Olivia
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𝓗ALCYON 𝕱LAMES。⋆˚ঌ｡
@forgedchains
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ͜ ˖ ̣̣̣⋆. ঌ ˚˖̣̣̣ ͜ 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 you ̵𝒆̵𝒗̵𝒆̵𝒓̵,ᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟ𝚃𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝐘͟𝐎UR 𝕯𝙀𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙎 。。。
⠀⠀⠀+21. ⠀MDNI.⠀EXPLICIT.
Joined June 2017
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀https://t.co/KzfVlYh6qe
ᅟᅟ . . . did you?
i, uh, missed you.
ᅟᅟ how would i know you tried to peer into my mind?
ᅟᅟ ( arms cross over his chest, metallic limb catching light as it glimmers in its sleek design. )
You are still a god.
( Their tongue runs over their teeth, feeling their fangs prick up in a familiar itch. How would a god's blood taste like? )
Unless, of course, this was all a tall tale, after all.
ᅟᅟ he’s tired. real tired.
Who to follow
𝗏𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗂 𝗏𝖺𝗅𝖾
@veritasvincits
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀
EVELYN BLOFELD.ᐟ
@SPECTRESBELOVED
WHERE YOU GO, I GO, @RUSEWEAPON.ᐟ
* 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒂 .
@beauphorias
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ 𝓯or ⠀ ‘ ⠀𝗔𝗟𝗟 the ⠀ 𝓽hings ⠀ that ⠀𝓲 ⠀ am⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ there ⠀ is ⠀ no ⠀ ⎛ SUCH THING ⎠ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ as … ⠀ ⠀ 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊⠀. 𐨿͜͡ ᭄
ᅟᅟ ( metallic fingers squeeze lightly in his jacket pocket, unable to believe those words just yet. )
ᅟᅟ pride is worthless to me now. i am no longer an olympian.
Who? Zeus? Poseidon? Your father and uncle's stories are not nearly as fascinating as yours.
( Is Hephaestus not meant to be hideous? Armand tilts their head, studying the other. No thoughts to pry, only expressions. )
I would have thought a god would be more prideful.
ᅟᅟ if i were to lie about being a god, i would have chosen anyone else.
ᅟᅟ ( self depreciation laugh leaves his lips, scratching his neck softly. )
ᅟᅟ i’m far from a tall tale. just a blacksmith.
Apologies. I had to see for myself.
( Their smile is pure, entirely too innocent to be believable. )
You live long enough, you meet enough people with tall tales to tell. For all I knew, you could have been lying.
ᅟᅟ birds of a feather.
ᅟᅟ ( he chuckles, tucking his metal hand further into his jacket. )
ᅟᅟ so far. . . it’s peaceful. i work a normal job.
neither do books. can’t say i’m a real social butterfly.
( his mouth purses in thought at the answer, mulling it over before nodding in agreement. )
that makes sense. and how do you like it so far?
ᅟᅟ yeah? that’s good to hear.
fairly decent.
ᅟᅟ rather rude to try & look into someone’s elses thoughts, don’t you think?
ᅟᅟ ( eyes remain on theirs, watching every offered by the vampire. far from lamia. . . a curious brand. )
I see.
( He does: the chains, the fire. The stubborn, angry defences which in turn only evince the broken pieces within, protected so fiercely against prying presences. Armand smiles, letting go of the hand. )
An august day, then. It isn't every day that I get to meet a god.
ᅟᅟ “karna. . .”
ᅟᅟ it’s the way they burn that sends waves of heat far deeper than just godly fire in his body ; he can tell how heavy this thinly veiled want sits between them, now. karna has been kind, gentle — the ugly thing inside hephaestus has never thought he could have this.
Desire doesn't need guidance. Desire is of the body—and the body knows what it wants.
Water splashes as Karna swims closer, legs hooking around Hephaestus' waist in the water. Climbing him up so he could touch him with all of his skin, encompassing him, consuming him. Teeth too
ᅟᅟ that he could have him.
ᅟᅟ his hand clasps underneath karna’s body, single arm holding him into his chest with ease ; the devouring of kisses makes him tremble, azure gaze looking up at him on his hold like worship.
ᅟᅟ he wants the fire to burn them.
ᅟᅟ his hand clasps his waist tighter, following the guidance as best as his lack of experience allows ; reckless exploration, greek fire burning under his skin.
ᅟᅟ the world is on fire, & they are here to stay & burn together.
ᅟᅟ destruction has never been kinder.
ᅟᅟ he goes easy, water growing hotter under the weight of the moment around them — the heat is consuming, & so is the hunger, meant to carve a path towards conjunction in ways that were far greater than anything else.
The clumsiness of it seems to only add to the gravity of the moment.
Karna's lips part, perhaps too eager, perhaps too hungry. Isn't he himself a creature of hunger? It's a wonder he's managed to keep himself contained for so long. Wrestling his urges to the ground, keeping them
ᅟᅟ not when coming from karna.
ᅟᅟ he moves in, hand moving down to his waist as he pulls him closer, lips pressing into his ; tentative, a bit misguided, despite the way he lacks hesitation entirely.
ᅟᅟ he wants this. to burn in his fire.
ᅟᅟ hephaestus was cradled in arms of disgust & hate ever since he was born ; found only a seat in olympus through the craftsmanship of his blacksmithing. he was survived destruction countless times.
ᅟᅟ the burst that lives inside karna could not hurt him.
He has been watching Hephaestus' lips, too.
How the thought had haunted Karna for so long. Decades of their acquaintance, their 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, spent holding himself back, using jokes as much as kindness to keep him at arm's length. Don't fall into anything more than that;
ᅟᅟ his own hand squeezes his elbow softly, moving closer by a centimetre. he has to speak.
ᅟᅟ “can i—?”
ᅟᅟ the touch has that heart hephaestus always believed to be metallic pumping blood faster along the network of veins in his body ; it hasn’t happened before, even when given the goddess of love & beauty as his wife.
ᅟᅟ it doesn’t matter anymore. she couldn’t compare.
"No, I don't think that's him. It's you."
Always so quick to assign his virtues to someone else. Karna shakes his head, allowing his fingers to traverse farther. Up the side of the neck, to the cheek. Seeking not to connect to the features on the surface, but to what's within.
ᅟᅟ “sometimes apollo blesses me.”
ᅟᅟ the blacksmith’s new body has been carved brand new from the ashes of his old self ; crooked & broken, he bares now chiseled muscles & skin nearly perfect, except for the expansion that leads to his limb.
ᅟᅟ that. . . is a part he still does not look at.
There is a moment where his touch lingers; then, sloy, surreptitiously, his fingers begin to wander. Farther up the crook of that broad shoulder, towards rhe neck. Tracing the natural lines of Hephaestus' body.
"I didn't know you were a poet," a joke, as tender as it is lame.
ᅟᅟ “you’re you. that’s the beauty of being.”
ᅟᅟ “well, we as in those who see me as their patron.” he manages a chuckle, leaning into the touch on his shoulder as his good hand tentatively moves to rest on karna’s elbow.
ᅟᅟ an invitation to stay, gone without words.
"'We'?"
His huffing laugh is quiet. Karna lets go of Hephaestus' hand, if only to lay his palm upon his shoulder. No, he rarely sees the face whenever he looks upon the god. It is the man—the anguish, the relief. The resilience.
"You're the blacksmith. I'm just. . ."
He sighs,
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