moving !

    i’m going to be archiving this blog and moving the kids to @excathedras​.  i’m currently running three active blogs and a lot of my muse gets lost with my laziness of having to log in and out and see who messaged me where and all that junk,  so i’m biting the bullet and admitting that i have more than like five muses ( i’m at a comfy nine total rn ).  

    IF  WE  HAVE  AN  ACTIVE  THREAD  and it’s my turn,  it’s in the drafts of the new blog.  if it’s your turn and you want to continue it, just tag the new blog in you rb if you please.

     SOME  MUSES  ARE  BEING  DROPPED  IN  THE  MOVE and this is bc there isn’t a lot of interest or like only one person writes with them.  if you are that one person,  you are still valid,  so those muses (  atticus,  hadrian,  sabina,  etc.  )  will go into a little auxiliary muse page with a list of them,  and they will be written once in a blue moon,  usually after plotting things. 

     Hypnos dresses frantically in an olive tunic,  cinching it haphazardly at his waist and running a hand through his hair.  He takes his spear and runs down the steep wooden stairs,  leaving the door ajar as he pushes out of it,  sprinting past his garden and down the cobblestone road leading up to the edge of the promontory.  The tree branches stretch out of his way,  parting as he races through the dew - laden undergrowth.  He reaches the small stretch of meadow just before the beach and sees Apollo in the light of the blushing dawn,  painting him radiant,  a golden corona illuminating his silhouette.  

     He half flies,  half runs down the grassy knoll leading down to the beach.  Refuse from the storm litters the stretch of sandy waves rising out of the patient seas.  Crates lie broken,  long planks splintered and broken among mortal trinkets and smashed produce.  The sand,  still cool from the night,  is slippery beneath his sandals,  and it grates between his toes and dusts his ankles like sugar.  He stands before Apollo,  looking up at him with a living forest in his eyes,  contention and adoration,  life and death existing there in the woods.  Hypnos wasn’t prepared for this,  he isn’t prepared.  

their relationship with their family is pretty bad,  mostly bc all of their godheads compete with each other,  and their childhood wasn’t great for that reason,  which is why they sought out apprenticeship so young.  however,  they are closest to hypnos and thanatos,  who are the only chill ones in their family

i’m gonna be real tho prometheus was more of a father to them than their parents ever were ajdnfajdal

prometheus really convinced mendacius that they aren’t inherently bad and how their godhead doesnt mean that they can only be evil,  but once prometheus ate shit via zeus for the sake of mortals like. sis snapped and never had that same self confidence in goodness again

they’re actually always stealing drugs from hypnos

they have many homes all over the world ;  the one they’re currently living in depends on the verse.  in their ancient verse,  they live in a small villa outside thebes.  in their modern verse,  they have an old victorian style house in washington dc,  but they mostly like to travel in their rv ljalkdjgladkjg

no one really prays or worships them in a traditional sense,  except for like.  magicians,  sculptors,  thieves,  and  scam  artists in the ancient world,  but lying and tricking people and stuff count as offerings,  whether intentional or unintentional

     THERE  IS  MONEY  TO  be made in Paris.  Easy money of all sorts.  It is the city of love,  which means the city of doe - eyed tourists with their hearts as full as their wallets,  hand - in - hand with their loved ones,  milling about the Latin Quarter and the Parc des Buttes - Chaumont and all along the Seine.  They often like to lead tour groups to urban decay behind the chic cafes and hedges of white camellias to give a more behind the scenes look at Paris,  specifically exhibitions of dead rats mashed and dried into the asphalt and stray needles behind dumpsters.  If they choose to give more traditional looks at the city,  they make sure to include their own personal revisions to the history behind it all.  On other days,  they choose to exploit the sensitive testosterone milling about the place for a mind game along the Seine to,  of course,  impress the girl. 

     Those are past times,  however.  They take a great care and enjoyment out of replicating entire buildings,  warping the visible plane to hide away one while mortals venture into his fun house.  Eyeballs peer from chandelier lights,  and classical paintings move along with their scenes,  water lilies of Giverny slowly floating beneath a steadily setting sun,  statues move from pedestal to pedestal.  The mortals walk from room to room to room,  each growing more concerned by the eccentricity of the museum  but too afraid of sounding shallow and uncultured to voice it,  in an eternal museum growing more maddening as the galleries go on,  until they are hunted through a labyrinth by David and Discobolus,  Lehmbruck’s Seated Youth and Giacometti’s Chariot.  

     Mendacius sits on an unfolded cardboard box outside the Musée de l’Orangerie,  the real Musée de l’Orangerie,  shuffling a deck of gold - lettered cards that shimmer in the evening light even as the shadows grow to envelope him.  The smell of the Seine wafts on the cool breeze,  mixing with the scent of citrus and the obtuse,  pungent smell of sunblock.  A school group,  American sounding,  migrates down the sidewalk,  and stops to gather around the stressed,  exhausted looking adult.  They can barely make out what she says,  but it doesn’t matter.  The students disband,  each with a map,  a pack,  and a neon paper bracelet around their wrists.  Mendacius shuffles their cards again and is just about to offer to tell fortunes when someone much more interesting passes by. 

“  my father is angry.   ”     head  rested  against  the  pillow , his  words  spoken  through  half-lidded  eyes  showed  little  concern  for  what  was  raging  on  outside.  rain  pounded  against  the  windows  and  obscured  the  view  to  the  rest  of  the  world , but  apollo  could  not  bring  himself  to  care  much.   thunder  shaking  the  ground  in  the  distance  was  nothing  but  white  noise  that  eased  him  closer  to  sleep.  

his  entire  worldview  existed  in  this  very  moment.  turning  a  blind  eye  to  the  prophecies  and  the  voices  that  coexisted  in  his  mind , apollo  focuses  only  on  the  god  that  lay  beside  him. he  refuses  to  see  past  the  shores  of  lemnos , and  even  his  dreams  revolved  around  the  god  of  sleep. he  has  wondered  often  if  he  were  merely  in  love  or  if  the  god  of  dreams  purposely  appeared  in  his  more  frequently.  he  has  not  found  the  words  to  ask , but  trusts  little  in  coincidence  and  feels  he  already  knows  the  answer.    “   do  not  worry , it  will  pass  and  the  sun  will  come  out …  tomorrow.   ”

     WRATHFUL  MAELSTROMS  RAMPAGING  AGAINST  the little island are not uncommon ;  in fact,  such is how most souls find themselves lost in the shimmering,  shining haze of that dreadful wood,  destined to a horrible death among the nightmares from deep in the recesses in their minds.  There is,  however,  a distinct difference between a swirling tempest,  a typhoon churning its way through the open sea,  and the anger of the King of the Gods,  and Hypnos has had many years to know the difference between the two.  He can still remember the years that passed during the awful Titanomachy,  his family asleep in the unformed Underworld by his own doing to keep them safe from Titan and Olympian alike.  Their primordial penchant to pick no side made them an enemy of both,  and Hypnos had been the only one to guard them, accompanied by his father,  who was naught more than a chaotic plume of darkness conjured from the Void.  He has kept his struggle to himself for many years,  dreading any glorious conflict that might sprout should he say a word of it.  

     The shutters in the bedroom fly open suddenly with a clatter as they hit the wall,  rattling loudly against the side of the house.  Hypnos is quick to jump out of bed and right them,  tugging the window up with a grunt and pulling the shutters back in,  fitting the latch together once more.  Rain blows inside, stinging Hypnos’s warm skin and making the sedona tile glitter with water.  He pulls the window down and locks it,  Hypnos lingers for just a moment to gaze outside. The lackadaisical willows whip about wildly,  so unstable he waits for them to uproot and fly away into the oceanic horizon.  The sky is moonless,  starless.  There is nothing out there but the dreadful storm.  

     so i started a new summer class today,  which is a five week,  three credit course,  which means that it’s super rigorous and super demanding.  with this on top of my calc 2 class,  which won’t be done until 23 july,  being a guinea pig for my music composition friend,  work,  preparing to move ( ! ),  the sudden sadness at not having my brother around for five weeks,  and life,  my activity will be pretty sporadic !  this doesn’t mean that i’m not writing per say,  as i have to stay sane,  but it’ll be pretty wonky.  please remember that if i’m online but not replying to a thread or ask,  i’m not ignoring you,  my head is just full of static,  and i need to be buzzing at a certain frequency to write well,  and,  unfortunately,  that frequency is not the same as all the other channels i need to be tuned into to do all of those aforementioned things.  i’ll still be pretty easily reached in my im,  and even easier in my dis.co ( kara ra rasputin#2846 pls identify yourself ! ).  here’s a comprehensive list of all my active blogs atm:

     -  @aeterrnam  ( tsh multi muse )      -  @basileuus ( ancient history and mythology multi muse )      -  @inversicn ( the awful man himself, lucifer )      -  @babybrutus ( my personal )