𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄, 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌

independent, private, & selective 𝐌𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒 & 𝐎𝐂 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄, as adored by soren ( he / she / they, 21 ). PST timezone. sideblog to 𝐒𝐊𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. est. 2016, repurposed & rewritten june 27, 2021.

𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐇𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 ( 08/31/2021 ). hey everyone! i’m starting my junior year of undergrad ... in italy!! i have the pleasure of studying abroad this year and i absolutely want to make the most of it, so i want to preemptively say that i likely won’t be here. if i am online and writing, it will likely be at night. that being said, i will definitely be more active on discord and wire, which any mutual is free to ask for! thank you everyone for such an amazing summer. 💙

the lampad is pleased with the compliments,  so much that even the dark purple of her eyes shimmers akin to starlight.   the warmth of his body envelops her,  making her shudder.   some might only know this son of war as his father’s copy,  a warrior with bloodshed and the call of war in his veins.   to thyxia,  this son of war is a gentle god and an even more gentle lover.   he must be made of light and fire,  otherwise thyxia cannot explain how it is only him who can face the darkness in her without cowering. 

focused on his lips on her skin,  thyxia follows enyalios into the centre of the clearing.   her fingers curl into the material of his red robes,  feeling the soft material,  much more intricate than the ones she wears,  woven by her sisters.   she does not envy the luxury that enyalios lives in atop the holy mountain,  rather she thinks it suits him as good as blood and dirty covered armour does.   “  …  on your feet?  ”    she’s surprised,  eyebrow arched at enyalios.   “  i’m going to assume that is not how you olympians usually dance up there.   if it is…  ”   the sentence hangs in the air,  finished by thyxia’s grimace and sly smile.   she holds onto enyalios’ shoulders as she stands on his feet,   body flushed against the warrior’s.    “  i would like to see your twirl with me on your feet,  my soldier.  ”

enyalios  chuckled  at  the  sight  of  her  dubious  expression.  ❝  to  show  you  the  steps  !  ❞  he  explained.  ❝  it’s  not  common,  but  .  .  .  i  like  being  close  to  you.  ❞  the  softness  he  so  often  tucked  away  deep  within  himself  bloomed  so  easily  in  her  presence.  the  slight  addition  to  her  height,  however  small,  was  just  enough  for  him  to  wrap  his  arms  around  her  all  the  more  comfortably.  with  their  chests  pressed  together,  enyalios  could  feel  the  steady  thrum  of  her  heartbeat,  so  regular  and  comforting  compared  to  his  own  fast  -  paced  rhythm.  ❝  my  grandmother,  lady  hera,  taught  me  this  way.  ❞  the  memories  alone  filled  his  expression  with  fondness  as  he  guided  her  through  the  steps,  careful  to  move  slowly  so  that  neither  of  them  stumbled.  ❝  well,  before  my  father  gave  me  proper  instruction.  ❞

“No, there is nothing all my own in that regard.” The question seemed so strange to him, so out of place, innocent through it was, of course. “Passion cannot survive for long if it is not shared, and love is not real unless it is returned. I am not meant to be alone.” There was another twinge of grief at the edges of his words, an old and horrid wound he could never quite forget. Anteros had rid him of that horrible loneliness that had persisted for an age of this world, after his banishment from the newly created Underworld. He had been peerless until then, really, without love returned (quite literally). Since then, he had never wished to be alone again, not even for a brief time.

He used his other hand to tip sweet Hymen’s face up toward his own, his touch gentle on the other’s chin. “I would that you were to go to wherever it is that makes your heart sing. If it is not here, I would not have you pretend it to be otherwise, no matter how I might wish it.” He could only nurture passion, and if this island did not bring that feeling to Hymen, Eros could only let him go again. “Though no matter where you go, I would never wish you to again become a stranger here. Visit us at least, my darling, won’t you? Unless… of course you should choose to stay?” 

eros’ response sent a slight warmth to his cheeks — he should have expected a different answer, and yet he assumed he desired his own space, just as the muses and nymphs did amid their hours ( sometimes days ) of communal singing and dancing. they retreated to their private glades and meadows, and even he had a patch of soft grass and wildflowers to call his own when his voice grew tired. for eros to want constant company to share his abode with, he briefly wondered why eros was so particular about his presence. although his visits were brief and far between, there were some erotes who resided in the palace for far longer periods ( he personally could no longer count the times he had soothed pothos’ heavy heart in one of the countless gardens ), not to mention the many mortals grateful for ( or at least aware of ) eros’ patronage.

hymen’s tilted his head to meet eros’ gaze, his own unflinching. ❝ i want to stay with you. ❞ the answer came easily, and he did not doubt it because he knew it was honest. in fact, that wasn’t the part he wrestled with : he didn’t feel he belonged in either place. ❝ i just ... i wish i felt that this was my home as much as i know it is. ❞ he was neither born from the goddess of love nor was he quite similar to his father’s numerous other children. if he did not belong here with those the most like him, then where ? who else would welcome him, love him, as much as eros and his fellow erotes ?

@cyperos :   ❝ there is no replacing your presence. i felt that before we ever met, and now i know for sure. ❞   /  hades.

thank the fates for enyalios,   zagreus finds himself thinking.   he hadn’t voiced his insecurities to his best friend and brother but the other must have seen them in how zagreus kept himself closed off today,  much like a flame starved of oxygen.   this modern world is a labyrinth of isolation,  so he hears the hearts of mortals cry out even when they themselves cannot put it into clear words.   this modern world somehow manages to isolate the gods,  too.   thanatos is busy managing the other death deities,   megaera is working overtime punishing oath breakers,   and even zagreus is finding himself hearing more mortals calling for his aid  –  whether it is children seeking escape from their homes,  adults who cannot remember why they fight,  all of those riddled with illnesses that his blood could cure.

the prince slumps against his brother,   tired and drained.    “  .. i’m glad you think that.  ”   zagreus says quietly,  eyes shut.   “  i think the same.  about you,  i mean.   i’ve got many people around me who i love and call family,  but none quite understand me like you do.   i swear we should have been brothers by blood.  ”   he laughs lowly,  then sighs.    “  actually,  nevermind.   olympian siblings are too much.  ”

enyalios  draped  his  strong  arm  around  zagreus’  shoulders  in  a  protective  hold.  ❝  i  wouldn’t  wish  that  on  you  either.  ❞  olympians  prioritized  competition  and  glory  over  love  and  affection  :  he  witnessed  it  among  others  and  fell  victim  to  the  same  trap  with  his  half  -  brothers.  he  was  lucky  to  have  harmonia  in  his  youth,  and  he  was  lucky  to  have  zagreus  now.  sometimes,  he  almost  envied  how  zagreus  never  dealt  with  such  an  environment,  but  enyalios  could  see  (  could  feel,  really  )  the  way  his  particular  isolation  weighed  him  down.  ❝  though  .  .  .  i  think  i’m  quite  happy  with  what  the  fates  have  given  us.  i  wouldn’t  have  it  any  other  way.  ❞  certainly  there  was  a  certain  twinge  of  longing  for  a  deeper  blood  connection,  but  he  could  never  forget  how  the  three  sisters  brought  them  together  :  the  way  enyalios  offered  his  encouragement  whenever  zagreus  chose  his  father’s  blessings,  how  for  the  longest  time  he  recognized  the  underworld  prince  by  voice  alone,  and  the  immediate  connection  when  they  first  laid  eyes  on  each  other  that  fateful  day.  the  flame  of  love  that  burned  bright  in  his  chest  for  zagreus,  after  everything  they  had  endured  together  .  .  .  enyalios  would  not  trade  that  feeling  for  the  world.

@cyperos​ » hymen presents a  [  bouquet  ] 🥺

Eros has only smiles for his youngest Erote and an affectionate touch for his cheek at the gift he is presented with. The flowers are beautiful, perfectly arranged and wonderfully fragrant. “Oh.” His voice is soft and warm. “What a lovely surprise. Thank you, my darling.” The touch is followed by a gentle kiss to his cheekbone and an arm around his shoulders, leading him, not inside, but to the gardens behind the palace. “I have a surprise for you too, in fact. Your timing could not be more perfect.” It had been ready and waiting for him for weeks, but Eros would rather let him think it was only finished this morning, as he needs no more guilt for his many absences. It isn’t much, but Hymen is one of his few Erotes who asks for nothing, who wants little and expects even less. The gardens are different now, more overgrown and wild, more like the places Hymen is used to than the cultivated gardens of last time. “I thought perhaps you would be more comfortable here.” 

He leads him to chaise situated beneath a vine-covered tree and sits down on it with him. Absently, Eros takes some of the flowers from the bouquet and begins to weave them into a crown in Hymen’s hair. “I have missed you so, sweet one. I wish to hear about all that you have been doing while you were away. Come, tell me everything. Are you happy? Are you well?”

even as an erote, hymen was not easily excitable ... still, a certain light filled his eyes when eros uttered the word surprise. ❛ what is it ? ❜ he wanted to ask, the words hot on the tip of his tongue, but he remained silent and allowed eros to draw him close ; he settled his own hand on eros’ back, anything to return the comforting touches his loving master always gifted him. he attempted to study his face as they walked, as though something subtle in his expression would betray his secret.

he abandoned his endeavor as soon as he laid eyes on the garden, now transformed. he knew it was the same place he saw last, if only for the familiar fountains and sculptures that still dotted the space. but the foliage, the flowers, the moss ... hymen stood dumbstruck for a moment as he soaked in the sight, but it wasn’t long before a smile illuminated his gentle face and an elated giggle bubbled up from his throat. he quickly lifted each foot to slip off his sandals before he darted forward with a quick beat of his wings. he laughed as his feet sank into the green carpet of grass and wildflowers ; he never thought he would have anything like this away from the mountains of apollo and the muses.

Eros struggled to answer so innocent a question. No, he should have said, and yes. But the words lodged in his throat. His sweet Hymen deserved better than silence, but he found it difficult to reply until the boy was nestled against his shoulder. His hand came to cradle the back of Hymen’s head, his other pressed to the bed behind him to support their weight more comfortably. Only when Hymen began to panic did the god find he could answer. He pressed him gently down, keeping him where he was, though Hymen barely fought to rise. “Shh.” He hushed him softly and tried to soothe him, though dulling the fear was harder than dulling passion. It wasn’t strictly his domain, only a byproduct of it—fear did not exist unless one cared to begin with.

“She is safe. She is well. I could not bring her here, but be at ease, my dearest. No harm will befall her. She is well protected.” He gave Hymen a minute to process that and let relief fill his breast before he tried to speak again. “And you are not dead… But you were, my darling.” The grief in his voice was overwhelming, and he struggled to hold it back. “I have bargained your life from my sisters, but… you are not entirely as you were. It was the price you had to pay.” This wasn’t how it was meant to go. “I could not let you die so young… before you had ever lived. But you are… almost an Erote now.” His sorrow only grew. Hymen was supposed to have had a choice, and now that choice was taken from him. He would become one after death no matter what he wanted. “You may return to her once you are recovered. And may return as often as you wish until…” Until he died again. But he doubted that would matter as much as the next part. “Euphrasia will not be parted from you forever, my sweet. Do not fret. After her natural demise, I will be able to bring her here also, as long as your passion for her survives. She will be spared the Underworld.” It felt like a consolation prize. “I’m so sorry, my darling. There was nothing more I could do.”

hymen sunk his weight into eros’ frame as his body filled with relief. he shoved the quiet flutter of panic at the back of his mind that briefly questioned where she could be : was she back in athens, forced to reconcile with her now - uncertain future and clean up the unintended mess he left behind ? or was she somewhere in argos, his native city but for her a foreign territory, alone ? before his mind could race too far ahead and his mouth could open, eros’ next words slammed into him with the force of a massive stone thrown into a deep well — parted lips pressed closed into a firm line and he clenched his jaw tight as tears welled in his eyes. dead ... he had been dead, and he couldn’t recall what that was like at all. part of him wanted to be thankful that he had no memory of the river styx or the underworld ( if he even made it that far before eros’ interference ), and another was terrified to wonder just where his soul, his consciousness, had been between the pain of the arrow and his awakening in eros’ palace.

The Fates tended to work in weird ways, Nico learned that long ago, and nothing could have been weirder than Mrs. O’Leary, the friendly hell hound, almost jamming her entire person into the Hades Cabin to get his attention, whining miserably. Mrs. O’Leary only whined when it was time for dinner, which Nico knew not to be the case at that moment, and he reluctantly set down the polishing cloth for his sword to see what she needed. One shadow travel later and he found himself abruptly at the edge of the Styx, stomach rolling a little if only from the suddenness of the travel. And there was Hymenaois, looking decidedly out of place in the Underworld, soft glow around the Erotes a reassuring sight in the usual gloom. 

“I guess I am,” he answered after a confused beat. Someone wanted him to be there anyway, and he really wished that someone asked him about it first. He liked Hymen though, so he wasn’t going to complain too much.“Where do you need to go?”

Eros smiled warmly when his Erote settled close to him and felt some tension in his own being release. He ached to be away from any of them for too long, if only because he adored them so much. They were pieces of himself, really, of his domain. To be without them was like missing limbs. Eros was not known for his kindness or his forgiveness, but it was different with them. He could never stand to cause them distress or misery of any kind, and could never feel it was deserved. His other hand momentarily cupped the back of Hymen’s head and pulled it forward enough that he could plant a kiss against his hair. Eros glowed more brightly golden then, like a star regaining some of its own light.

“Oh no, never. You and your kind have only ever eased it.” He had never felt that loss and despair as he once had, not since the birth of Aphrodite even. But that was altogether different from the Erotes, his namesakes, his most beloved. Next to them, only Psyche compared in terms of his love, and he had insurmountable adoration and devotion to give. 

The barest hint of surprise crossed Passion’s face, followed by endearment. “Of course, beloved. Nothing here is forbidden to you. This is home to you, whenever you should wish to claim it. I would deny no one the full extent of their home, least of all you.” He sighed softly and glanced around. “Though I suppose this looks so little like your home. You were raised among the fairer folk, the nymphs and dryads, were you not? Perhaps better accommodations might be found. A courtyard to call your own, perhaps. But later. First, come with me.” He led him out of the room then, through the gilded and golden halls, showing him everything they crossed. “It used to be much simpler than this,” he explained, “but some of your older brothers thought decadence was in order, and I can deny them nothing, I’ve found.” He smiled wryly, affection in his eyes. “A weakness of which they take advantage daily.”

hymen remained close to eros’ side as they passed by each room, each one as ornate as the last. if eros asked, he would readily admit that everything seemed to blur together into one grandiose maze. he couldn’t even identify the private chambers of his fellow erotes ( or, as much as he could glean from the decorative choices of their doors ), which only further embedded the slight feeling of unease in his heart. he nodded in response to his question ; ❝ with the muses, yes, ❞ he murmured as his neck craned back once again to stare at the elaborate frescoes that adorned the ceiling above each doorway. the thought of a courtyard comforted him, if only slightly : the open sky over his head, soft grass under his bare feet ... he felt a pang of guilt for longing for something so familiar in the place he should call his true home.

thyxia struggles to hide the way her body involuntarily and naturally leans into enyalios’,  so much warmer than hers.  they are way past pretending now,  way past thyxia smiling knowingly and testing the olympian godling’s intentions and heart and way past enyalios trying to impress the torch-bearer.   she wants to kiss him here,  under the moonlight,  but she behaves for the sake of spending as much quality time together as they can.  before the sun will rise,  before the underworld will call for her.  she will save it for the time they will have to part  –  kiss him quite insane,  leave her dark mark on him as a souvenir.   

“  is it because i am as dreadful as the winter season?  ”   thyxia teases,  running her thumbs running over the skin below his eyes.  she cannot look away from their beauty and she cannot help her growing smile.  never had she thought anyone would be able to reach so deep into her soul and soften the anger it holds.  no  -  enyalios did not soften it.  he understood it,  admired it even when she pushed him away before she allowed him to hold her.    “  show me,  then.  i want to learn.  ”    she speaks as if stuck in a daydream,  her touch soft on his cheeks and chest closely pressed to him.

❝  as  formidable  and  bewitching,  ❞  he  corrected,  eager  to  tease  in  equal  measure.  the  weight  of  her  body  against  his  chest  was  yet  another  comfort  —  here,  he  did  not  have  to  don  his  armor,  even  if  he  kept  his  faithful  weapons  at  his  waist.  here,  he  could  embrace  her  cool  skin  against  his  scarlet  robes,  let  his  white  hair  spill  down  his  shoulders,  array  himself  in  the  gold  jewelry  gifted  by  his  father,  sister,  and  chthonic  brother  :  vulnerable.  safe.  ❝  allow  me.  ❞

his horses. enyalios owns two immortal horses that draw his chariot : ἀρηίθοος ( arēíthoos, ❛ swift as ares, swift in battle ❜ ) and φιλόμαχος ( filómaxos, ❛ loving the fight, warlike ❜ ).

his xiphe. enyalios owns two magic - enhanced xiphe : ἀριστόμαχος ( aristómaxos, ❛ best at fighting ❜ ), a gift from his mother, and ἀλκτήρ ( alktḗr, ❛ one who wards off, protector from ❜ ), from his father.

@sangerosu​  :  affection  isn’t  always  the  easiest  to  express  for  the  god  of  war  .  .  .  for  his  children,  however,  he  would  push  through  it.  instead  of  the  casual  arm  rub  that  he  gives  enyalios  upon  meeting  him,  father  war  wraps  his  son  in  a  warm  embrace,  one  hand  on  little  war’s  back  and  the  other  at  the  back  of  his  head.  ❝  welcome  back,  son.  how  did  the  underworld  treat  you  ?  ❞

enyalios  was  always  content  to  receive  whatever  tenderness  his  father  had  to  offer.  even  the  most  simple  touch,  such  as  when  he  adjusted  his  grip  or  his  posture  during  one  of  the  many  hours  of  their  constant  training,  filled  him  with  so  much  love.  he  was  prepared  for  a  touch  just  as  fleeting  when  he  dismounted  his  chariot  and  handed  the  reigns  to  one  of  the  nearby  attendants,  his  smile  forever  betraying  how  delighted  he  always  was  to  be  in  his  father’s  presence.

the moon sheds its light on the lampad’s frame as she dances,  movements precise and fluid like the waters of the sea behind her.   one dagger in each hand,  she moves through the darkness and performs for the war god,   face stern but dark eyes glimmering with joy.  the night sings for her,  mother nyx’s presence everlasting,  the sea murmurs  –  and when the lampad ceases her movements,  folding her arms over her chest with the tips of the daggers pointing towards the dark sky,  silence follows.   thyxia steps back into herself,   a subtle smile forming on her lips as she finds enyalios’ gaze.    “ i showed you mine,   my soldier.   what olympian dance will you teach me tonight? ”   the daggers are tucked away into the bandolier  ( its dark colour contrast with the bright,  pure ones of the robes he’d given her,  made of the finest olympian silks )  and she steps towards him with light feet,   hands already seeking the warmth of his cheeks,  unable to keep herself away from touching him.     /   @damnedsels (thyxia&enyalios)

breathtaking  was  the  easiest  and  first  word  that  came  to  mind  whenever  he  watched  her  dance.  enyalios  refused  to  take  his  eyes  off  of  her  for  even  a  moment  as  she  twirled  in  her  latest  dress  :  a  luxurious  peplos  of  lilac  fabric  delicately  embroidered  with  flowers  of  gold  thread.  when  she  smiled,  he  couldn’t  resist  returning  one  of  his  own,  and  he  eagerly  leaned  into  her  cool  touch  just  as  he  had  done  countless  times  before.  with  a  slight  turn  of  his  head  he  pressed  a  kiss  to  her  palm  and  hummed  in  thought  as  he  settled  his  hands  on  the  curve  of  her  waist.  he  could  always  demonstrate  the  unbreakable  bond  between  himself  and  his  swords  again,  but  .  .  .  he  had  other  ideas.

Achilles knew all his men at least by sight if not by name. His father had been preparing him for this moment all his life, and it was one of the few things on which his parents agreed—know your men before you ask them to die for you. This one, however, he knew he’d never seen before, camping with the Myrmidons as though he was one of them. Achilles did not ask why he was here out of hostility, but curiosity. Most of the leaders of this war knew they needed him personally, but would not have sent one of their own to him. He was too young, too inexperienced, too feminine, too shameful. He hadn’t had time to make them eat their words yet, but he would. So this little soldier who radiated the bloodthirst of the gods stood out more than anyone possibly could’ve.

“Eager is an interesting choice of words.” As he said it though, his sea green eyes glimmered with mirth and his mouth curling into a smile. “Why this camp? Why choose to fight for me? Not quite so simple a matter as fighting for an oath or to stand with ones own people.” Why choose the most feared and dishonored camp at once? That was the real question of interest.

enyalios found it rather easy to settle among the soldiers — there was a certain anxious energy he was drawn to, one that he knew he had the power to alter. he spent his afternoon among the tents and around fires, eager to listen to their apprehensions and polish their blades when their own trembling hands couldn’t. of course, there was the added thrill of knowing he was doing something forbidden ; you are not ready, his father warned, but enyalios refused to remain on olympus when the greatest war of mortalkind was on the cusp of beginning.