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rrazor · 3 years

Text

positions | m. issei

tags: fluff, mildly suggestive content

issei never knew how much he loved touching you until he was granted unconditional permission to do so. he thought he was relatively independent and someone who didn’t need as much reassurance or physical affection compared to other guys around him, like oikawa and hanamaki or even iwaizumi.

he thought he’d be fine, satisfied, content with just having you sit next to him or holding your hand or just being near you.

he thought wrong.

but he’s okay with that—you always indulged him after all, more than happy to have him close. your face lights up in a way that’s so adorable it pains him and has his fingers itching for contact.

he toys with the edge of your hoodie, watching your in-game character dash about. turning his head, he dips it into the crook of your neck, closing his eyes. his arms automatically tighten around you as he noses into the skin there.

“‘sei, you bored?”

he mumbles his “no” into your skin, smelling clean and cottony from your shower. his legs tangle with yours underneath the blankets. the side of his right foot comes up to brush against your bare calf and he begins to wish he wore shorts instead.

you hum, fingers tapping away at the screen while his slide up under your hoodie. you glance down at them before looking back to your screen again. issei grins happily behind you, gently roaming his hands across your stomach and up to cup your boobs. your skin is soft, recently moisturized. you talked about how you bought a new one, how it was “natural” and made your skin feel like velvet. he agrees, roaming his hands around and taking in all your dips and curves.

“hey!” you squeal. “i’m fighting!”

he chuckles, kissing your cheek. “and you’re gonna lose if you don’t focus.”

you huff, but to his delight, don’t tell him to stop so he lets you grumble, snickering like the cat who got the cream.

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

he wakes up to a delirious fog, overheated and chilled to the bone. bringing his hand up to rub at his eyes, he blinks through the darkness of his room, slowly extending an arm to his phone on his nightstand.

5:37pm.

“nii-chan… room… dinner.”

he hears footsteps get closer to his door. a short series of knocks.

“issei?” your voice is soft. “are you awake?”

“yes,” he tries to say, but it comes out a rasp, too quiet. he wonders why you’re here anyways, on a school night when there’s a math exam tomorrow. an exam he hopes he’ll pass given the state he’s in.

the door opens gently, allowing the soft yellow light from the hallway into his room. you walk in, hands carrying a tray. he hears the china knock into each other.

“oh, you’re awake.”

he nods, watching you set down everything on his nightstand before putting a hand over his forehead. the steam of the mug rises and already, he can feel how dry his mouth is.

“how’re you feeling?”

he clears his throat, wincing at the amount of phlegm he’s forced to clear out. you frown, if your down turned eyebrows are anything to go by. he can’t see the rest of your pretty face behind your mask.

“been better,” he croaks.

you huff out a laugh. “got enough energy for your meds?”

he nods, sitting up just enough to make it easy to wash the pills down with water before he slumps back into bed.

“are you hungry?” you ask, sitting down at the edge of his bed.

he shakes his head, letting you touch his forehead again.

“tired? wanna go back to sleep?”

he hums noncommittally, bringing his hand up to hold onto your wrist. you run your fingers through his soft curls, making him shiver.

“go to sleep,” you whisper.

he shakes his head, pulling you hard enough that you fall over him in surprise. he wraps his arms around your torso, burying his face in your chest.

“hey,” you chide, resting on your elbows above him. “you need to rest.”

he nuzzles into your shirt, relishing in having you close. the smooth, cool cotton of your shirt a welcome feeling on his overheated skin.

“missed you.”

straight through the heart.

“i missed you, too,” you whisper.

“stay a bit?” he pleas. he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t really help himself.

you bring the blankets up over yourself and his heart soars. he tucks himself on top of your chest, heart pounding in his chest as you pull your mask down to kiss his forehead. it’s tender, so comforting.

he falls asleep to the smell of cotton and camomile.

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

“babe.”

you hum, lips resting against his forehead. the clock on the bedside table reads 9:48pm in muted led.

he can’t see you in the dark, tucked in so close to you. issei’s resting beside you again. because he can’t ever get enough. because that’s where he belongs, hands on your skin, head tucked into your neck. he’s tall, might as well be two metres, two whole hundred centimetres but issei adores it when he gets to be the small spoon.

“d’y’ever think about the people who got infinity symbols tattooed or those moustaches—wonder how they’re doing?”

he can hear you, feel you laugh.

“no, i would’ve never if you didn’t bring it up,” you snort. “forgot about those dumb trends.”

he chuckles softly into your pajamas, slotting himself closer to you. he can’t explain it but an overwhelming surge of love blooms in his chest when you bring the blankets up to cover his shoulders.

you’ll probably end up on opposite sides of the bed in the morning, maybe even turned away from one another. s’fine, he usually ends up scooching over to you anyways. the rise and fall of your chest slows. it’s a bit too early for him to doze off—.

“g’night, ‘sei,” you mumble, kissing his hairline. “love you.”

he nods imperceptibly, kissing where your heart is. “night,” he whispers. “love you more.”

you mumble something into his hair. he draws infinity signs on your back.

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

today, he’s the big spoon—sorta. you’re on the train to the mitsui outlet park. it’s crowded, likely because of the kamen rider event going on. the rest of his family got there early to participate from start to finish.

it’s 11:58am and he’s caged you in between the train walls, a nice barricade from other passengers.

he’s zoning out when he hears your stomach growl.

“did you eat breakfast?��

you look up at him sheepishly. “no?”

he leans down to knock his forehead against yours, lips curling upward when you make a funny noise.

“i think i have candy in my pockets.”

his mom was giving them out in the morning after finding them in her purse. she handed him a few saying she got them from work.

“really?” your eyes glimmer as your hands reach into his pockets. your rummaging digs up two pieces of caramel. you unwrap them and feed one to him before pocketing the plastic.

“y’know i think i love you a little bit.” you grin, tongue swirling caramel goodness.

“yeah?” he snickers. “can’t blame you. i’m the ultimate catch—tall, funny, handsome.”

you roll your eyes, watching as he leans against the glass perpendicular to the doors. he stands closer when the doors on the opposite open. you raise your fists up in front of you. “i’ll have you catch these hands.”

“you could have just told me you wanted to hold hands, babe,” he chuckles, grabbing your right one and leaving a quick kiss on your forehead.

“don’t twist my words,” you grumble. your words are half spoken into his chest when he presses closer as a businessman squeezes by.

“oh, don’t worry.” he winks. “i know you and i have other plans for these hands later.”

you snort. “yeah, prayer.”

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

issei leans back against the couch, tilting over onto the arm to rest his head as he settles into his food coma.

“issei, come back and have some marinated duck!”

he groans a little, telling his grandmother that he’d be over soon. though he could eat a lot, the walls of his stomach could never defeat nor contain the power of his grandmother.

he decides it’s a great time to take a picture of his extended stomach and send it to you.

>> (05:47) babe >> (05:47) [img.png] >> (05:48) i’m expecting

>> (05:51) what the Hell >> (05:52) tw: mpreg

>> (05:53) did you just trigger warning me?

>> (05:53) yes

>> (05:54) damn >> (05:55) well I don’t need this negativity in my life >> (05:55) relationships r built on mutual respect >> (05:56) I’ve told u I love you what more do u want

>> (05:57) nudes

>> (05:57) 😔😢😢

>> (05:58) here’s one of mine >> (05:58) [img.png] >> (05:59) 🥰❤️❤️❤️

he’s never sat up so fast in his life.

“issei, are you coming?”

he bites his tongue. “yes, grandma.”

｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ

he comes back home to you two days later. he drops his bags on his bedroom floor and is about to run out the house to yours when his mom yells at him from the kitchen, “issei, sort through your things before you go!”

his shoulders slump and his head hangs but he gets it done and then he’s off.

>> (02:12) I’m home 😎😎💩 >> (02:12) wait ididnt mean the poo emoji

>> (02:13) welcome home 🌸

>> (02:13) Open the door

you do, though it takes you a millisecond too long but he’s not going to gripe too much about it. he engulfs you in a hug the moment he sees you and nearly knocks your cell phone onto the pavement. your arms automatically go behind him. swaying, you stay there, sun shining and leaving an orange tint behind when you close your eyes.

“welcome back, ‘sei.” you nuzzle your head into his. “how was your grandma’s?”

he mumbles something but doesn’t make any effort to move. not wanting to attract stares, you slowly waddle backwards to get him through the front door. on your third step back, he just picks you up and does it himself before closing the door behind him and returning to his original position.

“‘sei,” you drawl out. “my back huurts.”

he pulls back the slightest, eager to see you up close yet wanting to keep you close. “i just wanted to hug you, is that so bad?”

“bedroom” is all you say. he frowns but lets you take him there anyways.

you sit on the bed and pat the space next to you. he instead opts to kneel down on the floor and rest his head on your thighs.

“‘sei?”

“grandma’s was good,” he murmurs, eyes closing when you run a hand through his curls. “thank you for the nude.”

you laugh and he takes the chance to get up and pull you into bed with him. he rolls you on top of him, brushing your hair away and cupping your face to pull you in for a kiss. his tongue is warm, soft, lax and you melt into him, onto him.

“wait,” he mutters.

“hm? something wrong?” you lean up a bit.

“i left your food at my place. my grandma made you some.”

you hum, leaving kisses on his jaw and swinging your legs. “we can go over later. kiss me more, please?”

he grins. “thought you’d never ask, babe.”

#matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 3 years

Note

Hello!! Could you please write an scenario where Levi got hurt (not badly) during an expedition but he refuses to go to the nursery when they got back, making the reader worried for him so she asks if she can tend to his injuries and he lets them? (Maybe while she's at it they kiss if u want) Just some care for our Levi:)) Sorry if my English isn't good, it's not my main language

Yoooo that was a rather hot thing to write 👀👀👀👀 I hope you enjoy, also, don't worry about your English. In fact English isn't my first language either❤️

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Tags: fluffity fluff, smooches, slurpy hot smooches, yes I'm doing God's work, awkward Levi brrr

The Moon Is Full, I Guess

It was outdated at this point. Your hand clenched in a fist probing onto the dark mahogany door, the beating of your heart that throbbed inside your chest as the though of the person on the other side of the wall swirled through your mind, your ratched breaths, gulped by the lump in your throat, everything was tiring, dull.

The feeling was embarrassing and overwhelming. They way it overtook you, they way it threw you off tracks at his mere presence was causing anger to dwell in the pits of your stomach. But even if you had to look past that, you couldn't get over yourself for wanting to be of help.

It was an egoistical act before it was a selfless one. You wanted to be the first to reach out to him, you wished to be the only one to help him and you felt disgusted with yourself that your twisted brain created scenarios in which Levi felt enamored by your generosity. But love did that to you. And even if you despairately wanted to fight it, you couldn't realistically pick a fight a feeling.

Because if you could, love would have gotten your fists.

"State your name business."

"It's (y/n)." You puckered your lips as your name sourly slipped out of your mouth.

There wasn't anything that didn't plainly scream mechanical and awkward as Levi's grumpy voice ordered you to state your name and business and you anathematized it, cursing softly under your breath as your shagged, hardened palm reached for the door handle upon hearing the familiar grunt of approval to your request. That was it. The small victory of your ego dwelled inside you, poisoning the spit under your tongue.

You panicked, only momentarily, and only at the thought of a sour breath that tingled on the top of your tongue. Your eyes widened below puckered eyebrows as your mind repeatedly alarmed you of the bitter taste inside your mouth canal. Your cool though wasn't bugged further, with a stern inhale you composed your weaker side in the binds of your fond chest.

"Levi."

You stuck your palms to the door, bum extended on them as you leaned with your back on the wood, your goal to simply shut the door tenderly achieved as you heard the tiny click of the handle. It was your footstep that was heard next, the heel of your boot that clashed with the mahogany tile overpowered Levi's hiss of your name. You simply let your footing roll naturally in trying to approach him, although your lungs, agreeing with the part of your brain that accused you of being a rotting egoist, protested.

"Sit." He hissed and your breath hiccuped.

"No, Levi, I won't." Refusing to sit on the loveseat by his desk you set your fiery gaze onto him. "In fact, I'm not here for any reason you'd like to hear."

The movement of Levi's orbs was adorned with a short blink of his eyelids. It caused you to bite the side of your top lip harshly but your heart was already heaping at the sight by the time you felt your canines dig into the soft piece of flesh. You figured Levi didn't notice, whereas it was usual for him to pick up on any reluctancy in your antics, it seemed as if the pain of his injury overpowered his mind. And somehow, in some twisted way, you were thankful for that.

It meant you couldn't really degrade yourself more to him.

"Why didn't you line up for the infirmary when we arrived? You got injured!" You pouted, (e/c) eyes burning brightly into his.

"There were too many who were heavily injured and needed immediate help. My minor injury is not something anyone should be bothered by, probably a shitty broken rib, I'll be fine if I lay on the low for a while." Levi sighed and kept his voice low as he spoke to you calmly.

He averted his gaze off of you for a moment, his own foot started tapping obnoxiously without any certain rhythm on the floor beneath him. In a nervous movement he run his hand through his hair. There was sulk written on his face after he licked his lips. In an attempt to mask his pain, he even bit his own lip, mimicking your previous actions. Whether you considered this a symbolism or not, was completely up to you.

"You're not serious."

"I'm shit serious."

"I figured you'd deny anything actually, but," you sighed "can you at least let me tend to you?"

You were hesitant as you extended your arm to him, (e/c) eyes meeting his for the upteenth time in such a short period of time. There was no denying; the confidence it took for anyone to handle Levi like was something you didn't lack of, you could blame that for having spent half of your life with him in the underground but your stubbornness made up for that abomination of self respect you had. Thus yet, when you were definitely sure you'd have to pull your empty hand back to your embrassed self his palm confidently clasped over yours and your stubborn stomach immediately started churning in a mixture of emotions.

In only a matter of seconds you felt your head drifting and Levi's gaze somewhat softened as it landed on your linked palms, the man finally deciding to balance his weight between his foot and your grip. You forced your strength to gather on your hand to support him as he slowly got up, never letting his hand go off his side.

Levi's boot missed numerous steps as you took the task of carrying him onto yourself and grunts of pain filled the air with every marching you made towards his private quarter. The small chamber smelled incredibly strong of lemon and vinegar, but you chose to ignore it with a scrunch of your nose. You knew what it meant; Levi had pushed himself to meticulously clean the room in the early morning before the expedition began, probably due to his immense amount of stress and you were in no place to bring it to his attention right now. You shouldn't even try to interfere with anything else other than tending to his injury.

But that tiny little day dreamer in your head refused to let you get through with what you had in mind.

Setting him onto the edge of his bed, you clapped your hands on his thighs in a silent instruction for him to stay put. Levi simply bored his eyes into yours, watching as you bucked on your knees in order to straighten your posture and then marching straight to his dresser. You stopped absurdly, seemingly puzzled as you balanced your weight on your right leg, popping on your hip at the process.

His gunmetal gaze was nervously averted at the sight and his cheeks stung as if a thousand needles were punched through his skin; he felt noticably guilty and vague when he caught himself looking at you in such way. It was definitely something he could manage to hide well, he had figured that much at least, because he didn't want to cause anything awkward to inflict between the two of you.

"Where do you usually keep gauze and bandages?" You inquired, throwing your head over your shoulder to look over to his direction.

"In my underwear drawer, top right corner." As Levi spoke, you puckered your lips, despairate to turn your hot head away from him, setting your goal to find the medical supplies you needed to tend to him.

Turning around in triumph, you suppressed a smug smile from spreading on your face as you held the bundle of bandage tightly in your hand. Levi shot you another bored look followed by a sigh as he pushed his lips in a thin line. You couldn't figure if he seemed disappointed in your actions or he was just as bugged as he'd be most of the time, and your stomach punched the insides of your torso in quick anxiety.

Sitting next to Levi on the bed did nothing to stop your coiling stomach, if anything, it sent your whole body in churning fury. You felt miserable and vague, bringing yourself in this very position, but you couldn't simply resent it in the last moment, it probably would make things look worse for you.

Nevertheless, you let out a sigh and avoided his look as you brought your hands on top of his shoulders, quickly slipping them on the inside of his camel leather jacket and sliding them down his shoulders in order to push the piece of clothing away from him to save him from excessive movements. Levi darted his chin away from your direction as not to have his head collide with yours and you almost let out a hitched breath at that.

"Wait," Levi said as you tagged on the collar of his button down shirt. "I have broken rib, bandaging me up won't do any good."

Your head dropped when he finished speaking, your gut burning in the somehow gory defeat of your ego. You sweared under your breath and onto his clothed collarbone, cussing your silly clouded brain for not even considering his actual injury. Your lungs demanded to punish you by refusing to be satisfied with any oxygen you would try to fill them with and you knew you deserved it for being so engrossed with the thought of taking care of him instead of actually doing so.

"You good, brat?"

"Yeah, I- I'm just stupid aren't I?" You spoke, lifting your chin up to meet with his gaze.

"Once a moron, always a moron." He confirmed, almost playfully.

You fondly inspected the skin on his face and neck, trying to worry your guilty eyes away from his; you felt as if he was reading you like an open book, which he could easily do, yet your chest was dwelled with too much pride to allow him to speak any other word of concern.

Pushing any poisonous thought to the back of your brain you demandingly bit on your lip and pulled a few inches away, just enough so you could directly look into him. With another look at his gunmetal eyes you stopped your next breath from exiting your body, feeling your heart throb inside your whole body. With trembling hands you searched for his, engulfing his short calloused fingers into your palms almost immediately upon your blind discovery.

It was now or never.

Yet, you barely spoke. The inability to utter even the most incoherent sounds was conquering your body, probing you to duel with it in any case you wanted to expose the nature of your feelings. Nevertheless, you stomped your foot on the mahogany floor and furrowed your brows dangerously before you parted your lips. Though the line you chose to utter was supposed to be nothing more than an internal thought.

"Thinking of you is a poison I drink often."

"You into poetry yet or what (y/n)?" Levi blinked his eyes boringly into yours as he spoke, never flinching for even a mere second.

You knew, under any other circumstance you would have burst laughing in his casual sarcasm, but as all air exited the room, you weren't sure you could bring yourself to make another sound.

"The moon is full, I guess," Levi sighed, pulling his hands to his face, causing yours -thst never loosened their grip on him- to tag along. Your pointed and middle fingers delicately hung from the space between his thumb and his face, lingering just enough to make your presence still know to him. "I'm a lost cause. If you're looking for romance that is. That's as much as I can do."

Nervously looking back and forth you contemplated on the meaning of his words for a couple of moments, your heart churning as your mind hazed over every single syllabus he had just spoken.

Reluctantly, and only when you made up your mind, your hands came to loosely cup the sides of his sharp face while the gaze you were set to spared on his lips was hesitant and lingering. Your thumb idled with his cheek in soothingly soft circles as your breaths paced back and forth, forming uneven masses of fog inside the frozen room. Yet despite the jawbreaking cold that smothered the two of you in the well known piercing manner, in this very moment everything around you seemed to have gone extinct. Time was slowing down, just for the two of you.

You didn't know what pushed you to act upon that little flicker in your heart, but your head was immediately sent in vertigo as you felt his pointed button nose bump into yours. Nothing could break that moment, nothing could rip you off him now that your lips were hovering dangerously over his. With your trembling hands you pulled him closer, hoping on closing the gab between the two of you.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you steadily engulfed his bottom lip with your own mouth; you moved mellowy, painfully slow as you tried to warm him up, eliciting occasional whines to come out of your own self. It was painful and overally miserable to think about how you managed to drag the actions of your lips against his but your knees were weak with every passing second as you savored his taste.

There wasn't another way to make Levi understand how this over the border peck ignited every flame you had inside of you, but you wished the looked you spared him as you parted could do the job. His gaze was furiously set on you, eyes blinking hard into yours as if trying to predict your very next move. You couldn't simply leave him hanging; there was hunger in his eyes, you recognised as much because you knew him so damn well, thus as if on cue you pressed your lips to his, briefly.

And then you did it again.

And again.

And once more.

And then, before you could repeat the -now familiar- peck you felt his own hands cup the back of your head and in furious movements you were pulled into him, lips colliding and teeth clashing against eachother. It wasn't a serene kiss just like the ones you shared before, this one was sloppy and raw, it took all the air out of your chest and it made you unable to try and seek for oxygen.

Your head was prohibited from moving freely, yet you were mostly dominating over the kiss. With a speactacularly quick wit you sucked on his lips roughly, passionately enough to make him gasp more than a few times. Pulling away from each other wasn't an option -no- you weren't going to take such dispicable chance, you simply tagged on his shagged raven locks before daring to dart the tip of your tongue out of the crevice of your own mouth.

Levi accepted it eagerly, sending his own tongue to welcome yours inside his mouth, occasionally pressing it into his pallette before guiding it on the underside of your tongue. You couldn't know, but he wished your tongue was longer, long enough to reach deeper, simply because he needed it to. There was no explainatiom as to why he enjoyed such sloppy, saliva dripping kiss, but the way you scouted every single inch of his mouth was exciting to a point of no return.

It was only after letting you win over his mouth completely that he pulled back, his hands finally letting go of their grip on the back of head. You stayed in your position, however unable to move, unable to speak, unable to find enough oxygen to fill your lungs with.

"That much.. Sure I can do." Levi coughed.

You simply moved your orbs towards him, wide in despair and surprised by his unmatched sarcasm. Out of breath and flustered enough to ignore the fact that your brain had completely shut off, you hung your head lower before muttering something about having to bring him a cool pad for his injury. Now, you really needed to tend to him in order to repeat that again.

You couldn't help the enchanted smile that masked your face as your finger grazed over your lip, making sure to mesmerize the tingling sensation that boiled inside your swollen pieces of flesh.

Taglist go off 👉🏻👈🏻: @sasageyowrites (love you thanks for reading half of this hshshshhs and telling me it's good) @nobody-knows-anymore (full credit for the line you sent me to include my dear) @ladyofpandemonium @ackermans-freedom-inc @hawkssnugget @berrijam @callmepromise @alrightberries still am I forgetting anyone :( pls tell me if I forgot you, I only have one brain

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman #levi #levi attack on titan #captain levi #aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader #aot x reader #snk imagines #aot imagine #aot season 4 #snk season 4

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pop-goes-the-sneasel · 3 years

Note

Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Arceus?

Arceus!!!! The Original One!

Arceus is a pretty big deal. According to legends – or at least the legends of Sinnoh – Arceus is responsible for the creation of the entire pokemon world, and potentially the entire universe. Mythology was a heavy theme of the Sinnoh games, as was the continual conceptual power creep of Legendary pokemon. The version mascots of Diamond and Pearl – Dialga and Palkia – respectively represent time and space with reality-warping powers to match. Arceus, in turn, is essentially the ultimate culmination of this power creep – an almighty creator god hatched in a void before the universe existed. Again, just according to legend.

That said, the only creation-y thing Arceus was ever shown to do was manifest an egg containing Dialga, Palkia, or Giratina in HGSS as part of a special event. This is probably the means it created the universe with – it just made Dialga and Palkia then they did all the actual creative stuff. This event was also accompanied by a very surreal cutscene featuring real-life photographs of space, landscapes, cities, and even blood cells, along with some arcane symbols. Frankly the sheer insanity of this cutscene is probably the strongest argument for Arceus being a legitimate godlike being. There has never been anything quite as jarringly strange in this franchise before or since.

Another question Arceus raises is how many are there, exactly? Legendary and Mythical pokemon are both established as incredibly rare, but not even the human-modified Mewtwo and Genesect are treated as truly one-of-a-kind. As such, I highly doubt Arceus has just one sole member of its species. The dex entries make reference to how it shaped the universe with its “1,000 arms”, which is obviously a peculiar statement given Arceus has no visible arms at all. My theory is that the term “arm” is being used metaphorically here – the universe was actually created by 1,000 different individual Arceus. Assuming it did create the universe, I mean. And of course, that might not be an exact number.

Anyway, as a Mythical pokemon, Arceus historically isn’t available through normal means, instead being distributed through special real-world events. Notably, it was one of several Mythical and Legendary pokemon of the era intended to be obtained through capture, with Arceus spawning in a special location atop Mt. Coronet known as the Hall of Origin. The Hall of Origin would be accessed using the Azure Flute (or Heaven Flute, in Japan) – an item distributed by the associated event. Unfortunately, though, the Azure Flute event never actually materialized, apparently because Game Freak believed it would be “too confusing” for players to use. Instead, Arceus was just given to the player directly without any special fanfare, and this became the norm for almost all Mythical pokemon thereafter. Still, the Azure Flute and Hall of Origin maintained a certain mystique, especially due to their lack of official use.

To represent Arceus’s omnipotent nature, it has an ability known as Multitype. Multitype allows Arceus to change its type based on what elemental Plate it holds, with one Plate for every type besides Normal (Arceus’s default type). The Plates bear engravings describing their legend, each supposedly being a shard of the universe left over from its creation. Each different type yields a slightly different appearance, usually changing the yellow components of Arceus’s design and sometimes the gray parts as well, generally corresponding to the main thematic color of each type. Dragon is a notable exception, as rather than using the usual color of indigo, Dragon Arceus uses a dark green and purple. Arceus also bears a signature move known as Judgement, which changes its type to match Arceus’s current form.

While the other forms are sometimes more aesthetically interesting, it’s the Normal-type Arceus that really best-captures the intended vibes of the pokemon. The yellow and white combo gives off a certain “holy” appearance. Paired with the moves “Judgement” and “Punishment”, Arceus seems to particularly allude to Abrahamic conceptions of God, though thankfully it does so in a decidedly unique way. Although the basic silhouette of Arceus is a rather “normal” animal, perhaps most resembling an alpaca, but its specific features remarkably uncanny. Its legs end in footless points, its stomach is oddly engorged, and its body is covered in peculiar points and knobs. Its face is also wholly unnatural, with no clearly defined features beyond its colorful eyes and green circles below them that almost evoke another pair of eyes. The ring around its body seems intended to represent a halo, but does so in a way I’ve never seen on anything else. Arceus definitely feels “godly”, whether it’s truly a god or not.

Appropriate for a god, Arceus has a history of breaking some established conventions of the TCG as well. Its original appearance in the eponymous Arceus set had an Arceus card corresponding to every type in the TCG, with a special Arceus-specific ruling that you can have as many Arceus cards in your deck as you want, rather than being limited to four. These cards weren’t actually that great, though. It wasn’t til relatively recently that Arceus got a card truly appropriate for a deity: a Tag Team card alongside Dialga and Palkia. Their GX attack, Altered Creation GX, allows them to do more damage to your opponent for the rest of the game in addition to taking an additional prize card for every pokemon you knock out. This is anunprecedented degree of power, and the ADP archetype has become a format-shaping force.

Arceus’s shiny is kinda mediocre. It replaces the white with a creamy yellow, clashing horribly with the yellow accents of its Normal form and generally being kinda hit-or-miss with the other forms. Shown here is the shiny variant of Arceus’s Fairy form, which I chose to showcase because the Fairy form isn’t shown above and because it’s probably my favorite of the bunch. It actually looks pretty alright with the yellow body, thankfully.

Overall, Arceus really isn’t my personal style, but I don’t dislike it. I don’t think the franchise really needed an all-powerful creator god, but I do think Arceus is a pretty cool one. Hopefully Legends: Arceus does something cool with it.

The number of footprints Arceus's 1,000 arms leave in the sand/10

#pokemon #pkmn #swsh #pokemon reviews #arceus #normal type #also the other types #mythical #legendary #sinnoh #gen 4

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incoherentbabblings · 3 years

Note

Hi!

I love your content, your love for TimSteph, and I was actually going to ask what you love so much about them. I, for extra credit for English, decided to write an analysis of Stephanie (and why I love her so much), but I just got into comics, and cannot really put my feelings for her in words ... which is odd, considering how much I love her and writing. Also, I was going to do a section on why TimSteph is narrative genius, and I needed help elaborating on that too.

Could you help me out, please? Thanks!

(I feel the need to mention that I have read quite a lot of comics with Stephanie in them, though not all. I'm not much of a comic book fan, but I'm really interested in the Batfamily!)

I'll be very happy to write out bullet points that you could talk about, and feel free to go through my ask and I'll babble/TimSteph meta tags for anything that you think may be worth discussing in your own words - there's like four or so years of stuff there to spark your brain.

HOWEVER!!!! Keep in mind though that much of what I have written is half based on textual evidence and half me just writing what I like/wish would crop up in canon.

For example, yes I like to draw comparisons between Tim being cold and Steph being warm, moon and sun and so on, but there's genuinely nothing in text to hint as this being an actual character trait or symbolism. If anything Tim's stated to be warm several times, more than Steph.

So, and I am sorry to be so blunt, but if I take your request in bad faith for a moment, don't use either directly or indirectly what I've written for your work. Especially without actually going and reading the arcs I talk about. A lot of the time it doesn't hold up under genuine textual scrutiny, and we want to be good academics here! There's Death of the Author and then there's me making crap up because I want to include it in a fanfic. Not the same thing! My blog is called IncoherentBabblings for a reason after all!

I will therefore say this: If you want to write about Steph as a character, I would use the below video as a point of reference. Using the below, you can then go into why she resonates with you the way she does, or why her relationship with Tim is so interesting to you.

youtube

If I were you: focus on her dynamic character development: cynical to idealistic. And use three points in her publication history to do this: her introduction in Detective Comics, War Games, and Batgirl. I am sorry to recommend War Games as something to read but it is important to her character. Use the Stephanie Brown Wiki to help!

That lends itself to a biography of her character, a look at her motivations and values, her role within the batfam, and so on. You can also use this to make comparisons with her peers, specifically Tim moving in the exact opposite direction development wise; Babs and Cass in their approaches to Batgirl; and the other Robins through her similar character progression as Dick, which in turn allows her to be a good mentor to Damian, and finally how her character arc runs perpendicular to Jason's. Does that make sense?

Anyway, let's get going! If I were to write an academic piece on Stephanie, these are the main points I would work through. In other words, this is what I would do. You probably will not need nor want to go into this level of depth, and you will want to make it much more personal about why she resonates with you, which may be different to why I love her. So don't worry about touching base with all of them. This is like... 10,000 word essay level stuff. And don't get overwhelmed. I've taken your request far too seriously is all.

Again, I can't write it for you! You gotta do the reading and writing I'm afraid.

...But I still wrote 1,500 words anyway. Gosh darnnit.

Steph’s Character Development

Always keep three points in her character history in mind – her aged 14/15 in her introductory arc in Detective Comics, her aged 16 in War Games, and her aged 18/19 in her Batgirl run.

How does she change? How does she grow as a character? What events caused these changes? Compare that angry 14-year-old trying to choke her father, to the 19-year-old crying happily on the roof. A lot happened between those two points! Outline the main plot beats.

Steph's Role as a Batfam Character:

Protagonist or Antagonist: Supporting Protagonist

Static or Dynamic: Dynamic (think of her character development - angry to alturistic; she softens in her life outlook and in the way she treats others as the years go by)

Minor or Major: Minor and we all mourn that fact :(

Foil or Symbolic: A foil to Tim Drake (and to a lesser extent the other Robins, specifically Jason Todd)

Importance of the character/Position in Society: Fourth Robin, third Batgirl, own superhero. Tim's girlfriend, Cassandra's best friend, one of many of Bruce's 'children'. Initially introduced just as a one-off character for a small arc in Detective Comics, brought back with the intention of being a supporting character to Tim Drake, and eventual love interest. Eventually gained enough popularity on her own terms to support her own solo comic, but has since returned to a supporting role. The character she supports, at the end of the day, is Bruce Wayne.

Motivation

What influences their decisions?: Stephanie's dynamic characterisation comes in here. Compare her motivations during her introductory arc, versus why she does what she does in War Games, versus why she dresses up at Batgirl - Stopping her father, getting Batman's approval, need for redemption.

What do they value?: Values emotional openness, vulnerability, second/third/fourth chances.

Goals/Hopes/Dreams: No long term goals/hopes/dreams in the domestic sense... Continue to be vigilante. Be respected by her peers. Continue to improve self worth through deeds. Graduate college?

What are their views: Views the justice system and police as corrupt, but still trusts in the inherent goodness of people. Focus is usually on the individual, rather than societal or structural.

Actions

Behaviour, Attitudes, Impact on Story and other Characters, Internal Struggle (Wants versus Needs): This is why I think you are best to look at three points in her story - Intro Arc, War Games, Batgirl. Focus on her Wants versus Needs - Steph's take a very long time to align, but they finally do in Batgirl.

Character development is usually driven by the conflict between what a character wants. The plot forces them normally to confront the fact that what they want is not gonna work out, and what they needed instead takes priority.

Everything usually goes tits up for Steph when she is in the driver's seat of the narrative because what she wants from a situation is rarely what she actually needs to happen. See every time she seeks Bruce's approval. She wants it. She absolutely does not need it. And only as Batgirl do we get that acknowledgement, which coincides with her being at the healthiest point in her life emotionally. Look at what she wants as Spoiler during her introductory arc, as Robin/Spoiler during War Games, and then as Batgirl. Why is she so unhappy in the former two? Why have her wants finally aligned with her needs with her time as Batgirl?

Character Traits

Personality: Cynical but perky. Sardonic but sincere. Think about how she changes over the time. This can be attributed to her different writers, but - for example - is there a universe reason for why Batgirl Stephanie is so much more socially awkward than Spoiler Stephanie?

Strengths & Weaknesses: Link these two together because Steph is a very good example where her strengths as a character can simultaneously be a weakness. Her determination can lead to her making ill conceived decisions. Her empathy can lead to her putting her trust in the wrong people. Her forgiving nature can lead to her being taken advantage of. Her temper, whilst landing her in hot water, can also just as often get her out of it.

Relationships

How do they interact with others: Focus on which characters pop up in all three arcs – Steph and her parents; Steph and Bruce; Steph and Tim. I am chucking Cass out the window here, sorry Cass, but if you’re focusing on these three arcs, Cass doesn’t really fit in.

How others view them: Conditional love/affection from her father and Bruce. Unconditional love/affection from Tim and her mother (though both are not without serious pitfalls).

How they view others: Stephanie has explicitly never loved her father. She has also never explicitly hated him either. What does that say about her? Look at her changing closeness with her mother. What changed between them, and again, what does that say about Stephanie? Crystal got sober, supported Stephanie through her pregnancy, Arthur was removed from their lives, Stephanie makes a conscious effort to be closer to her after returning ‘from the dead’, though continues to lie consistently to her. Stephanie admires Bruce, whilst also right from the get go insisting she does not answer to him. She never quite lets go of wanting that approval.

How does society view them: Her outsider role within the Batfam. She never quite belongs, and at points her closest relationships are actively discouraged from seeing her. Which Tim specifically never entertains. This outsider nature bites literally everyone in the butt during War Games. Her outsider status is still in place by the time Batgirl concludes, due to its largely self-contained nature as a book, but this is less being an outsider more having earned to right to operate independently. Trust has been given and earned.

Dialogue

What does she say and how: A teenage girl in New Jersey from a working class background has a very distinct voice. She does not mince words, nor does she hide what she is feeling. If she is happy, she will say so. If she is annoyed, she will say so. What she won’t do is ask for help when she needs it, due to her background formulating a need for her ‘to do things on her own’.

Think of famous/important Steph quotes from the three arcs I keep talking about – the excuse me if I don’t jump when you bark, the I really was part of the legend, the only variable you can control is yourself. These show how Steph views others and herself.

When I was writing I Would Have Loved You, I literally made a spreadsheet where I have picked out what I think are pertinent quotes from every New 52 issue featuring Tim or Steph along with a synopsis that explained what they were up to/what the main theme of the issue was. Not saying you should do the same because I’m just that goddamn anal when it comes to this sort of stuff, but the point is – look for quotes by/about Steph which highlight the above things we’ve talked about. You have thirty years to go through!

Author Intention

What purpose does this character serve?: A character that young female readers could get attached to – the every girl/girl next door archetype or a character that young boys could have a crush on – the kind of girl who’s into the same sort of stuff as you, I think Chuck Dixon once said of her, from her initial appearance. Fodder for Bruce and Tim’s man pain in War Games. Batgirl it’s a combination of filling the void for a female lead solo character in the batbooks, but also tonally taking on a much lighter and self-contained book that new readers could jump into very easily, directly compared to the more lore heavy Batman, Detective Comics, and Red Robin books.

What is the author trying to communicate: Steph’s character shows that determination can only get a person so far, a support system and doing things for the right reasons (again remember that want versus need argument) is the only way a person will genuinely succeed.

What is her main theme?: Balancing cynicism and idealism – doing acts for the right reasons, and discovering what these reasons actually are.

...

Is this even usable for anyone but myself? Possibly not!

Still... Go write! And good luck!

#ask and i'll babble #stephanie brown #tim drake #timsteph #dc #anon i am sorry if i misconstrued your intentions #but i hope if nothing else this helps you verbalise why you like steph and timsteph by extension #good luck for your writing!

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streets-in-paradise · 3 years

Text

Royal Treatment

Troy (2004) Reader Insert Fanfiction - Part 10

Word Count: + 9 K

Characters ( most mentioned) : Achilles, Mycenaean Princess!Reader, Helen, Patroclus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Menelaus.

Pairings: Achilles x Mycenaean Princess!Reader.

Warnings: Very light smutty undertones.

Summary: Since her last private encounter with Achilles left her with more doubts than certainties, the princess keeps trying to obtain a clear answer from him. During the celebrations, she comes up with an idea to test his interest.

Disclaimers: This was inspired by a mix of greek music ,various drum solos and improvisations of greek folk that I found on youtube and some mediterranean, egyptian and turkish music I have been listening to. Also, I want to apologise if part of this sucks. i’m still learning how to write some stuff and I don't know if this is as good as it was in my head when i pictured it.

Note: My use of the name Alexander here is only a reference. I know that’s how Paris was called in some versions of the myths and I’m only playing word games with that.

Tags: @yerevasunclair @mother-dearest-loves-me

The celebrations started with a short formal gathering in the throne room. The place was slowly getting crowder and the princess arrived later than usual but it wasn’t a concerning time range. Wordlessly, she returned to her spot alongside her father. She noticed the cup of wine he was holding and smiled to the pourer that remained close to him. The servant boy smiled back and the king looked at him like he was ready to order his execution. As a soft gesture of support against his bad mood, she holded his free hand. She knew that words of reassurance trying to explain herself or a convincing tale weren’t enough, so she tried something else. The sudden contact made him stare at her. He was still upset, she saw it in his eyes. Quickly, she changed the intention of her approach. Instead of acting like a caring daughter giving him reassurance, she showed the support of a loyal subdit. She kissed his knuckles and bowed her head in sign of respect, pretending to recognize his absolute authority over her. Agamemnon reacted positively, giving her a half smile that wasn’t exactly of approval but showed forgiveness. He was vainglorious about his self perceived but non existent mercy, appealing to that was more effective than trying to show affection.

The obsequious flatterers of the king started to gather around them, since that part of the festivities was nothing but an excuse to formally celebrate himself. Inevitably, some of the praise fell upon her and she kept her attitude towards it pleasing and passive, avoiding smart remarks or destacable commentary. She wished she could be left alone with her friends, but she had to keep performing for a bit longer. Helen was close to her and right next to her husband, but the distance that implied was a real bother. They shared some complicit glances despite being under the watch of the brothers.

Using their unexpected presence as an excuse to flatter their own egos, both kings started to show off some of the treasures of the conquest presented as gifts for the ladies. Argos wasn’t sacked, there was no need for excessive violence because Achilles speeded up their surrender. Still, as it did for other cities, their submission implied some concessions. Agamemnon got the military control of the land and demanded a share on the treasures of the city. Since he didn’t have a queen, his daughter had to occupy the passive role in his acts of ostentation. She had a collection of jewelry that was entirely based on stolen relics from every city he conquered, having at least one for every place. That wasn’t going to be the exception. The acquired riches were everything he had to brag about after Achilles took the symbolic glory. Knowing that most of the presents must have heard about what the warrior demanded of her, it was also a good way to reinforce her royal magnificence and the image of his control over her. On that occasion, the commemorative object of the victory she got was a necklace.

The young women were the centre of attention, as luxury objects whose value was being increased. Menelaus was acting like a loveful husband to Helen while he filled her with gifts from his share of the spoils, his older brother almost looked like a sweet, prideful father. The ceremonialize praise was hypocrisy, but it was fun for both girls to see their despicable owners pretending to be caring. Fortunately for their exhausted selves, the last and most expectant arrival stole all the attention.

As always, Achilles showed up very late. He tended to skip the pointless ceremonies that weren’t about him and he liked to leave his public hanging. Eudorus and Patroclus entered the room at his right and left side, wondering what he was going to do next. Without minding the context or any appearances of propriety, he walked right to the front of the crowd. Once he found his spot to stay, he blatantly stared at the ladies and saluted them from afar with a smile. Before his entrance, Agamemnon was in the middle of a self complacent speech that he interrupted. The sight of such a simple act creating more distraction irritated him even more. The king tried to save words with him, but Achilles robbed him of the speech before he could carry on.

“ My apologies to the ladies, I almost miss their honors.” He simply commented. “ Quite a charming pair, very sweet. I hope they enjoy what my effort got for them.”

The women stared at each other.

“ It’s not my wish to offend you, brave Achilles, but I don’t depreciate my husband’s courage.” Helen replied with extreme politeness.

“ Father knows my taste in jewelry.” was the princess’s defense.” And he is a smart strategist and clever politician. The brightest conductor of the army, of course.” She smiled to the king, trying to look like a sweet praiser. “ Your alliance is a treasure we must cherish because your accomplishments together are an honor to us all.”

” You honored me, I’m doing the same. “ the myrmidon replied.

“ It was no bother, the glory is yours. Nobody questions that.” The princess gave him the most formal answer that occurred to her in the moment.

Trying to keep with the ceremonial tone, she created an immediate distraction to relieve the tension of the moment.

“ Can we all thank this man as he deserves? This is an historical day for the city. He is the first fully consecrated hero in the times of my father.”

To her exhortation, claps and cheers filled the precinct. After that, Agamemnon decided to put an end to the formalities. There was no way of making it about himself again, so he concluded it. The festivities continued in the banquet hall.

Helen tried to reach her niece so they could do the short walk there together, but her very pleased husband stumbed in their way. Unlike his brother, he was radiant of pride because of the fervent defense that his wife did of him. If he didn’t love Helen, at least he loved how she made him feel.

Agamemnon grabbed his daughter by the wrist before she could escape to their side. Holding hands for the appearances, the started a whispered argument.

“ This is your second mistake in a row. What do i have to do with you?” He reprimanded her.

“ I got away from that shameful situation in the most elegant way, that’s what I’m supposed to do. If i were a man, I would have punched him.” She lied.

“ If you were a man, I wouldn't need him.”

“ Do you think that you would have had your own Hector of Troy if I would have been your baby boy? Quit dreaming, father. This is what you have, I do my best to serve you.“

“ You call this serving me??”

“ Who do you think I was serving when I agreed to bathe him ? Do you think that I enjoyed being degraded into servant work for him ? ” She fakely complained. ” I hate his petty audacious attitude as much as you do, but I stand him because it is what I have to do. You don’t know how hard I’m trying for you.”

She released herself from his grab.

The banquet involved less tension because the informal ambient demanded less interaction between them. She had to sit next to her father and keep with the good behaviour but the distractions kept him too busy to keep bothering her. She remained silent most of the time, but she didn't mind.

Achilles and Ajax were the centre of attention. They had a toast in their honor and people started doing them all sorts of questions. Ajax looked a bit upset because the myrmidon stole what he perceived as his chance to get major glory. He was doing a relatively good act pretending not to care about Achilles's decisive role in the victory and she felt a bit bad for him. One of her very short interventions on the talking was an attempt to validate him, but Agamemnon used her comment as a startpoint for malicious comparisons against Achilles. Using his massive amount of knowledge on heroic tales, Patroclus solved the situation. He did a magnificent defense of both heroes, talking about the complementary balance of their best traits with examples of some of their past feats. His eloquence was impressive for someone of his age, as it was his audacity to argue with the king.

Helen was having the time of her life just by witnessing how Menelaus's nervousness was growing at every instant. It was very strange for her to see him like that, fearing that anything could trigger a suspicious response from his brother. He was having a small sample of the life of lies he forced her into and she loved it. The funniest aspect about the situation was that Patroclus maintained a respectful tone the entire time. He was polite in his corrections and Agamemnon would have been the one looking bad if he would have reacted harshly.

While hearing their argument, Achilles glanced at the royal ladies for an instant. He noticed a slight change in his cousin's attitude, a rush of confidence that he wasn't expecting him to display at least there. He started suspecting their involvement and it's possible partial influence on him. The women glanced back innocently and the three shared their prideful approbation.

Patroclus's shift on the conversation frustrated the king's intentions of turning one hero against the other. Ajax got his well deserved acknowledgement and the curious boy took his chance to do all sorts of specific questions to him, giving him a moment to shine without entering in disputes with Achilles.

Since her comment started the argument,the young myrmidon tried to engage the princess in his rambling. She wasn't versed in the technical aspects of combat, but she tried to remain as a curious listener. Ajax's point, supported by the boy, was to affirm that he was the strongest man in Greece while Achilles was the fastest. He was trying to impress his listeners with less known anecdotes referring to that quality. Achilles didn't bother in refuting him and he barely paid attention because he was amusing himself by subtly ruining the girl's focus on whatever he was telling. Imperceptible gestures, smirks or just staring at her for longer than necessary were enough to achieve it. Staying concentrated in the talk was impossible for her, but she managed the situation adecuately.

When the meal concluded and the dancing started, Ajax offered her to join the festivities with him. She declined in favor of staying as Helen's companion. Ereny asked the princess's permission to be released from her daily duties and, once it was given to her, both handmaids got it. They knew that the young girl was going for the myrmidon captain and they wished her good luck.

The queen was left once more to witness how her husband chased the concubines. She didn't love him nor cared for what he did with them, but the blatant display was humiliating. She struggled to keep the appearances of love between them, but he made it harder everyday. The prideful public aspect of his cheating upsetted her because it was an insult to her pride as a woman. Her niece stayed with her, promising her that they would only have to wait until the brothers would leave the room with their respective companies.

She was feeling slightly disencouraged as well. That was a great time to lose herself in the dispersion of people, but there were too many stares following Achilles and she would never get there unnoticed. An insane amount of women were expectantly waiting to be chosen by him for the night. The ladies were competing for his attention, some being less subtle than others. She wasn't jealous, but she didn't want to engage in that game. She never tried to compete for attention and she wasn't sure of wanting to start there.

While she remained in her seat watching the crowd, her mind kept focused on one thought: Achilles seemed to fancy her in some way, but she still didn’t know how. She started fearing about the image he had of her. He described her as cute, he said that her face was adorable. Those were compliments fitting for a sweet girl, not an attractive woman.

She didn't have any certains but, if it was the case, she wished she could prove him wrong. He teased her for a very long while and she wanted revenge, but she was the princess and she couldn't allow herself such behaviour. She urged to show him how perfectly capable of displaying sensuality she was and the first thing that occurred to her was dancing.

She never showed off in public about the full capacity of her skills. Immediately as she got older enough to be allowed to stay late night in festivities, she got enraptured by the dancing of the concubines and she ended up learning to dance from them. She wanted to learn it only for herself, because she loved the graceful aesthetical aspects of the movements and she admired their performances. Her father didn’t allow her to do it but, like almost every other thing bringing joy to her life, she did it behind his back.

It was her secret talent. If she could disguise herself in the group of dancers to participate in their performance, it would be hard to difference her from the actual performers. With that in mind, she started imagining Achilles's reaction if he could see her dancing like that. She wondered if he would feel as teased as he made her feel, if he would acknowledge her womanhood and if he would want her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Helen.

" Do we have to stay like this the entire time?" She complained.

" We have to wait until they leave. It’s the best for now. " The girl replied. " I don't get it. Does he enjoy himself thinking that everyone is watching him cheat on you or what? Anyone would expect that after the devotion you faked he would think it twice and be more discrete but no, there he is... making you look like a fool. "

" I'm thankful to get him away from me. I only wish he could have some decency and keep it private.” The queen confessed. ” I don't deserve this humiliation. I'm a good wife, I do everything he demands of me. All I ask in return is to be respected, at least in public." Her voice was breaking a bit.

“ It’s never enough with them, they only think about themselves. “ the princess reminded. her.” I think we should do the same more often.”

“ What we did classifies as such.”

“ It wasn’t entirely selfish. We saved lifes … and their egos from an historical defeat. I mean a bit of real selfishness. A good payback. ”

“ I just want to be left alone. A lover wouldn’t repair the scars in my pride.”

“Many men would give everything they have for a night with you.” The princess commented to her. “ Do you never feel the need of being desired by a man that you want? “

“ Where did your good judgement go?” Helen mocked her.

“ You know everything about my sentimental life, but we never talk about yours.”

“ What most of those men have to offer is not what I would wish.” The queen explained. “ I have experienced desire. If we are talking about impossible aspirations, I want love.”

“ Why choose? You can have both.”

“ What did I do of you? Are you hearing yourself? Aren’t you the same girl whose goal was to have a nicely arranged marriage planned by herself using political strategy ? ”

“ You don’t want me to give up on love. Why should I let you do it ?

" You know better than anyone why I have to."

" That's not going to happen. My mother was alone, we have each other." the princess remarked. " Look at what we accomplished. We stopped a massacre, made a new friend and I got closer to the man I love, more than I ever thought I would be. "

" I told you, it is too late for me. "

" Helen,I used to think that my feelings for Achilles were a fantasy. I was ready to accept it as a comforting dream and carry on with my life. Thanks to you, I changed my mind. " the girl explained. "You have helped me so much. How can you think that I wouldn't do the same for you? "

" I doubt I would find love in a place like this, but I appreciate your concern. " the queen stated.

" Promise me that, if you do someday, you will let me help instead of giving up."

" We won a battle, dear. Not the war. " Helen clarified.

" We can win many more. " her niece reassured her. " You deserve to be loved and to own your desire."

"To be honest, I feel I’m more aware of what I don’t like in a man than of my actual preferences. I don't know what i like anymore. "

" Don't worry. We have time, i would love to help you to rediscover your taste. If it is not now, we will keep digging into figuring it out."

" It's not wise to get involved with someone that would never be mine. "

" You know what? I think I overcomed that. '' the princess declared. " I don't care anymore. Maybe Achilles will never be mine and so what? I want to be with him, I don't mind how. Perhaps he will never make me his wife and that's fine, I don't need to own him to love him. Love is not only about marriage. If marriage can exist without love, love can exist outside of marriage and you can find it. "

“ You have to tell me now what happened in that excuse of a bathing ceremony.” Helen teased her, encouraged and excited.

The princess tried to explain it to her carefully, watching over her expressions and paranoidly checking for the presence of unwanted listeners. Listening to her cheered Helen up.

“ What are you doing sitting here? “ she reprimanded her.

“ If I’m going to do a move, it has to be safer than this. “ The girl clarified. “ I can’t risk being seen by my father or inspiring gossip.”

“ He could have kissed you right there. “

“ Reason in the form of Hesione stopped me from finding out if he would have .” The princess added. “ I don’t know if i can do it now. Have you seen all those women ready to step on each other's heads for him? I’m not going to do that.“

“ You don’t have to be part of that,you are one step ahead.” Helen stated “ If you want a moment to get things clear. This is it.”

With that, she dragged her up from her seat.

The young ladies mixed themselves in the crowd, trying to have fun on their own. The princess procured not to concentrate in trying to find Achilles and just enjoy herself in the company of her aunt. Helen’s mood improved from the brief downfall it had because she redirected her thoughts. Instead of thinking of the public humiliation brought to her by her husband’s behaviour, she focused on the victory over him that she got. She humiliated him indirectly, her actions caused a situation that made him feel like an idiot in front of his brother. Some justice was served that time and she was able to celebrate. It was a small triumph, but just thinking about that made her start laughing without an apparent reason. The sudden boost in her joyful mood started to manifest in her dancing.

The queen’s grace was famous, but Helen never looked prettier as she did when she was really happy. She irradiated her emotions and the ambient felt renewed around her. Bright of happiness, she started dancing right in front of the musicians and the magnetic effect of her approach made them play the same song for longer, just so she wouldn’t leave. The percussionist was jaw dropping with her and even the princess was impressed by how obvious he was.

He was bewitched, but not in a lustfull way. The handsome young man was worshipping Helen with his music and she started responding with her dancing straightly to him. Since she realized that her niece was right next to her evaluating the situation, she encouraged her to follow her moves instead of teasing them with stares. Then, both girls found themselves dancing for the musicians and letting themselves go to the beat of their music.

Unlike the queen, the princess tried to keep her moves as chaste and cheerful as possible. Still, forgetting all her concerns to the sound of the music almost ruined her intentions . The fastening of the beat betrayed her for an instant and some very inappropriate hip flicks she did under the influence of the stimulation around her impressed her dancing companion. She isolated the movement of her hips to the rhythm of the song with a great synchrony. Sharp hip flicks combined with contractions of the lower belly creating a single circled swing. Cheering from the crew of artists made her realize of how she let herself go completely and she calmed down, going back to her usual style.

It was too late, Helen was too curious to let it go. Once the song ended, she had to abandon her admiror. Then, she started questioning her.

“ What was that?? It was incredible! “ She complimented her.

“ Sorry. The beat was great and you were pushing me in the wrong direction.”

“ When were you going to tell me about this?” The queen recriminated her.

“ Our mystery is solved. I think you are into pretty boys worshipping you with respect. Sweet admiration, not those looks of when you know that the man is mentally undressing you.” The princess teased her to avoid the topic.

“ Don’t try to get away from this. “ Helen teased back. “ You have to teach me that.”

“ I lost control, I wasn’t supposed to do that here .” the princess excused herself.

“ You will explain to me later where that came from, now I want to learn how to move my hips like that.”

“ We all have our unique ways of expression. You have your makeup skills, I have this.” the girl joked. “ I didn’t mean to hide it from you, the occasion to show you never presented. “

“ It presented itself now.” Helen rectified. “ We have music and a proper space. “

She was reluctant, but agreed.

“ Only because it’s you who is asking. I owe you too much to say no.” She admitted. “ This is absolutely inappropriate so i will only show you hip moves. For a proper lesson, I need secrecy."

“ Forget protocols, we are having fun.” Helen encouraged her.

Her niece took the position of instructor and decomposed the otherwise integrated steps of the movement so Helen could learn it and copy it. Very slow like at first, the queen achieved it with great enthusiasm. The princess oriented her into repeating it a few times before trying to find a pace with the rhythm. She guided her into picking that pace and, soon, both were dancing at a matching tempo. Helen looked bright with happiness.

" I don't want to brag, but this makes me feel beautiful." she joked.

" It's not very lady-like, but it's fun." her niece replied.

They were being happy with themselves, not caring about anything else. The relegated corner of the place they picked as their fun zone wasn't the safest spot to feel some freedom, but it was the best they had. For once, they ignored the certain chances of attracting stares, the perceptions and everything that tied them. The princess showed the queen two more combinations of hip movements. They were trying hip locks to the sides when a sudden but partially expected intromision ruined their bubble of concentration.

" Watch out, princess. Those moves look so sharp that you could have cutted me with your hips." Achilles told the mycenaean as he passed by right next to her.

The sound of his voice was enough to make her jolt and she lost herself to it, immediately stopping what she was doing.

" I’m glad to see you having fun. I tought you weren't going to get up. " Patroclus cheerfully saluted them, appearing right after him.

Both ladies at once responded to his greetings.

" What are you doing over here?" Helen inquired. " We saw you dancing right in the center with some girls a while ago. You are doing great."

" To be fair, most only looked at me because I'm standing next to him." the boy admitted. " When we came nobody cared but now everyone does because they found out I'm the cousin of Achilles."

" I'm doomed to always being the daughter of Agamemnon, very few people care beyond that." the princess commented. " I treasure those and don't mind for the rest. "

" Don't worry. You will make a name for yourself soon and that will end." Helen added. " Younger noble girls from big cities can be like that but growing up makes them wiser. In a few years, you will start to be seen as yourself and they will adore you. "

Achilles was impressed by the soft naturality of their interactions. They were comforting him as close friends. He kept listening to their conversation.

" It's fine, It doesn't affect me that much. " Patroclus tried to explain himself better. " In fact, I'm hiding from your husband."

To the mention of him, Helen looked exasperated.

" What has he done now?"

" He was talking with Achilles and I was there with them. " the boy started telling them. " He must be too drunk to care about being too friendly. He started saying nice things about me and ended up offering me a woman. "

Helen got second hand embarrassment.

" I'm sorry, darling. Did he make you feel uncomfortable?"

" He said some stupid thing about how he had her before and she was perfect to make me a man. It was disgusting."

" That's the House of Atreus at it's best. Imagine them at their worst. " the princess added. " Ignore him, Pat. You may be too young, but are already a better man than him."

" I have faith in you." Helen emphasized. " I think you 'll be a great hero because your morals match your potential as a warrior. You will make us all proud."

" We love you. " the princess concluded. " Keep ignoring anything you hear from him or my father. They think they know better than everyone else but they are the worst combination of cruel and stupid. "

" I leave him with you just once and you are already pampering and overprotecting him?” Achilles commented, his mocking hiding a shade of happiness. " He knows that Menelaus is not a good example of what truly means to be a man. "

" He has you. " the queen complimented him. " You aren't perfect, but you are guiding him right. It doesn't matter how many battles you win. To me, he reflects the best of you. "

Patroclus smiled at her. Helen's praise impacted him in a positive way.

" She wasn't a strong supporter of you." The princess clarified. " Her opinion changed after meeting him."

" Spending so much time with people who love you changes the perspective. " The queen hinted, indirectly including her niece in the affirmation." I used to think you were a cold, emotionless man with no care for anything. Your bond with Patroclus is only one of many proofs of how wrong I was. I commited with you the same mistake everyone does with me: I judged you by what you appear to be. "

" Good, It's mutual." Achilles simply replied. " You are stronger than what I thought you could be. I started to see it in all the stories that your niece has told me about your shenanigans. I like you a lot more thanks to her."

" It's the first time ever when somebody likes me first. In Sparta, you will be addressed as Patroclus's cousin." the boy added, mocking him with pride.

" Seeing you again in my lands would bring me great joy. '' Helen stated." I hope that this shameful experience with Menelaus didn't scare you away."

" Don't worry, queen. " Achilles reassured her. "If you are guilty of anything, is of cherishing so much that he doesn't want to leave your side."

" I have new friends that like me for me. Get over it. " his little cousin kept joking.

" I celebrate it. They are a good influence for you. " Achilles replicated." Today you humiliated a king for the first time and you did it so cleverly that he couldn't find a way to argue. Agamemnon, of all kings. I can't be more proud. "

" He deserved it. He was trying to create spite between you and Ajax. That's low, even for someone like him. '' Patroclus explained.

" Thanks for helping me there. If it wasn't for you, he wouldn't have stopped until offending one using the other." The princess told him." Not so long before he used to say that Ajax was a brute fool from an insignificant kingdom, now he wants to make him the next Hercules. He is desperate, he wants so badly to get rid of your cousin that he is willing to accept any other who would obey him.``

" I feel bad for any contestant in the army aspiring to get the same glorification he has." the boy affirmed. " Achilles has you, that's a great advantage. They will never make it."

The princess laughed softly, glancing at the warrior.

Achilles's gaze followed hers, in complicity.

" You are the queen's favourite, you will run with the same advantage. "

" The bright daughter of the highest commander designs political strategies for you… All the rest are doomed."

" You are so sweet!" the princess thanked him.

" I don't see why not pointing it out. "

" Agamemnon is too foolish to see it, but you think like a politician." Helen told her.

" What's greatly convenient, because having to stand polítical tangles is what Achilles hates the most about his work. " Patroclus insisted.

" Odysseus had helped him with that countless times. " the young lady reminded him.

" He is a king, his polítical work is for his own benefit." Helen remarked. " I know they are good friends, but the goal of Odysseus's work is not to raise him up above all the heroes."

" His competence has no chance because now he has you aligned with him and working with his interests. Honestly? I think that's a bit unfair." Patroclus concluded.

" They must have their own tricks." Achilles defended himself. " I guess she is mine now."

" We shouldn't be discussing this here. " the princess warned them. " Can we bring up something else ? This is a party, we are supposed to talk trivial things. "

" Where did you learn to dance? " Helen asked, pretending to be innocently curious.

" Seriously??"

" It is a trivial topic. " the queen remarked before explaining herself to the recently arrived men. " What you just saw was me attempting to learn some incredible moves I saw her doing. I had no idea, it was a total surprise and I'm very curious."

" The story behind it is not as interesting as you think it is." the princess clarified.

" When she says that, assume the opposite." Achilles mocked her.

" I have been secretly involved in dance practices of the palace's concubines for years. I don't like to show it at parties because it is something I learned for my own gratification and my father is not supposed to find out. " She confessed " Helen looks so happy, she inspired me to relax and I forgot were I was."

" Wait, are you a dancer? That explains a lot of things. " Patroclus commented, impressed. " I wrecked you when we were trying to teach you self defense but I noticed that you have some flexibility. "

" It's nothing compared with what it requires to be a fighter. '' the princess corrected him. " Being more specific, I'm not a dancer because it's not my occupation. I learned from actual dancers and I practice for fun. It's very liberating for me, a great pastime during the absences of my father. "

" How is it that we keep discovering secrets of yours? " Achilles asked.

" You are one of the few who know me as i am. " she tried to explain herself. " I discovered my fascination with dancing right after I started being allowed to stay all the way during parties. I saw a performance and I knew then that I wanted to do that. I wasn't paying attention to the lustful men around the dancers, I loved their movements. Men may see it only as their entertainment, but the dance looks like a celebration of femminity. I wanted that."

" How did you do it?" Helen insisted.

" It took some time. " She started telling. " When Agamemnon saw me following the girls at a gathering because I was trying to learn from them he was scandalized. He forbade it to me, he said that dancers were whores and no daughter of his was going to humiliate him behaving like a whore. He tried to make it up for me by sending me to the temple of Artemis to dance with the priestesses."

" Of course, you had to learn from the virgins. How would you dare to question his expectations? " Helen joked, sarcastically following the line of the reasonament.

" It wasn’t my wish, I did it because he said it. Dancing like a priestess was not what I wanted.” the princess kept explaining “ I went to the temple, behaved well, learned what they wanted to teach me and worshipped the goddess in the ritual dances. The priestesses liked me and my father started bragging about how his girl was so pure that the temple of the virgin goddess wanted her."

" He didn't let them have you because he needs grandchildren if he wants his bloodline to continue. " Patroclus guessed.

" I wouldn't have joined them. I honor the gods and sometimes i pray, but i never felt loved by any of them. I respect the dedication of their priestesses, they find fullfilment in serving them. It's not for me, I never felt the mistic call. " She commented. “I did what I was sent to do, I was respectful and that was the end of it. It didn't erase my original interest for the profane dances as Agamemnon thought it would."

Helen laughed briefly. It was always funny to hear examples of the complete ignorance about the sensibilities of women that the Atrides had.

" I waited until his next absence and I went to learn with the concubines of the palace. " The princess kept explaining. " They are not used to being respected by ladies. When I told them that I admired their dancing and I wanted to learn from them they didn't know what to say. It must have impacted them, because they agreed to instruct me in secret. That's how I learned. I keep joining their practices when I can. It helps me to relieve tension and it is my secret way of self expression."

" You managed to make yourself be equally liked by temple maidens and palace dancers? You are a true politician, even outside of politics." Achilles pointed out.

His comment made her smile.

“ Now that I think about it, It is the first time I see you dancing. I didn’t have the pleasure at the wedding party.” He reminded her.

“ I didn’t dance much that time and, certainly, not as i like to when I’m not being watched.” She replied.” This was an accident, Helen was flirting with one of the musicians and the ambient inspired me to lose control.”

“ I wasn’t flirting, I was dancing to his interpretation.” The queen defended herself.

“ You don’t need excuses with us. If you want me to kill your husband, just make a sign.” Achilles joked.

Helen laughed more than what she should have.

“ She is thinking about it!” Patroclus added, cracking of laughter.

“ It is not worthy to ruin your reputation for it, but thanks for the offer.”

“ It can be an accident in the middle of a battle. We can say that he got in the way of my spear.”

The princess laughed harder then.

“ See? She gets me.” The warrior commented.

“ It’s the same kind of grim joke I would have made.” She explained, still laughing.

They shared glances, looking deeply into each other’s eyes for an instant.

“ Do you want to dance with me?” Achilles offered her. “ We couldn’t last time and you are making me curious..”

She took his hand as a sign of approval, smiling with delight.

“ You can dance with me, Helen.” Patroclus playfully added, remarking how they seemed to have forgotten of them.

Helen grabbed his hand and both were laughing,

They walked following the intensity of the music’s sound with the intention of finding the group of musicians again. When they resumed dancing the princess stopped caring about anything else but her partner. It was reciprocal, because Achilles couldn’t take his eyes off her. Remembering some of the wild thoughts she have had before, she unveiled her sensuality for him within her dancing. Her movements were like a soft tease implying that there was so much more that she could be showing to him if the show would have been private. Her hips, waist and chest were the areas of her body that the moves highlighted. Combined with the graceful gesticulation of her hands and arms, it was a very appealing sight.

She knew that he wasn't able to touch her more than what would look necessary because of the context and she was using it at her advantage. Still, since he wasn't able to express himself with actions, he did it with words.

In a particular moment, when he ended up behind her while she was doing torso undulations, he got a chance to grab her hips and whisper close to her ear.

" You should have done this in Phthia, behind closed gates."

They were so close that he was able to smell the scent of her hair.

" It wasn't the right time, but if you invite me back i can take my dancer suit for a private performance." Was her tempting reply. " I have one, you know? My friends helped me to make it."

" I don't think I would let you go after that."

She was melting, her heart was throbbing and her head racing with thoughts of him. However, she did her best to keep going as before because she needed to feel sure of being a woman in his eyes.

While his hands were still on her hips, she changed the move and started doing internal hip circles. The sharp motion, first of her right hip and then the left, incited him to pull away one hand at the time, following the rhythm of her every action. The roundness of the hip rotation made her push her butt slightly against him in a movement that looked accidental but didn't feel as such.

She put some distance between them, enough to spin around and face him again. The song ended shortly afterwards.

" Sorry, It was the music. I almost forgot that you were there. " She apologised, faking innocence.

" Some people may be staring ... Don't you care for discretion anymore?" He teased her.

“ Most people here are drunk. They couldn’t care less, I couldn't care less.” She answered. “ Besides, this was pretty discrete compared to what I can actually do.”

“ Why are you doing this? ”

“ Because I want.” She simply admitted. “ You are the only man I ever wanted to dance for, the first one who has me like this.”

It was a strange confession of feelings. Metaphorically disguised, but it was there.

Achilles didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t wish to, he couldn’t do that at the moment. First, because of the context surrounding them but mostly, because it wasn’t a good time to be open with her. He didn’t want her to confound his own growing feelings for her with a rush of lust. He cared deeply for her, it started fast and it took him by surprise. He felt good having her in his life, even when it was at moments. After each of their reunions he felt a bit more infatuated.

Right there, she was making his body crave for hers, but he didn’t want that to be his first response to her affections. He guessed that she was acting so sensually because she wanted to confess herself but didn’t know how. He thought that she must have heard that was the way in which he prefered to be approached, that she had to make herself be wanted for him. He would have lied if he would have denied that he was enjoying it, but he was trying to avoid thinking with his crotch.

She had given him plenty of subtle signs about her feelings before and he never gave her a direct answer, mostly because he didn't find a good moment for it and part of him felt like he couldn't allow himself to do it. He didn’t want her to assume that he only reacted then because he was horny.

He was trying to do better for her, but she didn’t understand it like that at first.

The princess interpreted his silence as rejection. For the sake of her own pride, she pretended not care. She kissed his cheek,smiled at him and went back to Helen’s side. For the rest of the night,she tried to carry on as it never happened. Internally, she felt stupid, but it was the only way she found to overcome it.

She focused again on helping Helen. Acting carelessly, the first thing she did afterwards was to take advantage of a short pause of the music to talk to the man she was sharing glances with as a way to stimulate her to get closer. The princess started by praising his playing and asking his name in front of her and Patroclus. Smiling proudly, he told them to address him as Alexander. The princess didn’t hesitate in starting calling him Alex. He was very respectful, especially of the queen. He expressed his admiration for her in a kind way and didn't attempt anything on her, clearly seeing her as unreachable. Helen seemed to enjoy his harmless attention. In the conversation, they also found out that Patroclus had musical inclinations. Alexander was a percussionist playing Toubeleki and Patroclus made his contribution to the small talk speaking about his experiences learning to play the khitara. Helen was grateful for the care of her friends, both trying to make efforts for her just because they saw her getting along with him. For obvious reasons, the talk was short, but it was a good start.

They lost sight of Achilles and the princess was secretly relieved for it. She was mortified thinking that her attempt of pursuing him ruined everything between them. Over the course of the party, the three stayed together because they were already comfortable enough with each other.

They got involved in trivial talks with many different people. At one moment, they crossed paths again with Ajax while they were waiting for servants to bring them something to drink. The salaminian hero was doing the same and he greeted their encounter. He was a bit tipsy, but he was good company because he was funnier to be around than what most people assumed. The four fooled around together for a while. They were drinking and joking and the princess almost forgot how bad she was feeling, until he reminded her that she still owed him a dance because he was the first one trying to get her away from the table. He was just joking and It wasn’t his fault, so she tried to keep being sweet to him. Her polite reply explained her refusal linking it to his circumstantial state. Avoiding to sound mean, harsh or sarcastic, she promised him that she was going to dance with him the next time she would find him sober. Fortunately, It made him laugh.

He resumed their previous conversation in an infinitely less formal way, saying that he was perfectly fine because he was the strongest man in Greece and the effect of a few drinks weren’t an impediment for him. He told them that he could show them on the spot how he was able to lift both women from the ground at the same time and Helen considered the discussion about his state over, fearing that he would actually try it. She felt relatively comfortable with him and it was a grateful surprise. For such an intimidant looking man, he was very nice and likeable. After sharing some more laughs, she ended up dancing with him.

Their brief encounter cheered the princess up a bit, simply because it was very hard not to laugh with the amount of funny insanity that they came up with. Still, she kept feeling out of place, like if nobody really needed her there. Helen was probably waiting until the end so she could have a longer conversation with the percussionist and Patroclus deserved some time to have fun on his own if he wanted that. She couldn’t help to think that she was ruining the party for them . Openly expressing her wish of not being followed, she excused herself saying that she had enough fun, was too tired and prefered to rest. She hugged her friends, thanking them for their company and wishing them goodnight.

In her walk to her bedroom,the princess speeded up her pace to avoid being disturbed. She didn’t want to be approached by anyone else, wishing to forget about her feelings of shame. She almost reached her destination, but the hold of Achilles's strong arms deviated her in an empty hall.

“I can't deal with this now. " she admitted. " Would you let me go? I will talk to you in the morning"

" If we wait any longer, we will never do it. " He stated, embracing her waist.

" What are you talking about??" She complained.

“ Don’t play the fool now. You can’t try to hide anymore.”

" I know that I ruined everything. "

While hearing her, he seemed slightly confused.

" By now, you must know how I feel for you. '' She explained herself. " I may be good at reading the feelings of others, but I get easily overwhelmed by mines... I have spent my lifetime training myself to suppress them, I don't understand myself sometimes... I wanted you to see me as the woman I am because only then I could make you understand how I feel."

Her explanation made him chuckle for an instant.

" What's so funny ??." She tried to pull away from his contact, but he was obviously stronger than her.

" I see you as a woman, I have always done it. " He replied.

" I know how you act around the women that you like. It is not how you acted with me. "

" Do you think that I don't want you?" A light chuckle escaped from his lips again. " You are so lovely."

" That's it. I'm always the sweet innocent lamb, I can't escape from that. " She complained. " I'm a living, breathing woman with feelings and desires. "

" I'm aware of that. " He reassured her. " That was a very interesting reminder of it, but I know it."

" Then why do you keep ignoring me? " Her voice showed frustration.

" Things between us are not so easy. "

" You know, before you start thinking about it, I have to say that stepping into helping you was a choice I made based on my convictions. " She clarified. " I believe in you, I didn't do it looking for any retributions. Even if you don't correspond my feelings, that wouldn't change anything. I'm still commited to our pact."

" Calm down." He caressed her hair. " Can you stop assuming that I think the worst of you? I don't."

" I don't know what else to do to get a concrete answer from you.” She insisted. “I just want that. I don't mind the outcome. If you don't feel the same, I will respect it. "

Then, he crashed his lips against hers. It was a sweet kiss, intended to serve as a response confessing his affections, but it was charged with the passion of the long craving for it that he also had. She was in such bliss that he felt her body trembling.

He smiled against her lips.

" Are you alright?"

" It’s the longing. " was all she could answer.

“ You didn't have to do anything else to get me. " He clarified. “ I liked you in Sparta, now i think it’s something more than that.”

" I haven't stopped thinking about you since the day we met." She confessed. " I didn't know then that it was going to get that far, but here i am."

.” Odysseus spent half of the way back telling me to stay away from you like a father scaring away a suitor that he dislikes. “ He confessed. “ I did it for a good long while, but you came to me on your own and you dazzled me."

" He doesn't dislike you, you are his friend. " She clarified " He knows of somebody who hates you and he tries to protect me from him. "

" I will never allow that old drunk to hurt you. " He said, in what sounded like a promise.

" Would you steal me from him?" She playfully joked.

" If it's what I have to do to keep you safe, I would."

She kissed him, clinging onto him and refusing to pull away until being breathless. In that act, she condensed years of hidden adoration for him and all her hopes.

Achilles felt it, and he couldn’t help to love her for it.

“ My room is close. “ She offered. “ It’s safer to continue there.”

She giggled and headed first. It wasn't wise of them to be seen getting inside there together, so they had to do it in turns.

The princess arrived first, leaving the door unlocked. Her heart was racing with expectancy. The warrior appeared shortly afterwards, closing the door behind them. Immediately after seeing him, she kissed him again.

" Slow down, lioness." He teased her after she finally pulled away.

" I wish I could." she joked in reply.

" This is what I mean when I say that you are adorable, not that I see you as a cute little girl. " He commented." You are so tender, it gets me."

" Really?" She asked, impressed.

" I love it. " He answered, honestly. " I also loved what you did for me tonight. "

" It didn't look like that. " She pointed out.

" It didn't have to look like that. It was dangerous. " He reminded her. " I like some risk, but you took a pointless one."

" I wanted you to want me and I think it worked."

" You need to know that I don't want you because you did that.” He confessed. “ I want you for you and I want all of you, not just this."

" Then take me." Her proposition sounded like a beg. " I'm ready." She was talking against his lips, holding his hands and pushing them against her body.

" Not tonight, princess." He was teasing her, his cheeky tone got on her nerves.

" Why?? " She complained, her frustration almost made her raise the tone of her voice. “ I want to be with you, I don’t care for anything else. Father will end up selling me for power anyways, It will be the buyer’s problem. ”

" You didn't let me finish." He corrected her. " I'm not going to take you for myself tonight. " He explained as he started to leave a trail of kisses from her jaw in direction to her neck. " But I have many other ways to show you how good you make me feel. "

She gasped and he smiled against her skin.

" The massage was amazing. " He added as he kept descending. " And that dance? You are spoiling me, that’s royal treatment."

" There is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

He stopped for an instant just so he could look at her in the eye, feel the intensity of her love, and kiss her lips once more.

#troy 2004 #troy #troy (2004)#troy 2004 fanfiction #troy fanfiction #achilles #helen of troy #patroclus #ajax #brad pitt #diane kruger #garrett hedlund #reader insert fanfiction #achilles x reader #female reader

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alatismeni-theitsa · 3 years

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Hi! Hope you're doing well <3 I been reading some of your posts about LO and Greek culture in general! And as a non-greek I think your culture is amazing and it should be respected as any other culture, so, I had this question a little while ago

I made a couple of characters based on greek myth creatures, and I kinda had a story for them in an ancient greek inspired world (highly inspired tbh, I think it might take place in an ancient greek ambience as well), but now I think that might be insensitive (?) I don't know how to express it, but I just want to know, would it be ok if I continue with that idea or should I scratch it?

TIIIME TO FINALLY ANSWER THIS

I am really sorry for the long wait! I was trying to think how to answer this properly and also mustering the energy for it xD I will pin it so you can find it more easily, if you come back to the blog.

For starters, you can write whatever you wish. I am hesitant to say to people “you can't write this and that” because it might make people feel estranged and uncomfortable and I believe that distance serves no real purpose. Yes, it’s likely that a xenos won’t be making the story VERY culturally accurate but if the story is 30% culturally accurate as opposed to barely 5% which we see in the popular media today, then it’s still a win. Not to mention that Greeks themselves are not 100% culturally accurate most of the time in their Greek mythology stories. This happens because 1) Americanization has hit us hard 2) They write them just for fun without bothering to research much. We are also lucky if we have a 30% accuracy in our texts most of the time.

(I love percentages if you can’t tell 😂)

You might have figured out I have the tag #writing (and perhaps also #writing advice ??) where I answer these type of questions, so visiting it might help! I'm not gonna tell you if you can write it or not - you can write whatever you like - but I would advise you to treat the Greek culture like any other real or fictional culture. Do a proper “worldbuilding”, let’s say.

THE CREATURES

As you know, some are more serious and some are more playful. They don’t easily “switch” from their behaviors so it’s best to keep a serious creature serious and a playful creature playful throughout most of the story. Some reading is needed, to figure out how the ancient Greeks saw those creatures. Because assumptions are usually not helpful. If we have no clues about their behavior, that’s free real estate I guess 😂

Now, if you are going for the “almost like Greek culture but not quite” thing, that still needs similar studying. You need to know where you are basing those creatures and how they see their world - or how the world sees them. And what elements make sense to change.

You can still not base the characters nowhere and just have a gal with snakes in her head. You can do that xD However, if you like to be more in touch with the culture you need to use some context and the “ambience” you talked about. It’s another thing to say “this gal has snakes on her head“ and another to say “this is THE Medusa“.

Some Greek culture needs to shine through. I mean, it would be great if it could shine though in general, so your references and basis to Greek mythology are better. It would be safe to assume the ancient folklore creatures have some Greek culture in them since they have Greek names, they have been written in Greek stories behaving according to the Greek societal rules and ethics, and generally being symbols in Greece until our days. And your story is about Greek mythology, so you want to emphasize the Greek aspects of your heroes and world.

THE ANCIENT GREEK INSPIRED WORLD

I don't know what research you’ve done so far but I will begin from the basics anyways. Ancient Greek ambience, as you can probably guess, is not “chitons, wine, vines and white pillars” 😂 The ambience specifically doesn’t come from the aesthetics but from the feel of it - the food, the customs, the symbols, the dances, the language interjections, the behaviors and values. Parts of the culture are also how is reverence and modesty are expressed, what makes someone present “manly“ or “feminine”. So, it’s gonna take some research.

People usually write some of the aesthetic and think they are covered, even though their worldbuilding is bad, precisely because they have only presented the very top of the iceberg. No food, no dances, no certain behaviors, nothing. You could say they are “soulless Disney remakes”. 😂 You can also do that, but you need to know how it will come out. It might be quite bland and, if I am not mistaken, you said you want to avoid that. (And I think most of Greeks would tell you that they don’t mind a Greek “soulless” remake but it would be super extra great if you put cultural elements in).

Ok, I don’t mean make it like an encyclopedia, but presenting some stuff from the culture is how you get the ambience. You might as well take a writing advice list for worlbuilding stuff you must have and see which ones you can find irl from the Greek culture.

Important! Remember that nearby cultures affect each other, so if you change one element from the Greek culture it’s likely it has to be changed in other cultures next to your area. If wearing green makes you manly in Imaginary Greece, it will also make you manly in Imaginary Turkey and Imaginary Bulgaria, let’s say. (there is no “ancient Turkey” or “ancient Bulgaria” as countries - and depending on the era, “ancient Greece” is also not a thing - but you get my point xD)

For the interpersonal relationships/interactions, you can read some ancient translated texts presenting daily life situations of the ancient Greeks (start from Googling stuff, I really don’t have sources for that xD). It’s very likely that the ancient sources won’t give you a very defined feel (try it anyways, if you like). Therefore, I suggest you see interactions of modern Greek people.

Worry not! YouTube - through me xD - has you covered! Searching the tags #greek tv #greek youtuber #greek podcast and #video. On youtube you can even find vlogs of people visiting Greece and see interactions with the locals. (If you have trouble finding them, you can send me another ask).

Similarly, it might take months to find all the Greek language interjections so you can go for modern ones. Besides, many interjections like “popoo“ are ancient. Besides, if you are not making a very “serious” story, the modern touches might help it feel more in touch with the present.

Surely, people are people everywhere and humans between countries share cultural traits, but there are some slightly more predominant stuff depending on the culture. Cultures close to each other share more traits, so, if you can’t find any Greeks around, you might be able to find our neighbors. Middle Eastern, north African, or south European people (and Hispanic/Latino Americans!) around might help to understand the dynamics between friends and family members. If you already belong to some of those cultures, congrats, you have most of the formula figured out!

I gave so much space to the interpersonal relationships because that’s gonna give you an idea where the line of “respect” is. Surely, the ancient interpersonal relationships won’t be like the modern American ones 😂 There is no way a student goes to Chiron being like “hey, man, how you doin?” Knowing how Greek teachers were, as late as the 20th century, that’s gonna earn him a slap 😂

Another thing: saying “Good morning” and “good afternoon / goodnight” when you first and last see people in the day is VERY important and the best social practice! You won’t be considered rude if you don’t say them but in a slightly formal and especially professional environment, better use them. (Other modern Europeans also consider this a good practice.)

The most ancient greeting of Greeks is “be happy” (χάιρε / χαίρετε) but health is also very important and is another old greeting. Xάιρετε is more formal in our days and Γεια/Γεια σας ("have good health”) is the most used formal and informal one. Seeing how people wish health in the middle east, it might be that the Health thing has been here for centuries. Also, if you break something or something bad happens to you, we say “health” because having your health is more important than anything else.

Fun fact, “Charon“ (Χάρων) probably means “the happy one” :P It has the same root with (χάιρε / χαίρετε).

Many other social cues can be found in the tags I mentioned, but you can send me an ask if you need to know something more specific!

As for the food, you can find ancient recipes and even use modern ones (which are usually with the same ingredients). Same goes for dances and symbols. You can google stuff about them, go on Google Scholar and search there, as well. (Also, google pages where you can download those papers for free ;) ) Please do some cross examination to make sure that this element indeed exists and it’s not just one person pulling it our of their a**. 😂

If you can’t find info, you can lean on modern symbols and dances. The dances are similar through the centuries anyways. No one is going to come for you if you say you based an element on a modern Greek thing bc the ancient one was impossible to find with the resources available to you.

I don’t have many more things to add on these cultural elements because I already have tags for the modern ones. #greek cuisine #melomakarona #greek dance #greek custom #greek tradition etc.

And, last but not least, research the weather!! I can't stress this enough �� We are not a desert and we are not the Tropics. If your weather is similar to the Greek one, then your creatures most likely will need some serious covering in Autumn and Winter 😂

All in all, it’s certainly not a piece of cake to write about other countries and cultures but, if they are open to let you in, you can learn stuff and do your best depicting them. It might not be perfect (and no work is actually perfect) but it would be a step to the right direction and might encourage more writers to do the same - instead of throwing some chitons in and calling it a day xD

If you have any other questions feel free to send me another message (dm or ask). You - or anyone else - REALLY WON’T BOTHER ME if you ask me many questions on my DMs or here.

#writing #answered #retelling #greek myhtology #excuse my tags i am just making this post easier to find #writing advice

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closer-stars · 3 years

Text

Heart of Depth (3)

Member: Yeosang Genre: Action, Slice of Life, Fantasy, Fluff, a little tension. Genshin Inspired AU Word Count: 9k Requested: Sort of yeah Content: Yeosang x MC development. More world building. Food stuff. A little bit of crime stuff, some history, some art info dump, some typical genshin shenanigans. Mild Violence (aka haha WooSanSang being badasses). Allusions to death. Note: Had to cut down part 3, it’s actually a lot longer originally lol. Inazuma’s been insane content. HoD was supposed to be 5 parts but considering how lengthy the parts have become it might be longer oops. Links to be updated after 24 hours. Life update: kinda got a slightly consistent work now so been focused on that. I hope this tides everyone over until I make a better return. Network: @ateezlovenet Tag list: @barsformars @miniyeo @jeongyunhoed @yeekies @yeotlny @frankenstein852 @shinyddeonghwa @prodbyteez @yeochikin @yeocult @harubirus

Part 2

“Yeosang, you might have to skip on meeting with them today.”

He looks up from his screen, peering at San several feet away from him. “Why?”

The good thing about San is that he’s unfazed when Yeosang uses that tone on him. He doesn’t cower when it comes to it, besides, there’s a special voice he uses when he’s genuinely angry. “Looks like there’s something special going on in the museum’s garden at night.” San explains. He already learned the hard way to not speak in riddles to him, but there were things that were better off spoken with mind games. “Check your email, I sent you the notice.” He says, shifting his attention to other matters on his plate.

There’s something in San’s voice that makes Yeosang want to groan. Usually, this means San’s got some sort of trick up his sleeve when some sort of misdemeanor has been happening-- though the last time San had to speak in riddles over something serious was a few thousand years back. To cut the agony short, Yeosang shifts his attention to his emails, already the email San has forwarded sits at the top.

It’s been a recurring incident for the past few weeks now. It’s only now that the museum have found the source of the smell. There’s been a peculiar flower that only blooms at night, emitting a scent similar to lavender, despite not looking like the mentioned plant. Though no one knows what flower is, the only response the staff has at the moment was to leave it be and wait for further instructions from the board. The photos attached to the notice made it easy for San to recognize it, all the man was waiting for was for Yeosang to see the photos too.

His demeanor changes almost immediately once it registers in his head. That’s his lover’s flower, the Neve Jewel. It’s blooming again. Truthfully, Yeosang didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He didn’t really think they would’ve kept their promise after all this time. He stares at the images. He knows that glow, the shape, the colors all too well. All that’s left is the scent, it’s been so long since he smelled those flowers, now all but a lingering feeling in his dreams. Deep blue eyes lay unmoving on his computer screen as he tries to process waves of emotions in him. San waits in his seat quietly, even if his fingers tap away into processing permits and other papers, he worries for how Yeosang would take this. “I’ll let them know that I’ll be late today.” Yeosang states,already writing a message for you.

Did San think he’d do anything different? Not quite. Even with the change of schedules, he knows how much Yeosang looks forward to seeing you everyday. He also knows how the man will do anything for those he loves. He can’t comprehend how he’s been able to have such self-control since their passing. He would always visit the tombstone of his lover up until the earth had decided to give birth to new life.

[ Yeosang to You ] My dear, I’m afraid I won't be able to see you until after your closing hours.

“San, can you get me the iced cafe latte along with a slice of their strawberry cheesecake?” He would have to wait until night falls for him to catch sight of the flowers. He has feelings for you, that much he is sure. Whether or not you are who he thinks he is, how you’ve been towards him.

“Now?” San asks, rising from his seat and about to grab his jacket.

“That would be nice, yes.” He says as he busies himself with an email, for the changes in the schedule for today. With that settled, San’s already off to your shop.

---------

Just as San enters your shop, he’s amazed at the booming activity. All the tables were filled with various groups of people. He wondered what was so special about today. As he approached the counter, you had just finished packing up an order for takeout. While you seem to manage just fine on your own: taking orders and making drinks, it’s definitely not an easy task.

“Today’s bustling I see.” San says as you immediately rush over after washing your hands.

“San!” You exclaim, a little relieved for some sense of familiarity after the hectic peak hours. He sees your shoulders drop a little and he flashes a wide smile, glad to be of some relief to you. “Yeah, I asked some of the regulars what’s going on today and it seems like they have finals week coming up so everyone’s just been so busy with their studies.” You shrug as you explain. You were done with university so that aspect of those years are long behind you now. “Anyways, the usual?”

“Not quite? Two iced cafe lattes, one slice of chocolate mousse and one slice of the strawberry cheesecake.” You nod and after the transaction’s made, you let him wait by the far end of the counter as you get to doing the coffee.

He leans against the counter as he waits for his purchase. As time passes by, he looks around the place, watching regular humans go about their daily stresses. From the corner of his eye, he spots a familiar insignia on someone’s laptop. The owner’s hunched over, visibly lacking sleep as they seem to try beating their deadlines. He gazes at them for some time until he turns away, not wanting to think too much about it especially in front of all these people.

“Here’s your order. I added some cookies as well, those are on the house.” You explain upon seeing his confused expression. He flashes a bashful smile in thanks.

“Yeosang might come by later tonight.” He states. The sight of your flustered expression makes him smirk. “Has he already asked you to be his?” His light laugh rings in your ears and he stops teasing you.

“Wooyoung might be here instead later. I have to run a few errands today.” You relay to him to which San acknowledges to send to Yeosang. Just feels like the old days.

He should also probably relay to Yeosang the symbol he saw earlier.

--------

“Yeosang, we need to--” San’s words are cut short when he’s greeted by the sponsors in their office. He sets aside the food bought from your shop and greets the visitors properly, throwing out any sense of concern in his body.

“Ah yes, Mr. Choi just came back from an errand. Mr. Choi, I would like you to meet the representatives of the Museum of Ancient Art. I’m sure you’ve talked with them through the emails?” Yeosang says, voice going a little deeper as it usually does in front of formal visitors. If they weren’t in front of him, he would’ve laughed at how Yeosang still tries his best to assert himself. An eons old god, still trying to assert himself, if Yeosang only knew how much respect and intimidation he exudes.

San approaches the two that he has constantly talked with through their online exchanges, relieved to have faces to their names. That’s right, he remembers now. A meeting with the Museum of Ancient Art to see which collections they can exchange with and how to promote each other in their respective areas. He just hopes this meeting ends as soon as possible because he finally recognizes the insignia from earlier.

--------

The meeting lasts for two hours. Thankfully, it was a meeting that wasn’t the type that could’ve just been over email. The four of them rise from their seats, delighted to have finished a fruitful meeting on time. After San walks them out of the building, he hurries back in, and already Yeosang’s eating his slice of cake with his coffee.

“We have no other meeting after that right?” San says as he brings his share to his table, leaning against his seat after such a tiring discussion-- not even a museum tour for students had worn him out that much.

“None, so we will be here until after closing to check on the discussed flower.” Yeosang after sipping his coffee. “There was something you wanted to tell me, yes?”

This gets San back into business mode, stern lines on his face as he faces Yeosang who busies himself with his cake. “Yeah, I saw someone in their shop, with the same insignia as the one that did a break in a few weeks back.”

Yeosang’s eyes are on his coffee and half eaten cake as he listens to San’s encounter. This doesn’t feel right. Once he catches a glimpse of the flower, he’ll rush over to your shop. “I’ll drop by their shop afterwards.” He simply says.

San takes the chance to look at his companion carefully. Behind the calm eyes already a storm rages, there’s tension in his neck and arms. If he’s right, then it’s only a matter of time.

“We’ll discuss this at my place after tonight’s activities.” He simply ends the conversation there, taking another bite of his cake.

“We’re still visiting their shop after?” It was a bit of a surprise for San to hear Yeosang wanting to go out of his way. Then again, why was San even surprised by anything anymore. This is Yeosang, he’s talking to. Also, with what San saw, archons know just how much turmoil there is inside Yeosang.

“If it’s possible, yes.” Yeosang closes his eyes as he drinks his latte. That’s enough for San to know to leave Yeosang to the privacy of his thoughts. Now all that’s left to do is wait until closing time.

As San looks away from him, he shifts his view to his computer, then to his phone. It’s a little odd that you haven’t replied to his messages. Despite his calm facade, he’s stressed. If his assumptions are right, you’re being targeted, for reasons that are yet unknown to him.

[ Yeosang to Wooyoung ] Are you working in the shop right now?

[ Wooyoung to Yeosang ] on my way to the shop! Need me to prepare an order for you guys?

He stops for a moment, wondering the proper wording to make sure Wooyoung doesn’t panic as much as he is right now.

[ Yeosang to Wooyoung ] Maybe later should San and I make it after today’s itinerary. I was simply wondering since they haven’t replied to me today.

He stares at his phone screen for another moment.

[ Yeosang to Wooyoung ] We’ll let you know.

He has thirty more minutes before the museum is deserted. For now, he’ll make the most out of his cake. He’s not quite sure anymore if peace will last long from now on.

--------

San takes the lead tonight. He asks one of the security guards to direct him and Yeosang to where in the garden was this strange flower located. Yeosang follows the male a few steps behind. His hands hidden in the pockets of his coat, he doesn’t want anyone to see just how tense he was.

“It was spotted in this area, sir. The smell leads you to the plant.” The security guard informs them as he gestures to the general area.

San nods, taking note of his advice, already he catches a waft of the scent. He doesn’t need to look at Yeosang to know how on edge he was. “We can manage on our own from here. Thanks.” San promises, as he dismisses the guard, to return to his duty. As the security guard leaves the two alone, he glances at Yeosang. “Do you want to be alone?” The archon shakes his head. He sniffs the air for a moment. The scent takes him back to the memories of eons past. Simpler times, he assumes.

From there, the two of them follow the scent. It’s a sharp contrast from all the turpentine and antique materials they’ve been exposed to since the museum was built. In today’s standards, the Neve Jewel would remind the regular people of an untouched field in the mountains. Though it is similar to lavender, it is still something that would even make those who love the said herb doubt that it is lavender that they’re smelling.

From there, they see a faint glow against the dim lighting in the garden. A soft glow of cool blues bounce onto the ground from where the flower resides. San sits by the bench across the flower as Yeosang approaches the plant.

It’s just like how he remembers it, just like the painting he showed you. It’s still the same after all these years. Yeosang hears nothing but the rush of blood in his ears. He’s too scared to touch the flower, fearing that it would be reduced to nothing-- that this would just be a sick dream his mind conjured.

“It’s real, Yeosang.” San says softly, as he watches his friend gaze at the flower in disbelief.

Yeosang snaps out of his thoughts and stands up. “I think I got all the proof I need.” He says softly. He stretches his legs, now reaching his full height. “Let’s go visit the shop.”

--------

Yeosang parks his car a few steps away from your shop. The warm glow from the lights lets him hope that you’re still inside. He and San enter the shop, only to be greeted by Wooyoung mopping up the floor. “Oh, thought the two of you wouldn’t come. Want the usual?” He asks, the surprised look on their faces doesn’t slip by him. “Looking for Popsicle?'' Wooyoung asks, leaning his hand against the top of the mop.

“Popsicle..” San repeats, thoroughly confused but Yeosang catches his reference fairly quickly.

“Didn��t think you’d give them that nickname.” He muses, already handing his card to Wooyoung who is already making his way to the counter.

“Man, they call me Sparky, it’s even.” Wooyoung counters. He didn’t really think he’d reveal himself like that but alas, it’s been done.

“Creative nicknames.” San comments, amusement in his tone.

“Happens to the best of us.” With that, Wooyoung busies himself whipping up their orders. “Popsicle left early for personal errands and to try out some personal recipes, to see if they can add it to the seasonal menu.” He explains above the whirring of the coffee machine. “Also, apparently it was a busy day so they weren’t able to reply to any of our messages.”

Yeosang, unaware of some of the changes, inevitably trips against a potted plant. From the sudden cold feeling against his leg, Wooyoung probably had watered this just a few minutes ago. His resigned sigh catches San’s attention and notices his trousers have been, quite literally, soiled. “Uhhh, Wooyoung?” San calls out, a little concerned for the cleanliness of his peer’s outfit and the shop’s.

“What-- Oh.” Wooyoung sees the mess and Yeosang says nothing but an apologetic bow. “I can clean it up once it dries up. Cleaning up wet soil just makes a bigger mess.” He points out. Unfortunately for him, this means staying in the shop longer when he can be in his bed, underneath his comfy blankets.

“I can be of assistance.” The archon speaks up. San looks at his friend in alarm, hoping that he won’t give away what he really is but he pays him no heed. Wooyoung eyes him in confusion.

With a flick of his wrist, his watch extends into a double ended scythes, his reflexes this time faster than earlier. He dips the edge of the blade against the spilled mud then against his pants, making sure to not nick at the fabric. The water from the damp dirt envelops the blade quickly, turning from an opaque brown color to clear and clean water.

He lifts one end of the scythe from his pants and tips into the pot, the water dripping in as carefully as possible. Once successful, he taps the end of the scythe’s pole against the ground and immediately returns to a watch.

Wooyoung watches the entire scene, speechless and confused by the entire spectacle-- though more of the fact Yeosang knows how to wield a scythe. “Does San know how to use a weapon too?” This wasn’t what he was supposed to ask but it will do for now.

“Just a sword staff.” San returns in equal nonchalance as Yeosang, in hopes that it wouldn’t make Wooyoung lose his mind. Instead though, Wooyoung lets out a low whistle, impressed at the two’s experience of handling rare weapons-- well he assumed they were rare. For he went with a great sword while you were something along the lines of a mage. To be honest, you didn’t really know how to describe your choice either.

“Okay but, Yeosang, your pants are dirty and you used the blade against the fabric. Aren’t they expensive?” Wooyoung’s not entirely sure at this point of how to remedy the situation, one foot already at the direction of the broom to clean up the now dried soil. He’s not entirely shocked that Yeosang knows how to deal with water, his hydro vision hangs by his waist. He was more shocked with the scythe and the possibly damaged clothes. How he did that so willingly, maybe it’s the perk of being rich.

Yeosang waves his hand dismissively about his concern. “Nothing to worry about. I know someone who can clean this without sacrificing the quality. To ease your wary heart, I barely touched the blade against the pant leg. It’s still perfectly fine.”

Of course, he’d know someone. The rich always do.

“What brand are you even wearing?”

“Cucinelli.”

With that mentioned, Wooyoung stands up and leaves the two for a moment. The abrupt exit leaves the two surprised and concerned. He returns with a broom in hand, cleaning up the soil and putting it back into the pot. The brand name alone tells him everything he needs to know about how much the pants were. “Is it really that expensive?” Yeosang asks, a little surprised by Wooyoung’s sudden lack of response.

He doesn’t answer for a moment. “It’s enough to cover rent for a few months yeah.”

This makes the archon ponder for a moment. Truly there were things that he forgets from time to time about the differences in the lives of humans.

---------

For the next hour the two of them fill in Wooyoung on what has happened in their day, when all of a sudden Yeosang perks up in alarm.

Yeosang looks around, can never be too careful after all. “Did you see anyone with a symbol that depicts three intertwined knots?” Wooyoung just gives him a perplexed look. WIth the amount of people Wooyoung sees on the daily, it was rare that any of them would stand out to him. It was easier to spot people who stand out in a studio than in a coffee shop.

“Huh? Maybe our Popsicle did but I don’t remember seeing anything like that, why?”

This time, he wasn’t sure if he should be concerned or not. The things the two have talked about, especially in the art scene, doesn't faze him anymore. For all he knows, the insignia they’re asking about is an anonymous artist they want to work with.

San shakes his head. “Just a hunch about something. One of these days, we can tell you but for now, we need to go home. It’s late.” San reminds them as he glances at the time.

By now, Wooyoung was already finished cleaning everything up. The paper and plastic packaging for their orders were in their hands and it’s on them to throw it. His reasoning? He already worked hard to keep this place clean and he’s stayed beyond work hours to wait for them just like you’d always do.

Now that the lights were closed and the doors were locked with ample protection by Wooyoung, San looks around and sees an odd being a few feet away. “Yeosang.” He murmurs softly, eyes flitting towards the direction he needs to face. The amulet in his pocket feels a little heavier.

Across the street stood the members from the Abyss Order, their eyes glinting in the dark with a plan that would put Wooyoung in danger should they not act quickly. “Wooyoung, I need you to get in the car now. I’ll drive you home.” Yeosang orders, tryinggnn his best not to sound on edge to not scare the guy. Usually, he and San can take care of these members without anyone around them becoming collateral damage. He’s not sure either if Wooyoung has his sword with him.

“What? Nah, it’s okay. I can just walk or get a taxi.” Wooyoung reassures, standing up twirling the keys in his fingers.

“Wooyoung, it’s an ord--” Before Yeosang could complete his sentence, San already has his sword staff up, creating a sturdy shield to block out the bullets that were fired at them. The boom and the lack of sound from impact makes Wooyoung look over immediately. San’s weapon stands at a roughly twelve feet tall pole alone, add the sword and it could have been eighteen feet in length. The human’s not quite sure as to how that happened but questions might be better put for later.

“Ah shit.” Your friend mutters, unclasping his bracelet and already it shifts into a greatsword, taking up a length of six feet easily. “I don’t know what they are but they are not damaging this shop.” What’s scarier: these unknown threats or you screaming?

He manages to block a few of the projectiles coming their way,much to the shock of the two immortals. “Got any plan? Preferably something that makes sure this shop is unscathed?” Wooyoung growls, returning the projectiles, with much more strength towards the perpetrators. This time, the heated projectiles combined with his element, exploding upon impact. His vision glows a sharp purple as he continues to use his element.

Yeosang looks around, trying to figure out a plan. “Watch my back” He simply says. Immediately, San shifts to take his usual position behind the archon. Wooyoung on the other hand, still throws damage against the strange figures. “Wooyoung, keep exposing them to electricity.”

The human grunts in acknowledgement, slightly frustrated that he can’t move around freely as he has to make sure the shop takes no damage. San jumps into action,using the bladed end of his staff to take out what seems to be a burly figure wielding an electro hammer who was lunging straight towards Yeosang. It doesn’t take much to know that the figure’s near gone with how hard it staggers back from the impact.

Yeosang spins his scythe, and the blades start to get enveloped by water. As he swings his scythe, blades of water hone in on the figures, knocking them back upon impact and damaging their own weapons. This gives enough time for San to push forward and drive his staff down onto them: pinning them against a sudden burst of wind currents. The pressure making it hard for them to wriggle out of, yet they twitch insistently from the exposure to electricity and water. “Leave if you want to see another day.” Yeosang warns in a strange voice. Wooyoung’s not sure if his goosebumps are from the static on his sword or from the change in Yeosang’s attitude.

The men-- from what Wooyoung can only presume, submit to his order, speaking of promises to not return to the area and other words that he can only assume were pleas of mercy.

“Whoever sent you here, tell them of my regards.” Yeosang growls. He doesn’t need to lean forward to look them in the eye. From where he stands, waves of his power come off him slowly. Something in Wooyoung runs cold when he sees his eyes and the tips of his hair glow an intense blue-- a blue that reminds him of the deepest trenches in the ocean, as he restrains their movements even further with water.

When the promises are made, San makes sure to look each perpetrator in the eye, memorizing their faces and features for the future. They can never tell when the tide changes. The male then loosens his restraints on the men, despite the blood and bruises they have he lets them go. Though personally, he would’ve sliced them into ribbons for coming into this part of the neighborhood.

Once the three have scrambled away from them, Yeosang heaves a sigh. It’s been a little too long since he had tapped into his archaic abilities. He carefully switches his scythe back into a watch, clasping it around his wrist. Once it’s snug around his wrist, he checks the time. Past midnight. What a tiring day. San heaves a tired groan, tapping the end of his staff against the ground and it becomes a weaved ring on his pointer again. The archon walks to his car, unfortunately with a few dents and scratches. It will be a matter to be taken cared of for another day, for now: safety.

“Get in the car.” He has already put up a protective layer of water against your shop, making sure that any damage against your shop would be minimized. The three figures have already retreated but to leave Wooyoung alone would be a death wish. Wooyoung scratches his thumb against the base of his sword and it turns immediately into his bracelet. He makes sure everything else is clear then hops into the car, swinging the door shut as Yeosang steps on the gas.

“Who were they?” Wooyoung exclaims as he falls back into his seat with an exhausted whine. His clothes were definitely a mess and the adrenaline’s starting to wear off “Shit, Popsicle.” He worries for your safety, especially after tonight’s run-in. He’s not sure if you’ll be able to fend for yourself on your own.

“San will take care of them. It’s too dangerous for us to go get them right now.” He promises yet the edge in his voice doesn’t leave. He knows who they were but why they were there is what’s making him grip the steering wheel harder than he should. “Yeosang.” San’s voice immediately reminds him to breathe. “To answer your question, the ones we fought earlier are from the Abyss Order. They haven’t been making their presence known in years.”

“So why now?”

“We don’t know.” San replies in place for Yeosang. “That’s why we asked if you saw a three intertwined knot insignia earlier because I saw something when I went in during their shift.” The rest of the drive is quiet. The car slows down to an acceptable speed to avoid any road blocks along the way.

“You’re staying the night in my place for now.” Yeosang explains much to Wooyoung’s shock. “It’s not safe for you to go back yet. Not until tomorrow morning at least. San will pick them up. He knows his ways around the roads here.” He continues, as he slowly parks his car in the complex’s parking lot.

Wooyoung explains to San where the two of you live and San already has a mental image of it. “Any landmark?”

“A convenience store right next to a grandmother’s ramen shop.”

“Okay, I’ll see you guys later.” San then jumps out of the car and onto the scaffoldings of the buildings.

Wait, this is where Yeosang stays? Wooyoung looks around the area: the cars look timeless, expensive as well. On the ground seems to be the numbers of the respective owner’s place. He shuts off the engine and unlocks the doors. “Tell them to bring what they need for the next few hours. I have a lot to explain.”

---------

That’s how Wooyoung ended up staying in Yeosang’s place for the night. Yeosang cooks up a simple pasta for them, knowing that even San will sleep over for the night. Wooyoung offered to help but Yeosang had been stubborn enough to make him sit down and drink his tea after updating you with what had happened.

The needed conversation had to happen with you around so to kill time, both men decided to know the other a little more beyond the coffee shop and art museum.

“... I basically got my vision after realizing what I wanted to do with my life.” Wooyoung explains. It happened after having a conversation with you in high school. “We were fighting about whether or not I should try for the competition despite my injuries..” Go figure. He went all in for it, of course with your help to keep him grounded but it would seldom work as he tunnel visioned into his goal. The difference between your two favoured medium is in the longevity of the works. He accepted that dancing is one of the shortest living works. Three minutes on stage is different from three minutes through a screen. Yet, there he was wanting to make his name known for years to come despite the short lifespan of dance. “It was when I told little Ice Cube about it that my vision formed in my pocket.”

“I did get my name out there, once we started studying in university.” He continues. “I rose up the dance crew quickly. Things are always different in real life as compared to recorded performances, yet there’s always something beyond as they would say.” He shrugs, trying his best to not sound like he’s bragging. “Now here I am, teaching some idols choreography while teaching passionate dancers in a studio with a part time in your shop.”

This makes Yeosang mull for a bit. He’s met the Electro Archon, with Wooyoung’s story it did fall in line with the Archon’s belief and virtue: to go beyond what Time can limit. It took a few thousand years to remind the mentioned Archon of their humanity though. Fortunately, they have thus the influx of electro users in the succeeding years. He wonders then, when did you get yours? The archon does not want to pry yet curiosity pesters his mind. “I’m assuming that they have gotten their vision prior to yours then?”

The mortal looks at him with wide eyes. “They never told you how they got the cryo vision huh?” Wooyoung notes as he takes his time to study Yeosang’s place.. Yeosang busies himself by making himself a cup of tea, while Wooyoung an americano. He knows his skills in creating coffee would be sub-par compared to yours but for now, it will do for him.

“I’m afraid not, though I am aware of the similarities of the lives led by cryo users.” Yeosang returns as he hands the mug to the other male. Each Archon hands a human or an adepti with a vision, usually done when the subject of interest has reached a point in their life that exhibits values worthy of their attention. For the Pyro archon, it would be due to the passion one carries despite all odds. For Yeosang, the hydro vision is gifted when the human exhibits the desire to better themselves. The Cryo archon was an oddball even after the changes, for those who receive the cryo vision are those who have gone through a certain loss that changes them in the long run. As if to help them survive what the world has done to them.

What did you lose?

Wooyoung eyes the coffee in his hands with worry. Your story is not his story to share, but he can share parts of it from his eyes. “They started living with my family at a young age.” He starts. “It took them awhile to warm up to the family but no one forced the lil Popsicle to be happy.” The dazed wary look you would give his parents pained him even until now. “Despite that, they’ve been deadly protective of our parents and brothers. You were always willing to fight any one that tried to bully me or any of our other classmates.” He says with a soft laugh. Yeosang listens intently, the mere image of you, a small child, willing to protect those who were suffering, it would’ve been a sight to see. Wooyoung takes a careful sip, making sure to not burn his tongue. “Their family was known for their ventures in history, usually through art and any written records.” Wooyoung adds, looking up at the male across from him. There’s something in him that tells him that Yeosang isn’t any regular vision holder. “Can I ask something?”

The question surprises the archon slightly but he gestures for Wooyoung to continue. He supposes that not everything can be told from another pair of eyes, best to be told by someone who has seen it all.

“You’re not a regular human are you?” Wooyoung’s question makes him chuckle.

“What made you ask?” Yeosang starts, eyeing the human with curiosity.

“For starters, no one’s hair glows at the tips.” Wooyoung points out, tipping his head towards the fringe that frames his face. “Nor should the eyes” he adds, referring to the run in earlier. He doesn’t add the words Yeosang spoke of, thinking it could be twisted easily into his favor. “Also, this amount of money cannot be amassed in such a short year unless you’re from a rich family.” In the back of his mind, he was already making a plan of how to escape and warn you should this become a worst case scenario. He was about to list more before Yeosang cracks up.

“Well, yes. You are correct. I am not.. A human entirely.” Though he does plan to live like one after this.

“But you’re not.. An adepti either then? You don’t look like Ganyu.” Wooyoung points out. At least that removes the possibility of him being associated with the bad guys. What memories that name brings him. It’s been a long time since he’s heard from Ganyu. The last he’s seen her, she could pass off as a woman in her early fourties if it weren’t for the ruby horns that curled upwards from her head. Maybe he should pay her a visit in the near future.

“An adepti can take on a form like Ganyu yes, but there are also adepti that can take on the forms of animals or look like regular humans. My dear friend San, is an adepti as well.” Yeosang counters calmly as he sips his tea. “Now, I trust their judgement, you are a trustworthy human, especially to have the electro vision. Dear Wooyoung,” he starts. The ways of proving that he was the archon without annihilating an entire area is usually limited for a human’s mind can be picky. He lets his eyes turn into wide saucers, too wide to be considered human, and for his skin acquires scales like that of a dragon. Wooyoung’s reaction tells him enough and he reverts himself back to that of a human.

“You’re the hydro archon.” Wooyoung sputters out.

“That is correct.” Yeosang nods calmly.

“Can I swear?”

“Carry on.”

“Holy shit.”

--------

The way San entered your apartment as well was enough to scare you for the next three days or so. He doesn’t tell you much, even in the safety of your own home. Only a “Let’s go. We’ll explain somewhere safer.” By then, you already had your things ready and kept everything in place. Your vision is securely strapped around your waist while your Regalia is on your wrist.

You arrive in one piece thanks to San. He had you running through small roads and hidden spots around the city, to avoid prying eyes and wandering ears from seeing the two of you.

At first glance, you assume that this was another regular apartment complex that maybe you staying at home was the better option. But when you enter the lobby, the smell alone tells you this more than a regular building. There’s a receptionist with three guards around the place, the pristine interiors softened by the warm lighting. You feel out of place in your regular sweats and hoodie, San on the other hand might be in a worse position. A wrinkled jacket, dress shirt that’s been dirty with his tie loosened, his shoes lost their luster and his hair was in slight disarray. A rare sight indeed.

“Let’s go. They won’t mind you anyways as long as you’re with me.” San reassures you, sensing your discomfort when the staff pass a glance at you. He walks with you to the elevator and once the two of you are in the small box, he heaves a sigh of relief and exhaustion, leaning against the wall for some sense of support.

“What exactly happened, San?” You ask. The concern in your voice makes him look over at you and for a moment, he thought he saw the previous archon in you. No wonder Yeosang’s been hung up about you. Yet, once he comes to his senses, it’s just the same you. A regular human who carries the cryo vision, yet he could also see why Yeosang would like you regardless of your potential history.

The rising elevator makes your ears pop, thankfully you manage to hear him say, “We’ll talk about it in Yeosang’s place. Wooyoung’s there as well.” He repeats. There’s no hint of unperceived danger in his voice yet it puts you on the edge.

The lift rings, notifying them of their arrival. He gestures for you to walk ahead of him, mostly out of your own safety to make sure nothing comes running at you from behind. “2411” The man behind you says, and so you look for the number. It’s deep into the hallway when you finally see his place. San takes the chance to knock on the door thrice, and without missing a beat, it’s Wooyoung that greets the two of you-- slightly worse for wear but nothing you can’t fix.

He sighs in relief, seeing you in one piece along with San and he lets the two of you in. “I brought your stuff.” You say, handing his duffle bag to him and he manages to let out a sound of relief.

“Yeosang! I’ll go ahead and shower!” He calls out, leaving you and San alone with him. The way Wooyoung has become so casual and comfortable with him doesn’t surprise you anymore.

San takes up the stool Wooyoung left, you sitting next to him as you try to make sense of his apartment. The wide view of the skyline from wall to wall in the living room was enough to make your head swim with a fear of heights. The colors were on the whites and browns with the occasional accent of black. His kitchen didn’t really help quell your curiosity of just how rich he was. It’s only now that Wooyoung’s words were settling into your head. He’s rich and if your guess is right, he’s probably part of the 0.5% of society. There is no way he can pay for the upkeep of this apartment easily unless he was part of that aspect of society.

Your eyes return to him as he serves the two of you some of the pasta he had made earlier. “Eat while it’s still hot.” He says for now. San doesn’t mind your questioning gaze on his friend but Yeosang tries not to cave in. Not yet. “I will explain everything once everyone’s cleaned up. It will be a long night for you and Wooyoung especially.” He leaves no room for arguments, and it takes a moment for the archon to realize that he’s using his business voice again. He rubs the back of his neck, albeit uncharacteristic of him as he tried to assert his calm nature just moments ago. “I will take a shower for now, don’t rush your meal for tonight.” Thus leaving the two of you on your own.

---------

The water runs hot against his skin but the temperature doesn't faze him, steam has already coated the mirrors and the glass tiles. He just stares blankly at the murky rivulets that run down his body and to the drain. Questions still ring in his head as to what could’ve happened, why did it happen, and what had happened. You’d think an aged archon such as he could see the answers easily, yet there’s one thing he can never get right. Humans and their “sense” of logic, the claimed hardest to sway yet here he is wondering why things went the way they did with the adrenaline from the battle wearing off as the hot water relaxes his muscles.

What was in the store that the Abyss Order thought was of importance? Was it you?

As much as he loves being with water, he hates how it would remind him of many memories he tries to push away they still come back. Ironic really how water always is in motion, yet he can’t seem to just move on from what has happened years back. He snaps out of his thoughts and finishes washing up for the night, his dirty clothes tossed into the hamper as he changes into his sleep wear for the night.

One day, the memories won’t hurt anymore. For now, he lets them hurt until the pain ebbs away. He lets himself mourn the pain for a few moments before coming back to reality. He can’t let himself mourn more than needed, there are things he needs to attend to first.

When he comes back to the kitchen, it’s Wooyoung who is now keeping you company and from the looks of things, he was filling you in on what had happened to the best of his ability.

“Really,” you sigh, drying your plate as you eye him with concern. “Thank goodness, you had your bracelet on you today. Let me check you for injuries.” You chastise him, not taking a no for an answer as you give his body a quick scan.

“Ice cube, I think you should be checking on San and Yeosang-- Ow!” He yelps, when he feels your hand press on his shoulder.

“Did you handle your sword the wrong way again?” You ask, spreading a thin layer of ice on his skin, akin to a muscle relaxant strip.

The way you know him so well makes him pout. “Maybe..” He mutters, he waits for an earful that never comes. Instead, your attention shifted to Yeosang who has been watching the two of you bicker for what could’ve been this entire time.

“Oh hey, Yeosang. I was telling them what had happened earlier, well at least the ones I understand.” He changed his seat so that Yeosang could sit next to you.

Little shit.

“You didn’t have to clean up.” He says, thanking Wooyoung for the seat. He doesn’t stop you though, you were practically finished with the job anyways.

“It’s fine. It’s the least I can do. San went to clean himself up a few minutes ago.” You take your seat after cleaning up the dishes, you don’t miss the chance to shoot Wooyoung a glare at his motive though.

“Then he’ll most likely return in ten minutes. Wooyoung, what have you told them thus far? Just so San and I can fill them in on any questions they might have.”

“Mostly the fight, what the guys looked like, and your weapons.” He says, a little too enthusiastically thus causing the two of you to look at him with raised eyebrows. “What? It’s not everyday you see a double ended scythe and a sword staff three times taller than San.”

“I heard that.” A pointed voice comes out from behind the. It was San, fresh out of the shower with an empty look of annoyance on his face.

“Well, now that we’re here. I suppose we can get started.”

The four of you take comfort in the living room as this could be a very long discussion. Well, to be specific, it’s only San that manages to find comfort on the couch, lounging on one side like a lazy cat while you and Wooyoung are still in shock over the quality of the place alone. The two of you sit carefully on the couch, Yeosang decides to sit across the two of you. The archon already seems burdened, wondering how else to go about this.

“For starters,” San suggests. “I think it would be a good idea to tell you that I saw someone at your shop with the insignia on their laptop. It’s safe to guess that they’re part of the Abyss Order.”

You look at him in confusion. The name rings faint bells but not quite what you were looking for. “The what?” You ask, shifting your glance to Yeosang. The immortals wonder if they saw a spark of fear flash before your eyes as you try to make sense of the situation.

“The Abyss Order, my dear, they’re a long running organization. They started from wanting to topple Celestia, to wanting to take down the Archons.” It was the simplest way Yeosang could put it. The complete run down of history could take longer than a night and he doubts you and Wooyoung could take so much information within a short period of time. “Their insignia has changed over time. They work in the shadows, feeding opposing ideas to humans in subtle ways that reach the communal consciousness.” There have been certain forms of media that have come out that romanticize questionable lifestyles and choices, that only a handful can tell the Abyss had a hand in them.

“So why were they at my shop? I’m just a regular human trying to make ends meet and make my dreams come true” You say.

“Regular my butt. Ice Cube, we have visions, I don’t really think we’re regular.” Wooyoung snorts. He has a point, vision carriers weren’t that common. “But that is a good question.” He says after a jab to his side thanks to you.

Yeosang cups his chin in thought. “My guess is because of San and I.” He returns calmly. “Well, to be exact, me.”

Wooyoung’s head starts to work into overdrive. “Wait, right.” He cuts his own words off, groaning into his hands. San starts to find his own nails interesting as the conversation shifts to this. Unfortunately you were still unable to make sense out of everything. How could you, your night went from San telling you to pack up, to running through unknown streets, to seeing the three of them in a slightly worse for wear situation to a multimillion apartment.

“Can someone please explain?” You plead, your patience running thin. You don’t like being kept in the dark. You don’t like the familiar feeling of frustration and powerless feeling it brings.

“My dear, I don’t know how else to say this but I, Kang Yeosang, am the Hydro Archon.” As he reveals this, his eyes glow into the colors of the ocean, with his pupils widening more than normal, streaks of ice blue against a deeper blue green hue. If you look any closer, you might be able to see hints of white, just like sea foam in his eyes. His skin forms patches of scales on his forearms, but the metamorphosis stops there. He’d rather not turn into full form and cause property damage. “I’ve been the one responsible for giving Hydro visions for as long as I can remember.” He manages to rasp out, his voice now rather hoarse due to the partial transformation.

Your eyes grow wide, somehow this makes sense and at the same time it doesn’t. This explains his extensive knowledge of history yet at the same time, it’s a struggle to wrap your mind around the mere fact you’ve been catching feelings for an immortal being. Of all beings to fall for, it had to be the Archon. It couldn’t have been someone like Wooyoung but then again, do you really want that?

“He wields a double scythe by the way.” Wooyoung comments under his breath. That part, you can take in stride, your best friend handles a great sword while you used something akin to a floating orb.

“But wait, you said initially, this Abyss Order’s targets were you and San. Is San an Archon too?” You ask. If he was the Anemo Archon, you might have to cut this discussion short-- it’s been a hectic and eventful day.

“I was offered, but I turned it down.” San says with a shrug. “I prefer just being something like a guardian of a region rather than overseeing the entire world.” He doesn’t continue the story and instead stretches his body out like a cat lazing under the sun.

Yeosang slowly transforms back into that of a regular human. “That’s as far as my guess goes, that I’m the primary target. Anything else is unfortunately beyond my knowledge.” He hasn’t kept in contact with the other archons either so it’s anyone’s guess at this point.

“So what now?” You ask. “I really can’t just stay at my shop 24/7. Wooyoung can’t either, besides the shop, he works at a dance studio too, remember?”

Yeosang stays silent for a while, thinking through possible remedies for the time being. “Would an additional hand suffice?”

“I’m not hiring you or San into my shop. I don’t think the salary I can give either of you could compare to the salary in an art museum.”

“Oh no, not me. The art museum needs San and I to continue running.” He shakes his head. It was a lovely idea though, a nice change from the constant stress of files and intensive care. “I know someone who might be able to help, he’s just like San.” San looks over at Yeosang with a raised brow, raising his head from his arm to get a better view of his friend.

“I mean, if he’s a friend of yours and is aware that I can’t give a salary as high as you can then I don’t think I can turn down the offer.”

“Then it’s settled then. I’ll contact Hongjoong tonight to give him the details. If things go as planned, he will be able to meet you tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh right, Yeosang put up some sort of protective barrier for the night that spans until early afternoon I think? So more time for us to rest and catch up on sleep.” Wooyoung explains upon seeing your panicked face at the ‘tomorrow afternoon’ part. “So I guess, that’s it for tonight?” Wooyoung asks in a hopeful tone, trying to stifle a yawn with his hands.

The immortals remember the limitations of humans and thus decide to end the discussion here. “Yes, we can continue this some other time. For the sake of your safety, feel free to come to the art museum. I’ll let the staff know of you to let you through easily. For now, it is better for the two of you to get some rest.”

San sends him a look, realizing that he had omitted a certain topic out of the discussion. At the mention of rest, you start to feel the exhaustion seep into your bones. Your eyes feel heavy now as Wooyoung’s yawn reminds you of how eventful the day was for both of you. “I’ll lead them to their room.” San offers, much to Yeosang’s relief as he couldn’t handle what San might want to discuss once the two were off to rest.

Yeosang switches the lights off, bathing the room in darkness and night lights once more. The hallway was dimly lit, making sure that none of his visitors bumped themselves to their slumber. He asks himself why he veered away from the topic of you being a potential interest by the Abyss Order. He wasn’t happy with the answer but it’s the only one he’s got.

He doesn’t want history to repeat itself, yet he knows that those who don’t know it are doomed to repeat it. Even with these worries, he can’t get himself to look at the amulet that rests by his bed side.

--------

Something inside you starts turning. “San, do you remember what the symbol looks like?” You ask carefully, voice barely above a whisper. For Wooyoung’s sake, you didn’t want him to hear this conversation.

His eyes glance at you after watching Wooyoung flop over the bed. It’s only now that you notice the green streaks in his eyes. “Of course, something wrong?”

“Can you draw it and send it to me over chat?” You don’t answer his question. “Also, do you have any injuries?” Until you have some sort of confirmation, you won’t divulge any information to him.

San raises his knee as an answer. “Scraped myself when I had to pin the Abyss members down but nothing too worrisome.”

“Can I at least fix it? I wasn’t able to ask Yeosang either of his injuries.” San remembers that you were more adept at healing, you can still pack a punch but you preferred to stay at the back. For both of your peace, he enters the room and lets you check on his injuries.

At least the wound has been cleaned but it’s still very fresh. “This isn’t just a scrape, San.” There’s something in your tone that makes San shrink back like a child. Wooyoung peeks over, your concern catching his attention.

“That looks pretty bad.” Wooyoung comments much to San’s embarrassment. Never did the guardian expect a human to chide him like a parent-- not even Yeosang did that.

“It’s not that--” San’s words are cut off by the jolt in temperature. The sharp cold stings against his wound-- maybe he didn’t disinfect it enough. He hears you murmur words of what he can only assume were spells. The intense drop in temperature made his leg stiffen from the sensation, but it was gone as quick as it happened. The guardian looks at his legs and already it was new skin, as if the wounds never even happened and he had just decided to do an exfoliation. “Makes me wonder how you’d be in a fight.” He muses his thanks, running his fingers gently against his healed knee.

“Please don’t. I might just be the type to cry while fighting.” You plead, much to Wooyoung’s amusement.

The immortal chuckles at the image, for the most part it is endearing but he tries not to wear down the light conversation with the more realistic thoughts in his head. San stands up and heads towards the door. “Good night you two, the next few days might be a little hectic for the four of us.”

Part 4

#my writings #yeosang fanfiction #yeosang au #yeosang scenarios #reader x ateez #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfiction #ateez au #what else do i tag this as lol

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dragonanarchist1155 · 3 years

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Ok so bear with me I gotta talk about at least one of my OCs while my stomach pain goes away (with the help of warmth and a bit of mint)

I think I haven't yet Posted about my dear friend Junnahed right?

Well, he does need a bit of an introduction then.

A fairly inquisitive dragon cleric is not something you would expect to find that often in your travels but Junnahed just goes anywhere, really anywhere.

He walks on the Steps of Saffiya, the famous Daknin explorer. Though instead of doing it because of a sense of self discovery and closure after the death of a loved one, he's more doing it because he doesnt feel at place anymore in the rapidly changing Daknin society and world.

He was taken in as a young hatchling by wandering priests of the god of healing of the Kiana snake people of the east, though was never much religious and nothing really stuck to him, he got really in deep on the knowdlege a out magic, especially restoration, healing and diagnosis criteria.

He set off at a fairly young age from the small temples at the dragon-snake border towns on small travels towards his homeland, but the rapidly modernizing Daknin tribes never really felt fulfilling for the old-spirit of travel that filled his heart, filled with stories about the nomadic Daknin and the wandering gods of the snake people.

He would not discuss it with anyone else, but he always believed that the "winged blue snake" form of the healing snake goddess was more than likely a wandering daknin healer of old. This belief fed his desire to set out on a trip of his own, as he saw himself and many others in the grandiose stories about the old gods. Maybe he could help people just like they did?

Junnahed set out one day with the blessings of his adoptive family and the promise of all the young students of the cult of the healer that he would always have a home to come back, and friends to rely upon, on the faith.

He thanked them, even though he knew he was unlikely to return.

His first adventure was... a bit crazy. But you kinda learn a few things after almost being eaten by an owl, successfully threatening bandits, defeating a chaotic monster on an unstable volcanic plateau, and saving a rich man from a stroke. Needless to say after that last one he didnt have much problems about money for a while.

Spears are a weapon of choice, like most Daknin. Unlike most Daknin though, he never learned how to ride a horse. He flies anywhere he needs to instead, and is proud of it. He carries a small sack behind his back, over his tail inbetween his wings. In it is most of his livelihood. Many books written by him, full of information, stories and diaries. Magic tomes with handwritten notes, spell components for combat, and ocassionally a skull or some bones for intimidation... which he routinely replaces with new ones as he progresses through his travels, after giving proper burial and respects to them for helping him prevent combat. This has been off putting at times with some cultures, but the usual Daknin approach to Pacifism has always been like that.

Though he wears a dark Gambeson coat frequently, he also wears an old upper plate below it, after finding out that for all he had read about combat in the old books of the priests of healing, it really bloody hurts to get hit by a sword on the ribs, even if it doesnt penetrate, especially when you are kinda skinny for a dragon.

If you ever meet him, expect a fairly talkative and respectful dragon, who will respect your customs and listen and ask for hours on end, who will heal you free of charge should you need it, and will usually hang around if asked, even if only for adventure's sake.

He has probably not realized yet he has already left his home world, through unknown means, and will likely not realize so unless significant effort is made towards trying to show him that.

In his belt lies a holy symbol of the winged god of healing, which he uses for mass healing spells should the need arise.

He sleeps like a cat, curled up on top of warmth and soft bedding (usually his sleeping pack which is a sturdy piece made by a thankful store owner crow man, after he spent an entire day helping him sort boxes of supplies), his feathery wing wrapped on top of him, and his tail wrapped around himself, or anyone else he is sleeping with.

He's asexual, even though he does not know the name for it, though he is a hopeless romantic, who frequently has both friendship and romance crushes of fellow adventurers he has spent time with and gotten to know. He is not prone to rage unless someone steals from him. Nomadic Culture makes him fairly comfortable with giving people anything they might need if asked, even though it might hurt him long term, but stealing from a dragon does not go well in any world.

He has sharp teeth, a sharp spear and floofy ears. He will become your friend, and that is a threat.

_______

If you want to unsubscribe from Nike's Oc's facts then hide the tag #oc-stuff because I'll occasionally do this shit when I feel bad but have thoughts™️

Y'all have a good night, my stomach pain has calmed down and I will put on pjs and sleep.

#oc-stuff #Junnahed #dragon #uwu #owo

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alch3mic · 3 years

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in between. (drabble series)

chapter four (stitches.)

captain!sans x gender neutral reader. 3k+ word count.

please be advised for themes of anxiety, ideas of loss, depression, and self esteem.

* finally at the fourth chapter with our dear fellswap sans, captain! he also has no official fic yet but has his own tag here on my tumblr if you’d like to know more about him! thank you and i hope you enjoy!

A project.

That's all this was meant to be.

Something to keep him preoccupied in his free time, now that he seemed to have more time on his hands than he knew what to do with.

Somewhere to put his focus, instead of thinking about things.

Instead of stressing about things.

Instead of.. worrying about.. 'things'.

Like this.. 'thing'.. attached to him.

...

"ya can't just keep pacin' around bro."

Sure he could.

He could pace around as much as he wanted. It was his boat dammit, and he'd walk around it as he pleased, from the bow to the stern, topside and back.

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

No.

How could he? There was work to be done.

All his life he had filled himself with his work. It was all he knew.

Work.

Work

Work.

Work

From his time as a child, working to take care of his younger brother to ensure he was brought up properly to his time in the royal guard working hard every day to support them and make sure they both survived that horrid Underground. Even on the surface he worked and worked and worked, to regain his position as a monster worthy of fear and respect after the humans had stripped them of everything and leaving them to rot like strays on the street.

Every minute of every day he worked.

Most days he even dreamed of it.

Which is exactly why it was so difficult to sit still, even at your request.

"You really should just take it easy, Sans. Didn't Undyne say to not stress yourself out?"

She did, but it didn't matter.

He was in a constant state of being stressed.

Stressed was how he operated.

Stressed was all he knew.

His body could never give him the pleasure of just 'taking it easy', constantly buzzing, constantly wanting to be in motion. At times he envied his brother for being able to let things go and just kick back, but... that was exactly why he worked so hard wasn't it?

So that his brother could relax without a worry in that thick skull of his..?

Of course.. he knew Papyrus went through his own troubles.. it's just...

Gah.

This free time was now filling his head with unnecessary thoughts, even as he tried his best to busy himself by patrolling his own boat.

..Which was only adding to his stress...

"Lets try a hobby. What do you normally do for fun?"

Think of you.

Well..

He didn't have to now that you were here with him.

He could just spend time with you instead of daydreaming about it.

And he did.

You humored him by relaxing together topside with him and Papyrus, enjoying the salty breezes of the ocean and the warm summer rays. The two of you would chat in his bed for hours, laughing and telling stories of the past as you laid close. You'd help him, by offering an arm when he wore himself out or when he needed help doing something that required two hands. Everything from opening jars to preparing dinner or even tying his shoes.

It was..

Ah, dammit it was so humiliating.

..And also made him strangely happy?

He was.. happily humiliated?

..Humbled?

..Stars.

He never had anyone taken care of him before, so his pride was taking a major blow every time you offered to help. A part of him was glad you'd always ask first so he'd at least get to attempt at doing it by himself but.. it was also humiliating to give in. He was too stubborn for his own good, never having anyone extend a hand for him neither below ground or on the Surface.

Still you never seemed bothered.

You never batted an eye when he'd turn to you. Sometimes all it took was a look from him and you just knew, without having any words be spoke. Having that kind of connection was..

Incredible.

It had been something the both of you had obviously over the years, but only now it was showing itself in the mundane parts of your lives now that you were with him. Normally it had been when you locked eyes in a fight in the streets of Ebott, and he could see the whole encounter play out in his mind. How you'd swing, how he'd shoot. How you both would nearly hit each other both on purpose and on accident.

Like a dance with death only the two of you could perform.

And how beautifully you danced for him..

Now.. having that connection manifest positively, in quiet agreements and silent conversations that took only seconds to have, really drove home the fact that times have changed.

That he was no longer the skeleton he was before.

He had you now, which was different.

You were his.

And he was yours.

Though.. in truth you always had a part of soul with you even if you never realized it.

And he always had Papyrus by his side.

That could never change.

But now.. he also had..

That.

The 'thing'.

An arm.

That.. didn't belong to him.

It was attached, sure, but..

It was foreign.

Heavy.

A burden.

It was consequences of his actions taken form of something that use to be, but no longer was. Like a cruel symbol of mockery, forever attached to his own broken body. There was nothing but the tickling of a sensation of pain, like a phantom dancing across his bones, from a limb that was no longer there. The magic in his scapula hummed louder than the rest of his body, always catching his attention as it had been enhanced to support the weight of his new arm. It was irritating and constant, like a buzz he couldn't be rid of no matter how loud his thoughts were or tried to be.

Always there.

Always ringing in his skull.

It was driving him crazy, adding to the mounting stress.

"FOR FUN? EASY. TRAP MAKING. ANALYTICS. READING THE STOCKS AND NEWS."

"Well that's depressing."

"STAYING INFORMED IS IMPORTANT, DARLING."

"And so is your mental health, Sans. Ignoring this won't make it go away you know."

The metallic hand closed on a reflex when he felt your gaze upon it.

He didn't like it, despite how incredible Undyne's work was. She had studied him for weeks while he recovered in her intensive care, all so she could make an exact replica of his now missing arm. It looked just like the real thing only casted in asatollite, a type of metal found in the Underground that could conduct magic. No wires. No heavy plating. Just an arm, moved by his own magic.

An impressive feat really, but he felt no pride in this.

..Only shame.

As someone who had lived their life known for cutting it close time and time again, this was now all the proof someone needed that they could actually lay their hands on him. There was a chance that someone could hit and do some serious damage.

For some, that would be enough to push their determination over the edge.

The proof that he couldn't dodge forever.

And here it was, glinting under the soft afternoon sunlight that filtered into his quarters.

This... was his decline wasn't it?

..He could feel it in his bones.

Here marked the end of his reign of terror as Captain, the scarred skeleton who ruled the docks of Ebott City with an iron fist. Now that once unrelenting grip which strangled the life of rats out of the marine failed to even grasp a pen properly.

It stung in such a strange way that he almost didn't know how to describe it.

It was a unsightly fall from grace, paired with happiness and misery.

He was muddled with complicated feelings that really didn't have proper words, and so instead of spending his days thinking about it while lying in bed, he paced around his ship.

"Is there anything you've ever wanted to learn?"

He only learned what was necessary.

Languages to properly communicate with associates, skills like learning to shoot with a gun so that he could avoid having his magic traced back to him, and cooking so he could make sustainable meals when he and Papyrus had nothing..

They weren't things he did for fun, they were necessary.

What else could he learn that was necessary?

"HOW ABOUT TEACHING ME TO CUT A BULLET LIKE YOU DID BACK IN THE 'SISCO EXCHANGE."

"I'm not teaching you that."

"AND WHY'S THAT?"

"I don't need to make you any more dangerous than you already are you bonehead. I meant something fun! Like.. maybe a sport?"

"I THROW DARTS. I ALSO SHOOT."

"I.. Okay I guess that counts," you said, glancing to the wall of his quarters where the board was set up.

It's true it was a dart board hanging on the wall, but it was littered with photos of thugs and politicians, a dart neatly nailed through their head. It honestly looked like more of an omen of things to come rather than a hobby.

"Anything else?"

...

"I PLAYED THE VIOLIN FOR A SHORT WHILE."

"You did?"

"YES. BACK IN THE UNDERGROUND. I FOUND ONE IN THE DUMP AND TAUGHT MYSELF TO PLAY WHEN I DISCOVERED PAPYRUS LIKED THE WAY IT SOUNDED. IT WOULD HELP PUT HIM TO SLEEP ON SOME OF THE ROUGHER NIGHTS."

"Aww. Maybe you could think about picking it back up. I'd love to hear you play!"

He would, eventually.

For right now.. the task seemed so daunting now that he had..

...That.

"..But maybe not yet."

Another silent conversation, passed by only the glint in his eyesocket. Once again he was glad he didn't have to openly admit he might struggle with learning something like that again but.. a small pass of shame also washed over him. He'd love to play for you, to maybe even create his own music to reflect the feelings you gave him in his soul, but to move this metallic.. 'thing'.. to play would be..

He'd become frustrated, just like with everything else.

"AND WHAT DO YOU DO TO RELAX MY DEAR?"

"Me? I usually sew or knit."

Right. Costumes. That’s why you asked to have your own space in that free room on the ship. You had mentioned it once before, how you use to do costuming back in the day for plays and helped your father who worked as a tailor until...

Hm.

"YOU SELL YOUR PIECES DON'T YOU?"

"Just to a few people. I make dresses for Mr. Rose's granddaughter and Rumpelstiltskin still orders some pieces for his wife. I also send some more elaborate stuff the Prince's way every once in awhile and I even still get requests from Mama Bear even after they disappeared off into the forest. I think they might finally have a Baby Bear on the way because they asked about knitting a little blanket a few days ago."

...

He.. tried to not humor the thought of just sailing away from this city with you, like that lucky bastard did with his spouse when he took off into the woods. Of course he couldn't, he knew Papyrus would stay here with Happy and he'd never want to be far from his brother.

Still...

It was a tempting idea.

"I could always teach you. It's a pretty good skill to just learn how to hand stitch to mend clothing and it really isn't too complicated."

He relented ...of course.

Because he always did to you, with that smile on your face and the hum in your tone.

.....

Learning from you had been everything he hoped for, with you sitting close to him as you taught him how to thread a needle. You were patient with him as he struggled, his hand shaking as he did his best to will his magic to move. You were gentle as you taught him to stitch carefully and slowly, following along side as you guided him every step of the way.

...He'll never forget the way you laughed at his first pass though.

He had been so damn.. angry!

Really, you had the nerve to laugh even when he did his best!

You were the worst, which is why exactly he had to pin you down and tickle you until you couldn't breathe. At least he could use that wretched metal arm to press your hands above your head as you desperately tried to wrestle out of his hold until you were flushed and gasping for breath.

His next attempt was alone late at night, when even the stars on the deck above couldn't quell his thoughts. They ran wild in his head, stampeding and thrashing about.

At his failures.

At his mistakes.

At the humming in his shoulder and the arm that ached despite not being there. So he tried to not think about it as he quietly threaded the needle under the dim yellow lights in his quarters. The quiet creak and groan of the boat was his only accompaniment along your soft breathing from the bed as you peacefully slumbered away.

In and out.

He timed his stitches with your breaths, pushing the needle through the felt and then back again as he sewed the two pieces of scrap fabric together. It was strange how difficult this was, willing his fingers to move while simply pushing and pulling a needle. His jaw would tense as his hand shook at times and failed to grasp the needle, and then he'd hear you let out a sigh and he'd relax again.

In and out.

Until the stitch was done.

Until he hushed the wild thoughts in his head and put his stress to bed.

Until he could no longer deny himself your company and he'd fall back to your side, finally delving into the depths of sleep.

He spent many days and nights like this, a fire ignited in his soul to hear your praise the first time.

"Seems like your stitched are getting tighter. Nice work there, Cap."

That was all he needed.

Your words. Your smile. The exigent that reflected in your beautiful eyes. You were proud of him, and it made him work all the harder as he sat with you in the room you had taken for your sewing. This place had been your sanctuary, something he once avoided entering to at least give you a little room for yourself on the ship, but now he found reassurance in it as well.

The whir of your sewing machine had become a comfort, able to drown out the buzz in his head as he worked beside you. Soft colorful fabrics lined the shelves in the wall and a half finished dress would decorate a mannequin or two. The both of you would drink coffee and chit chat as he tried to get lost in the motions of hand stitching pieces of scrap fabric together.

He didn't want to constantly strain himself to move his arm.

He wanted it to be natural.

He wanted to use his hand without a second thought.

He wanted it to be like..

How it use to be.

But it could.. never really be like it use to be.

And he struggled and struggled and struggled.

In the weeks that had dragged by, both you and Papyrus had picked up small gigs to help patch the hole his injury was leaving.

Sans was... or had been.. the bread maker.

He always prided himself on providing by running the docks, able to keep his rather lavish lifestyle alive by delivering cargo from overseas to sellers like the Fell brothers and the other croons of this city, but the two of you had insisted on him resting, so his businesses and trades had all but halted.

You were still far off from ever putting a dent in his savings, but the two of you worked regardless to ease his stress.

..Because somehow, even having the back up funds prepared for events like this, didn't stop Sans from stressing.

The only part that annoyed him about it was that you had less time to teach him. You focused more on your commissions, so Sans would leave you in peace to your quiet room and stitch in his quarters.

He hadn't really decided what he wanted to work towards from stitching. It had simply become a tool to help train his fingers, so now that he could sew what was he suppose to do with the skill?

...

....

.....

It was a quiet afternoon in his quarters, the low hum of a forgotten radio on his desk as a deep voice rattled off the daily news mixed with a garble of static. Being so far out into the marine meant the reception wasn't good, but he could pick up key terms as the voice drawled on. Another murder on the west side, some more fights in the south and some re-election news. Not like it mattered who was in charge these days. The faces changed but at the end of the day these suits always lined their pockets with bloodied dollar bills. This city was rotted to it's core, just like it's people, and it'd stay that way until it was burned to the ground.

Sans' eyelights drifted down to the book in front of him.

'Stuffed Plushies For Beginners!'

The title almost felt condescending, just like the colorful pictures and simple wording that decorated each page. He still couldn't help but twist his frown deeper at the fact that you bought him a children's book of all things, paired with that sharp little grin of yours and that infectious laugher. It had been too much.. Which is why he snatched the damn thing out of your hands when you gave it to him.

"To help decide what you want to do with your new skill! Maybe you can finally make something instead of just stitching scraps together you dork."

He would never turn down a challenge, especially from you, and he was eager to have your approval again.

"AND WHAT EXATLY SHOULD I SEW?"

"Just pick something you're interested in and sew it. They have a lot of animals in there! You do at least like one kind of animal, don't you?"

Dogs, because they were loyal.

Cats, because they could fend for themselves.

Birds, because of their freedom.

But making something based of them didn't quite appeal to Sans.

'Basic Plushie Pattern.'

...

"hey bro, i wanted to ask- oh my stars."

"AH-!" Sans inhaled, squeezing the doll in his grasp and nearly tearing at it with his claws. "YOU-! WOULD YOU KNOCK!?"

"you actually made a plushie of them. wow," his brother hummed, "and here i thought your obsession couldn't get any wo-"

WHOOMPH.

The pillow made direct contact with Papyrus' face, earning a laugh from the taller skeleton. Sans barked out a few more insults as his brother continued to giggle, admiring what he had finished so far.

It.. looked like crap.

Some of the stitches were lopsided and others weren't uniform, but he wanted to see this through before his frustrations got the better of him. So with some encouragement from Papyrus he kept at it, finishing the body and then attaching the head.

"Pahahaha! Captain!"

"WHAT!?"

"You! Ehehe! You-! Of.. of me!"

"LOOK, JUST TELL ME IT'S TERRIBLE SO I CAN BE RID OF THE ACURSED THING ALRIGHT?"

"No! No. Absolutely not! I'm keeping this forever and you can never take it away from me!"

He gritted his teeth and attempted to wrestle the doll from your grasp but to no avail. You hugged it close and refused to relent, calling it precious and a testament to his efforts.

All of his hard work..

To a doll..

That looked like you.

"Are you going to make one of you?" you asked, letting out a few breaths as he finally gave up trying to grab the doll from your grasp.

"AND WHY WOULD I DO THAT?"

"Well I don't want them to be lonely."

...

How could he... ever argue with that.

So begrudgingly he sewed again, this time now more aware than ever of that 'thing' as it worked meticulously to create a replicate of itself. The doll's left arm, sewn together with a deep gray metallic fabric, now shared the same shame he did.

...

Strangely enough, it suited him.

...

"They look cute together."

"ONE ON THE RIGHT HAS SEEN BETTER DAYS."

"I still think he's pretty cute. He's trying his best, after all."

Well.. he certainly couldn't argue with that either.

#look at that!#we made it!#cap's is a lil' more fluffier than the others so i hope you guys enjoy it!#captain!sans #sans #undertale #fellswap #fellswap sans #undertale fic #yandere sans #long post #fic #fanfiction #drabble #anxiety tw #depression tw #alch!writes #inbetween!fic

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satashiiwrites · 3 years

Photo

Again… snippet sunday.

From: Untitled Seguir Sequel/Reyes’ version

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda, Mass Effect 2

Pairings: MReyder, MShenko

Warnings: first draft.

They found a place to have breakfast not far from the hotel. It was a small cafe and they were seated quickly by an asari waitress. Cup of coffee in hand, he was surprised at the rich quality of it—it was made from real coffee beans rather than the reconstituted stuff he usually drank on ship that tasted like coffee and contained caffeine but was synthesized not grown. Scott added a dash of milk to his and a packet of sugar—Reyes noting the sweet tooth for future reference. He’d bet that Scott enjoyed chocolate….

As they perused the menus, Reyes found his eyes following each of Scott’s movements. He had a grace to his body that was innate and a soft smile curled over the lips in pleasure when Reyes reached for his wrist, fingers wrapping around the delicate bones before slipping his fingers into Scott’s. Idly commenting on if anything was good here, he was surprised when Scott had an opinion—he’d been here the morning before evidently.

When their waitress reappeared to take their orders he was semi-surprised over the amount of food Scott ordered. “What?” Scott asked, trying to pull his hand away and looking over Reyes’ shoulder, cheeks pinking.

“You must be very hungry,” Reyes observed. “But I suppose we worked up an appetite.”

The blush deepened and Scott shook his head, eyes falling to the tabletop as his lips turned down. “No—well yes. I’m… I’m a biotic,” he confessed, appearing to brace for Reyes’ response.

A biotic? Reyes hadn’t seen the symbol on Scott’s tags last night but he’d been distracted at the time. No wonder Scott had been hungry. Taking a sip of coffee, he didn’t let Scott pull his hand away and instead gave a light squeeze to halt the attempt to pull away. “A biotic? I’ve been told that you must go through a lot of calories then,” he asked casually.

Scott visibly paused, eyes finally meeting Reyes again. There was something in them that made Reyes feel protective—there was a lot of stigma in certain circles about being a human biotic and it was obvious that Scott hadn’t been certain of his reaction. “Yes… if I don’t eat regularly it’s a problem. My stomach likes to complain.”

Leaning closer, Reyes took another drink of the excellent coffee, savoring it. “Well we’ll just need to make sure we keep you fed.”

This caused another endearing blush but the fingers in his grasp squeezed his. “So…being a pilot… I’m sure you’ve seen a lot of the galaxy. I’ve… Arcturus is where I’ve been assigned since,” Scott gave a wave with his free hand to indicate it’d been a while.

Smiling, Reyes rubbed a circle into Scott’s wrist with his thumb. “It is one of the benefits of my job—and why I wanted to be a pilot in the first place.”

Scott asked something about his favorite places and Reyes found himself talking about the different colonies he’d been to and how remarkably similar yet dissimilar to Earth they were. This led to talking about growing up on earth and Scott explaining how he’d grown up an Alliance brat—moving from place to place with his parent’s assignments but mostly on the Citadel when his father had been deployed. There was a brief point in time where they’d both been only a few thousand kilometers apart when Scott had lived briefly in Rio de Janeiro. Reyes mused that it would have been interesting to meet Scott when they were children and he had been just a simple boy who dreamed of flying to distant planets and exploring the galaxy.

Their food came eventually and they tucked in but Scott didn’t pull his hand out of Reyes’. The conversation continued to flow and they moved on to recent events and discussion of their respective opinions on what exactly had happened when Saren Arterius had attacked. Reyes favored the turian as just having gone completely mad while Scott thought there was more to it, persuading Reyes to his thinking.

Scott was articulate and thoughtful. He listened and then spoke clearly, paying close attention to Reyes’ opinions but holding his own. The conversation flowed around them and before they knew it, two hours had passed since the dishes had been cleared away and they’d both drank multiple cups of coffee.

Reluctantly, Reyes knew he had to go or he’d be late for his meeting. He couldn’t show up in day old clothes. “I have to go…. But would you like to have dinner later? Tonight?”

Scott had looked crestfallen at the idea of leaving but it was wiped away by the suggestion of meeting again. “Yes,” he enthusiastically agreed. “What time and where?”

Apollo’s was the only place that Reyes could think of that was somewhat appropriate to take a date on and he suggested it even as he pulled up his omnitool to make a reservation. “Is seven too late?”

“No,” Scott readily agreed. “It’s perfect. I have some errands I have to get done myself. Good luck on your meeting.”

Reluctantly parting, Reyes pressed a chaste goodbye kiss to Scott’s lips, arms reluctantly unwrapping from around the trim waist, fingers wanting to curl in the belt loops to pull Scott tight to him despite needing to leave. “Until then cariño.”

He was aware that Scott watched him walk away as he headed for the docks to get a spare uniform. It took a surprising amount of effort to not turn back around and just say fuck it and take Scott back to bed when he looked like he did on Reyes’ last look.

#six sentence sunday #renamed snippet sunday #untitled seguir sequel #reyes vidal #mreyder #scott ryder #mea #wip #first draft

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commonwealthoccurences · 3 years

Text

Now Sleep (It’s Not Even Light Out)

TW: Description of wounds, throwing up mention, many corpse descriptions (and not the YouTuber), funeral description. Overall very death centered and angsty.

Word Count: 4,298

Prompt: Character Death

Day: 9/27

Song Listened To While Writing: The Moment I Said It by Imogen Heap

Arrogant. That’s how Preston would look back and describe himself years later, despite Nick shaking his head in disagreement and Deacon huffing a disbelieving laugh in response. He was arrogant, though. With Sole by his side he found himself feeling invincible with the entire world in front of him; terrified about what could happen but finally believing they could change the world together, if only Sole would give him the chance to help them.

Selfless. That’s how Preston would look back and describe Sole. They’d walked into the fight with so little other than their wit and bravery and returned on a makeshift stretcher, made of a piece of scrap wood, four Minutemen carrying them, solemn. Their hats were tipped forward to hide their swollen eyes and the hopelessly lost expressions on their faces.

He hadn’t even noticed it at first. There was a sea of dead after their fight with the Institute; brave soldiers of a wide range of ages, their faces all far too young to be part of a funeral parade through the main street of Sanctuary. Yet when someone stepped forward and they stopped in front of him, he very quickly went from naïve confusion to horror. They never stopped in front of him; he had no family left other than the distant bond he formed with every settler. There could only be one reason that they’d pause for him, as they did when returning the dead to their loved ones. All had been lost.

Preston looked between the front soldier’s faces for an explanation. He refused to accept that they were returning a body to him, the body of the one person he had left to look up to, the one person he could let his guard down in front of. When they pulled back the sheet on their face and revealed his nightmare to be true, he simply bowed his head and gritted his teeth. Compartmentalization was his specialty. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to stop the way the dirt spun below his boots, the way the world began to turn on it’s side.

Instead of throwing everything to the wayside and collapsing, as he so wanted to, Preston simply gathered himself and looked up, far calmer than he should’ve been, and moved to the side to allow the Minutemen to carry them into their home for the last time. Someone should’ve seen the way he refused to show any emotion, the way his fists clenched at his side before relaxing and the grief flushing to the back of his mind, and raised the alarms. A person in mourning wailing was normal; the way Preston simply lifted his head and continued on was certainly not.

There was more lost than Sole, however, and the community was too busy mourning the rest. Preston had a decision to make. Did he wait to announce what had happened to Sole? He wasn’t sure they could take the news straight after they had been led into what was essentially a high-tech slaughter. They had already lost family. A loss of leadership would jar them even more hopeless. The world was still spinning and nausea rose from his stomach to his chest, the feeling of acid climbing his throat overwhelming as he stood in the cool breeze.

Leaves danced in the light wind, swaying back and forth under the soft, blue sky. It was too bright, far too bright. Preston gathered what was left of him, the will to fight that had landed at his feet with the image of Sole cold on the board, the strength he had left to lead scattered somewhere down the street by the same wind, and turned to head inside. To join Sole.

The Minutemen who had carried them in were now posted at the door, heads bowed in respect to Sole, their rifles held straight up and down in front of them. Preston wanted to shout at them, drive them away and tell them to find somewhere else to take up space where he didn’t have to look at them and realize how badly he had failed to protect them, the soldiers and Sole themself, but he didn’t have the heart. Sole had been a symbol of hope, he knew that better than anyone. How was he supposed to be so cruel when they had brought them home?

Preston crossed the room with quiet footsteps, as if he were trying not to wake them. He didn't even have the mind to correct himself internally. It was so much easier to imagine them simply peacefully asleep, despite the fact that they had been positioned with their hands crossed over their chest. He could tell from the way the sheet fell over their body, and that made him glance around for the nearest trash can. Was it real? None of this could be real. He had to throw up. He was going to throw up.

Once he reached their side and sank to the floor next to them, he felt the urge to remove the sheet. It didn't look right; the Minutemen only covered their dead in sheets, out of respect, and there was no way Sole was dead. They couldn't be dead. He reached down with a trembling hand and peeled back the sheet slowly. What greeted him confirmed his worst fears and he lurched to the side, grasping onto the metal bin that sat in the corner, and hacked up whatever he had eaten last.

There was a smattering of bullet holes in their stomach and chest. The blood had seeped into the wood under them, staining it a dark red-brown and dyeing parts of their hair the murky color. It wasn't right. Somewhere near the doorway he heard sniffling; so the other Minutemen had broken down, too? Shame crept up his face, hot and overwhelming. Some leader he was. He hated himself, for letting them get killed and for letting the soldiers see him lose himself like this.

When did he start crying? He wasn't crying. He wasn't sure where the dampness on his cheeks had come from, but it wasn't his fault. He had no reason to cry; they weren't dead. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and was forced to curl in on himself, hands braced on his knees for support by a wrenching sob that nearly cracked his ribs in two. Some part of him wished it would, that it would shatter him into tiny pieces and someone would come in and sweep up everything that had held him together and he could forget about the rest of the world and simply not exist anymore.

Selfish, he scolded himself. He shifted his hand to reach over and straighten their dog tags where they sat between their collarbones when he noticed something clutched in their hands. A piece of paper poked out between their fingers, protected on either side of their palms from the blood that stained everything near them. Mindlessly, he noted that someone would have to throw out the rug their stretcher had been placed upon. One of the Minutemen by the door spoke up, throat clogged, sounding no better than Preston felt. "They, uhm, survived long enough to relay some last words. Said they wanted you to read it and that you would tell the people what you felt they needed to know."

Preston tried to suck in air but it simply wasn't coming. Last words? He hadn't accounted for that. Something told him not to read it, that if he didn't he didn't have to accept what had happened and they would sit up, pouting jokingly, asking him why he wouldn't play along. He stared down at their chest and the way it failed to rise. So still, like if he held himself in place it would look like an old photograph. Them, in the living room together, so still.

His hands were trembling so badly he couldn't even aim properly to shift their hands. If he touched them, would they be cold? He knew what the dead felt like; God knows he'd watched enough people die, buried enough of the people he cared about, that he knew what there was to know about dead bodies. But Sole? They didn't belong in that category. He couldn't imagine them as anything but warm and welcoming. There was no way they could be cold and limp. Empty. Lifeless. But the warmth that usually resided in their cheeks was no longer there, instead replaced by a smearing of blood. Preston shuddered.

Once again, he reached out. This time he would get it right; he'd fucked up enough, the least he could do was read their last words to him. With a harsh swallow he touched their hand and nearly cried out at the feeling. They were cold as ice; this may be their body but it wasn't them. Trying not to hyperventilate, Preston shifted their hand and took the folded piece of paper slowly from their grasp, trying so hard to ignore the way it simply fell from their clutch.

Preston,

Who knew it would end like this? I told myself over and over as we prepared to infiltrate that after the Institute was gone, we would have all the time in the world. I suppose I was wrong. It wouldn't be the first time, but you know that already.

I won't get into the ugly details, cause that's not why I'm having this written. I do know that the Minutemen like their records, though, and considering I don't think any of us are going to make it out of here, I suppose this is the next best thing. Everything went according to plan at first. We got more people out that we thought we would; X6 included. Thank God. On the way out, though, someone managed to get a shot on me.

The ink was smeared, or maybe Preston’s vision was going hazy with tears. Maybe it was both. The paper was rattling quietly as his hands continued to shake, and he swallowed the lump in his throat with a bitter clenching of his jaw. Why wasn’t everyone paying better attention? How was the leader of the Minutemen not better protected? Why did it have to be them?

Johnson helped me into the nearby storage area and we have a few others standing guard; Morrison and Crane, but we're low on ammo. I know I'm not making it out of here. We can't get to the teleporter without others taking out the synths that have found it and are waiting nearby, but I'm bleeding fast.

So I suppose it's time for my on-the-record last words. Thank you, Preston. I need you to know that none of this was your fault, and that I'm simply grateful that I've lived long enough to see this to the end. I have no doubt that you're doing the best you can, and as usual, your best is phenomenal. There is no one I'd rather have known. No one I'd rather have had by my side through everything. I have no regrets other than wishing I could see you before it all ends.

I have to ask that you go easy on yourself. I know you do your best to take care of everyone around you, to be the pillar of support, the courageous leader that never wavers, but it's going to kill you. No one can live how you're making yourself live. You're allowed to be human, Preston.

I'd also like to add that I'm sorry. I know that my inheritance is the heaviest to receive; the role of leader. Are you ready to be General, Preston? Probably not, and for that I'm sorry, sorry that we couldn't do this slowly, easily. But no one can do things better than you can, and I believe in you. Just remember that a leader has to be taking care of themself as well for the community to thrive. You told me that, remember? You're right. Please take your own advice.

And, if you’ll be so kind as to keep this off the record, I hope I'm not getting ahead of myself, but I'm sorry we didn't have more time. I told myself that when this was all over and the threats were mostly gone, well, as gone as they could be in the wasteland, I would tell you how I felt. How shitty of me, to leave you with this burden as well, but I suppose I can't take it back now that it’s been written down. Morrison's laughing at me. Apparently everyone knew but us, go figure. I suppose we both were a little blind to everything that didn't involve work.

Take care of yourself. Ask for help, even though it's your least favorite thing in the world. Give yourself time. Tell Dogmeat I said goodbye, and I love him, and everyone at Sanctuary that I miss them already. That it was an honor to serve them. Tell Deacon to stop smoking, and Nick too, just for the principle of it. Tell X6 he’s braver than he knows and he’ll get through the adjustment period, no matter how uncertain it is. I will see you again in another life, I swear to you. It was the greatest honor to know you, Preston Garvey.

I love you.

There was a smudge of blood on the page, he realized, after rereading it the fifth time. Sole’s, probably. He wanted to laugh at the sheer horror of it all, for lack of a better reaction; he’d run out of tears the third time he’d read their last words. Was it theirs, before they died? Or was it someone else's? Had they survived long enough to get caught by the synths? Had they bled out just before help had arrived? Was there a chance, at all, for them to survive?

Preston had so many questions left for them. He wanted to know how they could believe in him when he hadn’t been there to save their life, despite the countless times they had saved him. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, he knew it was impossible for him to have done anything, that he was on the other side of the teleporter making sure that things ran smoothly. That if he had tried to help them he would’ve been shot dead the moment he stepped through the portal. But he hated himself for not being there as they drew their last breaths.

He folded the paper back up as carefully and neatly as he could and pressed it into his palm. How he wished the letter was at least in their handwriting. Did someone at least hold them as they passed? Or were they left leaned up against a cold Institute wall, the very culmination of the worst their world had to offer? If the others in the room survived, he didn’t think he’d ask them. He was afraid of the answer.

If only it was Preston in their place. Sure, he didn’t exactly want to die, didn’t seek it out, but it was better than Sole going. He’d done his part, made the effort to get the ball rolling for repairing the Minutemen. But the Minutemen needed Sole like children needed their parents. He would’ve died, alone, and been okay with it. A hero’s death, but a hero insignificant enough that it wouldn’t have broken the Minutemen. If only it was him.

He leaned over them, still clutching their last words like a lifeline, and pressed a kiss to their forehead, trying his hardest to ignore the way his falling tears collected bits of the dried blood on their skin and began washing it away. They deserved to be buried looking less like how they died and more like who they were when they were alive. “Can I…” He began, his voice cracking and barely audible. “Can I get some water? And a cloth?”

The Minutemen didn’t move, but footsteps shuffled around the house regardless. Someone had entered while he was repeating their letter over and over in his head like a mantra. When he looked up as the bowl of water and cloth were placed next to him, he met eyes with X6-88. At first, a flash of rage and hatred flooded through him. Maybe if they hadn’t met him and believed there was more for him and subsequently gone to find the Railroad, Sole would still be alive. Then he was calm. At least he had lived. At least their last mission had been successful. That’s what they would’ve wanted.

X6-88 stepped back, steps whisper quiet, and folded his hands behind his back as he stood nearby, looking straight ahead. Sole had said he would have trouble adapting to the outside world, understanding what it was like to be a regular settler in the Commonwealth, but something about his actions was familiar. He was hiding in his own mask of emotionlessness. He was doing his best to cope.

Preston braced himself for the next steps and reminded himself that this was the best thing for Sole. It didn’t matter how he felt right now, it was about Sole’s dignity and the way they deserved to go. With a shaky breath he dipped the cloth in the water and brushed it over their forehead, wiping away the blood that had long made itself home where it didn’t belong. When he dipped the cloth back down and began to ring it out, he swallowed bile again at the way it turned a light pink.

Slowly, he peeled back more of the sheet and washed away the blood on their skin. Their overshirt was still stained with blood; he’d have to get them a new shirt and wrap their wounds so they wouldn’t bleed through again. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that, but there was some time before they’d have to announce Sole’s death and prepare them for a funeral. God, he was tired of funerals. He’d seen more than he could remember off the top of his head, a list a mile long, stretching out and wearing him thin.

After a moment of holding the cloth against their forearm, unable to continue as the cloth and water turned muddy red, he felt someone grip his hand. When he looked up X6-88 was kneeled neatly on the other side of Sole’s body, his other hand upturned and open, silently asking to take over. “Ask for help” Sole’s words echoed in the back of his head, their voice reverberating in a way that was so hauntingly them. Would there be a day when he could no longer remember what their voice sounded like?

Preston dropped the cloth into X6’s hand with a grateful nod and sat back, collapsing from how he had been kneeling onto the floor. There was blood on his hands and wrists, blood brushed up his forearms from where he had just barely touched them while cleaning. He wanted to scratch the skin underneath off, rip it apart with his fingernails until there was no trace left of their blood or himself.

Silently, the world continued to spin. X6-88 calmly resumed his task of cleaning Sole’s cold skin, gentler than he had ever been before. Perhaps it was his way of grieving; removing all traces of the Commonwealth and what it had done to them from them. Preston had his back against the wall, silently suffocating with his head in his hands, tears dripping down onto the floor below him. The two guards remained stock still and silent, also silently weeping, their heads raised in pride. At the way the Minutemen would continue despite yet another catastrophic loss. At the way their General had sacrificed so much to give them what they couldn’t have.

Outside, the rest of the world fell silent. There were others to mourn, so many others, and they had left behind families as well. The four inside the room with Sole needed time, and so they let the news wait for another day, with Sole sleeping peacefully on their stretcher, covered in a new, clean shirt and sheet.

Word had been sent out to Deacon, Valentine, and Piper rather quickly. They’d been added to the Minutemen radio long ago, just in case, at Sole’s orders, so it wasn’t hard. They made the trip to Sanctuary in record time, arriving with solemn faces and for Piper, swollen eyes. The trio had remained resolute in their need to keep a brave face until they went down like dominos.

Piper went first, letting out a sob as soon as she saw Sole’s body, turning away and hiding her face in Nick’s shoulder. Deacon rested a hand on her shoulder and simply stared down at Sole, their eyes shut, skin now clean. Nick patted her back and held her up when Preston began reading Sole’s last words with a wavering voice. Deacon went second, choking on grief when Preston recited, “Tell Deacon to stop smoking, and Nick too, just for the principle of it.” He wasn’t one to cry, but God did the situation make for exceptions.

Nick went last. Despite the fact that he couldn’t cry, when he left the house to get fresh air after the letter was read, he threw his hat at the side of the house and collapsed to a crouch, pressing his hands against his face. No one looked each other in the eyes; it would’ve been more than a breaking point, it would’ve caused them all to shatter apart.

The funeral was put together rather quickly after the announcement was made to the rest of the settlers that their General had made one of the biggest sacrifices to protect them. Preston stood on the podium, X6-88 standing just behind him with his hands still folded formally behind his back, head bowed, and read out the list of losses, Sole’s name at the very end. Nick had written a eulogy, but the words blurred together. Preston stopped paying attention to the world around him once he was down from the podium.

It was a military-style funeral. They did their best to make sure all high-ranking Minutemen officials had one, but this was the first time in a while that it was put together so well. Sole deserved nothing but the best. Sturges had been kind enough to stay up through the night to put together a makeshift coffin for them, the best that they could do, and Deacon had taken his anger at the world out on digging their grave. Nick had taken Piper away so she didn’t have to watch and picked flowers with her to go on Sole’s chest before they were lowered into the ground.

Everything came together in a sickening blur, but the world allowed them a small reprieve. The burial went well. A large crowd gathered in the fields of Sanctuary, heads bowed grimly, as they listened to Sole’s companions tell stories of their adventures, their shining personality, and their generous heart. When the row of Minutemen fired their rifles into the air Preston didn’t even flinch; he was too used to it. Somehow, he made it up to the grave to take part in shoveling one scoop of dirt onto their casket, but after that it was black.

The next time he became aware of himself was in the main house, where he was reclined in one of the chairs, Sole’s dog tags pressed to his lips in thought. Nick was still somewhere around, cursing the fact that he was incapable of sleeping, Piper passed out in one of the back rooms from emotional exhaustion. Deacon had vanished into thin air, as he often did. Preston wouldn’t be surprised if they never saw him again, and he couldn’t blame the other man; he was feeling the urge to run very far away right about now, too.

The cold metal was grounding against the skin on his face and he took in a deep breath, closing his swollen eyes. Maybe if he was lucky the universe would grant him a moment's rest, and he would wake up the next morning to Sole rapping their knuckles against his door, teasing him for accidentally sleeping in on them. But they never left their dog tags behind, no matter what. No, it was real. They were gone. And it was sure to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Three years later, it was a hushed topic for anyone to ask a question about the fact that General Garvey wore two pairs of dog tags around his neck. He was a good man, kind, but it was obvious something had changed him to the new settlers; he was quiet, his face drawn and bordering grim at all times. No one had really seen him laugh, which was a shame, because many commented that there seemed to be a light in the depths of his eyes that was begging to come back out. Not to mention the way his second in command glared when someone tried to ask what had happened.

Every July 4th he visited a lone grave in the middle of the fields and rested bouquets of flowers all around and changed out the Minutemen’s flag that hung off the cold stone. He sat, the entire day, undisturbed by the settlers who merely stopped and stared at a distance out of curiosity, in silence. At the end of the day, when the sun had just dipped below the horizon, his second in command would join him in the field and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Preston,” X6-88 would say. “It’s time to get some rest.”

#Fallout 4 #Fo4 #Fo4f #Fallout 4 February #Oneshot #Imagine #Preston Garvey #Angst #Character death

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