Ares & Hermes

The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. — Thomas Paine

[invictusxartem]

ofproseandmusing:

Had there been something, anything she could do to fix this for him she would have done it; There was no price she wouldn’t have paid when it came to seeing her son like so, seeing him at near loss for words and gaze fixed to the floor as if she had chastised him, speaking quietly as if he were wrong.

Her reaction hadn’t been made with the intention of hurting him, that was the last thing she wanted, and yet, apparently she had managed that with nothing more than the expression of her grief. To that end, she resolved to keep a firmer hand on it, on her herself because circumstances were bad enough. She didn’t need to add more.

And yet, she still sought absolution, and he provided though she didn’t know what the cost was for a boy, for a god who held war in his veins and ran wild in ways that reminded her of the god who had helped her create him. She figured there had to be one, and wasn’t surprised to hear it burst from him in one word, a singular utterance: stop. 

Lukas could try to cover it with other words, add more to the sentiment to try and smooth things over, but she knew her son and she knew the utterance for what it was: a plea for it to end ( though whether the it was the nightmare of circumstances or her apologies, she couldn’t quite tell ). It broke her heart in the way only a desperately unhappy child could break their mother’s heart and yet before she could even do anything more than feel the sentiment, he walked away from her, heading toward the kitchen. 

The feeling perpetuated regardless, but all the same, she nearly smiled; Her son was war and bloodshed and so many things but none of them prevented him from a certain softness, something she liked to think came from her, though realistically she knew it likely stemmed from something all his own. She watched him go for a moment, before following after him, oddly grateful for the firmness with which he spoke and the way it gave direction. 

It reminded her of herself as she could be, as she needed to be. She was hurting, but she was his mother and she was going to act like it.

“Tea’s on the top shelf, sweetheart,” she murmured softly, as she watched him struggle to find what he sought. “Other side.” As he adjusted, she turned away to fill the electric kettle that often rested on her kitchen counter, plugging the device back in and flipping it on. 

When he turned back to her though, she made sure to fix him with a steady glance because she wanted to ensure he heard her. “Now listen to me. We’ll have tea because it’s been much too long since you’ve been to see me, but you do not need to take care of me. Do you hear me? I will manage.”

Lukas knew better than to argue with his mother, and, at the steady glance, he knew this was one of the times that he would be smarter in backing down than standing his ground. Give and take, he thought, that’s what this is. And wasn’t it?

He nodded in response to Colette’s words. It had been far too long in between last seeing his mother and now. That was Lukas’ own fault, however, it wasn’t the fault of Colette. Lukas as good at keeping people at length; good at keeping those he should be close to at arm’s length. “I know you will, Mom,” he said the words level, “how about you sit so I can bring you the tea when it’s ready?” More techniques he’d used with soldiers, gently suggest things for them to do while saying that you’re not trying to take care of them. Maybe it was foolish to try the same things on Colette — she was the Queen of the Gods — but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to help his mother and that was the only way he could think of.

He held Colette’s gaze before looking away, turning his head and rolling his shoulder in its socket. He grabbed the steeping tea and went to the kitchen table.

Screwing up his mouth for a beat, trying to think of what to say, Lukas took a breath in before talking. “Arya and I…,” he trailed off, suddenly self-conscious of talking about someone he considered to be the love of his life. “We’ve been… in contact.” He fiddled with the teapot, twisting the lid until it was just so. “I missed her this time, and I know it’s all my fault for leaving but I just… I just can’t stay.”

He flicked his eyes up to his mother; a child looking for guidance in something he doesn’t understand.

“I don’t know why. I just— I just can’t stay.”

[invictusxartem]

les-dieux-infinites:

The waiter ( her usual one ) stopped by the table, ready to take her order. Arya told him to wait, stating that she expected company soon. The words felt odd in her mouth, almost mimicking the slight surprise on the server’s face. Yes, it had been odd … falling back into the same arms that inevitably left. Perhaps that was the curse of love; it was uncontrollable. She smiled at the waiter, reassuring there was nothing to worry about. 

Or so she pretended. 

People knew her around the area, Arya had created a name for herself ( a home ). What they didn’t know is that part of her comfort had been locked inside the hands of Ares; god of war. There was a certain tenderness between his rough skin, an inescapable warmth amongst all the scars. The goddess of love acted as if it had been meant for her … but she wasn’t foolish. They were cursed creatures from the beginning, blossoming romance from an elicit affair. She still hadn’t forgotten the humiliation caused by her ex-husband ( or the taunts ).

Yet … there she sat, waiting. Waiting for the same danger, the same lover, the same heartbreak. On queue, she felt fabric kiss her skin, the jacket falling upon her shoulders as her fingers clenched the soft material. Her eyes darted up, finally catching a glimpse of his face. She resisted staring … even if it had been years. Her memories of him were almost as clear as his presence, causing her heart to skip a beat.

As her thoughts hummed with things from the past, Arya merely leaned into her seat, the warmth of his jacket seeming all too familiar. Much like his sense of humor … it caused her lips to quirk, even if her eyes glanced away. She supposed it was hilarious for the goddess of love to harbor these feelings, decades later since their last encounter. She wondered if he felt the same - she wondered if War felt weak ( falling prey to these lingering emotions ).

“Has it? I almost lost track of time,” she admitted, straightening her posture. Too much had changed in the mortal world, too much since the last time they had been together. Ironically enough, it was this distance ( between them ) that had made the heart grow fonder. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Lukas,” Arya teased, “I will not apologize for whatever happened to Troy. Paris chose what he desired the most; beauty.” Even if the aftermath resulted in war. 

“Well . . I’m sure you’ve kept in touch with Adonis,” she responded, knowing for a fact that he may have abandoned her, but he couldn’t leave behind his own child. A secret shared solely between them, how Eros was not the rightful son of Hephaestus. “Paris is lovely. It’s . . my home.” 

Home, such a strange concept. A home without him … 

“I feel it’s been too long,” he admitted it with a soft tone, then, so quiet it was almost inaudible, he added, “Any time without you is too long.”

It was true. Lukas’ heart ached when he was away from Arya, but he felt he had to leave — the enjoyment of domesticity overshadowed by the looming fear of when the illusion would break.

Without waiting for a response to the mumbled confession, Lukas flicked his eyes up to Arya, tilting his head up just a little bit, a smile on his lips. “Flattery has gotten me many places,” he said, the statement simple and teasing. “And I suppose that’s true. Humans are fickle creatures, and you gave me a project in the wake of Paris’ choice.”

Lukas’ jaw clenched at the mention of Adonis, and he ignored the statement — he didn’t want to open that chest, at least not yet — instead choosing to respond to the other things Arya said. His heart clenched — this was her home, but he wasn’t there. Did she really need him?

Did she not need him as much as he needed her?

“It’s a city suited to you,” Lukas paused when the waiter came by again, ordering with smooth ( though accented with an antiqued accent ) French, waited for Arya to order, then continued, “Are you still living in that apartment?”

He reached out a hand for Arya to take, palm facing up and the back of his hand on the top of the table. “Should I plan to stay there with you, or should I arrange a hotel?”

[invictusxartem]

ofproseandmusing:

Arms wrapped around her child, holding up close, fingers digging into him because she needed to know that he was there and she knew no other way to be absolutely certain but that. She needed to grasp him for just a moment, for just a minute to remember that there were still things left; Her child, her darling boy. It had been so long since she had seen him, too long, and for that she didn’t know if it was her fault or his. Perhaps his; She couldn’t run his life for him and if he wanted her in it, then that was for him to initiate. 

However, things weren’t so simple and hiding had made dealing with an ever tumultuous marriage difficult. If that was the case, if she of all creatures in this world struggled to make that work, then how could she resent him his absence? 

She couldn’t.

As he offered sentiment, she said nothing for a moment, gaze latching to face, looking for something more than the superficial neutrality, looking for pain and she saw none. At that, part of her couldn’t help but wonder if they had failed him so deeply that hollow sentiment was all he could say and yet somehow, it reminded her so much of Zeus too; It was sentiment made for her without emotional impact, without sincerity. It was heartless and she knew better than anyone how the deceased god could be that. “Unfortunate?” she nearly laughed, making a sound that was somewhere caught between a laugh and a sob. “That’s entirely inadequate.”

Head shook as answer to the question about her own feelings, brushing it off. She loved her son dearly, but she wasn’t terribly interested in burdening him with her. By her view it wasn’t meant to go that way. Instead, a different sentiment spilled from lips, “I’m so sorry.” She paused, letting eyes drift over face again, expression utterly apologetic. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you differently. I’m sorry it was an email, I’m sorry I didn’t call. I just… I didn’t think I could bear to call.”

Lukas felt a pang of guilt at the noise that Colette made — the sound caught between a sob and a laugh — and it set his jaw, he didn’t want to upset her and the plastic words seemed to have only made her pain worse. “I know,” he said, voice quiet and only the slightest bit pained ( almost enough to miss ), “I’m—“ He stopped himself, what comfort would his words be after such a mishandled attempt at the very same thing? Instead he stopped himself short.

He looked down to the floor, before forcing himself to look back at his mother. She was apologizing and he needed to give her that respect. “It’s okay, mom,” the words were quiet, and he found that the look on her face squeezed his chest. This wasn’t her fault — why did she think this was her fault? He wanted to make it easier but he knew all he was was a reminder of his father; of the husband she had that was now murdered.

Anger flared up in Lukas.

How dare his father die. How dare he inflict this last pain on his dear mother.

How dare he.

         How dare he.

                   How dare he.

Lukas’ jaw clenched. Was this what he was destined to be? A reminder of a husband and a father that was less than all he should have been? The father that should have been giving his family his attentions instead of running to others?

Were they not good enough?

                             —was Lukas not good enough?

Stop. Stop. Stop.

The thought repeated in Lukas’ head as Colette apologized, explained, comforted. Something that she’d done — that he’d seen, watched, heard — for countless years for Zander. It made him feel ill.

“—Stop,” the word came out by accident, and he tried to cover up the slip with more words, “please. What happened, happened.” He focused his eyes on Colette. “You can’t change the past any more than I can.” He walked past her down the hall, into the kitchen; started to dig through her cabinets.

“We’re going to have tea. And you’re going to have company, whether you talk or not it’ll be good for you, Mom,” he said the words with finiteness, knowing from seeing thousands of soldiers off the battlefields ( from comforting those that had experienced the horrors of war firsthand ) that sometimes a reassurance of company — of ‘I’m not leaving you’ — is what is needed. The tea was a formality.

[invictusxartem]

les-dieux-infinites:

closed: @invictusxartem​  timeline: before zeus’s death ( 2010 - 2016, I know … I’m so specific, lol ) 

Arya tried her best to sleep last night – even if she kept staring back at their numerous email exchanges. Lukas had planned to visit ( – to stay? ) and she allowed him; every time, she allowed him to come back. As if he owed her something … perhaps a good portion of her heart. The brunette initially wanted to deny the offer, but that meant never getting answers to those buried thoughts that frequently haunted her.

Why did you leave me?

Why did you never keep in touch? 

Why are you finally coming back?

The night soon passed but these lurking doubts still remained. She promised to meet him for breakfast, the most important meal of the day. Which is why she found herself sliding out of bed at such an early hour, in hopes of having enough time to prepare. The shower had warmed her body and fogged up the mirror. It made putting on makeup and fixing her hair slightly difficult, but she managed. The hardest task had been selecting an outfit … . how does one dress to meet a lover from the past?

… or a lover from the present. 

Arya sighed, picking out a red dress. Surely, the goddess of love couldn’t go wrong with that;  at least it was easy to put on in weariness of mornings. The rest of the time was spent walking to the cafe, the breeze causing goosebumps to scatter across her skin. She should’ve brought a jacket, feeling herself lean into the seat, distracted by pedestrians nearby. There was no point in staring at the menu – she had been coming to this cafe for years. 

Now she waited … waited to share the experience. The realization ( or had that been the wind? ) causing a shiver to run down her spine.  

Lukas slept well that night, on the plane from Minsk to Paris, and his only concern was that—

              was that—

                            —was that Arya would ever want to see him.

Of course she wants to see me, the thought was cocky, she has always welcomed me back before.

It was true, Arya, inevitably let Lukas back into her life, letting him slide back into it at his own convenience; let him back into her heart only to let him take another chunk with him when he left again. It was a cruel game, on both of them, because even though Lukas was the one that chose to leave, he took pieces of Arya with him wherever he went.

Lukas wondered, idly, as he was in the shower at his hotel room — was there still pieces of her heart left to conquer? And at that thought he felt guilt — he never thought of Arya as just another thing to conquer; to grab up in greedy hands that reminded him too much of his father in a way he knew would wound those closest to him.

If there was anything that Lukas didn’t want, it was to drive Arya away in the same way that his father had driven his mother away ( though Colette had always come back, would Arya do the same? ). Lukas ignored that it was him that always felt caged; always felt that he would ruin what they had so he did. Wasn’t that what war did? Destroy? Why should a god of war be any different in any aspect of their life?

He shook the thoughts from his head, focusing on his presentation instead.

He dressed himself well — not a doubt in his mind that Arya would be dressed the best she could ( for didn’t she always know how to dress herself? ) — though simple. A powder blue, almost white, dress shirt with French cuffs ( pinned with the cufflinks that Arya and Adonis had given Lukas decades ago ), and charcoal slacks. A simple tungsten and rose gold band slipped onto his left ring finger ( a reminder of their shared past ). He slipped a black trench on, knee-length; thick fabric ideal for colder weather, and walked to the café that Arya and him had decided on in their emails.

Lukas recognized the curve of Arya’s shoulders; the lean into her seat that she always did when she was cold. He slipped his jacket off quietly, his footsteps no more distinguished from the other pedestrians.

Easily, he slipped his skin-warmed jacket over her shoulders; pressed a feather light kiss to her hair.

Then took his seat opposite of her.

“Dite,” he said, his eyes trained on her; fingers going to run along the sides of the menu placed on the table in front of them, “it’s been a while.” The statement was obvious, but the humour of it was plain in the way that the corner of Lukas’ mouth twitched up just that little bit.

He flipped open the menu, already knowing what he was going to get but opening it out of habit. “You look beautiful as ever, though that is to be expected,” his words were low; intimate in the way that only someone he’d been soft with before was ever afforded, “You could bring cities to their knees, you know.”

A twitch of a smile.

“Though, you’ve done that before, haven’t you?”

Lukas slipped the tips of his index and middle fingers on his right hand into the cuff on the opposite, straightening the slightest imperfection with a pinch of his thumb. “How has Paris been treating you, Arya? How’s Adonis? Have you spoken to any of the others?”

[invictusxartem]

ofproseandmusing:

To: Emergency Only (Group Contact) From: [email protected] Subject: Urgent

Z— dead. We need to talk. 410 E St. SE, Washington, DC 20003 Come if you can.

✘. H—

The email was typed and sent with no hesitation as soon as time and circumstance allowed; Colette hadn’t expected this, hadn’t allowed herself to consider this option. True, they had been hiding for what seemed like forever and the possibility of death was simply part of the reality within which they existed, but still, not this. However, now that it had happened, what other choice was there but to be the bearer of disastrous news? 

The King was dead, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to stop acting like the Queen. 

Yet, there was still time for herself in the moments after and it was then that she allowed herself the tears, in the hours before anyone showed up; Once everyone was here, she doubted she’d have much time to herself and though things hadn’t been even remotely perfect between them, she was still going to mourn for the God whose ring she had long worn, for the one who had both her love and her loathing.

It wasn’t ever simple.

Grief didn’t turn to exhaustion, and so it was sleepless time spent trying to keep remembrances of blood splatter and violence from thoughts and little more than copious amounts of tea and quiet to keep her company, until eventually, she lost track of time, falling asleep on a couch, wrapped in a soft blanket.

It was the doorbell that woke her, ringing, belated she realized, not for the first time. Seconds ticked by as she shook the sleep from herself, enjoying the thirty seconds where she forgot, before reality washed back over her, bringing forth caution. As such, it was a tentative approach to the door, eye looking through a peephole rarely used, before she opened the door and offered the one standing on the other side a nod, subsequently stepping aside. “Come in.”

The email was a harsh reminder that death came for everyone, even those thought above it.

Lukas felt that he was being stabbed with something dull, hearing from his mother after so long, only for her to send out a group email to tell of his father’s death.

It was a short email; to the point. Just like Lukas expected from Colette.

Why expect some sort of heart-wrenching, feeling-soaked email when Lukas wouldn’t have done that himself?

An excuse to his squad members, and a stare down of any one of them that tried to pry, any that tried to question why he was leaving so suddenly, so soon after getting back. He got on the next available flight to D.C..

He dropped his bags off at the place he was staying at with Arya and Adonis — if he was going to have to confront the death of his father, and the unknown grief of his mother, he wanted to have his own little family as close as he could have them — and he headed over to the address detailed in the email.

          ( “Come in.” )

Lukas hesitated at first, would his mother even want any reassurance? Any comfort? But the tone to her voice made Lukas step into her home, and, after the door was shut, pull her into a hug. He wanted to reassure her that she had not lost everything, and the near-desperation showed in the way he curled down and squeezed Colette.

Letting go, his expression carefully neutral (though his eyes flicked down to the floor for a moment), Lukas said, “This is unfortunate.” The words were plastic and he knew it; they didn’t fit how he was feeling and he was certain they didn’t reflect how Colette was feeling either.

“How are you holding up, Mom?”

[invictusxartem]

ofwisdomxlove:

Safe and Sound

Closed To: @invictusxartem ( Ares ) Location: The Temp. Homestead, Late Evening

Adonis was never one to sleep too soundly - not unless he was truly content and comfortable, which only happened when he was with certain people. He was a cuddler and slept better with someone at his side, so this night was already bound to not go to well on the sleeping front. Then, there was the day’s drama, which was honestly enough to fill two seasons of a soap opera. 

But of course, Hephaestus had been the icing on the eight-layered cake.

Not only had the bastard, his father dearest made a scene of consistently trying to be at Mother’s side, eyeing Ares and himself as if they were the scum of the earth, he had actually had the audacity to talk to him, for once. At first, Eros had been shocked until he realized he was only acknowledging him to voice how much of a disappointment he was. What else was new?

A heavy sigh left his lips, arms folded in front of him as he stared up at the night sky. Supposedly the old Gods were up there, always watching over the mortals. He wondered if Zeus was there now, watching over them all. 

Swoosh and the sliding door opened, Lukas coming through with a fresh mug of tea in his hands. A warm smile melted Adonis’ frown, the sight of his ( actual ) father figure always making him feel more at ease. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

“No,” Lukas said, his jaw clenching for a moment before taking a sip of his own mug of tea — decaf earl grey; for when his nighttime routine was disrupted — and setting down the other mug ( a chamomile ) on the small table that was on the porch of their temporary home. “It’s difficult to find enough peace to sleep when you know that your father was murdered and your mother was unfortunate enough to have seen the aftermath.”

Lukas sat himself down in the other seat, across from Adonis. His eyes looked over his son — not that Adonis knew that, not that Lukas could ever tell him that he was his true father — seeing the similarities in Adonis’ face and his own, and in Arya’s features and her son’s own.

“Y—” Lukas started, but stopped himself. He couldn’t slip up now. He couldn’t let Adonis find out that Zeus was his grandfather right after he’d been murdered. “The sky-father just passed,” he tried softer language, uncommon for him, “How are you holding up?” He nudged the steeping tea toward Adonis, the liquid sloshing a little bit in its mug. “Drink this, it’ll help.”

[invictusxartem]

ofwisdomxlove:

Adonis couldn’t help the small smile tilting his lips as Parys sat beside him - all things considered, he was glad to see one of his best mates again. It’d been a few months since he’d had the chance to share a drink with his friend, so he was glad that Parys had been the one to invade his corner of hiding.

“You’re preaching to the choir, as they say. This is probably the fourth drink I’ve had today.” Adonis shrugged as if to say that was normal, nodding at the bottle in the other God’s hand. “Who do you think opened that?” True, he couldn’t quite hold a candle to Damien, but Adonis was no stranger to alcohol - especially wine. It was a romantic choice, after all.

Nodding just as the glass was lifted from his fingers, Adonis chuckled a bit at his eagerness. He understood the need all to well - today had been a particularly difficult one for all involved. Wordlessly he took the bottle next to Parys, sipping from that before placing it on the small table next to him, then taking another long drink from the glass passed back to him. “No, I don’t imagine it is. You and I got lucky - our lives travel with us.” Adonis had opted not to join Parys on his journey this past time due to a job he needed to complete in Rome, but mostly his jobs allowed him to go anywhere he pleased. Obviously, this had been intentional. He felt sorry for the others who had more cemented roots than them.

“Sorry your trip was cut, little bird,” he sighed, eyeing Parys with genuine sympathy. He knew how much the God of traveling loved his adventures, and he was far from his original landing point. 

Gentle fingers pushed the stubborn stray hairs out of Parys’ eye, tucking it behind his ear instead ( fingers that assuredly lingered against his skin longer than they should have ). Adonis then passed the glass back to Parys, curling his head into the crook of his neck. “Not ideal, no, but I can’t deny the effectiveness. It may be selfish, but… I’m glad to see everyone again.” Some more than others.

“We’re lucky, yeah, but I don’t think that these lives just fell into our laps,” Parys said, a small smile on this lips, “Some of us have to just get it right out of other’s pockets. Don’t you know how hard that is?” He was trying to make a joke — there wasn’t many things that Parys did as well as stealing, and he was sure all the other gods in Hera’s home knew this. “You opened it?” he asked. “I would have thought it was Damien, he was on his way to getting drunk last I saw him. He was at a bar.”

A Pause.                And quietly, “I hope he’s okay.”

At the gentle tucking of his hair behind his ear — fingers lingering in that way that Adonis always did; familiar and warm against his own skin — Parys let out a sigh. “It wasn’t an intended destination that’s for sure. I was in Barcelona, I was going to head to Italy next and—” he took the glass and had another drink. “Well you know what always happens when I go to Italy.” The hazy memories of too much wine and lack of clothes and of even more fun flashed in his mind. Adonis curled into the crook of Parys’ neck, which made Parys move to rest his cheek against Adonis’ soft hair on reflex. He held the glass but did not drink from it, enjoying being so close to someone he knew so well.

It was one of the things that kept him going back to visit the other gods that would have him; the familiarity; not having to hide anything.

His eyes flicked down, catching the corner of Adonis’ hair in his vision but not outright staring at the other god that was fitting so nicely into his neck. His tongue darted out for a moment before speaking. “Things can be effective yet terrible. But… it is good to see everyone again.”

He brought the over-full glass of wine to his lips again, taking a long drink before swallowing and pressing a soft kiss to Adonis’ hair. “It hasn’t been nearly as long as some others, but I still missed you,” Parys mumbled, “You should travel with me again.”

[invictusxartem]

ofwisdomxlove:

The Fallen Ones

Open To: All Olympians Location: Hera’s Place

Well, this was certainly a surprise. One email and the Gods and Goddesses of old were in an uproar, sheer chaos stemming out of their perfectly pristine formalities. It was all Adonis could do not to chuckle as his dark irises scanned the immaculate room, newly full of faces he recognized from ages past. Honestly, he hadn’t known Zeus very well, but he figured it was more the fact that he was murdered that brought everyone here so quickly.

Adonis himself had only arrived thirty minutes prior, fashionably late with his mother. They’d had to pack, after all. That was a lot of fucking clothes.

Luckily for him, Adonis’ job traveled with him, but most of the others seemed most displeased to have their lives so suddenly uprooted. More than that, what the fuck had happened? How did the king of Gods die? No one seemed to have an answer, which caused the tension to slowly increase as the minutes grew longer. 

Dinner was to start soon, but in the meantime the young God had slipped away to a comfortable corner, lips occasionally moving to sip at the glass of red wine in his hand. A soft smirk hid behind the glass as a figure sat beside him, not even bothering to make room for them because what was the fun in distance, really? “Nothing like a death to bring the family back together, hmm?”

Parys flit through the other mingling gods and goddesses — offering wide eyes to the ones that bothered to give him more than a glance.

— Wine, wine, wine, where is the wine?

The thought repeated until he found a bottle that was open but not mostly drank ( —Us and our wine; some things never change ) and found a god that wasn’t currently mingling with the others. Sitting awful close to Adonis, and the other not making any motion to move father apart, Parys reached for the glass that was at Adonis’ lips.

“Nothing quite like drinking to make it bearable.” He lifted his other hand, showing off the bottle of red wine he’d taken, and said, “I have wine but no glass, do you mind sharing?” He didn’t wait for an answer before stealing the glass right from Adonis’ hands, and pouring a more than generous amount in the glass. “And, to answer your question,” he said, taking a drink from the glass, “I doubt this is how everyone wanted to get together again. Or to have the lives they’d made get all shook up.”

He passed the glass — too full still to be an acceptable amount of red wine in the glass — back to Adonis.

“I don’t have roots really anywhere, but this cut short a trip.” He ran his free hand through his hair, it, freshly washed and on the verge of curly, catching on his fingers. Pushing it out of his face and it falling back to frame his cheeks, Parys sighed. “This isn’t… ideal.”

[invictusxartem]

Paolo, Heidi, and Parys hangin’ out ‘Friends’-style

(@phoebian​ ; @vestalesque​)

absolutely laid over top of this photoset

[invictusxartem]

les-dieux-infinites:

That voice … seemed all too familiar. He wracked his brain for a memory, but the visuals were enough once Hermes came into view; ah, yes. The fellow god kept speaking but Damien’s jet-lag and dazed mind took a while to process his words. 

“… a light beer? You’re killing the vibe,” he joked, a lazy grin falling onto his face. However, it didn’t stay for long at the mention of WHY they were here in the first place ( since this hadn’t been a funny coincidence ). His fingers ran through his messy hair once more, his eyes tracing the wooden pattern of the bar top.

“Make that two beers,” Damien stated, loudly enough for the bartender to hear. The god had been too lost in his thoughts to notice that Parys had taken over his tab. There was a strange uneasiness in his stomach; as if he had been suffering from a night’s worth of liquor. Either way, he didn’t like … it. 

He didn’t like that his godfather had passed away. It didn’t seem – possible.

“S’not like I wanted to leave Italy… it’s too crowded here. Noisy and shit.” 

“Listen, there’s a difference between drinking at a vineyard in Italy and drinking in a city like D.C.,” Parys said, “And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather get wasted closer to home than this.” At the adding of another beer to his picked-up tab, Parys looked down to the wooden top of the counter. His eyes searched for the right words to say, but sometimes — especially in times like this — he was reminded that he was much better at repeating what others had said rather than finding his own words.

Parys always took to rambling more than speaking with carefully chosen words; something that lent itself well to the company of Heidi and Paolo, but fit like a badly tailored shirt when it came to comfort. He wanted to have the same effectiveness in his words as Sophia, or the bluntness of Lukas, but he couldn’t find himself doing so without parroting the other gods’ words.

“You could come back to the apartment and do what you want to your little heart’s content, if you’d want to.” Parys took a gulp of his beer, the fizz bubbling all the way down his throat. “It’s quieter, and you’d be able to drink as much as you want without having to fall asleep in an even more foreign place.” Parys slung an arm across Damien’s back — just below his shoulderblades — and gave a light squeeze. 

“I’d even buy your spirits of choice.”

[invictusxartem]

vestalesque:

phoebian:

Hestia hadn’t let go of his hand since they’d left the airport, white-knuckled and anxious in a way that even he was beginning to feel. Then again, that would be the logical emotion, wouldn’t it, when they were leaving Greece to confront the reality of a murdered God? Zeus, the God, King of Olympus, Slayer of Titans, He of Large Libido and Little Sense. Anxiety wouldn’t be an unwarranted emotion to feel. 

Yet Apollo didn’t. Not now, he was sure it’d creep up to him later when their plane had landed, the same low queasy feeling that meant somethingbadcoming, but after weeks of that vague premonition turning his stomach, it was a blatant relief to finally know the cause. He’d had enough to fretting to last him the rest of the decade.

“Don’t be so worried,” Apollo quipped as they strode through the streets together, glancing down at her as he attempted to soothe the jittery goddess by his side. “You listening?” By the distant look in her eyes, she was back in Greece again. Less a frown and more of a small moue of concern passed his face, Apollo plucking at her sleeve before they turned into the small cafe, trying to catch her gaze. “Listen.” There – got her, and his lips quirked up in a broad smile. “It’s a beautiful day, we’re going to have a good lunch with Hermes, and we’ll be in DC before you know it. A day with no dishes for you to clean, enjoy it.” 

And there the third member of their trio was, looking perfectly, harmlessly mortal in his chair in a way that made Apollo laugh, squeezing Hestia’s hand as he pulled them both over to join him. “I don’t know how you do this so often,” He exclaimed, dropping into a free seat and leaning into Hermes’ space conspiratorially, “The planes, they’re horrible, I have too much leg for economy seating and they only gave Hestia one packet of salted pretzels.” 

With barely a pause, he snagged the waiter long enough to order a cappuccino and defer the man to Hestia, “This isn’t quite the visit we thought we were getting from you, but it’s something, isn’t it? Think darling mother is going to let us all crash on her couch?” 

Hestia had never left. Even as her siblings dispersed across the world, no longer bound by the balloon strings of worship anchoring them to Greece, she stayed. Greece was her eternal flame, her hearth – something she was to tend to, even in their absence. She wasn’t able to leave home; she was, for all intents and purposes, home – and home did not pack up its bags and leave, it waited, forever, if it had to.

She tried, once. Hermes invited her out to experience a piece of his bright kaleidoscope life, bought her the plane ticket even (and for the patron god of thieves to buy a ticket for her, well, who was she to refuse?), but found, upon hearing her section boarding, that her legs had all but calcified, heavy with the marble dust of these long forgotten gods – and she fled home, back turned to the tune of Heidi, Flight 9381 to Paris is leaving, ran home and cried in Apollo’s arms and sent a simple sorry to Hermes.

He showed up on their doorstep the next day, but that was far from the point – the point was: she did not leave. So she swallowed anxiously, walking in this foreign airport, apprehension weighing heavy in the pit of her stomach. She gripped Apollo’s hand tighter despite the stressed bone-white of her knuckles, using him to ground her, keep her from fleeing back to Greece. He was worried, and she was sorry for causing him to worry.

So when he plucked at her sleeve and asked her to listen, she did. She met his luminescent grin with a weak one of her own and a heavy nod, lifted their conjoined hands to her lips in tacit gratitude and counted each step taking her farther from Greece until they met Hermes. She followed Apollo, letting him talk and jest with Hermes before the joy at seeing Hermes overwhelms her anxiety. She released Apollo’s hand for a minute, reaching over to cup Hermes’ face and press a flurry of kisses to his cheeks.

“Traveling is exhausting,” she agreed. “It probably feels even more so because you have to travel with me, Apollo,” she teased, her apology going unspoken, busying herself with pulling out aforementioned singular pack of salted peanuts and putting it next to Hermes as an offering.

She ordered the same drink as Apollo and sat back, content to listen and let them distract her from being away from Greece, her fingers twiddling anxiously.

“It’s through practise, and, besides, what is more exciting than not knowing where you’re going to be next? Where you’re not sure if you have a bed for the night?” Parys grinned, leaning close to Paolo as he did the same, reaching out and brushing the tips of his fingers against Paolo’s upper arm. “You either pay for more legroom, or you try to see if you can get an upgrade, or just hope there’s no one else in your row.” He laughed, a little snort starting the sound off, and continued, “I’ve had great sleeps on planes because I’ve gotten the whole row to myself.”

A bright laugh bubbled out of Parys when Heidi kissed his cheeks in a flurry. “I missed you too, Hestia.”

He smiled, bright and genuine, at Heidi when she spoke, his hands automatically going to take the salted peanuts that were being offered — what was it with being a god and loving offerings? “They only gave you one packet?” He couldn’t help the smile the broke through when he tried to force a surprised look onto his face. “That’s terrible. Though, sometimes you can get one thing of each offered snack… but really the best thing to do is pack snacks in your carry on.”

“I’m sure you’re not that bad to travel with,” he said, sipping on his iced coffee, “at least you’re not a person that just goes ‘I had a vision last night…’ right as the plane takes off.” He shook his head, hair that was free of the bun he’d gathered it into swaying, and touched his fingers to his forehead for a moment, dragging them a little bit. “Those never fail to give me anxiety, since there’s always that underlying thought of ‘did Apollo send this?’ but so far it’s never been true.”

The cappuccinos came and Parys stuck his finger into the foam of Paolo’s drink before eating it. “I should have gotten one of those.” He flicked his eyes to Paolo, then to Heidi, then back to Paolo. “I wish I could have stuck to my itinerary… well.” He snorted — when did he ever stick to his itinerary? Parys was always arriving to places earlier than he said he was going to, at least in the cases of when he was visiting his fellow gods and goddesses — but continued, “You shouldn’t antagonize Hera, Apollo. That’s a dangerous game to play.”

Parys jumped, grabbing his backpack — the jostling movement making his backpack jingle with the coins and trinkets artfully shoved into it — and produced a quite crumpled, but otherwise neatly folded piece of paper. “Booked an airbnb. Can’t have dear Hestia without a home to tend to.” But his expression dropped, eyes going wide. “Unless that wasn’t the right thing to do? I can cancel it. I just figured it was better than just a hotel room, and… yeah.”

[invictusxartem]

les-dieux-infinites:

He rolled over, the sunlight shining through his window, casting a warmth into the room. His sheets were a mess, his memory equally foggy. He can’t remember how many drinks he had last night… he couldn’t remember anything. There was a person laying next to him whose face he can’t quite recall, with name not sweet like rosé ( otherwise he would’ve remember it ). Damien groaned, moving slightly, reaching for his phone.

The screen’s brightness glared back at him as his eyes try to read all the messages and emails that plagued his phone last night. One email stood out in particular, causing him to sit up quickly, his body aching for the sudden movement. 

Z— dead. We need to talk. 

He blinked, the words finally settling to the pit of his stomach ( like a shot of tequila ). The rest of the day consisted of grogginess and slow packing. Soon, he found himself at the airport – sober for once – and on a plane that served limited alcohol. His mind remaining heavy with the sudden news;  his godfather was dead. Zeus was dead.

Damien closed his eyes, trying to get some sleep on this long flight ( trying to kill his never-ending hangover ). He would miss the vineyards of Italy, along with the culture. He hated cities, they were too noisy and the bars too hyped. Washington DC was no exception – a land of politics and filth ( how ironic that this had been Hera’s hiding spot ). 

Not able to check into his hotel yet, and eager to fight his jet lag, Damien decided to visit a local pub. He slumped against the bar, his hand running through his disheveled hair, his eyes quickly peering at the menu before ordering, “one guinness… for now.” 

Parys, having quickly left Heidi and Paolo to go explore after being cooped up on a plane for hours, found himself wandering into a local pub. With the drinking crowd it was always easy to pick up some money from unaware pockets, and he hoped that with the politicians that littered the city there would be bigger pocket change than just coins.

He’d been walking through the pub, looking around like he was searching for someone, when he heard a familiar voice.

      ( “One Guinness… for now.” )

The smile that spread over his face couldn’t be stopped. The disheveled hair was a dead giveaway if the squint of a perpetual hangover and the tiredness that seemed to radiate off the fellow god wasn’t a good enough of an indicator.

Of course Dionysus — Damien, he’d remind himself — would be here.

He settled into the seat next to Damien. “Can I have whichever light beer that’s on special, please?” he said to the bartender, flashing a bright smile before turning to Damien. He wasn’t one to drink around mortals, but there was another god here, he wasn’t drinking just with mortals. Besides, there were changed circumstances. “I’m honestly surprised you’re here.” The joke was obvious in his voice, and he continued, “The occasion isn’t quite so good, though.”

Getting his beer from the bartender, Parys slid ten bucks onto the counter. He did a small jerk of his head to Damien while looking at the bartender and then tapped the bill — he’d buy this one. “I had to cut a trip short. I was only on the road for six or so weeks. Was just in Spain and gonna head your way before ferrying to Greece.”

[invictusxartem]

Closed: @phoebian & @vestalesque Location: Barcelona Time: post email

Parys’ shoulders hurt from the weight of his backpack, he’d been carrying it since early that morning, wandering around Barcelona without a hostel to shove it into and switch to his daypack. The situation wasn’t the best, he was supposed to be going from Barcelona through France, but a sudden email from someone he’d long pushed to the corner of his mind (for fear of wanting to reach out and contact her — Hera herself) made him change his plans.

He’d called Paolo as soon as he’d gotten the email. Told them to meet him in Barcelona, so they could all fly to D.C. together.

Adjusting the straps of his backpack, lifting the weight up for a second, helped with the soreness pressing into his shoulders, as he walked through the streets of Barcelona. Backpack jingling with all sorts of trinkets he’d picked up through the six weeks he’d been travelling.

He rounded a corner, finding the café that Paolo and him had agreed on. They’d decided to meet for lunch before their flight, for why not catch up? Even though Parys’ original plan had been disrupted — as he’d been planning to make it to Greece near the end of his trip, and of course visiting Paolo and Heidi during that — and had been disrupted in the worst way possible, with the murder of Zeus himself, Parys considered himself lucky.

The titans seemed to be closing in just that smallest bit, and that worried him.

Parys ordered a café con hielo, and sat himself on the outdoor seating once it was made, enjoying the sun and knowing that Paolo would as well. He carefully let down his backpack — careful not to break anything in it — and sipped at his coffee. He knew that the pair of them would be there soon enough.