the legacies of zeus pt. 1 ─── the making
i. athena; goddess of wisdom
── when you are young they assume you know nothing
ㅤㅤㅤrippling blonde hair that glows in the sunlight. eyes that hold too much to be considered young, cheeks that hold an innocence that strikes you, leaving you defenceless. they calculate your every move, every strike, every touch. wisdom brews underneath their skin. unnerving gazes and perfect lips that never smile. hands that craft perfection and minds that observe greedily. porcelain dolls crafted by the hands of a goddess, perfected by man’s knowledge. pray that your thoughts do not become to loud next to them, for those can be stolen from you, too.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤannabeth looks at arachne and steels her nerves. the cogs in her brain begin to turn, sifting through every piece of knowledge carefully. the red light glows eerily, turning her hair a sickly shade of honey. chinese handcuffs. she looks at arachne and she nearly laughs at her stupidity. this was easy, far too easy. she smirks. somewhere, her mother nods in her approval
ii. apollo; god of the sun
── i like to believe icarus didn’t lose his life- not exactly. he just lived it all at once in a single, blazing moment with the sun
ㅤㅤㅤuncaring smiles that blind you. blue eyes that are warm, far too warm, too hot to look at. egoism, because if the world revolves around you, what is the reason to be humble? hands that are strong and sure, pulling at the strings of a guitar, the string of a bow, the needle that sews your skin back together. warm skin that burn you, melting you against them, claiming you as theirs. the power of a thousand domains running through their veins. the impending sense of doom of old stories, of prophecies untold. stand close to them and you feel death. they know how to kill you, know how to make you beg to be saved.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤlee sings and everyone falls in love. even when their blood streaks out of their ears, praises so sweet leave their lips like honey, soaking him in it’s warmness. micheal pulls at his bow and the arrow hits it’s mark with an accuracy unmatched by all. he kisses the boy he loves and blood drips into his hand, a single white petal in the middle of it all. will bandages people and his eyes burn gold, gold with the knowledge of which bones are weak and which muscles to pull. control. that is what they have.
iii. ares; god of war
── you do this, you do. you take things you love and tear them apart
ㅤㅤㅤbared teeth. the first blood of war, dripping on the streets. yelling, always yelling, never really talking. love, always love, because what is war if not because of love? hands wrapped in bandages, blue, yellow, green bruises painting skin so beautifully, fingers pressing on them, relishing the pain. brown eyes that tint red in the sunlight, like the blood in your veins and the blood in theirs. they hold a thousand year old glint in their eyes, the same glint of war veterans, of battles of old. violent voices, violent hands, violent urges. lips bitten red. red nail polish bitten through and chipped. kiss them and your lips bruise, kill them and you’ll die too.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤclarisse yells as she tries to make the sea yield, yells as her brothers fight her, as blood drips down her side and out of her nose. she yells as silena falls to the ground, as her fingers dig into her hair, sticky with the blood and love she’d never shared. there’s an anger in her, a bloodlust that never seems to be satisfied, clamoring for pain, for blood, for violence. she’d followed it, once. she’d never felt more alive.
