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Pathei Mathos male Member

The Prodigal Son

STATUS: Don’t deny your fire, my dear. Just be who you are, and burn. 7 days ago
Avatar of Pathei Mathos
  • Last Seen: 0-24 hrs ago
  • Old Guild Username: A Tattooed Girl
  • Joined: 12 yrs ago
  • Posts: 1401 (0.31 / day)
  • VMs: 2
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Status

Recent Statuses

7 days ago
Current Don’t deny your fire, my dear. Just be who you are, and burn.
3 likes
9 days ago
Do not let loneliness make you forget your chains. Allowing someone back into your life who disrespected you is a disrespect to the old you who suffered.. remember that.
12 likes
9 mos ago
MY GIRLFRIEND IS CANCER FREE AND I GET TO START MY TESTOSTERONE!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! 🗣️🥰💚🖤
11 likes
2 yrs ago
I hope when Death finally comes that it feels like it used to when dad used to carry me inside after falling asleep in the truck.
5 likes
2 yrs ago
If the gods didn't want me to commit fatherless behavior, they should have given my mother better taste in men.
7 likes

Bio

˗ˏˋ𔘓ˎˊ˗ 𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒶 𝒲𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝐸𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 ˗ˏˋ𔘓ˎˊ˗
@Sadie

Most Recent Posts

In 𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜「⌞⟰⌝」𝙸𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙾𝚕𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚜 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


“𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚋𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜
𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.”
— 𝙴𝚍𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝙰𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝙿𝚘𝚎


In 𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜「⌞⟰⌝」𝙸𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙾𝚕𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚜 [ F U L L ] → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Hey there, @Theyra! Apologies for the delayed reply. I had someone hit me up about joining the group already, but I will keep you in mind if anything falls through! :)

And just for future reference, if you are able to join us later, we won't be accepting demi-titans. It was a group decision. Just don't want anything too OP.. Hope that doesn't deter your interest. Again, I'll be sure to reach out as soon as we have an opening. :)
In 𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜「⌞⟰⌝」𝙸𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙾𝚕𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚜 [ F U L L ] → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Interest Checks


Currently standing, interested / participating members include @Apoalo, @Nallore, @Sadie, and @Queen Arya, with two characters max per member (though you're more than welcome to make more characters and keep them as NPC's, or backup characters, as characters are not guaranteed to live in this RP). I would be willing to allow 1 more member into our group to join us for these adventures. You must have Discord in order to join this roleplay, as we will keep the majority of the talk on a server for this roleplay. The actual roleplaying will take place here on The Guild. https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5646551

I plan to run combat scenes like D&D, and the main focus of the RP will be on quests, with an underlying tone of S.O.L. as we will be interacting at camp from time to time. Scenes will be changed roughly every couple of months, with a two-week timer for posts implemented. I understand that life happens and sometimes you won't be able to post. Totally okay. I am not looking to be a hardass about posting. You won't get booted, but your characters will be put on the back burner (resorted to NPC status) until you can return to them. Them placed on NPC status will not save them from potential peril, but the blame will be solely on the dice.

What I am looking for in a writer isn't perfection, what I am asking is simply.. dedication. And the drive to continue a story to its end. We may go through periods where we all agree a temporary hiatus is necessary, but an agreement to come back together when we all (or the majority) are ready to continue. To share a love for the characters we create, and the stories we'll write together.

If you think this is something you'd be interested in, drop your interest below.

* To get a faster reply, add me on Discord at "patheiimathos" (yes, two i's) to chat to see if our roleplay is the right fit for you, or simply if you have any questions you'd like a more immediate response to!
In 𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜「⌞⟰⌝」𝙸𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙾𝚕𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚜 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


"𝙰 𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎.
𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢. 𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢." - 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝙳𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚢𝚜𝚞𝚜
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M E M B E R S
P a t h e i M a t h o s
N a l l o r e • Q u e e n A r y a
S a d i e • A p o a l o

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N o t a b l e C a m p S t a f f A n d T h e i r F a c e C l a i m s

「⌞⟰⌝」 C h i r o n | ♆ | C a m p A c t i v i t i e s D i r e c t o r | ♆ | S o n o f K r o n o s | ♆ | F C : J o a q u i n P h o e n i x ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 O a k l e y D a g w o o d | ♆ | O n e o f M a n y C a m p S a t y r s | ♆ | S o n o f H e r m e s | ♆ | F C : T o m H o l l a n d ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 R a c h e l E. D a r e | ♆ | O r a c l e o f D e l p h i | ♆ | S p e a k e r o f P r o p h e c i e s | ♆ | F C : S o p h i e T u r n e r ⊁
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M e e t T h e C a m p e r s

A s P l a y e d B y @Pathei Mathos
「⌞⟰⌝」 A u r e l i u s C a e l u m V a r r o | ♆ | 17 | ♆ | M a l e | ♆ | S o n o f B e l l o n a | ♆ | F C : L e v i M i l l e r | ♆ | #66926F
「⌞⟰⌝」 E z r a L u c i a n C a l d e r | ♆ | 18 | ♆ | M a l e | ♆ | S o n o f H a d e s | ♆ | F C : F i o n n W h i t e h e a d | ♆ | #000000

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C a b i n s , G o d s / G o d d e s s e s a n d T h e i r F a c e C l a i m s

「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 0 1 | ♆ | Z e u s ( K i n g o f t h e G o d s ) | ♆ | F C : I d r i s E l b a ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 0 2 | ♆ | H e r a ( Q u e e n o f t h e G o d s ) | ♆ | F C : F a m k e J a n n s e n ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 0 3 | ♆ | P o s e i d o n ( K i n g o f t h e S e a ) | ♆ | F C : T o b y S t e p h e n s ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 0 4 | ♆ | D i o n y s u s ( G o d o f W i n e ) | ♆ | F C : D e v P a t e l ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 0 5 | ♆ | A p o l l o ( G o d o f t h e S u n ) | ♆ | F C : S a m C l a f l i n ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 0 6 | ♆ | A r e s ( G o d o f W a r ) | ♆ | F C : J e f f r e y D e a n M o r g a n ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 0 7 | ♆ | A t h e n a ( G o d d e s s o f W i s d o m ) | ♆ | F C : E m m a D ' A r c y ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 0 8 | ♆ | A r t e m i s ( G o d d e s s o f t h e H u n t ) | ♆ | F C : V a n e s s a K i r b y ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 0 9 | ♆ | H e p h a e s t u s ( G o d o f t h e F o r g e ) | ♆ | F C : J a s o n M a m o a ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 1 0 | ♆ | A p h r o d i t e ( G o d d e s s o f L o v e ) | ♆ | F C : A n g e l i n a J o l i e ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 1 1 | ♆ | H e r m e s ( M e s s e n g e r o f t h e G o d s ) | ♆ | F C : N a t h a n F i l l i o n ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 1 2 | ♆ | H e c a t e ( G o d d e s s o f W i t c h c r a f t ) | ♆ | F C : E v a G r e e n ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 1 3 | ♆ | H a d e s ( K i n g o f t h e U n d e r w o r l d ) | ♆ | F C : T o m E l l i s ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 1 4 | ♆ | P e r s e p h o n e ( G o d d e s s o f S p r i n g ) | ♆ | F C : S h a y M i t c h e l l ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 1 5 | ♆ | T h a n a t o s ( G o d o f P e a c e f u l D e a t h ) | ♆ | F C : I a n B o h e n ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 1 6 | ♆ | I r i s ( G o d d e s s o f t h e R a i n b o w ) | ♆ | F C : E r y k a h B a d u ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 1 7 | ♆ | E r i s ( G o d d e s s o f C h a o s ) | ♆ | F C : G a l G a d o t ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 1 8 | ♆ | D e i m o s ( G o d o f T e r r o r ) | ♆ | F C : J o s e p h M o r g a n ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 1 9 | ♆ | P h o b o s ( G o d o f F e a r ) | ♆ | F C : D a n i e l G i l l i e s ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 2 0 | ♆ | H y p n o s ( G o d o f S l e e p ) | ♆ | F C : B e n B a r n e s ⊁
「⌞⟰⌝」 C a b i n # 2 1 | ♆ | M o r p h e u s ( G o d o f D r e a m s ) | ♆ | F C : C i l l i a n M u r p h y ⊁
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In 𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜「⌞⟰⌝」𝙸𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙾𝚕𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚜 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


"𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝."
- 𝙶𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚂𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚢𝚊𝚗𝚊, 𝙰𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛 (𝟷𝟾𝟼𝟹-𝟷𝟿𝟻𝟸)

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E v e n t s T a b l e o f C o n t e n t s
「⌞⟰⌝」 W i n t e r H a s C o m e | ♆ | P a g e O n e
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Q u e s t s T a b l e o f C o n t e n t s
「⌞⟰⌝」 R e t r i e v a l Q u e s t s
⊁ TBA
「⌞⟰⌝」 P r o p h e c y Q u e s t s
⊁ TBA
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Q U E S T S B O A R D

C U R R E N T

「⌞⟰⌝」 R e t r i e v a l Q u e s t s
⊁ 𝚃 𝙱 𝙰
「⌞⟰⌝」 P r o p h e c y Q u e s t s
⊁ 𝚃 𝙱 𝙰

Q U E S T L O G

「⌞⟰⌝」 R e t r i e v a l Q u e s t s
⊁ 𝚃 𝙱 𝙰
「⌞⟰⌝」 P r o p h e c y Q u e s t s
⊁ 𝚃 𝙱 𝙰

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E V E N T S B O A R D

C U R R E N T

「⌞⟰⌝」 W i n t e r H a s C o m e | ♆ | 'W i n t e r S o l s t i c e i s u p o n u s . . .'

E V E N T S L O G

「⌞⟰⌝」 T B A
⊁ 𝚃 𝙱 𝙰
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In 𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜「⌞⟰⌝」𝙸𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙾𝚕𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚜 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
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C O - G M

A p o a l o

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I N S P I R A T I O N

P e r c y J a c k s o n
( Books, shows, & movies )
G r e e k M y t h o l o g y
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RP Banner done by the lovely 𝚁𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 ♥
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P R O L O G U E
"Sit down, please. Don’t worry.. you’ll get used to me eventually. I’m Chiron. Some call me a centaur. Others just call me a pain in the neck. Both are accurate.

Summer has passed. Most campers have gone home, leaving the cabins quiet, the training arenas empty, and the forest… well, it’s watching. The camp looks peaceful… but appearances can be deceiving. Monsters do not rest in winter. Neither should you.. The winds carry more than snow, and even the borders of the camp — protected by the Golden Fleece — can feel thinner when the world grows colder.

Camp Half-Blood is still a safe place for demigods. Mostly. But safety does not mean idleness. This season, the focus is not on games or competitions. Quests call. Difficult quests. Dangerous quests. Quests that will test everything you think you know about yourself. This is where you’ll prove that you are more than your cabin, *more than your parentage*.

Oakley, one of our many satyrs here at camp, will show you some of the basics. The cabins, the dining pavilion, the stables — yes, even in winter, someone has to make sure the firewood lasts, and the horses stay warm. But beyond that… the world waits. And it does not wait kindly.

So prepare yourselves. Sharpen your weapons, bundle up, and pay attention. Every task you take on this season will have consequences. Every choice matters. The camp may be quieter, but the stories you create here this winter will be anything but.

Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. Winter has arrived — and with it, opportunity, danger… and perhaps a little chaos. You are here because you are needed. Let us hope you are ready."

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In 𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜「⌞⟰⌝」𝙸𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙱𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙾𝚕𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚜 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
In Trials of New Rome - TEMPORARY HIATUS → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay



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𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚘, 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚘,
& 𝙽𝚒𝚔𝚘 𝙱𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚝
Collab post with @Apoalo.

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Location ⍋ | 𓃗 Burnett Residence → New Rome Colosseum
Solstice Morning

Colter woke before the sun, not because he’d planned to, but because his body had decided for him, like it always did. Years of ranch work, years of dawn breaking over the Four Sixes, years of getting up before trouble could find him… It all stuck, even here in New Rome where the roosters didn’t crow.

He lay still for a moment, blinking up at the faint, warm shadows on the ceiling. The house hummed with early quiet, that soft, lived-in kind, the kind that smelled like blankets warmed from the night, lemon laundry soap, and the faintest hint of breakfast he hadn’t even cooked yet.

Niko was still asleep, Colter glancing over to him with a soft smile, and the kids… Well, if the gods were kind, they were too.

Colter slid out of bed with the soundless grace of a man who’d learned if he woke a child too early, it could make or break a whole damn day. Jeans went on, shirt pulled over his head, boots laced with practiced speed. He washed up, ran a hand through his hair, and padded out to start the morning.

The kitchen was cool in the dim light, and he cracked open the window to let in the breeze, warm already, smelling like summer dust and the promise of a festival. Birds were already chattering outside, like they had gossip to trade.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, surveying the quiet house. “Let’s get movin’.”

He started the coffee first, priorities were priorities, then got to work on the chores. A quick sweep through the living room, picking up toys and a stray blanket. Straightened the shoes by the door. Put away the laundry he’d folded last night and forgotten to deal with. Checked the list Niko had left on the counter from yesterday: water plants, feed the animals, remind the kids to bring jackets for the evening event.

He watered the herb pots first, humming low under his breath. Something old, something his mama used to sing while cooking. The leaves shivered as he moved among them, the morning sun just starting to catch on their edges.

Next were the various animals who greeted him like he’d been gone a week instead of a night’s sleep.

“Easy, easy,” he laughed, shuffling bowls and food. “Ain’t nobody starvin’ around here.”

They settled once fed, Howl curling near the back door like a living floor rug.

Colter checked the time. Festival day or not, the kids needed waking soon.

He poured himself a mug of coffee, took one long sip, and exhaled like it revived him.

Then he headed toward the staircase.

“Alright, little tornadoes,” he called up softly, but with a smile curling into his voice, “time to rise an’ shine. Big day ahead.”

No answer. He smirked.

The quiet before the stampede.

He climbed the stairs, careful on the creaky step near the top, and started his morning rounds. A light knock on Elio’s door. A peek inside. The soft, tangled shape of the sleeping boy bundled in blankets.

“C’mon now,” he said more gently, leaning on a doorframe “Sun's already up. Don’t make me come haul ya outta that bed. Y’know I will.”

That got a stir. A groan. A mumbled protest.

“There it is.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

He liked this. These small moments. This quiet before the rush of the Solstice, before crowds and heat and music and everything the city would become once the sun climbed higher.

And somewhere behind all of it, behind the chores and the kids and the rhythm of the morning…

He wondered if Niko would come downstairs already awake, upset he had woken alone, or sleepy and soft-eyed.

Whoever he was this morning, Colter would take him, with that same quiet steadiness he’d been carrying since he was twelve.

He took another sip of coffee and moved to wake Matteo, voice warm and patient as sunlight crept in through the hallway window.

It was the aroma of a freshly brewed pot of coffee that caused Niko to stir from his sleep. Not jolted awake by getting cannonballed by a child, nor by the soft voice of his husband in his ear, coupled with a gentle hand through his hair to brush the brunette waves from his face.

It was coffee. His first love. Niko would say, "Don't tell Colter", but his husband, of all people, knew coffee had to come first for Niko every morning. It helped Niko put on his "brave face" for the day and not be a complete raging— well, you get the point.

Niko pushed himself up in their bed, inhaling slow and deep as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the back of his knuckle before sitting still, taking a listen of the house. Niko didn't have exceptional hearing like his younger brother, Aurelio, but it didn't take much effort to place Colter coming up the stairs. Not just that his voice boomed up into the second story of the house in an attempt to reach their boys, Niko could hear his husband's boots *thump. thump. thump.*'ing up the staircase and down the hall to start the boys on their day.

Forcing himself out of bed, Niko quietly made his way around their room to get dressed. White t-shirt, black jeans, his shearling-lined black denim jacket, and, of course, black lace-up boots. No.. Niko doesn't own anything of color except for a brown bomber jacket he's had since he was a teenager, even if it rarely got worn these days. Niko preferred black for everything.

Niko managed to get himself ready before he could hear Colter exiting Elio's room, heading for Matteo's next. Using his ability to slip through the shadows, Niko slid into their closet one moment, then opened the door of the hallway closet and stepped out from it the next just as his husband had reached their youngest son's room. Niko met Colter's eyes with a small smirk as he closed the distance between them, reaching to turn the knob of Matteo's room, slipping past with a teasing, playful brush of his shoulder across his lover's chest.

"Didn't wake me up.. Rude," he mumbled, leaving the door open as he wandered over to Matteo's bed to wake him. With a gentle hand, Niko brushed through the tar-colored mop on the boy's head, tilting his head and spoke softly.

"Hey you, it's time to wake up."

The boy's face twisted up a moment in disgust at the daylight leaking into his room before he set eyes on his parents, his sleepy, half-open eyes finding the hazel ones staring down at him.

"Do I have to..?" Niko couldn't help but chuckle, nodding. "Yes, Mia Luna, we have to."

Colter heard the soft shift of floorboards behind him before he saw anything, but he didn’t think much of it, not until he opened his mouth to say Matteo’s name and the damn hallway closet door clicked open like it had always been part of the moment.

And there Niko was. Sliding out of the shadow like sin dressed in black denim and bad decision, the good kind, with that small, crooked smirk that always knocked Colter a step sideways.

Colter stopped mid-stride, hand still half-raised towards Matteo’s door as he blinked at the man who absolutely had not been there a second ago. He didn’t jump, he’d learned not to flinch at Niko’s sudden shadowy arrivals years ago, but his heart did that little kick it always did whenever his husband decided to show off in the early morning like it was nothing.

Niko brushed past him with that light shoulder tap that Colter felt all the way to his damn ribs, and the cowboy couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. Warm, and soft around the edges.

”Morning to you too,” he drawled under his breath, voice still hushed for the kids’ sake. His eyes tracked the line of Niko’s back as the man crossed the room, the black denim, the boots, the easy way he moved like the shadows themselves got out of his way. ”Ain’t my fault the coffee beat me to the punch either, y’know you’d take that pot to prom if you could.”

Not that he blamed the love of his life for that. Colter, too, needed coffee to survive and it was up there with his favorite scents, right behind Niko.

Colter leaned against the doorframe as Niko bent over their boy, watching the scene with a quiet fondness that softened every line in his face. Matteo squinted like the sun itself had strolled in to offend him personally, the kid’s hair sticking up in a wild mess that reminded Colter exactly who his father was.

And then those sleepy eyes landed on Niko. Then on him. And Colter felt something warm settle in his chest, that old, familiar, quiet thing that’d been growing there for years, slow and steady as sunrise.

When Matteo groaned out his little, miserable ‘do I have to’ Colter huffed a laugh against the back of his knuckles, shaking his head as Niko responded. He decided to back his husband up, stepping into the room at last and ruffling the boy’s hair with a calloused hand.

”Fraid so, buddy.” he murmured. ”The whole city’s expectin’ you today. Plus your Papa’ll drag us all out by our ears if we’re late.”

He shot Niko a lopsided grin, that easy, and deep fondness shining right through the sleep still clinging to him.

Truth was, Colter would’ve let Niko sleep all morning if he wanted. He liked watching him rest. Like the quiet rise and fall of his breathing, the softer look he only had in those early hours before the world could get to him.

But seeing him now, awake, smirking, teasing, and slipping between shadows like they were doors made just for him, yeah… Colter wasn’t complainin’. Not when his whole world was standing right there in front of him, coaxing THEIR kid awake with that voice that could’ve talked a god off a ledge if it came down to it.

And just when Matteo was getting coaxed into sitting upright, barely, and with all the enthusiasm of a wet cat, the unmistakable sound of THUNDERING footsteps came barreling down the hall.

Colter didn’t even get a chance to say ‘don’t run in the house’ before Elio launched himself through the doorway like a pint-sized missile. ”Dad! Papa! Look!” Elio skidded on the hardwood, overshot his own momentum, and smacked shoulder-first into Colter’s side like he’d planned it.

Colter grunted, automatically steadying his son with one hand. ”Whoa there, you trying to take me out before breakfast?”
Elio, unfazed and absolutely vibrating with life now that he was fully awake,removed his hands from behind his back. Colter sighed and closed his eyes before looking down to his son. "Please, tell me that this is not another random creature you’ve decided to adopt.”

Elio beamed brightly like a kid who absolutely, one-hundred-percent, did in fact have a creature to adopt. He cupped his hands together and pushed the fuzzy animal up to Colter’s face. Inside his hands sat something small, fuzzy, and definitely breathing. A baby raccoon. A baby raccoon wearing a sticker that said ‘Hello my name is Bandit’. A sticker that looked suspiciously like the ones Elio had in his room.

Colter blinked. ”Elio,” he said slowly, "why is there an infant raccoon in the house?”
Elio puffed his chest. ”Found him under the porch! He likes me.” Then, shooting a glare at his sleepy brother he added, ”unlike SOME PEOPLE who are boring and asleep.”

Colter decided not to remind the boy that he had been sleeping not fifteen minutes prior and instead looked to Niko and then back to his oldest. ”Buddy, you have to stop just randomly picking up wild animals.”

Elio looked affronted. ”But he isn’t wild!” he insisted before he added, with suspicious confidence. ”He told me.”

Colter sighed, shooting another look at Niko with that look that said ‘I’m aware my genes did this and I love you.’ Bandit, the raccoon, then climbed up Elio’s sleeve and perched on his shoulder like a pirate parrot. Elio looked thrilled.

The corner of Niko’s mouth curved up into a small smirk that quickly morphed into a sort of sad half-grin, reaching over to gently scratch the little furball under its chin. "Unfortunately, Mio Sole, his momma is probably searching for him the same way your dad and I would be searching for either of you boys if a big scary alien came and snatched you up from under our porch and took you into their home," he playfully grabbed at Elio's ribs to lightly tickle him.

Niko hoped their son would see the reasoning behind it, almost desperately so. He'd seen what a raccoon could do to a house. Thanks Reli. Something that Niko wasn't exactly too impressed with the thought of having to deal with, though, there was always a compromise.

"If his momma doesn't come back for him over the next few days, we can keep him.. BUT! He will need to remain an outside baby. Your dad can only patch so many holes in this house, and we have too many things in here for him to steal and stash away."

"He can't have my colors! Or my toys. 'D-'Dose are mine."

Niko laughed, nodding as he reached down to throw Matteo's blanket off of him to encourage him out of bed while they talked.

"You are absolutely right, Matteo. Those are yours. But he won't get 'em, so don't worry about it, kay? They're safe."

The five-year-old boy let out a relieved sigh with a dramatic wipe of his forehead, stepping out of bed to start getting dressed in his pre-laid out clothes for the day.

Colter moved back to leaning into the doorway with one shoulder, arms crossed lightly over his chest as he watched the little family scene unfold, Niko sitting on the edge of the bed, the boys crowding around the tiny raccoon kit like it was a sacred relic of the gods.

He couldn’t help the grin tugging slowly at his mouth. That familiar mix of amusement and helpless fondness warmed his chest the way strong coffee would.

”Your papa’s absolutely right,” Colter said with a soft drawl, pushing off the frame and stepping further into the room once again. ”Last thing we need is little Bandit figurin’ out how to jimmy open the pantry. I got enough repairs on my docket without addin’ ‘raccoon jail break’ to the list.”

He watched as Elio frowned and nodded, not pouting but disappointed in the words spoken. He clutched Bandit closer, and Colter knew it was taking everything in the boy not to argue, Colter crouched to eye level and dropped a hand onto his son’s knee.

”Hey,” he said softly, ”if his parents don’t come back for him, we’ll make sure he’s taken care of properly. But every critter’s gotta have a fair chance to get home. Even raccoon babies, and even if they’ve formed a bond with someone else.”

Elio nodded and smiled softly, causing Colter to get that warm feeling again. Colter briefly heard something about Bandit being able to have Dad’s colors though and Colter snorted. ”Yeah, he ain’t getting’ mine either, big man. But nice try.”

He stood again, and pulled Elio into his arms, carrying the boy towards the door. ”Alright cowboys,” he said, “”up and at ‘em. Festival ain’t gonna wait for us to finish arguin’ about woodland creatures.”

That earned him two giggles and a dramatic groan from the seven-year-old in his arms who he put down so he could get ready.

The next hour was the usual whirlwind, breakfast rapidly made, a box home made for Bandit to stay in under the house, teeth brushed, jackets shrugged on, shoes found, mostly, hair combed, barely, Bandit kissed goodbye, leftover breakfast smuggled into his new house, and then the last bit of time spent finding the disappearing sock that Elio always seemed to lose.

But together, Colter and Niko handled it all, wrangling the chaos like professionals and as they stepped outside into the Solstice weather Colter breathed in deeply. The sky was already bright with gold, and in the distance banners could be seen fluttering, the whole of New Rome seemingly humming with festival energy.

”Let’s get movin’,” Colter murmured, sliding a hand to rest at the small of Niko’s back for just a second, a subtle, grounding touch.”Crowds’re gonna be thick as molasses today.”

The final walk toward the city gates was filled with excited chatter from the boys, playing pretend Legionnaire. Colter nodded politely to the Legion members guarding the gate proper and corralled the boys in, his eyes catching his husbands with a spark of happiness.

Every stall and banner caught the two young Burnett’s attention. The closer they got to the center, to the Coliseum, the louder the music and laughter became. Veterans with cups of early-morning wine waved, fauns darted between booths already advertising ‘Solstice specials’, campers ran towards the arena, brandishing wooden gladii.

The heat rose, the air thick with scents of roasted meat, sweet fruit, incense, and sun-warmed stone. By the time the four reached the Coliseum, the place was truly alive with crowds buzzing, vendors yelling, and the arena floor being prepped for the days grand Solstice matches.

Colter adjusted Elio’s collar, then Matteo’s, brushing a bit of straw out of the older one’s hair. ”Yall good?” he asked, crouching again so he could look them both in the eyes. ”Need snacks? Water? Last chance for a bathroom break.”

Two vigorous head shakes were the reply. ‘Nooooooo dad, we wanna see the fights!’ Was the chorus.

Colter laughed, standing and pulling Niko into his side. ”Alright then.” His gaze then moved to Niko, center of his solar system, the anchor to his entire being. ”Are you ready?” Colter asked quietly, kissing the side of his head. The noise of the Coliseum rising around them like thunder. ”Solstice waits for nobody.”
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In Trials of New Rome - TEMPORARY HIATUS → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
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𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚂𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝙼𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚑𝚢

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L O C A T I O N ☬ C O L O S S E U M A R E N A

The Colosseum of New Rome thrummed like a living heart — each cheer a pulse that rattled the sand beneath Cassian’s boots. He could feel the weight of the eyes on him: Legionnaires, veterans, recruits, instructors — all watching their Praetor step into the ring.

And higher up, in the shade of the Praetor’s box, Marlowe lounged against the marble railing, dark eyes gleaming like oil on water. She gave him a lazy two-fingered salute. Cassian exhaled through his nose.

'Focus,' he thought to himself.

Across from him, Madalyne Crane stood with her gladius angled low and her Parma raised high, sunlight glinting off the silver filigree along its rim. Her expression was steady, but he knew that look — the tight set of her jaw, the way her thumb brushed the edge of her grip. Determination, trying to bury nerves.

They’d fought a dozen times before. Trained together. Bled together. But this — the official arena, the watching crowd, the name “Praetor” echoing above them — made it different.

The horn sounded.

Cassian didn’t move. He let her come to him.

Madalyne obliged, charging forward with a shout that drew roars from the stands. Her gladius struck his shield in a sharp, clean ring. He deflected it with minimal effort, letting her momentum carry her past. She pivoted, sharp as ever, and came back with a diagonal slash meant for his shoulder. Cassian parried — once, twice — and tapped the rim of his Parma against her sword hand, just enough to throw her rhythm.

“Too tight on the grip,” he said, voice calm, almost amused.

She bared her teeth. “And you’re still talking too much, Praetor.”

He smiled — barely — and lunged. Their shields collided with a deep thunk. Her breath hitched, but she held her ground. Good. She’d gotten stronger. He tested her again with a flurry of shallow cuts, not meant to strike — meant to teach. She blocked most, ducked one, missed another by a breath. A shallow line of blood opened across her upper arm. The crowd cheered.

Cassian straightened, lowering his blade slightly. “You yield?”

Madalyne’s eyes flashed. “Not a chance.”

And then she was on him again — harder, faster, with the kind of reckless fury that didn’t belong in drills. Their swords rang like hammer and anvil, sparks leaping where steel met steel. She drove him back a step, then another, until sand shifted under his boots.

A line of crimson appeared on his cheek. Just a graze, but it burned like insult.

Cassian’s expression cooled. The playfulness vanished.

He inhaled once, shoulders squaring, and when he moved again, it was with that fluid, mechanical precision that made him worthy of his position. The next blow crashed against her shield and sent her staggering. His gladius darted out — not to wound, but to correct. She blocked; he pivoted. The pommel of his sword connected with her ribs. The air left her lungs in a gasp.

“Better,” he said softly. “But predictable.”

She tried to retort, lifting her shield — too slow. He caught it with his own and drove forward, the sound of metal and muscle colliding echoing through the arena. Her shield went wide, and his blade tapped her collarbone, the tip just enough to draw a bead of blood.

He could’ve stopped there. He should’ve.

But she came again. Pure heart. Pure defiance. A swing at his head — wild, desperate. He ducked, turned his shield, and with a precise step to her blind side, swept her legs. She hit the sand hard. The crowd erupted — half in awe, half in sympathy.

Cassian planted a boot lightly against her shield, sword at her throat — not pressing, but final.

“Yield,” he said.

For a moment, she just stared up at him — chest heaving, blood on her arm, pride flickering in her eyes. Then her grip loosened, the tip of her sword falling into the sand. “You really can’t help showing off, can you?” she muttered.

He smiled, faintly. “Someone has to make it look good for the First.”

He stepped back and offered her his hand. She took it. He pulled her to her feet, steady and sure, and when she met his eyes, she saw not arrogance — but the quiet respect of a commander who expected her to rise higher.

The horn blew again. Victory confirmed.

As the noise swelled around them, Cassian looked once more toward the Praetor’s box. Marlowe was still watching — chin propped on her hand, smirk curved like a secret she wouldn’t share. She lifted a single eyebrow in approval.

Cassian exhaled, rolled his shoulders, and turned back to Madalyne, who was wiping sand from her cheek and smiling through the sting.

“Next time,” she said.

He chuckled low. “Next time, Mads — you might even make me bleed on purpose.”

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L O C A T I O N ☬ B E N E A T H C O L O S S E U M → P R A E T O R ' S B O X

The sand had barely settled before Cassian was turning away from a defeated Rikki and Alex, and the center of the arena, the echo of the crowd fading behind him like a tide pulling back to sea. Victory always felt loud in the moment — the roar, the horn, the heat of adrenaline — but afterward, there was only the familiar stillness. The clarity. The weight of the Praetor title settled against his shoulders like a cloak he could never take off.

He lifted his chin as he exited the ring, acknowledging the salutes thrown his way. Legionnaires slapped fists to their chests. Recruits whispered excitedly as he passed. Cassian returned none of it directly; formality demanded restraint, even when pride hummed quietly beneath his ribs.

At the mouth of the shaded corridor, a figure waited — arms folded, expression unreadable except for the warmth fighting to creep through.

His uncle Hayden.

Cassian felt something loosen in his chest.

His uncle didn’t speak at first. He simply looked him over, eyes flicking to the thin cut along Cassian’s cheek, the dust on his armor, the lingering tension in his stance. Then he exhaled through his nose, amusement softening the stern line of his mouth.

“Second win of the night,” Hayden said, voice low and gruff with approval. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

Cassian huffed a quiet breath, half a laugh. “And here I thought you’d pretend to be unimpressed.”

Hayden stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his nephew’s shoulder — the kind of grounding touch that didn’t ask permission because it didn’t need to. “If I pretend to be unimpressed now, you’ll stop trying to impress me.” His smile was brief but real. “Not that you've ever needed to try.”

Cassian shook his head, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him. The praise settled deeper than he’d openly admit, though his eyes shone with all the unspoken appreciation. “I should have stepped in, given Rikki a chance,” he murmured.

“Maybe,” Hayden allowed. “But you carried yourself like a Praetor. Honorable. And that matters more than the rest of it. You are who you are for being who you are.”

Cassian swallowed, the words hitting their mark with quiet, steady force. He nodded once — a promise, a thank-you, both unspoken. Instead, he spoke up on the other thoughts still present at the front of his mind.

"I should go see if Rikki is alright, he can ta—" Hayden cut him off.

"Rikki is in more-than-capable hands and is being taken care of."

His uncle gave his shoulder one last squeeze before stepping back. “Go on. Your guest is waiting.”

The young man rolled his eyes with a shadow of a smirk pulling at the edges of his lips. Hayden was no fool. There was no point in trying to dismiss his subtle innuendo, and instead chose to move past it.

Cassian cleared his throat, straightened his purple cloak, gave Hayden a simple nod, and began the ascent toward the Praetor’s box. Each step lifted him farther from the sand and deeper into the marble-shadowed upper tier reserved only for Rome’s highest command. Even here, the crowd felt distant, like a storm heard through thick stone.

At the entrance of the box, he paused for only a heartbeat — recollecting composure he already knew would evaporate the moment he saw her.

Then he stepped inside.

Marlowe was right where he’d left her: reclining with merciless ease, posture relaxed in a way that always unnerved him because she never seemed to try. The light caught on the edge of her smirk — subtle, knowing, sharp enough to cut.

Cassian forced his shoulders square, inhaling like he was about to deliver a tactical report instead of sit beside the one person who could rattle him without lifting a finger.

“Hope you remembered to behave yourself while I was gone,” he said, keeping his tone dry, measured — almost bored, if not for the warmth threading beneath it.

He settled into the seat beside her, posture impeccable, expression composed.

Mostly.

His pulse, unfortunately, had no such discipline.
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In Trials of New Rome - TEMPORARY HIATUS → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay



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𝙺𝚢𝚛𝚘𝚜 "𝙺𝚢" 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚗

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L O C A T I O N ↂ C O L O S S E U M

The sun hung high above New Rome’s Colosseum, turning the pale sand into a sheet of white fire. The clang of steel and the chant of onlookers rolled across the tiers as two figures stepped into the ring — both bare-armed beneath their lorica, both already scarred by old victories.

Kyros, Centurion of the Second Cohort, son of Neptune, stood calm as the tide before a storm. His gladius gleamed dull in the heat, and the small, round scutum at his arm bore salt stains from the morning drills. Across from him, Alexander, once of the Second but now of the proud First Cohort, rolled his shoulders loose, the twin Imperial Gold knives at his belt flashing like sunlight caught on water. His own gladius hung low in his grip, relaxed, confident — a duelist’s stance.

They saluted with their swords, then the horn sounded.

Kyros struck first — a blur of efficiency. Sand exploded beneath his heel as he closed the distance, gladius slashing in a tight arc toward Alex’s midsection. Alex pivoted, shield catching the blow with a ringing crack, and answered with a short, brutal jab of his pommel. Kyros twisted aside, feeling the air stir against his jaw. The crowd roared approval.

Alex advanced, his movements light, almost graceful — Venus’s charm turned to lethal rhythm. He feinted high, then low, blades flickering like gold serpents. Kyros caught the first with his shield, parried the second with a metallic snarl, and countered — a textbook naval thrust, water-quick and deep. The edge grazed Alex’s thigh, drawing a thin, red line. Alex hissed between his teeth and grinned. “Took you long enough, Theron.”

Kyros didn’t answer. He stepped back, rolling his shoulder, eyes narrowing as the scent of iron hit the air. The sea called in his veins; a ripple of moisture shimmered along the blade, beads of condensation forming like dew. The crowd gasped as droplets spun from the steel, tracing arcs in the sunlight. Alex only laughed — half admiration, half challenge — and launched himself forward.

Their blades clashed in a flurry. Steel sang; sand leapt; the rhythm was chaos contained. Alex’s twin knives struck like punctuation — quick, puncturing stabs meant to probe, not kill. Kyros used his shield to drive Alex back, shoving with controlled fury, but the son of Venus adapted with dancer’s grace. A twist. A slide. He hooked one knife behind Kyros’s guard and wrenched. The Centurion’s gladius went wide, opening his flank.

Kyros reacted instantly — his free hand flashing downward as he drew a throwing knife from his belt. It left his fingers with Neptune’s precision, slicing through the hot air straight for Alex’s shoulder. Alex ducked — too late. The blade kissed his pauldron, biting deep enough to draw blood and tear leather. But the distraction was all he needed. He rolled beneath Kyros’s next strike, came up inside his guard, and slammed the edge of his shield into Kyros’s ribs.

The impact cracked like thunder. Kyros staggered back, the breath torn from him. Alex pressed, switching to his gladius, driving forward with a relentless rhythm of cuts and thrusts that forced Kyros toward the wall of the arena. Each strike was perfect — not furious, but elegant — the measured beauty of Venus’s favored. Kyros’s shield splintered under the assault, his stance faltering. The crowd screamed his name, urging him to rise, to pull the tide again.

He did.. one final surge, water calling to water. The moisture on his blade burst into a mist that blinded the air between them, and he lunged through it, driving straight for Alex’s chest. But Alex had learned from him; he felt the movement before he saw it. The son of Venus pivoted on one heel, sidestepped, and caught Kyros’s wrist with a twist that was half embrace, half execution. The Centurion’s sword tumbled from his hand. In the same motion, Alex’s gladius rose to Kyros’s throat.

Silence. Then, a thunderous applause.

Both men were heaving for breath — blood streaked across bronze, sweat darkening their tunics. Alex stepped back, lowering his sword. “Still too slow on the recovery,” he said softly, though there was no malice in it.. only respect.

Kyros smirked through the ache. “Still too pretty to take a hit.”

They clasped forearms, the gesture rough but sincere, and the arena’s roar swelled again. Blood had been spilled, but honor held — and in New Rome’s sand, that was victory enough for them both.

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After taking the time to get checked over, though refusing help from the medics to heal his wounds.. Ky retreated back to his place among the crowd - head held high with a refusal to show just how deeply he'd taken the loss in the ring. As was his way. Kyros, son of Neptune, never let those around him see him vulnerable. Injured? Sure. But never allowing anyone to see him truly weak. The very few - and I mean, literally, the one or two people - who he'd allowed behind his towering inner walls would know.. but the rest? All the onlookers, his Cohort? They'd see a young man who simply brushed off the loss as if it was simply due to him "clearly not being on his game" today.

A firm hand clapped over his shoulder while another thrust a dark ale into his hands, the generous fellow's words lost in the uproar of the surrounding crowd. The beer was gone by the time Kyros reached his seat to watch the remainder of the games - though for a time his eyes stared through the foam left in his glass mug, disassociating, thinking back on how he could have done better in the ring. His overconfidence was the reason he hadn't moved up into the First Cohort. Kyros would sit in the stands long enough to watch the rest of the Legionnaire and Veteran fights till Rex's loss to Avery, to which he would take up his empty cup and his hurt ego and make his way back to the barracks to turn in for the night.

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