#ANSWERED // DARKENEDSNARE

[theonterata-moved-blog]

@ persephone. how much do you love your husband. would you stay with him the entire year if you could?

I honestly don’t remember if this is a meme I reblogged but I’m living (accepting???) || @darkenedsnare

               “ I love my husband more than words can say. Granted, we didn’t get off on the best foot when he tore open the earth and drug me into the Underworld without so much as a hello, good morning, but ... things were different in the Underworld. He did not woo me the way the others had. I felt no fear whilst with him. I respected him for that. And I came to love him so greatly that I willingly ate six seeds from the pomegranates. If my mother had never unleashed her fury on the world, I would be with him now. Playing with Cerberus, making Charon a crown of flowers, and dancing with the children in Asphodel. I would not be here, above the surface, alone, and with nothing but my mother’s expectations and deluded conception of me. ”

[greatwrath]

“i’ve never been good at emotional stuff. except anger. anger, i’m good at.”

* ∘ ∙ — soft sentence starters (pt 8)

“Almost too good, it seems,” Azrael answers.

She herself is good at anger. In fact, she is great, a professional, a veteran curmudgeon with a tendency to fly off the handle at a moments notice. And that prominent trait has earned her quite the reputation amongst angels, demons and humans. So much so that Azrael’s rage has long since been the subject of myths, legends and rumours, most of which are entirely true. There was a time when Azrael felt empowered by their fear, but now it only isolates her to the point of madness. 

Yes, Azrael understands anger, and she sees it plain as day in him.

[theonterata-moved-blog]

THANATOS WANTS A KISS @ ARES

FIRST FIVE ASKS GET A KISS, 2/5 (no longer accepting) || @darkenedsnare​

                 Ares does not understand why this has happened to him. Why it has happened to him. All of these ragged feelings course through him like a fiery inferno, enveloping him in this embrace that burns away at his senses, yet ultimately leave him feeling … alive. It is the type of elation he feels on the battlefield, with a weapon in hand and guiding his chariot through the bloodshed of war. The freedom, the outcries, the pleas for mercy - all of it yield unto him this incredible fiery feeling and release. Yet what he feels now is different. It is engulfing, yes, but it is also … confusing. He does not understand it. And Ares fears what he does no understand.

                   There is one thing he knows for certain. The context of his confusion, the person in question, is none other than the god of death Thanatos.

                    Ever since their first meeting on Olympus, the two had begun a secret and scandalous affair with one another. It had been simple, really. They would share the pleasure of the flesh in the shadows, then depart from one another. That was all it was supposed to be. It was fun. It was a little hour or two of pleasure. But the hours began to expand on top of each other. Ares lingered after it was done. He HESITATED to put his armor back on when he had to go.

                     By all the gods, what was happening to him ? What is happening to him ?

                     He no longer covets Aphrodite like he used to. He no longer visits the mortals for fun affairs in the late nights. He …

                     Why does he no longer covet his former lovers ? Why is it when Ares returns from a raging war, the first thought that comes to mind is Thanatos ? The thought isn’t even specific ! All he sees is his sharply defined face and those beautiful, dark eyes ! How is it that a god’s mind can be so easily consumed by such thoughts ?

                        Am I going mad ? Ares wonders.

                        He has little time to contemplate upon this more before he spots Thanatos strolling across Olympus’ soil. Having just come from a meeting himself, Ares had been preparing to depart to the nearest battlefield to clear his head, but seeing Thanatos has changed his direction. With such force, Ares marches towards the god of death, his stride long and powerful. When Ares reaches Thanatos, he grabs him by the arm and drags him to the nearest darkest corner, ramming him to the wall with such force, yet, all the same, such passion.

                         “ Why are you all I think about ? ” Ares inquires, his breathing becoming shallow. He feels his heartbeat accelerate. “ You’re all I see. When I step out from the battlefield, I imagine you with relief, as I’ve been gifted with the chance knowing I will see you again. That I’ve gifted you souls like a couple gifts roses. ”

                           His hands grip the front of Thanatos’ tunic.

                      “ You’ve ensnared me. ”

                          With those words, Ares’ grip tightens, and he pulls himself closer to Thanatos until their lips touch. Thanatos’ lips taste like death, though it is a taste that Ares has long since been accustomed to, since the beginning of his birth - when a sword was first placed in his hand. Thanatos’ lips are cold, but Ares’ are as hot as fire. With the contrast, the world Ares knows suddenly collapses away, leaving nothing but himself and Thanatos in its wake. They are alone together in this darkness, surrounded by only passions untold.

                           Ares removes his hands from Thanatos’ shirt to cup his face, holding it firmly as their lips mold and move against each other, made for one another. Ares cannot explain how natural this feels, how real it is. But it is. He sees stars, and the stars are not for him, but for Thanatos.

                          The passions engulf Ares whole, until he has the willpower to pull away. He stumbles backwards, breathing deeply. Olympus returns. The stars fade. But Thanatos and his beautiful eyes are still there, and Ares can only wonder if this is what madness looks and tastes like. But it is then that Ares realizes that this is not madness, at least not in the madness of Eris or Hercules. This is the madness of a passion far greater than any he has ever known before.

                            It terrifies him.

[theonterata-moved-blog]

“I’m just saying, Hercules was a dumbass.” @ persephone

supernatural character starters (accepting) || @darkenedsnare

                 Brow rising in amusement, hands pausing in petting Cerberus, Persephone cannot help but find herself chuckling over the brazen and downright straightforward qualities of Hades spoken words and his manner in which he says them. Furthermore, to hear him use such profanity in such a casual manner makes her realize that there is, indeed, a softer side to the god of Underworld she had not otherwise seen before. It is pleasant, even charming in its own way. The god of the Underworld is far from charming. He is a monster, she recalls Demeter whispering to her late in the hours of the night, when she was still so young; so small, so naive to the world. He is a cruel and malicious god. But do not worry, my sweet flower. I will protect you from monsters like him. Does Demeter recollect her words often ? Does she see the irony in them now ?

                    With this thought in tow, Persephone turns her back on Cerberus, who is whimpering at the loss of scratches, and smiles at the King of the Underworld. The three headed dog bumps his heads against her back, though she keeps her eyes onto Hades; studying him intently. It has been over a month since she has been brought here, and with each day that goes by, her fondness for Hades grows. Her affections are enough to bright even the darkest chasms of the Underworld, as far as she is concerned, for a soft glow seems to present itself around her godly figure when he is near. Or, perhaps, it is her imagination. Or a mere blush, she thinks.

                   “ Name one hero who was not, as you said, a dumbass, ” she challenges, knowing very well that he will be unable to do so. Heroes are, indeed, fools one way or another. Some venture off for victory, others for love, and others for vengeance. Their longings are so often met by the shrill and painful qualities of death - aside from Perseus, who, she dare to say, has the happiest of endings any hero may obtain. Hercules does not fall into this category. Is Hades one to be a hero ? He has fought for love, in his own way. Does this make him a hero ? Does this make their story a sad one ? “ To Hercules’ credit, Hera did drive him mad, moon of my life. ”

                     Cerberus bumps her again. This time, she acquiesces and turns to pet his snouts. No, she prays. Not a sad ending. Inevitably it may very well be, but for now, she is all too pleased with the happiness that comes at the start of things. In order to solidify this within her own head, to give her a sense of ease, she adds in an amused tone, “ He was more brute than intellectual, wasn’t he ? ”

[theonterata-moved-blog]

💛 + all your portrayals are on point

The Positivity Meme (always accepting) || @darkenedsnare

💛 - You’re a dear friend to me. 

🎯 - Your portrayal is on point!

                 You are literally the best human being, Marnie, I love you so much. Platonic love of my life. One of my best friends. Fellow lover of basset hounds. I bask in your glory !

[theonterata-moved-blog]

♕ always ! Platonic loml

Send ‘ ♕’ if you claim the mun (always accepting) || @darkenedsnare

                 I hath been claimed ! Platonic loml for life !

[theonterata-moved-blog]

“ bedrest? no way, there’s too much to do ” @ aarea from artemis in MODERN

pregnancy meme (accepting) || @darkenedsnare

              “ Missy, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m stubborn as hell and a Mortem. That together equates to mules looking reasonable, ” Aarea says, as she pulls another quilt over Artemis. Artemis’ belly is bulging so hugely that the bed looks as though it has a mighty mountain, which is a surface that Aarea playfully runs her fingers over. “ Besides, the babies are die any day now, so you need to lie down and rest before, you know, they pop out of you like little rocket astronauts. ”

                 According to the doctor, the triplets are due at the end of this month, and given the fact that triplets tend to come early, Aarea has been a bit of a clustered mess when it came to coddling  Artemis and planning things. Her car is stock full of their overnight supplies for when they have to go to the hospital. She has an emergency kit in the backseat, at the off chance there’s heavy traffic and Aarea has to get creative - which she prays does not happen. There is food, supplies, everything one can hope for in a pre-planning set of parents. ( But, in truth, Aarea is a bit over the top. )

               “ I promise, after you have the babies, I’ll make you do all sorts of stuff with me. I’ll make you build Ikea furniture, ” Aarea says, going to the side table to fetch Artemis her glass of water. “ You just need to rest and lie down a little while longer, okay ? Soon, you can go back to hiking, hunting, biking, and all that outdoor stuff that makes you so badass. You’ll just have to wear those baby holders on your chest and back. Sound good, Missy ? ”

[theonterata-moved-blog]

“for you i’d bleed myself dry” thanatos @ ares

* ∘ ∙ — soft sentence starters (accepting) || @darkenedsnare

                 His face is coated in the crimson blood of mortals, his own ichor dripping from what few marks he received during the battle against the Spartans. He is the picturesque vision of a perfect soldier; clad in glorious armor, coated in the blood of his enemies, and valor and victory crowned upon him like an emperor’s laurel. But it is not these particular things that stand out from his features. No. The sharpest feature he carries is the way his eyes flicker to life when Thanatos is there, speaking to him, being affectionate ... it grounds Ares in a reality he has never known before.

                  Even despite the way his hands are calloused and torn from battle, Ares reaches out and tenderly holds Thanatos’ jaw in his hand, thumb brushing over his sharp cheekbone. Eyes that are usually dark like coal become softer, melting into something that is reserved only for Thanatos. No other may see this side of the god of war. Ares leans down and presses a kiss to Thanatos’ forehead. “ I would never ask you to bleed for me, ” he murmurs. “ If anyone is to bleed for you, it is I. I would cut down armies for you, Thanatos. I would drain myself dry if it meant keeping you safe. I would lay down my sword if you willed it. ”

[theonterata-moved-blog]

GIVE HADES A KISS @ PERSEPHONE

FIRST FIVE ASKS GET A KISS, 3/5 (no longer accepting) || @darkenedsnare

                Persephone once thought she knew the taste of heartbreak all too well. It had been a bitter flavor upon her tongue every dawn of spring, when she’d leave the comforts of the Underworld to return to the surface world. She thought she knew grief in having to look into Hades’ grey eyes, to bid goodbye. To gaze upon her home and know it would be months until she could return. Isn’t it heartbreaking to be a prisoner ? To be condemned to wear flowing clothes that dance with her every movement, to wear a flower crown that feels more like chains ? Is this not heartbreak ? Once Persephone would have dubbed it so … that was her heartbreak. No. That was not heartbreak. Not even close.

                 True heartbreak was holding the body of her daughter in her arms, seeing those lifeless orbs staring up at her. Melione. Sweet, gentle Melione whose heart was as golden as the sun, whose innocence was just as bright. She was so untouched by the world. She was too pure, too young … and Demeter knew that. Even now, Persephone can still see the vine curled around Melione’s neck. Her daughter. Her daughter is a goddess of spirits now, in training beneath Charon … she will be a great goddess, though Persephone can no longer hold her, can no longer braid her hair, or dance with her.

                    Persephone can only feel a numb, burning cold as she sits beneath an old willow tree by the lake she and Hades had shared together; a place that had become her sanctuary, a place of fondness and memories. She comes here now for comfort. She cannot bear to be in that cottage. And it is spring, so she cannot return home.

                     She can only curl her knees tighter to her chest, her eyes briefly flickering away from the lake when she senses the presence of her husband. He approaches from the shadows, as per usual. She glances upward at him as he takes a seat beside her. His eyes are equally as sad as her own, though Persephone wonders if he feels the same guilt she does, if he feels resentment towards her for having not been there. She dare not ask. 

                 “ It is too quiet, ” Persephone says after a moment of silence between them. She hates the quiet. She craves the sounds of Melione’s small snores after she’s wriggled herself between Hades and Persephone late in the evenings. Of Cerberus thudding through the Underworld. Of Charon’s complaints.

                       She turns to regard Hades. His eyes are so sharp in the darkness. They fill her with utter sadness.

                        With a soft sigh, Persephone leans upward and presses a slow and gentle kiss to his lips, her hand cradling his jaw. His skin is cold, colder than usual. Her own skin is warm, though it is not the pleasant warmth she is usually engulfed with; it is feral and unrelenting and almost leaves her feeling burned. Ice and fire come together. It is not a long lasting kiss, but rather short; a sign of affection, a reminder of her love. She is grounding herself to something real. Her lips are dry and cracked and taste of tears. When she pulls away, she lays her head upon his shoulder, and closes her eyes. Thinking of better days.

                         This is true heartbreak. A mother’s loss, Persephone decides. She has tasted true pain. And she wonders if he could taste it in her kiss.

[theonterata-moved-blog]

‘ could you stay with me – just until i fall asleep? ’ @ Ares from Thanatos

* sleep starters (accepting) || @darkenedsnare

                It is a strange thing to be asked, for so few - if any - have ever asked Ares to stay. After all, who in their right mind would want the god of war - whose stench of blood and war never fully left his person - to stay with them in the comforts of their own bed ? He’s long since come to accept this, perhaps even become numb to it, but it is Thanatos’ statement that draws a rare and momentary pause from Ares. He wants me to stay, he thinks. Puzzlement is in his dark, flashing eyes. He wants me to stay. Ares swallows. It is strange, indeed, to consider, but all the same, Ares sets aside his weapons and coat.

                  Wasting no other time, Ares climbs into bed alongside Thanatos, the comforts of the mattress foreign and strange, but stranger still is the warm, tingling feeling in his stomach he gains when Thanatos curls into him. It is … comforting. But how can a god of war know comfort ? It seems so far from his grasp, and yet, here it is. 

                    What has Ares done to deserve this ?

                     His arms curl around Thanatos, bringing him to his chest. Calloused and scarred hands gently stroke his hair and back. His lips rest against Thanatos’ forehead to kiss it. The act of affection itself is not so strange, but the sincerity behind it is. This is not just a kiss in the midst of one of Ares’ former dalliances, this is a genuine act of tender devotion. His way of soothing Thanatos. ( How can a god of death soothe ? How can Thanatos find comfort in him ? )

                       “ I’ll stay however long you need me to, ”  Ares says, once they are both enveloped in a tightly knit embrace, their warmth molding into each other. It is intimate in its own way, he supposes, but there is something far greater behind this. It is … dare he put a word to it ? It is something real. “ I won’t leave you, Thanatos. I promise. ”

                        This is a promise Ares holds true to his heart. He forges it into the iron of his weaponry. He carries it like a shield. It is sincere.

                     “ Get some sleep. I’ll look after you. ”

[theonterata-moved-blog]

‘ every time i close my eyes, i see it. over and over again. ’ @ Persephone

* sleep starters (accepting) || @darkenedsnare

                “ Hades … ” Persephone’s concerning tone cuts through the darkness of their room. All had been quiet until a moment ago, when she had sensed something dark and troubling surrounding her husband. She’d awoken from it, and when she asked if he was alright, those words spilled from his lips. Now she can only prop herself up upon her elbow, studying his face through the shadows. Her eyes hare adjusted well to the darkness.

                 With her free hand, she reaches out to touch his face, her knuckle grazing over his cheek. She cannot lie and say she understands the horrors Hades has seen, for he has seen them in abundance. The first had been at his birth when he was swallowed by Kronos, which was a story Demeter shared only reluctantly. On top of this, Hades had seen the fruits of war against his father alongside his brother. Then, promptly, exiled … then alone for years upon years … and the souls he manages …

                   She cannot say for sure what it is he says again and again, but knowing the trauma he has undergone through his godly life, she can only imagine what he sees behind closed eyes.

                    But how can she sooth him ? She thinks back to the days when nightmares infected her slumber as a child, how Demeter would cradle her to her chest and sing her little songs in her ear to soothe her. Would singing soothe Hades ?

                     Only one way to found out.

                      A hand resting upon his chest, Persephone can only pray the voice once sung to children at festivals and dances, to the flowers, to herself on lonely nights beneath a moonlit sky, could be enough to soothe her husband.

                     “ Listen, listen,                         Remember the wane,                         Of sun’s fury and waving grain,                         We fell and fell,                         And danced along,                         To croon a knell,                     Of rights and wrongs … ”

                         She sings the words lowly and softly, her hand stroking his hair, praying to the gods this will yield unto him some semblance of relief; that what infects his dreams may be chased away into the netherworld of no return.

[theonterata-moved-blog]

(ෆ ͒•∘̬• ͒)◞” + i love how you can capture your characters voice so well. like hera? beautiful. persephone? hades is in love with your persephone. you give each character a voice of their own and i love it.

Send me “(ෆ ͒•∘̬• ͒)◞” + one good thing about my portrayal! (always accepting) || @darkenedsnare

Bonus: I will also answer with one // several things I like about yours !!!

                   This is one of the sweetest things I’ve ever read. Honestly, I always try to give my muses a different voice, and I also get insecure about it. So reading this really boosted my confidence and just made me feel so good about myself. Thank you so much ! ! ! I am absolutely in love with your Hades, honestly. You write him so compellingly and every time I see him and your writing on my dash, I just go, “ Oscar worthy. Beautiful. Art. BLESSED. ”

[theonterata-moved-blog]

“I’m not like other guys. Because I could literally murder you.” @ demeter

supernatural character starters (accepting) || @darkenedsnare

               “ You sound so sure with yourself, Lord Hades, ” says Demeter, her tone undoubtedly colder than the ice that plagues the surface of the earth. The wind whips around them, slicing cruelly against the fields once adorned with crops. The warmth of Demeter’s harvest has faded away along with any ounce of her sympathy, her empathy. The mortals cower far from her icy clutches in their homes; some freezing to death in the cold tundra, desperate for warmth, others clinging to life the way a man lost at sea clings to floating wreckage. This desperation does little to sway Demeter’s heart. So, naturally, it is needless to say that Hades’ threats fall upon deaf ears. Let him threaten me, she thinks, as she eyes him hatefully. He knows what he has done.

                 Demeter wishes to turn her back upon Hades. She wishes to consume him in a fortress of ice, then watch him freeze to death before her eyes. She wishes many things upon him, though she knows none will do her any good. He has her daughter in the Underworld by his side. Zeus refuses to help her retrieve Persephone. As of such, all Demeter can do is unleash her wrath and fury upon this wretched world and all of its equally wretched creations, until her will is seen and heard. It should not be long know, she thinks. The death toll is rising. The mortals are fading. The gods will likely panic.

                     In fact, perhaps Hades is here for these very reasons - primarily the rise in death toll. Has his precious Underworld become overpopulated ? Uncomfortable ? She allows herself a cruel smile at the thought of it, though it does little to mend her broken heart and lust for revenge. It does, however, give her enough incentive to finally turn to face Hades eye to eye. His eyes are more grey than any cloudy sky she has seen. They are like the iron seen in the forges of Hephaestus’ creations. They cut sharper than his words. Hades’ eyes are not eyes to be trifled with, she knows, but all the same she glares at them with ruthless intensity. He may be here to taunt her, yes, and even to threaten her, but she will not yield to such eyes. Her mission is plain to see. Her longing is an understandable one.

                        Hell hath no fury like a mother scorned, and Hades must feel every ounce of her fury. “ Are you here to discuss the sudden death toll in the Underworld, Hades ? ” Demeter inquires, her tone laced with enough venom to slay a harpy. Her head tilts to the side, fair hair cascading across her shoulders. She is unkempt nowadays. Her hair flies freely and wildly. Her clothes are often tussled. A gown once laced with vibrant flowers is now a gown of decay and of loss; petals withering and falling as she moves. Demeter is but a hollow ghost of her former self, but this hollow ghost carries herself with the rightful cry of vengeance. “ I do not care about your threats, or the peril your Underworld may be in with the rise of casualties. I will not rest until my terms are met, Hades. In the meantime, leave my sight. You bore me. ”