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the mystic cult meme.

Some have called them a cult, others a lecherous brood of heathens- but only those initiated into the Society know the truth. A secretive pagan sect, they gather to their midnight masses in lush, decadent chantries and temples to celebrate their faith the only way that matters: sexually.

Through the years, the Society have devoted themselves to worshiping their mass of gods and goddess through a wide variety of sexual ceremonies and rituals that represent a kind of organised chaos, structured hierarchically but open to any and all kinds of practises. Costumes, body-painting, instruments and drama are all part and parcel of Society life. Supposedly, this communion is not one-sided, either; in return it is whispered that their gods generously reward those who please them with wealth, power and, most notoriously of all, dark magic.

So who do you follow? There are enough deities to choose, after all: there's Invictus, insatiable god-king and personification of power; his surehearted bride Cybelle, mother, lover and nature queen all in one; the delicate nymph goddess Narcissa, guardian of love and romance; her wild-hearted brother Hypnato, cloven-hoofed lord of the hunt; Febricia, the winged, armored goddess of war and heated love; even the eternal cuckold Terminus, the many-horned keeper of secret and forbidden passions. Those these compose the main pantheon, there are said to be many, many more minor deities, all admired and loved.

What will you ask them for?

ROLESⅠ - The Devotee

You're just an average worshiper, looking to please your lustful patron deities in any way you can.

Ⅱ - The Uninitiated

Maybe you were kidnapped or drugged- maybe you just stumbled on all of this. Whatever the case, you're here now and either you'll have to either remember your prayers or try to resist... if you can.

Ⅲ - The High Priest(ess)

A seasoned worshiper, you not only spread the word but preside over some of the more complex and arcane rituals. Many are corrupt and are quick to take advantage of their position of authority.

Ⅳ - The Temple Virgin

Perfect, pure and untouched, these devotees (male and female) are married to none but their gods until their time comes. Supposedly. May the gods have mercy whosoever decides to break their vows.

Ⅴ - The Idol

To your followers, you're a living god: an omnipotent being made flesh, to be worshiped and to have your every whim satisfied. You could either be seen as a human incarnation or an actual, literal god.

Ⅵ - Other

Make your own role!

PROMPTSⅠ - Sex Magic

The most vanilla option. Lovemaking may grant incredible power if carried out in the name of a certain deity- the more passionate, the better.

Ⅱ - Sacrificial Deflowering

Anyone can sacrifice blood or money for the gods. Only a few can sacrifice their virginity. Light the candles, choose your partner and lay yourself across the altar for spiritual enlightenment.

Ⅲ - Orgies

If two people can produce immense power, a group could cause miracles. The gods smile upon those brave enough to throw caution to the wind and lose themselves with their fellow man.

Ⅳ - Ceremony and Ritual

Performing arcane sex magic in front of a congregation is a particularly potent way of showing your devotion. Ceremonies range from simple exhibitionism to extravagant affairs involving costumes, body painting and masks.

Ⅴ - Heresy

Did you fall for a temple maiden? Do you want to escape? Or do you just like to live dangerously? The High Priests come down hard on those who refuse to abide by their strict laws, but some wilder gods appreciate a rebellious heart, even if it may lead to...

Ⅵ - Confession and Penitence

Have you sinned before your masters, or do you just have a guilty conscience? Time to prostrate yourself and accept whatever punishment fits your crime.

Ⅶ - Divine Love

Not many get the chance to show their devotion to their gods in person. But have they come down seeking praise and worship, or are they a far more wrathful entity than you could ever have imagined?

Ⅷ - Impregnation

Carrying the child of a high-up or even of a god is a great honor; the act of conception must be carried out according to strict conditions and drugs are often used to guarantee performance. These may also allow males to carry and females to impregnate.

Ⅸ - Channeling

Many devotees may, under the right circumstances, channel the attributes of their patron deities during sex- these may incarnate as anything from the physical (anything from wings to claws to even changes in size) to the supernatural (unnatural strength, certain magical powers, inhuman stamina or beauty, etc).

Ⅹ - WILDCARD

Make your own scenario!

Taken from here

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[So aloooone. Any/All?]

[Bring it, hot stuff.

...well. Not pregnancy.]

[You have enough kids already.]

The shrine is old, untended for centuries and the leaves gather to rot at the base of the worn stone alter. The green is fitting, however, ivy and moss crawling up the crumbling pillars, mottled stone that stretches to the sky through the long missing ceiling.

Daken hums to himself, boots crunching along the debris as he passes through, drawing his fingertips along the chest of a now faceless statue, listening to the wind whistle sharply past what little shelter the trees and ruined walls provide.

He's never been one for prayer... a believer, for sure, since he's lived, worked (and had his ass handed to him) by a handful of gods before. Thor, Ares...Loki. Even the devil himself, if that counted.

But he murmurs now, almost sing-song, some sort of patched together orison to the Trickster God as he perches himself upon the alter, folding long legs beneath him.

Of all the things, of all the prayers Loki has ever even half-way expected... This is not one. Really these days, he doesn't expect any prayers, least of all from the sort of irreverent assholes he calls friends. Of course, because Daken is a friend, of sorts he would show up anyway; that the prayer feels sincere is just a bonus to his curiosity.

Though when he shows up in front of the altar, in front of Daken, of course the first words out of his mouth are,

"You could have just called."

He doesn't startle, though he'll never quite get used to magic, or at least when people suddenly appear in front of him. He likes to hear them coming first... or smell them at least and--

This isn't the Loki he expects, and the faint surprise shows on his face as well as an arched brow as he takes in the slightly disheveled and obviously older from. Taller too, though his scent is the same... or almost.

Not that Daken hasn't changed as well, not that it's too obvious from behind his sunglasses or the way his leather jacked is draped.

"I lost your number..." A smirk. "I see you hit puberty." That's no way to talk to a god, but he's at least on playful terms with this one.

Everything about him is sharper, wilder.

"More like finished. Got another short-cut," he says with a broad shrug. "Sort of. What the Hel happened to you?" You don't think he missed that, did you? Really?

He hadn't expected him to, no. Ever observant, but the trickster could probably see things that most mortals couldn't.

Daken cants his head, that smirk widening though there's little humor behind it. "A series of unfortunate events. I could very well ask the same." There was a lingering scent to him, more like... ash and fire.

"A series of events of dubious fortune," Loki replies. "I burned. I got better. Your turn."

He laughs at that, velvety and low where it rumbles up from his throat and when it's not crazed and maniacal... it's a pretty nice one. Though likely disingenuous... but everything about him is, at least a little bit.

"I lost my favorite trick. Though I didn't have the fortune of getting better." He reaches up to pull off his sunglasses. Not so pretty anymore, is he?

"Though I though since I have a god on my side... I might get some help with that." He takes no shame in asking.

"Wrong god for that," Loki points out, though he does reach out and touch Daken's face. His fingers are still cold.

"What the Hel, Daken."

His lip twitches and he resists baring his teeth at the touch, something like anger and disappointment rolling up through him, pharamones betraying his emotion before he calms himself, and turns that half gaze to Loki.

"Yeah? Who do I convert to then?" A somewhat lopsided smirk as he studies Loki's new face.

"Dunno, Aesclepius?" He drops a peck on the brow above the empty socket. "Don't think he'd be inclined to help someone of your dubious character. Still..."

He tips Daken's head again, and sends a curious, seeking jolt of divining magic through the scar tissue.

He stiffens up a little at the touch, mostly because most contact lately has been otherwise unwanted, but he doesn't pull away, just lets his hand smooth absently down the dirty collar of Loki's coat.

"Yeah? No fair, playing favorites." He murmurs, and if Loki wants to enjoy the shock and loss of his healing factor, the pain and realization of mortality and the horror of having his arm ripped off while his eye is plucked out then yeah, that's the way to go about it.

Daken snarls and jerks his head away. It's been a bad month.

"Okay, fine, don't let me assay the damage. It's not like I'm a powerful sorcerer or anything." He takes his hand back though, only to hop up and sit on the altar beside Daken.

"All gods have their favourites."

"Unless you can fix it you don't need to poke at it." His voice rumbles deep, and yeah, he's a little bit pissy... who wouldn't be?

Daken lifts his chin at that, it's on his blind side so he actually has to turn his head back. "For what good it does."

"I might be able to," he says. "I might not. We could just chat for a while if you'd rather."

He snorts and turns his head back, bracing his hand behind him so he can lean.

"About what? Global warming? Baseball?" Now he's just being a brat.

"Climate change, not global warming. I mean, that's happening obviously, but the term is wholly inadequate to describe the scope of happening."

Loki's eyes glint teasingly.

He huffs out a breath. "Well you haven't changed after all."

"Sure I have. Except not. But I really have, in a lot of ways."

He makes a thoughtful sound, tipping his head back to stare at the open sky peeking through the broken ceiling.

"So, tell me."

"Well, I'm the God of Stories now."

Narrative Causality is his plaything. If he really wants it to be. If he can be bothered.

He closes his good eye and inclines his head. "Then it should be easy for you."

Loki wobbles a hand back and forth.

"That kinda depends on you."

"I'm asking for you to tell me a story, Loki, I don't have to hold still for you to paint me a picture." He sits up again, hunching over.

"If you say so." He gives Daken a pat on the shoulder, and scoots closer.

"Pay attention now. Once upon a time, there was a godling named Loki..."

The story is long and intricate, and told with the dispassionate passion of intimate distance, even the part where Loki burned, even the part where Loki defied the Overgods and told them to go fuck themselves, though not the part where Loki stole his best friend away from an ending multiverse, and opened the door on a new one for her. There are stories, and then there are stories, and every story has a different telling, every time it's told.

Or it should, anyway, if you're doing it right. (Loki, these days, is the very definition of doing it right. It's a nice change from the days where everything Loki did was somehow wrong.)

And he does pay attention, if at a distance, more to listen to the sound of Loki's voice hum along with the story as he sits and watches the leaves tumble along with the cold wind that cuts through.

It sounds like a story too, like some sort of fiction that you'd fine with pictures in a book somewhere, just with a less modern take on it. Something old, maybe with less gods and more monsters. Or maybe they're the same thing.

He sits, and listens, and lets the cold of him sink in against his side.

Loki trails off, eventually, letting silence fall in the starlit dark, and slides his fingers through Daken's hair, before asking,

"Would you know more?"

That hair is longer, grown out a little to match the scruffy he's developing, a little less caring about his appearance than he had before.

"Please. Misery loves company, and I can hardly top a story like yours." Because of course Loki would have... not sympathy, but understanding. Daken isn't quite as black and white as the heroes that stand with the Trickster's older brother. His shades of grey slant to red, and darker... and Loki has no reason to curb his tongue.

But isn't that what everyone wants? Understanding?

"In that case..." Another tale, one suitably dark and bloody, of the dying of worlds and the dawning of the same.

Daken closes his eye, leaning against him because he'd cool and solid and the touch isn't completely unfamiliar, even if the contact is somewhat awkward... uncomfortable. He doesn't let it show.

"How many times has it happened. Do you wonder?"

Long, cold fingers, with blunt nails scraping over his scalp...

"Innumerable times. I could know, if I wanted to - the story of the multiverse - but why bother? What matters now is the world we are in, and the one that came before. But only inasmuch as it affects us here and now. The past, yes, is prologue, but what does that really mean?"

It's soothing, in a way, and he can't help but tilt his head into the touch.

"If even that really matters."

"It does, and it doesn't," Loki says, shrugging a little, and continuing his attention to Daken's head.

That just makes him go boneless, for the most part, breathing out a sigh through his nose.

This wasn't exactly how he expected meeting up with Loki again would go. But then again, he supposes they were both very different people now.

"I really should demand a do-over."

"A do-over on what, precisely?" Loki asks, nothing more than idle curiosity apparent in his voice, though something... else stirs in his scent.

"My existence. Seems to me everyone else gets one." He doesn't miss that subtle change and it makes him smirk.

"Or more." Daken turns to bump their foreheads together.

Loki smiles at him.

"That? I can do. There are no guarantees though; things could very well be worse next time."

He chuckles darkly, reaching up to stroke fingers under Loki's chin.

"I hardly believe that's possible."

Loki tips his chin up, and gives a pleased little hum at the touch.

"You might be surprised," he replies.

"I'll have to take my chances, hm?" He drags the back of his knuckles along his cheek.

Loki sighs softly, eyes slipping half-shut as he leans into that touch.

"Yep. All right."

"I like the new look, I think."

Loki gives him a broad grin.

"Yeah?"

"Not quite as pretty, but a little devil may care." He reaches to, card his fingers through Loki's messy hair. "You can stand to have this fixed."

"Won't stay," he says. "But you can keep petting me."

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Loki | Marvel | OTAA

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