ATHENA

ofdirtytees

‘you’re wearing my shirt.’ and my bra. and my pants.        ‘and, going off the trend, my panties too.’ 

‘ Call it a miracle,    you’ll never catch me in underwire.   This is a one time event, lady. 

  This shirt, on the other hand. ’

there was a fatal pause between notes that left him slowly reeling back. his brow beginning to lower over his squinting eyes. staring absently at empty forms with something ticking away. ding !

  lifting his gaze, the corners of his mouth stooped while the   rest of his features stayed still. unemotional. not bothered by his mistake, which now was beginning to rub against her.                          insulting her with his indifference.  ❛ you’re not. ❜  it reared as a question, but fell flat into the air. perhaps their former                    discussion would be soiled by argumentative banter.

A flicker of superiority, then. Common symptom of someone  afflicted with a huge ego. It’s the lift of a brow, the engine kick of her smirk, the slow tilt of a nod as if directed to an infant. 

               ‘ Don’t have the diploma, ’                                                or, rather, diplomas,                                                                  ‘ for nothin’. ‘ 

She rubs the back of her neck, the facade of humility. She’ll be humble when she’s dead, likely. 

               ‘ ‘Course, that doesn’t matter much to someone like you, huh?                    How far is your faith in fate? Far enough to discredit medicine? ’

He grunts a vague affirmation, what can he say? Yeah, reading isn’t big on his list of priorities. the last time he had even stepped inside a library was probably to use their bathroom. 

“Well, I picked some stuff up, you know. Newspapers.” to use as a blanket when it’s cold

He lets his arm swing around her shoulders, bringing her into his reach before swiftly and mercilessly grinding his knuckles into her hair. 

“Lets see how smart you are once I kill some of this brain cells, huh?”

The last thing running through her head before her scalp is sieged–– 

                                           I was joking, you lumbering fuckwit

And yet, leave it to Ares to achieve new literacy lows. Especially in an era where material is so accessible. She oftentimes marvels at this, is in awe of the amount of information and– even better– ideas that are circulated these days. Homer would have a field day. 

Though, kicking her brother’s shins and attempting to pry herself out of his grip takes precedence over inner monologue–– unfortunately.  Though, she manages to grunt into his heinously scented armpit,

‘ Been studying up on cell type, yeah? ’                                            A good knee into him,                                                                 ‘ IMPRESSIVE. ’

ofdirtytees LIKED FOR A STARTER

‘ You’re looking rather sour. ‘

‘ You’ve ever seen someone drinking a   bloody mary who wasn’t? ’

When her father taught her how to play this game,  there was no monarchy amongst stones. Each piece was flat, worn smooth from overuse. Each a simple man  on the battlefield, each capture of equal paramount. 

There were no kings in Petteia. Hemming the opponent into a straightjacket, immobile to advancement (other than the cry of surrender) was the aim. 

Chess, on the other hand, is–– well. It’s a bit convoluted, isn’t it? 

Zeus: Don't fight Zeus. You'll only end up sleeping with him. On second thought, do fight Zeus.

Hera: Look, I'm not saying anyone is really going to try to stop you, but I am saying she is petty as shit and will dedicate the rest of your life to destroying you in other ways. Your call.

Poseidon: You could probably fight Poseidon. Dude is built like a brick shithouse but he'd think it was a good time and buy you a beer afterwards.

Demeter: Are you fucking kidding? She created a new season the last time someone really pissed her off. Do not fucking fight Demeter.

Hades: Fight Hades, but only in spring, and then ask to see pictures of his dog.

Hestia: Are you Satan

Aphrodite: Arguably the lowest reward to risk ratio on this list. What is even the point here. Might as well save us all some time and punch yourself in the groin.

Athena: If you must, a sneak attack is required, and even then you’re still probably boned. Alternately, distract her first with statements such as "Mozart is an overrated hack" and "Garfield is not funny."

Hephaestus: You could beat Hephaestus. You could not beat Hephaestus' robot army. Do not fight Hephaestus.

Ares: Absolutely fight Ares. This is a no-brainer. Literally everyone wants you to kick Ares' ass including Ares. You might feel bad when he starts crying but only if you are weak.

Artemis: Do not fight Artemis. Do not talk to Artemis. Do not look at Artemis. Do not think about Artemis.

Apollo: What did I just fucking say

Hermes: You could beat him if you could catch him, but you can't, and even if you did, he would convince you to talk it out instead, buy you a drink, and be gone before you noticed your wallet was missing. Avoid.

Dionysus: Dionysus is an easy fight until he decides not to be. You could fight Dionysus but under no circumstances force him to give a shit.

Persephone: Don't fight Persephone. She will beat you up. Her mom will beat you up. Her husband will probably also be unpleasant and disapproving in some way. Listen to trash pop with Persephone instead.

Hebe: Idk man, she bites.

Iris: Yo have you ever tried to punch a rainbow?

‘ No, no. GTL is Gym, Tattoo, Library. Why else do you think I adhere so vehemently to the phrase? ‘ 

❛ in your professional opinion. i begin to wonder if abandoning the race to be an “ideal person” is more psychologically sound than a constant grappling towards someone you think you are supposed to be. when in reality, you will always be who you have always been, and there’s little to do to change besides what out- side forces dictate you to be. sometimes it’s better to let the chips fall where they may. that sounds more like fatalism to me.  ❜

Well. She lets all that sink in, absorb through her ears and into her bloodstream–– hopefully somehow it’ll end up in her head.  He speaks in circles, turning words ‘round carousels and sticks of candy floss. Whatever’s going on in his own skull must be some fatalist carnival. 

But what really sticks at her, pokes her in the brain repeatedly:  

she doesn’t mind it the touch

      there’s something graceful about that pressure       like she can feel the bones pop

             but not the pain              just the move

             the tingle in her toes.

‘would you?’

            and she puts on a tone like a girl asking for roses             and chocolates and beautiful things. 

                   ‘would you really?’

A grin fights it’s way onto her face. It’s tooth and nail since she doesn’t want to laugh at this. Doesn’t want to betray the deadpan rapport happening right now.

So she grapples it, lets it diffuse into a little smirk––

            ‘ Only if you ask nicely. ’

–– and lets her cool palm press there. Lets fingers flirt with hairline.