GUIDELINES.

001.   just be normal! usual etiquette applies. don't rush me, don't poke & prod, try to keep unhelpful godmodding to a minimum, etc. i don't really care for drama + callouts. if i deem somebody gross, i'll likely just block and move on. however, some things do call for awareness and those will be reblogged — very rare, i curate my space for my comfort.

002.   interaction is welcome so long as we're mutuals ( i follow you, you follow me). inbox prompts are always open & unprompted starters / asks are totally fine! these are usually the best way to start interactions with me & you're always welcome to continue them into threads! replies to threads are usually slower than to other forms of interaction but just be patient, they'll come!

003.   i'm a bit of a rambler and that carries into my replies which means they tend to get long ( 2-3 paragraphs minimum). with that being said: i never expect my partner to match length or format. write whatever you're happy with, i'll never take it as a slight. i use small + large text with some colored text. if you need anything at all changed for readability let me know!

004.   i   do   practice   mains/exclusives/affiliates.   mains   are   people   that'll   likely   get   priority   in   reply   speed,   exclusives   are   the   only   version   of   that   muse   i'll   interact   with,   and   affiliates (*indicating affiliates )  are   muses   that   are   heavily   tied   into   my   portrayals and   if   said   muse   comes   up   in   a   separate   thread,   it   is   referring   to   that   specific   variant   of   them.  

005.   love   plotting   but   wouldn't   call   it   a   must   for   us   to   begin   interacting!      however,   i   think   that   plots   do   make   for   more   interesting   dynamics   and   i'll   usually   approach   people   eventually   to   chat   about   muses   in   more   depth.  

006.    this   blog   will   deal   with   themes   already   present   in   greek mythos + hades 2!   anything   triggering   will   be   tagged   appropriately   using   the   format   'trigger   cw   /'.   if   there's   something   specific   you   need   tagged   just   drop   a   message   in   &   i'll   account   for   it! 

007. sporadic activity means sporadic activity; i have a full-time job + family obligations. sometimes i have muse and sometimes i don't. there may be days, weeks, months of inactivity but rest assured i will be back at some point. if that's not your vibe you're welcome to softblock 👍

all   production   halts   when   princess   enters   her   humble   abode,   that   is   a   given,   but   this   time   it   was   all   a   bit   unnatural;   arachne   remained   within   the   swathes   and   brilliant   hues   of   her   fineries.   stuck   beneath   them,   she   supposes   would   be   more   apt.   it   seems   as   though   another   cruel   joke   by   the   gods,   embarrassing   her   in   front   of   her   only   friend   thusly   so.   friend   who   had   released   her   from   their   confines   to   be   met   with   bashful   thanks.   they   are   not   all   bad,   no,   but   still,   her   dear   friend   here   puts   them   all   to   shame,   to   which   arachne   lets   out,   ❝   you   know,   i   can   see   why   they're   all   just   waiting   on   you   to   save   them,   impotent   suckers,    ahaha…   ❞   something   says   she   doesn't   pity   them   so   much   as   her   words   try   to   let   on.   ❝   you   are   just   such   the   hero,   aren't   you.   saving   those   gods,   your   family   —   why   little   old   me,   even!   ❞   

her   laugh   is   an   echoing   thing,   less   muffled   now   that   she   has   righted   herself   entirely   after   her   liberation from   gifts   in   progress.  ❝   and   to   think,   all   that   care   you   have   for   the   gods,   you   have   for   me   as   well.   isn't   that   queer...   care,   for   a   spider?   ha…   ❞   and   she   trails   because   she's   uncertain   why,   has   always   been.   the   most   care   she's   ever   seen   for   an   arachnid   is   in   ways   to   get   them   gone.   but   no,   no,   not   her.   joy   swells   in   the   space   within   her   abdomen,   where   her   heart   now   resides.   it   grows   and   grows   as   close   friend   asserts   herself.   

scuttling   ever   nearer   towards   the   edge   of   a   thing   showing   the   beginnings   of   greens,   and   silvers,   and   beginnings   of   orange,   ❝   i   will   say,   you   are   a   strange   one,   friend;   one   whose   company   i   do   so   look   forward   to   —    and   miss   while   you   are   gone.   the   care   is   mutual,   of   course,   always.   ❞   she   can't   help   the   venom   which   rises   so   naturally around her kind  flowing   over   and   dripping   from   fang,   revealing   itself   out   the   cavity   of   her   mouth,   ❝   and   i   worry   that   your   visits   have   become   so   infrequent —   is   that   their doing, i wonder ... ?   ❞

it   is   his   normal   haunt,   so   icarus   supposes   her   finding   him   should   not   jumpstart   his   nerves   so.   from   his   —   now   theirs   he   supposes   —   perch   up   so   high   as   wingless   shade   can   get   in   the   crossroads,   he   still   feels   their   eyes   on   him.   on   a   stiff   breeze,   he   thinks   he   hears   their   voices   carried,   reaching   him   even   now.   but   they   are   nothing   to   the   way   thing   once   tempting   now   sounds   …   incorrect.   there   is   no   correct   answer,   is   there?   he   doesn't   want   to   talk   about   it.   if   she   wants   her   fill,   she   merely   need   walk   amongst   her   peers   and   teachers.   but   he   does   want   her   company.   truly.   were   there   anything   in   his   chest   still,   it   would   be   trying   to   claw   it's   way   out   to   be   near   to   hers.   hells,   feels   like   it   is.   perhaps   another   thing   he   gained   in   her   loss.   he   doesn't   know   what   to   choose,   but   knows   that   she   is   no   longer   an   option.   that's   …   for   the   best.   for   her.   he   swallows   thickly   and   it   stings   going   down,   reminds   him   of   saltwater   in   the   throat,   and   all   he   can   do   is   sputter,   ❝   erm.   meli—melinoë.   ❞

golden   eyes   close,   blind   him   to   the   landscape   beneath   though   he   realizes   more   and   more   often   lately   that   he   hasn't   been   seeing   from   the   start   —   or   the   end,   he   supposes   may   be   more   apt.   a   shade   and   a   goddess   …   his   tales   are   destined   to   end   like   this.   but   he   would   not   curse   the   sun   for   its   part,   nor   hers.   there   is   a   correct   answer.   icarus   knows   it.   she   doesn't   need   to.   he   wouldn't   have   her   shoulder   it   on   top   of   everything   else.   so   he's   hardly   audible   when   he   continues,   eyes   opening   as   fingers   play   at   a   blade   of   grass,    ❝   i   think   it   may   be   best   if   —   ❞   he   leaves.   ❝   you   head   back.   they'll   be   missing   you,   won't   they?   ❞ but he just can't stomach sending her away without leaving room for hope / greed that she'll choose to stay despite what's been done, in spite of what he has already decided.

“ Heyyyyy birdbrains. I'm gonna steal Princess Perfect. Got plans, y'know? Want her when I'm done? Actually, nah. Don't answer! You won't! ”

the   beating   of   wings   are   halted   as   all   efforts   find   his   brows,   which   furrow   deeply   though   still   don't   show   through   salted   strands.   he lets her finish, and decides that ‘lest   he   forget   his manners to   the   phantom twinges   of   discomfort   ’neath   his   breast,   ❝   eris.   always   a   pleasure,   ❞   though   something   in   his   tone,   which   toes   between   tight-lipped   courtesies   and   a   quiet   sarcasm,   says   this   is   less   pleasure   and   more   pleasantry.   it   doesn't   last   long.   he   doesn't   like   any   of   what   leaves   her   mouth.   there's   honor   to   be   defended,   of   that   icarus   is   certain   because   it   burns   and   twists   in   the   cavity   where   a   heart   used   to   soar   —   no,   no   plans.   no,   he   doesn't  ...  want   her.   eris speaks as   though   she's   little   more   than   something   to   be   won.   

perhaps   this   is   what   draws   the   scoff   from   him though  it   doesn't   lead   into   any more of his personal offense taken on the matter.   woman   spoken   of   is   more   than   capable   of   setting   the   record   straight   herself,   it   isn't   his   place   to   do   so.   he   focuses   instead   on   what   he   is   in   control   of,   irritation   seeping   in   partly   driven   by   the   reminder   of   things   he   has   chosen   to   separate   himself   from   in   pursuit   of   self-fulfilling ambitions,   ❝   though   i   cannot   say   i'm   entirely   certain   who   you're  calling   birdbrains?   i   believe   you   to   be   more   bird   than   i   —   yours   are   organic,   mine   manufactured. were it a competition ...   ❞

@nymfernal / kindness.

but he does, doesn't he? owes her that much, and if it's not for what he owes, then it's for what he hopes: to see her happy, whole. truthfully, icarus feels as though he is right on track. the end of the path so clear to him, worth walking on no matter the effort. goddess at rest, smiling with her family. does like her smile. he wouldn't be able to see it from a bird's-eye view, would he? shame, thinks it would be beautiful. but to be allowed to see it at all, even grounded — anything. a hand pushes through seasalted hair, falls back in place with a shake of his head. the smile he gives her polite, ❛ hardly out of my way, meli! swear it. ❜ always that practiced distance. what's a shade to a god? it'll be the norm when she wins. right now he encompasses something more, plays at landing on her level. it's temporary. best not to get comfortable with it.

always in excess for the gods though, icarus, mortals. never any good at heeding warnings to stay away, always seems to make a habit of failing when it comes to melinoë. urged to her attention is an extra gift. a metal covering far too small for her, adorned in markings of silver sisters. he's nervous because with it comes admission, acknowledgement that he looks on from where she cannot always see. to look down upon divinity, even with warmth — he clears his throat. ❛ for frinos. ❜ perhaps his heat doesn't reach her no matter what, perhaps sun-stained shades attempts do not breach the night at all. she'll find her success under shroud of darkness, beneath expectant gods, and when she does, he'll step in their line. stop standing out so offensively. for now, though. ❛ i've seen what you both go through when you're out and about — ❜ and i know he's important to you, used to be there to see it firsthand. ❛ thought this might help give you some peace of mind. ❜

@nymfernal / kindness.

lost things tend to find their way into her webs. she could not tell which instinct of her's it is that has her drawing them into a cocoon, silken & shining in the moonlight; arachne does not know if it was one that came with being a spider, or one that, when mortal, would have fit that of a homemaker, walls made to be protective of all within. never got to find out, did she? but that's okay — she can be the spider. scurry about, choose what stays entangled to rot within. this definitely could not ; it is multi-colored, an accessory usually 'round thigh. lost, spider had seen from perch up high, in a scuffle . perhaps selfishly she hadn't called out : silly thing is always in such a rush, likely would not have had time for her anyway. instead of placing it within sticky webs, it is brought back to home chosen.

lost things usually have people searching for them. it doesn't happen the night following, or the one after, or after that. it takes time for melinoë to show back up. in it, she picks her finest silks, the most vibrant of them all. the best for her most loyal costumer — friend? she's not so certain . . . if not here, just where were the nights taking her? arachne knows, & it had played on her heart, tugged in time with the strands of silk being woven together. it is dark inside the cocoon, drawn over her own eyes so she does not look too harshly upon the other when finally, she appears. arachne presents it to her. her smile is shining, just like the webs.

@untoldwithin / kindness.

THE TREES do not ignite the same thrill in icarus as the open sea : they refuse him a sense of real height, make taking off & landing a great deal more difficult than he'd like. and the trees, he often finds house things which would be fully hidden by ocean's depths. never lived to meet what really lives down there, but knows these by name. distantly, he'd heard one. not overly familiar in either life or death, but enough that he turns back, golden eyes peering through breaks in trees. they're sharper now, in the night. no sun to blind him. but those damned trees ( confining ) . . . when he arrives above sounds of combat, he's dropping explosions blind, erring on side of caution. though he's a feeling his inventions wouldn't leave a scratch on a goddess of her level ; the olympian sort.

familiar with the fwiping of arrows, aware of the stories in life & by chance acquainted in death. clearing a path : same goal, in the end. hardly matters if it should fall into his hands. it's the right thing to do. upon landing, shaking brown from his eyes, there is a careful distance. does artemis hunt birds? those that would fly too high, too close to their home? icarus is not an invasive species, hopes she can see that. he's not helped to garner favor & selfishly ensure his own safety — rather, an old friend's. ❛ i meant no offense, ❜ and he tries a laugh to get around her guard, light, ❛ you're more primed to hunt than i am, that i acknowledge. but what helps the individual helps the pack, don't you think? ❜ or something like that? he's not quite sure how to speak to a god. does he sound like he's lecturing? gods, he hopes not.