#lamia!jon

[staysaneathome]

A picture of Jon’s Cat(?) from Put That Thing Back Where It Came From!

They understand nothing about the evolutionary impact their existence has on this world.

Jon thinks they’re the most perfect kitty in existence, even with all their mutations. (Even if they do eventually begin walking on their hind legs and making noised that sound disturbingly like words…)

Martin eventually also grows fond of this strange little creature. And much like actual highland cows, minotaurs express affection toward their young by licking them, both to clean them and provide a sense of belonging to the herd.

(Martin’s mother never did this for him.)

The only problem is that a minotaur’s tongue, much like a highland cow’s or a cat’s, has a very sandpaper-y texture. Which is not always a pleasant sensation for a small human child’s delicate skin…

Martin and poor Jon’s Cat(?) are both confused and upset.

Jon does not understand all the fuss these mammals are making.

[cappymightwrite]

Might be crack but I think in his last memories about his half siblings, the song that Sansa sings to herself while brushing Lady's coat is Florian and Jonquil.

Hmm yeah could be! I do think it is significant that we have yet to get any lyrics from it, despite it being a heavily referenced song, particularly connected to Sansa. The closest thing we have to its narrative outline and characters is from The Hedge Knight:

"You are no knight," she was saying as the puppet's mouth moved up and down. "I know you. You are Florian the Fool."

"I am, my lady," the other puppet answered, kneeling. "As great a fool as ever lived, and as great a knight as well."

"A fool and a knight?" said Jonquil. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"Sweet lady," said Florian, "all men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned."

It was a good show, sad and sweet both, with a sprightly swordfight at the end, and a nicely painted giant.

[...]

"That was good," Egg enthused. "I like how you make them move, Jonquil and the dragon and all. I saw a puppet show last year, but they moved all jerky. Yours are more smooth."

Although that might be a variant, a play version of the folktale, rather than the exact song of Florian and Jonquil. We also have the song Six Maids in a Pool connected to F+J: 

The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had turned into a murky grey-green soup.Jaime took one look and burst into song. 

"Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool..." – ASOS, Jaime III

Will the OG F+J song that Sansa loves include that famous meeting? Maybe, since hot pools/water are a recurring motif that connect Jon and Sansa quite nicely. Would be pretty cool. I think GRRM must have been influenced by this famous painting by John William Waterhouse when coming up with F+J, because that’s the image my mind immediately goes to when I think of their meeting:

(Hylas and the Nymphs, 1896)

A dark haired youth with an auburn haired beauty...*waggles eyebrows* Sounds about right, George. And maybe to a lesser extent, these three as well:

(A Naiad or Hylas with a Nymph,1893) 

(La Belle Dame sans Merci, 1893)

(Lamia, 1905)

Honestly, I’m going to have to make a separate post of all the John William Waterhouse paintings that could be Sansa/Alayne/Jonquil, because there are a lot of redheads and raven-haired ladies, not many blondes though, interestingly. But what the hell, I can’t resist including some more:

(Ophelia, 1894)

(Lamia, 1909)

(Echo and Narcissus, 1903)

(Tristan and Isolde, 1916)

A lot Waterhouses’ paintings depict tragic romances and figures from Classical mythology, as well as Shakespeare and Arthurian legend (sources that have no doubt influenced GRRM to a degree as well). People often conflate him with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, since they depict very similar subjects, but Waterhouse is more of a later follower of their principles, obviously hugely inspired by the likes of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, etc. You can actually trace a line of influence right from the Brotherhood to GRRM actually, because William Morris was a periphery member of the group, and later a big influence of Tolkien. Today, Morris is primarily known for his textiles, but he was also a HUGE medievalist and a great writer as well...honestly, big up Morris, a true renaissance man. So much of LoTR can actually be traced back to Morris and his romances (most notably The House of the Wolfings, 1889), so when people say Tolkien is the father of modern fantasy, BITCH it was my man Morris. 

But anyway, Florian and Jonquil mirrors these tragic romances that so influenced Waterhouse and the Brotherhood, since it is a story that is both “sad and sweet”. In fact we know that it is a tragic romance from Sansa’s pov:

For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother's queen, of Nymeria's ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist. – ACOK, Sansa VI

Basically, all I’m saying is...I’m pretty certain GRRM is aware of Morris, the Brotherhood and Waterhouse, if not a big fan of them. I’m also pretty sure that Jonquil was auburn haired and Florian dark-haired, coz to all of these, I’m like:

ANYWAY (got kinda off topic), I do hope we get Sansa singing Florian and Jonquil to Jon as part of his post-warg/resurrection recovery. I know @fedonciadale has talked about the importance of singing in relation to Sansa, so it would be great for that specific singing to Lady memory to include F+J, and then to have that song reoccur later in Winds. So fingers crossed we finally get to read the lyrics of this famous ditty! :)

[sw124]

[Lamia-Birdy-Bitty Daily life!12]

/Pro-Revenge/p1

Hello my Lamia lovers how are you all doing, good I hope...

Yes as you see by the title change, there are new additions to the family as stated in my last entry. Bird-Bitties an they are so much fun to have around and they came around at the right time. Now as you’ve seen yes this is not a entitled parent/person story this is a pro-revenge story. Fair warning there is a mention of bitty abuse and mentioning of death so those with sensitive bitties please don’t read this.

Alright first backstory! Near the apartments where I live is a small neighborhood similar to the one you’d find in Ed,Edd’n Eddy but unlike that show there’s a few lovely old Victorian style homes, you all know the kind I’m talking about. The kind you’d see like in the 18 or 1900’s, the wrap around porches, turret coned tower rooms, yeah the kind any little kid would dream their grandparents lived in. Well one of these homes that is painted a lovely velvet red lives my two elderly friends Rosie and Leo from New Orleans.

The two moved up here some time ago and have been such a wonderful set of friends, its because of them I found Chip! So anyway Rosie and Leo are the kind of old people you’d want living in your neighborhood, both cook food that tastes so good you’d beg on your hands and knee’s for more. They’re retirees of course but I don’t know from what they retired from and never really asked. Rosie was the picture of a southern grandmother, she was round with big arms that just squeezed any/all negativity out of you. Leo was a stout man with round cheeks, he looked like Doc from Snow White with a warm welcoming personality to boot. Both born and raised in New Orleans.

They moved up here cause its quiet and somewhat peaceful, now these two have...of all things a Mamba named Phthalo who is full sized...and has no fangs or venom. Phthalo was a rescue they got from an owner who was trying to [illegally] breed Mambas without fangs and this person believed removing the fangs and venom sacs would do it...that guy is now in jail for 5-10 years for bitty cruelty. Phthalo was the only one who suffered from this surgery; despite their reputation; Rosie took Phthalo in.

Leo is a hobbyist by trade, an when I say that I mean it. There is no hobby safe from this man, he will hunt down a hobby and master it in no time....well to a degree. Long story short, Leo forged some lovely snake-dentures for Phthalo so if he ever got out he has protection.

[He sorta made them more like python teeth, but those puppies are so sharp if he bit you he’d take a chunk of meat with him]

Now thats out of the way time for the story, I had been friends with these two for quite some time to the point that even Phthalo welcomes me. An anyone with Mambas know thats extremely hard to earn, especially around strangers. When I got my boys I’d bring them over to let Dante watch Rosie cook while Chip an I helped Leo out, Phthalo was ok with them as long as they didn’t go upstairs.

[He sleeps on Rosies side of the bed, he’s really protective of her]

Leo often asked me for help cause I was both willing to help and had some muscle to move things he couldn’t. Rosie just loved cooking and feeding me, however shortly after I adopted my Bird bitties I got some rather sad news. Rosie had contacted me and said Leo was in the hospital, diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

I almost dropped my phone when I heard, I gathered up my boys to go see him and....he was bad. He had been battling this for some time, Phthalo was there, standing guard over him...sort of, he mostly sat near Rosie. Leo tried to play it off an say he was ok but from the look on Rosie and the doctors face....it was pretty obvious he was not. Despite that he tried to stay optimistic....

He tried really, me an my boys came almost every afternoon to see him and watch whatever we brought with us. Mostly shows like MASH and The RedGreen show, shows he liked watching, Rosie spent her time knitting and needle pointing at his side. He was quite comfortable really, though things did turn downhill for him...he was at that point where he had come to accept his mortality.

However as you’ve may have guest after a while...he did pass on, it came one afternoon on a Saturday when Rosie called me and informed me of his passing. Though I knew his time was near it still hurt, anyone whose been through these things knows that all to well. It took my boys a good hour to calm me down. I stopped by their house to check on Rosie, she was just as distraught but kept a brave face. She called up some of the family to help her plan the funeral, Leo’s brother Jon and her own siblings Betty and Rodger. All of whom I’ve met and gotten to know, they all have their own kids and were coming up to pay their respects but there was one thing I noticed. When all the nieces, nephews, grand nieces and grand nephews arrived...I had not yet seen any of their own kids and grandkids.

I didn’t want to pry but I spoke to Jon [Leo’s brother] about the matter and though he was quiet for a moment he told me that Rosie and Leo had two boys whom they had a very rocky relationship with them. As for details he wasn’t sure if it was the right time, I told him ‘say no more, nods as good as a wink’.

So we start planning the funeral, I helped by corralling the little ones and keeping them from Phthalo, he was still somewhat mourning. I had just gotten the youngest ones to play some games when someone’s phone rang. I didn’t catch much of the conversation but...Rosie started crying again, I came back in but Betty asked me to stay with the children...whatever it was....it was strictly a family matter. But you couldn’t ignore that kind of crying...I wanted to go in there and console her but...thankfully Roger came out and asked me if I would do a errand for him.

[Pretty sure he knew this wasn’t comfortable for me]

I agreed an he asked me to stop by a local drive thru an pick up some stuff for the kids, it was getting close to lunchtime anyway. I agreed and slipped out of there quietly, Phthalo had just slithered down and raced over to Rosie when I stepped past the front door.

Whatever that phone call was......I don’t know but if it could bring Rosie to hysterics like that I really don’t wanna know.

I’ll fill you in on the finale later

P2 later coming]

[for information on Lamia’s please visit @vex-bittys and for bird bitties pleases contact @coalition-aviary-bitty-adoption ]

[littleladymab]

did someone say stardust!jonmartin AU

I DID, and @pizza-snake​ and I have been talking about it all day. We have some details all worked out, but not a very coherent outline of those facts. Will I write a full fic for it? Maybe, but until then, I will write snippets and add to this list of ideas: 

Tristan is Martin, who is trying to win the approval of his Mother 

He promises to bring her a star to show how much he does love her!!! 

Dunstan is Tim, so he’s actually Martin’s roommate. 

He’s a good friend, and is also “yo, listen, you don’t have to prove anything to her???? She’s an awful person to yoU????” 

He had a dalliance on the other side of the wall once, won’t stop talking about her, Martin is convinced she’s made up but is too kind to say so. 

He's been trying to go back but he can't schmooze the guard anymore because he wizened up to Tim's antics 

Lamia is Jonah, an aging warlock who just wants to stay young and powerful forever. 

He hears of a fallen star and wishes to retrieve it so that he can have it’s eyes

The successors are the other Avatars 

NO They’re not related they are just trying to do a power grab when Gertrude dies

Septimus is Peter Lukas

Primus is Simon Fairchild

Una is Sasha 

Which makes Ditchwater Sal the Stranger, who keeps her prisoner! 

Gertrude dies and persnaps she has this powerful gem that can be used to let whichever Avatar has it to bring about their own Apocalypse or something and as one final ‘fuck you’ to the avatars she just ollies it into the stratosphere

It hits Jon, The Most Disagreeable Star to ever fall to Stormhold. 

Georgie is Captain Shakespeare, her first mate (and girlfriend) is Melanie, and Daisy and Basira are there too

When I write this as a Full Fic, I will have shenanigans, don’t you worry (you remember in the book how there is this whole secret society mentioned and then it’s only mentioned twice and never discussed and it’s like what the HELL DOES THIS ALL MEAN yeah I need to give the girls SOMETHING to do)

And for sticking around, here’s a little scene for you all to enjoy 

++++

Dancing vs Dueling

Georgie settles into her stance, hands lifted carefully before her, weight on her back foot. 

Martin stares at her dumbly, his grip completely wrong on his sword, and confusion written over every inch of him. 

She taps the blade of his sword with her own. “Come on, Blackwood. At least try to pay attention.” 

He flushes as he settles in to mimic her stance, though with a bit more flair that completely necessary. Alright, so maybe he has had a little training, but not nearly enough. “Right,” he says. “Sorry.” 

“No need to be sorry,” she says, “just follow my movements.” 

Dueling is a dance of its own. It needs two people on even footing, a balance of rhythm. A back and forth between partners. 

Against Melanie, it has always felt like an argument — but a scripted one, the sort of witty reparté and banter that belong on the stage. Dancing and dueling, though Melanie is a better dueler than a dancer. But it is a pace that is comfortable and familiar and Georgie loves it as much as she loves her partner. 

The first few steps with Martin are a fumble, but Georgie is patient (and strict). Each error she resets them back to the beginning. “Again,” she says, as Martin shuffles the wrong foot forward on an advance. “Again,” she says, as he grips too high up the hilt. “Again,” she says, as he nearly stabs Basira with a blade pointed too low and his own shoelaces coming undone. 

He doesn’t argue. He just resets on her command. 

Dueling is a dance that is hard to learn, but Martin proves an apt student. 

Jon, on the other hand, is incredibly stubborn. Rivals Melanie’s level of stubbornness, though she knows better than to say it outloud. (She is certain that Martin has picked up on it as well, though, and enjoys sharing the look of fond exasperation with him when the pair is at odds.) 

One look at Jon, and Georgie knew that he is not cut out for dueling. His wrists, for one thing, barely look strong enough to wield the carving knife at dinner. 

So she teaches him to dance instead. 

If he is what she suspects him to be, then he’s not a very graceful one. Perhaps the rhythm of the heavens abandoned him when it was forced to inhabit such knobby knees and bony elbows. 

“Chin up,” she says when she catches him staring at their feet again. “At least try to look like you enjoy my company.” 

This gets him to flush in embarrassment, and he mutters an apology that’s something along the lines of how he does, actually, enjoy her company. And that’s why he doesn’t want to be rude and tread on her feet. 

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m a strong woman,” she tells him, sweeping him across the deck of her ship as he stumbles to keep up. “I’d rather like it if you looked me in the eyes while we’re dancing.” 

He looks up at her sharply, as if she had said something that made him alarmed, but all she does is wink and his lips form a perfect moue. He must have practiced that while looking down and observing the rest of them. 

When Georgie and Melanie dance, she can feel Jon’s eyes on them — studying their movements, their footwork, the unspoken give and take as they obey the beat of the song. 

The next time she dances with Jon, he’s more sure of himself. He rarely checks his feet. He keeps Georgie’s gaze, like a challenge, and she can’t help but smile. He dances like it’s a duel, a game of take and give. 

“Dancing is a partnership,” Georgie tells him as she stops them mid-beat. 

His brow furrows. “I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” 

This time, he frowns. “I’m doing it exactly as you and Melanie dance.” 

She expected that, figured it, and rolls her eyes fondly at him. “Then maybe you should dance with Martin.” 

Jon stutters, and to her amusement, the blush turns to a soft diffused glow across the surface of his skin. “Why—?” 

“Are you really asking me that question?” 

He at least doesn’t answer that. 

“Martin?” Georgie calls, turning to glance over her shoulder where the other man is currently looking extremely overwhelmed by the drills that Daisy is trying to run him through. 

Martin looks up eagerly at the sound of his name. “Yes?” 

“Care for a different sort of footwork lesson?” 

“Georgie,” Jon hisses, tugging on her hands to try and pull her attention back. 

“Jonathan,” she teases, and steps aside as Martin arrives. Georgie gently passes Jon’s hands over to Martin and backs away with a courteous bow. “A hint: Avoid getting your feet stepped on, and you’ll make a decent duelist yet.” 

To her utter amusement, neither of them are looking at her as they nod. 

From the upper deck, leaning over the balustrade and looking down at the scene as she mans the gramophone, Melanie gives Georgie a knowing smirk. She starts the song over again from the beginning without waiting for the command. 

Jon and Martin stand hand-in-hand in the middle of the deck, the rest of the crew clearing a space for them — and at least pretending like they’re not looking. Their heads are bent close together, having a brief muttered conversation before their hands settle into the correct place and Martin takes the lead. 

He’s a surprisingly decent dancer, considering how rough his dueling was at the beginning. And where Jon would strain against Georgie’s lead (the way that Melanie would, the conversation that he doesn’t know the words to that he tries to perform anyway), he submits himself to Martin’s careful pace. 

Georgie ascends the short flight of stairs to join Melanie on the railing, letting her arm slip around the other woman’s waist. “Too soon?” she asks as they watch Jon and Martin stutter their way through the steps. 

“More like took long enough,” Melanie replies with a scoff. She tilts her chin down at the two men, as Jon laughs at something and ducks his head against Martin’s chest. “Do they think they’re being subtle?” 

“Jon’s glowing, I don’t know how that is for subtle.” 

“Even when he’s not, Martin looks at him like he’s seen the sun.” 

Georgie snorts and tilts her head against Melanie’s. “Try not to sound too bitter, love, or else I’d think you’re jealous of them.” 

Melanie gives an answering snort of her own. “Was I ever that soppy?” 

“You were that oblivious.” 

Melanie just groans, but doesn’t push the conversation, and instead they continue to watch the two dance. 

[frostedarsenic]

Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale of Arryn and Warden of the East

Born at the Gates of the Moon, in 219 AC, Jon is the son of the late Lord of the Vale Jasper Arryn and his wife, Lamia Lynderly of Snakewood.

Jon is the eldest of his siblings, though he outlived his younger brother Ronnel.

He was betrothed to Jeyne Royce, the elder sister of Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone, in childhood. He and Jeyne married after Lord Jasper’s death to honor their parents’ wishes. The two were fond of each other, but not in love. Still, he took Jeyne’s death after the birth of their only child together, Marja, quite hard, and never even considered marrying another woman until he met Celia, thirteen years later. 

He is cautious and conscientious, and has a reputation for kindness that is well warranted. He is widely considered to be wise, and is quite adept at politics. His one failing in that regard is his inability to be anything more than coolly polite to those he dislikes or utterly distrusts. He always wants to believe the best of people, even when he shouldn’t. He’s very practical materially, and hates fuss and finery.

Jon adores his wife, Celia, and dotes on his children. He was quite upset when Celia betrothed Marja to Prince Maegor, as he had been training her to be his heir, until he realized how happy his daughter was with her betrothal, and not having to manage an entire Kingdom. Jon is not in any way the disciplinary parent, but he is an active one, to both his children by blood and his foster-children.

He taught all of his grandsons born before his youngest daughter, Morwen, the basics of swordplay. After Morwen’s birth, both Argorn (his eldest son and heir) and Celia put their feet down, and said he needed to cut down on so much sword-practice, considering his age.

Jon has seven children, nine nieces (Earwen, Lorien, Luthien, Amarie, Idril, Indis, Miriel, Nellas, and Arien Waynwood), two nephews (Jasper Waynwood and Elbert Arryn), and thirteen grandchildren by 283 AC.

[grandschemed]

darkest dungeon ocs and their face claims.

reynauld the crusader — nikolaj coster-waldau. dismas the highwayman — jon bernthal vs. dj cotrona. viville the hellion — katheryn winnick. rosamund the graverobber — rosamund pike. marie-elizabeth the countess — kirsten dunst. william the esquire — evan williams. king valentine the iii / the leper — mads mikkelsen. lyra the musketeer — tao okamoto. selena the vestal — amber rose revah. killgrave the heir — hyun bin. euryale the lamia/siren — zoe kravitz. raphael ‘rafe’ the flagellant — tom hardy. saint michael the crusader — ricky whittle. durandal the jester — david castaneda.

[melinaillustrations]

Sansa Stark and Jon Snow fan art based on Lamia and the Soldier by John William Waterhouse

[staysaneathome]

(Or So Help Us Both) Get By

(A second part in the Monster!Jmart AU)

Jon wakes up to the sound of soft whining, with his head on a pillow and a pleasant lassitude encompassing his limbs and his tail.

He stretches minutely before opening his eyes to a blur of colors, light, and shadow.

There’s something indistinct squirming a few inches away from his face.

Groaning, Jon gropes around for his glasses, finally finding them behind him and sliding them on.

His cat is wriggling around, making vaguely distressed noises not too far from him.

Jon immediately slides one of his hands over the fur on its head, quieting it somewhat with the soothing contact.

“Shh, it’s okay.” His voice creaks slightly from disuse, but he can wait to grab something to drink until he’s taken care of his cat. “It’s alright, I’m here. Sh, sh, sh, shh.”

Unbidden, the image of the minotaur from last night surfaces in Jon’s brain, him carefully cradling Jon’s cat against his chest as they drank from the bottle he had provided, the sweet half-hidden dimple from his quirked smile and the friendly glint in his eyes that Jon glimpsed under the fluffy-looking fringe—

Jon turns his head into the pillow and immediately tries to suffocate himself.

Good lord, he must have been sleep-deprived.

Still, at least the minotaur— Marvin, he thinks his name was? managed to get Jon’s cat to calm down. Whether he left without taking anything remains to be seen.

His cat wriggles, pressing its face into his hand and letting out another mewl of complaint.

“Yes, yes.” Jon grumbles as he scoops them against his chest. “Let’s get you fed then, shall we?”

At least this seems to be met with his cat’s approval, as they herald it with a slow blink and a particularly squeaky yawn.

Jon has to hide his besotted grin in the fur on the top of their head and rain a few kisses down onto their precious little head.

Look, it’s not his fault they’re adorable. They’re a cat. He’s only so strong a man.

He sits up and gathers them to his chest, wincing as his ribs protest. This is why he needs a proper bedtime routine. It would include him taking off his work clothes and putting on something he can actually sleep in, at some point.

“Heavy thing, you are.” He mumbles nonsensically to himself. “Maybe you are a, a Maine Coon, like he said, yeah? But you’re too refined to be American, aren’t you? Little landed gentry, you are. I can tell. Or shall we call you the lew-tenant?”

That gets him a yell and gentle bat on the shoulder.

“There, you see?” He grins down at them, fond. “An inherent aversion to any sort of hard work. Little layabout through and through. Need a fleet of servants to attend to your needs, really.”

The paw on his shoulder has begun flexing in that particular way which shows Jon’s cat is kneading, their odd, burbling, hiccuping purr filling the air. Their mouth is open in a way that looks uncannily like a smile.

“Right. It’s just me for the moment though.” He braces himself for the daunting task before him. “So let’s see what we can do.”

All his stuff still seems to be there and mostly unmoved, which Jon is counting as a win. Then again, the minotaur seems to live at the end of the hall, so he supposes it wouldn’t be too hard to find him again to reclaim his property.

Jon is privately grateful, both that he won’t need to and that he had the foresight to use a week of his previously untouched holiday to ensure he could get his cat acclimated to their new home. The idea of haring off down the corridor in search of his things, constantly aware that at any moment HR could begin ringing his mobile to ask why he wasn’t at his desk yet…

Well. It really doesn’t bare thinking about.

In fact, the only things that seem to have been touched are the pan and the bottle, both clean and drying on an old tea towel next to the sink, and a pamphlet which now has some incongruously neat handwriting bordering the bright yellow print which declares cats are, “89% CHEAPER AND MORE EFFECTIVE THAN THERAPY!!!*”

(“*Not a guarantee.”)

Apparently the minotaur’s name is Martin. He’s left his phone number, in case Jon needs it (he doesn’t). He’s also left instructions on how to heat up the milk, again in case Jon needs them (he does). And a reassurance that he’ll be popping by after one job and before another to check on them and report any findings he’s made (Jon wars between being indignant at the implication he needs checking on and grateful that this miracle worker will continue to solve the problems he’s having with cat parenthood. He settles on mutinously and grumpily accepting).

He also signs this note, love, Martin K Blackwood

Annoyingly, that first word refuses to leave his head even as he tries to focus on the instructions for milk preparation.

It’s just—okay, maybe the minotaur wasn’t unattractive, but surely he’s not?? It would be very forward if so, and he hadn’t seemed the type, all stuttery and sweet, but-? And surely not for Jon, exhausted and surly bag of bones he was last night, showing off every one of his worst features. Not that Jon would be interested anyway! No, he’s not looking for that, not so soon after breaking up with Georgie. Although, it was a mutual breakup, she’d said so and everything, even made sure to get the last things of his at their flat delivered and paid for the postage. It’s not like he’s hung up on it or anything, no, no, he just needs, ah. Needs to learn to live with himself again, as Sasha so nicely put it. It’s why he started seriously considering getting a cat, after all, something to do with himself that wasn’t throwing himself into his new position at work, and—!

Jon is not about to have a spiral about whether there’s any deeper meaning behind the cute minotaur signing his missive with “love”.

He’s not.

Plenty of people sign cards with love, even to those they don’t particularly like. Some people even do it on emails, just out of habit.

That must be it. Martin seemed like a genial, outgoing fellow, the kind with countless friends and loved ones. Who else would be kind enough to come to the door of a complete stranger and give up their night helping with an ornery kitten?

Yes. Yes, that must be it. No need to read any deeper into it.

Yes.

Good.

Right.

Jon’s tail thuds into the kitchen counter, making him and his cat startle. They let out a little whine.

“Oh, oh, no, no, it’s alright, sh, sh, shh.” He soothes, rocking them a bit. “Shh, it’s okay, we’re okay. Do you want some food? You must be hungry. Let’s get you something to eat, there we go.”

Jon certainly is, stomach growling as his gaze sweeps over his cat.

When he opens the fridge, he can’t help plucking out one or two eggs from the holder as he searches for the milk Martin left, enjoying the delicious, smooth texture going down as he swallows the first.

His cat, seeing he’s got something he’s putting in his mouth but not feeding to them as is their right, has their feline thievery instincts kick in. He feels their little paws pat at his face, reaching for the remaining egg in his free hand.

“Mm-!” He pops it in and swallows, feeling his jaw hinge back into place. “No, no that’s not for you. Cats can’t digest eggshell, or raw egg. I should know. I checked.”

His cat protests this assessment with a mournful cry.

“Yes, yes, I’m cruel and unjust, aren’t I.” He makes kissy noises that seem to appease them as he finally snags the milk out of the fridge and knocks the door closed with his tail.

Okay, so milk obtained. Step one partially complete.

He pours it into the clean pan, wrinkling his nose at the white liquid. How mammals can drink this straight, he’ll never know.

There. That’s that done then. What next?

Step two, according to Martin; turn on the heat as low as it will go, and gently simmer until steam just begins to waft off the surface. Then remove from the hob immediately.

This would probably be easier if he didn’t have an actively squirming cat in his arms. And it’s not as if they don’t weigh anything, a small but solid and heavy weight to be lugging around as he attempts to negotiate his stovetop.

But, well.

He’d worked out yesterday that while they can be set down and left to their own devices on the cat bed he bought for them, what they like is being cuddled. Preferably for as long as Jon’s arms can hold them, and then a bit longer for good measure.

Who is he to deny his cat what they need? They’re adjusting, all alone in a new place with a new person, not quite sure that this is their forever home yet. If they need a bit more physical reassurance, it’s certainly not a chore for Jon to give it to them.

Plus with the workout his arms are getting, maybe he’ll finally be able to lift a few boxes at work without Tim and Sasha making fun of him for straining.

Finally, the pot’s on the hob and the smallest of flames is flickering beneath it.

Jon nods to himself, procures the sole wooden spoon he owns, and settles in to wait.

The milk is still and white at the bottom of the pot.

There are a few ripples when he drags the spoon through it, but otherwise, no change. No steam, at any rate.

Jon’s cat is kneading biscuits into his shoulder again. His arm really is starting to ache a little. His hair also feels unfortunately greasy. There is still no steam.

He reads ahead in Martin’s directions.

Apparently, once the milk is off the heat, he needs to pour it into the bottle, attach the nib and test whether it’s not too hot for them to drink. The ideal heat should be about body temperature in the absence of a proper thermometer.

Jon, whose body temperature fluctuates regularly depending on how long it’s been since he forgot to turn on his heating pad, finds this singularly unhelpful.

Mammals, honestly.

The milk is still flat and white. No steam whatsoever.

“Hm.” It seems like this is very slow. Is there no way to speed this up?

According to Martin’s instructions, apparently not. Under no circumstances, which seems unnecessarily puritanical, in Jon’s opinion. “Hrm.”

Jon’s cat leans forwards to inspect the pot and says, “Mrrp?”

Jon mock-gasps. “Where did you learn language like that, your Grace? Those kinds of words aren’t appropriate for someone of your station. Do I need to have a talking to with your elocution tutor?”

His cat trills at the teasing, turning to nuzzle into his collarbone, burbling purr starting up again. Jon chuckles and hitches them higher on his hip.

They wait a bit more.

…

…

… Still no change.

“Well.” Jon side-eyes his cat. His cat, title pending, pauses in the act of gnawing on one paw. “How bad can it be, really?”

[ljones41]

"STARDUST" (2007) Review

"STARDUST" (2007) Review When I first saw the poster for the 2007 movie "STARDUST", I could not drum any interest in watching it. In fact, my interest remained dormant after viewing the trailer. Then someone suggested that we see it, considering there was no other movie in the theaters we were interested in seeing. I said "no thanks". However, it did not end there. This "someone" literally had to coerce me into seeing the film. And you know what? I am glad that he did.

Directed by Matthew Vaughn and based upon Neil Gaiman's novella, "STARDUST" tells the story of a young 19th century Englishman named Tristan Thorne (Charlie Cox), who becomes in involved in a series of adventures in magical kingdom located beyond the wall of his hometown of . . . Wall. His adventures resulted from his love of a young neighbor named Victoria (Sienna Miller) and his desire to find and retrieve a fallen star named Yvaine (Claire Danes) in order to prove his worthiness as a future husband. Tristan has no idea that his mother (Kate Magowan) is not only a citizen of this magical kingdom, but is also a royal princess who is enslaved by a witch named Ditchwater Sal (Melanie Hill). He does not realize that his two surviving uncles - Prince Septimus (Mark Strong) and Prince Primus (Jason Flemyng) - are in search of a ruby that will give either of them the throne to the kingdom. A ruby that had caused Yvaine to fall from the sky and is now worn by her. And Tristan is also unaware of a witch named Lamia who seek Yvaine. With the latter's heart carved out, Lamia and her two sisters will be able to regain their youth and power. I do not think I will go any further into the story, because it is simply too damn complicated. It is not confusing. Trust me, it is not. But I do feel that in order to know the entire story, one would simply have to see the film. I have never read Gaiman's novella, so I have no idea how faithful Jane Goldman and director Matthew Vaughn's script was to the story. But I do feel that Goldman and Vaughn's adaptation resulted in an exciting, yet humorous tale filled with surprisingly complex characters and situations. The acting, on the other hand, was first-class. It could have been easy for Charlie Cox and Claire Danes to fall into the usual trap of portraying the leads, Tristan and Yvaine, as a pair of simpering and and over emotional young lovers - a cliche usually found in many romantic fantasies over the years. Instead, Cox and Danes seemed to be having a good time in portraying not only the ideal personality traits of the two lovers, but their not-so-pleasant sides through their constant bickering and mistakes. Vaughn filled the cast with some of his regulars like the always competent and dependable Dexter Fletcher and Jason Flemyng, along with Sienna Miller, who did a surprisingly good job of portraying Tristan's bitchy object of desire, Victoria. Henry Cavill gave solid support - in an atrocious blond wig - to portray Tristan's pompous rival for Victoria's hand, Mark Strong was excellent as the ruthless and sardonic Prince Septimus. Robert DeNiro did a surprising turn as Captain Shakespeare, a flaming drag queen who pretends to be a ruthless and very macho captain of a pirate ship in order to maintain his reputation. DeNiro was very funny. But by the movie's last half hour, the joke surrounding his deception threatened to become slightly tiresome. But the movie's true scene stealer turned out to be Michelle Pfieffer as the evil and treacherous Lamia, the oldest and most clever of the three sister witches. At times seductive, funny, malevolent and creepy, Pfieffer managed to combine all of these traits in her performance, allowing her to literally dominate the movie and provide one of the most creepiest screen villains to hit the movie screens in the past decade. Margaret Hamilton, look out! As much as I had enjoyed "STARDUST", I had a few problems with the movie. I have already pointed out how the joke surrounding Captain Shakespeare's sexual orientation threatened to become overbearing. I also found the movie's running time to be a bit too long. This problem could be traced to an ending so prolonged that it almost rivaled the notoriously long finale of "LORD OF THE RING: RETURN OF THE KING". And the fact that the movie's style seemed to be similar to the 1987 movie, "THE PRINCESS BRIDE", did not help. Another problem I found with the movie was its "happily ever after" ending that left me feeling slightly disgusted with its sickeningly sweet tone. But what really irritated me about "STARDUST" was Jon Harris's editing. It seemed so choppy that it almost gave the movie an uneven pacing. But despite the movie's disappointing finale and Harris' editing, "STARDUST" proved to be a very entertaining movie. Using a first-class cast and an excellent script, director Matthew Vaughn managed to pay a proper homage to Neil Gaiman's novella. He also proved that his debut as a director ("LAYER CAKE") was more than just a fluke. And he has been proving this ever since . . . so far.

[krovscastlerpg]

Master:

OC | Versatile/Top | Vampire/Shapeshifter (Lamia) | Jon Bernthal

Slave:

OC | Versatile/Bottom | Elemental (Water) | Park Jimin

The next round of acceptances will take place tonight, 9PM EST.

[urbsci]

#LeCypher October 03 (week 245) . MUSIQUE LIVE + DANSE + BOUFFE + DJs + DRINK SPECIALS + JAM SESSION . Montreal’s premiere HIP-HOP & SOUL party! . **Thundercat Tribute** . 🎧 8PM DJ Lady Oracle 🎤 9:30PM Tess McQuade - opener 🥁 10:30PM 🎷 URBN SCNC 🎶 11:30PM Hip-hop & soul jam session 🍽 Food Dood 📷 Lamia Chraibi . Drink Specials 🍹 Cocktails (1oz) $6.50 🍺 Beer $5.50 (pint) $7 (boot) 🥃 Shots $3 (+txs) . Tous les jeudis / Every Thursday Live @Bootlegger, L'Authentique / 3481 St-Laurent $5 $50 FAM cards (10 entries) available at the door! Portes 20h . Band lineup 🎤 Fredy V 🎤 Marcus Dillon (guest) 🥁 Anthony Pageot 🎹 JM Frederic 🎸 Jon Arseneau 🎸 Isaiah Mansevani (guest) 🎷 Vincent Stephen-Ong . Tess McQuade - opening act Tess McQuade is a Canadian singer-songwriter born in the West Island, in Quebec. She moved with her family to Costa Rica at the age of seven, where she completed her studies in Spanish, English and French. Her interest and particular talent for singing and music brought her to San Isidro’s Sinfonica school for her musical tutoring. In the beginning she participated in various projects, including performing on Costa Rica’s National Television Network on several occasions. In order to pursue her creative musical endeavour, she auditioned with success at the Quebec Conservatory of Music and Theatre, in Montreal, where she explored the world of classical music for several years under the guidance of internationally renowned soprano Donna Brown.In the process of gaining experience as a singer-songwriter, Tess participated in many peripheral musical experiences such as galas, Broadway musicals, festivals, corporate events and live national Canadian broadcasts; on top of performing the National Anthems for Montreal’s most prolific professional sports teams. Currently, Tess is building her own creative repertory as it lies mostly in the deep-rooted realm of old-school soul, R&B, alternative pop , Latin and fusions of several personally meaningful influences. A promising debut album is in the works. . Food Dood (food) Local caterer selling great food throughout the night. . . 🎤 @UrbSciLC hosts #LeCypher hip-hop party every Thursday @bootl (at Bootlegger, L'Authentique) https://www.instagram.com/p/B3FZGujnvaT/?igshid=10qlmyl5b6538

[cappymightwrite]

"What's wrong with flowers?" – ASOS, Jon V

A companion collage for my recent blue rose meta. Artworks used:

John William Waterhouse: Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May (Top Left), The Soul of the Rose (Top Right), Lamia and the Soldier (Middle Centre), Ophelia (Bottom Left), Lamia (Bottom Right)

Top Centre: Roses in a Glass Vase (detail), Jacob van Hulsdonck

Middle Left: Lilacs and Roses (detail), Raoul Maucherat de Longpré

Middle Right: Knowing, Growing, and Showing Roses, A. S. Thomas

Bottom Centre: Blue Roses, Vickie Liu

[sw124]

[Lamia-Birdy-Bitty Daily life!14]

/Pro-Revenge/p3

Hello my Lamia lovers how are you all doing, good I hope...well everyone this is gonna be the finale you’ve all been waiting for. I forgot to mention in my last posts, yes I know Covid-19 is running like wildfire right now but the funeral just shy of the shutdown so no worries. Unfortunately this little update to the story happened after the outbreak, I warn you this is gonna be sad, it mentions death yet again so please those with sensitive bitties do not read it to them.

Without further a due, lets begin.

Leaving off with Rosie treating me and all my babies out to a nice dinner, it was at Ryo Coast. Got to see Juan again but sadly no Virgil, though he was excited to see my birdie boys. We had a wonderful time eating sushi, watching Juan do his spatula flipping tricks and simply enjoying each others company. Phthalo came with us too, I always love seeing him with Rosie, especially how he dotes on her.

I’m pretty sure she needed this more then me...

We got back later in the evening, I was about to turn to tell my boys to unbuckle from their seats [Rosie drove us] when Rosie took my arm and asked me to stay in the car with her. Needless to say I was confused but did as she asked, so we sat there for at least a few minutes before she started talking.

Rosie told me she wanted me to know the story between her and her sons, though she appreciated I didn’t pry into her business it was about time she told me the situation. Years ago, way before I was even a thought in the mind of my own parents Leo and Rosie started up a small grocery store for the people in their hometown. They weren’t rich, far from it in fact, they were somewhat struggling in the beginning. But Leo and Rosie were content with that, they were pretty simple people.

Their boys however were not, as years went by and they grew up the boys began resenting their parents for not giving them a better lifestyle. The two of them did their best in raising them but when those two turned 18 they just left for collage. Paid for by stealing the nest egg Rosie and Leo had used for the store, they didn’t realize it until a fire started in the store, sadly they also lived within the same building and they not only lost their business but their home as well.

The nest egg was for in case something like this happened but with it gone they had nothing to rebuild from; thank goodness for human compassion and kindness. Their community came together and helped them out, a friend of theirs bought up the property where their shop burnt down, turned it into a cafe and let them work there to earn money. After a while they saved up enough to rent a small apartment, this went on for a few years before something really changed their lives. She didn’t say what but I figured they were offered high paying jobs somewhere else and took them.

I mentioned that and she gave me a playful shrug, saying ‘you could say that’ and continued with the story. She went on about how she and Leo enjoyed their work, got plenty of money and saved it up. She then told me they bought the house near my apartment for the sake of retirement, she told me she found out where her sons had gone. They were working as executives of some random companies in California, they found out about this from some of their nieces and nephews. They married, each having two kids; all daughters and worst of all had never since told the grandkids of their existence.

At least not until recently.

None of them had any contact until recently, she told me that her son’s weren’t going to attended unless they were getting money out of it. What made her sad was they considered them to be burdens in their lives....she spared me any other details which I understood. Leo left them a little money but the rest of it went to the grand nieces and grand nephews as collage tuition for their own futures. As for the sons they just left when they got what they came for, I have to say I was pretty close to screaming in anger at that point but held it in check.

She started telling me about how a little after the fire is when she and Leo took in Phthalo and well the rest is history. I sat there in that warm car while our boys were asleep in the back, it took me a while to process this information but in the end....I took Rosie’s hand and thanked her for telling me everything.

So we sat there for a while, just...enjoying the company of one another. From time to time I’d look in the back seat at the sleeping serpents and fizzled out fouls hehe. At least I had these guys, after a little while I take my boys home.

Then the shutdown happened, everyone was stuck inside and not allowed to travel anywhere. Not a problem for me but for Rosie it was hard, she’s such a social butterfly. Thank goodness for Phthalo and my boys, they head over to hang out in her yard. Things were ok for a while but...when the shutdown ended something happened.

No Rosie didn’t contract Covid, she started getting visitors; why is it bad? These visitors were not the kind she wanted, they were her granddaughters from her two selfish sons. They showed up and started trying to shove her out of her own home, apparently the girls wanted a place of their own so they began badgering Rosie to go into a nursing home. Bless her for being strong willed, not to mention having someone to back her up secretly. I had gotten the numbers of some of her family in case something happened.

It was during one of these visits by the granddaughters that....Rosie had her accident. She fell down the stairs, instead of calling for help the girls just left her there. Phthalo came banging at my back door for my help, poor Rosie had a broken hip.

I...don’t wanna go into details but when Rosie was in the hospital for her hip she got very sick and was in critical condition. I worried not just for her but for Phthalo, I got to talk to her via FaceTime and told her if anything happened I’d take Phthalo in. [I already talked it over with my boys, they’d be ok with it if push came to shove] She told me not to worry cause she already planned to have Phthalo adopted by someone in the neighborhood, a friend of theirs whom Phthalo trusts. You have no idea what a relief that was to me.

While she was in the hospital I called Rodger and Betty, they’ve been watching the house for her. Though I was happy they were watching the house for Rosie I still was worried for her health, I called her a few times via FaceTime and so far things are going ok....

But then I got a call from Betty, Rosie had passed on during the night. I was a wreck for a good four hours, bless my boys for being there for me.

It was later...bout a month after her passing she had a funeral, overseen by Rodger and Jon. I couldn’t attend due to covid but Betty came and stayed at my apartment to mourn with me and my boys. We both needed consoling and its nice she was there for me.

It was later something happened....

After Betty and I made some lunch man in a sharp black suit came, I remembered him from Leo’s funeral. He was followed by Rodger and Jon. They all sat down in my living room, apparently this was the reading of Rosies will.

The Lawyer started with Phthalo being moved to his new home by Rodger; already done. Then the house was given to Jon who would over see its care and lastly was me, everyone was looking at me when the lawyer passed me a envelope. It was one of those lovely invitation envelopes. I opened it and pulled out a hand written letter...it read as follows. [S4 is not my name but i’m protecting my identity]

Dear, S4

I’m writing this to you because I feel this would help you understand my decision. You’ve been such a sweet neighbor to my husband and I, always bringing your sweeties to play or help us with little things. You never once asked for a reward or recognition, Leo had always saw you as a member of the family. I know you will not accept monetary gifts but I urge you to make this acceptation, a large bulk of my savings have been shared to family and donated to charity. The last bit is for you along with some other things, I want you to know my dear how happy you made me, Phthalo and my husband Leo, from the bottom of our hearts Thank you.

Sincerely

Rosie.

I look in the envelope to find a check....I won’t divulge the amount but it was more then I could have believed. I bursted into tears and nearly choked on my own sobs, I tried to make sense of it until Betty patted my back. Then told me something that threw me into a loop.

Betty: Rosie and Leo won the lottery back in the day, its what got them out of poverty. They pretended to have gotten better jobs and retired to keep the boys off their back.

Now...it made sense, everything made sense. Their house, their hobbies, an some other things. But now I was worried about the threat the boys had given me and I made that known, Rodger smiled and patted my hand. Everyone assured me that won’t happen, Rosie had disowned the boys and cut them from her will. If anything all they got left was a warehouse full of junk that Leo didn’t want.

So thats sorta the end, heh well I should mention the two sons were having financial trouble and were hoping on Rosie’s money to get them out. But since her money was gone they had gone bankrupt and lost every little dime, so if they did sue me they wouldn’t have money to pay for any lawyer. That and they had no idea their mother left me anything.

I used the money to pay for a year of rent and put the rest in savings. So everyone thats the story, revenge with a side of love.

[ For info on lamia bitties please visit @vex-bittys and for bird bitties please visit @coalition-aviary-bitty-adoption hope u enjoy]

[cooldanceradio-blog]

RELEASES 2019 week 13 CDR RELEASES [44] cooldanceradio.com Aex - I Wanna Know Afrojack - Sober (Ft. Rae Sremmurd, Stanaj) Alan Walker - On My Way (Ft. Sabrina Carpenter, Farruko) Alle Farben - Walk Away (Ft. James Blunt) Andy LaToggo - Pump It Up Armin van Buuren - Don't Give Up On Me (Ft. Lucas & Steve, Josh Cumbee) Armos - Make Me Smile Bolier - We Ain't Going Home (Ft. NBLM) Brittany Foster - Fire In Your Eyes (Ft. Willy Beaman) Burak Cilt - Back To Me Calibré - Broken Bones (Dave Austin Hands Up Radio Mix) Cheat Codes & Daniel Blume - Who's Got Your Love my Claire Richards - 7 Billion Dan Shonewi - Breath of Ocean David Penn - Rollerball DBN - Found U (Ft. Noize Generation & Terri B!) DeeJay A.N.D.Y. - Ring My Bell DJ Tomsten - Lovefield Don Diablo - Fever (Ft. Cid) Dr. Beat - Waiting To Find You Ellis Miah - The Distance (Ft. Andrey Exx) James Hype - No Drama (Ft. Craig David) (Alex Hobson Remix) Jax Jones - All Day And Night (Ft. Martin Solveig & Madison Beer) Jon Barnard - I'll Be There (Ft. Rich James) Jonas Blue - What I Like About You (Ft. Theresa Rex) Josh Charm - Feel So Good Komodo - Is This Love (Ft. Michael Shynes) Marcocram DJ - Long Time (Ft. Miriam Lamia) Mark F. Angelo - Sing Martin Jensen & James Arthur - Nobody Maxim Tonic - Lolly La La Michel Young - Talk Talk Milkwish - Alone Again (Ft. Mahalo) Mustafa Guney - Love You (Ft. Mert Kurt & Erhan Boraer) PARSAPI - Feel It Purple Disco Machine - Body Funk (Ft. Jack Back) (Cristian Poow 2019 Remix) Sanreys - Extreme Wave Sean Finn - The Rhythm Of The Night Sino Sun - Dumb Softbeat - Rewind Sunny Marleen - Dreams Stay Real Yony Beats - Keeping You Warm Yves V - One Day (Ft. Sam Feldt & ROZES) Zara Larsson - Don't Worry Bout Me #afrojack #alanwalker #arminvanbuuren #cheatcodes #dondiablo #jonasblue #purplediscomachine #samfeldt #zaralarsson #cooldanceradio #cdr #releases https://www.instagram.com/p/Bvo6tcunjWC/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1sccoxjprag6e

[staysaneathome]

I love your description of human baby in your fic, it really feels like how someone who has never seen a human or a baby would describe while also giving a horrific image at first time reading that makes sense at 2nd time reading

Aaaah, thank you so much, anon!!

That was really the kind of vibe that I was going for—the sort of description that reads almost like a horror story depiction of some alien, unknowable entity, only for it to make an odd kind of sense when seen through the lens of “oh this is a creature who has never seen a human before meeting a real one for the first time”.

I especially tried to go for unfamiliarity when describing the feet, because both Martin (who has hooves) and Jon (who has a snake tail) would have NO IDEA how these appendages work. And why would they? They never grew up with them!

Thank you so much for reading and enjoying though!!

[staysaneathome]

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

“…aaah! Waaah!”

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

“Waaaaaaaah! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Martin feels his breath catch.

Oh. Oh no.

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

Ooh, Martin’s in trouble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well.

That’s certainly. A Creature.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Martin pinches the bridge of his snout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lamia looks doubtfully at the creature.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Martin discretely sweeps it into the bin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beg your pardon?”

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

Ah. He got scammed then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The creature watches him, suspiciously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She agrees, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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