimos's accounts, and by the sheer alienness of what their captain described. There was fear, yes, but also a grudging relief. They were safe, for now. They had food, fresh water, and a place to repair their battered vessel.

Eurylocus approached him, his weathered face creased with concern. "She asked more of you, didn't she, Captain? When we left." It wasn't a question.

Odysseus looked at his loyal second-in-command, a man who had faced death with him countless times. The urge to confide, to share the burden of this strange new vow, was strong. But Eureka's words echoed in his mind: "You will not speak of it to any other soul..."

He managed a wry smile. "All goddesses have their enigmatic ways, Eurylocus. She merely wished to ensure the King of Ithaca understood the depth of her... hospitality." He clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Let us focus on the present. Getting the ships seaworthy, resting our men. This island is a gift, let's not squander it."

Eurylocus grunted, not entirely convinced, but he knew better than to press his captain when Odysseus wore that particular guarded expression. "As you say, Captain. The men are already speaking of this place as 'The Isle of Wonders.' Let's hope the wonders don't turn into nightmares."

Odysseus nodded, his gaze turning back to the darkening sea. Wonders or nightmares, he had made his bargain. And the name Eureka was now etched into the hidden ledger of his soul. The journey home had just acquired another layer of peril, another thread of fate, known only to him and the silent, watchful goddess of the uncharted isle.

The temporary camp, nestled in a relatively sheltered cove a respectful distance from the thundering majesty of Eureka's waterfall, hummed with a subdued activity that belied the undercurrent of unease. Fires crackled, casting dancing shadows on the faces of Odysseus's weary men as they mended nets, sharpened tools, or simply stared into the flames, lost in their own thoughts of battles past and the uncertain journey ahead. The air was thick with the scent of roasting fish, wild herbs, and the salty tang of the sea, a comforting familiarity in this profoundly alien land. Yet, despite the bounty they had begun to gather under Polites's careful guidance – fruits of unimaginable sweetness, tubers that roasted to a fluffy perfection, clean water from a swift-flowing stream – an invisible tension held the camp in its grip. Every rustle in the dense jungle beyond the firelight, every unfamiliar night bird's call, seemed to echo the presence of the island's enigmatic guardian.

Odysseus sat on a log near the largest fire, observing his men. He had relayed Eureka's public terms, emphasizing the need for absolute respect and restraint. They had listened, their faces a mixture of relief at being granted sanctuary and a deep-seated awe, tinged with fear, for the being who commanded such a place. Elpenor and Perimos, in particular, spoke in hushed tones of the goddess's power, their earlier terror now transmuted into a kind of reverent caution.

As the evening deepened, and most of the crew had either sought their bedrolls or were murmuring quietly amongst themselves, Eurylocus approached Odysseus, his weathered face etched with a familiar blend of loyalty and skepticism. Polites, who had been meticulously sorting edible berries by a smaller fire, noticed their captain and lieutenant drawing apart and, after a moment's hesitation, drifted closer, his expression earnest and concerned.

"A word, Captain?" Eurylocus began, his voice low, though it still carried the gruffness of a man more comfortable with orders than with diplomatic subtleties. He cast a wary glance towards the dark mass of the jungle that separated them from the waterfall. "This... goddess. Her terms for the men are clear enough, and fair, I'll grant. But the ones she kept for you alone? Those sit uneasily with me."

Odysseus had anticipated this. Eurylocus, his most steadfast and pragmatic officer, was not one to let mysteries lie, especially when they concerned his captain's welfare. "She is the guardian of this isle, Eurylocus," Odysseus replied, his tone even, though he avoided his friend's direct gaze, instead watching the flames writhe. "It is her right to lay down conditions for our stay, and for my leadership of the men who trespass upon her domain."

"Trespass is the word," Eurylocus grumbled, folding his thick arms. "And deities, in my experience, rarely grant favors without exacting a steep price. What price did she name for you, Odysseus? What oath did she bind you with while we were conveniently dismissed?" His eyes, sharp and knowing, narrowed. "You've been... distant since your private audience. More so than usual."

Polites, ever the peacemaker, interjected softly, "Eurylocus, surely the Great Lady Eureka means us no ill. She granted us sanctuary when she could have destroyed us. Her eyes... they held such ancient wisdom, not malice. And the island itself... it feels... welcoming, if we respect it." He gestured around them. "Look at the bounty she allows us. Perimos said the music he heard was the most beautiful thing imaginable."

"Beauty can be a deceptive lure, Polites," Eurylocus retorted, though his tone softened slightly at the younger man's earnestness. "And 'wisdom' in a goddess can often translate to unfathomable designs that mortals like us are but pawns in. The captain carries the fate of all of us. A secret pact with a being of such power... it's a risk. A variable we cannot account for." He turned back to Odysseus, his gaze insistent. "I've followed you through Hades' gates and back, Odysseus. I trust your judgment. But I also know when something weighs upon you. What did she truly ask of you?"

Odysseus sighed, the weariness of more than just the day settling upon him. He couldn't reveal the specifics of the vow; Eureka's command had been absolute. The secret itself felt like a living thing, coiled in his heart. "She asked for an assurance, Eurylocus. A promise that my famed cunning would not be turned against her or this isle. That the respect I demand of our men would be genuinely reflected in my own intentions." He chose his words carefully, skirting the true nature of the vow. "She sees... deeply. She knows the reputation that precedes me. It was a test of my sincerity, nothing more."

Eurylocus grunted, unconvinced. "A test of sincerity that required privacy? Most tests are public, to witness the truth of the response." His eyes searched Odysseus's face. "There's more. I can see it. Does this 'assurance' put you, or us, in future jeopardy? Does it conflict with our ultimate goal – Ithaca?"

"All dealings with the divine carry inherent risks, you know that," Odysseus said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. He stood, stretching his tired limbs. "Her terms, both public and private, are ultimately bent towards preserving this place. As long as we honor that, we are safe here. And Ithaca... Ithaca remains the guiding star, Eurylocus. Nothing changes that." He clapped his lieutenant on the shoulder, a gesture of reassurance he didn't fully feel. "Rest. We have much work ahead to make the ship seaworthy."

Eurylocus held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded slowly, the suspicion still lingering in his eyes but his immediate challenge receding. "Very well, Captain. But if this 'assurance' begins to smell like a siren's song, I'll trust my nose over any divine pronouncements." He turned and walked back towards his own sleeping quarters, a brooding silhouette against the firelight.

Polites looked at Odysseus, his youthful face troubled. "He worries for you, Captain. For all of us. This place is... powerful. The air itself feels different."

"He is a good man, Polites. And a cautious one, which has saved our skins more than once," Odysseus acknowledged. "But some powers must be met with acceptance, not suspicion, especially when they hold the keys to our survival." He offered a small, tired smile. "Do not fret. The goddess is... formidable, but her immediate concerns seem aligned with our own need for respite."

Polites nodded, though a flicker of unease remained in his eyes. He soon bid his captain goodnight, leaving Odysseus alone with his thoughts and the dying embers of the fire. The secret vow felt heavier now, having brushed against Eurylocus's pointed scrutiny. It wasn't the public terms that gnawed at him, but that other, deeply personal promise – to make a choice, an act, in Eureka's name, in some future, undefined moment of crisis. An act of "true balance," she had called it. What did that even mean for a man whose life had been a constant struggle for advantage, for survival, for victory? And her words about it being tied to matters of the heart, of connection, of selfless letting go... those resonated with a strange, unsettling familiarity, like a half-forgotten dream. What impossible choice involving love or sacrifice awaited him?

Sleep refused to come. The sounds of the camp faded into a rhythmic breathing, but Odysseus's mind was a turbulent sea. He rose, the need to understand more, to perhaps glean some further insight into Eureka's enigmatic request, pulling at him. He had to speak with her again, away from the ears of his men. He had to grasp the true depth of the waters he was now navigating.

He moved like a wraith through the sleeping camp, his bare feet making no sound on the sandy soil. The moon, a silver sliver in the star-dusted sky, offered little light, but his eyes, accustomed to the gloom of night watches and shadowed battlefields, guided him. He found the faint trail leading back towards the interior of the island, towards the distant, muted roar of the waterfall.

The jungle at night was a different entity altogether. Shapes that were familiar by day became monstrous and alien in the dark. The air was cool, damp, and alive with the chirps, clicks, and rustlings of nocturnal creatures. Strange, bioluminescent fungi glowed with an eerie light on fallen logs and the trunks of ancient trees, casting pools of ghostly blue and green. The path was harder to follow, but a faint, almost imperceptible hum, similar to the one he'd felt before encountering Eureka, seemed to draw him onward, a subtle vibration in the air, in the earth beneath his feet.

After what felt like an age, the sound of rushing water grew stronger, and a new light began to filter through the dense canopy ahead – not the pale silver of the moon, nor the ghostly glow of the fungi, but a soft, pulsating luminescence, warm and inviting. He pushed through a final curtain of broad, velvety leaves and stopped, his breath catching in his throat.

He had not reached the main waterfall. This was a smaller, more secluded place, a hidden sanctuary within the larger sanctuary. A tranquil pond, perfectly circular, lay nestled in a clearing, its surface shimmering with an internal light, as if liquid moonlight were trapped within its depths. The water was impossibly clear, revealing a sandy bottom strewn with what looked like smooth, glowing stones. Steam rose in gentle wisps from its surface, carrying the scent of exotic blossoms and something else, something clean and vital, like the air after a spring rain. The source of the pond's glow seemed to be the stones themselves, and perhaps the water, imbued with the island's unique magic.

And there, in the center of the glowing pond, her back to him, was Eureka.

She was naked, her slender form illuminated by the pond's ethereal light. Her skin, which had seemed alabaster by day, now possessed a pearlescent sheen, reflecting the blues and golds of the water. Her hair, that incredible cascade of spun moonlight, fanned out around her on the surface of the water like a silver halo. She was humming, a quiet, wordless tune that seemed to resonate not just in the air, but deep within Odysseus's bones, a melody that was both melancholic and profoundly peaceful, the island's own lullaby. The garment she had worn by the waterfall, which he'd initially perceived as a deep, shifting green in the tumultuous spray and filtered light, now lay discarded on a smooth, moss-covered rock at the pond's edge – a simple shift of the palest, sky-like blue, almost white, like the heart of a cloud. Her eyes, as she slowly turned her head, alerted to his presence not by sound but by some other, deeper sense, were as he now clearly saw them: the mesmerizing blue of a twilight galaxy, lit from within by swirling flecks of floating gold.

Odysseus froze, a sudden heat rising to his face. He had sought her out, yes, but he had not expected... this. He was a man of the world, a man who had known many women, divine and mortal, but the sheer, unselfconscious divinity of Eureka in this moment, her natural nudity in this sacred, glowing place, was disarming in a way no seductress's artifice had ever been. It wasn't provocative; it was elemental, as if she were a part of the pond, the light, the island itself.

"Odysseus, son of Laertes," her voice was softer here, without the need to carry over the roar of the larger waterfall, yet it still held that resonant, timeless quality. It was like the gentle lapping of water against stone. "You seek me out in the heart of the night. Does your mind find no peace, even in my sanctuary?"

He swallowed, trying to regain his composure, acutely aware of his intrusion. "Forgive my disturbance, Great Goddess," he managed, his voice a little hoarse. "I... I had questions. Thoughts that would not rest." He kept his gaze respectfully averted, though it was difficult not to be drawn to the luminous spectacle before him.

A small smile, enigmatic and knowing, touched her lips. "Questions are the seeds of understanding, or sometimes, of further confusion. This place... it encourages introspection." She gestured gracefully with a wet, slender arm towards the water beside her. "The pond is warm. Its waters soothe troubled spirits and clarify tangled thoughts. Will you join me? The island shares its comforts freely."

Odysseus blinked, his mind momentarily blanking. Join her? Naked? In a glowing, magical pond? He, a mortal king, with a goddess of unimaginable power and ethereal beauty? He could feel the blush deepen on his neck and ears. "I... uh... Great Goddess, that is... most generous. But I... I am not... that is, it would not be appropriate..." He stammered, a rare occurrence for the famously eloquent hero of Ithaca. He was used to navigating treacherous political waters, facing down monsters, and charming his way out of deadly situations, but this casual, innocent invitation from a nude deity had thrown him completely off balance.

Eureka tilted her head, her galaxy-blue eyes regarding him with a flicker of what might have been amusement, or perhaps simple curiosity at his mortal discomfort. "Appropriate?" she mused, the word sounding alien on her tongue. "This is a place of cleansing, Odysseus, of shedding burdens. Modesty is a garment woven by mortal fears and societal constraints. Here, such things have little meaning. The water accepts all, judges none." She smiled again, a serene, untroubled expression. "But, as you wish. Your kind clings to its curious customs." She didn't seem offended, merely observant.

Odysseus let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "My customs are... deeply ingrained, Goddess." He cleared his throat. "Perhaps I can... speak from the edge?"

"As you will." She settled back slightly in the water, the gentle currents caressing her form. The golden flecks in her eyes seemed to dance. "Speak then, King of Ithaca. What weighs so heavily upon your mind that it drives you from your bed and into the deep night?"

He gathered his thoughts, the initial shock receding, replaced by the urgency of his purpose. "Your... your request, Goddess. The vow you extracted from me by the great waterfall." He paused, choosing his words with care. "You spoke of a moment of impossible choice, of an act in your name. An act of 'true balance,' of 'unexpected preservation,' or 'selfless letting go.' You hinted it would touch upon matters of the heart, of connection." He looked at her, trying to read her expression in the shifting, luminous water. "Such a vow is... heavy. And vague. I am a man who prefers to understand the terms of his bargains, the nature of the path he is set upon."

Eureka listened, her gaze unwavering. "And you believe that by understanding its every contour now, you can better navigate it then? Or perhaps, find a way to turn it to your advantage, as is your nature?" There was no accusation in her tone, merely a statement of perceived fact.

"I seek only to comprehend the depth of my commitment," Odysseus countered, though he knew there was truth in her assessment. "To act blindly is the path of fools, not kings."

"And yet, Odysseus," she said softly, "some of the most profound acts, those that truly shift the balance, are born not of careful calculation, but of an instinct that springs from the heart's deepest well, often in defiance of logic. The choice I spoke of will not be one that your renowned intellect can easily dissect and solve like one of your battlefield stratagems. It will be a test of a different kind of wisdom."

She trailed a hand through the glowing water, sending ripples of light across the surface. "You ask for clarity on what is, by its nature, shrouded in the mists of what-is-to-come. I cannot give you a map for a territory that does not yet fully exist. But I can tell you this: the 'love' it may involve is not necessarily the romantic folly your poets sing of. It can be the fierce love of a father for his child, the unwavering loyalty between comrades, the deep, abiding connection to one's people and homeland, or even," her eyes met his, a sudden, piercing intensity in their depths, "the unexpected, unlooked-for bond that can form between two disparate souls brought together by fate's strange currents."

Odysseus felt a shiver trace his spine, unrelated to the cool night air. Her words, her gaze, seemed to hint at something more personal, something that resonated with the strange pull he felt towards this enigmatic being.

"The act itself," she continued, "will likely be one where your usual methods – your clever deceptions, your strategic retreats, your carefully weighed risks – will fall short, or lead to a greater loss. It will require you to perhaps sacrifice a part of what you hold dear, or what you believe defines you, for a principle that seems... counterintuitive to your immediate survival or ambition. It will be an act that honors life, honors connection, honors the delicate, often unseen, threads that bind the world together, threads your war-torn eyes may have forgotten how to see."

He pondered her words. It was still maddeningly vague, yet he sensed a profound truth within them. This was not a task to be accomplished, but a state of being to be achieved in a critical moment. "And how will I know this act is for you? How will I distinguish it from the myriad other desperate choices a man in my position is forced to make?"

"Oh, you will know, Odysseus," she said with a quiet certainty that brooked no argument. "There will be a resonance, a whisper from this island carried on the wind, a memory of this pond, of my voice. A feeling that this particular choice, this singular path, however difficult, aligns with the essence of what I am, of what this sanctuary represents. It will feel... right, in a way that transcends your usual calculations of profit and loss."

He was silent for a long moment, absorbing this. It was as much as he was likely to get.

Then, Eureka's demeanor shifted. A new light came into her eyes, a spark of something that looked like... decision. "Your journey home, Odysseus, will be fraught with perils far greater than storms or treacherous currents. The gods themselves have wagers on your fate. Poseidon's wrath is not easily appeased. And there are other, older powers, shadows that stir in the deep places of the world, who may take an unwelcome interest in a man who carries such a destiny as yours."

She rose slightly in the water, the glowing droplets cascading from her shoulders. "I have considered this. And I have decided that the passive granting of sanctuary is... insufficient. Both for your chances, and perhaps," a flicker of something unreadable crossed her face, "for my own interests in seeing how your particular thread weaves through the tapestry."

Odysseus felt a prickle of alarm. "Goddess? What do you mean?"

"I mean, King of Ithaca," she said, her voice taking on a new resolve, "that I will accompany you."

The world seemed to tilt. Odysseus stared at her, dumbfounded. "Accompany... me? You? A goddess of your power? Leave this island... your sanctuary?" He couldn't fathom it. "But... why? And how? Your men, my men... they would never understand. The other gods... they would surely notice. It would invite disaster!"

Eureka smiled, a slow, calm smile that held a hint of ancient, playful cunning, a reflection, perhaps, of the man she was addressing. "As for why, let us say I have a vested interest in the outcome of the vow you have made. And perhaps... the long ages of guardianship have bred a certain... curiosity about the world beyond my shores. A desire to witness firsthand the currents you are so determined to navigate."

She began to move towards the edge of the pond, her movements fluid and graceful as a swan's. "As for how... do you think a being who can command the very lifeblood of an island cannot weave a disguise convincing enough for mortal eyes? Or even for the often-distracted eyes of Olympus?" She reached the edge where he stood, and with an effortless movement, rose from the water, standing before him in her luminous, naked divinity. The glowing water streamed from her body, pooling at her feet before being reabsorbed into the pond.

Odysseus, despite himself, despite his earlier resolve, felt the blood rush to his face again. He quickly averted his gaze, turning his head aside, a strangled noise escaping his throat. He was a king, a warrior, a veteran of countless brutal encounters, but the sheer, unapologetic presence of her, so close, so undeniably female and powerful, was overwhelming. He felt like a clumsy youth, all hands and feet and burning ears.

A light, musical laugh, like the chiming of tiny silver bells, escaped Eureka's lips. "Oh, Odysseus. For all your worldly experience, you mortals are endearingly... flustered by the simple truth of the body. It is but a vessel." He could feel her presence beside him, the cool aura of her skin, the faint scent of otherworldly blossoms. A slender, cool hand touched his arm, and he flinched as if burned.

"Do not be so alarmed," she murmured, her voice close to his ear. He could feel her breath, a cool whisper. Her touch, though light, sent a jolt through him. "I will not devour you." There was amusement in her tone, but also a hint of something else, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "When I join you, it will be as one who is... unassuming. A healer, perhaps, or a quiet scholar of herbs and lore. Someone whose presence would not raise undue alarm. My true nature will be shielded, even from the gods, unless I choose to reveal it."

"But your island?" Odysseus stammered, still looking resolutely at a patch of glowing moss to his left. "Who will guard it? Who will tend to its needs?" This was his most logical, most pressing objection.

"My island will not be untended," Eureka said, her voice regaining some of its solemnity. "I have... arrangements. A part of my essence will always remain here, bound to the soil, the waters, the sky." Then, a softer note entered her voice, a warmth that was new. "And I have a daughter, Odysseus. One who shares my blood, and the blood of a swift-footed messenger of your own pantheon." A faint pride touched her tone. "She is young, as we measure time, but she is of this island, and the island knows her. She will watch in my stead. It will be... a good lesson for her in responsibility."

A daughter. With Hermes, no less. The information was startling, another layer to this already complex being. It also, perversely, made her seem slightly more... comprehensible, if a goddess with a divine child could ever be such a thing.

"I am sure you and your men will need my help, Odysseus," Eureka said, her fingers tightening slightly on his arm, drawing his attention, forcing him to at least partially turn his head. Her galaxy-blue eyes, now inches from his, were filled with a calm, unwavering certainty. "Your path is paved with suffering. I can ease some of it. I can offer guidance where your cunning alone may fail. I can be a shield against winds you cannot see." Her other hand came up to gently touch his cheek, her fingertips cool against his skin. It was an intimate gesture, one that sent a confusing cascade of sensations through him – alarm, awareness, a strange, unexpected flicker of... something else he dared not name.

"Think about it, King of Ithaca," she whispered, her lips curving into that enigmatic smile. "The offer is made. When the dawn comes, and you prepare to face the world again, my decision will stand. Whether you welcome my aid or not... I will be there."

And then, as suddenly as she had appeared in his life, she was gone. Not in a theatrical burst of light or smoke, but simply... not there. One moment, her cool presence, her scent, her touch, were all-encompassing; the next, there was only the quiet hum of the glowing pond, the murmur of the night jungle, and Odysseus, standing alone, his heart pounding, his skin tingling where she had touched him. He spun around, but the clearing was empty, save for the discarded light blue garment still resting on the mossy rock. It was as if she had been a dream, a figment of his tired, overwrought mind. But the lingering scent of her, the echo of her voice, the very real thumping in his chest, told him otherwise.

He stood there for a long time, the silence of the sacred place pressing in on him. A goddess. A powerful, ancient goddess, intended to join his crew, disguised as a mortal. To aid him. Or perhaps, to ensure her own mysterious agenda through him. The implications were staggering. It was one thing to receive conditional sanctuary; it was another entirely to have a deity as a shipmate.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering breath, Odysseus turned and began the trek back to his sleeping camp. His mind was a battlefield of conflicting thoughts. Prudence screamed at him to refuse, to insist that she remain. Her presence, however disguised, would be a constant risk, a potential magnet for divine attention, for monstrous attack. Yet... her words about the perils ahead, about Poseidon's wrath, about older, darker powers... those rang with a chilling truth. He had already faced so much, and he knew, with a warrior's grim certainty, that the worst was likely yet to come. Could he, in good conscience, refuse aid that might save his men, that might bring them all closer to Ithaca? And what of her secret vow, the one he had already made? Would her presence make its fulfillment easier, or infinitely more complicated?

He reached the edge of the camp, the fires now low embers, the forms of his men huddled lumps in the darkness. They looked so vulnerable, so fragile, these hardened veterans of Troy, sleeping under an alien sky, their fates resting squarely on his shoulders. A wave of protectiveness, fierce and profound, washed over him.

As he picked his way carefully towards his own meager shelter, a soft voice startled him, making him jump. "Captain?"

It was Polites, his young face pale in the starlight, his eyes wide and questioning. He was sitting up, wrapped in his cloak.

"Polites," Odysseus said, keeping his voice low. "What are you doing awake?"

"I... I couldn't sleep well, sir," the young man whispered. "I heard you leave. I was worried. Did you... did you go back to see The Lady Eureka?" There was a hopeful, almost fearful curiosity in his tone.

Odysseus hesitated. He could not tell the boy the truth, not all of it. "I... I went for a walk, Polites. To clear my head. The island is... potent. It stirs the thoughts." It was not entirely a lie.

Polites seemed to accept this, though his gaze remained searching. "Is everything alright, Captain? You seem... troubled."

"All is as well as it can be, my lad," Odysseus said, forcing a reassuring tone. He sat down on a nearby log, the weariness suddenly immense. "Just the usual burdens of command, and the long road ahead."

"She is very beautiful, isn't she, Captain?" Polites said suddenly, his voice barely a breath. "The Lady Eureka. Like... like a star fallen to earth. But her eyes... they see everything."

Odysseus looked at the young man, at his innocent awe. "She is... a power to be respected, Polites. And yes, she sees much."

They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the distant sigh of the surf and the chirping of crickets. Then Polites yawned, his head drooping. "I should try to sleep again, sir. We have much to do tomorrow, repairing the ship."

"You should, Polites. Rest is a weapon in this journey."

The young man nodded, settled back down into his cloak, and within moments, his breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep. He looked so peaceful, so trusting.

Odysseus remained seated, staring into the embers. His thoughts, unbidden, drifted to Ithaca. To Penelope, her steadfast loyalty, her sharp intellect, her warm embrace. He could almost smell the familiar scent of the olive groves, hear the bleating of his flocks, feel the rough wood of his oaken bed. Then, Telemachus. No longer a babe, but a young man, perhaps already shouldering responsibilities beyond his years. The ache of longing was a physical pain in his chest.

And then, inevitably, his thoughts circled back to the glowing pond, to the enigmatic goddess with galaxy eyes and a voice like the ancient earth. Eureka. Her impossible offer. Her unnerving insight. Her touch, cool and yet somehow burning. He felt a profound confusion, a sense of being caught in a current far stronger than any he had ever known. A goddess was going to join his crew. The idea was ludicrous, terrifying, and yet... a tiny, treacherous part of him, the part that had always thrived on the unpredictable, on the grand, impossible gesture, felt a flicker of something that might have been... anticipation.

He didn't know if he should welcome her or fear her. He didn't know if she was a savior or a subtle, beautiful trap. But he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that his journey had just become infinitely more dangerous, and perhaps, infinitely more extraordinary.

Finally, as the first, faint hint of grey began to lighten the eastern sky, Odysseus, King of Ithaca, hero of Troy, master of wiles, leaned his head back against the rough bark of a tree and, despite the turmoil in his soul, fell into an exhausted, dream-haunted sleep.

#epic the musical #epic x reader #epic fanfic #fluff #dxrlingluv #hermes x reader #odysseus x oc #odyssey #homers odyssey #epic hermes #epic odysseus #odysseus #odysseus x reader #epic the musical x reader #epic the troy saga #hermes x oc

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nayziiz · 1 year ago

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Shadows | LN4

Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.

Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

CHAPTER 1

Adam Norris, a man of unwavering intelligence and foresight, possessed a keen mind that proved to be the foundation of his family's success. Drawing wisdom from the teachings of his own father, he meticulously gathered knowledge that transcended generations. Adam's commitment to passing down this invaluable wealth of experience became evident as he shared it with his two sons, Oliver and Lando.

Oliver, the elder of the two brothers, entertained dreams beyond the confines of the family business. His aspirations leaned towards exploration and the creation of a family of his own, seeking a life that danced with the rhythm of distant lands and untold adventures. The allure of faraway places called out to him, shaping his aspirations far differently from the path his father had paved.

On the contrary, Lando demonstrated an early affinity for the intricacies of his father's business. From the tender age of thirteen, he became a silent observer in the boardroom, soaking in the nuances of negotiations and the delicate dance of corporate strategy. Lando's curiosity and natural acumen propelled him to actively engage in the family affairs, gradually transforming him into Adam's confidant and, eventually, his right-hand man.

As Lando navigated through the diverse facets of his father's enterprises, he embraced each challenge with determination and an appetite for learning. The evolution from a teenager attending meetings to a key player in his father's business empire was a testament to Lando's commitment and his father's trust in his capabilities.

The Norris legacy, steeped in generational wisdom and Lando's unwavering dedication, flourished under the guidance of a shrewd patriarch. The father-son duo forged a formidable partnership, where the torch of knowledge burned bright, illuminating the path for the next generation of Norris leaders.

Despite being a pivotal figure in the family business, Lando Norris's impulsive spending habits were a source of concern and consternation. His father, while recognizing the undeniable value Lando brought to the business, couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the financial whirlwind his son often found himself in.

Adam, pragmatic and stoic, seldom approved of Lando's extravagant expenditures. Yet, a nuanced understanding of his son's behaviour allowed Adam to chalk it up to Lando's yearning for the childhood he never fully embraced. The rationale was a blend of parental leniency and a desire for Lando to experience the joy and spontaneity that he might have missed in his earlier years.

However, the Norris family's financial stability faced a significant setback following a rocky investment. The losses were unforeseeable, and the blame could not be squarely placed on any one individual. The family found themselves at a crossroads, and it became clear that swift and decisive action was required to navigate the tumultuous financial waters.

Adam, burdened by the weight of the situation, turned to Lando, his son with the untamed spirit. Recognizing the need for Lando to step up and take charge, Adam appealed to his son's sense of responsibility and loyalty to the family. The family business, weathering the storm of financial hardship, required a leader capable of navigating through the tumultuous seas and steering it back towards prosperity.

In the hushed atmosphere of Adam's lavishly appointed office, Lando found himself summoned to a covert meeting, the dim lighting casting shadows that danced across the luxurious furnishings. The air was heavy with unspoken tension as Lando took his seat in front of his father's imposing desk.

Adam, a cunning and resolute businessman with a no-nonsense attitude, sat behind the desk, his expression betraying the gravity of the situation. The room, adorned with mahogany accents and opulent artwork, served as the backdrop for an exchange that held the fate of the Norris family legacy in its balance.

In a voice that brooked no argument, Adam presented Lando with a stark ultimatum. The family, once stable and prosperous, now faced the looming spectre of financial turmoil. The weight of responsibility bore down heavily on Adam's shoulders, and with a sense of urgency, he articulated the dire straits they found themselves in.

“The Norris family needs a fresh and lucrative income stream," Adam declared, cutting through the air with precision. "Our legacy is at stake, Lando, and I need you to step up to the plate. If we don't secure our position, we risk our place in society altogether. And, if that happens, you will be exiled from this family.”

Lando, feeling the gravity of his father's words, absorbed the weight of the ultimatum. The notion of being cut off from the family legacy, a legacy he had been groomed to uphold, added an unexpected layer of urgency to the situation. Adam's eyes, seasoned with the trials of the business world, revealed the desperation and determination that drove him to make the demand.

As the conversation unfolded, Lando grappled with the realisation that the Norris family, for all its prestige and outward success, was never above delving into murky waters when it came to ensuring their stability. The unspoken understanding that resonated between father and son transcended ethical boundaries, and Lando became acutely aware of the lengths to which the Norris patriarchs have gone to safeguard their family's prosperity.

In the dimly lit corner of the opulent office, a pact is silently forged. The Norris family's survival hinged on their ability to navigate the shadows, to engage in business practices that might raise eyebrows but were deemed necessary for the preservation of their legacy. The goals, always centred around stability and prosperity, now took on a new dimension as the Norris family braced itself for the challenges that lay ahead.

In the heart of the city's underbelly, hidden behind unmarked doors and guarded secrets, Lando found solace in the dimly lit sanctuary of his secret speakeasy. The air was charged with an aura of secrecy, and the distant hum of jazz music created a backdrop for contemplation as he navigated the labyrinth of decisions laid before him.

Seated in a secluded corner, Lando immersed himself in the speakeasy’s ambiance, surrounded by an eclectic mix of patrons engaged in hushed conversations and conspiratorial exchanges. The flickering candlelight casted dancing shadows on the exposed brick walls, mirroring the intricate thoughts that swirled within Lando's mind.

As he contemplated various ventures that could potentially salvage his family's fortunes, the weight of responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders. The gravity of his father's ultimatum lingered in the air like an unspoken challenge, demanding a resolution that aligned with the legacy of the Norris family. The choices before him, however, seemed to form an intricate puzzle with no clear solution in sight.

The scent of cigar smoke mingled with the fragrance of aged whiskey, creating an atmosphere that mirrored the complexity of Lando's predicament. The clandestine dealings and veiled conversations around him served as a constant reminder of the high-stakes game he found himself entangled in.

Unable to escape the palpable tension, Lando raised a whiskey glass to his lips, drowning his worries in the amber liquid. Each sip seemed to carry the weight of his familial obligations, momentarily providing a respite from the tumult of conflicting thoughts. The jazz melodies, with their soulful undertones, offered a bittersweet soundtrack to his contemplation, resonating with the complexities of the choices before him.

As Amelia Rossi gracefully drifted through the smoky atmosphere of the speakeasy, the ambient jazz music and muted conversations provide a backdrop to her entrance. Dressed in her business casual attire from work, her clipped hair was loosened, cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of chestnut silk. In the dingy ambiance, she became a vision, an ethereal figure transcending the gritty reality of the exclusive establishment.

Lando, ensconced in his thoughts and surrounded by the clandestine energy of the speakeasy, noticed Amelia's arrival. Her presence stood out amidst the shadows and swirling emotions, like a beacon in the midst of obscurity. In that moment, he decided to confide in her, recognizing a familiar face and an old connection that ran deep.

Amelia and Lando shared more than just a friendship; their bond was a testament to a lifelong companionship forged in the crucible of childhood. Born mere months apart, they practically grew up side by side, the echoes of their laughter intermingling with the spirited conversations of their fathers on the golf course. The connection between the Norris and Rossi families transcended mere camaraderie; it was a tapestry woven with shared moments, unspoken understandings, and the promise that their destinies were intertwined.

Amelia's gaze met Lando's in the smoky haze of the speakeasy, and there was a flicker of recognition, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they shared. In her eyes, Lando found a unique comfort that transcended the chaos of the private world he navigated. As the jazz music weaved its spell, Amelia sank into the seat beside him and Lando opened up to her, sharing the weight of his father's ultimatum and the desperate need for a solution to salvage the family legacy.

“I want to export... things.” Lando confessed to Amelia, choosing his words carefully, his gaze intense and laden with the gravity of the proposition. Amelia listened attentively, as she sipped on her gin and tonic, her presence offering a calmness he needed to gather his thoughts and plans.

“Things?” Amelia raised an eyebrow, seeking clarification. Lando leaned in, lowering his voice to match the discreet ambiance of the speakeasy.

“Drugs, or contraband. Stuff people can't get just anywhere.” He clarified.

Amelia's eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and concern. The daring proposition hung in the air, the weight of its implications reverberating between them. Lando, propelled by a sense of urgency, continued to lay out his plan.

“With your help.” He added, his tone a blend of desperation and determination. “Your beautiful cars need owners. And, the owners need what we're offering. We strip the interiors, pack it with whatever substance they require, tidy it all up, and ship the car to them. With your last name, no one will ever think of checking anything except the exterior.”

Amelia absorbed the audacity of the proposal, her mind racing to comprehend the risks and potential rewards. Lando, eyes fixed on hers, did not shy away from the harsh reality of the suggestion. He laid out the intricate web of their venture, weaving a narrative that spoke to the urgency of his situation.

“What's in it for me?” Amelia finally questioned, her business acumen kicking in.

“You'll still make your usual profit by selling the car, and you'll get a 40% cut on whatever we're hiding. Think about the expansion you always dreamt of. Now is your chance to make good on it.” Lando attempted to persuade her.

Amelia, hailing from a well-respected family in London, initially hesitated at the risky proposition. The weight of societal expectations and the scrutiny that would undoubtedly accompany her involvement in such a venture loomed large. However, as Lando painted a vivid picture of the potential rewards and the adrenaline of expanding her luxury car dealership, Amelia found herself intrigued by the allure of the unknown.

“I'll do it.” Amelia finally conceded, her voice a mixture of determination and apprehension.

She understood the enormity of the decision she was making, aware that the venture could lead them into murky territory. Yet, her loyalty to Lando and the unspoken promise of their shared history weighed heavily on her conscience.

Amelia knew that her connection to the prestigious Rossi family held a unique value. It added a layer of legitimacy to their dealings, creating a shield from prying eyes and potential scrutiny. The Rossi name, synonymous with respect and affluence, transformed into a strategic advantage in a venture fraught with risks.

With the decision sealed and a sense of inevitability hanging in the air, Lando, feeling a mix of relief and determination, decided to mark the beginning of their risky venture with a celebratory gesture. He motioned to one of the waitrons in the speakeasy, instructing them to bring a bottle of champagne to their secluded corner.

As the bottle arrived, its cork popped with a celebratory resonance, Lando took charge. He poured a generous serving of the effervescent liquid into two crystal glasses, the golden bubbles catching the dim light of the speakeasy. Lando extended a glass towards Amelia, a symbolic toast to the alliance they had formed.

“To new beginnings.” Lando raised his glass, his eyes meeting Amelia's.

“To new beginnings.” Amelia, still reserved, reciprocated the gesture as she tapped her glass against Lando's in a shared moment of acknowledgement.

As they savoured the crisp taste of the champagne, the speakeasy seemed to hold its breath, the ambient jazz music providing a subtle soundtrack to their clandestine celebration. The air was thick with the weight of their decisions, but for a fleeting moment, the bubbly elixir created a sense of levity, a respite from the complexities of the venture they were to embark upon.

“Finally, I get to work with you.” Lando remarked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Don't get too excited.” She responded, a reminder of the challenges that lay ahead and the gravity of the path they've chosen.

As the conversation shifted away from the formality of their risky venture, Amelia, wanting to inject a touch of casualness, playfully leaned against Lando. The dimly lit speakeasy seemed to embrace the casual moment amidst the weighty discussions that preceded.

“How's Zara?” Amelia inquired, steering the conversation towards more personal territory. “Flo told me you brought her home for dinner last week.”

“She's great. She's nice.” Lando's demeanour softened at the mention of Zara.

“Wow, tone down the enthusiasm.” Amelia teased.

“No, she's lovely, but she's just like everyone else - they just want money and status.” A wry smile tugged at Lando's lips.

“Yet you keep her around?” Amelia raised an eyebrow, challenging him with a playful smirk.

“She's a welcome distraction at times.” Lando's response carried a note of self-awareness.

“I see. Why aren't you with her now then, distracting yourself?” Amelia, ever perceptive, didn’t miss a beat.

“Because someone else had what I needed tonight.” Lando's gaze shifted, meeting Amelia's eyes with a hint of vulnerability. “How’s Daniel?”

“Ah, Daniel.” Amelia sighed with a hint of amusement. “That ended a few weeks ago, already. He has too much energy for me to keep up with.”

“Strange for someone who's literally ten years older than you.” Lando chuckled, echoing the sentiment.

“I don’t mind it, but he’s the literal embodiment of a golden retriever. He never stops and sits still.” Amelia grinned, acknowledging the age difference with a playful shrug.

“You love dogs, though.” Lando observed.

“I do. I really do. But when it comes to relationships, I need someone a bit more on the fierce side of things, a bit more-”

“Like you.” Lando interjected, finishing her sentence with a knowing smile.

“Exactly. Someone who can match my pace, challenge me, keep up with the twists and turns. Daniel's great, but in matters of the heart, I need a different kind of energy.” Amelia nodded, a playful glint in her eyes.

Amelia, sat beside Lando in the dimly lit speakeasy, refrained from divulging a recent rendezvous with Charles Leclerc. It was an unusual occurrence for her to keep things from her best friend and closest confidant, but it felt different. She needed to be sure before sharing the details. As Lando continued the conversation, Amelia wrestled with the complexities of her recent experiences.

It wasn't just a casual affair with Charles. Amelia had always been meticulous about keeping her relationships light and transient. However, Charles offered a breath of fresh air after her complete separation from Daniel. Their connection was intense, fueled by a mutual passion for success. Charles, despite the demands of his job, reciprocated Amelia's energy, aligning with her ambitions.

He allowed her to take control, especially in the bedroom, an aspect of intimacy she had always wanted to explore. Charles became a juxtaposition to Daniel's perpetual energy, providing a different kind of excitement that drew Amelia in. Their encounters were more than just physical; they were charged with a shared fervour for life and success.

Despite the allure of her rendezvous with Charles, Amelia refrained from sharing the new chapter of her life with Lando. It was less about hiding, but rather about understanding the dynamics at play. Daniel, a once constant in her life, carried a different weight and expectation. With Charles, it was all about the divergence from her usual patterns, an exploration into uncharted territory.

Despite the excitement that Charles brought into Amelia's life, a lingering sense of unease persisted beneath the surface. As she navigated the nuances of their relationship, an elusive element remained that seemed to elude definition, something amiss that she never could quite put her finger on.

Amelia, a discerning and perceptive individual, grappled with the unspoken doubts that flickered in the corners of her mind. The connection with Charles, though passionate and invigorating, carried a subtle undercurrent of uncertainty. There was no lack of chemistry or shared interests; rather, an intangible aspect that evaded explanation.

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #mclaren #mclaren f1 #lando norris x oc #mafia!au #mafia!f1 #f1 #f1 driver x oc

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arminreindl · 4 months ago

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Croc Paleontology Recap Febuary 2025

January passed so fast probably cause its the shortest month but we still got a handfull of papers out of it. So lets get right into it.

The function of the armor of Stagonolepis

Getting us started in the Triassic is a paper on the osteoderms of the aetosaur Stagonolepis: "The histology and function of the dermal armour of the aetosaur Stagonolepis olenkae Sulej, 2010 (Archosauria, Pseudosuchia) from Krasiejów (SW Poland)". Now as you probably figured from the handfull of times I've talked about aetosaurs on here, their osteoderm armor is very characteristic, very important in telling them apart and VERY extensive.

The results of this study are interesting. For starters, although osteoderms frequently serve a function in thermoregulation in modern crocs and even temnospondyls, this does not appear to have been the case for Stagonolepis. Now superficially, aetosaur osteoderms do show the same pitted surface as modern croc armor, which is caused by the elements absorbing bone and depositing it elsewhere throughout growth, something that reduces mass while maintaining stability and also increases surface area. However, Stagonolepis osteoderms are not vascularized like those of modern crocs, lacking the densely packed blood vessels that help absorb heat. The external surface of the osteoderms also doesn't show signs of thick sharpeys fibres, which are generally used to anchor the osteoderm in the soft tissue. What this means is that the osteoderms were not deeply embedded in skin (as has been suggested for some notosuchians) but rather were covered in keratin like those of modern crocs. But if not for thermoregulation, then what are the osteoderms for. Well on the one hand, obviously they work as armor. Their structure makes them robust yet leight weight and they are firmly embedded through sharpeys fibres present on the lower cortex of the osteoderms (tho its highlighted that they aren't as densely packed as in ankylosaurs). The keels that mark the osteoderms further prove to be quite usefull when it comes to reducing stress from a vertical attack. If you really want an additional reason for the armor, the authors offer the suggestion of being an adaptation to prevent water loss. Finally, histology shows that the osteoderms do not feature lines of arrested growth (basically signs for poor growth throughout the animals life), which suggests that the environment inhabited by Stagonolepis was quite moderate and did not have strong seasons that might influence the animals growth throughout its life.

Bottom: A diagram of Stagonolepis is sideview, showing the various types of osteoderms covering its body. Reconstruction by S. Górnicki

Growth strategy in Trialestes and its implications

Up next something not too different from a study we had in January. Last time we had a study on the growth of a peirosaurid notosuchian, this time "A fast start: Evidence of rapid growth in Trialestes romeri, an early Crocodylomorpha from the Upper Triassic continental beds of Argentina based on osteohistological analyses" brings us something similar except for the "sphenosuchian" Trialestes (more on that group later).

So what did we learn? Well for starters, neither of the examined specimens (which included the holotype) were mature, both in terms of sexual maturity and skeletal growth. What is weird is that morphology (specifically bone fusion in the vertebra) indicates the opposite to what has been concluded based on bone microstructure, which may suggest that in Trialestes either reached sexual maturity at a delayed rate of that histology and sexual maturity do not correlate all that much. Anyhow, based on crosssections of the bones, they are estimated at a minimum of two years and one year of age at the time of their deaths. Histology also shows that Trialestes appears to have grown quite rapidly. Curiously a previous study estimated a third specimen to have been one year old, eventhough this new study recovered the same age for a specimen only half that size. This seems to suggest that age and growth do not really correlate for some unknown reason, with possible explanations including differences between sexes or simply differing environmental conditions. Looking at the results at a grander scale, similar growth rates have previously been calculated for other nimble crocodylomorphs such as Terrestrisuchus and Saltoposchus, with the latter growing even faster than Trialestes. Of course when you get into more derived members of Crocodylomorpha strategies start to change, for example the slightly more derived Hesperosuchus was growing at a slower speed than Trialestes and if you recall January we know that Notosuchians can differ even within a genus (see Araripesuchus). Modern crocs appear to generally grow slower overall in their ontogeny, tho in some like the broad-snouted caiman environmental conditions seem to play quite the rolle. Nevertheless, the paper concludes that faster growth rates appear to be more widespread in early crocodylomorphs and may have been the ancestral condition.

Below: Reconstruction of the head of Trialestes by Joschua Knüppe (there is really not much art of this guy out there)

Now for two papers that are very relevant to my efforts on Wikipedia, namely two studies on the European alligatoroid Diplocynodon.

Growth strategy of Diplocynodon hantoniensis

First of all, sorta the same thing we just had for Trialestes but applied to Diplocynodon hantoniensis, a species from the Eocene of southern Britain (and actually one of the first Diplocynodon species discovered). The greater goal of "Evolution of growth strategy in alligators and caimans informed by osteohistology of the late Eocene early-diverging alligatoroid crocodylian Diplocynodon hantoniensis", as you might guess from the title, is actually to use Diplocynodon in order to figure out how growth strategies evolved in the two modern groups of alligatoroids, gators and caimans, who share similar strategies despite having been separated from another since before the extinction of the dinosaurs.

With 9 studied upper leg bones, the sample used in the study ranged from immature specimens to adults, which in the case of D. hantoniensis might reach lenghts of 1.2–3.4 meters. The growth strategy of Diplocynodon is recovered as both being determinate (meaning that they stop growing at a certain point) and seasonally controlled (which feels self-explanatory), both also seen in modern alligatoroids. Now assuming that the growth marks accurately reflect yearly intervals (which may not necessarily be the case), then the studied individuals ranged between 5 and 26 years old at the least. Skeletal maturity seems to have been reached in a similar range as modern alligatoroids (gators reaching maximum size between 30 and 40 and caimans between 12 and 18). As with Trialestes earlier, there are some individuals that show signs of being fully grown, yet are less than half the size of other individuals, possibly indicating sexual dimorphism (female gators stop growing earlier and at a lower size than males) or environmental conditions that affected growth (though there is doubt cast over this latter interpretation). The study concludes that, based on Diplocynodon hantoniensis, alligatoroids are simply relatively conservative in their growth strategy and what we see in gators and caimans is likely their ancestral strategy, rather than having been developed independently.

Below: A photo of the skull of Diplocynodon hantoniensis (taken by John Cummings), not actually relevant to the study but I mean it shows what this thing looked like.

The sense of smell and EQ of Diplocynodon tormis

Moving away from the Eocene of the UK and to the Eocene of Spain, we got a different species of Diplocynodon as the main subject of "New data on the inner skull cavities of Diplocynodon tormis (Crocodylia, Diplocynodontinae) from the Duero Basin (Iberian Peninsula, Spain)". Specifically, the study deals with the description of and what we can learn from a CT-scan that gives us insights into the forebrain, olfactory bulbs, nasal cavity, air sinuses, etc..

Overall the shape of the brain matches the idea that Diplocynodon is an early alligatoroid, including some distinctive features of this clade and some traits that are basal to crocodilians. Like modern alligators, Diplocynodon tormis seems to have had a good sense of smell, though not as keen as that of crocodyloids. The holotype specimen falls within the upper values in terms of olfactory acuity among alligatoroids, but still clearly outside of the range exhibited by crocodyloids, while another studied specimen performed a lot poorer (though its also not as well preserved). As for cognitive abilities, the study also calcuated the Reptilian EQ of D. tormis. The authors note that the EQ of Diplocynodon tormis appears below the average of other medium-sized crocodilians and instead comes closer to the EQ of large forms. Tho it is also noted that damage to the specimen might have affected the results.

Left: A 3D model of the holotype skull of Diplocynodon tormis Right: A 3D model of that same skull but highlighting the various internal structures such as the brain, nasal cavity, nerves, etc..

A history, redescription and the biology of the teleosaur Macrospondylus

Ah Macrospondylus bollensis, once known under the name Steneosaurus (like every other teleosauroid lets be honest), perhaps one of the most well known members of this group given its extensive fossil record from the Posidonia Shale in Germany. Despite this, and also like many other teleosauroids, its history is confusing, long and just a whole can of worms. One dealt with in "A re-description of the teleosauroid Macrospondylus bollensis (Jaeger, 1828) from the Posidonienschiefer Formation of Germany".

To give you the abridged version, the holotype of Macrospondylus bollensis was found all the way back in 1755 (meaning it was discovered so long ago even Napoleon wasn't born yet) and quickly recognized as some sort of crocodile relative. It was named Crocodilus Bollensis in 1828, described in the 1830s and given the genus name Macrospondylus in 1831 (and then again by a different author in 1837, seemingly independent of the previous study).

Being this old, of course the fate of Macrospondylus would be shaped by historical events, specifically the German revolutions of 1848–1849, when a fire set by revolutionaries in Dresden grew out of control and spread to the collection, damaging but thankfully not destroying the fossil. Chaos ensued unrelated to that as various researchers proceeded to lump Macrospondylus into either Teleosaurus, Mystriosaurus or even Geosaurus before circling back to Crocodilus, eventually settling on Steneosaurus in the 1960s. Scientists did eventually grow wise to Steneosaurus being an overlumped wastebasket of a taxon, but this was not fixed until 2020 when this gordian knot was hacked to pieces once more, resulting in the revival of Macrospondylus.

Keeping all this confusion in mind, recent work including this paper still finds that Macrospondylus is actually the most abundant Toarcian teleosaur and especially common in Germany (no doubt thanks to the Posidonia Shale, this doesn't necessarily reflect how things were at the time). In terms of ecology, Macrospondylus may have been a long-snouted generalist, being able to consume a much wider selection of and overall bigger prey than some of its rarer relatives. Size might also have been a factor, since large Macrospondylus reach up to 5 meters in length and would therefore have access to more robust and larger prey. Its wide distribution might also suggest that it was less picky than other teleosauroids about where it lived and though previously suggested to have been more marine, this new study seems to favor the idea that it was still fairly amphibious throughout its life. This is interesting given that the Posidonia Shale, where so many specimen are known from, is a pelagic off-shore open ocean environment, with the potentially more terrestrial Platysuchus and the shallow water Plagiophthalmosuchus being much rarer. Of course, there is always the possibility that this idea of Macrospondylus being super common is skewed simply by the preservation and the excavation at Holzmaden, which as said before might not reflect the state of the entire species population.

Left: A fossil of Macrospondylus next to Dr. Michela Johnson, photo by Meike Rech Right: Thalattosuchians from Tübingen by Pascal Abel, the two skeletons on the left wall and the bottom slab on the right all represent Macrospondylus Bottom: Macrospondylus photographed by Sven Sachs

The metabolism of Notosuchians

Back to something less constrained to any specific taxon, we got "Revisiting the aerobic capacity of Notosuchia (Crocodyliformes, Mesoeucrocodylia)",a paper on notosuchian metabolism, which is one of those things that might surprise people unfamiliar with them.

Of course Notosuchia is the great post-Triassic terrestrial radiation of the crocodile-lineage, bringing forth a great diversity of land-dwelling froms from small omniv, ores, bulky herbivores and even lanky carnivores. Despite this, it might come as a surprise that they were in fact not "warm blooded". This is again reinforced by this months paper by Sena and colleagues, who recover that their mass-independent maximal metabolic rates lie somewhere between modern crocs and monitor lizards (which again fits with previous studies on the matter). This means that fitting with their anatomy and lifestyle, they were more active than modern crocs and able to sustain more vigorous activity. Being ecto-thermic, they were still dependent on outside temperatures to heat them up before they were able to really take things to their fullest. Consequently it has also been hypothesized quite a bit that to cool down, they might have entered burrows later in the day.

Left: Two Baurusuchus are shown hunting a small Caipirasuchus, with all individuals shown as being fast, agile and terrestrial. Artwork by Deverson da Silva Right: Armadillosuchus emerging from its burrow under a tree stump with a herd of sauropods in the back. Artwork by Julia d'Oliviera

Now, for what I'm guessing all five of you that made it this far have been waiting for. The newly named crocs....which I didn't have time to make dedicated posts for. Look shit sucks alright, weekends have been really brief this month and I feel very tired.

Pattisaura: A new sphenosuchian from Texas

Getting us started on Pattisaura, a new genus of "sphenosuchian" (I told you I'd come back to them) from the Late Triassic Cooper Canyon Formation of Texas. Described in "A new crocodylomorph (Pseudosuchia, Crocodylomorpha) from the Upper Triassic of Texas and its phylogenetic relationships", this little guy generally represents what one might see as a quintessential sphenosuchian. A somewhat body pointed skull with large eyes, terrestrial habits, long and slender legs, a far cry from what we tend to associate with crocodylomorpha today.

The name Pattisaura was coined in honor of Mrs. Patricia Kirkpatrick, who's family has let paleontologist look for fossils on their farm (gee I wonder why that name sounds familiar) and the species name gracilis derives from....I mean do I even need to say it?

Unsurprisingly, the phylogenetic analysis of this study shows that Sphenosuchia is paraphyletic and doesn't actually form a single clade, instead simply representing a series of consecutively branching early crocodylomorphs. What can be said is that Pattisaura seems to clade with Redondavenator.

While perhaps unassuming in size or ferocity, little Pattisaura is nonetheless an interesting addition to the pseudosuchian fauna of the Cooper Canyon Formation, which has previously yielded the remains of the phytosaur Machaeroprosopus, various aetosaurs including Desmatosuchus, Aetosaurus, Typothorax and Paratypothorax, poposauroids like Shuvosaurus and the iconic Postosuchus alongside many other Triassic classics such as drepanosaurs, silesaurids, lagerpetids, coelophysoids and more.

Left: The skull of Pattisaura photographed by Aaron dp Right: The skull in top, bottom and sideview, reconstructed to account for taphonomic distortion and damage to the material

Thilastikosuchus: Brazil's oldest notosuchian

And the final one for this month is Thilastikosuchus scutorectangularis (mammal crocodile with rectangular scutes) described in "Anatomical description and systematics of a new notosuchian (Mesoeucrocodylia; Crocodyliformes) from the Quiricó Formation, Lower Cretaceous, Sanfranciscana Basin, Brazil". This little guy, and I mean little as it is based on a juvenile specimen, was recovered from the Early Cretaceous Quiricó Formation of Brazil and represents a new member of the obscure family Candidodontidae.

To give a brief description, Thilastikosuchus was a small, slender-limbed animal, although admittedly we only have a juvenile to go off from. Its teeth are prominently heterodont, meaning that rather than having jaws filled with relatively similar conical teeth its dentition was a lot more diverse, specifically consisting of subconical incisiforms and molariforms with multiple cusps. The armor of the body, as the name suggests, is rectangular with a smooth outer and back edge, eventually transitioning into the square osteoderms of the tail that possess a prominent keel down their middle. As with most notosuchians, there were only two rows that run down along the spine, rather than the more complex armor seen in modern crocodiles.

Perhaps most interesting are the phylogenetic and evolutionary implications of this animal. Thilastikosuchus is the oldest known notosuchian from Brazil and perhaps even the oldest notosuchian of all of South America, which might have big implications for the groups evolution. It is placed as a member of the Candidodontidae, a family coined to include Candidodon and Malawisuchus but not always regarded as a distinct group throughout publications. This new paper specifically places them at the very base of Notosuchia, branching off even before Uruguaysuchidae and Peirosauria. Given the very mammal-like teeth of candidodontids, this raises the question whether or not such dentition was simply convergently evolved by them and sphagesaurids (assuming their position amongst notosuchians holds true) or if its the ancestral condition that was later lost by groups such as uruguaysuchids and baurusuchids. It also adds an interesting aspect to the diversification of the group. As things stand, the oldest known notosuchian is Razanandrongobe from the Jurassic of Madagascar, but this taxon and its significance are poorly understood. With this new paper, we definitely see a clear diversification of notosuchians in the earliest Cretaceous through candidodontids, another radiation later in the Albian with uruguaysuchids and peirosaurs and a final burst in diversity towards the end of the Cretaceous with the numerous forms known from the Bauru group.

Left: Skeletal reconstruction of Thilastikosuchus with special focus on the osteoderms by Felipe Alves Elias Right: Live reconstruction by the same artist with an adult individual looming in the background

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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The booming popularity of Ozempic and other GLP-1 drugs for weight loss has led to a flurry of companies vying to make new and improved anti-obesity medications.

One of those is Boston-based Syntis Bio, which is working on a daily pill that mimics the effects of gastric bypass—no actual surgery required. Today, the company announced early data from animals and a small group of human volunteers showing that its approach is safe and may be able to suppress hunger. The company presented the findings Thursday at the European Congress on Obesity and Weight Management.

“We're at a stage with obesity treatment where it's important for us to figure out, how do we now tune it to be more effective?” says Rahul Dhanda, Syntis Bio’s CEO and cofounder.

A poll conducted in April and May of 2024 found that around 12 percent of Americans have tried a GLP-1 drug such as Ozempic, Wegovy, Zepbound, or Mounjaro—a number that has likely only grown over the past year. But many people eventually stop using these drugs. Cost and insurance coverage is one factor. Another is that GLP-1s can cause nausea, vomiting, and other unpleasant side effects. And some patients would prefer a pill over a weekly injection.

Syntis is aiming to develop another option for people looking to lose weight. The company’s drug is designed to redirect the absorption of nutrients from the beginning of the small intestine to its end. The effect is similar to gastric bypass, in which surgeons make the stomach smaller and shorten the small intestine. As a result, food bypasses much of the small intestine. The procedure changes how the body absorbs food, and leaves people feeling fuller from eating less.

Gastric bypass is a type of bariatric surgery, which an estimated 280,000 people received in 2022. But fewer people are turning to surgery with the advent of new anti-obesity medications. A study published last year in JAMA Open Network found that as prescriptions for GLP-1s skyrocketed between 2022 and 2023, rates of bariatric surgery dropped 25.6 percent.

The drug Syntis is working on does not actually shorten the intestine, like gastric bypass does. Instead, it creates a temporary coating in the upper part of the small intestine, blocking the absorption of nutrients there. This moves nutrients down to the lower part of the small intestine, where satiety hormones—including GLP-1—are triggered.

It does this with two main ingredients: dopamine, a small molecule best known for its relation to the brain, and a tiny amount of hydrogen peroxide. When this combination reaches the small intestine, it comes into contact with a naturally occurring enzyme called catalase. The job of catalase is to break down hydrogen peroxide, which is harmful to the body in high amounts, into water and oxygen. The process converts the dopamine into polydopamine, a biocompatible polymer. Within minutes, a thin film of polydopamine forms that coats the lining of the small intestine. The cells in this lining turn over quickly, so the coating is only temporary. It’s designed to last around 24 hours.

The drug is based on research conducted at MIT by Giovanni Traverso, a gastroenterologist and mechanical engineer, and Robert Langer, a chemical engineer who has launched more than two dozen biotech companies.

The two discovered the mechanism when working on a way to develop liquid drug formulations that could be given to children. They soon realized they could make this temporary synthetic coating more or less permeable, to either enhance absorption or slow it down. That latter ability was appealing as a treatment for obesity.

“This material is something you would take as a capsule or liquid, but the next day it's gone because of the natural turnover of our mucosal surface in the GI tract,” Traverso says. He and Langer cofounded Syntis with Dhanda in 2022. He likens this coating to what mussels and other shellfish use to stick to rocks or the ocean floor.

In the results Syntis announced, the drug was delivered in a liquid form via a tube directly to the small intestine so that researchers could check that the polymer coating formed as expected. A tablet form has already been tested in pigs and dogs, and it’s what Syntis plans to test in future human studies.

In rats, the drug produced a consistent 1 percent weekly weight loss over a six-week study period while preserving 100 percent of lean muscle mass.

In a first-in-human pilot study of nine participants, the drug was safe with no adverse effects. Tissue samples taken from the intestine were used to confirm that the coating formed and was also cleared from the body within 24 hours. The study wasn’t designed to assess weight loss, but blood testing showed that after the drug was given, glucose levels and the “hunger hormone” ghrelin were lower while the levels of leptin, an appetite-regulating hormone, were higher.

“When nutrients are redirected to later in the intestine, you're activating pathways that lead towards satiety, energy expenditure, and overall healthy, sustainable weight loss,” Dhanda says.

Syntis Bio’s findings in animals also hint at the drug’s potential for weight loss without compromising muscle mass, one of the concerns with current GLP-1 drugs. While weight loss in general is associated with numerous health benefits, there’s growing evidence that the kind of drastic weight loss that GLP-1s induce can also lead to a loss of lean muscle mass.

Louis Aronne, an obesity medicine specialist and professor of metabolic research at Weill-Cornell Medical College, says that while GLP-1s are wildly popular, they may not be right for everyone. He predicts that in the not-so-distant future there will be many drugs for obesity and treatment will be more personalized. “I think Syntis’ compound fits in perfectly as a treatment that could be used early on. It’s a kind of thing you could use as a first-line medication,” he says. Arrone serves as a clinical adviser to the company.

Vladimir Kushnir, professor of medicine and director of bariatric endoscopy at Washington University in St. Louis, who isn’t involved with Syntis, says the early pilot data is encouraging, but it’s hard to draw any conclusions from such a small study. He expects that the drug will make people feel fuller but could also have some of the same side effects as gastric bypass surgery. “My anticipation is that this is going to have some digestive side effects like bloating and abdominal cramping, as well as potentially some diarrhea and nausea once it gets into a bigger study,” he says.

It’s early days for this novel technique, but if it proves effective, it could one day be an alternative or add-on drug to GLP-1 medications.

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whiteraven87 · 2 months ago

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Driven by Love: Rebirth from the Ashes - 19. City of Sin [18+]

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The Unstoppable Series - Masterlist

Part 3: Driven by Love. Rebirth from the Ashes

Prologue

Nightmares

For Her, I'd Do Anything

Shared Nights

I Thought It Was the End

Scars

Say it again

Pleasant Views

Oh My God

Together

A Shared Trip

The Boss's Girl

I'm Back

She's mine [18+]

The Fight Continues

I Bloomed

Something's Going On

No Brakes

City of Sin [18+]

Title Defense [18+]

FIA Gala

Home and Christmas

Just Us [18+]

A Dream I Don't Want to Wake Up From

Return to Scotland

The Woman Who Blossoms

Return to the Paddock

Media Circus

Total Domination

Marathon

The Limits of Restraint [18+]

The Unexpected Guest

Fear of Loss

The Truth I Didn't Want to Say

I Won't Let You Go

A Promise I Couldn't Keep

The Truth I Couldn't Tell Her

The Last Evening

The Darkest Day of my life

Epilogue

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Warnings: slow burn, age gap (23 years), woman racing in F1, boss/driver relationship, sex scenes,

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19. City of Sin

LAS VEGAS GP

POV Toto

Las Vegas. The city of lights, sin, and grand spectacles.

For Miriell, this place had become something more. A battleground for revenge.

After the nightmare in Singapore, she had no choice—she had to win. I knew how much it burned inside her. She didn't say it out loud, but I knew her too well. She wanted to take those points, reclaim the lead, and make Max Verstappen watch as she stole the hope for championship from him.

And she did it exactly as I expected.

Qualifying? Pure dominance.

Miriell squeezed every ounce of performance from the car. Every lap was surgically precise. On the final run, she simply crushed the competition—leaving Max almost four-tenths behind, an eternity at this level.

Pole position was hers, but it wasn't enough. There was still a race to win.

Race Day, Las Vegas

I watched her on the grid, gripping the steering wheel, her body tensed in anticipation of the lights going out.

Green. Go.

Max had a good start. But she had a better one. She immediately blocked him into Turn 1, forcing him to back off. After that, he never saw her again.

The gap grew. I knew she was driving the way only she could—aggressively, yet with surgical precision. Every second mattered, every tire strategy, every decision.

And then fate smiled on her.

Max was battling Lando Norris, pushing harder and harder until... contact. Impact. A spin. Game over.

Verstappen didn't finish the race.

Miriell was untouchable. She won—and she did it in style.

She was the championship leader.

The crowd erupted, the mechanics in the garage exploded with joy, and I... I just watched her.

Watched as she stepped onto the podium. As she lifted the trophy. As she grabbed the champagne and drenched everyone around her.

God, I was proud of her.

Las Vegas – Night After the Race

Las Vegas was alive. Celebrating in Vegas wasn't just a party—it was a spectacle.

We rented the best club in town. Music, lights, drinks—everyone was celebrating like we had already won the championship. Champagne flowed like water, the music pulsed in time with the beating of our hearts. Lights reflected in crystal glasses, and the dance floor vibrated under the weight of hundreds of moving bodies.

And in the center of it all—her.

Miriell... she was in her element. Dressed in her usual style—a white T-shirt with some rock band's logo, black jeans, and sneakers. Casual, like always. She danced. First with the mechanics, then with other team members, and then—with Lewis.

Miriell was dancing with Lewis, laughing, moving her hips to the rhythm of the music as if no one else existed. Of course, I knew it was just fun. Lewis was her friend, like an older brother to her. And yet...

I couldn't look away.

I sat at a table with a few engineers, a glass of whiskey in my hand. Outwardly, I was calm, smiling at the right moments, answering questions. But inside... it twisted me.

Jealousy was irrational. I knew I had no reason to be jealous. Miriell was mine—she loved me, she wanted me, she belonged to me. And yet, I wanted to stand up, walk over to her, wrap my arms around her, and make it clear to everyone here that she was off-limits... but I couldn't.

We had to be discreet.

I watched as Lewis said something to her, making her laugh. Then he took her hand, spun her around, and pulled her close. I knew that move. I was the one who had taught him that.

I clenched my jaw.

Lewis finally caught my stare and immediately understood.

He smirked and walked over to me, leaving Miriell to be swept away by the mechanics.

"Don't make that face, Toto" he said, dropping onto the seat next to me.

"What face?"

"Like you want to rip my head off."

I didn't answer, just raised my glass and took a sip of whiskey.

"Seriously, man, do you really think I'd dare?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes.

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

I was silent for a moment.

"I just..." I sighed, trying to put into words something that didn't make sense. "I wish I could be there with her."

"Then go."

"I can't. It's not a good idea for me to dance with her in front of everyone and give the media a reason to speculate."

Lewis let out a heavy sigh, leaning back on the couch.

"You do know she's waiting for you, right?"

I shot him a look.

"Maybe not literally, but subconsciously," he continued. "The thing is, you're just sitting here, pretending you're having a good time."

I didn't reply.

"You know my opinion, Toto. I've never hidden the fact that..." He trailed off for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. "That you're a lucky man. But maybe it's time to stop complicating things that are actually simple?"

I shook my head and took another sip of whiskey.

"It's not that easy."

"It never is," he admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're ridiculously jealous over her."

I rolled my eyes.

"Not of you."

"I know," he snorted with laughter. "Of the whole world."

I didn't deny it.

Miriell was like light. She drew people in, fascinated them, made them want to be near her. And that killed me, because I wanted to be the one closest to her.

***

After some time, I walked over to Miriell. She was still on the dance floor, wrapped in the energy of the music, surrounded by laughter and smiling faces.

"I'm heading back to the hotel," I told her over the music.

She looked at me, surprised.

"Already?"

"Yeah. Good night."

For a moment, she looked like she wanted to come with me, but then she just nodded.

"Good night, Toto."

I watched her for a few more seconds. Then I turned and left. But inside, I was burning.

I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay. I wanted to hold her, dance with her, have her close. But we had to be careful.

In the hotel room

I stood by the window, resting my head against the cold glass. The city was still alive. Las Vegas never slept. And neither did I.

I loved her. I wanted her. And yet, what I felt was irrational.

I was a grown man. I had lived through enough to know that emotions like this should be under control. And yet... I was jealous. Not of Lewis. Not of the mechanics. Of the whole damn world.

Of the fact that I had to hide. That I couldn't just walk up to her, pull her into my arms, and show everyone that she was mine.

I sighed and closed my eyes.

Maybe Lewis was right.

Maybe I was complicating something that was actually simple.

But for now, we had no choice.

All I could do was wait.

I Belong to Him

Las Vegas, the Night After the Race

POV Miriell

I knew something was wrong.

Toto had been tense all evening, though he tried to hide it. I knew him too well to be fooled. He smiled at the right moments, raised his glass in a toast with the team, but when his gaze briefly landed on me and Lewis, there was something in his eyes—something he tried to suppress. Jealousy.

A while later, he simply said goodnight and left.

That wasn't like him.

I didn't think twice. I said my goodbyes to the crew, claiming I was tired and heading to my room. In reality, my steps led me straight to his suite.

I knocked lightly on the door. After a moment, he opened it. He was wearing only a shirt, unbuttoned at the top, his hair slightly tousled, as if he had been running his fingers through it nervously.

"Miriell?"

"You're not asleep yet."

It wasn't a question, just a statement.

Toto stepped aside, letting me in.

"What's wrong?" he asked, closing the door behind me.

I sighed and looked him straight in the eyes.

"That's what I should be asking you."

We sat on the couch. It was quiet. The city lights flickered through the large windows, casting soft reflections on us.

"Toto..." I began gently. "Are you jealous?"

He was silent for a moment, playing with the cuff of his shirt.

"I know I have no reason to be" he finally admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that I am."

Warmth spread through my chest.

"Toto Wolff, the team principal, the strategist, the analyst... and yet, a jealous man."

He shook his head, but I caught a spark of amusement in his eyes.

I looked at him for a moment, then moved closer.

"You have no reason to be, because I love only you."

Toto gazed at me, and I raised my hand, brushing his cheek.

"I know" he whispered.

I felt the tension in his jaw, the warmth of his skin—and then he leaned in and kissed me.

His kiss was gentle at first, but with each moment, it deepened. There was desire in it, hunger, a need we had suppressed for too long.

I shifted, straddling him, and his hands immediately settled on my hips, pulling me closer.

I felt his breath on my skin as I trailed kisses down his neck, along his collarbones, and lower still, onto his bare chest as I unbuttoned his shirt. He was warm, taut, every muscle coiled under my touch.

He let out a quiet sigh as my lips brushed his skin.

I felt him beneath me, felt how his body responded, how the need in him grew.

Toto slid his hands under my shirt and pulled it off in one swift motion, then wrapped his arms around me, pressing me to him. His lips found my breasts, his tongue brushed my skin, and I dug my fingers into his shoulders as warmth flooded my body.

I was completely lost in the moment. My body craved more.

Yet, somewhere in the deepest corners of my mind, a shadow lurked.

Images flashed—cold, brutal, unwanted... but they couldn't break through.

Not with his touch, not with his kisses—gentle, steady, warm.

Suddenly, Toto pulled away, breathing heavily.

"We need to stop" he said, resting his forehead against mine.

I looked at him, dazed, still burning, my heart pounding.

"Toto..."

"If we don't stop now, I'll lose control."

His voice was strained, as if he were fighting himself.

I blinked, trying to steady my breath. My body screamed not to stop, but my mind was still teetering on the edge.

I felt like I was balancing—between desire and fear, between the present and the past, between him and something that should have long disappeared.

Toto brushed a strand of hair from my face and met my eyes.

"I don't want you to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"But you're afraid of something."

I swallowed hard.

"I want you. I really do."

"I know" he whispered. — "But I'll wait."

I closed my eyes and rested against his shoulder, feeling his breath steady my thoughts.

"I wish..." — I murmured softly.

He stroked my back.

"You know I would."

"I need to go back to my room."

He nodded.

I didn't want to leave. His arms were the safest place I knew. I wanted to fall asleep in them, to breathe in his scent, to listen to his steady breath. But I knew I had to go.

Slowly, I stood up, reaching for my shirt. Toto stood with me, took my hand, and pulled me into a soft kiss, as if trying to make the moment last a little longer.

"Goodnight, Liebling."

"Goodnight, Kochanie."

I stepped out, and as I closed the door behind me, I felt the emptiness of his absence hit me harder than I had expected.

The room I returned to felt strangely foreign.

Without him, it was simply empty.

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NEXT -> 20. Title Defense [18+]

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"I put my armor on, show you how strong I am."

Read the story here:

AO3 Unstoppable Series

Wattpad: Part1 I Part 2 I Part 3

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Wattpad PL: Part1 I Part 2 I Part 3

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my-wellness-way · 5 months ago

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Effective Strategies to Crush Your Weight Loss Goals in 2025

Are you ready to make 2025 the year you finally achieve your weight loss goals? With so much information out there, finding the right strategies can be overwhelming.

This guide will simplify the process and provide you with actionable, science-backed tips to crush your weight loss journey this year.

1. Set Realistic and Specific Goals

The first step to achieving your weight loss goals is defining them clearly. Instead of vague resolutions like "lose weight," aim for specific and measurable targets, such as "lose 15 pounds in 3 months by exercising 4 times a week and eating 1,800 calories per day."

Why it works:

Helps you stay focused and track progress.

Encourages long-term lifestyle changes rather than quick fixes.

2. Prioritize a Balanced Diet Over Extreme Dieting

Fad diets may offer quick results, but they are rarely sustainable. Focus on a balanced diet that includes lean proteins, healthy fats, whole grains, and plenty of fruits and vegetables. Limit processed foods and added sugars.

Pro Tip: Incorporate more plant-based meals, as studies show they can help with weight management and overall health.

3. Make Meal Prep a Weekly Habit

Meal prepping helps you control portion sizes and resist unhealthy choices when hunger strikes. Dedicate a few hours each week to prepare nutritious meals and snacks in advance.

Benefits of meal prep:

Saves time and money.

Keeps you consistent with your calorie and nutrient intake.

4. Stay Active with a Mix of Workouts

Exercise is key to burning calories and building muscle. Combine cardio workouts (like running or cycling) with strength training to maximize fat loss and boost metabolism.

2025 Fitness Trends to Try:

- High-Intensity Interval Training (HIIT).

- Online fitness classes for convenience.

- Group sports to keep workouts fun and engaging.

5. Track Your Progress

Using a journal or app to monitor your food intake, workouts, and weight loss progress can help you stay accountable. Apps like MyFitnessPal or Fitbit offer tools to track calories and exercise effortlessly.

Pro Tip: Celebrate small milestones to stay motivated, whether it's fitting into an old pair of jeans or reaching a fitness goal.

6. Focus on Sleep and Stress Management

Poor sleep and high stress levels can hinder weight loss by increasing hunger hormones like ghrelin. Aim for 7–9 hours of quality sleep per night and practice stress-reducing techniques like meditation, yoga, or deep breathing.

7. Stay Hydrated

Drinking water not only keeps you hydrated but also helps with appetite control and metabolism. Replace sugary drinks with water, herbal teas, or infused water for variety.

Quick Tip: Drink a glass of water before meals to avoid overeating.

8. Build a Support System

Having friends, family, or online communities supporting your weight loss journey can make a huge difference. Share your goals and progress, and don’t hesitate to seek professional guidance from dietitians or personal trainers if needed.

9. Be Patient and Consistent

Weight loss is a journey, not a sprint. Plateaus are normal, and progress may vary. Focus on consistency and celebrate non-scale victories, like improved energy levels or better mood.

10. Leverage Technology and Tools

Use wearable fitness trackers, calorie counters, and AI-powered apps to personalize and optimize your weight loss journey. These tools can provide insights into your habits and suggest improvements.

Conclusion

Achieving your weight loss goals in 2025 doesn’t have to be daunting. By setting realistic goals, maintaining a balanced diet, staying active, and using the right tools, you can stay on track and see lasting results. Remember, consistency and patience are key.

Start implementing these strategies today, and watch yourself crush your weight loss goals this year!

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varyathevillain · 8 months ago

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did not want to negatively interact with the OP from whom I got this image, but this threw me into a fit of such incandescent fury that I had to talk about it, and I do not want to make others feel like they're at fault about something AJN said, about the implication (or outright possibility) of them being used for clout, or my own reaction to this. and I also will say, this is not an objective opinion. this is me, tired of this bullshit that keeps appearing in my life despite me repeatedly trying to move on.

what a fucking horrifying quote. this does not read as someone awkwardly relating to their audience to me. this is a rehearsed, researched 'funny guy' moment, scripted specifically to pander to people who would quote and reshare this moment, and it doesn't have the care or emotional attachment to the audience that many would ascribe it. this is a marketing strategy.

Alexander James Newall and his podcasting company have repeatedly in the past worked with companies like, for example, BetterHelp. in their case, Rusty Quill have been keeping the partnership and advertising it even after the FTC officially forced said company into paying settlement for breaking privacy agreements and selling customer data to third party services (such as pharmaceutical companies and other interest groups like Facebook/Meta), then the reveal of overcharging patients for subpar service, and repeated ethical violations within the company. you cannot say that this is an uninformed choice, since as a creative interacting with their fanbase via internet, especially as a multimedia practice (podcasting, youtube video creating, streaming etc), you simply cannot not learn about the scumminess and the actual legal issues of such a company. and it's not even 'oh, they did it only once' - people repeatedly complained about getting ads from AI training software companies, other 'mental health' help companies that turned out to also have AI training software, and on some notable occasions, a Noom app ad read, which is a weight loss app that 1) had also been in court reaching a settlement for tricking its customers, but for 'free trial' payments instead of selling their data, 2) had repeatedly been in hot water with health professionals about their diet practices.

and this is the company the face of which AJN presents. he is not a quirky fellow creative struggling for podcast space; he's a businessman running a company that is manipulating its audience with relatability, and it is working. he is not with you against the rich; he is the rich. and from what I am hearing and seeing, currently producing the main running show, the successor of The Magnus Archives, of a show that got critical acclaim and over 700 thousand pounds in kickstarter money to produce the 'sequel', only for that show to barely ever appear on anyone's radar outside of former TMA fans, to be quietly discussed as not being quite as coherent as its predecessor, and even outright criticised for the voice acting and issues with audio, where even interesting conversations turn into mumbled, inconsistent messes people can't really listen to without transcripts.

We Care What We Put Name To, in-fuckin-deed.

#Rusty Quill critical #RQ vent #THIS is what I come back on Tumblr to? jfc. can't wait for people to defend an adult grownass man to me in DMs or inbox #maybe I am more opinionated by the fact that he ruined RQG for me. but dammit he just keeps getting worse OUTSIDE of that beef we have #AND THE RQG TRANSCRIPTS ARE STILL FUCKIN HORRIBLE. AND RQG 25 IS MISSING. IT HAS BEEN AS LONG AS RUSSIA HAD BEEN INVADING UKRAINE AJN

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fanficapologist · 1 year ago

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Four

“Do you realise what you have done?!”

In the darkness of the dimly lit room, shadows danced across Alicent's horrified face as she listened to Aemond's revelation. Her brown eyes, brimming with tears, betrayed the shock and anguish she felt upon hearing the news. Upon learning what her son had done, what he was capable of.

The King’s apartments exuded a somber atmosphere, the darkness of the room mirroring the weight of the news that had been delivered. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the faint flicker of candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Lord Otto, Aemond’s grandfather and the Hand of the King, also looked momentarily horrified by the revelation. His usually stoic expression faltered, betraying the shock he felt at the news. However, as the political ramifications of the situation began to sink in, his face hardened once more, his mind already whirring with calculations and strategies to navigate the turbulent waters ahead.

“War was declared the minute Rhaenyra refused to bend the knee,” Otto sighed, before returning to his seat at the dining table.

Lucerys was dead, killed by his own uncle over the shores of Storms End in a brutal clash between their dragons. It was a confrontation fueled by vengeance and simmering animosity, one that would inevitably ignite the flames of war between the Blacks and the Greens, tearing the realm apart.

Internally, Aemond grappled with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he couldn’t deny the sense of satisfaction that came with finally avenging the loss of his eye at the hands of Lucerys. The young prince, just fourteen years old and riding a much smaller dragon, had been no match for Aemond’s prowess in combat. It was a brutal and one-sided fight, but in Aemond’s mind, it was a long-overdue reckoning for the injustice he had suffered.

Yet, amidst the satisfaction, there lingered a sense of guilt and remorse. Aemond couldn’t shake the knowledge that what he had done was not honorable or just. Lucerys may have wronged him in the past, but the boy was still just that—a boy, with his whole life ahead of him. Aemond struggled to reconcile the desire for vengeance with the knowledge that he had taken a life that would ultimately plunge the realm into chaos in the process.

But in the end, Aemond found solace in the belief that justice had been served, albeit in a cruel and merciless manner. With Vhagar as his instrument of retribution, the prince convinced himself that Lucerys had gotten what he deserved, and that his actions were necessary to protect his family and restore honor to his name.

Returning to King's Landing, the one-eyed Prince was drenched from the storm, the rain chilling him to the bone. Yet, amidst the physical discomfort, his mind was consumed by the weight of his actions. The contemplative journey home allowed him to come to terms with what he had done. Though another piece of himself was lost in the darkness of his deeds, he couldn't deny that it felt worth it—necessary.

Upon his arrival, Aemond instructed the servants to inform his brother, the new and rightful King, as well as his mother and grandfather, about what had transpired. He requested some time to settle from his journey and change into dry clothes before meeting with them. When he faced his mother, the dowager queen, Aemond felt a pang of anguish at the disappointment and shock he saw reflected in her eyes. It was a look he had never before witnessed from her—a stark departure from the usual pride and adoration. Her silent judgment cut deep, serving as a haunting reminder of the gravity of his actions.

In contrast, his grandfather's reaction was more predictable—stoic and calculating, his mind already strategizing the political implications of the situation. Yet it was Aegon's response that truly bewildered Aemond. The new King had thrown a feast in Aemond's honor, his demeanor brimming with genuine pleasure at the news of what had happened at Storms End.

“Come now, Mother, do not fret so. This is a cause for celebration,” Aegon declared from his seat at the table, a chicken leg in hand. Alicent’s gaze remained fixed ahead, refusing to acknowledge her son’s callous words, but Aegon persisted, his voice dripping with disdain. “Mayhaps my old whore sister will now relent and swear her fealty to me,” he quipped, his words laced with mockery and arrogance.

Beside him, Lord Otto nodded in agreement, casually sipping from his wine as he echoed Aegon’s sentiments. Alicent let out a defeated sigh, her weariness evident as she grappled with the weight of her sons’ actions. But Aegon was not content to let the matter rest, his tone growing even more sinister as he proposed further acts of brutality. “Or else we could simply slaughter her other bastard sons. What’s a few more?” he chuckled.

The sound of Alicent's quick footsteps, as well as the slap striking Aegon's face, echoed through the room, a sharp crack that shattered the eerie silence that followed. Aemond couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as he witnessed the regal and poised woman lose her composure. It was heart-wrenching to see his mother, who exuded grace and strength, succumb to such raw emotion.

He knew deep down that the blow was a result of his own actions, yet Alicent would never deliver such punishment to him. Aemond was her favored son, the embodiment of everything Aegon was not—the family's protector, his mother's confidant, and the pillar of strength that House Targaryen desperately needed in these tumultuous times.

Despite the one-eyed Prince’s frustrations with his brother's lackadaisical attitude and apparent disregard for his responsibilities, he understood the weight of Aegon's birthright. As a Prince of the Realm, it was Aemond’s duty to defend his brother's claim to the throne, even if he harbored doubts about Aegon's ability to rule effectively without the support of those around him.

“Do you know what that makes us? What that makes you?” Alicent demanded, her voice trembling with emotion as she turned to face Aemond, who stood at the opposite end of the room, his expression one of uncertainty and conflict. His mother then uttered the next word with bitterness and disgust. “Kinslayer.”

Without missing a beat, Aemond asserted his defiance, his voice filled with resolve as he spoke through gritted teeth. “No bastard of House Strong is my kin,” he declared firmly, his gaze unwavering as he met his mother’s eyes.

Aegon raised his glass in a mocking salute to his brother, a smirk playing on his lips as he reveled in the tension that hung in the air. But Alicent’s scoff betrayed her disbelief, her incredulity evident as she struggled to comprehend the callousness of her sons’ actions.

“She is still your sister. And those boys were born from her womb… regardless of their blood. That is how the Realm will see it,” she stressed, her words a stark reminder of the consequences of their actions and the stain it would leave on their family’s legacy.

“What’s done is done, daughter.” Lord Otto's firm declaration prompted Alicent to lower her gaze uncomfortably, her expression reflecting a mixture of resignation and unease as she took her seat at the table beside Aegon and her father. With a sense of authority, the older Lord turned his attention to his grandsons, his tone commanding their attention.

"What matters is what we do next. Did you secure a pact with the Baratheons?" the Hand of the King inquired, his gaze fixed on Aemond, who nodded in response, his single violet eye reflecting his demeanor. Marriage for political reasons was an inevitability for him as a second son, and he accepted that without hesitation. He resolved to treat his future Lady wife with respect and perhaps even kindness if she proved worthy, but his sentiments would not extend beyond the necessities of their union.

"Excellent. I will begin liaisons with those who could ally with our cause," Lord Otto announced decisively, his demeanor resolute as he momentarily left the room.

Upon his return, the Hand of the King unfurled a map on the dining table, its sprawling expanse depicting the realms of Westeros and Essos, as well as vast stretches of open sea. The intricate details on the map hinted at the complexity of the political landscape and the myriad opportunities for strategic maneuvering.

"Dorne, the Iron Islands. Even Essos if needs be," Lord Otto declared, his voice echoing with determination as he outlined their potential allies.

Aegon, having finished his food, cast a casual glance at the map, his expression thoughtful as he considered their options. "The Vale are with Rhaenyra, as are the North. Stark's never break an oath, even if it means to the death," he remarked, his tone tinged with a hint of admiration for House Stark's steadfast loyalty.

After a moment, Aemond joined his family at the table, his demeanor cautious yet focused. He settled beside his grief-stricken mother, Alicent, who nervously chewed at the skin on her fingers, a visible sign of her distress. With a sad glance in her direction, Aemond then turned his attention to the map, his one-eyed gaze fixed upon it as he prepared to weigh in on the political discussions that lay ahead.

"And the Riverlands?" The Prince inquired, his voice steady despite the weight of uncertainty that hung in the air.

"Divided," Lord Otto replied gruffly, his expression betraying his frustration as he addressed the complexities of the political landscape. "The Tully's swore to you, my King, but his sons and grandsons are wavering.” The Hand of the King then pointed his finger to the border of the Crownlands. “Lord Larys is with us, yet his relatives are cowardly, and will swear to Rhaenyra because of her offspring," he explained, his tone tinged with disdain for those who wavered in their allegiance.

At the mention of House Strong, Alicent snapped out of her daze, her brown eyes focused intently on the map before her. "Harrenhal is a war fortress, and dangerously close to us," she stated, her voice laced with concern as she glanced briefly at her family gathered around the table. "If the entirety of the Riverlands, along with the Vale and North, march on us, that castle is the only thing standing in their way."

Aemond and Lord Otto hummed in agreement, acknowledging the dowager Queen's astute observation. A moment of contemplative silence followed, broken only by Aegon's sudden movement as he shifted in his seat, his finger jabbing decisively at Harrenhal on the map before fixing his gaze on his younger brother.

"Go there and find out where House Strong's allegiances lie," Aegon instructed, his tone tinged with a hint of mockery as he spoke of their potential rivals. "To the first-born son of Viserys, their rightful King. Or to a pretender, the whore of Dragonstone," he added, a smirk playing on his lips.

All parties, including Aemond, nodded in agreement with the plan. It was clear that securing Harrenhal's allegiance was vital for the Greens' cause, especially considering its strategic importance in the Riverlands. With the matter settled, Alicent rose from her chair, excusing herself for the evening, her untouched plate a testament to her preoccupation.

Concern etched on his features, Aemond couldn't help but voice his apprehension as he addressed the dowager Queen. "Mother..."

"I think it is for the best, Aemond," Alicent interjected firmly, her disappointment evident in her gaze as she turned to face her son. "Maybe some time away from the Capital will do you some good."

Aemond nodded in acquiescence, his composure steady but his heart heavy with the weight of his mother's disappointment. With a final glance at the empty chair where his mother had sat moments before, Aemond returned his attention to the table, where the men continued their discussions in her absence.

The next morning, Aemond couldn't bear to remain in the suffocating presence of the Keep any longer. The weight of his mother’s disappointment and judgment felt like chains around his neck. The entirety of the Seven Kingdoms saw him as a monster due to the scar that marred his face. But never his mother. Yet Aemond feared now, after slaying Lucerys, that the dowager Queen was too of the same opinion as the Realm.

Seeking liberation from the stifling atmosphere of King's Landing, Aemond made his way to the Godswood to find his loyal mount, Vhagar. The majestic dragon lay nestled within the verdant sanctuary, her colossal form stretched out as she slumbered. With each exhale, her breath stirred the leaves of the surrounding trees, creating a symphony of rustling whispers. Vhagar's scales shimmered in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy, a magnificent display of green and bronze hues. Despite her age, she exuded an aura of indomitable power, her presence commanding reverence and awe.

As Vhagar sensed her rider’s approach, the great dragon stirred from her slumber, her orange eyes snapping open with a keen intelligence. A low, rumbling trill emanated from her throat as she regarded Aemond with a mixture of recognition and familiarity. The Prince approached the beast, his gloved hand reaching out to stroke the side of face, the texture beneath his touch reminiscent of the night they first formed their bond.

“Skoro ao gaomagon ziry?” Why did you do it?, he asked her in a hushed tone. The Prince searched Vhagar’s gaze with his single violet eye, acknowledging the weight of responsibility that rested upon both of them. It was Vhagar’s actions that had led to the death of Lucerys, but their bond remained unbroken.

In that poignant moment, Aemond realized that a dragon was not merely a tool of war, a beast to be commanded, but a reflection of his own desires and convictions. Had he been unencumbered by princely duties or family honour, he would have taken Lucerys’s life himself. Vhagar had simply acted upon the instincts that he himself harbored, making the choice for him. It was a sobering realization, one that spoke volumes about the bond they shared and the depths of their connection.

The Realm may have branded him a monster, and even his own mother may have shared in that belief, but Aemond knew the truth. He was not a monster; he was a dragon. And he would embrace that identity with all the ferocity and power it entailed. With a resolute expression, Aemond acknowledged his strengths. He was skilled with the sword, well-versed in history and philosophy, and he commanded the mightiest dragon in existence; Vhagar, the legendary dragon that had once served his ancestor Aegon the Conqueror, now stood by his side, a testament to his lineage and power.

To be a dragon meant to embody fire and blood, to wield power and instill fear in both kin and foes alike. Aemond no longer harbored guilt or hesitation. Instead, he felt a fierce determination coursing through his veins, urging him to prove himself even further and leave an indelible mark on the annals of history as one of the most formidable dragons to have ever existed.

As Aemond confronted Lord Simon Strong at Harrenhal, he felt the familiar surge of rage and anger coursing through him. The old lord's refusal to acknowledge his brother as King ignited a fire within Aemond, compelling him to take action and cleanse the Realm of such traitorous defiance.

With a cold determination in his eyes, Aemond challenged Lord Simon to a duel, knowing full well that this would not be an honorable fight, chuckling to himself as the foolish old man actually accepted the challenge. Yet he was reminded of the words of the Lord Commander, Ser Criston Cole; when steel is drawn, a fair match is not something anyone should expect. In moments, Aemond's sword slashed through the air with deadly precision, cutting down the old man like gutting a fish, leaving no chance for mercy or redemption. It was a brutal and swift end, but in times of war, fairness and honor often fell by the wayside in favor of victory.

Looking over the lifeless body of Lord Simon lay at his feet, Aemond ordered his soldiers to dispose of the remains by feeding them to Vhagar. It was a grim display, but to Aemond, it served a practical purpose. Why waste valuable sustenance when it could nourish his mighty dragon? The fear and dread emanating from the onlookers only fueled Aemond's sense of power and dominance, reaffirming his status as a force to be reckoned with in the eyes of all who dared to oppose him.

But the slaughter did not stop there. In a cold and calculated manner, Aemond issued the ruthless decree that every man, woman and child with Strong blood, true-born or bastard, be put to the sword, as punishment for Lord Simon’s treason. The screams and pleas of those sentenced to death fell on deaf ears, as Aemond remained resolute in his belief that such extreme measures were necessary for the stability and security of the Realm.

Despite the flicker of remorse that briefly crossed his mind at the thought of innocent babes meeting the same fate, Aemond forcefully suppressed any hint of weakness or sentimentality. He knew that typical morality had no place in the harsh realities of war and power struggles. The future threat posed by the offspring of House Strong outweighed any fleeting feelings of compassion.

As the day at Harrenhal descended into darkness and chaos, the floors became slick with blood, serving as a grim reminder of the brutal cost of Aemond's actions. Yet amidst the carnage, Aemond couldn't help but find a twisted sense of beauty in the scene, likening the splatters of blood to the blossoming of spring flowers, a morbid juxtaposition of life and death.

In a grim display of brutality, Aemond's soldiers meticulously searched the castle, rounding up the bastards among the servants and executing them with ruthless efficiency. Even as the heads rolled and blood stained the floors, Aemond remained impassive, his resolve unshaken by the horror unfolding around him.

Amidst the chaos, Aemond's attention was drawn to a woman being dragged outside by two soldiers. Despite her struggles and screams, she was overpowered and brought before the executioner's block. Aemond's violet eye narrowed as he observed her, noting her dark hair and captivating green eyes. There was a fleeting resemblance to someone from his past, a ghost of memory he chose not to dwell on.

As the woman fought fiercely against her impending fate, Aemond couldn't suppress a snicker of amusement. To him, she was like prey caught in a trap, defiant to the end. With a cruel smirk, Aemond raised his arm, signaling to his men that he would personally deliver the final blow. It was a moment of twisted satisfaction for him, relishing in the inevitable demise of his prey, just as he would during a hunt. To see the light of life leaving her eyes would be a joyous end to a productive day.

Forced to kneel before the block, the woman locked eyes with Aemond, her expression unreadable. “I see a maelstrom surrounding you, my Prince,” she spoke, her voice steady despite the imminent danger. Aemond cocked his head, amused by her attempt to stall her fate.

“It is drowning you, tearing you apart from the inside out,” she continued, her words laced with cryptic meaning. Aemond rolled his eye, growing impatient with her theatrics.

“Hold her down,” he commanded the soldiers, his tone cold and authoritative, as they pressed her head against the unforgiving block.

Yet, even in the face of imminent death, the woman remained unnervingly composed, chuckling softly to herself. “You want her so badly, it is consuming you,” she remarked, her words hitting a nerve with Aemond.

“Silence,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin as he cleaned the blood from his sword.

Raising his sword to deliver the fatal blow, Aemond was taken aback as the woman’s smile widened, her green eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. “A girl with a stripe of Old Valyria in her hair,” she uttered cryptically, her words sending a chill down Aemond’s spine. “The Lady Maera.”

Aemond froze in place, his grip tightening on his sword as the revelation washed over him, leaving him stunned and uncertain of his next move. Despite the passage of three long years, Maera's name was like a jolt to his system, stirring memories he had buried deep within. He wondered if Maera would even recognize him now, given the darkness that consumed him.

He recalled the sparse updates he received from his sister Helaena about Maera's life. She had acquired more siblings through her father's latest marriage and was now undergoing strict tutelage from a septa to mold her into a proper Lady of the court. Aemond couldn't help but chuckle bitterly at the notion; the idea of Maera conforming to the expectations of highborn society seemed incongruous with the spirited little girl he once knew.

However, his amusement quickly turned to a frown as recalled another update from Maera’s life. Rumors had reached him of her supposed indiscretions, tarnishing her once pristine reputation. Learning of Maera’s alleged liaison with a knight in her father's service stirred a complex mix of emotions within Aemond—disgust at the scandal, curiosity about the truth behind the rumors, and a disturbing twinge of jealousy at the thought of Maera being with another man.

"What do you know about a minor noblewoman from the Stormlands?" Aemond's voice dripped with mockery as he kept his sword poised above the woman's head.

The woman met his gaze squarely, her expression unwavering. "More than you think," she replied, her tone devoid of fear or hesitation.

Aemond lowered his sword, a mixture of curiosity and disdain evident in his demeanor. "So you know of her? What use is that to me?" He queried, tilting his head in disbelief. "Are you so desperate that you resort to pleading through my childhood connections?"

Kneeling down, Aemond leaned in close to the woman's face, his sneer evident. "You know nothing, you stupid whore," he spat out contemptuously.

But the woman remained composed, her eyebrows arching slightly as she held his gaze. "I know you want her. And I can help you obtain her," she stated calmly.

Aemond's past with Maera flashed before his eyes at the woman’s words, causing him to feel a pang of longing mixed with discomfort. The moments of laughter, camaraderie, and shared adventures seemed like distant echoes from another lifetime, impossible to grasp in the harsh reality of the present. It was unsettling to glimpse his old self in those memories, a stark contrast to the ruthless and hardened man he had become.

The woman’s assumption that he desired Maera was met with incredulity from Aemond. How could she be so delusional, especially now that Maera's reputation had been tarnished? Yet, despite his efforts to push aside any lingering feelings, he couldn't deny the tug he still felt at the mention of Maera's name. It was as if a tether bound them together, pulling taut in her absence and refusing to release its grip on his thoughts.

In his mind, Aemond resolved to entertain the witch for a moment longer before exacting his vengeance. Perhaps torture would be a fitting punishment for a woman who dared to presume such audacity. With a cold determination, Aemond straightened up and turned to the guards. "Bind her and bring her inside," he commanded, his decision made as intrigue mingled with skepticism in his gaze.

The room where Aemond and the woman sat was small and unadorned, a far cry from the opulence of his quarters in the Red Keep. Dimly lit by the flickering flames of the hearth and the muted daylight filtering through a lone window, the atmosphere was somber and oppressive.

Seated opposite the woman, Aemond exuded an air of quiet menace as he twirled his dagger skillfully in his hand, the glint of the metal casting eerie shadows across the room. His one-eyed gaze bore into her, cold and calculating, as he prepared to extract whatever information she possessed.The woman, bound by metal handcuffs, sat hunched and disheveled, her simple green dress torn and stained with mud and blood from her rough handling by the guards.

Despite her predicament, there was a defiant glint in her eyes as she met Aemond's smirk with a steely resolve as she revealed who, and what, she was.

"A witch?" Aemond chuckled incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief. "Gods, you are not a seer if you think pretty spells or appeals to my caring nature will sway me. I assure you, I possess no such thing."

Alys met his gaze with a cold stare, unflinching in the face of his skepticism. "A caring nature, perhaps not," she remarked icily, her tone cutting. "Especially considering the slaughter you've wrought here today.” She then paused, tilting her head. “And young Prince Lucerys."

The cocky smirk on the Prince’s face vanished, contorting into a frown of frustration and suspicion. How could she have learned of it so quickly? The possibility of a fast raven seemed improbable, given the remote location of Harrenhall and the lack of urgency in disseminating such information.

"But you have a heart, and it belongs to her," Alys continued, a sly smile playing on her lips as she knew the Prince was aware to whom she was referring. "And you hate yourself for it."

The mocking tone in her voice irked Aemond, prompting him to lean forward, his grip tightening on her shackles as he pressed the tip of his dagger against her throat. How dare a lowly whore, a bastard no less, mock him? The ridiculous insinuation that he was driven by feelings for his childhood friend Maera, feelings he adamantly denied possessing, caused Aemond’s rage to boil over.

"Thus far, you have said nothing of use," he sneered, applying pressure until a bead of blood trickled down. “And your tongue will be the next thing I take, before your head.”

Alys winced at the pain but remained defiant, her cat-like eyes locked with Aemond's as she spoke through gritted teeth. "Dragon fire melts the steel to bridge the gap between sky and sea."

Aemond’s single eye widened slightly, and he lowered the blade from her throat. The words struck a chord deep within him, stirring memories he had long tried to bury.

“The words of your sister, the Queen, are they not?” The witch asked him in a confident tone. The Prince vividly remembered the moment Helaena had spoken those exact words to him, her voice trembling with fear and uncertainty as he escorted her down the aisle on her wedding day. It was a private moment, shared between siblings amidst the grandeur of the ceremony.

How could Alys have known those words? They were spoken in the hushed intimacy of the Great Sept, far from prying ears. The distance between them and the echoing music should have rendered them unheard by anyone else. Yet here was Alys, repeating them as if she had been there that day, standing right beside them. A sense of unease settled over Aemond as he contemplated this unsettling revelation, his mind racing with questions and suspicions.

The Prince’s anger and frustration simmered beneath the surface as he grappled with the mystery of how Alys had such intimate knowledge of his past. With a firm shove, he released her from his grip, pushing her back into her chair, but keeping his dagger pointed at her as a silent warning.

As Alys exhaled a breath shakily, Aemond observed the dance of light from the hearth across her face, casting her features in an ominous glow. Despite her apparent calm demeanor, he sensed a tension lingering in the air, a palpable unease that matched his own. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken questions and veiled threats. Aemond's mind raced, searching for any logical explanation, any clue that could unravel the enigma before him.

Alys cleared her throat before speaking, her tone confident yet oddly soothing. “I understand that mere words of prophecy may not be enough to earn your trust, Prince Aemond,” she began, her eyes locking with his. “So, allow me to offer you a gift—a demonstration of my power, if you will.”

The Prince couldn’t help but scoff at her words, his fingers idly toying with the hilt of his dagger. “And what could you possibly offer a Prince of the Realm?”

A knowing smirk danced across Alys’s lips as she leaned forward slightly. “On the eleventh day of the sixth moon, the Jewel of Rainwood will await you in the Keep gardens,” she declared, her voice carrying an air of certainty. “I simply ask you to go and see for yourself.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted downward as he pondered her proposition. Could it be possible that Maera would be waiting for him there? The thought both excited and unsettled him, stirring emotions he had long tried to suppress. Yet, he remained wary, hesitant to believe the witch’s claims without proof. Sensing his inner conflict, Alys continued to press her case, her words calculated to appeal to his doubts. “I will await your return in the dungeons. If I am deceiving you, you may take my head. But if I speak the truth, you will allow me to serve you.”

Aemond glanced up, meeting her gaze once more, his expression guarded yet contemplative. The prospect of uncovering the truth about Maera’s presence in the Keep gardens was too tempting to ignore, but he knew he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. The Prince regarded her with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “And why would you wish to serve a man who moments ago was prepared to take your head?”

Alys's response was simple yet cryptic. “Because it is part of the Gods' divine plan, my Prince,” she replied, her tone laden with conviction.

Aemond's decision to humor the supposed witch and entertain her claims was born out of a need for answers and a flicker of curiosity that refused to be extinguished. He knew that once order was restored in Harrenhall, he would have to return to King's Landing anyway. What harm would it cause to check if Maera was actually there?

With a curt nod, he signaled his tentative agreement, though his mistrust lingered beneath the surface. As the soldiers entered, Aemond ordered the witch to be imprisoned under strict observation whilst he worked on bringing order back to the castle and nearby town.

In the weeks that followed, the one-eyed Prince busied himself in rebuilding and fortifying Harrenhal, anticipating the looming conflict between the Blacks and the Greens. Stone masons were commissioned to repair the ancient walls, and additional guards and experienced commanders were stationed within the fortress to ensure its defense. He hoped that he would prove himself to be not only a ruthless Prince, but an adept one.

Weeks later, before his departure for Kings Landing, Aemond descended into the cold, stone dungeons to visit Alys. The dim torchlight cast eerie shadows across the damp walls as he approached her cell. Despite being the one to confine her, Alys greeted him with a drawn expression, yet she still managed a smile as she curtsied to the Prince. Aemond observed her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, wondering what secrets she might hold, and how they might serve his own ambitions.

“The executioner’s block should be dried out by the time I return,” the Prince declared teasingly from the outside of the cell. “I hope for your sake that your blood need not be spilled when I come back.”

The witch did not seem intimidated, nor shaken by his words. Instead, she simply smiled. “I look forward to your return, my Prince.”

Notes: so, here is Aemond’s first meeting with the witch of Harrenhall. Stay tuned 🖤

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