with @mp-zeus

minho was never one to stress over the small things in life — that is, until the day came for him to leave his life of familiarity for one of… well, not that. he’s been a constant ball of anxiety since he woke, packing and repacking all of his things ten times over and nervously asking his mother to walk him through the list of essentials somewhere over six times.

y’see— it’s been a long two years of minho sharing little other than quick phone calls and texts with his father, so the idea of finally meeting him and leaving to an island full of things he used to think could only be real in his wildest dreams proves to be daunting. he’s ever grateful for his mother, then, for offering little utterances of advice and sweet, encouraging smiles that are the epitome of ‘you’re doing great, sweetie.’ he truly thinks himself lucky she hasn’t snapped at him considering how many times she told him to make sure he didn’t have any other packing to do on the day of his departure (and, honestly, he doesn’t have more to do; he’s just so stressed he finds himself nitpicking the smallest of things about it).

it takes another hour of, to put it nicely, suffering before minho finally deems everything to be good enough. he sets his things near the door and spends his last bit of time conversing with his mother, assuring her time and time again that he’ll be okay, he’ll keep in contact, he’ll be back in incheon to visit her one day soon. most importantly, he gives her the pink carnations and white chrysanthemums he’d arranged earlier that week to silently remind her: ‘i love you, and i won’t forget about you.’

( so maybe she gets a bit teary-eyed, but that’s what happens when your beloved only child leaves the nest. )

a knock at the door is what breaks them apart; minho, like the always easily startled boy he is, just about jumps out of his skin. he shoots his mother an uncertain look, to which he receives a supportive smile and a gesture for him to be the one that opens the door.

he’s certain his entire existence gives off the exact vibe he’s feeling on the inside (read: unbearably apprehensive) as he approaches the door and ever so carefully cracks it open. it’s when he sees the man standing on the other side, however, that his facial features turn rather blank.

@mp-zeus 

It has been many years now since he last saw his younger brother; since last they crossed metaphorical swords on Mount Olympus and let their powers rage. He remembers well the lightning storms that would be unleashed on him, and the lack of care he had always ever felt because of them. More so than any of them, he had been immortal; the Underworld but an extension of himself, its secrets laid bare for him. There was nothing in both worlds anyone could have done to take him out, and so the lightning had never scared him as much as it had perhaps some of the others - some of Zeus’ children.

But those days of strife lay far behind them, thousands of years in the past, and Hades has never even come across a single spark of life from his brother’s side except for the occasional half-mortal child that was eventually turned into his care. As far as he is concerned, this means that there is no ill will left between them, that their issues are things of the past and their meeting now will be nothing other than a chance to reconnect, to be brothers again like they used to, before fate turned him bitter and angry.

Long gone are the days when he hated his assignment to the Underworld, after all, long gone is any of the regret and resentment he felt because of it. His place in the Underworld had given him the most wonderful wife as well as a place of peace and calm, a place where none of the other gods could find him but Hermes and the few of them he had allowed life in his domain.

So when he makes his way into Zeus’ apartment, he does so without any warning, stepping out of the Underworld straight into his brother’s living room and taking a seat in the couch, throwing his feet up on the armrest as he lets his gaze wander the decorations in the room.

with the wonderful @mpzeus

It was a beautiful Saturday on the island and Hera was ready to spend it the best way she knew how. She left the boutique in her employee’s capable hands, her help only being one call away. With a hot coffee in one hand and her sketch pad in the other, she made her way through the park. Relishing in the way the sun felt on her skin despite the slight chill still in the air, spring around the corner. Her heels clicked along the concrete sidewalk as she watched the people of the city enjoying the beautiful day the same as her.

Eventually, she came upon a vacant bench nestled along the wall separating the sidewalk from the grass. A sparse tree was overhead, attempting to partially block the warm sun from touching her skin. Hera tucked her pad under her arm as she smoothed her pencil-skirt down with her now open hand, ready to get comfortable on this park bench. With a soft sigh, she pulled a pencil from her bag and began working on a dress sketch, coffee in her empty hand, occasionally setting it on the bench next to her.

She was eventually joined by someone, she didn’t lift her head to see who it was, too immersed in her drawing to care. It was a few minutes later that she finally brushed her hair from her face, allowing her a chance to peek at her new bench mate from the corner of her eye. She uncrossed her legs and laid her pad on her legs as she did so, the realization of who was sitting beside her sending her heart into her Louis Vittons. She took in a sharp breath as she clutched her coffee to her chest, pencil hitting the sidewalk beneath their feet.

Hera refused to turn her head, rather quickly going to pick up her pencil and toss it back in her bag. Zeus. Why did it have to be Zeus? She closed her sketchbook and tried to gather her composure, she thought she was ready to see her husband but, now that he was directly beside her she couldn’t possibly think of what to say. She couldn’t tell if he also recognized her, she had changed a lot and so had he obviously but, she could recognize her husband easily. Her heart was about to burst out of her chest when words finally passed her lips, her mind taking over from her heart for a moment, a mock calmness to her voice as she looked at her hands in her lap.

sentence starters: accepting

this. this is it. this is why he stays.

this is why he suffers the fights, the snide comments, the myriad of ways in which zeus has already managed to hurt him in the past. this is why he forgives even the worst of wounds, the deepest cuts and the most vile comments. zeus always knows how to find yet another one of his soft spots and jab at it until the bruises start to bleed and the tenderness turns to outright destruction.

but sometimes his lover also knows when to back down, when to give way to tohil’s own fiery sense of destruction and put down the first block to rebuild the bridge between them that has been burned and wrecked more times than he cares to count. sometimes zeus says or does something, something tiny and insignificant on its own, that just seems to resonate perfectly with the side of him that loves more than any mortal is capable of, a fondness and warmth so endless that there seems to be no limit to what it is the king of olympus can do and yet still be forgiven.

so tohil gives in.

he doesn’t do it kindly, nor soft. he doesn’t melt and fold and placidly fall into zeus’ arms to grant the request. no, he grabs a handful of zeus’ shirt, drags the god across the remainder of distance between them rather harshly so and claims those lips in a kiss that is still filled with his anger, still rich in resentment and disapproval. a kiss that speaks volumes of his currently raging dislike for the other male, but that doesn’t become any less heartfelt because of it - perhaps even more so instead.

it is easy for the switch to be made, though. desire feeds the fire just as well as anger does, after all, and with one hand still keeping a good hold of the fistful of zeus’ shirt and his lips laying claim to those of the other male over and over it is not long before one emotion replaces the other. his second hand grabs hold of the shirt as well, but this time it is in order to tear the piece of clothing roughly off his lover’s body, the fabric burning to ashes in his hands within seconds. the other clothes soon follow, everything he strips off his lover burning away within moments of leaving zeus’ skin, reduced to nothing but ashes.

the path of his desire takes them from their initial position over to the first surface he can push zeus up against, hands ravaging his lover’s body, nails raking skin and leaving trails of liquid fire on the other god’s body. he’s not truly harming his lover, but he is not being gentle either and soon the marks of his actions trace a pattern of revenge that would otherwise have been paved with words he could never take back and more things burned that he can’t replace as easily as a set of clothes.

by the time the blazing fire softens into a warmer sort of flame, there is little left of zeus’ body that hasn’t yet been touched - just like his own - and little left as well of the night they had been at the start of when their entire argument started. it is only then that he allows them to finally fall down upon the mattress of their bed, this time tracing his lover’s body with soft, soothing kisses, as if trying to apologise for the hurt he has brought before. this time his fingers brush over skin with delicate admiration, with the gentleness of the love that always fills his entire being whenever he looks at the other.

and isn’t that exactly the problem in the end? there is simply too much love inside of him for this man, too much emotion that can so easily flicker and shift into something dark and destructive, simply because of something the other male says or does. that and the fact that zeus is probably the worst person to ever have given his heart to, all sharp edges like broken glass and a spitefulness that goes bone-deep sometimes.

but still, but still, but still....

sentence starters: accepting

“this is so true,” tohil agrees the instant the words fall from zeus’ lips. “i can attest that you literally do nothing else all day.” he grins, bright and playful, showing no regret for the comment he made while at the same time indicating that it was nothing more than a joke at the other god’s expense. a little bit of cheerfulness never hurt anyone, especially not in the presence of the greek god whose mere presence screams brooding and serious all around.

sure, zeus can be all fun and games, but never truly as limitless as tohil himself has the capability of being. somehow, that kind of carelessness just doesn’t seem to reside within the other male’s spectrum of emotions despite how vast a collection it is. somehow no matter what zeus does, it always gains that darker and brooding edge, like there is a film noir movie just waiting to be shot with the greek god as its star actor.

and tohil, he’s the crazy mayan friend who pops up whenever he feels like it, throws the entire set upside down and pretends he has no clue there is a camera aimed at him the entire time while he’s doing it.

“zeus, my man,” he says as he throws an arm around the other god’s shoulders and leans in contently. but the words have him think of other possibly nicknames and so they soon start rolling from his lips almost effortlessly, only serving to widen his own grin with his amusement over them. “my homie, my bestie, my golden boy, my zeusie q.” he chuckles at the last one, all smiles and brightness and happiness as he uses his free hand to motion at their environment.

Krystal laughed dryly as she continued to clean the dirt off the face of the man in front of her. This wasn’t the first time a patient had proclaimed their love for her as she was treating them and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “Ah yes, I see your head injury is worse than predicted. If you would just stay still sir, I could help you and get you on your way.” It didn’t take long for her to find the wound in his scalp that was making such a mess. “This might feel strange but, I need you to relax as I’m not sure the extent of your injuries.”

She tentatively cradled his head in her hands, after removing the latex gloves, she took stock of his injuries again before closing her eyes and beginning her work of healing him. A low hum began to emit from her hands on his face as a soft light began to travel along his skin searching for his scrapes, and cuts before moving along his scalp and head searching for a concussion or something that may be making him delusional.

@mpzeus

he loves his job at the restaurant, loves using his control over fire to work the food, to create a dish to perfection. there is probably nothing or very little else he could ever excel at as he does in the cooking department. but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy something different too. and minx is just the right place for him to do so, something so different from noona’s strict and proper surroundings that it’s like an entirely different life. he enjoys the duality of it, the way that every day can bring entirely different chances and opportunities just by being in two different places. it’s what he does outside too, after all, taking up a new life every so many decades, becoming someone entirely different.

humanity’s fleeting mortality makes it so that he is never reminded of those old lives by anything than his own mind reminiscing the good days or the few times he leaves through old picture books and finds a memory of times passed in them. it is always a conscious decision to return back to old times, to revisit the different persons he has already been, the different places he’s visited, the different people he’s cared for and loved.

so when a familiar body warmth brushes past his awareness, it is with no small bit of surprise that he tilts his head upwards, eyes travelling away from the many glasses and bottles to find said man’s reflection in the many mirrors lining the bar. it doesn’t take him long to locate the still familiar shape, light hair almost reflecting the many lights in the bar, those eyes still so alike to how they used to be, that stance and demeanour no different from what it used to be. for a moment he pauses, takes in this sudden confrontation with a faraway past, then his lips fold into a smile and the tightness in his muscles melts away entirely.

he goes back to his task at hand, pouring the liquids, measuring and mixing, creating masterpieces of drinks with the precision of someone who’s been doing this for a very long time. his mind still lingers on the man, though, on those dark eyes filled with all the emotions in the universe. on those days filled with questions and fights and friction but also infinite amounts of passion, a devoted soul that could keep on giving for eternities, much like his own. eventually, though, the fire had burned out and he had turned his back on both the everlasting battle as the lust-filled passion. he’d walked out.

curious to find such a companion now back within his reaches and to feel not the echo of what he had felt so long ago, but merely a level of warm affection reserved for those people he usually calls friends. he doesn’t know if the feeling is mutual, though - is pretty sure even that it is probably not. but there is nothing he can do about the way another person feels, the way another person takes what he does and says and makes it into something that could make or break them for eternity - or could just be inconsequential.

still, when the god’s presence eventually reaches the bar, he turns around without fail, flicks aside the cloth he was using moments before to clean off some glasses with and focuses his own fiery brown eyes on the man right opposite him, relaxed smile gracing his features.