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bfire92 · 5 years

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In hindsight, Apollo thought he should have fixed them up with some more furniture before they moved in. His own standards weren’t too high, he was in this for the experience. For the authenticity. After all, they didn’t have recliners back in ancient Greece, he could take what he got. Sure, he would make sure to get some of his things. He couldn’t leave his lyre and stereo on Olympus. But the furniture, he wanted to find that himself. He wanted to do as the mortals did, search through adds and go to IKEA. Dionysus said he couldn’t very well take his things, because it wasn’t all his, it was theirs, his and Ariadne’s. And Hermes, well, he had just shrugged. “Why would I want to bother moving all my things when I can just go and steal some more?” No one had bothered to discuss it. Not that the couch wasn’t great, but it got a bit crammed with three grown gods. Especially with Hermes hugging the blanket. Didn’t those thieving fingers ever sleep? He had to settle for Dionysus as a cuddly cover, and had woken up with a grape stuffed up his nose. As soft sunlight streamed through the bare windows, he felt the energy return to his body. He was useless at night, unless there was a good party or a concert going on. But mornings? He lived for mornings. It came with the job. The sun would do fine without him, he knew that. Especially with the sun chariot on autopilot. Life was a lot easier with autopilot. It gave him the freedom to do other things. Like cooking breakfast. From deep down in his gut came a loud rumble. While Dionysus just grumbled, Hermes’ eyes shot open. “Time to run!”

He threw off his blanket - which very uconveniently landed on the floor out of Apollo’s reach - and jumped off the couch to stretch. “Run? You do not have cops after you already?” “Never know, bro. Got to stay in shape. Also, running is just a way of traveling in your neighbourhood. Highly recommended.” He crouched down by his duffle bag and started rummaging through it. There was a suspicious sound of metal against metal. Then he dragged out a runner’s outfit which colours gave Apollo vivid flashbacks to the 80s, and a handfull of pennies fell to the floor. He briefly considered asking why on earth Hermes had a duffle bag filled with coins, but thought better of it. Sometimes, you didn’t want the story. Sometimes, it was better not to ask. He had learned that the hard way. “I am going for a jog,” Hermes explained and carried the clothes to the bathroom, leaving a trail of pennies. On Apollo’s chest, Dionysus mumbled again, shifted, and started snoring silently. Apollo sighed. Alright, he needed coffee now. Not to wake up, he never had problems waking up, but to feel like a decent godly being again. To be able to restrain himself from burning Hermes’ outfit, which, surely, only belonged in certain themed clubs and not on the street in public. “Hey, Dio,” he whispered, but there was no answer. Then he tried poking Dionysus in the ribs, but it only earned him an especially high snore. “Alright. New plan.” As carefully as he could, he started wriggling whilst pushing his brother off him. It left him in an awkward position halfway off the couch, but since there still wasn’t any reaction from the other, he decided to drop the politeness. In one quick movement he pulled away, ending up on the floor, leaving Dionysus to flop down on the couch. Still there was no reaction except for an increase in volume. Apollo sighed in relief. “I am off,” Hermes proclaimed and showed up in the doorway to the living room. Ouch, those colours were loud. “Yeah, alright. Just. Don’t tick off someone with epilepsia, okay?” “That only happened once!” Hermes grumbled as he disappeared out the door. Apollo picked up the abandoned blanked and threw it over his sleeping brother, who kept snoring with his face in an unflattering angle. Without hesitating, he found his phone on the floor and took a picture to send to Ariadne. Just in case she needed something to remind her that alone time did have its perks. Also, he did owe her for allowing Dionysus to move with him. He owed his brothers too, he remembered. The least he could do was make breakfast. In the kitchen, he opened the door to the fridge, only to remember that even though they were stocked with kitchen utilities left by the previous owners, they hadn’t actually bought any food yet. Right now, the only edible thing they had was Dionysus’ grapes. It dawned on him - pun intended - that this also meant something much, much worse. He groaned loudly and hit his head against the fridge.

It was one thing to forget beds. That could happen to better gods. But to forget coffee? That was unforgivable. And that was how he found himself out on the streets in the early morning, three large bags of groceries in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Usually he would have preferred breakfast before doing anything at all, but as long as there was coffee, it should be enough to get him as far as to the stove to make some pancakes. Then, they would have to start thinking about how to find some fur- Apollo stopped in his tracks as he rounded a corner. There, lying on the sidewalk, was a huge pile of beanbags in various colours. For good measure, he took a huge sip of his coffee. After all, it could just be a trick of the light, and caffeine should clear that right up. But no, once he had emptied half the cup, the pile was still there. There was even a handwritten sign on the top of it. Free Alright, so it wasn’t a mattress or a dining table, but beanbags did apply as furniture. Didn’t they? There were only a couple of blocks home, so he didn’t even have to carry them very far. He looked at his bags of groceries and his cup of coffee. He sure couldn’t carry seven beanbags in addition. He couldn’t even pick them up! But from behind, he heard the steady sound of someone running towards him. “Hey, man. Oh, you got food! Great!” Apollo turned to see the very brightly coloured Hermes, not a drop of sweat on his face, but his cheeks slightly reddened. There sure were a lot of perks to being a god. “I think I found us some furniture too.” Hermes studied the pile of beanbags. “Free stuff? Free stuff is nice. Not as nice as things that were not supposed to be free, but you know.” Apollo managed to grab one in the same hand has the grocery bags. “Take the rest and let’s get them home before anyone else finds them.” “Dude, you are just taking one? I can’t carry six beanbags.” “They don’t weigh a thing, come on.” “Uh, not fair.” Apollo rolled his eyes. “I have groceries and coffee. You can take the bags. Just… Stack them or something.” “Why don’t you pour the coffee out, man. Then you have a free hand.” His cheeks flushed and he could practically feel himself radiate at that. “How dare you tell me to pour out perfectly good coffee.” “Then just finish the coffee first.” “I am going to enjoy it, not just chug it like a beer at a frat party. I payed money for this!” Hermes groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Apollo, we are gods. We can just conjure money.” “Says the guy with the duffle bag full of pennies.” “I have a perfectly good reason for that, thank you very much.” “Why pennies? Why not notes?” “I said, I have a reason.” “Hermes…” “Yeah?” “Just grab the beanbags.” “... Alright.”

By the time Dionysus woke up, Apollo had already made a stack of pancakes the same height as their stack of beanbags, which Hermes had actually managed to hoist home. Dionysus blinked and considered both stacks on on the floor with tired eyes. “What have you two done now?” “Nothing!” Hermes grabbed a few pancakes from the top of the pile and threw them in Dionysus’ lap. “Why do you always assume we did something bad? Why can’t it just be that we did something weird?” “You sure did something weird. Why did you stack seven bean bags on top of each other on the floor?” Dionysus asked them and started munching his pancakes. Apollo was sitting on the couch, eating his own food from a plate. He had taken the liberty to pick some grapes from Dionysus’ hair while he slept to eat with the pancakes. Then it almost looked healthy and balanced. Unlike someone - he scowled briefly at Hermes who was eating a whole pancake at once by stuffing it into his mouth - he knew how to savour breakfast time. “It is art. Hermes bet me I couldn’t make a stack of pancakes to match the beanbags.” “But when did we get beanbags?” “Just now. A lot of things happen while you sleep.” Hermes swallowed his mouthful of pancakes. “You would be too easy to rob, Dio. I bet I could have stolen your underwear while you are out cold.” “Is that a threat?” “I was rather thinking of it as a challenge.” Dionysus grabbed his pancakes and got up to inspect the beanbags, his eyes still bloodshot and tired. Then he toppled the stack over with a light push. “My art!” Apollo complained. He had known this had to happen sooner or later, but he was rather proud of having stacked the beanbags by the colours of the rainbow. He was less agitated when he saw Dionysus crawl into the heap and settle on it with a content hum. “This is not too bad,” he said and closed his eyes. “Hey, Mimi, get me a glass of wine for breakfast?” Hermes tried his best to answer around his mouthful of pancakes - really, breakfast was wasted on his man - but realized he had to swallow before anyone could decipher his speech. “No. Get it yourself. You’re being lazy.” Dionysus just huffed, and vines started sprouting from underneath the beanbags. They grew over the floor and into the kitchen, and Apollo could hear the door to the wine closet open and close. Soon the vines retreated, dragging a bottle of wine, a glass, and an opener over the floor. They even opened the bottle with a pop, and poured it into the glass, handing it to their master, who took it. After a sip, he sighed happily. “It’s like sitting in a pile of grapes. I could get used to this. Though, I am not a big fan of plastic. I think I would prefer some in fabric.” “I am sure we can find that somewhere.” “I am sure I can steal that somewhere.” Apollo cut a piece of his pancake and chewed it slowly, savouring the taste. He looked around their small living room, which suddenly seemed a lot more cozy with the smell of pancakes and the colourful pile on the floor. They could make this work.

#fanfiction #apollo #hermes #dionysus #three gods

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jflashandclash · 5 years

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Traitors of Olympus IV: Fall of the Sun

Warning: Child abuse themes. Graphic depictions of violence.

Thirty-Six: Maari

Things are NOT Fun and Fancy Free

Pain stung her cheek.

Merry found herself staring out the window. The spotted blackness outside wasn’t what she saw.

For a split second, Merry was in her room back in Virginia, nine-years-old, with Fairy Odd Parents and Teen Titans posters on the wall. The weekend had been exciting. Scary, but exciting—Merry and her mother had gone out to purchase her first trainer bra. Without thinking, when Merry went to her father’s house for the week, she’d tossed it into the laundry hamper.

Her father had hit her before, but she had always told herself that she deserved it, because she had acted out.

That was the first time he’d beaten her.

He’d stumbled into her room, drunk, shoving the bra into her face. “What the fuck is this?”

She stepped backwards, already shaking in anticipation of the strike. “A—a—a trainer bra, Appa. I—I’m sorry. I promise I’ll wash it on my own—”

“Lingerie. Already with the lingerie.”

Merry didn’t understand. The bra and underwear set had ducklings on it. She and Am’ma thought it was cute.

He slapped her across the face with a bottle of Kingfisher.

The reek of beer from the bottle and his breath was overwhelming.

When the pain spread across her jaw, she said nothing. She learned that protest could earn a second slap.

But, when she felt her lip bust open under the third strike, she covered her head. The bottle switched to a fist as he screamed, “Whore! Just like your mother! Whore like your mother!”

She cried all she could remember how to say, “Mannikkavum! Baba, Nil! Ennai taniyaka vitu! En?! [1]

But he was too drunk and too far gone to hear Merry or to even think that he was calling his nine-year-old daughter a whore for something she couldn’t control.

That was the first time Merry had identified madness and mania, the first time she’d learned how to lie so cheerfully. That was when she vowed never to do that to another, never to make them feel like that, never to hurt someone physically.

But she was going to do much worse than that to Hiro.

Merry embraced the mania, her panic, her fear, her delirium.

A tugging sensation hit her gut. Before she let it overtake her, Merry focused her thoughts.

Stick to the plan. Remember the steps. Still trying things the easy-peasy way. Keep Hiro calm. One last try.

Merry looked down from the window, away from the smattering of store lights, back to Hiro. He still held the pistol, scowling at her. He looked tense, ready to defend himself if she struck back.

She clucked her tongue, feeling blood dribble from a busted lip. Her voice shook. “That was unnecessary, Hiro. We’re here to talk. Aunti Merry wants to be your friend. I want to help you—“

Hiro cocked his head to one side. A thought struck him, and his eyes widened with glee. Although her lip-reading was definitely on the rusty to nonexistent side of her skill set, she thought he mouthed, “Pacifist,” while spelling something out with his other hand. Then, “won’t fight back.”

With his empty hand, he slapped her, almost experimentally.

The sensation of panic welled in Merry’s stomach, rising to her chest, twisting her gut. She may have been a full foot taller than Hiro, but she suddenly felt very small.

Hiro giggled in curious delight. A toy. A toy that doesn’t hit back.

He slapped her again.

And again.

Her mouth tasted like iron.

Easy-peasy way had failed.

And Merry thought what she’d want to say every time to her father, Enough.

She reached out, gently, and touched Hiro’s temple. She had never done this before, so needed the proximity to assure it would work. As Merry touched him, she exhaled, feeling the horrific tugging sensation in her gut transfer, feeling the years of panic, paranoia, mania, and terror drain out of her fingertips.

For a moment, nothing seemed to change. Hiro took a step backwards from her, swatting her hand away.

She gave him a sad smile, glancing up at the ceiling, then back down to him.

Hiro stumbled another step backwards, almost knocking over his altar. His breathing accelerated. His eyes dilated.

“A group of pirates once rescued Dionysus in disguise from an island and offered to take him home. However, all but one secretly agreed they should sell him as a slave,” Merry said. Her voice had stopped shaking. Instead, her tone felt slow, almost slurred. Her whole body felt warm, despite the cold and her lack of clothing. “Do you know what the oars turned into for those meanie pirates?”

Hiro twitched violently. He swatted himself, like he felt a bug bite. There were no bugs. His eyes wildly searched around the rafters, like he sensed something was up there.

The whirl of cars and noises of the city warped. They raised pitch and seemed to accelerate into a consistent sibilation.

His eyes darted suspiciously to her, but he aimed the gun upward.

From his reactions, Merry could tell he’d completely forgotten about baby Jackson.

“Snakes,” she said. “They turned into snakes. Tufted Ears told me that you don’t like snakes very much.”

The sounds solidified into a chorus of hissing.

Snakes dangled from the rafters like streams for a party. Colorful ones, with red, black, and yellow stripes. Brilliant yellow vipers with prongs jutting out above either eye. Some were brown, with diamond patterns down their backs and a single horn protruding from the ends of their faces. Merry had never seen them before, so didn’t have more to work off of than Axel’s descriptions. But that didn’t matter. Her mind wasn’t doing most of the work to create the madness.

Hiro’s was.

He screamed, his voice coming out hoarse, like a record player forced to play for the first time in years.

The twelve-year-old dropped the gun.

Merry winced, waiting for the revolver to fire. Instead, it clattered onto the floor, harmless other than creating a cacophony with Hiro’s shriek. It was loud enough to make baby Jackson cry.

At least Hiro put the safety lock on before he beat someone with his gun.

He scrambled backwards, smashing into the mirror. The glass shattered, exploding all over his back. As he glanced back at what he hit, the mirror shards morphed to thin-legged black spiders with red blotches, fuzzy, massive, fat ones, furry flies with stingers the size of their bodies, and long, creeping scorpions.

Violently, Hiro swatted at his back, his fingers returning bloody from their “stings.” Really, from the glass.

Merry’s breath was ragged. Step three: corral Hiro to a corner of the room. Use his own fears, paranoia, and terror to make him create one of his fancy talisman bubbles. Trap him with his own mind.

Merry felt the tug in her stomach increase. Her body tingled like it was on fire. The madness was flaring and she struggled to restrain a nauseating sense of euphoria. She understood now—why her real father, her biological father, always laughed when he retold the tales of how he punished people.

Hiro tore off his dart suspenders and shoulder holster, ripping his burgundy shirt away to stomp on it. The spiders and scorpions crunched with the same tune of glass.

By now, baby Jackson was sobbing and squealing too.

“Hiro, little honey cakes, you can be safe if you just go in that corner,” Merry said. She took a careful step towards him, her body feeling light and wobbly. “It’s like that lava game. All you have to do is step in that corner.”

She tried to clear a small segment of his mind, to lull him there, but the hiss of the snakes grew louder. A rattler dropped from the ceiling and fell onto Hiro’s arm.

He sobbed and slapped the viper off, retreating beyond his tumbled altar table, closer to the outer wall.

Merry couldn’t sort through it. She couldn’t understand Hiro’s mind, only see his madness.

Vital addendum to step three: don’t lose control.

Merry was quickly losing control of the situation.

Rapid creation of step four: catch this little, crazy shit and sit on him until the cops—that her most Epic of Bystanders must have called--showed up. Then figure out how to explain how Merry was the victim, when she was mostly undressed, crushing a sobbing, apparently helpless, crazed twelve-year-old.

Merry took another step closer to Hiro, reaching towards him. “Hey, Hiro honey—”

Hiro saw something else above her. His screaming abruptly halted, despite another snake dropping down to rest across his shoulders. His jaw dropped open.

Merry didn’t dare look up at the rafters to see what scared him so much, what horror his mind had manufactured. She needed him to look at her. She needed him to focus. She needed to focus, so she didn’t get lost in his madness, so she didn’t begin to believe these creepy crawlies were real, so she could gain back control or at least give him a bear hug that he couldn’t escape.

But Hiro’s eyes had gone wide and blank. He took two more absent steps backwards, straight towards the drafty breeze from the broken window.

Then it was Merry’s turn to scream.

As Hiro slipped on the shattered, stained glass—

--and she reached to catch him—

And missed.

The hissing disappeared.

Spiders and scorpions flickered back into glass shards.

The blare of a cop siren whirred outside as the city panicked in the sudden blackness. Baby Jackson shrieked and screamed.

Merry’s limbs no longer felt on fire. She felt cold and numb.

Trying to keep her breathing even, Merry glanced around the room. The communication mirror was shattered, so she couldn’t tell Percy his little sister was safe. If she had to guess, the others wouldn’t have time to pick up a phone call from her or check a text, Unit Poseidon, cleared for action.

Weakness and queasiness sapped the hum out of her. With the industrial din of the city, she did the one thing that she felt like she shouldn’t: she stumbled to the window to look down.

In the glow of the headlights and flickered-on street lamps, she could see Hiro’s broken body mangled around one of the pinnacles a dozen feet down.

He made sputtering, horrifying noises.

Merry took a step backwards.

The whole time she robotically dressed, picked up the sobbing Jackson, used a mix of Mist-work, lying, and Dionysus-play to direct the EMTs and cops that Sam Datta called up to save Hiro’s life, she wondered how else that could have ended.

The thought stole the song from her until she was in Sam Datta’s taxi van, and he gently put a hand over hers—still gripping a crying baby Jackson—and said, “Hey. I don’t know what it was, but you did what you had to do to save this baby.” He swallowed and continued, “Let’s get her home safely, and let’s get you back to camp.”

Merry didn’t realize she was crying until she blinked away tears. Her cheek burned and felt four times larger than it should have. She probably looked half-chipmunk. “Yea,” she croaked, clicking the music on her parka on. “We have another party we need to crash.”

Written to/inspired by Arai Tasuku’s Alice (Full EP) with the majority coming from Speak Roughly To your Little Boy and Jackal, Don’t Come Near Me; I am a Monster.

Thank you for reading! Don’t worry. Merry gets a much better resolution in the epilogue. I would not leave out bodacious girl hanging. <3

[1] I’m sorry! Wait—stop! Leave me alone! Why?!

#Heroes of Olympus #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #Traitors of Olympus #TOO #PJO #HOO #fanfiction #looooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnnnng week and weekend

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afternoonapocalypse · 2 years

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Aphrodite, Dionysus, and Uranus !

Aphrodite: What do I love most about myself? Hmmm… That’s tough and might change, but in this moment in time, I am going to say my gut tells me I like who I have become? I am a much different person than who I was ten or even five years ago I think in ways that matter. I have improved as a person in my own eyes, and though there is of course always room for further improvement (and I hope to continue to do so), I like to see where I am now. ☺️

Dionysus: Do I drink alcohol, and if so my drink of choice… I do! Not a bunch, but every so often. For beer, it is generally stouts. Fall River Brewery’s Irish Cream Stout is bomb, but Guinness is easier for me to find and my usual go-to. For cocktails, probably a Moscow Mule.

Uranus: What are my Zodiac signs? Astrological Zodiac I am an Aries (I only know my sun sign) and I was born in the year of the Monkey. ♈️🙊

#personal #risingatlas #thanks for asking!#this was fun to think about #🤍🤍🤍#my life

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ablrp-staff-blog · 7 years

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but do you feel like a young g o d ?

What’s a board without a good ol’ fashioned, Greek pantheon, group plot? Essentially what I’m looking for here is just a group of students (or even some staff members) who represent the deities in the Greek pantheon in the most modern of ways, all brought together somehow at Tremblay University and representing a handful of the cast of Life’s a Beach! What better source of reality TV drama than all the hijinks that the gods and goddesses got into way back when, right?

Ideally I’d like them to all at least know each other and be connected somewhat loosely, but how that happens is entirely up for discussion. Maybe some of them are related? Some could be childhood friends? Anything goes, really!

The inspo for this comes from this Tumblr post, I did not create these descriptions and credit goes to that blogger, but I adore the modern spin they put on the Greek pantheon and I’d love to see it come to life. Definitely feel free to throw a custom twist on the characters and make them your own, however! They don’t need to follow the descriptions to a t and are yours for interpretation~

No specified ages or face claims, you could even genderbend if you so choose - go nuts! <3

Zeus - a walking disparity of the loud, brash, frat boy variety who can’t pass a woman on the street without catcalls. Who has more one-night stands than he could possibly keep in his head, for whom adultery comes as naturally as his endless wealth of charisma. // OPEN

Hera - walking tall, six-inch heels and not a wrinkle in her skirt, knowing her boyfriend is cheating, and knowing with equal certainty that she is better, stronger, fiercer than he will ever be. With an eye of steel, spotting vulnerability, slicing it open, teaching every woman who crosses her path to value themselves over any mistake made in the name of men and love. // OPEN

Hades - big, hulking, quieter than his brothers (or close friends, they don’t have to be related) would ever think to be, who dresses in neat dark clothes, and polishes his boots, and spends more time reading than fighting, who debates eventuality and ethics. Who stoically reminds everyone how enormous, how terrifying, how inescapable a thing like silent inevitability can be. // TAKEN by Alex - name tbd - fc: tbd

Persephone - looks like a cinnamon roll but could actually kill you. After all, it takes a lot of guts to be the apple of Hades’ eye and not back down from his stoic, intimidating demeanor. Generally very saccharine sweet and amiable, but make no mistake, she will not take your shit if you push her too far. Give me the Queen of the Underworld personified who will judo-flip you over a table and then resume telling you about her flower garden. // OPEN

Poseidon - in Olympic prime, a gym rat who skives off class to shatter backstroke records, who spends his summers lifeguarding at the city pool, who keeps an ever-expanding aquarium in his bedroom and coaxes all the pretty girls up to visit his fish, his charm as impressive as the earth-rending temper he generally uses to fuel his competitive nature. // OPEN

Hermes - in a beanie, with watercolor splashes of tattoo crawling up his arms and holes in his Chucks, a bike messenger with no helmet, no regard for the rules of the road, all cataclysmic laughter, lock-pick tricks passed along to every kid who thinks to ask, thumbing through his iPhone without a care in the world. // TAKEN by Whitney - name tbd - fc: Herman Tømmeraas

Athena - reading glasses pushed high on her head, six books in her bag and a switchblade in her back pocket, her clothing as neatly ordered as her mind is feverish, brilliance and temper clashing and blending, doing her best to look dignified—even when her brain chemistry rockets ahead of her well-intentioned plans. // TAKEN by Rockett - Shahna Stone - fc: Kendall Jenner

Apollo - splattered with acrylics, board shorts and Monster headphones and a beautiful classic car, busking on street corners, not because he has no choice, but because the sunlight catching on a sticker-patterned acoustic is summer incarnate, because music is blood, because the act of creation is the ultimate in sublime. // OPEN

Artemis - ripped jeans and haphazard topknot, star of the soccer team, the track team, who rides a motorcycle, and keeps a tribe of girls around her at all times, and does not care for men, for expectation, for anything but volunteer hours down at the local animal shelter and falling asleep under the stars. // OPEN

Aphrodite - in sundress and scarf, homemade jewelry and lavish amounts of bright red lipstick, who is excellent at public speaking, at theater auditions, at soothing bruised egos and sparking epic fights, who kisses as easily as she breathes and scrawls poetry onto bathroom stalls. // OPEN

Ares - all but living in the boxing ring, cutoff shirts and sweats, red-faced under a crew cut as he punches, punches, punches until the noise in his head dims, a warrior with no war, all crude jokes and blind fury, totally incapable of understanding what it is to sit, think, plan before running screaming into the fray. // OPEN

Demeter - with the best garden you’ve seen in your life, with a lawn care business she runs out of her garage, a teenage prodigy grown into a joint-custody single mother, who teaches her carefree daughter all she knows while scaring off the hopeful neighborhood boys with the pet python draped across her shoulders. // OPEN

Dionysus - with a joint in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, baggy hoodies and three-week-old jeans, who brews his own beer in his basement and greets all visitors with a fresh pack of Oreos and half-stoned theories of the universe, of birth and death and partying mid-week, because why not, man? // OPEN

Hephaestus - with a workshop taking up the majority of his house, whose kitchen is overrun with blowtorches, whose bathrooms are home to all manner of hodge-podge invention, forgets his laundry for weeks at a time, and strings together the most beautiful steampunk costumes at any convention at the drop of a hat. // OPEN

And Beyond - We all know the Greek pantheon expands far beyond the main gods and goddesses listed up above, so you’re more than welcome to hit up Wikipedia and find some of your others faves to throw them into the mix here. Just let me know who you’d like to snag and they’ll be added accordingly!

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