put on your warpaint

oliver lennon. savannah's resident asshole. twenty one. back the fuck up.

[inigoarmistead]

our love is an old love | inigo & oliver

[aresincarnated]

inigoarmistead:

Even without saying a word, Oliver seemed to know what Inigo needed, and a soft, happy sigh left his lips as they were tangled further together into blankets and limbs. Everything was exactly the same, even without Aphrodite and Ares around to nudge them to the other - if anything, Inigo felt as if the pull was stronger and came from somewhere that was truer to him than ancient history or another voice inside his head. This yearning he felt, this incredible sense of comfort and satisfaction that rippled through his body was a result of Oliver and Oliver alone. And that was the greatest comfort he could ask for.

Inigo laughed fondly, green eyes softening at the very sight of Oliver’s grin, so soft and silly one wouldn’t expect him to be the same person strutting down the streets with an expression alone that could kill. He was addicted to this feeling, to the knowledge that even without star-crossed gods inside them, Oliver was still the center of his world and he was Oliver’s, and how fuckin’ strange it was feeling fiercely loyal to someone again rather than the complacent indifference he’d become used to. He was growing protective of that dopey grin, and he was no war god but he’d fuck someone over well and good if they ever did anything to it. Inigo imagined his boyfriend probably felt the same… no, he knew Oliver did. 

He didn’t need mind-reading powers to know how long Oliver had wanted them like this, holding each other without the threat of Inigo tiptoeing out of the bed in the morning. The more Inigo thought about it, the harder he clung to Oliver, sheepish at the thought he’d put the idea of ‘we’ off because of his stupid insecurities. At least he was learning as he went. “I’m here for you too,” Inigo murmured with a soft grin. “Boner, blood, whatever you’ve got, I wanna take care of it first. I wanna be the first thing on your mind whenever you think you can’t handle something on your own, y’know?”

Long fingers raked through Oliver’s hair and Inigo snuffled against his cheek. “Listen here, the fact that that was my biggest concern when I realized Aphrodite was gone should tell you something,” he said teasingly, pulling away for a brief moment to gaze at the other boy with tender eyes. “I’m as infatuated as they come.” He clutched at Oliver’s shoulder and hair, almost terrified at how much of himself he was baring. But Oli deserved more than a boy who could barely articulate his thoughts. “I don’t wanna ever go back to how we were before that storm and that train station bathroom. I was thinking about maybe you’d come home and see me and realize you never liked me as much as you thought you did, that maybe you’d gently break it off as if I was just another girlfriend and suggest that we stay friends. I don’t want to be your_ friend.” _Inigo paused. What was he going to say next? “I don’t want to be anything less than this.”

His cheeks burned and he immediately ducked in for a long kiss, breathing deeply through his nose. “I still like you too,” he whispered against Oliver’s chin. “So much.”

It was probably insane how deeply infatuated Oliver felt right now - his heart swelled so much that he was worried it might pop (that’d be a good way to die, he thought, literally combusting from happiness and Inigo). He pressed another deep, loving kiss to his lips, as if each kiss was their last. But Oli knew that wasn’t true - their future together was barely beginning, and it took damn long enough. Inigo had never been so vocal about his feelings before.

And he was like the antidote to the most potent of poisons, the god of love’s presence alone bringing Oliver out of his usual angry storm. Ares housed few emotions and they were on opposite sides of the passionate spectrum, deep, unearthly love comparing only to his blinding rage - but it was almost impossible to be anything but sick in love around Inigo. With Inigo. And it was crazy to admit now, this early into their very over dramatic relationship, but Oliver loved him. He did. It was easy to feel and hard to say, and the fear of rejection was still there. Even if the absence of their gods told them how truly genuine their feelings were, Oli didn’t want to be the one to spit about love. Not now.

“You’re the first thing on my mind every day. I wake up in the morning, and you’re still asleep, looking angelic as fucking ever, and I just can’t help but think how happy you make me.” The goofy grin was gone, the light-hearted tone absent, too. Oli couldn’t be more serious in the moment, laying his cold little heart on the line like this. “You’re mine. And that’s still so fucking crazy to say, you know? Three months ago you couldn’t even sleep in this bed.” This time, Oliver stifled a laugh. “Now you never leave it. Which is a good thing.”

The train station bathroom was something Oliver liked to forget about (what little he did remember). It was hard to think that he was ready to die alone, bleeding out and dizzy and soaking wet, pressed against bathroom walls and not even in a_ good _way - but he had accepted that half of Savannah was surely dead and he would join them. Even then, all he could think about was Inigo, his voice and smile and mouth, holy shit, he could only ask himself if Inigo would come to the funeral. 

“You’re probably the best girlfriend I’ve ever had,” Oliver laughed. He kissed the side of his boyfriend’s head, feeling a little drained from all of this goddamn emotion. “Oh baby. We’re going to be so much more, you know.”

[aresincarnated]

the dying of the fight - oliver & daya

[iralmock-deactivated20161013]

“True, but you’re not a disturbance I’ve chosen.” Daya retorted easily, she had stepped into the restaurant well aware that she would not find the best spot for meditation, she hadn’t been looking for quiet but she simply wanted to fill her belly and get out of her apartment. She relished in all the little noises that filled the place, from the music playing on the tv to the chatter of other customers around her.

That man however she had not asked for and she hated nothing more than men invading her space without permission, and the look of smugness on his face did not aid his case in the slightest. She had thougt idly before that perhaps this was just a different kind of pick up lie rather than an intriguing question.

As the man’s tone grew sharper, more accusatory Daya finally turned her attention from her burger to placate him with a defiant look. Before she could protest and ask him to leave her alone he was saying his name. The brunette would have simply asked him to keep his voice down had he not used that wording but the way he said it made her blood boil.

She did not know how other incarnates lived through the bond between their human selves and the gods inside their mind but she sure as hell didn’t consider herself to be Chronos. He was just a voice in her head, one she didn’t ask for, he wasn’t her identity and never would be. “I am not. Chronos and I may share a body and a mind but I am not him. My name is Daya.”

[aresincarnated]

He rolled his eyes immediately. Oliver always thought it funny to see some incarnates so desperately detach themselves from their god, or at least reputation-wise. There was no going back on the connection their souls had, as much as Daya seemingly wanted there to be. That fact had comforted Oli before, but now, with the absence of the only resemblance of a father-figure he’d ever had, he was starting to believe differently.

Shaking his head at her frown and outburst, Oli had the temptation to tut at her like a child. She was acting like one, anyway, immediately assuming the association with Chronos to be a negative one. “Don’t take so much offense to that statement. There are worse gods to be connected to. Worse heroes.”

He shifted his weight again, staying quiet for a moment, half expecting another violent comment thrown in his face. However fiesty Daya may be, Oliver took a strong liking to her. Anyone with enough gall to use a voice like that and pull the face she did to Ares was someone Oli could respect, even if she didn’t truly recognize him yet. It was admirable, either way. “But okay, Daya. We’ll keep it to that. No need to bring our gods into this, I guess, as long as you don’t assume I’m all blood lust and anger.” 

Oliver had the urge to wink, but remembering the reaction Shahnaz and Athena had to his twisted charm urged him not to - Daya was almost as intimidating and could probably punch twice as hard.

[lightofhart-blog]

coming rains | Apollo & Ares

His bowstring tautened, obeying the tug of the god Apollo’s fingers easily. The war had been beneath his notice till now, the crashing of spears and shields a minor incident to a greater cosmic pattern of sun rise, sun set, the shifts of constellations. Their streams of blood a mere trickle to the rivers of time - all was relative, or the gods would lose their minds over every mortal cause. Yet here he was, benevolent in the face of Chryses’ appeal, and not for Chryses alone - for his daughter, too, crushed into servitude in Agamemnon’s brutish grasp.

Sunlight spilled over the horizon, its first rays mercilessly beating down upon the fields beneath the gates of Troy. A stage set, a theatre of war about to enter its next act. He looked to where the Achaeans camped and heard the sounds of an army rising with daybreak, the weary clank of armour that had suffered nine years. Time and war wrought violence on even the youngest of them. Apollo, himself bright with the harsh, obtrusive glow of youth, had seen boys age too quickly.

“Nine long years,” he said, aloud. Long, even by a divine measure.

But his intention was not to tip the scales. He wanted only Agamemnon’s capitulation, he wanted only the steady collapse of his men from within as disease stuck its scaled claws in and took hold. Their mutinous eyes would turn to the light that bore holes through them, and watch the swarm of arrows carrying every plague and pestilence known to their kind. And in their dwindling strength, their hearts would swell with bitterness that it was their own commander’s doing.

The bowstring sang like a lyre, and with the first arrow Apollo loosed a startled laugh, childlike, as if pleasantly surprised with his own power. “The arrow flies true - as does my title,” he mused, and his mouth wore cruelty with familiar ease. “Chryses rightly declared I am god of the silver bow. And a powerful god delivers justice with his own hand.” Moving to seize another bow from his quiver, Apollo noticed company had arrived, and inclined his head in brief welcome. “If you are come to watch the enactment of divine retribution, you are well-timed. Suffering, prolonged as this will be, seems a worse fate than death.”

[aresincarnated]

Troy had been shaking with the threat of a fight since years ago, the tensions of the irrefutable city were infamous as far as ships could travel, ships full of soldiers and barbarians and thieves of glory. The Trojans often committed sins of coveting, of murder and pride, but those were the best sins to have held on your head, are they not? The sins of warriors, repented through the blood they spill on the battlefield. With heads held high, real warriors do not house regrets, or apologies, or hesitations. Ares had always been supportive of such loyal followers of the wartime chants.

Of course, the Greeks would have been an equally as worthy companion into this war, as deserving and ferocious as their opponents, definitely. But Ares loved only one thing more than spilled blood - Aphrodite, golden in all of her glory. The Fairest, as decided by Paris and the Apple and Eris herself, and Ares of course (but he was more than a little biased). He would side with who she sided with, fight the battles of her favorites, if it meant being looked upon favorably by her. Agreeing to fight for the Trojans was a promising decision in more ways than one, Aphrodite was quick to remind Ares.

And so, naturally, the hate he felt for the Greeks had become any mortal’s multiplied, intense and passionate and eager to kill. Ares didn’t often hold back, and this war, nine years already and still longer to go (he could feel that much, this was too even a match to be an easy win for either side), would be no exception. 

“Either seems a valuable death to me.” Ares mused, spotting a brother of his arched with a bow, a powerful equal and one he hadn’t quite recognized until this moment. “Valuable, entertaining. I see no difference. Although, as you have been made familiar with, I am favorable of inflicting suffering to victims.”

[aresincarnated]

the dying of the fight - oliver & reagan

[msinister]

At the slight shift of expression on his face, the recognition that barely twinkled in his eyes, Eris almost seemed to purr from her wherever she had been hiding. Out of all the gods, she harbored the least amount of hatred towards Ares. He had always been special to Eris. She admired his drive in battle. Reagan found a small smile from the goddess pushed forth onto her lips, which was really the best that one could expect for her in sincerity for the most part. Smiles were weapons.

“I’m certainly interesting.” Reagan quipped. Even though the clanging of armor the chariot’s thunder were being sprayed in a crimson blood across the backdrop of her mind, it wasn’t enough to fully pull Eris from her mind. If anyone would have done it, Reagan would have expected it to be the Ares incarnate. She didn’t know why she saw the others so clearly. Maybe it was because Eris had carefully sketched out plans for them, or at least she had before her sudden silencing.

Lifting an apple out of the pile she stood by, Reagan bit into it before staring down at the fruit. She had always loved apples. They had long been her favorite, and that was probably the goddess’ doing. Out of all the damage she had done, her favorite toy had been a fruit. It was stupid, but Eris loved dumb little things like that. Chewing slowly, one floated to her pocket to fidget with her always present lighter. Without Eris, she felt lost. What did she say to him?

One brow moved towards her raven hair, and Reagan discarded the apple without paying for it. She’d done worse before. “Of course I recognize you. The devil on my shoulder may be distant at best, but I could never forget you. Ares, Oliver, whatever you’re called.” The smirk on her lips grew into a smile and Reagan bowed her head as a sign of mock graciousness. “The one and only. I prefer Reagan though.”

[aresincarnated]

There were few Ares had real connections to - he wasn’t a very popular god, not many people could handle the rage of war or the clang of the battlefield, and those who did could hardly look past that side of him. People hold such negative connotations of war, and negative connotations of war personified, as if they could be surprised by violence and bloodlust and pure rage. As if the god of war could be anything else but those things - Ares often wonders how some gods can be as foolish as the mortals who serve them. Meeting a familiar, kindred soul was as refreshing as ever, especially an ancient friend like Eris herself, chaotic and strifeful as she was.

Oliver could only nod his head in agreement. Eris, from what Ares had told him, was a force to be reckoned with - causing the entire Trojan war and turning Olympians against each other, anyone who could pull stunts like that was interesting to say the very least. “Oh yeah, I can tell.” He grinned, shifting to a less uptight demeanor -- stuttering and mumbling his way through uncomfortable greetings proved to be quite harsh. 

The crunch of an apple always sent chills down Oliver’s spine - nothing reminded him more of summer and cool evenings spent on the porch swing as a child, nothing reminded him more of Jack and all their childhood rebellion and mishaps. The sound was one of those things that opened your memory’s floodgates all of a sudden, and now Oli was only drowning in his smile. He was fond of this incarnate already, gall and all.

The devil on her shoulder. How accurate. He knew Inigo could only compare Aphrodite to a motherly figure, but Oli related much more to this idea that Ares was more evil than good (it would ease a lot of guilt Oliver felt for a lot of things). “Reagan. That’s an Irish originated name, you know. Means little ruler. So, like a princess.” Another grin. “Unless you’d rather go with the presidential relation of Reagan.”

[pandorasmelodies]

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[inigoarmistead]

our love is an old love | inigo & oliver

[inigoarmistead]

Inigo wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting when he finally relented and let Oliver see him, splotchy face and teary eyes and all. He’d imagined the bright, fond light in Oliver’s eyes to go dim, for him to turn his face and find an excuse to ask Inigo to go, to leave him. He imagined Oliver going out that very night to find a pretty girl with a vivid naughty streak to help rid him of his and Inigo’s memories together, at least for the night, and the thought had nearly made him want to set something on fire. 

But the light never left. If anything it looked as if it grew stronger, the kisses eagerly returned, the fondness never leaving, and Inigo hoped the reverent, overwhelming affection mirrored in the god of war’s eyes wasn’t just his imagination. He had a tendency towards over-exaggeration and going into panicky spirals when it mattered. Miraculously, Oliver, who called himself the biggest asshole on the planet, somehow seemed to inherently know how to deal with him when he got like that, his sweet murmurs doing well to placate Inigo as if he was a jittery feral cat. “I was scared,” Inigo answered honestly as he automatically leaned into Oliver’s hand, his limbs feeling warm and settled now that Oliver was finally here and seemed to be just as enamored as he was before all this shit happened. He was so kind, so generous with Inigo in ways Inigo had scarcely seen him be with anyone else, and it made his chest ache and his lips lift into a smile, soft and teary.

“Y’know, ‘cause I thought you got hurt or something, ever since you’ve got me to come home to I don’t think you’ve been more than twenty minutes late. With all the shit flying around about the incarnates, I thought someone had snatched up my boy for science experiments.” It wasn’t the full truth, and Oliver would figure out that Inigo was holding back. He always did. Inigo made a small, hesitant noise, pushing his nose against Oliver’s cheek and closing his eyes (both gestures were meant to give him courage). “I dunno, I’d been thinking how you told me that Ares was MIA since what, yesterday? I was getting scared, thinking what if you started liking me a little less everyday because he’s not there to tell you to go after Aphrodite, that maybe you realized half of what I said is complete gibberish and that I don’t even know I’m going to say until it comes out of my mouth. Or that you’d realize you didn’t like dealing with cocks as much as you thought you did, especially not mine.”

Inigo opened his eyes, suddenly afraid that he’d shared too much, and he watched Oliver for a reaction. Thin fingers rose to graze the soft skin of Oliver’s collarbone. “I missed you terribly. But I was so scared. So tell me you still like me. Tell me you still think I’m pretty.”

[aresincarnated]

Oliver wrapped his arms around in Inigo in a tight embrace, curling them into a mess of long limbs and lanky bodies, and squeezed him. Normally, one would assume the only squeezing the incarnate of a war god would do would be of fingers around throats, crushing windpipes with a gruesome smile, but Inigo had been (and definitely always will be) the exception. The yearning Oli felt to have him, hold him, to exist with him was exhausting, but such a pleasant yet drastic change from his normal range of emotions - annoyed to explosively outraged. If this was high school again, boys in the locker room would snap him with towels and taunt him with ‘whipped’ like it was some kind of insult - but really, Oli was happy to be so enamored. Trying to figure out if you’re in love with someone is the happiest problem to have.

“Well, don’t be scared,” Oliver answered automatically, ready to go off on tangents about how he would always protect who he cared about, and how he would be brave for him and fight his battles and chase off demons (or, ready to over quote every underwhelming preteen novel to the literal god of romance), “I’m like, here for you and shit. You know that.” Another dopey grin. At least the line really did come from the heart.

He ignored the entire bullshit excuse, because he knew Inigo didn’t really believe that Oliver couldn’t fend for himself against the crazies of Savannah, no matter how murderous or psychotic they were, although Oli did smile about the whole ‘my boy’ thing a little too widely. His bringing up MIA Ares made Oli realize that he’d totally forgotten about it entirely, that a day or two without his godly guide actually...wasn’t that bad. It felt normal, almost, at this point to be alone in his mind. "I mean, these past few days have been weird. I didn’t ever think that you’d be afraid that I’d stop...liking you.” He curled his fingers into Inigo’s hair, “Ares and I, we’re separate people. Beings. We have different feelings. I mean, you obviously are still infatuated with me,” Oliver paused, both for dramatic effect and to take hold of his boyfriend’s hands, playing with long fingers just to keep his courage up, “I don’t think I could ever feel any different about you now, Inigo.” He rolled his eyes. “Or cock.”

A great sigh of relief. They were both long-legged messes of emotion and vulnerability at the moment. “Pretty doesn’t even begin to describe you.” He finally said, kissing the hands he already held, “I still like you. Too much to be healthy.”

When Oliver realized he’d almost muttered ‘I love you’ instead, he nearly choked on his own spit. He’d hate for Inigo to laugh in his face again.

[inigoarmistead]

our love is an old love | inigo & oliver

[inigoarmistead]

The familiar sound of Oliver’s muffled voice, deep and warm, washed over Inigo like a cozy current, and he closed his eyes with a soft sigh.  Oh, god. The first thing Oli does after coming home from school was checking to see if Inigo is okay (how did he even know Inigo was home without even checking the bedroom?), and it made something in Inigo’s chest tighten and constrict and he lifted the back of his hand to his mouth to hide a touched grin. It was probably bullshit, especially since Ares and Aphrodite were off on a fucking picnic or something, but maybe Oli could just sense when Inigo was in distress. His coming home two hours late certainly didn’t help Inigo’s anxiousness - Oliver was vulnerable too, even if the riots had started to settle down.

Inigo lifted his covered head when Oliver burst into the room, green eyes wide, and he resisted the urge to flip all the covers off and climb onto his boy. Oliver sounded normal, aside from the panic punctuating his words - he didn’t sound indifferent or any less enamored, even without the visual reference. But what if that changed once Inigo took off the blankets? What if the sight of him reminded Oliver that maybe he’d only been affected by Aphrodite’s miasma when they met? 

His lips curled into a soft smile at his nickname, fond and kind on Oliver’s tongue, and he burrowed deeper into the blankets. “Waiting for you. You were late, know that?” Inigo lifted his head, eyebrows furrowed in relief and residual worry. Not that Oliver could actually tell when the blankets still covered his face. “I left you six sad voicemails, but you can tell how splotchy my face is in them because of how sad I sound, so don’t listen to them. And, I made you dinner, but now it’s soggy. I made you cereal for dinner.”

Inigo couldn’t help it. He leaned over, still completely covered in sheets and narrowly missing one of the pillow columns, grabbed the sides of Oliver’s face and pressed a kiss to his lips. It tasted like comforter, of course, but it could be the last time they kiss if Inigo’s worst fears are confirmed. “I’m glad you’re back, Lennonade.”

[aresincarnated]

The moment Inigo’s head poked out of the comforter was the same moment Oliver’s heart melted through the floor. Sometimes it was hard to remember how truly adorable your boyfriend could be when distracted with his world of lust and pheromones - not that Oli was complaining. All curled up in the safety of over-sized blankets, wide eyed and red faced and yes, still precious as could be, this Inigo was a strong contender to be Oliver’s favorite. The dopey grin on his face didn’t match the god of war’s usual agenda, but there are exceptions to every rule.

But he was confused now...why would Inigo be sad? Maybe he thought like Oliver had, maybe he thought his boyfriend had ended up dead in he street, and maybe blanket forts and sad voicemails were his way of coping. That was a lot of maybes. “Why’d you do that?” Oli crooned, not even on purpose, “Six is a little over dramatic, but I guess you must’ve been pretty upset.” He moved a little closer to the blanket lump to caress Inigo’s face. “What got you down in the dumps, angel?”

Despite the feeling of kissing a fleece blanket, Oliver couldn’t help but smile at the suddenness lurch into desperate kisses - this was the dramatic, grabby handed Inigo he knew how to handle. “You say that like I left for war.” He shoved a few pillows out of the way before kicking off his shoes, laying down and wrapping himself up in the comforter, too. “I missed you terribly today, like I really had left for good.” With a kiss to Inigo’s temple, he sighed. “But I’m here now. No more sad voicemails.”

[havcnflames]

Up In Flames // Haven & Oliver

[havcnflames]

Haven tried so hard, he honestly did, but before Hephaestus slipped from his conscious completely, he had to make his obvious distaste for the other known. Haven wasn’t the happiest about the words coming out of Oliver’s mouth, but Hephaestus couldn’t stand it. “That’s,” Haven began through his teeth, creating a smile that was quite obviously fake, “that’s really nice,” Haven finished, his facade seemingly not convincing considering the light pole they passed just combusted as soon as Haven glided passed it, sending it up into flames. Didn’t they promise each other no more aimless hostility? It wasn’t kept. 

Maybe Haven shouldn’t have tried to piss off the God of War, but shit, he didn’t expect to feel so, irritated – angry even. He composed himself though, with a whole lot of internal will, and promises to himself that he had gotten over Inigo, which probably isn’t the case. Haven was about to blow – how long were they even together? He wondered. It took ages for him to coax Inigo to move in with him back then, so all it took was a smug smirk, and a look into those annoyingly amazing green eyes of Oliver’s and what? Inigo just willingly hopped on the bandwagon? And he met his mother? Haven didn’t even get to meet her. Back when Haven and Inigo was together, Inigo wasn’t even on speaking terms with his mother- Wait. “Met his mother? He hasn’t spoken to that lady since he was sixteen. Unless, magically their relationship mended, but I highly doubt that. You’ve got some explaining to do, pal,” Haven said, raising a brow at the other male. A small smirk rose on Haven’s face, realizing Oliver was only talking out his ass to get a rise out of him. Haven couldn’t play nice anymore. And to think Haven is usually the chillest person you would ever meet – not while Oliver was around. He apparently had a persona, derived from Hephaestus that he couldn’t beat. Even when Hephaestus wasn’t around, or maybe it was pure jealousy. 

Haven stopped right in the middle of their endless strolling, and raised an eyebrow at Oliver. “I don’t know if you realize this, but I don’t really give a fuck,” Liar, “What’s the purpose of you oh so politely telling me about this shit? I’m over him – adopt a kid with him. Put a damn ring on his finger if you’re so in love. Why the fuck do I have to hear about it?” Oliver made him feel unnecessary rage, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to die at thirty from the rising blood pressure. Haven just wanted to go home and paint, man. 

[aresincarnated]

He laughed again. Haven’s jealously was addicting on it’s own and quite hilarious to watch. Even if he and Inigo had been nothing more than magic powers and a divine attraction, there was no doubt that Oliver was tearing open old wounds, making Ares more than proud. “It is nice, we’re happy together,” He repeated, arrogance and the aura of an asshole more than present.

Okay, so the lies were a little far-fetched. Oliver’d never met Inigo’s mother, and it was certain that Haven hadn’t either, seeing as her son hadn’t spoken a word to her since he was a teenager. However, Oli would never willingly back out of a lie. “Firstly,” he laughed, getting annoyed by Haven’s tone, “I don’t have to explain anything to you. But I will, since you seem to be so curious all of the sudden - I found her number in a phonebook, called her up and she was happy to talk to me. Sure, Inigo was upset at first, but things worked out okay in the end. Went over to her house a few times last month.” He pulled out another cigarette, the tension of the conversation making him crave nicotine. “But let’s get off that subject, since you seem to be so outrageously jealous.” Another grin as he lit up.

A sigh and an eye roll and a shaking of the head. “You’re so full of shit, Haven. If you didn’t care you wouldn’t have asked about it. Or commented, continuing this shit. It’s okay to be jealous, I know you miss him. He’s damn good in bed and even better out of it.” Oli shrugged. “You know, now that I have your blessing, maybe I fucking will. If I'm not mistaken, you tried and failed to do the same thing, no? You put a ring on his finger and he still ran off to me, s'a shame.” He said, tutting. “Although to quote you, I don’t really give a fuck.” He took a long drag. “You really don’t have to hear about it, dude. You asked how it was.”

[inigoarmistead]

our love is an old love | inigo & oliver

The quiet was haunting. It was either Inigo or Aphrodite constantly filling the air inside, but for the last few days, only silence followed the boy through the streets. The city was his to take, it seemed, but he’d never really wanted it in the first place. He’d stayed far from the riots and the bloodshed while his divine kin preferred to dive in headfirst, only to breathe a heavy sigh of relief when the fighting seemed to quieten. At last, peace. No more deaths, no more fighting. No more screams of terror to mask the sound of Aphrodite, slowly slipping away.

The days of Inigo overvaluing his power were behind him, the days when he figured the worst thing about losing it would be no longer attracting the attention of nearly every man and woman around him and the absence of the lustful gazes trailing after his wake. No, now it was the fear of death. Of dying alone. But even worse than that was the fear of losing Oli. After all, if Aphrodite was gone that probably meant Ares was silent as well, and they were both well aware it was their gods who had brought them together. It was because of Aphrodite and Ares that they were even in the same club that night, and it was because of them that they’d acted like fucking animals, pressing into each other within minutes of meeting.

Of course, then Inigo actually started to get to know Oli. It hadn’t been totally on purpose; he was a fantastic fuck, and his status as a fellow incarnate made Inigo curious. It didn’t take long to realize that Oli was as loyal and protective as he was fierce, that his wardrobe consisted of so much black that it made Inigo’s head hurt, that his toothpaste tasted like cinnamon and tingled in all the right ways. That even after they started fucking and talking every week, Oli still wanted more, that he’d wanted Inigo to be exclusively his for reasons Inigo still couldn’t fathom. He imagined they were similar reasons to why Inigo couldn’t fathom the thought of Oliver suddenly up and leaving him now that Ares was likely silent and that their star written connection was now a muted whisper.  

Maybe it would be the last time Inigo would be able to lay here, cocooning his body in Oliver’s sheets and heady scent. He felt safe here, in the warmth and the dark, still with moments to spare before he knew for sure if Oliver would still want him. Inigo knew he wanted to stay with Oliver, even without Aphrodite pushing him towards the god of war, he still knew that even if they haven’t been official for very long, he would still be very fucking lost without the other.

Inigo could hear the doorknob jiggling, the sound that announced Oliver’s return, the sound he knew by heart. But he only shifted underneath his blanket fort, burying his head underneath Oli’s pillow.

[aresincarnated]

Oliver didn’t like being home late, not nearly two hours so and yet no food in hand, only a jumble of unfinished essays and a dead phone. He’d stressed so much from class to the train station to nearly running down Savannah’s streets, that fumbling with his keys nearly drove him insane. It looked like rain, and Inigo must be worried - the riots had died down, sure, but crazies still roamed the streets and Oliver’s name wasn’t too hot in the community...

Surprisingly, without dropping the keys another time, he managed his way inside to an eerily quiet house. Oli would assume Inigo had gone home, but his signature scent of roses and wine and pure pheromones still lingered, comfort on it’s own. So that meant one of two things: Inigo was either dead or ignoring Oliver, which the second seemed very unlikely, knowing him. 

A split second of panic blinded Oliver; he'd been worrying about getting home safely and now Inigo was probably dead in his apartment.

“Inigo? Are you okay?” He called, half-dropping, half-throwing his stuff on the table by the door. “If you’re dead I will be so fucking mad at you.”

Ares had been a way of checking up on his boyfriend, the god of war being as concerned about Aphrodite as his host was for Inigo - but his terrifying silence meant more than the loss of the only real guidance he’d ever had, it meant not ever really knowing (supernaturally, at the blink of an eye, anyway) if the god of love was okay, really okay. Even when Inigo had gotten a paper cut at work, Ares’ voice was like a siren in his mind; danger, danger, soulmate’s fucked themselves up. 

Now, there was nothing.

However, his bedroom was the first place Oliver checked, nearly ripping the door off its hinges in the process. No Inigo in sight only a tower of pillows wrapped in five or six blankets - something similar to what he and Jack had as children. “A blanket fort, really?” He sighed, relieved and angry that he’d been so afraid even for a moment. Oliver took a step forward, running his hands through his hair, and sat at the foot of the bed. The curled up ball of blankets in the middle was now recognizable as his dopey boyfriend, no doubt about that, and Oliver rolled his eyes at the sight. “What are you doing in there, Montoya?”

[eviebrxnnan-deactivated20160723]

fish out of water // kala+oliver

Waiting around did not suit Kala, it did not matter whether the wait lasted a handful of minutes or hours, she couldn’t stand to be idle. Her mind always seemed to be racing in those moments, bringing up unpleasant memories. Quietness and waiting were even more awful combinations and today she was dealing with both at once, as Hestia’s voice was silenced, usually the goddess would soothe her, reassure her. She truly was the mother figure, Kala had been lacking all her life and now she was gone. Or so it seemed. The brunette had woken up one day and gone through and entire morning without Hestia interjecting once and it had been alarming to say the least. The power she could do without, she was already using it sparsely but Hestia’s voice in her head, she did miss and more with each passing day.

It raised so many questions. Why? Was this temporary or not? What caused it? And again, why? Thankfully, Kala could count on work to keep her mind and hands busy for the upcoming months, if she could she thought she might spend all her time in the office. Outside, she felt like she had just stepped into a parallel universe, everyone in the south seemed to be so goddamn cheerful it was nauseating but upon closer inspection you found some of the folks here had some outdated beliefs. Of course not all the apples of that basket were rotten and for the most part everyone had been welcoming and pleasant. She had travelled quite a lot before and wasn’t a city girl, unaware of what life in a small town was like. She figured someone that naive, they would eat alive.

All in all, she’s been acclimating surprisingly well. Save for the parts of the day that don’t require her to look over plans or designs, she ate alone, went shopping alone and saddest of all frequented bars alone. And now here she was on a particularly slow line to get coffee she’d swallow more for sustenance than taste. Right before her in line was an old man, talking the bartender’s ear off about anything and everything. In the past five minutes, Kala had learned about his wife, health insurance and even his pet turtle and the man was still not done. She had a facade to maintain, needed to win over the town’s people if she wanted to score some contracts on the side but even the most patient had their limit and hers came in the form of tapping her foot repeatedly, the heel of her shoe making quite the noise. As the man turned towards her, looking affronted, she turned towards the other customers and throwing her arms up said. “The man is taking too long, you were all thinking it.”

[aresincarnated]

While some had the privilege to find solace in things as lonely as solitude and silence, Oliver had never been one of them; blasting music at three in the morning and leaving a TV on to babble incessantly as background noise became his weapon against the stillness of nighttime. His comforts didn’t lie in the dark and embarrassingly, Oli kept a lava lamp on at night. If anyone called it a night light, he’d automatically correct them. ‘Lava lamps are cool, night lights are not.’ Ares had never had a host afraid of such childish things, but he had realized this twenty-one years too late to make a change.

Of course, things became easier once Inigo (basically) moved in, padding feet and Lou Reed instead being the new sounds of home. Silence hadn’t been a problem in a long time, and with Aphrodite around, Ares was as vocal as ever. Voicing his opinions on everything from wall colors to lunch choices and shoes, especially people’s shoes. Oli didn’t mind so much; the voice was a welcome thing. Silence barely existed anymore.

But somehow, the war god had become lost, either that or he finally threw the towel in, sulking in the depths of Oliver’s headspace. He didn’t know which was a better outcome, but the week or so without his deity’s voice had made Oli weary and homesick for a home he didn’t realize he had, not until it was gone.

For the first time, he thought it strange to not hear voices in his head.

Now, most everything he did had to be loud and vibrant, distracting from the emptiness he felt. Not in any metaphorical sense, but the actual, living void in his mind that could only be filled with a violent god, Ares or perhaps Mars or Anhur or Mangala - Oliver was getting desperate. But today, the only distractions on the agenda were school and home, maybe a particularly violent movie fit to imitate what was missing.

But coffee seemed promising. Maybe the caffeine would draw a god out of hiding. However, one slow-ass Joe demanding a cuppa really seemed to hold up the line, people nearly trailing out the door in numbers of ten or twelve.

Oliver sighed. At least someone had the common sense to speak up about it.

“More like screaming it, but yeah, you got the gist.” He grinned. “Isn’t his coffee gonna get cold?”

[shahnazjan-blog-blog]

the bull by the horns (Oliver & Shahnaz)

[shahnazjan-blog-blog]

Her brother’s scream - the real, raw one of pain, not a battle cry - was like nothing on this earth or any other Athena had ever visited. The soldiers in the bar stirred, nervously clicking the safeties on their guns off. She felt their unease and said a silent prayer that they would stay inside.

It would have been a lie to say that she was unsatisfied with the aching in her fist and the growing bruise on her brother’s face. Her maneuver had worked according to plan; she had defended her honor. Ares’ vessel was bigger and stronger, but hardly a trained hand to hand combatant like Shahnaz. You never do think, not even about the mortal you’ll share a body with for decades, she mused to herself as he used that brute force to catch her wrist, Do you, brother?

The goddess met his eyes coolly. The sudden fury that had frozen Athena solid moments before was melting in slow drips. She did a staggering number of calculations of probable outcomes in less than a second, and concluded that the fight needed to end for the safety of the bystanders as much as for her vessel. She had made her point – at least, as much as one could make any point to Ares. Any more escalation and she would have to use Shahnaz’s Beretta to escape, and as much as her brother infuriated her, she hardly wanted him dead.

So Athena looked at her brother’s reddening, enraged face and let him hold her wrist painfully tight. “I never doubted that,” she said in a measured voice. “I hardly meant this to be a challenge of strength. I simply want you to understand that I am not one of your whores, Stormer of Cities. Do not touch me like one.”

[aresincarnated]

Her gall impressed him. Ares often forgot how defensive his sister was, how resourceful and violent she became when danger was thrust in her face. She had certain spark that he hated to admit that he loved about her. However, when used against him in such a dangerous way - and in times like these especially, the war god hated it more than anything. A weapon was admirable until used against him.

He spit onto the asphalt, blood and hatred and anger swirling with alcoholic breath. Blood shot eyes, shaking hands, heaving lungs. Oliver couldn’t be anymore like a Greek soldier, fully armored and bronzed of battle. Maybe this was a close to a war as he would ever come in his mortal life, but he took it as seriously as he knew Shahnaz did in her day. He respected her service, he did, but like Ares hated valuable weapons, he hated advantages any enemy held over him like pesky flies.

“You’re not on my level of whores.” He grinned. Truthfully, he found the statement humorous; he hadn’t anything close to a ‘whore’ in such a long time, Oliver and Ares wondered if someone had forgotten to study her enemy before she charged them (which, surprisingly, was a bad strategy to enforce, Pallas Athena). “I would never be with someone so vicious.” The god released his sister’s wrist. “Although hate fucks are the best kind.” A single, lowly wink, implying nothing except anger on her part.

[aresincarnated]

the dying of the fight - oliver & reagan

[msinister]

Before she had arrived in Savannah, Reagan hadn’t been alone since she was sixteen years old. Even when she had been camped out by herself, sitting on empty parking benches snacking on stolen gas station food, she hadn’t been alone. Eris had always been with her, the little devil that sat on her shoulder and whispered beautiful nothings in her ear. And the goddess certainly had a lot to say. She either wanted to cause chaos or start something, and if Reagan was unwilling to oblige her desires she would tell stories. Most of the time it was about her own accomplishments, but sometimes she would tell of how the Olympians had wronged her. She loved to hear her own voice.

Ever since she had arrived in Savannah, however, the goddess had fallen silent.

At first Reagan wondered if Eris was mad. Maybe she wasn’t moving along fast enough. Maybe she hadn’t caused enough trouble to appease the voice in her head. It didn’t matter what she had done, Eris had fallen silent and Reagan had no clue why. It wan’t like she could ask anyone about it either, she had no real friends in Savannah. Forget the ‘real’ part. Reagan had no friends in Savannah, but that was her own doing. She didn’t want anyone to bog her down or make her life anymore complicated than it already was.

It was all so strange. Eris wasn’t gone. Reagan could still feel her, feel the need to cause chaos. Without the goddess there to help her she hadn’t known where to go there, and Reagan had lost a bit of her purpose. She needed to do something, but everything seemed to take so much more effort than it had before. Somebody was tapping on her temple with an anvil, and while it was manageable it wouldn’t always be. She had taken to alternating between swearing at Eris and cursing her to begging for her to come back. Neither tactic had much success.

She wasn’t going anywhere in particular when she saw him. Reagan had a feeling that she knew him better than he knew her, because every time she saw him she saw his chariot in all of its awful, terrifying glory. That quote, the one from the Iliad, rang through her head. “Strife whose wrath is relentless, she is the sister and companion of murderous Ares, she who is only a little thing at the first, but thereafter grows until she strides on the earth with her head striking heaven.” That was the one. Eris loved that quote. It went on to describe her in finer detail, and Eris loved recognition.

“More or less.” Reagan nodded, slowly moving closer to this Ares incarnate. She couldn’t remember his name, but it didn’t matter. A part of her knew who he was. “It’s certainly way quieter than usual.”

[aresincarnated]

Ah, he knew her better now. Or, the ghost of wounded Ares did, silent as he was, he gave Oliver the heads up: This wild girl was none other than Eris herself, rebellious and free in her own sense of the word, a chaotic beauty. Ares had always been fond of such souls, and now the feelings trickled down to his host, as closed off and distant as he was. He felt an instant warmness in one glance, in one exchange of breaths. Oliver gave her a small grin.

“The only the I’m getting right now is that you’re a person of interest.” If Ares wasn’t crippled or restrained (still, for reasons unknown), Oliver was certain the Eris incarnate would be highlighted in neon, bold like city skylines. She was already dabbled in twinkling lights, their divine connection waiting to be read. Oli picked up the book, fingers trailing the pages.

Of course, they were still in the middle of a desolate grocery store, cold from the refrigerated isle, some pretentious Top 40′s hit as their background music, sadly. Not that that was an important concern - Oliver only cared about finding words to say that didn’t make him sound like a total creep.

The hand basket in his arms suddenly felt very heavy, although it only held a carton of eggs. “Um. Yeah. I don’t really know if you recognize me. Or if you can like, still hear your deity or whatever. But like, I’m Oliver. I uh, Ares. We’re one in the same.” He botched every word, for some maniacal reason, Oli’s stomach twisted into knots as he spoke. “Are you Eris?”

[aresincarnated]

the dying of the fight - oliver & daya

[iralmock-deactivated20161013]

The voice in her head had gone, gone away simply. One morning Daya had woken up and Chronos was but a faint echo that faded and faded until silence took its place. She didn’t know what had prompted the abrupt change, perhaps the God had decided on taking a small vacation, she wouldn’t be surprised after the veritable farce that had gone down the past few days, maybe he was giving her a break but then again she couldn’t quite picture Chronos as a coddling protective figure, not with her at least.

Whatever the reason, the voice was gone and the brunette could have cried with joy. While Chronos didn’t run interferences too often he still made a point of showing his disapproval of her actions at every turn, like a constant whisper of tsk tsk in her ear. Sometimes she thought the world was providing her with the judgmental and patronizing father figure that was thankfully so lacking with her own dad, like tipping the scales to reestablish cosmic order or some shit. She was well aware of how narcissistic the idea was but then again she had never claimed modesty as one of her qualities.

She had made her way to one of the town’s establishments that doubled as a bar and a restaurant. She was always in awe of the differences one could find between those places and regular run of the mill bars as if consuming alcohol should automatically be equated with shitty lighting, burly looking barkeepers and a permeating scent that was a mix between sweat, smoke and generic brand beer.

She’d been sitting at the counter, devouring a turkey burger and french fries and taking her sweet time with it too, watching the faces of all the people there. A total of ten other customers that made for ten fairly fascinating faces if you asked her and she had to stop herself from counting the freckles on a pretty redheaded woman lest she got caught. No one’s first impression should ever be reduced to creepy girl with a cold turkey burger in her hand, no matter how bored you were.

Just as she was ordering another iced tea, a voice sounded behind her or really next to her and she scanned the man’s face warily, furrowing her brows. He had spoken to her as if she was supposed to know who he was, as if they’d talked before. Almost like an old friend would greet her really and she found herself thinking the old age question, Did I fuck this guy? 

“Well it was but then you came along,” she said, smiling at the man one of those smiles that showed teeth but weren’t inviting or kind so much as they were predatory and sharp.

[aresincarnated]

Headaches amidst a mix of burning alcohol and charred food proved for a difficult mental atmosphere. Even if Ares could answer back, Oliver was certain he wouldn’t be able to concentrate with all this distraction. All the people. All the mortals, staring at him like they could tell what he was lacking - like they were mocking him with uneasy eyes and smug grins. The establishment had become a war zone, at least for Oli and the war god, or lack there of.

Truly, he had no ideas how he ended up here, in a sickeningly sticky bar/restaurant combo - Oliver could hardly stomach the idea of food right now, let alone be stuck with looking at plate upon plate. Even the familiar face, who was eyeing him back now, held a burger for show. Oliver swallowed harshly, feeling like puking right then and there; body in cold sweats and mind thundering. 

“Ha ha, sure. Not like I’m the only disturbance in this damn place,” As if on cue, someone in the back of the kitchens dropped a tray of something glass, the shattering heard from top to bottom. 

He knew that smile, the predatory, ambiguous huntress’ smile, barred teeth and eyes ready for a kill. Oli barely paid attention to it, honestly. He pulled the same grin at least three or four times a day - and better, too. You couldn’t scare the god of war (or lack there of). Returning the same putrid smile, Oli shook his head. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Another look at the girl’s face and a name came to him, popped into his head with a forceful thrust - something told him it was the last message from Ares, the only one he could muster. “Chronos. You’re fucking Chronos.”

[havcnflames]

Up In Flames // Haven & Oliver

[havcnflames]

Haven knew he heard Oliver extremely well, considering he was walking right next to him, despite all the noises the carnival concocted against them, he heard him loud and clear. Haven looked over at him, dark brows seeming to connect as a frown began to form. How did that happen? “Your boyfriend?” Haven had no problem, Haven loved the idea of Inigo moving on so Haven wouldn’t have to feel like he had a chance anymore. But Hephaestus, fighting for his voice that seemed to get lighter, and farther from Haven fought this revelation. Hephaestus was the frown on Haven’s face, not Haven. 

“Your boyfriend,” Haven repeated, tasting the sound of it on his tongue. Haven didn’t know how he felt, but he was able to completely ignore Hephaestus for the first time in his life – what was happening to the God? “Huh,” Haven hummed, still looking like he was dealing with the information rather than listening to it. Haven didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t seen Inigo since the crazy shit storm they had months ago. And that was full of feelings, and the past, and quite frankly shit Haven hadn’t wanted to talk about. “How’s that- situation?” Haven asked awkwardly. Something in him was jealous? Spiteful? Still angry, maybe. And it wasn’t Hephaestus. 

But he began to form a thought, “how long have y’all been together?”

[aresincarnated]

The sudden frown on Haven’s face brought Oliver an undeniable satisfaction. His apparent shock over Inigo’s new-found relationship status was yet the icing on the cake - Oli briefly wondered if he was jealous. 

“Yes...twice. Inigo is my boyfriend. As in, we’re dating.” He said it with surprisingly little mockery, Oliver really believed that Haven was honestly going over it in his head. What a shocker, you tried to murder your ex-fiance’s new boyfriend, and you find this out in the midst of a fucking carnival. "Mhm.” He agreed. It was a little strange, looking at Haven and his hands and his arms and his fucking mouth, imagining them all over Inigo and what they’d done, and suddenly Oli realized that this was the equivalent of swallowing fire.

“How’s it going, huh.” He paused, running shaky hands through his hair. “It’s good. Happy as can be. He just moved in last month.” Oli was lying through his teeth, but he believed in the power of a good poker face. “Did you meet his mother? Superb woman. Cooks like a queen.” He flashed an arrogant grin.

He shrugged. “Oh, you know. Awhile...year or two, maybe.”

[aresincarnated]

stained - oliver & inigo

[inigoarmistead]

Keep reading

[aresincarnated]

Every time Inigo fell into his bed, Oliver wondered if the sex was this good because of Ares and Aphrodite, Inigo’s irrevocable heady lust, or god fucking forbid, love. He could hardly understand it for himself, love, how he could be so caught up on it and considering saying those dreaded words this early into the relationship (hardly an hour now, although he’d lost track of how long he’d be entangled in the other’s presence and arms equally, so maybe that was grounds for such a fucking revelation). Oliver briefly wondered, and not for the first time, if Inigo was secretly using his powers on him.

Either way, with or without, he was intoxicating.

Gods bless Inigo’s dirty talk. While the god of love daily gave thanks, loud and obnoxious thanks, for Oli’s ‘garden hose of a cock’, he praised the heavens for Inigo’s filthy words and other-worldly ass (seriously, Oliver had never been so possessive over someone’s rear-end before) and the way he moved so goddamn suggestively and fuck. “Tell me again. Tell me how fucking good I am.” He breathed, the merciful speed he began with increasing to pound into Inigo. 

Oliver loved seeing his boyfriend this way, hot and moaning and a little incoherent, bending in pleasure and panting with anticipation. If the idea of having sex wasn’t incentive enough, Inigo’s reaction was the golden apple in the bunch. Even Oli’s hands, stroking the other so tantalizingly, became greedier, matching each thrust with intensity. “Moan for daddy, then. I want to hear how much you want me.”

[jackprouvaire-blog]

Vocal Ink | Jack & Oli

[jackprouvaire-blog]

Nothing came without a price. If there was anything that old Grandpa Prouvaire had told a young Jacqueline Prouvaire that stuck with them into their teenage years, it was that. Nothing came free. No matter how good the thief, how smart the play, the ball was always due to drop. And damn, didn’t they realize that too soon. At age 13 when Oli whispered to them about his dream of a God of War. At age 16 when they had their own dream, how skeptical they were until they felt the too good pull of a God within them.

But the other ball was due to drop.

The pull away from the boy they had sworn was it for them. The slow realization of the other gods. Of Aphrodite and Inigo. The sudden slap in the face that all those childhood promises and whispers and promises were nothing more than just. The past. Old things being revived for the sake of it. Old words repeated with old smiles and the whispered reassurances that this could be enough.

It wasn’t enough. It’s never enough.

Jack wasn’t as stupid as people liked to think. Not as unobservant and careless as their teachers and neighbors liked to say. They knew when their best friend and self proclaimed soulmate had trailed away and fallen in love. And they knew, it was not just Ares going back to Aphrodite. It was Oli looking at Inigo and feeling love and belonging. It was Hermes scoffing at their heart. It was Jack frowning and turning their cheek away enough to try and convince themselves otherwise.

“What would you even do without me, Lennon?” They smirked, leaning in closer to the older boy. “Would you write me an old Georgia love song?” No. He’d be perfectly fine without you. Shut the fuck up. What? It’s true. You know it too or else you wouldn’t have thought it first.

“Did I now? And what did you wear? Nothing but your boxers? Or flat out fucking naked?” Sometimes, the older people around town would stop Jack and tell them how lucky they are to have Oli. How sweet the two of them are, a pair of Southern sweethearts in a fucking fairytale. Sometimes they’d ask about houses and jobs and kids, always looking meaningfully down at Jack’s stomach when they did. It made them laugh, playing along. They sometimes lost themselves in it. The idea of really living in the life they talked about in the back of Oli’s pick up truck. It sounded like a dream.

They blinked at the shift in demeanor, giving Oli a smile that was a ghost of the smiles grade school teachers gave to the kids who took a little longer to understand the step by step instructions of how to make a card. “Because it’s true. You wouldn’t be able to leave him behind. But you would hate yourself too much to cheat on me. It’s simple.”

[aresincarnated]

When Oli was sixteen and Jack was still dragging three years behind (an age difference that he was more than often teased about, ‘Oliver likes little girls’ and ‘Lennon can’t fuck anyone his age’), the dream that presented his destiny had opened his eyes to a lot of things, but never the possibility that Aphrodite, a real star-written soulmate, could be out there. It seemed too far fetched for a boy who’d grown up so widely, deeply hated, minus a single anomaly. So Oliver assumed he was the lone incarnate, and he and Jack continued to weave happy stories of I do.

Their dream had been the first step in the elephant in the room; the slow-growing rift between them and Oli. When Jack spat out that Hermes had worked his way into their soul, the realization that they couldn’t be the only ones had slowly dawned on him. If Hermes and Ares were festering inside two small town fucks, who’s to say there aren’t more of them? Zeus and Hera, Artemis and Apollo. 

And Aphrodite, of course. If Ares was reborn, she had to be, too.

The second he met her (or rather, him, as Inigo was recognizable as Aphrodite before he ever spoke a word with doe eyes and wispy curls of hair and miles of legs) Oliver nearly fell head over heels, not even minding that they were in a sleazy bar with blaring rap music and puke on the floor, as Ares was unable to focus on anything except his divine love. And it took maybe four minutes for Oli to get Inigo pressed up against a bathroom stall.

It was a secret he kept from Jack for a really long time, ashamed that he’d felt like that for someone else, although the pair decided long ago that they weren’t anything official, despite all the plans for the future they’d harbored in their hearts. Technically, Oli hadn’t done anything wrong, and yet, he felt sick looking at Jack after being inside someone else.

“What would I do without you...” he sighed dramatically. “Well, the apartment would probably be disgusting, I’d be wearing the same shirt for three weeks, and my entire internet history would be filled with porn. I’d be a mess, basically.” Oli squeezed their hand. He didn’t like imagining life without Jack, even jokingly. Get used to it, Ares grumbled, You know damn well that this shit can’t last forever.

He laughed. While Oli was a fan of sleeping naked, the wedding he’d dreamed about was perfectly traditional in every way, minus Jack’s ducky pajamas. “No, no. I wore a suit and tie, just like the one I wore to church when we were kids. Way too big in the shoulders but the pants were too short - totally could see my ankles.” Even in those days, in their childhood together, the entire town expected the pair to grow up, get married. Most assumed it’d be a shot gun wedding, or they’d say fuck it and elope, or perhaps they’d never get married at all. Perhaps they’d live their joint lives, sharing everything except a last name. The elders of Savannah still liked to speculate. 

Oli decided he didn’t like the look that Jack gave him. Do they pity me? “No - no. I love you, and-and..” He pushed the chair out from beneath him, standing up abruptly. “How could that be simple? How could you say this is simple?” His eye caught the waitress, finally back with their food. He shot her one look that sent her scampering back to the kitchen, Oliver left to tower above their table, heavy breathing and suddenly very angry. “Simple isn’t in my fucking vocabulary.”

[havcnflames]

Up In Flames // Haven & Oliver

[havcnflames]

Haven couldn’t help the laugh that forced it’s way through his lips. How was it that he was good at getting the God of pissing people off, unofficially, pissed off? It was entertaining to watch – maybe he could relate to why the younger lad liked to do it. But they definitely were treading dangerous waters because like previously stated, Oliver was the God of pissing people off. Haven knew he could do it with the snap of his finger, and Haven was trying to avoid conflict with the guy, not be more of a catalyst to it. 

Haven looked over at Oliver’s face – the pure fondness he had on it for this person named Jack. Must have been some pretty special friend to get Oliver so quick to smile about him, Haven doesn’t think he had seen one grin from the boy since he had met him, but that may be because he was around. Haven couldn’t blame him, could he? Because he was programmed to feel the same way. “Yeah, that is pretty cool. Get to see the world rather than just drown in it, I think,” Haven said, it held a deep meaning to him, but it may not reach the depths of little old Oliver’s heart. Not like Haven was trying to though, he shrugged the quote off like it was just words leaving his lips, digging his hands in his pockets. 

Haven looked over at Oliver once again, and licked his lips, squinting at the boy beside him. He debated lying because quite frankly he never wanted to admit he had ever had an intense adult relationship with a man when he was in fact straight, 100% heterosexual, but since he’d matured since then, he had realized it is what it is. There’s nothing he could do change facts, and the truth. He shrugged, “I used to be in a relationship with him – long story, complicated as fuck, and weirder than anything I’ve ever endured in my life. And I’ve been through some weird things, mate.” He expressed, his eyes going big as certain words emphasized, but he figured that would have been enough to know it was a sticky situation. He quirked a brow, looking over the guy, “how do you know him?”

[aresincarnated]

For a moment, Oliver couldn’t tell if it was Ares’ influence or his own mind that was imagining his fist driven into Haven’s nose.

But he decided that violent impulses that belonged to the war god - Oli had no interest in starting something (yet again) with the other, and especially not with quite literally thousands of people slipping by, each expecting a carnival, not a blood bath. A single second of lost control could result in a third world war; Oliver tightened the lid over Ares and breathed, collecting his own thoughts. He and the deity - they were separate beings, and Oli had a particularly bad habit of forgetting that.

Get to see the world rather than drown in it.

Oliver lingered on Haven for a minute, really looking at him, from head to toe. He probably assumed that someone like Oli would let a comment like that fly over his head (and normally, it would, but this...vulnerability with a near stranger that totally tried to kill him had a way of breaking down his cold walls). The need to say something just as heavy and foreboding was there for Oliver, but he’d never been any good at regular words, and quotes like that came even less naturally. He settled for a nod.

The story that Haven (obviously somewhat ashamedly) weaved was too familiar for comfort. Inigo had talked about a past relationship before, something Oliver could only assume was too painful to talk much about, as he knew virtually no details. ‘There was an infidelity,’ was all the love god could manage before choking up; Oli vowed to kill he whoever fucked Inigo over in that moment. A different kind of anger began to heat up in his skin when he looked at Haven once more, starting to put the pieces all together. “Uh,” Oliver paused, turning to dab out his fuming cigarette, his face matching nicotine embers, “He’s my boyfriend.”