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isthisthingeven0n · 3 years

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coping mechanisms : a.h

everyone has their ways of coping with traumatic events, but it’s finally time you faced yours. (2.5K)

m y e t s y s h o p

also pls don’t steal my work or share it without crediting, it takes a lot of time and effort to write these!

Sitting on the jet, you were abnormally quiet. Usually, the team couldn’t get you and Spencer to stop talking about anything and everything. Yet today, a strange silence loomed over you as Spencer rambled on about statistics, whilst Hotch tried to catch gaze from across the table that everyone besides you noticed.

“You know, based on Greek mythology, Ares is the God of War, son of Hera and Zeus and is one of the twelve Olympians. He’s also the equivalent of Mars in Roman mythology.” Spencer finishes his explanation with a small smile towards the team as your eyes remain fixated on the case file in front of you, something that didn’t go amiss by Hotch.

“So, this unsub thinks of himself as a God?” JJ questions as she scrolls through the various photos on her tablet of the nine victims so far.

“Each one has a new symbol on them, you see, on their wrists?” You finally speak up to everyone’s surprise. “Spence, are these symbols correlating to the other eleven Olympians?” You ask, focusing on your best friends gaze as his smile meets his eyes.

Taking in all of the images, Spencer nods. “It looks that way, but this one here, the sun which would symbolise Apollo, the God of archery, music, dance, healing diseases, truth and prophecy, and more recognisably sun and light. But it isn’t quite complete, looks as if the unsub was interrupted.” Spencer explains, watching as your interest quickly declines, and you lean back into your seat.

“Maybe there will be some security footage outside of the bar leading toward the alleyway the victim was found.” Hotch states, closing his case file as the jet begins to descend. “Morgan, I want you and JJ to go to the ME’s office, see if the symbols all correlate and any other marks that may be on the victims. Rossi, you and Reid go to the crime scene where Olivia Collins was found, see if anyone in the area saw anything. Y/n, you and I will go to the station.” Hotch tries to see if you’ll even focus on him, but you’ve retreated into yourself, shut down.

Eventually, you nod along with everyone else, unaware of the concern etched in Hotch’s hardened expression as you close your eyes, rubbing your temple as you lean against the window.

“Agent Hotchner?” A man walks over to you and Hotch, holding his hand out. “Officer Richards, a pleasure to meet you.”

“This is SSA Y/L/N, where would you like us to set up?” Hotch asks as you follow behind him to a free room, passing the blur of noise of phone calls and officers talking. “Y/n?” Hotch calls out your name, snapping out of your daze.

“Sorry,” You apologise, feeling the heat rising through your cheeks as Hotch hums to himself.

“Is something wrong, Y/n?” Hotch questions as he sits down beside you in the private office, his hands resting on the table. “If there is, you can tell me, especially if it affects your ability to work on the case.” Hotch tells you, his voice softer as your eyes grow heavy once more as you hide your hands in your lap.

“I don’t know Hotch,” You sigh. “and that’s the issue.”

Rising to his feet, Hotch closes the door to the room, shutting out the noise from the rest of the station as he returns to his seat beside you. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you? You seemed jittery on the jet.” Hotch states, not even needing you to agree with him.

“I just,” You struggle to form the correct words as you focus on your boss who looks back at you with a gentle expression. “I’m not feeling like myself, Hotch. And I just, I don’t know what to do about it anymore.”

Silence falls over you both as you play with the hem of your shirt, not wanting to face your bosses reaction. “Is it related to Utah?” Hotch watches as you tense at the mention of it. “If it is, you’re still entitled to see someone about it, Y/n.”

“But it was months ago, Hotch.” You comment quickly. “I should be over it, I moved on, I got better.” You explain. “So why is it now coming back to haunt me?” You exhale deeply.

“What happened to you in Utah isn’t something you can just walk away from, Y/n. You were captured and beaten, held at gunpoint in front of all of us to watch.” Hotch pauses as tears form in your eyes, one escaping as it glides across your cheek.

It was a sight Hotch will never be able to forget. He was the first one to find you in that building as you lay on the ground too weak to move. You were muttering nonsense as you screamed in pain when he tried to help you to your feet.

You were gone for three weeks, and in that time you were filmed being tortured and threatened to be killed whilst your team watched on a live stream. Hotch had never felt so useless since Hayley had died, and he didn’t dare want to risk losing you too, even if he had never said anything about how he felt.

“I know, I just want to forget about it.” You admit, wiping your eyes quickly with the cuff of your sleeve. “I have to.” You forcefully state before reaching over for the case files, but Hotch places his hand on the file, stopping you from taking it.

“Y/n,” Hotch starts with his authoritative tone. “you need to speak to someone when the case is over, and that’s an order.”

“I will, Hotch.” You force a small smile, taking the file and delving in deeper to the evidence that’s been collected so far.

“I’m saying that as your boss, and, and as a friend, okay?” Hotch adds softly, witnessing your forced smile soften into something genuine, even if it were for a split second, it returned.

You were getting closer, four more bodies had been found with the symbols of Hermes, Ares, Posideon and Hades carved into their wrists.

“What if the unsub knows we’re onto him? And this is his endgame now?” JJ suggests.

“But he hasn’t finished all twelve.” You state bluntly, ignoring the look on JJ’s face as you rise to your feet and look over the victim pool once more.

“Maybe that doesn’t matter to him.” Hotch comments, stepping toward you as he stands by your side, his back turned to everyone else. “Keep level, Y/L/N.” He mutters to you, a shudder going through your body as Hotch averts his attention back to the rest of the team. “Each of his victims has been associated in some way with each Olympian. Maybe he doesn’t have all twelve in the first place.”

“He’s halfway through the twelve though, why stop now?” Emily speaks up as Garcia interrupts and appears on the screen.

“Good afternoon my favourite crime fighters. I’ve discovered something that I think might help with your suspect pool.” Garcia states brightly. “It looks as if the victims were all part of the same after school club in High School. All from different friend groups and societies, but they all attended the Greek mythology club at Preston State.”

“How many others were involved in this group, baby girl?” Morgan asks, leaning forward as you listen to the sound of Garcia typing becoming further and further away.

“Four others. There’s Hayden Lewis who is currently serving seven months in jail for possession of drugs, Jordan Littlewood, she moved upstate to Michigan last year, Elise Harding and oh,” Garcia pauses, and you zone back into the room as you reach for the back of a chair to support yourself on.

“What?” JJ enquiries as Penelope pushes her glasses back up her nose, focusing on the camera.

“When the group was in school, there was a fire in the same block that the club was held in. It says that six students and one teacher were killed in the accident, including Greek mythology club member, Timothy Cardel.” Garcia sadly sighs.

“What time of day did the fire occur Garcia?” Spencer leans forward in his chair, and you can see the cogs whirring behind his eyes.

“Erm,” Garcia hums to herself until she clicks on something. “3:35 pm on a Tuesday.”

“What’re you thinking, Reid?” Hotch focuses on Spencer as you take a seat, catching Hotches eye for a split second before Spencer starts to explain his thought process.

“Most school clubs happen after school, meaning there’s a high possibility the Greek mythology club was held on a Tuesday after school, and all the members were there when the fire happened. If school finishes at 3, then they would’ve all been in that building when the fire started.” Spencer explains, and you nod along.

“Meaning Timothy got left behind.” You state coldly, all eyes turning to you.

“I think we’re ready to deliver the profile,” Hotch announces as he rises to his feet, the rest of you following suit.

Fastening the velcro around your vest, you place your gun into its holster, unaware of Hotch hovering by the doorway as you exit.

“Y/n,” Catching you by surprise, you jump before glaring to Hotch. “sorry,” He tries to sound sincere, but a small smile creeps into his face as you relax beside him. “are you sure you want to do this? It might be best if you stay at the station.” Hotch suggests in a low tone.

“No,” You respond too quickly. “I, I want to come. I’m fine, really.” You add, nodding to yourself as you walk on, but Hotch reaches for your arm, pulling you back.

Your eyes focus on his hand resting on your arm, and quickly Hotch removes his hand from your arm. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.” He tells you sincerely, something you’ve heard countless times, but something about this seems different. No one else in the team is around, they’re all outside waiting for you both.

“I won’t.” You mutter in response, moving aside from Hotch as you exit the building, thankful for some fresh air as your vest is starting to feel constrictive.

Upon arriving at the unsubs house, you’re already feeling the humidity getting to you worse than it had been the entire time you’d been in the city. Spencer joked when the jet landed that you’ll get used to it, that fewer layers were key and Garcia would’ve loved a chance to see Morgan in fewer layers; but this was far from pleasant.

As you all filed out, guns at the ready Morgan followed behind Hotch whilst you’re on the tail end of the team.

You were unintentionally squinting as you listen to the sound of Morgan kicking the front door in as Hotch’s firm voice fills your ears.

“Y/n?” Snapping out from the blurred house, three versions of Spencer takes over your peripheral. “Hey, let’s sit down, okay?” Spencer speaks quietly, delicately as he reaches out to take a hold of your arm, but you jolt away.

“Get off me.” You snap, walking past him as your vision only worsens and the humidity seeps through your clothing, itching your skin as each step feels weighted until you reach the steps of the house.

Hotch emerges behind JJ and Morgan as they hold the unsub, passing you quickly, hiding their concerned looks.

“Y/L/N?” Hotch steps closer, capturing a glimpse of panic in your eyes just as you pass out as your head hits the pavement.

Cold coffee and stale doughnuts. The well worn in fabric beneath you had a spring sticking out, jabbing against your left thigh. You were back in the station. But what was more surprising was the hushed sound of a conversation ending between two of your colleagues whilst your eyes remained closed.

“Do you think you’ll ever tell her?” Rossi mutters as he averts his gaze from your ‘sleeping’ form to Hotch, who is unable to take his eyes from you for a single second.

“I’m not sure, Dave.” Hotch admits, wanting to reach out and brush the stray hairs out of your face, but he doesn’t want to risk waking you up, not yet at least. “Maybe someday, but not today.”

Rossi tuts to himself. “You’re letting all the good ones slip out of your grasp, Aaron,” Rossi comments. “and you know how much Jack loves her.”

The mention of Jack causes your heart to swell, and it takes everything for you to not smile as you gain consciousness.

“He’s not the only one,” Hotch adds, just as a yawn escapes your lips and you begin to open your eyes.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Rossi speaks up, rising to his feet whilst Hotch stays glued to his chair beside you.

Slowly, you try to sit upright but Hotch leans forward, his hands hovering over your shoulders. “I’d just stay lying for a while if I were you.” Hotch suggests as you nod along, forcing yourself back down.

“I’ll go check on the others, let them know you’re alright.” Rossi excuses himself, leaving a heavy silence over you and Hotch.

“Are you ready to talk about what happened?” Hotch asks, his stern gaze concentrated on the exhaustion in yours.

“No time like the present.” You force a laugh, ignoring Hotch’s prior suggestion and sit upright as a slight pang crosses your temples. “I’m going to take some leave when we get back to Quantico.” You tell Hotch, watching as he nods.

“I think it’s for the best, Y/L/N.” He responds, catching the sight of your leg bouncing for a moment before you rest your hand on your thigh, forcing it to remain still.

“I know I’m due for a lecture, and a debriefing about the mission,” You hold back the urge to sigh, but Hotch beats you to it as a heavy sigh leaves his lips, causing you to smile.

The sight of a smile crossing your face is too contagious at the moment between you both. “We can talk more when we’re back. For now, I think it’s best if we just got you home in one piece.” Hotch stands up and hovers beside you, his arm extended as you gratefully accept.

“Thanks, Hotch.” You smile softly up to him as you exit the sheriff's office and near the rest of your team.

After a series of short questions, you’re all heading towards the jet.

“I couldn’t be happier to go home.” JJ sighs as she rests her head in her hand, looking out at the city as you near the airport.

Sitting beside Hotch in the passenger seat, your eyes glance over to him. “Me too,” You reply, a smile gracing your lips, knowing there’s more yet to be discussed with Hotch, including what he said before you fully woke up. “me too.”

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voidstilesplease · 3 years

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Swords and Arrows

or That Summer When The Ares and Athena Cabins Finally Allied For Capture The Flag part 1 of 3

⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹

(A Steo Demigod AU) || For @anonymous's prompt: "Scott as a Roman demigod instead of Greek" || word count: 2,647 || The Entire Demigod Series -> [AO3][Tumblr] (it's finally a working link tfg)

Stiles pulls back, "I was going to ask if you missed me," he says, face flushed and beaming. "But it appears I don't need to."

"You never need to."

🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️

"Why the long face, little brother?" Tara asks cheerfully, wedging herself on the bench between Theo and one of their half-siblings, and placing down her tray brimming with colorful food as opposed to Theo's bleak and half-empty one. She grins at Theo, but he's not in the mood to return the goodwill.

Theo pokes half-heartedly at the contents of his tray: a lonely sealed bag with a couple squares of ambrosia inside - the food of the gods - some cheese and two slices of wheat bread. "Don't call me little brother," he mutters with little heat, leaning to the table to whisper a request to his goblet, which immediately fills up with sparkling water.

Tara looks over Theo's head at Fred, their Head Counselor, sitting on Theo's other side. "He's not back yet?"

Fred shakes his head, wiping the bbq sauce at the side of his mouth. "Nope," he replies, popping the 'p' and catching on to the question without much elaboration. By now, there's only one 'he' that reduces Theo to a brooding and sulky man-child. "He hasn't answered Theo's last IM, too."

"Try the last five Iris Messages," Theo grumbles in annoyance. He turns to Tara, face contorted in a sour expression. "I mean, how difficult is it to take my call? He always has drachmas in his pocket exactly for this reason."

"He's probably busy disintegrating monsters," Fred says reasonably. Which, of course, makes sense. Monsters make the most infuriating and persistent roadblock of all. They make any journey twice as long for demigods - if they don't manage to kill you, that is. "Or, you know," Fred adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "maybe he's being an accomodating companion to the Son of Jupiter."

Theo grinds his teeth hard and fixes his head counselor with a death glare. Fred only shrugs at Theo's reaction, obviously aiming for the exact response, and chuckling through a bite of ambrosia. Theo has half a mind to punch him in the jugular. He doesn't need a reminder of who Stiles is with, thanks. Spitefully, he harshly impales a piece of grape from Fred's tray with the tines of his fork and shoves it to his mouth in the most menacing manner he can project.

It only makes Fred guffaw, spraying bits of food onto the table. The campers across from him slide their trays away protectively, shrieking an indignant chorus of "Fred!" as they make sure no stray bits made it into their platters. Fred raps at his chest as he reaches for his goblet, still laughing his dumb ass off while trying to wave his hand in apology.

Their neighbors also share their opinion on the appalling table manners of the Ares brood - spitting out food may slightly be a common scene from their lot, unfortunately.

Brett from the Apollo cabin throws corn kernels at Fred, a strange display of solidarity if you can believe it, while Ara, the half-Korean junior counselor of Athena cabin, gives the Ares and Apollo tables a look of disapproval. She's a pretty terrifying 15 years old, which is why Stiles is extremely fond of her. With Stiles gone to New Rome the first week back to camp, Ara is doing a kickass job taking over the head counselor duty. (But, to Hades with it, Theo would much prefer Stiles to be scowling at their table.)

"Okay, first of all," Tara says over the little chaos. "Fred, you're disgusting. Second," she holds Theo's chin to compel him to look at her, then smirks, "Stealing a piece of fruit is not a cabin 5-worthy intimidation tactic."

Theo opens his mouth for his scathing retort, but at the same time, one of Stiles's younger siblings points in the direction of the cabins. "Hey, it's Stiles!"

Many heads look up, but Theo springs to his feet instantly, scanning the area for Stiles. He catches sight of him almost immediately, bounding to the Mess Hall in his orange shirt, face bright under the camp's enchanted borders, as radiant as the last time Theo saw him four long months ago. Without much thought, Theo finds himself carried by his feet towards Stiles.

Stiles sees him coming too, and his smile broaden. Theo sprints, forgetting himself and where they are. They meet halfway, by the entrance of the Mess Hall, with Theo knocking into Stiles's open arms strong enough that it's a surprise they're still upright on the ground.

Theo squeezes him to make sure his mind did not conjure a Spectre to appease his longing. Stiles feels solid under his hands, if a little sweaty, and he smells as if he was run over by monsters. But underneath the grime, he catches the scent of Stiles's favorite body wash. He feels himself sagging in satisfaction.

Stiles pulls back, "I was going to ask if you missed me," he says, face flushed and beaming. "But it appears I don't need to."

"You never need to."

Theo doesn't know how long they stood just smiling at each other, but they break apart at Chiron's pointed clearing of the throat. It's not even in Theo's head to be embarrassed by his actions despite the cackling and many leering faces of the other demigods. Mr. D merely raises an unimpressed eyebrow, though the twinkle in his eyes can only be from amusement.

Chiron is sitting on his wheelchair today, hiding his horse's ass behind the illusion of human legs - why he still does it is a wonder - and rolls forward to them.

"Stiles Stilinski," he greets merrily, the lines of his eyes crinkling when he smiles. "Welcome back." Chiron gazes a little behind them, then, nodding kindly towards another boy Theo only notices, is standing patiently at a distance.

The boy, Scott McCall, son of Jupiter and a praetor of the Roman demigods' army, the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, steps forward to bow his head in respect of the centaur. "Chiron," he also acknowledges Mr. D who didn't bother to get up from the head table. "Lord Bacchus."

"Hm," Mr. D hums without correcting the demigod, sipping on his diet coke dismissively.

Theo doesn't hate Scott, but he also doesn't like him - strongly, irrationally, dislikes him. Instinctively, he shuffles closer to Stiles as if his boyfriend is going to dissolve into the Mist if he isn't close enough to pull him back.

Theo's been agitated since Stiles told him, a week prior, that he was flying to New Rome in California where Camp Jupiter is, the Roman camp, for a 'friendly' visit. Everyone's allowed to cross borders, but no one has really done so just to tour around. After all, the camps are on opposing sides of the country and monsters don't pause to consider not killing vacationing demigods.

A couple of times before last week, when Theo visited Stiles in his Manhattan apartment, he'd, out of the blue, mentioned the varied courses and scholarships that New Rome University offered, as Theo laid his head on Stiles's lap while the latter read. Theo hadn't minded it at the time, as Stiles quickly dropped the subject. But another month passed and Stiles mentioned it again, randomly, during one of their IMs, adding that he might check into the enrollment requisites. Theo started to worry, then.

If Stiles goes to New Rome for college, Theo can't follow him. He never even got to finish eighth grade. And Scott, he's one of the Romans, their leader, and grudging as he is to admit, one of Stiles's friends now the more he visits Camp Half-Blood. He will eagerly encourage Stiles, telling him of the countless perks that Camp Jupiter has. He will be as big a hero there as he is in Camp Half-Blood, and he can rise to praetorship alongside Scott if the Legion so wishes it.

Scott is not a bad person per se, but he wears the color and insignia of the place Theo might lose Stiles to. And if Theo blinks the wrong way, he might not see quick enough that Stiles is being whisked away to the other side of the coast, leading a life without him.

⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹

After officially welcoming the son of Jupiter to the camp, feeding him, and getting him settled in Cabin One, the campers go about their daily routine of training.

The blade vibrates when it hits the shooting log, right on the marked spot. Then it disappears into thin air and reappears in Theo's hand only to be thrown back to the same spot. He does it repeatedly, unrelentingly, until Tara aims with his bow and hits his blade with an arrow to send both weapons clanging to the ground, a few meters away.

Theo heaves; he doesn't even know he's breathless just from throwing until then. Wiping beads of sweat from his forehead, he nods appreciatively at the bow in Tara's hands when his sister stands beside him with a smile. "If we aren't siblings, I'd mistake you for a daughter of Apollo."

"Please," she laughs, opening her palm, gesturing at the fallen weapons. Both her arrow and Theo's blade fly to her hands in a matter of seconds. "I don't want to light up like a glow stick while waxing poetry during a fight." Children of Apollo don't actually do those in the middle of a fight, but they do glow when they're healing, and they can make others speak in rhymes just for fun. Tara offers the knife back to his brother. "Also, we're children of Ares. By birthright alone, we should know to wield any weapon of war."

Theo takes the knife and snorts, "And yet, I suck at archery."

"I can't summon weapons out of thin air," She points out, grinning at him as she puts the arrow back to its sheaf. "I guess we just can't have it all or Zeus would be zapping us one by one."

Theo scoffs, leaning into position to begin throwing again.

"Speaking of Zeus," Tara says, a playful tone in her words. "Where's your favorite son of the Sky God?"

Theo spares her a glare before flinging his knife and burying it onto the battered practice log. He purses his lips before answering, "He's at the Big House with Chiron, Mr. D, Stiles, and the other head counselors." He clenches his fingers around the blade's hilt when it returns to his hands. "They're talking about a little orientation on New Rome University's scholarships and handing brochures and study guide for the DSTOMP." Theo doesn't bother hiding the acid in his voice from his sister. She'll recognize it anyway, even if he masks it with neutrality. He can't mask it with neutrality.

She quirks a brow, "You don't sound too eager," she notes. "Are you still jealous of Scott, little brother?"

"I'm not jealous of Scott," he says, gritting his teeth. "And don't call me little brother."

"Why are you so strung up, then, if you're not baselessly jealous?"

He finds his reply being interrupted for the second time that day, this time by a distant rumbling coming from the sky. All activities on the ground cease as everyone turns to the increasing volume of an invisible running engine. Theo scans the space above them, at first not grasping anything in motion, until a burst of light reveals a flying, glowing red bus coming down fast to the ground.

🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️

Someone goes to alert Chiron as the rest of them scamper to the landing site by the amphitheater. The bus landed surprisingly smooth, despite its breakneck descent.

"Is that a Ferrari bus?" One of the campers points out.

Sure enough, the logo at the front of the vehicle, a black prancing horse on a yellow background, is of the famous luxury sports brand. But why would there be a flying Ferrari bus at Camp Half-Blood?

"Oh gods," Lori gasps somewhere on Theo's left. "Is that dad's sun chariot?"

As if on cue, the bus door opens, and a teenager who looks about Theo's age exits, wearing what he can only describe as a hipster look. He flashes a blinding grin - and quite literally at that, since they have to shield their eyes momentarily from the glimmer of his teeth - clears his throat dramatically, and announces:

"Hello demigods

The sun landed on your grounds

I am so awesome."

There's silence at first, then a series of enthusiastic applause from Brett and the rest of cabin seven comes next. The teenager bows theatrically, although Theo finds nothing extraordinary about what he just said. But soon, the others join in with half-hearted claps, recognizing the powerful aura suddenly seeping into their skins that could only mean there's a god among them - well, another god, aside from Dionysus, their Camp Director. And with the terrible haiku, there will be no mistaking who graced their camp today. The last time Theo had seen him, during the almost war on his first year at camp, the god had worn the body of a muscular mid-20's blond man. Now, it seems he favors to look even younger despite his four thousand years.

"Lord Apollo," Chiron's voice drowns out the applaud as he trots forward, now in his form as a white stallion from the waist down. "It's a pleasant surprise. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood."

Mr. D isn't as warm. He snorts, rolling his eyes. "Oh, bother, what brought you here now?"

Apollo's bright persona doesn't falter as he gestures at the bus - that is apparently his sun chariot. Theo remembers the time when he almost drove Apollo's chariot, if the Hermes cabin did not snitch it from under their noses, and thus putting three cabins grounded after a severe prank war. He had to take Liam's dish duties and pay him just so his present for Stiles could be delivered in time for Christmas.

"I'm here at the request of my little sister." The god says proudly, as the door opens again, this time with grumbling teenage and prepubescent girls coming out from the bus. All dressed in the same outfit: silver jackets, silver camo pants, and black combat boots, and they carry at their backs a quiver of sharp silver arrows. They glance at Apollo with apparent distrust, standing as far away from him as possible, as the god continues, "To deliver her hunters safely while she's away on a personal errand."

Several demigods groan in displeasure at the news, and even Chiron's lips form a thin line, though he tries to smile through the tension. Mr. D seems to be delighted now, though, happier to see the strange, vicious-looking ladies than his own brother. Personally, it feels like an omen of danger. Mr. D is never happy unless something perilous is about to descend upon his campers - even if his own daughter, Malia, is among them.

"Thank you, Lord Apollo." One of the hunters says albeit she looks physically pained by her words. She stands at the front of the group, a silver ring headwear around her head, with bouncing black curls, a pointed nose, and a strong chin. The other hunters also look at her when she speaks. It's easy to recognize her as the group's leader. "And thank you, Lord Dionysus, Chiron, for accomodating the hunters of Lady Artemis."

Chiron nods at the girl, eyes softening with kindness born out of familiarity, "You're always welcome, Allison."

Mr. D laughs boisterously, then. Like his punishment has just been lifted and he can go back to Olympus and away from the brats, celebrating by getting drunk on wine after years of prohibition. "Well, at least, Capture the Flag this Friday seems more enticing now, don't you think so, Chiron?" He gives a wicked grin at his campers, not waiting for a reply, his change in demeanor promising a torturous next few days for the demigods. "Ready to lose the Camp Half-Blood banner to these little girls for the 58th time in a row?"

~•~

#steo #steo fic #demigod au #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #stiles x theo #so idk what the heck happened #but i wrote 1k words more than my target word count #ahdbdjdjskxb idk #also for the demigod anon here's a response to one of your prompts!!#it took a hot minute but i hope you see this #scott mccall #brett talbot #tara raeken #allison argent #fics tag #demigodseries

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dantexlykos · 3 years

Text

Tagging: Dante, Daphne, Saint, Maven, Enzo, and Valkyrie

Timeline: Early September 2021

Location: Temple of Apollo

Notes: Summoning Daddy

Trigger Warning: Blood and sacrifice

@daphneonassis @mavenlockwood @saintcorvin @vclkyric @enzoxcorsetti

Dante

Everything was set. The moon was in the right position and the witching hour was upon them. At the temple of Apollo where the veil was at its thinnest the genasi accompanied by Valkyrie gathered. With painstaking dedication the runes had been etched into the very earth, checked over by any who saw fit, the ritual was set to begin shortly. Their power was charged by blood and sacrifice and to reach Thanatos it would take an offering from each of them, a bit of their own essence would be shed in order for the call to succeed. The ritual was an invitation, designed initially for any spirit or creature on the other side of the veil, the purpose was to create a window so that they six may peer through to their guest without obstruction. Each had their own reasons for this undertaking, some wanted power, others sought redemption, but Dante’s own query was attuned to the preservation of the veil. His heart’s desire burned even deeper, but such a thing would not be possible if he had no magic to speak of. Dante’s runes were etched upon his split of the circle, an old Greek incantation fell from his lips as his power moved to meld with the other’s. Genasi were not known for cooperation, their personalities were the embodiment of their magic and too often there was conflict between them. Earth clashed with air but in this they had to work in synergy while also melding the temperamental power of fire and languid motions of water and shadow. A blade of silver reflected the light of the moon as Dante drew it across his palm and outstretched his hand over the circle, blood dribbled down and pooled through the crevices they’d made in the earth towards the epicenter. “Hear us Thanatos, daimon of peaceful death.”

Daphne

As one of the youngest genasi, Daphne felt great relief in the proximity to the sea and how easy she could harness the power from it. Just far enough in the distance to resemble a blue hue, but close enough to give her peace of mind. It wasn’t necessarily out of fear that she had concerns for it, but just having that added boost would help her greatly in the summoning. Necromancy hadn’t ended up being as natural to the water genasi as she had hoped, though many sleepless nights and advice from the fellow genasi, she managed to find comfort in her version of the spellwork. She held that very version in her left hand as the horizon of the meeting place came into her peripherals, the sea winds causing the corners to crinkle and make it harder to read. At this point, it was overkill to keep reading it and instead she shoved it into the same pocket as her ingredients. Veils of tonics and dried poppies clinked together as Daphne reached the temple, uncloaking herself from the darkness and into the dim street light.[3:28 PM]Boots crunched against loose gravel before emerging onto the familiar sight, noticing Dante had already begun to get things in order. It was fitting that the earth genasi had arrived early to the location and if it wasn’t for the sheer amount of focus, Daphne might actually be a little envious that it hadn’t been herself. Though now wasn’t the time for pettiness, which revealed itself in the water genasi’s expression as she got within the limits of the circle. “I brought— ,” she began to state after giving a soft wave, then proceeded to pull the jar full of dried red petals and seed pods. There was more within the bag, but the moonlight only showed highlights of the items. A spare butterfly, just in case, and had been one in which she raised herself. Along with a few swigs of bitter wine, some mandrake root, homemade incense, and snake skins Daphne found while out at the Onassis farmland. But before she could continue, the fellow genasi emerged in her sights and that meant the starting of the ritual. Soon she was repeating after the others, hazel eyes focused on the power surging within each of them as her own blood mixed in, “We are here to offer praise, Lord of Death, and seek your wisdom.”

Saint

It was no idle task, to summon a god. Saint arrived at the temple, guided by the draw of power beginning to swell under the fullness of the moon. The time had come, and it had required preparation on the spirit genasi’s behalf. Clothed in the colour of ink, he was a formidable presence as he stepped onto the dais. While the others were mostly strangers to him, as were their intentions, Saint recognized Dante from across from him, already mouthing the words of the incantation. He stood at full height now, and his pockets were empty of trinkets— a purposeful notion that caused his upper lip lifted in a sneer as he saw the doe-eyed water genasi place her flowers and animal parts as her offering. He saw such things as an insult, curving into his segment of the circle with ease, drawing runes in shadow before bringing forth his own offering. Blood was required, but for his part, he would also gift their god something more. It would be twin witches, one of the element fire and the other water stood behind him, gripped at the scruff of the neck by a scowling werewolf; who stood as dark and sharp as the shadows that bound their arms and covered their mouths. “My offering,” he announced, his voice lifting through the dark, gravelled and commanding. He lead the witches to the edge of the circle, and he murmured the incantation as he drew a long, slender blade along their throats. Pale skin drenched crimson, staining down the front of starched white nightgowns before it pooled at their feet, making its way down to the centre of the circle. Saint tossed them forward, before bringing the tip of the knife along his own palm, squeezing to add his own blood to the garish swirl. “We bring you these offerings, this sacrifice— to beckon you to hear our call.”

Maven

There's still a part of Maven that kind of thinks this idea is batshit insane, trying to reach out to the god that gave them this power without knowing what will happen. But at the same time, Dante had made it clear her magic would be necessary to make it work, and she cannot deny the fact of being curious; of wanting to speak to Thanatos herself. She's one of the last to arrive at the temple, it seems, eyes scanning over the other genasi already around warily. Dante and Daphne are familiar, even if only by acquaintance, but the other is entirely a stranger, and she cannot help but look for Toni. Maven reaches inside the small bag around her waist, pulling out the deep blue enchanted candles she's brought, before setting them around the marked runes and lighting them with her magic. "For communication," she says, in answer to a question no one asked. This magic is still a bit new to her, but hopefully, it'll make the line of communication clearer to reach between the genasi and Thanatos. Blood and candles and runes, just like the night she became a genasi. The thought is of small amusement, as Maven pulls out a blade and cuts along the edge of her palm, allowing her blood to mix with the others. "We your loyal servants, your chosen followers, make this offering and ask for your guidance."

Enzo

Enzo reminded himself why he was doing this. A shot at meeting Thanatos, on his back, over an alter – the air genasi wasn't picky. Brushing off the idea that he would come face to face with a god, he made his way to the temple alongside Dante. The newest genasi was present; the fire witch who'd survived a hell of an ordeal. He'd yet to meet her, though this seemed to be a good time as any. He didn't say much, waiting until Maven was finished before he was rounding out the ritual. It was dangerous and presumptive to call upon a god. Whether or not he would answer would be one thing, and Enzo wasn't exactly confident. It'd get the god's attention, and the spirit witch's offering was a little violent for his own taste, and he wasn't sure what kind of attention that would bring. His own offering was less than, it seemed, as he placed the wood carving down. It acted as a channeler, and he remained silent as he used a knife to cut along the palm of his hand, mixing in his abilities with the other's. The air genasi was unsure of his own goal. Was it immortality to protect a failing heart like his? Perhaps, but there were many problems within the world, and he had little to give. "In you, the end of nature’s works is known, in you, all judgment is absolved alone. No vows revoke the purpose of our souls. Thanatos, regard our ardent prayer."

Freya

Freya was uncertain if this ritual would go over well, or whether it would be successful — a God’s moods were wispy like the wind, and did not so easily bend. But she would be damned if she let the genasi do this on their own. If something went wrong, she could save them. And even if half of them weren’t exactly fond of her, she was ready to do that for any of them. And so she stood still as she watched Dante start the ritual with the earth full of whispers as it reacted to his magic. Then she watched fondly as Daphne continued, with the strength of the sea in her back. The spirit genasi who had come to the stables was next, earning a slight frown from her side, but she did not even bat her lashes as his voice filled the air. A young woman stood in the circle she had not seen before, the fire genasi who looked as if she would go up in flames should anyone come too close. Last was the air genasi, offering his blood to Thanatos. As they worked, Freya’s magic washed over theirs like a blanket, knitting it together, and balancing it out where it was needed. They were strong, and she was the one to bring it all together. She protruded a slim dagger to pull it along her palm, balling her hand into a fist as she turned it around to let her blood drop onto the carved runes. It was the last puzzle piece, and her voice carried on the air as the ritual ended. “Thanatos, I stand here vouching for those worthy of your power. Hear their prayer, and be their guide.”

#discord thread #convo:valkyrie #convo:enzo #convo:maven #convo:saint #convo:daphne

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intelligentdumbass · 3 years

Text

My Sweet Prince (2.0)

“What do you do when you’ve done all that there is to do? When you’re too bored to do nothing and yet too tired to do something? When you want to talk but at the same time not?

Well, everyone knows I love to sing and, in times like those just described, I prefer to only sing to myself; to sit in the forest and play my cithara for no one in particular but the random fauna that decide to stay and watch.

…

It was a morning like any other, or at least it was supposed to be.

There was a prince, Hyacinthus, who had set off with his dogs to go hunt in the wooded outskirts of his kingdom. I imagined him to be confused, for it must’ve been quite the strange sight to behold; the trees nothing but silence for hours and hours on end. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, when he and his hounds managed to catch a scent, it was accompanied by a song, and the voice was not of a bird’s. It led them into a small clearing and instead of drawing his bow, the hunter froze.

There was, in the middle, what he perceived to be a fair maiden strumming on their lyre; golden hair shimmering under the sunlight as a wide range of animals sat around them. The young man was entranced, and so were his dogs, so for a while he just stared until the musician finally decided to acknowledge the new addition to their audience.

The notes slowly faded but, before the singer could say a word, Hyacinthus snapped out of it and spoke first.

“I’m sorry miss but… Who the hell are you?” He slowly approached, cautious of all the critters. “What in Zeus’ name is a lass like you doing out here of all places?”

I raised an eyebrow, but I decided to play along. “Oh you know… boredom.”

“I assume your father’s somewhere close by, then.” He glanced around, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh no, I came here to have some me time with myself.”

Hyacinthus looked dismayed. “Not even a brother, cousin, or a friend?”

I shook my head; he frowned.

“It’s not safe to be all alone out here.” He insisted. “As a prince, it is my duty to protect-”

And alas, it was in that moment that he had accidentally stepped on the tail of a lion. Fortunately, a second later, a silver arrow rushed by; barely missing the young man and piercing the cat’s heart. The rest of the animals took this as a sign to scram.

Hyacinthus blinked, and muttered a silent prayer to the god of archery. Ironically, this is what he said immediately after:

“See my point? Come on, I’ll escort you back.”

He reached his hand out to assist me, but only got a punch to the face in response. As he staggered back I took the opportunity to speak in my normal, deeper voice.

“Really??”

Needless to say, the mortal was mortified. Gazing into my sapphire eyes, he suddenly understood. He hastily tried to get his shit together, smiling in embarrassment.

“A-” “Apologies my lord. I suppose you’re just… that enchanting.”

I scanned him from head to toe. My instincts told me he wasn’t lying; it wasn’t merely empty flattery. “Hm… I suppose you’re not that bad yourself.”

“Ah well, of course! I’m Sparta’s heir after all.” He proudly exclaimed. “Still though, I am, uh terribly sorry for interrupting your song-”

“Save your apologies; it’s fine. I’m not going to smite you for that.” I sat down and placed the cithara back on my lap. “In fact, you’re welcome to stay if you so desire. I won’t mind.”

“But you said you wanted some time alone?”

“Away from the other gods, I mean.”

Hyacinthus was reluctant, but his puppers seemed eager to hear me continue my song.

“…alright. Only for a bit, if that’s okay with you, Lord Phoebus.” He said, sitting next to me; the dogs following suit. I suppose he had nothing better to do. Then again, how could he?

I smiled. “Please, just call me Apollo.”

Unbeknownst to Hyacinthus a ‘bit’ was quite the understatement. It was like time itself ceased to exist, and for once that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Soon the sun was setting and the prince was leading his pack back to the palace. I chose to stay. It was then that the west wind materialized before me.

“I was just passing by, so here’s a quick tip.” Zephyr murmured. “If I were you, I’d restrain myself. He’s already caught the eyes of two other gods and one mortal.”

“And you’re telling me this because?” A smile crept its way onto my lips.

“…what’s with that look?” He frowned; I said nothing as the god slowly fizzled out into thin air.

Hyacinthus had invited me to go out and hunt with him!

As expected of two skilled hunters, the trip went exceptionally well. Still, as we sprinted through the trees, I couldn’t help but sense the eyes of someone else; immediately knowing who it was. If Hyacinthus knew too, then he merely chose to ignore that suspiciously strong scent of spring. Still, I had a little sympathy for the intruder. The prince was easy to like, and I’m sure many have fallen for his bodily charms alone.

When we paused for a break, I said:

“Has anyone ever made a move on you before?”

Hyacinthus froze; I held in a chuckle. It was easy to see his attempt at holding my hand just as the question was asked.

“At least three other men have, but I’ve rejected them all.” He then quickly added, “That isn’t to say I’m only into woman though!”

I laughed. “Having trouble finding the right one?”

He stared a bit before suddenly grinning. “…Who knows, for all I know, I already have.”

My answer was a line I’ve paraphrased a hundred times. “Because I’m smart, talented, and very hot?”

“Maybe.” He inched closer. “But it’s also because of, or rather, how you smile.”

That response was a little… refreshing. A faint flush of red spread around my cheeks as I flashed a smirk, probably further proving his point. Then in the blink of an eye he leaned in; a hand holding my chin and his murmurs softer than any other breeze against my ear.

“May I?”

He only got a kiss in response.

However, even when the hunt was over and he was already making his way back home, I couldn’t help but… follow him back to Sparta, if only for a bit.

Turns out, Hyacinthus had showed up to his training with hundreds of flowers still intricately woven into his hair. It was hilarious how everyone else looked too scared to comment; well, except for Thamyris.

“What in the actual fuck?” He exclaimed.

“Okay, short version is: I fell asleep during the break after the hunting trip, so now there are a bunch of flowers in my hair.”

“Out of all of your suitors, you chose a god; hell, not just that, one of the fucking Olympians.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

I grinned, but then the other said: “Marpessa wouldn’t.”

…

Hyacinthus sighed. “Look, we all have our own preferences. Don’t tell me you’re jealous?”

“As if.” He turned around, about to leave. “Just don’t come back crying to me when shit goes downhill.”

I… suppose you could say that Thamyris had the kind of arrogance that reminded me of Marsyas. They both dabbled in music too. Hopefully he doesn’t end up making the same mistake that the satyr did. Thankfully, the prince seemed to be trying to ignore him.”

“…You know you could’ve just said “Sorry I’m late, I stalked my date.”” Athena raised an eyebrow; yet her voice carried not a single trace of annoyance. Doing their father’s paperwork was a task she was well accustomed too, and a very boring one at that.

“Hey! For the record I didn’t stay any longer after that conversation he had with Thamyris. Plus, it’s not every day that I almost forget about my duties. I figured you’d want a thorough explanation.”

“Well, as long as it isn’t too thorough.”

The god laughed. “Oh wait, shit-” “What was I doing again?” His eyes scanned the documents he forgot he was holding.

The goddess sighed. There was but one thought in her mind.

‘This is going to start happening much more often now, isn’t it?’

And she was right.

A few days later, Hermes was swiftly flying through the halls until he stopped in front of the studio’s door. He carefully pushed it open, but despite being the lord of communication, he couldn’t utter a single word.

It was late in the evening, and his brother wasn’t alone.

Apollo was sitting down, writing on a scroll, and behind him was a mortal curiously peering over his shoulder. Then the boy moved closer, and wrapped his arms around the blonde’s waist; tenderly whispering sweet nothings into his ear. To Hermes’ surprise, Apollo allowed himself to be pried away from his research.

The younger god decided to just slowly close the door.

Athena was right and apparently she didn’t seem to mind.

--------------

Thamyris wasn’t the only one with a complaint.

Hyacinthus was sitting under a cypress tree; trying to practice playing the lyre his lover had gifted him, when the breeze whispered into his ear.

“Look at it.” He said. “Your reflection in the water.”

The prince raised an eyebrow, but he glanced into the stream in front of him anyway. The top of his head was adorned with all sorts of flowers, no doubt due to the breath of the west wind.

“Hm… I think I liked it better when Apollo did it.”

Zephyr frowned; materializing seated down on his left.

“You’re not giving me a chance-”

“Except he already did.” Apollo sighed, suddenly appearing on Hyacinthus’ right. “For fates’ sake, take a hint and go blow someone else.”

The other god glared, but gave in, yet not before yelling something on a whim.

“So in one of the few times a mortal catches my fancy, you, who have already had many, get to have him instead?” He suddenly stood up. “You’re as greedy and insatiable with your lovers as you are with your domains.”

Apollo said nothing as the god disappeared into the wind.

Hyacinthus surprised him with a hug from behind.

“His argument is invalid. This isn’t just your choice, but mine as well.”

Still, after months and months of general bliss, the prince couldn’t help but ask:

“Those laurel wreaths you wear; they mean a lot to you, don’t they?”

The god felt his chest hurt. “Well, of course; there are many reasons as to why I care about them, one of them being that they remind me of something I shouldn’t ever forget because I don’t want to make a mistake like that ever again.”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before he continued.

“Hyacinthus?”

“Yeah?”

“Never doubt my feelings for you, okay?”

“I never did.”

“…even so, you really must know that, because of you, right now is the best I’ve ever felt in literal decades.”

“Oh don’t flatter me, sunshine.”

“You know I can’t lie. So really, trust me when I say that I’m here to stay.”

Hyacinthus’ eyes darted around the room as the musician’s head rested on his lap; the prince’s fingers twirling around in his golden locks. The floor was littered with paintings and marble statues of varying shapes and sizes scattered all over.

“Something caught your eye?” Apollo said as he saw his lover look at a painting of Crete. “You can take one of them home if you’d like.”

“Oh-” “Oh no it’s fine, really! I was just… enjoying the scenery.”

“Hm, you know I can take you there myself, right? Oooooh, imagine! A tour around Greece with yours truly.”

The boy smiled. His gaze shifted from a painting of Delphi to some art work of Leto, then Artemis, then Zeus, Athena and the rest of the other heavenly gods.

What he stared at the most were the ones next to those works about the Muses and the Thriae.

The names were many, Admetus, Cyrene, Branchus, Hecuba, Helenus… then there was Cassandra, Daphne, and an unfinished Coronis, and as he continued to look, the prince could’ve sworn he felt the god gently squeeze his hand.

“Everything alright, my Phoebus?”

The god smiled. “I’m just… tired.”

The prince leaned to give him a reassuring kiss.

Two years, or at least, about two years, their laughter almost lasted for about two years.

Alas, what’s two years in the life of an immortal that can never die?

--------------

Olympus’ garden was huge; its depths filled with paths most don’t even know of. It was here the two gods sat down on top of a small hill, right in front of a giant crevice that overlooked all of their creations.

“I hate how I can still feel a-” “and remember every single…”

Hermes was never good at these kinds of talks. “You wanna let it all out?”

Apollo sighed, carefully breathing in and then breathing out; repeating that process for a good minute.

Ai, ai, ai-

...

“It was a morning like any other, or at least, it was supposed to be.

The prince was an athletic young man, much like us, and there were many things that were done on the field. One of them involved the discus. He’d always try to run and catch the disc once I had sent it hurling into the air.

…

The crack echoed- no, roared, and my body screamed like every bone in my system had snapped a hundred times over.

I was by his side in an instant, cradling him in my arms until he was nothing more than a poor flower that had broke its stem; all due to the breath of the west wind.

It was so… quiet and I was so close; close enough that I could feel him go, like I could reach out and grasp his hand to prevent his soul from drifting away. I felt it all: the desperate breaths, the steady weakening of his heart and that last flutter of his eyelids as he looked at me, as scared and overwhelmed as I was with all that was happening and yet I-

I still failed. I’m the god of healing and medicine and I was right there, I was so close and he still managed to slip away!

If only he could take me with him too.

It was like time itself ceased to exist, the exact second that last spark of life faded into the depths of Hades repeating on and on and on, again and again and again-

…

My arms were hugging a lump of ice by the time Artemis found me.”

“…I heard you tried to murder Zephyrus?”

“W-” “Well... I think I recall hearing father’s voice when I had rushed into the halls.

“Athena, Apollo’s neglecting his duties.” He said. “When was the last time you saw him walk into Olympus?”

“Give him some more time and I’m sure he’ll-”

It was then that someone, the bastard himself, had noticed me.

“Fear not my lord.” Zeus’ old messenger, the west shit, proudly exclaimed. “He’s already here!”

And indeed I was, fingers stained with crimson red; purple petals falling out of my hair.

A smile crept its way onto Zephyr’s lips. “You’re welcome.”

Needless to say, I immediately started chasing him with my bow.”

“And then Athena stopped you, right?”

--------------

It must’ve been quite the strange sight to behold for our winged eavesdropper. Apollo had a blank look in his eyes and Athena was standing in his way; Zephyr a little further down the hall behind her, curiously peaking over the corner.

Unbeknownst to any of them, Hermes was a lizard hiding inside of a jar.

“Athena, move.”

“Apollo,” Surprisingly, the goddess was perfectly calm. “Father has already retired him as his personal messenger, and he is now going to serve under Eros to repent for the very stupid thing he did in ‘the name of love’.”

“It’s not enough-”

“I know, and it’s never going to be enough.” Then she muttered. “Look, what happened with Pallas was much more justifiable than what this idiot wind bag did and even then, even if it was our father, to this day a tiny part of me is still pissed even if I knew he did it because he was worried about me.”

For a moment, the god was quiet. “Zephyr isn’t nearly as important.”

“But still crucial enough; I think it’d be best if we didn’t lose the west wind. Listen to your head, you know this isn’t worth it; it’s never going to be worth it.”

After a few seconds of silence, in the blink of an eye, Apollo was gone.

--------------

“I really am unreasonable, aren’t I, Hermes? Crying over beings much lesser than myself…”

“You knew you had your heart set upon a mortal, so I guess it does sound foolish to grieve over their mortality but… I think we’re all a little unreasonable sometimes. On the brightside, I’m sure you’ll meet someone new eventually. You are Apollo after all.” He offers his friend a reassuring smile.

The blonde smiled back, yet his eyes were impossible to read. “I suppose…”

“Is there anything you want to say? To Hyacinthus, I mean, if I encounter him down in Hades.”

…

“If we should ever meet again

No matter how long the wait

No matter how many lifetimes it takes

My arms will be glad to welcome you in an embrace

Until then, just know

That even when man has forgotten my face

And I roam the world as nothing but a shade

Your memory will continue, forever living on

In all the flowers that the earth will cover itself, bearing your name

Goodnight, my sweet prince”

And as Zeus’ newly appointed messenger left, Apollo decided to merely sing to himself; to sit on the hill and play his cithara for no one in particular but the random fauna that decide to stay and watch.

Athena was surprised to see him enter Olympus only a week after, even though she should’ve seen it coming. He is Apollo after all.

There were duties to fulfill.

------------------------------------------

(The original one I made)

#no i totally didn’t need to uh #get something out of my system-#apollo #hyacinth #hyacinthus #greek mythology #greek gods #mywritingshit #hyapollo #I added way too more details #than i prolly should've-#welp #here's the hyapollo rewrite

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thewrittingworldofeva · 3 years

Text

“Gods or God does it matter?” PART.7

MASTERLIST

Base of the story :

“York is envied by the vikings and during the battle Ivar sees a Saxon girl fight with one of his warriors. The protagonist has a brother with the same disease as Ivar.”

NA : Hi everyone ! I hope you are doing fine in this time of absolute chaos... Here it is the seventh part ! I decided to put the dialogue in bold because my poor eyes are tired, and I find more comfortable like this. And I put in italic the “thinking”, the unspoken stuff. Sorry for the long wait, hope ypu enjoy xo

Ivar, Hvitserk, Harald disappeared and Heahmund was taking back where he was. Ligeia was happy that Ivar didn’t make her fully prisoner again. Astrid shows them where they are going to sleep and gives them food. The three siblings literally stuff their mouth with food. “You look like you are hungry, especially you” says Queen Astrid with a small smile to Ligeia. Ligeia covers her mouth trying to swallow without choking, before talking. “Sorry, I give them my portion during the journey. I didn’t eat a lot.” she says clearing her throat. “Don’t worry, you're just taking care of your brother and sister.” “I do my best.” “So, what is your name? I only know, the little one’s name.” ** **

“My name is Ligeia and this is Apollo.” she says showing her brother with her hand. “Thank you for your hospitality and the food, Queen Astrid.” declared Apollo with kindness. “My pleasure, but to be honest with you, I am happy to see new faces. I feel a bit lonely.”

They finish eating and having conversation with the queen, Rosalia falling asleep against the table. **“I have to talk to Ivar, can you put her in bed Apollo?” **stated Ligeia after washing her face. “I will.” he answered. “Thank you!”

Ivar was leading to the dock, and stopped in front of a shark hanging. Ligeia sees him not far away and walks with urge to him. “Ivar Lothbrock!” she screamed. Ivar turns his head to see who is calling him like this, and rolls his eyes when he sees the little woman. “What?” grunted Ivar. “I will not fight for you and your stupid plan!” hissed Ligeia. “Oh really? For what I remember, I got some power over you. So, now step back.” he quoted. Ligeia steps back but doesn’t leave. “The only reason I will fight is to protect my family, not for any of you! And I can’t protect them on a battlefield!” she argued. Ivar takes off Heahmund sword, looks at it before slashing in half the already dead shark.

“That’s a fine sword!” observed King Harald, in the corner. Ivar and Ligeia turn their head in the direction of his voice. **“It is the Bishop's sword. He must have paid the dwarves a great deal to make it because it is a magical sword. The metal is much stronger than ours. I saw him kill many men with it. And yet, never blunted, but continued to bite. And now... it's mine.” **says Ivar with a smile and pride. “To have such a sword gives you great advantage. Think of Odin's spear.” says Harald. “And now think of Ivar's sword.”

Ligeia immediately felt like they were going to have a serious conversation, and she didn’t want to hear it. So she turned around to leave them. “No! Stay, our conversation is not finish” ordered Ivar without looking at her.

**“First, I don’t want to hear your conversation, because who knows what devilish plan you are preparing!” **swore Ligeia pointing her finger between the two men. “And secondly, I am not your dog or whatsoever! I will stay because I don’t want to jeopardize my siblings.” continued the young lady, Harald enjoying way too much Ivar being reprimanded like a kid by a stranger. “Lastly, you can ask it nicely, you asshole!” she concluded crossing her arms.

“Hell of a temper” scoffed Harald. **“Only with the people who deserved it” **teased Ligeia with a fake smile. “What is it you really want, Ivar Lothbrok?” questioned Harald, suspicious of the real ambition of his supposed ally. Ivar starts to walk on the dock, leading the way : Harald following next to him and Ligeia a step behind them. “Hmm ? Revenge.” he said with a grin on his face. “I dream of the many ways that I can make Lagertha suffer before I kill her.” preached Ivar, catching of guard Ligeia, who’s eyes got bigger at the threatening words. “Gosh, what did she do to him?!” she thought.

“I want revenge because…” he takes a pause, filling the silence with the sound of his crutch. “Because she killed my beautiful mother.” confessed Ivar with a sad smile. “Now I get it.”

“What of the kingdom? What of Kattegat?” Harald finally asks. “It is not important to me.” answered Ivar. **“But surely your brother will…” **Harald is cut short by the dry and angry tone of Ivar : “I said it is not so important to me! What is it about the word king that makes even reasonable people behave like idiots, huh?” tattled Ivar, turning himself starting to walk in the reverse direction. Harald just looked at him and chuckled.

Ligeia, surprised by the harsh tone of Ivar, unwittingly steps back. She is not scared of Ivar. She can’t read him, she doesn't know what he thinks and what will be his next move, making him unpredictable ; she doesn't like that. So, she prefers to be careful even though she knows she’s playing with fire sometimes.

Arriving to her side, he slightly turned himself again to Harald and chanted : “Ah, how is married life? You are married to Astrid, Lagertha’s lover. I hope she’s worth it.” he said with a bitchy smile before looking at Ligeia, who was shocked by the last information. “Are you coming or not?” Ligeia comes out of her thoughts. “No need, I will not fight for you or for him, or anyone, conversation closed!” She decreed and left before he could say anything.

tags: @youbloodymadgenius @al-wiisa @otakufrenchfries @hugopowell @funmadnessandbadassvikings

#vikings #ivar #ivar the boneless #fanfiction

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tomcriuse · 4 years

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headcanons or thoughts on how mulder and scully quietly professed their love or have been professing their love throughout the show? :)

stop i honestly have SO many feelings about quiet love you have no idea what writing this DID to me also it got a little long so sorry abt that

when mulder dated girls in high school and college, he would always try to woo them with expensive dinners and shiny jewelry and things all material that would never last. things so superficial that would eventually fade from time and memory, but were the desires of the old money new england girls.

for so long he went never telling scully how he felt unless it was hidden half-heartedly behind some sarcastic remark or joke that he hoped would conceal the depths of his affection and adoration. before he knew her, he read her thesis. after he met her, he would read it again and again and again. he would pour over the words until they’re burned in his mind and he so he could quote it like his favourite movie or book. his own personal scripture. he did this to understand something that she’s passionate about, as a way of being close to her, almost like someone will keep love letters that were written to them. it’s the rational that is so important to scully and mulder uses her scientific theories to understand everything about her: what motivates her, what keeps her going. he would quote it back to her because he’s completely captivated by her mind and the way it works and understanding something she’s truly passionate about is his way of getting closer to her.

on that same note, whenever someone else talks about something the scully knows, mulder cant help but thinking that scully would know infinitely more about the subject. he thinks that scully is constantly the smartest person in the room. even if she’s not there, he can see her phantom scoffing and rolling her eyes at something that isn’t true, and her cheeks becoming dusted with pink as she gets more passionate and excited, burning like the brightest star that he’s ever seen making the sun dull in comparison.

the gifts that he gives her are memories, not presents. they’re representative of the time they’ve spent together—of their relationship as a whole. when she was in the hospital he brought her a football tape. the tape itself isn’t important, but its that he wants to do something with her, that he wants to spend time with her. maybe it means that he’s not leaving her side while she’s in the hospital; he likes football and it will give him something to do. maybe it’s selfish. maybe he was too worried to find something that he thinks she might actually like. all that matters is that he’s trying. he’s expressing that he values her. that he loves her. when he gives her the apollo medallion, not because she loves the apollo landing or loves space in any capacity that doesn’t have to do with mulder and his genuine passion for it, but because over the last four years he’s dragged her on countless dead-end cases, he’s put her in jeopardy, he’s taken her for granted at times. but she’s never left his side, not once. this is no longer his quest but their quest, no matter how much either of them would deny it later. the medallion is their history. he also teaches scully how to play baseball. the years have been filled with horror and the unknown, and mulder wants to give her a happy memory. something beautiful—not material, but part of him. he says that it’s a “no reason present” which are the types of things that we start to associate with mulder: something given on no special occasion (even if it is) with infinite meaning. if he spent his childhood making mistakes with insignificant gifts to insignificant people, he finds true meaning in the most meaningful gifts to the only person that matters.

when he has a case without her, mulder simply rejects that reality. he’s spent so long on his own and loves scully so fully that to imagine or live a life without her just. doesn’t make sense to him. he’ll go to turn to scully and wait for her to say something that sounded intellectual but was really supposed to be insulting even if she’s not there. he’ll hold the door open two seconds too long for someone by themselves. he’ll automatically turn the ac up in the car because he knows that scully would rather be freezing than warm. at restaurants he’ll begin to order her ice water with two lemon slices. scully is simply an extension of him and doing things for her is like doing things for himself—out of nature, out of reflex, out of necessity to sustain and help her as she’s helped him become himself.

not far into their partnership, scully realized that mulder never truly had anyone else. no one went out of their way to care for him because that’s what they wanted to do—it was always done out of necessity.

the biggest way that she shows her love is just by doing things for him. “scully pack your bags we’re going to texas” “scully i need you to look through all of these files for this one phrase” “scully i need you to follow up on a lead.” no matter how much she would generally wish to not do these things, she can’t not do them. she’ll make a half-hearted complaint and throw him a mandatory pleading look, but inside she’s waiting for him to leave the room so she can get started with as much enthusiasm as he has when he talks about the case. she doesn’t care about the case, but she cares about him. she’ll keep sunflower seeds hidden in a cabinet on her side of the office just in case he runs out. she’ll sometimes replace his coffee if he’s busy doing paperwork and it gets cold. she drags him to get food so he’ll remember to eat. she’ll hold the umbrella just a little higher so he doesn’t have to bend down as much as he would at her height. she’ll move the driver’s seat back so when he gets in to drive his legs have enough room. one time, scully saw that mulder’s tie was crooked and her hands went to straighten it on their own volition. after that, mulder went out of his way to make sure it was just a little off. scully always straightened it for him.

mulder has always been notoriously hard to read, always building walls to distance him from the hurt that inevitably comes with getting close to someone else. but he was never hard to read to scully. she learned that slightly narrowed eyes meant that his brain was going a mile a minute, scanning for any imperfection in a crime scene or a statement from a witness. that when he tilted his head to the right a little it meant that there was something he didn’t understand, and then when his eyebrows would furrow a little bit it meant that that infuriated him. that when he looked at her and his eyes melted and his face became vulnerable that he was seeing the same thing in her that she saw in him: the universe and themselves and every secret that they’ve ever needed and the answers to every question that they’ve asked or were going to ask.

she also listens to everything he says. if its something big—a pervious case, mythology, a theory—she’ll remember it like she remembers songs from her childhood. the smaller the things are and the more in-passing they’re said, the more she’ll remember it and think about it, until it becomes etched into her heart and her soul. the feeling of terror he felt when sam was abducted. his favourite colour. that he prefers chunky peanut butter over smooth peanut butter. that he’ll obsessively write in books and dog-ear the pages because he likes the way the paper feels after you write on it. then there are the more intimate things. that the last time he truly felt safe was when he was in her arms. that every time he wakes up he’s afraid that something’s happened to her. that none of it matters without her.

between the both of them it’s not about saying “i love you” but it’s about trust. it’s about support. for years mulder went through being ridiculed and criticized by his peers for his belief in the supernatural. people would steal his work and get the credit for it while he stood in the background in a silent rage before he brushed it off and focused on his own mission. conversely, scully worked harder than anyone else in her field but never had anyone believe in her or back her or just listen to her. when they started working together there was someone there ready to listen and trust them, even if their views didn’t align with their own . together, they will playfully tear into each other’s theories, but the moment someone else tries, they will always support them 100% even if they aren’t totally convinced. it was unconditional.

#i have more 2 say but i will save that for another day #the x files #anon #answered #txf headcanon

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author-morgan · 4 years

Text

Title: It Will Come Back

Pairing: Deimos-postDeimos!Alexios x Fem!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: You pluck an arrow from his back and he turns around like Eros and shoots you right in the heart.

SPARTAN AND ATHENIAN dead litter the shores of Amphipolis –a feast for crows. Though among the dead few are luckily have clung to life. A wave of healers and physicians from both sides descend to collect those injured and those who had already taken the journey across the Styx with Charon.

You bear the mark of Athena –a servant of Athens. Combing the field of battle, you look for soldiers who wear the blue color of Athens. The first man you turn over is dead – his throat slashed and entrails exposed. Another is barely alive, having lost his hand and sustained a long and jagged gash on his calf. Shock will set in soon if he is not tended to. You hold up the silver medallion fastened around your neck –it glints in the sun and soon after two men come forward with a crude stretcher to take the soldier to the infirmary tent.

The next is beyond saving –his right eye is bulging from its socket, a minor grievance in comparison to the shattered back of his skull. He cannot speak, but his delirious eyes say it all. End this. I beg you. You’d never enjoyed this part of your duty. It didn’t feel right for a healer to take life –regardless, you draw the dagger from the sheath on your belt and position the tip of the blade next to his larynx. Pushing down with your weight, the dagger sinks into flesh and then you pull the cutting edge toward you. It’s a clean-cut that will grant the soldier peace before he can take another labored breath.

Rising, you find yourself drawn to a man that does not wear the colors of Sparta or Athens. A misthios, you think to yourself, but as you draw nearer you see his gold and dark steel armor is too fine to belong to a mercenary. A single arrow shaft rises from the center of his back. Kneeling, you push aside the matted locks of dark brown hair adorned with golden beads that’d fallen in front of his face. Against your hand, you can feel slow puffs of air and a pulse beneath your fingertips. He is still alive. You raise your medallion again.

Two soldiers come, though when they see who you are kneeling next to, their faces take on a deathly pallor and fear shins in their eyes. “Take him to my tent,” you instruct. If everyone is as fearful of this man as those two soldiers, no one will wish to tend to his wounds.

By the time the sun has set, those who stand a chance of surviving are within the infirmary pavilion and those who were dead or received final mercy are piled atop quickly constructed pyres. They will be sent off with Charon’s obol as honorable dead.

You draw the flaps of your small pavilion close and untie the leather belt hanging on your hips, letting it fall onto a small table next to a clay washbasin. Scrubbing your hands of the day’s work, you forget about the patient now residing in your quarters until you turn to your bedroll –which is half occupied at the moment. Small lanterns chase away the darkness.

The arrow had pierced the metal and leather cuirass and a gentle pull on the now broken shaft tells you it had sunk into flesh too. Frowning, you prod around the entry point –failing to see how to remove his armor without inflicting more damage. You reach back, fingers curling around the hilt of your dagger and slowly you start to whittle down the olive wood shaft. White pteruges are now stained with dried blood and mud –you set them aside and find the fastenings of the cuirass. Once the ties and hooks are free, you lift the back-plate and the tapered arrow shaft passes through with ease.

Scars crisscross his corded back, though for now, your focus returns to the arrow just to the left of his spine. The barbs had not caught on flesh, nor does it appear laced with poison and for that you are thankful. You ready your supplies –clean linen, a freshly ground poultice of thyme, sage, clove, and garlic, and a needle with silk thread should the wound need stitching.

You test the shaft’s hold on the arrowhead, finding the hide glue had not loosened. Part of you thinks it will be easier to remove the arrow with one quick go, but the strength of his physique leads you to use a more delicate approach. You’d almost had your fingers broken by an archer who’d abruptly woke in the middle of being treated. The man laying facedown before you looks as though he could easily break a lot more than a finger.

Fresh blood wells up after the arrow comes free. You douse the area with a mix of water and vinegar before patting the wound dry. It will not need sutures, just a fresh bandage to cover the poultice. It takes forbearance to finish stripping him of his armor and bind the wound with a long strip of clean linen. He is heavy –fitting for his Herculean build. His features are sharp and handsome, though dark circles ring his eyes. Even at rest he looks tormented. Much like his back, his torso is bestrewn with scars –some longer and wider than others.

Knowing you do not have the strength to move him again after a long day, you gather your blanket and lay on the small part of the bedroll still free. Sleep comes easily.

By morning, Deimos is awake –the muscles in his back screaming in agony as he shifts. His armor is gone, save for his greaves, piled up beneath a low table. A bloody basin of water sits on the ground, in it is an arrowhead and broken shaft. White linen is wrapped around his torso. “You’re awake!” You exclaim, readying for your duties.

"Who are you?" He rasps. It feels like a dangerous thing to do, but you give him your name. "My sister," he spits, "where is she?"

"I don't know,” you tell him. He can tell you are being truthful. You know nothing about Kassandra and from the look of it, you know nothing about him either. "I found you after the battle,” you tell him, “you'd been hit in the back with an arrow.” That explains the dull throbbing in his back.

"Need to go," he mutters, turning to reach of his armor.

"No," you say –the boldness of your voice catches you off guard. The man glowers at you. "You're my patient. You can't leave until I clear you."

Deimos sizes you up. "You're going to stop me?" He asks, mirth lacing the question. He has the blood of gods in his veins, and you are insignificant. Breaking you wouldn’t even be a challenge.

Sighing you shake your head. You can’t stop him. It’s likely no one in the entire camp could. "At least allow me to clean the wound and bind it again.” Deimos grunts in response and sits in place while you prepare a new poultice and gather fresh bandages. His arms are thick with muscle, hands rough and scarred. He watches you with his dark gaze, unused to being shown kindness. You spread the salve over the scab and move back in front of him to tie off the new bandage. His muscles contract when your fingers brush against his stomach –it’s like Phidias had sculpted him from Parian marble. "Who are you?"

"Deimos," he answers, watching the shred of fear blossom in your eyes. He smirks. "Ah, you've heard of me."

You no longer meet his gaze, instead, you wipe your hands clean in your apron. "I heard he was demigod," you mutter, handing him the gold and steel armor. Demigods are not felled by a single arrow, though. Deimos may fight like a demigod, but he still mortal –a tortured soul.

"I am,” he says with surety, rising to leave. He would not speak his gratitude aloud, but he can repay this simple kindness by making sure the Cult never harmed you.

PILES OF HERBS lay before you –waiting to be bundled and taken to Zina, the apothecary. One of the local villages had been experiencing issues with recurring fever, and Zina cannot spare the time to collect her supplies at the moment. You’re so focused on the task at hand, you don’t hear the iron-shod footsteps approaching from behind until someone’s hand settles on your shoulder and holds a stalk of tufted vetch before you. “Deimos!” You gasp, clutching your chest as though it can slow the frantic beating of your heart.

Deimos lips tug upward into a faint smile. The dark circles that’d once ringed his eyes are fading. “Alexios,” he supplements. He intends to move forward and leave his life under the Cult’s control in the past, though since reuniting with his family on Mount Taygetos he’s often thought of the healer at Amphipolis who did not show fear, even when the Athenian soldiers cowered in his wake.

Taking the stalk of vetch, you smile and inhale the slightly sweet scent. “What are you doing here?” You ask, you never expected to see him again –part of you wished you wouldn’t given his reputation, but now his handsome face is a pleasant sight compared to the sick and dying. “How did you find me?” You pose before he can even respond to your first question. You’re a long way from Amphipolis.

“I never said thank you,” he breathes, reaching for one of your hands. Besides being thrown off a mountain as a baby, it’s the closest he’s come to meeting Hades.

You shrug. “Many of those I treat, don’t,” you tell him. It was your duty to tend the wounded, not some feat of bravery worth poems or songs.

“HEALER!” SOMEONE CALLS. You turn, seeing an Amazonian woman running toward you with someone slung over her shoulder. As she draws nearer, you notice an eerie resemblance to a certain demigod that’d been occupying your thoughts frequently as of late. “Can you help my brother?” The woman asks, panting. Blood runs down her arm and neck –it’s not hers, though.

You nod, grip tightening on the woven basket filled with herbs, grain and fruit. “Follow me.” The Orchomenos clinic just below the Temple of Apollo is your home at the moment –and where you lead the woman and her brother. She lays him on the table in your quarters and steps back. “Alexios,” you gasp. There’s a deep gash on his side almost the length of your forearm. He groans when his sister starts unclasping the torn leather cuirass while you prepare a needle and thread and gather rags and bandages.

Her name is Kassandra and she watches your every move as you begin cleaning the wound. It still bleeds, but barely –it won’t need to be burned. The hooked needle passes through his skin with ease, each time pulling the gash closed. “What happened?” You ask, pulling on the silk thread when it catches.

“Boar,” she responds. Since training under Hippokrates, you’ve seen your fair share of injuries caused by boars –most are not so lucky and bleed out before receiving proper treatment, or succumb to infection. The wound is no doubt grievous, but in your experience, it could be a lot worse. The line of sutures are neatly done, having used almost an entire spool of thread.

The salve you craft is made of softened beeswax, ironwort tea, and frankincense for inflammation. You dip your hand into the mixture and spread it across the stitches –his entire side has already begun shifting to deep hues of blue and purple. Kassandra helps you wind a thick layer of linen around his torso –it will help with the bruising and keep the sutures clean– before moving him to the corner of the room where a pallet of pillows and blankets are messily arranged.

She is worried about her brother. “He’ll be alright,” you assure her –wiping down the table, “he just needs time to rest.”

Kassandra sits across from you at the table after cleaning Alexios’ blood from her neck and arms –she nurses a cup of watered wine. “He mentions you a lot,” she tells you and that catches you off guard. Since Amphipolis, he’s managed to find you on several occasions. He never stays more than a day at a time, but it was always a pleasant surprise to have company –especially when it’s. She glances over her shoulder toward Alexios. “You’ve made quite the impression on him.”

When her gaze returns to you, there’s a fleeting smile on your lips. You should see her when she smiles, sister. “I found him after Amphipolis.” Sometimes you still wake in a cold sweat, remembering the carnage –the brutality of war. It was not some glorious thing like the singers and poets claimed. “He said his name was Deimos. The men were terrified of him.”

“He was a weapon for the Cult of Kosmos,” she explains and her expression twists into one of anger. “Alexios is the name our mater gave him.” The sun will be setting soon, and she needs to return to the Adrestia. She and Alexios had been en route to the ship after receiving word about important business on Mykonos when the pack of boar attacked them. Kassandra rises. “I leave my brother in your capable hands.”

Sometime during the night, he wakes. A gentle weight is resting on his chest –your hand is splayed out on the small area not covered by linen. In the dim light, he makes out your features, completely at ease. Alexios braces his arms, intent on pushing himself up, but the hand on his chest stiffens and forces him back down. “Don’t,” you mumble, groggy and barely awake.

“Where’s Kassandra?” He asks in a hoarse whisper.

“Returned to her ship,” you answer, “said she’d be back soon. Business on Mykonos.”

Alexios rolls his eyes. Business, he scoffs. Kyra is what his sister meant by that. He settles back in, covering your hand with his own. “Fucking pig came out of nowhere,” he remarks with a dry laugh. A smile tugs at your lips, you cannot deny it is a nice change to have company –the warmth of another person next to you.

YOU LEAVE EARLY in the morning for the market with a mental list of herbs and flowers to purchase for the clinic. The sun is blazing by midday when you return. Pylenor is tending to a new patient, though when you arrive the physician pulls you asides –asking if you could deliver a fresh batch of tonic and salves to Zosimos in Lebadeia.

Behind your quarters comes the rhythmic sound of wood splitting. You drop off the basket and round the corner of the stone building. Alexios lifts the axe above his head and brings it down in a fluid motion, splitting a piece of wood in two with ease. Sweat beads on his brow and the off-white chiton clings to his chest and back. Perhaps if not for the wound on his side, you would have enjoyed the sight a moment longer. “Alexios!” He looks in your direction and immediately knows he’s in for a scolding –after all, it’d only been three days since he’d been gored and stitched up. “You shouldn’t be doing that yet,” you chide.

“I’m fine,” he says and proves his point by showing you the line of stitches –still as neat and undamaged. When you tell Alexios about needing to run an errand to Lebadeia, he offers to come with you. Trypho lends you and the misthios a horse to complete the delivery –it’s quicker and safer than traveling on foot.

On the way back, you stop for a quick reprieve, letting the horse rest and drink from a pool of water fed by a small waterfall that flowed to Lake Kopais. Today had been exceptionally warm, and now that the sun is dipping lower in the sky the dried sheen of sweat on your skins becomes tacky. You strip off your peplos and apron, sinking into the cool water in nothing but a sweat-stained apodesmos and perizoma. Alexios follows suit, leaving his tunic and sword on the banks –you’d taken his armor to the tanner to be repaired.

He circles you, as a predator does its prey –it sends a cold chill down your spine and warmth to your insides. You step into his path, both hands pressing against his chest. Beneath your palms are numerous scars and ever since you first saw them, you’ve wanted to know more. Your hands slide across his pectorals and up a pale brown scar that runs parallel to his right clavicle. He tells you it’s from when he was a child –he’d stumbled into a wolf den in the forests of Argos. “And this one?” You ask.

He looks down at the raised vertical scar on his left breast. It’s not from a recent injury as portions of it have begun fading. “Don’t remember,” he replies, in earnest. It was easy to forget the stories behind minor injuries when they were so numerous.

“What about this?” One of your fingertips follows the raised scar that crosses over his navel. Something stirs in him and a spark turns his dark eyes to burning amber.

“Training recruits,” he tells you.

“This one?” You inquire, following the crooked line from his uninjured side up to his ribs.

“Arena in Pephka.” His voice drops and is noticeably rougher. Alexios presses your hand flat to his chest and steps closer –his heart is thudding beneath your palm. You feel a lump form in your throat when his thumb traces over your lips but it quickly fades when he settles his lips against yours.

The hand on his chest slips up to his neck and you press yourself closer to him. You’ve always wondered what I would be like to have the love of a god –this is the closest you’ll ever get to fulfill that curiosity. One of his hands finds your lower back, the other brushes against your cheek. It’s difficult to think this is the same man who was once Deimos –a weapon. His lips are soft, hands gentle. You both pull back at the same time, but then his lips are on your neck, laving, and suckling –the coarse stubble on his jaw dragging across your skin. “Alexios,” you gasp, tugging at the ends of his hair.

He finds the pin holding your apodesmos in place and opens it with one hand, tugging on the soaked material covering your breasts and then his lips are on yours again. Ravenous and needy. Without looking, he throws the strip of wool toward the edge of the pool and glides his calloused hands over your bare breasts, lightly kneading one of your nipples until it stiffens beneath his palm. You know what lies along this path and no matter how much you want him, you step back –breathing heavily. “You could tear the stitches,” you warn. Torn stitches will only hinder him from healing properly.

Alexios wades back to you, pressing his face against your neck. “Then we’ll take things slow,” he proposes, voice a heady gravel. You mold into him –like wet clay in the hands of a skilled potter. His hands dip below the water, untying the perizoma around your hips –it finds a place next to your other garments. Rough fingertips trail the length of your body and find a resting place between your thighs. “Tell me what you want,” he rasps.

“I want you,” you whisper, hand resting on his cheek. You’re not one to plead, not even for the love of a demigod, but there’s a first time for everything. Alexios catches the spark that appears in your eyes and smirks –thinking about what’s to come when his side is healed. One finger slides into you, stroking and exploring. He adds a second finger and watches the shift in your expression. You grip onto his shoulder, head falling back with a soft whine when his thumb presses against your clit. His cock twitches as a pitiful pule escapes your lips.

His lips drag across your jaw. A precipice is fast approaching, evident in the way you’re breathing hitches and how your walls constrict around his fingers. Alexios wants to watch you come undone whilst he’s inside you. You whimper at the loss. Though when you notice him fumbling at the knot in his loincloth, your hands slip beneath the water and gently pushing his away. He takes your swollen lips again –kissing you may very well be one of his new favorite things, even more so than annoying his sister and step-brother.

He groans and bites down on your shoulder when you take him into your hand and give a tentative stroke from base to head. His cock is just as impressive as the rest of him. It takes all his willpower to pull your hand away, but then he is lifting you from the water. He groans again when your slick folds slide over him, ankles hooking low around his back. You want to protest –thinking of the stitches, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything lest the moment be lost.

He sits back on the bank in the tall grass with you astride his lap –hard length pressing against your stomach. You roll your hips forward and are rewarded with a ragged groan, but you can see it in his eyes –he likes being in control. A smile crosses your lips as you repeat the same action. It’s enough to drive him mad. The growl rising in his throat is feral –his fingers dig deep into your hips, a gentle reminder of who he is and what he’s capable of.

You shift onto your knees, raising your hips and reach between you, sliding the head of his cock through your heat before beginning to sink back down. “Fuck,” he hisses as your warmth envelops him and his hands slide from your hips around to your backside, pushing you down until your hips meet. Your head falls forward, resting on his shoulder and for the moment, the world around you vanishes.

Alexios shifts and it brings you crashing back down –skin alight with his touch. You take his rugged face into your hands and kiss him, slowly, just as your hips begin to roll into his. He breaks away and dips his head low, teeth scraping over your breasts down to one of your nipples. His name falls from your lips like a sacred prayer.

He’s moving your hips how he sees fit and lifting his to meet yours. Your hands slip into his hair, ruining the small bun of matted locks tied up with a thin leather thong. Alexios bares his teeth when you tug on his hair, hip snapping up into yours. Brown eyes flecked with gold bore into your own.

The air leaves your lung when he abruptly turns, laying you on the soft woven grass. Alexios holds tight to one of your thighs as he ruts into you –face buried deep into your neck. Your fingertips dig into his shoulder blades, between scars. It’s a slight shift in your hips that causes breathy moans to flow from your lips each time his cock slides back into your heat, hitting the one spot that makes you feel like Aphrodite herself. He thrives off the wanton sounds. “Alexios,” you pant, toes curling and walls clenching around him.

He moves erratically, grunting between thrusts and continues to strike that spot deep inside you. All is lost when the rough pads of his fingers find your clit. Alexios raises his head and basks in the moment you come undone –mouth falling open, eyes slipping shut, heels pressing into his lower back. Your grip on his shoulders loosens and your hands slide down his back, finding the scar from when you’d met in Amphipolis.

Alexios breathes your name as though he speaks to a goddess and with several slow, deep thrusts he finds his end. He hovers above you, bracing most of his weight on his forearms. You trace over the wrinkles in his brow and push up on your elbows. The kiss is so soft, sweet, and slow it makes his heart ache and understand why Orpheus would follow Eurydice to the underground.

He rolls off to the side, and you weakly protest the loss and warmth running down your thighs. Then you are slipping effortlessly back into the role of his healer. You sit up, looking over the sutures in his side. None of them have torn, but several are trying to bleed again. Alexios rolls his eyes –he’s endured far worse than bloody stitches. He sits up –looking like both Ares and Adonis– and gathers his damp undergarment to clean both of you up.

You both lay back in the grass, legs intertwined and tracing obscure patterns over one another’s skin until darkness looms on the horizon. Alexios traces a line down your cheek when you prop your chin upon his chest. “We should head back,” you tell him, “these forests are treacherous at night.”

Night falls, and the main gates of Orchomenos come into view. Alexios stables the borrowed mount and drapes his arm over your shoulders as you both return to the clinic.

Days pass and Alexios takes up completing odd tasks for people around the city while you work with Pylenor tending to those who come sick and injured. Every morning you and Alexios break your fast on jams and bread and every evening you share a meal too. It frightens you to think about how accustomed to his presence you’ve become.

Finally one evening, you motion for him to sit for you to remove the sutures before the wound completely seals. A few days later you bring his leather cuirass back from the market, fully repaired by the tanner. You expect him to leave soon after, but he stays and each kiss and tender caress will make it even harder when he does rejoin Kassandra.

A GOLDEN EAGLE named Ikaros brings word that his sister has docked in Lokris and it just so happens that you have a delivery to take Marpsas in Alponos. By the day’s end, you find yourself standing on the docks of Opous with Alexios. Your fingertips ghost over his cheek, following the scar below his eye. “I’ve quite enjoyed having my own misthios around,” you admit. He’d been with you now for more than a full lunar cycle. Between this time and his sporadic visits, you cannot deny the extreme fondness you hold for him. Given more time, it may blossom into something more.

“Every misthios needs a healer,” he remarks. During his time with Kassandra and Barnabas, he’s witnessed the damage pirates, bandits, and other mercenaries can do, especially when no one aboard the vessel is trained in medicine.

“I could come with you,” you offer –life at sea does sound like a fun adventure.

Alexios glances back at the Adrestia and knows deep down that he cannot take you from your calling as a healer without condemning innocents to death, but he can always be a misthios on land or sea. Besides Kassandra can look after herself. He takes one of your hands and kisses the center of your palm. “Or I could stay,” he whispers. Your lips part in surprise and Alexios sees it as a good excuse to crane down and place a soft, lingering kiss upon them. Against his lips, he can feel your smile. “Let’s go home,” he breathes.

#Alexios #Deimos #Alexios x Reader #Deimos x Reader #Alexios Imagine #Deimos Imagine #Alexios Fanfiction #Deimos Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Imagine #Assassin's Creed Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Odyssey #AC: Odyssey #my writing #listen #Deimos!Alexios being redeemed and finding love is my kink and I will write about over and over idgaf #here be smut #im a bit rusty so do forgive it #yes the title is that one Hozier song

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thusatlas · 3 years

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Ask for what you want, not what you think you should have

I have a theory. Well, I have many, but this particular theory is a doozy. The theory is… (wait for it) …

Everything is connected. I know, I am a genius. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. I’ll collect my Nobel Award whilst I pick a up cucumber canapé on my way out.

But seriously, as obvious as it is, the more I reflected inward on my stream of conscious and started asking why, the more I have begun to connect the dots. I have become more aware that my actions, feelings and emotions that can be explained through cause and effect.

Here I want you all to take one mental step to the left to avoid falling down the free will and determinism rabbit hole before you. That is not today's topic. It might be next weeks, but not today. So just shimmy on over to this mental path that I’m laying for you here. On this path, we are accepting that we as individuals are moral agents, accountable for our actions and behaviours. Therefore, you have free will in a world that has been pre-determined by other free moral agents. Or if that’s too deep for you, just move right on past this philosophical premise and carry on enjoying the allegory I’m about to weave for you.

This all began some time ago, way back in high school, when I had to write my CV for the first time. I know that feeling of discomfort one feels when you fill out a job form, write a personal statement or cover letter is not individual to myself. This is a widespread phenomenon and yet the only way that you can progress professionally or academically is to sell yourself. Hence there is an entire profession in which you can be paid for writing somebody else’s CV. Furthermore, hence the reason why the widely understood, highly inaccurate statistic accepted as truth is that all CEO’s and higher business people are psychopaths; one of the defining features of psychopathy being arrogance and narcissism (that part is true but again, not the point of today’s topic…moving on). We, the neuro-typical, non-psychopathic, really struggle to write about our best selves when it comes to applications of any kind. We do it because we have to, not because we want to.

Now think about it. I write and talk about many things throughout my days, from objective truths to subjective feelings. I process categorical facts and infer meaning that is hidden within the subtext. I imagine stories, characters, worlds, conversations and ensuing emotions. All without effort.

And yet.

I cannot write about myself. I cannot write about my good qualities with ease, without that feeling of discomfort. I cannot do it as easily as I am writing this now.

Sound familiar? If it doesn’t, then firstly what’s your secret? If that does resonate with you, keep following me down the yellow brick road of this allegory. I’m going to turn it into something less deep, far easier to swallow and then bring it back to filling in application forms.

It’s going to be cool.

Hopefully…

The list of top 10 most loved/dreaded questions. Somewhere on this list is: what do you want for Christmas/your birthday because I find answering it be an egoistic minefield to navigate. Apparently, it’s considered impolite to ask for all one’s problems to be solved or a million pounds or a new car/house/holiday. What I used to say, was what I actually wanted in an exaggerated way that would generally garner a chuckle. Both myself and the other participant in the conversation knew that I was being 100 per cent serious and if the person asking was happy to buy me my dream house then I would shamelessly have accepted (whilst also repeatedly enquiring if they were sure because I couldn’t possibly, hoping beyond hope that they would not come to their senses). However, this rarely (never) happened. Thus, the usual rapport was:

Person A - “What do you want for your birthday?”

Person B - “I would love a 50-foot yacht and a butler named Steve to attend my every whim”

A and B participate in the prescribed requisite chuckle.

Person B – “But seriously, I haven’t really thought about it.”

Person A – “let me know if you think of anything”

Person B – “Of course, though you don’t have to get me anything”

Person A – “nonsense, it’s your birthday”

End scene. I will pick up the Oscar for lead performance whilst I sample these delectable mini-hamburgers. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. I had this conversation for years until I questioned what’s the point of it if nobody gets anything out of it. Having been both Person A and B, it’s uncomfortable for both parties because Person B doesn’t want to be perceived as selfish while Person A is asking to avoid the stress of having to guess what Person B wants. Now, while I love a good humble moment, this is not the time to be humble. Similar to job interviews, CV writing or personal statements. Why is it that we are not comfortable with celebrating our wants, our needs even when we are being directly asked to sell ourselves or literally tell someone what we want.

So I had a revelation a couple of years ago. I am aware that this is not going to be groundbreaking for other people but stay with me here. As of now, my life in regards to birthdays and Christmas’ consists of throwing the humble pie out of the window. My birthday is fast approaching and my family have begun to ask what I want.

AND HERE IS THE POINT OF THE ALLEGORY!

Bedsocks.

(Groundbreaking isn’t it.)

But seriously, my feet get cold because my house is old and the end of the bed is right by a window. You see the issue. Might as well sleep with my tootsies exposed to the winter’s chill.

However, (plot twist) I also want the new Jean Paul Gaultier Classique perfume which retails from £44 - £88 depending on the outlet.

I’m going to pause here because this is a Q.E.D moment. While the point of this post is not about asking the internet to get me what I want for my birthday, I feel the need to point out that I would, of course, be happy with just a card or a hug or a text for my birthday. I am merely using this as an example for the said allegory which has not yet been fully actualised. I am not some entitled princess who’s going to throw a tantrum reminiscent of Dudley Dursley if I don’t get what I want.

(If you’re not getting that reference then shame on you).

Now that I am 80 per cent sure that you don’t think I’m Veruca Salt (you better get that one), I shall continue with my point. I chose to embrace and show that yes, I want bedsocks and yes I also want magnificent perfume. Two drastically different items for the same person but these are items that I objectively want. I was asked so I answered. I am a bougie queen with cold feet.

What was interesting was the reaction of person A. There was an acceptance of my bedsock suggestion, though they did amend with, “Is that all? It’s not much”. The response to the Jean Paul Gaultier suggestion was “you don’t want much do you?” said with a scoff. We shall gloss over the mixed signals and possible shadiness and explore the duality of these responses to the embracing of my wants.

If you ever need to ground yourself or remind yourself that you are a product of all that came before you and all that will come after you, look to the Ancient Greeks. For a society that existed over 4000 years ago, we are still practising and preaching the philosophies of Thales, Aristotle, Socrates and Plato. You can find watermarks of the Greek thinkers hidden in the folds of much of modern societies ideologies, legalities, politics and psychology.

Does that mean they were ahead of their time or with all that society has evolved over that time, the human condition remains the same, regardless of how wise and savvy we think we have evolved to be?

Now it was widely accepted amongst theologians, philosophers, sociologists and psychologists that if you wish to look at the skeletal structure of a society in a snapshot, then look to their religious beliefs.

I’m going to need you to take a mental step to the right to avoid falling down the ‘is God real’ rabbit hole. We are not here to discuss the objective existence of the divine. So, I’m going to need you to hope back on our yellow brick road where we are accepting the truth that all pantheons have objectively exist in the narrative of human history within their respective societies.

To the point, the Ancient Greeks believed in a pantheon full of diverse Gods (big G, we don’t theologically discriminate here). When I first thought of the Greek pantheon, my thoughts immediately go to Zeus and his ilk. However, I’ve been on the Google and am now more informed than I was 5 minutes ago (look at me and my fact-checking… if only Fox News were the same).Anyway, briefly for your understanding, the Greek pantheon is split into 8 parts.

Parts one through to four covers the Gods who are the essential ingredients for the fabric of reality. So, Gaia who is the Earth, Pontos the Sea, and Ouranos the Dome of Heaven. The Daimones (spirits) and Nymphai who nurture the life of the four elements and so on. The Daimones that affect the body and mind: Eros the spirit of love (not to be confused with lust or attraction), Phobos the spirit of fear, Thanatos the spirit of Death. The Gods who control the forces of nature and who interacted and taught mankind. Helios the sun and Anemoi the wind; the agricultural earth Gods Ploutos, not to be confused with the pastoral Gods Pan, nor the city Gods Hestia. The Titan Gods Themis, Kronos, Prometheseus etc, are not to be confused with the defied mortals who are considered to be part of this section of the pantheon: Herakles, Asklepios etc. Nor should they be confused with the Olympian Gods Hebe and Mousai. This condensed list is actually very long.

Now we have the fifth part that everyone knows. The 12 Olympians who preside and govern over the aforementioned and the ones who have yet to be mentioned. They are Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Demeter, Artemis, Apollo, Ares, Athene, Aphrodite, Hephaistos, Hermes, Dionysos and Hestia. Part six through to eight covers the constellations and the horoscopes, the monsters and the semi-divine love children of the Olympians who defeated them

That is a majorly condensed list however its extensiveness is the point I am trying to make here so I appreciate you if you have stuck with me thus far. If you wish for a full list of the Greek Pantheon here are links to further your own reading: (1, 2, 3).

So, the Greeks had this diverse belief system. These beings who governed their every action. Literally everything, physical and metaphysical alike.

Now tell me what they missed.

Tell me what’s missing from this very extensive list.

Evil.

Ah, but there is Hades the God of the underworld you say! There are monsters!

Hades was made evil by Disney I’m sorry to say (though he was fabulous).

Hades in the Greek pantheon is the God of the dead and Zeus fucked up and much as he did. Odysseus is a soap opera, I swear. Anyway, the monsters? They’re as neutral as death. They are creatures doing exactly what is within their nature to do. Thus the underlying ethos of the pantheon. Every one of those deities commits actions that can be perceived to be ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ by the humans they lived alongside. The Greeks did not revere them to be absolute good, nor absolute evil. What they did, was perceive them to portray unavoidable facets of our day-to-day lives that should be celebrated, acknowledged and respected. For example, take Dionysus, the God of wine, pleasure, festivity, madness and wild frenzy. Basically, this bitch was the life of the party. As such, large banquets and hedonistic orgies were often held in his name, celebrating pleasure, life and the loss of control within the madness of relinquishing stress.

But we aren’t the Ancient Greeks are we (though I know I look fetching in a toga if I do say so myself).

Western civilisation, take the United Kingdom, for example, founded its legal system upon the 10 commandments of the monotheist pantheon of Christianity. Furthermore, The Act of Supremacy in 1534 appointed King Henry VIII the first Supreme Governor of the Church of England. A largely ceremonial title that has been passed on to reigning monarchs ever since. Within the United Kingdom, Church and State have been very much intertwined since the days of the court governance. As such, themes of Christian teachings and concepts became entwined within our culture, and over the years have become so embedded that accepted behaviour and social nuances are not intrinsically associated with its religious teaching. The obvious examples to point out are the recent milestone law amendments to same-sex marriages and abortion. Going deeper into social norms: the concepts of purity and promiscuity, humbleness and arrogance, greed, sin and punishment. I have been brought up in a time where I have heard the rhetoric about my own body change from ‘do not sleep around, don’t be easy’ to ‘it’s your body, equality, if men can do it, you can to’. Aside from my own personal views on this topic, this social rhetoric is a symptom of the culture in which we live. They also echo some (not all) Christian teachings. Triandis and Triandis (1988-2004) have produced many works on the development of culture, the bare bones of the explanation being that culture of a society is a product of history, language and stories. Prior to written print, all information was passed on from generation to generation through stories. These stories contained information about countries' histories, experiences, and beliefs. The languages and gestures telling the stories are a creole of invading forces and immigrating travellers. These are the bare ingredients for culture. All that is left to perfect this recipe is time. Leave to mature of a few centuries and you’ve got a fine wine and a handful of convoluted social norms. Hence, the aforementioned rhetoric and the continued acceptance within British culture that the Monarch is the head of the Church.

The Ancient Greeks didn’t have time. Their teachings and stories are still hailed today, but their civilisation did not survive long enough for their culture to become a social norm.

Now, the reason why we’ve gone through this is to point out that the Christian pantheon is heavily reliant upon the idea of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. Absolute good. Absolute evil. I could do an entire blog on the different theological branches of Christianity and how they have affected Western culture. In this instance, we shall focus on the concept of sin. Though it is obvious, it must be pointed out:

Sin is bad.

Bad is punished.

Ergo - Must avoid sin.

What is sin? Well, sinning is many things if we go by the Bible and the wholesome Leviticus, but here we are focusing on the widely known and accepted concept of the Seven deadly sins. Though these little devils didn’t specifically make a named appearance in the Bible, their themes were present throughout. Thereafter they were popularised and named via Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and Dante’s Purgatory.

Hopefully, you’re beginning to see all the threads of this post coming together now.

The Seven deadly sins are as such:

Greed

Envy

Lust

Gluttony

Wrath

Sloth

Pride

It is accepted within Western culture that behaviour must avoid ‘evil’ to avoid punishment. Ergo, we must avoid behaving in any way that can be associated with the aforementioned fiendish sins.

And so. The point.

I want bougie perfume and bedsocks for my birthday. Bedsocks is an acceptable humble and utilitarian item. It is not frivolous.

Bougie perfume? It is frivolous. It is a luxury. It is Greed. The fact that I boldly stated as such? Maybe a hint of Pride in my request? Either way, it is a social norm to at least raise an eyebrow at somebody stating frankly that they want an expensive item for their birthday.

To stress this point: if I had asked for driving lessons which are double the price of the perfume, no comment would have been made because of its utility. And so I bring you right back to the beginning. I am applying for jobs and finding the whole process unbearably uncomfortable because I am wondering if me toting all my achievements in one go and really selling myself will come across as arrogant (pride).

I should be humble, shouldn’t I? Humble me in the face of power…Isn’t that the social norm here? Which leads me to my final conclusion. Here are two different worldviews and neither are false and neither are true. If everything is connected (and that is what we call a callback) and if I were an Ancient Greek, how would I apply for jobs? How would I tote my credentials when there is no punishment for being proud of my accomplishments? When there is no concept of sin within the narrative of my worldview and just differing aspects of my nature, surely applying for jobs, asking for presents, networking etc, etc, etc, would be a far less painful experience?

#blog #greek gods #mental health #theory #religion #politics #everything is connected #psychology #philosophy #theology #all human constructs #created by humans #to understand the human condition #diaries of a snowflake #experimental life of a snowflake #short essay

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amritkaurpoetry · 3 years

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The Sun and The Dragon [A Harry Potter Fanfic] : Chapter 1 - The Invitation

Note: This is the first chapter of my Harry Potter Fanfic, it follows the story of Annora Apollo, who is 18 years old, and finds out the harry potter universe does indeed exist.

This is my first ever long piece of writing and fanfic so it would be extremely helpful if you could leave any feedback, the full first 5 chapters are available on wattpad, and will also be on Ao3 once i’m gone with the whole story.

word count: 2930

Chapter One

The Invitation

In a small town, somewhere on the outskirts of London, there is a little house. Small, as if hiding amongst dollhouses behind a large hill. The chimney smokes, a sign of the fireplace lit, in the late hours of the night. Oblivious to the hushed chatter downstairs, a young girl, 18 years of age, is sat in her bed on her phone. The blue light falls upon her light brown skin and reflects in her chocolate brown eyes. Annora, scrolled through Instagram like she often did on the nights she could not sleep. She scrolled past the countless faces of people she knows, knew, and even a few strangers too. Now and then Annora would stop scrolling to give a soft smile to a good Harry Potter meme. She did so now, as she smiled at a meme of Ed Sheeran in a family picture of the Weasley's, a fictional family Annora adored. ‘Very loyal? Should ‘a had my back but you put a knife in it. My hands are full, what else should I carry for you?’ The ‘NF’ song that played from her earphones could be heard in a low hiss around the room. She glanced to look at the clock on her bedside table, 01:53 it read. Once again, the hours had seemed to slip away from Annora, she had always struggled with sleeping on time. She sighed and turned her phone off and stared into her reflection on the black screen for a while. Her long face looked blankly back at her as she sighed again, took out her earphones and turned to put her phone away. Annora had not thought this was how she'd spend her gap year. She had imagined herself travelling the world and meeting new people, where she might have finally found a place where she belonged. Annora seemed to finally notice the muttering that came from downstairs and abruptly sat upright in her bed. She strained her ears to make out what the voices were saying and who they belonged to before she dared to move. There was the familiar voice of her father and mother, but also another unknown voice. She turned to look at the clock – 02:01 – and made sure it was indeed late into the night. It was unusual for her parents to be awake at this time, as Annora had often stayed up this late, least they never seemed to make it obvious they were up at this hour. There was also the question of the guest, who would come to someone’s house this late? As far as Annora knew they had no known living relatives and her parents never seemed to have many friends. Curious, Annora put on her mother’s green slippers that she had lent her, her yellow slippers were still in the moving boxes somewhere and, as quiet as she could, creeped out of her room. The muttering got slightly louder as Annora closed her room's door behind her and inched closer to the stairs. She could now see the reception room light flooding the house with a soft orange-yellow glow.

‘So, it really is time now, isn’t it,’ said Annora’s father, Lee, in a deep, exhausted voice.

‘I’m afraid so.’ Said an unknown male voice, it was soft and calm.

‘Professor, how is it possible for her to attend when she is already 18?’ It was now Annora’s mother who spoke, she sounded worried.

‘Ah,’ said the unknown voice, ‘that is the Ministry’s doing, I have explained this already to Lee. I think it unwise to waste time on these pointless details at this hour.’ Countless questions seemed to flood Annora's mind as she inched closer to the stairs. She suspected she was the 18-year-old her mother had mentioned, but what school was she talking about? Was this why they had convinced her to take a year off before heading off to university? Annora stepped closer to the stair's oak railings to try and see who her parents were talking to.

‘Never mind how it’s possible Lucia,’ Lee turned to his wife, ‘she’ll be safest within the school.’ Just as he had finished his sentence, Annora was finally close enough to make out the open reception room door. Within the room she could also make out a man in a midnight blue cloak sat on the sofa, his cloak covered in small white stars, and a long white – almost silver – beard.

‘You’re right Lee, will you be watching over her personally professor?’, Lucia inquired.

‘Certainly Lucia.’ The elderly man replied, his voice was full of a deep understanding.

‘It’s already the 1st today, should I wake her now to tell her?’ Lucia asked Annora was now close enough to make out her mother and father still in their nightwear seated on the sofa opposite two, not one, unknown men. They both were strangely dressed and old.

‘That won't be necessary. I believe she has already come down', just as Annora was close enough to make out the old man’s face, he turned to look up at her halfway down the stairs. He gave her a soft smile and beckoned her over with his right hand, which seemed to have a blackened middle finger. Looking at him, Annora walked down the rest of the stairs. He wore a wizard’s hat, and half-moon spectacles, if it weren't for the fact that she knew Harry Potter was a work of fiction, she would have thought she was being addressed by Albus Dumbledore himself, he even had a crooked nose. She made a mental note that if she was ever asked to cast someone as Dumbledore for a new Harry Potter re-make, she’d have to contact this man.

‘oh, um hi, I heard – talking, I came to see if everything was okay.’ Annora said as she gave an awkward smile, thrown off by how much he looked like a fictional character and how quick he had noticed her presence, though she had made no noise at all. Both Lee and Lucia turned to face her as she entered the reception room. The Dumbledore look-alike got off the sofa and stood with his blue eyes still on her. The other old man seemed to follow his lead and looked over with his pale silver eyes. This other old man was rather bony, with his skin looking as if it had been stretched too thin over his bones.

‘Annora, this is Professor Albus Dumbledore and Mr Garrick Ollivander,' says Lucia as both she and Lee stand. Annora froze, did she just say Dumbledore and Ollivander? After a short period of complete silence, Annora laughed.

‘Nice one mum’, she replied, looking around at all of them. Her parents had always known of her love for the magical world of Harry Potter. Well, they always knew about anything and everything Annora had ever loved. They all, however, kept their faces grave and Annora had started to try and keep her face straight too.

‘Your mother isn’t lying,’ smiled the Dumbledore look-alike/ Dumbledore, 'though I suspect to you I am a work of actual fiction so it wouldn’t be easy for a young logical mind like yours to grasp that I am indeed Albus Dumbledore.’ He smiled increasingly wider, and as if he had read her mind and quickly added ‘oh yes, The Albus Dumbledore.’ Perplexed Annora reached out to shake Dumbledore’s outstretched hand, noticing the black middle finger again.

'Um- nice to meet you, professor.' She said though she did not seem quite convinced. Her eyes looked around the room; at the large bag placed next to Ollivander, at her parent's serious faces, at the peculiar costume Dumbledore wore, and the ash that lay on the floor. Her eyes found the fireplace that, for the first time, was open and burning with flames. Annora was pretty sure it was boarded up when they had moved here last month.

'And this is indeed the renowned wandmaker, Mr Garrick Ollivander.' He added, gesturing to the bony man with stretched skin, who stood next to him who also had his hand outstretched.

'Pleasure to meet you, miss.' He said as Annora shook his frail hands.

‘Likewise, sir.’ She politely replied as she turned to look at both her parents, surely, they were going to interrupt and burst out laughing at any moment now. Though her mother's blue eyes seemed to be looking at the bag next to Ollivander, and her father's brown eyes were looking at Annora in all seriousness, he furrowed his eyebrows.

'As you may have gaged from the date and situation Annora, you are indeed a Witch, and we are here to personally invite you to study at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.’ Dumbledore continued looking over to mother and father as if encouraging them to chip in, probably due to the visible disbelief on Annora’s face. After a thoughtful pause, he added, 'We have given the details to your parents already.'

‘This isn’t a joke Annora,’ Her father started, but she spoke up before he could finish his sentence,

‘But I’m 18, I just finished college, even if this WAS real – not saying I believe you. I would be too old to attend, would I not?’ She blurted out. She had said the last part as she looked directly at Dumbledore. Everyone gave a soft smile as if she had said something funny.

'Traditionally yes, but due to current circumstances there has been an additional year added.' Dumbledore explained after a soft chuckle and as if reading Annora’s mind, again, added, 'Yes you would be joining the final year, but I'm sure you'll manage to catch up with a bit of extra help'. With nothing to say, Annora remained silent and looked between the four people in her living room. Then looked around the rest of the room, her eyes resting on the fireplace again.

'Annora, Professor Dumbledore contacted me, and your father a little before he came and explained the situation. We are permitting you to go to Hogwarts.' Annora shot her mother a look, permitting her to go? What was even going on? She had missed seven years of this school – if it even existed – and now they suddenly want her to go.

'But why didn't I get a letter when I was 11?' The words came out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She couldn’t help it, if this was indeed real, she would have gone to the coolest school and wouldn’t have had to go to the countless crap high schools and colleges she had attended. Maybe if she had gone to this school, she wouldn't have had to keep moving houses as often as her parents did. Annora’s mother looked taken aback, and with a soft defeated voice she said,

‘Because we refused to let you go, tell you even.’ WHAT? She tried to catch her mother's eyes after she had said this, but her mother looked only at Dumbledore, pleadingly.

'I will surely explain in more detail, Annora, tomorrow as I accompany you to school. Your parents were advised, by me, not to let you attend Hogwarts initially. Again, it is something I will explain in due time. But first, why don't we pick your wand?' Annora was speechless, did he say wand? Curiosity took over her initial exasperation, and her dark brown eyes instantly looked at Ollivander. Ollivander had remained awfully quiet during the conversation but was now smiling holding a couple of dozen long boxes he seemed to have taken out of the bag beside him during the conversation.

‘And what about the other supplies I’d need?’ Annora wished she could kick herself for the amount of rubbish coming out of her mouth. There was no way this was real, but no matter how much she tried to remind herself there was no such thing as magic, Annora felt herself feeling more and more excited. Surely if this was a joke, it would fall apart at the wand picking anyway. Dumbledore gave another soft chuckle, and her parents seemed to finally breathe again as if they were holding their breath this whole time.

'Your parents have kindly given us some money that I can give over to someone to bring all the stuff over to your dorm for tomorrow before you get to school.' He was beaming when he said this. Annora gave a bright smile back; it was hard not to, seeing how excited he seemed.

‘I believe this wand may be a good fit, whenever you’re ready.’ Said Ollivander, as he opened a purple box. Within the box was a rather plain-looking black wand. Annora reached out as Ollivander placed it carefully into her hands. The moment her hand had firmly clasped around it, some of the family pictures in the house shattered, no one other than Annora flinched. What the-

‘Maybe try this one.’ Ollivander took the black wand from her instantly and replaced it with a dark brown one that he had taken out of another box beforehand. This time a few books flew out of the bookshelf and Annora was left as perplexed as ever – was this seriously happening?

‘Hmm,’ Ollivander seemed to be excitedly considering what other wands to hand Annora when his bag seemed to shake a little, and sure enough, he pulled out a box that appeared to move on its own accord. Taking out a rather beautiful brown wand, which seemed to have golden vines wrapped around the handle, he placed it in her hands. The moment the wand touched her skin, a sort of warmth took hold of her body like a warm gust of wind encircling her. She could see everyone's faces that looked rather pleased.

‘Perfect! 13 inches long, Willow wood, with the dual-core of phoenix feather and unicorn hair. A wonderful choice,’ smiling he added, ‘I expect great things from you Annora, great things.’ Annora blushed slightly and considered the possibility that what had just taken place was indeed magic. It DID feel rather magical. But before this feeling could intoxicate Annora her eyes fell on the family photo that the first wand had shattered, kneeling to pick up the photograph she found herself unable to breathe. The picture was of her father laughing in the kitchen. He was wearing a black suit and tie, his onyx hair long, blending into the black suit he wore, and falling over his brown eyes. His cheeks were fuller than they were now, and he had his arm around her mother. Her mother looked as beautiful as ever, wearing a flowered apron and her light brown hair tied up in a messy bun. Her mother's blue eyes were almost shut, as she laughed at the two kids attempting to bake. Annora was little, probably around 6, in the photo, her messy brown hair somewhere in-between her mother and father’s, her brown eyes focused on her older brother. He was probably around 8, two years older than herself, leaning over a bowl reaching out to hug his sister – hug her. His eyes blue like mother’s and his onyx hair full of flour. How could she forget? Today was the first of September, the day the accident had happened. Fighting back the unwanted tears and forcing a rather convincing smile, she looked up at her mother and father. Least she still had them, Annora turned and placed the photograph on the table.

‘I almost forgot.’ It was Dumbledore who had broken the trance as he waved his wand and the books seemed to fly back to their rightful shelves, the glass frames fixing themselves along the way.

‘I’m afraid it is getting rather late; I hope to see you tomorrow morning Annora so I can accompany you to the Hogwarts express.’ He gave a rather proud but understanding smile to Annora, then turned to her parents. ‘I suspect Mr and Mrs Apollo will fill in some blanks in the morning. I hope to see you all very soon.' He gave a small kind of bow and smiled, both he and Ollivander bid farewell and walked out the front door into the night. But before Annora could ask any questions her mother spoke up,

'It's getting late, you should go to bed now, and we'll talk about this more in the morning. I promise.’ as Lucia hugged Annora. Lee gave her a before bed hug too and added,

‘He’d be so happy for you Annora.' His brown eyes were full of tears. Both Lucia and Lee had been very observant, nothing Annora did seemed to evaded their eyes. She hugged back tighter as her mother joined in on the family hug.

‘He would, and so are we,’ She smiled. ‘Now off to bed.' Annora decided it was best she did go to sleep; her parents probably had a few things to talk about, and she would find it easier to process everything that had just happened alone. She turned, the wand and wand box still in hand, and walked up the stairs and into her room. Once Annora was in bed, she couldn't help but convince herself that she would wake up the next morning and this would be nothing but an odd sort of dream. How could magic be real? With a whisper, 'I miss you', Annora fell asleep much quicker than she thought she would have. The night's dreams were sure to be about Magic, Hogwarts and her brother. Unknown to her, the whispers of her parents continued long into the early hours of the morning.

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ripley95 · 4 years

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Echoes of Old Embers

Chapter 5

Pairing: F!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko

Rating: T

Chapter length: 4K

Story Synopsis:

After surviving the war, one of Shepard’s biggest regrets was rejecting Kaidan at Apollo’s. Fate has a way of bringing Jane and Kaidan back into each other’s lives. A misunderstanding with his family makes Kaidan and Shepard relive old history and question where they stand.

Link to Chapter 1 on AO3

Chapter Synopsis:

Kaidan shows Shepard around the orchard and shares an important memory of his.

Link to Chapter 5 on AO3

Tumblr Links:

Read the chapter here below the cut:

After finishing the lunch that Ada and Libby prepared, Shepard and Kaidan made sure to stay long enough to help put away the leftover food and clean up all of the dishes. Ada shooed them out the door the moment they were done helping so they could go enjoy themselves.

As they walked out the back door, Shepard immediately had a better view of the orchard than when they landed. It spanned for kilometres and was met with a pine forest along the edges, proving that this was a much larger property than she had imagined. Growing up in space, learning about agriculture wasn’t particularly high on the list of learning priorities, so she really had no idea what to expect. Seeing the scope of it first-hand was surprising. The additional view of the hills and mountains in the distance was enough to make her feel small, which wasn’t an easy feeling to achieve after seeing the vastness of space. She had to pause and take it all in.

The sun was out, which was nice considering they only just escaped the rain that had started pouring that same morning back in Vancouver. Spring had only just started, so the sun blanketed them in a pleasant warmth to contrast the cooler temperatures and the light breeze surrounding them. The weather and the scenery couldn’t have been more perfect. She had to credit Libby with having impeccable taste when it came to choosing a time and place to have a wedding.

After taking in the initial scenery, Kaidan started walking, leading the way at a slow and relaxed pace. He waited for Shepard to match him before leading her towards the apple trees.

“So… that was… uh,” Kaidan stammered.

“Interesting?”

“That’s one way to put it,” he said with a slight smile.

“Don’t worry about it. It was fine,” she said, trying to be reassuring. She didn’t want him to feel more guilty than he already did about Maisie’s misunderstanding or the fact that his family had such a shocked reaction to her at first.

“I’m sorry, were we in the same room?” he asked with a lighthearted laugh.

“All right. Yeah, that was a bit of a disaster, wasn’t it? Happy now?” she asked, teasingly.

“As long as we’re on the same page about it,” he said with a smirk. “I’m sure mom will have a talk with Maisie. It’ll probably be fine.”

“Ah. ‘Probably.’ I’m feeling very reassured here, Kaidan.”

“Well, you saw how she reacted. She’s not one to let an idea go easily once she’s made up her mind about something, but she’s harmless enough. Even if it were true, she wouldn’t be selling that information to the tabloids or anything. She’s way too loyal and protective to do anything like that,” he said, somewhat amused before turning his tone more serious. “But then there’s everyone else’s reaction.”

“They were just taken off guard. I get it.”

He turned to her and let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I still can’t believe I didn’t expect that reaction though, because I probably should have.”

“It wasn’t all that bad,” she said, almost believing it herself. “Especially with the way lunch went, I think they calmed down a bit.”

Kaidan nodded in agreement. “They really are a good bunch once you get to know them,” he said as they continued their leisurely pace towards the trees.

“If you’re anything to go by, they can’t be all that bad,” she said with a smile before she realised what she said could have come off as being flirtatious, which is the last thing she wanted. Damn her heart speaking before her brain. An awkward moment of silence passed between them before she cleared her throat. “I just hope I haven’t complicated things too much. I didn’t even think about the fact that I might be stealing Libby’s thunder or anything.”

Kaidan looked at her then. “You heard that, eh?” he asked, sounding guilty. “Yeah, I didn’t even think about that possibility. I’m sure we can think of something to make it up to her. She usually needs some space to cool down, though, so it’s probably best to give her some time.”

Shepard nodded at that. She really didn’t mean to cause such an upset for something that was supposed to be such an important moment in his sister’s life. If worst came to worst, she would end up excusing herself from the wedding anyway. She wasn’t about to be ruffling any feathers at a time like this. She knew Kaidan wouldn’t be happy with that idea. He would have hated for her to be excluded after he invited her here, so she kept it to herself for now. Her thoughts faded into the background as she realised that they finally reached the treeline.

“That’s where the reception’s going to be,” he said, pointing towards a barn off to the side of them, then he turned back to the orchard’s treeline. “And I think this area right here is where Libby’s going to get married. We’ll mow the grass and set up some chairs. She’ll probably walk out from the house, and get married with that view in the background,” he said, pointing to the mountains.

“She certainly has good taste,” Shepard said, taking a glance around the area. Something caught her attention, and she noticed someone standing on the porch watching them out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t look now, but there’s a target at our six,” she said jokingly.

“You don’t say,” Kaidan returned, picking up on the playful banter, determined to play coy along with Shepard, and not turn around to chastise whichever sister it was.

“If I had to venture a guess, I’d say it was Maisie,” Jane said under her breath with a smirk.

“If I had to guess, I’d say you’re probably right,” he said with mirth, shaking his head at his sister and her antics.

“Should we mess with her?” Shepard asked with an evil grin.

Kaidan looked to her with a mix of intrigue and hesitation. “For the record, Maisie’s basically a big child, so the answer to that question is almost always a ‘yes,’” he said with a quiet chuckle.

Shepard nodded, the devilish grin still firmly on her face, as she reached for Kaidan’s hand with her own, gently intertwining their fingers. She immediately revelled in the warmth of his palm against hers, coinciding with an almost immediate sense of regret. Clearly, she hadn’t thought this through. Holding hands was an intimate gesture, and she suddenly realised how big of a mistake she just made. She looked back up to him, not knowing what to do, her evil expression faltering slightly. Kaidan didn’t seem to notice, trying to act as nonchalant as possible to play along with it.

“You sure stepped in it now, Shepard,” he said with a grin, matching her own.

“Yeah,” she said, dragging out the word. “I’m starting to realise that. I may not have fully thought out the repercussions of this.”

“Well, not much more to do now than let it play out,” he said with a smile still plastered to his face. At least he didn’t look as perturbed with the idea of it as she was. “We should head up this way. There’s something I want to show you.”

“Sounds good,” she barely managed to get out before she felt a gentle tug at her hand as Kaidan started to guide them.

They slowly made their way up a small hill past the apple trees. She figured he was probably taking it so leisurely today thanks to her leg being stiff. Kaidan’s thoughtfulness was one of the many qualities that she admired about him, but in this particular instance, she couldn’t help but wish they were moving a little faster. All she could think about was how long her hand had already been safely cradled in his, and how much this ‘prank’ had crossed some kind of line. She could feel the sweat beading between their palms like this was some school-aged crush. Maybe the torture she felt was a fair punishment for doing something so foolish.

He led her towards the outer edge of the pine forest that bordered a corner of their land, and as they got far enough away from the house, she felt his fingers slip out of hers. It was exactly what she wanted, yet somehow, the air now bit at the flesh of her palm. The loss of contact stung as much as the thought of maintaining it. She put her hand in her pocket as a way to distract herself from the sensation of it.

“Is this all part of your property, too?” She asked. She was genuinely curious, but also mostly just wanted to try to forget about what just happened.

“Some of it. The forest extends beyond our border, but the neighbours are really good about sharing it. We won’t be going that far today, though.”

She nodded in acknowledgement, still amazed at the contrast of upbringings they had.

They continued to walk along a small path briefly. She even noticed lights following the trail, implying that it must be one that’s used frequently. It didn’t take long before they reached a clearing with a tiny log cabin right in the middle.

Shepard paused in her tracks, taking in their new surroundings briefly. “This is also yours, I take it?”

Kaidan turned to her, with a soft smile on his face. “Yeah,” he said with a nod. “It’s one of my favourite things here. This is what I wanted to show you,” he said pointing towards the cabin as they walked closer towards it.

The exterior of the cabin left a lot to be desired, though, she had to admit it had a rustic charm. The setting was very calming and private, so she could understand the appeal. It seemed perfectly suited to Kaidan, so no wonder this was one of his favourite spots.

Kaidan led them inside the cabin. It was a relatively simple structure with only one small room. Clearly not meant to be a livable building by any means. Not for any extended periods, anyway. There was a decent looking couch opposite the entrance. Maybe a little dusty, but still in good condition considering it’s been staying in a building that hasn’t been maintained for who knows how long. There was a coffee table, some end tables, and a couple of boxes of what looked like old books strewn about. The air was stale, but Shepard figured it could look pretty quaint with a bit of tidying up. She wasn’t about to disturb anything, but she could picture it being a cozy place to spend an afternoon.

“Why don’t you have a seat and relax for a second,” he said, before opening the curtains and windows to let some natural light in and air out the room.

Shepard followed his direction and sat on the couch, only to have unsettled a small cloud of dust. She coughed slightly and waved her hand around to dissipate any remnants in the air before brushing off the cushion next to her in order for Kaidan to sit down without a repeat of events.

“Thanks,” he said with a genuine smile as he sat next to her on the cushion that she cleaned off.

“I’ve gotta say, Kaidan, this is pretty nice.”

“Yeah. I always liked it.”

“So, is this one of those childhood forts that all you Earth kids got to have?”

Kaidan huffed out a laugh at that. “Not exactly. This is probably pretty luxurious for something like that. And I think it’s pretty rare for us Earth kids to actually get something like a fort out in the woods.”

She nodded with a smile. She was sure he had a point, but her only reference for that kind of thing was from the vids and extranet searches when she was young. She wasn’t exactly the most well versed on planetside upbringings. She was silent after that. Clearly, there was more to this place than meets the eye, and he brought her out here for a reason.

“Sounds like there must be a story about this?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yeah- yeah, there is.”

Kaidan tried to relax into the couch a bit more, and looked out through the window, appearing as though he was trying to distract himself. Shepard silently waited for him to continue, seeing that it was already a difficult story for him.

“Well… you know about Jump Zero.”

That caught her off guard, not expecting this to have anything to do with that. This really was going to be serious then. “Yeah,” she said quietly.

“I know I’ve told you about Vyrnnus before, but we never really discussed what things were like after that.”

Shepard immediately felt guilty. She didn’t mean to dredge up old memories. “Kaidan, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No. It’s okay,” he said, with that wistful smile again. “That time in my life was hard. I won’t lie about that. I mean, I killed a man in cold blood, Shepard.”

“It wasn’t your fault. He was a man abusing his power. Abusing children. You were protecting someone you cared about.”

“Yeah. I know that now,” he said solemnly, nodding his head in affirmation. “It was a bit more complicated at the time, though. I mean, I was sure I had done the right thing, but then Rahna, well, she made me feel like I was some kind of monster. When I came back home, I wasn’t exactly myself anymore. Obviously, I was in therapy, but therapy really isn’t any good unless you accept the help, you know?”

Shepard nodded quietly, understanding the sentiment. She sat intently, studying his features as she listened to what he had to say.

“But anyway, I was only seventeen. I didn’t know how to handle that, and I was too stubborn to actually use the help that was given to me. I was dangerously close to losing myself to the rage that pushed me over the edge that day when I killed Vyrnnus. Either that or getting lost in a deep pit of depression, knowing that I had the power to so easily take away something as precious as someone’s life. I started secluding myself away from my family. I thought I was a danger to them. Siblings can be annoying. I didn’t want to snap at them and lose control again, so I stayed away, hidden in my room most of the time.”

“Obviously, my parents picked up on the fact that therapy wasn’t helping. My dad took me to stay in our apartment on English Bay for a while, just the two of us. I was still angry, and I didn’t know why he brought me out there. He found me one afternoon out on the deck, and he had a case of lager with him. That was the first time I ever had a beer,” he said with a faltering smile. “In retrospect, I don’t know if it was all that smart giving alcohol to a seventeen-year-old with an attitude problem. I guess he had a plan, though, and he knew what he was doing.”

Shepard smiled regretfully. Kaidan’s dad sounded like an amazing man, and someone she wished she could have gotten the chance to meet.

“I think at first, he mostly took me out there to give me some space and try to let me cool off, but he knew that wasn’t going to be enough for me. I think the alcohol was supposed to be a kind of peace offering, knowing that I needed something big to snap me out of it and get me to open up. I think it was supposed to almost be symbolic in a way, letting me drink alcohol like that even before the legal drinking age. He was trying to show me that he trusted me and let me know that I was capable of being responsible with something like that. I didn’t fully realise it at the time, though, you know, but it worked. It was enough to calm me down and be willing to listen to what he had to say.”

Shepard just watched him speak, sad that Kaidan had to go through something like that so young.

“We sat there for a while before he started talking, but then out of nowhere, he told me that he was lucky. I had to stare at him, not having a clue what he was talking about, but then he continued, saying that he left the Alliance before first contact was ever made, so he never even had to be at war. He had done all the training and was well aware of the toll that taking a life can have on a person, but that he was lucky to never have had to do it himself. And then he told me that he was sorry. Sorry that I had to experience something so awful that young. Sorry that he couldn’t relate to me or offer me any words of wisdom. Sorry that he ever let me go up to Jump Zero in the first place,” Kaidan said, his eyes becoming a bit watery. “He said he regretted it. That the turians were trying to make us out to be dangerous and that since humans didn’t have any experience with biotics that I had to go. They said it was the only option for me to learn to control myself. He said there was always something that felt wrong about it, and that he wished he had fought harder to have been able to keep me here with them, but that biotics was just so new and he had no idea what to do about it, but that he made a mistake.”

Kaidan paused for a moment before continuing. “Then he said that he was proud of me. He said that the fact that I had taken a life was something that would likely weigh on me for the rest of mine. That it was important to remember that it wasn’t an action done entirely in cold blood like I thought. That I was standing up for something I believed in, and that I was trying to protect innocent lives. He did go on to say that the situation was more complicated than he knew what to do with. That it was still important for me to learn control and how to deal with my emotions. He didn’t say so specifically, but I think that was his way of pushing me to try harder in therapy. I listened to what he had to say. It was still hard for me to understand it at the time, but I knew he was right. It was better than the pit I had dug myself into, trying to hide away from everyone.”

Shepard continued to listen intently. Kaidan clearly seemed to want to get this off of his chest, and the least she could do was be there for him, but it pained her to see him reliving such a difficult time in his life.

“I kind of thought that would be the end of it. Like it was my dad’s way of relieving his own burden, so he wouldn’t have to feel guilty anymore, just as much as it was meant to persuade me to do better for myself. I almost expected him to wash his hands of me and pass me off to the therapist then. I think I must have just had a hard time knowing what to trust back then, having felt abandoned at Jump Zero once already. It almost felt like my dad was about to be doing it to me all over again with the therapist. I should have listened to him better and trusted him, because of course I was wrong.”

“After we came back to the orchard, he had arranged for a bunch of supplies to be delivered during my first appointment back in therapy. As soon as I got back home, he brought me out here to a bunch of tools and logs and schematics. I think he tried to pass it off as innocently as possible. He said that he knew I was a teenage boy in a house packed full of women, so he knew I needed my privacy. Somewhere to be quiet and contemplate things. So this became our project—a place to be my own, away from everyone else when things got difficult. We came out here and built a little bit every day for a couple months. It probably took us a lot longer than it would for a professional since I didn’t know anything about tools, and he was trying to teach me along the way. Eventually, he even encouraged me to use my biotics to our advantage with it, lifting the logs and trying to place them accurately. He taught me a lot about being patient and learning control,” he said, glancing back to Shepard now, his eyes beginning to shimmer with unshed tears.

“I haven’t been back to this cabin since… well, since he-” he cut himself off, not able to continue.

“Oh, Kaidan,” Shepard said softly with a hint of shock flooding her voice. He hadn’t even had a chance to truly mourn his own father yet with how busy he’s been since the end of the war. Here she was intruding on something deeply personal again. “I should go. You should have some privacy,” she said as she started to adjust herself to get up and leave.

“No, wait,” he said, while simultaneously reaching out to grab her hand, and pulling her back slightly to get her to sit back down again. “Please stay,” he said, with the slightest hint of a pleading tone in his voice. It wasn’t something that Shepard was used to hearing from him. Even when he feared the worst about his father in the observation lounge on the Normandy, he kept his resolve.

She relaxed back into her seat, clasping his hand tightly within hers, trying to exude some level of comfort for him. “Okay,” she said softly. “I will.”

He nodded slowly, before relaxing slightly again, not releasing his hand from hers even still. “I miss him, Shepard. I never even got to say goodbye.”

“I know,” she whispered as she grazed her thumb ever so slightly over his skin. It was the only way she knew how to attempt to take his pain away without crossing that boundary into something more intimate again.

They sat there in silence for a few more moments. She didn’t really know what to say in a situation like this. Of course, she had experienced loss in her own life, too. More than most people’s fair share, even. She’d even lost her own father, but none of it was exactly comparable to this. Kaidan lost one of his lifelines. One of the only people who was capable of bringing him out of one of the darkest times in his life. How was she supposed to be able to comfort him in a time like this?

“It hurts, Shepard,” he said, a tear finally shedding down his face.

She finally gave in and relinquished his hand, unable to sit idly by while he was in so much pain, seeking an outlet and comfort. She wrapped an arm around him, pulling him to her. She held his head tightly to her shoulder, stroking her fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head as he let out a sob. She continued to hold him tightly and leaned her head against his in a sign of affirmation that she wasn’t going anywhere. Crossing boundaries be damned.

#my fic on Tumblr #f!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko #f!Shepard #Kaidan Alenko #mass effect fanfiction #mass effect #fanfiction #f!Shepard x Kaidan Alenko #friends to lovers #angst #mini slowburn #my writing

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frei-und-schwerelos · 4 years

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Big Interview: Willemijn Verkaik - "I couldn’t be happier!" (West End Frame - December 2014)

Interview Internet Archive - 2/∞ [x]

Earlier this year, Willemijn won West End Frame’s West End Debut Award for her portrayal of Elphaba in Wicked (Apollo Victoria). The Dutch star first played the role in Germany in 2007. She then starred as Elphaba in Holland before joining the Broadway company, making her the only actress to have played the iconic character in three different languages. Following a successful stint in New York, Willemijn joined the London production to tremendous acclaim.

During a break from rehearsals, I recently spoke to Willemijn about her return to the London stage, why Women on the Verge is a new challenge and what the rest of the cast are like to work with. We also discussed her emotional departure from Wicked, why winning West End Frame’s Best West End Debut Award meant so much to her plus much, much more…

Women on the Verge has been completely re-workshopped since its Broadway run and is almost like a totally new show. At what point did you come on board?

I didn’t do any of the workshops so for me this is really fresh. I first heard of the show when I was auditioning and I started to do my research.

What were your first impressions? The music is so refreshing!

I thought the music was amazing! David Yazbek is a genius – the songs that he’s written for Pepa (Tamsin Greig) and Lucia (Haydn Gwynne) and for everyone are just so thrilling and special. All those Spanish influences are very refreshing. I just love the way he brings a song into a scene and gets that Spanish feeling. He captures the feel of the scene and the show… I am a fan [laughs]!

So what has it been like to work with him? He’s been over, hasn’t he?

Yes he has! He’s very funny and has very dry humour. Bart (Bartlett Sher) and Jeffrey (Lane) and everyone are all very funny. David really is a genius and it’s great to be working with someone like him. I just want to grab on to how he works and how he thinks. Sometime he’ll just go away for a while and have his headphones on and then come back with a new suggestion. When he came in with the last song – the finale – everyone just said, “Wow, you are amazing!” Being a part of an original cast of a brand new production is very different to going into something more established. How have you found the rehearsal process? Things much be changing all the time?

It is great! For me it’s a big challenge. You know my history with Wicked – I was doing it for about six years – and in between I’ve done some other stuff like Songs For A New World and Mamma Mia. It’s not like I’ve only been doing Wicked, but to be focusing on something really new and to be creating my own character starting from scratch is fantastic. Seeing everyone digging into their roles and digging into the scenes is amazing. Everyone is working together to make each scene more interesting, we try out different things. It’s so great for me, I’m just really happy that I can dive into something totally different.

What has the atmosphere been like in rehearsals? It’s really interesting because you all come from different backgrounds…

That’s true! There are a lot of people coming from different backgrounds. Everyone is helping each other and supporting each other. If I am finding something difficult then I can always ask Haydn or Tam and then they can ask me something. It doesn’t matter if it is someone from stage management, from music or from the cast – everyone is working together and everyone is working towards that one goal… on the 17th December… that’s the moment [laughs]

What do you think people who don’t know much about Women on the Verge can expect?

I’m hoping they will come out of the show with muscle pain from laughing and feeling like they have spent a night in Madrid because of all the great songs and the Spanish roots. It’s such a great story. I’m very curious to see how audiences react. There have been so many moments where I’ve just watched everyone and thought, ‘wow’. Ricardo (Afonso) for instance starts the show and straight away I get goosebumps!

Tell me about your character, what has she been like to explore?

I’m still doing research, but she’s a tough, very efficient lawyer. She wants the job done and wants to do it well, but also has a weak spot. It’s very interesting.

What is it like getting to know a new character? A tough lawyer couldn’t be more different to Elphaba or Donna!

She’s completely different! I’m curious to know what people who have seen me play other roles will say. It’s a challenge! It’s great to dig into something so different and to get away from everything that I’ve done before.

Everyone was so excited when it was announced you were coming back to London; how does it feel to be back?

London is a great city and the theatre scene is so amazing… there are so many things to do and so many things to see. For me, having to cut my run short at Wicked because of my back problems and then already, after four months, being able to be back again in this great theatre city is… amazing. I’m so thankful and so happy, every day I’m saying to myself, “Would you ever have thought that you would be walking down the London streets when four months ago you were in a totally different state?” I couldn’t be happier!

Are there any sights left that you need to see? I guess when you’re playing Elphaba or rehearsing a major new musical you don’t get much time!

Yes, there are a few more things I should see. I haven’t been to all the museums. Celinde (Schoenmaker) said to me, “You have to see the Natural History Museum, it’s amazing!” Of course my family and friends came over and I just put them on a big red bus and drove with them to all of the great things to see.

2013 was an absolutely crazy year for you! You made your Broadway debut, your West End debut, you voiced the lead character in the Dutch and German language versions of the highest grossing animated movie of all-time AND starred in the Stuttgart production of Mamma Mia! What was that year like for you? Did you get a chance to actually take any of it in or was it just a big whirlwind?

[laughs] Wow! Well, both. If I look back on it I think, ‘Really? Did I do all of that in one year?! Really?!’ It didn’t feel that way at the time though, it just happened. Yes it was a whirlwind because all these amazing things happened – it was like, ‘Oh my god I’m on Broadway… oh my god I’m the voice of Elsa… oh my god I’m in Mamma Mia… oh my god I’m in the West End!’ [laughs] When I look back it seems more crazy than when I was doing it. It happened and I had the energy for it and it was all great! So yeah… it was one of the better years [laughs]!

We obviously have to discuss Wicked. When you were cast in the German production, what would you have said if I’d told you that you were going to play the role in Holland, on Broadway and in the West End?

I would definitely have said, “No way!”

Now that you’re out of the ‘Wicked bubble’ what is it like to look back at your incredible career within the show?

I have such good memories! Wicked has a very special place in my heart. Just to be cast as Elphaba in Germany was amazing; I couldn’t believe they had given me the chance to do that! I’ve been given such great chances and I’ve learnt so much. People ask me sometimes, “Do you ever get enough of the role?” and I can honestly say no… still now! It’s an amazing role, you have to fight every day to get her out there and to fight ‘Defying Gravity’. Of course things have happened and having to cut my run short in London wasn’t the best thing, but I still had such a great year there. You build amazing friendships; Savannah (Stevenson) is such a dear friend to me, we still text each other every week. In every cast you have a few people who become so dear to you, that’s what the show also does – it is about friendship. I had a great journey, I had great chances and now I can just put that in a box and with a good, warm feeling I can go down another path.

Did it feel strange to recently return to the Apollo?

Yes, I saw the last show with Kerry [Ellis] and everyone which was very emotional. It was so great to see everyone!

This is the question I have to ask every Elphaba… do you remember what used to go through your mind each night during those few seconds before you defied gravity?

[long pause] Good question! You just know this spectacular thing is going to happen. The whole scene before helps you to get there… the only thing I can say is that if your energy is too low you will have to fight harder. I always tried to build, build, build, build, build and then I would just go! You see that happening with every Elphaba. It’s not really a thought; it’s more of a feeling. A few weeks ago you were back in Holland taking part in the huge ‘Musicals in Concert’ show. What was it like to sing a bit of ‘No Good Deed’ and ‘Defying Gravity’ again?

…in front of twelve thousand people! It’s crazy, right?! It’s in such a big arena and all those people are coming to see us there, I felt like a rock star! It was amazing and great to be one of the performers standing on that stage. I know that a lot of people wanted to hear me sing ‘Defying Gravity’. I had to sing it in Dutch which I hadn’t done for a while so I had to train my muscles again for that! I mean, as I’ve said, I’m used to having a certain energy for that song, but when you perform it out of the blue it is a very different feeling. You have to walk out on stage and then hit those notes! So backstage I was building up that energy.

But ‘Defying Gravity’ is no longer your only signature song…

[laughs] I know! ‘Let It Go’! I have two now… yes [laughs]! And they’re both the two easiest songs to sing [laughs]!

[laughs] What was it like to sing ‘Let It Go’ in an arena with everyone singing the words back to you?

It was an amazing feeling. There’s some sort of warmth you feel from the audience. You step on that stage and it feels so great and I feel so much power from that. It wasn’t 1,800 in the Apollo Victoria, but it was 12,000 in an arena who gave me that feeling – you just, as we say in Holland, grow a few inches higher!

And now you’re about to open in the Playhouse which is one of the smallest West End theatres!

I know, and for this show it’s perfect. It’s the kind of show that needs to stay in a sort of living room situation. I have done a few smaller shows before and it’s a totally different energy. I’m really looking forward to it, that’s the great thing about this job! You can go from a big arena to a smaller theatre. We get to switch around and you can learn from everything.

You’ve spoken in the past about wanting to do an album… is that something you’re still aiming to do?

It’s still on my list but I’ve been saying that for a long time [laughs]. I keep saying my album, my album, my album, but I’m not going to say it anymore [laughs] because everyone is expecting something! I really don’t know when I’m going to do it, but it’s definitely at the top of my list!

We need to talk about your West End Frame Award!

Yes, thank you very much for that!

The support you received was just incredible! What was it like to have all that support behind you?

Well at that time, because I was in a difficult situation, it was such an amazing amount of support. I had to leave Wicked and I didn’t want to leave, but everyone wanted to give me so much support… what else could I ask for? I’m still getting emotional when I think about it because it was a very hard time. To have all those people saying, “Willemijn, we’re there for you” was fantastic. There are people who will travel all around the world to see you!

It’s amazing! It’s incredible, they’re so dedicated. When I announced I was leaving Wicked people all over the world wanted to make that effort to be there for my last night.

Right, time for a very stagey question. I’m sending you to a desert island and you can only take three musical theatre songs with you. Which three are you going to take and why?

[laughs] What will I take with me?! Which ones do I love…? Umm…. well… I would need three atmospheres, so a happy song, a sad song and… a crazy one. That’s what I think! So, my happy song would be something from Avenue Q. I like them all! Can I take the whole album?

No, that’s definitely cheating!

[laughs] Ok, I’m going to take ‘Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist’ because it would really make me laugh. The sad song would probably have to be something from Aida which always gets me down very easily in a good way. I’m going to go for ‘Easy As Life’. So I have funny and sad, now I need something crazy…

Maybe you need something big and belty?

Yes, let’s do a big and belty one! I’m not going to take Wicked with me because it’s in my system – I don’t need to hear it. My big belty crazy song would be… oh I love ‘Don’t Rain On My Parade’ (from Funny Girl). I did it in the arena too!

I know you’re here until next May, but do you have any idea what you might like to do next? Most people would just look for their next West End show but you have endless options! You could do so many different things in so many different countries!

I have a lot of options and am very open minded. I want to challenge myself and still be able to spend enough time with my husband, which can sometimes be very difficult. I always have to see if we can do it and if we’re both happy – that is one of the most important things. Of course this career is really great and important, but the most important thing is having my hubby there.

#*o #archive #interview #women on the verge #willemijn verkaik #her legendary 15 second singing solo *chef's kiss*

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writing-prompts-for-friends · 4 years

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Notes on Robert McKee’s “Story” 21: How to Create a Great “Hook”

Today we’re going to delve into “the inciting incident.” You might also know it as “the hook.” It’s The Big Bang that kickstarts your story. Buckle up because this is an important (and slightly long) post.

The World of the Story

Before you start writing anything, you need to have a crystal clear idea of what your setting is. McKee talked extensively about setting earlier on in the book and I covered it in a post. I also created a World Building Questionnaire with over 100 questions to help you think deeply about your world before you begin writing. So I recommend that you check them out.

06 Setting and Avoiding Cliches

Questions to Help World Build

A couple more things you should consider about your setting are these:

“What are the biographies of my characters? From the day they were born to the opening scene, how has life shaped them?

What is the Backstory? “Backstory” is the set of significant events that occurred in the character’s past that the writer can use to build his story’s progressions. We landscape character biographies, planting them with events that become a garden we’ll harvest again and again.

What is my cast design? Each role must fit a purpose, and the first principle of cast design is polarization. Between the various roles we devise a network of contradictory attitudes. Ideally, each and every character would have a separate and distinctively different reaction to any given event, from something as trivial to a dropped glass to a death in the family. When characters act the same, you minimize the chance for conflict.”

The Inciting Incident

When you come up with your Premise (a.k.a. that spark of an idea that makes you want to write this new story), it doesn’t necessarily need to be the Inciting Incident. Maybe your Premise is the finale, or just a scene somewhere in the middle of the story that you need to build towards. So ask yourself: How do I set my story into action? Where do I place this crucial event?

Here are the necessary qualities of any Inciting Incident, as stated by McKee:

An Inciting Incident must be a dynamic, fully developed event, not something static or vague.

The Inciting Incident radically upsets the balance of forces in the protagonist’s life. Before the Inciting Incident, the protagonist is living a life that’s more or less in balance. But this incident radically upsets the balance, throwing it into either negative or positive.

In most cases, the Inciting Incident is a single event that either happens directly to the protagonist or is caused by the protagonist. He is immediately aware that life is out of balance for better or worse.

The protagonist must react to the Inciting Incident. Even inaction in and of itself is a reaction, though the protagonist cannot remain inactive forever, because there would be no plot otherwise.

The Inciting Incident arouses the protagonist’s desire/need to restore balance, and this leads them to determine an Object of Desire: something physical or situational or attitudinal that he feels he lacks or needs to put the ship of life on an even keel.

The Inciting Incident propels the protagonist into an active pursuit of this object or goal.

*Bonus* For those protagonists that we admire the most, the Inciting Incident arouses not only a conscious desire, but an unconscious one as well. these complex characters suffer intense inner battles because these two desires are in direct conflict with each other. No matter what the character consciously thinks he wants, the audience senses or realizes that deep inside he unconsciously wants the very opposite.

The Spine of the Story

The energy of the protagonist’s desire forms the critical element of design known as the Spine of the story (a.k.a. Through-line or Super-objective). It is the deep desire in and effort by the protagonist to restore the balance of life.

No matter what happens on the surface of the story, each scene, image, and word is ultimately an aspect of the Spine, related, casually or thematically, to this core of desire and action.

If the protagonist has no unconscious desire, then his conscious objective becomes the Spine. The Spine of any James Bond movie, for example, can be phrased as: To defeat the arch-villain. James has no unconscious desires.

If the protagonist has an unconscious desires, this becomes the Spine of the story. An unconscious desire is always more powerful and durable, with roots reaching to the protagonist’s innermost self. When an unconscious desire drives the story, it allows the writer to create a far more complex character who may repeatedly change his conscious desire.

By looking into the heart the protagonist and discovering his desire, you begin to see the arc of your story, the Quest on which the Inciting Incident sends him.

Design of the Inciting Incident

An Inciting Incident can be random, casual, coincidental, or on purpose. A wife could be the random victim of a mugging, inciting the husband to seek revenge. It could be on purpose, too: perhaps a child runs away from abusive parents.

While the the inciting incident for subplots do not have to unfold before the reader, the Inciting Incident of the Central Plot must be seen and felt directly by the reader for two key reasons:

When the audience experiences an Inciting Incident, the work’s Major Dramatic Question, a variation of “How will this turn out?” is provoked.

Witnessing the Inciting Incident projects an image of the Obligatory Scene into the audience’s imagination. The Obligatory Scene (a.k.a. Crisis) is an event the audience knows it must see before the story can end. This scene will bring the protagonist into a confrontation with the most powerful forces of antagonism in his quest, forces stirred to life by the Inciting Incident that will gather focus and strength through the course of the story. The scene is called “obligatory” because having teased the audience into anticipating this moment, the writer is obligated to keep his promise and show it to them.

Can you imagine the outrage you’d feel if you read all of the LotR books, all of them building up to destroying the ring, and instead of describing them casting it into the caldera, the book just cuts to them being back in the Shire and saying, “Man, it was hard but I’m sure glad we managed to get rid of the ring.” Fin.

Wouldn’t you just implode?

Locating the Inciting Incident

In other words, when should you insert the Inciting Incident? McKee’s book is about storytelling, but specifically through the medium of film. Therefore, he talks about this mostly in minutes. However, as writers, we need it in pages, chapters.

He states that the first major event of the Central Plot must occur within the first 25 percent of the telling, no matter the medium. However, the later the Inciting Incident, the higher risk you run of having your audience grow bored.

“Well okay, so I’ll just have the Inciting Incident happen in the first chapter and no worries,” you may be thinking.

For some stories, that is fine. But for others, you need to establish characters before the full impact of the Inciting Incident can be understood.

Take the movie Rocky, for example. Its Inciting Incident happens a full thirty minutes into the movie, when he agrees to fight Apollo Creed for the heavyweight championship of the world. In the thirty minutes leading up to that Inciting Incident, we are engaged by the subplot of his romance with Adrian, and we also learn more about who Rocky is, what an underdog he is--and it is thanks to our understanding of who Rocky Balboa is that the Inciting Incident is so gripping. “Oh my God, there’s no way in hell that Rocky can win! But I want him to win!” If the movie had started out with Rocky challenging Apollo, we would have thought it was just another wrestling match, with nothing at stake.

“Bring in the Central Plot’s Inciting Incident as soon as possible...but not until the moment is ripe.

An Inciting Incident must “hook” the audience, a deep and complete response. Their response must not only be emotional, but rational. This event must not only pull at audience’s feelings, but cause them to ask the Major Dramatic Question and imagine the Obligatory Scene. Therefore, the location of the Central Plot’s Inciting Incident is found in the answer to this question: How much does the audience need to know about the protagonist and his world to have a full response?

If it arrives too soon, the audience may be confused. If it arrives too late, the audience may be bored. The exact moment is found as much by feeling as by analysis.

If we writers have a common fault in design and placement of the Inciting Incident, it’s that we habitually delay the Central Plot while we pack our opening sequences with exposition. We consistently underestimate knowledge and life experience of the audience, laying out our characters and world with tedious details the filmgoer has already filled with common sense.”

A Caveat for Fanfiction Writers

Fanfiction is such a huge genre now, and as a long-time writer of it, I wanted to throw in my own two cents about Inciting Incident and fanfiction. Generally, we post our stories one chapter at a time, either scheduled or whenever we manage to get a chapter done. With fanfiction, it is my personal opinion that the Inciting Incident must be in the first chapter.

Even if you’re writing an AU, the readers will still know the characters and the barebones background information at least, so there is no need to build up who these people are, like in the above example of Rocky.

Because fanfiction is a free, nigh limitless commodity, readers are spoiled (myself included). If the first chapter doesn’t immediately pull them in, what incentive do they have to follow the story?

We’ve also seen this shift in music. It used to be that the “hook” of a song could come at the chorus or that BADASS solo halfway through the song. Scroll through your playlists and take a look--how many contemporary songs start off with the “hook?” I guarantee you it’s more than half. This is because in the age of streaming, we are no longer forced to listen to the entire song on the record or tape or radio. We can give a song a few second’s listen and skip it. Sadly, fanfiction is going down the same path.

The Quality of the Inciting Incident

“Henry James wrote brilliantly about story art in the prefaces to his novels, and once asked: ‘What, after all, is an event?’ An event, he said, could be as little as a woman putting her hand on the table and looking at you ‘that certain way.’ In the right context, just a gesture and a look could mean, ‘I’ll never see you again,’ or ‘I’ll love you forever’--a life broken or made.

The quality of the Inciting Incident (for that matter, any event) must be germane to the world, characters, and genre surrounding it. Once it’s conceived, the writer must concentrate on its function. Does the Inciting Incident radically upset the balance of forces in the protagonist’s life? Does it arouse in the protagonist the desire to restore balance? In a complex protagonist, does it also bring to life an unconscious desire that contradicts his conscious need? Does it launch the protagonist on a quest for his desire? Does it raise the Major Dramatic question in the mind of the audience? Does it project an image of the Obligatory Scene? If it does all of this, then it can be as little as a woman putting her hand on the table, looking at you 'that certain way.' "

Creating the Inciting Incident

Okay, so now you need to conceive and write the Inciting Incident. McKee states that the hardest part of any story to write is the Climax, but the second-hardest part is the Central Plot's Inciting Incident. This scene is re-written more than any other.

So before you begin penning the Inciting Incident, ask yourself these questions:

What is the worst possible thing that could happen to my protagonist? How could that turn out to be the best possible thing that could happen to him?

What's the best possible thing that could happen to my protagonist? How could it become the worst possible thing?

I wrote an absolutely horrible novel when I was 13. Now that I'm older and all-around better and more experienced in writing and life itself, I want to tear it all apart and rewrite it. The new inciting incident I have in mind currently is this:

Three years prior to the start of the story, the protagonist's mother vanished into thin air. She drove off to the store but never came back, and they found her car crashed down a ravine on the side of the road, but she was gone and the car had no blood in it. The protagonist's father locked himself into his study that night, and has not emerged from it since. The protagonist was 15 at the time, and in the three years that have passed since then she has grown independent. She lives in the house with her father, makes him meals and puts them on trays outside his study. Sometimes he takes them, other times he leaves them untouched. They have zero communication. In many ways, the protagonist feels like she lost not one but both of her parents in that accident.

Then, one day, she wakes up to get ready for school and sees that the study door is wide open for the first time in three years.

So now I have to ask myself the above two questions.

The worst possible thing that could happen to her is if her father has finally gone mad in his isolation and they are unable to restore their bond. How it could change for the best: She could commit him to a facility, allowing him to get professional help and allowing her to move on with her life.

The best possible thing that could happen to her is if her father emerges, sound of mind and body, and picks up his life with her again. How it could change for the worst: They both wish to reestablish an relationship, but an external force separates them, this time permanently.

“A story may turn more than one cycle of this pattern. What is the best? How could that become the worst? How could that reverse yet again into the protagonist's salvation? We stretch toward the 'bests' and 'worsts' because story--when it is art--is not about the middle ground of human experience.

The impact of the Inciting Incident creates our opportunity to reach the limits of life. It's a kind of explosion. No matter how subtle or direct, it must upset the status quo of the protagonist and jolt his life from its existing pattern, so that chaos invades the character's universe. Out of this upheaval, you must find, at Climax, a resolution, for better or worse, that rearranges this universe into a new order.”

Source: McKee, Robert. Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting. York: Methuen, 1998. Print

#creative writing #creative writing methodology #creative writing theory #writing #writer #writeblr #write #author #writing inspiration #writing inspo #robert mckee #writing novels #writing fantasy #writing fiction #writing fanfiction #plotting #story plotting #novel plotting #writing prompts for friends notes on story

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artofmorehq · 4 years

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OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME/ALIAS: Shantel / shan

AGE: 23

PRONOUNS: she/her

IN CHARACTER – BASICS

FIRST/LAST NAME: Ashton Ryder

AGE: 78 / died at 26

PRONOUNS: he/him

OCCUPATION (MUSE, ARTIST, ETC.): Muse | DIA

FACE CLAIM: Luke Mitchell

3 POSITIVE TRAITS: Loyal, Tenacious, Protective

3 NEGATIVE TRAITS: Altruistic, Secretive, Yes-man

IN CHARACTER – DETAILS (OPTIONAL)

[“I’m not a m o n s t e r. I swear. I just.. had orders.”]

t.w. torture

Space.

One day, I’m gonna go up into space!

That was all Ashton ever really thought about as a kid, zooming around pretending that he was in a spaceship ready to land on Pluto (because Pluto is the absolutely coolest). He was one of those that believed that dreams will come true if you try hard enough, those wide-eyed bushy tail kids. And when NASA established themselves in 1958, it was like a little spark that lit in him to join them. Of course, 16 year old Ashton couldn’t simply just waltz into NASA and charm them with sad puppy dog eyes to get privileged training. And seeing how most of the astronauts were chosen through being pilots or being military, he signed on with the US army almost immediately.

It didn’t seem like such a bad route to go to, he soon found his niche in the medical side of the military, working from the shadows and helping soldiers, and starting to really enjoy his time there. Even though some of the times got really ugly, he kept his smile on and his head held high, believing it’s all going to be worth it. With a solid record in the army, he applied to NASA with their testimony after his unit was withdrawn. It took him three tries before they finally picked him for the Candidate Programme. Who would’ve known that at 22, he’d be this close to being able to go out there, into the stars?

The worst part about training is knowing that not everyone makes it there. What would they be training for if that’s the case? For that one in a million chance to make it. The whole candidate programme just kept on training, some got picked, some dropped out, and the rest kept going. After four years Ashton heard his name called out during a morning announcement; the team for yet another mission for project Apollo; Apollo 8, a four-men mission to orbit around the moon. Though he was just there young and naive, hell they might even cut him off, but it was a chance. To hear his name called, to see what Earth looks like from above, to make it all worth it.

They spent most of 1968 training for launch, all they did was eat, breathe, and sleep for the launch, physically, mentally and emotionally preparing for, the worst case scenario, a one way trip. Somehow war had long prepared him on so many levels already.

So he thought he was ready for the life he planned out.

On one of those late night training, Ashton had headed home, yet never reaching his doorstep. Screams of pain were drowned out by the hand clamping down hard over his mouth, body burning from blinding pain through his back getting colder, almost certain that was it for him. Everything numbed away, but he recovered his senses to see not his Apollo team, but a whole bunch of strangers, limbs chained down to the bed, and scared was an understatement.

They gave him a night to rest, they hardly explained anything, they kept him on a sedative, they sat him down with someone, everyday, a scientist - Maya, they being the DIA. or FBI, they blurred together to him. Somehow with his military and astronomy background, and some chance killing him would pay off in a revival, they thought he’d be useful to them. Some fucking recruitment this was. All NASA did was a cover up that he died during training and gave him a proper military funeral, hoping to give closure for the missing astronaut.

Ashton thought he was going to calmly figure out what happened, and then they made the pain come back again. He was confused, in pain, and just wanted it to end, everything to stop. Follow our advice and you’ll be safe. You’ll be fine soon. I promise. Promise? He took their word for it, and believed, like he always did. Do this experiment, join this mission, eliminate this target, tell us what you see, tell us what the universe says. He did what he did that he thought would make it go away.

Just take their advice for a few years, try and adapt to.. whatever this new thing is, and then maybe leave them and go back to NASA. Just a couple of months.. 3 years. 6 years. 10 years. 25. 35. 50. Advice turned into orders, and Ashton doesn’t even blink twice before obeying them. It started off easy; hand-eye coordination experiments, intelligence tests, recon missions, sitting with Maya, talking about space, astrophysics problem solving. Then it got worse; lead a mission’s intel, sit with Maya, assassinate a target, sit with Maya, torture a captured suspect, sit with Maya. They just kept whispering back in his ear, “You don’t want the pain to come back, do you?”

For 50 years, underneath the Washington HQ, he was used as a tool, a weapon, day in day out. Maya was the only anchor to some kind of sanity, to talk about space, to talk about anything, it was just so easy with her. Yet Ashton was desensitised and lost himself somewhere in the pool of blood he spilt and the pile of bodies he stacked up. To the point where he felt nothing. He was nothing. He can hardly remember who he was before all of this.

Nothing but their good little s o l d i e r.

Ashton never thought it would end, until it did, until Maya left him a letter and never came back. And he could feel it, the rip in his soul when it happened, like someone tore his heart leaving him bleeding in a pain even they couldn’t inflict on him. The complete absolute knowledge that she was gone - that she ripped them apart herself. Suddenly everything came to a standstill.

“What are my orders?” every day he would ask, not sure of what to do anymore, he was just lost. It was like without Maya, suddenly he was useless here. Every day, he continued to ask the same question. Until he finally got an answer: “Your orders are to move to New York.”

Current Mission Active | Locate NYC Muses

—-

TLDR; Enlisted in the army at 16 (1958), military medic till 22, apart of the Vietnam war(1962), join NASA astronaut candidate programme, was finally chosen for one of the Apollo programmes at 26. Died at 26 (1968) as recruited by the DIA, resident Muse as an experiment and agent until the death of his artist 76 (2018), ordered to live in NYC. Current Mission Loading.. Locate NYC Muses

—-

Personality Types

MBIT type: ISFJ, The Defender

+ Supportive, Reliable and Patient, Observant, Loyal and Hardworking

- Humble and Shy, Represses their feelings, Overload themselves, Too Altruistic

Altruistic and well-rounded, no other personality type is so well-suited to be of service of others. They can always be relied on to get the job done on time. They are rarely sitting idle while a worthy cause remains unfinished. They have a tendency to underplay their accomplishments, and while their kindness is often respected, more cynical and selfish people are likely to take advantage of ISFJs’ dedication and humbleness by pushing work onto them and then taking the credit.

Hogwarts house: Huffledor Trustworthy, Tenacious | Chivalry, Brave

Astrological sign: Scorpio Loyal, Secretive, Self Reliant, Brooding, Protective

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

A lawful neutral character acts as law, tradition, or a personal code directs him. Order and organization are paramount to her. He may believe in personal order and live by a code or standard, or he may believe in order for all and favor a strong, organized government. Whether a law is good or evil is of no import as long as it brings order and meaning. A lawful neutral character will keep his word if he gives it and will never lie. He may attack an unarmed foe if necessary. He will never harm an innocent. He may use torture to extract information, but never for pleasure. He will never kill for pleasure, only in self-defense or in the defense of others. Or when ordered to do so.

Muse: http://shantelchiitriestowrite.tumblr.com/tagged/ch%3A-Ashton

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/1190435857/playlist/26VzIdKqRXiPBjzBxknVbR

#queue #fc:lukemitchell #ch:ashtonryder #mun:shan #character #muse

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dailyaudiobible · 4 years

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08/04/2020 DAB Transcript

2 Chronicles 35:1-36:23, 1 Corinthians 1:1-17, Psalms 27:1-6, Proverbs 20:20-21

Today is the 4th day of August welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I’m Brian it is great to be here with you today as it is every day, every day, day by day, step-by-step. And our steps will take us back into the book of second Chronicles today. We’ll actually conclude the book of second Chronicles today and move forward in the Old Testament tomorrow and then in the New Testament. We will begin a new letter, known as first Corinthians. And we’ll talk about that when we get there. But first, second Chronicles chapters 35 and 36 and we’re reading from the Christian Standard Bible this week.

Introduction to first Corinthians:

Okay. So, yesterday we concluded Paul's letter to the church at Rome. So, also known as Romans. And that leads us to the doorstep here of first Corinthians which is another letter from Paul to another church, the church in Corinth. Corinth was a city, a large city in the Roman Empire, an influential city in the Roman empire, cosmopolitan, a hotspot, a destination place, a huge hub of trade and commerce. This is…this is the fourth largest city in the entire Roman empire. So, lots of people, lots of ideas. Lots of spirituality, spiritual ideas of idolatry. Basically, everything that you would find in a large secularized society is in Corinth. And many biblical scholars think first Corinthians gives us like, bar none, the best glimpse into what early Christians in a urban area were thinking about or questioning or trying to live into or trying to understand and…and fundamentally, they’re having spiritual experiences by the power of the Holy Spirit. Like, this is what's drawing them together, right? So, like if Paul comes to Corinth, preaches the good news, people believe it, and then they start to worship together, but it’s just a dud, then they would just kind of fade away, right? Things were happening. The Holy Spirit was leading these people. It was drawing them together and pulling them together as a spiritual community, but they’re wondering like, “how does this translate to everyday life? Like how does these spiritual experiences…like how is this supposed to transform the way that life is lived?” And, so, some of these…some of these questions are asked of Paul, probably a letter sent to Paul. Like even in first Corinthians, Paul refers to a previous letter that he had written that to them. So, there’s correspondence going on among the Corinthians and Paul. So, he answers some of these questions, among other things. But fundamentally, you’ve got a bunch of people in an urban center following the leading of the Holy Spirit and they don't have a Bible, right? Like they could have the Torah, but they didn't have the New Testament as some sort of baseline for what's going on. They don’t have that. And, so, it's easy enough to come up with a number of ways of looking at things. We have a number of ways of looking at things even though we have the…the Bible, the New Testament now. And, so, Paul fundamentally is trying to look at everybody who's looking at things, and in a number of ways, and bring it all back around to unity. And again, not uniformity, but unity. And that makes his words in first Corinthians as poignant now is as they would've been then. And, of course there are portions in first Corinthians that are very, very famous, like, “seeing through a glass darkly.” “When I was a child, I spoke like a child.” And then very, very famous is first Corinthians chapter 13, which is known as the love chapter, which is…which is beautiful, and we’ll see that when we get there. But let's dive in and take a look into the early church, listen to what Paul’s…I mean we can kinda tell the questions that they're answering by the way Paul is answering the questions. And some of these are questions we have. And, so, let's enjoy as we enter this new territory. First Corinthians chapter 1 verse one through 17 today.

Commentary:

Okay. We just…we just talked about first Corinthians as we entered into it. And now that we have some verses under our belt here, we can kinda see this…this call to unity by the apostle Paul. And, so, it's…it's safe to point out here that this…this idea that the early church was a completely harmonious thing, it was like perfect and then it just got worse and worse and worse until we are here today trying to wrestle through all the stuff, that's not true. We’ve been wrestling through the stuff from the very, very beginning. So, like in this day and age there are some 40,000 Christian denominations of believers in the world that all have slightly different theological positions on different things that are very, very important to them. And we sort of see some of this evolving and being present in this letter to the Corinthian church. So, Paul says, “it’s been reported to me about you, my brothers and sisters, by members of Chloe's people that there is rivalry among you. And what I'm saying is this, one of you says, I belong to Paul or I belong to Apollos.” Now Apollos…Apollos was an early believer contemporary with the apostle Paul, whose reputation is that he was very, very educated in rhetoric and very, very good at communicating with words, a very good speaker. There are scholars that would argue that Apollos is the one who wrote the book of Hebrews. Of course, we’re not to the book of Hebrews yet and nobody knows that, but he just kind of like fits a certain profile. So, Apollos has been to the Corinthian community and spoken. And then there are others who say I belong to Cephas, which is the apostle Peter. So, it also seems that the apostle Peter has come through Corinth and visited with the church at Corinth. And, so, some of them are saying like, “well, I belong to him. He was a disciple of Jesus. He actually walked with Jesus. I'm going to follow what he has to say.” And then there are others who are like, “I belong to Christ”. I don't belong any of these people. I belong to Christ. The Holy Spirit is leading me. This is…this is who me and mine, this is who we belong to.” And, so, we can see even in the early church, this is an attempt to get an identity by who our leaders are, who we are following. And then by very nature then saying, “we are separate from those who are following this other teaching.” And, so, there's an “us and them” happening that Paul really, really doesn't like because it creates, as he said, “rivalry among you, divisions among you.” So, here in one of the earliest churches, like the earliest churches following Jesus that have been established this is going on. “I belong to Paul. “Well I am of the Apollos camp. I follow Peter. I follow Christ alone.” And Paul's response to that is, “is Christ divided then? Is that what’s going on here? Is Christ divided? Was I, Paul, crucified for you? Were you baptized in my name?” And then he kinda goes on to try to think it through everyone's he's baptized so that there's a very select few people that could ever claim to be baptized in Paul's name. We’ll get into this further as we get further into this letter and as we continue to move through the letters that are found in the New Testament and what we can learn about our brothers and sisters who were right at the beginning first, what they were thinking about and what they were going too because it helps us to realize, like most of the stuff that's going on that's like frustrating or that we can't quite figure out, this has always been going on. It’s not some kind of new phenomenon in our lifetime. And we’ll see Paul working toward unity even while acknowledging that people have different viewpoints on different things. What he will do though is invite us, invite his readers, which was them and now is us basically to think…to think…to raise the bar, to think hire, to understand that there’s a bigger thing going on than us just trying to find our camp. There’s a bigger thing going on that God is doing through Jesus and that bigger thing unites us.

Prayer:

Father, as we go through this letter and all of the different letters and all the different things that we have to talk about and all of the different things that Your word will illuminate inside of us, that will become a mirror into our own convictions and are our own postures, we invite You. We see that there was…that there was disunity or disharmony in the earlier church and that those things needed to be wrestled with and wrestled through and realize that is still today the same and we realize that our hearts, like our clothes may change and our technology may change, but our hearts, what we’re looking for, what we’re seeking, these things remain the same. And we are seeking You and we are asking the Holy Spirit, lead us into all truth as we continue our journey through the Scriptures. Come Holy Spirit into all of this we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 5 years

Text

Persephone | John Wick x Reader (Twelve)

Words: 3443

Warning: Usual JW-verse violence, minor swearing

Previously: After warning Winston about the impending threat on him and his establishment, he warns that the Adjudicator was looking for you. Other forces work to separate you and John, wanting you to play by the rules while others want John to fight against the system for them. The siblings that help John escape entered the fray, but one of them has a secret.

Persephone Series Masterlist

Life had not been kind to Apollo and Artemis. Try as they might to lead normal lives, get their education, get a job, pay bills, things weren’t working out the way they planned. Their father’s family were petty criminals after all.

It was Apollo that joined their father’s side first. Studying just wasn’t his thing and neither was maintaining a regular nine to five job. Behind on his rent, he agreed to do a job for his father’s friend. Then he did another, and another, and another. Breaking into things were his specialty and he became quite valuable because of it. Soon enough, he was in too deep to back out of the Underworld.

Artemis had managed to leave the state for studying and work before she was roped into the Underworld. She was at the wrong place at the wrong time, pissing off the wrong people just because she said no to a member of a street gang. He wouldn’t give up and stalked her for weeks, up to the point where he would visit her workplace and cost her her job because of his behavior. She gave in and asked her father a favor. They took care of it, but she owed her father now. So she did a job with her brother, then another, and another. Hacking, pickpocketing, and stealth were her strength.

The siblings became a formidable team and their father gave them the codename Apollo and Artemis as their skills helped raised the reputation of the family.

A sudden turf war had cost their father his life, and while his family mourned his death, the siblings sought out who was responsible. It led them to the Bowery King who knew who had done it. They had heard of the Bowery King, the man who built his kingdom and had eyes everywhere. Through him, they met the legendary assassin John Wick and you.

You were kind to them and nothing what they had expected. Of course, John Wick would have an intimidating presence every time he entered the room, but you seemed to be at ease with him. For those who have been around John Wick long enough could notice the small changes in him when you were around, from the relaxed posture to the gentle glances in your direction.

While you and John were away gathering allies, the Bowery King was getting restless. When his kingdom was at its peak, he could get things done instantly. While he’d admit that having you and John Wick on his side, it wasn’t enough for him. He needed to take action now and there was one person that came to mind.

Gavriil Sokolov was an easy man to reach, which was quite foolish for him. He was only stupidly lucky that the allies he had chosen would cause conflict if those that disapprove of him were to take action. He was a glass cannon, in a sense.

Sokolov and the Bowery King agreed to meet and work together as long as the Bowery King had his revenge on the High Table. Which meant that he had to comply to Sokolov’s requests, including turning on you who he knew would never agreed to work with him as long as you remained friends with the Romanovas. With you as the scapegoat, they’d be able to further their plans while remaining under the radar. Unfortunately for them, you and John had grown close, but they would still try to persuade him to join their side.

How the Bowery King managed to find your vorpal blade was still a mystery, but the siblings knew they had to do something.

Now holed up in the Instructor’s theater, John, along with the two siblings, Artemis and Apollo, needed to find a way to get to Sokolov before he hurts any more people. Caius had been reluctant to grant them shelter. After all, his obligation was technically with you, John was simply your companion. He had fulfilled his end of the deal, meaning the Marker was honored, he just needed you to finalize it.

“What was the favor?” John asked him as they sat in one of the balconies of the empty theater, passing bourbon back and forth.

Caius sighed, swirling his glass before downing it. “I dabbled in international trading,” he said, “and there were people that tried to steal my cargo, so I had asked her to simply wipe them out. All of them. Of course, she’d pulled out a Marker and now, I returned the favor.”

“You’re still helping her, though.”

He shrugged. “Why not? She is a very valuable ally to have. She was never one for deceit, either. I’m not a complete asshole, Jonathan.” He poured himself another glass and handed the bottle over to John. “I assume you haven’t heard from her yet.”

John frowned, but said nothing. He gulped the alcohol down before setting the bottle between them, remaining silent. He had texted you to meet him at the theater hours ago, but you hadn’t replied. You were with the Romanovas, so he told himself not to worry about your safety with them around. It wasn’t like you to not answer.He was tempted to head straight to the Romanovas, not wanting to hang around Caius for this long.

After Helen passed and Daisy was killed, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to care for something or someone again. When he found Cerberus at the shelter, marked to be put down, he knew that he had to save him. It was instinct. Helen knew him well that he always needed something to care for. But John refused to give him a name. Giving names to anything makes it official and it meant that he was attached to them. It also means that he had something to lose.

“So, what are you two, exactly?” Caius asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Friends,” he said curtly.

“Yeah?” Caius smirked.

John turned and gave him a pointed look, as if to tell him to mind his own business. “Yeah.”

“Nice gossiping with you, John.”

“Yeah.”

Apollo double checked his surroundings before heading back downstairs, having heard everything. The High Table had answers to who killed his father and being with either the Bowery King or the Instructor won’t get him any answers any time soon. He just needed to use both to get to the High Table. He didn’t want to help throw you under the bus, but if it means getting the attention from the High Table, so be it. They wouldn’t listen to the concerns of a petty criminal unless it was on a major scale.

The Adjudicator strode through the doors of the Continental and made their way over to the front desk.

“I would like to see the manager,” they told Charon.

He nodded. “Of course, the manager is always in.”

Charon led them to Winston who was chatting with some of the patrons at the lounge. All heads turned as they felt the authoritative presence of the Adjudicator enter the room. Winston straightened up and met up with them halfway.

“And what do I owe this pleasure?” Winston asked, dismissing Charon with a nod.

“I would appreciate it if we discuss this in private,” the Adjudicator said firmly, sparing a glance around the occupied lounge.

Once they moved into another room, Winston walked to the liquor cabinet and pulled out two glasses. The Adjudicator looked around the room and declined his silent offer of a drink. Winston sighed, picking a bottle and poured a drink before turning to them and leaned against a nearby table.

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n) was seen here within the Continental grounds,” the Adjudicator began, “she spoke with you before leaving. Are you aware that she is wanted under suspicion of not only bombing property of the Brunello syndicate, but also murdering and injuring both the Brunellos and the many tenants that resided in that building?”

Winston hummed. “It was news that were brought to my attention after her visit,” he said.

“May I ask what the nature of this visit was?”

“If you must know,” he paused to take a sip of his drink, “She’s been trying to piece things together. She was drugged and had amnesia for the past five years, you see. Miss (Y/l/n) used to be a regular patron of the Continental and asked if I could fill in the blanks in her memory.”

“Just that?” The Adjudicator raised their eyebrows.

Winston nodded. “Just that.”

“And do you know where she could have gone after that?”

“No, but I don’t doubt that you have someone tracking her down anyways.”

The Adjudicator hummed. “John Wick is yet to be found,” they said, “and may I remind you that while I allowed you to remain custodian of this establishment, you are still obligated to follow the rules of the Table. Which means you give us your full cooperation. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” The Adjudicator gave him a stern look and started towards the door. Winston turned and raised a questioning eyebrow as they paused.

“John Wick will answer for his disobedience,” They stressed.

Winston nodded. “As you know, he is no longer welcome in the Continental.”

“I’m sure you have other ways of contacting him. When you do see him, tell him that the High Table wants a word with him.”

“Of course.”

Winston returned to the lounge as the Adjudicator went back to the front desk for a room key. He wondered how many of the patrons were involved in this mess with Sokolov, how many had chosen sides or decided to leave themselves out of it. Even if they had sided with Sokolov, would they be willing to break the rules of the Continental?

Rules are what sets humans apart from animals, but power makes humans even worse. Things were changing. Things always changed. It’s up to the species to adapt to it or remain the same. Whether the catalyst of that change is good or bad, something needs to happen to shift the society into a new era. Kings fall, stars die, but a new heir emerges and that star is reborn in a nursery. Both were the same in title, maybe even the same structure, but they were something new.

“Where are you going?” Nastya asked as you were halfway out of the sitting room.

“I… I need to check up on something,” you said, gripping your flip phone in your pocket.

“John can take care of himself.” Nastya gave you a firm look.

You grimaced. “Can he, though?” you joked lamely. Nastya didn’t smile. “I know. I just…”

“We’re doing some damage control as best as we can and you know I can’t do much without attracting the attention of the High Table. They were going to look into the issue and make sure that those responsible are punished accordingly, but they advise that the members focus on our people instead of being directly involved in the investigation.”

“But we know that Sokolov is responsible-” Nastya cut her off with another look that said not to test her, so you said, “I need to be doing something.”

Nastya nodded in understanding. “Speak with Yevgeni if there’s anything you can do.”

“Okay.”

Most of your supplies were back at the Soup Kitchen and there was no way you could go back there, but at least you had the briefcase with the information and blueprints. You knew that something bad would happen if John had gone to see the Bowery King without you. You tried not to worry about it. He’s the Boogeyman after all. He killed people with a pencil and a book by himself.

You made your way to the guest room and flopped on the soft bed. Your hand twitched at your side, itching to grab your flip phone. After all this struggle to get people on your side and now you’re expected to do nothing but wait. Yet when you were under the Bowery King’s roof, you were expected to act immediately. Maybe you should go and see the Instructor. He had fulfilled the Marker, after all. At this rate, his services would be put to waste.

You pulled out your phone and saw that John had only put his number down. You rolled your eyes, going to the messages and stared at the text he had sent that you never replied to. Should you? It’s common courtesy after all. The Romanovas said that you should start thinking what you wanted and not what others expect from you.

What you wanted was to get away from all of this. With your small house and garden. Maybe get a pet. You’d be fine even if the nearest shops were miles away. Feeling safe when you close your eyes and then waking up to the sun filtered through the sheer curtains. Then you’d turn your head and see…

You quickly sat up and made your decision. You weren’t going to sit around and wait for the Adjudicator to find you, you were going to find them. Your best bet would be to check the Continental and with Sokolov’s growing storm looming over, you’d best make a stop at the theater first.

It felt like the first time you snuck into the Romanovas’ apartment, but in reverse. Dressed in a fitted black leather jacket over a suit with your briefcase, you made your way through the penthouse and slipped through the front door towards the elevator.

You stopped in front of the metal doors and wondered if you should go through the balcony instead like last time. That would mean walking through the sitting room where Nastya is. Screw it, you thought as you pressed the button to call the elevator up. You’ll need to be quick, though.

Once the metal doors slid open, you climbed in and asked the attendant to send you to the ground floor, which she silently obliged. The ride was quiet, but you could hear your heart pounding as your mind raced through the motions of your plan without getting caught.

You reached the ground floor where the parking lot was, remembering that there was a motorcycle around. You scanned the car park before approaching the bike, pressing a button on your watch to temporarily jam the surrounding CCTV cameras, before setting down the briefcase and quickly locating the wiring system.

You listened closely for a click and the indication of the engine starting, but didn’t hear anything. There was a scuffing noise somewhere, prompting you to work faster, switching the wires without trying to rush the start up. The footsteps grew closer as you heard a faint click.

“Come on, baby, you can do it,” you muttered, trying the wires again.

The engine purred and you let out a sigh of relief as you grabbed the briefcase and climbed onto the bike. You rode passed the parking attendant and towards the streets of New York, the cold air whipping at your face as you made your way towards the theater.

Never would you have thought to be glad upon seeing the small theater building, a place where you’ve lost your childhood and any semblance of a normal life. You parked the bike in an alleyway and made your way inside through the back door. While the stairways was rarely lit up, you knew your way around through the dark, feeling your body being pulled up those stairs as if seeking a magnet.

You had reached the landing of the top floor where Caius’s office was when the door swung open by itself. Apollo took up the space of the doorway and looked you up and down with an unreadable expression, before he broke into a smile.

“Have you heard what happened with the Bowery King?” he asked.

“No, but I can only assume what happened,” you said, maintaining a safe distance from him. Apollo nodded, but didn’t move. Your eyes narrowed. “Step aside.”

“John feels betrayed that you’ve chosen the Romanovas over him,” he said.

“I’d like to speak with him myself, if he’s here. Move aside, Apollo,” you said firmly, unbuttoning your cuffs.

Apollo stepped forward. “You know, you were very kind to me, all those late nights in your workshop,” he started, slowly advancing towards you. “I was beginning to think that there was something between us, but… it seems that you weren’t able to stop fawning over John-fucking-Wick.”

“If you give me that sad ass ‘nice guy’ speel and refuse to move, I will not hesitate to kill you,” you warned.

“How about no?” he asked, standing in front of you.

“I wasn’t asking, Aaron Kostas.” His eyes widened as you spoke his real name. “Does your sister know what you’re doing?”

He schooled his face. “She doesn’t have to know. And if you kill me, she will go after you.”

“You were the one that gave them the vorpal blade,” you concluded.

“I am,” he said smugly, “not bad for a petty thief, huh? Framing a high-tier assassin for killing innocents. How are you going to get yourself out of this one? The Instructor is no longer obligated to you and I bet that high class russian family you’ve been hanging with don’t know you’re here, but they will turn once you’re ousted and have a bounty on you. You have no one.”

You grimaced. “What do you gain out of this, Aaron?”

“Don’t call me that. Aaron is dead,” he said, pointing a gun at you for emphasis. “He died when he agreed to be his daddy’s toy soldier and become Apollo. He died when he failed to protect his sister from being one, too. It’s strange though…” He stepped back, twirling the gun in his hand “I hated what his family did for a living, yet if it wasn’t for them, I’d be dead on the streets. Or, ironically, working for the Bowery King. And what I hated the most, was that I had every opportunity to walk away once I was able to gain my bearings again, but this life isn’t something that you walk away from. Look what happened to John Wick. Look what happened to you.”

“So why go through all this trouble?”

Aaron sighed, loading the gun casually. Your face remained neutral as you watched his every move. “My father’s family don’t trust my sister and I to take over the family business, but if we find out who killed him…”

“You think they’ll trust you enough to be head of the family once you do?”

“Something like that” he hummed, running the barrel of the gun down your cheek. “And with Sokolov as the new member of the High Table at my side, we won’t be a petty criminal family anymore.”

You shake your head. “You’re all the same,” you said, “thirsting for power in something you previously gave two shits for until you realize you could benefit from it.”

Aaron gritted his teeth, pointing his gun at you again. “Put the briefcase down. Now.” You did so and held your hands up at your sides. “I really don’t want to hurt you, (Y/n), but if you get in my way, I will.”

You slowly stepped forward, keeping an eye on his gun. “And if I join you?” You raised your hands and wrapped them around his neck. “Then what?”

Aaron swallowed. “Well…”

You pressed another button on your watch and continued to stall him. “Then what happens, Aaron?”

He places a hand on your waist. “Well…” He tightens his hold as the floorboard creaks behind him. “Then you won’t see your precious John Wick again.”

Aaron swings his body around, you moving with him, to see John holding a gun up in the doorway. You suppressed your sigh of relief at the sight of him, focusing at the task at hand. You grabbed Aaron’s hand before he could hold it against you, twisting his arm around and using his surprise to slam his head against the metal railing.

Once it was confirmed that he was out cold, John lowered his gun, a surprised grunt escaping his lips as you launched at him. You buried your face in his chest and hummed in content. His arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you tightly against him, his nose buried in your hair.

“I think we’re becoming codependent,” he muttered.

You huffed out a laugh. “I think so, too.”

As much as you wanted to stay like that forever, there was a war to finish, and there was no way that either of you could do it alone.

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