#morteuse

This really is a test of Zagreus' patience, something they both know he has very little of.

memes, accepting

a trash can bonfire flares and pops. raging flames paint the emaciated boy’s profile mango orange, chili pepper red. he hovels within his moth-eaten blanket. (the blue hue of it faded to pastel gray. rips in the seams, exposing cotton stuffing.)

THE DARK VEIL IS BROKEN by the child of passing souls and, in the wretched darkness so sweet ( in the twisting void of BLINDED CALAMITY ) does he emerge, all of marble-colored skin with eyes of painted nectar peering from the abyss. the child of mortality was not who he expected, and yet, he is not unwelcoming. chaos' gates part for him in morbid curiosity. he walks forth a ghost ; a murmur of a tale long lost from the lips of the living and only vaguely echoed under the breath of one prophetic bard who sits as like AN EGG in the nest of the UNDERWORLD.

his hand raises in regard, the cosmic shell of his immortal soul cracking under weary eyes. he feels himself stir at the thought of DIFFERENCE ; shifting and evolving. he is being called upon by the FATES to greet the other with a loud smile ( a thousand unspoken words spilling from the river of his being and pouring into the grand lake of destiny before him ). transitions were but one small drop to his calling, and yet, an aspect of his domain that death incarnate would be intimately familiar with. he greets the other and the dark twinkle of stars shine beneath the cracks of his skin ; he is THE CATALYST, the motion of CHANGE ( come forth, in the presence of the primordial PHANES ), and in his attendance does he usher in calamity's wake.

for a detested god such as he, one who spent his endless years of existence walking treacherous paths designed to sow anger and loathing, momus truly did not handle pain with any ounce of grace. he could not hide his wincing, nor the very tumultuous trembling of his lip as he reached for his fractured wing, trying desperately to straighten it out. when doing so only sent further jolts of white hot pain shooting up his spine, he whined and gave up on the endeavour.

turning towards his brother, momus plastered on his best impression (a mockery, really) of a pout. "you aren't doing a very good job of taking on my role, thanatos. you don't even have the inflection right."

send me  ‘ hc ‘  + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it regarding my character.

family is the most important thing in the world to hades, and this cannot be overstated. it is so upsetting to me to see interpretations where hades loathes his family, where he judges or mocks them. everything he has ever done, ever suffered, ever attempted, has been for his family. he loves them so much.

and i think this tends to fly under the radar, because hades is not openly affectionate. he does not express his love often. but his entire world was shaped first by his siblings, then by his nieces and nephews, and then again, finally, by his own children. he fought at his siblings side, bled in the mud for them, and when the time came, accepted his position in the darkness of the underworld without complaint because it was what was best for all of them. he bore that burden so they did not have to, because he loved them.

everything hades does is with his family in mind. when his children enter the picture, that does not change, only becomes so much more encompassing. losing his son was a fate worse than death, and it changed hades so fundamentally that thousands of years were not enough to fully recover.

again, his love for them is subtle if you're not paying attention. there's no grand gestures or loud declarations of admiration, but he watches. he's there, when they need him, even if they don't realize it. he keeps an eye on his loved ones to ensure they are well, and steps in where he is needed. he knows what they like and whom they love. he provides his children with the world and more.

black feathers drifted to the floor, shaken off by the violent shudder that ravaged momus' body. the feathers were dishevelled, far from the usual pristine grooming they received at his hand. he had not slept, nor eaten. he had not left the confines of his chambers, save to wander the familiar paths of the underworld, muttering to himself all the while.

it was not the first time this had happened to him. the manic way with which he conducted himself, the inability to focus on anything but the hunger. a self-inflicted cleanse, an attempt to wean himself off the taste of scorn. he would not be a slave to his own domain.

but the weeks had taken their toll. momus was a wreck, and he knew it. the look he offered thanatos was nothing short of scathing, but his eyelids fluttered as another wave of dizziness struck him and left him weak. "it's a... a side effect of... of being in your prese-"