#mpxphobetor

@phobetorxmp

As professional as Siobhan did her best to act at all times behind the bar, there were still customers that tried to push her buttons. A group of both guys and girls had been harassing her, her entire shift. At one point two of them tried to lay hands on her but, thankfully, her coworker stopped them and traded stations with her. This didn’t seem to sway them however as they continued to shout rude nicknames at her and make jokes at her expense in their stupor. All she could do was ignore them and just try to get through her shift.

She couldn’t figure out why people, especially customers, got such kicks out of making fun of her appearance. It was more annoying than it was hurtful so she just continued on her way. Trading stations with her coworkers when needed to avoid close quarters with them again. Siobhan was sure she’d made it home free after her shift and they were no where in site anymore. She breathed a sigh of relief and bid her fellow bartenders good night.

It wasn’t until she was about halfway to her apartment that she could feel that someone was following her. The burning of their eyes in her back and the whispers and laughes behind her clued her into who it was pretty quickly. Her eyes darted around the area pretty quickly as she kept her pace, looking for a way to maybe cross the street or find an open store to go into until they got bored nad left her alone. Unfortunately before she could come up with a plan she was boxed in by the group. One of the girls slung an arm around her shoulders and whispered into her ear; “Oh I’m sorry were you going somewhere alone?”

Nightmares were nothing new to Yoongi. If fact, his dreams were on the nightmarish side more often than not– usually fragmented pieces from his past that escaped from the dark corner of his mind where they were normally locked up to tangle up into globby webs of twisted memories, holding the truth but usually not quite displaying it as it was. He was used to these kinds of dreams, to the point that he usually did not lose sleep over them, nor did he toss and turn or show any outward signs of distress during them.

“Why are you letting others control you? You are the god of nightmares! This is your intended purpose. And all these frightened mortals? They will forget and move on. If anything, what you’ve done will teach them how to overcome fears or suffer if they do not.” her voice is raising in response to the rise of his, but it isn’t out of anger—even if she sounds angry as she speaks, it’s a mix of frustration and worry, of all things.

Frustration over all the restrictions, the limitations on what she viewed as purely natural. Upset and worry that she had to watch one of few she considered close suffering over self conflict and constant surrounding stress.

Eris is so caught in the moment that she’s too stuck to make an early enough attempt to stop her nephew from throwing his fist into the mirror, standing still for a moment after before she’s at his side, making careful steps as to not catch any of the shards. 

“Look at me right now,” So she isn’t an expert in the whole comforting thing, but for one of her nephews she would try. Her hands raise, more gentle and dulled in touch in comparison to her bold ways, palms resting over his cheeks. “And listen to me carefully. You are not a monster. What people think of you is inevitable, but that does not mean you should believe it because the more you believe it the more it will consume you. The more it will do you harm. And you do not deserve that. You don’t deserve this.” 

Started from the bottom and came from here @mpxphobetor

//

    Dakota is plucking the wager from Phobetor’s hands and smiling at it like it’s gold. Never mind that he has a good job with a good paycheck and a boss that is gracious enough to teach him things about ancient recipes- the demigod takes every little penny he can get his hands on. The youth has his eye on something and is collecting the needed funding with a perverse but laughable vigor through cheap bets and astounding work ethic. Hustlin’.

  As he hears the grumbling of the other male Dakota furrows his brows. That disgruntled eh? The demigod saw nothing wrong with the art of bodily modification- even as “extreme” as some people thought this particular modification was. An admirer of the ways that people could change their skin as he was, Dakota found the reaction altogether weird. A look comes over his features as he brings his hand to his mouth in shock.

[cont.] @mpxphobetor

Amaterasu had difficulty hearing the god over the loudness of the screams of her nightmares; dark shapes and echoes of battles that had stained her hands for countless millenia. Amidst all of that, the cold touch of the one she feared the most and the jarring note of a scream threatened to escape her.

“I can’t control them....” She said through gritted teeth, eyes pleading as her hands dug unto the door frame splintering wood unto the flesh of her corporeal form. “I could never--”

Amaterasu shut her eyes, futility seemed to envelope her as she collapsed against the door to her office, reaching for anything and anybody to pull her back. Her nightmares had always lurked, her fears carefully stored away so that she could never give them the time of the day when the sun was out. It seemed that was futile too in the midst of the God of Nightmares.

Time seemed to stretch before the Sun Goddess was able to muster enough of her courage to cling unto the chain of gold wrapped around her neck. Pure sunlight, encased in a jewel, she clung unto it, feeding from its power and feeling the familiar touch of the sun give its strength to her little by little until she could stand up, a bit bedraggled and worn, but still standing.

“This...is definitely an interesting first meeting.” She whispered, gesturing for him to sit, as if she didn’t just collapse in front of him minutes ago. With extreme effort, Amaterasu tried to regain some of her composure, one hand still clinging unto that sun stone in her hand. “What can I do for the God of Nightmares today?”

He watched the god of nightmares as he spoke, his eyes watching for any visible ticks. Of course, there were none, not with him. He wondered if it was a trait of the underworld, to be cold but it could’ve have been. His wife was as bright as she was the day that they’d met and Morpheus seemed much less melancholy than he.

Maybe it was a sort of camaraderie that they had. Of course, Icelus saw the worst fears of others, much more than he did. But what was it that most gods and mortals alike feared more than death? He could relate to him in that way.

“Potential children. I would hate to have misuses of the powers that I unwittingly gave them,” he said, of course his answer much more nuanced than that and he would expect for Icelus to know it too.

Morrigan sleeps deeply.

In her dreams, the water of the river Shannon laps quietly against the wet grass of the highland. The air is thick with low hanging fog, and the grey skies soothe restlessness from the goddess as she walks.

Meandering, homey landscapes like this of old often fill the war deity's slumber.. The world does not fall to it’s knees before the goddess in even her most comforting dreams. Instead it goes on forever; the sky is eternal and the grass has no end, and there is stillness and peace. 

Almost as if from a memory, Morrigan walks along the water, bare feet retracing paths she's taken a hundred times. No thoughts permeate or interrupt the quiet solitude as she closes heavy eyes and wades through the quicksand like atmosphere. 

When she observes again, a great monolithe looms before her. The edges of all forms and horizons have begun to blur, the steps bleed into each other. There are no defenses here, and the familiar cloak of traveling slung loosely over her shoulders drags as she ascends, edging catching on loose bones and stones. 

At the top she turns to watch fire consume the mountains in the distance. For a moment her heart tugs in dismayed helplessness- and that’s when she knows she’s not alone on this plane. Birds erupt from the trees, soaring in droves, frightened and fiery and intent on finding their mistress with shrieks of pain and warning. Their singed feathers rain down as they dive and crash at her feet with sickening crunches. Instantly she lowers to cradle the abstract form broken, twisted bones create. Her hands come away caked in ash and black ink. 

Inside the tome more crows, half skeleton and half flesh, line the high ceilings and she dips stained hands into a basin of oil as if to clean them. The twisted, screaming faces of a thousand soldier corpses shot down at her feet construct the walls, flickering in torch light, and she pauses only long enough on her way to the table she knows lies within, to give one bird a second glance. 

“I pierced my other ears by myself,” he grumbled, not mentioning the fact that he had to get them professionally done eventually because of the infection that happened soon after. But it didn’t hurt that bad when he did it before.

“And it’s not like I could google ‘piercing animal ears’. How many people do you know have these?” He said, pointing towards the ears on top of his head, wincing once again as they attempted to stand up straight, mimicking his emotions perfectly. Or they would, if one didn’t potentially need stitches.