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1 mo ago
Current hitman has no accent cause he’s a robot
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1 mo ago
everyone has an accent
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Bio

British gal. Watches far too many films. Loves travelling.

Been into RPs for a while and I generally seem to stray towards more fantasy/supernatural based storylines. I also like detail and in-depth plots as much as possible! Always up for new ideas though.

{Will insert some witty content here when I can be bothered}

Most Recent Posts



Summer was maybe the second or third person in the room, which meant that she had managed to find herself sitting comfortably in one of the two chairs. She muttered a few cursory hellos as some of the other witches began to enter the room, quickly turning away when she saw the unwelcome sight that was Dakota, but otherwise remained content in staring impatiently at Sister Deborah as she waited for her to begin. Luckily she’d managed to avoid interacting with the former over the last few days. It wasn’t like she was scared of confrontation but, if she were honest with herself, she had enjoyed her newfound freedom and she didn’t want anything to spoil it. Her phone, whenever it managed to catch the spurious moments of signal, would ring near constantly with messages and phone calls from Olive. Thankfully, she could now just roll her eyes and ignore it. Sure her mother would be angry when she next saw her but she’d deal with that bridge when she met it.

When the elder finally began to speak, she sat upright, straightening her dainty floral skirt whilst listening intently. Although the time at the coven house had been admittedly relaxing, and she perhaps had found that a couple of the other witches were tolerable, she still was keen to have a chance to actually do something. Anything. Her whole life had been spent with days full of studying, extracurricular activities, practicing magic. To just be sat idle was such a foreign concept to her, and she could feel the impatience welling up inside her. But...vampires? Summer raised an eyebrow at this, wondering why the elders had deemed it sensible to send them on such a seemingly reckless and life-threatening mission. Surely it wouldn’t do the coven any good if they were all killed straight away. “Seriously?” She muttered under her breath, moving to twirl a piece of ginger hair between her fingers as she listened to the rest of the rigmarole. She couldn’t help but wonder if her sister had been on such a dangerous mission on her first go. Summer wasn’t sure, Olive having always kept the covens secrets close to her chest, but if she had she wanted to make sure she did even better.

Standing up from her seat as Sister Deborah finished, she meandered over to her group, folding her arms across her chest when Jean-Luc began to read from the folder. “Well this is dumb...” She finally piped up, the scarce details of the mission making the ridiculousness of the whole thing even worse. “Anyway, I for one refuse to get killed on my first assignment, so I hope you all know what you’re doing.” Despite herself, Summer was studious and she knew bits & pieces about vampires from some of her readings. Her mind began to wander, slowly making a list of what she might need for such a trip. Maybe a gun would be useful. Her father had taught her how to shoot one (whilst laughing at the idea of how Summer would respond to someone threatening her) but she’d barely had any practice since then. It couldn’t be too difficult though. She’d managed to hit most of the targets they’d set up…

Realising that she had become distracted by her own thoughts, the redhead looked up when Cassandra spoke, asking if anyone was willing to drive. Fuck, why hadn’t she brought her car? Damn her mother on being so insistent about driving her up here. “My cars at home.” She replied bluntly, inwardly cursing herself for not having thought about this beforehand. “Hopefully one of the others has theirs...” Summer added after a few moments of awkward silence, in which she had just taken to staring at her sandals. She’d barely interacted with the witch and honestly, the girl was the complete opposite of the people she’d hung out with at home. The teen doubted that they’d have much in common...Cassandra really didn’t seem like a handspring and roundoff type. Because of this, idle small talk seemed all but pointless to her, so she’d simply shrugged her shoulders and wandered off after deciding that the conversation was over.

After having grabbed a bag and gathered all the items that she deemed essential, she made her way outside. It didn’t take her long to find the others, who had crowded around the cars. Pausing, she folded her arms over her chest as she glanced between the two rides on offer. An Audi or a...a well, a car that looked like it might not even run. Or that she might get tetanus from. And although Summer found Charlie more tolerable than any of the other witches, she still didn’t want to have to spend half a day in a Ford of all things. “...I’ll go with Jean-Luc.” Summer finally said after much deliberation, striding over to the Audi and tossing her backpack into the trunk. “I hope you’re a good driver.” She muttered pointedly to Jean-Luc as she passed him, sliding into one of the backseats without another word.

@blackdragon @Hitman


Following the elder down the narrow corridor, Caleb found himself blinking wearily as he tried to adjust to the morning light. Until only 30 seconds before, he had been happily tangled underneath the warmth of his duvet, only to be disturbed by the dulcet tones of Elder Lucien. The sunlight did little to quell the chill that brushed against his bare torso and he quickly moved to pull his navy ‘Ferndale Wildcats’ hoodie over his chest, appreciating the thick cotton as it laid to rest against his skin. He could sense the presence of Bast behind him, the Savannah Cat moving so lithely that her tread could not be heard, but when they approached Sister Deborah’s office she stopped, taking to nonchalantly licking the fur atop one of her back legs. Watching her fondly for a moment, Caleb then moved to open the door into the office. Unfortunately it seemed that he was the last in the room and he found himself having to squeeze his body into the jam-packed space. Eventually, after muttering several apologies as he stood on a couple of peoples feet, he made his way in, the corners of his lips lifting into a bright smile as he glanced at Hana, who he had found himself next to.

“Morning!” The teen said cheerfully, cupping a hand to his mouth to block the sudden yawn that escaped from his body. “What dya' think this is about?” He whispered conspiratorially to his fellow witch as he leaned in towards her, raising his eyebrows when Sister Deborah began to speak. It didn’t take for her long to get to the point and Caleb found himself letting out an involuntary, and rather loud, groan at the word vampire. Grinning sheepishly as a glare was tossed his way, he couldn't help but let out a small laugh, raising his eyebrows slightly at Hana. It wasn’t that the mission didn’t sound cool, but well, he had been hoping for something else. Maybe werewolves or ghosts or...or mermaids! Well, he wasn’t entirely sure if mermaids were even real but it would be awesome if they were! Vampires on the other hand, had been an endless topic throughout his childhood. Caleb theoretically knew a lot about them but he also had a habit of daydreaming when his grandfather began to regale them with his ‘war stories’. Sure they were interesting but after hearing for the 50th time about how he’d been locked in a coffin for two days straight, he found his attention swaying elsewhere. Luckily his elder brother Mason had been enraptured by vampires since being a kid and he would more often than not enthusiastically chat along with their gramps, often trying to convince him that some of the more modern methods of dispatching of the bloodsuckers were just as effective.

A small pout had graced his features for a moment but Caleb wasn’t one sulk for long, and he soon forgot his concerns as he bounded over to Calypso. Peering over her shoulder to get a closer look at the folder, his eyes scanned over some of the information scrawled across the page. He'd never been to Baltimore before. In fact, apart from New York and now Virginia, he really didn't know the East Coast all that well. Guess this was as good an excuse as any to see more of it! Briefly distracted by thoughts of places he had never visited, his attention was soon drawn back to the present by the mention of a food allowance. As his face lit up and his eyes widened in excitement, he moved to lessen the gap between himself & the other witches. “We should totally get snacks for the road! Popcorn maybe...oh or chocolate pretzels!” He glanced at his fellow soon-to-be vampire hunters, hoping that they would be in agreement. He loved road trips and road trips were always 100% better if you had snacks and good music. "I hope you're excited for my excellent singing Cal." The teen grinned at her jokingly before he was once more distracted by the mention of shotgun. Damn, he should've thought of that.

But it was okay. Caleb had six siblings. He was well versed in the rules of shotgun and knew that it didn’t count until the vehicle was in view. So when Dakota suggested they pack their bags, he shot off to his room, narrowly avoiding tripping over his own feet in the process. Grabbing his duffel bag, he hurriedly stuffed a mismatch of clothes, toiletries and other knick knacks inside, before zipping it closed. For a brief moment he considered taking his sketch pad — which was hidden carefully under a pile of some of his other belongings — but decided against it. It was something he didn't want the others to find out about and although there might be some cool stuff to draw in Baltimore, he figured he might be able to do it from memory anyway. Of the knick knacks he had collected, only the silver bullets seemed to be vaguely useful, although he had not included a gun in his chosen items.

Not wanting to waste any time, Caleb grabbed the duffel and began to bound loudly down the stairs, leaping over them two at a time in his urgency to get outside. He grinned apologetically at one of the elders as he nearly bowled them over when he ran over the terrace, his eyes darting about eagerly as he looked for Calypso's car. Luckily the yellow jeep was easy to spot and seeing that he was the first downstairs, he couldn't help the grin that quickly spread across his features. He wouldn't say that he was necessarily a competitive person but a lifetime within a crowded family home had meant that getting to anything first was either a rarity, or virtually impossible. Heck, even half of his clothes were hand-me-downs.

“Shotgun!” He yelled to no-one in particular, before darting over to the front passenger seat. Trying the door handle, he was pleased (and slightly surprised) to find that it was open. “Nice one Cal...” He chirped happily as he plopped himself onto the seat. Peering around the vehicle, and trying & failing to turn the radio on, it was only a couple of minutes before he heard the familiar voice of Dakota. Whilst she busied herself with throwing her bag into the back he twisted in his seat, offering her a cheeky smile as he was unable to hide his pleasure at having been first to the front seat. “Oh hey Kota! Excited about the trip?”

@Akayaofthemoon @canaryrose @Hitman


Caleb smiled happily as Calypso talked, nodding his head in affirmation of her statements about Divination. She seemed super keen on the branch of magic and he’d always found it endearing when someone was so invested in a topic. It had been something he’d struggled for a long time himself. His inclination was normally to wander from one thing to another, barely spending enough time on the first before his attention was diverted elsewhere. “Oh, totally! It sounds like you’re pretty awesome at it too. I’d love to see you in action.” He replied, soft brown eyes roving over her face. Caleb liked this girl already. She seemed super genuine and totally not too serious. He was glad he’d already found a couple of people he hoped he’d be able to get along with.

“No, nothing weird.” The teen let out a small laugh, shaking his head in a way that caused his soft brunette curls to smoothly flop this way and that. “Though I wouldn’t waste your favour on a bottle of water - i’d give you that for free. I’m not that cruel…—” His words trailed off as he mentioned a car, eyes widening in excitement. “You have a car? Damn I’m jealous! My folks couldn’t really aff- well, they were convinced I’d just write it off or something! As if!” Caleb let out a noise of indignation as he quickly backtracked, nearly blurting out something he knew his parents wouldn’t be happy about sharing. He was a great driver! Well, sort of. He just liked to go fast sometimes and he figured that some of the rules that they taught you were basically made to be ignored. But he always got from point A to B in the end...usually.

“Trust me. I’m the best favour-keeper. I always keep to my word...we could even pinky swear over it.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, before his face lit up at her subsequent question. “Oh sure, I guess elements are kinda cool and all. But I prefer...” He paused, a finger coming to tap idly against his lips as he thought. He knew what he could do was called in comic books but that wasn’t really a very magical way of describing it. It was too sciencey and science was boring. “I like moving stuff basically. Not with my hands obviously...that would be lame! But with my mind, y’know. I started learning it cause I thought it’d be a great way to play pranks on my brothers...turns out I wasn’t half-bad at it. Though I guess we’re all still learning really! It’s crazy what some of the elders can do, right?” He blurted out eagerly, gaze passing over the three girls that were next to him.

@canaryrose






After finishing tying her braid, Summers hands came to rest on the bed so that she was leaning back slightly. “Oh, this is Calypso's room? Great...” She rolled her eyes at the thought of the other witch. Though she was less annoying than Dakota, it had still irritated her that she had been so keen to jump to the other girls defence when it was clear she’d been in the wrong. Not that she cared about her approval or even being liked by her, but it still made her eyebrows furrow in annoyance as she thought about it. “Right. I can’t believe they have us sleeping in bunk beds. I have a queen size at home so I’ll probably end up falling out of these tiny ones.” She replied, eyes passing over the belongings that Maggie had begun to set out about the room. Reading for pleasure had never been something Summer was interested in. It was so boring just to sit by yourself in silence. At least running gave your body something to do, let your mind switch off. “Oh yeah, sleeping outside is so gross. Like, why would they think we’d enjoy that? It’s so dumb...” She shook her head, about to say something about how she hoped they didn’t have to do many more group activities, when an unfamiliar face entered the room.

“Yeah, you’ve got the wrong room.” Summer pointed out, even though Maggie had already said that, eyes roving over the newcomer. Her leg moved to cross over the other as she looked her up and down, racking her brain for her name. She briefly remembered her being at the ceremony yesterday but aside from that, she really had no idea who she was. “Summer Abernathy...and you are?” Placing an emphasis on her last name, the redhead raised an eyebrow questioningly at the dark-haired girl. She couldn’t help finding herself staring at her startling blue eyes for a moment too long but stubborn as ever, Summer refused to look away, simply waiting for an answer as she continued to look.

@Melissa @Blizz


CANNABISTRO → THE BALL
HERMES & JORMUNGANDR



All the drugs in the world couldn’t compare to this high. It rushed through him like the unstoppable crackle of electricity, lighting his skin ablaze. His body felt as light as the clouds he had once floated above; when freedom was a gift he had clutched firmly in his hands and one he had valued only once it had been taken away. Yet, there had still been little, even as an Olympian, that could ever compare to this rush. The endless hours, the graft and toil, the risk and subsequent bounty. Had he known that cons would be so deliriously decadent, he would’ve started doing them centuries ago.

Short cons gave instant gratification but long cons were where he felt his true self. There were few things in this world that came close to the thrill of the game. The grecian adored mortal sins as much as the next man, but they still fell short to a god whose life had been spent ever testing the boundaries of others. He always required something more, something different. But as he strolled down the street, hands tucked in his pockets, shooting a cocky smile at everyone he passed, Hermes had to admit to himself that maybe there was one thing that could trump this feeling. Or perhaps one deity would be more accurate.

Finally reaching Cannabistro, the ever fleet of foot messenger god wasted no time before he was bounding up the stairs, taking two steps at a time as impatience pulled his body forwards. He couldn’t tell why he was so eager. Maybe it was just the desire to share his accomplishment or maybe it was something more. Hermes was never one to linger on these thoughts for too long though, instead focusing on immersing himself in the delicious feelings that arose from them.

Stopping at the front door, fingers came to press against his crisp white suit, smoothing down the wrinkles that had gathered. Anticipation pulled at Hermes’ lips, a small smile lighting up his already animated features. Nerves were a foreign feeling to him but the energy that rushed through him was probably as close as the herald ever came to such a thing, though he would be at a loss to explain it if he tried to. Raising a hand, his knuckles rapped firmly on the door, Hermes forcing himself to keep still as he waited for it to open.

Only the eager raps against his door could pull Jorm from his thoughts, gently pulling him from the stars he found himself in. This felt like years in the making, yet felt so natural like Hermes slotted himself right next to him. There was understanding in the puzzle piece analogy, but it never really fully came together outside of the bubble of experience he now found himself in. Hermes was there one second and then his the next and it brought him close to a searing sun without the scorch of heat against his skin. He wanted to bask in it.

But Hermes awaited him and the serpent sprang to his feet with all the giddiness trapped inside pistoning him forward. Wind swept him away, hair neatly pressed, eyes widened and his lips bit down upon as he pressed his hands against his suit and reached for the door to his apartment. First to light his vision was Hermes and Jormungandr drank in the glow that set upon Hermes’ shoulders. Lightning lit his eyes and coursed from Hermes’ skin to his until Jormungandr drank the sight of his newly found lover in.

”Oh… hey, wait a second,” Jormungandr’s brow pinched in question at the suit wrapped perfectly around Hermes’ lithe frame. The first thought was ‘damn’ followed quickly by a wandering mind so prone to daydreams of tangled arms lost in the desert of sheets, but that quickly faded to bewildered surprise. Jormungandr looked down to his own suit, perfectly matched to fit Hermes in some serendipitous display set by the universe that had ordained their meat. ”Well, uh, you’re always a present surprise, but this is certainly something else, Jormungandr said with a wry grin twisting his lips.

There left no chance for Hermes to respond in kind as Jormungandr immediately grasped the god’s hand and pulled him into the entryway. He pressed Hermes close to him, both arms coming to wrap around the messenger god’s waist as he leaned in close. ”Did you somehow arrange for this to happen, Noodle?” Jormungandr whispered as he touched his nose to Hermes’ cheek, ”Just to get me flustered, huh? Cause it’s working.”

Allowing himself to be pulled into Jormungandr's arms, Hermes pressed his body against his, relishing in the warmth that burned like a constant flame between them. The edge of his lips pulled into a small smirk at the norse gods words and feigning ignorance, he shook his head lightly. “Me? Do something like that? Of course not…” He trailed off, tongue dipping out to unconsciously wet his lips. “But tell me again about how you’re getting flustered.”

His hands came up to freely roam over Jorms chest, tracing over the fabric and taking note of the feel. The sight of his lover sent a new, entirely different thrum of energy speeding through his body and he had no qualms in openly admiring how damn perfect he looked in his attire. Of course, seeing him wrapped in naught but a bedsheet was what he would normally say he preferred, but this was equally, if not more, pleasurable.

“Maybe we should have a little bit of fun before the ball.” He muttered, lips moving to press against Jorms whilst his hands reached up to deftly undo the first two buttons of his shirt. Hermes was excited for the ball but he would gladly be unfashionably late, or even miss it completely, for the chance to spend another moment alone with him.

A hand reached to grasp at Hermes’ and Jormungandr used that moment to lace their fingers together. A chuckle rumbled his chest, reminiscent of the rolling waves of the oceans he toiled through or the muffled thunder of a storm broken by the surface of the water. ”None of that now,” Jormungandr spoke, pulling Hermes close again to let his lips slide soft against the Grecian’s, ”We’ve done enough of the sexy bit; it’s time I show you what I know of romance, now. I wanna make sure you end this night knowing full well how much I adore you, Hermy.”

His hands break a part to glide against the smooth fabric of Hermes’ suit until one reaches up to grasp at Hermes’ chin. Jormungandr tilts Hermes’ head up and allows himself to stare with the moon so clear in his own eyes, beheld by the man of his goddamned dreams. A sigh left him in a flitting breeze before he dipped low to capture Hermes’ lips in such soft, satin touches. ”I know you don’t mind being late, but I kinda wanna have fun at the ball tonight,” Jormungandr grinned, tilting his head to the side slightly as he once again pulled Hermes close to him. The title Hermes wore as conman and troublemaker excited Jormungandr and damned if he didn’t want a taste of what Hermes’ loved to do. It pumped an adrenaline into him that settled in his chest, bumping to the mixture of feelings the god in his arms drew out of him. ”Whaddya say? Wanna get into a little trouble, Herm?”

Any protests that Hermes may have had were swallowed down at the mention of mischief, eyebrows raising at this alluring prospect. “Always.” He grinned back, leaning in so that he could place a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Are you sure you’re ready though? Sometimes people don’t like my games.” A hand reached up to idly play with the edge of the gods bowtie as he spoke, a glint of something unreadable playing in his eyes. It was true that tricksters weren’t always well received by both gods & mortals alike, and although this usually wouldn’t bother him, something deep down in his chest spoke up about fears of scaring Jorm off. The man was so honest, so good, and Hermes couldn’t see how he would enjoy such trickery.

A subtle shake of his head warded off these concerns though and he was back to donning his usual lopsided smile, making up his own mind before Jorm had a chance to respond. “Okay, we can play. But only if I get you to myself later...” He murmured pointedly, “And only if you tell me again about how much you adore me.” Hermes teased, bright blue pools locking onto Jorms own darker eyes, fingers moving to grasp the serpents in his own once more.

A soft expression played at the hard features that sculpted Jorm’s face at the sight of his trickster god’s own doubt. He felt Hermes reel away inside himself just slightly, at least from the odd look that swept the deity’s features. It tugged at something inside Jormungandr that growled below the sinew and bone of his chest. The grip he had against Hermes’ sides tightened and when he grasped at Jorm’s hands to twine their fingers like they were the very fabric of the space between them come together Jorm tugged him forward.

”Everything you do, everything you say, everything you are, Hermes, I adore,” Jormungandr leaned forward, forehead pressed to Hermes’ and their noses brushed together as the air swirled in the space between their lips, ”There’s nothing that could make me think otherwise. I want to be a part of your life and that includes the things you allow me to do with you. Your games, your job, your family. Whatever you desire me to take part in, I will. Likewise for you.”

Their hands fell apart so that Jorm could once again wrap his arms tight around Hermes’ waist and bring him in close. His grip felt tight, an assurance that Hermes would not fall from them, and Jormungandr let his breath mingle with Hermes’ as he pressed soft kiss after soft kiss to his lover’s lips. ”We’ll have the rest of the night, I promise.” He grinned, bringing a finger up to grasp at Hermes’ chin, though the smile dropped away to a hardened seriousness, ”I love every part of you, Hermes. I love the games you play and the trouble you make.”

The heralds chest moved in and out as he silently listened, basking in the light breaths and gentle kisses that were shared between words. Mentions of love and life stole the very air from within his lungs, in a way that only Jorm could. It gnawed at something inside, speaking to something that he thought was only possible for others but not him. His tongue was normally able to twist words to his desire, his command over language something he had always prized. To make someone hear what they wanted to hear, or think what he wanted them to think. But now he daren’t speak, for fear that his words would fall short compared to Jorms own sweet ones.

Instead, his hands came up to cup the gods face, pulling him down so that he could deliver a deep kiss. Lips pressed hard and desperately against his, and the god did not pull away until he was ready. “You are too good Jormungandr.” His words were breathy when he finally spoke. “Too good for someone like me.” A thumb rubbed against his cheek as he took another moment to relish in their closeness. He wanted all of what Jorm had said. Everything.

“Though if after tonight you still want me, you can have it all.” He said, smiling gently. Hermes had long kept parts of himself from the other gods but he wanted Jorm to know and see it all.

”I’m not too good for anyone, Hermes,” Jormungandr pressed another kiss to Hermes’, this time upon his forehead, ”We all deserve a little more than we allow ourselves to, I think. And, I dunno, but from my perspective up here, I think you deserve the world, Herm.” But with that, he allowed Hermes to guide him out without any fuss or protest.

If Hermes truly thought lesser of himself, then Jormungandr had a lot of work showing him otherwise. The world, Odin, the entire Norse pantheon, all told him what he couldn’t have with little words and lofty actions from the thrones they sat upon. Too long upon the earth had he spent thinking all he deserved were the depths of the ocean; not a soul he would let think of themselves in such a manner if Jormungandr could help it. That rang especially true for those closest to him: his brother, his nephews, his sister, his father, and since the day he and Hermes became friends and more than friends, him too.

Jormungandr wrapped a tight hand around Hermes’ own and led him down to the slightly beat up car he’d gotten. If Hermes’ had another idea, then he was very much welcome to speak up because it wouldn’t do well to roll up to a venue in such nice suits only to step out of a 2005 Honda Civic that could either be a dirty black or a dirty dark blue depending on the lighting. ”Please feel free to reveal that you brought a rented Rolls Royce just around the corner,” Jormungandr flashed a smirk down at Hermes, ”Though, anywhere I go with this noodle in my arms, I’m sure would make even the most run down car fancy.”

A cocky smile passed over the messenger gods face as he glanced at the Honda, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well...” He started, pulling on Jorms hand to lead them a short ways down the street. “Rented is one way of putting it.” Letting their fingers untwine, the herald reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys and pointing them at a car that looked assuredly out of place amongst the dreary normality of the Seattle street. Borrowed was probably a more accurate way to describe how he had acquired this particular Aston Martin but even that was pushing at the limits of the truth.

Grinning excitedly at Jorm, any previous doubts that had marred his usually confident guise were swept away, now left by only an eagerness akin to a child who had just received a new toy. “She’s a beauty right? Purrs real deep too.” His voice was as smooth as the engine he described and the god gave Jorm a small wink before darting over to the drivers side. “Hop in.” He offered as he slid into his seat, nodding to the free space beside him.

Hermes really had little practical use for a car, having retained enough of his light and sure footedness to be able to get around quickly under his own steam. But he was unable to deny the thrill that came with driving something so powerful. It put his mind back to those cherished moments he had spent in the sky, darting from realm to realm with nothing but his own will to stop him. And when he’d seen this pretty gal, well...the temptation to take her for himself had been just too irresistible.

This had been quite a better surprise than the chariot that would slowly and unreliably tug them along. Jorm grinned, wondering at the exact measure to which Hermes’ took to get something of this magnitude into his own hands. Honestly, Jormungandr didn’t quite want to know or rather didn’t let himself ask despite the curiosity that tugged and pulled at him. It fascinated him to the lengths Hermes could soar to achieve these things that seemed so far from Jormungandr’s grasp—whether by legal means or no. As long as no one came away mortally injured, especially Hermes.

Jorm slid into the seat, leaning over immediately to press a kiss to Hermes’ lips barely able to contain the smile that stretched his own. ”You’re irresistible when you’re all giddy and excited, Herm,” he whispered, pressing another peck before leaning back into the plush seats of this rather fancy car. This didn’t quite suit him in the way that it did Hermes. He appreciated nice cars, but didn’t quite fancy one himself as they didn’t compare to what he already had around him. However, Jormungandr wouldn’t turn his nose at the offer to ride in one.

”What’re you waiting for? I’m surprised you’re able to resist slamming the pedal down and rushing to the ball,” Jormungandr laughed, quickly pushing the seatbelt into place. Though they couldn’t die, getting injured and the pain that followed really wasn’t something Jormungandr wanted to test at the moment. ”Go wild, Herm… just be careful of others,” Jorm made a gesture toward the road, smiling softly at the man next to him.

His hand had moved over to rest on Jorms thigh, which he gave a playful squeeze, fingers lingering a satisfactory moment too long. Even the simplest of touches were enough to send a burning heat rolling over his skin and the god forever had to pull himself back from moving into deeper territory. “Just making sure you’re tucked in tightly first.” He grinned, his smile giving a hint of the devilry that he always kept neatly simmering under the surface. Hermes had enough self-awareness to know how downright reckless he could be, particularly after a drink or two, but he had no plans on letting this particular god get hurt in any way.

“But if you really must insist…” Raising an eyebrow at Jorm, his hands moved to place the key in the ignition, the Aston emitting a satisfying purr as he turned it clockwise. He felt his heart quicken in excitement as if to match the beat of the engine before him. Little could compare to how fast he had once been but any speed, even that made by mortals, still sent a thrill rushing to his core.

In a flash, he had put the car in gear, purr turning into a biting growl, nimble tires spinning as the car shot down the street like a hunter after its prey. The twilight offered quieter roads and she flew round the corners, Hermes giving her no moment in which to slow her pursuit. When an open road laid itself out in front of them, he pushed her further, eyes moving over to Jorm playfully for the briefest of moments before flitting back to the whirr of lights and lines ahead. Cars were left behind in her wake, though none offered any protests, the sleek form of the Aston weaving in and out as seamlessly as a thread through the eye of a needle. There was no hesitation, no pause. Only an endlessly satisfying forward momentum which spoke to a part of him that few others understood.

The greek gods eyes were alight, excitement coursing through him, reviving that addictively intoxicating high. He could’ve continued on like this for hours but as quickly as they had set off...they had arrived. A feverish atmosphere of flashing cameras and eager shouts greeted them when Hermes pulled to a halt outside of the venue, fingers reaching over to reluctantly switch off the engine. Leaning closer to Jorm, a self-satisfied smile played at the edges of his lips as he gazed at his lover. “That was fun right?”

Speed had never fallen into Jormungandr’s jurisdiction; a being of grand size as he could span the entirety of the earth in but a few deep waves of his serpentine form. Therefore speed didn’t equate much to Jormungandr as it did to others, rather size and form influenced him. Which made the change from ringing the earth in his scales to a small speck of dust that is the human form all that disorienting. With that came the sudden shock of speed that sometimes hit him through a number of transportation, especially subways.

Yet, seeing the joy creep along Hermes’ face wiped away the dizzy spell that hit him, erupting into a deep yearning to see that look cross Hermes’ features an indefinite amount of times. He’d suddenly hoped that he himself would be the cause for such a look and in this case he felt he’d at least aided in it. What mattered was the fact that Jormungandr got to see it and cherish it close to his chest, filed away deep in precious memory banks.

His hand wisped over toward Hermes’ as they came to a stop. The quickness to which they’d arrived meant nothing compared to the steady slowing of time in his little moments watching Hermes envelope himself in joy and adrenaline. Jormungandr gripped the deity’s hand in his and squeezed hard and tight. ”That was exceptionally fun, Herm,” Jorm grinned, bringing the man’s hand to his lips as he kissed Hermes’ fingers, ”I could think of no better place than here with you.” Jormungandr tugged at him then, tilting his head toward the event with the round of flashing lights turning the night sky a stark white blaze.

For a moment Hermes didn’t want to go inside. Entering the ball would mean sharing Jorm with others and he selfishly felt a desire to keep him to himself. The buzz of life, the throng of people. All of it would normally draw him in like a moth to a flame. But he had recently found that such temptations mattered little when he was around Jorm, fading instead to the background of his desires. “Me neither.” He admitted as his gaze latched onto the serpents own soft brown eyes, hand moving to rub a thumb over his lips. The herald would have stayed like that for longer too...if not for the sudden sensation of being watched.

Turning his head, Hermes couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle as he became aware of the valet hovering awkwardly outside the Aston. The man was clearly trying, and failing, to avoid staring at the couple as they lingered for several moments too long. “Come on then.” He smiled, reluctantly shifting his body away from Jorms. “Let’s go show you off.” The messenger of the gods offered him a small wink as he opened the drivers side door, sliding out before handing the keys deftly to the valet.

Enraptured by a messenger god from an entirely different pantheon didn’t slot into a neat plan that Jorm would have imagined someone more organized would have. Yet, Jorm relished in the chaos of the life that surrounded him primarily because it had brought Hermes into his life among giving him a chance at freedom.

The irony in that statement alone should have made Jorm chuckle if he didn’t wholly believe it. He’d been tossed to the sea and left to wallow away in loneliness until the very end of time. He’d been destined to bring those end times, at least for his people he did. Knowing the inner workings of pantheon specific end-time prophecies and how they intersected with the world at large didn’t fall into Jorm’s varying talents. However, he supposed that didn’t matter when looking around him now his hand in Hermes’ walking through a throng of bustling reporters.

Now all that mattered was the man at his side and keeping them both free to do as they pleased. It filled Jorm with a welling, bubbling happiness that could only find a place in the bright smile he wore. He tightened his hand around Hermes’ own, smiled down at them as they entered into a den of possibilities.



PLUTO
KING COUNTY CORRECTIONAL FACILITY → THE BALL
feat. fear @smarty0114 & terror @Icy Hot



“Up and at 'em Kingsbury!”

A demanding voice abruptly pulled one sleeping roman from his stupor, before being followed by a loud series of bangs on the outside of the steel door. The noise reverberated through the room like bullets, stopping any chance of slipping back into unconsciousness. This rude awakening alerted him to the more familiar noises of the prison. The opening of doors like clockwork, guards barking orders, laughter mingled with shouting. For a man who had spent most of his life in the dreariness of the underworld, it had taken him a while to get used to the organised chaos. But now the customary cacophony was little more than soothing background noise. Unfortunately today there was a guard pushing back at him, stopping any further sleep, and the god was unable to help the hand that came down to rake lethargically over his face.

“Why the fuck are you waking me so early?” Pluto bit back, his voice little more than a languorous growl. Giving the guards lip normally was a guaranteed recipe for disaster. But he firstly, didn’t give a shit, and secondly, had known this particular guard for near on five years now. Steely blues moved to glance back at the slither of face he could see through the small opening in the door. LaVance was young but worth his salt, and had been the one to persuade Pluto that maybe, just maybe, beating the shit out of other inmates wasn’t in his best interest. He couldn’t help but feel a little pissed off at the guy for being so damn likeable. Fucking dickwad.

“Pax, don’t test my patience today. My asshole of a toddler vomited on me this morning and I’ve already had to break up two fights.” The latino guard made a noise of disgust when he spoke of the former and it was clear that this was the more undesirable of said events. Pluto couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh, eyes rolling at the idea. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was your personal therapist. Remind me again why I should care?” He knew he was pushing it but he was barely awake and testing the boundaries of mortals was something that he had always found endlessly amusing. Luckily LeVance didn’t seem to care, just letting out his own booming bark of a laugh in response.

“Therapist my ass. I don’t need someone else talking at me...wife does enough of that herself.” LeVance paused for a moment, still chuckling at his own substandard joke. “God, you really are such an asshole that you’ve forgotten what day it is?”

Hearing a snicker from the bunk above him, a well-aimed foot came up to kick the mattress where he knew the head of his cellmate would be comfortably situated. The asshole, otherwise known as Benny The Blowhard (it was a damn creative nickname that had a multitude of connotations), still had six years left to serve...so Pluto wasn’t entirely sure what he had to be so fucking happy about. Probably gotten his hands on some crack sticks again. “It’s tuesday. Fuckin’ Tuesday. Why the hell does it matter?” He muttered indifferently as he moved to prop himself up on his elbow, fingers raking through the dishevelled hair atop his head.

“Right you are.” LeVare replied with a small sigh as if he were contemplating whether dealing with the shit stains that were the inmates of King County, was really worth it. “Your times up bud. Unless you wanna volunteer for another twenty years in this shithole.”

“...So it is.” After a moment's silence the words slipped apathetically from the gods lips. A small part of him had assumed he wouldn’t get this far. The pressure of having to behave was heavy and one that the god would often rather fight against. But somehow, he’d done it. Sitting up, Pluto smoothly ducked his body so that his head didn’t hit against the wrought iron bars. A hand came up to rest against the cold metal, gaze roving over the cramped cell that he shared with the jumped-up thief above him. Five years in what barely could be classed as a broom closet. The one at max had been even more abysmal, though at least he’d been alone there.

“Damn, try to look more enthusiastic Kingsbury! Most guys are chomping at the bit to get outta here.” The steel door had slammed open at the guards words and LeVance curtly nodded at the God of Wealth. Pluto was well accustomed to this rigmarole. Standing up, he held out his wrists, allowing the cold bite of metal as it bit down against his skin. “I’m excited on the inside.” He countered dryly, although he was unable to help the smirk that pulled at the corner of his lips, revealing a hint of his true emotions.

As he was led out of the door the god, after a moment's thought, turned to glance back into the room. “Oi, Blowhard.” His voice cut through the air, causing the man the namesake belonged to to sling his gangly legs over the edge of his well-worn mattress. "I meant what I said.” This vague statement was simply met with a nod and content with this silent communication, Pluto responded with an equally stoic gesture before being led away from this life of slamming doors and ceaseless predictability.
◢✥◣

After being strip-searched, given his clothes, and made to complete a near endless amount of paperwork, they were finally done. The god found himself desperately craving a cigarette, only that sharp hit of nicotine being able to soothe him after such a drawn-out process of bullshit. Unfortunately murder was something that mortals didn’t take lightly and he’d had to answer an endless stream of questions, several of which he’d had to bite back a laugh as he blurted out bare faced lies. The correctional officer, this one was known as Sanderson, had triple checked everything before she’d finally gave him a content nod.

“Looks like we’re all done here.” She said as she handed him a folder of useless contact details for ‘support services’. “You behave now Kingsbury.” Sanderson quipped, gaze steely as she stared the god down, eyebrows raised in questioning disbelief. She obviously felt the same way as him - surprised that the billionaire had managed to keep his composure long enough to wait out his sentence.

“Don’t I always?” Pluto muttered with a crooked smile as he slipped a Bregeut timepiece onto his wrist. He’d offered it to the officer but apparently taking gifts from convicts, or former convicts as it would now be, wasn’t allowed. Her loss.

It was a strange feeling to be back in the same place he had been decades before, though he was unable to deny the familiar wash of freedom, one he had felt a thousand times more intensely when he'd finally been released from the hell that was the Underworld. It was by no means unwelcomed and without looking back, the god had strolled out of the prison, doors slamming behind him with an air of finality until he was greeted by the hustle & bustle of Downtown Seattle. He was out.

The drizzle of the morning had just cleared away when Metus pulled the black Porsche into the visitor parking lot. Fear was ripe in the air that morning, almost wafting from the building a few hundred yards away, providing a warm welcome to Metus as he exited the suv. A deep inhale abated the growing hunger from the past uneventful week, had his uncle been needing a ride from anywhere else he probably would have said no.

“Do you remember what he looks like?” The question was asked without any serious interest in the answer but his listless eyes did turn their chilled gaze onto his better half (as per the consensus of everyone that knew the twins).

Timor met his brother's gaze with his own dark eyes, pale features expressionless as small drops of rain collected in his hair. “Dark hair. Strong chin. Decent fashion sense. Prison couldn’t have changed him that much,” Timor said with a noncommittal shrug. He was better at remembering the various visages of fear.

“You’d be both a terrible and wonderful witness with that description.” Metus’ response was flat and he turned his attention away from his brother. Intel gathering was a specialty of his, testing the human limits of loyalty against terror had become a favorite past time of his in this life among weaker creatures. He was good at his day job and even better at his night time hobbies.

Luckily, it wasn’t necessary for him to comb through the many dark-haired and strong-chinned faces of his memory, because alone stood a man, outside the detention center, exuding a casual confidence. Wordlessly the tall man crossed the parking lot, eyes darkening as he drew closer to the building, “Accurate description.” There was a hint of smirk on his stoic features as they approached their long lost uncle.

Plutos hand reached towards his pocket, the male letting out a disgruntled ‘fuck’ when he realised that he, obviously, did not have any cigarettes on him. Hoping that the twins had decided to take up the problematic habit of smoking, he lifted his head to see one unnervingly impassive god strolling towards him. Though it had been a couple of decades, he recognised Metus instantly, an eyebrow cocking up in amusement at the bitter mix of terror and trepidation that radiated off him.

Having no interest in soppy greetings or emotional embraces — which had been part of the reason he’d asked the twins to pick him up in the first place — he simply offered his nephew a small nod before slipping his hands gently into the pockets of his black chinos. “Got a smoke?”

Metus offered Pluto a single raised eyebrow at the question, patting himself down as if to ask himself the same question. An infuriating silent type of sarcasm he had nailed down in the past few decades, when no such smokes announced their presence on his body he offered a palms up gesture of ‘oops’ before finally speaking.

“I prefer to take the edge off with something that’s easier to wash away, and smoking doesn’t quite attract the ladies like it did back in the day, old man.” As if he cared about any of that, but his ease of slipping into the casual tone and nonchalant mannerisms of a young, attractive 20-something male was the very thing that made him respected and feared amongst both the Police Department and the Mob.

“We can pick some up on the way, but no smoking in the Cayenne.”

Timor fixed his uncle with his trademark unnerving stare, and shrugged. “He likes his car,” he said, before hopping in shotgun.

“Well that’s a load of bullshit.” A deep and biting laugh escaped his lips at the idea that people didn’t smoke anymore. Pluto liked to assume that any decisions mortals made were generally stupid ones, and the notion that tobacco was now dangerous was little more than humorous to the immortal being.

Eyes narrowed at the thought that he would have to wait even longer until he could have a hit but he bit back any retorts that came to mind. “Fine, fine. I won’t smoke in your…” The romans voice trailed off as they made their way over to the Porsche, a hand lingering on the handle. It wasn’t exactly what he would’ve chosen but he supposed it’d have to do. “They all out of Spyder’s?” He said with a sardonic smile before begrudgingly taking his place in the back.

Metus cast his unreadable gaze to Pluto through the rear view mirror once he was behind the wheel. The Cayenne purred to life and the engine revved at the behest of its owner, “I’ll make a note to ask next time I’m in the factory.”

There was a silence that fell in the car, Metus wasn’t a fan of modern music, and much preferred the sound of Italian performance and bustle of the city to accompany on his drives. There were many corner stores and smoke shops on their way from the prison to Pluto’s opulent five-star hotel and three of them passed by with no signs of Metus slowing down.

“So, a crime of passion?” As much as Metus tried to remain neutral the idea of murdering someone in such a way seemed unpleasant and menial to him.

“Mm?” Plutos gaze had moved to glance out of the window, a frown knitting his eyebrows together at both the fact that it was forever fucking raining in this city and because Metus was clearly not stopping for smokes. Apparently the guy really did love his car...

It was because of this distraction that it took him a moment too long to acknowledge the question, his sharp blue eyes narrowing when he finally did. Yet this quickly faded and the god instead leant nonchalantly back in his seat, cupping his mouth to stifle a yawn.

“Not particularly.” Came his deadpan response. Pluto had absolutely no desire to share anything close to his true feelings with his fellow Romans, especially the ones so aptly labelled as fear and terror. “I just have a particular distaste for stalkers. Especially ones of the mortal persuasion.” He shrugged his shoulders. Pluto had never once regretted his decision and he wasn’t about to start now. “I’m sure you have some far more interesting stories anyway…” He quipped, arms reaching up to languidly stretch away some of the fatigue he still felt.

Metus shrugged his shoulders, the shred of interest he had in Pluto’s murder vanishing as the older god deflected the question, “Timor’s the writer, could probably tell you a great story.”

Fear turned around so that he could look at his uncle. Of course, he had stories galore, filled with details that only his brother and uncle could truly appreciate. “Hephaestus is dead.” Now was not the time though. Who knew what they were taking Pluto back to?

A light chuckle escaped Pluto's lips at the mention of the recently deceased Grecian god. “I heard about that.” He said with a small shake of his head. “Well, if anyone was going to get themselves murdered, it was always going to be a Greek. I’m surprised there’s so many of them still alive to be honest.” That particular pantheon really did have their own brand of stupidity that was unmatched by any of the others.

“I heard the conclave was a shitshow…as usual.” He added, feeling a thousand times grateful that he had been unable to attend. Those so called ‘meetings’ were usually something he avoided like the Black Plague…less he be subjected to the eternal follies and dramatics of the greeks. “Do you boys know what happened?”

“Not a clue. Metus answered followed by a small yawn, a final corner store appeared on the horizon and opulence just a few hundred feet behind it, “only Mars attends the conclaves and we weren’t invited to brunch. Ask your king when you see him.”

At the mention of his brother the mild amusement melted from Pluto’s expression, replaced instead by disgruntled irritation. Jupiter had once befitted that title but the Roman was now as much a King as he was Lord of the underworld. “If I knew any Kings I would.” He grumbled, disdain dripping heavily from every word.

A smirk played at Metus’ lips but he didn’t offer any further commentary on the matter. Instead his gaze was locked on the quickly approaching corner store, which any sane being would consider out of reach with his current speed and position in the furthest lane from the turn. But this was easy.

A screeching of rubber and blare of horns offered a symphony to the reckless move he made. The agile Porsche jerked across three lanes, the sudden turn catching the systems of the car off guard, and the rain from earlier aiding in the car’s loss of control. For the first time that morning Metus’ face cracked into something a bit wider than a smirk, it was an unnerving smile that was devoid of any joy and held only malice. The fearful reaction from the bystanders bubbled in his gut like a giddiness for something great that was coming.

That buildup ended in a flat climax after the car narrowly missed an elderly woman who had been crossing the entrance to the parking lot. An abrupt stop had all passengers in the car lurching forward, the eyes of mortals were filled with awestruck terror. To them it was a miracle not a car was wrecked and not a person was injured, to Metus it came with a practiced precision.

Turning around with his smile toned down into a grin he faced his uncle, “Almost forgot about the cigarettes. Great job practicing seatbelt safety, that could have gotten messy at the end.”

The roman clenched his jaw, hooded eyes moving to stare over at the driver's seat. An eyebrow raised at the self-satisfied smirk on Metus’ face. Damn the twins. He should’ve expected that they would be up to their usual tricks, which apparently included trying to scare the shit out of him. It had taken the god more by surprise by anything and he was annoyed at even that.

“You missed the old woman.” He pointed out as he opened the door, stepping out before Metus decided to try and write off his precious car again. Mortals, who seemed to have forgotten what they were doing, were gawking stupidly at the Porsche, muttered whispers passing between those who were standing in pairs or groups. The roman paid no mind to this however. Two decades had clearly done nothing to curb their dull mindset. “My hotels round the corner from here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.” Pluto offered no thanks as he strolled towards the store, hands tucked idly into his pockets.

Fucking twins.
◢✥◣

The night of the ball...

The last few days had, admittedly, been a bit of a blur for the roman god. He'd ignored the pull of desire which urged him insistently in one direction, instead focusing on those simple pleasures that had been out of his reach for the last twenty years. A penthouse view hadn't done anything to improve the dreary sight that was Seattle but a bottle or two of a suitably aged Lagavulin had nearly done the trick.

Nearly but not quite.

Ignoring any and all calls that the hotel had informed him of, the god of wealth had been unable to resist the temptation to spend. He admittedly preferred acquiring money but spending it was a pleasure that he had been bereft of for nearly two decades. It was for this reason that Pluto arrived at the ball in a car that cost more than dozens of mortals would earn over several lifetimes. Sure it was a ridiculously indulgent purchase, and sure the money could've been spent more wisely elsewhere, but Pluto frankly didn't care.

Yet when the night of the ball came, Pluto did not pull the multi-million dollar car up infront of the reams of paparazzi, but instead chose to steer it down a decidedly dim and sparsely occupied side street. Biding his time by lighting up a cigarette and allowing the smoke to drift through an open window, a few minutes passed before an equally smartly dressed man approached the Bugatti. The roman offered him a small nod as he stepped out of the vehicle, tossing the man the keys before reaching into his wallet to pull out a couple of hundred dollar bills. "Make sure they don't scratch it." He muttered, dark eyes casting over the mortal before turning to glance up at the grand — if you could call it that — venue.

There was only one reason he would ever deign to attend a ball, particularly one held by his brother. Luckily he was confidently certain that said reason would definitely be in attendance so, after tossing the half-lit cigarette on the ground, he'd made his way round to a back door that was only being watched by one solitary security guard. No journalists hounded this entrance. No cameras and incessant questions. Only a guard who already seemed to know that Pluto was coming and who stepped aside to allow him to pass through the sturdy fire door.

Striding through hallways filled with overworked catering staff and a kitchen where hors d'oeuvre were being carefully assembled, he ignored the confused glances that were cast his way until finally he reached the ballroom. He was neither late nor early but the ball already seemed to be in full swing, pockets of mortals meandering about, some recognisable deities standing out amongst the gloom of mortality. Pluto cared little about any of this though.

Now...now it was time to find his reason.


“Shit, that was close...” Caleb exclaimed as he watched Dakota use her cool wind magic to stop the pancakes from splattering across the floor. Having saved her friend from a breakfast time disaster, the brunette wasted little time before she had begun to chatter excitably at him and turning towards her, his own expression instinctively shifted to mirror her enthusiasm. He was just glad that the other witches seemed as friendly as he'd hoped they would be. And when she pointed out his scar, his fingers came up to touch the bridge of his nose, rubbing gently over where he knew the faded mark was located. It hadn't hurt in years but sometimes he could still remember that sharp pain as acutely as if it had happened only yesterday.

“Oh this? Yeah it’s kinda cool right? Got it fighting a mountain lion.” He quipped jokingly, before his gaze moved down to Bast. The Savannah Cat was watching Astro impassively as he attempted to wrestle her, lithely moving out of his way when he would dart this way and that. Her ever calm demeanour didn’t break, eyes simply blinking at the overactive creature in front of her. Caleb let out a small knowing laugh at this, before his own pair of deep brown eyes looked up at Alaynas question. “Go for it. Well, it’s up to her really but I'm sure she won't mind.” He shrugged his shoulders, giving the cat a gentle nudge with his foot and pointing towards the witch in question. Bast seemed to understand this wordless message and she glanced between the pair, before wandering over to Alayna, head rubbing against her legs as she began to let out another soft purr.

The teen watched her fondly for a moment, before his attention was drawn back to the others as Calypso began to speak of fortune-telling and the like. It was a branch of magic which he personally had little experience in, aside from the several times in which his sister Lucy had thought it funny to prank him by making up fake readings. It required a level of patience that he had never quite been able to master, but he still knew that it could be pretty fun when done properly. Well, sometimes at least. “Divination?” Caleb tilted his head as he looked down at his own palms, trying and failing to make sense of the mess of lines he could see etched across them. “Sure, I’m totally down for that. Though my palms aren’t that great!” He shook his head, before pointing at her own smaller hands. His index finger moved to hover over what looked to be her life line...or was that the love line? He really wasn't sure. “See, yours are way better! But I hope you give nice readings cause last time they told me I was gonna break a bone...” The teen pulled an unimpressed face, before the smile that had very briefly faltered tugged at the edges of his lips once more. “Though it wasn’t that bad in the end...I got to miss like a whole week of school!” He added happily, clearly thinking this was the absolutely best thing ever. Which it had been. He’d had the whole run of the house whilst his siblings had been in class and his mom had made him several batches of her famous homemade ice cream (magical of course).

Caleb seemed not to notice her slip up as the words continued to tumble from her mouth, a glint of something mischievous flashing in his eyes when she asked where he was from. It would be easy to just say Cali and be done with it, but where was the fun in that? “Hm, how about...if you can guess where I’m from just by reading my palms thennnn…” He trailed off, hands slipping idly into the pockets of his sweatpants as he thought, foot of his right leg moving to rest against the wall behind him. “Oh, then I’ll owe you one favour! Any favour at all...as long as it’s something I can actually give ya.” He raised his eyebrows challengingly at her, a playful look darting across his already energetic expression. Caleb had a habit of making anything and everything into a game. Things were just more exciting that way, though it was always little more than lighthearted jests. He would never hold someone to a favour that they felt uncomfortable keeping. “But if you get it wrong, then you owe me one.”

@canaryrose @Hitman @Qia


Summer had, much to her surprise, passed out immediately after slipping into the cheaply made sleeping bag. It was far from her ideal sleeping conditions; her skin and clothes were still dotted with dirt and bits of foliage, she was surrounded by at least one person who she actively despised, and she could hear wildlife. Normally this would have kept the teenager up for hours but thankfully, the fatigue of the day had quickly caught up with her, and she’d had to suffer for only mere seconds. Whether from the ritual or just the general shitstorm that had been the proceeding few hours, the witch slept long and undisturbed, only to be woken by the gentle shake of Sister Lark.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting up...” She mumbled as she ran her fingers through her long locks of ginger hair, attempting to untangle some of the knots that had gathered there overnight. Glancing around, she saw that most of the other witches had already awakened, with only a couple of figures being left around her. She was used to getting up at the crack of dawn for track or gymnastics practice, so it was a strange feeling to be one of the last to rouse. Rolling up her sleeping bag — and hoping that she would never have to see one again — she stood up, letting out a little sigh when she remembered that she was still wearing her dress from the day before. It was far from a cheap dress but she was pretty certain that it was now ruined. Not that she would ever want to wear it again. Perhaps it would be a good excuse to go shopping when she was finally back in civilization.

The idea of shopping perked the teenager up and she began to stroll back to the coven house, feeling immensely glad to be leaving the dark and dreary woods behind. Blades of grass, dampened with the fresh morning dew, brushed against her legs as she approached the porch. As she drew nearer, Summers' eyes glanced over to where she could hear the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, the sweet smell of freshly made pancakes and maple syrup drifting over and causing her stomach to rumble in a disgruntled reminder of how long she had now gone without food. Normally, her mother would insist on Summer keeping to her strict diet and exercise regime, which usually involved eating something either incredibly bland or incredibly nutritious. But she was also many miles away now and as the hunger pulled at her, a small self-satisfied smile momentarily graced Summers features.

Screw her mother.

She was practically ravenous by this point and if she wanted to have pancakes, then she would. Summer, overcome with an uncharacteristic wave of giddy excitement, darted into the kitchen. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had pancakes. It had definitely been months, if not at least a couple of years. Thankfully the kitchen was quieter than it had been earlier but that didn’t mean that there still wasn’t someone standing in the way. God, who would enjoy living like this?

“Excuse me, if you'd move, I’d like to eat breakfast before the winter solstice.” Summer rolled her eyes as she pushed past a couple of witches who were embroiled in a rather intense conversation and who were rather unconveniently blocking the path to the plates stacked high with pancakes. After finding somewhere quiet to eat, a quiet alcove tucked away behind one of the staircases, she had set to consuming her food with the eagerness of someone who had been starved of any real pleasure or delight from eating. The sudden surge of sugar whizzed through her, giving her an intoxicating rush of energy and releasing some of the tension she still felt from the chaos last night. Summer was trying her best not to think about that mess. Infact, she’d rather just pretend that a certain dimwitted witch didn’t exist. Even if it wasn’t true, it still calmed her enough to be able to carry on with her day.

Once she had finished, Summer dropped her plate back into the kitchen (where it was being washed by a floating cloth), before heading upstairs. She desperately wanted to change out of these clothes. It made her skin crawl to think about how unclean she was and how she must look to the others. The witch had briefly looked at the room allocations earlier — she had no idea who the hell Isolde was, and she’d barely ever said more than a few cursory words to Rowan — but at least she wasn’t being forced to bunk with Dakota. Thank god. So, after dumping her suitcase in her room, and making sure that she definitely had the single bed, she hopped into the shower.

Summer didn’t know how long she had spent in there, far too long likely, but when she stepped out she felt herself once again. No longer did she looked like she’d been dragged backwards through several bushes and she smelt instead like a delicate blend of strawberry and mint. After getting changed, Summer wandered down the corridor. The witch really hated being alone, it was tolerable for short periods of time, but after a while she began to grow bored. So when she saw Maggie pottering about her room, she was unable to resist the temptation to stroll in, acting as if it were her very own. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs with the others?” She pointed out as she took a seat on one of the beds, crossing her legs over one another, before focusing her gaze pointedly on Maggie. “Kinda boring to sit by yourself.” Summers hands came up to braid her damp hair as she waited for a reply, fingers moving with a well practiced ease. It would take longer to dry this way but at least it would keep it out of her face.

@Melissa







“Time to get up sleepy-head!”

At the cheery words of Sister Lark, nothing but a languid groan was offered in response from the tangled mess of polyester, limbs and curly hair that was Caleb Bishop. Hands reached up to pull at the edge of the sleeping bag, moving it to try and cover his face in a desperate attempt to shield himself from the bright pools of light that were shining down through the canopy of trees. “Just, two more hours...maybe three...” Came the eventually grumbled reply, his voice a dry croak in his barely wakened state. Trying to get this particular witch up at a reasonable hour was all but unheard of and often required more hands than Sister Lark currently had on her. It was a joke amongst his family that he was so stubborn to wake sometimes, that he could probably pass for one of the undead.

“Caleb, don’t make me—” Before Lark could finish her sentence, Caleb had lazily waved his hand, the zipper on the sleeping bag moving of its own accord and wrapping him even more snuggly in its warmth. This seemed to displease the elder, who with a frown and a swish of her own hand, slid the polyester cocoon deftly from the teenagers body. Caleb was not one to give up easily though and his arms and legs came to wrap around it before it could be taken fully from him, a small pout flashing over his features. “Five more minutes?” He suggested, having quickly gone down from his earlier ideal of three.

“There’s pancakes.” Came the elders weary sigh. He was the last of the newly-initiated witches left in the small clearing and the only one who seemed insistent on sleeping the morning away. Faint voices could be heard coming from the area around the coven house but otherwise it was just the peaceful sounds of leaves rustling and birds singing that surrounded them.

“...Pancakes?” Caleb stopped his wrestling match with the jumbled tangle of material, letting the sleeping bag slide from his grip as his soft brown eyes widened at the mention of one of his favourite ever breakfast foods. Well, to be honest, any food was his favourite food. But pancakes were pretty damn awesome. His mom sometimes made them for brinner, which was always the best. “Is there maple syrup? Are they chocolate chip? Oh! Are there waffles too?” Scrambling up from his spot on the floor, a smile lit up his face at the endless food possibilities. His desire to sleep was instantly forgotten and instead Caleb begun to trot off in the direction of the coven house, offering Sister Lark a small wave as he departed. “Thanks Lark! See ya later!” Even in the witchs grumpier moments, which were far and few between anyway, he always had a way of turning it around in the end. It was both endearing and endlessly frustrating at the same time.

Practically running towards the house in his eagerness, he gave a quick cursory look at the noticeboard that a few others were still crowded around (he had no idea who his roommates were but he was sure they’d be great) before moving into the kitchen. “Morning.” He greeted those who were in the room, cupping a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn. Still donning the dark grey sweatpants and black t-shirt he’d chosen as his sleeping attire for the night before, he grabbed a plate, piling it high with food before nudging his head towards a cup of coffee. The ceramic cup floated off the counter, following behind him like a dutiful pet as he picked up one of the pancakes, folding it like a taco before taking an enthusiastically large bite.

As the teen left the kitchen, he was abruptly greeted by a familiar presence circling around his legs as he walked. The Savannah Cat moved deftly so not as to trip him up, a gentle but deep purr emitting from within her chest. “Oh, there you are!” He grinned as the pair continued to move in a sort of seamless synchrony. Bast often liked to wander off to do her own thing, which Caleb was totally chill with, but it still made him happy when she came back to check up on him. “These flapjacks are great, you gotta try one Bast—” He begun to chatter as he continued to look down at the feline. His words however, were cut short when he suddenly walked into a shorter someone with a small oof. Somehow he managed to keep hold of his plate, though the pancakes wobbled precariously for a couple of seconds as his body collided into that of Calypsos.

Taking a step back, he looked her briefly up and down, making sure she was okay. “Aw shit! Sorry about that! Are you alright?” He laughed awkwardly, free hand coming up to run through his curly locks of brown hair. "Man, I’m an idiot..." Shaking his head, his gaze passed over the three girls, a grin spreading across his features when he realised he recognised them all. “Oh, you’re the other initiates right? I’m Caleb! You can call me whatever you like though, I’m not fussed.” Caleb continued to smile as he moved to lean against the wall, Bast sitting on the ground next to him, her large eyes keenly watching the witches. “Damn, I’m glad I ran into you guys. I hate eating breakfast alone.” The teen added, reaching out a hand to grab the cup that was now floating next to him and sipping contentedly on its contents.

@canaryrose @Hitman @Qia



SKÖLL
THE BALL (EVENTUALLY)
MOOD: WHOOPS...



Noise was what emitted from the narrow apartment block in downtown Seattle and what it was known for by the locals. Whether it be the cry of a newborn baby, the deep vibrating rhythm of bass cranked up too loud, or a screaming match between two neighbours. It was a constant for the inhabitants and one that most grew to at the very least tolerate, though it was certainly not a place for those who were apt to sleeping lightly. Luckily, Mr. Jenkins had a hearing aid he could handily turn down and he did so as he slid past the two figures stood in the hallway, muttering a half-hearted hello to the pair. The redhead who turned to wave back was as dumb as a sack of bricks but he was a strong pair of hands, and was always more than happy to help him carry his groceries up those damned stairs. So, despite his insistence in ignoring the rest of them, Mr Jenkins would always mumble some sort of greeting to the firefighter.

"Hi Mr. Jenkins! And thanks for this Cherry!" The wolf in question beamed as he stood outside his front door, watching eagerly whilst his landlady rifled through her amusingly large set of keys, searching impatiently for the right one. Shaking her head when she located it, she unlocked the door, before folding her arms against the brightly coloured shawl wrapped around her chest. "Sammy, I love you but you really need to stop losing your keys!" Her teeth moved to press against her tongue, letting out a disapproving tut. At this a small frown knitted Skölls eyebrows together, the wolf trying and failing to remember where he'd left them. Things were just so hard to keep track of...he really wasn't sure how anyone else did it.

"Well, I remember I had them at work but then Gary told this really funny joke and I put them down, and then we had a call-out, and then I—"

"Alright, I get it. I get it." The middle-aged woman sighed, handing him a spare key that she always had ready for precisely these scenarios. "Just try not to lose this one. I have better things to do than chase round after you y'know." Though her words were stern, she still offered him a warm smile, a motherly air radiating off her in spite of her best attempts to do otherwise. Sköll had lived in this apartment for the last four years and Cherry was the only landlady who would put up with his absentmindedness. Usually they grew fed up after he kept losing his keys...or broke something...or left the water running all day. She even brought him round food sometimes, which was great because he always came out of the grocery store with several packets of gummy worms and little else. Cherry had once pointed out the irony (whatever that word meant) of him being a firefighter, since he'd nearly set fire to the place at least half a dozen times.

"I promise! I definitely won't lo—" The wolfish grin dropped from his face as he looked down, only to see that his dirt-stained hands were empty once again. "Where'd it go?!" His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as he spun round, looking up and down as if some mysterious figure had just played a magic trick on him.

"You dropped it." Cherry was unable to help the roll of her eyes as she picked it up, this time placing it firmly in his hand and closing his fingers about the cold metal. "I'm not letting you in again this evening. You'll have to sleep in the hallway if you get locked out." She chastised, jingling her set of keys to emphasis her point. The Seattle native would keep to her promise too, she'd done it once before when he'd returned home drunk at 2 in the morning. Sköll had lost a lot that night, including both the pair of jeans and t-shirt he had been wearing...he vaguely remembered something about a bet with Mani.

"Alright..." Sköll nodded sullenly, now doubley hoping that he'd be able to keep track of it. Maybe he should give a copy to Hati or something. Sleeping on the ground was no fun and his muscles were already aching from the 48 hour shift he'd just finished. Plus the chill he could feel wafting against his bare arms would be even worse at midnight. Seeing the downcast expression on his face, Cherry gave his hair a fond ruffle before turning to tromp down the hallway. "You're lucky you're cute!" She shouted over her shoulder, Sköll grinning at this reluctant compliment as he darted through the open door.

Wandering into what could only be described as absolute chaos, Sköll flopped onto the well-worn couch, letting out a satisfied groan. Weariness threatened to overcome him, the temptation to have an extremely long nap pulling at his tired body, when his phone suddenly pinged. "Huh?" Pulling it from his back pocket, Sköll sat up before, after several failed attempts at remembering his pin, he managed to unlock the device. Head cocked to one side at the familiar name that had popped on the screen. It was Hati! Hati had told him to always always always read his messages, so he did, tongue hanging out from the corner of his mouth in an expression of mild concentration. Deep brown eyes slowly widened as he read the message...and then read it again after he was distracted by a bird outside the first time. Oh, oh! The ball was today! Awesome!

Any thoughts of naps were instantly forgotten as he scrambled up, eyes darting around the apartment as he tried to figure out what to do first. His stomach rumbling reminded him that he hadn't eaten for several hours and after bolting down a quick meal of dry cereal and a bag of expired chips (he’d forgotten to go grocery shopping again), he’d hopped into the shower. One of Skölls favourite things in the world was blisteringly hot showers. Heat was not something he’d ever been afraid of, instead it was something he craved, particularly since the move to Seattle. Hard-earned muscles flexed in welcome of the downpour of warmth, hands reaching up to run through his messy mop of hair. He could've spent hours in there, much to the chagrin of Cherry, if not for another ping from his phone. Pouting at this disruption, he hopped out, wrapping a clean towel around his waist. The wolf paid little mind as he trapised water all over his bathroom floor, even shaking his soaking wet hair so that droplets littered nearly every surface.

Humming a made-up tune to himself, Sköll wandered into his equally chaotic bedroom. The fourth-floor apartment was tiny and cramped, even by big city standards, but the disorder that seemed to follow the norse deity around as stubbornly as his shadow had only served to compound it ten-fold. Sitting next to a mountain of clothes that had been haphazardly dumped on the floor, Sköll began to toss them aside until he found his one and only suit. A quick precursory sniff of the black wool confirmed that it was at least clean. The getting dressed part was easy but when he reached the bowtie, the wolf found himself completely and utterly stumped. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get it to do the knot thingy and after several minutes of fumbling around with it, he gave up, letting out a frustrated whine. It was lucky, or maybe unlucky that no-one else was there to see the wolf, who despite his best attempts, looked like he was ending the night, not starting it. His red hair was a tousled mess, he'd missed a smear of dirt on his cheek, and his bowtie was now hanging limply about his collar. None of this seemed to concern the young deity though, who was unceremoniously stuffing a final cookie into his mouth before heading out the door.

ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ


The ball was in full-swing, the outside teaming with reporters to grill those hailed as celebrities and the interior filled to the brim with mortals. Sköll had only gotten himself lost two times before he’d found the venue and in his excitement he had bounded inside, nearly bowling over a waiter who had been precariously balancing a platter full of champagne flutes. After grinning apologetically at him and grabbing himself a drink — Dom, Dom Pe...something fancy — he'd found his enthusiasm trailing away when he noticed the stifled atmosphere. He'd thought it'd be like a party, with dancing and laughter, but everyone was just stood around all boring and stuff. Deep brown eyes darted about the room, a small pout gracing his features when he didn’t spot Hati. Where was he? Wandering over to the bar, he plopped himself down in one of the chairs, before cradling his chin in the palm of one of his hands. After asking the bartender for some more of the tasty champagne, he looked around, hoping he'd be able to spot someone fun to hang out with. Maybe Sunna or Mani or Hel or...

"I recognise your face!"

Sköll sat upright at the sudden arrival of another body in the stool next to his, the mortal in question moving so close that their faces were barely inches apart."My face?" He tilted his head, unperturbed by the sudden invasion of his personal space by this complete stranger. "Really?!" Sköll thought celebrities were super cool but he knew that he definitely wasn't one. Apart from that one old lady who always gave him fruit cake when he rescued her cat and who acted like he was the most famous person in the world.

"Totes! Though I dunno where from..." Hands reach up to clasp his face between them, a look of concentration passing over the woman's face as she stared at his wolfish features. Sköll stared dumbly back, a confused bark of a laugh escaping his lips as he watched the mortal. She was a pretty blonde and from the slight smudging of her makeup it looked like she'd already had more than a few glasses of the champagne. "July! That's it!" She clapped excitedly, nearly toppling off her stool in her sudden burst of excitement. "The calendar! You're a firefighter right? My boyfriend got sooooooo annoyed when I refused to take that thing down." The girl rolled her eyes at this, hands still wrapped firmly against his cheeks.

"Oh! Yep that's me! They always give me July cause of my hair." He grinned pointing to his own messy locks, which he'd somehow managed to tame a little since leaving the house. The calendar was always fun to do but he'd never been recognised because of it before. This was great!

Her blue eyes widened in a gesture of admiration, before moving round to focus on the abysmally empty dancefloor. “So cool..." Despite the classical music that was gently filling the spacious room, a small group of what looked to be influencers were dancing to their own beat, unaware or uncaring to the haughty glances that were ever more frequently being tossed their way. "Wanna dance with us?!” The girl raised her eyebrows, grabbing his hand before he had a chance to refuse. Not that he would. Sköll loved playing with mortals. It reminded him of when he'd been a pup — before the bad times — and he'd run off from his father so that he could go roll around with the small humans. He didn't know why but mortals had always felt at ease with him, so he rarely questioned it when they were so outwardly friendly.

After the pair had bounded over to the dancefloor, the wolf had been exchanging a series of somewhat repetitive greetings with the heavily inebriated mortals, when suddenly he felt something painful dig into one of his shoulders. The wool and linen of his suit provided little in the way of cushioning and he found himself abruptly shoved aside, forced to face the cause of the new pain in his already aching muscle. Dumbfounded, Sköll could only blink in confusion at the giant of a man who was stood in front of him. Even by the lofty standards of the gods he was tall. Ever the one to misjudge a situation, the wolf was about to chirp hello when the the collar of his shirt was twisted in the tight grip of this mortal, Sköll wincing a little as the material dug uncomfortably into his neck.

Oh no...

Mentions: Hati @KZOMBI3

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