#i only drank apple juice for the entirety of my birthday

[glitterduo]

some pictures i took on my birthday

yall already know imma cosplay dave

[lifeofroos]

Part 50: Nico is a good kid guys. 

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, they have a chat about Christmas. The rest can be found on AO3 and FanFiction.net! And also in tumblr tags like Nico di Angelo, Dionysus, therapy etc.

This Might Be Crazy: Chapter 50: Spiced Apple Juice

‘Hey.’

Dionysus looked up from the report he had been reading. ‘I didn’t even hear you coming.’

‘You weren’t supposed to.’

‘Not?’ He snapped his fingers and a second chair appeared. ‘You are lucky. I’ve got some time.’ He’d never not have time, but still. ‘Yet, I mean only some. I have other obligations tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow is Christmas!’

‘Your point?’

 I sat down. ‘I mean, It’s your birthday, I guess.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, so you figured that out already. Yes, it is, and the same goes for Odin.’ He sighed. ‘You know Jesus is born on the 25th of december as well. Hence Christmas. Every year, the birthday boy collects both me and Odin, so that we can take a hike, imagine, the same hike every single year for over two-thousand years now, that takes five hours. And we start at five in the morning, so once we are done, it is only just ten A.M.’ He looked like the embodiment of tiredness after he said it. 

‘Ah-ha. That sounds really annoying.’

‘It depends. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t.’ He pushed the report aside. ‘Anyway, what are you here for? Anxious about Christmas?’

‘I mean, maybe a little, but that wasn’t my main point. I will be going to Wills’ house again to celebrate this year. Wills’ mother is a nice lady and aunt Natalia won’t be invited this year. I believe Naomi Solace has gone no-contact with her, even.’

‘Good to hear. Yet, what is the matter then?’ 

I got the little paper bag with the brooch out of my pocket. ‘Since it is your birthday, and Christmas, and perhaps the Saturnalia too? I don’t know, anyway, I got you this.’ I pushed the paper bag towards him. 

Suddenly very interested, he picked it up. He unpacked the brooch and held it against the light. ‘It’s… really beautiful, actually.’

I shrugged. ‘Yeah.’

‘No, as in, really, really beautiful.’ 

I stared at the table. ‘What did you expect? Me to have a bad taste?’ 

He gave me a sideways look. ‘Ah, he’s still in there.’ 

I expected him to say I was on thin ice next, but he didn’t. Not this time. Probably in the conscience that I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky next time. 

He put the brooch on his shirt. I nodded. ‘Good.’ 

‘I hope you didn’t curse it.’

‘Who knows.’

‘You never do, I suppose.’ 

I turned my chair around and stared at camp for some time. ‘I am looking forward to Christmas tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I really do.’

‘Yet?’ He gave me a sly smile. A glass of Apple juice appeared. I gratefully picked it up. 

‘Last year, it was fun, but it was all eclipsed by aunt Natalia’s behaviour.’ I shrugged. ‘She won’t be there, but I hope there won’t be someone else ruining it one way or another. I am afraid something will go wrong.’ I narrowed my eyes. ‘Wow, that sounds familiar. It can’t be the first time I said that.’

‘I can quite certainly say it is not.’ 

I sighed. ‘At least I know why I am so nervous now. Last year, I was constantly taunted by aunt Natalia. I thought it did not bother me much, but the nasty aftertaste is still there.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘I least I clearly now whats’ wrong.’

‘You seem to understand why you are worried really well. This might be a more easy cause to figure it out for, but can you analyse the way you thought of it?’

‘I was angry and sad. I tried to figure out why that was and this was what clearly came to mind. So, seeing as how it is clearly at the front of my mind, there was no denying that that was probably it.’ I took a sip of my juice. 

‘Yes, very good. So, you identified how you felt and then you thought of why you felt like that.’

I slowly nodded. 

‘Do you think a thought pattern like that is something you can also try next time you feel anxious?’

‘Eh, well, maybe.’

‘Sounds stupid, I know…’

‘Not really. Not stupider than some other things you told me.’

‘Touché.’

‘I’ll try it.’

‘Trying is okay. And about the anxieties you are having right now: Are you still going tomorrow?’

‘Of course! Will and I are leaving tonight, actually, maybe I should have mentioned that.’

‘You’ll see how it goes. My prediction is that it will be quite fun, but something small will go wrong. That is how most family parties go.’ He groaned. ‘Except on Olympus. There they start with one tiny argument and end up with ten full-blown fights. That is part of the reason why I am partly happy I get to hang out with Jesus and Odin on my birthday, or Christmas or whatever. At least they don’t fight about everything, from eon old feuds to how the sauce is all wrong.’

‘He. Nice.’ My eyes fell on the report, which had almost dropped onto the floor. ‘It wasn’t exactly my plan to talk for this long.’

Dionysus pulled his papers closer. ‘It is alright. I hope you can go to your family party in peace, now.’ He looked at the brooch and began to smile. ‘And thanks for this. Thanks a lot.’

I smiled back. ‘Yes, you’re very welcome.’ I stood up and drank up the rest of the spicy apple juice. ‘I’ll see you after Christmas, or your birthday, or the Saturnalia, or whatever else, then.’

He nodded. ‘See you then.’

‘Happy birthday.’

‘Bye now.’ He turned back to his report, while I stepped down the porch and went to the Apollo cabin. I had important things to pack up.

A/N: Not me looking through my own chapters trying to figure out what aunt Natalia was called again. 

Saying it once again: It is NOT academically proven that Dionysus (AND ABSOLUTELY NOT ODIN, *I* MADE THAT UP) have their birthday on the 25th. I just think this is funny. Don’t take this as proof or as a ‘serious’ academic theory of anything. Please don’t.

Also, little sad, little happy: I have planned and written out the entirety of the story. Don’t worry: It will run to at least chapter 71. I say ‘at least,’ because if there is anything you really really want to see/anything that Nico should experience/talk about, tell me right now! You can do that via comment or drop me an ask on Tumblr (@lifeofroos). 

[thereluctantinquisitor]

Get Into My Oc

So I was tagged by @chaitea09 and @sunshinemage for this delightful meme, and decided to go with one of my lesser known kiddos. So, without further ado:

Cyrus

NAME: Cyrus du Volise

AGE: 25 at the Conclave

GENDER: Male

ORIENTATION: Bisexual

PROFESSION: Soldier

BACKGROUND (TW: child abuse, abuse): Cyrus was raised in south-eastern Orlais, close to the Ferelden border, in the manor estate of his father, former decorated chevalier Joustis du Volise. Accused and acquitted of murder, Joustis was already famous for his quick temper, but became cruel after his disgraced departure from the tournament circuit and lack of patronage following the extended and highly damaging trial. Cyrus’ mother bore the brunt of his abuse, until she finally fled a few months before Cyrus turned two. His only memory of her is of a song she used to hum to him when she put him to sleep, and it is not something he looks back on fondly.

Growing up was painful in many ways, particularly for such a meek child. Shut away in the manor estate, Cyrus made no real friends, and the household staff were too frightened of his father to dare befriend him openly. His father took to blaming Cyrus for his mother leaving, refusing to see fault in himself, and treated Cyrus with cold disdain as a result. It was when he turned thirteen that the physical abuse began, but with little worldly knowledge and no one to lean on, Cyrus found himself trapped in a house that became a prison. As he grew older, his resentment grew with him, not only of his father, but of his mother as well. 

He did not blame her for leaving. He blamed her for leaving him behind to suffer the consequences.

When he reached eighteen Cyrus began sneaking out to the nearby town, uncaring of his father’s punishments because he would bear them regardless. Something in him shifted, and the meek, kind child he had been gave way to someone bitter and angry at the world for turning a blind eye. He drank and staggered home, and the numbness made the beatings easier to stomach. He met people, but still made no true friends, sometimes spending nights accompanying other people in their safer beds just to put off the inevitable return home. Cyrus was arrogant. Rude. Cruel and cynical, but he made sure of one thing: he never threw the first punch. That was the realm of his father, and it was a place he never wanted to tread. He was better. Not by much, but he was better. At the end of the day, he decided he might as well earn the beatings.

Just before his twenty-fourth birthday, Cyrus made the decision to leave for good. He packed his bags and whatever possessions he could comfortably carry, but while he was searching for coin one of the servants tipped his father off, revealing his plan. However, to Cyrus’ surprise, his father invited him to dinner instead. One last time, he had claimed. It smelled of a trap, but what choice did Cyrus have? His father was better trained and still much stronger, and Cyrus had inherited his mother’s shorter, leaner stature. In any case, whatever his father put in the wine, Cyrus remembered next to nothing of that dinner.

When he woke, it was on the side of the road with nothing but the clothes on his back and a searing pain that seemed to engulf the entirety of his face. It wasn’t until he found a pool of water still enough to offer reflection that he realised what his father had done. Stunned, Cyrus remembered reaching up with shaky hands, brushing the red, swollen lines that marred his face, not quite believing what he was seeing. In the end, he could only assume it was his father’s parting gift for the son everyone described as a ‘spitting image’ of him when he was young and loved. Just like that, his father took the one thing Cyrus had thought his own – the decision to finally leave – and twisted it. Just like that, Cyrus found himself alone with nothing.

So, he started walking.

PHYSICAL

BODY TYPE: Svelte. Once he begins training with the Inquisition and eating properly, his muscles fill out more, but his overall frame is still relatively lean compared to many of the other soldiers.

EYES: Ice blue

HAIR: Blue-black

SKIN: Light tan

HEIGHT: 5'8”

WEIGHT: 155 LBS / 70.5KG

SKILLS (S.P.E.C.I.A.L + M)

STRENGTH: 6/10; Cyrus is much faster than he is strong, favouring striking swiftly and with sharp precision over getting into contests of strength. He is more likely to break through an opponent’s defence through sheer volley, rather than brute force.

PERCEPTION: 9/10; Cyrus is very perceptive, particularly to people’s moods, from a lifetime spent trying to dodge his father’s foul ones. He seems to always keep one eye open, refusing to fully relax, as though expecting something bad to happen the moment he lets his guard down.

ENDURANCE:  5/10; While fast, Cyrus does tire quickly. The bursts of speed he favours take their toll, and if the fight drags on for too long, he often finds himself in trouble. In training, he dominates in the sprints, but falls back on longer endurance runs.

CHARISMA:  2/10; He is capable of having his moments when he is with someone he trusts, but they come only in short, bright slivers that surprise both Cyrus and the person to whom he is speaking. Majority of the time, he acts like an asshole and goads people into hating him because it is easier for him to handle when he knows he deserves it. It gives him a sense of control over the situation, even if the situation is not a positive one.

INTELLIGENCE: 8/10; Being locked up in the manor had its benefits, given the amount of books his mother had brought with her when she married Cyrus’ father. More often than not, he found comfort in quiet pages. However, Cyrus lacked street smarts, and he learned some very difficult lessons very quickly once his father left him on the side of the road with nothing.

AGILITY: 9/10; He is fast. It is one of the things he prided himself on, and one of the things he could practice without raising suspicion. He learned that when someone is stronger than you, it’s best to just try to avoid their swings, or move with them to lessen the impact.

LUCK: 5/10; A lot of his life could only be defined as unlucky. However, he considered finding the Inquisition and meeting the Dawn Squad one of the luckiest things that could ever happen to anyone.

MAGIC: 0/10; Cyrus is a non-mage, and dislikes healing magic in particular due to one of his father’s servants manifesting and staying on staff to heal the worst of Cyrus’ injuries growing up. In order to stay out of the Circle, the mage-servant agreed to make a blank slate of Cyrus every time he was broken.

LIKES

COLORS: Dark shades that remind him of comfort beneath blankets, warm yellows and oranges (like candlelight), and the blue of the ocean.

SMELLS: The heavy scent before rain, vanilla, wood smoke and parchment.

FOOD: Soft bread and warm butter, cinnamon, salmon, rice, and pork crackling.

FRUITS: Apples, berries, grapes, apricots.

DRINKS: Chai tea, warm water with honey, cool water with lemon and lime, any juice.

ALCOHOLIC DRINKS: Ale, wine, mead, whiskey, brandy… etc. You get the idea. If it’s alcoholic, he’ll drink it.

OTHER

SMOKE: No. His father smokes a pipe, and it is another thing that leaves him feeling queasy just being in the same room and smelling it.

DRUGS: He struggles with an addiction to a sleeping remedy meant for short-term relief after the attack on Haven, but he leans on it for far too long and becomes dependent. The squad eventually finds out and gets him help (in canon, Anacrea finds an alternative and weans him off it).

DRIVER’S LICENSE?: In a modern!AU, he would get his license in his mid to late 20s, having been cooped up for so much of his youth without access to a car.

I will tag... @smolpocketmonstercoffee, @lavellanlove, @the-jade-goblin, @bladeverbena aaaaand @chaitea09 (for one of your other babs) ;D