✝ I was born sick ✝

Circe (Greek Mythology Series) (asked by p0is0n-ivy)

    Let the music flow through me. Let me become one with it, allow it to give me peace. For peace and serenity are what a goddess of war needs. 

Sif paid the bartender for her drink and downed it in an instant. When the bartender asked her for another, she simply told him to make it two, then headed to the dance floor. Before she reached the bodies, however, she had already finished them both, tossing the cups behind her in jest. Midgardian beverages did nothing for her, but she enjoyed the taste anyway. 

Wading through the bodies to reach the mosh pit was like wading through a sea of sex and sweat, smoke and steam. She smiled as she inhaled the scent, the aroma of the nightlife ripe and ready for the picking. As she reached the pit, she began to feel the music, her hips swaying with ease and her eyes closing. It wasn’t until she felt her face being tilted that her eyes opened, 

    Well she is not either peace nor serenity, but she will do just nicely.

Sif let out a sultry giggle as she kissed the woman back and placed a hand on her hip, swaying to the music with her. As her breast was touched, she bit her lip and quirked a brow. this woman is phenomenal. 

Beauty, then, came from the sheer act of desperation, tipped with the poignancy that was human nature.

It was maddening to reach for something that could make this existence fulfilling and come up empty-handed, but if you happened to clasp a fleeting amount of warmth, it made the selfish act somehow worth it.

At least, that was part one of part one-thousand of her hard thought-out philosophies that she’d stored away in a journal somewhere once.

What mattered was a sudden halt in thoughts and in focusing all of her attention towards what was happening before her eyes. To ground herself in the present moment was something that was direly needed.

“I have so many here,” Ethel replied, her eyes never leaving her kissing partner’s. “Jewel, Babydoll, and sometimes, Michelle but for you,” she added, leaning in to press the edge of her mouth along the woman’s ear, “it’s Ethel.”

Knowing someone’s true name would hold a significant amount of power over them, or so some novel had told her once.

But in a night of liberation, there was nothing more to do than simply act and push away any and all thought of consequence.

“Come,” Ethel said, taking the woman’s soft hand in her own. “Let’s dance.”

The barest hint of a quirk in the corners of his lips could be seen, one would mistake it simply as a wrinkle or stress line were they not in-tune with the human body. But no, it’s there.

Pride.

Despite his lazy façade, there was a shred of enjoyment. A spark of life that rarely found itself kindled beyond mere smouldering - the flow of alcohol would, in time, exacerbate this spark into flame, though likely no more than a flicker.

A candle’s worth of light for the man so reserved.

"Protector of the Dead and Embalming."

Anubis was not one of his favourite Egyptian deities though the display for Anubis was one of his favourites, if only for the quality of work he’d demanded in a recreation of Anubis’ head - a headpiece to be worn, in fact.

She knew nothing about him but a name and a handful of facts and still there was that subtle tug that made her dig her nails into her leg whenever he breathed more than a handful of words. Her calves trembled and she felt as if she wore circumstantial goggles for this man, strictly due to the beautiful nature of his voice.

Don’t stop, her skin pleaded. Don’t stop talking.

“No,” she replied. “Just Mikey. So you can imagine how excited he got about Anubis. He even checked out books and everything.”

This wasn’t about bolstering this man’s pride more so that it was a gathering of truth to reveal to someone who was obviously a man of few words and a lot of cigarettes how he had impacted someone, somewhere.

That loss of genuine human contact was hard to come by these days and she was no saint but when she could be, she’d tell the honest-to-God truth.

“I always thought of the Egyptians as being very radical. There’s the goddess who weighs your heart and something about the worship of cats, but that’s about all I know.”

The thought I don’t want to remember anything but how this feels passed lazily through her head like driftwood caught in the tide. 

She’d kissed people before. But never because it felt good, or she liked it. Doing as she pleased was a whole different animal. 

It was only the need to breathe that forced her parting. Ignifer — not Subject Delta just Ignifer — pulled a little away, still close enough for their foreheads to touch. 

That, and the fact that she had to remember. That this was dangerous. That this wasn’t allowed.

"Thank you," she said, voice low and more emotional that it had been in a long while. "Thank you but I have to stop."

She was one of those people, for everyone was using someone, everyone was lying about something, and someone, somewhere, was hiding a secret that would never be exposed due to the nature of their hearts.

That was why the sudden p u s h of fingers through her hair made her lips purse and her heavy heart sunk further into her bones, prompted forward only by the thought of desire.

If this beautiful woman wanted sex, then she would give it to her. If she wanted to leave now, then she would let her leave.

It was as simple -- as shallow -- as that in this achingly human world.

When the woman pulled away, she found herself licking her lips and nodding, her stomach heaving as the warmth of the kiss was met by the loss of heat from her partner.

“That’s perfectly fine,” Ethel replied, batting her eyes a few times to dismiss the gloss of arousal from her gaze. “We don’t have to go any further; hell, you don’t even have to tell me your name. This is fine.”

Fine. Fine. Fine. It was all fine.

Her partner’s voice trembled with emotion and she wondered if hers had done the same, but she no longer knew what her voice sounded like to her own ears.

A heavily boot clad foot was pressed into the concrete, the other pressed against the wall she leaned against. Talon nails were tucked into her jacket pocket, hidden form the brisk coldness of the night. The hunter’s dark hair was coiled back into a tight ponytail, leaving her face bare to the cold, skin tinting as blood rushed to the surface with the desperate need to warm her.

A smile came to her lips at the other woman’s words and delicately she shook her head, putting on the coy demeanor; innocent. "No, that’s fine. I’m merely enjoying the cool and the quiet." she hummed with a sugary smile. "Sounds like y’all are having a nice time in there? So what dragged you out here?"

Favors were unexpected in the midnight world.

The woman’s words registered but she took a moment to consider them. Why was it that she’d left? Was it really time to go? Or was she back to her old stupid habit of looking for something that did not want to be found that was acting up again?

She believed in nothing but she so desperately wanted to find something that was more than some drunk, or a couple that was fooling around by the garbage cans.

And so, Ethel kept her ears and eyes open, always, on the off-chance that old lady who lived across the street from her suddenly sprouted a tail or the neighborhood kids’ eyes flashed red suddenly on a moonless night.

It was so stupid and she was so pathetic, but she wished there were more than mortals, more than mortality, among these darkened streets.

“Oh, you know, looking for monsters, wanting fresh air, the usual,” she replied, promptly before bursting into a small peal of laughter.

“Not really. I was trying to decide if I wanted to go back in or home.”

The deepest conversations happened late at night between perfect strangers. It was how she’d gotten to know a few stragglers over waffles and they’d compared world-views, philosophies and some myths.

A VIBRATION || listen

amongst the stars, we glow.