Rockette

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

B A S T E T , G O D D E S S O F P R O T E C T I O N.
𝒂 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂 𝒖 𝒃 𝒂 𝒔 𝒕 𝒆 .
𝒂 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂 𝒖 𝒃 𝒂 𝒔 𝒕 𝒆 .

_{[ 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚝'𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 ◆ 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 ]}.............

_{████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████}

So, a Grecian was dead. Yet life still carried on. It was a testament to these intricate fabrics of fate and time, wound and bound as they were, and refusing to surrender and still submitting life unto the crease of cruel irony. That day, children had been brought into the world and somewhere betwixt towers of steel or perhaps lost to decrepit alley ways or drowned channels, a body was waiting to be found. The Conclave had given nothing save for the confession of loss and the unknown; a faceless reaper haunted after the Gods and Bastet had turned her felines to the streets in response -- gather secrets far and wide, look to the crows, she commanded, and follow their beating wings.

That night she had toiled among ivory sheets, twisted them among her calves and wound a fist around lonely cotton as a leftover haze of rose had invaded her mind accompanied by a keen penetration of yearning and desire. Bastet had breathed his name to the stars and was rejoined with silence: a mute shelf of ice there was, a coldness that she knew as he turned away, yet again, for that was their damnation and their game. If only her own thread of fate could be sheared away from the weeping red it was undoubtedly drenched in, tinged in obsidian ends and initial knots of gold. Her evening wasn't made any better, as she worried after her sister's emotional foundation and loomed her soft gaze upon the message that had found way to her inbox. She had read the contents more than once, hesitant to respond, uncertain of her participation and thus, Bastet never answered.

Instead, she had pinged another, perhaps her dearest friend and summarized the events of the gathering the best she could. It did little justice for the dead, but she also knew that Themis would be looped and twined within the arms of her lover [another Nordic lover, Bastet had pointed out once, but who was she to judge] or taken away by obligation to her career. Such was the circumstance for those nearest to her heart. They were duty bound and she a passing fancy. Perhaps such was for the best, for there were no curious eyes prying upon her home or inquiring after her affairs, and her familiars could travel unhindered or pursued. For who would spare a simple stray in the city of Seattle a secondary glance or thought. Cats had fallen from grace, but, in exchange, the many held sway over the hidden natures of the world.

More than once she thought to contact The Morrigan to offer the eyes of her most beloved of companions, however there were a few statements that had struck out to her the most among the Conclave. Instead of offering such services to the Goddess, Bastet deemed it proper to conduct her own search for answers, and the tales proffered were interesting.

<sup>oceans returning.
moon light learning; seeking what is lost.
fallen kingdoms and their lost kings.

a soul has signed itself to the devil.
and hearts -- so many -- weep.</sup>

Bastet twirled a crow's feather delicately pinched betwixt forefinger and thumb and met the golden glare of Khufu, the Caracal looked upon her expectantly, seemingly awaiting praise. Upon either side of him preened both Hatshepsut, and Cleopatra, their tails swishing carefully in hypnotic tandem.

"You've all done well," she blessed, her voice of sweet whispers. "We can allow others to follow the crows. For now I want you three to keep close to the shadows as I make deliveries." Here, Bastet paused, her fleeting eyes landing once more upon her mobile still and silent like a prophesied specter. She had clients and patients, appointments to keep and worries to soothe of young mothers, and weekends were her only days away to shed away the layers of Amma Ubaste that encumbered her through mortal allegiance. There was no viable reason she couldn't attend to her pantheon, perhaps it was time Bastet to come away from avoidance to simply live.

"We'll make the tea house our last stop," such is a near painful utterance, but she keeps to her promise this time and answers Imentet with her intentions to at least stop by. It's the least she can do, though in her departure she secures a particular bundle of incense for their evening at the tea shop. It's a specially crafted batch intended for all of them and designed with each of them in mind, a brief little flicker of haze and smoke that'll bring memories of home and worship and festivals. Of life, and of death, and wasn't that to be fitting, Bastet considered as her trio of familiars eagerly trotted among her heels.

She made her deliveries on foot, a preference she had claimed many times in comparison to being driven or taking herself to each household or establishment. Such was easier for her companions who fled to the shadows the instance she stepped out from her complex, following their eager bodies till they vanished, but Bastet knew they'd remain close and eager to answer her call. The thought leaves the smallest of graces upon her lips as she teases her fingers through her braids, tossing them among the delicate line of her shoulders.

mentions & interactions:@Icy Hot, @Akayaofthemoon, @Gothelk, @Venus, @fledermaus.

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

B A S T E T , G O D D E S S O F P R O T E C T I O N.
𝒂 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂 𝒖 𝒃 𝒂 𝒔 𝒕 𝒆 .
𝒂 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂 𝒖 𝒃 𝒂 𝒔 𝒕 𝒆 .

.......................... _{[ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚂𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 ]}

^{He's here.}

It's a subtle twinge upon her nape that suffers under a tremor: that small quake of desire that coils upon her throat, burns it to ash, surrenders her tongue to a tool and means of fire that snakes against the bone of her teeth gnashed against a bubbling mewl. He's always so close, and yet always so far; just out of reach from her quivering nails that know the lines of every muscle they have sunk against. Just yonder those doors where many Gods and Goddesses have come upon their summons, she has counted them all amidst the conversation she holds with Hathor muttering that she's okay, just fine, always my dear sister -- and not pining for a certain God of Death just outside those fucking doors. She knows she is inquired to about her familiars, but the rejoinder is snuffed out upon her lips and even with the Grecian poised and standing just right there as a visual token laced with mirth and charm, her piercing gaze has fled to the entry way. There it remains.

Waiting, wanting, yet hating that need that simmers beneath the lace of her soul, Bastet is helpless against the memories that surface upon the turmoil that is her heart clenched in a vice with his signature scrawled in a vicious burn. Uncaring she is of the proffered conversations abound and commotions stirred from loosened stomachs and ruined shoes, the room is a mixture of spiced day-old-sex and rancid remains, and still, her gaze never leaves those doors. When Anubis enters, it's all she sees then and her lungs deflate at the breath she has been holding. He never changes -- neither of them do -- and his mere presence is a faceted jewel of yearning and desire that casts them in both black and gold. Golden eyes beyond gilded lashes brighten, gleaming with a certain knowing that flee away from the broad line of his shoulders and tick down the lines of his profile, raking through layers of clothing and flash back the way they came, sparkling in appetency.

Anubis is like the moon, bright against a backdrop of night, and she is like the waves of the ocean enslaved to his magnetism and though she may flee and crash against banks of sand, he brings her back, stronger and hungrier and needier than before.

Bastet angles her body almost immediately when he comes to her side and there her cheeks color, just so, and lift upon the gentle smile that curls upon her lips. Perhaps the edges droop, softly, in the lingering feelings of sadness at their wayward hearts, but even so, Bastet is happy to see him, it has, indeed, been quite some time.

"I --"

^{miss you.}

Everything is happening in waves and Bastet can barely think betwixt the chaos of emotions plaguing the walls of the room. It's much like a cage that becomes smaller by the trickling seconds that sluggishly crawl by. She almost feels the wills of time inch across her skin like a poisonous worm, unleashed by the Morrigan in such a way that bathed the room in leagues of dread and disbelief. Death is not of her domain, but her golden eyes find obsidian and she allows her stare to linger in mute inquiry -- did he know already? -- and once more, time is a dreaded thing. Her spine coils tight beneath her skin, her instincts birthed upon the wild accusations flung far and wide and the table flipped over in a muted threat. The air is awash in hate and sorrow and pain, and it bathes Bastet's heart in knowing. Memories bloom forth and she recalls wailing mothers and her attempts to subdue them, nails on her shoulders and faces plunged against her chest as they screamed. That accented tragedy colored their voices something reminiscent of desperation and seething rage and it's a sound she could never forget.

Bastet is many steps behind in attempting to calm the situation, but she is no less involved. Each of those that speak and attempt to beseech to Hera's sanity have their faces committed to her piercing stare, especially to one man in particular who speaks eloquently and attempts to bring about reason to not just Queen of the Gods, but to her son and the Morrigan as well. He's nearly accusatory in his deduction and she can only silently agree. Her thoughts are alive in too many questions and she knows there's not enough answers for even one of them. She has come to know the ways of death, but how does a God meet the fate of the reaper. It requires all of her strength to quietly allow Hathor to merge herself into the confrontation, that will to protect her was fierce and vengeful and though Ares pockets his weapon, Bastet can taste his loathing and a yowl kindles away in her chest that boils to a muted growl. Her fingers arch, palms heated and quickly she clasps her gesture onto Anubis, pleading silently that he anchor her spirit as Hathor worked to siphon all of the emotions away from Hera.

She knows the Goddess from her time spent at the office, they work in the same field, and her name is one uttered of respect and admiration -- if only they knew of her deeds -- but she is a mother, and even all the Gods and Goddesses in the room could not take that away from her.

Bastet knows it's too much for her sister to take, her own soul wails at the blistering pool now pillaging Hathor's own heart, and she sees that much when she nearly collapses into her seat. Slowly, achingly slow as Anubis' warmth pools through her fingers and gives her sanity, Bastet comes to kneel before Hathor, her golden eyes flickering in worry and her brows arching at the tears still lingering upon her face.

"You should have allowed me to share some of that burden, sister."

Gentle, as the protector she is, Baset loops both her arms around her shoulders and merely holds her there, steadfast and a pillar of comfort, and though she attempts to pacify her sister, never does her gaze leave the God of Death - not even once.

mentions & interactions:@Icy Hot, @Akayaofthemoon, @smarty0114, @fledermaus.

&&𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒑.

@Rekker — thank you! 💕

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

B A S T E T , G O D D E S S O F P R O T E C T I O N.
𝒂 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂 𝒖 𝒃 𝒂 𝒔 𝒕 𝒆 .
𝒂 𝒎 𝒎 𝒂 𝒖 𝒃 𝒂 𝒔 𝒕 𝒆 .

.......................... _{[ 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚝'𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 ◆ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚂𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 ]}

_{She remembers the former Conclave as if it were yesterday --}

The invasions and declarations of war, the summoning of sons, husbands, and brothers; weeping dames that clutched madly onto others, lost within throes of anguish and loss, but above all, fear. Bastet had held many a council to those bereft of community and courage, the war stole many of those waiting and wanting, and she felt their sorrow and looked after their bastard children left fatherless. She muttered prayers; soothing intonations befitting to her maternal figure, wreathed in the kindness her profession and divinity supplied despite all mortal limitations to her god-hood.

The air tasted of death and even when the sky bloomed to afternoon gold, there remained a lingering wash of ash that pricked upon her felidae intuition, left her caramel skin pebbled and rippling with a premonition of what awaited her at the assembly. _{He's most likely to be there}, a wayward thought supplied, bringing her heart to a flush that rose to her cheeks where a sweater draped gesture rose, cupped against chilled skin and here she breathed soft and slow. Her breath plumed upon the pane of glass casting her reflection back onto her, hazed out by city smog and tainted edges bruised in the smoke. Bastet's apartment was the third floor of a six story complex with an open concept, her wares of perfumes, ointments, balms and paraphernalia of antiques she's collected over the years haphazardly arranged. They're preserved for both beauty and quality, their aesthetics ones of home and a time lost; cats and hawks, serpents and crocodiles, cows and even jackals stationed prettily about her abode. If there's such a canine curiously near her bed, she pays it no mind and instead drapes a throw across pointed ears and a golden wreathed neck more often than not.

She's stalling for time, she realizes, prying herself away from one of many windows overlooking the bustling roads already populated by earlier risers. Bastet often rose betwixt morning and noon, rarely compelled to rest any longer unless accompanied to bed by another, such creatures of flesh they were, and she was no different. Other times her companions woke her, mewling eagerly among her heels and twining tails around her calves, their yowls often ripe and rich with secrets of night and day. Their eyes were her own and their exotic faces glancing onward from shadow her representatives to both Gods and mortals. Each held a pharaoh's name, the three of them; Khufu, Hatshepsut, and Cleopatra -- each also of an exotic breed. Bastet counts them as her beloved servants and familiars and soothes their eager mewls to please with generous affections and sends them away to do her will. She thought of bringing one with her to the Conclave, but she also doubts any of them would appreciate such felines invading their personal barriers and prying into their sometimes secretive natures.

_{Another time,} she promises silently and is answered with barely perceptible nods.

Whilst she dresses, her mind wonders. Death soured the dawn, but the day remained, and with it the eternal inquiry of the Colossus' location permeates her musings. Bastet lingered as a mysterious facet to the collections of Gods', her motivations often a hidden intent and her desires cloaked under melancholy and gentle claims. Only her sister, perhaps, knows of her inner workings, and maybe him, but what does he know other than his own faults and vices. Her mind briskly evades his likeness and instead she ponders upon the others of her pantheon. She hasn't seen them for quite sometime, occupied by her clients and visiting their homes or inviting them indoors on her own hospitality. The tea house is but a distant memory now...

Bastet dresses efficiently, her cosmetics are kohl-lined eyes smudged and spiked lashes, and dabs a delicate perfume upon her nape and wrists. It's something concocted to remind her of home and reminds herself to fulfill her order for The Jade Jaguar. Less the owner come calling upon her again. The woman was a stickler for detail, never quite pleased, beautiful as she is impatient and deadly as many women of these vices are. Bastet procures her mobile not long after, and checks upon her messages briefly to ping one to her sister before exiting her apartment on the sounds of her heels muffled against plush carpeting: _{"on my way, see you soon. xo"}.

^{___________________________________________________________________________}

She's not quite late, but neither is she early. Already some have arrived and have occupied themselves, so she thinks their names to herself, counting each and adjusts her long coat and tumbling locks of braids and twisted ends before she finds Hathor already seated. An air of disturbance toils about her, it's ripe and striking, just as she is visually donned in white with splashes of color. Bastet is careful in her approach, languid and unhurried before she elegantly folds herself to be seated next to her, one leg crossed over the other. The room harbors a rather musty odor to which she is thankful for the waft of perfume that greets her nasal with every move she makes, however nothing could be done for the lingering bits of food or mottled carpeting, such as they are. Though, another glance of the conference room produces the thought of if it's just the setting. _Lovely...

Bastet sweeps her gaze low before she speaks, plunging her glasses down upon the slope of her nose gracefully before tucking them up high on her crown among the chaos of her tresses. She poses her words carefully, knowing full well the temper the boils beneath bronze skin.

"I'd ask how you slept, but something tells me it was shit. Nightmares again, love?"

mentions:@KZOMBI3, @Icy Hot, @Akayaofthemoon.

&&𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒑.

^{-- more character things.}

&&𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒑.

^{-- character things.}

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛.

^{___________________________________________________________________________}

B A S T E T , G O D D E S S O F P R O T E C T I O N.
ʙ ᴀ ꜱ ᴛ ᴇ ᴛ , ɢ ᴏ ᴅ ᴅ ᴇ ꜱ ꜱ ᴏ ꜰ ᴩ ʀ ᴏ ᴛ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ.
ʙ ᴀ ꜱ ᴛ ᴇ ᴛ , ɢ ᴏ ᴅ ᴅ ᴇ ꜱ ꜱ ᴏ ꜰ ᴩ ʀ ᴏ ᴛ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ.

^{___________________________________________________________________________}

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HUMAN 𝗮 𝗹 𝗶 𝗮 𝘀. Amma Ubaste. 𝗮 𝗴 𝗲 𝗮 𝗽 𝗽 𝗲 𝗮 𝗿 𝗮 𝗻 𝗰 𝗲. Thirty-two. 𝗰 𝗮 𝗿 𝗲 𝗲 𝗿. Midwifery; she also operates an apothecary outside of her home, tending to the production of ointments, and perfumes.	𝗽 𝗲 𝗿 𝘀 𝗼 𝗻 𝗮 𝗹 𝗶 𝘁 𝘆. 𝑮𝑶𝑶𝑫 secretive. gentle. protective. 𝑩𝑨𝑫 dominant. fierce. possessive. 𝗮 𝗺 𝗯 𝗶 𝘁 𝗶 𝗼 𝗻 𝘀. The aspirations of Bastet remain veiled and obstructed, continuously interchanged through her centuries of mortal confinement whilst tending to those that seek her solace. Betwixt near docile mannerisms yearns a being of both freedom and power. 𝗳 𝗲 𝗮 𝗿 𝘀. She fears none save for the cage of mortality that batters against her felidae nature and the loss of that strength; Bastet is abhorrent to weakness and loss of her own identity.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DEITY 𝗶 𝗱 𝗲 𝗻 𝘁 𝗶 𝘁 𝘆. Bast -- Bastet. 𝗱 𝗼 𝗺 𝗮 𝗶 𝗻. Goddess of home, domesticity, secrets, cats, fertility, childbirth, music, dance, and pleasure. 𝗽 𝗮 𝗻 𝘁 𝗵 𝗲 𝗼 𝗻. Egyptian.

^{_______________________________________}ＭＹＴＨＯＬＯＧＹ^{____________________________________}

^{She is daughter and sister, mother and lover, protector and avenger.
𝑩'𝒔𝒔𝒕 ◆ 𝑼𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 ◆ 𝑩𝒂𝒔𝒕 ◆ 𝑩𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒕 ◆ 𝑷𝒂𝒔𝒄𝒉}

Bastet is known as many and beloved by all. A creation of Ra and she of the ointment jar, as per the deconstruction of her given name. Her devotion and protection to women as a fertility goddess and the blessings of her divinity to felines have graced the natures of time through many deciphers of worship. Centuries past and before transition depicts a fierce woman bathed in the strength of a lioness, festooned in such likeness of a divine protector and deliverer of justice: an avenger to the name of her creator and sent unto his enemies alongside her sister-in-arms wreathed in anger and chief to war. However, this aggressive and near savagery has been diluted over time, trading the golden veneer of a lion with that of gentler domestication; a house cat seated and gazing yonder, eternally and watchful, paws also stationed with many litters amidst play in later depictions and art. It was uttered that she kept diseases at bay to any woman and child, as such cats were often admired as near royalty in their roles as hunters of vermin.

^{_______________________________________}ＨＩＳＴＯＲＹ^{____________________________________}

She had lost, but she had also gained.

To walk among the mortal plain was both a blessing, and yet, such a curse, stolen of divine strength and yet able to touch, and feel the pain of those who worshiped her once. The likeness of herself toned down from golden lamplight and smudged into greys and blacks, almost desolate compared to godly ichor and splendor. Bastet touched babes and pregnant women in awe, now one of them. She was helpless almost, unable to quell those sudden and fearful prayers, witnessing what was once a blessed occasion now one rife with fear. Cats were turned away as pests, turning mad, feral, and diseased, liken to rats they once purged. Once upon a time revered for their role and now scorned for their nature, unable to be tamed or quelled and turned to metal cages and walls of stone.

Bastet wept for a time, for what entitled a protectress if she could not protect. Humans were tormented creations of greed and pride, burdened, and yet lifted by sin. The sun of her maker was a mere reminder to the days she would lie about in the sun and had become a star of boiling wrath that scorched the earth rather than bless it. She remembered the festivals and mourned their loss. The urge to move tore upon her bones often, thus producing a once splendid Goddess to a being of melancholy from her sudden inability to adapt from ageless days.

It took time for Bastet to adjust and take reign of her nature and mortal constitution, finding faith and reason in tending to old and new mothers as both Midwife and friend. She soothed worries in personal graces and tended to many strays strewn about the cities whenever the Colossus bid she move. She was adorned within the image of gentle and motherly affections, a simple woman that fed cats in the alleyways and bequeathed strangers with sweet perfumes, curiously accompanied by a feline or two purring among her heels and mewling for treats. However, banked within docile mannerisms lurks the shadow of duality, a haze to the light of maternal instincts that produces a fierce woman of many, many means to protect all that she holds sacred.

𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚝'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜.

ʙ ᴀ ꜱ ᴛ ᴇ ᴛ ' ꜱ ʀ ᴇ ʟ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ ꜱ ʜ ɪ ᴩ ꜱ .
ʙ ᴀ ꜱ ᴛ ᴇ ᴛ ' ꜱ ʀ ᴇ ʟ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ ꜱ ʜ ɪ ᴩ ꜱ .

_{████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████}

^{★ 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 — ✿ 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 — ♥ 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 — ✘ 𝚎𝚗𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚢}

◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

^{_______________________________________} ＡＺＴＥＣ ＰＡＮＴＨＥＯＮ ^{_______________________________________}

TLAZOLTEOTL
 TLAZOLTEOTL

★★★★★★★ • ✿✿✿✿✿✿✿ • ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ • ✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

One of Bastet's many customers and undoubtedly her most demanding, often she finds herself adjusting formulas and drastically modifying perfumes and balms to quench the Goddess' specifications. She supplies The Jade Jaguar with tantalizing aromas that are curbed and designed to attract all manners of business to her employees; the lightest of pheromones, she says, just enough to whet the appetites of mortals and Gods alike. The two have spent copious amounts of time within the walls of The Little Marjoram, trying to perfect the smell of her home, as Tlaz has tried to describe numerous times, often falling short but coming just close enough to brew something of a mediocre friendship. She's aware that she employs her sister and appreciates their closeness, sometimes envying their draw to one another, and frequents the club a few nights in the week-- so long as she keeps her favourite wines stocked; a trade of services as it were. Bastet finds her beautiful whilst also remaining deadly and should she mutter the secrets of the sinful and voracious unto her ear, she tucks them away for safe keeping and bats not an eye to their ravenous truths.

^{_______________________________________________________________________________________}

"i can tell she's lonely, i feel such within my heart, but i doubt she would ever admit such a thing to me."

^{_______________________________________} ＥＧＹＰＴＩＡＮ ＰＡＮＴＨＥＯＮ ^{_______________________________________}

ANUBIS
 ANUBIS

★★★★★★★ • ✿✿✿✿✿✿✿ • ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ • ✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

She'd sink tooth and nail into his neck and back, just to draw him close whilst shoving him away; leaving her mark upon him for the world to witness but to also shame the God of Death with a brand of lust. He's the aspect of death she never knew but came to love, the shadow to the light of her heart that keeps her up at nights toiling in loneliness and desire till she sates her need with others that never quite live up to him. His obsession of work took him away from her and whilst she admired his devotion once, it was a scathing realization that Anubis was never hers to keep. It is but a foolish wish to yearn for what she cannot have, but Bastet is unable to keep away.

^{_______________________________________________________________________________________}

"someone asked me once if i truly loved him, it was then i realized i had and would be forever lost; i've never been the same."

AMMIT
 AMMIT

★★★★★★★ • ✿✿✿✿✿✿✿ • ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ • ✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

In the hour of twilight meant entirely for lovers did Anubis speak of her once: he bemoaned her fate but would ask for none other than her to be at his side. There was love, and there was hate, and with it an eternal bond that bore a shame of emotion Bastet knows all too well. Through his association she came to know the Eater of Hearts, Devourer of the Dead, a woman scorned against her own divinity -- perhaps she was like her, maybe, burdened and compelled by morbid obligation and bitter to the turns of time. For a time, Bastet never approached her, flitting among the edges of association till she approached her with small doses of admiration and understanding; there were whispers here, exchanged hurriedly. Bastet is familiar with the secrets and wants of her heart and perhaps lurking 'neath her piercing gaze there is a flicker of wanting to protect.

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"she makes me wonder, sometimes, what if we were just mortal beings. it's a dangerous thought, to want to cast aside our divinity. but, what if... "

IMENTET
 IMENTET

★★★★★★★ • ✿✿✿✿✿✿✿ • ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ • ✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

Guilt colors her expression whenever she ponders upon her like. Acknowledging the unanswered messages that shadow her inbox or email, marked read, but never confirmed. Bastet admires Imentet for all that she is: beautiful and alluring, warming and hospitable and even inviting her feline familiars among her tea house -- the cats enjoy her, so why can she not. However she often putters betwixt the entry way and drops scents as her tokens of regret, small little vials of incense and perfumes with hastily scrawled apologies beside them. She promises to visit more, but they remain as they are, just empty words and golden eyes gilded in remorse.

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"she told me once that she'd ban Anubis from her doors for an eve if that would bring me around. i didn't know whether to laugh or cry."

HATHOR
HATHOR

★★★★★★★ • ✿✿✿✿✿✿✿ • ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ • ✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

Sometimes they clash like fire and ice: pillars of flame against towers of frigid barriers, and other times they are fire, both striking women of similar divinity and manifest. Their god-hood is intertwined through many tales and past depictions, sometimes they are the same woman, and other times they are sisters representative to the many facets of women. Bastet loves her like a sister, proclaiming her to be as such and protective to Hathor on many levels, even if they don't always agree or get along, her door is always open to her as a haven away from the turmoils of both memory and dreams. She's the only one Bastet turns to confide her own secrets to.

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"i see where her heart drifts to, and i can only wish that in this, in love, she does not become me."

^{_______________________________________} ＧＲＥＥＫ ＰＡＮＴＨＥＯＮ ^{_______________________________________}

THEMIS
 THEMIS

★★★★★★★ • ✿✿✿✿✿✿✿ • ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ • ✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

There are some things that even she, a keeper of secrets and council, cannot share with her own pantheon. In such a circumstance, Bastet had none to turn to, until Themis, the Titan Goddess. She can't recall how their friendship began, the years of mortal confinement have left her mind adrift more often than not, but eternally the two have come together as close friends and whilst Bastet knows her sister would keep her council and advice, she refuses to share the woe and cavernous chasms of emotion that run rampant in her heart. Themis knows Bastet as others do not, she has seen the possessive lioness that once sired her like and has heard the passionate heat of words over the ways of love that she has come to know in death and life. Themis too has seen and felt the cruelty of life and matrimony and in this they share deeply. Bastet would dub her as her closet friend and confidant.

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"i don't think i've ever had a best friend before, until she called me such one day."

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 {A God RP}

𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛.

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B A S T E T , G O D D E S S O F P R O T E C T I O N.
ʙ ᴀ ꜱ ᴛ ᴇ ᴛ , ɢ ᴏ ᴅ ᴅ ᴇ ꜱ ꜱ ᴏ ꜰ ᴩ ʀ ᴏ ᴛ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ.
ʙ ᴀ ꜱ ᴛ ᴇ ᴛ , ɢ ᴏ ᴅ ᴅ ᴇ ꜱ ꜱ ᴏ ꜰ ᴩ ʀ ᴏ ᴛ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ɴ.

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx HUMAN 𝗮 𝗹 𝗶 𝗮 𝘀. Amma Ubaste. 𝗮 𝗴 𝗲 𝗮 𝗽 𝗽 𝗲 𝗮 𝗿 𝗮 𝗻 𝗰 𝗲. Thirty-two. 𝗰 𝗮 𝗿 𝗲 𝗲 𝗿. Midwifery; she also operates an apothecary outside of her home, tending to the production of ointments, and perfumes.	𝗽 𝗲 𝗿 𝘀 𝗼 𝗻 𝗮 𝗹 𝗶 𝘁 𝘆. 𝑮𝑶𝑶𝑫 secretive. gentle. protective. 𝑩𝑨𝑫 dominant. fierce. possessive. 𝗮 𝗺 𝗯 𝗶 𝘁 𝗶 𝗼 𝗻 𝘀. The aspirations of Bastet remain veiled and obstructed, continuously interchanged through her centuries of mortal confinement whilst tending to those that seek her solace. Betwixt near docile mannerisms yearns a being of both freedom and power. 𝗳 𝗲 𝗮 𝗿 𝘀. She fears none save for the cage of mortality that batters against her felidae nature and the loss of that strength; Bastet is abhorrent to weakness and loss of her own identity.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx	xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx DEITY 𝗶 𝗱 𝗲 𝗻 𝘁 𝗶 𝘁 𝘆. Bast -- Bastet. 𝗱 𝗼 𝗺 𝗮 𝗶 𝗻. Goddess of home, domesticity, secrets, cats, fertility, childbirth, music, dance, and pleasure. 𝗽 𝗮 𝗻 𝘁 𝗵 𝗲 𝗼 𝗻. Egyptian.

^{_______________________________________}ＭＹＴＨＯＬＯＧＹ^{____________________________________}

^{She is daughter and sister, mother and lover, protector and avenger.
𝑩'𝒔𝒔𝒕 ◆ 𝑼𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 ◆ 𝑩𝒂𝒔𝒕 ◆ 𝑩𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒕 ◆ 𝑷𝒂𝒔𝒄𝒉}

Bastet is known as many and beloved by all. A daughter of Ra and she of the ointment jar, as per the deconstruction of her given name. Her devotion and protection to women as a fertility goddess, and the blessings of her divinity to felines has graced the natures of time through many deciphers of worship. Centuries past and before transition depict a fierce woman bathed in the strength of a lioness, festooned in such likeness of a divine protector and deliverer of justice: an avenger to the name of her father and sent unto his enemies along side her sister wreathed in anger and chief to war. However, this aggressive and near savagery has been diluted over time, trading the golden veneer of a lion with that of gentler domestication; a house cat seated and gazing yonder, eternally and watchful, paws also stationed with many litters amidst play in later depictions and art. It was uttered that she kept disease at bay to any woman and child, as such cats were often admired as near royalty in their roles as hunters of vermin.

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She had lost, but she had also gained.

To walk among the mortal plain was both a blessing, and yet, such a curse, stolen of divine strength and yet able to touch, and feel the pain of those who worshiped her once. The likeness of herself toned down from golden lamplight and smudged into greys and blacks, almost desolate compared to godly ichor and splendor. Bastet touched babes and pregnant women in awe, now one of them. She was helpless almost, unable to quell those sudden and fearful prayers, witnessing what was once a blessed occasion now one rife with fear. Cats were turned away as pests, turning mad, feral, and diseased, liken to rats they once purged. Once upon a time revered for their role and now scorned for their nature, unable to be tamed or quelled and turned to metal cages and walls of stone.

Bastet wept for a time, for what entitled a protectress if she could not protect. Humans were tormented creations of greed and pride, burdened and yet lifted by sin. The sun of her father was a mere reminder to the days she would lie about in the sun and had become a star of boiling wrath that scorched the earth rather than bless it. She remembered the festivals and mourned their loss. The urge to move tore upon her bones often, thus producing a once splendid Goddess to a being of melancholy from her sudden inability to adapt from ageless days.

It took time for Bastet to adjust and take reign of her nature and mortal constitution, finding faith and reason in tending to old and new mothers as both Midwife and friend. She soothed worries in personal graces and tended to many strays strewn about the cities whenever the Colossus bid she move. She was adorned within the image of gentle and motherly affections, a simple woman that fed cats in the alley ways and bequeathed strangers with sweet perfumes, curiously accompanied by a feline or two purring among her heels and mewling for treats. However, banked within docile mannerisms lurks the shadow of duality, a haze to the light of maternal instincts that produces a fierce woman of many, many means to protect all that she holds sacred.

Descension (A God SoL RP)

going to throw my interest in here.
not the most confident upon my availability, but, never know, so anyways.

didn’t see a reservation for Bast/Bastet — ‘less I missed it — however not sold upon a face claim as of yet.

&&𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒑.

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___________________________________________________________________________ If ever should you come across one of these fabled apparitions within the gloom of the night, look not into their eyes that are aglow in spectral white or demented hellfire, these are the glimpses of deadened things prowling about in the shadows on the rattling chains of the dead. And should one ever cross your path, turn away at their presence, for fables tell of those who perish one year, six months, three days, two hours and one minute to the day they see such a horrid thing. Standing betwixt glamoured constructs and guarding ancient pathways and ley-lines festooned in acclaimed magics and forlorn souls lost wondering and held to the world; the Crossroads of reality and veiled existence. Black dogs are storied through watered down tales and lore, so often that their origins are muddled between Celtic, and Germanic elements of various cultures, but a constant remains they are famed as a portent of Death and ill wanted. They herald omens of change, death, illness and misfortune to mortality. Such follows their wake even into the Underworld wherein many are christened as Guardians; some told of would-be reapers that sing a funeral tole on the winds of the dead souls that call for their dues. In whichever fable is held to a token of truth, it varies upon the tale told and the whispers uttered of their creation and conception. Secrets and lies are afforded in spades to the protection of self and life, uttered by either man or canine. Electrical storms rampant on a too-silent night will foretell a cruel malevolence that bears fang and claw on any victim, usually upon a moonless cycle where the shadows impart briefly to allow black dogs to roam free without the tethers of their once upon masters and would be keepers. ___________________________________________________________________________

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^{been busy and bored lately with no time to write. sometimes i write conceptual blurbs and create small things to fill that void of boredom. i've always wanted to submit some of my works; concepts of characters or stories of some such. even some that pertain to fandoms. but, anyways.}