#unbcwitched

“you...you get used to it.” the words are slow to leave pluto’s mouth, as is the ichor that oozes over his hand. juno’s warm touch quickly covers the wound that gapes from his ribs. he gasps and shudders. even for an immortal god, war is still brutal, having left gashes that streak across his chest. 

“you need rest.” juno whispers sternly. all he can think of, is how beautiful she looks amidst blood-encrusted, blonde strands.

“don’t you think it’s our duty as gods to be numb to death, anyways?” he barrels on, as if she hadn’t spoken. pluto’s eyes search juno’s, as delicate fingers help to dress fresh wounds. 

“that’s quite cynical of you to say, pluto.” perhaps if he digs deeper, he can find mild humor swimming beneath her words. 

“i think it’s how we survive this war.” pluto pauses to hiss when juno brushes over something raw. he holds back a groan, but the crystals that emerge from the earth beneath them betray the true pain he is in. even as juno steadies her hand, worry stricken in mesmerizing eyes, pluto continues. 

“there’s no time to mourn every soul. not now.” the bandages wrapped around his torso, just a few minutes fresh, have already begun to darken red-tinged gold as ichor seeps from his skin. pluto raises tired eyes, unable to hide the shimmer of longing hope that always seems to plague him in juno’s presence.

“I have to tell myself that to focus on the ones that matter to me.” and there it is - the silence that hangs between them. unspoken words remain unspoken, even as the sound of rolling bandages gives way to quietness. 

juno is the one that breaks. “war is an ugly thing.”

“but death is not. when the war is over, i will honor those lost souls for you - even the ones lost by our own hands.” he promises. i will do anything for you, he doesn’t say. these comforting words are enough to bring a smile to juno’s sun-kissed cheeks.

“cynical and hopeful. what a combination.” she chuckles, tying his bandages. 

“a combination reserved for -” he pauses, letting forbidden words die on his tongue, “ - for dire circumstances such as these.” pluto then squeezes her hand in thanks, a cracked lip turning into a half-hearted smile. he only wonders if juno is aware his thanks extends past the countless wounds that she has fixed.

emotional starters.

Her mere voice is enough to make the ichor in his veins boil, her words are like poison in his system and Apollo can’t help but feel attacked whenever she speaks to him. No matter what she says, he’s always ready to answer back with stones in his hands, even if her crown and status act like a shield to protect her from any insult he has to throw at her. Sometimes, those stones will bounce back at him, but the sun god is used to her own insults.

“Little things,” Hera speaks, looking at him with disdain, and as usual, Apollo is filled with anger. “You let little things get to you.”

He arches an eyebrow, lowering his head just a little as he looks at her, there’s disbelief in his eyes whose sparkles have turned red and orange. She speaks to him, tells him things, as if he didn’t know himself. As if he didn’t know he lets little things get to his head and mold who he is and what he does.

Is that a flaw? Maybe it’s something he’s learned with mortals after so many years he’s spent with them, either as a lover or as a servant. Whatever it is, it’s nothing compared to her own flaws — that have caused much more disgrace than his temper, like her jealousy.

“Of course I let little things get to me,” he responds with a firm tone of voice, his facial expression doesn’t change. “I may be immortal, but I am not made of steel, Hera. I still feel things, and you might not know what that’s like, but I do have emotions. I hurt, I get angry, I get sad; and yes, I do let those little things get to me.” 

He takes a few steps closer, and crosses his arms once he’s standing right before her. “I am not untouchable like you and Zeus. And it doesn’t make me any less strong than you or him. You should stop worrying about my temper, and maybe pay more attention to your own children instead? I don’t know, I think Hephaestus might be in need of your advises. Isn’t his marriage crumbling like yours?”

misc sentences. 

If Thanatos could avoid Olympus, he would at all costs. The discomfort of being there, with all the important gods and goddesses, he really wishes he could never go through that again. Ever. When Zeus calls him, the angel of Death sneaks through the rooms in the best ways to avoid bumping into other people, and the Queen is one of them.

She is one of the many subjects of his jealousy, the image of her brings him memories of the way his King looks at her, and it makes his chest burn with anger and a resentment over something the two gods have never done, but definitely have the desire to do. Or so Thanatos believes.

And for that reason, to avoid feeling that ugly sentiment whenever he lays his eyes on Hera, Death does his best to leave the palace unnoticed after his conversation with Zeus. But of course, how could someone miss the sight of his grey wings when he walks through the beautiful corridors decorated with pictures of the royal family? It’s like the painting’s eyes are an extension of Hera’s.

“Thanatos,” he hears her voice behind him, echoing beautifully despite the loudness of its tone. “Have a drink with me.”

He turns around to look at her, and the red smile on her lips bring a smile to his own lips, and he nods his head before he takes steps towards the Queen. Her smile widens as she leads him to a room in the palace, and being alone with her like that makes the feathers on Thanatos’ wings flutter, almost as if they have their own conscience and they’re trying to tell him that he’s in danger.

“I don’t really drink, my Lady.”

“Make an exception for me? We rarely ever spend time together, Than.” His eyebrow twitches just slightly, he doesn’t like how that name sounds coming from her. “Just one glass, I promise I won’t take too long.”

The angel nods once again, and with that affirmation she pours him a glass of whatever drink she chose for them. He holds the glass in his hands and stares at it for a moment, relieved when he notices it’s not the usual golden drink Hades always offers to him when they’re together. It’s easy to lose himself when he drinks that one.

“How may I help you today, your Majesty?” His voice is soft and gentle, despite the frown that forms on his forehead after he takes a sip of the drink — alcohol has never been something he enjoyed drinking, no matter how many times his King tells him he’s gonna get used to it someday.

Hera’s expression subtly turns into something more serious after his question, and she sits across of him when she herself decides to speak again.

“Well, Than,” she holds her glass tightly in her hands, and the tip of her nails make a tinkling sound against the cold surface. Thanatos can’t help but to look at them. “I’m afraid you don’t have the best of the impressions of me, because of my friendship with Hades.”

His eyes, then, divert to hers again, and he raises a questioning eyebrow at her statement. She isn’t quite wrong, but he knows he’s always been discreet about his feelings towards her and towards his King.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my Lady. I don’t see why I would have bad impressions of you, even more regarding your friendship with Lord Hades.” Death states, the tone of his voice is firm and still calm.

“I don’t like to talk about it, but I wanted you to know.” The look in her eyes confuse him when she says those words, but Thanatos remains silent and patient, waiting for what’s going to come next. 

“Whatever happened between Hades and I when we were young, it is in the past. What’s left of that is the friendship we built all these years, but it doesn’t go beyond that. Friendship.” She nods her head after saying that last word, and the deep breath she takes contrasts with Thanatos’ lack of breathing.

He simply stays quiet, and it only makes the situation more awkward for both of them.

“What I mean is,” Hera starts again, but is interrupted by him when he stands up and sets his glass on the coffee table between them.

“I understand what you mean, and there’s nothing you should be worried about.” Thanatos finally takes a deep breath. “I know you value your marriage, my Lady, and so does Lord Hades. I really have to go now, thank you for the drink.”

And after bowing his head in respect for the Queen standing right before him, Thanatos turns around and makes his way towards the same corridor where he met Hera, but he walks faster, eager to leave that place and go back home.

Despite her attempts, his chest is still filled with anger and that green fire that makes it so difficult to look at her without hating her. He wishes he could control it, but he can’t.

misc sentences.

There’s a payful grin on his lips when he walks into the palace, with a beautifully decorated envelope in his hand. His eyes wander all over the place, searching for a familiar face that he would usually avoid on normal days — but today is different, it’s a special day, and Apollo wants to make sure to make it memorable.

Hera is a busy woman, always walking around the palace and checking fi everything is in perfect state, knowing how messy her own children can be, but also trying to find anything that could have been caused by one of the bastards. But not Apollo, he hasn’t been a resident of that place for years, he’s done destroying her belongings for mere fun. He’s an adult, and has more important things to do.

Though, of course there are some days that he is reminded of the fun he had when he was just a young god, wrecking havoc in Hera’s palace with his younger brothers. Those memories bring a smile to his face, and he can’t help the quiet chuckle that escapes past his lips when he thinks of the message behind the card he got for his wicked dearest stepmother.

“... Why does this card say ‘happy third birthday‘?”

He has already turned his back to her when he hears her question, and makes sure to turn around on his heels to look her in the face again. The smile widens, and the sparkle in his eyes get brighter, eager with antecipation when he prepares to answer her question.

emotional starters.

When his eyes meet hers, the smile that has been on his lips for the most part of the night disappears and is replaced by the resentment that has been built into their relationship before Apollo was even born. The sparkle in his eyes change, and it goes from a bright yellow to a dull orange with specks of red as he looks down at the goddess. At that very moment, the music stops playing and the muses stop dancing, the attention is now on the annoyed sun god and his evil stepmother.

“What’s happening here,” the queen asks as she looks around the bedroom, crowded with people she doesn’t know — some fully clothed, others completely naked — and she makes an ugly face at some wine that has been spilled on the marble floor. Apollo, on the other hand, doesn’t take his angry eyes off of hers, penetrating her skull like sun storms penetrate the atmosphere to create beautiful colors in the sky. However, the god’s intent isn’t beautiful like the northern lights.

“It’s a party,” the sun god says with a shrug of his shoulders, arms partially open when he speaks of his little private event. “Are you so old you can’t even recognize a party anymore, Hera? It’s my bedroom, my guests, my wine, my party. You were not invited, so get the fuck out of here.”

The tone of his voice expresses his annoyance, but the frown that gradually forms on his forehead as he speaks is also a clear sign of how much he wishes he didn’t have to have that conversation with her — after all, it is her palace; but it’s not like Apollo cares much about those stupid details, and he likes to believe the palace belongs to him as much as it belongs to Hera and her children.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like me to just get out,” she says as she steps closer to the sun god, not affected by his insults and the fire in his eyes because her own reflect that same fire of anger and hatred. “But you’re not gonna have that, Apollo. I am not letting you get too comfortable here like you’re planning to.”

There is poison in her words and her voice, and the sound of Apollo’s deep breath along with the obvious motion of his jaw when his muscles tense denounce his fury, and he’s truly holding himself back not to punch her in the face. 

The guests and the muses stay there in silence, watching the scene before them with the fear that the sun god should feel when confronting the queen of Olympus like that, and they shake in their knees when she lifts her hands to point at them, still staring into the burning storm in Apollo’s eyes.

“All of you, leave now. Leave before I make you regret ever meeting this bastard.” And they obey, some guests walking out of the bedroom through the door while others, better skilled, just jump out the window. In a matter of seconds, the wife and the son of Zeus are left alone in the mess that has been created there.

“Now you,” the queen says as she lays a finger on the god’s chest. “You’re going to clean everything you’ve done here, understand? And if I hear any complaints, I’ll make you wipe the wine off this floor with your tongue.”

Apollo stays silent, and Hera shuts the door with a loud noise when she leaves. Without hesitation, the sun god lets out a loud screech as he grabs an empty bottle of wine and launches it on the door in front of him, eyes burning with tears of rage.