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[metamorpheus-blog1]

bastien; (bvstiens)

“You poor baby,” Bastien said, lips pouted out exaggeratedly. “At least you’re in good company. People keep buying me drinks and I just keep passing them off. Water for me, of course.” Bas winked, drawing one leg up onto the lounge chair he was on. His body seemed relaxed, and in a lot of ways, he was. Mirror images and all that. The two of them had the power to tear each other apart, but they’d been spending at least the past month and a half on roofs together, and he was too familiar for Bastien’s fight or flight instinct to be prominent. There was just a slight narrowing of his eyes at the mention of Richard, and the smile that graced Bastien’s lips was cold.

“I like keeping an eye on my people.” Bastien shrugged, and his eyes dropped to the drink in the other man’s hand. “Thought we weren’t talking about work?”

“Alright, alright, you got me. No work.” Maybe he’d even act like he believed what he was saying -- at least put some effort into trying. Marcus rolled his shoulders, let out a short breath with an imperceptible little shake of his head as he leaned back in his lounge chair. Be off duty until the situation demanded it, right? There was no immediate threat, other than almost every single party guest, including and especially the one across from him. Marcus couldn’t forget that. He’d seen just how icy that smile had gone in a second, studying Bastien’s expression over the rim of his solo cup as he took another lukewarm sip of flat soda. 

“I can play in the safe zone.” If they’d met outside of work, it would’ve been at a bar, he thought, surprised at himself. Or maybe it would have been at the same gun range, maybe the one he’d used to work. Something completely ordinary. “Let’s talk sports. I tell you my favorite team, you tell me yours, we’ll inevitably butt heads and decide if our friendship can weather the storm.” 

[metamorpheus-blog1]

ajit; (etna-weaponry)

Ajit hunched over his workbench, working on the prosthetic leg he had designed for himself. Made to be functional and easy to conceal, he was growing more and more aggravated at the shoddy work done by the company who had produced the leg itself, and often found himself working on it. He didn’t look up from his work when he heard the bell ring and as somebody walked into his peripheral vision. The dog, who had previously been lying and napping at his feet, sat up in attention and began to growl. “Easy, Bev,” he said, reaching down to pat her head gently before addressing the person who had made their way in, a monotonous tone in his voice. “Welcome to ETNA Weaponry, please keep your hands to yourself at all times. Don’t touch the display cases, and have your permit ready and in hand if you’d like to make a purchase.”

“Just here for ammo.” Marcus left his permit atop the case either way, face up, his eyes roaming over the display above Hephaestus’ head before flicking down to the dog now reluctantly laying down again at the other man’s feet. He didn’t look him in the eye. “You used to have to best prices to load up for Carbines. I need the heaviest grain you’ve got.” The used to felt like an admission of guilt, but avoiding ETNA had been a logical step for the hitman when Olympus had first split. Loyalties hadn’t been obvious in those first messy days, but Marcus had still skirted the shop long after Hephaestus had settled into his stubborn neutrality. It seemed easier then, but now, in the middle of all the mob’s chaos, this neutrality was exactly what he needed. Why bother trying to dodge the inevitable? “75 would do it.”

[metamorpheus-blog1]

kit; (solismortem)

Location: Near ETNA’s Weaponry Shop For: @metamorpheus

The mob, as of right now, was absolute chaos.  Mob, singular, may not have been the right word, seeing as everyone from Zeus getting shot by a Titan, to a major drug deal, to Kit seemed to be affected.  Normally, Kit had his ear to the ground, quietly keeping track of what was going on, more for drama’s sake than anything else.  And he had been doing just that, when he ran into Marcus, someone he had only seen a  few times before.  What had interested Kit was that he saw not only Marcus, but a few other familiar faces at the docks that night, and the fact that Marcus was so intense about keeping him away.  

To the point of knocking him out cold, and then Kit waking up the next morning with a black eye and some too interested dock workers standing over him.  Dignity lost, and quite a bit bitter, when he sees Marcus again on this side of town, he can’t help himself as he marches across the street, arms crossed, and eyebrow over his less sore eye raised.  

“You wanna explain to me what the fuck I did to deserve this?” he asks the man in front of him, who looks like he just wants some pizza from the man on the corner who is staring at them, almost as confused as Kit.  

honestly, marcus figures this was inevitable. for all hollywood claims about the big city, it’s impossible to take a step in any direction without walking all over the toes of someone involved in the mob’s business, fully or as collateral. the guy fuming in front of him, sporting a rather admirable black eye that marcus knew himself to be the source of, even as he winced at it, definitely fit into the latter group. the kid has planted himself with the kind of single-minded indignation that doesn’t look like it would take being ignored very well. marcus sighs, doesn’t bother hiding the roll of his eyes. it's going to be a long day. he holds one finger up in the universal wait signal as he hands over a couple of crumpled bills and receives a loaded plate of sausage and cheese in return, only then turning to actually give the other his full attention.

“you shouldn’t have been where you were.” he says simply, stepping further down the side walk with a decisive stride that says kit can walk with him if he wants to talk, or he’s going to get left behind. the pizza is greasy as hell, but it’s exactly the kind of sustenance he figures is going to get him through this conversation. “easy as that. you looking for an apology?” 

[metamorpheus-blog1]

syrus; (syrvses)

“i don’t have one.”

for a brief moment, syrus was reminded why he enjoyed marcus. the overwhelming sense of duty that guided his work and framed his nature was rather favorable. sense of duty was always positively correlated with rate of success and a lack of confounding variables, or a lack of gravity found in potential confounding variables, provided that it was safe to assume correlation and causation were at least loosely related in these statistics.  this arithmetic was only applicable in scenarios unlike the present, in which currently success was not achieved. at the moment, the overwhelming sense of duty, among other factors, provided a more unique feature—a dramatic reduction in pitiful attempts to nullify errors, which would all be met by a merciless man. syrus was certainly not a ruthless person in personal affairs, a conclusion that shocked many, but this was business and would be handled as such. as a businessman, implacable was his most prominent characteristic.

his torso shifted back in his chair, two fingers from each hand running along the inner seams of his suit jacket as he moved. steel eyes continued to lock on marcus as an icy silence stole the room, a silence only there to allow for syrus to examine exactly the actions that should be taken considering marcus’ intelligent statements. even as his shoulders relaxed and his hands folded into each other once again underneath the table, he portrayed no sign of what he was considering. selecting a few options that would be appropriate, he began, “the acknowledgement of your underwhelming performance has not gone unnoticed and will factor into what is required of you in the following weeks as you seek to prove yourself up to standards.”

“you are correct, though. this will not happen again. further dissatisfactory results will conclude in the termination of your position.” ah, and there was that ruthlessness. those words spoken with no qualms, no wavering, no hesitation. he sounded as though he were a humanoid, reading words off a neatly typed page.

“in the present, another hitman will be accompanying you during projects. listen to them. if they report your performance has been readjusted to corporate standards, you will be entrusted to work individually once again. though, this can be slightly altered if you are able to provide useful information concerning this morning—people present, weapons used.”

“cerberus named hermes when i asked if she remembered who attacked her. just from observation, i’d guess they put her down with some kind of benzo, maybe even ketamine, but she doesn’t remember any hallucinations.” he didn’t mention the hours of waiting, watching cerberus twitch on his couch, wondering if he’d carried up a body only to have to haul out a corpse. “i only got one other clear i.d., but i think the kid was a neutral party, i didn’t recognize him from either group and i got him out of the way without any other problem, still doesn’t mean both the other mobs weren’t there. they were, plus the cops.” one big damn party, he thought grimly, “shots were definitely fired. can’t tell you if there were any arrests. i wouldn’t look for any weapons beyond your typical handgun but i won’t pretend i can confirm that one hundred percent either. we didn’t stick around after the supply was compromised.”

once he’d gotten his errant civilian forcibly disengaged from the action (stubborn as the kid had proven himself to be, walking into shit he had no business in), marcus hadn’t felt any guilt in fetching felicia and slipping away to the apartment, not once those red and blue lights had started flashing on the docks. he could only pray their contact had made themselves just as scarce and their opposition had taken at least some of the fall -- it’d be the only justice they’d get, seeing their competition take the fall for their little trick. more likely than not, there would be no justice at all. it was a fickle thing to pin down in this business to begin with, and fortune had never smiled on those who willfully made stupid mistakes. 

‘the termination of your position’. oh, that statement certainly hadn’t slipped over marcus’ head. it echoed as he searched his memory for any other detail he could provide, fingers curling to grasp at his pant leg and repress the urge to drum his fingers against the table, disturbing the vast silence that lurked behind their words. the very idea soured any trace remnants of anger he may have felt. marcus had never doubted the validity of anything hades said before and he wouldn’t start now. ignore the damage to any pride, ignore the idea of having to learn from someone he could in all likelihood teach. hades wouldn’t know or care how much the hitman’s position meant to him, all that mattered was that the threat of losing it worked. 

“i can’t tell you anything else.” 

[metamorpheus-blog1]

felicia; (cerberusfelicia)

Felicia grimaced as Marcus told her they screwed up bad. She had a feeling Syrus was going to let them know regardless if anyone else had gotten hurt, but Felicia was more worried as to how Old Olympus knew that they were going to be there at that exact time. Sure, it could’ve been a lucky guess, but it seemed unlikely. They must’ve had a spy, which only got her angry. Still, she took the water and pill bottle, taking two of the pills and finishing the water in a couple of gulps. “Well, I’ll never protest a man checking me out,” she uttered dryly in true Felicia fashion. She shook her head at her lame comment, wiping her mouth for she felt the bitter metallic taste of unshed blood in her mouth. Something went terribly wrong whether she knew it or not, and she was not looking forward to facing the consequences later.

Instead, she sighed and curled her legs together underneath her, her eyes flickering over to Marcus’ face. She expected the gang to have one another’s backs, and apart of her wished she could be so gung ho with everyone else as well but she wasn’t built like that. She knew her loyalty but the sensitive side in her was buried down deep after years of abuse and mistrust. If she were someone else, she’d be immediately asking him if he were okay, perhaps doting on him and not even daring to think about herself and her wellbeing. But Marcus was a better person than she was, or at least, a bit more decent than she was. “How are you? Did you get hurt?” She wanted an excuse to fight someone, and Hermes was already at the top of her unfinished list. 

“I’m okay.” And somehow, that made it worse. He should’ve had something to show for his fuck-up, but even the bullets that had flown in the shipyard had managed to avoid him, Marcus didn’t have so much as a skinned knee. Lucky, his mind jeered. The word tasted as bitter as ever. “I’m not gonna bother asking if you can feel all your fingers and toes,” He said, attempting to firmly direct her attention back and away from him as he retrieved the empty glass, passing it onto the coffee table. “My other questions are mostly protocol. Figure out how well you’re bouncing back, if there’s anything we need to worry about. A lot of people don’t pop up daisy-fresh after a shot like that.” Hades’ text still buzzed in the back of his mind, overlaid over his personal film reel of every other way the night could have gone, how he could’ve fixed it. It would only be worse if he was alone -- he couldn’t do anything about the shipment now but he could do something about this. This was what he had to focus on.

“I need to know how fast it hit you, slow gray or straight to black. Makes a big difference if you were paralyzed and still aware or if it was a solid knock out. Also makes a big difference if the guy lowered or dropped you; if you ragdolled, I’ll have to do a concussion test.” Marcus bent down to dig under his couch, pulling out a dented first-aid kit, the contents looking far more factory fresh than the flaking red cross stamped on the front. If Felicia had cared to poke around the apartment while his back was turned, she’d find the only thing with as much meticulous care put into maintenance would be the dozens of nooks and crannies the hitman’s weapons were concealed in. His boots rested on top of a floorboard hiding one such stash as he rummaged inside of the tin. “If you can remember any of that. Some sedatives scramble your memory of the first few minutes before you even get hit with ‘em. I won’t blame you.”

[metamorpheus-blog1]

nail biting | throat clearing | lying | interrupting | chewing the ends of pens | smoking | swearing | knuckle cracking | thumb sucking | muttering under their breath | talking to themselves | nose picking | binge drinking | oversleeping | snacking instead of meals | skipping meals | picking at skin | impulse buying | talking with their mouth full | humming/singing to themselves | chewing gum | leg jiggling | foot tapping | hair twirling | whistling | eye rolling | licking lips | sniffing | squinting | rubbing hands together | jaw clenching | gesturing while talking | putting feet up on tables | tucking hair behind ears | chewing lips | crossing arms over chest | putting hands on hips | rubbing the back or their neck | being late | procrastinating | doodling | shredding paper | peeling off bottle labels | forgetfulness | running hands through hair | overreacting | teeth grinding | nostril flaring | slouching | pacing | drumming fingers | fist clenching | pinching bridge of nose | rubbing temples | rolling shoulders

bold which habits your muse has

[metamorpheus-blog1]

felicia; (cerberusfelicia)

@metamorpheus

Jesus Christ.

Her head was throbbing and her mouth felt like cotton, she needed a stiff drink and an Advil, but upon opening her eyes did she realize she was not home or by the station where Marcus had last left her. Rubbing her face, Felicia slowly sat up yet she felt as if she were in a fog as the rest of the world spun. She wondered if Hermes fucking kidnapped her until she saw Marcus from the corner of her eye, relief flooding through her as she let out a deep sigh to show that. The last thing she remembered was the sedative being injected into her, and she had never felt more stupid. There was a reason why Marcus trusted her to be alone, it was because she could hold her own damn ground. So what happened? Why was she so caught off guard? 

“Hey…” She croaked out, clearing her throat as she rubbed her eyes. She supposed she was at his place, she didn’t pay too much attention to the details. “Where are we?” She asked, concern furrowing her brow as she rubbed the back of her neck, where she could feel the bruise from the needle. She’d have to get that checked out, but she wasn’t sure if she could even trust her favorite doctor at the moment, so she pursed her lips and sat up straighter as she huffed. “And how badly did things go?”

Thirty seconds was the average time for blunt force trauma to black someone out. Anything over a minute was probable brain damage, anything over five and the damage became dertain and permanent. The human brain was a tricky thing to shut off and wake up again unharmed. That made the needle mark in Felicia’s neck a blessing in context -- Marcus sifted through his memories of protocol for this; sedation was less risky in terms of harm to the brain, what did matter was an unobstructed wind pipe and no malignant reaction to whatever they had injected into her. She had been breathing unencumbered when he first examined her body by the docks, it was the hitch in her breath now that caught his attention as she finally stirred on the couch. 

“Hey yourself.” Felicia was clearly disoriented, that wasn’t surprising. The fact she was waking up even somewhat clear-minded was enough to be encouragement in the face of the shitstorm they’d walked into hours before. “Take it easy, I wouldn’t try to get up too fast.” Marcus’ eyebrows furrowed as he studied her face, “I still need to check you out, but uh,” He held a glass of water out to her, giving the bottle of painkillers in his other hand a shake, “This’ll start helping faster.” His mouth pulled into a grimace at her last question, Hades’ latest text still burning on his phone. Consequences didn’t wait. But Felicia had figured that out already. “Badly. But drink first.” 

[metamorpheus-blog1]

syrus; (syrvses)

syrus was not a pleased man.

and, judging by the manner of which the select new olympus people who were scuffling around a vacant club nyra, aiming to repair the situation, were completely avoiding any sort of eye contact with syrus—it was apparent. those with the gall to speak to him did so quite weakly with papers vibrating in their hands and speech sprinkled with unnecessary “sir”s.

syrus was not a fun man when he was not pleased.

he expected perfection. when he was not given it, the merciless figure that lurked in the shadows stepped forward. the villain that hades was often painted as appeared, an aura of decay following even steps and encapsulated in dead eyes. he was horrifying, and he was well aware of it, and he nearly enjoyed it. despite being incredibly displeased with the performance of his people, the power and fear he was able to manipulate was satisfying.

at the moment, his displeasure was mostly directed to a few people. one in particular was marcus, who only very rarely managed to underwhelm syrus. this fact was not taken into consideration when it came to his analysis of marcus’ performance. whether or not this was typical of marcus, the shipment was gone despite syrus reminding both him and felicia of the necessary precautions, and chaos had ensued both during the early hours and as he attempted to mend the issue. all of this could have been avoided.

the mob boss sat at the far end of the elongated table that claimed center stage of the underground new olympus headquarters. the clocked on his watch ticked only a few seconds beyond their scheduled meeting time before marcus’ feet could be heard stepping down the stairs. the man would be met with complete silence, a room cold in atmosphere but not in temperature, and his boss with hollow eyes locked on him and folded hands resting on the tabletop.

syrus’ void stare followed marcus as he settled into a chair. the following words to drop from syrus’ lips only prodded the frigid scene further, as they lacked nuance and were paired with an expressionless visage. “you have 30 seconds to conjure up an excuse for your incompetency. use it wisely.”

walking into club nyra always felt a little bit like walking into hell, an effect that was entirely purposeful in nature and usually played alluring instead of doomed. this time felt more egyptian then greek. hades would stand in anubis’ place and weigh his hitman’s heart against how badly he’d fucked up his task and marcus was more than well aware of what the verdict would be. the entire night had devolved into a shitshow. he wouldn’t deny his hand in it.

the text summoning him to erebus had come before felicia had even woken up and the dread he'd felt in response was near-pavolovian in its immediacy, but marcus pushed it down just as quickly. hades' displeasure was more than validated by the girl then still unconscious on his couch; better an anger with reason than unjustified punishment. the stakes were too high now, hadn't he thought this his damn self the entire day on that beach in the hamptons? stupid.

he may as well been sitting across the room from an ice sculpture. any traces of softness he'd seen in hades' face out on the sand were gone. this was business. 

"i don't have one," clear and unflinching, already trying to work towards his own acceptance of what he'd done, “i had a lapse in judgement and made a stupid decision.” marcus only betrayed the wound he'd made to his pride in the muscle twitching in his cheek as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, dark eyes hard and focused on the table directly in front of the mob boss. there was no point in telling his version of the story or bringing up felicia’s safety as some sort of weak protest, nothing to gain from telling the other what he already knew or hadn’t asked for. 

hades wouldn’t scream insults or rely on minor physical abuse. he didn’t have to -- experience would’ve numbed marcus to the affects either way. it would’ve been too easy. marcus finally lifted his gaze, took the full weight of hades’ cold disdain. 

“this’ll be the only time this happens.” he would damned well make sure of it.

[metamorpheus-blog1]

‘prompts: 1) things you said at 1 am 2) things you said through your teeth 3) things you said too quietly 4) things you said over the phone 5) things you didn’t say at all 6) things you said under the stars and in the grass 7) things you said while we were driving 8) things you said when you were crying 9) things you said when I was crying 10) things you said that made me feel like shit 11) things you said when you were drunk 12) things you said when you thought I was asleep 13) things you said at the kitchen table 14)things you said after you kissed me 15) things you said with too many miles between us 16) things you said with no space between us 17) things you said that I wish you hadn’t 18) things you said when you were scared 19) things you said when we were the happiest we ever were 20) things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear 21) things you said when we were on top of the world 22) things you said after it was over 23) things you said on the streetcar at 1 am 24) things you said with clenched fists 25) things you said in the back seat of a cab 26) things you said sitting still 27) things you said on the phone at 4 am 28) things you said but not out loud 29) things you said in the backyard at night 30) things you said on the highway 31) things you said while I cried in your arms 32) things you said I wouldn’t understand 33) things you said at the back of the theatre 34) things you said in your sleep 35) things you said that made me feel real 36) things you said you’ll never forget 37) things you said with the tv on mute 38)things you said while holding my hand’ 39) things you said when we first met 40) things you said when you met my parents 41) things you said you loved about me 42) things you said when you asked me to marry you 43) things you said in our vows 44) things you said before you kissed me 45) things you said on new year’s eve 46) things you said when you kissed me goodnight 47) things you said in a hotel room 48) things you said on our honeymoon 49) things you said when we were 18 50) things you said when we were 70 51) things you said as we danced in our socks 52) things you said with my lips on your neck 53) things you said in the dark 54) things you always meant to say but never got the chance 55) things you said under your breath 56) things you said in the spur of the moment 57) things you said when no one else was around 58) things you were afraid to say 59) things you said after we fell in love 60) things you said [make your own]

reblog if you want your followers to send you a number and pairing to write a fic about

[metamorpheus-blog1]

✤

✤ - a memory that involves romance/love

The sun streaming in the window settles hot on both their skins, almost too hot to stay touching. Their legs are tangled together under the cheap, thin sheet anyways. Marcus soaks in as much of that heat as he can; his limbs feel too heavy to move and it’s comforting. It’s too deep into summer to do anything but stay in bed.

    “Weren’t we going to the beach today?” 

Her voice is low from sleep, grating on a lazy laugh. They both smoke too much, but Norah actually sounds like it and he always liked that sound, the gravel to it. His mother would call that a lounge singer’s voice.

     “We were.”

Norah hums in place of a response, skating her fingers down his arm, slung over her bare waist. He thinks he must have known this girl for years, or maybe his soul has, some new age-y sentiment like that; it goes beyond both being military or some base attraction or the same sense of humor. This is only their second summer together. Their routine is too good to not be pre-destined. 

The beach is two blocks from their complex, a short sweaty hike down a broad commercial street. Past the boardwalk, they’ll plant an umbrella in the sand and do just as much nothing there as they are now until Marcus drags her into the water, or a burst of rain sends them home, or they take another short walk to share some greasy fries from the $2 burger joint selling ‘I 🖤 SC’ shirts and handheld fans. 

Enough time in the sun will tan the gray out of Norah’s skin from the time spent indoors scanning radar, though it’ll never be enough to get rid of the permanent watch tan she makes fun of him for. She’ll stick her iPod in the cupholder of her chair and blare her music too loud, sit on his lap, share a cigarette, scandalize family beach-goers when the two of them got too handsy. There’ll be some mock-fury over his preferring Kid Rock’s sample of Sweet Home Alabama to the original. A whole summer of being irreverent, dickish twenty-somethings. 

Or just this. Just lying together, his hands on her skin. 

     “So, you gonna move your ass or not?”

She’s grinning again, soft.

      “Not.”

They’ve earned it.

[metamorpheus-blog1]

[metamorpheus-blog1]

syrus; (syrvses)

marcus was certainly a welcomed face. technically, marcus was syrus’ top hitman, the sharpest of shooters among those in new olympus and certainly the one syrus trusted the most, which equated to marcus having some of the least leeway when meeting syrus’ expectations of perfection. nevertheless, marcus was notorious for his remarkable aptitude and thus his ranking was righteously earned. though, as mentioned earlier, his title was a technicality since rarely did syrus actually call for a hitting of a man. despite the underworld being his apparent domain, he wanted as few people as possible in it. thus, marcus’ position was very much utilitarian. admittedly, syrus almost preferred this.

if it had been someone affiliated with old olympus or the titans or a random passerbyer that swung by his side, perhaps he would’ve stood up and away from the adorable animal. but, much instead he remained with the labrador retriever who couldn’t be more than two years old judging by its size.

“a shame really,” he spoke in reply to marcus’ denial that the dog was his, “his owner must be missing him desperately and it’d be far simpler if someone we knew was the one taking this dog him.” the stoic man didn’t have many weaknesses, it was something the likewise arrogant man prided himself on. but, disgustingly lovable dogs were perhaps on the top of that list. undoubtedly, there was some slightly corny but still eloquent metaphorical narrative that could be made about the mythological hades and his love of dogs in reference to cerberus that, on any other given day, the nerd in syrus would have been giddy to make towards marcus. but, the man was too enthralled with the creature before him to even begin to think of weaving such a tale.

“you are correct though,” he conceded, “dogs are not particular fans of fireworks. i am considering taking my leave early to ensure my own dog remains as comfortable as possible. that and, of course, to ensure our rivals do not take a page out of the american revolution and decide to infiltrate club nyra while we are distracted.” one of the multitude of various benefits of finding housing above club nyra was this duality of being able to be at home and yet still at work. while many would fear the inability to completely leave work in body and mind, it was well embraced in this instance.

syrus flipped the bandana wrapped around the dog’s neck upwards, revealing no collar of any sort. finally, he lifted his torso upwards. “well, it appears as though this dog has no indication of where he calls home. care to help me it?”

another mob pulling something at club nyra while they were all shepherded together and distracted wouldn’t have been a surprise. it was one of the most basic maneuvers any tactician could make: get your enemy gathered and far away, take advantage of it. then again, marcus had seen countless members of the other mob just as fenced in in the crowd as they were. as shakespearean as he’d seen these conflicts get, he couldn’t imagine either of the other bosses choosing to be detached from the action, unable to gloat. it wouldn’t be satisfying enough. 

that didn’t stop the basic itch of suspicion kickstarting at the back of marcus’ mind again, logic never did, and all because he couldn’t get rid of the underlying irritation under it all -- that one grain of sand lodged in his machinery begging to know how the hell had they all been invited to the same damn party. it’s not a coincidence. nothing is a coincidence, that kind of thinking was what invites the worst to happen, lets you shrug it off as something unavoidable. he should’ve triple checked the host’s background he thought as he pursed his lips, unsettled.  

vaguely, he registered hades was asking him a question. 

but demanding his attention more immediately was the cold nose pushing at marcus’ hands, syrus’ new friend capitalizing on the possibility of attention for another source. he barely moved in response, nearly decided to ignored it in favor of keeping attention on the task at hand, but eventually caved to absentmindedly scratch behind one of the dog’s ears. the expression on the animal’s face at getting pets from two strangers was borderline euphoric. rewarded with a sandy, drooly lick to his forearm, marcus could see the baseline for hades’ easy distraction when it came to this, but it didn’t make him any less disgruntled (and more subtly, amused) over what an obvious vulnerability it was. the godfather had missed out on these kinds of mob scenes.

“alright,” marcus finally nodded, pushing back a sigh as he side-stepped the dog to slot himself between hades and the upper expanse of the beach and all the people mingling on it, leaving the open ocean to their other side, “we can walk up the beach a little, see if he starts homeward bound-ing towards any of these houses,” a small pause, “stick by me, alright?”  

[metamorpheus-blog1]

metamorpheus:

bunchofrpmemes:

broken a bone | gotten stitches | had a near-death experience | killed someone | tried and failed to kill someone | invented something | been hungover | kissed someone | slow danced | been in a long-term relationship | had sex | had sex and regretted it | had a one-night stand | had a threesome | experimented with their sexuality | had a kid | gotten married (almost) | self-harmed | traveled to another country | been in a play | received an inheritance | been in a car wreck | lost a loved one | been dumped | dumped someone | smoked | gotten high | been slipped something in their food/drink | won a contest | won an election | joined a sports team | gone skydiving | gone hunting | been in a band | had a job | been fired | been in a wedding party | owned a pet | seen a ghost | skipped class/work | learned an instrument | gotten a noticeable scar | sued someone | been robbed | been mugged | been kidnapped | been sexually assaulted | been brainwashed/hypnotized | gone more than one day without eating | had a recurring nightmare | been bullied | bullied someone | seen someone die | attempted suicide | been tied/chained up | shot someone | stabbed someone | saved someone’s life | cheated on someone | been cheated on | had a stalker | been betrayed | been in a fight | been arrested | been to a funeral | had surgery | broken someone’s trust | gotten a piercing | gotten a tattoo | used a fake name | been tortured | been abused | been blackmailed | had an attempt on their life | gotten away with a crime | gone on a road trip | been in love

Bold everything your muse has done. (caution: contains multiple common triggers)

[metamorpheus-blog1]

kristen stewart (for the npc meme)

Piper Barrell – AIT Buddy

Piper was a legacy kid, following a Marine father, big shoes to fill. Her and Marcus had both thrown themselves into training with everything they had and come out with some reputations for being overly gung-ho for their troubles, not that either of them minded when that meant they were one of the best. There could only be one best though, and with two achiever types at it at the same time, Piper brought out Marcus’ competitive side in the best way, but with no anger there – just a healthy rivalry and a lot of shit-talking. Piper’s first deployment was far from front lines, her letters to Marcus made it apparent how mind numbing she found it and how determined she was to get her boots on the ground next to his, and a title rank tacked onto her name. Last time Marcus heard from her, she’d made it off her Chinese base and into the combat zone; her last letters trailed off in the first year after his discharge. Marcus understands it, the army defined Piper’s life from start to finish and he no longer fits into it. Decades from now, he’ll still have an eye out to see if ‘General Barrell’ has become a reality. 

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( npc meme ) aja naomi king

Danielle Hall – friend from childhood, nurse in training

Danielle and Marcus knew each other in high school, vaguely, distantly, the kind that translates to nods in hallways and a choosing each other when there’s no one else for a group project. She was always a little too smart and Marcus a little too disengaged in school to jive right at first, but time (and teenage Marcus’ penchant for a self-deprecating sort of humor that she frequently raised her eyebrows and laughed in agreement at) wore down the harsh edges until they made it to friends by senior year. They were each other’s dates for senior prom (she wore a dark purple dress covered in loose sequins, he was picking them off his suit all night); when Marcus joined the military, Danielle headed to nursing school. Though he knows from her social media she’s made it to NYC as well, they haven’t talked since. 

[metamorpheus-blog1]

Send me a faceclaim and I’ll tell you who they’d be in my muse’s life as a NPC

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bastien; (bvstiens)

It was the voice that got him. The face was familiar, features cast in shadows and illuminated by street lamps three blocks away, shoulders set in a way that Bastien normally saw tense and hunched over a gun. But anyone could look like anyone, but when the man spoke, Bastien couldn’t help smiling, remembering being told off for humming and for when he decided to take the faster way down by the fire escape. He remembered casting waves and peace signs up to the shadow still on the roof, little salutes reaching him before the figure vanished himself.

“Well, well, well,” Bastien murmured, his lips curling into a careful smile. There was none of the gentleness that was normally housed in his face. It was curiosity, sharpness, and a hint of what was under the surface. If you looked at Bastien, you wouldn’t guess he was a murderer, part of a mob. Maybe you’d feel a little unsettled around him at first- was it the sharpness of his eyes or how still he was or the quiet that permeated his being- And then he smiled, and any of those thoughts were cast from your head in an instant. “Can’t say I’m surprised you’re here. Keeping an eye on your boss too, or did you just decide to show up for the alcohol?” Bastien cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing a little, and then grinned just a little. “They have, yeah. You’d be surprised how many people want to buy a man a drink when he’s playing music.”

They were all there -- he’d spotted members from every mob weaving through the crowd, all the killers and political minds and drug pushers brought together to mingle under the pretense of normality, and maybe that made it a poor time for Marcus to be openly playing social hour with his Titan counterpoint. Or the only time, reasoned that small curious part of himself that rarely won out over caution. It was winning now. He’d already seen more unlikely pairings than two hitmen making small talk by a pool; it didn’t matter if the other’s smile was a a genuine gesture or a facade (and he didn’t doubt that he could perform either, there was acting involved in their line of work, necessary to establish or explain away one’s presence in any given location until the time came to put a bullet in someone’s skull). 

“I don’t like to talk about my job on vacation.” But there was still a tense set to Marcus’ shoulders, even with his easy drawl. Relaxation, if anything, was his facade. “But..” He tilted his solo cup, showed off the drab contents, “I’m stuck on Sprite for the night. Rules one of your options out.” Marcus still itched for a drink, there was nothing he’d like more than to head to bar and find the closest thing to jungle juice they had. But this situation called for clarity. “I’d think your big shot German would have his own bodyguards.”