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CANON: hercules
HEIGHT: 6'5
QUOTE: y'know. 'jerk-ules' isn't as funny as people think it is.
AGE: 30
ALIAS: allie
MOVIE: Hercules
CANON GIF: http://i.imgur.com/Vu1d1kr.gif
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RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single
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LYRICS: Down an unknown road to accept my fate, though that road may wander, it will lead me to you and a thousand years would be worth the wait it might take a lifetime but somehow I'l see it through, but to look beyond the glory is the hardest part for a hero's strength is measured by his heart, like a shooting star, I will go the distance.
PROFILE GIF: http://i.imgur.com/lNrY6wI.gif
SEXUALITY: heterosexual
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Joined: 12-September 16
Status: (Offline)
Last Seen: Apr 23 2017, 06:20 PM
Local Time: Apr 27 2017, 10:23 PM
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hektor aineas diogenes

HERO

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Jan 10 2017, 08:20 PM

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<div style="font-family:great vibes; font-size:35px; color:#990000; letter-spacing:-1px;text-shadow:#aaa 1px 1px 1px; line-height: 30px; ">will you join in our crusade</div><div style="font-family:scheherazade; font-size:12px; letter-spacing:1px; text-transform: uppercase; color:#111;">who will be strong and stand with me</div><br>
<div style="width:245px; height:125px; background-image:url(https://68.media.tumblr.com/aa6a91b2f1437f2019f9b928f50e5382/tumblr_nhemwrNfSo1tm1gkvo1_250.gif)"></div>
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<div style="width:235px; height: 250px; padding:5px; background-color:#fff; overflow:auto;"><div class="enjolras">
<i>Lamarque was dead.</i>
<p>
The only voice in the French government that had spoken for them, the people of France, the very backbone of the country, was dead and, with it, any hopes of peaceful change. They had fought so hard, lost so much, to remove the stain of the Bourbons from the country. Still, the stench lingered. The epidemic and the follow collapse of the economy had only proved that. A return to the Ancien Régime was the very last thing anyone with a memory of those dark times should have wanted. What was worse, was the poor state of France's people. Life was harsh and the new constitution paid very little mind to well-being of French citizens outside of the nouveau riche and the dregs of the old aristocracy. The new king had done little to help, flat out ignoring the cries of his people.
<p>
General Lamarque had been their only ally and, in turn, Hektor (and others like him) fought to rally support for him. It was clear to him now that this battle would not be won in parliament, but on the streets, as all the other revolutions had before theirs. The time for words had passed, it was time to act. Just one more speech to give, Hektor told himself as he stepped onto the apple crate. How he hated pontificating, trying to persuade others to his cause was not his strong suit, but somehow he had found himself a leader among the rebellion. Somehow, he had found himself to be a person the people looked towards and listened to. Somehow, he would guide the people through this -- though he feared they would all die in the process.
<p>
He looked out across the crowd of faces, some grimy and stoic, others reddened with an internal fire he was about to fuel. A trickle of sweat began at his temples as the June sun beat down upon them as he waited for the rabble to hush. When it did, he finally began to speak. He talked of their troubles, of the terrible things they had all been victims of in their shared state of poverty, of what France could someday be if they were strong, and then he told them of the general's death. It did not come as a surprise to them; the news had spread like wildfire throughout Paris, it was the reason they were all gathered now. Hektor gave them all a moment anyway, pausing as he braced himself for what he would say next.
<p>
<b>"The time has come to make our discontent known,"</b> he announced, scanning the throng with a somber expression. "Lamarque's funeral is tomorrow morning, as we all no doubt know, and this event provides the perfect avenue in which to reach to the very top of our government -- to the king himself!" He could hear the murmurs now, see the implications light in their eyes. "We will make our move on the cortege at dawn! Will you stand with me there?" The words echoed across the cobblestone street for just a second, the pause before their answer seemingly the longest in his life.

</div></div>


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<i>notes:</i> let's try and keep posts shortish ignore the length of this one and in order pls :)

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Dec 24 2016, 02:36 AM
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<div class="phant">
<div class="cold"><div class="coldd">
I'm sorry that I let you go, I'm sorry that I cared
I'm sorry that the feeling shows and I just wasn't there
I'm reminded of the fool I was
I cut you off and fucked it up again
I'm sorry that I let you go, I'm sorry that I cared.
</div></div>

<div class="toyou">
<div class="matters">
tags: open
<p>
notes: idek man
<p>
outfit: clothes
</div>
</div>

<div class="leavesus">
<a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=3777"><div style="color: black;text-transform: uppercase;position: relative;top: 389px;
left: 180px;font-style: italic;font-weight: bold;font-size: 7px;">ϟ mei</div></a>

<div class="indah">
Hektor trod up marble steps that were, by now, as familiar to him as the beige linoleum of his office at the university. When he had first crossed the portal to this world, assuming a new identity, the history museum was the first place he could ever find comfort in. Within the walls of ancient relics and hand-crafted panoramas of times gone by, he was almost guaranteed to find solace. He had been a regular visitor all through his undergrad and it had been partially the result of a particularly kind curator who had pushed him in the direction he had gone with his education, then career. His favorite place, not surprisingly, was the wing dedicated to ancient Greece. It was not towards the long hall of stone busts and glass cases of javelins that his feet turned on this particular winter's day. Adjacent to that exhibit was a brand new one that museum had just unveiled for the winter season. The British Museum had, very kindly, lent a portion of their exhibit on a newly unearthed lost city to a travelling show and it had finally reached San Francisco.
<p>
Heracleion, the sunken Egyptian city named after (of all things) the Greek hero Hercules. The irony did not escape him as he smirked at the banner that hung next to the opening. The large, cracked bust of what was supposed to be (he guessed) his own likeness peered sightless down at him. The face was too round, the neck to short, the intricately carved curls too like the Roman fashions of the original artist. Hektor tempered his expression to one more polite as he handed his ticket to the exhibit over to be scanned before he was allowed entrance. An attendant handed him a set of headphones attached to an audio device before pointing him the direction in which he should begin. He nodded kindly but didn't bother with the audio tour -- he already knew what it said practically by heart. The museum had hired him some months ago to supervise the script they wanted for their own version of the tour, not content to reuse the original one created.
<p>
They had hired some minor celebrity for Los Angeles to the do the recording, but it had been Hektor who had poured over how to make the information about each antiquity more interesting to the layman. That was what he was known for, after all: his reputation for making history interesting without smudging the finite details. He had always chalked it up to his own interest in the subject; people always seemed to gravitate towards those who spoke with passion. Still, he had jumped at the chance to work on it, knowing he would soon be able to see what had been recovered from beneath the sea. To be honest, he'd had no idea that Egypt had liked him quite so much to name a city after him. It wasn't him at all they like, he reminded himself, it was the other Hercules -- the one who had led a very different life from his own, according to the texts he had studied. Learning that had been a shock all on it's own and it had taken more than a few attempts to get the details of this world's history correct, as much as the deviation pained him.
<p>
Walking along the carpeted floors of the exhibition, he took his time with each piece. It ranged from great stone carvings to pieces of jewelry and even weaponry. There was little that depicted anything of Hercules, but it was interesting just the same. The discovery was monumental for historians everywhere, providing a little more evidence that there was truth behind the Grecian epics. Something was quite odd about the large, divided room but it took him a moment to figure out what it was. The normally heavily temperature-controlled museum was quite abnormally warm, even for winter. In fact, it was already much warmer currently than it had been when he'd first entered the museum and growing warmer by the second. Shrugging off his jacket, he laid it over his arm as he loosed the buttons at his collar. The drastic change in temperature was dangerous to some of the more precious relics in the museum and someone really ought to do something about it. A worried expression creased his forehead as he looked around the almost abandoned exhibition room before he heard the thud of something falling on the floor.

</div>
</div>

<div class="timeshows">
I'M REMINDED OF THE FOOL I WAS

</div>


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Dec 16 2016, 08:24 PM
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<div class="phant">
<div class="cold"><div class="coldd">
Can you battle through the darkness That is lying to your soul And find the strength to carry on Relinquishing control? In the trenches, in the rain It may seem endless and full of pain But you're a soldier born to fight Keep your composure And you will rise victorious
</div></div>

<div class="toyou">
<div class="matters">
tags: open
<p>
notes: ---
<p>
outfit: clothes
</div>
</div>

<div class="leavesus">
<a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=3777"><div style="color: black;text-transform: uppercase;position: relative;top: 389px;
left: 180px;font-style: italic;font-weight: bold;font-size: 7px;">ϟ mei</div></a>

<div class="indah">
It had been a quiet night spent finalizing grades and delivering the unfortunate news to more than a few students that there was nothing to be done now if they weren't pleased with then. He didn't like to be a difficult professor, really. In fact, he had it on good authority that he was a fairly lenient one. Leniency, however, could only extend so far and he had a deadline just as he did. A fact he'd already explained in several emails from desperate students. With a sigh, Hektor sat back in his chair and rubbed at his temples. Another semester had come drawn to a close no differently than the last one had. He might as well have copy and pasted his end of term email he sent to all of his students for all that it deviated. Thank you for a great semester blah blah blah grades will be posted at blah. The feeling of stagnation was heavy, drawing his shoulders down in a way that mirrored the frown on his face. Was this really his life? The thought came unbidden, but not unfamiliar. Hektor gritted his teeth, banishing it before it could take hold. He had chosen this; there were enough regrets littered throughout his life and refused to let this decision be one of them.
<p>
He enjoyed the academic, such as it was, and he couldn't deny the singular thrill of gaining knowledge and sharing it. He wasn't necessarily born into the vocation but if the collar chafed it was only due to having once had a much longer leash. The muscles in his face hardened into a scowl, blue eyes dimming with a faraway look as he stared into the shadowed corners of his office. In the early years after the darkness, he had spent too much time trying to make sense of it all, too much time fighting for a cause that was hopeless as returning to Olympus had been. Zeus had given him false hope, he was certain of it now, colluding with Philoctetes to keep him wrapped up in a game in which he was only a pawn. As a small voice protested that perhaps Phil was just as much a victim as he was, Hektor's scowl deepened. They had both sought to use him for their own ends, it was simply deciding which was more worthy. Like a fool, he had done everything they had asked of him. He had fought monsters both terrible and mythic, ridded cities of scourges and seaports of serpents. Yet none of it had been enough.
<p>
What was the measure of a true hero, then? An ambiguous notion he had sought with obsequious fervor as a young idiot seeking glory and then with vicious avidity when it had all been ripped away. It had been the one question he had sought throughout his academic career, had written his doctoral thesis on the subject, and still was no closer to answering it than he had been that night at Olympieion when his father had spurned his efforts. His father. It had been a long time since he had thought of Zeus as such, preferring to keep him carefully situated as just another player in the great drama that had been his life back in Greece. It hurt less that way. Suddenly weary, Hektor closed his eyes, resting his head back against the padded desk chair. It had to have been the incumbent holiday weighing on him. Though he couldn't necessarily say it had been something he had ever celebrated before, the last eight or so years had driven home just how much he was alone. Combined with the recent wall he had hit in his research, it was no wonder these volatile thoughts roaring back to life.
<p>
Exhaustion lined his features, sinking into every muscle as he sat there, feelings and memories twisting in a dark whorl. He must have fallen asleep at some point, his psyche whispering to him in a sultry, feminine voice that he had done his best to block out for nigh on a decade. Confused, he rubbed the bleariness from his eyes to avail. The voice came again, calling to him. Without even glancing at the clock on his desk, he knew there would be nary a soul around the history building this time of night which only deepened his confusing. Hesitating, he stood and warily walked to the door and cracked it open. Sure enough, the long hallway was dark and abandoned even by the janitorial crew. His eyebrows drew together as he stood there, caught between calling out and simply reducing the voice to a figment. It laughed at him, the sound slithering around his heart and constricting like a python. Almost as if compelled to do so, he stepped out into the shaft of light pouring from his office as the voice called for him to come to her. Without really realizing it, he was walking down the hall and then he was running and then -- he was seized.
<p>
The magic of the portal inexplicably wrapped around him, tugging at clothes and hair, warping him in a way that made his stomach turn. He had always hated that part about crossing. It was akin to being broken down to fragments and put back together again, similar but different. It made no sense, his mind argued. He was nowhere near the portal, there was no way he could have crossed the bridge between the worlds from the university, even in his sleep. When the sensation ended and the magic stopped, he found himself in a half crouch. Nausea made his actions slow, deliberate as he stood and opened his eyes, shifting his weight to test the ground. It shifted beneath him and he was almost tempted to close his eyes again. It was sand, however, that had caused him to be unbalanced and not the aftermath of crossing. The magic could not be blamed either for the way his stomach dropped upon realizing where he was. How had he ended up in the animated world from his office without knowing it? It was inexplicable given everything he knew. The more pressing question, however, was the deep, earth-shaking rumble that echoed through the humid island air. With a gaze both wary and resigned, he raised them towards the dark peak in the distance and the flume of black smoke billowing from the top like some sort of malignant chimney.
<p>
An island was very much the last place Hektor wanted to be if the volcano his eyes were glued to decided to erupt.

</div>
</div>

<div class="timeshows">
YOU ARE A SOLDIER BORN TO FIGHT

</div>


</div>
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Dec 11 2016, 11:29 PM

Dec 10 2016, 07:31 PM
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<div class="phant">
<div class="cold"><div class="coldd">
We were banging on the doors of heaven before
But we didn't have a chance in hell
Still I tried to save it
My soul hit the floor and it hurt to the core
And I didn't have nobody to tell
Didn't want to face it

You cut me deep, it hurt to feel
It's taking time, but wounds, they heal

Now you're just a scar, a story I tell
Such an ugly mark, but I wear it so well Now you're just a scar
A time that I fell for someone who didn't love me well
Like, oh well, oh well
</div></div>

<div class="toyou">
<div class="matters">
tags: megan adonia stathos
<p>
notes: save him megggg. sorry this is kind of rambly, first ic posts are hard >.<
<p>
outfit: cowboy chic >here<
</div>
</div>

<div class="leavesus">
<a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=3777"><div style="color: black;text-transform: uppercase;position: relative;top: 389px;
left: 180px;font-style: italic;font-weight: bold;font-size: 7px;">ϟ mei</div></a>

<div class="indah">
Uncomfortable was not quite an adequate word to describe Hektor's current state. It wasn't even the chaps, really, which he had regarded dubiously before actually wearing them. They were surprisingly comfortable, if a bit strange. The borrowed set of leg coverings made of soft, pliable leather fit him rather well, truth be told. A feat, to be sure, given that it was more than a little difficult to find clothing that fit him well without venturing out to a specialty store. No, it was the shoes that were causing him grief right at the moment. Borrowed from the same source, the ornate western-style boots were slightly too small for his feet and the way the tip came to a point at the front pinched his toes a little too much to ignore anymore. He hadn't noticed much, not in the beginning, not until he had spent more than an hour on his feet trying to keep up with the colleagues who had invited him out. As it was, he'd had to call a retreat to a bar stool when they began another round of inebriated dancing. That was what he had really been invited for; Hektor was usually a safe bet on agreeing to be the designated sober member of any party. He drank, of course, and enjoyed doing so. Given the sheer size of him, however, getting to any level beyond tipsy was exceedingly arduous. Even if he hadn't volunteered to skip the alcohol tonight, he likely would have been sober at the end of the night regardless. A small voice in his head sighed at the thought.
<p>
<i>What about fun?</i> What about it? He was having fun...mostly. Aside from the boots and that feeling of being on the outside of things. Neither of which, he knew, were lasting states although the latter was as familiar to him as his own reflection. He was comfortable with it now. <i>Resigned</i> the voice corrected but he ignored it. Twisting, on the bar stool, he braced the heels of his boots over the lowest rung to take the pressure off his toes as he watched the crowd of dancing people twisting to the music. The whole of them writhed as one, expanding and contracting like a living, solid organ. It was strange; the plethora of colorful costumes and props did little to make any one person stand out. Not him though, when he'd been a part of it he had stood head and shoulders above most everyone. A thing that didn't belong. It was true in more ways than one. He was an anachronism; as much as he had adapted, there was still that trace of an ancient world far separate from this one that slipped out from time to time. It was more obvious in times like these, when he was more comfortable watching from afar than he was in the thick of the crowd. He was far more confident in a room of items other people considered to be relics than in a place like this. That, he told himself firmly, had more to do with his own social ineptitude. He was beyond the age to try to change who he was or feeling sorry for it.
<p>
After determining that his colleagues were still in the midst of the revelry, Hektor turned away from the crowd. A long, tired sigh escaped through his lips as he took off the brown, peaked hat and set it on the bar top in front of him. The bartender looked at him expectantly, smirking when Hektor asked for a water instead of whatever it was they had been expecting. A moment later they produced a plastic orange cup decorated in grinning pumpkins and filled it with tap water. Hektor smiled in thanks, reaching to roll up the sleeves of his denim shirt. There wasn't a particular draw to cowboys for him, at least that he could name, but it had seemed a safe choice in costume of an evening of Halloween celebrations. Although, he supposed a chiton would have suited him better. One of his coworkers had made just such an observation when he'd shown up in the leather and denim getup he was currently wearing. He'd protested that the autumn weather was too cold for it, remembering with a flush the last time he had worn one in this world. The amount of attention he had received for the skin it exposed had made him more awkward than he was usually. The memory of it made him shudder and gulp down his water as if were actually liquor. Ill-fitting as it was, the cowboy costume was definitely safer.
<p>
Safer, but not safe enough as two women sidled up on either side of him. Their positions locked him in, in such a way as it would take more rudeness than he could muster to get himself out. As it was, he leaned back a little to put distance between himself and where they leaned against the bar top. While it might have been an attempt to get the bartender's attention at the admittedly crowded bar, the way they turned towards him after ordered their drinks sent off warning signals in his head. They weren't unattractive, he decided diplomatically, attempting to keep his eyes at the level of their faces despite the intentionally low necklines of their costumes. They had obviously decided to coordinate with one another: one was dressed in white with a halo atop her head while the other sported a pair of red horns. He smiled politely at them, waiting for them to leave once their drinks were ready. They did not. His smile turned pained as he swallowed, looking for something to say. "Ah...h-hello," he managed, causing the angel to grin in a way that was ironically <i>not</i> angelic. This turned out to be a terrible ideas as they immediately began a stream of words he could barely keep up with.
<p>
The devil reached out to smooth his hair and he jerked away reflexively, running his fingers through the blond strands himself. This only elicited laughter from the pair of them as they cajoled him, attempting to get him to agree to dance with them. He might have been flustered into agree had he managed to get a word in edgewise. What he really wanted was to extricate himself as quickly and smoothly as possible but as he moved to do just that they were tugging on his arms, pulling him towards the dance floor. Truly, he could have freed himself easily had they been actual opponents but the idea of hurting either one of them (though he would much rather never to have to deal with them again) stopped him from using even a small amount of the fractional strength he had retained from his time as demigod. With a sickening twist of his stomach, Hektor racked his brain for another way, any way, out of this predicament.

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