#angcltouched

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐍 ( @angcltouched ) said, i must admit, i'm surprised.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀  cackle.  there  shouldn’t  be.  he  shouldn’t  be  so  giddy  at  the  admission  of  surprise  from  his  uncle.  rarely  has  verso  had  the  ability  to  get  anything  greater  than  a  grumble  out  of  his  extended  family  as  of  late,  however,  barring  the  occasional  quip  from  hephaestus  or  admonishment  from  ares.  he  supposes  this  is  a  natural  consequence  of  their  shared  burdens:  they  check  in  on  him,  &&  he  proceeds  to  annoy  them  for  longer  than  any  of  them  want  to  tolerate.   he  is  a  useful  thing  to  have  around.  evidently  one  that  is  still,  despite  the  technical  length  of  his  life,  more  than  capable  of  new  tricks.   his  boots  strike  the  ground  with  a  quiet  thu-thump.  the  breeze  which  had  kept  him  out  of  his  uncle’s  domain  dismisses  itself.  perhaps  against  his  better  nature,  verso  puffs  out  his  chest  &&  flashes  a  wry  smile  to  the  seaborne  king.  he  should  not  be  so  eager  to  speak  with  the  earthshaker,  but  the  company  of  others  has  been  absent  as  of  late  and,  for  a  creature  of  connection  such  as  verso,  he  cannot  help  but  jump  at  the  chance  to  talk  to  someone…  even  if  said  someone  is,  at  the  end  of  the  day,  someone  he  once  would  have  tried  -  &&  no  doubt  failed  -  to  maim. ❝  surprised by the trick, not that i'm still alive to do it, right ?? ❞  verso  tries to immediately keep a certain levity in his voice, as if this is not out of the usual. ❝  not  a  fan  of  getting  soaked  as  of  late,  so  figured  the  sea  breeze  wouldn’t  be  too  hard  to  work  with.  dunno  if  you  have  a  hand  in  that,  uncle,  but  i  appreciate  it  even  if  you  don’t,  considering…  y’know.  it’s  your  breeze,  technically.  ❞  he’s  not  sure  if  there’s  a  technicality  there  or  not.  he  doesn’t  really  care  either.   verso  shifts  his  weight  from  foot  to  foot.  as  fond  as  he  is  of  the  sea  breeze,  he  can’t  say  the  same  for  the  shoreline;  the  feeling  of  sand  moving  underfoot  makes  him  nervous.  he’s  good  at  hiding  it,  however.  always  has  been.   ❝  check-in  was  a  few  days  ago,  so…  to  what  do  i  owe  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  poseidon  ??  ❞  he  pauses,  then  sticks  out  his  tongue.  ❝ goddamnit,  that  sounded  way  too  formal.  gross.  ❞

Atlas threw Rhea to the ground before Cronus' feet, bound in magical chains. The strongest of all her sisters and even stronger than some of her brothers, subduing her took two of her brothers and Atlas. After almost ten years of spying and infiltrating Mount Othrys and the titans' camps, her presence was detected. She wouldn't quiver in fear facing her opposing brothers and nephew. She fought back to make her escape but there was power in numbers. Once she was knocked to the ground with Atlas and Iapetus holding her forcibly, Crius quickly shackled her wrists behind her back. She would be brought to Cronus no doubt; a confrontation she wasn't prepared for.

Rhea's head bowed before Cronus not as a sign of respect but to shield her face. Shame and embarrassment hit her harder than her enemies' punches at such a crucial time during the war. Cronus's army was dwindling. More allies were rallying to the children's side, and they were winning more battles over the titans. She thought she could find a weak spot during her latest infiltration, but they added more guards and lookouts. The titans grew paranoid and took action, but they were only prolonging the evitable.

𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑪𝑼𝑳𝑬𝑺 ( @angcltouched ) sent a prayer: how could you possibly think that was a good idea? ( here / accepting )

LAUGHTER, RICH IN MIRTH sails  through  the  air.  dead  vines  invigorate  themselves  ‘neath  his  bare  feet,  steps  leaving  swaths  of  fresh  greenery  as  the  sign  of  divine  grazing.  hands  clasp  themselves  behind  his  back;  he  leans  forward,  neck  craning,  eyes  blazing  green  behind  his  mask.  dionysus,  fiendish  he,  delights  in  this  particular  company  —  and  the  world,  evidently,  knows  it.  

like  a  coiled  spring,  his  posture  undoes  itself.  his  steps  become  far  more  jovial,  bouncing  in  a  wide  circle  ‘round  his  half-brother,  a  rabbit  circling  a  lion.  

❝  art  thou  upset,  brother  ??  i  thought  you  would  find  the  revelry  most  appealing  —  they  sung  your  name,  did  they  not  ??  wished  glory  upon  you, ever-more  !!  ❞  

the  prance  slows,  his  steps  grow  careful;  though  he  knows  better  than  to  assume  any  would  lunge  at  him,  the  wayward  hero  is  not  any.  once  drinking  competition  does  not  a  forever-friend  make,  nor  does  one  attempt  at  honored  revelry  a  brother  yield.  his  head  cants  to  the  side.

❝  did  i  mistake  your  wantings  ??  i  promise  thee,  their  excitement  shan’t  last, if that is indeed a point of worry;  it  will  fade  as  nightfall  does,  and  so  no  concern  is  warranted  —  and,  even  then,  ‘twas  not  the  worst  crowd  i  have rallied  unto  worship.  no  injuries  nor  bloodshed,  merely  chants  of  thy  strength  in  praise,  started  by  yours  truly  in  earnest…  ❞  

dionysus  stills.  the  mask  shifts;  head  tips  and  tips  ‘til  its  upside  down,  the  chin  upon  their  temple,  then  right-side  up  once  more.  the  grin  once  displayed  has  flattened  itself  into  a  tragic  curve.  

❝  if  my  surprise  has  wronged  thee,  do  say  as  much,  for  i  cannot discern what most dreadful  error  has  begotten  such  a  response.  ❞ 

  gratitude  bubbles  up  within  her  as  she  finishes  coaxing  the  poison  from  the  cluster  of  mushrooms  growing  from  the  fallen  tree.  with  careful  (yet  bare)  hands,  she  pools  the  poison  into  the  palm  of  her  hand,  and  gently  applies  it  to  the  heroes  weapons. 

  she  is  not  a  fighter  by  trade,  but  the  earliest  survival  lesson  she  learned  was  to  make  herself  indispensable.  people  could  not  abandon  that  which  they  needed.  so  here,  she  gives  him  an  edge  in  his  battle  prowess. 

  an  edge  that  cannot  harm  her,  specifically;  an  insurance  policy. 

  she  is  generous,  but  not  a  fool. 

  she  stands,  gesturing  to  the  blades  and  arrow  tips  drying  on  the  stone.  “  thank  you.  let  these  dry  before  you  touch  them.  no  sense  in  harming  yourself,  even  if  you  are  …  stronger  than  most.  ” 

  who  knew  that  her  hunt  for  a  specific  form  of  decay  would  lead  her  here  before  it  was  ready.  she  thought  she'd  timed  it  so  right,  too!  it  did  only  take  a  few  days  of  waiting,  though,  before  she'd  crossed  paths  with  him. 

  though  the  hero  has  said  nothing  of  his  intentions  over  the  days  they've  coexisted  together,  magissa  has  heard  enough  stories  to  know  how  this  goes.  something  on  this  island  will  be  dead  by  the  next  sundown;  she  can  only  hope  it  is  in  her  favor.

@angcltouched 's medusa <3

delicate and silent steps lead her into a marble temple where many worship a specific goddess ― athena, is what she recalls ― as her lithe frame weaves through priestesses and worshippers alike, delving deeper into the temple. she doesn't know the precise reason as to why she troubles herself traversing amongst mortals and gods in a pallid vessel. perhaps it's her curiosity that hungers for knowledge, the reason, why creation erupted all those centuries ago, causing khaos to rouse from its slumber and flee from a penetrating light and life.

once within the heart of the sacred temple, the woman don in ornate white robes and gold jewelry slows to a halt, off to the side, peering up at the mountainous statue of the goddess herself, poised with a spear in one hand and a shield with the other; as if ready for a potential battle. muted lilac-red oculi trails from the statue, quietly observing the dutiful acolytes with a vestige of disgust and ire lingering upon her mostly indifferent countenance. and yet she hasn't expected to catch the eye of other, a mortal woman who finished her prayer...

ampelias remains where she is, unique hues cutting through the half-lidded eyes. a silent inquiry curls within the sacred air of this temple: prey tell, what do you see?

@angcltouched  offered:  you  could  start  by  coming  closer.  (  from  ares.  )

hot  ferocity  and  a  desperation  to  live  blind  her  to  all  else  that  moves.   her  instincts  are  clear:  escape.   this  severity  of  life  in  the  nexus  of  death  she's  created  has  to  be  yet  another  machination  of  sisyphus,  something  else  he's  come  to  hurt  her  with.   but  she  won't  go  easy,  not  this  time. 

a  strangled  noise  escapes  her  as  she  drags  her  body,  riddled  with  necrotic  energy,  across  the  tile  floor.   she  and  the  magical  chains  spill  out  of  the  box,  her  good  hand  reaching  out  to  grab  something,  anything  she  can  defend  herself  with. 

there  is  nothing  within  grasp,  and  she  turns  onto  her  back,  fangs  bared  and  dried  ichor  crusted  over  her  lips  and  chin,  her  own  undoing  plain.   yet  as  soon  as  she  lays  eyes  on  the  person  –  no,  the  god  –  in  the  room  with  her,  the  panic  switches  from  fight  to  freeze.   in  the  face  of  such  an  unexpected  arrival,  she  has  no  idea  what  to  do  next. 

the  bloodshed  in  the  hallway  and  the  millions  of  souls  crying  out  for  her  to  release  them  from  their  mortal  shells  slashes  across  her  senses  like  hot  venom,  freshly  spit.   she  recoils,  a  rusty  whimper  escaping  that  turns  into  a  cry  of  pain  as  she  puts  her  hands  to  the  floor,  trying  to  push  herself  to  a  seated  position.   she  looks  down  at  her  right  hand,  and  could  retch  at  the  sight  –  a  mangled  mess  of  blackened  skin  and  veins,  withering  flesh  and  gold  ichor  continuously  dripping. 

necrosis  -  death  of  the  flesh.   her  own  purpose,  come  to  roost  within  her. 

she  looks  up,  questions  bubbling  to  her  lips.   what  she  manages  is  a  hoarse,  “what  do  you  want  from  me?” 

his  response,  beckoning  her  closer,  takes  her  by  surprise.   yet  she  is  acutely  aware  she  has  no  other  options.   zeus  entrusted  this  task  to  her,  and  she  failed.   that  any  of  his  children  could  show  their  face  to  support  her  speaks  of  traps  she  doesn't  have  the  energy  to  avoid. 

like  a  lamb  to  slaughter,  she  will  follow  ares;  a  judas  goat,  perhaps  of  the  king's  own  making. 

thanatos  trembles  against  the  tile  floor,  but  does  manage  to  reach  up  to  grab  the  sheet  from  the  bed.   she  is  cold,  malnourished,  bruised,  and  bare;  the  sheet  was  the  only  solution  she  has.   another  wave  of  pain  comes  through  her,  millions  of  voices  begging  for  her.   lightheaded,  she  claws  her  way  to  her  feet  with  her  good  arm,  trapping  the  sheet  against  her  form  with  her  dead  limb.   thanatos  takes  a  stumbling  step  towards  him,  but  the  chains  still  have  her  wings  pinned  to  her  body,  leaving  her  off  balance. 

Macaria crossed her arms against her chest and sat down defeated. The issue of her lack of a domain bothered her for some time now and she kept her agitation to herself. She couldn't be gifted a domain freely or request for one. A domain was bestowed to the god or goddess it paired well with, represented and embodied it. Even as the eldest child, she remained without a domain while her younger sister found hers with ghosts. How was that fair? She was the eldest! Even as a princess, she acted the part better than her reserved and withdrawn sister.

"Melinoe has her domain and I have nothing. I'm older than her and I do so much more than her. How can she find her purpose before me when all I do is try?" Macaria finally admitted aloud. The disdain of jealousy but more so the anger and frustration with herself apparent in her tone. She didn't want to complain or seem ungrateful, but she had so much to offer beyond just being a princess of the Underworld. She was a goddess and therefore deserved the right to a domain. Her parents couldn't gift her one but perhaps they could guide her toward one. Something that suited her perfectly.

"would it be so unbearable for you?" done was hera with explosive rage. she had no energy left for screaming, for crying, for throwing things at her husband's feet until they shattered. all that was left now was her anger, cold and distant and so lonely. her expression was bare as the marble statues bearing her likeness. her tone was ice, betraying nothing. there was no heat left in her glare, frigid as winter's wind.

"would it kill you?" she asked again, teeth grazing the inside of her cheek. she would not cry for him now. "is it so terrible for you to imagine a world where i am enough for you? does it torment you to stay by my side? is it so painful to be with me that you are given no choice but to seek solace in the arms of someone else?"