Fabricant451

𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟

Nike, goddess of victory

w i n g s o f v i c t o r y
_{Ν ί κ η 
Ν ί κ η}

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	Brie Larson | #D8C205 ████████████████████████ 𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊   𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 ⌜ 𝐄 𝐏 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐓 ⌟ Nike | Winged Victory ⌜ 𝐃 𝐎 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍 ⌟ Victory ⌜ 𝐏 𝐀 𝐍 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Greek ✓

𝐃 𝐈 𝐕 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄 𓏢 𝐏 𝐎 𝐖 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒
_{^{i dont need swagger, i'm just arrogant}}

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I N S P I R A T I O N
I N S P I R A T I O N

_{/ˌinspəˈrāSH(ə)n/}

^{Every winner of an award be it athletics, music, entertainment, competition, whatever it may be always tends to thank a similar circle of people. Parents. Friends. God. In the days long gone the 'God' in question was Nike and for very good reason. Nike, once upon a time, could inspire the greatest among us, mortal or god, to do feats thought impossible by mortal standards or impressive even for gods. She also used to be able to soar across the heavens on gilded wings at speeds that would make even Hermes jealous and use those wings as a shield against all manner of physical harm but alas, those wings have been long since clipped. Those who prayed to Nike - or those who fought alongside her in manners of conflict - would find themselves able to push a little more, hit a little harder, run a little faster, and in damn near every instance be able to claim victory thanks to her influence. Like a second wind or a burst of adrenaline, Nike was once able to guide even the lowliest of mortals to that feeling of great, great victory. Now, in ages gone, Nike can't claim to bring about absolute victory in others, though she can still encourage and inspire better than damn near anyone. Those who she inspires, even now, find themselves able to push themselves with a little bit more effort and stamina. Sometimes it's just enough to eke out a victory, other times it's just enough to not be utterly defeated. Nike can be incredibly motivating, to mortal and fellow gods alike. Everyone needs a cheerleader, right?}

𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 𓆩✧𓆪 𝐒 𝐄 𝐋 𝐅
_{^{my adrenaline rushing through my veins next stop is victory it's rushing like a train}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Athletic & Cheerful Perfectionist & Protective Loyal & Reliable⌟	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Assertive & Imprudent Unscrupulous & Intense Competetive & Arrogant ⌟

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	████████████████████████ т н є м σ я т α ℓ   т н є м σ я т α ℓ ⌜ 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐀 𝐒 ⌟ Angela Kazan ⌜ 𝐑 𝐄 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐃 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 ⌟ 31 ⌜ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐗 𝐔 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 & 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐃 𝐄 𝐑 ⌟ pansexual, female, she/her ⌜ 𝐎 𝐂 𝐂 𝐔 𝐏 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Newly Promoted rookie detective to the Seattle PD Organized Crime Division, specifically requested to work with Sophia Pallas Coaches a youth soccer team; they're currently the defending champions Runs the Boston and Seattle Marathons every year

𝐋 𝐈 𝐅 𝐄 𓆩✧𓆪 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘
_{^{burn like a chariot learn how to carry it}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲   𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲 ⌜ 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 𝕷 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 ⌟ ♤ Behind every succesful man is a woman who let the man take credit for everything. Such as it was with Nike and Zeus. Sure, everyone knew the deeds of Zeus and worshipped him because of it, but how many know how often Zeus came close to losing everything were it not for the golden winged angel at his side, inspiring him to take up arms, to fight to the last, to protect what needed to be protected. Nike, born to Styx and Pallas, along with her three siblings were quick to swear allegiance with Zeus and the Olympians but it was truly Nike who earned her place among them. When the mighty Typhon lay siege to Olympus in the days of the Titan War, Zeus was left by himself to deal with the serpent headed giant and all seemed lost. In a flash of inspiration, Nike placed her hand on his shoulder and proved her loyalty. While the others had fled in fear of Typhon, Nike stayed with Zeus, covered his front with her wings to block the mighty blows of Typhon and encouraged Zeus to fight. To win. And win he did, defeating the beast and winning the day. Nike sought no glory nor fame for the thrill of victory was enough. Nevertheless Zeus carried her as one did a princess to the peak of Olympus where the Olympians sat and lived and though Nike did not get a seat amongst them, she was allowed to be by Zeus' side, to sit near the mightiest of the Greeks for her loyalty and commitment. It wasn't just Zeus that Nike inspired. For every war that Ares and men fought, Nike was there to inspire victory. She was a dutiful attendant to Athena in times past, aiding her as she did Zeus, as she did Ares, as she did any who desired victory and invoked her name - for she could only grant victory to those who asked for her by name. When she was not aiding her fellow gods, Nike was an avid enthusiast of chariot races and competitions in general, enjoying the sport of mortals and even desiring to participate in however she could. Her love of chariots was such that she often ferried Zeus to battle by driving his chariot across the heavens. Nike was not strictly there to grant victory in matters of war. She also concerned herself with personal victories, matters of art and music and competition in general. She reveled in the spirit of competition, friendly or otherwise, and always sided with the victors - she never switched sides when chosen, her side always seemed to win when it mattered most. Nike never wished for glory or recognition like many of her peers. She merely wished to inspire them to their full potential. And to feel the excitement that comes only with triumph. She may have been forgotten by history and perhaps even by her gods, but Nike never forgot what she did for them all. And she did it all without any need of thanks. ██████████████████████ 𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲   𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲 ⌜ м σ я т α ℓ ℓ ι f є ⌟ ♤ Nike took the fall hard. It had been the first time she had truly experienced loss and it was an experience that hurt her more than anything - hurt her even more than the pain she felt as her great, glorious golden wings were ripped out of her back like her limbs being severed. Even now she sometimes feels a phantom pain for the wings that no longer exist. She, like many, was aimless at first, but given that she wasn't as important a deity in the grand pantheon, she was able to get through the various stages at a relatively decent pace. It helped that despite her losing her place, the spirit of competition never left the mortals. She found herself taken by the games they played. The sports. The board games. The fighting competitions. She especially liked the Olympics, as she always did, but there was something about seeing it in person that was unmatched. Nike found herself playing the games when she could. She found that running on her feet was almost as exhilarating as flying with her wings. It wasn't as fast, no, but it had its own thrills and hazards. She began running regularly, sometimes for fun, others to challenge herself to go a little further or to beat her time. She ran just because she could. She ran because it helped her feel alive. She ran in the Olympics more than once over the many, many years, always under a different name. She still has her medals somewhere. Though Nike found ways to deal with the new lot in life, she knew one who didn't adapt so well. Zeus, her closest ally, had a rough few centuries. Nike, fearing for him, always found a way to run to his aid, checking in on him regularly to make sure that he was still alive. She tried to get him off the alcohol, she even was there multiple times to make sure he didn't choke on his own sick, but no matter what she did, the only thing she ever truly managed to do was be there for him. Even if he didn't respond to her when she visited, it was important that she came. It was important that she showed him that in spite of everything they had gone through, she was still there. That they were still alive. She was able to breathe a lot easier once Zeus got out of his funk and became enamored with mortal pleasures once again. By this point Nike had assumed a mortal identity as a physical therapist, but that job didn't last. When Zeus became an actor in physically demanding roles, Nike acted as his personal trainer, keeping him in fighting shape though he didn't truly need much of her guidance. Still, it reminded her of the old days, though of course the danger was all manufactured now and everything was added in this process called 'post' that Nike didn't quite understand. But it wasn't her area of expertise. Seeing how poorly mortals treat their educators, Nike, under the name of Angela Kazan, decided against becoming a gym teacher and instead decided to aid her fellows in the police department. Nike needed to be needed, needed to help the ones who gave her purpose so long ago. After topping the precinct physical records - especially when it came to running - Angela Kazan was promoted to the organized crime division. She's a rookie, all things told, but she feels a sense of purpose in helping Athena - and others of course - maintain a sense of order. And for the first time in her life she's being thanked for her contributions to solving cases and for helping people. It's an unfamiliar feeling but...she likes it. And despite what it seems, the woman named 'Victoria Delphi' who has done more than one scene with Zeus' OnlyFans content and has a very similar face and hair color and body type as Angela Kazan is most certainly not Angela Kazan. Definitely not. Not at all. She's never heard of OnlyFans nor Clark Rogers. ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬   𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬 ⌜ α м в ι т ι σ и ѕ ⌟ ♤ To be helpful and needed without being seen as a doormat. She also wants to keep her youth team winning, there's something to be said about helping and inspiring the next generation to be the best versions of themselves. In athletics, anyway. After centuries of being forgotten, Nike would finally like to be remembered and seen as her own person, no longer bound to the shadow of her superiors. The problem, though, is that she still seems to follow them around like a loyal puppy. ⌜ f є α я ѕ ⌟ ♤ Her greatest fear is that her own insecurities will constantly hold her back. Part of her remains regretful that she never pushed for more recognition in great battles of eons past and even now she wonders if she will ever be able to rise above the shadows she willingly puts herself behind. She has confidence on the pitch, on the field, in contests and all, but then why does she have such a trouble with forging her own path? And then she also fears that people will judge her for her Victoria Delphi side and take away her coaching position because of it.

Video Games: The General Discussion & Community Thread Number Two

Indie zelda-like but you play as a little fox dude

Toontown | The Guild's #1 Stop for Cartoon Discussion

The new South Park special was very meta and it was quite good.

𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟

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𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝑀𝑒 𝐼𝓃

<sub>Before Seattle

The Trojan Horse

Ambiance</sub>

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_{CW: Self Harm}

What would you rather do: play the lottery for twenty million dollars or be given two million dollars to stand on the roof holding a metal rod in a lightning storm? Most people would pick the lottery and they can't exactly be faulted for anything other than playing it safe. The only danger in playing the lottery is the amount of pocket money it costs to buy a ticket. But what if I told you the odds of getting struck by lightning even with a metal rod in your hand was 1 in 15,300? Changes things, doesn't it? Would you do it? The odds of winning the lottery are 1 in 302,575,350. You don't need to be a mathematician or a statistician to know you have higher odds of getting struck by lightning than you do winning the lottery. By those odds you're more likely to get struck by lightning 250 different times than you are to win the lottery once. More people die every year from car accidents than lightning strikes, but you don't see people refusing to drive.

Knowing all that...what would you rather do?

Lydia Economos gazed at the blade of a pocket knife shining with a dull sheen on the onyx grip. They'd been staring at the knife for an eternity - five minutes to be exact - to the point where they could identify exactly how many ridges made up the blade from tip to bottom and back again. There was something in Lydia's gaze that suggested a deep connection with the knife, as if they were trying to communicate with it, to tell it some deep message that would only be understood between the pair of them. Lydia and knife. Knife and Lydia. Symbiosis. And then with a flick of their eyes downward, the knife was in midair freefall, Lydia's grip leaving the hilt for a brief moment before returning, now closing their fingers around the hilt like a vise; using the same momentum and speed, the knife descended downward like a snake snapping at its victim.

Stab. The knife hit the cherrywood top that made up part of Lydia's desk. The serrated edges were mere centimeters away from piercing Lydia's flesh, specifically the fingers on their right hand which were spread apart and laid flat on the desk. Behind Lydia there was a window overlooking the city below like they were a villain in an action movie making a gesture how the city was in the palm of their hands. Far from it, though; Lydia just liked the view. It reminded them that for all that had been lost, they were still here. For better. For worse.

Stab. The knife stabbed between index and middle, coming even closer to piercing skin but fortunately cutting only air and poking into the desk. Outside of Lydia's office there were thousands of people shoving quarters into machines and pulling a lever. There were hundreds exchanging money for chips, and hundreds more deciding if they should hit, stay, call, raise, or fold. On a good day, The Trojan Horse made just shy of two million dollars a day and today was looking like a good day.

Stab. This time the knife was between middle and ring but there was plenty of room left. Not even close. The Trojan Horse employed a staff just shy of nine thousand. Once upon a time Lydia knew them all by name but that was a lifetime ago. Some were fired. Some quit. Some were dead. Some were poached. It's hard to say goodbye when after a while every face looks the same. It's hard to care when you're thirty six going on thousands. Lydia could blink and another staff member hands in their resignation. Lydia could cough and four more take the place. Lydia could turn around and it's ten years later.

Stab. Lydia saw red. Just a dot. A speck. Their pinky was bleeding. That tended to happen when a knife sliced a thin cut on the side of a finger. Tonight in the theater there was a performance from some rock band on tour. Tickets sold out eons ago - months - and there would be increased security detail to deal with scalpers and people trying to get in for free. Lydia wasn't a fan. They liked music well enough, just that this particular band traded more on sex appeal than musical ability. Perhaps, they think, mother was right. Perhaps it always boils down to sex.

Stab. More red drips onto the desk but Lydia doesn't flinch. They watch. Curious. Is it normal to feel no pain? Or has this finger been cut so many times that it no longer registers? The head chef at the on-site restaurant, Attica's Attic, is having a baby. Specifically he and his husband's surrogate is. There was a big fuss some time back because Lydia hired an openly gay chef to a prestige restaurant which apparently is news for some people. Lydia didn't care about the man's sex life. They cared that he could make a damn good plate of saganaki. The secret was in the olive oil. Of course it was. It was a Grecian dish.

Stab. The knife stabs into a divet groove that had been there a while now, a constant reminder that for as often as Lydia plays this game, they never seem to stab the middle finger. There are hundreds of emails and calls they need to be making, but no matter how many they respond to, there will always be hundreds waiting. Lydia's mind wanders whenever the specter of responsibility looms large. They chose this career. They could've done anything. Followed in father's footsteps. Gone to sleep with mother - not like that - though they weren't so sure that was a choice and thinking on it, they did sort of miss the way mother talked of her many dalliances. Absence and fondness so often go hand in hand.

Stab. This one hurt most of all. Lydia took their hand off the hilt of the knife and saw that it didn't fall down. How could it, when the blade was sticking out of Lydia's index finger. Not deep enough to pin it to the table, nor wide enough to be an amputation. But just enough that they could register that it hurt. Stung. Just enough to feel something, even for a maddening fraction of a second. Would the feeling return if they pulled it out? Would it be so bad if they pushed it in just a little more? Felt the numbing sensation of blade on bone? Is this what addicts felt? The same addicts that gave money to Lydia's house? The people who get a brief rush of something when the lights flash and the sound of coins hitting the tray plays louder and sweeter than any song? Lydia wasn't so different from those people. On the surface.

You're probably wondering why someone would willingly leave a knife in their finger. Or maybe you think it's a little dramatic. Maybe you're right. Every day this knife plays five finger fillet and every day it hits a different assortment of fingers. Some days it's one. Others it's none. Never the same combination two days in a row. Do you know the odds of that? Do you want to know? Does it matter? You might be wondering if playing this game is worth it. To that I ask you: is anything? Worth is what we make it. To some, it's worth it to cancel plans last minute because a nap is preferable to spending time with people. To some, it's worth it to order food and pay more rather than cook it themselves. Worth is an arbitrary value humans assign to things. What makes a virgin worth more than a whore? A cow more than a pig? One life over many?

The door to Lydia's office opened suddenly and Lydia's eyes shifted from the knife still lodged in their finger to that of a silver haired, suit wearing gentleman with an earpiece. Josh. Or was it Jacob? Jason? Doesn't matter. Pit boss. Going on...twenty...thirty years now? Not at the Trojan, he's been here for 8. I poached him from a rival. Still under the impression that he has a chance to make an honest person of me.

"Ma'am, there's....are you alright?" Joel seemed worried about the fact that his boss had a knife sticking out of her finger. Granted, it wasn't a big knife, but when it came to a knife being stabbed in someone, did size truly matter? The last time he was in here, Lydia was holding her hand over a lighter. The palm of her hand was black by that point but she didn't even seem to care. That was the first time he had truly considered retirement, but all he would have to show for it were his fish at home.

"Never better." Lydia pulled the knife from their finger without breaking eye contact with Joel. Blood continued to drip from the fingers they had previously nicked but if it bothered her, she didn't show it, instead staring towards the pit boss as if daring him to explain why he inerrupted.

"....'Kay." Retirement was definitely looking like the best option. "There's a cheater down at the tables. Figured you -" Lydia was out of her seat as soon as she heard the word cheater. She was pushing past Joel as if he were a prop. "Right, well, he's at table sixteen." Joel shook his head as he was alone in Lydia's office. "God, I miss mob casinos."

Out on the floor of the Trojan Horse, the sights and sounds were intoxicating. Slot machines whirring and spinning. The background music playing over the speaker systems. People ordering drinks. Dealers and gamblers exchanging words. People at the craps table being happy...or sad. The entire spectrum of human life could be found in the halls of the Trojan Horse. And numb to it all was Lydia Economos, marching down the carpeted floor with heels clacking along, fingers bleeding, and expression neutral as can be.

You ever wonder why casinos play music that seems like it fell out of America in the prohibition era? It's because people want to believe they're in a classy establishment. It's an illusion. There's nothing classy about spending money on the chance of winning. But play a little crooning music written by dead people and everyone will assume they're punching above their economic class. It's also why the drinks are free. Drunk people are more likely to make dumb decisions. I never said casinos were moral. But they do make a lot of money.

The pit boss told me there was a cheater and I'm inclined to believe him. There's always people who think they can game the system. Count cards. Devise some sort of method to rig the bet and line their pockets. Part of me respects it. The other part realizes it comes from a place of desperation and arrogance. No one can rig chance. I would know.

It was obvious who the cheater was for no reason other than there was a crowd around the poker table. The dealer, a cute red head who was barely six months into the job, was trying to keep cool but the sweat rolling down their face made it clear that that was a difficult ask. Lydia observed a moment. The cheater in question looked fairly middle aged, strawberry hair, and a smug smirk that said enough about him - he craved attention, loved knowing that he was beating the unbeatable system.

"Mind if I deal in?" Lydia tapped the dealer on the shoulder and a sigh of relief washed over the dealer's face as they stepped away from the table.

"What an honor. The owner." The cheater couldn't contain the arrogance in his voice. "Nothing more important to do?"

"I take cheaters very seriously." There was an audible call of 'ohhhhh' in the air and Lydia could see the cheater's face twitch. "You don't have to say anything. But let's make it interesting."

The way his face twitched means one thing: he knows that he's been found out and he knows the power is in my hands now. He's much more likely to make a mistake in trying to swing things back to his favor. Just from that little twitch I know exactly the kind of man he is. And I have him right where I want him.

"One hand. Best hand wins. If I win, you're banned for a year. If you win, you carry on as you were." Despite what happens in mortal media, we don't pull cheaters to a back room and beat the shit out of them, as much as we might like to. It's not technically illegal. Frowned upon? Yes. But not illegal. Every casino has a list of names and faces of 'undesireables' that have been caught or suspected of cheating. I don't care if someone wants to cheat, to rig the odds in their favor. That's just human nature.

The cards were shuffled and two were dealt to Lydia and the cheater. Lydia looked at her cards, her face as neutral as ever. In all the world there was hardly a better poker face. No one had ever been able to read her and she knew this cheater wouldn't be the first. The cheater looked at his cards and twitched his head to the left. I've got nothing, but he's got a tell so I've got more leverage. There's no point in dealing in percentages and probabilities before the first cards enter the flop.

Three cards were dealt to the middle. Two red. One black. Lydia didn't check her hand again, but the cheater did. He didn't tilt his head this time, but he checked his hand a third time and the corners of his lip twitched as if trying to smile. He's got something. Base assumption is a pair, at least. The way he checked his cards twice in succession means he's relying on the turn to truly make his hand. If he was cheating, he wouldn't need to know the number of the turn, just the suite. A flush. That's the likely play. Two red, one black, if he's going for a flush and needs the turn then he has one black in his hand.

The fourth card is dealt to the middle. Red. Lydia again doesn't look at her cards and neither does the cheater, who tilts his head to the left but keeps his grin wide. "Should we just call it now? You can't beat me now." Lydia's response was a simple shrug and the fifth and final card, the river, was dealt. Black. The cheater blinked and looked at his hand again, his twitching smile fading, replaced by rapid blinking.

If he were playing any other person, he would've won. Lydia flipped over her hand. "Straight flush beats a straight."

"How did...I haven't turned my.."

"The river. You expected it to be your ace, no pun intended, because you play the probability angle. Problem is, you forgot to account for one thing. The house always wins." Lydia unbuttoned the arm of her shirt, and cards fell forth, dropping to the table like paper raindrops.

"You..."

"Cheated? Takes one, doesn't it. See you in twelve months." Lydia snapped her fingers and two burly men appeared as if from nowhere behind the cheater. They didn't put a hand on his shoulder, that was a lawsuit, but they did clear their throats and beckon him to follow them. The only thing missing was applause. "Free appetizers, all of you!" There it was. The applause. The sounds. Everything back to normal.

I didn't cheat, but I've been in this world long enough to know people love a show. Some of them probably think this means dealers cheat, but that won't stop them. They're at a casino. They've made their choice. Distracting them with free stuff makes them forget about potential rigged games. Same as it ever was. Shame, though. I wanted to lose. By all accounts that last card should've been in his favor. But then...I'm me.

So let me ask you something. Would you rather play the lottery for twenty million dollars or throw your money away?

---

Tyche saw it but she didn't believe it. Corpses. Godly corpses. As if fallen from Olympus itself. Her eyes were glued to the scene. Mind racing. Wondering how it happened. Who did it. What it took. How. How. How. Why them. A million questions all twisting and turning to the same inevitable conclusion. Jealousy. She looked at the drink in her hand, the champagne flute, and her fingers were shaking. The glass was in danger of shattering in her grip but an elbow to the side brought her out of the reverie.

"Some party, right? Better than last year."

"Bad luck. That's all it is."

Tyche stepped away from the scene, leaving the room to make for the outside. To get some air. To get away from the grisly scene. To...process. A million more questions swirling. Bad luck. Just a bit of bad luck. Just some luck.

Some people have all of it.

𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟

---

_{pre-stream music}

_{Six Months Before}

_{The Salt Lair}

_{aka Tochi's streaming room}

---

The mark of a good streamer was how long the chat would wait from getting the notification of going live to getting bored and going elsewhere with their time. It was a delicate balance and one smaller streamers surely struggled with; but the Goddess of Salt was not a small streamer. She was, in fact, one of the biggest streamers on the platform and, surprisingly, most of her viewers were not bots. And only a weird handful were weirdos constantly asking her to do hot tub streams. Tochi, which was her online handle and what most people called her - it sounded better than 'Zaniyah Florentine' which was a name she decided upon after a series of mistakes that shall not be repeated but did so involve some of her peers (and not in the streamer sense of the word) - had gotten quite used to entertaining an army of people who, on a good day, communicated more in single image spam and words that made no sense than they did with actual words.

Already the chat was moving at a blistering speed with the usual suspects first and foremost. The spammers, the people trying to say hello and getting lost in the shuffle, the people spamming bot commands, the people following pre-stream which was always dumb because Tochi never said the name of people who followed or subbed when she was not physically in front of the camera, and of course the mod team doing their best to corral the gang of idiots. There were fewer idiots around today simply because Tochi was not playing a competitive game and hadn't been for the past couple streams. She had opted to try a dating sim called 'Dating Deities!!!' which had the conceit of the player character-slash-narrator being a faceless normal mortal person and the characters to date were all, well, deities. Tochi, of course, had her thoughts on the matter and despite the game not causing her to break a keyboard or hop in team chat and call her team "more useless than a bag of cowshit, which at least contributes to the world by being fertilizer" and then getting into a heated argument whenever her team tried to engage her in a flame war of words, she had managed to make it entertaining for one reason.

She had some thoughts on the godly characters in the game.

"What's up, Salt Miners!" The pre-stream overlay faded and the shitty, salt-loving little gremlin grin of Tochi greeted her adoring audience, the Salt Miners, so aptly named because they paid the bills for the Goddess of Salt.
"Welcome, welcome. We'll be playing Dating Deities!!! today, don't worry. But of course the sub goal is in effect so if you weirdos and perverts want me to play anything else then get to fuckin' subbing or gifting. Or, you know, waste your money on something better. Like getting laid. Ah who am I kidding, you guys are watching me play a fucking dating game, none of you are getting laid. Thanks for the follow, SeraphicSapphic, and congrats on having the most obvious name for a dude pretending to be a girl I've ever seen. Either that or you're a permanent heal-bitch which is somehow more pathetic."

When it came to Tochi's streams, half the appeal was when she roasted her chat. It was almost a rite of passage. The real fun was when the people who got upset about it tried to start shit in the chat, but fortunately most people wise up to the fact that everyone takes their lumps but no one takes the lumps as much as Tochi herself. Searching her name on any given clip or video upload site and the results are always her either freaking out in anger, rage, ranting, or a compilation of her being utterly humiliated at the 12 Trials from her collab with Hercules. Every day she earned her title and every day she couldn't believe people paid for this. But she gave up trying to understand mortals when they decided that too much salt was a bad thing. Cowards. The lot of them.

"Anyway, enough of the bullshit pre-roll, let's get to the game. I forgot where we left off, but we were probably trying to find out how to impress the fucking band geek Apollo. Let me tell you guys, it's really weird how all these "hunky and sexy godly beings want to bang you out" dating games always seem to use Greeks or, worse, the Norse. You ever notice that? You ever also notice that they kinda just ignore how many stories of the Greeks and especially the Norse involve animals and the fucking of said animals? Like...Freyja, you know, the Norse whore - what that's what she is, she literally sleeps with, like, anyone - but like what's up with her and pigs? And what's up with, like, dudes giving birth to wolves? You guys know about that, right? Like I get that some people wanna act like viking dudes and girls are hot but any people who worship a bunch of drunken meat loving assholes that pump out wolves are not my idea of cool."

"Also, why just Greeks and Norse? Like is anyone out there really like...'Yeah I want the fucking messenger god Hermes to fuck me faster than Sonic the goddamn Hedgehog'? Take my word for it, you guys can do better than that. Or what about Ares? This game makes him out to be, like, a jocky douchebag football captain type and how cliche is that? Ares is the simpiest dude I can imagine, dude fought wars because he wanted to fuck Aphrodite as if that was some kind of impossible task. You guys wanna know how you have sex with Aphrodite? You have a pulse and genitalia."

The chat was ablaze with people voicing their comments. Some were laughing. Some were agreeing. Some were disagreeing. Some were saying how boring the game was - and those ones had a point as all Tochi was doing was clicking through dialog and reloading if she made a choice that her god of choice didn't seem to like. It was in games like this where Tochi's personality had to do the hard carry, and that meant insulting the ever loving shit out of people who the chat assumed to just be fictional, mythological figures. What they didn't know, of course, was that Tochi was speaking candidly about people she had known for centuries.

Whatever. She doubted they watched her streams. And if they did? Well, Seattle was going to be awkward as hell.

"All I'm saying is that there are better, hotter options than Aphrodite if you could just expand beyond the goddamn Greeks. Like have you guys ever heard of Tlazōlteōtl? No? No... Lotta nos in the chat. Of course. I say Aphrodite and everyone goes "Wow she's the sexy one, right?" But I say Tlazōlteōtl and I might as well be speaking nonsense. Trust me, Tlazōlteōtl makes Aphrodite look like a nun. Seriously. Love me some Tlazōlteōtl. Anyway, look why is Athena of all people an option in this game? Athena isn't going to put out. She'd much rather want to bore you over a game of fucking chess than score you a glimpse of her fucking chest, you know? I guess when you're said to be smart people just assume you're a sexy librarian type. Librarians aren't sexy! Have you ever been to a library? They're all old women or people whose only source of romance and sex life is reading books with shirtless dudes on a horse on the cover. Actually that probably fits Athena perfectly. You heard it here first: Athena, big fan of shitty female stroke books. Maybe not intellectually stimulating but hey, that's what toys are for, right?"

"Dionysus is in the game, I forgot. Oh right they're the theater kid. I mean big ups for the game for trying to be inclusive I guess but if anyone is definitively in the male camp it's that fucking drunk. Like if the creators of this game were smart they'd just have Tyche be the enby but that would require them knowing who Tyche is. No one does. Nothing interesting about Tyche, not like the goth boy Hades. Talk about missing the point. "Oh he's god of the dead so let's make him a weird goth boy" psssssssh, be more creative, game. I got nothing to say about Hades, though, because I'm pretty sure if Hades was real he'd be a real mean motherfucker who totally isn't at all creepy about Persephone. But hey, I'm sure the best relationships are based upon kidnapping girls you find attractive. So fellas and gaydies, don't be afraid to just take your crush and make them into your queen. What's the worst that can happen? She develops Stockholm Syndrome? That's a win as far as I'm concerned."

"I have been informed by my mods that I need to clarify: DO NOT KIDNAP PEOPLE."

Tochi had gotten in trouble with websites before for her unfiltered language. Fortunately in today's world the only thing that mattered was the bottom line and places that banned her realized she brought in a lot of money and ad revenue so they were actually financially irresponsible if they kept her off their platform. To Tochi that just meant she was untouchable. A 'twenty' year old with an ego, what's the worst that could happen.

"I forgot I'm supposed to be on the Apollo route this playthrough because, you know, get the worst out of the way early, right? Apollo is the kind of person who would make you a Spotify playlist where every song title was a word that, when put together, was like a fucking admission of love or something but you don't even catch it because the music choices are just the worst and you're questioning why you even thought he was cute once. In game, I mean. Obviously. Artemis is cooler anyway. Now I'm not saying I'm gay but I am saying that if Artemis was an option in this game I would pretty much kill my firstborn just to cop a feel. Visually. She's just, like, pretty and cool and pretty cool and we could bathe in mother lake together on the island of Lesbos. Call me."

"Who else is in this game? Headmaster Hera? Who gives a shit. See this is my problem with these single pantheon dating sims. The Greeks are boring. Boring gods, boring foods, boring language. And they never pick the cool ones. Like why doesn't this game have Pasithea? You telling me the game can't dedicate time to putting in someone who would be the absolute godqueen of yoga pants? Or what about Hebe? Actually better not. We had to read Lolita in school and I assume people who make video games missed the point of it and would do the same with Hebe. We don't like that in this house. Deimos and Phobos could be a threesome if you wanted to never enjoy pleasure again. Oh what, what's weird about them being siblings? Have you guys ever deity dated before? If they aren't fucking their kids and siblings then they're fucking cows and shit. We've been over this. Look, gods are hedonistic assholes, they're just built different. It's fiction, guys, it's fine if it's fiction and I know a lot of you weirdos in chat have done the stuck in a washing machine gag. So don't even pretend."

"I lost my train of thought. Whatever. This game fucking sucks. I'm bored. You guys want me to play Apex or something?..."

---

Seattle
The Olympic Club

As far as her audience knew, Tochi was in Seattle for a video game convention, but she had no intention of doing a stream at the convention because of NDAs so they would have to settle for her doing an irl stream eventually. Of course this was a cover for the truth, but she figured they didn't need to know that she was going to be attending a little gathering of people she took joy in ripping to shreds a few months ago, eating an Apple, then being told by the prudish ones of the bunch that she has to act like her mortal age which meant not even getting to enjoy the fancy bubbly drinks that were everywhere. Whatever. If they didn't let her drink then she would just make sure all their drinks tasted like someone had dumped an entire carton of salt in every glass. Hell, it would probably improve the drinks anyway.

The grown ups had been talking and scheming and plotting or whatever it is the adults did when they got together - which always was "pretend Tochi wasn't there" because if they acknowledged her they might have to come up with some excuse to remove themselves from the conversation. No one was really equipped to deal with it when Tochi went on about...what the mortals called memes or whatever the hell it was. For Tochi, these gatherings were a necessary evil and a chance for her to do some goofing around; for the others, it was like bring your daughter to work day with Tochi. Unfortunately, the shattering of glass and the falling of corpses was better than any prank Tochi could have reasonably come up with.

As there was panic in the air - because what other response was there to corpses crashing the party - Tochi was busy being Tochi and making the finger sandwiches and other assorted food take a visit from the salt mines - the next person to eat anything, assuming they had the stomach, would probably wish for another corpse to save them from the horrors of a massive sodium intake.

Tochi grabbed a sandwich, one she had coated in that fine white substance, and bit into it. Succulent, salted meat, tomato - which was disgusting - and lettuce. Delicious enough. However, when she was mid-bite of her second bite she turned towards the commotion and, given her incredibly short size, couldn't tell what was going on. She tried jumping but that didn't help. All there were for her to process were murmurs, sounds, screams, shouts, panics, nerves. A whole range of emotions that must've meant one thing: whatever happened was fucking mental.

Tochi did what she did best. Meddle. She elbowed the body next to her with a cheeky grin plastered over her face. "Some party, right? Better than last year."

"Bad luck. That's all it is." Tyche, the elbowed figure, ignored Tochi's prodding and stepped away from the scene, her expression blank yet there seemed to be a hint of jealousy in the slight twitch of her lips, the little flicker in her eyes, and the gently elevated heart rate that caused her breathing to be a bit more rapid. Tochi didn't understand what had caused Tyche to have such a reaction until the arbiter of luck stepped away and Tochi was able to see the blood on the ground, the glass, the bodies, and the sandwich in her hand fell to the floor in response.

"Fuck...would I get banned if I streamed this? Eh best not. I hear mortals don't like it when you show them corpses. I'd have to go quiet for like six months and make a whole Twitlonger. Not worth it." She was speaking aloud, but mostly to herself. She tended to do that, years of talking to a camera for hours on end had an effect even on her. "So, like...same time next year?"

What else was there to say? This was a bit unprecedented and if Tochi didn't make cracks then she might actually have to process what she had seen, and that was not something she was able to do. It would be too much. Even for her. As her words fell on ears too occupied with more important matters, all Tochi could do was darkly chuckle. To keep her grounded.

"Fuck."

𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟

Tyche, goddess of Luck

g o d d e s s o f f o r t u n e
_{Τ ύ χ η. 
Τ ύ χ η.}

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	Melissanthi Mahut | #DDE2E1 ████████████████████████ 𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊   𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 ⌜ 𝐄 𝐏 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐓 ⌟ Tyche | Agathe | Fortuna Megale Soteira ⌜ 𝐃 𝐎 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍 ⌟ Luck, Fortune, Prosperity ⌜ 𝐏 𝐀 𝐍 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Greek ⚄

𝐃 𝐈 𝐕 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄 ⚀ 𝐏 𝐎 𝐖 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒
_{^{black cat done crossed my path no reason to run and hide}}

████████████

F O R T U N E
F O R T U N E

_{/ˈfôrCHən//}

^{A flip of the coin, a roll of the dice, the click of a button, so many things in life are left up to chance. One never quite knows what to expect; sure they could wake up and go about their daily routine as normal, but they could also trip on their way out of the shower and break their neck. Bad luck. Or they could find a crisp twenty dollar bill with no owner. Good luck. So many things are left to chance that it becomes easy to blame it all on luck rather than self; but of course, behind every roll of the dice, every saying of "good luck", Tyche is there. To say that she controls luck would be incorrect. No one can truly control luck anymore than they can control fate. But she can influence it. In times past she could bestow good fortune on some and bad on others, though now it seems all she can do is passively influence, good or bad, the fortunes of those around her. Some people get lucky. Others don't. It doesn't matter to her, it's far more interesting this way, yes?}

𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 ⚂ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐋 𝐅
_{^{a flip of a coin might make a head turn}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Playful & Scrupulous Allocentric & Felicific Vivacious & Sporting⌟	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Amoral & Apathetic Escapist & Impulsive Nihilistic & Self-Indulgent ⌟

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	████████████████████████ т н є м σ я т α ℓ   т н є м σ я т α ℓ ⌜ 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐀 𝐒 ⌟ Lydia Economos ⌜ 𝐑 𝐄 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐃 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 ⌟ Thirty Six ⌜ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐗 𝐔 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 & 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐃 𝐄 𝐑 ⌟ pansexual, female, she/they ⌜ 𝐎 𝐂 𝐂 𝐔 𝐏 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Owner and Operator of The Trojan Horse

𝐋 𝐈 𝐅 𝐄 ⚅ 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘
_{^{you're a careless con and a crazy liar}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲   𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲 ⌜ 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 𝕷 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 ⌟ ⚁ Everyone in their life has wished luck or good fortune on another but how many have truly believed there to be some kind of divine being hearing those words and acting upon them? Such was Tyche. An agent of fate as much as one of chaos, Tyche operated in the realm of fortune. When someone narrowly avoided spilling food on their good clothes, was it luck or was it Tyche playing the strings of fate for her own amusement? When a man loses his home to fire or flood, was it preventable or was it simply a stroke of bad fortune brought on by the Goddess herself? With good luck comes bad fortune, with bad fortune comes good luck. Luck. Fate. Whatever it is, it takes no favorites. A flip of the coin can never truly be predicted. The daughter of Aphrodite and either Hermes or Zeus, though Tyche is uncaring as to which one fathered her; flip a coin, whoever it lands on may as well take credit in her eyes. Tyche quickly found that, compared to some of her siblings, people were far more selective in their worship of her. Not that she minded. No one really asked Tyche for favor unless they had something personal to gain, a victory, a fortune. She did so enjoy seeing how they responded to their fortunes, whatever they may be. Few even realize Tyche is a goddess, after all, those who care about fate tend not to put their trust in those who claim to know the weave of life... ██████████████████████ 𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲   𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲 ⌜ м σ я т α ℓ ℓ ι f є ⌟ ⚁ When the gods fell the only thing Tyche could do was laugh. Fate had a delicious sense of irony. As others likely lamented their lot in life, Tyche saw it for what it was. A monumental case of bad luck. There was never any law of the land that said fortune favored the gods, after all. The fall was something even she couldn't see coming but part of her figured it was inevitable. The same way a gambler would enjoy the game of chance, so too would the fates enjoy seeing such hubris. To see the mighty brought low. It was all so fucking beautiful. So chaotic. Tyche adapted to mortal life quicker than some, having been involved in the affairs of their lives even before being forced to. But unlike mortals, she had an advantage due to her waning powers. It was because of that that Tyche was able to amass a fortune for herself in the same way many mortals suffering in the lower class of society attempt to enter a higher bracket: she gambled. Specifically high stakes card games. Winning tournaments and tournaments and invitationals, always seeming to pull the right hand at the right time. When her fortune was amassed, Tyche invested in real estate. What better opportunity for a goddess of luck than running the ultimate temple of worship for lucky individuals? Her casino, The Trojan Horse, has been running for decades, and has become quite a tourist destination as it was rare for a casino to be so well known outside the Vegas or international terminals. Being independently owned and operated means she never had to deal with organized crime or bookies trying to muscle in on her, though the Horse does offer sports betting - what self respecting luck goddess wouldn't? Articles have been written about her operation and a few movies have shot there, not to mention the in house performers and concerts held there. Unfortunately, though, with success came wealth and with wealth came boredom. Tyche, under the alias of Lydia Economos, found that money and notoriety wasn't worth it despite so many mortals claiming to want nothing more. Boredom when you're a functional immortal is a motherfucker and with her boredom came the belief that nothing truly matters. Sure they fell, but they still get to be immortal. Sure they might not have their powers as strongly but there's no point in pretending they're on the level of the mortals. They aren't. There's no point in long relationships because a mortal will die. There's no point in having wealth. In power. In anything. There's no point. THat's the ultimate joke of their existence. Tyche, or Lydia, no longer caring about things, has taken up extreme hobbies. Skydiving with an improperly packed parachute. Driving super fast with no seat belt. Seeking thrills. Cheap or otherwise. Seeking something, anything, to let her know that in spite of everything she's alive. And that she matters. ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬   𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬 ⌜ α м в ι т ι σ и ѕ ⌟ ⚃ finding meaning in life, ironically making her more mortal than she realizes. expanding The Horse to different locations without losing the identity. ⌜ f є α я ѕ ⌟ ⚃ succumbing to the encroaching nihilism and losing her humanity - so to speak - despite being a divine being. she doesn't fear death but she does fear that there truly is no meaning to existence.

Huixtocihuatl, goddess of salt

b r i n g e r o f s a l t
_{h u i x t o c i h u a t l. 
h u i x t o c i h u a t l.}

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	Iman Vellani | #e26161 ████████████████████████ 𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊   𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 ⌜ 𝐄 𝐏 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐓 ⌟ Huixtocihuatl | Uixtochihuatl ⌜ 𝐃 𝐎 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍 ⌟ salt | dissolute women ⌜ 𝐏 𝐀 𝐍 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Aztec 🜔

𝐃 𝐈 𝐕 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄 🜔 𝐏 𝐎 𝐖 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒
_{^{if you see my enemies tell 'em i stand correct}}

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S O D I U M
S O D I U M

_{/ˈsōdēəm/}

^{Despite her domain having nothing to do with the more common, internet use of the word 'salt', some might say her power is being a short fused (emphasis on short, she is not tall) little goblin but that's just a matter of coincidence. Her power comes in two varieties. The primary one is that around her, people tend to be more willing to say things that come to mind - though it only works on women, hence the 'dissolute women' aspect of her domain. The second part of her power, and really the best part of being friends with her, is that she can passively perfectly season food. Because salt. This is why she eats way too many french fries - for her money, the best thing mortals have ever invented. Salt and vinegar chips are a second place.}

𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 🜘 𝐒 𝐄 𝐋 𝐅
_{^{feeling so candy cane, lollipop, sugary sweet}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Charming & Cheerful Energetic & Lovable Playful & Youthful⌟	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Cantankerous & Gluttonous Crass & Devious Pugnacious & Venal ⌟

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	████████████████████████ т н є м σ я т α ℓ   т н є м σ я т α ℓ ⌜ 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐀 𝐒 ⌟ Zaniyah "Tochi" Florentine ⌜ 𝐑 𝐄 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐃 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 ⌟ 20 ⌜ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐗 𝐔 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 & 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐃 𝐄 𝐑 ⌟ not quite gay but not exactly straight, female, she/her ⌜ 𝐎 𝐂 𝐂 𝐔 𝐏 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ If anyone asks she tells them she is a multimedia entrepreneur which is a nice way of saying she is a content creator for the digital age. Vlogs, skits, reaction videos, but most notably are her video game streams where she is notorious for raging when she loses and raging even more when she wins but isn't at the top of the board. She's been banned from her streaming site of choice multiple times but she brings in enough money that she always comes back. Her community has dubbed her "The Goddess of Salt" a name which she enjoys precisely because they don't know how perfect it is. She will shill your product if you pay her money to do so.

𝐋 𝐈 𝐅 𝐄 🜙 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘
_{^{i'm gonna grow up and be a teenager}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲   𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲 ⌜ 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 𝕷 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 ⌟ 🜘 The best part about being the older sister to a bunch of brothers is that seniority rules. Huixtocihuatl, despite her innocent appearance, had always been something of a prankster to her siblings. It was her responsibility. They were her baby brothers. A little brother needs to be pranked. Relentlessly. Daily. She started small enough, flicking her finger at their nose, telling them that dad and mom were getting a divorce, hiding their jaguar fangs and headdresses - you know, sibling stuff. But of course, her oldest younger brother, Tlaloc, got the bright idea to prank her back. Her brothers locked her out of their realm one day, kicking her to an empty flat of salt. This was not amusing to Huixtocihuatl and it wasn't fair at all. They weren't supposed to prank her back! It wasn't allowed! But it was because of this counter prank that Huixtocihuatl learned about salt and how it was used in food and, importantly, life. Naturally she got her revenge on her brothers by showing the mortals in her domain the uses of salt in fertility and life and they, in kind, dedicated a ten day festival in her honor. She even howled with laughter when they offered her the heart of a sacrificed woman. Her brothers were disturbed but she always needled back with "At least my worshippers don't sacrifice children, little bro." They had no rebuttal. They never did. ██████████████████████ 𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲   𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲 ⌜ м σ я т α ℓ ℓ ι f є ⌟ 🜙 The first couple centuries after the fall were hard on her. She was in denial that everything they had was gone in an instant - and she didn't even have much in the first place. No more ten day dance festivals. No more hearts in a jar. No more making fun of her siblings - because with the fall came her mortal form and her body was considerably shorter than her siblings. The last laugh was theirs, though they took solace in the fact that they still had each other. At least until they went their separate ways. There wasn't a lot Huixtocihuatl could do. She didn't have many skills other than her knowledge of salt and sea water, but the mortals being a superstitious lot didn't exactly like a woman on their boats or on their fishing expeditions. She spent a few centuries under the radar, cooking, being no different from the mortal women. She showed many a mortal what salt could do to stew or, groundbreakingly, to meats. Salted meats was a game changer for mortals and she could never take credit, but she could certainly reap the benefits. Over time she integrated as best she could, mostly with unmarried women who much preferred being able to live how they like without the rigid rules of mortal society. She liked them. They were sassy. They were catty. Her saltwives. As society adapted, Huixtocihuatl did as well. She reached the acceptance stage eventually, though it took until the invention of fried potatoes for her to finally make the most of her situation. Her biggest regret was her mortal form. Being eternally around the age of 20 sucked, there was no way around it. She was young enough to not be taken seriously in most aspects of mortal society yet she was old enough to be seen as worthy of pursuit. Mortals were weird. With the advent of technology, Huixtocihuatl saw an opportunity. When mortals decided that people on screens making 'content' was worth attention, she was on it quick. By this point she had become Zaniyah Florentine - a name that very few people understood but everyone assumed to be exotic or, worse, Italian. With her online handle of "Tochi", she quickly became a known name in the streaming and content creation sphere and after some collabs with popular influencer Hercules, including her partaking in a 12 Labors event - not to mention the Acropolis parties - she found a solid, consistent viewer base. Her most popular video unrelated to her video gaming streams was a tier list video where she went on a twenty minute rant about why salt and vinegar potato chips are the best chip and deserved their own tier. Half of the rant was her yelling at her chat for being wrong. Highlights of streams frequently show her breaking keyboards and stomping around her room before passing out. It's wildly entertaining! Still, part of her wonders if she's no better than a modern day jester, raging and dancing for the amusement of the mortals who once revered her and her kind. Oh well, at least she's got french fries. As an aisde, do not pick her up without asking. Yes, she is under five feet but that's no excuse. She will throw salt in your eye if you do such a thing. ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬   𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬 ⌜ α м в ι т ι σ и ѕ ⌟ 🜔 she wants to be taken seriously as a woman, not seen as some immature child - something she's been struggling with ever since the fall. but she'd also like to find a way to turn her current job into something more substantial. if she's going to be a jester, she wants to be the queen of the jesters. long live the queen of salt. ⌜ f є α я ѕ ⌟ 🜔 that the bubble of her occupation will burst and she'll be back to square one, as she so often is. ever since the fall she never managed to have anything long lasting and given her body if her bubble bursts then the only thing waiting for her is years of minimum wage drudgery. no one should live like that, least of all someone who, in her mind, brings hilarity to their mortal lives.

Freyja, goddess of witchcraft and beyond

b l o o d s u g a r s e x m a g i c k
_{ᚠ ᚱ ᛅ ᚢ ᛁ ᛅ. 
ᚠ ᚱ ᛅ ᚢ ᛁ ᛅ.}

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	Rebecca Ferguson | #23E733 ████████████████████████ 𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊   𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 ⌜ 𝐄 𝐏 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐓 ⌟ Freyja | Freya | Freja | Freyia | The Lady ⌜ 𝐃 𝐎 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍 ⌟ Love | War | Sex | Magic | Beauty | Gold ⌜ 𝐏 𝐀 𝐍 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Norse ᚠ

𝐃 𝐈 𝐕 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄 ᚠ 𝐏 𝐎 𝐖 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒
_{^{the ripe fruit hangin' off the tree}}

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C O Q U E T R Y
C O Q U E T R Y

_{/ˈkōkətrē,kōˈketrē/}

^{The whispering voice in the back of your head that says to bring another to the dance floor; no, that sound isn't the saxophones of a certain carless whisper but rather the unspoken shot of confidence to make you approach the unapproachable in a social setting. Freyja had many powers in her time and most have been locked away in the chest of her boudoir, so to speak, but none stung quite so much as losing her handle on the finer points of seiðr. Still, it's not all a loss. She might not be able to conjure illusions but she can still inspire others with her voice and general aura. It's not perfect. Nothing is. But Freyja has a way of inspiring women to go for it with a well placed word and of courting men with a well placed careless whisper. With the right words of divine inspiration she can make her own kind of magic and never be left wanting for whatever she may desire, be it an object or, well, a desire. She doesn't have a one hundred percent success rate, but then who does?}

𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 ᛒ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐋 𝐅
_{^{I am the huntress; I am the queen. I walk in a room, they know my name}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Articulate & Captivating Confident & Urbane Inspirational & Persuasive⌟	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Libidinous & Materialistic Self-indulgent & Fawning Freewheeling & Conceited ⌟

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	████████████████████████ т н є м σ я т α ℓ   т н є м σ я т α ℓ ⌜ 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐀 𝐒 ⌟ Karoline Nilsson ⌜ 𝐑 𝐄 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐃 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 ⌟ 39 ⌜ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐗 𝐔 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 & 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐃 𝐄 𝐑 ⌟ pansexual, female, she/her ⌜ 𝐎 𝐂 𝐂 𝐔 𝐏 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ OBGYN and Fertility Medicine Specialist at Hope Valley Medical Center Couples Therapist Former military medic, specializing in triage

𝐋 𝐈 𝐅 𝐄 ᚱ 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘
_{^{look into my eyes; i see you, honey}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲   𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲 ⌜ 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 𝕷 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 ⌟ ᛒ Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairist Aesir of them all? Why, the one who was a Vanir first, of course. Many stories have been told about Freyja, the lady who captivated many a man, jotun, and elf and who, by all accounts, bedded many more. How many of the stories are true? All of them. None of them. A mix. Does it truly matter when the end result is the same? Freyja arrived like a hurricane, quickly wrapping many of the gods around her dainty little finger with a well placed smile and a flit of the eyes. It's no surprise that some would become jealous, particularly when Freyja understood that she could get men and women to do things or give her things by using her body. Did she care? Hardly. Did she benefit? Absolutely. Of course, there is much more to her than just a woman confident in her beauty and sexuality - and yet that always seems to be the main focus amongst those who once worshipped her. They talk about sex but forget to mention how loving she was. Freyja cared for women and beings, a kind, generous soul who wished for women to be themselves and to be so confidently, and she inspired women in hearth, in home, and in battle, for with beauty and compassion there must also come strength and resolve and intelligence. Theirs is a history of battle and Freyja was there with them, inspiring and leading the valkyrie under her retinue o'er the fields of the fallen, bringing those who died in honor to the eternal fields of Folkvangr. At least that was the plan. The idea. But so many plans never reach their fruition. Despite her differences with some of her fellow gods, she was always willing to set aside personal differences should they come to her for aid. She did so not expecting favors in return but just out of the graciousness and kindness in her core. She could weather their insults and dish them back in kind, from flyting to pure argument, and she could assist them knowing full well they would offer little thanks. But one need not a word of thanks to render aid - despite her enjoyment of gifts of sweet things, chocolate and honey, and the material goods that make for accessories. Such was her kindness that Freyja never looked down on the mortals that worshipped, but rather envied them in her own way. To live such lives was fascinating. It was that kindness that had her equipped to live among them... ██████████████████████ 𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲   𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲 ⌜ м σ я т α ℓ ℓ ι f є ⌟ ᛒ After the fall there was confusion. There was anger. There were many and more stages felt by her peers but for Freyja there was an almost unusual calm. She was angry, yes, who among them wasn't, but she'd been angry before, she had to be when wars were waged in her name, but this was a different kind of anger. An anger at her fellow gods, who lived in vanity and excess and many who looked down on the mortals now having the bitter taste forever staining their teeth. For a great many centuries after the fall, Freyja lived by herself in a serene meadow surrounded by flowers and animals, though to the mortals on the outside the only thing they saw was a dilapidated old cabin and whispers of a crone. She lived like this until the last of her seiðr magick left her and the illusion was revealed. Try as she might, she could no longer use the magick of eld. She cried when the realization settled. She cried for a month. She cried until there were no more tears in her body. It had been the last time she cried in sorrow. It was the first time since the fall she had cried. It hadn't truly hit her until that point. Freyja integrated into mortal life after her cry, packing her belongings and living a semi-nomadic life, setting up shop as an apothecary here, a midwife there, always seeming to find herself around the great battles of mortal history, sometimes as a participant if she could disguise herself well enough but often as a triage medic, aiding the wounded and injured in her own way, saving lives or taking them with dignity. She became known as something of an angel of the battlefield in more than one war; many veterans share stories of a fair haired, beautiful medic that saved them from hell but none can agree on more specific details. Less a valkyrie and more a guardian angel of sorts, was Freyja. When she wasn't doing her time in the various conflicts of the world, she found it frighteningly easy to fill her more carnal desires. Numerous partners, men, women, former gods, mortals, the list was long enough to fill a library. Never anything serious. Never anything substantial. And yet, Freyja grew utterly bored of the constant carnal cravings and satisfactions and sought fulfillment elsewhere. Sure, she still engaged in a romp when she wanted, but as time grew on she sought it less and less and it became more out of whim and want rather than obligation and need. Her fulfillment came with her newfound passion for counseling troubled couples and women specifically. She always had a way with women, to inspire them to be the best versions of themselves, and that carried over nicely to the mental and physical health side of things. When a hundred years is but a blink of an eye, it's easy to pick up skills. From couples therapy - something she still does - to an OBGYN and fertility specialist who was published in a handful of medical journals, Doctor Karoline Nilsson has become something of a known figure in certain communities and, because of her contributions to women's health in body and mind, she has been listed as one of the more eligible bachelorette's, a title which has had more than one couple wonder what makes her qualified to speak on marital issues. If only they knew. But she continues to not have a significant other. She has her various bedroom antics, as anyone does, but the most stable relationship in her life are her two cats and her pet pig. Yes, she has a pet pig. She's Freyja, she likes boars and cats. Some things never change. ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬   𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬 ⌜ α м в ι т ι σ и ѕ ⌟ ᛊ Part of her wishes to truly become mortal and live out whatever is remaining of a mortal life, but she doesn't know how to breach the subject with her peers, so desperate for their approval she still is. A relationship isn't out of the question but it's not something she feels she needs to worry about. In the immediate future she'd like to open her own fertility clinic where any woman could have a safe environment, free of worry about medical bills. And selfishly she'd like to be able to use seiðr again. ⌜ f є α я ѕ ⌟ ᛊ That her contributions to the mortal world will get underplayed simply based on the fact that she's a single woman. That ever since crying her final tear she might never truly feel things strongly again.

Tsukuyomi, goddess of the moon

g o d d e s s o f t h e m o o n
_{月 読 尊 
月 読 尊}

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	Meisa Kuroki | #79A6BE ████████████████████████ 𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊   𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 ⌜ 𝐄 𝐏 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐓 ⌟ Tsukuyomi | Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto ⌜ 𝐃 𝐎 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍 ⌟ The Moon and The Night Sky ⌜ 𝐏 𝐀 𝐍 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Japanese ⚸

𝐃 𝐈 𝐕 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄 ☽ 𝐏 𝐎 𝐖 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒
_{^{I'm that bad type; make your girlfriend mad type}}

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N O C T U R N A L
N O C T U R N A L

_{/näkˈtərnl/}

^{Under cover of night, anything goes. The secrets come out to play. The restless stir. The night has its fun before the dawn spoils it all away. There was a time when the moon being in the sky meant Tsukuyomi had eyes everywhere, could see the world under moonlight, every nook, every crany, nothing beyond her reach or her vision. Sad that she can't claim as such anymore. She can, however, claim perfect vision when the lights are out, when the moon is high. There is no darkness she can't see through as clear as day; fitting for one whose domain is when the normal are asleep. In contrast to her paramour, Tsukuyomi can also dim and turn off any light - unless a certain bright spot fights her on it. Try as she might to deny it, the sun always rises and with it the light. While not killed by the light like some kind of vampire, she vastly prefers the night to the day. It's no wonder she's so pale.}

𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 ☽ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐋 𝐅
_{^{I'm the only one alive in the dead of night}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Incisive & Methodical Passionate & Debonair Disciplined & Pragmatic⌟	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Egocentric & Zealous Vindictive & Pugnacious Domineering & Devious ⌟

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	████████████████████████ т н є м σ я т α ℓ   т н є м σ я т α ℓ ⌜ 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐀 𝐒 ⌟ Reito Otoko ⌜ 𝐑 𝐄 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐃 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 ⌟ 37 ⌜ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐗 𝐔 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 & 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐃 𝐄 𝐑 ⌟ Lesbian, Female, She/Her ⌜ 𝐎 𝐂 𝐂 𝐔 𝐏 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ By day, Reito Otoko is the never-seen CEO of OtoKorp. Tsukuyomi, under the stage name of 'Ruru' is the public 'face' of OtoKorp, being used as a model in many of their adverts including shilling junk food, diet pills, and other things meant to enhance the worst parts of mortals and their excess. By night, 'Tsukino' who looks suspiciously like 'Ruru' finds work as a high quality dominatrix for hire. Despite her sexuality, she takes clients of any gender.

𝐋 𝐈 𝐅 𝐄 ☾ 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘
_{^{if i seem too serene, torture me}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲   𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲 ⌜ 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 𝕷 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 ⌟ ⚸ Some things were just too perfect to last, so perfect that you would do anything to get it back. So it was with Amaterasu and her wife Tsukuyomi. One was the light, the other the dark. The sun and the moon. They were very much in love despite how opposite they seemed on the surface. One was the light. One was the dark. The only difference between them was one was simply more honest. The way Amaterasu told it, their divorce was the fault of Tsukuyomi, but every good story has two parts. At least. What is true is that Tsukuyomi loves Amaterasu. Always had, from the moment she laid eyes on her. Tsukuyomi made Amaterasu feel things that could not be described, did things to her that dare not be described, and hurt her in ways that should not be described. Physically. Mentally. Stay too much in the dark and light vanishes. What is true is the married couple Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi were at a feast held in Amaterasu's honor. Tsukuyomi did so hate the stuffy affairs though understood their necessity and how they needed to be done. For her wife, for her love, everything needed to be perfect. Everything needed to be orderly. They loved order. Their caterer made a delicious feast, but she did so in a disgusting fashion. How could her wife eat something prepared in so uncouth a manner? Tsukuyomi sought only to punish Uke Mochi. She went too far. One star was snuffed out in the night sky. Tsukuyomi did what she did for love. Amaterasu didn't see that. Stare too much at the light and you go blind. Amaterasu was furious. Years of pent up feelings came out in a violent exchange. Tsukuyomi saw no fault in her actions, she did it for love. Amaterasu saw Tsukuyomi for what she truly was in that moment. She cast their marriage aside and fled. Tsukuyomi had never known such betrayal, had never figured the love, the light of her life, could be so cold. She told her brother-in-law, Susanoo, about the betrayal and Susanoo's rage was second only to Tsukuyomi's resentment of the 'divorce'. The denial. Tsukuyomi would have her love back. When Amaterasu fled to a cave, Tsukuyomi spread her own dark influences, letting the night exist without word of the approaching dawn. It did not lest. Their peers knew Tsukuyomi's night would only harm the world. But what did the world matter when Tsukuyomi's light was gone? When Amaterasu returned light to the world, Tsukuyomi continued her pursuit. Whenever the Moon got too close, the Sun would simply move, and on and on the Moon's quest continued. No matter what, she would be with her Sun again. No matter how long it took. Even if she had to burn out the sun and wrap it in her nightly embrace. ██████████████████████ 𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲   𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲 ⌜ м σ я т α ℓ ℓ ι f є ⌟ ⚸ The fall seemed like the perfect opportunity. Tsukuyomi tried to take the vulnerable Amaterasu back under her command. Back to their blissful married life. It didn't take, and in her anger, Tsukuyomi did the unthinkable. She took her aggression out on a mortal. And then another. And then she fled, giving the Sun time to grieve on her own. As the Imperial Family of Japan rose up, claiming divine lineage, it became clear that the various atrocities of those in power who claimed divine right were not done truly in the name of the Sun. A certain whisper to the right ears was all it took. Tsukuyomi had known how emotional her wife had been, how in tune to the prayers and praise of the mortals, that to have terrible deeds justified in her name had to have stung. If Tsukuyomi couldn't have Amaterasu at her strongest, then she would simply weaken her love and pick up the pieces, putting them back together in the way she wanted. Tsukuyomi involved herself in various conflicts over the years, sometimes as a willing participant, other times as little more than a puppet master, always with the goal of bringing Amaterasu low. When that didn't work and Amaterasu turned instead to being a shrine maiden, Tsukuyomi spent countless hours, days, years simply vandalizing shrines to Amaterasu. There were not many shrines to Tsukuyomi. How could there be. Who wished to revere a cold, uncaring murderer? Even the one Amaterasu watched over never had as much attention. Every year when it came time to have the fruit, Tsukuyomi attempted to get her wife back. Every year she went home denied. But never deterred. Over the many, many years, Tsukuyomi grew to understand the way the mortals thought. How they were fickle. How they were liars. How they were hopeless. How given enough time they would wipe each other out. How there was no point in ruling over them when they could just ruin themselves. How many atrocities had been done in the name of their beliefs? Even after the fall they still found ways to maim and abuse and murder. They were kindred spirits in a way, except the mortals hid their true nature from one another while Tsukuyomi embraced it. As the the world grew more advanced, Reito Otoko established OtoKorp and used the power of suggestion to make herself rich and the mortals fat, lazy, stupid, and dead. Through pointed advertising over the years, Reito Otoko became wealthy and the products pushed by OtoKorp included drinks that sped up heart disease, pills that didn't work but were easy to cause addiction, food that was made cheaply and sold in bulk to encourage obesity, devices for lonely sorts to simply spend their days finding new ways to pleasure themselves to obscurity. Soon enough OtoKorp was selling those products in movies. Television. Books. Magazines. Anywhere. Everywhere. And it was all legal. Slap a pretty girl or a handsome man and people will buy anything. OtoKorp deliberately set up its corporate headquarters incredibly close to Amaterasu's company - and OtoKorp made sure their building was taller, just so Amaterasu would always know the shadow of Tsukuyomi was always around. Even still, after all this time, Tsukuyomi is convinced that she and Amaterasu will be together again. Not a month goes by where Tskuyomi isn't sending Amaterasu messages, visits, whatever she can get just to let Amaterasu know that they will be together. Where one goes, the other will follow. One seeks to lift humanity up. The other will continue to contribute to its inevitable decline. If the ashes of the mortal world are what it takes for the Sun and the Moon to be together again, then let it all burn. ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬   𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬 ⌜ α м в ι т ι σ и ѕ ⌟ 月 Her goal is, as it has always been, rekindling the marriage she once had. She is also engaged in a bit of a longstanding debate on the nature of mortals and she believes proving her statements correct will aid her pursuit of her Sun. Tsukuyomi has little love for mortals, seeing them as little more than burdens she can use for her own ends. ⌜ f є α я ѕ ⌟ 月 That in spite of everything, she will never know the loving warmth of her Sun. The only thing more worrisome than that is her Sun choosing not to eat the fruit. She won't let that happen. They have to be together. Forever. No matter what.

Cerridwen, goddess of grain

g o d d e s s o f h e r b s
_{C E R R I D W E N
C E R R I D W E N}

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	Katy Townsend | #EEDE47 ████████████████████████ 𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊   𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 ⌜ 𝐄 𝐏 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐓 ⌟ Cerridwen | Keeper of the Cauldron | The White Witch ⌜ 𝐃 𝐎 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍 ⌟ Inspiration | Rebirth | Herbology | Grain | ⌜ 𝐏 𝐀 𝐍 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Celtic 🌿

𝐃 𝐈 𝐕 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄 ⚗️ 𝐏 𝐎 𝐖 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒
_{^{must be the season of the witch}}

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 A L C H E M Y
A L C H E M Y

_/ˈalkəmē/

^{What do you get when you mix powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood? Well, beyond ten points to or from your house of choice, the answer is no one really knows. Alchemy is a fine art. A fine art of dashed and dabs, of mixtures and stirring, of trial and error. Cerridwen has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of remedies and tonics and, importantly, herbs, and how they work together. It's almost like she can talk to the earth and its riches in order to help her own salves and potions. In a different life she could've been a doctor. Her knowledge of what plants and herbs and grains are remains, and she can say what they are upon sight, but she no longer hears their voices, and more and more of her crops have come out lacking in later years. Concerning. For her customers, anyway.}

𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 🚬 𝐒 𝐄 𝐋 𝐅
_{^{you introduced me to my mind; left me wanting you and your kind}}

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	████████████████████████ т н є м σ я т α ℓ   т н є м σ я т α ℓ ⌜ 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐀 𝐒 ⌟ Paisley Sinclair ⌜ 𝐑 𝐄 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐃 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 ⌟ 29 ⌜ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐗 𝐔 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 & 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐃 𝐄 𝐑 ⌟ pansexual, female, she/her ⌜ 𝐎 𝐂 𝐂 𝐔 𝐏 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Owner of The Emerald Kelpie

𝐋 𝐈 𝐅 𝐄 🍃 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘
_{^{when the stress burns my brain just like acid raindrops}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲   𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲 ⌜ 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 𝕷 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 ⌟ ⚗️ How far would you go for family? For love? For beauty? As with so many stories, Cerridwen's begins with the familiar adage of 'once upon a time'. There was a time when everyone knew the name of the great Witch of the White, a witch whose brews and magic were so potent that a single drop could kill the hardiest man or beast, but thankfully due to her good nature and desire to do no harm, her potions were instead used to save life, not end it. Save life, yes, but also often to enhance or alter or transform. Hers was the Cauldron of Knowledge and thus was the source of much of her talents. This fabled witch, whose talents extended also to that of shapeshifting - her favorite form being that of a beautifully white sow - like many a woman found love and with that love came marriage and with that marriage came children - in exactly that order, no more, no less, no deviation, no mess. Two children, a girl as beautiful as the sunrise, and a boy as foul and repugnant as the dark. The witch loved her children equally, but knew her son would struggle, vanity was such an important part of life, and so she sought to use her talents to aid him. To make him beautiful. Her potions would help. They always would. For one long year she had to prepare, to gather ingredients, to add them, mix them, stir them just right, carefully measuring each and every bit. For one long year everything was going perfect. She requested the aid of two locals as she gathered more ingredients. One to stir the cauldron, one to tend the fire. She warned the lads that in the potion's current state, three drops would grant the knowledge and beauty she sought, but anymore would be fatal. The stirrer accidentally spilled three drops, hot as the sun, onto his thumb and in instinct he stuck his thumb in his mouth to cool off the burn. His mistake made and cursed with the knowledge of what the Witch would do to him, he fled. And so the Witch pursued him. He became a rabbit, she a dog to hunt him. He became a bird, she became a hawk to prey upon him. He became a fish, she became an otter to catch him. He became a single grain of corn, she became a hen and ate him. He did not die and instead found himself reborn. The witch, with murderous intent, gave birth to a child she meant to kill for ruining her plans with her first son, but this baby was so radiant that she could not bring herself to go through with the horrific deed, sending him instead downriver for him to forge his own path. How much is true? Who can say. Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it. What is known is only that there existed a woman so tied to nature and concoctions that she was said to be both enchantress and goddess all rolled into one. When, you ask? When did she walk this earth, gathering herbs and grains for her potions and tonics? Why, once upon a time. ██████████████████████ 𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲   𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲 ⌜ м σ я т α ℓ ℓ ι f є ⌟ ⚗️ Cerridwen was almost unaffected by the fall at first, having decided to live amongst the mortals during the height of divinity anyway - her time as the White Witch was rife with visitors calling upon her aid, praying to her for love or wealth or beauty or pregnancy or whatever they could hope to find in a potion. She certainly felt different after the fact, it was as if she had been hearing all her life and then woke up unable to hear even her own heartbeat. Fear swept through her. Panic. Anger. The gamut of emotions. She almost burned down her home in the woods of Gwynedd, but in so doing a calming smell wafted through her nose. An herb she had never thought to burn before. Its smell was calming. She had never known such calm. And with it such hunger. She sought to understand this herb and so began to grow it. It was so much more difficult without being able to hear the call of the earth. She failed to replicate that first waft, that life changing feeling. But it was okay. She had time on her side. During her experimenting on replicating the herb, she still managed to integrate with the mortals. She was no longer the fabled Witch of the White but her experience with remedies and herbs, though stifled somewhat after the fall, allowed her to find work with doctors and charlatans alike, allowed her to sell tinctures, tonics, and medical miracles that worked about as often as they didn't. It was never her intention to swindle, but when balding sorts requested a tonic to make their hair grow, sometimes the best course was just to bend the truth and hope for the best. As she grew on, she turned her pursuits more towards the mystery of the herb. While never quite replicating that first strain, she did settle upon a consistent one. She found that it helped calm people, helped inspire others, and in some it helped their illness. She might have lost her connection with the natural world but she could still do what she could to help, to inspire, to provide a vital service. As the world turned towards the modern, she found an entire culture had risen up around herbs, a culture she took part in rather directly. Once the strange hang up on 'legality' became less of an issue, Paisely Sinclair opened a dispensary, after having her own grow-op which she contributed to local dealers. A supplier of fine quality as she provided was in high demand, and being able to go into business for herself was a game changer. It was just like having her house in the woods, except it was located within walking distance of about four places with products far more addictive and habit forming than what she sold. It's not much, but it's a vital service. ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬   𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬 ⌜ α м в ι т ι σ и ѕ ⌟ 🚬 To help the mortal hang-up over what is a harmless plant. She'd also like to find the secret to that first initial herb, but it seems more and more unlikely after so long. Though the stories of her, specifically in regards to her children, might well be made up or exaggerated, she would like to maybe try to find romance - but for some reason mortals say they want a 'gothy, stoner, pixie haired gf' but then when one comes knocking they just leave her hanging. Weird. She'd also like to try her hand at poetry again, it's been so long. ⌜ f є α я ѕ ⌟ 🚬 That despite all her studies and knowledge over the years, all she'll ever be seen as is no different than the clowns in 'stoner movies'. She has a longstanding lack of confidence in self that only gets exacerbated as time goes on. That for all her obsession with her herbs that her more artistic desires have suffered, namely her poetry.

𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟

Here you go you crazy motherhuggers, formally dropping my name for consideration

Tyche, goddess of Luck

g o d d e s s o f f o r t u n e
_{Τ ύ χ η. 
Τ ύ χ η.}

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	Melissanthi Mahut | #DDE2E1 ████████████████████████ 𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊   𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 ⌜ 𝐄 𝐏 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐓 ⌟ Tyche | Agathe | Fortuna Megale Soteira ⌜ 𝐃 𝐎 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍 ⌟ Luck, Fortune, Prosperity ⌜ 𝐏 𝐀 𝐍 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Greek ⚄

𝐃 𝐈 𝐕 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄 ⚀ 𝐏 𝐎 𝐖 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒
_{^{black cat done crossed my path no reason to run and hide}}

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F O R T U N E
F O R T U N E

_{/ˈfôrCHən//}

^{A flip of the coin, a roll of the dice, the click of a button, so many things in life are left up to chance. One never quite knows what to expect; sure they could wake up and go about their daily routine as normal, but they could also trip on their way out of the shower and break their neck. Bad luck. Or they could find a crisp twenty dollar bill with no owner. Good luck. So many things are left to chance that it becomes easy to blame it all on luck rather than self; but of course, behind every roll of the dice, every saying of "good luck", Tyche is there. To say that she controls luck would be incorrect. No one can truly control luck anymore than they can control fate. But she can influence it. In times past she could bestow good fortune on some and bad on others, though now it seems all she can do is passively influence, good or bad, the fortunes of those around her. Some people get lucky. Others don't. It doesn't matter to her, it's far more interesting this way, yes?}

𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 ⚂ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐋 𝐅
_{^{a flip of a coin might make a head turn}}

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	████████████████████████ т н є м σ я т α ℓ   т н є м σ я т α ℓ ⌜ 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐀 𝐒 ⌟ Lydia Economos ⌜ 𝐑 𝐄 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐃 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 ⌟ Thirty Six ⌜ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐗 𝐔 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 & 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐃 𝐄 𝐑 ⌟ pansexual, female, she/they ⌜ 𝐎 𝐂 𝐂 𝐔 𝐏 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Owner and Operator of The Trojan Horse

𝐋 𝐈 𝐅 𝐄 ⚅ 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘
_{^{you're a careless con and a crazy liar}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲   𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲 ⌜ 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 𝕷 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 ⌟ ⚁ Everyone in their life has wished luck or good fortune on another but how many have truly believed there to be some kind of divine being hearing those words and acting upon them? Such was Tyche. An agent of fate as much as one of chaos, Tyche operated in the realm of fortune. When someone narrowly avoided spilling food on their good clothes, was it luck or was it Tyche playing the strings of fate for her own amusement? When a man loses his home to fire or flood, was it preventable or was it simply a stroke of bad fortune brought on by the Goddess herself? With good luck comes bad fortune, with bad fortune comes good luck. Luck. Fate. Whatever it is, it takes no favorites. A flip of the coin can never truly be predicted. The daughter of Aphrodite and either Hermes or Zeus, though Tyche is uncaring as to which one fathered her; flip a coin, whoever it lands on may as well take credit in her eyes. Tyche quickly found that, compared to some of her siblings, people were far more selective in their worship of her. Not that she minded. No one really asked Tyche for favor unless they had something personal to gain, a victory, a fortune. She did so enjoy seeing how they responded to their fortunes, whatever they may be. Few even realize Tyche is a goddess, after all, those who care about fate tend not to put their trust in those who claim to know the weave of life... ██████████████████████ 𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲   𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲 ⌜ м σ я т α ℓ ℓ ι f є ⌟ ⚁ When the gods fell the only thing Tyche could do was laugh. Fate had a delicious sense of irony. As others likely lamented their lot in life, Tyche saw it for what it was. A monumental case of bad luck. There was never any law of the land that said fortune favored the gods, after all. The fall was something even she couldn't see coming but part of her figured it was inevitable. The same way a gambler would enjoy the game of chance, so too would the fates enjoy seeing such hubris. To see the mighty brought low. It was all so fucking beautiful. So chaotic. Tyche adapted to mortal life quicker than some, having been involved in the affairs of their lives even before being forced to. But unlike mortals, she had an advantage due to her waning powers. It was because of that that Tyche was able to amass a fortune for herself in the same way many mortals suffering in the lower class of society attempt to enter a higher bracket: she gambled. Specifically high stakes card games. Winning tournaments and tournaments and invitationals, always seeming to pull the right hand at the right time. When her fortune was amassed, Tyche invested in real estate. What better opportunity for a goddess of luck than running the ultimate temple of worship for lucky individuals? Her casino, The Trojan Horse, has been running for decades, and has become quite a tourist destination as it was rare for a casino to be so well known outside the Vegas or international terminals. Being independently owned and operated means she never had to deal with organized crime or bookies trying to muscle in on her, though the Horse does offer sports betting - what self respecting luck goddess wouldn't? Articles have been written about her operation and a few movies have shot there, not to mention the in house performers and concerts held there. Unfortunately, though, with success came wealth and with wealth came boredom. Tyche, under the alias of Lydia Economos, found that money and notoriety wasn't worth it despite so many mortals claiming to want nothing more. Boredom when you're a functional immortal is a motherfucker and with her boredom came the belief that nothing truly matters. Sure they fell, but they still get to be immortal. Sure they might not have their powers as strongly but there's no point in pretending they're on the level of the mortals. They aren't. There's no point in long relationships because a mortal will die. There's no point in having wealth. In power. In anything. There's no point. THat's the ultimate joke of their existence. Tyche, or Lydia, no longer caring about things, has taken up extreme hobbies. Skydiving with an improperly packed parachute. Driving super fast with no seat belt. Seeking thrills. Cheap or otherwise. Seeking something, anything, to let her know that in spite of everything she's alive. And that she matters. ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬   𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬 ⌜ α м в ι т ι σ и ѕ ⌟ ⚃ finding meaning in life, ironically making her more mortal than she realizes. expanding The Horse to different locations without losing the identity. ⌜ f є α я ѕ ⌟ ⚃ succumbing to the encroaching nihilism and losing her humanity - so to speak - despite being a divine being. she doesn't fear death but she does fear that there truly is no meaning to existence.

Huixtocihuatl, goddess of salt

b r i n g e r o f s a l t
_{h u i x t o c i h u a t l. 
h u i x t o c i h u a t l.}

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	Iman Vellani | #e26161 ████████████████████████ 𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊   𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 ⌜ 𝐄 𝐏 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐓 ⌟ Huixtocihuatl | Uixtochihuatl ⌜ 𝐃 𝐎 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍 ⌟ salt | dissolute women ⌜ 𝐏 𝐀 𝐍 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Aztec 🜔

𝐃 𝐈 𝐕 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄 🜔 𝐏 𝐎 𝐖 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒
_{^{if you see my enemies tell 'em i stand correct}}

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S O D I U M
S O D I U M

_{/ˈsōdēəm/}

^{Despite her domain having nothing to do with the more common, internet use of the word 'salt', some might say her power is being a short fused (emphasis on short, she is not tall) little goblin but that's just a matter of coincidence. Her power comes in two varieties. The primary one is that around her, people tend to be more willing to say things that come to mind - though it only works on women, hence the 'dissolute women' aspect of her domain. The second part of her power, and really the best part of being friends with her, is that she can passively perfectly season food. Because salt. This is why she eats way too many french fries - for her money, the best thing mortals have ever invented. Salt and vinegar chips are a second place.}

𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 🜘 𝐒 𝐄 𝐋 𝐅
_{^{feeling so candy cane, lollipop, sugary sweet}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Charming & Cheerful Energetic & Lovable Playful & Youthful⌟	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Cantankerous & Gluttonous Crass & Devious Pugnacious & Venal ⌟

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	████████████████████████ т н є м σ я т α ℓ   т н є м σ я т α ℓ ⌜ 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐀 𝐒 ⌟ Zaniyah "Tochi" Florentine ⌜ 𝐑 𝐄 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐃 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 ⌟ 20 ⌜ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐗 𝐔 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 & 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐃 𝐄 𝐑 ⌟ not quite gay but not exactly straight, female, she/her ⌜ 𝐎 𝐂 𝐂 𝐔 𝐏 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ If anyone asks she tells them she is a multimedia entrepreneur which is a nice way of saying she is a content creator for the digital age. Vlogs, skits, reaction videos, but most notably are her video game streams where she is notorious for raging when she loses and raging even more when she wins but isn't at the top of the board. She's been banned from her streaming site of choice multiple times but she brings in enough money that she always comes back. Her community has dubbed her "The Goddess of Salt" a name which she enjoys precisely because they don't know how perfect it is. She will shill your product if you pay her money to do so.

𝐋 𝐈 𝐅 𝐄 🜙 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘
_{^{i'm gonna grow up and be a teenager}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲   𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲 ⌜ 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 𝕷 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 ⌟ 🜘 The best part about being the older sister to a bunch of brothers is that seniority rules. Huixtocihuatl, despite her innocent appearance, had always been something of a prankster to her siblings. It was her responsibility. They were her baby brothers. A little brother needs to be pranked. Relentlessly. Daily. She started small enough, flicking her finger at their nose, telling them that dad and mom were getting a divorce, hiding their jaguar fangs and headdresses - you know, sibling stuff. But of course, her oldest younger brother, Tlaloc, got the bright idea to prank her back. Her brothers locked her out of their realm one day, kicking her to an empty flat of salt. This was not amusing to Huixtocihuatl and it wasn't fair at all. They weren't supposed to prank her back! It wasn't allowed! But it was because of this counter prank that Huixtocihuatl learned about salt and how it was used in food and, importantly, life. Naturally she got her revenge on her brothers by showing the mortals in her domain the uses of salt in fertility and life and they, in kind, dedicated a ten day festival in her honor. She even howled with laughter when they offered her the heart of a sacrificed woman. Her brothers were disturbed but she always needled back with "At least my worshippers don't sacrifice children, little bro." They had no rebuttal. They never did. ██████████████████████ 𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲   𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲 ⌜ м σ я т α ℓ ℓ ι f є ⌟ 🜙 The first couple centuries after the fall were hard on her. She was in denial that everything they had was gone in an instant - and she didn't even have much in the first place. No more ten day dance festivals. No more hearts in a jar. No more making fun of her siblings - because with the fall came her mortal form and her body was considerably shorter than her siblings. The last laugh was theirs, though they took solace in the fact that they still had each other. At least until they went their separate ways. There wasn't a lot Huixtocihuatl could do. She didn't have many skills other than her knowledge of salt and sea water, but the mortals being a superstitious lot didn't exactly like a woman on their boats or on their fishing expeditions. She spent a few centuries under the radar, cooking, being no different from the mortal women. She showed many a mortal what salt could do to stew or, groundbreakingly, to meats. Salted meats was a game changer for mortals and she could never take credit, but she could certainly reap the benefits. Over time she integrated as best she could, mostly with unmarried women who much preferred being able to live how they like without the rigid rules of mortal society. She liked them. They were sassy. They were catty. Her saltwives. As society adapted, Huixtocihuatl did as well. She reached the acceptance stage eventually, though it took until the invention of fried potatoes for her to finally make the most of her situation. Her biggest regret was her mortal form. Being eternally around the age of 20 sucked, there was no way around it. She was young enough to not be taken seriously in most aspects of mortal society yet she was old enough to be seen as worthy of pursuit. Mortals were weird. With the advent of technology, Huixtocihuatl saw an opportunity. When mortals decided that people on screens making 'content' was worth attention, she was on it quick. By this point she had become Zaniyah Florentine - a name that very few people understood but everyone assumed to be exotic or, worse, Italian. With her online handle of "Tochi", she quickly became a known name in the streaming and content creation sphere and after some collabs with popular influencer Hercules, including her partaking in a 12 Labors event - not to mention the Acropolis parties - she found a solid, consistent viewer base. Her most popular video unrelated to her video gaming streams was a tier list video where she went on a twenty minute rant about why salt and vinegar potato chips are the best chip and deserved their own tier. Half of the rant was her yelling at her chat for being wrong. Highlights of streams frequently show her breaking keyboards and stomping around her room before passing out. It's wildly entertaining! Still, part of her wonders if she's no better than a modern day jester, raging and dancing for the amusement of the mortals who once revered her and her kind. Oh well, at least she's got french fries. As an aisde, do not pick her up without asking. Yes, she is under five feet but that's no excuse. She will throw salt in your eye if you do such a thing. ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬   𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬 ⌜ α м в ι т ι σ и ѕ ⌟ 🜔 she wants to be taken seriously as a woman, not seen as some immature child - something she's been struggling with ever since the fall. but she'd also like to find a way to turn her current job into something more substantial. if she's going to be a jester, she wants to be the queen of the jesters. long live the queen of salt. ⌜ f є α я ѕ ⌟ 🜔 that the bubble of her occupation will burst and she'll be back to square one, as she so often is. ever since the fall she never managed to have anything long lasting and given her body if her bubble bursts then the only thing waiting for her is years of minimum wage drudgery. no one should live like that, least of all someone who, in her mind, brings hilarity to their mortal lives.

Freyja, goddess of witchcraft and beyond

b l o o d s u g a r s e x m a g i c k
_{ᚠ ᚱ ᛅ ᚢ ᛁ ᛅ. 
ᚠ ᚱ ᛅ ᚢ ᛁ ᛅ.}

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	Rebecca Ferguson | #23E733 ████████████████████████ 𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊   𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 ⌜ 𝐄 𝐏 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐓 ⌟ Freyja | Freya | Freja | Freyia | The Lady ⌜ 𝐃 𝐎 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍 ⌟ Love | War | Sex | Magic | Beauty | Gold ⌜ 𝐏 𝐀 𝐍 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Norse ᚠ

𝐃 𝐈 𝐕 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄 ᚠ 𝐏 𝐎 𝐖 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒
_{^{the ripe fruit hangin' off the tree}}

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C O Q U E T R Y
C O Q U E T R Y

_{/ˈkōkətrē,kōˈketrē/}

^{The whispering voice in the back of your head that says to bring another to the dance floor; no, that sound isn't the saxophones of a certain carless whisper but rather the unspoken shot of confidence to make you approach the unapproachable in a social setting. Freyja had many powers in her time and most have been locked away in the chest of her boudoir, so to speak, but none stung quite so much as losing her handle on the finer points of seiðr. Still, it's not all a loss. She might not be able to conjure illusions but she can still inspire others with her voice and general aura. It's not perfect. Nothing is. But Freyja has a way of inspiring women to go for it with a well placed word and of courting men with a well placed careless whisper. With the right words of divine inspiration she can make her own kind of magic and never be left wanting for whatever she may desire, be it an object or, well, a desire. She doesn't have a one hundred percent success rate, but then who does?}

𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 ᛒ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐋 𝐅
_{^{I am the huntress; I am the queen. I walk in a room, they know my name}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Articulate & Captivating Confident & Urbane Inspirational & Persuasive⌟	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Libidinous & Materialistic Self-indulgent & Fawning Freewheeling & Conceited ⌟

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	████████████████████████ т н є м σ я т α ℓ   т н є м σ я т α ℓ ⌜ 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐀 𝐒 ⌟ Karoline Nilsson ⌜ 𝐑 𝐄 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐃 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 ⌟ 39 ⌜ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐗 𝐔 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 & 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐃 𝐄 𝐑 ⌟ pansexual, female, she/her ⌜ 𝐎 𝐂 𝐂 𝐔 𝐏 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ OBGYN and Fertility Medicine Specialist at Hope Valley Medical Center Couples Therapist Former military medic, specializing in triage

𝐋 𝐈 𝐅 𝐄 ᚱ 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘
_{^{look into my eyes; i see you, honey}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲   𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲 ⌜ 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 𝕷 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 ⌟ ᛒ Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairist Aesir of them all? Why, the one who was a Vanir first, of course. Many stories have been told about Freyja, the lady who captivated many a man, jotun, and elf and who, by all accounts, bedded many more. How many of the stories are true? All of them. None of them. A mix. Does it truly matter when the end result is the same? Freyja arrived like a hurricane, quickly wrapping many of the gods around her dainty little finger with a well placed smile and a flit of the eyes. It's no surprise that some would become jealous, particularly when Freyja understood that she could get men and women to do things or give her things by using her body. Did she care? Hardly. Did she benefit? Absolutely. Of course, there is much more to her than just a woman confident in her beauty and sexuality - and yet that always seems to be the main focus amongst those who once worshipped her. They talk about sex but forget to mention how loving she was. Freyja cared for women and beings, a kind, generous soul who wished for women to be themselves and to be so confidently, and she inspired women in hearth, in home, and in battle, for with beauty and compassion there must also come strength and resolve and intelligence. Theirs is a history of battle and Freyja was there with them, inspiring and leading the valkyrie under her retinue o'er the fields of the fallen, bringing those who died in honor to the eternal fields of Folkvangr. At least that was the plan. The idea. But so many plans never reach their fruition. Despite her differences with some of her fellow gods, she was always willing to set aside personal differences should they come to her for aid. She did so not expecting favors in return but just out of the graciousness and kindness in her core. She could weather their insults and dish them back in kind, from flyting to pure argument, and she could assist them knowing full well they would offer little thanks. But one need not a word of thanks to render aid - despite her enjoyment of gifts of sweet things, chocolate and honey, and the material goods that make for accessories. Such was her kindness that Freyja never looked down on the mortals that worshipped, but rather envied them in her own way. To live such lives was fascinating. It was that kindness that had her equipped to live among them... ██████████████████████ 𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲   𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲 ⌜ м σ я т α ℓ ℓ ι f є ⌟ ᛒ After the fall there was confusion. There was anger. There were many and more stages felt by her peers but for Freyja there was an almost unusual calm. She was angry, yes, who among them wasn't, but she'd been angry before, she had to be when wars were waged in her name, but this was a different kind of anger. An anger at her fellow gods, who lived in vanity and excess and many who looked down on the mortals now having the bitter taste forever staining their teeth. For a great many centuries after the fall, Freyja lived by herself in a serene meadow surrounded by flowers and animals, though to the mortals on the outside the only thing they saw was a dilapidated old cabin and whispers of a crone. She lived like this until the last of her seiðr magick left her and the illusion was revealed. Try as she might, she could no longer use the magick of eld. She cried when the realization settled. She cried for a month. She cried until there were no more tears in her body. It had been the last time she cried in sorrow. It was the first time since the fall she had cried. It hadn't truly hit her until that point. Freyja integrated into mortal life after her cry, packing her belongings and living a semi-nomadic life, setting up shop as an apothecary here, a midwife there, always seeming to find herself around the great battles of mortal history, sometimes as a participant if she could disguise herself well enough but often as a triage medic, aiding the wounded and injured in her own way, saving lives or taking them with dignity. She became known as something of an angel of the battlefield in more than one war; many veterans share stories of a fair haired, beautiful medic that saved them from hell but none can agree on more specific details. Less a valkyrie and more a guardian angel of sorts, was Freyja. When she wasn't doing her time in the various conflicts of the world, she found it frighteningly easy to fill her more carnal desires. Numerous partners, men, women, former gods, mortals, the list was long enough to fill a library. Never anything serious. Never anything substantial. And yet, Freyja grew utterly bored of the constant carnal cravings and satisfactions and sought fulfillment elsewhere. Sure, she still engaged in a romp when she wanted, but as time grew on she sought it less and less and it became more out of whim and want rather than obligation and need. Her fulfillment came with her newfound passion for counseling troubled couples and women specifically. She always had a way with women, to inspire them to be the best versions of themselves, and that carried over nicely to the mental and physical health side of things. When a hundred years is but a blink of an eye, it's easy to pick up skills. From couples therapy - something she still does - to an OBGYN and fertility specialist who was published in a handful of medical journals, Doctor Karoline Nilsson has become something of a known figure in certain communities and, because of her contributions to women's health in body and mind, she has been listed as one of the more eligible bachelorette's, a title which has had more than one couple wonder what makes her qualified to speak on marital issues. If only they knew. But she continues to not have a significant other. She has her various bedroom antics, as anyone does, but the most stable relationship in her life are her two cats and her pet pig. Yes, she has a pet pig. She's Freyja, she likes boars and cats. Some things never change. ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬   𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬 ⌜ α м в ι т ι σ и ѕ ⌟ ᛊ Part of her wishes to truly become mortal and live out whatever is remaining of a mortal life, but she doesn't know how to breach the subject with her peers, so desperate for their approval she still is. A relationship isn't out of the question but it's not something she feels she needs to worry about. In the immediate future she'd like to open her own fertility clinic where any woman could have a safe environment, free of worry about medical bills. And selfishly she'd like to be able to use seiðr again. ⌜ f є α я ѕ ⌟ ᛊ That her contributions to the mortal world will get underplayed simply based on the fact that she's a single woman. That ever since crying her final tear she might never truly feel things strongly again.

Tsukuyomi, goddess of the moon

g o d d e s s o f t h e m o o n
_{月 読 尊 
月 読 尊}

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	Meisa Kuroki | #79A6BE ████████████████████████ 𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊   𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 ⌜ 𝐄 𝐏 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐓 ⌟ Tsukuyomi | Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto ⌜ 𝐃 𝐎 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍 ⌟ The Moon and The Night Sky ⌜ 𝐏 𝐀 𝐍 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Japanese ⚸

𝐃 𝐈 𝐕 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄 ☽ 𝐏 𝐎 𝐖 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒
_{^{I'm that bad type; make your girlfriend mad type}}

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N O C T U R N A L
N O C T U R N A L

_{/näkˈtərnl/}

^{Under cover of night, anything goes. The secrets come out to play. The restless stir. The night has its fun before the dawn spoils it all away. There was a time when the moon being in the sky meant Tsukuyomi had eyes everywhere, could see the world under moonlight, every nook, every crany, nothing beyond her reach or her vision. Sad that she can't claim as such anymore. She can, however, claim perfect vision when the lights are out, when the moon is high. There is no darkness she can't see through as clear as day; fitting for one whose domain is when the normal are asleep. In contrast to her paramour, Tsukuyomi can also dim and turn off any light - unless a certain bright spot fights her on it. Try as she might to deny it, the sun always rises and with it the light. While not killed by the light like some kind of vampire, she vastly prefers the night to the day. It's no wonder she's so pale.}

𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 ☽ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐋 𝐅
_{^{I'm the only one alive in the dead of night}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐫 𝐭 𝐮 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Incisive & Methodical Passionate & Debonair Disciplined & Pragmatic⌟	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅	▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ███████████████ 𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬   𝐕 𝐢 𝐜 𝐞 𝐬 ⌜ Egocentric & Zealous Vindictive & Pugnacious Domineering & Devious ⌟

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	████████████████████████ т н є м σ я т α ℓ   т н є м σ я т α ℓ ⌜ 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐀 𝐒 ⌟ Reito Otoko ⌜ 𝐑 𝐄 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐃 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 ⌟ 37 ⌜ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐗 𝐔 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 & 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐃 𝐄 𝐑 ⌟ Lesbian, Female, She/Her ⌜ 𝐎 𝐂 𝐂 𝐔 𝐏 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ By day, Reito Otoko is the never-seen CEO of OtoKorp. Tsukuyomi, under the stage name of 'Ruru' is the public 'face' of OtoKorp, being used as a model in many of their adverts including shilling junk food, diet pills, and other things meant to enhance the worst parts of mortals and their excess. By night, 'Tsukino' who looks suspiciously like 'Ruru' finds work as a high quality dominatrix for hire. Despite her sexuality, she takes clients of any gender.

𝐋 𝐈 𝐅 𝐄 ☾ 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘
_{^{if i seem too serene, torture me}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲   𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲 ⌜ 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 𝕷 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 ⌟ ⚸ Some things were just too perfect to last, so perfect that you would do anything to get it back. So it was with Amaterasu and her wife Tsukuyomi. One was the light, the other the dark. The sun and the moon. They were very much in love despite how opposite they seemed on the surface. One was the light. One was the dark. The only difference between them was one was simply more honest. The way Amaterasu told it, their divorce was the fault of Tsukuyomi, but every good story has two parts. At least. What is true is that Tsukuyomi loves Amaterasu. Always had, from the moment she laid eyes on her. Tsukuyomi made Amaterasu feel things that could not be described, did things to her that dare not be described, and hurt her in ways that should not be described. Physically. Mentally. Stay too much in the dark and light vanishes. What is true is the married couple Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi were at a feast held in Amaterasu's honor. Tsukuyomi did so hate the stuffy affairs though understood their necessity and how they needed to be done. For her wife, for her love, everything needed to be perfect. Everything needed to be orderly. They loved order. Their caterer made a delicious feast, but she did so in a disgusting fashion. How could her wife eat something prepared in so uncouth a manner? Tsukuyomi sought only to punish Uke Mochi. She went too far. One star was snuffed out in the night sky. Tsukuyomi did what she did for love. Amaterasu didn't see that. Stare too much at the light and you go blind. Amaterasu was furious. Years of pent up feelings came out in a violent exchange. Tsukuyomi saw no fault in her actions, she did it for love. Amaterasu saw Tsukuyomi for what she truly was in that moment. She cast their marriage aside and fled. Tsukuyomi had never known such betrayal, had never figured the love, the light of her life, could be so cold. She told her brother-in-law, Susanoo, about the betrayal and Susanoo's rage was second only to Tsukuyomi's resentment of the 'divorce'. The denial. Tsukuyomi would have her love back. When Amaterasu fled to a cave, Tsukuyomi spread her own dark influences, letting the night exist without word of the approaching dawn. It did not lest. Their peers knew Tsukuyomi's night would only harm the world. But what did the world matter when Tsukuyomi's light was gone? When Amaterasu returned light to the world, Tsukuyomi continued her pursuit. Whenever the Moon got too close, the Sun would simply move, and on and on the Moon's quest continued. No matter what, she would be with her Sun again. No matter how long it took. Even if she had to burn out the sun and wrap it in her nightly embrace. ██████████████████████ 𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲   𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲 ⌜ м σ я т α ℓ ℓ ι f є ⌟ ⚸ The fall seemed like the perfect opportunity. Tsukuyomi tried to take the vulnerable Amaterasu back under her command. Back to their blissful married life. It didn't take, and in her anger, Tsukuyomi did the unthinkable. She took her aggression out on a mortal. And then another. And then she fled, giving the Sun time to grieve on her own. As the Imperial Family of Japan rose up, claiming divine lineage, it became clear that the various atrocities of those in power who claimed divine right were not done truly in the name of the Sun. A certain whisper to the right ears was all it took. Tsukuyomi had known how emotional her wife had been, how in tune to the prayers and praise of the mortals, that to have terrible deeds justified in her name had to have stung. If Tsukuyomi couldn't have Amaterasu at her strongest, then she would simply weaken her love and pick up the pieces, putting them back together in the way she wanted. Tsukuyomi involved herself in various conflicts over the years, sometimes as a willing participant, other times as little more than a puppet master, always with the goal of bringing Amaterasu low. When that didn't work and Amaterasu turned instead to being a shrine maiden, Tsukuyomi spent countless hours, days, years simply vandalizing shrines to Amaterasu. There were not many shrines to Tsukuyomi. How could there be. Who wished to revere a cold, uncaring murderer? Even the one Amaterasu watched over never had as much attention. Every year when it came time to have the fruit, Tsukuyomi attempted to get her wife back. Every year she went home denied. But never deterred. Over the many, many years, Tsukuyomi grew to understand the way the mortals thought. How they were fickle. How they were liars. How they were hopeless. How given enough time they would wipe each other out. How there was no point in ruling over them when they could just ruin themselves. How many atrocities had been done in the name of their beliefs? Even after the fall they still found ways to maim and abuse and murder. They were kindred spirits in a way, except the mortals hid their true nature from one another while Tsukuyomi embraced it. As the the world grew more advanced, Reito Otoko established OtoKorp and used the power of suggestion to make herself rich and the mortals fat, lazy, stupid, and dead. Through pointed advertising over the years, Reito Otoko became wealthy and the products pushed by OtoKorp included drinks that sped up heart disease, pills that didn't work but were easy to cause addiction, food that was made cheaply and sold in bulk to encourage obesity, devices for lonely sorts to simply spend their days finding new ways to pleasure themselves to obscurity. Soon enough OtoKorp was selling those products in movies. Television. Books. Magazines. Anywhere. Everywhere. And it was all legal. Slap a pretty girl or a handsome man and people will buy anything. OtoKorp deliberately set up its corporate headquarters incredibly close to Amaterasu's company - and OtoKorp made sure their building was taller, just so Amaterasu would always know the shadow of Tsukuyomi was always around. Even still, after all this time, Tsukuyomi is convinced that she and Amaterasu will be together again. Not a month goes by where Tskuyomi isn't sending Amaterasu messages, visits, whatever she can get just to let Amaterasu know that they will be together. Where one goes, the other will follow. One seeks to lift humanity up. The other will continue to contribute to its inevitable decline. If the ashes of the mortal world are what it takes for the Sun and the Moon to be together again, then let it all burn. ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬   𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬 ⌜ α м в ι т ι σ и ѕ ⌟ 月 Her goal is, as it has always been, rekindling the marriage she once had. She is also engaged in a bit of a longstanding debate on the nature of mortals and she believes proving her statements correct will aid her pursuit of her Sun. Tsukuyomi has little love for mortals, seeing them as little more than burdens she can use for her own ends. ⌜ f є α я ѕ ⌟ 月 That in spite of everything, she will never know the loving warmth of her Sun. The only thing more worrisome than that is her Sun choosing not to eat the fruit. She won't let that happen. They have to be together. Forever. No matter what.

Cerridwen, goddess of grain

g o d d e s s o f h e r b s
_{C E R R I D W E N
C E R R I D W E N}

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	Katy Townsend | #EEDE47 ████████████████████████ 𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊   𝕿 𝖍 𝖊 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 ⌜ 𝐄 𝐏 𝐈 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐓 ⌟ Cerridwen | Keeper of the Cauldron | The White Witch ⌜ 𝐃 𝐎 𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍 ⌟ Inspiration | Rebirth | Herbology | Grain | ⌜ 𝐏 𝐀 𝐍 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Celtic 🌿

𝐃 𝐈 𝐕 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄 ⚗️ 𝐏 𝐎 𝐖 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒
_{^{must be the season of the witch}}

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 A L C H E M Y
A L C H E M Y

_/ˈalkəmē/

^{What do you get when you mix powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood? Well, beyond ten points to or from your house of choice, the answer is no one really knows. Alchemy is a fine art. A fine art of dashed and dabs, of mixtures and stirring, of trial and error. Cerridwen has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of remedies and tonics and, importantly, herbs, and how they work together. It's almost like she can talk to the earth and its riches in order to help her own salves and potions. In a different life she could've been a doctor. Her knowledge of what plants and herbs and grains are remains, and she can say what they are upon sight, but she no longer hears their voices, and more and more of her crops have come out lacking in later years. Concerning. For her customers, anyway.}

𝐈 𝐍 𝐍 𝐄 𝐑 🚬 𝐒 𝐄 𝐋 𝐅
_{^{you introduced me to my mind; left me wanting you and your kind}}

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	████████████████████████ т н є м σ я т α ℓ   т н є м σ я т α ℓ ⌜ 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐀 𝐒 ⌟ Paisley Sinclair ⌜ 𝐑 𝐄 𝐂 𝐎 𝐑 𝐃 𝐄 𝐃 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄 ⌟ 29 ⌜ 𝐒 𝐄 𝐗 𝐔 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 & 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍 𝐃 𝐄 𝐑 ⌟ pansexual, female, she/her ⌜ 𝐎 𝐂 𝐂 𝐔 𝐏 𝐀 𝐓 𝐈 𝐎 𝐍 ⌟ Owner of The Emerald Kelpie

𝐋 𝐈 𝐅 𝐄 🍃 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘
_{^{when the stress burns my brain just like acid raindrops}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲   𝐌 𝐲 𝐭 𝐡 𝐨 𝐥 𝐨 𝐠 𝐲 ⌜ 𝕯 𝖎 𝖛 𝖎 𝖓 𝖊 𝕷 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 ⌟ ⚗️ How far would you go for family? For love? For beauty? As with so many stories, Cerridwen's begins with the familiar adage of 'once upon a time'. There was a time when everyone knew the name of the great Witch of the White, a witch whose brews and magic were so potent that a single drop could kill the hardiest man or beast, but thankfully due to her good nature and desire to do no harm, her potions were instead used to save life, not end it. Save life, yes, but also often to enhance or alter or transform. Hers was the Cauldron of Knowledge and thus was the source of much of her talents. This fabled witch, whose talents extended also to that of shapeshifting - her favorite form being that of a beautifully white sow - like many a woman found love and with that love came marriage and with that marriage came children - in exactly that order, no more, no less, no deviation, no mess. Two children, a girl as beautiful as the sunrise, and a boy as foul and repugnant as the dark. The witch loved her children equally, but knew her son would struggle, vanity was such an important part of life, and so she sought to use her talents to aid him. To make him beautiful. Her potions would help. They always would. For one long year she had to prepare, to gather ingredients, to add them, mix them, stir them just right, carefully measuring each and every bit. For one long year everything was going perfect. She requested the aid of two locals as she gathered more ingredients. One to stir the cauldron, one to tend the fire. She warned the lads that in the potion's current state, three drops would grant the knowledge and beauty she sought, but anymore would be fatal. The stirrer accidentally spilled three drops, hot as the sun, onto his thumb and in instinct he stuck his thumb in his mouth to cool off the burn. His mistake made and cursed with the knowledge of what the Witch would do to him, he fled. And so the Witch pursued him. He became a rabbit, she a dog to hunt him. He became a bird, she became a hawk to prey upon him. He became a fish, she became an otter to catch him. He became a single grain of corn, she became a hen and ate him. He did not die and instead found himself reborn. The witch, with murderous intent, gave birth to a child she meant to kill for ruining her plans with her first son, but this baby was so radiant that she could not bring herself to go through with the horrific deed, sending him instead downriver for him to forge his own path. How much is true? Who can say. Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it. What is known is only that there existed a woman so tied to nature and concoctions that she was said to be both enchantress and goddess all rolled into one. When, you ask? When did she walk this earth, gathering herbs and grains for her potions and tonics? Why, once upon a time. ██████████████████████ 𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲   𝐁 𝐢 𝐨 𝐠 𝐫 𝐚 𝐩 𝐡 𝐲 ⌜ м σ я т α ℓ ℓ ι f є ⌟ ⚗️ Cerridwen was almost unaffected by the fall at first, having decided to live amongst the mortals during the height of divinity anyway - her time as the White Witch was rife with visitors calling upon her aid, praying to her for love or wealth or beauty or pregnancy or whatever they could hope to find in a potion. She certainly felt different after the fact, it was as if she had been hearing all her life and then woke up unable to hear even her own heartbeat. Fear swept through her. Panic. Anger. The gamut of emotions. She almost burned down her home in the woods of Gwynedd, but in so doing a calming smell wafted through her nose. An herb she had never thought to burn before. Its smell was calming. She had never known such calm. And with it such hunger. She sought to understand this herb and so began to grow it. It was so much more difficult without being able to hear the call of the earth. She failed to replicate that first waft, that life changing feeling. But it was okay. She had time on her side. During her experimenting on replicating the herb, she still managed to integrate with the mortals. She was no longer the fabled Witch of the White but her experience with remedies and herbs, though stifled somewhat after the fall, allowed her to find work with doctors and charlatans alike, allowed her to sell tinctures, tonics, and medical miracles that worked about as often as they didn't. It was never her intention to swindle, but when balding sorts requested a tonic to make their hair grow, sometimes the best course was just to bend the truth and hope for the best. As she grew on, she turned her pursuits more towards the mystery of the herb. While never quite replicating that first strain, she did settle upon a consistent one. She found that it helped calm people, helped inspire others, and in some it helped their illness. She might have lost her connection with the natural world but she could still do what she could to help, to inspire, to provide a vital service. As the world turned towards the modern, she found an entire culture had risen up around herbs, a culture she took part in rather directly. Once the strange hang up on 'legality' became less of an issue, Paisely Sinclair opened a dispensary, after having her own grow-op which she contributed to local dealers. A supplier of fine quality as she provided was in high demand, and being able to go into business for herself was a game changer. It was just like having her house in the woods, except it was located within walking distance of about four places with products far more addictive and habit forming than what she sold. It's not much, but it's a vital service. ██████████████████████ 𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬   𝐌 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐯 𝐚 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 𝐬 ⌜ α м в ι т ι σ и ѕ ⌟ 🚬 To help the mortal hang-up over what is a harmless plant. She'd also like to find the secret to that first initial herb, but it seems more and more unlikely after so long. Though the stories of her, specifically in regards to her children, might well be made up or exaggerated, she would like to maybe try to find romance - but for some reason mortals say they want a 'gothy, stoner, pixie haired gf' but then when one comes knocking they just leave her hanging. Weird. She'd also like to try her hand at poetry again, it's been so long. ⌜ f є α я ѕ ⌟ 🚬 That despite all her studies and knowledge over the years, all she'll ever be seen as is no different than the clowns in 'stoner movies'. She has a longstanding lack of confidence in self that only gets exacerbated as time goes on. That for all her obsession with her herbs that her more artistic desires have suffered, namely her poetry.

What shows/movies are you watching?

Ms. Marvel good.

Next thing I care about in that franchise is next year so I'll be back then

Marvel: Judgment Day

I'll join this

What shows/movies are you watching?

Thor 4 is fine. It's another of those movies that does nothing extraordinary and somethings poorly but you already know if you're gonna see it or not so whatever