a god of fire

Maybe it was just her luck. Ella was out for a night on the town, a party to impress a certain client. Brant was busy, and that was fine, but this found Ella traversing to Brooklyn on her own, high heels and big red fur coat. Being without him, the night was severely boring. She didn’t have her person… or at least the person she had found her connection with, and so she was over the whole thing. She found herself shutting off her brain, waiting for it all to be over, so she could move onto the next thing. It wasn’t like Ella to not enjoy a party, but it simply felt like she was going through the motions. 

She drank her 4th glass of champagne, never a good sign. Ella believes she can handle her drinks, which isn’t exactly wrong. But bubbles tend to muddle the senses, and she can feel herself slipping. When it comes time for the evening to be over, she hikes back to Dumbo, a plan to meet her driver a few blocks from the venue. The ground, however, has other plans, beginning to shake, and thus begins a reckoning.

Pheme looks up, and is immediately confused. Sure, she has been living and breathing in the mortal coil that is Ella Vandertrap for the last while, but… why is she now sitting on the ground under the Brooklyn Bridge? Is she finally free? Who should she tell first?

Brant. Who is Brant? Which godly creature is her mortal selves’ boyfriend, and will she want to keep him around? The only way to know is to find out. 

Soon she’s banging down his door, the familiar place in Queens. How had she stooped this low? But he was always worth it, wasn’t he? 

@emberstoflames​

It was rare for Hephaestus to be alone; strange, really, for he’d always relished it before. But since he’d begun seeing Ella – or Pheme – his life had changed. But Hephaestus had lived long enough [ if deities could live at all ] to learn how to enjoy the time he was given simply for himself. Tonight was one of those days and while Ella – he needed to think of her as Ella for now – was out, he sat on a chair in his sitting room, a glass of bourbon in hand. A sip here, a sip there, with his record player playing an old jazz album he could scarcely get enough of.

The clanging at the door rustled Hephaestus from his thoughts and as he gathered himself together, his eyes narrowed. The knock seemed immediate. It couldn’t be Dionysus – he surely would have simply let himself in – and if it had been his wife, Hephaestus rather thought she’d prefer something more dramatic and less plebeian than banging on a door like a hoodlum.

He stalked toward the door and as he opened it, he was faced with the sight of Ella. But it wasn’t quite Ella, was it? He could tell by the look in her eye, the the idea that she knew something, and for a brief moment, a part of him grieved the loss of what could have been.

Hephaestus stepped back, his eyes guarded, though he wanted to pull her into his arms, wanted to press a kiss to her lips and remind her that he was here. But he was not Brantley anymore than she was Ella and so he simply stood, wordlessly, as he looked at her.

The music continued to play and his eyes glimmered with something akin to wildfire. Suddenly Hephaestus, solitary Hephaestus, could no longer stand it.

“You know,” he murmured, words heavy on his tongue.

“Oh, there’s no need,” Scarlett waved off his thanks with her hand. If anything, fixing the jacket was as much for her sake as it was for his. Had she not, it would have been the only thing she could have focused on for the remainder of their time in each other’s company, and she wouldn’t be having that. Especially since he was turning out to be so decent. Yet, he seemed still full of surprises. The look on his face, flashing only for a moment, told her that there was something brewing beneath the surface, but she couldn’t quite put a finger on it. There was a level of intrigue in him, even if Scarlett couldn’t place it yet.

The intrigue only grew as he spoke again. There was a level of familiarity in his voice, one that Scarlett was sure she had not matched, any previous conversation accounted for. She was not familiar with this man, and even if he was proving to not be terrible, there was no changing the circumstances that had placed them on their walk. Still, she raised a brow and offered a smile, ever able to let things roll off her shoulders, at least outwardly. “Perhaps I’m not as surprising as I had hoped…”

She looked towards where he had gestured, the coffee shop coming in view as they came closer. She didn’t recognize it, though, she was entirely loyal to her regular stop. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to put them to the test and see if they really do deliver to such high standards,” she gave a small nod as they approached, not entirely doubting him, but not sure either.

The smile that Hephaestus offered her was polite, of course, but he could feel a slight strain in the air. It was likely one of his own making, likely one he’d imagined, but he found he was so incredibly ill at ease that he was unsure of how to manage it moving forward. A long breath escaped his lips, quietly, and he inclined his head. He needed to get is together. It was becoming obvious, to Hephaestus anyway, that he knew much more than Aphrodite did; making comments that were so obviously intimate was likely not the best of ideas.

Her raised brow and smile made him feel a bit more at ease, but Hephaestus knew well just how much Aphrodite could lock up when the moment called for it. He wondered, idly, if her mortal counterpart could do the same. A light chuckle moved through the air and Hephaestus ran his hand along his jawline. “Or perhaps I’m simply more perceptive than most.” In another world, in another life, perhaps he would have been accused of flirting – badly, of course.

“I don’t believe you will be disappointed,” he pointed out, smile still present. The shop was rather tiny but he was a regular and so one of the baristas came over to take his order. With a smile, he greeted her and then Hephaestus gestured to the woman in front of him. “I’ll have the usual and then whatever the lady likes.”

iv - Hephaestus @emberstoflames​

“That is very kind of you to say. I do hope that is where they fit,” though she couldn’t be entirely sure. It seemed like there were some mistakes - like much of her dating history - that she seemed to make frequently. “Not sure if I should be offended that you think I make mistakes, though.”

“How do you know so much about axes?” She asked. She couldn’t remember if they’d ever discussed why Brantley had been drawn to the sport or what other hobbies he had, nor why it seemed so natural to see him with a tool in his hand. She let out a low whistle at his impressive aim. “Have you been practicing? Trying to get an unfair advantage?”

“Well it is nice to see you smile. Not that you don’t smile, only that it is a different smile,” Laurel was happy for Brantley, but then she had no idea of who he was, or who Ella was. She might have better understood his hesitation to talk about it if she did. “Are you going to bring her to a tournament? You could even teach her how to throw an axe.”

He turned to her with a brow arched effortlessly. For a brief moment, Hephaestus fixed Laurel – Persephone – with a stare that he’d perfected over the ages he’d lived as god of fire. A low chuckle left his lips and he shook his head. “Everyone makes mistakes,” he pointed out, one side of his mouth turned up as his eyes moved to watch their competitors. “It’s what we do after making them that matters, is it not?” It was such a trivial thing to say, almost something that would have been better served coming from a self-help book, but Brantley had always been better at small talk than him.

He shrugged at the question. “I grew up in the South,” he told her, the rote background of Brantley’s coming to his mind so easily now. “I know my way around most tools.” Another laugh filled the air between them. “Hardly,” he responded, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. He had millennia on his side; was that considered an unfair advantage? Somehow, he thought that Laurel might say yes.

“It is,” he admitted, not wanting to say much about Ella in public. Hephaestus was not ashamed, per se, but he also knew that Aphrodite was likely out there somewhere and, at some point, what he was doing with Ella had become a discernible choice. “I don’t think she’d enjoy it. Or perhaps she’d enjoy it too much.” Hephaestus shook his head. “And how about you?” he asked. “Any significant others to bring around?”

Brant walked out of his place and god, he looked so good. Ella took stock in the moment to the way that she felt, looking over at him. She had always been rather independent, but here she was, wanting to spend as much time with him as possible. It would have been impossibly annoying on anyone else, but now that she was in this place, feeling these feelings, she never wanted to let them go. He was just wearing a flannel and jeans and she didn’t even care. He looked like himself, that’s all she wanted.

He didn’t even say hello.. he didn’t have to. Their lips were connected, and Ella now wondered why she had to go any moments in her life without his lips on her. And sure, that wasn’t the most logical of thinking, but that’s not really where Ella’s head was, at the moment.

She really loved his smile. And the way that he teased her. He could keep up with her, and he clearly liked doing so. “Or maybe I’m just not ready for Queens.” She grinned, wrapping her arms around Brant’s waist, looking up in his eyes. “You look good, babe. But I have a bone to pick with you.”

There was such an ease to spending time with Ella that Hephaestus had never before felt with anyone else. Even when he and Aphrodite tried to make things work, there had always been a barrier of sorts, almost as if Hephaestus wore an invisible suit of armor to protect himself from the inevitable hurt that would ensue. Now, however, he was beside a woman who had made it clear that her eyes were only for him.

There was a pleasure to be had in that knowledge and Hephaestus tucked it away to revisit when he was alone. For now, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her into his side. [ She fit there, he thought, though that realization frightened him more than others he’d had before. ]

“Are you admitting there may be something you aren’t ready for?” he asked, his voice teasing as his eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips curved into a smile. A brow arched at the comment and Hephaestus chuckled as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “And what bone is that, sweetheart?” he inquired, curious as to what it would be. With his free hand, he gestured to their right. “Shall we?”

“Okay so maybe I shouldn’t be asking all of these questions, but I’m finally meeting you and I feel like I can’t help myself. Acting on impulse is a wee bit of an issue for me, anyhow.” He paused, grinning. “How did you end up in Ty’s life? I mean, how did it all happen? I know Ty can be chaotic, but that’s one of my favorite things about him. He’s like life… distilled. He embraces every moment with such vivacity.. how could someone not want to embrace that in the image of themself? How could his parents just cast him aside the way that they did?”

He knew he was stepping over a line, but when it came to the people he loved, Oli was the type to go to hell and back. Or at least that’s what it felt like he was doing, some of the time. He took a sip, calming himself down. The worst that could happen was Brant telling him off. Oli could take it.. maybe. But then, he wasn’t used to older male figures in his life, and the ones he had around him always seemed to let him down. “The fact that you want to spend any more time with me is… crazy. But very appreciated!” He paused, thinking a minute. “You should bring Ella. I know Ty is stubborn as hell. I think if he saw the way that you two are, if you really care about each other, it would warm his heart.”

The brow remained arched as Oliver spoke – or was it word vomited? – his questions. Even if Hephaestus did not have his memories, Brantley would have been hard-pressed to answer them all, especially when Tyson [ Dionysus ] was not present. But he did not want to be rude either, not when it was clear that Oliver was incredibly besotted with his incredibly chaotic younger brother. And did it matter anyway, when Tyson had clearly never truly existed at all? “I went to college with his father,” Hephaestus responded, his voice level. “I’ve known Tyson since he was born.” He shrugged his shoulder – it was not the oldest story in the world, but he supposed it was likely Oliver would pick up what he wasn’t saying just as much as what he was. “Some people are not fit to be parents. And that is all I will say on the subject.”

He took another long pull on his drink, exhaling heavily as he set the glass back onto the bar. How had this kid figured out about Ella so quickly? Was he really this easy to read? It was a strange thought and Hephaestus ran his hand along his beard once more as he looked back at Oliver. “It’s a miracle if Ella and Tyson don’t kill each other on the best of days,” he drawled wryly. “Their relationship is…complex.” He did not wish to commit to anything specific just yet, but he offered Oliver another smile, small though it was. “She has indicated wishing to meet you, however.”

How very interesting this morning had turned out to be. She had been determined to make it to work on time, and that wasn’t happening. She had been resolved to loathe the man who had ruined her leather, and, as it was seeming, that wouldn’t happen either. Clumsiness aside, he seemed to be a fine man. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one full of surprises.

Scarlett watched as he put the jacket back on, before stopping in her tracks and shaking her head. “No, come here,” she instructed, guessing he would listen. They usually did. “Even if it’s not my cup of tea, it still deserves to be worn correctly,” she tutted as she fixed his collar, folding it so that it lay correctly once more. “There.”

She started walking again, crossing her arms in front of her to conserve her body heat, before looking over at him. “Both,” she had an almost devilish smile as she answered him. The look soon faded though, to something more thoughtful. “I learned early that people don’t always take a pretty face seriously. I delight in proving them wrong.” The smile was back as her eyes turned forward, focusing back on their path. “I do love being right.”

It was surprising to see him smile, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. It wasn’t like Scarlett knew the man, or his mannerisms. Still, she couldn’t push the idea that it didn’t happen often enough. “Look at that, you can be surprising to! I would not have taken you for an expert in the field, and yet you are.”

Hephaestus paused as she straightened his collar, ignoring the way his stomach clenched at the touch. It was so innocuous, so innocent, and yet it harkened back memories of their past, of domestic scenes very much like this. [ Oh, there were days they had tried, years and decades even, but none of it mattered now, as the woman he’d married looked at him as if he was little more than a stranger on the street. Which, he supposed, he was. ] A chuckle left his chest, though it was weaker in his inflection – Aphrodite didn’t know him right now, so he supposed she would not notice. “Thank you,” he said, clearing his throat just once before giving her a small, yet sincere, smile.

As they walked, he felt a strange sort of vindication that Ares had not been, entirely, accurate in the words he’d said and the tales he’d spun. But he ignored thoughts of his brother as she spoke once more and his lips turned upwards in a smirk that was more knowing than it should have been. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me in the least,” he said, his words honest with a tinge of fondness in them that was likely inappropriate given their circumstances. Realizing that, perhaps, a moment too late, he shook his head and offered another apologetic smile.

A laugh, more booming than before, entered the air between them and Hephaestus shook his head as he gestured to the small coffee shop that was just in front of them. “I wouldn’t say I’m an expert,” he responded with a shrug of one shoulder. “Merely someone who has exacting standards and is always pleased when they are fulfilled.”

@emberstoflames​

She sat in the backseat of the car, drumming her fingers on the leather armrest. She was headed to Brant’s, for a day out in Queens. Even a few months ago, this situation never would have happened. But the heart had changed things around for Ella, and she couldn’t wipe the grin off of her face. Sure, she had only ever been to Queens before, straight to Brant’s place, or to the airport, but this time, she was going out. To have a nice day out “on the town”. And while the thought almost made her roll her eyes, it filled her with a very specific kind of warmth. 

She wasn’t dressed all the way up, but not at all dressed down. She wore a long blue overcoat with a black leather miniskirt and silk top underneath. She had a blue beret to match, and her hair was done. She just wanted to see Brant, to see his smile, to kiss his lips. This was what domesticity felt like, she assumed.

Her driver parked the car, and she said goodbye, grinning as she made sure he got a nice tip. She exited the car, walking up to his door. She rang the bell, waiting with a smirk. 

Somehow, he thought it would be more difficult to convince Ella to come to Queens. [ Hephaestus refused to consider why he referred to her as Ella in his mind. It was easier, perhaps, and allowed him to remain attached to the mortal being he’d been living as. ] But it was not nearly as hard as he might have expected and as Hephaestus ran a comb and some oil through his beard, he was struck with the realization that this felt more domestic than he had felt in a very long time. The fight with Ares, the interaction with Aphrodite, the ribbing with Dionysus, all of his recent interactions with his fellow deities continued to play around in his mind. They had to mean something, he thought to himself, shaking his head as if doing so would shake away the worries and the guilt that had plagued him.

He heard the ring of the bell and instantly his lips curved into a smile. He reached for his jacket, throwing it on over one of his cleaner flannel shirts that was neatly tucked into a pair of jeans and a belt. He looked more country than city, he supposed, but that had never bothered Brantley much. It didn’t bother Hephaestus either.

Opening the door, Hephaestus leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ella’s, not even bothering to first greet her. It was only when he pulled back that his amused smile rose on his face. “I don’t think Queens is ready for you, sweetheart,” he teased her.

Dionysus nodded as if to say touche, and took another dramatically large spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Oh no that was absolutely me.” He grinned. Honestly, he could have paid for that particular purchase from the adult store himself, but the sheer novelty of Hephaestus finding that on his bank statement was too funny to pass up. “Let’s just say Oli should be thanking you for more than just the meal in the bar, if you know what I mean.” He wriggled his eyebrows in a way that he knew would make Heph roll his eyes at him. “It tastes good, and it powers this little mortal flesh prison just fine. Let me have this; it’s the closest thing to ambrosia I can find.” 

Dionysus sucked air in through his teeth. “Yeah, he’s um… he’s not doing so good at the moment. He’s really scraping it to make ends meet, and I don’t think I’ve been helping. After all this god shit came flooding back, I don’t really know how to act around him so I’ve been pulling back a little.” He winced at the admission of his own less than admirable behavior. “I’m surprised he let you feed him - he’s stubborn as he is pretty. But thank you, I know that would have meant a lot to him, especially when I’ve been singing your praises since day one.”

Hephaestus shook his head, rolling his eyes all the same. He was unsurprised at his brother’s antics by this point in his existence and he shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll be sure to mention that to him the next time I see him,” he responded, his voice somewhat deadpan as his brows quirked. “What shade of red should I expect him to become?” He snorted and ran his hand through his hair, still eyeing the cereal with distaste. “Shit, what the hell happened to you? Ambrosia?” he inquired, scandalized. “Next you’ll tell me you’re going to use wine instead of milk in that.” A second after his comment, he groaned. “Please tell me I didn’t just give you an idea.”

Leaning forward, he clapped Dionysus on the shoulder. “What’s holding you back?” His question was genuine. “You can’t tell me it’s guilt over Ariadne.”

He was used to people listening to him, at least as a mortal, and it was not nearly so confusing to him why Oliver hadn’t argued. “To him, I look old enough to be your father. I’ve found young people have a hard time saying no to parental figures,” Hephaestus drawled. “I nearly shudder to think what he’d say if he saw our father.” Chuckling at his own words, he turned and poured some coffee, taking a healthy sip of it. He was surprised and his lips twisted into something resembling a smile. “Coffee’s better than I expected.” It was not exactly a compliment, but from someone as exacting as Hephaestus, he rather anticipated Dionysus would take it as such. “I spent years feeding you, didn’t I?” The question was rhetorical and he wasn’t even going to mention the wine he’d brought. “Adding one more in isn’t so difficult. Especially when his thanks are so...effusive.”

Maybe neither of them were particularly good at small talk. Oliver simply talked too much. That was the case when he spoke with most people, except for his best friends and Ty, who could keep up with his incessant energy. But he couldn’t stop the constant whirring around in his brain. The only time it stopped was when he played music.. maybe that’s one of the reasons he fell in love with performing, in the first place. His head was just a mess, and continuing to talk always seemed like the best plan at the time.

“Really? You mean that?” Oliver wasn’t quite sure why he asked. Brant didn’t seem like the type to make statements just to appease his audience. He seemed like someone who said honest things when he meant them, and that was all he really needed to offer. Then again, Oliver didn’t know him too much, and maybe he was just projecting. “That would be amazing, really. And no! I’m pretty much a garbage disposal when it comes to food… I just,,, forget to eat a lot. Or I don’t have the money for it. But if it’s in front of me, I’ll probably eat it. Except tuna fish. Like… I like fresh tuna. But the mayonnaise covered crap? I don’t get it at all.”

He could not recall if Orpheus had been so verbose as a demigod, but Hephaestus likely hadn’t bothered to care. Now, though, he was torn between annoyance and amusement. The whiskey, however, seemed to temper his temper and he took another sip before placing the glass back onto the bar. Eyes searched for Dionysus, but he saw nothing. They moved back to the young man in front of him and Hephaestus kept his expression placid. He ignored the urge to reach for his phone, to text Ella and immediately feel re-connected to this world he inhabited.

Hephaestus nearly rolled his eyes once more, but he refrained, instead offering a tight-lipped smile that was no less genuine for being small. “I am not in the habit of saying anything I don’t mean,” he responded with a tilt of his head. Reaching for his drink, Hephaestus took another sip of it, his eyes moving around the bar but they soon found their way back to Oliver. Eyes widened and he chuckled deeply. “Mayonnaise isn’t exactly something that stocks my shelves. Nor canned tuna.” He wondered if the boy in front of him had ever had a proper meal as a mortal and though he was still so amused, he found that he felt for the mortal existence Orpheus had. It was not a pleasant realization. “Well I’ll talk to that hell-raising boy of mine and figure out a date.”

athena

@emberstoflames | @pathvfwar​

It’s not like she’d downloaded the app intending on actually dating anyone – it’d always been more like an exhibit of evidence; could anyone really fault her lack of dating life when the pickings were so slim? Brantley had been a surprise for multiple reasons, not the least of which was his relative normalcy considering how other older men on Tinder seemed to behave. They’d ended up exchanging numbers; it was that sense of intuition (Not quite, she whispers, you know better) that he was someone worth knowing. Vague coffee plans had never quite materialized, so she had been surprised to receive his rather outrageous request for her to post his bail over text.

That’s when it started, a slow niggling feeling that Alex she had done this many, many times before in a different lifetime; the very idea of posting bail for a near-stranger (and his friend? compansion? fight buddy? she didn’t glean the exacts in their short conversations) should have felt ridiculous, absurd, but instead the only emotion flooding her (HER) senses as she stepped out of the cab to enter the precinct was fond exasperation. The weight of her black credit card is nothing in her palm as she pays for both her new friend and his companion to be released. The door opens with a quiet click as two men are brought forward, and the steady, calm beat of her heart suddenly begins a war march and neutral expression fading into something angrier.

Because it’s not just a stranger who’s face seemed remarkably similar on his dating profile, fire in his eyes, heated expression revealing the whirring cogs and mechanics of a sharp mind. It’s also fucking HIM, the brute from the gym, tall and broadshouldered with blood in his teeth-baring grin and challenge in his stride. Alex SHE sees them both and the intuition instinct that causes her hand to twitch sharply (she doesn’t notice the coffee cup she knocks over the desk, bitter liquid seeping into papers and onto the floor with a steady drip that matches the throbbing in her head) for a weapon she doesn’t have is that of a warrior’s, and suddenly —

it all makes sense.

Except, that it doesn’t, Athena frowns, not with the silly heels posing such an obvious weakness to her ankles and mortal prisons that could apprently hold the gods. None of it makes sense, aside from one little detail.

“You did this,” Athena hisses as her brothers draw near, eyes focused coldly on the war god. Every line of her body is taut, jaw set and fist curled to keep from swinging. “You did this, I don’t know how but you did.”

Getting into a fight with Hephaestus in the middle of a busy New York street was probably not the smartest thing that he had ever done. But, to be fair, it wasn’t the most stupid either. Not to mention he felt really rather accomplished knowing that he had annoyed Hephaestus into throwing the first punch. 

That would be important later if anybody decided to press charges. 

It wasn’t his first time in a police station or in a cell. After the cops had realised he had no intention of fighting them and was more than happy to be taken in quietly, he’d discovered that at least a few in the station were fans of his. He had even signed a few autographs. 

That had been hours ago. 

Since then he had sat in a cell beside Hephaestus in stony silence. He’d tried to call his manager but for some reason they hadn’t answered so he’d decided to wait it out. It seemed a much better idea than to ask Heph for help anyway. 

He was surprised when he was told that both he and Heph had been bailed out but not moreso than when he saw who was waiting for them.  And Athena - because there was no way to mistake that stance and fury for Alex - was none too pleased. 

Me? his expression seemed to ask as he pointed to himself with all of the feigned innocence of a child who knew he had been caught doing something naughty. 

Ares couldn’t think of a worse combination of Zeus loving gods to be trapped with. There weren’t many things that he thought could have been worse and his manager had to get his message eventually. 

“Actually Officer I think you better lock me back up. I don’t feel safe being left with that woman. And hand her a copy of the witness statements so that she knows this guy,” he jerked a thumb towards Hephaestus, “started it.”

@emberstoflames​

Hephaestus was angry and though his temper flared, his beard remained calm. There were no flames to cover his jawline, no blue or orange infernos licking around his skin. His eyes glinted, but there were no flickers of light in them.

He hated it, as he stood next to his brother in a jail cell, feeling every inch a mortal even as his mind rebelled.

He could have contacted Ella, that he knew, but Hephaestus didn’t feel like exposing that side of his life to his brother right now, especially after the brawl they’d gotten into on the streets. He had been texting someone he’d met on the dating app, but only because there was an ease that he had not often felt. Even after Brantley’s memories had shifted alongside his own true ones, Hephaestus had enjoyed their dialogue, though he’d had no intention of making it anything other than platonic.

He would be thankful for that later.

It was only as she walked into the station to bail them out, however, that Hephaestus realized just who Alex was. How had his mind not realized sooner? His eyes widened as he saw Athena and he watched it play out on her face, his own brow furrowing as her memories returned and her jaw set tightly. Glancing at her expression, his eyes twinkled. It was a sight he’d witnessed so many times before. Hephaestus had never been more thankful than to see it the way he could now.

Lips quirked at the corners and he laughed, the noise devoid of any true humor, as he looked at both Ares and Athena. “I’m afraid,” he drawled, his voice deep as his eyes met Athena’s. “That the only thing I am culpable of is my inability to look the other way when Ares disparages my relationship with my wife.” His eyes crinkled and he leaned forward, his voice conspiratorial as he looked at Athena. “Let’s leave him here, shall we Pallas? You can help me find dear old Dad while Ares consoles himself by looking in his muscles in the mirror.”

iv - Hephaestus @emberstoflames​

“I would have thought that most mistakes were unnecessary. If you did it on purpose it would not exactly be a mistake,” she pointed out. She wondered if it had happened before or if there ever were accidents in the axe throwing halls. It made her palms sweat thinking about it. 

She watched as he hefted the axe, seeming to look for something though she had no idea what. This was just a hobby for her and she knew very little about the equipment they used. “Does it feel alright?”

“Ah. Well I am sure that one is plenty,” she said. She could tell that he was trying to be nonchalant about it, but she didn’t miss that little look that told her it was something just a bit special. “No, we are here to throw axes and be social. But we could, if you like - though I promise not to pry.”

“Semantics,” he pointed out, a wry tone that had always been more present in Brantley’s voice than had ever appeared in Hephaestus’. “My point,” he continued, ignoring the way his skin crawled as memories resurfaced. “Is that some mistakes are necessary, because you learn from them. Some, however, are just borne out of stupidity. I’d think your mistakes would fall into the former category.” And not the latter.

Hephaestus looked at Laurel – at Persephone – and inclined his head. “It feels acceptable,” he stated. While Brantley might have been fine with an axe such as this one, Hephaestus felt its every weakness as he held it. It was weighted to the front in a way that was dangerous – though, he supposed, that might make sense given the sport they were participating in – and there was a strangeness to how the handle was grafted to the head of the axe. Adjusting his grip, he looked at the target ahead of them and threw it, pleased when it hit with an accuracy Brantley would have been proud of but Hephaestus thought was nearly good enough.

“More than,” he agreed with a shrug of a shoulder, unsure of why he was willing to talk to her about Ella when his entire consciousness thought of little else. Even now, the guilt bubbled and twisted in his gut. “There’s not much to say,” he said casually. “Ella’s…she’s just something else.”

Here was someone who wanted her for her. This didn’t happen to Ella, and even she didn’t know how much it meant to her. Brant was already successful. He wasn’t aiming to ride on her coattails to the top. He wasn’t trying to use her to get to her parents. He wasn’t spending her money on something fancy, or using her exposure to push himself up. He was just… interested in her. Ella had always wondered what that would feel like, to be so deeply infatuated with someone other than herself, at least on the good days. And here she was.

If they were to keep going with this, which Ella desperately hoped would be the case, would he change over night? Would he turn into someone she didn’t know? Would he wake up one morning and decide to see all of her flaws? Ella’s brain simply wouldn’t stop.

But then… he wanted her. Just her. They wanted each other. Even though they lived different lives. Even though they were opposites in so many ways. Even though her parents might not approve, and the world might set up obstacles. None of it mattered to Ella. She’d roll the dice on this one. “I willingly go to Queens for you. That means it’s serious.”

Eventually he would find his wife. Eventually he would be forced to face what he had done, the secrets he’d kept. But fortunately for Hephaestus, that day would not be now. There was a glint in his eye that felt something like self-reproach, but he blinked and it disappeared, content instead with the woman he’d pulled into his lap.

He chuckled, the sound deep and genuine as it bubbled up from his chest. “Willingly?” he inquired. “Is that what we’re calling it now?” His words were teasing and his tone amused, but Hephaestus shook his head wryly as he looked at Ella, so seemingly content to sit with him. He noticed, not for the first time, the plainer clothes she’d worn; he would be a fool to assume it wasn’t for him, for the way that Brantley was much more of the earth than the woman who lived at the top of a tower.

“I’ll have you know it takes a very special woman indeed who can convince me to put on a suit,” he responded as he leaned in to press another kiss to her lips. When he pulled back, Hephaestus tilted his head. “As much as I enjoy having you here, sweetheart, I think the food’s going to get cold.”

Ares shrugged his broad shoulders. He has been called an arsehole and prick more times than he could care to count. Unlike Hephaestus he revelled in it. What was the point in being well liked when you could do whatever you pleased. “At least I’m impressive to look at.”

And he was. Standing at over 6 feet tall with an athletic, broad frame, even were it not for his beard, hair, and the wild look in his eye he would have drawn attention. 

“She was mine before she was yours,” he pointed out. “Ah, but you see that’s not the real difference between you and me. I have never accepted a woman as a prize. They come to me of their own choice.”

He shot Hephaestus a grin and a wink. “Might be why she’s bothered to find me and not you.”

He hated how right the other god’s words were, just as he hated that he had shared his wife with a man he could have called brother for so long. Hephaestus did not wish to admit it and his nostrils flared as he looked at Ares. [ He also hated how he had to tilt his chin up, just a touch, but enough to make him feel as inadequate as only Ares had been able to do. ] “If you think I had any choice to say no to marrying her, then clearly you are even more of a dullard than I have believed all these millennia,” he drawled, eyes narrowed.

Ares had always known how to twist the truth, how to bend it to his will in a way that drove Hephaestus mad. But Hephaestus forgot that at his brother’s rather insensitive words and his brow furrowed even more as his jaw clenched. “She might warm your bed on occasion, but she will always return home, to me.” [ He ignored the nagging thought in the back of his mind that told him he wasn’t sure he wanted her to. ]

A heavy exhale escaped his lips. “Is there a reason you’re still here?” he inquired. “Certainly you have other, simpler things you could be doing.”

Scarlett couldn’t help the way her brow raised and her nose scrunched at the offer, she really couldn’t. Perhaps it was rude, and perhaps she would do well to keep her emotions off of her face, but she couldn’t help herself. She would rather freeze than be caught in what he was offering.

“I’m sure I can survive the walk,” she said, trying to sound as polite as possible as she turned down the offer. If the circumstances were different, maybe she would have been enticed - accepting a coat from a man was a sure was to make an impression, she was sure, but she wasn’t interested in this one. Spilling coffee on someone was never a good first impression anyway. “But thank you. That’s very kind.” How had he managed to turn her mood around so quickly? She had been resolute to despise him, but here they were, walking to coffee together.

The chuckle seemed to be a good sign, perhaps the moments shared wouldn’t be the worst start to her day. His company - had she gotten a name? - was proving to not be horrible, previous transgressions aside. “I’ll admit that that’s rather disappointing. I do delight in surprising people.”

“The best coffee in Manhattan?” It was her turn to tease, surprising even herself with the rhythm they seemed to be falling in to. He had made her angry, yes, but there was still something she couldn’t shake. Conversation came easily, as if she had already known the man for a lifetime. It was strange, but she was finding that she didn’t hate it. “That’s quite the praise. And are you a qualified judge in such matters?”

In truth, he’d have been surprised if she’d taken the jacket even with the knowledge of who they were. The romantic side of him liked to wonder if she would see it as a sweet gesture and indulge him, but then again, the romantic side of him was rather small to begin with. He simply shrugged his shoulders and tossed the jacket back on, ignoring that the collar no longer laid flat.

That’s very kind. He was tempted to laugh aloud at the words that came from her mouth – from his wife’s mouth – but Hephaestus was aware that this woman was no more his wife than Brantley had been her husband. Or at least, that’s likely what she thought. He inclined his head. “You’re welcome.” The words were gruff, though his tone was meant to be warm, and Hephaestus continued to lead the way, doing his best to ignore the chill in the air.

He was nearly tempted to chuckle again, but he found that he didn’t want this mortal version of Aphrodite thinking him a simpleton who laughed at everything – like Ares, he supposed, his mind twisting the words vindictively. “What do you like about surprising others?” he inquired curiously. “Is it the look of shock upon their faces or the intrinsic pride in knowing that you’ve proven someone else wrong?”

It was strange, to hear that teasing tone of voice, speaking to him. Hephaestus delighted in it and for a brief moment, he could forget where they were or what they were doing. Lips curved upwards. “I am,” he drawled, his own tone lighter than before. “I’ve visited nearly every coffee shop in the city over the years.” It had not been hard to do, with his job taking him to so many neighborhoods. “And this one has been, consistently, the best.” 

@emberstoflames​

“You are such a prick.”

If he was feeling more petulant he might have mimicked Hephaestus and his pretentious language - Did Mother never properly teach you how to converse? Or he could have pointed out that at least their mother had wanted to keep Ares around, that at least he had never been banished from Olympus by her. That if he’d been banished it was because of things he had done and not because of who he was. 

Ares slowed to a drawl if only to mimic Hephaestus’ own tone. He wants to get under his skin, to break through that placid visage. 

“I am talking about your wife. Or have you forgotten about her?”

Hephaestus allowed himself a laugh, loud and rumbling up from his chest. It was not the booming laugh of amusement, however, but one of annoyance, derisive in inflection. “Then it appears we have at least one thing in common, brother,” he responded, his voice mocking.

How had Ares always been able to bring out this side of him? Hephaestus had never been a particularly friendly deity, but he was not usually so outright difficult.

His brow rose and though something close to fire coursed through his veins, Hephaestus tempered it, running his hand through his beard as Ares spoke.

“You have such a fascination with my wife, brother,” he responded, his voice sounding nearly bored. “One would think that there is something deficient in you, to continually covet something that is not your own.”

He was a vision, with his eyes closed. He looked so calm, maybe more calm than Ella had ever seen him. And yes, whatever they had together… whatever this was hadn’t lasted forever. Maybe it wouldn’t last more than a year. Ella had no idea. The thought quite frankly terrified her. This was one of the only things in her life that she didn’t have complete and total control over. She rarely allowed in situations that had calculations of risk… but here she was, soothing him anyways. She wanted to be here. She wanted him more than just about anything.

She could have held her breath, waiting for him to let her down. It could have come so easily, a swift betrayal. But that moment never came. This man before her was made of the strongest stuff, and while Ella couldn’t understand it, she was enough for him, too. 

She could barely even smile, she was bowled over by the intensity of what she was feeling. She couldn’t put a word on it, she didn’t have one to describe the sensation. She did know, however, that it felt like it might knock her out. “I think you might be the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time.”

He knew, deep down, that he likely shouldn’t encourage this any further than he already had. And yet Hephaestus was making a decision he likely would never have made if he’d not first been mortal. There was a peace to being around Ella he had never had before and he felt that he was not being dramatic by stating she was the first woman who had seemingly wanted him as her first choice and not as a consolation prize. It was, perhaps, selfish, but he could not deny himself that feeling.

But would she feel the same way when she knew who she was? For that matter, what would his wife have to say about it? Though Aphrodite was not the best of wives, she had always seemed the sort to care more about what was hers. He ignored those thoughts, just as he ignored the guilt that gnawed at him.

Hephaestus pulled Ella closer and pressed a soft kiss to the underside of her jaw. Her words warmed him, more than his anger ever had, and he ran his fingers up her spine before he spoke. “I just want you,” he told her quietly, softly. “Strange though your world of opulence may seem.” His smile grew wry.

“you certainly do.” atropos nods; and if one did not know better, they could claim she is genuinely enjoying this exchange with the extinguished god of fire. there is hardly any evidence to claim contrary — with relaxed posture, playful smile, and lively eyes, she would not cast judgment on someone if they mistook them for friends. in reality, she knows, all the amusement and joy is one-sided. one glance at hephaestus’ bedraggled form, and his distress is painfully visible to anyone who is familiar with the signs — and even those who are not. not that she can blame them. she has witnessed it happen over and over again. being surrounded by stressful, unexplainable circumstances is generally enough to deteriorate anyone’s overall look. gods are no exceptions.

she furrows her brows, lips pressed together in a tight line. “are you unfamiliar with the concept of altruism, sir?” atropos inquires, her voice all faux concern as she carefully steps forward. her eyes go over his form repeatedly, as if she truly is concerned for his well-being. “i believe a reminder of its meaning would serve you well. our lives have a tendency to be awfully short-lived if we refuse to seek assistance from those who do not belong to our inner circle.” with softness that a creature of her calibre should be inherently incapable of possessing, atropos lays her hand on his cheek. his facial hair feels rough beneath her palm. “but i suppose you need not spend your precious energy on worrying about such matters.” there it is again, the flash of a cruel smile that betrays the gentleness of her gesture. “with a girlfriend and wife at your disposal, i am certain your needs are thoroughly looked after.” 

she taps his cheek gently twice before she moves once again, though atropos’ gaze remains fixed on the god. he is beginning to suspect something — as expected. everything is going according to the plan. “did you not hear what i just shared with you? i have lived my whole life here in new york. do you not think i would have, by now, already encountered all the fearsome creatures that lurk in the city’s shadows?” the second accusation earns yet another burst of joyful laughter from her. “in the name of honesty, i can be rather frightening.” she chuckles. “but such is the way of the courtroom. there is no room for weaknesses.” she has been studying him, but now she lifts her gaze so she can look directly into his eyes. her left brow raises in sync with the movement — a dare. a challenge. “but if it is something else you are implying, please, do share. whatever it is, i am sure it could improve my reputation and tactics as a lawyer.”

The quirk of his brow made it clear what he thought of the response. What help would he need that she could provide? He had never needed anyone, no matter how much he might want them. Had Hephaestus not returned to Olympus alone, throne on his back? He said nothing to that, though his eyes narrowed as he tried to place her. He could not. Hephaestus blinked, slowly, pushing his memories and thoughts down as they attempted to meld with those of Brantley.

A dark chuckle left his lips. “Unfamiliar? No,” he responded, his voice struggling to return to the deeper boom that Hephaestus preferred as opposed to the Southern drawl that Brantley had perfected. It was strange, to have memories but to have a body that did not seem to respond to them. He didn’t like it. “I just find the concept of altruism to be contradictory in nature. No one does something for the greater good or for selflessness. They do it because helping others makes them feel better about themselves. I would argue that’s hardly altruistic at all.” Were they not all selfish? Even Hephaestus would acknowledge an inherent need to get what he wanted, though he would never admit to it.

There was something strange about this woman. He could not recall having ever seen her before and yet she knew things about him. It was eerie, for while he called Ella his girlfriend to his close friends, it was not something he’d publicly thrown about. And as for the wife comment, well, Brantley had not been married for so many years. He ran his hand along his jawline, shaking his head to the side. “I hardly think you’d need to worry about my needs,” he responded, a strange feeling still unfurling in his lower abdomen. “But perhaps I should worry about how you know such things about me.” No, not about him. About Brantley. He would need to learn to separate the two.

“One can live,” he said softly. “In the same place for ages and not know what lurks in the shadows.” It was oddly poetic, coming from Hephaestus of all deities, and he shook his head once more, realizing, not for the first time, that he desperately needed to return home, to sleep, to get a handle on what had just happened to him. The admission that she was a lawyer made him soften somewhat and Hephaestus wondered if perhaps he had seen her in one of the courtrooms or legal practices he’d visited during his divorce; regardless, he had bigger things to worry about than a strange woman who knew more about him than he was comfortable with. “What type of law do you practice?” he inquired, curious as to the answer.