Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Akayaofthemoon
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Akayaofthemoon

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YASMIN
THE UNIVERSITY, SEATTLE
Mood: NOPE



The shift in movement beside her and a distinct rustle of fabric had her hands sliding down to remove themselves from at least blocking her eyes. Chocolate met gold, the swirl of worry as clear as day but the deeper emotions they held easily stirred for her to see because they were emotions Hathor had felt herself before when concerning her sister. She had been trying to stay strong and keep her composure as best she could, the tears being the only thing she had not been able to stop but with Bastet’s words, a sharp pain of guilt that was her own added in with Hera’s made her want to crumble. She wasn’t even able to get an apology out as it came as more of a whimpering cry than even a reply. The issue was, she hadn’t been thinking, she had just acted and that was something that had always been her problem. When the moment struck just right, she wanted to do something about it. If she had been logical...Bastet would have been of monumental assistance so she herself did not have to be overwhelmed as she was currently but there was no changing the outcome now.

She hadn’t even needed to ask for support, her sister being the same pillar of strength and comfort that she had always been as the arms wrapped around her. Hathor clung to her like a child then, hugging her close and burying her face in the crook of her shoulder. She let herself be weak, not caring if the other ones saw since she was in her own world. She was grappling with herself, the emotions she felt as well as everything she had offloaded from Hera to place on her own soul. Bastet was at least keeping Hathor’s own emotions at bay with just letting herself focus on the hug itself. The comfort in knowing that she was not alone. For a moment, she thought that it might be manageable like this and then that moment was gone. The smell of lotus and sandalwood enveloped around her, one that had her heart skipping and racing. It pulled from her fond memories, moments of laughter, times where she had been his support, the thoughts of a warm and heated embraces that were nothing like the one she was receiving now but then it shifted, twisting as heartbreak and guilt slammed into her.

The painful flood of memories. The ones where she had been cast aside. All the promises that had been laid before her to be given to another. She had lived, breathed, protected, and loved with every fiber of her soul but it was never enough. She had never been enough. The other times she had tried to grasp at those feelings with another, they had run through her fingers like sand. All the loves she thought might be true never were and maybe she wasn’t meant to have one. Hathor tilted her head up, her eyes moving, glancing longingly at yet another man her heart beat for and knew this time it was for nothing. It wouldn’t stop making her feel even though it was strictly impossible. Well, maybe not but it was pretty damn close. The stab of guilt and sorrow ran through her again, making her grip on Bastet’s coat tighten. He was desperately in love with someone else and technically they were still married which made guilt eat at her soul. Kore was sweet and wonderful. It was hard not to love her.

It didn’t stop her from wanting anyway, it helped in holding her tongue though and keeping her feelings close to her heart instead of pouring them out to Hades. She took a moment to be content that at least she had his friendship, one they had forged in understanding and reflection of who the other was beyond just their darker sides. It was something she cherished just as much as her friendships with Tlaz and Hel. She would do anything for them, they only needed to say the word. She watched him comfort his two sweetpeas, making sure they had the support they needed and it felt bittersweet for her. The mist finally cleared, making her feel like she could come up for air instead of just drowning in her memories and thoughts but it was already too much. She needed away from this mess. Hathor slowly pulled back from Bastet, giving a weak smile and shakily stated that she needed some air.

The Morrigan was already putting her foot down by the time Hathor was at the door, making a swift exit. She wouldn’t be able to drive like this but sitting in the sun or doing some cloud gazing until the emotions drifted back to only her own wasn’t too bad of an idea. It was better than the other part of her that wanted to kick, scream, cry, and hit everything in sight. She just wanted this day to be over, have a few drinks, and do something...anything just to help her forget the pain she felt and the past she was running from. It probably wasn’t smart to be alone but at the same time, she didn’t want them to have to worry more. She would be fine. She was used to this. She could handle it.

Hathor found herself a patch of grass, flopping back into it without a care in the world or whether it was ruining her white outfit. The fresh air would do her good and everything else would fall into place. She couldn’t change what was but she could learn from it. When she was back to herself, she would look into seeing what she could do for the fallen god. They were all in danger and she would not allow her loved ones to be next. She needed her family and friends to be safe. It was those thoughts that ran through her mind as she watched the clouds drift, her heart aching in a sea of negative emotions and loss.






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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Boreas
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Boreas stay / chilly™

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E R O S
Seattle University
Mood: no.






The room was quickly becoming suffocating for the god of carnal love. The passion of anger was barely discernible from sexual passion and the emotion was currently running on high. There was a tightening in his chest as a woman stood at the end of Ares’ pistol, she was calm, and collected, and her words reached him when everyone else had failed.

There was a flurry of movement around him, gods getting up to leave, Hermes stumbling to the ground, Ares turning to give strength to his mother… and then his own mother. Eros finally looked at the beautiful woman that had enchanted him all that time ago, there was a warmth that spread through his chest as he saw her in her shining glory, she was as beautiful as the day he first met her. A small smile was a brief vision on his face, he had started towards her, planning on scooping her in his arms and apologizing with all the affection he could muster. As he stepped closer he noticed the faint pink aura wafting away from her just a moment too late to hold his breath.

It was the smell of pressed roses and aged vanilla that froze his footsteps. A chill ran over his spine when he heard the giggles as clear as day, when he blinked it was Psyche standing where his mother had just been. He blinked again and again, willing her to disappear from his vision but it was the room that disappeared. When his eyes opened again it was the familiar kitchen of their London apartment and Psyche stood at the counter gazing longingly out the window, perhaps dreaming of the freedom from the demons that plagued her then.

“Psy-Psyche…”Eros tried to call out to her but he couldn’t hear his own voice, and even as he approached she wouldn’t look at him.

Why wouldn’t she look at him? Why hadn’t she told him? Why didn’t he notice?

“I’m sorry, my love…” Still it was silence but this time her eyes cast in his direction but they were looking past him, a small of relief on her face and she reached out to his direction. Eros hadn’t realized he was so close to her and when he reached out to grab her arms she exploded into a hundred butterflies and when he blinked it was the face of his mother he was looking at.

Eros released his hold on her as if she had burned him, confusion flashed in his blue eyes first and then it was anger. Without a word he turned on his heel and finally made his exit, blocking out all noise that called out to him. His feet carried him quickly through the halls, trembling hands fumbling in his pockets for his keys and spilling them to the concrete as his frustration bubbled over and expelled into a single word shouted from the depths of his stomach, “FUCK!”

Regardless of the few stares he received it felt good to just yell, but it was a temporary release that allowed him a moment to regain himself enough to pick up his keys, fold them into his fist and continue onward to his car.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by smarty0114
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smarty0114 Human

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APOLLO
SEATTLE UNIVERSITY
oh sick, oh shit, oh FUCK NO, oh hell yeah



It was like someone flipped a switch.

The room fell away, and he was standing in a field, his golden crown atop his head once more. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, a hue that he hadn’t seen since the mortals began to cloud it with smoke. At first, it was just the smell, springtime and fresh air, a sweetness that was almost as perfect as the original, and then, suddenly, He was there. A masterpiece, a mortal who knew no equal in his beauty. Dark hair that teased his shoulders with it’s length, piercing eyes that enthralled you with their stare, and a face that put all other muses to shame.

He smiled, and Apollo laughed, but his laughter faltered as he looked around to see where they stood. It was too familiar. He knew this grass, this sky. The field… the breeze was picking up, and it was strong, too strong, but he’s moving now. His masterpiece is running across the field and Apollo is twisting his body, his muscles tightening and then releasing, the golden discus is soaring through the sky, jetting through the air, he can’t stop it, can’t scream out to stop running. Apollo blinks and his masterpiece is gone.

The switch is flipped again, and he’s standing in the conference room once more, his breathing labored, but his feet still planted in the same spot. His eyes scan the room as he tries to regain his bearings. They fall on Aphrodite, and Apollo was quickly reminded of why they’d all taken such great care to not offend her. That had been… less than pleasant, and it couldn’t have been longer than a few moments. What might have happened if Aphrodite lacked such restraint?

His head felt thick, as if someone had cut him open and diverted the Lethe to bathe his brain in its milky waters. He fought back against Aphrodite's waning influence, but nothing could cleanse him of those memories, resurfaced and looping through his mind. His first love, his first failure.

Still reeling from his vision of the dead, Apollo followed Aphrodite’s gaze, to the door where they’d all entered closing. The fog around his mind was parted by a sudden realization; Eros was gone. A pit formed in his stomach, and he decided right then that he and Hephaestus had never really been that close. Plus, he’d just watched one great love slip through his fingers. He couldn’t let another.

His feet carried him out the door, picking up speed as soon as he was past the threshold. He caught a glimpse of an unmistakable form rounding a corner, and he pressed on, the sun chasing desire. As he turned down the hall, he slammed into a mortal woman, knocking a stack of papers out of her hands and scattering them across the floor. He paused, stopping for a moment to mutter apologies and crouching to help collect the papers, but then Eros was out the door, fumbling with his keys.

“FUCK!”

The shout was muffled, but it still reached Apollo’s ears. “Fuck, sorry, I would help, I would, but this is a century in the making,” he said, before scrambling to his feet and bolting out to the parking lot, leaving the woman with nothing but scattered papers and a shocked expression.

Seattle’s morning chill and his recent bout of exertion brought a redness to his cheeks as he caught up to Eros, but it didn’t stop the easy smile that spread across his face. “I thought I’d at least get a goodbye this time around. Maybe a phone number, and a lunch date. A ride in that fancy car too?”




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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by AlteredTundra
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AlteredTundra RIP to the GOAT, Akira Toriyama

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H E R A C L E S
UNIVERSITY OF SEATTLE
Divine Protector



Had Heracles wanted to say something about the loss of the best smith this world had known? Of course, he did. He wanted to express his Grand Canyon-sized sorrow at the fact that this world, mortal or not, was deprived of someone so true and so hard-working and everyone would experience the pain. But he couldn’t. And do you know why? One reason.

Hera went fucking mental!

Whether that was harsh of him to think, given that her son was announced dead remained to be seen. Heracles certainly held no love in his godly heart for the Queen of Olympus and even less since she insulted his perfectly capable, and, if he did say so himself, quite majestic Egyptian goddesses, shields from her wrath, but the accusation spree she went on sent shiver upon shiver down his spine that forced the mighty protector of Athens to feel something he hadn’t since he stared down Hades when he was sent to retrieve Cerberus.

Fear. Impure, unadulterated, completely shivering in his boots, fear.

Every inch of his body that would’ve stood up and defended Hathor and Bastet was doing everything it could not to literally shit his pants. Instead, it was Hathor who seemed to calm his stepmother, though with the addition of his step-brother, Ares, pulling out a gun on Shango and Athena sparing no expense, this did nothing to quell the rising storm that was Hera’s grief nor did it do anything to help the morale of the room.

“Yep, we’re fucked.” Heracles muttered to himself, taking in deep breaths.

Ever since being reduced to something slightly more than a mortal, in times where he felt his life might actually be in danger, Jackson, not Heracles, often found ways to cope. Sometimes it meant burying his face between bountiful cheeks of some college girl who made their way to one of the many parties hosted at Acropolis and others it meant meeting his Seattle Fans at impromptu lunches at whatever restaurant was closest to his and APollo’s condo. Whatever he indulged, it often helped Jackson Drake not feel so anxious in his own skin.

And seeing guns and grieving mothers assume the worst about everyone in the room brought him back to the times he was nearly killed by said gunslinging gangster and scorned Hera; so much so that he sank into his seat even further. Haunted by all of this, brave Heracles was about to cower away, sink under the table, and plan his escape, but then he caught a whiff of a familiar aroma. It took him by surprise and without warning, he felt...calmed. It was like he took in the mist version of a blunt and all of his worries were gone. Any feeling he had that was even remotely close to anxiety and terror and even pain for losing Hephaestus was replaced with a neutral, centered self.

“Aphrodite.” Yes, this was her doing.

As he looked over at the Goddess of Love, he sent her a grateful nod. “Thank you, Aphrodite! I’m glad you didn’t...mist your mark.”

Was he going to get criticized for that remark? Probably. Did he regret? Not a damn chance!

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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by beetlemoth
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beetlemoth 𝔫𝔬 𝔤𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔰𝔱

Member Seen 2 yrs ago

𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴 𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙸𝚃𝚈
𝙰 𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙻𝙰𝙱 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚆𝙴𝙴𝙽 @Mao Mao 𝙰𝙽𝙳 @beetlemoth


Hephaestus was dead... The news certainly caught his attention for sure. For the first time in recorded history, a deity was permanently dead. Did that mean that all deities aren't invincible? Unlike the others, Xōchipilli wasn't afraid that death was possible. Instead, he had embraced it years ago when one of his moral workers died in a terrible accident. And maybe it was the cost of gods acting like morals. He had wondered how his siblings were reacting to the news. However, his attention was on Hera's outburst. Admittedly, it was good to see the so-called 'Queen of the Gods' broken. But he didn't care nor dared to speak his thoughts loudly.

And then, a gun was drawn and pointed at Shango. Xōchipilli was disgusted by Ares' action, but it was expected for the Greek God of War. Instead, he turned to his siblings and started talking in Nahuatl. "I'm going now before the Greek gets us in trouble. Come if you want to."

So, Xōchipilli stood up and started making his way to the door.

Xolotl processes the news of Hephaestus’ death in a distant, clinical way. It had caught him off-guard, sure, but he’d always known just how dangerous the Colossus could be; and it wasn’t just because of what it did to them, either. Instead, he believed the real danger to be an amalgamation of factors. The Colossus dampened their powers, kept them all running from one place to another like dogs on a lead, but none of that compared to the pressures of time. Over the course of millennia, the gods and goddesses of old seemed to… change. Walking the earth and living among mortals was so far removed from their previous, deified existence that many allowed themselves to be moulded by the world around them, to be affected by the trivialities of the mortal realm.

To Xolotl, the ultimatum that had been set before them was obvious. If they didn’t come up with a way to destroy the Colossus once and for all, Hephaestus would be far from the last casualty.

He’s not at all surprised when the atmosphere in the room turned sour. All of the Greeks in one place? It was a recipe for disaster. But throw a Roman into the mix, and you may as well have set off a bomb. Feuds, both new and old, started clawing their way to the surface; and Xolotl is suddenly reminded of the dead in Mitctlān —– writhing, crawling, desperate for another chance at life.

It’s pathetic.

He remains silent even as accusations begin to fly. No point in interjecting and making himself a target. For now, he would simply observe. The alleged “Queen of the Gods” was the one who seemed most deeply affected by news of Hephaestus’ death, voice straining with rage and despair. It was almost enough to make Xolotl feel for her —– losing one’s children was undoubtedly one of the most painful things in the world, akin to a gouge in your heart that would never heal. He had not experienced such loss himself, but knew how his sister, Tlazōlteōtl had.

Centeōtl, machtli. Your name will not be forgotten.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Xolotl catches a glimpse of metal, scents the smoky bite of gunpowder in the air.

“A gun? Really?” Incredulous, the question tumbles out of him before he has the chance to stop it. He couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that even in such a dire situation, the only feat the Greeks seemed capable of was making things worse. What did they think they were going to achieve by pointing fingers? Certainly not answers, although he doesn’t have much time to mull it over before he spies Xōchipilli making an exit.

He’s up on his feet and trailing closely behind him, reaching out to catch his brother’s arm, but decides against it at the last second. Xolotl didn’t think he would appreciate being grabbed right now. Somewhere along the line, he noticed that Tlazōlteōtl had wandered off as well, and frowns when he sees who she’s speaking to. He had a bad feeling about the Greek god of trade. Everything he knew about him pointed to a duplicitous, conniving character —– traits he himself possessed, but loathed seeing in others, especially when said persons became associated with members of his family. Nevertheless, Xolotl knew that there was nothing he could do about it, at least for the time being; and so, elects to turn his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Wait.” Xolotl’s voice is low and even —– ever the picture of calm. He’s hoping to soothe Xōchipilli’s doubts, to make him see the wisdom in staying behind, if only just to listen. He understood Xōchipilli’s wanting to leave, though. He himself dreaded the thought of getting caught up in this mess; but as much as he despised all the trouble the Greeks caused, he liked the thought of them running around behind his back even less.

“Don’t go yet. There’s more to this than we know. If we leave the Greeks alone to their devices, there’ll be more trouble yet. It’s smarter to stay, hear everyone out. After that, you can decide what you want to do.”

Xōchipilli knew that his brother was right even if he didn't want to admit, but it was still stupid. Even if more information was learned, it won't matter to them whatsoever. He didn't care about Hephaestus and barely knew the Greek besides the usual stories and rumors here and there. And he positivity didn't care about the fact that deities are able to die for some random reason, which might never be answered. Still, it would've been useful to learn how he died. So, he groaned and rubbed his forehead in annoyance. "Fine, I'll stay. But if someone gets shot and the police are involved, I'm blaming you."

“Fine by me.”

On his back to the seat, Xōchipilli noticed that The Morrigan was in the midst of providing the answer. It turned out that poor old Hephaestus was murdered. That news... actually surprised the flower prince. After all, how often was an immoral God murdered out of the blue? That made him wonder who was the murderer, and who was their next target? He briefly looked at his sister and then brother causing him to feel protective of them, especially to Tlazolteotl. And the possibility of being in the Greeks' position was cause enough to worry. Then suddenly, a thought came into his head about the pantheon. Xōchipilli wondered if it was possible if one of them murdered their own since history often told of their sinister misdeeds. His primary suspects were, of course, the mother and father given their experiences in ruining their children's lives.

Yet, Xōchipilli understood it was totally foolish to outright blame them, especially if their innocence was proven.

Xolotl doesn’t return to his seat after that, but hovers near the edge of the room, casting a scrutinizing gaze over everyone in it. The chaos that had threatened to boil over just a few minutes ago had mostly evaporated, and all that’s left behind is a vague shadow of uncertainty.

How could a god be killed? And of them all, why Hephaestus?

Truth be told, he couldn’t bring himself to really care about who did it so much as how and why. The death of a god was not something that happened regularly, mostly because of how difficult it was to kill an immortal, but also because of the promised retribution that would soon follow. Killing one god meant angering the rest of their pantheon, painting a target on your back in crimson red. It was an open invitation for them to do the same to you.

An eye for an eye.

But the Morrigan’s lack of answers was not doing much to convince Xolotl of the necessity of this meeting. He had expected at least some information about the incident, scraps of evidence that would allow them to pinpoint their killer. So when Xolotl realized that none of it was forthcoming, he sucks in a fortifying breath through his nose, then exhales.

For one fleeting moment, Xolotl catches a whiff of marigold — Mictēcacihuātl’s flower — but pulls himself out of it with a tiny shake of the head, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. This is no time for memories.

The sight of Anubis is a familiar one, as is the unwavering steadiness of his voice. Both he and Xolotl, along with a few others in the room, were part of the Seattle legal scene. They’ve had their share of encounters in the past, although any meetings outside the courtroom were few and far between. From what he’s seen of him, though, Xolotl knows that he’s good at what he does, even if his goals might seem a little… idealistic.

Still, what did that say about his own plans of destroying the Colossus? Was it actually possible, or just a hopeless pipe dream? He doesn't like thinking about the latter.

When Xolotl speaks again, it’s to bring up a question. He pointedly ignores how three more of their number make to leave. “Does anyone have an idea of who might’ve held a grudge against him?”

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Legion02
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Legion02

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ARES
SEATTLE UNIVERSITY
GOD OF WAR

Ares saw the pink mist coming and knew what it meant. There was no defense against it. Yet as it encroached upon him he did not take it willingly. The glare he cast towards Aphrodite. He knew she disapproved of everything he was doing today. She disapproved of everything he did in the last century. No, he should understand. He wasn’t the best lover, the best father. But something else gnawed at him as well. Nothing he did was a surprise. He knew he was predictable. Once she loved his intensity. The fire that burned within him, which he tried to stifle out now. Now that love seemed to have vanished. Then finally the pink mist absorbed him.

Memories were summoned in flashes. Sending him mentally tumbling down into a pit. With bursts of light coming from all sides. There was little to hold on to. Everything was fleeting. Sounds and voices faded. The only thing he could sense was the musk of fresh sweat. Finally he hit the water. Plunging deep into the unknown. Above him there was only light but his body sank deeper, and deeper. Until a hand plunged into the water from above, joined by a voice as clear as day: “Let me help you.”


The god of war rose from his trance-like state. Only a second had passed but it had felt like an hour. He wanted to be angry at Aphrodite. How dare she use her power on him like that!? But he couldn’t. Something else was rising up. Trouble. Doubt. Danger. Instead of raging he let his head fall forward, looking down on the carpet as his stomach roiled over. Quite soon though, his body took control of itself again. Especially when the ever poorly timed Hermes rose from his slumber. The indignation… Ares felt his blood boil again. Even more so when Loki dared to open his damned mouth. If his mother wasn’t holding his hand on her should, he would’ve punched either or both in the face. But Hathor was still right. His mother needed him now more than ever.

When the Morrigan then spoke, Ares did feel a moment of elation. He was right. The so-called war goddess had no important information. Only vague talk about threats of fate. A concept Ares never believed in. A warrior, when he picks up the blade or the gun, decides his own fate. With every step he takes. With every choice he makes. He decides it long before he sets a foot on a battlefield, during the training. Warriors forge their own fate. But Ares’ sense of triumph quickly vanished when the Morrigan admitted she hadn’t found his body yet. When his mother beckoned him closer, he did so. Hera’s whispers calmed his heart immediately. In truth Ares knew what he was. A hound. To be given a mission. It was why he never had a desire to dethrone Hades at the top of the empire his uncle had built. Now he was given his goal and like a hound he would find his brother’s body. Right on time, the stranger who turned out to be Poseidon knelt beside Hera. Tangling his fingers with hers. Ares in turned offered a slight squeeze on her shoulder, signaling that he heard her loud and clear. Then he released her and walked out of the room. In his breast, the rage and hatred for all save a handful, that would’ve exploded in the room was aimed now. Turned into pure focus and determination. The other ties, the other problems, the emotions that had overwhelmed him before. They all faded away. He would deal with them later.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by beetlemoth
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beetlemoth 𝔫𝔬 𝔤𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔰𝔱

Member Seen 2 yrs ago



FENRIR
FENRIR'S APARTMENT
MONSTER OF THE VÁN


Fenrir doesn’t sleep well.

Too many memories for that.

He goes to bed exhausted every night, but still, they come. Dreams. Nightmares. They dance behind his eyelids like shadow puppets, distorted afterimages of things that have happened, things that are happening, and things that will happen. They cling to him endlessly, promising to stay and haunt him until the day he breathes his last.

It never gets any easier.

Fenrir can usually tell when he’s dreaming. There’s a certain… fuzziness to it all, like seeing everything through a pane of frosted glass. But there’s also the fear. The dark. More familiar and real than anything he’s ever felt. Familiarity helps when you’re trying to pull yourself out of a nightmare, though. It serves as an anchor, something you can use to remind yourself that all you needed to do to escape was wake up.

WAKE UP.

The first thing he feels is the cold —– frigid gusts of winter wind battering and slicing into him from every direction. And then, the pain starts to seep in, slowly at first, before growing unbearable all at once. He can’t move more than a foot from where he’s chained, and his mouth…

Blood and drool drip from his yellowed teeth, mixing together to form the beginnings of a river. A sword holds Fenrir’s maw open in a perpetual scream, its sharpened blade piercing through his lower jaw before emerging from the top. It hurts, is all he can remember himself thinking. It hurts and no one is coming to help.

It always feels like he’s there for ages, half-crouched in a pile of dirt and rotting leaves. Breathing. Waiting. There’s nothing else to do but wait, and in the crushing solitude, Fenrir’s mind starts to wander. He thinks of his family —– his father, brother and sister. Were they suffering as he was? What became of them after the judgement? Then, he thinks of the Æsir, the ones that had condemned him to this fate, and he feels nothing but hate. It burns through his veins like fire, a constant reminder of what he had to do when he was finally free of his chains.

Iron. The coppery taste of blood. Odin’s blood. It burns his tongue.

But hidden beneath the overwhelming stench of decay, Fenrir catches the scent of something else.

Something sweet.

The island of Lyngvi remained overgrown with heather even in winter, white and purple flowers sprouting from frozen soil. They held a faint earthy smell —– more herbal than anything else, but also, Fenrir always thought they were the only good things there. The only things that stood out as a rose-tinted example of what life could be. These thoughts were what kept him from truly losing hope in those dark, dark days, and in his dreams: they are what finally allows him to claw his way up from the murky depths of unconsciousness.



Fenrir awakens with a start, the morning light spilling across his bedroom floor through the gaps in the curtains.

Still here.

For a long time, he doesn’t move a muscle, just lays there on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Seconds pass, then minutes. He forces himself to take deep, even breaths until he feels the jackrabbiting rhythm of his heart begin to slow.

In one corner of the room, the radiator lets out a noise that sounds like sputtering.

When it finally feels like he can breathe again, Fenrir moves to sit upright, lifting a large, calloused hand to rake through his hair. The scrape of fingernails against his scalp grounds him, reminds him of where he is. Not Lyngvi. Not Amsvartnir. Not Asgard. Seattle. Things are different now. Not much better, but different.

He starts to press the heels of his palms into his eyes, hard enough for it to hurt. Stars and colors pulse behind his eyelids, and he only lets up when he hears the telltale click-clack-click of claws against wood.

Frida leaps up onto the bed next to him, a whine low in her throat, and noses inquisitively at him.

“Hversu ferr?” He catches her face in his hands, scratching behind her ears the way he knows she likes. Fenrir can feel the warmth rolling off her in waves, and it lets him muster enough the energy for a smile. “You hungry?”

At the mere mention of the word, Frida’s tail begins to thump excitedly against the mattress, and Fenrir knows he has no choice but to drag himself out of bed. His muscles ache, and the floor feels freezing against the soles of his feet, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t just laze around in bed all day. He had things to do, and right now, getting Frida some breakfast was at the top of that list.

He pads barefoot to the kitchen, Frida dashing ahead of him, then shoots a glance at the clock that hung above his fridge —– 7:02. Still some time before he had to get to his job at St. Fiacre’s.

The kibble plinks noisily against the bowl as he pours some out for Frida, and she’s on it in an instant, sending a few unfortunate pellets tumbling out in her enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Fenrir gets to preparing his own breakfast. There’s hardly anything in his fridge that’s not beer or empty space, but he finds some leftover beef chow fun he’d gotten from the Chinese place down the block. It’s at least a day old, maybe two, so he gives it a little sniff to make sure it hasn’t turned.

Eh, good enough.

Making his way to the living room (really, it’s only separated from the kitchen by a counter), he chews on a mouthful of cold, almost rubbery rice noodles, and flops onto the couch. It’s a ratty, old thing, upholstered in the ugliest mustard-yellow fabric you’ve ever seen. But to him, it’s just a couch. It’s where he sits while having breakfast or watching TV. Besides, it came with the apartment. No point in wasting money on something he didn’t need, right?

Atop the coffee table, there’s a small pile of letters: not bills or junkmail — he kept the former someplace else and threw out the rest — but letters. Real, genuine, handwritten letters. Some have been open and unfolded, while others were still tucked away in their envelopes. He’s read them all, though, sometimes even two, three times over; and Fenrir knows that there’s only one person in the world who cares to send him letters —–

Hel. His sister.

He sets his food aside for the moment to pick up one of the letters, tired eyes flickering over what’s written. Most of Hel’s letters to him follow a similar pattern. Usually, she’ll tell him about whatever’s going on, ask him how he’s doing, that sort of thing. It’s actually kind of funny, how even in this day and age, she still insisted on sending him these handwritten letters.

Every now and then, he’ll entertain the thought of writing a reply, but in the end, he always decides against it. What did he have to say to Hel, anyway? And if she really wanted to talk, she would’ve sought him out already. She had his address, knew where he lived, where he worked. They lived in the same city and neither of them had ever said a single word to the other.

…But maybe he should stop being so stubborn. Fenrir keeps telling himself he’s better off alone, that he’s getting by just fine without anyone by his side, but part of him can’t help but wonder what it would be like to see his family again.

And would it be so bad to finally let somebody in?

He’s biting his nails again, worrying away at them with his teeth until he realizes what he’s doing, and lets his hand drop back into his lap.

Fuck, he needed a smoke.

Fenrir sighs and climbs to his feet, dumping the remainder of his chow fun down the garbage disposal before shrugging on his jacket. Frida watches him expectantly, head tilted to one side.

“Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by KZOMBI3
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KZOMBI3 thuggy-lewd-dere

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𝐓 𝐋 𝐀 𝐙 𝐎 𝐋 𝐓 𝐄 𝐎 𝐓 𝐋
ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛʏ
ғʀᴀɢɪʟᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍs ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ sᴏ ᴄᴜᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʀʏ




Tlazōlteōtl couldn't get a word in edge wise once Hermes opened his mouth and words spewed forth. All of which were done so without a thought beforehand. But when had that ever happened outside of a con? 'Hardly ever, if at all...' she remembers thinking in that split moment she had to process his words. It was an offhanded comment, ironic to the highest caliber, but without thought all the same, "Woah, why's everyone so serious? Did someone die or something?" Tlazōlteōtl flinched regardless.

"Hermes..." she tried to get her words to reach him, but all his jesting and oblivious statements were overpowering her attempts and she wasn't mentally prepared to receiving his level of attention and teasing that he had been showering her with. It was unnerving, but it was pleasant and familiar all the same. Something she has missed and been desiring. Though, now that she's here in the moment, granted what she has wanted for so long, she is little more than pleased. Happy, yes. But, there isn't the same emotions that were there not but a few moments before is awaken state. 'What had changed?'

She wasn't able to dwell too much longer as to what the issue was, or it's cause, when Aphrodite spoke up above the bickering and noises of disgust and woe. And in an instant everyone was experiencing a moment of silence and utter confusion. As Tlazōlteōtl glanced around at the room her eyes traveled over to Ares and his stature comforting his mother, how his outburst was now reigned in and the gears working to focus that power into... something else, to Hermes who was trying to joke his way out of the uncomfortable situation he woke up into, all the way to the love goddess herself. Golden topaz eyes wide in realization as the slight transparent smoke billowed off the Grecian woman in waves, dispersing itself around the room. 'Trickery...'

That damnable pink mist, circling through the air, dancing between bodies as it pleases, infecting the gods among the room with it's poison... gripping tight and dragging Tlazōlteōtl down into the depths of a place she knows all too well. There was nothing she could do in order to prevent the visions that danced before her eyes. A dream, a memory, of days long past. Humid heat, sweltering bodies, rushing past in fields of maize and wheat, ripe for harvesting, what little breeze being squashed before it could even be enjoyed. The sounds of laughter - though they had distorted so much over time... the sounds of wicker baskets being handled play like a soft melody to her ears. Hot air and sour dust, the sun cooking the dying grass beneath her bare, decorated feet. Cicadas scream their songs of life and death. And then all goes silent. There was no more rustling in the maze field of corn. The once cloudless blue of the sky filled with smoke, a silent storm raging. Sweat. And Heat. The only two constants that swallowed her senses. Stealing the breath from her lungs, constricting even the movement of her limbs that it was no surprise when she was able to break from the haze of Aphrodite's meddling she was graced with deep crescents embedded into her forearms where she had held herself through the visions.

It wasn't the love goddesses fault for bringing forth these feelings and memories. She didn't pick and choose what the others felt and saw. That was on them. She had to have thought of the consequences though. Many of the immortals present have all lost their loves and those once happy memories eons ago. What purpose did it serve to throw those back into everyone's face? Tlazōlteōtl shook her head of those thoughts, though she was not above shooting the model a not so subtle seething glance, pulling her arms apart, hands shaking with adrenaline out of fear or excitement she wasn't quite sure anymore. The last of her visions perplexing the filth goddess, obviously having something to do with Centeotl and her loss of him... but visions such as those were never so cut and dry... The scent of field corn and harvest heat, of breezes that could be, of wicker baskets and sour dust and dirt, slowly blending among the frenzied musk of a brewing storm and the smoke of a war to come, the muffled sounds of silence before the world opening up; eventually replacing them altogether.

Mentions: @Legion02 @Danvers @baraquiel
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by baraquiel
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baraquiel Angel of Moe *:・゚✧

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APHRODITE
SEATTLE UNIVERSITY
mood: sad as hecc


A lot has happened at once that Aphrodite needed a bit of time to fully understand everything. Morrigan explained the mystery regarding Hephaestus' death and Hermes and Loki made snide remarks about the whole situation with Aphrodite just rolling their eyes at them. It's a wonder why the irresponsible ones would even be here if they didn't want to be here or have no intention of helping them with the situation at all. Anubis expressed his condolences for the Greeks at which Aphrodite smiled sadly and nodded as a sign of her gratitude. Thank goodness there were still level-headed gods in this room.

Aphrodite sadly watched as Eros left the room followed closely by Apollo. It looked like her way of helping had the opposite effect on some gods. She looked around and saw the expressions on their faces, turning from dream-like bliss to heartbroken frowns. Aphrodite winced at herself, it seemed like she messed up big time. Whatever chance she had left on fixing things up with her son was now all thrown out the window because of what she did. Ares left the room too but it wasn't a big deal for the love goddess. She saw the solemn way Poseidon held Hera's hand and for once, the queen of the gods was silent. She wanted to express her sadness to Hephaestus' mother too but she didn't think that Hera would accept Aphrodite even at this time.

At least, it seemed like not all the gods didn't take Aphrodite's power negatively as Heracles seemed to be in high spirits after taking in the effect of her power. It's a wonder why she hadn't hooked up with him yet all these years. All the ladies were swooning over him and Aphrodite was one of those ladies who admired Heracles and his very godly physique. She may or may not vaguely remember those few times where she drunkenly spent several nights with Heracles in his chambers while Ares wasn't there to fulfill her needs. It may look like it was time for her to relive those nights together with him.

"Oh Heracles, still as hunky and suave as ever." Aphrodite said after giggling and smiling sweetly at him. Now would not be the right time to express her wanting to 'catch up' to him. Maybe she'll do it later when the Conclave has ended.

Aphrodite saw the way Tlazolteol give her a loathsome glance. She really just thought she was helping; if they were all in their godly forms, Aphrodite's powers might've given them a huge positive boost of emotions and such. Sadly, being mortals complicated things and no doubt the memory of their loved ones brought them more pain than pleasure instead. The love goddess could only wince, bringing her hands together and mouthing 'Sorry' at her before giving the filth goddess a small nod as her way of apologizing. Xolotl, a member of Tlaz' kin, spoke to the gods remaining and asked if anyone might've had a grudge on Hephaestus.

"Can I say something first?". Aphrodite held up her hand, deciding to speak her truth in front of everyone still present.

"When I first walked into Mount Olympus, it was Zeus' idea for me to be married to Hephaestus as a way of preventing an all-out war with all the male gods wanting to possess me. I mean, I couldn't blame them. At first, I was outraged knowing that I, a goddess of love and beauty, would become the wife of one of the ugliest gods in existence. Hephaestus didn't seem to mind my coldness towards him; every single day since we first became husband and wife, he would create the most beautiful jewelry and accessories for me, including the cestus, a girdle that can make its wearer even more irresistible to men. Despite being married to him, that didn't stop me from committing adultery. A woman has her needs and Hephaestus, bless his heart, was not even enough to satisfy me. I have been in bed with many male gods and mortals alike: Ares, Adonis, even Poseidon, to name a few.

When we got cursed by the Colossus to be trapped in the mortal world, I admit that I didn't even find Hephaestus. I was so happy that I'm finally free from him completely and I can sleep and be with whoever I want. I've never felt more alive. As time went by..."
Aphrodite paused to take a breather first before continuing. "As time went by, I realized that I'm a complete idiot. Despite all the men I've slept with before, only Hephaestus was the one who truly loved me the way I am. No matter who I meet up with, no one could compare to him. He has endured so much pain and hardship in his life, yet he still found the beauty and goodness in the world. I-I took his love for granted because I thought I could find someone better than him but no. There was no one like Hephaestus, and I fully regret that I didn't give him even a fraction of the love he gave me."

Aphrodite wiped a tear rolling down her cheek while clearing her throat. "I want to help bring my ex-husband's death to justice but I understand that we have no solid evidence for now. Still, I want to help in any way I can. If there's anything you all might learn from me is to not take love for granted. With a god-killer on the loose, we do not know if we would even still be here tomorrow. My only advice is... When you have someone dear to your heart, you must express your love for that special person now more than ever. You might never have another chance." Aphrodite finally said, especially looking at Anubis knowingly as she saw the way the Egyptian god looked at Bastet.


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Hidden 4 yrs ago 3 yrs ago Post by Eidolon
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coGM
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Eidolon Vacancy

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IMENTET
IMENTET
ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴍᴀʀᴊᴏʀᴀᴍ
ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ɪɴ ʙᴀ ꜱɪɴɢ ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ



A tree, strong and sturdy, stood towering above the Nile, watching carefully and bowing reverently to the Necropolises to the west where the sun set and the underworld yawned open. While that tree no longer stood stalwart in the desert reeds, at least she could recreate it little by little. A piece of her home clung to her like the heat of a raging sun.

Like wind against water, Imentet flowed across her second home in wisps of yellow fabric, clinging to her in a palm tree fronds. Her air smelled of dates and jasmine that wafted across the counter tops, the tables, through the legs of her chairs. It was no longer a tree, but Little Marjoram would remain an oasis within the cool Seattle air; it bloomed a desert flower, dipping her toes in the salt filled waters. It was hers and hers alone, looking out across the bay to watch the sun meet the horizon, the amenti. If she squinted hard enough through the tinted glass, she could see the Underworld expressing its awakening with a rumble of its maw.

Perhaps that's what she wanted to see, willed herself to see.

With her hands against the counter, staring at the purpling sky, Imentet sighed. Then, with resolve, she stood straight and tidied her shop for opening, hands smoothing curtains, watering the many flowers and plants that laid themselves against the shelving. It was her desert paradise and a reminder to a lost home with its desert plants in their containers of sand and stone. The warm, dim light carried that coziness she so craved and offered freely to her many patrons. It etched itself into her smile, into her food, into the tea that wafted its sweet aroma across the shop.

Imentet breathed deep and settled herself into the cushions upon the seat of her window, waiting for the day to open and the patrons to shuffle in. Little Marjoram kept itself quaint with a number of regulars making up the bulk of her clientele, but it was never too crowded, too noisy, to full. She loved that everything remained just right, balanced along the tip of her finger.

With a book opened, she let her eyes roam to the clock on the wall. A few of her employees had already made her patrons their teas as she rose from her seat. The Conclave likely buzzed to life with unbearable heat, one she was more than happy to avoid. Yet, it was likely to end soon and with that she'd have her friends shuffling in to slump off the day's burdens. That required a little more than tea to soften.

"I'm setting the bottom room up for a small party this weekend, if you need anything please don't hesitate to call for me," Imentet notified one of her baristas, stopping at the front of the door, "Oh, and if you see a weirdly fashionable man sleeping in my dumpster just toss the trash on him and notify me later."

With that, Imentet moved outside toward the building's second entrance that lead both upstairs and to a small storage basement turned into a second cafe of sorts. Here the magic lay, like dawn to dusk the veil lifted and the stars shone against the backdrop of her sheer cloth sky. It made Imentet smile to see wayward souls wandering through her walls taking respite where they could. This provided the perfect place for a small gathering as the dead could not whisper her secrets nor would they want to.

As Imentet slid behind the small counter to prepare the assortment of teas she'd need, she took her phone out to check the time once more. A small slipped over her lips as she sent a text to her fellow Egyptians.

To: De Nilers
I know y'all busy, but bottom room will be ready Saturday for good destressing and decompressing. 😌🍵 Felines get free treats and drinks 'til closing.


Once sent, Imentet went to work cleaning and organizing everything. The Conclave likely wore her fellow deities out, as well as a fe likely cross-pantheon friends. It'd be nice to have a moment just to themselves. Hopefully, Anubis would allow himself to release some of his tension for just a moment. By the stars in their pretty little sky did she know he needed it.


Mentions via Text: @Rockette, [@Icy Hot], @fledermaus, @Akayaofthemoon
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by beetlemoth
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beetlemoth 𝔫𝔬 𝔤𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔰𝔱

Member Seen 2 yrs ago



ZEUS
𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴 𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙸𝚃𝚈
𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙾𝙳𝚂


Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. He had just sat down and was about to start grilling the man who’d puked on his shoes when the Morrigan said something that all but knocked the air out of his lungs. At first, Zeus wasn’t sure if he’d heard her correctly. She’d said it in such a casual, off-handed way that he couldn’t be completely certain, but now that a name had been extricated from the depths of his subconscious, he had no fucking clue how he didn’t realize it sooner.

“Poseidon?” He’s almost breathless with disbelief. Of course it’s Poseidon. How long has it been since he last saw his brother? A millennia, at least. Maybe two. He kind of wants to reach out and touch him, to see if he’s really there or if he would just dissolve like seafoam, but he’d already done that earlier, didn’t he? When he pat his shoulder? The muscles he felt shifting under his palm had been warm and solid, and seriously, why is he having such a hard time believing the truth when it was right there in front of him?

“Holy shit, it’s really you…”

All this time, Zeus had figured Poseidon a casualty of the fall, but here he was. Alive and looking… a little unwell, but for someone who’d just expelled the contents of their stomach all over the floor and his shoes, that was to be expected. There were so many questions he wanted to ask him, so many things he wanted to know, the foremost of which being “where the hell have you been?” with “how are you still alive?” following closely behind, although he doesn’t get the chance to ask any of them before the Morrigan decides to drop another bombshell.

“Hephaestus is dead, and I don’t know who killed him.”

The news is definitely not what Zeus expects, and for a long moment, there’s nothing he can do but digest, turning the Morrigan’s words over and over in his head.

As realization dawns, an icy weight settles in the pit of his stomach.

Dead. It’s a word that spoke of finality, of absolutes. Death was not something that operated in uncertainty or half-measures. It simply took and took and took, indiscriminately and without mercy. Zeus does not think about it often, believing it too macabre a topic to dwell on for long periods of time. But now, faced with the demise of one of their own, it’s all he can think about.

Hera’s response is what finally breaks him out of his daze —– first a stuttering intake of breath, and then a cry so full of pain and heartbreak that it almost made him flinch. He had never been as close to Hephaestus as Hera was. The god of fire and smithery was Hera’s child, not his own, but still… family was family; and while he could never hope to understand the depth and complexities of a mother’s love for her child, he’d always thought of Hephaestus as an ally, if not a son.

Now he’s dead. And the name Hephaestus would only ever belong to a memory.

So when Hera starts spitting venom, starts accusing him of having committed this heinous crime, Zeus nearly cracks. Instinct screams at him to defend himself, to fire back with a condemnation of his own that she had been the one who’d loathed Hephaestus from the very beginning, that she had been the one to cast him out of Olympus the day he was born, but at the very last moment, he stops himself. Hera was grieving. She was in pain, mourning the death of her son, and nobody else in the room could have possibly comprehended how heavy a burden it was.

Ares seemed intent on trying, though.

Like the handgun he’d brandished, the Greek god of war was a shining promise of blood and violence. Zeus knew better than anyone else that Ares was the type of man to make good on his threats, but even he must’ve known that shooting another god in the middle of a Conclave was a bad idea.

“Ares, that’s enough.” He sounds more tired than angry, though there’s an edge of steel to his words that hadn’t been present before. “Put the gun down and stop acting like a child. He’s not the one you want.”

With no more kindling to sustain it, the indignation that had burned within his chest begins to flicker and wane until all that’s left is smoke. There was no longer anything to get angry about, nothing to do except decide their next course of action.

Zeus knows that he hasn’t been the best husband or father, but seeing his family in such a state just felt like another sin to his name.

He had to do something. Hephaestus’ killer needed to be brought to justice.

“Hera, I’m…” He begins, voice quiet and slightly unsure. Would words of comfort be welcome from him at this time? Did he even know where to begin? Distracted, Zeus doesn’t notice pink creeping into the edges of his vision until it overtakes him completely.

He smells… lilies. A faint, redolent perfume that reminded him of times long gone, and hair like spun gold. Then, he remembers a smile, a laugh so rare and exceptional that it filled his heart with warmth every time he heard it. Recalling the past felt like staring at the sun — too bright, too much — but at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. He wanted to remember.

And then, it’s gone, slipping through his fingers like sand, and he comes to to find himself back in the middle of a dusty-smelling conference room.

It’s clearer to him now, what he needed to do. Aphrodite’s vision and her words to the room provided him a sense of direction, something to work towards. There have been times in the past where Zeus had taken others for granted, let crimes go unpunished on nothing more than a whim and the power of his authority. But now, more than ever, he felt like inaction would be worse than any consequence they could ever face.

“I swear to you that we’ll find whoever did this.” With Poseidon knelt by Hera’s side, and Ares’ hand on her shoulder, Zeus chooses the path of practicality. Hephaestus’ body had to be uncovered, yes. But until his killer was located and dragged screaming into the light, he couldn’t keep any of them safe. So when he speaks again, there’s a newfound conviction in his voice, a desire to finally do right by his family. Briefly, he lets his eyes lock with Ares’ own — an unspoken appeal for peace and an apology for before — then turns his full attention back on the Queen of the Gods.

“Whatever you need, Hera. I’ll be there.”

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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Legion02
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Legion02

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DIVINE DAY DRINKING
SEATTLE UNIVERSITY >> THE JADE JAGUAR
HEL & HATHOR

A shadow fell over Hathor, together with a slight breeze. Looming over her was Hel. Dressed in her coat. Having fled the scene of the Conclave as well. She couldn’t bear the sight of her friend suffering. Even when she was in the hands of Bastet it tore her heart out through her chest. So when Hathor fled, Hel followed. Though when she finally found Hathor plopped down in a grass field of the university, the goddess of Helheim didn’t really know what to say. Gods were much harder to comfort than dead mortals. Yet they seemed to need it the most. Hel knelt beside Hathor. “That was very kind.” Hel finally managed to say, only hoping it was the right thing to say. It was kind, what Hathor did to Hera. It was kind and brave and Hel doubted the proud Grecian Queen would ever fully realize what Hathor did to herself just for her. Even Hel could only guess through what suffering Hathor went through. Made probably only worse by Aphrodite’s mist.

Dark eyes slid their attention from the clouds drifting on the breeze to the woman that knelt beside her, one of the many she had just been thinking of. She hadn’t thought any of the others would follow her, at least not to comfort her and more to escape themselves. A small smile made its way to her lips at Hel’s words, trying to fight back the raging emotions so that her friend didn’t have to worry about her as much. Her voice however betrayed most of the pain she spoke weakly, almost gravily when replying,”Thank you….I just couldn’t sit by and watch her suffer, not when I could help.” She wanted to add that she has not been prepared for Hera’s intense emotions but kept it to herself. She had never had a child let alone lost one but now she grieved as if Hephaestus as if he was her own but it also had her own emotions of indifference which was conflicting. Hathor turned onto her side, looking to Hel and letting her mask slip a bit more, feeling strange being the one to need someone to talk to or distract her.”Can we talk about something else? Anything else? Like, how are you doing? How have you been?”, she asked.

Hel lowered her head, looking down at her own knees and the grass. “Not well.” She finally admitted. Letting her own mask slip a little as well. She didn’t want Hathor to worry or feel bad for her though. The Egyptian goddess had far too much to work through already. Hel said that because she wanted to show Hathor she wasn’t the only one going through stuff right now. Though she didn’t want to betray what was gnawing at her in the past few years now: Ragnarök. With every passing year she felt it come in closer. Worse, it kept her away from her father and brothers. A lot of people could’ve been fooled by the icy embrace she gave Loki back at the Conclave. In truth she wanted nothing more than to hold him close and never let go. The absence of Fenrir stung deeper still. She kept sending letters but never got a reply. There had been days she wanted to visit him. But no, that was too dangerous. Yet her heart ached with mortal weakness. For a second she pursed her lips. Trying to bite away the sadness in her chest. She wouldn’t talk about it. It was her pain. She would bear it alone. Always alone. So with a little sniffle and a weak smile as she looked, Hel changed the subject again: “So how’s the club going? I heard your DJ skills are getting pretty good.”

Hathor could tell from Hel’s body language that she had hit a sore spot before she had even answered. She instantly felt regret in asking, the distant look of being lost in her own thoughts making her feel sorry but she didn’t voice it. Instead, she sat up, tucking her legs to her chest and placing her arms onto her knees, waiting for her to speak again since sometimes it was good to work through your own thoughts without interruption. She would still be there to support and listen to her friend even if she had turbulent emotions stirring within her. They were similar creatures when it came to guarding emotions and who they let see them. ”It is a nice change from the Lounge Bar. I wasn’t sure when Tlaz first approached me about it but sometimes you just have to take a chance. It is nice to be working with a friend and I feel like I am more free to let loose and it helps me cheer up on a bad day. I’m starting to get better at DJing but it’s not quite up to par with my impeccable bartending but I’ll get there. You should really come by sometime, even if it isn’t your usual scene.”

Clubbing not being her scene was the understatement of the century. When the night called for Hel, as it did often, it called from the graveyard. Never the main streets or from the flashy lights of a club. She probably didn’t even have any real clubbing outfits. Still, the idea was intriguing. She hadn’t gone to a good party since… well too long. But then again… so many people. She wasn’t comfortable amongst so many living, breathing mortals. Especially when they danced. Hel couldn’t dance. Not even a little. It would be an embarrassing display of flailing arms and weird moves. But she still wanted to see the club. She still wanted to let go and distract her friend from what just happened.

“Let’s go then!” The goddess of Helheim suddenly said, sound a bit more excited than usual. “You got a key right? The club should be empty. Why not make the most of it?” Today was already looking to be a pretty bad day considering what just happened at the Conclave. Both of them deserved a drink for sure. An actual grin instead of a forced one made it onto Hathor’s features, excitement being a pleasant change compared to the other emotions.”You bet I do! And after today’s catastrophe, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Let me just give her a heads up so she isn’t surprised if she gets the same idea as us.”, she replied quickly shooting Tlaz a text that she was headed to the club with Hel in tow.





THE JADE JAGUAR





Keys jingled before the distinct sound of an unclicking lock rang out, Hathor dramatically throwing the door open before slipping away to let Hel enter on her own as she worked to bathe the club in the turquoise and royal blue glow of neon lights. The Jade Jaguar was not what one would call seedy or dingy by any means, the area stated is luxury and upscale without being too over the top for those that just wanted to have a good time without draining their bank accounts. If it weren’t for the catwalk stage with poles or the tables designed for a bit more of a personal dance that wasn’t strictly VIP, someone might think it was just a fabulously themed nightclub. It was tasteful in its execution, the jungle nature of the theme ringing clear in its design and gave the feel of actually walking into a exotic paradise. It was no wonder why it was one of the more popular spots.

Hathor was unfazed by the glamour of mixed industrial and modern contemporary tones or relaxed soft light which created a soft ambience. Instead, she moved directly to her world within the Jade Jaguar, the fully stocked ceiling to floor bar which was complete with a swinging ladder for her to easily grab what she needed. Royal blue lights dazzled the back splash, lighting up the bottles and glass shelves. The bar itself stretched and curved, the front was wavy panels of turquoise that had its own neons to make it pop, appearing almost like a river in design. The black counters a smooth polished marble, easy to slide glasses and sleek to look at. ”Come have a seat, Hel! What would you like to start with?, she asked, already pulling down bottles for her own drink.

A sudden buzz from her phone caught her attention, pausing for a moment to actually check her text messages. Bastet’s was deleted since she saw her at the Conclave, the text no longer relevant but the newest one was from Imentet when she promptly opened, just in case she needed to change her plans. Her pantheon was the only family she had, if they needed her then she would drag Hel along for the ride, especially when loss of family was still boiling in her system.

From: Tea Queen
I know y'all busy, but bottom room will be ready Saturday for good destressing and decompressing. 😌🍵 Felines get free treats and drinks 'til closing.


To: De Nilers
You are a miracle! Count me in! Honestly, you lucked out on not being able to come. I’ll fill you in Saturday if no one else does it first. For now, a few well deserved drinks are in order.🍺🍷


Hathor quickly slipped the phone back into her pocket, her heart feeling a little lighter now that she was not only hanging out with a dear friend currently but was going to see her family on Saturday for a nice relaxing time. She wasn’t sure if all of them would show but either way, she would never say no to some down time, drinks, and family. Those were all things for another day though, as the current solution to her situation was to get some drinks in and hopefully drown or numb some of her sorrows with a good buzz and company since she couldn’t use her powers on herself.

Meanwhile, Hel was totally consumed by the club’s aesthetic. Unlike Hathor, she wasn’t yet used to. In fact, she wasn’t used to any club at all. The Jade Jaguar was certainly an eye-opening experience for her. The soft, turquoise lights appeared oddly ethereal as Hel moved through the club. Observing every nook and cranny she could find. Discovering something new and exciting every time. From the boots to the poles - which she tentatively touched – and even the main catwalk. It wasn’t like she had imagined. It was clean and sleek. When Hathor called her to the bar to have a drink, Hel ran her hand over the cold, hard marble top. “It’s so smooth.” She whispered, mostly to herself. Then she looked up at a questioning Hathor. Hel rarely drank, and when she did there was nothing fancy about it. It was either cheap, sparkling wine at a work reception or it was strong vodka when things got a little bit too much. “I-I don’t know.” She admitted, as her eyes darted from bottle to bottle. There were more names on them than there seemed to be glasses to pour them in. Normally today would’ve called for clean vodka but that didn’t seem like the right choice in a club. Her eyes caught a few other things as well. Fresh strawberries, simple syrup, some more colorful drinks. “A cocktail!” She finally exclaimed. “Something sweet.”

Hathor took a moment to try and nail down what she could whip them up. She had been debating on a few different ones and had taken down quite a few bottles for various options. Usually, she might have worked with a Sangria but she had a feeling that just wasn’t going to cut it today. A cocktail would be nice and there were quite a few with a good flavor with not much needed ingredients. The quicker the better if she had anything to say about it and it needed vodka for sure after the day they had. A bright and shining smile played on her lips before she pulled out two hurricane glasses. ”I’ve got just the thing!”, she stated, scooping out some ice to place in the glasses as well as into a seperate shaker. She poured in vodka, peach schnapps, orange juice, cranberry juice into the shaker before adding in a little Chambord for some added flavor and flair, giving it all a good gentle shake. Hathor took no time in pouring both drinks, leaving off the drink garnishes this time seeing as she planned to have more than one and the added fruit just got in the way but she did slip in a straw for each one. ”Voilà!~, she announced while placing it before Hel, taking a sip of her own and almost purring at the flavor on her tongue. This was exactly what she needed. Just a couple more of these babies and she would be back in business. ”So, what do you think?”

There was just no way Hel could ever guess what had gone into the cocktail beyond the vodka. In normal circumstances that would mean she wouldn’t dare touch it. However Hathor made it, and even though it looked quite red even in the lighting of the club, it still looked delicious. The goddess of Helheim first took a tentative sip through the straw. Flavor exploded in her mouth and there wasn’t even a hint of alcohol. Even though Hel had spotted vodka. It didn’t even burn. “Oh my god!” She exclaimed. The saying was something she mostly just picked up from mortals. Normally she would find it weird to call upon godhood, but it felt appropriate this time. “It’s delicious!” With that said she began to drink through the straw. Perhaps faster than she should. How could she know though, the drink tasted far too good to be dangerous. “I get why mortals come here now! This is amazing!” She added with a big smile before drinking even more. Before soon her glass was empty and she put it down on the counter, before making her bar stool rotate in circles. The swirls, which would normally feel odd, felt pleasant now. The lights became somehow interesting in her inebriated state. “Can you make more?”

”Hm! Of course I can! Stopping at just one would be a buzzkill anyway.”, she answered, finishing off her drink before getting them started on another round. She was glad Hel was enjoying herself, hoping she could snag the other into coming back to the club again soon. It had been too long since they had really gotten to chat over drinks like this. ”Here we go! One more for the both of us. I’m going to go throw on some beats to listen to while we drink. Be right back!” That being said, she took her freshly made drink with her before heading to the sound stage, sipping it all the while. She wasn’t going to be DJing at the moment but at least they could have some background music as white noise instead of the silent place plus dancing and just being silly like singing to the lyrics was just fun. It didn’t take too long for music to pour out of the speakers, Hathor making her way back to the bar and having a seat once more, giving a small spin around as she did.

Hel just smiled at Hathor from over her straw as she was already drinking the second cocktail. The taste never dulled. It was always the same explosive, delicious taste that made Hel just want to down the entire drink. Though the straw made her pace herself. Not so much for the alcohol but just so she could enjoy every bit of flavor. Her thoughts and worries receded further back in her mind. Replaced by a pleasant, warm buzz. Then, quite suddenly for the Helheim goddess, music blasted through the speakers. It surprised her at first. Especially how she could feel the bass in her entire body. Under normal circumstances Hel would’ve fled the scene. But the alcohol made her melt into it instead. With both hands on her drink and her mouth sucking on the straw Hel was moving her body on the barstool. Whipping her hair around as she tried to become one with the flow of the music in her own, slightly awkward way. To anyone with clubbing experience, it would probably have looked a little ridiculous. It didn’t matter to her now though. She was here with Hathor alone. Who cared how she moved her body on the stool? “This is amazing!” She yelled over the music, probably a bit too loud, as she put the emptied cocktail on the bar again. “Is it always this amazing?”

Hathor laughed with an ear splitting grin, spinning the bar stool until she was gazing out at the empty club. ”I know, right?! If you think this is amazing though, you should really see it with the dancers. They are phenomenal, both the men and women alike. Diamond has helped me learn some of the more complex moves. It really does take a lot of strength and flexibility to appear that graceful. It keeps me in shape when I find myself too lazy to hit up a gym, I’ll tell you that.”, she replied before hopping off the bar stool, flicking her empty glass. ”You want another? I’m making myself one.”, she questioned, headed behind the bar and swaying softly to the beat. She had a pleasant buzz and could feel her muscles relaxing. This is what she had needed, a few drinks and helping someone else smile.

“A gem taught you how to dance?” Hel asked, feeling only slightly confused. Of course a precious stone could teach Hathor to dance! Just like she was the eldest sister of a giant wolf and a world spanning serpent. It all made sense in her mind. Right until she realized she wasn’t a goddess, her brothers had human shapes and a gem absolutely couldn’t have taught Hathor how to dance. With a combination of shame and wanting to laugh at her own mistake she continued drinking from her cocktail through the straw. Seeing as the vastly more experienced Hathor had already downed hers and she didn’t want to fall behind. So as Hathor asked for another Hel – with an overly grandiose gesture – put the glass on the counter while saying, at the top of her lungs: “Yes!”. Then she looked out at the empty club, the same club Hathor had looked at. “And then you have to turn on the lights like you would on a club night and teach me how to dance!” She didn’t ask because she wanted to learn how to dance. Even though she did. She asked because Hathor was lighting up so much in the club. The way she talked about it. About the dancers and the music. Clearly the Goddess of Many Names was really enjoying this.

She let Hel’s slip up go, biting back a full blown laugh at the thought of an actual sparkling diamond teaching pole dancing of all things. Their pantheons had some interesting stories but if that one were true then it would be the most wild one she had heard or maybe the most ridiculous, she wasn’t sure. Hathor nodded after her loud enthusiastic declaration to indeed make another drink and set to work, making note that she probably shouldn’t let Hel have any more after this. The last thing she wanted to do was explain why she needed help getting a drunk Hel home. Who do you even call for that kind of help after the day pretty much everyone else had? Hathor was pulled from her thoughts when Hel spoke of dancing, her mind instantly scratching out that the other woman could mean pole dancing and guessed that she just meant dancing in general. She wasn’t sure she was actually a good teacher but hey, you never know until you try.

”Sure! Why not? Come on and follow me.”, she answered, handing Hel her drink and headed over to near the stage, placing her own drink on a random table nearby before moving to the back to get the lights fully on as if a show was about to begin and coming back to center stage. ”I’m not sure how most like to do it. Everyone has their own style but you can usually never go wrong with just swaying your hips to the beat. Dancing is expression and letting yourself be in the moment without care. It doesn’t matter how it looks, it’s all about fun!”, Hathor replied, getting a feel for the beat before letting her hips roll in time with the music, swaying as she bent her knees to shimmy down a bit before letting herself straighten back up, her hands gliding up the back of her neck to tease her hair as she raise her arms up in the air, hands gently resting on each other.

Hel followed Hathor as she kept sipping from her drink. When they approached the podium her heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure… the podium made it feel so much more… real. But as Hathor put away her own drink and got on the elevation, Hel bit down and did the same. She listened carefully to what Hathor said, but then just kept standing still like a board. She never danced. Nobody danced in Helheim. Valhalla and Fólkvangr where the places of jubilation when life ends. Not Helheim. Yet Hathor’s moves and the music and the lights were infectious. She slowly moved her head and legs. It felt familiar, like she was doing on the bar stool. Soon the dancing bug moved up to her hips and before she knew it she was dancing. With her eyes closed so she could feel the beat and guide her. She wasn’t dancing as well as Hathor but somehow…it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about not looking like an idiot now. It was about feeling good. She looked at the Many-Named goddess. Yes, she felt good. She felt happy and so what Hathor, that she knew in her heart.
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by NeoAJ
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NeoAJ Fine. I'll High Five Myself.

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PARVATI
SEATTLE UNIVERSITY, HOME OF THE REDHAWKS
MOOD: SHE CAN'T RIGHT NOW



At least she wasn't going to be alone. That was the first thought Parvati had as she had someone show up who she could at least talk to. No offense to a lot of the other gods, but some of them had such egos. Oooh, I'm a Greek God and I've got a Disney movie about my kids even if they are half-mortal! Ugh. It's not like Bollywood couldn't turn out a quick story about me and Shiva... Parvati had to stifle herself for a moment as she almost thought about one of the main reasons she hated these conclaves. It wasn't the goddesses' fault though. Most of them were cool. She gave Kore a wave back as she got settled.

Thankfully there was no reason to keep thinking about the sadness now that Artemis was here. For all the stick she gave the Greek gods and their party-hearty high-rolling attitude, at least Artemis was one of the ones who could actually inspire her and give her hope. Plus, she was more than willing to trade barbs about her compatriots. “You’d think she’d have figured out by now that I don’t sit next to Ares.”

Shivani shot Serena a sympathetic smile. "Well, you know Morrigan. Not exactly concerned with playing politics on the seating arrangements," she opined. "Of course, I think half the time she forgets that I'm basically the only Indian representative that actually comes to these. So, I am more than happy to have you here at the table! I would have picked up a drink for you if I had known we were sitting together!" She had to stop herself just shy of offering her own to Artemis. Her hospitality instincts were so strong sometimes.

She was going to ask about how the puppy was doing, but there was not enough time for that. It appeared Morrigan was finally going to speak. Or try to speak anyway. Other gods were being quite rude about the whole thing until she finally blurted it out.

“Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”

The news stunned Parvati for a moment. Again, her disdain for the Greek gods ran much deeper than the goddesses, so it wasn't like she was going to weep for the blacksmith as much as she would for one of the foster pets she had to let go. But the ramifications of a god's death weren't lost on the Hindu goddess. Of course, she had to deal with it directly when the Istanbul Conclave happened. It did not go well.

And it quickly proved that the Greeks would be just as volatile as she was all those centuries ago. Hera started playing the soap opera star by accusing everyone. Ares started smashing stuff and pointing guns around, settling on Shango. At least Hathor was up trying to keep the peace. Figured that the Egyptians would have to keep the Greeks in line. Artemis did her best to help, but Parvati just remained in her seat. There were too many memories starting to swirl around.

She could feel the desire for revenge beginning to bubble up again. Parvati didn't even know Hephaestus that well. Again, some blacksmith dude that couldn't fix her bike. But he was a god. As was she. As was Shiva. If someone took him out, they could easily start doing that to others. That couldn't be allowed to happen! There had to be a plan to defend themselves! There had to be some task force! There had to be blood spilled to equal the punishment! There had to be bodies flayed into unintelligible shapes and---

Parvati took a sip of her beverage. Tea always helped calm her down. Even if the syrup still wasn't as good as it should be. It calmed Kali for now. Maybe Kali would be needed soon, but for now, this was not the time or place. The tea helped remind her of that.

Morrigan explained that it was the thread that had been cut. No sign of a body, no clues, nothing. At least when the scouts brought Shiva back from that accursed mountain, there was something to mourn. A husk, but it was still something. The Greeks didn't even get that courtesy. Just a snipped piece of thread. Rather difficult to offer a eulogy for that.

She would have thought more about it, but then that pink mist showed up. It was fleeting and almost mean to show up now, when emotions were running high and she had to deal with the reverb of the last time a God died. She got a vision of home. Her spot in the mountains, with her husband and kids, none of whom she had now. Once the mist evaporated, she was left sitting alone at her table, with another reminder of a past that was seemingly forever out of reach now fresh in her mind. Kali was growing angrier. Parvati needed more tea. Maybe she would have to stop by Little Marjoram on the way back and make sure her stocks were high. Or maybe go to the bar. Somewhere. Anywhere. Being here was not helping her karma stay in balance.

She got up from the table and walked over to Artemis. "I think I need to go, Arti. I'm not feeling well. I need to get out of this place. It's not good for me right now. I can talk to you later? I just, I can't be here right now. I'm sorry for your family's loss. It sucks. I can text if needed. I just really can't right now." She was rambling, but it's all she knew what to do. She could probably compose herself a bit better on the outside, but for now, she needed to be anywhere but here.

Interactions: @smarty0114 Mentions: @HaleyTheRandom @fledermaus @Icy Hot @gothelk @The Ghost Note @Akayaofthemoon


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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by fledermaus
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fledermaus “𝓼𝓱𝓮'𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂.”

Member Seen 1 mo ago


𝔗 𝔥 𝔢 𝔐 𝔬 𝔯 𝔯 𝔦 𝔤 𝔞 𝔫
LOCATION: ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛy
MOOD: ʀᴇᴀᴅy ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ.



The room started to thin out, several of the gods seeing it fit to leave early and the Morrigan felt her anger flare once more. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a second to even her breaths before addressing the room.

“I know I don’t have a lot of information, but it’s imperative that you all know as soon as possible.” Her hands grip the podium and her eyes pierce into every god in the room, “There is a murderer on the loose and any one of us could be next.”

The Morrigan spared a glance towards the mourning mother, feeling one-legged and graceless. What is one supposed to say to people who lost someone special? Especially when all she knew of Hephaestus was his ugliness and bad politics. The Morrigan cleared her throat awkwardly, “My condolences to everyone close to him. He was, er, a special man with…a good heart?”

Well, she tried.

The Morrigan was a professional, and professionals always put their phones on vibrate during an important meeting. Despite the gravity of the situation, someone thought it fit to call her again. The woman fished out her phone from her pocket and glared at the caller ID. She hit the end button, resolved to call back after she concluded the meeting.

“Well, this has been…entirely unproductive and I hope next time we meet it will be tamer.” She shot a glance at the door which Ares had walked out of a moment earlier. “Now, excuse me, I have an important phone call to take.”
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by fledermaus
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fledermaus “𝓼𝓱𝓮'𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂.”

Member Seen 1 mo ago



Many things could be said about Loki. Homewrecker, murderer, life-ruiner, trickster, the list goes on and on. Loki likes to think of himself as the life of the party. And he quite likes parties, always had the taste for them since the roaring twenties; not the foolish frat parties those little Greek gods like to throw. No, Loki loves true parties, the Great Gatsby kind, the kind where extravagant people go to get extravagantly wasted.

And what better way to celebrate mourn a death than a party.

“— cordially invited to party with your favorite — Todd, are you writing what I’m saying or playing with your dick. Jesus, you write so slow.” Loki snapped his fingers at his lackey, er, assistant.

“Sorry, um, h-how do you spell cordially again?” Todd stuttered, pencil held ham-fisted over the back of a receipt Loki got at the convenience store down the street (he was craving bad coffee).

Loki sipped his bad black coffee, choking a little on the aftertaste and enjoying it in the way only a Chaos God could. “Uh, I don’t know actually. Maybe sound it out?”

Todd sounded it out under his breath, writing it down, and Loki took that as his cue to continue. “Ahem, with your favorite trickster — ”

Just as he had started, the door busted open and in came a breathless (what was his name again?), panting like a dog south of the equator. His hair was mussed and sweaty hands were gripping a black bag that he weakly brandished to Loki. “Mr. Leo, I have it!”

Loki steepled his fingers together and grinned, “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. You are
dismissed, Todd.”


“What about—”

Dismissed! And Todd scuttled out the door with his tail between his legs.

The trickster god beckoned Carl(?) over with an ominous finger. Carl carried the black bag like it held his lifeline (and, truthfully, it might) before slowly placing it on the desk. Loki gestured for Carl to push the black bag closer to him. This was it, Loki felt anticipation at what he was about to do. Todd was a good substitute, but nothing could replace his — laptop!

The laptop gleamed in the dank basement of Todd’s mother (Loki really needed to find a new base of operations) and Loki rubbed it lovingly. Now, he can truly write his invitation, with beautiful, beautiful spellcheck.

“You may go, Carl.” Loki waved his hand towards the wooden stairwell.

Carl made to leave before straightening in almost offense, “Uh, sir, my name is Timothy.”

“Wait, really?” Loki pondered this, wondering briefly where he got Carl from. “Well, Timmy, you are free to go. Shoo, shoo.”

Timothy left without another word and Loki got to work. His fingers moved speedily, dancing across the sleek keyboard as the words flowed easily into his mind. The trickster was beyond giddy with his idea. The ball will not only give him a chance to wear that suit he impulse bought, but will also allow him to stoke the flames between the gods without even having to lift a finger! Hera was so quick to accuse everyone in the span of five minutes; he wonders how many accusations will be thrown around during an entire ‘charity event’. Loki made sure to write up a separate invitation to invite some humans to the ball as well, to make the event more legitimate.

“Hm, it’d be rather weird for an illegal bookie to be holding a charity event, wouldn’t it?” Loki tapped his chin in thought even though he didn’t even really have to think about it.

Gods and Goddesses,

I cordially invite you to my lavish charity event that is to be held October 16th. It is a black tie event and I expect you to dress your very best, lest you be denied at t he door! I hope you all grace us with your presence. (:

- Jupiter, King of Gods


And sent!
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 3 yrs ago Post by Eidolon
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Eidolon Vacancy

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NOT A LUNCH DATE
NOT A LUNCH DATE.
ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛʏ » ᴀʟᴛᴜʀᴀ
ᴘᴀɴ & ᴍᴀʀꜱ




[ᴘᴏꜱᴛ-ᴄᴏɴᴄʟᴀᴠᴇ ꜰʟᴀꜱʜʙᴀᴄᴋ]

Awash he came in fields of wheat, bathed in the brilliance of the sun as it set alight the waves of Roman land that stretched far into the mountains. Yet, it was not Rome that he smelled but the heavy bread, the smell of sweat over a fire, the liquid wine that ran down throats. He saw her people along the streets, smiling, talking, weeping.

Yet, that was but an instant and, coming to, Mars gazed upon the room with his stone settled face. Rome and her people had fled his mind, replaced by the toils and troubles of these deities now. Mars found their dramatics unbecoming of them and the information provided lacking as he stared the Morrigan down. At least she provided something. An unnatural death, something she hadn’t fallen upon before. It brought more questions to mind that he’d have to divulge to his brethren.

Well, they’d simply have to wait. A fitting punishment for throwing him into the flames without second thought.

Mars fished his phone from his pocket. Time would be on his side yet and he whistled to Virtus as he began his exit. He turned toward the Morrigan in pause, however, first.

”If you find anymore information, let me know,” Mars requested, straightening his jacket, ”I’ve been conducting an investigation of my own that I think you’d be interested in. Keep in contact, Mor."

With that he pushed past the other deities and back out into less musty air and brighter surroundings.



Business meetings to a CEO of a vast and wealthy conglomerate were a dime a dozen. Negotiations would be set, compromises struck, underhanded dealings dealt with. It was all par for the course.

Yet.

Mars breathed in. He hadn’t asked for help in quite a long time, nor did he trust someone to aid him in such a way in even longer. Of course, there were his brothers, but he felt it unfair to count their dealings when it was mostly expected of them.

Beside him, Virtus opened her maw to pant with a wide smile directed at the mighty god of war. Mars let his fingers dig into her fur to ground himself. He just had to remind himself this was a mere business meeting with someone who was, by all intents and purposes, a rival company, though their domains didn’t truly converge. At some point, he just wanted to be mad at their young, conniving mogul and yet he simply couldn’t bring himself to reach beyond impressed.

Still, Syrinx had what Mars needed and he’d get to it one way or another. He just prevered it be mutual with no mask or tricks to hide beneath. Just honesty.

Mars stepped out of his car, Virtus following suit and made his way toward the restaurant’s front door. It was a small establishment, but its quantness only aided in its beauty. Mars huffed a breath as a waiter showed him toward a small table near the corner. The nod to Italy was much appreciated and the ingredients here were as fresh as possible, like eating from Rome’s own farmland.

With Virtus settled beneath him, Mars gathered what he needed for the meeting in the small bag he’d carried with him. Papers seemed awfully wasteful these days, so Mars settled for a tablet that contained all the necessary information as well as a harddrive that Pan would be more than welcome to take. As he set them to the side of the table, Mars allowed himself to relax, breathe in and take a gander at their hopefully authentic wine collection. Though, his eyes kept flickering toward the glass doorway in hopes to see a spry young man waltzing through.

And waltz he did. It was an apt description of Pan’s graceful fluidity as he came in off the street, clipping his sunglasses to the front of his shirt. A hostess opened her mouth to speak, but he raised his hand and she grew silent. His eyes scanned the tables until they fell on Mars, attempting to simultaneously peruse the menu and watch the entrance. He grinned, and nodded to the hostess before striding over to take a seat.

Pan wasn’t sure what to expect from this meeting, but wherever the chips fell, he’d remain unfazed. This was business now, not the childish games he’d once enjoyed. Mars had been at it a lot longer than he had, and it would be foolish to underestimate him, or let their family’s rivalry stifle a promising partnership.

“I was wondering when you’d come calling,” Pan said. He sat comfortably in his seat, though his posture could hardly be considered high-society. It was proud, uncaring, leaning back in his chair as if he was completely untouchable. He was confident in his position, that much was clear in the relaxed tone he took on, as if this was just another Tuesday.

“Don’t suppose the Conclave was any fun?”

Prompt. That’s not something he expected from a trickster god. Mars grinned, setting the menu down as he straightened himself. He held his gaze on Pan for a moment, staring him down until he gave a slow blink and narrowed his eyes. ”I’m not sure I’d call Ares brandishing a weapon fun,” Mars said, ”But eventful? Quite. One of your own, Hephaestus, was murdered and conclaves are presumably becoming more frequent.”

Mars, however, didn’t let Pan digest the information. It was a slightly crude tactic, but, at least to Mars, Pan didn’t seem the type to bear any strong feelings toward his own pantheon. The news would be his own to dissect; Mars was here on business. ”Unfortunate as that may be,” Mars started, turning the tablet on and sliding it toward Pan, ”You’re here for a different reason. My company requires assets and you have those assets.”

“Well, I am known for my assets,” Pan smirked and picked up the tablet to begin scrolling through the information Mars had compiled for him. He stowed the news of Hephaestus’ death away for later, happy to talk business first. He remained silent for a moment as he examined, though his eyes betrayed his surprise at what awaited him. Mars, once a champion of the industrial age, was looking to go green, and he wanted Pan’s help. The screen displayed plans for engineering projects that could change the world, if done right. Shaking his head in awe, he set the tablet down and crossed his arms.

“Well, I’ll be honest. This has caught me by surprise, and that is very hard to do.” His eyes ran over Mars’ frame, looking for the slightest hint of what the father of Rome was thinking, to no avail. The uncertainty might’ve worried a mortal but for Pan, it only invigorated him. This was starting to get fun. “What’s with the change of heart?”

”I aim to exceed expectations,” Mars let a corner of his mouth tug up as he reached over to retrieve the tablet. He took a second to pull up a few more things, then handed it back. Not one to reveal too much of himself, Mars let his face fall just slightly, pinched with his lips pursed. ”As you can see, agriculture, particularly agriculture geared toward feeding livestock is an extremely large contributor toward climate change. You knew that, of course. That means I’m a colossal contributor toward a number of unsavory environmental hazards and changes.”

Mars let his head fall to his lap, eyes locking with Virtus at his feet. She whined and tilted her head. For a second, Mars let his posture fall as his hand raised to scratch at the back of his head. ”I’m a war god, but I’m also a protector of my people and by extension the land they inhabit. There’s no reason to prosper at the expense of the earth we live on and it took me awhile to see that. Symbiotic relationships are far and away more preferable to parasitic ones, I’m certain you’d agree,” Mars explained. He straightened, cleared his throat and gestured toward the tablet.

”I suppose I personally owe you an apology before extending my hand in partnership.”

“These plans are a good place to start,” Pan said. He cocked his head, and while it might have appeared like he was debating the pros and cons of the proposition before him, he’d already made up his mind.

A partnership with Mars gave him access to funds that he couldn’t dream of as Peter Oakley, even after Syrinx’ rapid rise to relevance. It wasn’t a secret that Triarii Corp. was bigger than Syrinx and in a better position to enact the change Pan wanted to see. Add the ever stoic Roman across the table and Pan had never truly considered declining. “I’m in. But just know, I’m not selling you that little start-up back, and you come to me with environmental issues from now on. And I’m not signing until I get my lunch.”

Of course there would be conditions to his proposal, Mars just didn’t expect those conditions to be easy to accommodate. That Pan would agree so readly did surprise Mars, but Trarii had an amassed pool of wealth and resources that would be hard to pass up. He just expected there to be a lot more hoops to jump through than simply having to consult Pan on any and all environmental issues. To say Mars minded that arrangement would be a lie, one he’d be hard pressed to deny.

He cleared his throat, eyes darting down to watch Virtus plod toward Pan’s side. She lay at his feet, huffing slightly before letting her head fall to her paws. Mars scratched at the hair on his jaw. ”I would say you won that start-up fair and square. Not many people could give the slip like that without my notice. I can only applaud you for that.”

With that said, Mars signalled for a waiter to come. ”As for your other requests, Syrinx will be the sole provider for any and all environmental needs that Trairii requires. I’ll even personally inquire you about any issues I and my company run into, if that’s fine by you,” Mars said, thanking the waiter as he set down a few menus for the both of them. He spread it open and peered over the top at Pan.

”This isn’t an opportunity I’m willing to pass up, so let’s get to that lunch, shall we?” Mars smirked, ”Do take all the time you need. I cleared the rest of my schedule to ensure these negotiations go as smooth as I can make them.”

Pan leaned over his chair to scratch the top of Virtus’ head once he realized that she’d come over to his side of the table. He diverted his attention to her for a moment, always a sucker for an animal, especially a cute dog. “Clearing your schedule just for me? I am important, aren’t I?” Sitting up, he took a look at his menu, eyes flicking up to the god of war every so often, eyes running down his chiseled jaw and broad shoulders. There was a magnetism there, plain and simple. He felt it with many people, a lust-laced attraction that he couldn’t shake. He shifted in his seat, and did his best to send his mind elsewhere. Oh, the woes of a fertility god.

“What did the Morrigan tell you about Hephaestus?” Pan asked, setting his menu down and taking a sip of water from his glass. It wasn’t concern in his words, more of a fascinated curiosity. This was not the first, nor was it the greatest tragedy he’d endured. “I’d hope she’d have more to offer than just that.”

Business didn’t typically entail any kind of pleasure, nor did Mars truly hope for it. This had to be one of the rarer times he’d actually find himself enjoying a partner or client’s company. There was a chilly confidence to Pan, one that made Mars stare at the man’s smaller build and lithe frame a little too long. Youth still tickled the sharpness of his jaw, belying the ageless being waiting beneath. A slyness, ever enigmatic and biting, lay hidden in dark eyes and Mars stared harder, drawn to the clarion call of a deep, endless forest abyss.

A cough slipped from his mouth and Mars straightened himself. ”I have a feeling I shouldn’t feed that ego of yours,” Mars said, with a smile tugging his lips. His eyes roamed toward Pan, ”Why, I wonder, would I feel the desire to do just that?

The server came at that time, to which Mars simply pointed to what he wanted without his gaze leaving Pan’s. ”To your question about Hephaestus: Morrigan stated that she knew of his death merely by the string of fate attached to him. She’d spoken of it having been cut clean, rather than unspooled as she is used to. I take it to mean that his death was unnatural and not simply a desire to wander outside of the Colossus range. Other than that, she gave nothing of import,” Mars revealed, leaning back with a sigh, ”Though, I suppose I have my own investigations to worry about and a business to run, of course. Still, it intrigues me more than worries me and I assume it will do the same for my brothers.”

Pan followed Mars’ lead with the waiter, pointing at his desired meal and handing the menu off. His fingers tapped out a quick rhythm against his chin, eyes narrowing while he pondered the ramifications. “I’ll second that. If I know my family, one of them’s to blame, and I think you’ll agree that they aren’t quite their old selves.” Pan chuckled at his own jab, drinking in the atmosphere. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Mars’ interests were even more closely aligned with his own than he’d thought. He smirked. Wouldn’t that be something.

“What have you and your brother’s been doing all this time? Aside from polluting the earth, of course,” Pan added, his smirk betraying the good nature behind his jests. Anyone who wanted to get to know the Great God Pan would come to enjoy, or at the very least endure, his humor.

Cheeky little bastard. Mars grinned, though, taking a sip of his water. ”I’m not sure we’ve had time outside of our busy schedule accelerating the heat death of the universe, or at least earth’s,” Mars threw that smirk right back, ”I’m sure you’ve been too busy throwing your wild bacchanals and diving headfirst into sin and debauchery. Oh, and apparently stealing what isn’t yours.” Mars couldn’t very well call himself a successful business mogul if he wasn’t keen enough to throw his own punches.

Still, his smirk turned into a small smile. ”My brothers have their own agendas outside of wanting Rome back. Janus has been doing his usual: curing cancer, making vaccines, starting world wars. Jupiter has been busy being an ass. The others, I’m not so certain outside of their regular businesses,” Mars pondered, pursing his lips slightly. He turned his attention toward Pan again, wondering at his own plans outside of restoring earth to its former glory? He was still uncertain, but something in him craved to learn more.

”What of you? What has the trickster got up his sleeve?”

“I try to keep my sins carefully calculated nowadays, thank you very much,” Pan said, flashing a coy expression at the man who was starting to seem like a very intriguing sin indeed. He sipped his water and leaned back once more. “I’ve been here and there, doing what I do best.” Many would debate what exactly it was that Pan did best. “Who do you think convinced the hippies to try and levitate the Pentagon?” Pan said. “For a little bit, I was running with an awfully dedicated group of mortals, but you can only hijack so many oil rigs before you realize you have to start playing a different game.”

Of course there was more to his centuries on Earth. There were stories that clawed at his lips, begging to be set free so that they might leave their impression on the god of war, but Pan held them in. These weren’t stories told over five-star meals. These would be whispered in the dark, between tousled sheets, when everything had fallen away. “Once we got here, I became this,” Pan gestured to himself, hands running down his frame as if he was trying to sell a ring to a gullible buyer sitting at home. “I take it you know the rest of that story.”

Mars allowed an eyebrow to raise. Of course a god such as Pan would have a number of tales to tell upon entering the mortal realm, though, like any deity worth their salt he likely had a number more pre-fall left untold by mortals. He was left intrigued by what Pan left unsaid and caused Mars to lean forward, eyes roaming down the god’s frame with Pan’s motion. Water couldn’t quench what parched Mars now and only Virtus could hear the quiet growl vibrating Mars’ throat.

”I can say that I do, but I wouldn’t deny knowing the intimate details of your story,” Mars said, ”Or rather all of your stories.” There he felt a hint something sparking lining the words spoken, but Mars wanted to drag more out, unspool the things unsaid until either one of them came undone. Mars gritted his teeth.

”I’m sure you could be convinced to let a few more of those adventures of yours slip out,” Mars tapped a finger against the table, staring at it before locking eyes with Pan, ”As could I, if you’re willing to part with something I find of import.” While the god of war preferred to be direct, he occasionally let mischief play along the tip of his tongue.

The rapport sent jolts of electricity bolting through his nerves, a tightening in his gut that was unmistakable. Temptation was no stranger, but today he’d come to play. “I’m older than the trees they cut down to carve this table. I’ve got stories about wars and orgies and everything in between, but I’m not quite sure which would interest you more,” Pan said. There was a thrill that came with teasing and denying the Roman, watching those dark eyes smolder with an intoxicating intensity. He bit his lip, before yielding a story lost to the passages of time.

“Years ago, when we were in Paris, I snuck into Versailles.” The waiter chose then to reappear, placing their plates in front of them and scuttling off, though not without stealing a glance over his shoulder at the two men. Unfazed by mortal stares, Pan continued. “It was one of Hera’s parties, when she worked for that one king? You know, the one that got the,” Pan mimed a beheading, but otherwise didn’t pause, animated by his memories. “Now, the French didn’t need any help throwing a party, especially back then, but well, the alcohol flowed, and I ended up more than drunk.”

Pan’s story wound through the castle gardens, the stables, and the Hall of Mirrors, infused with his signature splendor. “Finally, we’ve collected all her friends, we’ve found a bedroom, clothes have come off, and we’re getting somewhere good. And then, Hera walks in.” Pan punctuated his sentence by slamming the table, and letting out an exuberant laugh. “Turns out, it was her bedroom. Gods was she livid,” Pan managed to gasp out between laughs. After a moment, and a few sips of water, Pan calmed himself, and met Mars’ gaze. “Are you amused?” he asked, smirking.

Mars held Pan’s gaze for the entirety of his story, keeping a stoic face throughout. Underneath that exterior bubbled an instinct to stake his claim. To grasp a god as slippery as Pan, however, would not likely end well for him. The desire to chase grew in tandem and Mars straightened himself in his chair once more. As Pan’s laughter and story died down into a question and a smirk, Mars hummed and took his time to gather the necessary utensils for his meal. Something simple: baked rigatoni.

With his gaze trained on Pan, Mars chewed his first bite. He allowed himself a grin. ”A story befitting a god such as yourself,” Mars said, truthful as he ever was, ”I find myself disappointed that I could not partake in this Pan you spin tales for, yet…” Mars set his utensil down, taking a drink of water without averting his stare. ”While I find myself intrigued with your plunders and your spoils in your past, there’s nothing more exciting to me now than seeing what you’ll do with this newfound direction. Fun and debauchery is amusing to reminisce about, but something tells me that you bore of it. Why else have you come here? To a man who doesn’t indulge in those frivolities? For as much as they amuse me, I have different needs.”

Mars paused for a moment, setting his food aside as he leaned forward. ”What is it you crave, Pan?”

Pan leaned forward, close enough that he could smell the expensive cologne that wafted off of Mars. “I crave a great deal. Success, power, freedom.” You. The spaces between the lines were bursting at the seams. “What needs do you have, Father of Rome?” Pan’s smile never faltered, even as the space between them seemed to grow smaller and smaller. He could sense the wolf closing in, anticipating the pounce, welcoming it.

The smell of earth washed over him, told him a number of things: desires, wants, needs. His, of course, and he was tempted further to close that gap. Yet, he grinned with a finger at Pan’s chin to tilt the man’s head up while Mars tilted his own to the side. His eyes fell from Pan’s, toward the other god’s jaw, then his neck for but a split second. ”I need prosperity. I need thrill. I need to see myself ushering this world into a new era.” I need the smell of earth and grass tousled into my sheets. Mars nearly growled, but held it for a lip curl instead.

”There is nothing else you would ask of me, before you sign your life away?” Mars pressed, flashing a canine as he smirked. His finger slid down Pan’s chin to his neck, fingers barely hovering over skin. He could bare them like fangs. Mars wondered, looking at Pan now, if the mighty forest god would let him.

Heat against his chin, running across his jaw. The flames lapped at him, heat running to his core as he fought against the urge to succumb to his basest instincts. To give in to temptation was his nature, and this was a most advantageous temptation. “Just one thing.” He flashed a smile of his own, as sure of himself as ever.

”Just one?” Mars asked, just barely above a whisper. His eyes flashed down to lips he could almost feel and heat burned in Mars’ chest. Hunger gnawed at him, a wolf with its jaws ready to snap shut, and Mars nearly allowed it to consume him. Yet, he held on as tight as the fingers that gripped the table and as coiled as the ones against the thrum of Pan’s neck. ”Enlighten me. Perhaps I’d be willing to accommodate,” Mars hummed. His head tilted and he breathed deep one more time.

The tightness that gripped his throat thrilled him, invigorated him. His nerves were firing non-stop, begging him to give in. He leaned in closer, increasing the pressure on his neck, bringing his lips up to Mars’ ear and whispering his next words softly. “When you usher in that new age? I want to be by your side.”

Fingers tightened even further, fully wrapping around Pan’s neck but stopping just before the blood flow constricted. This time Mars truly did growl, guttural and rumbling in the deep pits of his chest. ”You’ve already wrapped me around your finger haven’t you?” Mars grinned as he huffed his whisper. His teeth sank into the lobe of Pan’s ear as he leaned forward ever closer. ”I’ll take that in writing.”

A gasp slipped past Pan’s lips, followed by a slow chuckle, both distorted by the fingers around his throat. “Have I? I hadn’t noticed.” Grinning he leaned back, his heart pumping much faster than it had been a moment ago, cheeks flushed. He grabbed the tablet off the table, and scrawled his signature across a dotted line, and set it back down. “What next, partner?”


Collab With @smarty0114 & [@Gothelk]
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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Legion02
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Legion02

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Letter to a Loved Brother
Jörmungandr's residence
HEL: GODDESS OF HELHEIM


Dear brother

It’s been too long. I know that. In all these years I wish I had found you sooner. Every year I wished to write this letter. But now that ink is hitting paper, I am finding myself at a loss of words. You must hate me. Feel that I have abandoned you. I cannot express in words how much I wanted to find and visit you. Even before the Colossus wretched us from our godhood. But I believe, in my heart, that the Æsir would not have allowed it. But that is not the sole reason. I must confess now that while my heart yearns to see you, we should not meet. I will confide in you, Jörmungandr. I am afraid. Truly afraid of the long winter that will come. That is why we should not see each other and I hope you can forgive me for that. And I hope you can forgive me for all of my other failings.

So how have you been? I hope you have found your little corner in this admittingly small world. Being a mortal, a man no less must truly be strange to you. Did you find your twist in Seattle? How were things in Washington? And everything before that? I am sorry, I have a hundred questions that should’ve been asked over a thousand and seven-hundred years. But I hope, truly, that you will write me back.

Your ever-loving sister
Hel
Interacting with: Jörmungandr(@Gothelk)
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by Legion02
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Legion02

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SETTING FIRES
sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴᴛᴏᴡɴ sᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ » ᴊᴀᴅᴇ ᴊᴀɢᴜᴀʀ



The concrete basement of Ares’ small office building was filled with shouts and curses, mixed with the fainter groans and punches meant to hurt. Then, like a sudden crescendo, Ares could hear the roar. Someone was lifted in the middle of the ring. The shouts went from chaotic to animalistically united. The man who did the lifting kept roaring, the shouts around him elevating him from mere mortal to a demi-god for a second, before he let his victim fall upon cardboard below. Industrial light bulbs hanging from the ceiling illuminated the scene. Casting light upon the blood and spit. The two men were now fighting each other on the ground. One on top of the other. Skin split, turning each face into a painting of pain and determination. Ares didn’t need to watch it. Hearing was enough for him. It raised him into that familiar state of mind. Even standing away, leaning against a column, he could hear the three taps. The shouts turned quiet. Three people rushed into the makeshift ring. Marked only by cardboard on the floor. Not in an attempt to make a drop to the floor softer. It was there to soak up the blood at first. Now it marked the end of the ring. That didn’t matter either anymore, really. There was as much blood outside the ring as on the cardboard.

The man who tapped out was dragged off. Sat down on one of those cheap plastic chairs. He looked knocked unconscious, but the way he slightly moved his heavily bruised fingers told everyone he was still awake. Blood and sweat and grime ran down his bare chest and then along his chiseled eight-pack. Spartans didn’t go to the gym to look good. That was just another consequence. They went to the gym because it made them ready for the ring. On the other side of the basement sat the winner. Alone with an ice pack wrapper around his fists and a woman, another Spartan, cleaning out the wound along his cheekbone with vodka, before it would be stitched up. There was no glory won here. The prestige. Nothing was solved but nothing needed solving anymore.

Ares, leaning against the concrete, was itching to join in on the fighting. The lack of results coming out of the last few days was grating on him. Failure was not something he wasn’t accustomed to. But this wasn’t about him. This was about doing good to his brother. This was about the promise he made to his mother. He would find his brother’s body and bury it. That was the least he deserved. After that though, he would find the one who killed him and unleash the fury he was keeping pent up now.

“Boss.” One of his Spartans, still dressed in suit and tie, said as he walked up behind Ares. “We found something.” Ares nodded and walked away from the ring of shouts. Upstairs, towards a small office. Two men sat before the desk. Dressed in long wool coats. A ripped up journal laid upon the desk. Ares picked it up.

“What’s this?” The god of war asked. Going through the book. There were a few names he recognized. Nobody major. Nobody special. Gods but not much else.

“We found in the Mayor’s apartment.” One of the men said. Ares looked up to observe him. Not a Spartan. Not entirely trustworthy. He was a burglar. A professional one. Couldn’t be trusted. But was capable at his job. He gave him a slight, approving nod. In truth this was the first tangible clue he found all day. The failure, the inactivity, it had driven him mad. Mad enough to stay away from Julie for the night. Though he assured her everything was fine. Still, when he’d return home, he would come with the most beautiful flowers he could buy from Kore.

“Anything else?” Ares asked.

“A man left the apartment before we got in. Strange one. Couldn’t recognize him. No video.” The second guy said. He was a burglar also. Associate to the first. Less trustful still and less skilled. If he were, he would’ve followed the person. Alas, this was the deal with apprentices. You had to teach them things. Nobody was born reliable. Ares pulled an envelope out of his coat and offered it to the first man. Who took it without counting and then shook Ares’ hand. “A pleasure.” He said, before leaving with a smile. The money would be the exact amount owed. Illegal didn’t mean without manners.

Ares kept going through the journal. Trying to put pieces together. It was just names. Names and more names. Until his finger fell upon one in peculiar. ‘Hebe’. What did she have to do with this? Why did Hephaestus have her name circled? More questions. Was she somehow involved? No, impossible. The Greeks were all deeply broken but not Hebe. Not ever smiling, ever sweet Hebe. Maybe she was the next target? Or maybe she’s involved in a way she couldn’t know? Rubbing his brow, Ares sat back into his chair letting out a deep sigh. Frustrations kept mounting. Too many questions were being asked and he didn’t have enough answers.

Finally he had enough as he got up and walked out. Half an hour later the bouncer at Tlaz’s club let him right in. Stopping three boys that were first in line and protesting. “He didn’t even have girls with them while they have two!?” One of them exclaimed. It took one look from Ares to shut him up. The God of War wasn’t in the mood for shows or dancers. Instead he went straight for the bar and claimed a bar stool. Ordering a triple whiskey. Neat. Which he downed in one go. After which he ordered a second triple.

It was a typically busy day at the Jaguar, but that didn’t mean that a certain presence went unnoticed by the filth goddess herself. Tlazōlteōtl could spot the fury a league away, bobbing and weaving through her crowd of devoted patrons, a light touch upon each of their shoulders, whispers of thanks for coming and enjoying their nights within the walls of her establishment. Their eyes blown black, their desires and sinful natures coming out in full swing as they respond appropriately with nods and catcalls of their own. A smirk upon her painted lips, her temptations weren’t something any normal mortal could just brush off. But a god?

In no time at all Tlazōlteōtl was leaning against her bar top to the right of her longest known friend. Her honey eyes trailed up his frame, his chest seemed to heave more than usual and she made it a point to announce it to him, “Something’s gotten under your skin, War God.” Her tone was teasing, but there was no mistake in the concern in those eyes of hers.

A delicate hand was brought down onto his shoulder, a sign of support, a small squeeze before she shook him lightly, ”You lookin’ to let loose a little more than usual tonight? Or is it trouble you’re seeking?” Having known him for so long there was little the god could hide from her. His rage, his fury, the itch to be in on the battles and wars to come. But having to be resigned to being stuck; as they all were. She knew it all too well. So, the best she could do is to offer some reprieve that he wouldn’t elsewhere receive. She raised her hand to Hathor tending the bar, a look shot their way, but Tlazōlteōtl brushed it aside with raised fingers, “Let’s get a few more lined up, Hath! It’s a let loose kinda night~”

For a very long moment Ares let the question float in his mind. Hoping the alcohol would make the answer clearer. It didn’t. “I’m not sure.” He admitted, before downing his second drink. If he fought now there would be a promise of blood. He didn’t want that. Not here. Not for him.

As Hathor set about fixing their drinks, and just as Tlazōlteōtl turned to fix her attention onto her friend, a jerking commotion dragged her gaze to the back corner. A pair of mortals stood blocking the pathway from the dressing rooms to the front of the club, one of the girls standing there, clad in her last show’s attire and needing to get back there. “One moment Ares,” as graceful as a jaguar herself, Tlazōlteōtl stalked up to the others, “Oi! What’s going on here?”

“Lalli, these dicks won’t get outta my way for the next dance…” Tlazōlteōtl eyed the mortal men who dared hinder the flow of business and harass one of her girls. “Move out of the way, or I will have you removed. Is that clear?” They seemed inclined to listen as they moved away from the two women, but something didn’t sit right with the goddess. Something that made the hairs along the back of her neck stand on end. With a shake to her head, she motioned to Ares that she would return in a moment, she needed to make sure the others, in the back, weren’t in distress either, and with that she passed through the threshold into the backroom with Citrine following closely behind.

Ares just raised his glass in acknowledgement as he patiently awaited the next refill. Maybe he should start just ordering a bottle. Or two. Or three. Was it a three-bottle kind of night? He didn’t know. It was a slippery slope but one he couldn’t care for right now. His brother’s death, his promise, it was eating him alive. Together with something else. Behind him the three assholes that were making trouble at the dressing room came up to him.

“Oh look who it is.” One of them, the ring leader Ares guessed, said as he laughed with his two buddies. “Man this is why we had to wait outside longer? Look at this excuse of a man. Shit dude, you look like you want to drown yourself.” Ares ignored it. They were stupid. Idiots. He could take it. The insults were nothing new. He rolled with the punches his entire life. And when most of those punches came from your own family, a bunch of strangers couldn’t hurt you.

Despite his clear disinterest, one of them thought it smart to shove Ares. Who barely moved and didn’t even turn around to face them. “Pff. Pussy.” One said as they passed him and leaned up against the bar. “Yo chiquitta!” They hollered at one of the bartenders. A girl, not Hathor. Like all people that worked for Tlaz she was gorgeous and exotic. “Hey do some shots with us!” They kept yelling and hollering at her. While she did her best to ignore them and work through the drink orders of everyone else. “Baby just a shot of tequila. C’mon.” They kept going. Ares clenched his fist. It wasn’t worth it. Not them. Not here. Then one spat at her. “Bi-“

Ares had his hand on the back of the boy’s head and slammed him right into the marble bar counter. Like a rag doll the boy’s body recoiled and fell down. Blood poured out of his nose. On the ground he shouted: “What the fuck!?” His two buddies backed off a bit. Ares grabbed the guy on the ground with the bleeding nose, the one who almost hurled the insult, by both his lapels and hauled him upright.

“Apologize to the lady.” He said with an icy expression.

Then a fist came from the side towards him. Hitting him right in the cheek. Forcing Ares to turn his face and dropping the first guy. He dropped like a sack of potatoes. Ares slowly turned towards the second guy, the one that threw the fist. It was a good one. “I’ll give you one chance to walk away, son.” Ares said with the same, icy glare. The hit never fazed him. The trained boxer, instead, hit him again. Three hits. Right, left, right. Ares took each hit square to the face. His skin along his cheekbone was split. Bleeding. Looking worse than it was. He spat out some blood. Something began to flare up inside of the god of war. Something that shouldn’t but he couldn’t control it anymore. He grabbed the boxer by the collar. Ares headbutted him in a lightning fast fashion. Crushing his nose entirely. A flurry of left-handed fists then rained down upon the boxer. Each hit dimming the light in his eyes.

From behind him, Ares heard a scream. A second later the still screaming third guy jumped on his back with his arms around the god’s neck. The boxer was dropped and then the third guy was thrown off and slammed down against the ground. Both of them were groaning on the floor. The boxer with his face swollen and bleeding as well. But as Ares turned around he was faced with the nose-bleeding first guy, brandishing a butterfly knife. “Fuck. You!” He shouted, pointing the knife at Ares.

Something deep inside Ares snapped. Blood boiled. Fire ignited in his eyes. The same fire that was almost unleashed at the Conclave. He stepped forward towards the guy, who tried to go backwards. Ares wasn’t backing off. He didn’t even look afraid. He was just going forward. Pushing his prey in a corner. Making him afraid. Until the first guy’s pressure was too much. A shout, a lunge. The knife pierced Ares’ shirt and then his skin. He didn’t care. It didn’t stop him. He grabbed the guy by the throat and lifted him right off the ground. Letting gravity choke him. Wondering only if he should crush the kid’s windpipe.

Tlazōlteōtl was diligent in checking in on the dancers in the backroom, making the rounds and speaking with each one individually, noticing that they were all fine. If nothing else they were pissed. This wasn’t the first time those three men specifically had been in and harassed the lot of them. Knowledge that boiled the blood in Tlazōlteōtl’s veins. “They won’t be an issue any longer. Tlazōlteōtl was unable to continue going over the itinerary for the rest of the evening when a number of screams and shouts were heard above the music just past the doorway. Without another word spoken to the dancers she was rushing out the door towards the noise.

There amidst it all stood Ares. Blood boiling Ares. The assholes from earlier crowded around him. That was too generous on the mortals part. Two laid sprawled out on the ground, groaning in agony as they bled all over her floors and bar top. She was only a few steps into the main room of the club when the screaming picked back up and then there was the glint of a blade, the sounds of fabric being ripped, new blood spilling to the floor. Tlazōlteōtl shouted for Ares as she rushed across the club in record time, “Ar-!” She caught herself just in time as she reached with both hands to grip onto his forearm, suspending the guy in midair.

“Let him go… c’mon. He’s not worth it. None of them are…” the words uttered from her lips were soft and harsh at the same time, directed only to the war god beneath her touch. In the briefest of moments, with her grasp tightening on him, she prayed that she was able to do enough, to calm him enough, as she attempted to cleanse him of the rage he felt in the moment. At least long enough for the filth to be swept up from her establishment and never return. Though, she would be lying if she were to utter that they didn’t deserve some sort of punishment. But it wouldn’t bode well for her, or him, if they were to be dealt with in such a public way. Under normal circumstances she would have allowed him to act upon his nature, to deal with those he saw fit to find themselves at the end of his fierceness. However, she didn’t need to give Athena yet one more reason to make a surprise visit to the club. Alex, she called to him, he just seemed to look right through her. The storm was still raging behind his eyes. She wondered if she was ever about to get through to him.

Something strange was happening. Something new. The fires nobody could quench were suddenly receding. Becoming mute somehow. Mute enough at least for the goddess’ words to reach him. He blinked a few times, rapidly. Pulling himself out of the raging trance. The soft touch on his arm beckoned him to stop, and he did. The kid fell down from his grip on a bar stool. He coughed hard, his lungs gasping for air. But Ares’ other arm was quick on the back of his head, turning him towards the girl he disrespected. It wasn’t about their worth. It was about the girl behind the bar’s worth. “I’m sorry!” The kid yelled. “Okay? I’m sorry I never should’ve said those things. Please man… Please…” The kid was sobbing. Blood and tears ran together in a mixture of pathetic-ness. But Ares did release him again. Two bouncers had made their way through the throng of people and proceeded to guide out the three beaten guys. “Wait!” Ares yelled. The bouncers and the three guys stopped and turned to look at him as he pulled out the butterfly knife that was still in him and offered it back. The kid’s just turned away and hurried out.

Ares took a look at his own hands then. They were bloody, bruised, split. “I should… wash up I think.” He locked eyes with Tlaz’s. A moment ago he wouldn’t have recognized those topaz colored eyes. She didn’t deserve that. Slowly he reached out to her with a still shaking hand. With his hand on her cheek he softly brushed it with his thumb. “I’m sorry.” Words always failed him. Sorry was not nearly enough. But he didn’t know what else to do or say.

The words drifted to her ears, even as the DJ picked the music backup and life around them seemed to go back to normal. But it wasn’t normal. Not with the heat radiating from him, from his hand - his touch. She couldn’t help but lean into the feeling. It was comforting and familiar in a way... His words came back to her, and she had to frown a little. He didn’t owe her an apology. He had done nothing worthy enough to utter those words. Shaking her head Tlazōlteōtl grabbed the hand resting on her cheek, reluctantly pulling it away, but not releasing it from her grasp, “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” a smirk on her lips and she was pulling him towards the bathrooms. Tlazōlteōtl was not blind the knowing looks shot their way from the employees - Hathor included. A roll of her eyes and she was pushing the door to the bathrooms open and dragging the god of war in after her.

From the little light that was emitting from above the sinks and inset into the ceiling, Tlazōlteōtl was not equipped to fully examine Ares’ wounds. Hoisting herself atop the counter, and getting situated near the crystallized rock sinks, she ran her hands under the faucet, collecting some water to sprinkle and dab onto the hand she still held. He was too far away, “Scoot closer. Or are you scared I’ll bite… Alex~ his name rolled off her tongue in a way that should have been considered illegal, her eyes holding some mischief to them as she peered through her lashes at him.

Taking his stunned form she held his hand a bit tighter before pulling him closer, situating him between her legs, thighs resting against his own. “There, better. Now I can tend to your hands properly.” The amount of blush rushing to her cheeks was embarrassing, but not as embarrassing if he couldn’t see. She thanked her past self for the brilliant idea of low lighting in the bathrooms. It has saved her this night for sure.

It was silent between the two of them, if only for a moment, though the dull thumping of the music from the main room was pulsing through the speakers and through the walls. Sending vibrations throughout the entirety of the building. She could feel those same small tremors through the counter she sat herself upon, not thinking of the consequences of her actions. Clearing her throat as she continued to wash and clean his hands, sneaking a glance at him. She couldn't help but to admire his strong, sharp jawline decorated with stubble, providing him with a ruggedness she much rather preferred than that brief moment in time when he had decided to go baby faced. A laugh was pulled from her at the thought.

“You always did look better with facial hair," she muttered mainly for herself rather than an audience, though she didn’t miss the way his other hand twitched ever so slightly. “You know, you have nothing to apologize for…” this time she spoke the words directly to him, pulling a hand down to run under the water, his large frame easily towering over her.

Ares’ small smile on his face, formed by Tlaz’s comment on his facial hair, vanished when she told him he shouldn’t apologize. Deep down though, he knew he should’ve have. He didn’t regret those words and he wouldn’t take them back. Still, only Tlaz could ever say he didn’t have anything to apologize for after beating up three guys. “They were rude to your girl.” He simply said while looking down at his fists.

Here, alone with Tlaz, Ares felt the world suddenly retreat. Leaving only this dim lit bathroom. The soft thumbing of the music outside felt further away than ever. While the smell of sandalwood and amber banished all other thoughts. Every connection to the outside world faded. It felt like he was in a fight. With every touch of the goddess, Ares felt a jolt go through him. Forcing his attention more and more on her. Like a fight, he felt his heartbeat rage. His skin turned hot. The water on his fists turned to gently rising wisps of steam. Everything else, every connection felt distant now. Unimportant. The way a fight for your life makes every other worry vanish. Despite the outburst, despite the fighting, it felt as if something was still chained within him. Begging, trashing, pleading, and yearning to be released.

His eyes couldn’t let go of her. Those topaz eyes and her full lips were drawing him in. Right then, right there he wanted her. He wanted the only one who seemed to understand him. The one he didn’t need to lie to. But there was one thing he had to be sure of. His ex had cursed and blessed the both of them at the Conclave. “What did you see in the pink smoke?” He asked, while raising Tlaz’s chin. Making sure he could look into her eyes.

Again, his touch sent heat coursing through her veins, the way he looked down at her with those deep browns, almost like the dirt after a storm, muddied but there was something else hiding under them… with a sort of curious reverence. As if he were staring into her soul, searching for something. The smile she adorned only grew at the sight of his own, faltering only slightly at his question, her eyes taking note of the way his lips formed the words. Tongue darting out to lick her own lip as she mulled over the visions that danced through her mind caused by Aphrodite’s parlor trick.

Tlazōlteōtl turned once more away from him, only slightly, grabbing a cloth in order to dab his knuckles dry, spending an absorbent amount of time just touching him. A sigh of remembrance passing through her, ”Centeotl… the maize fields,” a sad smile now gracing her features, “The harvest season, the cicadas, sour dirt and musk. And heat. Gods the heat… a silly vision.” She tried to shrug it off with a chuckle, before returning the question to him, the motions of her hands halting but never pulling away from him instead, giving him a slight squeeze and turning her topaz gaze to look up into his face.

Not him. But that was a vain thought. Of course she longed for home. Ares could understand that. For a second he remained silent. Letting his own answer roil through his mind. It was selfish. Pained. Yet his heart, his entire body! It cried out now. “I-“ As much as he wanted to say it though, the truth felt like a lump in his throat. Like a lie that would sunder lives. He couldn’t say it. Not like that. Slowly he caressed Tlaz’s face with both his hands. “I… didn’t see who I should’ve seen.” Chains were held taut inside of him. Barely holding in that selfish need as he closed his eyes and inched closer to Tlaz’s lips. Everything was in the hands of the fates now, and with every millisecond Ares feared and then accepted the rejection that would no doubt come.

For the third time that evening his hands were caressing her face and she found herself leaning into the warmth. Basking in the comfort and craving more. She nearly missed the anxiousness in his posture, the thoughts crossing his mind dying on his lips never to truly be spoken. Tlazōlteōtl wanted to ask him what was wrong, to comfort him and coax that chaotic mind of his into a lull that would relax him. However the moment never came where she could act on those thoughts as his words reached her ears she had little time to process before his lips were pressed into hers.

It wasn't forceful, like one would expect of the God of War. If anything it was soft, apprehensive, as if waiting on a verdict to be issued on his actions. There was heat beneath her skin, her fingertips, surrounding her completely. Ares smelled of musk and smoke and heat and it was in that moment she realized the meaning behind those stupid visions. The reason Centeotl faded into a smoke storm brewing… their friendship through the years, always coming to each other's aid. With a renewed vigor, no longer caught off guard she raised her hands, still damp, to card through his dark locks pulling his body closer, chests pressed against one another. Tlazōlteōtl sighed into the kiss, tongue swiping along the seam of his lips, back pressed against the mirror behind.

Something about this moment, Ares and her, all of it, felt right. Had the fates finally granted her what she had always longed for? Her mind was muddled, foggy. The only thing existing was him. His presence, his touch, the slight scrap of his hairs against her skin. "Ares…" his name fell from her lips like a prayer and she hoped to every power that this was real and not a delayed side effect of Aphrodite's tricks.

His name. Like a spell it unleashed him. His lust. His yearning. Unchained. She drew him closer. He pushed his body against her. Pushing further against the mirror. Pushing a little further still. The kiss had turned ravenous. He wanted her. He needed her! His skin lit up as it touched hers. To him there was no more doubt. No more fear. Everything was good in this single moment. Yet his hunger grew greater, as his kisses trailed off her lips, down the side of her neck. Lower… lower…

The door opened. Eyes snapped open. The outside came in. The faint thumping of music turning full blast. Singing. Dancing. Laughter. It flooded Ares, pushing everything he felt in that moment aside. Making him remember. There was something beyond this room. There was someone beyond this room. He pulled further away from Tlazōlteōtl. His hands let her go as they began to shake. “Fuck.” He breathed, looking down in shame. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He could barely breathe. The walls were closing in. Caging him like a wild animal. Passion turned to dread as he pushed aside the people that had just answered. Going into the throng of people. He had to get out. He had to go back. With shoves and pushes he made his way through the crowds of people not caring who he offended or even pushed away too hard. He had to go out. He had to go out. The dark streets of Seattle were out there. He could hide there. He could vanish there. “You okay boss?” He heard someone say. It was faint. He pushed the man aside and then finally made it out.

He stopped for a second, just outside the strip club. His breath turned to vapor. He looked up, but there were no stars. All around him there were only streets and lamps. He didn’t know which way to take. Where to go. He only knew he had to get out of there. Go away. And so he vanished into the cold Seattle night.

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Hidden 4 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by Boreas
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Boreas stay / chilly™

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J A N U S
𝓒𝓪𝓷𝓵𝓲𝓼 𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 10:40 AM
Mood: and so it begins...




“Welcome back, this is Joyce Taylor-” “And Mark Wright” “with King 5 news. It is currently 10:25 AM on this beautiful Saturday morning. We return to you with an update on the investigation into the disappearance of Seattle Mayor Hugo-”

“Hello, Olivia~ How is my portfolio looking this morning?”

“Better than I expected, I’m seeing a lot of potential for a huge return on all your efforts. If the trends over the past year or two continue on these offshore accounts your predictions will be spot on. Oliver should be in too today maybe you two can catch up over a cup of tea, he’s been dying to tell you about this new place he found. I have to get back to work, I’ll call again soon. Ciao”

The phone call promptly ended and the sound of the morning news returned to fill the silence of the luxurious supercar. The black on black McLaren zipped across the busy highway weaving dangerously in and out of traffic, receiving honks and more explicit insults as the driver only chuckled to himself. The sound of the sportscast didn’t reach him, the wheel spinning in his mind occupied his thoughts completely. Big things were on the horizon and that thoroughly excited him.



The God of Beginnings and Ends pulled to a stop just outside of Seattle’s landmark restaurant. Canlis has been a beacon for the powerful and the wealthy, it’s attractive modern design offers an intimate space full of abundant natural lighting, breathtaking views of Lake Union, the Cascades, and the glistening Emerald City. Janus had become a familiar face around this part of town, bringing customers, partners, and the odd date or two to dine at the Michelin starred eatery.

“Ahh good morning Mr. Rex, arriving fashionably early even when it is just your family dining with you? That’s quite an admirable trait you have there, punctuality seems to have escaped my own damn sons.” The Owner, Joseph Canlis, greeted Julius Rex with a friendly smile and grand sweep of his arms towards his life and blood’s work. Janus took an easy stride beside the man, his posture relaxed but still poised, offering a shake of his head at the genuine compliment.

“Hardly, the eldest always has to be some sort of a good example, even as adults, isn’t that right?” Janus gave an empty chuckle and a friendly pat on the older male’s shoulder, “Set the penthouse room up for seven this morning?”

“We were able to get Hana Kim in to tickle the ivories for you this morning, and I took the liberty to place an extra table setting down just in case Miss Si-” “Family only this time around Mr. Canlis, it seems running a business isn’t keeping you all that occupied nowadays with how involved you seem to be in my love life.”

“Well you can’t blame an old man for his wandering thoughts, it’s rare for you to bring someone back twice, but four times? Dare I call it anything but lo-” Janus interjected again, his voice remaining even despite an annoyance tightening at the joint of his jaw.“Alright Mr. Canlis, as much as I’d love to entertain your wildly imaginative fantasies, I do have a schedule to stick to today. I can show myself the rest of the way. A trio of pretentious adults should be arriving here shortly, have your best wine at the ready for your favorite customer, alright?” Janus gave a smug wink before entering the restaurant and climbing the stairs.

The gentle notes of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata greeted Janus as he entered the penthouse room. A single waiter busied himself at the table removing the extra table setting as the Old God walked to the floor-to-ceiling length windows. Just past the view of Lake Union, was the bustling city of Seattle, home to roughly 800,000 people, ignorant to the gods of myths walking beside them and at the mercy of those immortal beings manipulating the threads of fate around them.

“aut Roma aut nihil”
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Hidden 4 yrs ago Post by fledermaus
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fledermaus “𝓼𝓱𝓮'𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂.”

Member Seen 1 mo ago


𝗃 𝗎 𝗉 𝗂 𝗍 𝖾 𝗋
𝓒𝓪𝓷𝓵𝓲𝓼 𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 10:45 AM
MOOD: ᴍɪssɪɴɢ ʀᴏᴍᴇ.



Patterns existed in everything; nature, humanity, business, godhood. It’s why Jupiter found them so comforting; patterns meant predictability and predictability meant that Jupiter always had the upper hand. The god himself had a predictable schedule: wake up, work, jog, work, shower, work, work, work. However, none of the brothers of the Archaic Triad could be considered predictable themselves. Jupiter may maintain a predictable livelihood, under his dark hair stirred plots from all angles. Because of his capricious nature, Jupiter is of the understanding that Mars and Janus are also of the same nature. Brunches may be the bane of Jupiter’s existence (brunch for this, brunch for that, brunch for family, and brunch for business), it was good to take the time to catch up with his duo that complete his trio and some of the other Romans.

If he could get out the door, that is.

“Mr. Kingsley, you have received an important message from – ” His assistant hurried after his steps, his formal shoes clacking on the tile like tap shoes on a mat.

Jupiter didn’t bother glancing up from the newspaper he was reading, “No.”

The assistant hesitated and Jupiter’s long strides took him far away from whatever nobody wanted to contact him. He passed by the circular desk at the front of the building, and Helena perked up at the sight of him. Her eyes roved over him, looking for anything out of place, until she spotted something absolutely juicy. Nothing could get past Helena, the gossip hound of the company.

“Mr. Kingsley, did you fall and bruise your neck?” She asked innocently, as boldly calling it a ‘hickey’ would certainly land her in hot water. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself!”

“I’m fine.” Jupiter responded, turning the page of his newspaper and hurrying up to the glass doors.

And once he thought he was free from his nosy and noisy employees, he was greeted by a small protest at his doors. Surely over some clean energy thing that Jupiter had no interest in at that particular moment. Sure, the environment is important – matter of fact, Jupiter thinks it is extremely important if he is to bring Rome to its former glory – but his aerospace company is a long way from being able to operate without jet fuel.

“Mother earth killer!” Someone shouted at him and Jupiter sighed as he tucked his hands into his pockets. Hypocrites, all of them. They like to degrade his use of jet fuel until one of them needs to fly halfway across the world.

Jupiter tossed the newspaper towards the protester and the protester fumbled to catch it, “Recycle this please.” Plebeian.

A black car awaits him at the curb, bodyguards holding back the protesters who seem more confused than organized. The driver had been informed ahead of time where to drive him, a preference Jupiter expressed to his assistant as he likes his car rides to be as silent as possible. Instead of making light conversation, something he finds rather wasteful of his breath, Jupiter stares out the window at the American citizens he will one day make his. He nearly grins at the thought of it; Rome, glorious, built again. Some might call it an obsession of his, but Jupiter prefers to think of it as a purpose.

The car pulls up to the restaurant and Jupiter slides smoothly from his seat. He throws a couple of bills onto the seat he once occupied, tipping his driver a little something extra as there is a chance he’ll come back with a temper. Not that his brothers made him temperamental, but rather discussing godhood politics was a source of great frustration for him.

He didn’t bother listening to the owner of the restaurant, not even acknowledging him as the owner greeted him with a ‘Mr. Kingsley, you’re brother is-‘. Jupiter knows where his brother is; the penthouse, like always. It’s a waste of conversation to confirm something Jupiter already knows, so Jupiter sees no point in discussing it. Instead, Jupiter enters the elevator and presses the button to the top floor.

The doors open into the penthouse; it is nice and beautiful by modern mortal standards, yet Jupiter can’t help but compare it to the sweeping architecture of Rome made with hard labor and mathematical precision. And there was his brother, Janus, standing amongst it all. Of them all, Jupiter believes Janus adapted the best, as expected of him.

“Julius, you are here early. Like always.” It’s the most Jupiter has said this morning, having been buried in paperwork since the early hours, and ignoring anyone who tried to hold conversation with him. “The others must not be long now.”

Jupiter meandered around the room, studying the interior that he has grown accustomed to. Jupiter has always lived as a King, lavishly and extravagantly, but being a capitalistic king was a whole new experience. Well, it was some odd years ago when he first conquered the transportation industry.

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