#but i really want to make my own iliad someday…. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diveronarpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, CAS! You’ve been accepted for the role of TYBALT. Admin Minnie: I HAVE WAITED A MILLION YEARS FOR EXACTLY YOU, CAS. Please do not think that I am, for one second, exaggerating. You expect every Tiberius application to have a force of will and dynamic quality behind it, but you gave us nuance. You gave us depth. Reading your application left me feeling like I was walking on a tightrope, in the very best way possible, with danger and urgency and FUN. I have no doubt that you will keep all of us on the edge of our seats with our heart in our throats with your Tiberius! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Cas.

Age | Twenty-two.

Preferred Pronouns | She/her.

Activity Level | I’m finishing up my MLit, but I tend to work in the day and then write in the night, so I don’t think it would affect my activity much. Lockdown means that I’m pretty much always around, always have access to a laptop and, therefore, will probably alwaysbe writing. To give it a numerical scale, I’d give it 8/9.

Timezone | GMT.

How did you find the rp? | Honestly? I’ve been following this roleplay since it opened, more or less. I kinda forgot about it for a while, but I was writing a paper on Shakespeare and that reminded me I should take another look.

IN CHARACTER

Character | Tybalt, Tiberius Capulet.

What drew you to this character? | While I was reading the open bios, I was pulled between a few different characters. I actually started writing up an application for Hero, but honestly, when I read Tiberius’ bio? I was totally enthralled. I’m used to playing sharp, wily, morally ambiguous characters, so Tiberius is new ground for me. He’s a gun with a mouth, a bomb always teetering on the edge of explosion, he’s a blade, he’s a weapon, and he builds a shrine to himself. He is unapologetically the villain of his own story, and nobody can take that away from him. He’s the sort of person who makes you utter his name out in full: Tiberius Capulet. He likes the sound of that. It’s harsh and guttural; it sticks to the roof of your mouth and chokes you. You don’t forget a name like that — and anyway, he doesn’t let you. Tiberius is a god made flesh, and he makes sure you know it. But he’s hungry, ravenous, really, and nothing sates that appetite. There’s a quote by Ruth Awad which I think puts what I’m trying to say quite nicely: ‘God who ate everything, did this world feed you?’ What really draws me towards Tiberius is the fact that he seems to vacillate between two extremes: he is at once cavernous and filled with every damask feeling in the world. He feels nothing and he feels everything; he looks at the world with two brutal, voracious eyes and decides he’ll devour it someday, he’ll eat it raw. That much is owed to him. If the god Ares lives among them, he lives in Tiberius: he is an ancient storm bated beneath skin. If he is given a choice between love and fear, he chooses fear, every time, until he burns so bright the world ends.

And yet, that’s only a slice of him. After all, how do you burn without a fire? Tiberius casts himself as the antagonist, but layered beneath that surface are chapters upon chapters of unfinished stories, untold tales, a whole mythology just sitting there, boiling under the skin. He’s brutal, but he’s not without feeling; quite the opposite, he feels things more deeply than most. Sure, he’s not a man of many attachments, but those he has, he holds onto for dear life. He is at once the beast and the man; the villain and the anti-villain. I think what drew me to Tiberius more than anything is the opportunity to unfurl all this rage, all this villainy in him, and to really determine where it comes from. He covets the crown of Verona, but he is first and last a Capulet — that is something that both propels him into greatness and holds him back. He will set this city ablaze and simultaneously shield his cousins from the fires of his own making. They’re a name, they’re a dynasty, and, sure, he wants the crown, but he’ll stop at nothing to preserve that. He loves them, in his own savage, infernal way. Their strategies will never be the same—Juliet is the Heart, Rafaella the Brain, Tiberius the Brute Force—but they forge a formidable trifecta. So, I suppose what makes Tiberius most interesting as a character is this oscillation between morality and amorality: he wants to feel the weight of the world in his hands and have them bruised by it, but what is he willing to sacrifice to achieve that? He is a mere prince, not a king, and while he knows that power is wielded by those who carve it out in stone and not those who are simply born into it, at night he dreams of sitting on a throne, ruling high above them all.

Anyway, sorry, I rambled — but! Essentially, I’m drawn to Tiberius not merely because he’s a wildfire as much as he is flesh and blood, but also because he has this impossible task of navigating and determining his own loyalties. He has one goal, plain and simple: Tiberius wants to rule. He has felt a strange magnetic pull to the throne ever since he was born; it has been calling his name for as long as he can remember. And he doesn’t care for much, but for those who make the cut, he’ll do anything, stop at nothing; he would pulverise this city into dust if it meant the Capulets emerged from the rubble on top. If feeling deeply makes you a monster, well, then, is the man a monster?

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

‘I, too, wanted to set Rome on fire, but never became an emperor due to unforeseen circumstances.’ Anonymous.

He’s a non-playable character, I know, but I’d love to explore Tiberius’ relationship with Cosimo a little more. I can’t help but feel that from the moment the boy know what power was, felt the weight of it in his bones, Tiberius has made himself accessible, always, to the man he hopes to replace. He was raised in the boss’ household, at all times hemmed in with wealth and warfare but always tempered by that culture of respect Cosimo has cultivated, and all he has ever known is bloodshed, scheming and the ruthless folklore of the Montague/Capulet feud. It’s not really a war anymore. More a lifestyle; simply how things are. Every single thing he knows about the world has been callously seized from the pages of history this mighty house has rewritten, and everything he can see, everything the dark touches, has Cosimo at the helm of it all. For two years, it was him, only him, before Juliana came along. That’s something I’d like to explore down the line: the scorn of his parentage which he finds so unfortunate, coalesced with his rearing, those years gleaning from Cosimo’s words lessons of war and honour, and the way in which Juliana’s birth cut through that blissful acrimony. Like a fine blade cutting through cardinal silk. What were those first two years like for him? Tiberius wears irascible warfare like a second skin — Juliana does not. And that is what makes one a worthy General, no? I’d love to delve a little deeper into the upbringing of the two—Cosimo’s subtly different dealings with them both—and how they have each flourished as a consequence of that. After all, it all goes hand-in-hand with his status as a Captain. Juliana the Heiress, Rafaella the Advisor — but him? Tiberius is a Capulet, but he is severed from the same power, prestige and influence afforded to his cousins; he is relegated and forced to run with the wolves, avid and hungry, with no history or name to bolster them. He may not be Cosimo’s son, but he is Capulet by name and by nature — ought he not dwell amongst other Capulets? It’s an insult, plain and true, and I’d love to explore how that affects Tiberius’ relationship with the other Captains. He views himself above them, their superior in all but status; but how do they view him?

‘Hades is relentless and untamed; so mortals hate him most of all the gods.’ Homer, from The Iliad.

Every action is purposeful, every swing of the blade with a goal in mind. He is no haphazard architect of chaos; the chaos is marked, always deliberate. More than anything, I would love to see Tiberius achieve everything he’s ever dreamed of. To become, once and for all, emperor; the General. But for that to happen, he has to cast Juliana and Rafaella aside. Juliana should be easy enough, he thinks, she has too much heart and too much soul to resort to artillery, blood, firepower—complacency is cowardice—but Rafaella is a more arduous obstacle. She smart enough for the crown, Tiberius is certain of it. Rafaella is not a Capulet by blood, but she is a Capulet by nature, and her wit is a force to be reckoned with. She is Tiberius’ real competition, primogeniture be damned, and, one day, he will have to fight her for the crown. The Capulets are a powerful little triad, to be sure: what with the empathy of Juliana, the sharp gumption of Rafaella, and the brute strength of Tiberius, they are unstoppable, impregnable. They yield to no-one, and that is the beauty of it all. But Tiberius is a dangerous sort of beast; he is blinded by rage and, for as long as he can remember, he has seen all things in red. I’d love to see a plot where Tiberius is at last granted everything he’s ever wanted—the heiress is cast aside as well as the polymath—and Verona suffers for it. After all, history has had its say on bloody men: Herod, Caligula, where are they now? They are dead. Their hands are marred with executions, with the blood of innocents. War is easy, isn’t it? But ruling is harder. Tiberius would not be a good ruler. Not now, not without identifying the seat of all that anger in him; not without Juliana and Rafaella at his side. There’s too much rage in him, too much cruelty. He lacks the heart and wit of his cousins. He is a man of war, a harbinger of violence and blood; what man like that knows the first thing about politics? He was born savage and he will die savage, plain and simple. Tiberius’ rule is not one, I don’t think, that Verona would take to easily. It’s this strange cesspool of moral degradation which thrives in duplicity: Verona is much too familiar with that thin, gauzy film it casts over people’s eyes. And when the body politic suffers, people tend to do something about it.

+ Equally, he might come to terms with the idea that Juliana, Rafaella and Tiberius need each other to rule. Not merely does Tiberius need them, but they need him. He’s prepared to get his hands dirty — in fact, he revels in it. As I mentioned, there is something in each of them which is necessary for ruling. Tiberius may groan at the softness of Juliana’s heart and he might resent the wit which permits Rafaella to rule over him, but he needs them both. If the Capulets want to rule, they must learn to do it together. They are a coin with three faces, and together, they engender a divinity for the modern age.

‘I’ve exhausted all my cruelty. I’ve arrived at myself again.’ Jenny George, from The Dream of Reason.

For most people, cruelty is a fickle thing: it comes and goes when necessity demands of it. Tiberius is not like most people. Through his eyes, the world crumbles to dust, and he stands, menacing and cruel, high above the wreckage. He has always expected that of himself and, as a result, so have those around him. He’s no Machiavelli, but the harshness of his heart strikes fear into his soldiers, his enemies, his underlings. But what happens when that brutality is exhausted? What happens when you take and take and take from that pot of callousness, of inhumanity, and the next time you reach your hand down into it, it comes up empty? A body can only contain so much: it is only a vessel. I would love to see Tiberius come to the end of his thread, to exhaust all the cruelty in him, and for the first time be forced to confront who he really is beneath all that anger. Identify where it all comes from. There’s a line in Tiberius’ bio I love: ‘He would never be satisfied—not until he drew his last breath, and probably not even then.’ He is relentless, utterly relentless, but every man has a breaking point. Nothing is enough for him, nothing sates him, and that is enough to break him. Tiberius is always being pulled between family pride and power; the Capulet name and the Capulet crown. He has always been decisive but, here, he falters. It bends him out of shape. I want to see him question absolutely everything he has ever known: his ambition, his hubris, his selfhood. Who is he, beyond the anger? Beyond the rage? There’s a quote from Antony and Cleopatra just before Antony’s death which I love: ‘Here I am Antony, / Yet I cannot hold this visible shape.’ I want to see that happen to Tiberius. I want to see him question absolutely everything he knows himself, everything he thinks he wants, and completely re-evaluate it. Maybe it makes him vulnerable — or maybe it makes him weak.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Oh, for sure.

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample: (Full disclaimer, this had a whole story but I ran out of time, so I had to end it randomly! Whoops.)

The man is a gun with a mouth. He is silent until the trigger is pulled, and then he revels in the onslaught.

He smooths his fingers over the dark wood of the pew, splicing them between the ridges as if they were born to them. But that’s blasphemy, no? He’s an unholy, godless thing, and as leather touches to stone, Tiberius swears that his feet are warmed by the flames beneath them. He has always found there to be something quite provoking about the Cathedral of Verona: the ostensible aspect of it, anyway, the guise it projects beyond itself. He watches the way that the crucified martyr glowers down at him from the cross, made definite by golds and rubies and gaudy display. As if he owes him something. Tiberius exhales, inaudible, and leans backwards. A tiger ensconced in wait. He rolls up his sleeve as if he’s wearing a watch. There’s no watch. But he knows Cassian is late.

He catches the words of the believers, pilgrims circling the effigy at the alter, caught up in an aerial whisper: I’ve never found a language to talk about the things that haunt me most, one of them purrs at the idol. He scoffs at that.

The Cathedral is just a history written over another history, Cosimo tells him once. History is always being written—written and unwritten—so, really, history is not history but hearsay, rumour, accepted gospel. Veronans have a short memory, don’t they? They simply accept the image before them without question, without hesitation: they look, but they do not see. They’ve always been like that, he thinks. Why? Why pant after history, he thinks, when we’re rewriting it every day, running rogues through with their own fucking swords and putting words to paper with their blood? But it is no use to justify yourself; no use in explaining. It is weak to be anecdotal. He remembers his Sunday mornings here, dressed up in the right garb, Juliana tugging at his sleeves. Devouts scurry each and every day to grovel at the feet of their God, as if the idol walks among them. He’s a believer, sure, but a profane one. What good Christian boy marches reverently from Sunday morning service straight into the footways of destruction and annihilation, slinging his cleaver over his shoulder? Him, apparently.

Gods walk among them, alright. New, shiny, pestilent gods, with bullets for mouths and their hearts in bronze fetters. God exists, but there are a thousand more to join him, and they’re all made in his image. They’re new stories, new divinities forged out of his own flesh and blood. History is so distracted by the endurances of the past, the days of beggary and hunger. But the Capulets build. Their power coasts along the half-light, savage moments seen in fragments. Tiberius works in the dark, in half-seen expressions and deeds. Light swathes itself around him only when it is too late to escape him. And then he cuts you down. The unknown is a frightening thing, people have decided, and so he opens up that gap and pours fear into it; always fear. Fear and blood, red as their crest.

Some of the rumours about him are true, some of them lies. Still, they are good stories to tell.

Tiberius is growing impatient. His soldiers know not to keep him waiting: when a forest fire burns it smoulders on, indiscriminate. He feels the air shift behind him, chilled, and he knows that Cassian has—at long fucking last—decided to grace him with his presence. He curls his neck over his shoulder, still perched on the pew as if in prayer, and watches Cassian approach him, the sloe of his eyes still and immovable. He doesn’t wait. He rises from the pew and makes towards the sacristy, the movement itself a beckoning to follow. He passes a group of worshippers and nods glassily at them — not worshippers, really, but eyes. Capulet eyes, which are always open.

Tiberius crosses the hall with his shadow lingering a few feet behind him, and when they climb the staircase he runs his fingers across the bannister’s veins of gold. He reaches the second floor and he shoulders himself through a door, slinging himself onto the leather of a sofa. He reposes himself low, all languorous, and a pulls a cigarette from his pockets, lighting it in the cup of his fingers. He does it effortlessly, with ease, like he’s done it a thousand times before — which, of course, he has. He pulls the cigarette to his mouth, inhales, exhales in smoke, resting his elbow on the arm of the sofa. ‘Well?’ he says, impatient.

Cassian is a man of words. Too fucking many words, Tiberius thinks. He prefers action. Still, he gets the job done, he supposes; there’s nothing squeamish about the man and he’s unscrupulous, damn it, and while he wouldn’t trust the man to catch him if he falls, he serves a purpose. He’s a steady little war-dog, always ready to do his bidding.

‘No show, apparently,’ he says, his eyes wandering. Buyers of the product who can’t pay up. Won’t, Tiberius had corrected him in their last discussion of the whole affair — won’t pay up. And there’s a price for that, isn’t there? Nobody makes a beggar out of the Capulets; nobody makes a beggar out of him, and lives to tell the tale. Fear’s a funny little thing, isn’t it? It lines one’s pockets with gold, somehow. Gives them the means to pay up, at last. Well, Tiberius is nothing if not efficient. ‘I’ll take care of it, boss.’

Tiberius says nothing. Merely inhales another puff of the cigarette, in, out, brings his elbow back down to the arm of leather and glowers. Same as fucking usual, he thinks. If it weren’t for the money, he’d simply fire his pistol, lodge the bullet squarely between the wastrel’s eyes. How’s that for efficiency? He watches the cogs turn behind Cassian’s eyes, marked, purposeful, full of intent — a thousand courses of actions slowly forging a path to escape him. But will Tiberius bite? Tonight, he decides, he’ll play nice. He flicks the cigarette carelessly into the ash tray and rises from the leather, his face still hard — but not heartless.

‘Bene,’ he decides upon, his expression still inflexible but apparently in the mood of charity tonight. Fine. ‘Get me a whiskey, then, won’t you? I’m parched.’

Extras: Just a Pinterest board I made for inspiration, which you can find here.I’ll direct you straight to this pin here because, well, is this Juliana talking about Tiberius? Yes. Yes it is.

#accepted #accepted: tybalt

6 notes · View notes

raphpanda21 · 5 years

Text

She had the body of a Venus

Lord, imagine my surprise

Last time

Persephone: Please no! I will fix this I just need time!

Hestia threw the bag and the receipt back in the trash.

Hestia: You should have thought about the consequences of your actions beforehand. My decision is final. I will come by tomorrow morning and I best find you are packed up and arrangements have been made. I hope someday you reflect on this and realize the opportunity you have thrown away.

With that Hestia left leaving Persephone to crumble like a wall struck by a wrecking ball. Falling to her knees beside her bed Persephone broke down into body shaking sobs as she laid her head on the bed. Quickly her tears soaked the once clean folded laundry.

Several hours later found Persephone asleep still sitting at her bedside her head laying on her folded arms cheeks stained with her tears. Slowly the distant sound of knocking began to rouse her from her slumber. Sitting up she rubbed at the crusty feeling of her eyes before moving towards the front door cautiously. It was far to late for normal visitors after all.

Going to the peephole she peered out gasping in surprise at the person on her doorstep. Quickly unlocking the door she pulled it open tears burning in her eyes.

Persephone: H-Hera? What are you doing here?

Hera tilts her head to the side evaluating the wreck before her for a moment.

Hera: I have come to see you of course. My poor dear they have run you through the wringers haven’t you.

Gently Hera reached out stroking the side of Persephone’s face not saying a thing when a few of her tears run over her finely manicured nails.

Hera: Now , now no tears you look as if you have cried an oceans worth already. Let us go inside.

Persephone blushed at her break from hospitality and quickly moved aside to allow Hera entrance into the home.

Hera stepped in pushing the door closed behind her before briefly glancing around the quiet home.

Hera: Well then, by my estimation we have only a few hours until the plague of reporters make themselves known so let’s get to work! We have a lot of packing to do!

Persephone: P-plague? Packing? Where am I going ?

Hera grabbed Persephone’s hands in her own giving them a squeeze.

Hera: You can’t stay here and I am sure you don’t wish to return to Demeter’s skirt tails so I had a place in mind that should protect you from the paparazzi.

Persephone : I appreciate that but I would hate to bother you... surly I can just get a place on my own somewhere.

Hera shakes her head her face taking on a stern expression.

Hera: No, you don’t know the hell that is the press. You are in their eyes a young perky heiress with more drama than the Iliad. They will hound you like the harpies they are!

Persephone’s eyes widened. Was it really that bad? Things hadn’t gotten that out of the control the last time but maybe she had been lucky. Hera seemed seriously concerned and certain so perhaps she should just take her lead to be safe. Besides she didn’t know how quickly she could find a place on her own.

Persephone: Alright... I guess I will follow your lead.

Hera: Excellent, now then let’s get to work the sun will be up before we know it!

Persephone turns and leads Hera down the hallway to her room. She was a tad nervous to have Hera in her room. She had always looked up to Hera ever since she was small and she was worried her room would come off as bland and plebeian to a woman as refined as Hera. Turning to face Hera her stomach drops at the ashen look on Hera’s face.

Persephone: H-Hera? Are you okay?

Hera had followed behind Persephone and as she stepped into the room she had only managed to process the starkness of the space when like a punch to the gut the pain, fear , and sadness hits her. It was so familiar why? She racks her brain trying to remember why the chords or misery resonated with her and she recalled they were the cries of destress she had felt less than a week ago. Hearing her name called her attention turned back to the present as unbidden a few tears fall from her eyes.

Hera: Persephone, who hurt you here ? I felt it before but being here now I know it was your distress I felt.

Persephone’s heart dropped into her stomach at Hera’s question. How did she know?! Her heart jumped back into her chest beating so rapidly she was worried the sound of it would be heard.

Persephone: W-what are you talking about?

Hera frowned at Persephone seeing the mixture of panic and fear that passed over Persephone’s features.

Hera: Stop! You know what I am asking there is no point beating about the bush. Just please tell me it wasn’t Hades that has hurt you. I trusted he would be a gentleman and not like his brothers. I couldn’t bear it if I threw you into the jaws of a wolf.

Persephone sighed in defeat sitting on her bed starting to sniffle as she fought back her tears.

Persephone: He isn’t the wolf. No one lets a wolf inside their home after all. More dangerous than a Wolf is the dog you know and think you can trust. That betrayal hurts more than any wolves bite. Men were supposed to be forbidden in this house but that rule didn’t apply to the biggest threat. It was always broken for her brother.

Hera listens to Persephone her eyes slowly widening as she puts the pieces together.

Hera: Apollo...

Persephone nods her head looking at Hera ashamed

Persephone: I ... I didn’t want to. Not really. I thought at first it was okay but then it wasn’t. It was awful. It hurt. H-he took pictures. P-pictures he has already shown at least one other person. He insists I am his girl and he is always showing up at my school and here trying to convince me to do it again. He says I wil get better with practice.

Hera moves to sit beside Persephone pulling her into her embrace

Hera: Shhhh, that is enough. You don’t have to say anymore. Let us just get you taken care of and I can see to Apollo.

Persephone shakes her head no leaning back from Hera’s embrace

Persephone: Please don’t. I need to handle it myself. I got into this mess after all. I promise if I need help I will ask for it.

Hera frowns but seeing the look of determination on Persephone’s face she lets out a sigh of defeat.

Hera: Fine but if he tries anything funny again you better let me know.

Persephone smiled and nodded her head in agreement.

Hera: That’s my girl. Now then let’s get to work and start packing

Hera stands from the bed and turns to take and evaluation of everything only to let out a shreds of surprise

Hera: What in Tartarus is that!?

At Hera’s shriek Persephone turned around following Hera’s gaze to her window confused at first at the sight that greeted her. Slowly though her mind made sense of it all.

Persephone: Hermes?

The fellow in question smiled widely hearing his name and waved disrupting the assorted twigs and leaves that had become snagged in his hair giving him a demented wood nymph appearance.

Moving to her window she slid it open Hermes quickly climbing in and smiling sheepishly at Hera.

Hermes: Sorry for the scare ma’am there are a bunch of weirdos starting to queue up out front so I had to enter stealth mode to get this close.

Hera: Shit, I thought we had more time but I underestimated them. Quick pull the curtains.

Hermes moved in a flash pulling the curtains across the window.

Hermes: Done now what?!

As soon as he said the the sound of the doorbell could be heard making Persephone pale noticeably.

Hera sighed rubbing her temples as the ringing continued.

Hera: Now, we need a distraction.

Eyeing Hermes up and down slowly she stroked her chin contemplating.

Hera: I have worked with worse. Persephone where are your clothes from the human realm. We need to give hermes a makeover.

Hermes: wait , makeover?

Hera : Yes Makeover you want to help her right? We are going to dress you in drag and send you fleeing out of the house like you are her. Persephone while I get him ready go ahead and call a charioteer so that they will be ready.

The ringing continues driving all parties present nearly mad as they move quickly to execute the plan.

Twenty minutes later and everything was as good as it could be.

Persephone: The charioteer is almost here . I asked him to wait at the corner like you suggested.

Hera: Good, now it is all up to Hermes here and his acting skills.

Fussing some more with the Grecian draping she sighs in frustration.

Hera: It will have to do. Hermes remember to keep that veil up covering all but yours eyes until the charioteer loses those blood sucker. That and not tripping are your only jobs. After you shake them pick up a moving truck and make your way back here to help us handle the rest. While you are gone we will pack up everything and load it up when you return. Understand ?

Hermes: Understood. Umm is there a way out of this house that isn’t the front door or the window.

Persephone looked concerned but nodded

Persephone: Artemis has a sliding glass door that leads to the side year in her room. It actually will get you much closer to the street corner that the charioteer is waiting on.

Hermes: Perfect. Now ladies tell me how do I look?

Hermes struts back and forth doing his best to imitate a feminine swagger as Hera and Persephone look on mildly disturbed.

Hera: The hip swaying is not necessary and honestly it’s a tad disturbing. Persephone thoughts?

Persephone bites her lip with indecisiveness before just going with her gut stepping forward and giving him a tight hug

Persephone: Just be careful okay? I couldn’t bare it is anything happened to you.

Hermes was thankful for the thick veils at the moment which hid his blush from sight. Hugging her back he rests his check on her head giving her a muzzle.

Hermes: Of course I am always careful! I’ll be back before you know it!

Pulling away he gives Hera a mock salute

Hermes: Mission Petal Drop is a go!

Following him out of the room and into Artemis both women linger out of sight in the shadows watching as with ninja stealth Hermes slid open the door stepping out into the twilight before dawn. Not turning back they hear him whisper one last thing before he slides the door closed behind him.

Hermes: Make sure you lock this as soon as you see them following me.

Hermes now outside took a deep steadying breathe before walking away from the house and into the side yard quickly coming into sight of the front of the house. Like an angry swarm of bees he heard the moment they noticed him the noise of them shifting and drawing closer. He couldn’t get caught or it would all be for naught quickening his pace he was relieved he could see the corner and waiting vehicle ahead.

Unlike himself it seemed the paparazzi had no limitations on their speed and he felt a cold sweat of nervousness begin to creep down his back as the sound of camera flashes grows louder and he can clearly make out the reporters cries a cacophony of Persephone, is it true? Are you keeping the baby? Who is the father?! Can we get an exclusive? It made Hermes sick and he wanted nothing more than to turn around rip off the garb and hang the lot of them with it. Suddenly though he heard the sound of rapid foot falls coming up on him fast. Was one of the bastards trying to run him down? Fat chance of that! Keeping his ears trained on the sound his muscles coil at the ready. Hearing the sound of the labored breathing right behind him he quickly side stepped throwing out a leg catching his predator off guard. Not anticipating this move the paparazzi took a tumble the sound of crunching glass and a groan of pain pleasing to Hermes as he takes off at a jog now not willing to take the risk of another paparazzi getting that close. Making it to the charioteer he quickly climbs in. Eyes widening at the hoard of reporters heading their way and gaining ground fast.

Hermes: We should leave now!

Stephanos: You ain’t lying.

Pulling away from the stop sign Hermes turns his face away from the window tucking it against the seat as they pass the mass of press. His vision momentarily blinded by the barrage of flashes but it ends a quickly as it started the driver picking up speed as he turns to enter the highway.

Hermes: okay this is going to sound weird man but don’t completely loose them. They need to see where we are headed.

Stephanos: Are you serious? You want those harpies to follow us?

Hermes: I have my reasons trust me. Just let a few of the news vans get in sight and make sure that is as close as they get.

Stephanos: Sure thing ma’am

The cabbie merged into the slow lane watching his rear view mirror for signs of their pursuers. It didn’t take long and he soon had to pick up speed. Whoever this fare was they were important enough for for news crews in pursuit to break must assuredly several traffic laws from his observation. He could feel swearing starting to bead up on his neck.

Hermes noticed the drivers growing tension and felt bad. The poor guy was just trying to make an honest living and was now involved in some made car chase.

Hermes: Hey, it’s going to be okay no need to start sweating pal. We are almost at the divide now. You just pull up and park it and I will handle the rest.

The cabbie looked back at his passenger nodding his head as he merged to take the exit for the drop off lane. Slowing down gradually he keeps glancing up to see how close their pursuers are before he finally pulls up to the curb putting it into park.

Stephanos: Ma’am I really hope you are fast cause they are catching up quick.

Hermes chuckled opening the door

Hermes: It’s sir and I am fast enough I assure you. Expect a fat tip in your account for your troubles. Take off after I am out. No need to get caught up in this.

Stepping out he slammed the door behind him before taking off in a sprint his eyes the only part of him visible shining with excitement as the sounds of screeching tires and slamming doors are heard behind him. They wouldn’t make it. Let them have their pictures if they wanted. Coming up to the line leading to the divides entrance he swerves wide vaulting to slide over the closest turnstile barrier. Hearing the cries of security joining in he doesn’t slow down making a break for the shimmering pond like surface reflecting the human realm before him. Seeing a security guard out of the corner of his eye he spun rapidly to the side avoiding the guards dive for him. Now facing the barrage of flashing cameras he smirked seeing that the press was trapped behind the barrier. Mission accomplished! Giving the mass of scavengers one last glance he stepped through the divide the image rippling as if a stone had been dropped in a pond before it settled once more and his figure could be seen disappearing quickly from the reporters sight.

Stephanos had headed the cross dressers advice quickly to throw it back in gear as a mass of reporters began heading for him. Merging back quickly on the expressway he let out a sigh glad it seemed no one was following him. Would he ever start getting normal fares? He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take these loons.

On the other side of divide Hermes quickly made his way to a little cave he and Persephone had planned in as children. Slipping inside he quickly located the small trunk that had tucked away in it. Their treasure trove. Opening it he smiled at the assorted collection of shiny stones, colorful bird feathers and shells that greeted him. Quickly he shed Persephone’s clothing tossing it in the trunk for safe keeping. Left in a pair of boxer briefs and girls sandals he quickly slammed the lid shut and left the cave a flash of red streaking across the sky as he made his way quickly to his own abode. He needed to get dressed and back with the truck stat! He had promised Thanatos to leave things alone and keep his distance but he was glad this time he was weak willed. She needed his help and come Tartarus or high water she would have it.

It was a nearly an hour later before he made it back to the house with a moving van. He did one drive by to make sure the coast was clear before pulling into the driveway. Making short work of it he had everything loaded up and was soon following Hera’s car to the place she had in mind. They drove for sometime finally coming to a large locked gate on the edge of the warehouse district of the city. The gate wasn’t as intimidating as the near 15 foot tall cyclops that stepped out from the watchman’s post beside the gate. Bending down he peered into Hera’s rolled down window before glancing back at Hermes single eye narrowing making Hades break out in a sweat of nervousness. Apparently satisfied the cyclops stood straight and moved to the gate unlocking and pulling it open for them to drive through. Following Hera inside he smiled up at the cyclops earning himself a glare which he quickly looked away from. Pulling up to a stop beside where Hera had parked he hops out glancing briefly at Persephone before taking in the large warehouse before him. Even in the fresh light of dawn It seemed deceptively ordinary if you didn’t count the cyclops patrolling the grounds.

Taking off her sunglasses Hera glances back at Hermes

Hera: Leave the boxes I will have seen them too later. For now let us have a look at the facilities. I think we all could use a good rest after this evening.

#greekgods #inspired #loreolympus #drabble #persephone #hermes #hera #lore olympus

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averyastaireismss-blog · 5 years

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meet avery astaire!

📚MELISSA BENOIST, DEMIGIRL No way! It’s AVERY ASTAIRE they’re an EIGHTEEN year old SENIOR. Dang, what a wonderful time in their lives to be so ENTHUSIASTIC and INSECURE. Whenever the freshman talk about her/they they usually think of LITERATURE CLUB, no wonder everyone knows her/they as the FANGIRL.

Welp, here’s my second baby! Avery’s super dorky, is HUGE on the #FandomLife, wants to become a famous author someday (especially in the epics and fantasy genres, like Tolkien and Homer and et cetera), and I just really love her. Hope you guys will, too! Here is her wanted connections, in case anyone is interested :D

Avery is half-French on her mother’s side and is learning French. She’s half-Irish on her dad’s side and is fluent in Gaelic.

With that being said, she has an Irish accent that she got from her dad, who grew up in Ireland before moving to the States in his twenties. She doesn’t have an French-Irish mix one because her mother moved to America when she was five to live with her American adoptive parents before she could develop it and grew up with a Midwestern accent.

Does that ^^^ make sense?? I hope it makes sense ajslfhgjfldgh

Along with writing, she also holds passions for singing, horseback riding, acting, dancing, and figure skating.

She’s bisexual. *crickets chirping* Yeah, that’s it.

She also considers herself to be a demigirl, using the pronouns she/they. She/her are her primary pronouns, but there are times in which she connects more with they/them.

Her favourite artists are Hozier, The Lumineers, Imagine Dragons, and Mumford and Sons. She just really loves the indie, folk, alt-pop music

BUT, also catch her blasting Disney/Dreamworks/Really-Any-Animated-Movie-Soundtracks, musicals, and movie soundtracks as well

Black Sails is also her favourite television show with Wynonna Earp in second and Criminal Minds in third.

The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and The Silmarillion are her favourite books. The movies are pretty good, too.

Homer’s The Iliad and the Odyssey are also her favourite stories as well

Owns a vintage yellow bug named Delilah and it’s her baby

Just like Holly, she is a polyglot. fluent in English, Gaelic, Spanish, and Primitive Quendian, she is working on becoming fluent, at least intermediate, or conversational in French, Dothraki, Mandarin Chinese, Urdu, Icelandic, and Tagalog.

Yeaaaaaaaaaah... debating on having her in FLC as well, but I already have Hols in it... To be continued

Avery loves vintage things. She believes that they each has a story to tell and she has a collection of first edition books that is ever growing.

For her sixteenth birthday, she got an old typewriter that still works and it’s one of her her top five most treasured possessions.

She has such pretty handwriting like it is not fair. It’s cursive and flowy, I hate her

She can do calligraphy and I hate her for it. It’s so good and beautiful, the little shit

Okay, and she’s good at forgery but I am keeping her restrained from doing that a lot

In fact, one of her favourite talents of hers is that she can do this.

I FUCKING HATE THIS LITTLE SHIT!!!

Her favourite times of the day is sunrise and sunset. She loves watching the sky change colours, seeing the moon and stars disappear and then the sun appearing and vice versa. It’s so calming and beautiful to her.

Is somehow both an morning person and a night person. I don’t get it nor do I like it.

Being such a fucking nerd, she has a multifandom blog. It’s actually pretty popular and she’s beginning on working on making fan art and fan vids, but she prefers writing stories more.

Her main fanfiction stories that she writes are Criminal Minds, LOTR/The Hobbit, Rick Riordan’s works, Harry Potter (just the original books and movies; Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them are practically dead to her. The Cursed Child, she is neutral on), Star Wars, Black Sails, Disney, Wynonna Earp, Stranger Things, Game of Thrones, all different sorts of mythology, and a large variety of musicals, but she has sooooo many more. She also does headcanons and one shots for these, the fucking nerd.

Okay, but along with having her multifandom blog, she would also have a bookblr and write book reviews and reblog book edits and stuff on there like yes this is good

She goes by the alias Calliope online, who’s her favourite Greek mythology character

Ravenclaw, Thunderbird, otter patronus, and she would have a hornbeam wand with a dragon heartstring core.

She also has all of the harry potter character wands. And her Ravenclaw merchandise. She is especially fond of her Ravenclaw scarf, throw pillow, and mug.

Again, this motherfucking nerd.

Her favourite colour is yellow

Her favourite scent is old books, green and mint tea, lavender, and honey.

She likes both marvel and dc, fight her

Cuz what this nerd does??? She LARPs. She loves it so much and has been doing it for awhile now.

She always makes sure that she is prepared whenever inspiration for a new story strikes. Laptop? With her 100000000% of the time. Has two large notebooks with her at all times as well, along with a small notebook. She also has a tablet, in case one of those extremely rare cases of her not having her laptop or one of her three notebooks, with her, just in case. And then her phone as well, which is an iPhone7 and is perfect for jotting down ideas. It’s so big and the keyboard is big, she loves it.

Wants a corgi dog named Frodo in the future

She also works part time at Barnes and Noble as a sales associate/cashier

Thanks to her parents (her dad’s a famous writer and her mum’s an immigration lawyer), she is rich as fuck but she wants to actually earn her money. Can’t live off of her parents forever

For her seventeenth birthday, her parents took her and a group of friends to New Zealand to see the real life Hobbiton and all of the other locations for when LOTR/The Hobbit films were being filmed. It was a glorious trip.

#{ fandom life;; headcanons. }#mercierooc #mercierintro

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aplaceofnonsense · 6 years

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I was tagged by @ha-tep these really do make my day thanks fam

1. What is the favorite item of clothing you own?

uHM? I guess anyone of my concert t-shirts because most of them are the most comfortable things i own - plus repping the band merch?

2. Tell me about the first time you watched your favorite movie?

oh gosh, anything that is filmed well, has great costumes/acring is my fave - plus can’t forget animation? animation is gorgeous? I guess everytime i fall in love with a movie, it starts with the cinephotography, then i pick up one the soundtrack because dxfnfgon? music?, then finally i pay attention to the acting XD

im lame i know

3. What was the last book you finished?

when is the last time i read a book the better question - uni life doesn’t let me read for fun \o/

does the iliad count ? or the odyssey? XD cause i read two of the ‘books’ from each \o/

4. What is the next book you want to read?

i have an entire book case full of untouched books.

So really? getting on any of those would be a splendid idea?

5. When is your birthday, and what do you want for it this year? (If your birthday has already happened this year, did you get what you had your heart set on?)

Feb 1 - and uh? I just wanted to watch netflix LOL

6. If you were given one month and $10,000, where would you travel to?

10,000 and one month to travel? //cracks knuckles//

so first you start off in Spain, make your way to Paris go down to Italy and then head to Greece, and if anything is left over go back up to Czech Republic, maybe stop in Poland and it be cool to make it to England?

thank you google maps, blessed be for your help XD

7. Cake or pie?

not really big on either? cakes are always too sweet.

8. Name 3 things you think you’re really good at.

sleeping

sleeping with my eyes open

sleeping while sitting up

9. Name 3 things you’d like to be better at.

being a better person

writing

following my dam schedules

10. Name 3 far-fetched dreams you’d like to do someday.

be able to speak like 7 languages

travel the world

swords master? yes please

11. If you had to dye your hair, what color would you dye it?

a nice rich purple/red mix? i guess? \o/

tags open to anyone! tag me if you do this so i can see your responses! <3

#another get to know meme #these are fun #or at least i think theyre fun

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no-white-knights-blog · 7 years

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Halo - An Etrian Odyssey Novel (Chapter 18/50)

Arcan shuffled his feet as he walked, hands in his pockets, eyes on the cobblestone street and frowning as he recalled the survivalist he’d met a little over a month ago in town. Honestly, he’d forgotten about that interaction until his eyes landed on Sage, but now he couldn’t get him out of his head, especially what Sage had said.

It’s good that you didn’t join him. You likely would have died.

The gunner remembered the day perfectly, carrying a large crate through Lagaard towards Sitoth trading, straining from the weight but determined to finish the supply run on his own. He’d been distracted thinking about Blaise and his nana, what they would have for dinner, and if he’d even have enough money to afford anything.

Someone had bumped hard into his shoulder, prompting him to trip and drop the crate so it hit the ground with a crack, the wood breaking a little as he fell to his knees and cursed, “Great, just what I needed, damaged goods.”

“Sorry about that, kid, are you okay?”

Arcan leaned back and looked over his shoulder at the two explorers standing behind him, likely the ones who had bumped into him. The tallest had dark green hair and purple eyes, dressed up in the gear of a survivalist, a bow at his back and a quiver belted to his waist. He was smiling, pinching the ear of what appeared to be a landsknecht, who was grumbling in irritation, his eyes an unusual color, like lemons, his hair the color of ash, and an axe on his back.

“Oh, no problem,” Arcan held a hand up and smiled, “It’s my fault for not paying attention to where I was going.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it was his fault,” the survivalist twisted his companions ear, making him curse in pain.

“Knock it the fuck off, it was an accident! Let’s just meet the others already! Fucking hell!”

“Don’t be a dick,” the survivalist said, eyes narrowed, and the landsknecht froze up, lifting his hands in defense.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he apologized, glaring at the ground and snarling.

“Really, it’s fine,” Arcan assured, collecting the wooden crate and standing up, “You guys don’t look familiar.”

“We just got in today,” the survivalist smiled brightly, “My guild is heading into the Labyrinth now.”

“It’s pretty late for that, isn’t it?” Arcan asked, and the landsknecht snorted.

“What, are you scared?”

His friend twisted his ear again, making him yelp, “Ignore him. It’s no big deal. We’ve spent nights in the Labyrinth before, now won’t be any different.”

Arcan’s eyes widened a little in awe, “So you’re veterans?”

“You could say that,” the survivalist hummed, a warm smile on his lips, “You’re a gunner, aren’t you? I can tell by the clothes.”

“Sort of,” Arcan winced, “I haven’t had much training though.”

“Fail,” the landsknecht mumbled, smacking the survivalist in the chest when he twisted his ear yet again.

“We don’t have a gunner in our guild,” he noted, “I wonder, would you be interested in joining us by any chance?” he smiled as Arcan’s jaw slacked and the landsknecht made a noise of irritation.

“Don’t fucking ask him to join us, damn it!”

“Uh,” Arcan blinked, “Wow, seriously? Man, I don’t think I’d be much help, especially in the Labyrinth. I haven’t had any training, I barely know how to use my guns, and I can’t really afford that many bullets. Plus, it’s really late, and I can’t just wander into the Labyrinth at night, I have a kid brother at home and a grandma who needs me.”

The survivalist looked disappointed and surprised before the expression settled into something like respect, “You’ve got a brother? How old?”

“Five,” Arcan answered with a crooked smile, “His name’s Blaise.”

“That’s cute,” the explorer laughed, releasing the landsknecht so he could jerk away and rub his ear, pouting, “I’ve got a little brother too, so I understand your decision.”

“Yea?” Arcan brightened, “How old is he?”

“Oh he’s nineteen,” the survivalist answered, rubbing the back of his head, “and he’s in my guild, but that doesn’t mean I don’t constantly worry about him. He’s got one of those faces that attracts weirdoes, so everyone in our guild is always on their toes fending off drunk admirers,” his expression was grim, and Arcan laughed.

“Wow, I can’t imagine.”

“No kidding,” the explorer sighed, “Every day at least one guy shows up confessing his undying love, and considering we’ve never been in Lagaard before, it’s a bit annoying. I swear sometimes I just want to lock him in a room and keep the world away from him,” he smiled at that thought, “He’d probably hate me if I did that though.”

“You sound close,” Arcan noted, and the survivalist’s smile became deeper.

“Yea. He’s my light.”

“Really, that’s interesting,” the landsknecht hummed, holding his chin and looking off to the side, “Because I happen to recall a certain hexer who’s a tad bit infatuated with you, boss.”

The survivalist tensed up and blushed before glaring heatedly at the landsknecht, “Watch yourself, kid. I might accidentally hurt you.”

“Are you in Lagaard for something specific?” Arcan asked, and the survivalist turned back to him.

“Well, kind of. We’re not really supposed to talk about it. Just call it a supply run requested by someone far away. There are certain things in this Labyrinth that can’t be found where we’re from, so we came to pick some stuff up. We were the only ones willing to take the request because it was out of town and so far away,” he shrugged, “Maybe when we get back we can talk about it.”

Arcan grinned a little, “Yea, that’d be cool. Look me up when you get back then,” he brightened up as the two explorers passed him and called out, “Oh hey wait! What guild are you from?”

The survivalist smiled back at him and answered, “Historia.”

Arcan opened his eyes when someone bumped into him, knocking him out of the memory and snapping at him to stop standing in the middle of the street. He quickly hurried forward, nibbling on his bottom lip and watching his shoes as they scuffed the ground. That survivalist had mentioned having a younger brother. Was… was that Sage?

He suddenly felt really stupid. Why didn’t he ask for the man’s name? Sure, he knew what the guild’s name had been, but he’d been so in awe of the veteran survivalist that he’d been too distracted to actually get acquainted with him, or his companion. That landsknecht though, thinking back, he kind of reminded him of Iliad, in a way.

The thought brought a smile to his lips, but it fell fast when he reached his apartment complex, tensing up considerably when he saw most of his neighbors were out of their homes or leaning out their doors and windows, and there were people at his apartment, the door open, and Angie was standing to the side with Blaise in her arms, her face pale.

“Angie,” Arcan called to her as he jogged up, and she spun to face him with wide eyes as a few soldiers stepped out of the door, carrying a stretcher covered in a white sheet.

The gunner slowed and stopped entirely, eyes growing wide, and Angie hesitated, stepping in front of Arcan’s line of sight, “She passed in her sleep,” the medic said softly, “I’m so sorry.”

Arcan opened his mouth before closing it and holding his arms out, taking his brother from Angie and stepping back, watching the soldiers carry the stretcher away and only tearing his eyes away when Blaise pulled on his shirt.

“Is nana going somewhere?”

“Yea,” Arcan smiled weakly, “She’s going to go meet mom and dad,” he paused, swallowing the lump in his throat, “Nana decided I was old enough and mature enough to take care of you all on my own, and left me in charge. Okay?”

Blaise nodded slowly, but he looked uncertain, “When is she coming home?”

Arcan just pulled him closer, lying his cheek against Blaise’s head and pinching his eyes closed, “She’s not, kiddo. I’m sorry. She’s moving in with mom and dad, but we’ll see her again someday, I promise.”

Blaise hummed and hugged Arcan, “It’s okay, brother, you don’t have to cry,” he pulled back and smiled brightly, “Cuz nana’s gonna come home!”

Arcan nodded and lowered himself to the ground, clinging to Blaise and hugging him tightly, face against the five-year-old’s little shoulder, “Yea.”

What were they supposed to do now? With the measly money Arcan was getting from his part time job, he never would be able to support himself and Blaise with food and clothes while also paying for rent. The government was kind enough to provide financial support because of his nana, but now that she was gone… they were going to lose their place.

Unless he… unless he could think of something fast, a way to make money.

He lifted his head when he heard footsteps and looked up at Angie, “I have a favor to ask you,” he said, and Angie bit her lip.

“Of course.”

“Can you watch Blaise for a little?” he stood up, “I… I’m going to go apply for a night job to see if I can pick up a little more money.”

Angie sighed a little, “Arcan your brother needs you right now. You can go find a job tomorrow, but-.”

“It’s fine, Angie,” he smiled brightly, “Nana left me in charge, I’m not going to mess up,” he looked down at Blaise and squeezed his little hand, “I want you to stay with Angie for a little longer, is that alright?”

The kid pouted and tightened his grip on Arcan’s hand, “When are you coming back?”

“Soon, I promise.”

“Arcan-.”

“It’s fine,” Arcan held Blaise’s hand out and Angie took it, tugging Blaise closer and watching as Arcan spun around on his heel, “Look after him until I get back!”

He tore his eyes away and ran faster, letting his sudden adrenaline distract from the agony of losing his family. Part of him felt he should care more actually, but after having to hand-feed an old woman for the past year, he didn’t feel very sad. Everything he did was for self-preservation and to take care of Blaise, now that his grandma was gone, he didn’t know if he could do that.

Desperate times called for desperate measure though, and he gasped for breath as he stalked into the bar and over to the request board, eyes panning over the many pages of paper until he caught sight of one near the top. The money was good, he’d be able to pay rent for at least two months, and he could afford food with his odd jobs.

He tore the request from the board and spun around, tensing up when he rammed into someone’s chest and staggered back, rubbing his nose and looking up feeling utterly mortified when he recognized the survivalist of the Guardians guild.

“Oh, uh, hey,” Arcan lifted a hand and the man narrowed his eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” Arcan side stepped around the man, stuffing the request into his bag, “Uh, I wanted to apologize by the way, for putting you on the spot and yelling at you asking you to train me,” he gave a crooked grin, “All good now. I found another teacher, so… yea,” he saluted the survivalist, “Tobyn, right? Sorry again. I’ll see you around.”

He spun on his heel and ran from the bar without another word, peering over his shoulder when he was far enough away just to make sure he hadn’t been followed. Okay, so that was unlikely, Tobyn was a high-level explorer who basically tried to kill him, there was no way he’d actually care that Arcan had grabbed a veteran request from the board.

Unless he wanted that request and now was really pissed off someone grabbed it before him? No, but Arcan was certain he wouldn’t care, and tugged the page from his bag, smoothing it out and reading over it as he walked. Shouldn’t take too long, all he needed was to find a mining spot at the end of the second floor.

“Huh, yea, that’s no big deal,” he sifted around in his bag and pulled out an old, yellowed map, smiling weakly and holding it against his chest, “Thanks for your help, dad.”

He made sure he had everything he needed, extra food and water, an Ariadne thread, then made his way to the Labyrinth. His last hurtle would be to distract the guards, because there was no way they would let him pass on his own, so he took a breath and messed up his hair before darting around a tree towards the four soldiers loitering around looking bored.

“Help! Soldiers!” he skidded to a stop in front of them, gripping the front of his shirt, “You have to help, there’s a fight going on in the middle of town, it’s gotten bad! People are seriously hurt, please help!”

“Where is it?” one soldier asked while climbing to his feet, and Arcan pointed back towards Lagaard.

“Near the fountain! Hurry!”

“Let’s go guys.”

Arcan hid the smirk as the ran past him, and turned to watch until they were out of sight before turning and stepping forward. It wasn’t his first time in the Labyrinth, his parents had taken him through a few times, it was during one of these times that his father sacrificed himself for Arcan and is mother, but it had been a while since he’d stepped foot inside.

It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time, and he tightened his grip on the map as he stalked forward in determination, “I’ll be home in no time, Blaise.”

“Are you going out again?” Emery asked, and Iliad hummed a little, slipping his bow onto his back.

“Yea, gonna train a little. Do you mind telling Dyria so he doesn’t have a panic attack? Not that he would, he’s probably busy right now.”

“I don’t know about that,” Emery laughed, “He’s been worried about you.”

“I know, Sage told me, but he shouldn’t be,” Iliad mumbled, pushing the door to their room open only for Emery to follow him out into the hall and towards the entry, “I’m fine, seriously. I’m not a kid anymore and I can take care of myself.

“We know that,” Emery nudged Iliad, “but Dyria is your brother, he’s going to worry no matter how old you are or how strong. That’s his job.”

“He needs to take a day off then,” Iliad mumbled, pausing when he reached the entry and blinking, stunned, when he saw the blonde medic from before standing in the entry with Blaise at her side, “What….”

“Ah, Lynus!” Angie waved down the orange haired medic and Emery bristled at Iliad’s side as Lynus turned, smiling at Angie but frowning at Blaise.

“Who’s this?”

“This is the little brother of that gunner I mentioned,” Angie answered, “His name is Blaise.”

Lynus hummed as he stepped closer and crouched down to be eyelevel with the five-year-old, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lynus, I work with Angie sometimes.”

Blaise just ducked behind Angie’s legs, making her laugh, “Sorry, he’s a bit wary around strangers.”

“That’s no problem,” Lynus stood up, “What’s going on?”

“Well, his great grandmother just passed away,” Angie explained, “I’m not entirely sure what happened, but Arcan just ran off saying he was going to try and get a part time job, and asked if I’d watch Blaise for a little longer, but I’m working a shift at the hospital, so I was wondering if you and the others would watch him? I trust you.”

“What do you mean he just ran off?” Iliad asked as he stalked forward, and Angie turned to him in surprise.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Ili!” Blaise released his hold on Angie’s coat and ran over to Iliad, hugging his legs and successfully stopping him in his steps.

“That jackass ditched me!” Iliad scoffed, looking down at Blaise, “Where’d your dumb brother run off to?”

“Work,” Blaise piped, “Arcan works real hard especially when he’s super sad, and nana left today so he’s sad. That’s why he’s working.”

Iliad clenched his jaw and stared down at Blaise for a long time, lifting his eyes when Angie cleared her throat, “Sorry, do you know Arcan?”

“Unfortunately,” Iliad grumbled, reaching down and picking Blaise up into his arms, letting the toddler cling to his neck, “I’ll take care of him. That ass owes me an explanation.”

Angie didn’t look very excited about that, her fingers twitching anxiously at her sides, “I-I don’t know, I’ve known Lynus and his guild for a while, and-.”

“What, do you think we can’t handle looking after a kid?” Emery bit, and Iliad turned to stare at him, surprised at the venom in his tone, “I don’t know who this Arcan guy is, or how Iliad knows him, but I think we’re plenty capable of babysitting.”

“He’s just some guy,” Iliad mumbled, looking off to the side, “We train together sometimes is all.”

“Ah, he’s a gunner from the lower wards,” Angie held a finger up, “I didn’t know he’d been training with anyone though.”

Emery was the one staring at Iliad now, “You’ve been associating with a gunner? Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick!” Iliad snapped, “I just… felt sorry for the dumbass!”

“Language,” Blaise chided, and Iliad squinted at him.

“Oh please.”

“Blaise, do you know this man?” Angie asked, and Blaise smiled.

“Uh-huh! He’s a friend! He brought a door and fruit the other day! And he makes Arcan smile!”

Iliad’s face heated up as Emery arched an eyebrow at him and Angie’s jaw gaped, “He… brought a door,” she looked at Lynus, “I thought the Guardian’s where the ones who did that.”

Lynus shook his head, “When we got there it was already fixed so we just came home. I forgot to tell you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine as long as it was fixed,” Angie laughed, and Iliad grumbled a little, “Well, I suppose I can trust you too,” the medic eyed Iliad uncertainly, “He seems to like you at least.”

“I don’t understand why,” Iliad sighed, and Blaise giggled, hugging him tighter.

“It’s cuz you make Arcan smile!”

“I’ll keep an eye on him too, just for your peace of mind,” Lynus offered Angie, “I think they’re capable though, and the little one seems happy enough.”

“Thank you, Lynus,” Angie smiled and cast one last glance to Iliad and Blaise before leaving the inn.

Emery stepped up from behind Iliad when she was gone, “Well that was a pleasant talk, we appreciate your concern, but we don’t need your help.”

Lynus blinked in surprise and stared at Emery in confusion, “I don’t mind. I’m good with kids, and it’s not like I’m planning on stealing him from you,” he smiled pleasantly at Blaise, who had pulled an arrow from the quiver hanging on Iliad’s back and was waving it around, laughing, “He seems happy with your friend. Iliad, right? And you’re Emery? You’re part of Halo. How is Sage?”

Emery spun on his heel, essentially giving Lynus the cold soldier as he scoffed, “I said we don’t need your help. Sage is fine. Go worry about someone else.”

Lynus simply laughed at that, “Sorry, it’s a bad habit of mine to be nosy.”

“I’ve noticed,” Emery snarled, and Iliad gaped at him.

“Jeeze, Em, what’s up with you?”

“It’s fine,” Lynus assured, holding his hands up with a crooked smile, “Your protector told me he could be a bit possessive of the members in his guild. That’s a good thing.”

“Hey, when did you get a kid, Iliad?!” Vien called from the top of the stairs, yelling a bit loudly as he jumped onto the banister and slid down it, hopping off when he hit the bottom and falling against Emery, “Is he a new member? What’s his class? What do we call him?”

“He’s just some kid, lay off!” Iliad snapped, and Emery hummed, pushing Vien back with a hand on top of his head.

“This is Blaise, he’s the little brother of one of Iliad’s friends.”

“Not my friend!”

“Are we keeping him?” Vien asked, and Nirim pulled him back from where he’d been leaning into Iliad’s personal space.

“We’re just babysitting,” Emery smiled, “Honestly I’m a bit confused myself. I didn’t even know Iliad had friends.”

“I don’t,” Iliad grumbled, “He’s just some guy I train with sometimes!”

“A gunner you train with,” Emery hummed, holding his chin, and Iliad tensed up as Vien gave an exaggerated gasp.

“Did you just say Iliad is hanging around a gunner?” he asked. Somehow during the conversation he’d climbed onto Nirim’s back and was hanging over him with his arms draped over his shoulders. Luckily the ronin didn’t seem to mind much that he was giving him a piggy-back ride, and just stood there with an unfazed expression.

“What’s going on here?” Iliad groaned a little and turned to see Dyria walking into the entry with Sage at his side, looking a little pale but luckily conscious, “Is that a kid?”

“No,” Iliad deadpanned, “It’s a sack of fucking potatoes.”

“Don’t be a smart ass, where’d you find him?”

“He’s just some guy’s brother, I don’t know!” Iliad insisted, and Sage brightened up.

“Oh, he looks like Arcan.”

Iliad grumbled, “Yea, that’s because this is Arcan’s brother. His name is Blaise and we’re babysitting while the jackass is working.”

“Who in hell is Arcan?” Dyria demanded, and Emery held a hand up.

“He’s a gunner who Iliad befriended.”

Sage smiled and leaned forward to look back at Dyria, “He’s the reason Iliad’s been so quiet and excited about getting back to town. They’ve been training together.”

“He’s a gunner,” Dyria stated, staring at Iliad, who pressed his lips together and cringed when his cheeks started to burn.

“Stop looking at me like that. It’s only because I get something out of it! The guy’s an idiot! I just felt sorry for the dumbass so I said I’d train with him!”

“Lynus,” everyone turned to the door where Tobyn had stalked in, looking frustrated, “Have you seen Axel or Hamza?”

“Why?” Lynus asked, and Tobyn pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Because an idiot noob needs an emergency extraction from the Labyrinth before he gets himself killed.”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t tell me,” Iliad groaned, setting Blaise down, “Was it a blond gunner?” Tobyn looked over at him, nodding, and Iliad rubbed a hand over his face, “God damn it.”

“That’s not good,” Lynus murmured, “What is he thinking?”

Iliad rubbed the back of his head and looked up at the ceiling. Arcan’s grandmother just died. Now he was recklessly running through the Labyrinth without any skills that could keep him alive. Was he suicidal? Or maybe just desperate…

“Hey,” Iliad looked at Lynus, “On second thought, would you keep an eye on Blaise?” he turned to face Dyria, “We’ll go get that idiot.”

“What?” Lynus laughed a little, “I don’t know. My guild is skilled at search and rescue missions through the Labyrinth, we’ve done this before.”

“I agree with Iliad,” Emery decided, and Dyria arched an eyebrow as the medic shot Lynus a short look, “We can take care of this. He’s Iliad’s friend, so it’s our responsibility.”

Dyria sighed and rubbed his forehead, “Right, why the hell not? I wanna meet the guy anyway and I can’t if he’s dead,” he turned to Sage and put a hand on his back, “I want you to stay back for this.”

“What?” Sage gaped at him, “Why?”

“Because you look like you’re about to collapse,” Dyria argued, “Is your head still hurting?”

“No,” Sage rolled his eyes, “I’m fine now, Dyria, and I’m going,” he turned with a huff and walked closer to Iliad and Emery, looking at Tobyn, “Do you know where he may have gone?”

Tobyn tugged on his scarf and stared off to the side, “Second floor. He grabbed a veteran request, and the mining spot he’s going to is on the second floor. I can show you on a map so you can get there faster.”

“We’d appreciate that,” Sage smiled, and Iliad pushed Blaise over to Lynus.

“Ili, is my brother gone like my nana?” Blaise asked, clinging to Iliad’s shirt, and the survivalist forced a smile.

“Nah, he just went on a walk. I’ll go get him,” he stood straighter and folded his arms, looking off to the side, “Like hell I’m letting that jackass die,” he murmured, “I’ll save him so I can kill him myself.”

#EO #etrian odyssey #fanfiction #original characters #guild halo #guardians #lynus and tobyn aren't mine #smol nood gunner gonna get rekt #tobyn is not pleased #emery plz calm down #so much edge #be nice to lynus gdi

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anamsaorreads · 7 years

Text

Allow Me to Introduce Myself

Hi there. My name is Edel and I've decided to try my hand at writing a book blog. Who knows if anyone will read it, but perhaps it could be a place where I can find my voice. At any rate, I'm unlikely to find it if I don't start speaking. The following is a fairly longwinded account of my life's reading journey so far — feel free to skip it, I'll try to be more succinct in future posts.

My mother has always described me as a big reader, always with a book, always reading something. For the most part I agree with her, but I'm also a relatively slow reader (I think, I've never definitively tested my wpm reading speed), and I've had lulls, and great chasms of readinglessness, throughout my life. To be fair, many of the lulls or pauses or dragged out perusals have occurred whilst I've been studying, either in school or university, and although I read a lot for those courses, the reading involved was of the kind that was extra slow, and always, always, put me to sleep. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my courses — mostly — and although the assigned texts were interesting in their own ways, they were rarely something to get excited about (with a few exceptions). Actually, I must now confess that many of the books I was assigned were never finished, or even started, during the time frames of their respective courses. I have since read and enjoyed some, and others are on my current reading list (someday, I will finish The Iliad!).

As a child, I remember frequenting my local library quite a bit. Writing this has brought back a memory of using it to research a project on St. Brigid - Irish princess-goddess-saint — when I was 8 or 9. I vaguely recall a small, tattered, dark green, hard-covered book from which I copied the interesting facts and folklore (my research/essay-writing hasn't changed much since then...). A couple of years after joining, I began to notice a pattern of not finishing the books I checked out, and not remembering their titles after a few months (the latter frustrated me more I think, because I had an otherwise excellent memory for a 7 year old), so I tended to only check out Asterix and Obelix and Horrible Histories volumes, and read the novels and storybooks that I already had at home (a faded pink-covered illustrated Grimm's Fairy Tales springs to mind) or that I bought. The first book I ever fell in love with was a Don Conroy book about an owl. I can still see it gliding through the night air and grasping up an unsuspecting field-mouse in its talons. Fabulous imagery!

In my teens I got more into fantasy. I adored the Old Kingdom Trilogy (there were only three when I read it and I haven't read the others in the series so to me it's still a trilogy) by Garth Nix. I felt empowered by the strong female protagonists and escaped into the vivid descriptions of landscapes and monsters (the Dead), magic, and hot, naked, petrified men. I remember almost gagging as one of the books described the movements of the Dead, and feeling like I (me, personally) had to turn it into a movie. I haven't. Yet. I also read a few Eoin Colfer books — the code along the bottom of the pages of the Artemis Fowl books were always fun — and dabbled in Discworld. Later, I got into some slightly pretentious, wordy, philosophical books like The Picture of Dorian Grey, which I think I understood, and Catch-22, which I did not, even though I wrote a review of it for the school magazine.

I took English in my first year at university and we were assigned an array of wonderful classic novels to read when it finally came to studying prose fiction, many of which I'm still working on. After an entire semester studying Wordsworth's "Daffodils" for one course and learning how to study, research, and write about it for another, one would think one would be dying to get one's teeth to some variety. However, perhaps irrevocably bored with the course, discouraged by the difference in my first semester grades between English and my other subjects, or as a consequence of struggling to adapt to college life, I ended up reading the bare minimum: Pride and Prejudice and *some* of Joyce's Dubliners. While I immensely enjoyed reading, and even studying and writing about these books, I must say I enjoyed re-reading Dubliners last year, and re-watching the BBC and movie adaptations of Pride and Prejudice far more.

The course did introduce me to titles I probably wouldn't have picked up as soon but am glad I did — Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, among others I'm looking forward to — and it certainly encouraged my love of books. My other subjects did as well, of course. I picked up Fiche Blian ag Fás for my one of my Irish courses and still haven't put it down, largely because I'm taking an age to read it. One of my Bibstudz (Masters in Biblical Studies) lecturers assigned The Iliad as one of our *weekly* reading and I'm still working on that one, too (he did acknowledge that that was a slightly ridiculous expectation).

Since finishing my Masters, and subsequently deciding that maybe I should take a wee break from formal education for at least a few years I have been making more of a conscious effort to read more, both in terms of volume of books, and variety. I don't think I've ever read more than 4 or 5 books in a year until recently. In 2015, while on an internship with TG4 in the back arse of nowhere, I managed around 5 or 6. One was Baudolino by Umberto Eco, which although fantastical, interesting, and thought-provoking, took at least three months for me to get through. Another was The Road by Cormac McCarthy, which I read in two sittings, in roughly 7 hours. By way of a harrowing journey, through poetic prose, beautifully bleak and vivid imagery and description, panic and *a lot* of tears, it quickly became my (current) favourite book.

Now, when I say a lot of tears I mean A LOT. After beginning to weep about 50 pages in (if you've read it you'll know the point I'm referring to), and continuing to cry constantly for the rest of the Sunday afternoon I had chosen to start reading it, I hadn't quite finished it by the time I had to go to sleep. Since I had only roughly 50 pages left, had read the rest of it pretty quickly, and it wasn't very busy in the office that morning — and since I had decided that I absolutely could not wait 8 hours until I got home, or even the 4 hours until lunch — I decided that I could hide in the library and finish it before any pressing work came up. So I did. And I bawled my eyes out for those last 50 pages. I would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for that pesky colleague. He didn't say anything but he definitely saw me crying, with my puffy red eyes and my sniffling. I just hope he saw the book and didn't think I was in there crying because I was upset for a real-life reason (I'm sure he would have offered assistance if that were the case, he seemed like a nice guy).

Last year, I blew my personal reading record out of the water. I read 14 books, including another Eco tome, and I enjoyed most of them. Of course I had to read Brooklyn and Room (otherwise how was I ever going to be able to watch the films) and both were fantastic. I have to say though, I really struggled to get into Brooklyn at first, but for an unusual reason. I started reading it the December before around the time the film came out here, or just before that. I read the first 20 or 50 pages and while I liked it, it made me slightly uncomfortable. I felt like Eilis, the protagonist, was very much like me. Too much like me. Not in the sense that she possessed those traits which I admire in myself (we all like to identify with a protagonist by relating to those aspects of their personality which drive the story, or by seeing in them someone we would one day like to become, or be like), nor was it in the sense that I think a lot of people might identify with the not so desirable characteristics of someone like Holden Caulfield (he is a little gobshite, really), but know that we're probably not quite that bad. Rather it was that, in those aspects of her personality that drove the first part of the book mostly strongly — her reticence, her thinly veiled anxiety — I saw a mirror image that I didn't see changing any time soon. I think it may have irked me even more as she did begin to transform, that I was not changing in step with her.

A friend of mine, who hasn't read the book, but saw the film and did a review of it for his local radio station, mentioned to me that he had seen someone who reminded him of me in the cinema. I flirtatiously replied "Was she pretty?" Of course he clarified that it was more a personality reminiscence and that the girl was on the screen, not in the audience. I knew who he was talking about. I finished the book shortly after Christmas last year and eventually watched the film. To me, book-Eilis is more similar to me than film-Eilis, but it's interesting to see how I may seem to other people.

I'm not really sure why I've given you my entire reading history but I guess that brings me to roughly to beginning of 2016. I don't want to make this post any longer than it already is, so I'll fill you in on what I read during the rest of last year in a future post.

I'd like to use this blog as somewhere to talk about books I've read and want to read — I aim to read 24 books this year, which in comparison to other book-bloggers and -tubers is pretty modest — books I love and didn't, and somewhere to share my thoughts on some of my other bookish interests like languages, Irish history and mythology, movies and TV, photography, the Internet, adventures and more (I know, I'm really carving a niche here).

If you've read this far I'd love if you stay and explore more, say hi, and most importantly, give me your recommendations on books and blogs I should read, movies, TV shows, and YouTube channels I should watch, and anything else you think I should know about.

My plan for the time being is to produce one main post per week, so be sure to follow me and come back next week! (Keep an eye out for random bonus posts! — No promises there though ;) )

Thanks for reading

Edel

#booklr #reading #introduction #hello #mine #bookworm #bookblogger #book photography #books #booklover #bookblog #books and libraries #bookish #booknerd #book addict #lit #literature

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