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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
APPLICATION: 4109
SHIPPER: 5374
RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single
THEME MUSIC: http://k003.kiwi6.com/hotlink/w8ydqi5kzv/James-Blunt_-_Bonfire-Heart.mp3
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.
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SEXUALITY: heterosexual
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Joined: 12-September 16
Status: (Offline)
Last Seen: Jun 23 2017, 11:47 AM
Local Time: Jun 27 2017, 09:46 AM
32 posts (0.1 per day)
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hektor aineas diogenes

HERO

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Jun 11 2017, 11:44 PM
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<div style="width: 300px; background-color: #fff; padding: 50px;"><div style="width: 300px; height: 100px; background-color: #fff;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><td rowspan="2"> <div class="upsides03"><div class="upsides01">never knew where i</div></div><div class="upsides03"><div class="upsides02">belonged</div></div></td>
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Rubbing dirt encrusted eyes, Hektor walked away from the remaining games with exhaustion clear in the way he carried himself. It seemed as if every inch of him that wasn’t covered in dirt had a bruise welling from the brutal exercise of the Highland Games. Part of him doubted they were usually so intense but it had been so long since he’d participated in anything so physically demanding that he wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a normal reaction. Of course, he had pushed himself and little more than he ought to have but it was hard not to feel the competitive urge when he’d been challenged by that other competitor. It had struck a chord deep within him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. That need, the drive to prove himself in the face of doubt had been a close companion for most of his adolescence. Even when everyone else had seen a hero when they looked at him, he’d still fallen short in his father’s eyes. Zeus never would tell him what it would take, though the crypticness of the gods shouldn’t have surprised him. It was too late to ask him now. There was no longer a temple to visit in hopes he would appear, at least not one that wasn’t crumbling away into ruins in some country halfway across the world that was just a shadow of the version he had been born in.
<p>
When he’d first crossed over, it was difficult to separate the Greece he had known, the version of the events he had born witness to, from the record that this world had kept. He understood they were separate but the lines still often blurred. Some distant part of him hoped the Hercules of this world had fared better with the gods than he had, in the things that weren’t told of in the stories about him. That was one story he’d kept as much distance from as he could, the one he avoided talking about even in his classes. Heracles. He wanted so much to believe that, in this alternate timeline, that hero had been happy. That he’d completed his task. That his trust had never been betrayed. Somehow, it made things easier to delude himself into believing it. He might no longer feel himself a hero, but at least this world’s version of him might have measured up in the way that he hadn’t. It was a childish sort of pride, that boyish fierceness that he was more than the skinny, clumsy kid he had been, that had driven him to overtax himself. And for what? To prove he could throw a log across a grassy patch of land. It was laughable.
<p>
Now that it was over, Hektor found himself chuckling quietly in derision. He could tell himself all he wanted that he was happy now, that this life satisfied him, but the truth always saw it’s way to the light. As it had over winter, when he’d been dropped into the animated world without warning right into the middle of a volcanic explosion. Hektor hadn’t feared for himself so much then as been exhilarated by the danger. Frightening, almost, how easy it was to slip back into the person he had been. If only his strength would return so easily then maybe he wouldn’t feel so...weak. Useless. There was a list of adjectives he had used to describe himself in the days after realizing just how much of a nothing he was without the godlike strength he had been left with. What he never would have had in the first place has Hades succeeded the first time. There had been a period in which Hektor had wished the god of the underworld had succeeded when he was a babe. Then maybe he never would have walked the path that had led to the destruction of everything he’d ever cared about. He could have been happy on the farm with Ma and Pops. Maybe.
<p>
Deep down, Hektor knew that was as foolish a thought as believing he was happy being a no-name professor with little to offer the world but an enthusiasm for Ancient Greek history. That wasn’t entirely true, he supposed, he was happy doing what he did. Most days, he was content with just that. It was the memory of the life he had led, of what had once been his, that tinged it with just the slightest bit of regret. Almost like the metallic, mineral quality to the dirt he had recently eaten when he’d been knocked to the ground during the games, that was what this feeling tasted like. Or, it was as close as he could come to describing with. With a sigh, Hektor made his way to the edge of the field where a faire attendant offered him a bottle of water and a sympathetic smile. By habit only did he return the expression, mumbling thanks as he took the bottle. The condensation that ran down the back side of his hand left streaks in the dirt and he cringed. He could only guess what a sight he looked but by the reactions of the people he’d already passed he doubted it was anything less than a muddy fright.
<p>
Moving far enough away from the gathered crowd, he didn’t think twice before pulling his dirty t-shirt over his head before bending slightly to pour the water over his head. Using whatever clean area was left of the material, he did his best to wipe away some of the dirt on his face and arms as he began to head for the exit. He didn’t make it very far before his distracted mind got the better of him and barrelled right into someone. Immediately embarrassed, he unthinkingly reached out with his hands still caked in dirt and grasping the now muddy and damp shirt. ”I am so sorry,” he said, blue eyes wide as he caught himself and recoiled, holding the shirt to his bare abdomen with both hands. ”I didn’t see you...I hope I didn’t hurt you...I--” Hektor stopped abruptly, ears turning as red as the plaid of his borrowed kilt had been that morning.



</div></div></div><p><div class="streetcred"><a href="http://wecode.jcink.net/index.php?showuser=5"><font color="#d8dacc">oliver</font></a> <a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=6227"><font color="#d8dacc">sykes</font></a></div></center>

<p>
<br>
<br>

megan adonia stathos
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// I know you mentioned her being traumatized by the maypole lol <br>
but I left it open as to whether it's her he ran into or somebody else <br>
so she can make fun him if it's not but yay thread #3
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May 27 2017, 01:18 PM
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<div style="width: 300px; background-color: #fff; padding: 50px;"><div style="width: 300px; height: 100px; background-color: #fff;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><td rowspan="2"> <div class="upsides03"><div class="upsides01">and you will rise</div></div><div class="upsides03"><div class="upsides02">victorious</div></div></td>
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Walking onto the practice field, Hektor heaved a heavy sigh. The cool morning air was refreshing as it filled his lungs and it made him smile, remembering other such mornings so very long ago. Large banners and painted signs adorned the grassy arena not fifty yards away, announcing the renaissance faire's version of Highland Games. Already other competitors were beginning to trickle in to the practice field to warm up and he was relieved to see that he was not alone in his decision to wear a kilt. It wasn't unusual of course, given the historical context of the games himself. He had simply worried over the fact that he was not, in anyway, of Scottish heritage and whether it would be appropriate to wear one in that case even if he was competing.
<p>
Curious, he'd brought the subject of with one of his colleagues, another history professor who specialized in medieval European history and was, in fact, extremely Scottish. He had practically laughed Hektor out of his office. Not from derision, Hektor had realized later once Dr. Maclean had caught his breath long enough to explain kilts to him. It shouldn't have surprised him to find that the Scottish kilt was very similar in purpose and design to his own fustanella he'd worn back in Greece. Maclean had been so amused to find out the reason behind Hektor's curiosity that the older man had offered to lend him a kilt for the event.
<p>
That was how the large, Greek transplant had ended up on field in the early San Francisco morning with a tartan in shades of red and green secured around his hips with a heavy belt. He hadn't felt comfortable going so far as to add the theatrical flouncy white shirt with billowing sleeves that his internet searches had pulled up. The university t-shirt he wore hardly matched the ensemble but the worn cotton was at least comfortable as he began to stretch his muscles out for the coming competition. He should have likely upped his gym routine in preparation or at least done something to limber up his muscles in the days leading up to today.
<p>
The others around him certainly seemed like seasoned athletes as he watched a pair toss a ball wait between them. Oh well, he thought. He'd only signed up for the heck of it more than any thoughts towards winning. It had been a long time since he'd participated in any sort of strength trial that he hadn't been able to resist. After a quick set of lunges, he dropped to the ground with his legs stretched out in front of him as he reached for his toes. He didn't want to tire himself out with weights before the actual competition began, as others seemed bound to do the way they flocked around the stand of hand and ball weights.

</div></div></div><p><div class="streetcred"><a href="http://wecode.jcink.net/index.php?showuser=5"><font color="#d8dacc">oliver</font></a> <a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=6227"><font color="#d8dacc">sykes</font></a></div></center>



daemyn roscoe desoto
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May 20 2017, 08:00 PM
*** CREDIT TO STEPHALUMP FOR THE ORIGINAL GAME. ***



QUOTE
Rules are simple! Pick a face claim for the opposite gender for the person who posted above you! Feel free to even give an alternative name for the gender swap and if you have a reason for that certain face feel free to share! Lets have fun!





May 5 2017, 07:37 PM
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Hektor stifled a yawn as he shuffled into the diner; the lateness of the hour and the cold, dreary rain outside made for a practically empty restaurant. Which was just as well, he thought, shrugging the strap of her overloaded work bag further up on his shoulder. With tired feet, he made his way to his usual booth, eyes squinted shut as he smothered another yawn with his arm. Bleary-eyed and exhausted, he slumped into the booth seat with as much grace as a sack of potatoes being tossed into the back of a truck. A loud groan escaped as he fell forward, arms splayed across the tabletop as if he had lost the will to live. He might have, if he was being honest. While teaching brought him closer to the things he enjoyed most, it was also a trial in it’s own right. That is, if the mountain of term papers that still needed grading were any indication of just how much of a trial it could. The amount of times someone mistook Troy for Sparta and referenced some movie plot instead of the assigned text was enough to make his eyes cross.
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If only that were the only trouble. Such mistakes were common from his undergraduate students and, most of the time, he could see the humor in it. If there was nothing else this world offered, it was a plethora of action films that took extreme liberties with history. Even his own history had not escaped the creative touch of today’s filmmakers. At least they’d given him better hair than his own curly mop. No, it wasn’t the facepalm-inducing term papers that was making it difficult for Hektor to get through, try as he might to tell himself it was simply spring fever and a readiness for the semester to end that made grading them such a task.
<p>
It had been months since Halloween; a statement obvious given the spring rain and the uptick in allergy-responsible sick notes that had made their way to his desk in recent weeks. Yet, too often he found himself distracted and mulling over that night as if it held great importance. Perhaps, it did. Even when he tried to reason it out in his head and put it aside, he couldn’t get past the striking resemblance. It was too coincidental, the similarities between one Meg and the Meg that lived in his memories. Hektor knew he shouldn’t dwell on the stranger, it hadn’t yet led to any good place. Even now a muscle ticked in his jaw as it tightened against the old hurt that throbbed in his heart angrily. Every time he determined to put it out of his head, he thought he was done with it and, yet, somehow she wormed her way back into his thoughts.
<p>
The way it would catch him off guard was turning out to be a dangerous thing. Too often he had found himself in the middle of a lecture barrelling off into a tangent that had little to do with the unit at hand or stopping in the middle of the street at a glimpse of dark hair being tossed of a shoulder. It was maddening. Moreover, it made it difficult to concentrate on tasks he already dreaded. With another groan, he pressed his forehead into the table top only lifting it to bang it against the hard surface with a thud that would make even a strong man wince. He did it several more times even as the utensils on the table clinked against one another in protest. <b>”What am I doing?”</b> Hektor muttered, not really looking for or wanting an answer. Letting out a sigh, he continued to lay there without thought as to what others might be thinking of the large, disheveled looking man acting strangely in the corner booth.
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these are the lies that are keeping me alive<hr>
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elijah ignatius hayes
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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>
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<i>Lamarque was dead.</i>
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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.

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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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