If you don’t mind me asking what tattoos are you in between ?

literally just made a poll to get opinions we're communicating

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                                         Hodr, the God of Winter,                      whose origins stem from Ancient Scandinavia.                                     He is now the owner of Nysnö.

FC NAME/GROUP: Kim Jaejoong | JYJ/Soloist GOD NAME: Hodr PANTHEON:  Norse OCCUPATION: Tailor, Owner of Nysnö HEIGHT: 1m80 DEFINING FEATURES:

- Porcelain complexion, very easy to get tanned or sunburnt

- Big, watery, and expressive eyes with natural eyebags  

- Tattoos:

+ Two quotes on the left chest: Deferto Neminem (Accuse no man), Always keep the faith

+ A pyramid with an eye and a set of horns, with three dots above on the left wrist

PERSONALITY: Just like what the last season of a year would offer to the world, Hodr’s got that quiet yet immense power to free, to freeze, and to frighten.

More often than not, he is the literally coolest individual found in any place he’s been to, and his too-cool-for-you resting face with porcelain complexion won’t help. But no, he’s not just a walking ice statue, and yes, he knows how to socialize and even tell jokes – the ones that would help listeners not to try so hard for a pity laugh. He looks aloof and is aloof most of the time, until the situation calls for what he can contribute. Although he may not be the fastest to offer a hand, Hodr would only offer what he’s best at. And actually, after thousands of years of trial and error, the winter god is confident to say that he’s a well-qualified player in quite many different fields in life. And does that make him cocky, sassy, savage at times? Yes dear, all checked.

On the more serious note, this icy god would be often seen alone, being absorbed in a book, something on the screen, or just in his own thoughts. It doesn’t mean he’s unaware of his surroundings at those times; in fact, the reverse is true. Hodr has a keen eye for detail, which would make him the perfect go-to person if you want your new hair cut, new glasses, or even a tiny pimple near your hairline, to get some attention. The god likes to give honest compliments, moral support, physical support, basically what it takes to help others feel more confident in themselves. In some senses, he could be seen as an amateur life coach. And a great drink buddy. He himself isn’t really confident in his flirting skills, but if you’re looking for at-least-acceptable courtship, relationship, or situationship advice, Hodr can manage to give you some.  

However, Hodr would take his sweet time to warm up to others, not because he needs to consider if they would worth his time, but the exact another way around. Despite his well-put-together demeanor, insecurity and fear of abandonment are some of the challenges he’s still striving to conquer. Also, Hodr’s developed this odd determination to make as few mistakes as possible, hence his over-meticulousness and indecision, also explains why he might take months to finish a suit. Yet, if one gives him enough patience and understanding, guarantee that they would get the best-customized suit on earth, and probably a (some sort of) friend in this Norse god of winter.  

HISTORY:

  Before Ragnarok

What was the fun of being the forgotten son of Odin? Nothing much - or should it be phrased almost nothing at all – except for the plethora of aloneness, which equaled to ultimate freedom in Hodr’s book.

The God of Winter was born with eyes that could only see the depth of his own soul and not one of the universe’. At first, it was a curse, then a blessing in disguise, for it gave him the privilege to stay away from the frenzied dance of life and death, of battles and romances, of wisdom and stupidity, those that most other Norse deities had always relished. Hodr preferred, almost thrived on, his blissful solitude. He loved it when he could turn not only one, but both blind eyes, to the surrounding chaos. And it was like a seed planted on barren land, the desire to be at the center of attention and adoration like his dear brother Baldur was. From the first day of existence, Hodr had already understood this. His brother was born to be loved, and he was born to be left alone.

In the serendipity sang by the winter breezes, Hodr had heard his final. Or finals, to be exact. That yes, he was born to with a cursed blessing like no others, that he could make use of it to keep trouble at least a winter away, but that wasn’t meant to last forever. Nothing supposed to last forever, especially when – no matter how different they were – all the Norse deities have been waiting for the Ragnarok since the beginning of their fate.

“I, too, shall die,” he informed one night at the gales caressing his porcelain cheeks. The gales, reminded of the anticipated farewell, hurled in despair. Hodr smiled, the warmest a god of winter could muster. “Behave yourself while I’m away, won’t you?” The winter gales laughed out their response.

And they kept wuthering. Their mighty roars got deafening the day Loki showed up with a mistletoe spear; the sound so deafening Hodr could not really hear what they were trying to say, but the spear had already been thrown away, aiming at a target even his wildest imagination could not let him to see.

When he knew was when it was too late to know. Baldur’s death came much faster than his belated realization. He abhorred Loki, with just one tenth the hatred he had dedicated to himself. Loki’s natural couldn’t outshine his exceptional gullibility; his wrongdoing couldn’t be anything else but a proof of foolishness.  

The forgotten outcast was now the greatest sinner. Hodr melted into an epitome of guilt and agony.

The mighty Odin went berserk, of course he would. Hodr could tell what was coming – a decision, a revenge, exactly what he was expecting to. It was another blessing that he did not have to wait for long. One day after Baldur’s death, Vali was born. Just as great as their father, he had completed his sole duty of showing Hodr the way back to nothingness with utter ease. There was no sign of protest from Hodr.

But no one could rest in peace.

Winter did not keep its promise to its God. The freezing gales kept hurling their inconsolable anger. Ice and snow waged war against all gods and men, buried three summers under their thick white blood, and no living left undamaged.

That was how Fimbulwinter started, and how the world began to end.

After Ragnarok

Hodr couldn’t tell how long it had passed between his death and his resurrection. Probably a Ragnarok apart, or that was what he had heard from the survivors. How could he return to life? Why him and not some other much more deserved warriors? No one, including winter, could give him a convincing answer.

What he’d known was that Baldur had also come back to life – the best news Hodr heard since his existence. No blames, no cries, only understanding, and family bond were shared again between the two Odin’ sons, which, until now, still surprised Hodr somehow.

Asgard and the other eight worlds were quick to recover, teeming with life. The winter gales had stopped wuthering. Yet, there were still so many questions left, to which if he did not find the answers, no one - even his greatest of a father - could.

Is this all the reasons why I have been here on earth?

Is there anything else I should know? Learn? Master?

Is there any other place I should go? Anyone else I should meet?

Is there really something called ‘true love’? What is love though, anyway?

Hodr spent the next millennia on self-discovery and re-discovery. On learning and un-learning. On growing up, getting wiser, bolder. On figuring out that actually, his hands were actually much more skillful than they were thought to be. On being a god, then being a god in a human vessel. On falling in, then out of love.

It turned out that true love was real. Hodr felt lucky that unlike humans, whose single-use lives might be too short to find one or too long it was hard to tell it apart of the false ones, he was really deep in it a couple of times. All of the romances he got the chance to co-create, some faded into memories, some into scars, some into a holy mess. But Hodr had learned that just like everything else on this universe, true love wouldn’t last forever. At this point of his seemingly endless quest of knowledge and self-improvement, Hodr was pretty sure that he had raised an army of those who loved him, and an equal-size one of those who hated his guts.

Winter wasn’t meant to be adored by everyone, was it?

But now, let’s get back to a couple months ago, when Hodr was chilling with a long-term fellow god at a corner of a bustling bar. Both were in their newest human vessels, drinking cold beer and talking about what on earth they should try next for this human lifetime. At some points in their unplanned plans discussion, his friend raised a random question.    

“Have you tried out Mount Phoenix?”

“What is a mount phoenix?”

“No, it’s the Mount Phoenix. A magical island of gods and their half-human kids. Some of your kids are there as well, I think. Go figure it out!”

So, in the next morning, Hodr woke up sober, packed his bags and himself, and cruised to the Mount Phoenix to figure it out, first and foremost for the thrill of new adventures. Soon, the universe once again showed him that there were still so many things in its pockets that he hadn’t even heard about just yet. Hodr was intrigued, so he chose to stick around the island probably a little longer to seriously figure things out.

He’s also been mastering the art of making suits, by the way.

POWERS:

Winter Manipulation: Able to induce the intensity of winter and that of other elements in its realm, including cold, death, and solitude to some extent.

Water Manipulation: Able to create, shape, manipulate water in solid, liquid, and gas states, also change water from one state to others. Able to create ice objects, including weaponry.

Cold Manipulation: Able to create, shape, and manipulate cold, making everything (including living things) colder with direct or close-ranged contact, ranging from mild coolness to freezing point.

Cold Immunity: Be immune and completely invulnerable to both cold’s direct and indirect effects.  

Cold Empowerment: Will be quickly energized or become physically stronger, faster, more durable once in contact with cold.

STRENGTHS:

Hodr is an epitome of the phrase ‘aging like a fine wine.’

He’s very much open-minded, quick-witted, and is a diligent learner. Learn best by trial and error.

If one can withstand the cold, they would get a compassionate, reliable, and loyal companion in him.

He’s pretty much dexterous, and likes to make things with his hands and not his power.

He’s got good taste in fashion. Surprise, surprise!

WEAKNESSES:

He’s cursed with bad eyesight, no matter how good the condition of his vessel’s eyes is. Can’t live without medical glasses or contact lenses.

High heat is Hodr’s nemesis. He’ll rarely enjoy hot food or drinks, and will become noticeably lethargic during summers.

He’s quite slow to open up to new faces, may let his doubts misguide his mind, and can be frustratingly indecisive at times.

He’s still somewhat gullible to those he loves or considers to be trusted friends.

Introducing Zoya Mathur !

...

T H E   B A S I C S

NAME :  Zoya Mathur

AGE :  23 Years Old

BIRTHDATE :  October 28th, 1996

OCCUPATION :  Yoga Instructor at the Renegade Gym & Exotic Dancer at Mayhem Maidens

OREIENTATION :  Heterosexual

MOTHER :  Sunaina Mathur

FATHER :  Unknown

SIBLINGS :  None

PARTNER :  None

HEIGHT :  5′5″

EYE COLOR : Chocolate Brown

HAIR COLOR :  Dark Brown

RECOGNIZABLE FEATURES :  Bright smile, big eyes

TATTOOS :  None

B A C K G R O U N D

TW : DRUG ABUSE, CHILD NEGLECT, MENTIONS OF MENTAL HEALTH DISORDERS

It is often said children are a reflection of their parents, shaped and scarred by their handling. Her mother would say Zoya got all the best of her, and Zoya has always prayed it wouldn’t become the worst of her. In the 80s Sunaina Mathur lived the life of a quintessential 70s hippie, living a nomadic life believing in everything and nothing, forever romanticizing and wandering aimlessly. When she was young her indecision and lack of responsibility harmed no one but herself, she was in love with nothing and everything all the time, going wherever her next whim might take her.

Though all that changed when she fell pregnant without the faintest clue from whom, and suddenly she found herself solely responsible for a tiny human, having been cut off and estranged from her own parents for years at that point she had no one to turn to. California just happened to be where she’d ended up around that time and for the first time she found herself having to permanently settling somewhere. Zoya was an extremely well tempered child to her relief, never fussy, and never needing more than she could provide. Everything was okay for a little while, they got by on limited means on her diner paycheck. Though that quiet life was so far removed from the life she led before Zoya, going wherever she wanted, making the best worst decisions, indulging on drugs, alcohol, men, woman, and the more she thought of it the further she began to fall into patterns of depressions and manic episodes.

Her patterns of restlessness and self destruction uprooted their lives in three different towns until they ended up in Charming, by far the smallest town they’d settled in thus far though definitely the easiest to get by in as well. Zoya was twelve by this time and slowly beginning to understand her mother’s quirks and patterns. Before she knew it she was not only looking after herself but her mother as well. Keeping her from making some of her worser decisions and falling back into the same holes as in the past. Zoya didn’t want to move somewhere new again, she didn’t want to have to keep readjusting to new surroundings only to leave when things were finally looking up.

She had nearly as much agency as an adult in their little family unit and she was able to keep them both afloat that way for sometime. Though Zoya never quite resented her mother up until that point, quite the contrary she made herself believe her mothers quirks were endearing. The good days always outweighed the bad, her mother when she was in her highs was so incredibly fun and full of life, most day her childhood was the sort most kids dreamed of ice cream for dinner, random late night adventures, paint parties, gorging on snacks with movies on a school night. All the things that made her mom the coolest among her friends. They did yoga together, binge watched bollywood movies and danced all night, she grew up romanticizing life in the way she saw in those very movies, choosing to see the best in her mother while laughing off the worst.

In high school it was especially easy since Zoya had a social life of her own, between her friends, the dance team, and rigorous gymnastics involvement her schedule was plenty busy. It was so easy for her to believe that her mother had finally settled down as well, she was dating someone for the first time instead of the random hook ups she knew little about, and with his help her mother even took the plunge and opened up her own ‘medical’ cannabis dispensary in town, having always been a bit of an expert in all things marijuana. What she hadn’t known at the time was the loan she had gotten for the business was not from any legal entity but from the local gang whom her boyfriend was a member of, and over time she became loosely involved in some of their drug operations herself. 

The whole matter became the first thing her mother well and truly hid from her completely, keeping her away from it all. Having no real interest in weed herself her moms business of growing and selling wasn’t all that interesting to her, and her mother encouraged her to stay away on account that she was a minor and she didn’t want to get in trouble over the fact. Two years later Zoya was graduating from highschool and had gotten a gymnastics scholarship to attend San Jose University a few short hours away. Her plans for what she wanted to do with her future were fluid at the time, as she explored her options and stuck to her love and commitment to gymnastics, any plans she was formulating came to a halting stop when she went home for the summer after her sophomore year to find out her mother was in shambles. Frantic, worried, and using god knows what concoction of substances again.

Things had gone south with the dispensary and she’d closed shop four months prior and was under investigation by local authorities. And if that wasn’t bad enough she also owed the gang upwards of a hundred thousand grand. Her solution? To drop everything and leave, and for Zoya to go with her so she could avoid any fallback of the whole mess. Zoya was confused, and more than a little concerned but refused to entertain any ideas of running from the problem before her mother told her the whole truth, thus learning for the first time about all the money she’d ‘burrowed’ from the wolves and just how much of a mess she’d gotten herself in. Zoya didn’t know what to do but she also didn’t want to run because she knew if they ran then, they’d always be running and her life would forever be derailed.

They argued about this for days as her mother’s paranoia and skittishness grew, then one  morning she woke to find the small one bedroom apartment empty, no trace of her mother other than a piss poor note saying little else other than sorry. Zoya was stunned and didn’t know what to do, or where to go from there. She was an adult but suddenly realized how little she actually knew about what meant, when her mother had taught her little to nothing about how to handle your shit. All she knew was she would not do what her mother did, she would never run from her problems but rather do what she needed to do to take care of things.

Her mother’s debt became her debt since she was no where to be found, what else was she supposed to say to them? The first job she found was working at the local gym as a yoga instructor, and another working night shifts at the diner. Even working as a babysitter wherever she had the time off. The online classes she was trying to keep up with had to be dropped, she couldn’t afford the apartment on her own and moved into a shared space. A year went by that way though she was buckling under the stress of it all never able to make substantial enough payments towards the debt and manage her expenses as well, and never wanting to be in the position where she couldn’t carry her own weight in the apartment or even admit to her roommates just how much she was struggling. Finally a couple months ago she hashed out a new arrangement with the wolves. She would start dancing at the Mayhem Maidens and they would keep nearly all her wages earned including tips and cut back on the accumulating interest so she can actually start to make a dent in the debt.

While she still finds herself struggling with the new gig, she’s not bad at it by any stretch. She’s always loved to dance, with her years of gymnastics and yoga she’s more than flexible enough to put on a good show. It’s just everything beyond the stage that gives her pause. All she wants is for this phase of her life to be over so she can go back to figuring out how she actually wants to live her life, and what she wants to do to make her mark on the world. And most of all she knows she doesn’t ever want to wake up one day, and realize her life is turning out to be just like her mother’s.

W A N T E D   C O N N E C T I O N S

Best Friend - 

Close Friends - 

Ex Boyfriend - 

Potential Crush -

Parents she babysits for -

Literally anything, just hmu and we can work something out!

@charmingintro​

Kismet and Crane Boy in Search of the Perfect Mimosa

Kismet! Kismet is fate. Flirtatious. Destiny, dressed in brighter colors. Kismet is the younger sibling of Fate and Destiny. The fun one that was good at sports in High School but drinks a little too much now. A happy drunk though. Thank God, right? Kismet. Like Comet or Kermet. Kismet is goofy and adventurous. Like me! Maybe. I hope. Yes? “Kizzzz meeettt” The way a drunk girl clutching her 4th Whiskey Sour would say, “kiss me” before she bows to vomit all over your Levis 509’s. Kismet is the word my Dad used to describe the story I would like to tell you. And here is how it starts. It is Christmas day. My entire family is together on the beach. It is before noon. For the love of all things orange, spritzy and alcoholic… rain down upon us oh Lord of Mimosa! By the way a ‘perfect Holiday Mimosa' almost always means the ‘nearest Holiday Mimosa’. I decided I would hit the Shell Station across the main highway that runs parallel to the ocean. Now, the way I looked running across A1A in flip flops and my long skinny legs scissoring out of my small swim trunks must have resembled the unnatural way a bird runs before it remembers it can just fly away. A long-legged bird. Some type of Crane that spends its time sun bathing near a Florida reservoir not realizing he is a chip away from some retired Snow Bird golfing his way through retirement. (So many bird metaphors in one paragraph! The Humanity! Or rather, the Ornithurae!) Every so often one of these Jack Nicklaus wannabes takes liberties on a ‘mulligan' and ‘shanks' a ‘divot' right o’er the reservoir, scaring the rusted 9-Iron stem right out of the Crane’s beak, sending it away in a panic! Scurrying as awkwardly as a human, proportioned such as me, to safety in the cattails. This was what my step-mom saw as she happened to be driving by at that very moment. She swerved to the side of the road in excitement. I believe because, at first, she was sure a video of this strange Crane-boy running in broad daylight would go viral. But then she realized it was just a normal boy, her step-son in fact! She tilted her head to the side in a close second to that initial excitement of ‘Crane-boy siting’, and waved. Now this was kismet! I had just told my Dad how much I missed her. (Technically, she is my 'ex-step-mom' so I don’t get to see her much. Also, calling her ‘ex’ doesn’t feel right so she will forever be step-mom!) She has always possessed undeniable psychic ability, so whether it was her or me that manifested this to happen is up to the Gods of, yes… KISMET to decide! We talked about writing and she shared that she had finished the 1st draft of her book, which I absolutely cannot wait to read. And she (as she always has) encouraged me to write. And while the chance meeting above was one of many joyous moments of the Holiday season, it isn’t the only thing that compelled me to take pen to paper. Something of a different 'brand of miracle' happened to me during the same fateful Mimosa hunt! Upon entrance to the Shell Station I expected a Christmas Salutation. I was given none of the sort. The cashier, long shaggy hair, thick goat-tee, adorned with tattoos and a furrowed brow aimed solely at his phone did not even look up from the counter upon which he slouched. I thought to myself, “Ok. That’s fine. I’m going to throw out a wild hunch that he maybe loathes the holidays, is exhausted of all the Christmas songs, is tired of greeting customers with plastic cheer and hates his family.” Hush, Cookie! You needn’t jump to such sardonic conclusions just because his Facebook feed is more important than wishing his customer a Happy Holiday! I went straight for the walk-in cooler. I decided to splurge. I could barely even reach the top shelf to take down the $11.99 bottle of Champagne. But hey, money is just a number and age isn’t real. Or is it the other way around? I don’t know but it was Christmas for Christ’s sake. I approached the counter with two different types of Orange juice. I’m the most indecisive person on the planet and couldn’t bare the thought of choosing between Tropicana or Welch’s. Which is tastier? Which is from concentrate? What does that even mean? The cashier didn’t look up. I placed the items on the counter right in front of him with a semi-aggressive thud. As to say, “pardon feller, not that I need a stuffed Rudolph or a Santa to sit on, but a little eye contact and a smile wouldn’t kill ya on CHRISTMAS!” A few seconds went by and still nothing. Oh you better believe my nose was glowing bright! But then, finally he looks up and breaks into an unexpected monologue! Without even a ‘hello’, or ‘is that gonna be all for you’? He embarks… “You know the producer of ‘Die Hard’ just finally admitted that ‘Die Hard’ is in fact a Christmas movie?!” “Uh. no, I didn’t..” “Yea. I mean, no shit. It ain’t even Christmas until I watch that shit. I even made my girlfriend watch it with me two nights ago. She was like, “Can we fuckin turn this off yet or what?!” And I’m all, “Well Mel Gibson doesn’t give a shit about you either, bitch!” “Wow. Hm.. I think it was actually Bruce…. never mind.” “Of course it’s a fucking Christmas movie. Then we went to her house and she has two older brothers named Jesse and Joey and I’m all, “Good evening, Mr. Tanner!” And she didn’t even get it. It’s a Full House joke. She didn’t even get it.” After I broke my trance of nodding and smiling I thought it best to give relationship advice. “Maybe it’s time to find a more compatible partner?" “Well, she’s 23. So you gotta live with some shit for that, ya know?!” “Ain’t that the truth, brother.” Astonishingly enough, he managed to ring me up for the Mimosas. I gotta give it to him. Some impressive multi-tasking. I gathered my bags and ran like a Crane for the door. Now the point is that this was all very close to not happening. I could have driven and not awkwardly run like a Crane across the street. We could have settled for the un-chilled beer upstairs. But we didn’t. We wanted the Perfect Mimosa. And thanks to kismet, and all of its phonetic and fateful glory, I not only got to see my ‘ex’/ aka my forever stepmom… but I also got to experience the Christmas Miracle of that Shell Station! Yippee-kay-yayyy mother fuckers! -Cookie