not all love is gentle

I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.

[hush-lullabye-deactivated201908]

So a Greek mythology headcanon where Aphrodite can appear either male or female, and she looks like a really fucking sexy guy to gay dudes because that’s who they find attractive And some Greek bro is out with his buddies when she shows up and he’s all “Wow look at how ripped this dude is no homo” and his buddies are all “What the fuck man that’s a beautiful lady” and that’s how he finds out he’s hella gay

[herpowerisherown]

OMG you just opened a door to some amazing head canons How do you see Aphrodite if you’re ace, aro, Demi, pan, bi???

[c0ffeekitten]

I bet if you’re bi/ pan, she shifts between genders.

If you’re ace, instead of looking super hot, she looks pretty ordinary, but still aesthetically pleasing, and she has a very kind face and a sweet voice and intelligent eyes. So, romantically appealing.

If you’re demi then she starts off at regular pretty level, but gets steadily hotter as you fall for her.

If you’re aro-ace, she’s invisible (and it pisses her off SO MUCH but she can’t do anything about it).

[megphail]

As an aro ace I strongly approve of this unique opportunity to piss off a Greek god without being murdered or getting turned into a tree or some shit

[lightofhart-blog]

coming rains | Apollo & Aphrodite

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.”

[inigoarmistead]

It had been nine long years since the start of the bloodshed, since Paris awarded Aphrodite with the golden apple and claimed her to be the fairest goddess among goddesses. And she had not been ignorant to the climbing fury of Athena and Hera in the subsequent aftermath. Surely the poets would sing of how the goddess of love and beauty caused the Trojan War, a fact at which she turned her nose up even at some of the other gods’ mockery and blame. 

Blame the noble softness of man, for power and the promise of a throne would never hold against the promise of beauty and love. Some may find it a cloying poem, but only because they did not like to be reminded of how perfectly fragile man was. Love was the blood in every legend - it ruined heroes and gods alike without discrimination, the real, true equalizer. 

Underestimate Kypris with great consequence.

Although Aphrodite seldom involved herself directly with warfare in the past nine years, she was never far from where the tension was thickest. Where it concerned Paris and Helen, mostly - Paris was not an exemplary warrior in the way Odysseus was, and the more he fell into her favor, the more she felt responsible towards his well being. Helen as well, for it was no one’s fault she came to be the most beautiful mortal woman and it was partially Aphrodite’s that this war started over her. 

Aphrodite found Apollo firing off his arrows of pestilence, and she made her way towards him, her usual coterie of cherubs and kin absent for the time-being. Her interest was piqued, for Apollo sympathized with the Trojans, as well, and she had heard word of Agememnon’s blasphemy. Famine was devastating in war, and Aphrodite was at once pleased with this development and nauseated at the thought of corpses strewn across a valley, ravaged from disease and sickness. What has she to do with the ugly side of war? 

“It is as if Agememnon himself wished for a scourge. He has, in a way. How many times has a human’s hubris bring their ruin?” she said, voice sweet as honey, and she cast Apollo a smile that was just as saccharine. A glance spared to the Achaeans before she turned back to the god, repelled. “I haven’t the need to witness such a plague - I only was curious as to whether it was doing as it should. Even demigods and heroes cannot conquer a city with weakened soldiers, certainly not a city whose walls were built by Apollo himself.” 

[inigoarmistead]

our love is an old love | inigo & oliver

[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]

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.”

[havcnflames]

glad you came // haven & inigo

[havcnflames]

“I don’t know why you would think either would be better, Inigo. You should have just told me the truth, and the rest would have worked out on it’s own. It’s because of your ‘choices’ that you got yourself into a mess in the first place, and your ‘choices’ that ended up hurting us both. I get it, I get you didn’t want me to think of you as selfish, or whatever. But what about how I felt? I’m no victim, but you should have just talked to me – told me what you were feeling and I would have helped you fix it,” Haven argued, but with the same soft tone, yet a small spark of hidden aggression because why did Inigo think he knew what the best was for both of them? Had it been Haven? He wouldn’t have chose either of those, and he would have gotten through things with Inigo. “Because in the end I never would have hated you. I loved you. I love you,” Haven supplied, getting his point across that he still felt these things, and they were very real. He was convinced that despite what Inigo thought he did, it had worn off, and real feelings were left bubbling at the surface. 

Haven eventually turned to Inigo completely, listening to the words he spoke and so far, Haven completely disagreed. Haven shook his head, his jaw clenching as he heard Inigo make accusation of what Haven feels  – again. How would he ever know how it feels? “I’m not under any fucking spell, Inigo. Stop saying that,” Haven snapped, his fists balling almost involuntarily because he was so focused on the words Inigo shouldn’t have said, “how can you tell me what I feel? Yes! You may have put some kind of voodoo shit on me at first, that’s your bad – I get it. But had it not crossed your fucking mind that it’d wear off? That I’m not just doing it because I was enchanted to? Inigo,” Haven began, and threw part of his self control out the window.

He scooted closer to Inigo to where their legs touched, and held the other man’s hands in between his own, looking into his eyes, figuring he could get through to him better that way, “think about who we have inside of us. Aphrodite, and Hephaestus. Have you never not once looked them up, just to see what kind of relationship they may have had? I knew I was meant to be with you from day one – I used to fight it. Because I wasn’t gay, and I knew I wasn’t into guys, but I couldn’t explain what it was about you. Not to myself, and I didn’t want to. But I found myself drawn to you. I remember thinking ‘look at this little sophomore, walking around like he owned the place’, and you didn’t even know me, but now that I know what it is, it felt like I had been in love with you for centuries. This was before we even met, so you can’t tell me that your freaky powers did that to me too. So tell me again that my feelings for you aren’t real, and never was. I dare you.” 

[inigoarmistead]

Even with Haven’s tone as gentle as it was, Inigo could feel his chest tighten at his words. Haven wasn’t wrong, no, his logic was completely reasonable and sound and Inigo was sure they could have avoided all of this had he thought things through at the time. “I get it, I’m an idiot,” he snapped, bright, reddened eyes narrowing at the other man, but his voice was more weary than venomous. “I’ve never been smart or emotionally mature and I’m not trying to say that makes it better but... I’m only human, and I was fucking fifteen and a child who didn’t know anything about anything. I wanted you! I was selfish and I know I ruined everything and however misguided you thought I was when we ended, I thought it was the only way to make things a little better.” Inigo exhaled heavily and went to rub his face with his hands, but froze when Haven spoke. 

I love you. “That’s not fair,” he muttered through long fingers. Haven was supposed to hate him, it was what made this work for so long. For so long Inigo had had peace of mind knowing Haven saw him for what he really was and rightfully kept away. To know that he wasn’t hated, not even when it was deserved, knowing that Haven in his generosity might have forgiven him a long time ago, it broke something in him he didn’t know existed. The rest of what Haven said passed him by vaguely - Inigo really didn’t know anything about his power, didn’t know if it could actually wear off. A part of him adamantly insisted that this was all something someone under a divine infatuation would say to convince the object of their affections that it was all real, but then again, how could he know that for certain?

It was only when Haven scooted closer did Inigo snap back to the present with a startled jump, certainly not expecting the other man to take his hands. He froze, unable to comprehend or do much of anything but meet fervent brown eyes with his own. Inigo never thought he’d be this close to Haven again, and for sure never thought the other man would speak to him in any way that wasn’t weighted with bitterness, much less speak to him at once gently and passionately “I knew they were married,” Inigo stuttered. He also knew when it came to Haven, Aphrodite always fell silent. Neither pushing Inigo towards him nor pulling him away. 

Inigo couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged his lips when Haven spoke of his younger, more arrogant self - most days it hurt to think of their early days together, and he was infinitely glad when it didn’t. But it left as quickly as it came the more Haven talked, and he imagined the pull the other boy must have felt towards him before Inigo even thought to use his power, how even if things were in shambles now, there was and would always be that link that bonded them. It was a comforting thought.

“You were disgusted by me --you rejected me,” Inigo breathed in disbelief.  “You never told me you felt that way about me before we met, I always thought you thought I was a nuisance, a cocky little brat.” Haven’s fervor was starting to affect him, at once overwhelming him and comforting him and filling him with a warmth he hadn’t realized he’d wanted. Fuck, he didn’t think that he’d wanted this closeness again - not necessarily for them to be romantic, but he’d truly fallen in love with Haven as a person when they were together. As much as he pretended it didn’t, it fucking hurt knowing Haven hated him. 

“I won’t,” he finally choked out, lowering his head onto their entangled hands, chestnut hair hiding wet eyes. “I won’t try to anymore. I’m so sorry, Haven, I mean it. I don’t want to be petty with you anymore and I don’t want to argue. You don’t have to forgive me, but I just don’t want you to hate me - and I have no right to say that, I know, but I don’t really give a shit.” Inigo snuffled when he twisted his body - he’d nearly forgotten he’d twisted his ankle. He probably looked so pathetic. 

[okayodysseus]

beauty, beauty, beauty; the tales of aphrodite

[aresincarnated]

stained - oliver & inigo

[aresincarnated]

Keep reading

[inigoarmistead]

The harder Oli drove into Inigo the louder the god of love became, his breathy sighs growing into needy moans and half finished words that the neighbors surely had heard often enough to know by heart. Inigo was terrible at keeping his voice down, but the way it seemed to spur Oli on didn’t give him much incentive to keep it down. Their exhibitionist adventures were hardly ever subtle (as if the bathroom stall rattling on its own hinges or the sound of flesh on flesh on a car hood would ever be), but neither were they. 

They were loud and fucking passionate and had their own share of flaws and shit they weren’t proud of, but somehow their respective sins and twistedness complemented each other. A languid kiss, a tender touch, and some sweet words were all Inigo needed to bring Oli down from his temper oftentimes, and despite claiming to be terrible with words, Oli seemed to know exactly what to say to brush off any securities Inigo might have about himself. About them.  

But Inigo had always thought Oli was good with words. Sonnets and Shakespeare did shit for him, but when Oli was buried deep inside of him, throbbing and breathing hushed promises of the filth and debauchery he would wrought unto Inigo into his ear, Inigo swore he’d blacked out once for a few seconds from that alone. He couldn’t help but do as Oli demanded, moaning things like, “So fucking good,” his voice punctuated by the slam of each thrust, and, “Oh my god, harder, I can’t -” and then mumbling something even he doesn’t know is supposed to mean. Every time, this happens, every time Oli fucks him, Inigo becomes an incoherent, brainless idiot whose only thought it just to get fucked.

Oliver’s words earn an especially loud and appreciative moan from Inigo, louder than the headboard slamming into the wall. The god of war’s cock kept hitting that spot perfectly with every thrust, and Inigo barely has enough consciousness in him to twist his body around so that he can grab the back of Oliver’s head. He leaned back, catching swollen lips in between his own, sucking and nipping, and breathed into Oliver’s mouth, “Tell me you’re mine.”

[cantsleepcuzmybedsonfire]

Oui oui

[inigoarmistead]

are you there? | inigo & aidan

[hadesrexinferni]

At the apology, Aidan shrugged, hand to his cheek to stop the light flow of blood that dripped from the wound. It wasn’t terrible, or life threatening, and it would certainly scar. Maybe he’ll be like the cool kids? Yeah, right – he’ll still be the freak he’s always been. Just with a scar on his face and a scar on his belly. He dismissed the apology with a mere wave of his hand, not bothering to really say anything more on the matter.

What was done was done, and that’s all there was to it. He hated the softness he had for his godly family, hated that he felt the need to protect them when they were in danger. Aidan was positive he’d regret it if he didn’t intervene (however, if it came down to Kyle, well, that was a different matter), and he’s sure that, in another life, that god in question would want to get back at him for not doing anything to protect them. So, in a way, he was protecting himself. 

 However, all thought of feeling the need to be protective melted away when Inigo nosed about; granted, Aidan wasn’t the best at hiding his pain, but he wasn’t about to admit that out loud, so projecting that irritation onto Inigo was the next best thing, “Nothing. I moved wrong when the asshole attacked.” Defensive, nice going. It’s not like the kid will pick up on that or anything. “I’m fine.” Aidan pulled back, hand up in a defensive position after he pushed back Inigo’s hand.

[inigoarmistead]

Inigo had always been a sensitive boy. He never had the stomach for violence or blood, which he was sure came from Aphrodite’s influence, and had managed to evade any physical conflict up until now. It was a miracle, considering how quick he was to come up with a crass retort, but he found it just as easy to diffuse a tense situation. 

Still, blood. He hated it. He hated pain. He hated seeing others in pain. If Aidan was in pain he was rather good at hiding it, but the blood dripping down his chin and the way he held his side betrayed him. Inigo almost went faint at the sight. The other man had saved his life, at the very least he could keep himself together and not faint like a Southern fucking belle long enough to see if Aidan needed patching up. But when Aidan pulled away when Inigo reached out, green eyes narrowed and his lips jutted out in a sulking pout.

He was seldom denied in general, certainly not when he was just trying to help (and he rarely went out of his way to help just anybody, which somehow added some subtle irony to the situation). His panic subsided for a brief moment in favor of his pride, and he shoved his shaking hands in his pockets, far from Aidan’s eyes. “Somehow that line’s not so convincing when you’ve got a deep fucking gash running down the side of your face,” Inigo said, voice hoarse. He brought his arms back up to cross in front of his chest. “I was only wanting to be sure you wouldn’t bleed to death on the street.” A pause and a heavy, shaky sigh, as he forced himself not to fall into the same behavior that nearly got him killed not even a minute ago. “You’re not fine - if you won’t let me prove it, then check for yourself.”

[inigoarmistead]

modern greek gods

zeus: spoiled rich kid that gets away with everything

poseidon: surfer dude

hades: just a simple banker trying to live his simple life

hera: suburban wine mom

apollo: stoner that plays wonderwall in a college campus quad

artemis: hardcore feminist and queer activist

dionysus: philosopher by day, hardcore partier by night

hestia: your grandma

aphrodite: tyra banks

ares: overly aggressive gamergate dudebro

hephaestus: under appreciated i.t. employee who fixes everything, probably actually the xkit guy

hermes: that one asshole who's always on his bluetooth

athena: hermione

demeter: little old lady who runs an organic produce stand at your local farmer's market but could 11/10 kick your ass

[inigoarmistead]

our love is an old love | inigo & oliver

[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.”

[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.”

[cantsleepcuzmybedsonfire]

[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?”

[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.”

[jeanbaptistemaunierlove]

[havcnflames]

past para // not-so-nice to meet you | inigo & haven

It wasn’t his study hall, but without a care in the world, Haven skipped this period just to finish the painting he had started in Art yesterday. Art was his favorite class for several obvious reasons, but mostly because of the fact that the other kids in his class ( with the exception of a few ) didn’t take it seriously, and neither did the teacher so it was mostly up to him to decide what he wanted to do. Sometimes, he’d link up with Destiny in this period and coordinate paintings with her to have some kind of structure going on – and she was amazing at painting as well, better than he was at least ( his strong suit was drawing with plain ole’ lead ). 

Point is, he is no longer doing that anymore because after months and months of sharing the same class without any real signs of curriculum or arrangement, some things lead to another, and somehow they ended up together. I mean why not? She was beautiful, with the curliest hair he had ever seen and a nice caramel tone to her skin. Not to mention her ass was the perfect size – big, but not too big, and her face was definitely easy on the eyes. She was possessive though, and Haven could not do possessive, no matter how pure her intentions were. Following this revelation, she was fucking crazy, and would get upset with him for the simplest things. He couldn’t deal with that, and it’s even worse that she hid these traits under a lot of excellent ones. 

They broke up, and he no longer had a buddy in art because of how much she hated his guts at this point – couldn’t step foot in the same class as her at all to make matters worse. She was a lunatic hiding behind a gentle face. These women out here is deceitful now’a’days. He also wasn’t going to get hit by some flying paint palette because she didn’t feel like staring at his “little smug face” anymore. So, he opted this period ( which again was not his study hall ) to paint for his own recreation. 

The classroom he spent a lot of his time in was empty, and was toward the back of the school, and no one rarely came back here other than the janitor sometimes to either take the trash out or turn off the lights because he thought no one was in here. He remembered a music class occupying it once, maybe when he was a freshman, but now it was barely even a storage closet. It didn’t exist, so he put use to it. It had a great view of outside due to the canvas windows he often sat next to with his easel, and it seemed to be soundproof, meaning the sound of rambunctious and obnoxious teens often can’t be heard, to his pleasure, but for once in the long time he’d been coming here, someone had found his hideout. Damn. 

Glancing over to the door as it creaked under the stress of being opened, he waited for the person who was entering to appear, almost positive it was Mr.Matthews and his sole purpose of bothering Haven until the moment he graduated from this torture chamber called school, he was close enough anyway, being a senior. “Listen, I’m not going to Chemistry so you might as well save the extra shit and call my Aunt now-” Well, at least it wasn’t Mr.Matthews.  

[inigoarmistead]

Beautiful boy. The words were on the tip of Mr. Lawrence’s tongue, reverent and hushed, his fingers grazing the skin of Inigo’s cheeks. The hallway was empty, all the students in their appropriate classrooms, and Inigo was skipping class for what was hardly the first or last time. Mr. Lawrence often joined him at times when he didn’t have a class to teach, meeting him out by the lockers where any student going to the bathroom could see (and some have). It was so unlike his students’ perception of him - strict, clinical, unemotional, so unwilling to compromise or become affected by sob stories and excuses. But here he was, his glasses fogged up, his trembling lips inches away from Inigo’s, knowing very well what messing around with  Inigo could do to his career but wants it anyway.

Inigo had always like the way he looked. Mr. Lawrence was tall, young, and bespectacled, and he relished watching that cold veneer melt underneath his fingertips. It made him feel powerful, and he liked feeling powerful - for someone who wasn’t particularly athletic or scholarly or talented, it was a heady, addicting feeling. It felt even better when Inigo sat in his very class, his lips curling into a smile when Mr. Lawrence kept his eyes trained to the board, unable to even meet the boy’s eyes from the crippling shame. A child, his own student. But he couldn’t resist, he never did.

Inigo grinned up at the older man, sweet and coy, and he ran thin fingers down the front of Lawrence’s shirt. Without even saying anything Inigo knew the answer would be yes. 

The classroom Inigo loved to frequent was in the back of school, practically abandoned and full of dust, but no one ever barged in, student or teacher. Mr. Lawrence trailed behind him, growing bolder by the moment and pressing hot kisses into his neck. 

“Patience,” Inigo grinned. He opened the door slightly, freezing at the sight of someone who had yet to notice him - Haven. He’d recognize the name anywhere. Along with being very handsome, the older boy had a cryptic and dark reputation that Inigo couldn’t resist asking about every time his name came up among his group of pretty little delinquents. He quickly shut the door, turning back to Mr. Lawrence with a feigned expression of panic. 

“I think they saw us,” he hissed. “You have to go!” Lawrence’ face paled and he immediately turned on his heel to leave. Inigo turned back to the door with a satisfied smirk. Adults were too easy. He turned the door handle, swinging it open slowly as he lifted his chin at the sight of Haven’s back.

“Now why would I ask you to slink off to Chemistry when I’ve already got you here?” he said. Red lips lifted into a grin. 

[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.

[inigoarmistead]

are you there? | inigo & aidan

[hadesrexinferni]

This man in question seemed to be a little off his rocker, unpredictable, and that was dangerous, especially since Aidan couldn’t just strangle the man or suffocate him in shadows. He was powerless – not to mention his still healing wound. He knew he did a good job stitching himself up, but there was always something that could fuck it all up. And this man was surely it.

Fucking great.

The man continued to speak, but Aidan wasn’t paying much attention; it was all stupidity anyway, so what was the point? He just focused on the man’s movements, brows furrowed down and body on alert. He knew people, knew how they acted. Aidan may dislike man kind as a whole, but that didn’t mean he didn’t people watch. He learned while observing, a strong talent of his, and what he learned from this man was that he was dangerous. This wasn’t going to end well.

The threat was becoming agitated, it was obvious, and he looked threatened (how the tables have turned). This wasn’t good. Aidan’s body went tense, rigid, as he watched with bated breath, almost as if it were in slow motion. The man’s shoulder raised, his arm following suit, and hand flicked forward. He had a knife – at least it wasn’t a gun like the last time, right?

Why was he the target? Why hadn’t the man thrown the knife at Inigo? Why was he always the brunt of everyone’s problem? God damn it. The knife hadn’t been thrown hard enough to lodge itself in Aidan’s flesh, but the way the weapon was tossed, as sloppy as it was, didn’t go without bloodshed. 

With one arm, Aidan held Inigo from leaping any further, causing his middle half to stretch forward (no doubt breaking a few stitches) but the motion left him to block the knife slower than he had initially wanted, leaving him with a long tear in his left cheek. It ran from his cheekbone to his ear, but it didn’t feel too deep, at least not that he thought. However, he did feel the trickle of blood run down his cheek and chin – he sighed to himself once he heard the clatter of the knife on the ground and held at his side, worried he might have done more damage than he thought.

“God fucking damn it..”

[inigoarmistead]

Inigo choked out a gasp when something jerked him back from diving too close to the knife, and only when he saw the blood dripping did he realize the arm against his stomach was Aidan’s. The sight of red seized at something in the pit of stomach. Perhaps panic, perhaps the guilt of knowing that the other man was hurt trying to protect him, he wasn’t sure. “Holy shit, Aidan. I’m so sorry,” Inigo gasped, gazing at the cut with wide eyes. His breathing came in and out fast.

It didn’t look horribly deep, but it looked like it hurt, and it would likely be a scar that wouldn’t have been otherwise had Aidan not intervened. And Inigo would probably be in a ditch somewhere had it not been for him - for that the boy was grateful. Aidan looked aggravated, understandably so, and apprehension struck Inigo as he drew closer, watching the other man’s face carefully for any signs of extreme pain. Or extreme anger. The god of the underworld had an intimidating air about him that affected Inigo more potently now that he already  felt completely helpless.

“Thank you,” Inigo breathed, voice strained with sincerity and residual tension. What else could he say to the man who got cut protecting him? It was too little for Inigo’s liking, but he couldn’t possibly think of anything else to say to convey his gratitude. Green eyes trailed to where Aidan held his side and his lips parted in wordless confusion. "What’s wrong? What happened there?” A hand came up to tug slightly at Aidan’s coat, urging. 

[jeanbxptiste]

Jean-Baptiste Maunier par Alice Jacquemin

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