#probably inherited from Hermes or something

[tagzpite]

Temporary butt censor cloth

Anyways NEW AU ALERT-

I wanted to thank everyone who donated to me. I should be okay for a little bit but any continuous support is awesome. I have some fishysseus stuff in my shop too !!! Stickers and prints and all that! :D

[theamityelf]

ignore this if you’ve already said something like this, but do you have any headcannons on Danganronpa characters with Percy Jackson godly parents.

Oooh, so like the inverse of my PJO Danganronpa AU! I haven't done that yet. I'm torn between just giving a straightforward, in-a-vacuum answer for this, and fully migrating the characters into the Percy Jackson universe and letting that inform my answer. I'm doing the latter now, but you can send another ask if you want "in a vacuum". Also, I might have a different answer if I think about it longer.

THH

Makoto- I think I want him to be a mortal, for this. I think I want it to be a Rachel situation, where he accidentally ends up involved in a quest with some of the demigods, and then he gains godly powers of some kind as a reward or consequence of helping them. I see him interning for a god, after everything is over. Maybe he's an operator for Iris. Very humble beginnings, is what I'm saying. It's wild that he keeps having a pivotal role in saving the world, and showing up in prophecies, and being approached by the gods themselves. He's not innately powerful; they just think he's neat. If I had to give him a godly parent, though, it'd probably be Hestia. Even as a mortal, I might say he has the blessing of Hestia...which is a thing I just made up, btw. If Hestia has any equivalent for Artemis's Hunters, he's one. Just a person who hangs out with Hestia and doing hero stuff with the blessings of Hestia. Instead of Artemis's values of wilderness, archery, etc., he champions Hestia's values of home, hearth, family, and safety. I feel like he's been offered immortality but turned it down. (Side option: he's a satyr. Not what I'm going with, but it's an option.)

Sayaka- My first thought is Apollo, for the arts and music, but I'm also feeling her as an Aphrodite kid who can charmspeak. Yeah, I think Aphrodite for her. Her skills as a singer and dancer are her own.

Leon- Oh gosh. Gotta be Apollo, I guess. Baseball = archery. He does both. And he thinks he can tap into his dad's musical gifts without any respect for them, which is why he fails.

Mukuro- Ares. And she has the same mortal mother as Junko. (An argument could be made for Athena, but I'm going with Ares.)

Junko- I like Dionysus's association with madness and frivolity, for her, and I do want to go with a god or goddess who very much isn't about what Junko is about, just to keep from letting her unique vibe be lost to some hand-wave about godly inheritance. I don't want to go with one of the scary-sounding ones. (Plus, if this were taking place in Camp Half-Blood, which I doubt it actually is, being the daughter of the camp director would allow her to avoid scrutiny in a lot of ways.) That's my in-a-vacuum answer. But...I think the not-in-a-vacuum answer has to be Apollo. First of all, he's Apollo in both Greek and Roman form; she has access to both "camps" in a way many don't. Second of all, I like the idea that she has a twisted version of Apollo's gifts. The gift of prophecy is the tedium of foresight. The gift of sunrise is the curse of waking– the inevitable end of comfort. The gift of art is a deadly creativity. No one thinks to pay that much attention to another Apollo kid; Apollo has lots of kids! But she's secretly very dangerous.

Chihiro- Ooh! Ooh! Hecate. Besides being the goddess of magic, she's also the goddess of crossroads, which fits Chihiro's personality and talent. (Like, imagine a computer program as a set of crossroads. Each branch of an if statement, etc.) Also, it would be cool if Chihiro can do magic.

Mondo- That has to be Hermes, right? He looks like an Ares kid, but travel and outcasts are way more in Hermes' domain. Mondo would love to have winged shoes.

Taka- For some reason I'm really getting Demeter vibes. If pressed to defend it, I can imagine someone wondering how someone so "uptight" could have a nature goddess as a mom, since nature is so chaotic, and Taka responding that animals are chaotic, but argiculture and crops are very orderly and precise. There is a right and wrong time to sow anything, a right and wrong time to reap anything. Oh, I think I'm getting Demeter from his "staple food source" line. That's it.

Hifumi- Another Apollo.

Celeste- So many ways to go about this. First of all, do I want one she would be proud of and lean into, or one she would be embarrassed by and overcompensate for? Right away, I'm feeling Dionysus for her. I even said in one of my "Kamukura Wrangler AU" posts that her eyes are wine-colored, and her self-indulgence just seems so great for Dionysus. But Nike would also be a cool one, both for her Ultimate and for how much she would hate being associated with the sports shoe brand. I can imagine a gag where Celeste proudly says "I am a daughter of Nike," and Aoi cheerfully replies, "Oooh, I love Nike's!" Celeste would be so annoyed. I genuinely can't choose; they're both so great.

Sakura- I'm not feeling Ares at all. I can see Athena, but...Sakura's strength isn't really for war. She works hard and strives for excellence, but she's a practitioner of martial arts for their own sake, not to exert them over people outside the constraints of sanctioned contest. I'm not feeling a war god for her. If I were going to put her anywhere, she'd be partway between the strategy/wisdom aspect of Athena (so, more Minerva) and the arts aspect of Apollo. I think what I'll say is that she's a daughter of Deimos, god of fear and dread, which manifests in the way others react to her. The effect wears off if someone takes the time to try to feel anything for her but fear, but a lot of people don't. She herself is very peaceable and kind, and she values her friendship with anyone who doesn't fear her.

Aoi- I think Nike makes maybe the most sense, but I'm going to give her Poseidon because I want to. Despite being able to breathe underwater, she usually holds her breath while swimming, because she likes to. She finds the challenge thrilling. If she's breathing underwater, it's usually for social reasons like talking to fish or sea nymphs. And having her intelligence underestimated is very Percy Jackson of her.

Byakuya- Oh, I'm torn. My first thought was Hades, specifically because he would be insufferable if he was a child of the Big Three (though Pluto would be more apt, because riches), but in keeping with his mortal family's whole deal, and my aim for the THH group to all be in the Greek pantheon, I think Athena is the fit for him. His father is still a Togami; Byakuya was given to his father by Athena, born from her head. That's part of his justification for his inflated sense of his own competency. Not only is he the Togami heir; he's also a son of Athena. Imagine canon Byakuya if his mother was also a goddess. He's going to be insufferable, and I'm fine with that.

Kyoko- She...So the thing is, she...She said she can hear the footsteps of the god of death, and...Once again, I'm tempted to say Hades, or perhaps Thanatos. I'll go a different way with it, though; I feel like making her dad a god feels too close to outsourcing her feelings of abandonment from Jin onto the inherent premise of the Percy Jackson universe, and I don't want to do that. Jin has to just be a mortal absentee father. (Although daughter-of-the-god-of-death Kyoko would be so, so cool in a vacuum. And her gloves could be partially because her touch can kill. AHHH!) I'm going to say Nyx. Goddess of night. Helpful for a detective (like, she can probably see in the dark and stuff), but not fully making her detective skills a direct byproduct of her godly parentage. Plus, Nyx is the mother of Thanatos, meaning her hearing the footsteps of the god of death can still be relevant. The real question is how Jin had a kid with night itself.

Toko- It's either gonna be Apollo or Aphrodite, and I'm going with Aphrodite. Toko would have a field day with "What? You've never seen such an ugly daughter of Aphrodite?!" But also exposure therapy for her deep resentment of attractive people. They're her siblings, and they care about her and defend her, even if she's kind of sour.

Hiro- Gotta be Apollo. He's great at random day-to-day prophecy.

SDR2

Hajime- I'm thinking he's also a mortal who something supernatural happened to. Maybe he was chosen as the Oracle of Delphi, or maybe he was abducted and given trace amounts of ambrosia until something weird happened to him (to create Izuru). Maybe both. Whatever the case, the answer is none, lol. I'm feeling "bored Oracle" for him.

Imposter- Um, Janus. God of beginnings, gates/doorways/transitions, time, duality, and endings. Initially, I said this because Janus is depicted with two faces and that seemed fitting for an imposter, but I think the focus on choices and transitions also suits someone whose sense of self is so fluid.

Teruteru- I think it's gotta be Bacchus for him.

Mahiru- I wish I could give her Iris, but I want this cast (except Hajime) to be Roman! So I'll say Minerva.

Peko- Bellona. Same/similar backstory with Fuyuhiko, though; she's just a demigod who got abandoned and left with a well-known family of demigods.

Hiyoko- I'm giving her Apollo for now, but I'm open to changing that.

Ibuki- Discordia, goddess of discord and troublemaking. (As you can see, I like giving the most dangerous people benign ones and vice versa.) Ibuki likes noise, she values her own uniqueness, and just generally I think this one works for her.

Mikan- Gotta be Apollo, for the healing. This means she and Hiyoko would be half-siblings, which certainly paints their relationship in an interesting way.

Nekomaru- You know what? I'll give him Jupiter. His eyebrows are lightning, and I never give him attention in my other AUs, so he can have Jupiter.

Gundham- I am feeling Diana for him. Yes, I know, but still. It's cool. The wilderness, the moon, it all just suits his vibe so well. The impact this would have on his backstory is manageable. Everything said to be the case about his mother can just be about a human step-mother.

Nagito- I kind of want to make him the Octavian equivalent. Like, a legacy of Apollo who serves as the Roman augur. Parallels with Hajime being the Oracle on the Greek side. He has a unique relationship with Fortuna that parallels Makoto's unique relationship with Hestia.

Chiaki- Going with Somnus, god of sleep. She has the ability to make others tired, but she chooses not to use it like that. Mostly, she exercises her power over herself so that she can power nap frequently and stay up all night playing video games.

Akane- I feel complicated feelings about saying this, but I really think Venus for her. The reason I feel complicated about it is that it feels too close to giving the people who mistreated her in her life a magical excuse, but I feel like even ignoring that whole aspect of her backstory, she doesn't read to me as a daughter of a war god or goddess; she reads as a passionately emotional person who is inured to hardship/loss and values strength as a result of the environment in which she was brought up.

Fuyuhiko- I'm going to say he's a distant legacy of Pluto and a direct son of Minerva. This would make him half-siblings with Mahiru.

Sonia- Daughter of Pluto. It would be cool if she could summon gems and precious metals. And she would also enjoy speaking with the dead.

Kazuichi- Gotta be Vulcan.

V3

Kaede- I almost didn't go with Apollo just because I said it so many times, but then I remembered that moment in Chapter 6 where the in-universe lore suddenly decided that Kaede had a twin, just to service a bait-and-switch about her being another Junko, and with that in mind, her also being a daughter of Apollo is just more of a connection to Junko.

Shuichi- I am feeling Nemesis for Shuichi. Goddess of retribution, evening the scales. It fits his kind of...simple? Way of viewing the world, where punitive justice isn't something that he enjoys, but rather something that he finds inevitable.

Rantaro- Hermes, certainly. The travel aspect, the social aspect.

Ryoma- He's a Nike, I think. He is burdened by victory and excellence.

Kirumi- If anyone gets Hera or Juno, it would be her. I think I will say Vesta, though. The Roman form of Hestia. She is less blessed by Vesta than burdened with the compulsion to satisfy everyone.

Angie- Ooooh, despite the obvious connections between Apollo and art, I'm feeling Morpheus for her: she knows everyone's dreams. Her art skills are just a separate thing where she practiced and got good at a genuine hobby of hers. Her demigod abilities are her insights into the minds, wants, and fears of others. Also, I'm going to say she has frequent waking dreams and waking nightmares, because it feels right for her whole vibe.

Tenko- I wanted to go Athena or Bellona, but I think I'm actually feeling Mars for her. She probably becomes a Huntress of Artemis, or works under Circe.

Korekiyo- I checked to make sure the Muses count as goddesses, and it seems they do. Therefore, I'm going with Clio, Muse of history.

Miu- Gotta go Hephaestus.

Gonta- I feel like it's got to be either Apollo or Athena for him. I'll say Athena, since his devotion to a particular study reads as an Athena kid trait to me.

Kokichi- There is a part of me that really wants to say Hermes. But I think I'll say Dionysus. Dionysus is the god of wine, parties, madness, chaos, and the theater. I think a lot of that energy is what Kokichi both thrives on and languishes in– especially theater.

Kaito- Is Astraios too obvious? He's getting Astraios. He feels drawn to the stars, and I don't think he loses anything if that feeling becomes supernatural.

Maki- Okay, she'll be a daughter of Thanatos. But she lies about it at first. And she can kill someone with a touch, but only if she chooses to, so touching her is an act of trust. (Cue sentimental moment where one of her friends, probably Kaito, touches her arm or something and she's surprised.)

Himiko- I kind of want to be subversive and not say Hecate, but I will actually give her Hecate. She would be really proud of it.

Kiibo- Well, he's a robot. Maybe an automaton made by a child of Hephaestus or Vulcan.

Tsumugi- She gets Janus, too.

[idontknowwhatimdoinglol]

Modern blood of zeus x reader (assistant) pt. 2

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Zeus led you down the hall of glass meeting rooms, stopping at his office which was the only one on the floor that had solid walls. he unlocked the door of it and stood aside letting you enter. his office was spacious, probably even bigger than at least 4 of the smaller glass meeting rooms put together. it was filled with only the finest of furniture and other small items, and a view of the city line. "your desk is over there, sorry about not having the privacy of your own office. It's simply because I prefer to keep my assistants close in case I need something quickly." he says with a kind smile.

you give him a nod in return, walking over to sit at the desk. he clears his throat before saying "I must attend a meeting now, I will return shortly. Please fill out the papers to your left." then he leaves. you set your purse down under the desk and grab the papers reading them over, they were about the company's stocks. you knew that being an assistant meant you may have to file papers like this but you expected at least some training.

you grab a few more papers hoping that if you read more of the topic you would understand what to do with them but all the papers had were graph charts or numbers. you sighed knowing you had no choice but to find someone to help. standing from the chair you walked to the door, before even touching the handle someone opened it quite fast hitting you in the face. you turned away a bit holding your nose in pain. "my apologies I didn't see you there. are you alright?" a man asks softly leaning to your height.

when you looked towards him you saw a tall man with long light brown hair and pretty sky blue eyes. he had pale skin and was wearing a black suit with a more rainbow and iridescent tie. "yes I'm fine. it was my fault I should've paid more attention." you laugh a little. "no no I should've knocked." he says laughing with you, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

"I'm y/n, the new assistant." you say holding your hand for him to shake. "it's a pleasure to meet you, I am Hermes son of Zeus." he says with a kind smile. look at him and give a subtle laugh "I don't suppose as his son you would know how to file these graph charts?" you ask a bit embarrassed. he laughs before saying "Just check off rising and stack them neatly on his desk. he never looks them over again." you sigh in relief.

"thank you. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't walked in." you say relieved. "probably not had a hurt nose." he jokes. the two of you laugh a bit. "well since my father isn't here at the moment I will leave you to your work. I hope to talk again soon" he says before leaving. you sit down at your desk once more. within the hour you had managed to finish the work your boss had left for you, now you were just answering some emails on your laptop. the sudden slam of the office door opening causes you to nearly jump from your seat as Zeus storms into the office, his wife Hera following, the both of them in a heated argument.

"it is just an event among the thousand this company throws yearly it doesn't matter!" zeus shouts. Hera gives him a glare in return "This is the company's anniversary party, an event that every partnership we have along with the press attends. I will not be humiliated once more like I was last year when you brought your bastard son!" she shouts back. Zeus glares down at her "Don't speak of heron that way. he will inherit this company one day it is his job to attend events such as that" Zeus says, they both silently glare at each other for a moment before Hera turns to you. You freeze under her harsh gaze. "you. come." she says firmly turning to leave the room. you stand there hesitant, looking to Zeus who gives a reluctant nod.

you hurry to follow Hera who has already neared the elevator. the elevator ride to the lobby was quite uncomfortable, she was very intimidating and you could feel her stare burning through you. when you reached the lobby you followed her outside, ignoring the surprised glances of Apollo and Artemis who were sitting at the receptionist's desk. you follow Hera to a limo, having to speed walk at her pace. the driver, a man with black hair and a black suit, opens the door for her, and once in she calls for you to follow. you sit awkwardly across from her, the driver walks to the front before driving the car away. "where are we going mam?" you say a bit nervous. she looks at you nearly offended. "never call me mam. I'm hardly that old." she says coldly.

She pours herself a glass of champagne and takes a sip before speaking. "we are going to the east side of the city, i need to finish a few errands." she says staring out the window. "why not ask your assistant? you ask curiously earning a look of annoyance. "they are sick. now be quiet." she says harshly. you nod looking down to your lap fiddling with your hands. occasionally you would look up at Hera, she was beautiful and almost goddess-like with how she held herself. it was so elegant and perfect. she of course would notice you and shoot your glances away with a glare. by the time you arrived at the first store, Hera had finished her glass of champagne and had probably burned a hole in your sole from her glares. She waits for the driver to open the door for her before getting out. "follow" she says gesturing to go with her, you nod and follow her into the fancy store.  

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[audreyscribes]

so, messenger gods are supposedly allowed to enter the Underworld freely, right?

What do you think about the children of Hermes/Iris inheriting this "power"? Obviously on a much smaller scale. Maybe they could detect the entrances to the Underworld more easily, and, if they concentrate A LOT, they could summon a kind of aura that avoids possible obstacles, such as monsters or evil ghosts?

Or I don't know, any kind of ability that has to do with the Underworld and their role as "messengers"

Psychopomp: (from the Greek word ψυχοπομπός, psychopompós, literally meaning the 'guide of souls') are creatures, spirits, angels, demons, or deities in many religions whose responsibility is to escort newly deceased souls from Earth to the afterlife.

ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆{Warning: Long text below!}ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ﾟ☾

Mhmmm in theory that is possible that I wouldn’t rule out. I mean with Hermes as a god of thieves, Luke as his demigod child had the ability to magical unlock things as a sort of shortcut power-

So the possibility that the children of Hermes and Irises have the power to something relating being messenger of the gods or being a psychopomp ‘guide of souls’, is just as likely but albeit very rare as you’ve theorized. 

Let’s just assume they are able to be messengers to the Underworld and thus being a psychopomp without any large repercussions to themselves directly, despite being half mortal. I say this because while Hermes and Iris are messengers, they are still gods thus immortal, therefore traveling between the underworld and above it, has no large effect on their souls. So being a demigod that is half mortal will probably have effects cause being in the realm of the dead will definitely do something to you. 

At the very least, they are able to locate entrances to the Underworld or slightly above that, they are able to create entrance points to the Underworld. Whether or not they are the only ones to enter through, that’s another thing. Even if they can let people in, it doesn’t mean any other parties will be able to leave is another. 

As for Obstacles well…there have evidences of people going down to the Underworld and going through it just fine, so while having a power to just bypass things is just a cheat skill rather than a necessary thing.

Now here where things depend because as a child of Hermes, they’re already born sneaky so they’re able to sneak their way in (which I honestly think is how Luke was able to get the pieces of Kronos from Tartarus. Then again, he probably had the Helm of Darkness. ). 

A child of Iris would naturally be able to have a literal aura around themselves that would just deter anything from approaching them. Plus as a child of Iris, I don’t think most monsters or whatever would see them as a threat.

Naturally, it's just better they don’t interact with the monsters or ghosts because if they do, they’re opening themselves to it. 

Just think of a child of Hades but everything below one or two steps below them what being a psychopomp proxy, and all the risks, benefits, pros, cons, and etc.

But in all honesty, a whole lot of things could be solved with the fact that if a pyschopomp’s demigod child has the ability to be a guide of the souls, I would pretty much think they’re sort of employed or granted the position, since it's their duty. So I would think Hades would just give them basically a ‘hall pass’ that allows them go in and out freely out of the Underworld, with their job delivering messages on behalf of Hades and/or Persephone. 

Peak season is Spring and Summer when Persephone has to leave the Underworld and the husband and wife are separated by long distance, so you’re pretty much going back and forth to deliver messages and packages. With the added help of Hermes/Iris as their apprentice or staff, you’re pretty much paid minimum wage and stuff. 

There’s also the bonus side benefit/job that the child of Hermes/Iris that has inherited the power of messenger, would not only be able to travel between the Underworld and the world of the Living, but also be able to go to Olympus; since Hermes and Iris are the messenger of the gods, the job going into the Underworld is just included as such.

[sunarin4256]

TWST Demigod headcannons

Heartslabyul

Riddle: unsurprisingly son of Apollo. His father is the god of music, medicine and archery as well as God of the sun. Surprisingly, Riddle's specialty was not medicine, much to his mother's chagrin. He is an exceptionally skilled archer and a decent musician, unfortunately Riddle is more likely to take a life by accident trying to save it than save it. Because that is the curse of Apollo children; you're excellent at one thing associated with him, so so at another, and absolute dog water at the third.

Trey: Son of Demeter. He is skilled with plants and has his own garden. That's why his sweets and treats are so delicious, because most of them have fresh grown ingredients, that are probably laced with the blessing of a Demeter's child.

Ace: Now based on his behavior , one might assume he's a child of Hermes. But you're wrong. He's a child of Apollo, like Riddle. However he excels in music, but don't hand him a bow and arrow, he'll end up hitting everything but the target. All the traits that make him seem like a child of Hermes were things he learned from his older brother who is a child of Hermes.

Deuce: our little loosey deucey is a son of Hades. I like to believe that the main reason for his abundance of fights in middle school were due to broken oaths, promises and lies; the things Hades and his children, do not like. Now in consideration of the big three Hades happens to be the shortest. while most of his kids have inherited his short gene, Deuce didn't, he got the blind gene. Most days he wears contacts, but on the off chance he's wearing glasses, leave the poor dude alone his head hurts from wearing contacts for two weeks straight again. He's always on time to class and it freaks people day that he seems to appear from shady corners, which he does, children of the underworld are able to do something called shadow travel, which kinda speaks for itself. Now unfortunately children of Hades do not regain strength in a similar fashion to other demigods. While other demigods use nectar and ambrosia to heal, children of Hades need sugar, this means he constantly has some sugary drink on him, which actually infuriates Riddle to no end.

Cater: son of Dionysus, the god of wine, theater and dolphins(don't ask) the train Carter is able to mask his sadness so well is because his strong suit is acting. Cater has a thing for grapes, it kinda just sits in his decor without his notice. When he avoids juice because if he gets mad near it it ferments so it either makes alcohol and he gets in trouble or it makes stinky old juice.

Savanaclaw

Leona: son of Thanatos. Now one might think that his napping habits would warrant him a spot in cabin 15 (Hypnos cabin) but you are incorrect. He's a child of Thanatos, the incarnation of death, which is pretty befitting considering how his unique magic basically makes him that in his home. When not under the spell he's under, causes him to take on his cousin's(child of Hypnos) exhaustion -because they work at a pace and schedule that all the sleeping they would usually do cannot be done- Leona is a diligent and hyperfocused worker. That's the reason he passes his classes now. He, as a child of the underworld, is capable of shadow travel and uses it to avoid ruggie- it's dumb cause he can do it too- and find peaceful places to nap away from rook.

Jack: son of Aphrodite. Now alot of people at camp assume he's an Ares camper, as a matter of fact it's what he assumed (and secretly hoped for)when he got there. However when he was claimed by his mother he wasn't upset. He is a very standoffish person due to the nature of being a child of Aphrodite. Most people assume they're a bunch of superficial bimbos (some of em are, but don't tell anyone Jack said that) so it always shocks them when they find out jack is one of them. The reason people are drawn to him is due to his godly parentage and it causes him to ward away anyone who approaches him. But underneath all that rough and tumble he's a big sweetheart with a soft spot for plants, romance, and a good bubble bath.

Ruggie: son of Hades. Now THIS is one of the Hades kids who inherited the short gene. He's small dark and cunning, sure to the way he grew up most assume he's a son of Hermes, but he just can't help but steal stuff (unfortunate kleptomaniac) he loves pomegranates the smell and the taste. He always smells like the fruit and is nearly always holding one. One thing that freaks people out about ruggie is that he seems to always be talking to air. What they don't know is that ruggie can see and communicate with the dead. He ends up talking to students' passed pets and/or family members half of the time. Since he's a child of the underworld he's capable of shadow travel, but doesn't really use it unless he's struggling to find Leona, in these cases he flips down on top of (to be a nuisance) or beside him and chows down on the pomegranate he'd stowed in his pocket.

Octavinelle

Azul: son of Athena. Why do you think he's so dang smart? Everything is essentially a battle strategy to him which makes it easier. The main reason he was bad at school in his formative years before he started going ham with the studying was because he was dyslexic. He still is but reading is easier now. Is oddly attached to the moon. When nervous or overstimulated he tends to burst into random ancient Greek.

Jade: son of Zeus. I know he's afraid of heights but it's funny. When he gets upset(very rarely) storms begin brewing. Seeks out the rain eagerly during storms. Had accidentally zapped people in a pool due to extreme excitement (we all know Jade doesn't express himself often so that zap was all the excitement showing itself)

Floyd: oddly enough soon of Poseidon. Crazy to think the twins have different dads. Anywho, Zeus can't tell the two apart so Floyd is the only non Zeus big three kid that's safe in the sky. He lives the ocean and loves water in general, thought it was normal to talk to regular fish as a kid until he beat another mer up for making fun of him for talking to regular fish. Bro was flabbergasted when he found out he could speak to horses. Visits the equestrian club solely for the horses. His mood changes like the tide.

Scarabia

Jamil: son of Aphrodite. First of all, you should have seen this coming- look at him... He's gorgeous. His unique magic is actually a branch off of his demigod powers. Being a child of Aphrodite granted him the power of charm speak. This means that any and all people without the power or any power adjacent to it, that are attracted to men (crucial detail) are able to be... Persuaded to do or say anything he asks of them. he's also blessed with the ability to rock any outfit/hj

Kalim: son of Hephaestus. He's loud and optimistic, but also extremely innovative. Builds little mini machines when he can't sit still. sweater pockets are constantly filled with little mini gears. He is extremely kind hearted and it shocks other Hephaestus kids how he is based on his upbringing. Is nearly always covered in oil or soot when not around his family or at school. Has built Lilia a fully functioning guitar with no explanation for his birthday.

Pomefiore

Vil: child of Hypnos. It's funny because what his father does best is sleep and vil is far too busy to do that so all the exhaustion he has is transferred to his cousin, (Leona), which is why he sleeps like the dead at night. He loves a good spa day (because he naps most of it)

Rook: son of Zeus. Kind of explains his creep tendencies. Loves the sky more than anything and spends time frolicking in thunderstorms. Flies way too high on the broom without a care in the world, casually drops from the sky for funsies.

Epel: son of Pluto. Hates broken promises. When he's nervous or upset gems and precious metals tend to pop up at his feet. Sometimes shadows are shifty near him and it freaks people out. Loves flying in his broom but is terrified of going into the sky (Zeus will strike all who are his brothers' children down) loves working on the orchard, is terrified of killing the trees in an emotional outburst.

Ignihyde

Idia and Ortho: legacies of Pluto. They're both descendants of a child of Pluto. That might explain the flaming hair. But it also explains idia's paleness. Idia wants so desperately what every child of the underworld can do, to melt into the shadows, however his hair puts him at an advantage because he creates constant shadows that he has complete and total control over. I can't say much for Ortho but he had powers unknown before... The accident.

Diasomnia

Malleus: son of Neptune. When he gets upset bro accidentally conjures a full on hurricane. Constantly smells like the ocean despite never having been there. If he angry laughs the ground trembles. As a dragon he's able to fly but doesn't because.... Well Zeus. Doesn't really understand the appeal of land, has tried many times to escape the castle for the sole purpose of getting in some kind of water (he failed miserably)

Lilia: son of Hades. You want to know how he appears behind people? Now you do; shadow travel. Is a hater of broken promises. Knows where his kids are because of the shadows. When he's pissed things die... Plants, animals... The odd person. Nothing too bad. Loves his little brothers with his whole heart. Likes tomatoes like ruggie likes pomegranates.

Sebek: son of Mars. It explains his amazing fighting prowess and his capacity for war plans. Rides horses because they're crucial to war but prefers spears to swords (he would never tell Lilia that) and enjoys sparring with Silver for the occasional jolt.

Silver: son of Jupiter, champion of Pluto. While he's a son of Jupiter, giving him control over the wind and sky he prefers the darkness, mostly because of how he was raised. Pledged himself to Pluto to remain with Lilia (Lilia's father was rather touched to say the least [he cried like a baby in pure joy for his son]) it's hard to piss silver off but once he's mad a tornado is forming. When he's pissed he takes everybody out. Has zapped Sebek while in a stream as children and got thoroughly praised for it oddly enough. Has fallen asleep in the sky.

[capsicrew]

Something thats been on my mind...

The thing about the "time bubble" that FF14 exists in... Even if some time is passing, its not a notable amount of time. We know about souls going to the aetherial sea and eventually coming back as new life. Even though that life is all new, we've seen that souls will often have a certain tug that makes them similar across generations or when split across reflections. But even with all the friends who have died in the game--we never had to think about those souls coming back in a new life because not enough time could pass in the "bubble" for a child to be conceived, born and grow in any way.

...until a pocket of Tural accidentally sped up 30 years. The Alexandria Dome exists now in the source, not its home reflection. When a person with a regulator dies, their soul is saved--but new life would still be given a soul in the natural way. Once Alexandria fused with Yyasulani, those new souls would be drawn from the aetherial sea of the Source, I would assume--not the Unlost World. And then it was caught in the old time stream and had 30 years pass(!) We meet several people born after fusion happened. And it is not impossible that someone in there has the refreshed soul of someone we once knew. Zenos could be in Gulool Ja RIGHT. NOW. (probably not)

Now, Id like to think the writing team is above some kind of emotional punch of using the name of a dead comrade in a new body just for... idk, cheap emotional reaction. But its not impossible. And fan theories can just run wild lol

Though another thing Ive been thinking about too... Its been subtly mentioned that souls have a certain memory or emotional inclination that carries through its rebirth. Either as a joke (such as with Rowena and Genolt) or actually in the plot--like with Azem's or Hermes's reincarnations. Though, Amon showed us that even the same soul can be drastically different than its predecessor... But certain feelings and leanings still existed (drawing comparisons to Elpis and Azys Lla or Amon's thing for making new creatures). It makes me wonder how those memories or feelings imprinted on the soul come into play with Alexandria's regulators. Especially for such a notible soul as Azem's. Someon who dies has their memories imprinted on a fresh soul... But do those deeper feelings translate? Would someone who started with Azem's soul still have that innate... Azem-ness after dying and being given a new soul? Would someone inheriting Azem's soul via regulator suddenly find themselves feeling a deep need for adventure? They say that people dont change on new souls because of the memory restoration... But I wonder...

[massiveladycat]

guess who made a NEW PJO OC... TANNER STARLING - THE SON OF HERMES - DESCENDANT OF DIOMEDES - SCORN OF APHRODITE AND ARES I've always hated "Bad Boy" tropes with characters who just hate people and hate everyone and treat their love interest horribly, acting like no one understands what they've gone through. And, I decided I did NOT want that for Tanner. So why not have a bad boy that goes against it? Have him be a genuine nice guy who gets the short end of the stick every time. Have him be the type of bad boy that jumps fences and helps you get out of trouble or is completely willing to take the blame for you every-time that you screw up, like, "Oh, you broke this vase? No. I'll tell Chiron I did it, okay?" Have him be the kind of team-player rebel. Tanner is a witty, fast-paced, and determined seventeen year old. If you can't keep up with him, it's unlikely you'll be friends. He's driven by ambition to become a part of something greater. He's athletic; he loves sports and competing, and he's something of a "jack of all trades, master of none" - he's scarily good at handpicking, stealing, and escaping. He could probably be trained to do another task if he was that determined. He inherited his father's sense of humor, which means pranks everywhere. A lot of my OCs won't be able to go anywhere without worrying that Tanner's got a prank set up. But, he's also very empathetic; he tunes into people's emotions, and it hurts him to watch them hurt. To him, it stops being funny when someone shows signs of physical or emotional distress (he'll sober up immediately if someone cries). He's absolutely willing to throw down with people who like to mess around and call pushing people around 'pranks', because putting people in danger isn't pranking.

 I have a headcanon that a lot of Tanner's old bruises and scars are from brawling with his classmates. He was the black sheep; the athletic new kid that was super friendly but moved often, never celebrated fathers' day, and could get angry quickly. Him getting angry at people (not without good reason) often resulted in brawls in which the faculty had to pull him off a kid because, come ON. Tanner's a demigod. They literally have fighting hardwired into their brains. They know where to move when to move and when to punch which is why Tanner beats up 2.5/3.0 of the people he fights with. Usually he's the one to throw the first punch if he's aggravated or jabbed, but if he's not pissed off, it takes people trying to hit him for him to start fighting; he doesn't insist on violence. His personality? Very laid-back, but also very silly. He likes pranks (already been established), he loves to joke around, he loves comedy, he loves the dramatics of theater. He's loyal and brave, but he's also very driven by ambition, and can come off as antagonistic sometimes. He's very stubborn, and stands his ground. He can also come off as sarcastic and abrasive, which he can be under certain circumstances. I some-what based him off of Hamilton's personality (couldn't help it). Anyways, PT. 2 of Tanner Starling will be made, and it'll be in my blog; this is long enough, and Tanner's lore is a lot. Share your PJO OCs!! I'd love to hear about them!!!

[innocentlymacabre]

New Zeus on the Block

↝✧↝

Killing a god meant inheriting everything they were. Name, powers, history, and even their memories. After killing Zeus and becoming him, you try to act natural, but the other Olympians are beginning to suspect something is wrong… because they aren't used to Zeus being so nice.

- prompt by @writing-prompt-s

“So, we all know that’s not Zeus, right?” Athena said to murmurs of agreement from the other Olympians.

“When he didn’t drunkenly berate my perfect command of the sun across the sky for the sixth day in a row, I kind of caught on, yeah,” Apollo chimed in.

“It took you six days?” Hermes taunted. “You’re slipping, brother.”

“Oh, shut it. When did you know?”

“…About six days too, yeah,” Hermes admittedly sheepishly.

“Ass.”

“Look, not to be the voice of reason – really, I hate to be – but I have an important question,” an extremely drunk Dionysus interjected between his brothers’ squabbling.

“Which is?” Athena asked, desperate to steer the meeting back on course.

“Do we want to do something about it?”

“About Zeus not being Zeus?”

“Yeah. I mean, we all think he’s a dick, right? Or was a dick. Whatever.”

“And, if we’re being honest, he’s also not done anything to warrant his crown since we overthrew the Titans,” Ares added, not bothering to mask the annoyance in his voice.

“To be honest, I really don’t want to. He hasn’t cheated on me in a full week – which has got to be some sort of record – and he’s been a surprisingly attentive husband. Sure, he probably knows nothing about running Olympus, but let’s be real – neither did the old Zeus. Plus, he still has the same body and that was the only reason I married him in the first place. I say we keep him,” Hera decreed.

“You know what? I actually wouldn’t mind working with this Zeus. It wouldn’t annoy the absolute shit out of me to help him out,” Artemis agreed, who’s presence surprised everyone. “What? Oh, of course I’m here. I figured out the whole fake Zeus thing the day it happened, and this meeting couldn’t have been about anything else.”

“So, it’s decided then?” Athena asked the group.

“Well, shortest meeting ever adjourned then. Business as far better than usual – go team,” she said, wrapping it up after the gods’ collective approval.

-----

Thanks for reading! My writing is entirely reader-supported, so I’d be thrilled if you could drop a coin or two into my tip jar! :)

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[giggly-moon]

INTRODUCING YET ANOTHER EPIC OC!! this one is named Enne! unfortunately i don’t have a character playlist for them just yet </3 also i will be adding the tickling related info later, as i’m not very good at coming up with tickle headcanons on the spot dhfndjdn

i couldn’t decide whether i wanted to make Enne male or female so i decided to make them non-binary instead! also the pronunciation of their name keeps switching between “enn-uh”, “enn-ay” and “enn-ee” in my head so therefore all three are correct. they’re confusing like that

another demigod baby! this time they’re a child of Hermes, so of course they’re gonna be a huge trickster and troublemaker. they honestly don’t resemble Hermes a whole lot, other than inheriting the ankle wings. though theirs are smaller with brown feathers, and they have an extra pair on their wrists.

Enne’s primary ability is that they’re a shapeshifter! they have the ability to transform into any animal/creature they want, and possibly transform into people too but that’s a bit trickier for them to pull off, and perfectly mimic the sounds they make.

even if their normal and more “human” looking form, they still have quite a few animalistic features like antlers, a long tail, cat-like eyes, fangs, claws, in-human ears and paw-like hands and feet. they also have dark brown fur on their tail, ears, arms starting right below their elbows and legs starting right below their knees. they also have shorter fur on their forehead going down to the bridge of their nose.

they didn’t inherit their dad’s ability to fly (unless they transform into something that can fly), but they are very agile and sneaky and can move very quietly, and because of their animal features they can jump very high and are very good at climbing.

they don’t really ever officially join the crew, but they’ve been secretly tagging along for quite a while now. they use their shapeshifting powers to hide somewhere on the ship just to watch the crew and all the shenanigans they get up to, cause they think these guys are hilarious.

although Melia has known about them the whole time, not just because of her own powers but because the two of them are cousins and they’re pretty close as well, so Enne isn’t too worried about hiding themselves from her. they know Mel won’t tell anybody else about them.

in terms of personality, they’re very very mischievous and playful, they’re just here to have fun and they love messing with people. they don’t really take things very seriously, but they’re still pretty nice and sweet considering their trickster ways. probably fascinated with shiny objects (the biggest inspirations for the way they act are cats and crows)

for someone who is a child of Hermes of all people, Enne is surprisingly pretty quiet and not much of a talker. they can talk but only do it sparingly, they let their actions and mannerisms do most of the talking

after their presence is made known to the rest of the crew, they’ll show up randomly fairly often just to hang out and see what everyone’s up to and join in on some of the hijinks. whenever they’re not around on the ship they’re either messing with some other random poor souls or they’re with the group of forest nymphs that raised them

[happyk44]

Fun facts about the OG Mary now that I'm thinking about her separately from June and retconned Mary:

Met Hera when she was about six and immediately fell in love with her

A running joke was that one of her friends wanted her to kill her dad (because youngest kills youngest) for reasons and she was steadfast against doing this, but would ALWAYS pause for a second when the option of "hey if your dad is dead then maybe you could marry your stepmom" because oh that's interesting

The other running joke was that everyone in the godly world heard about what happened (it was a thing) and whenever a god figured out that Mary was the little kid who inexplicably screamed "I LOVE YOU" at Hera and then burst into tears before running away, they would immediately start howling "that was you???" and Mary would both plot her suicide but also be like bashful giggling, twirling her hair, she talked about me?? type energy, lol

She inherited her dad's anxiety and paranoia but hates being in charge but also wants everyone to follow the rules (i.e. whatever she thinks the rules should be) and gets very annoyed when her friends point out that her idea of law enforcement is basically being in charge

Can't lie for shit but impeccable at acting (June can't lie for shit either but she also can't act for shit)

Works part-time in the underworld at Nico's request. The initial reason was to help her build confidence in around people because she had severe social anxiety, but as the daydream went on it just kind became a thing that happened. Ultimately the underworld feels safe for her so she just. Bothers the shit out of everyone until they give her stuff to do so she'll go away, lol

Does different tasks as part of her job, including, but not limited to, working part-time as a psychopomp with Hermes and Thanatos (wartimes makes collecting the dead a busy time indeed) (she also has gear that helps her see and grab souls because otherwise she'd be flailing wildly)

Hades tried to prank her as he does with all new hires but it backfired and now she's never allowed to drink coffee that she makes herself because the way she makes it means her heart will probably explode, and, no, she cannot make it any other way

Had this recurring dream (not a nightmare, she knows what a nightmare is and this ain't that) where the end was always her being strapped to a chair while two other versions of herself forced her to eat them ('twas a metaphor for repression)

Cries so much and all the time but also can not handle it when other people cried 'cause she doesn't know what to do and will sort of panic when there is no obvious fix or solution to make the tears stop (I ended up making this a thing for her whole cabin because I thought it was funny for it to be a shared trait)

For a while I had this running joke where if someone tried to compare her to her dad she would immediately panic and try to kill them (she looked a lot like him, and there was this moment I had written in my head where the kids try to see what they'd look like older and genderswapped and she looks so much like her dad Hades is caught off guard for a second before leaving and grabbing Poseidon who immediately starts cackling because holy shit you look just like him)

Active beef with Ash, Thanatos' kid, who thinks Mary who is one of the funniest people ever even though Mary's whole thing about is her being convinced that Ash wants to kill her friends despite there being no proof otherwise and also knowing, logically, that Ash does not want to kill her friends (Ash solely developed a survival instinct because she wants Mary to be the one who kills her)

Mary does love Ash very much - she's just trapped in her intrusive paranoia even when she knows those delusions are wrong

Anyway if I did bring OG Mary back, I think I'd want to give her a new name to separate her from retconned Mary, who is her own person. Something sky themed maybe, like how Coral is an ocean themed name.

Also I think it's so funny she was in love with Hera. Imagine Nico introducing her to Jason like "hey, she also has undiagnosed autism and severe sense of justice that makes her borderline murderous, talk it up" and then Jason ends up discovering that his half-sister high-key had age-appropriate horny dreams about their step-mom pretty much up until the day she died, lol

[cutesilyo]

your dearest kin, below the skin — a pjo fanfic

Somehow, while going through the set of books about his son's future exploits, Poseidon had gotten the idea that Percy would eventually shape up to become perfectly obedient, loyal, and respectful to the gods. So when a new arrival slammed the doors open and Annabeth Chase gasped in delight, all Poseidon could do was lean back in his seat with a wide grin on his face.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Percy said, obviously exhausted.

Poseidon felt a bit faint, and he vaguely recognized the demigods sharing popcorn at their feet.

TAGS: Humor, Family, Family Dynamics, Family Drama, Mild Swearing, Reading the Books, Without Them Actually Reading the Books, Percy Jackson is So Done, Good Parent Poseidon (Percy Jackson), Crack Treated Seriously

Also available on: AO3

—

It was a normal day in the throne room when Percy Jackson finally appeared.

Or, you know, as normal as it could be when demigods from the future arrived with a stack of books and orders from the Fates that they needed to “process its events” and “re-evaluate the relationships between the Olympians and their children”, whatever that meant. Hestia had noticeably perked up at that news, while Hera rolled her eyes so far back that Poseidon was surprised she hadn’t ended up permanently staring at the back of her skull. Poseidon himself didn’t really see how the books could help with the Fates’ goals, but he wasn’t about to argue. After Zeus was assured that he’d find whoever stole his stupid Master Bolt by going through the chapters and convinced that yes, Hades had to be summoned from the Underworld if they wanted to do things right, he had allowed them to begin the reading with a childish huff.

If the Fates wanted them to better their family relations, this was certainly an interesting way to go about it. As they read more chapters and more demigods joined in, it had become increasingly evident that things were going to get worse before they were going to get better. Poseidon grew apathetic to the new flavor of godly infighting the third time that Zeus blew up at something the book said, which — all things considered — happened a lot farther along the first chapter than he expected. He almost felt some sort of brotherly pride, had he not been completely overcome with grappling something else.

More than anything, Poseidon was restless to see his son. How had he grown? How was he faring? And, most importantly, how much did he identify with the demigods’ obvious resentment of the gods? He felt fairly confident that Percy was loyal to them, and Athena’s daughter had been making comments that alluded to a close father-son relationship in the few times she’d spoken. And even more damningly, if the withered tendrils tying him back to his old powers of prophecy were correct, all this together meant that Percy would become a great hero for Olympus.

So surely, this meant that his son was a shining beacon of light that exemplified how the demigods were at their best when they pledged their allegiance in service of the gods. Scratch that, his son was definitely being built up to be the hero of the looming Great Prophecy — he simply had to be on their side.

As they kept reading about Percy's exploits and how much he had suffered during his quests, Poseidon only felt more and more secure in his belief that Percy Jackson had the forgiveness of a saint. He had certainly inherited his mother’s goodness and tenacity, and it was clear that his drive to continue serving the gods despite everything had obviously inspired the rest of the demigods to do the same. Honestly, Poseidon didn’t even know how Percy could handle everything that he’s been through; if he was in his position, he probably would have defected just like Hermes’ boy did. But that only made Poseidon all the more proud. Whenever Percy arrived, he would definitely put all the other demigods in line and remind them of how gratifying it was to fight for the Olympians.

So when the doors slammed open and Annabeth Chase gasped in delight, all Poseidon could do was lean back in his seat with a wide grin on his face.

Percy Jackson took one look at the throne room, stared straight into Zeus’ eyes, and let out a huge groan.

Poseidon’s grin slipped.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Percy said, obviously exhausted. “I told you I was off-limits for the rest of the month, and I meant it! All I asked for was no quests, no impromptu visits, no sudden teleportations into my apartment, no bothering me when I’m doing camp duties, and certainly no summons to Olympus! Are you seriously that desperate that you’re willing to hold my friends hostage just for me to do your bidding?”

The throne room was in stunned silence. Zeus overcame his flustered state first, a thunderstorm brewing in the room. “Boy, how dare you speak to me like that—”

But Percy talked over the King of the Gods like it was nothing. “Zeus, please, we’ve been over this,” he said exasperatedly, holding his palm up like he was talking to a toddler. ”You have to respect my boundaries when I set them. Otherwise, we just can’t have a good working relationship, and where would that leave you?”

Zeus was so dumbfounded the storm disappeared. Aphrodite dropped her compact mirror. Hermes actually looked up from his phone. Apollo was in so much shock that his light dimmed. For the first time in recorded history, Athena’s jaw was on the floor. Poseidon felt a bit faint, and he vaguely recognized the demigods sharing popcorn at their feet.

Through a particularly large mouthful, the elf-like Son of Hephaestus said, “That’s the good stuff right there.” The demigods around him nodded sagely in agreement.

This must be a trick, Poseidon thought helplessly. Someone must have used magic to impersonate his son. Perhaps an eidolon possession. Impressively powerful charmspeak. Maybe he’ll wake up and this will all have been a prank by Morpheus or something. There is no way that the future hero of the Great Prophecy was someone so . . . inflammatory! That his son, that Sally Jackson’s son, was someone stupid and impulsive enough to so nonchalantly talk back to the King of the Gods in his own throne room in the full presence of all of the elder gods and Olympians—

Ichor drained from his face as he recalled all that they had read of Percy from the books so far. Poseidon cursed internally as every single time he talked back to one of his fellow immortals and every single time Sally talked back to him flashed in his mind. He had been so caught up in the joy of learning about his only demigod son that he forgot about the sea’s unruly nature.

Suddenly feeling drained, Poseidon sighed. “Perseus, if you could please refrain from getting yourself blasted . . .”

Percy turned to face him, his eyes swirling with a ferocity so reminiscent of Kymopoleia’s storms that Poseidon could feel himself immediately developing a migraine out of habit. “Dad, don’t tell me you’re in on this,” he said, betrayed. “I don’t know what else you want from me. You already keep me so busy helping out with Atlantis, and you promised you’d help me keep them off my back.”

Hades raised an eyebrow. Dionysus mumbled something about pitying my future self, oh my and surely father will let me get drunk at least once.

“I did?” Poseidon said.

“You did!” Percy whined, practically pouting. “You even said you’d let me annoy Triton my entire stay next time I visited!”

Poseidon melted a bit. Even in his older state, his son was so adorable — and a lot less cold to him than the other demigods were to their own respective parents. He even all but said that he was regularly visiting his kingdom. He could see why his future self allowed his impertinence, even if it said impertinence was to extreme degrees.

Whoa, hold your horses, Poseidon thought. This is the child of the prophecy. The Great Prophecy itself. A bit of snarkiness is cute from a demigod, but this is the hero that holds the fate of Olympus in his hands. Shouldn’t you be a bit concerned?

Then he took a moment to look at his son’s puffed-up cheeks and promptly struggled to think clearly about the situation at all.

Percy, who was not privy to his father’s internal crisis, crossed his arms and continued. “And now I find all my friends sitting down at your feet? I really expected better from you, Dad. Though I guess it wouldn’t be the first time a god forgot about their promises . . .”

Poseidon winced. But before he could clarify that he was not the Poseidon of Percy’s present, a loud scoff echoed in the room.

“You forget your place, demigod,” Hera sneered. “We are gods. We are not beholden to you.”

Percy narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh, please. You say that like you didn’t come crawling to my feet for the last Great Prophecy, my lady,” he said, mockingly, seemingly oblivious to how most of the gods were now glowering at him. Artemis had split her arrow in two. Percy barreled on. “Anyway, I’m not listening to the words of some cow dung goddess. Let’s just get things over with so you can send me and my friends back home.”

Ares banged his spear on the floor. He roared, “Why, I ought to send you to Tartarus, punk!”

“I’ve already been to Tartarus, dipshit. Try again,” Percy deadpanned, like it was as simple as walking through the park. The temperature in the throne room plummeted, and the gods stared at him, unsure what to make of this information. Apollo, apparently sensing the truth in his words, sent Poseidon a pitying look — which just made him feel worse, really. This boy was going to age him centuries prematurely and he hadn’t even done much more than open his mouth.

In the oppressive silence, Percy simply rolled his eyes. “Come on. You know this. I know you know this. Or is it so ridiculously beneath the Olympians to make note of any mortal affairs that you’ve already forgotten?”

The gods collectively bristled while the demigods collectively frowned, with Aphrodite’s girl grasping Annabeth Chase’s hand in a gesture of comfort. Either that or she holding her back from starting a knife fight, who could really tell?

Finally, Jason Grace stood. “Percy,” he said hesitantly. “These aren’t the gods we know.”

“This apathetic self-centeredness feels plenty familiar to me,” Percy said. Nico di Angelo audibly face-palmed, while Thalia Grace snorted in laughter. Poseidon let in a sharp inhale, which Percy must have taken as an insult rather than the worry that it was, as his son aimed a small, crooked smile at him. “Sorry, dad. You know it’s true.”

“What your friend means, Perseus, is that we are from a different time than you,” Hestia explained kindly. The fire she was tending to was colored yellow in delight, obviously amused and pleased at Percy’s presence. She gestured toward the set of books next to her. “All of you demigods are from further down the timeline. We are in the Olympus of your past: spending our time learning about your life, and in turn, learning about the coming war.”

“And, uh, just for clarity’s sake, we didn’t kidnap your friends, alright? Blame the Fates,” Hermes added hastily, making a vain attempt to cover all of their bases. “So don’t get mad at us for something we didn’t do.”

Poseidon could practically hear Percy’s snarky comeback already, and signaled the boy to keep quiet. All for naught, apparently, because one raised eyebrow was enough to get the message across. Even Hephaestus was starting to glare at Percy distastefully, having paused from his incessant tinkering, which really showed how much he had gotten on everybody’s nerves. Poseidon was torn between being proud at how effortlessly he had rankled the council or being desperate to make Percy shut up by any means necessary.

From the nervous way that Hazel Levesque was eyeing the room, it looked like someone else understood his torturous plight.

“That explains why Olympus looks so different,” Percy said instead, his voice light. “Un-razed.”

The gods shuddered. “Don’t even joke about that, young man,” Demeter warned.

“Let me blast him, just a little,” Zeus muttered.

“No blasting,” Poseidon said sharply.

“A tiny taste of incineration won’t hurt,” Hades suggested.

“No incinerating either,” Poseidon bit out, his grip on his trident tight. He whirled around to stare at Percy, who was looking far too comfortable at the prospect of certain death by means of divine retribution. “No saying anything worth getting incinerated over.”

Percy shrugged, which — strictly speaking — wasn’t a yes. Poseidon made eye contact with Annabeth Chase, as he had been making a habit of during the reading, and she shook her head as if to say that picking a fight with Percy over this was a futile waste of his time.

He tried thinking of this positively. He tried, he really did.

“At least give my friends some chairs,” Percy said loudly, to which Poseidon started massaging his temples. At the appearance of a set of plastic chairs, his son even had the gall to wrinkle his nose. “What are we, some randos coming over for a Sunday barbecue on the front lawn? We’re on Olympus. Apollo literally has a bean bag collection at his palace.”

Apollo brightened. “You mean I finally get around to it in the future?”

Athena pursed her lips. “You seem quite familiar with the gods, Percy Jackson.”

“Too familiar,” Dionysus muttered.

“How familiar, I wonder,” Aphrodite purred.

Artemis shot the love goddess a look of disgust.

“Please just give my friends good chairs,” Percy said, blearily. “If we’re really going through the drama of reliving our traumatic experiences with literal war just for the Fates’ amusement, you could at least give your children a seat. I don’t think you guys realize how much backpain saving the world gives you.”

Zeus slammed his fists on the throne, crackling with static electricity. “So Olympus is saved in your future. The gods prevail. A fact that your friends did not deign to mention.”

Annabeth Chase immediately stood. “The Fates were clear about needing to learn about the war through the experience of a demigod. Knowing that we win isn’t relevant to that.” Her eyes twitched for a moment before adding, “If you allowed us to speak more, we could have explained that to you, my lord.”

Athena butted in before Zeus could call either lightning or monsters to kill her daughter. “The phrasing is impertinent, but she is correct, Father. If we are fated to preserve anyway, then the Fates would have no reason for intervention. There must be other factors at play that they wish for us to examine; it seems the goal is to better the outcome, not necessarily to reverse it fully.”

Disgruntled but apparently mollified, Zeus leaned back in his seat. “Fine. However, I still do not see the benefits of this exercise. We have not even properly dived into the war yet, only seen its harbinger! Barely any deaths! What we have learned will hardly be of use in battle.”

Some of the demigods seemed stricken. Nico di Angelo was openly glaring at the king.

Percy cleared his throat. “So, let me get this straight. The Fates bring together the Olympians — from the Winter Solstice after Zeus gets his bolt stolen, I assume, since he isn’t holding it right now — and the relevant demigods during the wars, where we’re all supposed to read about my experience as a demigod? Which just so happens to also include the wars?”

Hera scowled. “Has that not been obvious?”

“The boy arrived five minutes ago,” Poseidon argued.

“And right now, you’ve already reached the quest I went on to save Annabeth,” Percy stated. “The one during the Winter Solstice, when we met the Hunters and found Bessie.”

“The one where I was finally introduced!” Apollo grinned. “I’ve personally been sensing that a major development in the Great Prophecy will be coming in this book. I am so excited to go through the last few chapters.”

“Which means that at this point, you’ve read about Ares being influenced by Kronos, Luke defecting, the army of demigods and monsters on the Andromeda, Kronos reforming, Thalia reviving, Annabeth holding up the sky, Atlas on the move, and Bianca dying.” Percy turned to look at his friends. “Have I missed anything?”

“Zoe died a few chapters ago,” Thalia added.

“The minor gods have started defecting as well, I believe,” supplied Reyna.

“Oh, also the misery of having to live feeling abandoned by your parents and having to face death every day you spend alive?” Frank suggested. “It’s a general theme we keep circling back to.”

“Yes, yes, and I’m sure it was a very harrowing series of events for all of you involved,” Zeus dismissed, conveniently ignoring the way that both Hermes and Hades were glowering at him from their thrones. “Let us be done with this quickly.”

Percy tilted his head. “You mean you somehow got through all that and you still don’t get it?”

“We would appreciate it if you would get to the point, boy,” Dionysus drawled. The other gods nodded in agreement.

There was a brief moment, Poseidon observed, where Percy looked to Annabeth Chase before he responded. It was a short moment, the slightest passage of time, where it seemed like an entire conversation had taken place between the two young lovers. By the barest furrow of his brow, Percy was asking Annabeth for her approval before launching into action. And Annabeth responded, with the quaintest quiver of a smile, giving her blessing.

Poseidon probably should have known what was coming, given what he had known of Annabeth from the books and from reading the books with her, but he let himself be lulled into a false sense of security anyway. Surely, Poseidon thought, this Athena spawn isn’t going to let my child do something stupid.

Percy took a deep breath.

“You’re all so stupid,” he said.

Poseidon let out a long, weary exhale. He took a brief moment to accept that the goody-two-shoes son that he envisioned in his head was nothing more than a crazy delusion. And with a wave of his hand, he formed a water shield around Percy just in time to protect him from Zeus’ inevitable lightning strike.

The blast echoed throughout the room, partnered with the demigods’ cries of alarm. To his credit, the way that Percy raised his arms showed the foresight to brace himself, but Poseidon knew — from the way that the air around Zeus was vibrating with ozone and electricity — that his brother had been pushed too far.

In his peripheral vision, he spotted the other demigods rushing to crowd around his son in their concern. Percy waved them off with a smile, but the way he was leaning on Annabeth suggested that even he was shaken by the turn of events.

“Poseidon,” boomed Hera, in place of a king too furious to speak, “This bastard son of yours has offered us nothing but disrespect and disdain ever since he had stepped foot on Olympus. We cannot accept such treason, especially not from the prophecy child. Be wise and let him be punished at once.”

For a brief moment, father and son locked eyes. There was gratefulness in Percy’s expression, yes, but he also looked confused. Like he didn’t understand why his own father would try to prevent him from being harmed.

The water called back to him, swirling around him in a vicious hurricane. He stood, and his trident flew to his hand. Vaguely aware that he couldn’t release too much of his power unless he wanted the demigods to vaporize in front of him, Poseidon turned his back towards the council.

He walked towards his son. The demigods, rather than dispersing, only stood closer by Percy.

Poseidon reached out, and Percy — in a move so subtle it would have been unnoticeable for anyone but a god — flinched back.

And inside Poseidon, something shifted.

“Poseidon,” Hera repeated.

“At ease, sister,” Poseidon said. The hurricane faded away. Slowly, he faced the gods. “Lest you forget that this bastard son of mine is the child of the prophecy and he obviously chose to keep Olympus standing. Despite how he may seem, I believe he has our best interests at heart. Even though we have given him every reason to instead be led astray.”

“Dad?” Percy asked.

Poseidon looked at him, and he saw Percy at twelve, thirteen, fourteen — a little mourning boy aching and breaking for someone to give him a home. The way that his friends crowded around him showed that he found one, eventually, but the god doubted that any of the pantheon had been of any help for that. “You don’t trust us that much, do you?”

Percy gave him a look. “I literally just got blasted.”

He only shook his head. Poseidon met eyes with the rest of the demigods, who stared back with determination, grit, and thinly-veiled suspicion. War heroes, all of them, but to him they only looked so small. “I speak of all the children in this room. You may acknowledge us as your parents, fight for us in familial loyalty, and even be willing to risk your short lives for our cause. But you do so with a conflicted heart. And that is a reflection of our failure.”

The demigods’ silence was enough answer as any. Zeus’ voice was, uncharacteristically, muted and grave. “Brother, we had agreed long ago to cease discussion on this. We had agreed there was no point.”

“And what had that gotten us?” Poseidon argued. “Greek civilization as we know it is dead. All we have left is our children. You cannot tell me that this does not move you.”

“Be that as it may, you cannot tell me that we can change,” Zeus said. “The very nature of immortality is to resist it. I do not care if the old Greeks are dead. We move with the heart of the West, and we have done very well since then without shifting too much of our ways.”

“Then you are blind,” exploded Poseidon. “Not only in this. You are as blind to your duties to your family as our father was to his. And I, for one, refuse to be as misled as you both are.”

Hades scoffed. “Please, you only want to save face because your son is here.”

“And were it your son in his stead, you would do the same!” Poseidon breathed out a heavy sigh, massaging his temples in a vain attempt to assuage his frustration. “Of course I would speak out because Percy is here. We know that he will become the hero of the Great Prophecy and we know that he will save Olympus. I thought that meant he was unfailingly loyal to us and that any disrespect shown by the demigods here was the result of his absence. I was wrong.”

Hera raised an eyebrow. “You’re calling him treasonous after all?”

“No,” Poseidon smiled. He gestured Percy to come forward. With another nod from Annabeth spurring him on, Percy stood beside him — a bit of his wariness fading away as he looked at him with pride. And that, more than anything, told Poseidon he was on the right track. “I’m calling him right. We are stupid. We’ve let tradition needlessly hold us back from showing our kids we care, and we are being shown that continuing it will lead to our near-destruction.”

“And before anyone says that near-destruction doesn’t sound too bad,” Percy butted in, because of course he did, “I think my life is a pretty good argument against that.”

Zeus leaned back on his throne, disgruntled but otherwise unwilling to further escalate into a fight. “We’ll see about that, Perseus.”

“I’m sorry, didn’t you just read about me and Annabeth holding up the sky?” Percy demanded.

Poseidon cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is that treating the demigods’ wariness around us is a problem to solve, not a threat to vanquish. It is becoming clear that examining this, rather than waiting for the book to tell us of future battle strategy, is the key to a decisive win in war.”

Then he glared across the room, making sure every god that met his eyes knew that he was committed to this — to his son, at least, if to nobody else. “And if by any reason one of you would resort to harming a child of Olympus when their presence here is Fates-mandated to bring us a better outcome in the wake of the Great Prophecy, wouldn’t the rest stand and realize that would be the most treasonous thing of all?” He challenged.

Everyone broke out into shushed whispers at that: the demigods in muted astonishment, the gods in grumbling agreement. Beside him, Percy muttered, “That was sick.” Poseidon didn’t know what to make of that. Was that a compliment, in the mortal world? He hoped it was. But it sounded so bad. Oh Fates, he really needed to connect more with his son.

Finally, one of Hestia’s flames flared out loudly and brightly, no doubt one of the rare times his sister found it prudent to gather the whole throne room’s attention.

She clapped her hands, a small smile gracing her face. “My family, I cannot express how glad I am at this turn of events. It would be good if we kept this discussion in mind as we move forward with the rest of the books. Might I suggest a brief recess before we finish this quest’s final chapter?”

Nobody argued with that. Poseidon breathed a sigh of relief.

Percy perked up. “And how about the—”

“Yes, yes,” Zeus grumbled. “We will arrange proper seating arrangements from now on.”

It was a start.

—

Night drew the day’s reading to a close. The gods had a hard look in their eyes, and Apollo patted him on the back before disappearing to his chambers. Poseidon chose to linger, feeling heavy, watching the demigods give Percy the enthusiastic welcome they weren’t given a chance to do in the terse tension of the throne room.

I choose the prophecy, his far too young son had said. Poseidon had known this, of course he had, but it still felt like a wave crashing into him. It made sense why the Fates brought him in now. It was when the prophecy would finally take shape, and everything was meticulously poised for Percy to grasp it with his own hands. He would claim victory with a bloody, bloody price. Poseidon ached just thinking about it.

In the midst of the celebration, he met eyes with Annabeth Chase. And with a soft grace that he would forever be thankful for, she quickly led the rest of the demigods to take their leave.

Poseidon and Percy were left alone.

He took a harrowing breath. “My son—”

“Thanks for sticking up for me,” Percy blurted out. “I just wanted to put that out there first.”

“You’re welcome, but I was never going to let Zeus take you from me.” Poseidon sighed. “I thought it was difficult enough just reading through your ordeals. Now I have to make sure you get out alive from here as well. You’re making my years wear down on me, child.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “Finally feeling your age?”

“Ha,” Poseidon deadpanned. He laid a hand on Percy’s shoulder. “I’m serious. You’re a lot more trouble than you might think.”

Percy shrugged his hand off. “Probably would’ve been better off with a more obedient kid, yeah?”

“No. I never — no,” Poseidon said, caught off-guard and upset. Percy only stared at him, face blank and inscrutable, and that only made his pain feel all the more raw. “I’m sorry. What I mean is that a hero’s fate is rarely happy. I hate knowing that this is true for you, and for it to be at the extent that the Fates are stepping in . . . Percy, I’m afraid for you.”

Oddly, Percy’s mouth twitched up at that. “I’m right here.”

“I’m afraid things will get worse,” Poseidon confessed. “I care for you too much to lose you.”

Then Percy moved closer, arms wide, and Poseidon wondered if he did anything wrong again this time, until he realized — oh, his son was pulling him into a hug. Tentatively, he returned it, careful not to grip too hard. Percy was here, and he was warm, and alive. In this moment nothing else mattered but that. If any of his fellow gods loved their children as fiercely as Poseidon loved Percy now, he couldn’t fathom any of them thinking that the Ancient Laws still had any merit. Not when what little they’ve read so far already showed how much the demigods suffered before the war even started, and certainly not after everything they would know once the reading was over.

“See? Zeus was wrong,” Percy said, his voice a bit muffled from where Poseidon was holding him dear and close to his heart. “You can change.”

Poseidon smiled. “Only because you believe we can, my son.”

—

At the next day’s reading, Poseidon ignored his throne to sit beside the children.

“Brother,” Zeus warned.

“What?” Poseidon said innocently, eyes twinkling. “These bean bags are much more comfortable.”

Beside him, Percy laughed, and that was all the reward in the world.

[dootznbootz]

BEHOLD THE GUY!!! ☝

I still love the doodles so much, Tal 🥺 They are so lovely

@perroulisses Here's the details and the "Whys" :D

His hair is literally described with "robbed his head of its auburn locks" (book 13, Rieu) and "she caused the bushy locks to hang from his head thick as the petals of the hyacinth in bloom" (Book 23, Rieu) So he has a LOT of thick curly, red-brown hair. With the "Long haired Achaeans", it also goes past his shoulders quite a bit. If you were to straighten it or stretch it out, it'd probably be down to his butt. ( @iroissleepdeprived did a very cute depiction of that)

Curly af hair and freckles, from what I've read during the Minoan/Mycenaean time periods, were the beauty standard. (painted suns on cheeks) Also I think Anticlea having them from Hermes' line is really cute. He inherited that as he takes after his mom in basically every way. He has freckles littered basically across his whole body but the most are on his face and shoulders.

Telemachus has freckles and curly hair as well but his hair is black and his eyes are silver like Penelope's😤 the curls and freckles from Hermes are STRONG

Speaking of Hermes!!!

Autolycus is said to be a "shapeshifter" in some things, so Odysseus kind of inherits that in HOW he is fairly androgynous in a way. He doesn't always realize it but he'll sometimes look pretty masculine and sometimes more feminine. He uses this to his advantage to swindle

"Okay, you're a tough one to crack. What if I bat my lashes and kind of purse my lips...Alright! Let's take it up a notch with moving the jaw a bit and...YEAH!!! 3 more goats!!! >:D ...Fuck no, I'm not gonna sleep with you! I don't want you, I want your stuff! >:( "

He's a pretty boy. Something that he uses but also gets frustrated by as he's asexual CODED in my writing. "Leave me alone, you're not my hot af wife. Understand that I'm just as shitty as I am pretty. Fuck off." Many people (including goddesses😢) are attracted to him even though he's not about that.

He's got dark gray eyes, like stormy gray. Being Athena's pet kind of does that. Penelope's are icy silver/blue. She pierces his "storm clouds" 🥹

I know a lot of people have Short King Odysseus but while he's shorter than Menelaus and Agamemnon, he's not THAT short. He's probably around 5'10 or 5'11. He has shitty posture sometimes so that also doesn't help.

Homer has him be a big, buff, cheeto puff and describes his build in the Iliad pretty well so yeah, that's canon. He's kind of leaner with a broad chest and shoulders.

He can't grow a beard for the longest time, :'D (kind of helpful with the "feminine pretty boy" schemes) and only starts getting scruffy in later years of Troy. And finally a beard in the middle of the Odyssey.

I think that's most of it???? YEAH!!! Niko did a wonderful doodle himself a while back too! (Mostly focuses on Penelope but he's in there simping too.)

"My Odysseus design" has a shitton of freckles, something he got from Anticlea through Hermes' line.

When young and first courting, even when Penelope really likes him and knows it, she's mostly afraid to take the "final step" of "Hey, I like you." but she'll still do silly shit.

 "You have 56 freckles on your face." "...You counted?" "...Yeah O_O" "..." "..." "I got some on my arms-" And she starts counting them but he's a little shit and flexing and showing off. "Stop that, you're making me lose count >:( "

Since she's memorized the placement of his freckles, (photographic memory. Benefit of being one of Athena's pets) she weaves them as the stars in her tapestries. 🥲

"That's not...That's not how the stars are mapped-" "They're MY stars, asshole >:( "

[creoterative]

AoT x Percy Jackson

I’m reading the Apollo books by Rick Riordan since... they came out I guess and today I had this funny idea. Which god would be the parent of these Attack on Titan characters? Including greek, norse and egyptian gods.

warnings: SPOILERS

Eren: Ares - The god of war, unpredictable, tempestuous and hot-headed, but gets things done without hesitation.

Mikasa: Isis - Egyptian goddess of magic, helped her husband to rise to power and even revived him from the dead. Such dedication!

Armin: Poseidon - God of the sea, which explains Armin’s love for it. Threw some temper tantrums in the past, but is a useful guy most of the time, just like Armin, and travels a lot. 

Jean: Apollo - The ever so beautiful god of music, archery, prophecy, poetry... and a lot of other stuff. Fits Jeans arrogant behavior too well, but also gives him abilities to help his comrades when they are hurt, another thing Jean can definetely use. 

Connie: Hermes - Greek god of messages and traveling, but is also very fast and said to be trustwothy. Most of the time. Because Hermes is the god of thieves as well and his mischievous side fits Connie well, causing all kinds of trouble (but the fun way, you know?)

Sasha: Artemis - Goddess of the hunt and the moon. There is no better mother for someone, who grew up in a village of hunters. Artemis also never got a man, which applies to Sasha as well. 

Erwin: Nike - Goddess of victory. Although Erwin never got the victory he dreamed of, he continued to fight until the very end. That kind of determination can only come from a mother with... very great passion to win.

Levi: Athena - The goddess of wisdom and intelligent warfare couldn’t be better for someone, who had to fight all his life and still remained such a logical and calculating character like Levi did. 

Hange: Bast - Egyptian goddess of cats and protection, but also of good luck. Hange is a very optimistic character, who often had more luck than brains, but she still managed to stay alive for a long time, at least longer than most in this wretched fandom. She is also very protective of her friends.

Historia: Horus - The egyptian ‘Avenger’ and rightful heir to the throne. Just as his daughter Historia was until she killed her own father and reclaimed the crown. 

Ymir: Hera - Greek goddess of marriage and family. Yeah, seems weird for Ymir, doesn’t it? Well, Ymir wanted to marry Historia (mostly mentioned in the Junior High Spin off) but she also had such a strong bond with her, that she could even feel her presence. And the community was a huge thing for her, when she was still living in Marley. 

Reiner: Thor - Norse god of Thunder and Lightning, but also the weather in general, loves to fight and is a hero amongst his fellow comrades, just like Reiner wants to be. The guys mood swings also somehow resemble Reiners split personality - one day, he lets flowers grow by letting the sun shine, the next he burns them down with some lightnings. 

Bertolt: Anubis - The egyptian god of funerals. Do I need to explain why? Alright. Well, he got the black hair from him and also his calmer nature, but now that Bertolt is dead himself, he can help the dead to get into the afterlife (I know, I’m an asshole)

Annie: Aphrodite - Beauty and Love, two things Annie doesn’t give a shit about, but her mother gave her both, so yeah, she has to deal with that now. 

Zeke: Ares - Also the god of war, making him and Eren half brothers, but Zeke inherited the more thoughtful side of Ares combined with his hunger for battle.

Porco and Marcel: Loki - Mischievous god with a faible for having kids with the weirdest partners such as, I dunno, horses? And giants? Because why the fuck not. And the part with illusions and daggers fits Porco very well. Marcel probably would inherit his powers, but because of his calm, friendly nature wouldn’t make much use of them.

Pieck: Demeter - Calm and collected goddess of the earth and farming, something Pieck would know how to use just right. Growing plants to climb or covering her friends with some roots, that is totally her thing. 

[neriyon]

Rest of the gang! Some extra notes that didn't fit the form + links to all of the picrews under the read more.

Einn / Skeiron (picrew link)

No ethnicity because I honestly am not sure where he's even from. Maybe golmore jungle?

Skeiron was part of the Elpis staff, and met Hermes there. They spend a lot of time together (since both of them liked birds) and kinda dated but nothing too serious.

Skeiron did not fight. At all. So no class.

Skeiron was one of Eleos' besties.

Chili / Askalaphos (picrew link)

Again, I don't really know what to say as his ethnicity. He's from Azim Steppe but was kidnapped to be test subject for garleans when he was like 5

He and Aska are purposefully really similar! I debated shipping him off to Emet and for that sweet sweet angst wanted Chili to look basically identical to his ancient self - but with the twist that he's very anxious and unsure person while Askalaphos was confident and capable. ("Fucked up a perfectly good person with the sundering. Look at it, it has anxiety now")

Aska was part of the Words of Emet-Selch (so worked under Emet), and knew Eleos through that.

Maito / Enyo (picrew link)

Enyo was significantly younger than the other ancients here! Roughly same age range as Ryne and Gaia (teens) while everyone else is young adults.

She was a student at Akadaemia. Not sure what she was specializing in (I haven't decided lol), but she was probably going for job at Words of Pashatarot or something fairly physical.

Fought with a huge axe, so I classified her as war.

She's related to Venat! Not entirely sure how, but possibly cousin or niece (she's supposed to look like her a little).

Naho / Thalia (picrew link)

Once again, I do not know where she's from. Naho was born on a pirate ship.

Thalia is same age as Enyo - they were really close friends/pretty much dating

She was a student too, but with focus on arts and especially theatre.

Again no fighting.

Her only connection to Eleos is that she hangs out with Enyo 24/7 lol

Momo / Ceto (picrew link)

Again a pair that purposefully looks similar. Momo didn't look like that when they were born, but the later demonic possession thing brought out similarities to Ceto (along with the white hair/mismatch eyes)

Ceto was part of Words of Mitron and specialized on deep sea creations.

They enjoyed bothering Hyth with every single shark concept Words of Mitron could come up with and often offered to deliver them for others.

They also enjoyed making Lahabrea's life as hard as possible, and was related to the whole Pandaemon incident (with Hegemone)

Didn't choose a class but Ceto definitely knew how to fight. Possibly something nin/viper style?

Yulan / Oneiros (picrew link)

I've still yet to post Yulan and Firn's infos but I really wanted to include them in this OTL

Honestly not sure about the Oneiros name - another choice was Lethe and I liked it better, but dreams as a theme fit him better than forgetting.

Not sure who he would be working under, but his job basically consisted of dreams and painting. Sometimes dealing with accidental creations made from especially vivid dreams, sometimes making art, sometimes even delivering messages through dreams.

Partner has a * because it's situational and tied strongly to Firn/Soter. On AUs/timelines where Yulan is the one Firn is looking for Soter and Oneiros were dating, but when Firn is looking for someone else (wol, or whoever au needs him to look for lol) Oneiros was most likely single or with someone unimportant.

First custom class, yay! "Soul painter" is basically what it says on the tin - Oneiros paints things with his brush, and the creations come to life. (very strongly influenced by celestial brush from Okami and Dusk from Arknights) Yulan kinda partially inherits this skill, but since he doesn't usually fight (being crafter) it's basically just "oh look that's a really lifelike looking painting".

One of the few Amaurotians who didn't use creation magics to the scar on his face and was seen as pretty weird for it.

Another close friend of Eleos.

Firn / Soter (picrew link)

No ethnicity bc Firn is literally from another shard and I haven't done that much worldbuilding yet.

He has his own custom class that I'm calling sword mage for this meme. It's basically pld x rdm, so swords and magic. Rdm style sword, knightly aesthetic from pld, technically melee but can make cool floating magic swords. Basically inherited it from Soter.

Firn is ascian, and acended to the seat of Pashtarot despite not being of the Source. Idk where Source's Pashtarot shard is, most likely gone in some fucked up way since they went all the way to Sixth to get Firn.

Partner thing explained mostly on Oneiros. On most AUs he's looking for the person he was dating as Soter, but on some he was single (and looking for a dear friend or some other charge).

Uhh extra Soter info (since I'm obessed with him rn): very strong fighter who (as his name suggests) was tasked with protecting Amaurot. This included both protecting it against threats from outside as well as eliminating things Convocation deemed too dangerous to the star's wellbeing (this includes people).

Blind in one eye. Creation magics could've fixed it ofc, but he refused (his own creation skills are pretty low) for unknown reasons.

Usually stays silent, preferring to answer only with nods or small sounds of affirmation.

Regarless of au/timeline/whatever, when Final Days hit and people start turning Soter kills Oneiros because someone with imagination that lively would've turned into particularly terrifying monster very fast (on most aus Oneiros himself asks Soter to do it)

There was once again a thing on the bird app (link to original)

[roger-that-cap]

doubt comes in

orpheus!bucky barnes x fem!eurydice!reader

summary: a retelling of orpheus and eurydice for an extremely late entry for a mythology challenge!!

warnings: uh- yeah i was not playing with this myth lol… fluffy beginning, uh, that’s all imma say about that and ALSO i haven’t edited this so haha, i am running on fumes but had to post this jeez 

word count: 11.3k good god

There were gods that were unexplainably strong. There were some that could bend fire and metal to their will, some that could string up love and cast it upon others, and others that knew more of war and how to win more than they even knew themselves. Others were the faces of glory, like Zeus and Hera and the sun god Apollo and so many others. There were many that were worshipped by humans every day of every week, and others that were forgotten until they were desperately needed. There were some that lived immortal lives and demanded respect from humans and gods alike, and then there were the ones invested in their art, in themselves, in the beauty of life itself.

That was Bucky. He was so immersed in song, in the gift that he had inherited from his mother, Calliope, that it was all he could think about. It was what made him different, it was what made him stand out from the boys that he grew up with that were just plain old strong. He had a talent, he had a mother that was a myth and a legend alike, and he had a lyre. He had a lyre, a lute, his voice, and a bit of speed, and that was all that he would ever need in life. That, and a pretty landscape to look at while he strummed his golden strings. But that was all he ever thought he would need- which was why he was knocked right off of his planted feet when he saw you walk by.

You were a human. You were a beautiful girl, probably the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his entire life. He had met goddesses and nymphs and princesses alike, but never had he met someone who had such a sweet face, such a gentle aura, and even more, a beautiful voice. You had only said a few words to someone else that were delivered with a gentle smile, but he could have sworn that your words were a melody. Before he knew it, your entire being was stamped into his mind, and he knew that he would never be able to forget you.

It was by complete chance that the next day, he decided to wallow in his sadness by a fountain in public, strumming his lyre too quietly for anyone else to hear. Anyone who knew him knew that he was devastatingly off. And coincidentally, the only ones who truly did know Bucky were Steve and Sam, two forest nymphs that had been his best friends since he taught them the ways of the lute years and years ago. They were sitting by him in silence on the marbled fountain, waiting next to him for the second shoe that they doubted would ever drop. But then, like Bucky was a sunflower following the sun itself, his back straightened, his head perked up, and his mouth dropped, his eyes wide and swirling with admiration as he watched you- the same human woman he was enamoured with- walk through the square again, a woven basket full of fresh fruits on your arm and your lilac dress swishing in the wind.

“No way,” he heard Sam mutter, and Steve poked his side.

“You were always such a doubter,” Steve mumbled, but the smile on his face was audible through his tone. “There she is, in the flesh.”

Bucky could hardly hear anything but the soft melody stirring up in his mind, louder than his racing heart, and just as tender as the feelings swirling inside of him. He saw you wave to the older woman you were talking to and then start to walk away, and he knew that he couldn’t let you go, not when the Fates so obviously gave him a second chance. Without a second thought, he slid off of the fountain, leaving his friends and his lyre, striding towards you with the brightest smile, trying to cover the fact that he was nervous.

His clumsy feet were carrying him a little too quickly, and he could hear the snickers of Steve and Sam from behind him. He craned his head backwards to look at them and laugh too, but he tripped over his own left foot, barreling right into you and knocking you flat onto the ground. His half immortal heart beat heavy and hard in his chest as he watched you wince under him. He scrambled up, cheeks flushed and hand shaking as he watched you sit up and brush the dirt off of your dress. He was looking down at you with a look that he prayed wasn’t as desperate as he felt. But he had to know you.

“I’m Orpheus,” he started, and when you turned your bright eyes to him with your brows furrowed, he shook his head like he was trying to get water from his hair. “No, I meant that I was sorry- I’m so sorry. For knocking you over, miss.” He extended his hand to you again, and he swore that he saw your lips quirk up a bit at him. You took his hand and stood up, brushing the fabric of your dress once again. He caught a trail of your scent, and he was immediately overtaken by the scent of fresh flowers and lavender.

That was when he really got a good look at you for the first time. The first time he saw you had been brief. You weren’t even looking anywhere near his way, and he only caught a look at your stunning side profile before you walked away. His vision had been practically blurred from excitement while he walked up to you, and he was so embarrassed about crashing into you that he was subtly trying not to look in your eyes. But… damn, he had been missing out.

He swore that time stopped. His own heart stopped beating, even the sluggish beat leaving for a few moments. The noises from the town square were so dull that they seemed muted. The stares of Steve and Sam felt so far off that he didn’t even notice them. All he knew was that he was utterly entranced by you, and for a second, he could have sworn that by the look in your eyes, you felt the same way. But like the blaring of an alarm, something knocked you both out of it, putting you in the present, with present problems.

“Oh, the fruits,” you muttered, looking at the peaches and apples that tumbled right out of your basket, bending over quickly to collect them despite the fact that they had gotten bruised. Bucky’s heart jumped to his throat with guilt when he realized he had ruined the fruit you had either picked or paid for, and then he was rushing to get them even faster, praying to the gods that you didn’t automatically hate him.

After looking into your eyes, he doubted he could live with himself if you even so much as disliked him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I don’t have the best footing,” he apologized again, gently placing the fruits back into your basket.

“It’s okay,” you said, and your eyes trailed behind him to look at his friends that were howling with laughter, holding onto each other. He saw your displeasure, and his heart dropped when he understood that you probably thought they had sent him over just to mess with you. Your eyes whipped back to Bucky, and he blushed something fierce. He felt his cheeks warm up under your scrutiny, and then there was a smile creeping back onto your face. “I'm Eurydice.”

Oh, Gods. Eurydice. He swore that he had never heard something so beautiful in his life. He had grown up with the Muses, even had a mother as one, and was surrounded by music and poetry and epics every second of his childhood. Music was imprinted in his mind, every note embedded in his everyday life, yet still it was the most beautiful- “But I go by Y/N.” No. Eurydice was now second. But your name, the one he knew you had chosen for yourself, was the most beautiful thing that life had ever offered him to hear.

His brain was going many miles a minute, as quick as Hermes on a mission, but all he could do in the end was blink and offer his true name first, like politeness called for. “I’m Orpheus,” he extended his arm again to you, and you shook it twice. Your hand was soft, so soft that he didn’t want to let go of it. He would never forget the feeling of your hand in his, and the way he swore that the nerves under his skin were alight with the gentlest and sweetest of fires. “You can call me Eurydic- I mean, Bucky. I’m Bucky.”

You could both hear the laughter coming from Bucky’s friends, and while you were cracking a small smile, Bucky was dying on the inside. “You like to be called by other people's names?”

“I wouldn't mind being called by yours,” he blurted softly, his words coming out as a quick and uncalculated slur. He blinked abruptly when he realized that he was truly having the worst first introduction he had ever had in his life, and it was the one that somehow meant the most to him. “I- only because Eurydice is such a pretty- so is Y/N- I… I’m sorry.” He shook his head, knowing that he was so close to just having to walk away. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just gave you a short smile and waved, turning on his heel.

“I’m Orpheus, then. Maybe Bucky, too.” He slowly turned back around, a shocked look on his face. Had you really spoken to him again with your own free will?

Bucky knew that he wasn’t ugly. No god or demigod was ever ugly, other than poor Hephaestus. He knew that he had his own sort of charm and that he could bring the roughest of people to tears and the saddest of people to joy with his music, but he didn’t know anything else. He had three redeeming qualities that swirled in his head constantly- he was pretty, he had music, and he had a famous mother.

“Are you a singer?”

“Huh?” So much for eloquence.

You bit your lip. “You speak… you speak like you have a song in your heart. Are you a singer?”

He was stumped. Most knew at least of his music if nothing else. He was the most famed god or man to ever strum a lute besides maybe Apollo. Most knew nothing of his personality and nothing about him other than the fact that he was born to play and sing, and you didn’t? Where had you been living? “Well, I’m Orpheus.”

There was a grin on your face, and Bucky knew that he never wanted to see anything other than that for the rest of his life. “And that makes you a singer?”

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk about who he was born from and where he learned to play and who taught him, but when he looked deeper and saw the spark of mischief in your eyes, he leaned back and held back a small smile of his own. His heart fluttered and grew two sizes. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t,” you said, obvious teasing in your voice, and somehow it still stayed kind. “Maybe I do, and just wanted a free song out of you.”

She knows me, he thought, and his heart may as well have let out a lovesick sigh from within the confines of his chest. She has never heard me sing before, but she will. I’ll sing her a thousand songs.

“I’ll sing you all the songs you desire if you marry me,” he blurted, and while his mind was scolding him for uttering those words so quickly, his heart was steady on beating and so sure of itself that he told his mind off.

To his subtle surprise, you didn’t look shocked. You weren’t disgusted by his rather bold approach and most importantly, you weren’t laughing at him. He held onto your silence in limbo, waiting for you to say something that would either crush him to bits or send his soul rising so high that he reached the cloudy gates of Olympus.

“If you can make me a song that can make the skies open up and weep without singing a word, then I’ll marry you.”

His heart soared. His hands shook. He could have sworn that even his toes clenched. But all you could see were his wide, boyish eyes, and the hopeful look that dawned across his face. He nodded quickly. “I’ll do anything.”

He saw your lips pull up into a smile, genuine and even a little shy, and he couldn’t help but want to step closer. But he knew he had already been up front and abrupt, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

“Okay,” you said, nodding your own head slowly. “I’ll see you soon, then, Bucky.” You took a step back, eyes still connected to his blue ones until you finally turned around and walked away with the same basket on your arm, same dress swaying with the tuneless song of the wind.

The three of them stood in silence, watching you walk away, taking pieces of Bucky’s heart with you in your cradled arms. The bustling of the town was loud, moving about like nothing of significance had happened right where they were all standing, and Bucky found it nothing short of insane. Did no one else just see how the world stopped turning for that one girl? How the Fates put a pause on the clock just so that they could meet?

Steve’s voice brought him out of it. “Did you just ask for her hand in marriage?”

He didn’t even have the energy to shrug. All the swirled in his mind was love, passion, music, and you. You, you, you. “I had to.”

“How will you even find her again?” Steve asked, his logic once again being the only thing that held Bucky down to the ground.

“I know the work of Eros when I see it,” Sam said to Steve, shaking his head somewhat fondly at the pale boy with brunette hair who was still staring off in the direction you left in, like you would miraculously appear again. “They’ll find each other again soon enough.”

The hours went by and then the daylight turned into night and back to day again, and Sam’s words couldn’t have been truer. Your spirit and your face and your voice found Bucky with every few seconds that passed by. He couldn’t blink without seeing you. He couldn’t listen to anyone without hearing you. He couldn’t breathe without smelling your beautiful scent. Everything tasted bland, looked plain, and sounded like white noise after he met you. He knew that until his last (and unlikely) breath, his heart would ache for nothing more than to be yours. He wanted his ring to be on your finger, and yours to be on his.

So he began to make a song.

§§§

He worked tirelessly. The hours below the sun that used to be spent laughing and playing with Steve and Sam were exchanged for hours of composing. His normally perfect posture was hunched over as he tried to find the melody that had stirred in his heart when he first saw you- because he knew that was it.

By the end of twelve days of pure struggling, most of the song was finished. He was a fast worker, so fast that it made everyone else’s heads spin, but he felt it was going too slowly. But then again, he was fast at everything. The melody was as stuck with him as his skin was to his body. He was sure that it would never leave him, even if he wrote a thousand more songs. And part of him never wanted it to go, because it was so you.

He had only held one conversation with you, and it wasn’t long enough, but he felt like he had known you for years. He felt like he had sung to you hundreds of times and danced with you a hundred times more. Your soul felt so familiar yet so foreign that he had to chase after you, and had to discover anything that he could have missed. He knew that you were his destiny, and he had a feeling that you knew he was yours.

The song he was writing wasn’t sad, but it brought tears to his eyes all the same. It wasn’t about longing or loss or chasing after something that would never come to you, but it made Steve and Sam wipe their eyes all the same. It was about your beauty, your inherent wit and kindness, and the way that you set his soul free from chains he didn’t even know of. It was about a love he had never dreamed of finding or even thought to be true, and that was enough to make the three of them weep.

“I think it’s finished, Buck.” This came from Steve after he wiped his eyes again, sitting through the full song again even though his heart aches for a love he had never felt before. “Sam thought it was done days ago.”

Sam had left the two of them alone days ago, claiming that he couldn’t stand to hear the melody and cry each time, claiming that it was beautiful but too much. It made sense. Even Bucky himself was starting to feel the effects of it. But Steve was a stubborn thing, and he would sit through it for as long as Bucky would play it.

“You think it’s enough to make the skies open and cry?” Bucky breathed out, loosely quoting the words he had heard from you not too long ago.

“Even if it’s not, it will surely win her over,” Steve said. “She was already wooed by you, you’re a fool not to see it. She was excited enough that you even agreed to make the song in the first place, anyway.”

Bucky sat there for a few minutes as his fingers tingled, expecting to be used again to pluck the magnificent strings. But he set his instrument down on the log he sat on, sighing and placing a hand under his chin, his thoughts trailing over to you for the thousandth time. “I hope she accepts it.”

Steve just looked at him. “I think that if you came empty handed and told her half of the words you tell me and Sam, she’d follow you anywhere.”

Steve was right. Steve had to have been right, or he was going to wilt right in front of you. He had to be. The brunet nodded, biting his pink lip before opening his mouth again. “Where do you think I’ll find her?”

§§§

It didn’t take long to find you at all. Bucky went to find you alone, finding you because something inside of him told him to search the flowering fields nearby, and there you were. There was a hat made of straw over your head to cover your eyes and face from the sun, and you had the same basket on your arm that you had the other days. It was empty this time, and he had no doubt that you were looking at the flowers for fun before going to look for fruit. He couldn't help but smile fondly at you from across the field, and then he was gripping his lyre and taking a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice full of emotion instead of being the strong sound he wanted it to be. Nonetheless, it caught your attention, and then your pretty eyes were wide on him. Immediately, your feet turned in his direction and you made your way across the meadow, and he followed suit. He met you in the middle, so nervous that the grin that was deep inside of him wasn’t coming out at all.

You were both at a loss for words as you stood close to each other. His hands shook at his sides, aching to hold your hands in his. He wondered if they were as soft as your voice, or as smooth as the petals flowers you admired. “You came?”

He blinked. Of course he did. It was all he could think of doing. “My only regret is not coming sooner,” he admitted, and he watched you angle your eyes downwards, and he smiled at your shyness. “Would you like to hear it?”

Your eyes were connecting with his again, and he could have sworn that your smile could have put him in an early grave. He was momentarily stunned by you and your brightness, so stunned that he hardly even heard what you said. “Of course I would.”

“So then you’ll hear it,” he said softly, his heart and mind completely taken over by you in your presence. He fixed his lyre into position, his fingers already fixed into the correct spots as he began to play your song.

His eyes were shut as he strummed just as he had practiced thousands of times, but he knew it felt different. His body was buzzing with excitement and something else he couldn’t identify, but he loved it. It made him play stronger. His eyes shut even more as he felt the music, swaying side to side a bit as he felt his heart open up to you, finally content with you hearing the song.

He didn’t even realize that he was done until all he could hear was quiet sniffles. He pried his left eye open, almost too scared to look for your reaction, but when he saw that you were just looking up at him with watery eyes and a wobbly smile, he opened his other eye, ready to spring into action.

The only thought going through his mind was that it was impossible that you liked it. The way you were looking at him reminded him of the way people looked at sculptures of ancient monsters— a muted type of awe, but also a sense of discomfort. He brought you to tears, and not in the way he wanted to. He ruined it.

“I- was it bad?” He blurted out, and he cursed himself at ruining his own chance. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t like it-”

“How long have you been playing that song?”

You were too beautiful. Too gentle. You were melting his brain into mush, and he doubted that he would be able to pick up his lyre for another round even if you begged him. “I… I just made it. For you, I made it with you in mind.”

Your facial expression didn’t change. “Where’s the ring?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The rings we’re going to wear when we wed,” you said, almost teasing. “Do you have them?”

His eyes widened. “You want to marry me?” He asked, leaning forward a bit in shock. “The sky didn’t- the rain never came.”

“I cried,” you said, a small smile on your face. You still hadn’t wiped your tears, and he watched them frozen on your face, stuck in time. “I didn’t expect the work of the gods. I just wanted you to play for me.”

He was bewildered. He had half of the mind to ask you if you truly meant it again, but he took his excitement and ran with it. “And you… you feel this too?”

You took his right hand into yours, and he swore that his souls ascended to the gates of Olympus and waltzed right in. “I felt it the second I saw you, Bucky.”

He blushed something fierce before looking down at the ground, shame overtaking his sheer admiration for you. “There’s something I should tell you before you say you want to be with me.”

“Tell me anything,” you encouraged softly, one of your hands coming up to brush his warm cheek.

“I don’t have much.”

And he didn’t. He had Sam and Steve and a nomadic lifestyle. He never stayed in the same place for long, and he didn’t have a roof over his head. He didn’t need one. Rain and wind and fire didn’t bother him. He preferred to live under the canopy of trees and the protection of nature. But he knew humans didn’t. He knew humans— especially women— liked when their partners brought things to the table, and he had nothing but strings and whistles. He had nothing materialistic. He had no gems, no coins, no house, and fancy clothes— nothing money could buy. But he looked at you and saw that you deserved it all, and even more he saw that he had no way to even provide it for you.

“I live in many different places, I don’t have a home. I don’t have money. I don’t have… I can’t buy you dresses or shoes or any of the stuff you would probably like… and I’m sorry. I know that will probably change everything, but I just wanted you to know.”

You took a step forward, strong and secure, and then your chin was tilted upwards. “Like I said, where are the rings?”

Bucky grinned.

§§§

The day of your wedding was blessed by the gods, whether they admitted it or not. You married each other in the meadow Bucky found you in with a small crowd of people, and when you kissed as man and wife, peace washed over the both of you, and it felt like your marriage had been approved by all far and wide. The kiss that you shared to make the wedding official was short and sweet and full of the most innocent of passion, and he felt so adored by the soft touch of your lips that he felt a singular tear cross the terrain of his pale face for the first time in years.

He didn’t even deny it.

He didn’t deny the way that you danced together was perfect. He had never guided you, had hardly even danced with another woman, but it was perfect. It was like he had practiced with you before a hundred times, and the feel of your hands in his was what kept him sane. He was convinced that you could do anything new with him and it would feel like you had done it before, just because you were so familiar to him as a whole.

He had known you for what felt like seconds in the grand scheme of things, but you knew him inside out and he knew you better than he knew himself. He could find you in the dark, you could identify him with just a whisper of his voice, and he could fall in love with you over and over without even touching you. He would perform the Sisyphean task of falling in love with you over and over again if it meant that he could be next to you.

And luckily, it turned out that you didn’t need the things that Bucky was sure you were going to. He got you a small house just for the two of you to come back to, and he still roamed around in the area. Steve and Sam would walk off and come back weeks later, just like they used to when it was the three of them together. And there would Bucky be, at the house he made possible for you, and happier than ever.

Bucky lived an extremely modest life with you, and he liked it. Farming and getting water from wells and working for the food that was on your tables, cutting wood to feed the flames in the pit in the middle of your main room. Life was somewhat repetitive, so repetitive that he was scared he would lose you to your wild imagination and beautiful, adventurous heart. But it had never been as fulfilling as it was with you.

The little things were what made his day. It was waking up with you at his side, tucked into his arms and still sleeping soundly while he made songs up in his head dedicated to you that made him smile. It was listening to you hum to yourself while you washed corn and peaches and squash in the buckets of water you had carried down the hill that served as your property. It was the way you would pull him out of a funk by taking his hand and leading him out of his chair, dancing to music that didn’t exist, or the way you would coax him to sing to the moon because you wanted a longer night. A longer night meant more time spent with each other.

When you woke up after your long nights, sometimes you would coax him out of bed for some daily challenge, a challenge that usually he would end up beating you at. Part of him believed that you just wanted him to show off, but you always said otherwise. You would challenge him in singing only to have him go first and not even sing, claiming you had already lost. You would tell him you wanted to race him to the stream and back, knowing that you would lose by a long shot. He could run circles around you if he hardly tried, and that was just in his godly blood. But there was never any jealousy, never any animosity, never any bitterness. It was all just sweet, it felt.

You were just so magical. It was so simple, the things that made him happy, but he knew that just one call from your soul to his was more than just communication. He craved it. He knew from the moment that he met you that his soul would always seek yours, even into the afterlife. He knew that every day with you would be as beautiful as you were on your wedding day, shining brighter than any gem or any star in the night sky. And none of it would ever change.

§§

Things changed. Just as the sun rose and set, so did time. It cranked on without a single hint of Bucky aging, and you were still as youthful as you were the three years prior. Life was still beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

You had traveled around the world with him, kissed in so many different cities with different kings and different cultures and different music. You had met so many different people, lived so many different lives, just to go back home and settle there. It was wonderful. He loved you, and you loved him. It was the kind of love that was never at risk of fading or thawing away. It was the kind of love that was only spurned on as the years crawled by, the days acting as twigs added to an already strong fire. It was such a beautiful thing that he had with you, and every day with you felt like one that was blessed by the gods themselves.

Until it didn’t.

Bucky had never felt fear in his heart like he did when he heard your scream travel across the meadow. He didn’t even put on his shoes before tearing off to find you, torn between begging you to make another sound so that he could hear you or pleading the gods to make the sound of your distress stop and never happen again. His chest rose and fell with the exertion, and he knew that he had never been so afraid in his life.

The scream was all that echoed in his mind when he ran through the woods, and as he stumbled upon fallen fruits and flowers that he just knew were yours. He realized he was at the end of a ravine almost too late, and when he looked down, following the steep curve of the slope with wary and partially-knowing eyes, he immediately doubled over.

There you were in all your fallen glory, legs bent unnaturally and neck twisted even worse. The light yellow of your dress was stained with brown and dark green, and in some places a deep red that made him sick to his stomach. Your eyes were looking up at the sky, staring right into the sun as it shone down on your figure, taunting him just like the breeze that began to make your dress look so lively.

Bucky fell to his knees right on the edge of the ravine, his heart not even lurching when he lost his balance. An arm reached out to you, like it was stuck in the moment before you fell and he could reach you. Tears were coming down his face slowly, steadily as he fought to get breaths in. He called your name.

He didn’t know how many times he called your name, or how far the sadness in it traveled. It must have been loud and long enough, because before he knew it, there were hands on his shoulders. They were warm and familiar and even the smallest bit comforting in that moment, but not enough. He wanted your hands.

“Let’s get away from the edge, Buck.” It was Steve’s voice, strong and gentle and the backbone of the situation. Bucky’s eyes pried open at the feeling of Steve’s sturdy hands pulling him backwards, and he retched in his mouth at the sight of your broken, soulless body at the bottom. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten so close to it himself.

“I’ll go down to…” Sam started, trailing off with a soft and distraught look on his face when he caught sight of Bucky again, and Steve nodded at him.

“Let’s get you up, Buck. Up and Washed off.” He hadn't even realized he was dirty at all. His hands were covered in dirt and under his fingernails were the same earthy brown he was used to. He had been pulling up grass from where he grieved without even noticing.

His sobs were so loud that they hurt Steve’s ears. His dragging steps were causing such a disturbance to the land around him that animals seemed to crane their necks at him and cast their glances his way, as if wondering how on earth a person could be that distressed. His mouth was moving, but it looked and sounded more like babbling and trembling as waterfalls came down the canvas of his pale skin.

“Buck, you have to calm down. You’re about to have an attack.”

He didn’t know if he meant heart attack or a panic attack, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were dead, all twisted up at the bottom of a ravine. Your soul had left the earth, left your body, and you were just laying there like you had never been alive. Like you had never held his hand, or kissed his cheek, or wore his ring or laughed or sang or read fine poetry while eating the fruits you had picked. Seeing you down there with your open and dim eyes felt like you had never lived at all.

“Keep walking with me, buddy. You’re going to be just fine.”

But he wasn’t. Every step he took away from you made bile come up in his throat. He wanted to be as far away from your lifeless body as possible, but he didn’t want to ever let you go. He wanted to hold you close to him until it felt like you were alive again. But as his heart beat seemed to freeze up but race like a horse all the same, he realized that you would never be alive again. You were only as alive as your last few moments, whether they were filled with the joy and freedom of having the wind on your face or the fear of falling. He could do nothing to change it.

But he would try to do everything.

§§

He spoke to everything and nothing. Steve and Sam would take turns coming to him after they celebrated your life. It reminded Bucky of the way that his mothers friends used to come watch him while his mother was off and away somewhere, and how it felt like they thought of him as a cute little burden. He knew deep down that his friends cared for him more than anything and that he cared about them just as much, but he couldn’t think about anything but you. He wouldn’t.

It was a service that made the skies open just like you said they would for his voice. The day lilies that surrounded you and Bucky seemed to be weeping with him. The wind came from east to west and west to east, spinning around and throwing in the scent of the flower with the smell of oncoming rain, reflecting the turmoil he was feeling on the inside. He could have sworn that the earth had trembled just like his hands that held your cold and still ones. But if the world had caved down under him at that moment, he wouldn’t have moved. He wouldn’t have opened his mouth to scream, or even say a word. He would have only held your hand tighter.

He spoke to the moon more often than he did Steve and Sam. They hovered, but it was the kind of hovering that Bucky felt he would appreciate sooner or later. He would sit every night and talk to the moon with his legs pulled into his chest, small and in such a vulnerable position that it would have made him feel uncomfortable at any other time. But he was vulnerable. He had been knocked off of his feet and winded. The world kicked him while he was down more times than he could count, and they had opened his chest and peeked right into his heart before seeing it was unworthy and walking away from him. It left him bleeding out in the forest while he listened to the birds eventually go on back to chirping, and watched the flowers push through and grow, and people laugh and smile and talk like nothing changed.

He was doing just that. He was lying in the flowering fields that he would always swear belonged to you, the both of you, when he heard soft footsteps. He didn’t care to look up. He knew it wasn’t Steve or Sam, but why would he care? He had nothing to be scared of now that you were gone.

“You’re Orpheus.” It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t even blink, but an annoyance he couldn’t shake bubbled up inside of him at hearing the name his mother granted him coming from a stranger. As much as he wanted complete silence, he couldn’t help but say- “Bu- sure. I’m Orpheus.”

“Everyone heard, you know.” The voice was of an old, frail woman. Bucky knew that without even looking, He ignored the fact that pity was strong in her voice, and that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He ignored the way he knew that she thought that she had the right to talk about his wife, about the way he had lost you far too soon. She knew nothing. But he let her speak. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say a word. He didn't even recognize words as an option. He would stay silent and wait until she left. Maybe if he was quiet enough or stared up at the sky in such a still manner that it scared her, she would leave him. If he pretended to be as dead as he felt, he was sure she would leave.

“There hasn’t been a good song since you’ve stopped playing.” He heard rustling, and then he dared to look off to the side to see the old woman struggling to sit, cane wobbling in her hand as she finally plopped her frail bones onto the ground near him. He sighed heavily and looked back up to the sky. “You know, you’ve gotta be the most moving musician to ever walk the earth, from both god and man.”

It was a compliment that would have had him blushing years ago. It would have had his young mind fumbling for his lute or lyre and clearing his godly voice, asking if she wanted to sing with him or just listen. Now, it incited nothing. It meant nothing. “I doubt I’ll ever play again.”

“You pleased god and man,” the old woman carried on, almost like she had never heard him open to speak with that raspy voice of his that was so uncharacteristic of him that it hurt to hear. “Anyone would have done anything to hear your music.”

He finally turned to the side to look the old woman in her face, and he blinked at her. “I’m grieving.”

“You could persuade anyone with seven strings and five notes, don’t you understand that?” Her voice was almost angry. It was hard and nearly pleading, so different from her previous tone that Bucky snapped his head her way. “If I were you, I would have been at Death’s gates.”

They were staring at each other. Bucky was looking at the decrepit woman with curly gray hair that looked like she had dodged a visit to the Gates of Death herself more than once with shocked eyes. His heart started to beat again, like her words were arousing some kind of vicious hope that he never even knew could exist.

“The gods blessed your union. They won’t ever say, but they did bless your marriage. What makes you think that if you beg, you won’t get a blessed reunion as well?”

She disappeared within seconds of her final words, leaving a revelation swirling around in his mind and haunting his every thought.

§§

His feet ached. His hands were beginning to blister from stroking the strings of his tired lyre, and his throat was even beginning to strain. He had been singing for hours, pouring his heart out at the hidden gates of the Underworld, begging for an audience. But above all the physical pain ranked the ache in his heart, the unbearable feeling of your death sitting on his shoulders and ripping him apart from the inside. His grief was destroying him.

Hades might as well have had ears plugged up with the same wax that was used by Odysseus and his men. Usually he went undisputed, because just as life was certain, so was death. There was no questioning the decision of it, or the Fates, or the rule of Hades and his acceptance of his dear Eurydice into his kingdom. Everyone was allowed to plead and beg, but no one ever went down to the gates of the Underworld to ask for the release of a loved one, whether they were man or god. But there he was, standing in dirtied pants with fingertips plucked pink, and tears running down his face.

He didn’t know if he would ever gain the strength to leave. He didn’t know what he would do if someone even bothered to humor him. He wasn’t going to be able to have you back. He was never going to be able to bring you back up above, have you under the sun and shining beautifully like you were born to do. What would he beg of them? For them to let him see that your soul ended up in the Asphodel Meadows? For them to let him hold you one last time before you drank from the Lethe and forgot everything that happened? What if you had already drank from it? Each thought made his stomach lurch more, and his music grew louder and more desperate, like the final battle cry of a warrior.

His back was up against a tree as he sang out again in the night, praying for someone to hear him and take pity on his poor soul. Strike me down and send me with her, if you cannot give me the gift of seeing her again. The same tears that had been steadily pouring down his face were gathered in a puddle at his unmoving feet, yet he didn’t mind. He couldn’t.

“You have woken my wife.”

Bucky’s playing stopped immediately. “What?”

The man before him was dark. He was tall and seemed to take up almost the entire space even though he was only a bit wider than Bucky. His shoulders were broad and his chin was strong, and his eyes were sharp even under the gloomy look they had to them. His cheekbones were sunken in and his eyes had a ring of black around them, like he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. His lips were set in a hard line, but he didn’t look displeased. Most notably, he had a dark aura surrounding him, even black most coming from behind him and nearly encasing him.

“I don’t repeat myself, and luckily, it looks like you heard me the first time.” His voice was deep, enthralling, like a song that Bucky would never dare write himself.

What was a man this terrifying, this powerful, doing in the forest? How had Bucky woken a soul when he was in soulless territory? He hadn’t seen houses for leagues.

Something inside of Bucky begged him to apologize. It begged him to get into his knees and look downwards towards the growing grass and hope to be spared. If this was before he lost you, maybe he would have listened to it. But what did he have to truly live for now that his darling was gone?

“I’m sorry to have brought you out of your dwellings because of my grieving.”

There was a certain kind of silence that would have made Bucky’s skin crawl if he even dared to look the being’s way. “Grieving?”

“My wife.” He breathed out, finally letting his arms loose as he let his trust lyre fall down to his side. “She… has fallen prey to death.”

“Ah,” the man said, his voice nearly a scoff. “I see. The circle of life.”

“And now my life shall go in circles, on and on and down the same miserable path without the woman I love,” Bucky stated, resting his head back against the tree. “I wish I knew a man that grieved. Me… I live amongst gods. We don’t grieve. We don’t die. I have never met a man who had an inch of grief in his heart. I feel like the first to ever feel it.”

“We can lose people in other ways than death,” the man said. “Death is the most absolute, but it seems to hurt a lot less than voluntary abandonment.”

“This is my first brush with death, and I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan.” What an understatement.

“That’s a shame. My wife is quite the fan of you and your… grief. She says it’s the most moving thing she’s ever heard.” Bucky just nodded, eyes far off. “She wants to meet you.”

“I don’t really want to meet anyone.”

“You don’t want to see my wife? You don’t want a two way ticket to the world you’ve been singing about taking passage to for days now, Orpheus?”

His head turned slowly, eyes widening as he tried to piece thoughts and facts together with his sluggish mind. “What?” But he knew. He knew with another glance at this man that he was no man at all, but one of the original gods. He was Hades, in the divine flesh, standing right before him with a glint in his eyes that meant he was satisfied by Bucky’s shock. He went to his knees, kneeling as a sob piled up into his throat.

“Your Excellency,” he began to plead, recalling back to the times he was a young god, listening to his mother explaining the way that he should speak to all the gods who came before him- especially one as powerful as Hades. “I apologize. My mind is not set right— the loss of my wife has taken a toll on me. Please forgive me.”

“Your grief blinds you.”

There was no point in lying. “It does.”

“I, too, was blinded by grief. In fact, it happens every other six months, though I suppose you young gods and humans call it winter and fall. My wife would leave, gone with a stroke of wind and then come back only to wilt again. But she, just like your own wife, will learn that there is nothing we can do about the situations we are in. Destiny will have us where she has us, and your Eurydice’s path above has ended.”

Bucky wanted to scream at him. He wanted to refuse him and tell him that Destiny and the Fates would have to bend to his will, because there was no other way. He couldn’t last another day without you, let alone a lifetime. But the god he was speaking to was Hades, and Bucky was just Orpheus, a low level demigod.

“However, my wife still wants to meet you. She wants to hear your song clearly, where it’s not muffled by distance.” His heart began to race. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wide as he tried to take in a deep breath, waiting for the gloomy god’s next words. “If you agree to see her and play her that song of yours, I’ll let you see this wife you speak of. Does that sound fair?”

Nodding was all Bucky could do to stay awake.

§§

The Underworld was just as gloomy as it was in the stories. Black and grey ran together to create a shadowy world, dismal and dark. It was full of strange sounds, like the whistling of thick wind that almost sounded like wailing humans. The air was so heavy that Bucky was finding it hard to breathe, and there was a mist so hard to cut through that Bucky could hardly see more than three feet in front of him at a time. Hades led him, and the only reason he could see him was because of his true height showing, and the fact that his dark smoke was even darker than the mist.

His hands shook. Both of them held onto his lyre for dear life. It was close to his chest, strings facing away from him, but still it felt like he could feel the vibrations of it, like the air was mocking him back by playing a song of its own. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and fall to his knees, the environment putting him in near shock.

But he had to find you.

Hades stopped in his tracks, turning his sunken face towards Bucky, who had to fight to not flinch. “If you play for my wife and she likes it, I’ll take you to see yours.” He nodded his head quickly, putting his lyre into position, his arms trembling with anxiety. The double doors opened without the old god even touching them, and then Bucky was faced with an ancient throne room, elegant and dark all the same.

The first thing he did once he got near the sitting Queen of the Underworld was kneel. Tears were already swirling in his eyes, and his throat was lurching. If he were a human, he was sure that he would have been throwing up. He prayed silently to his mother, calling upon the strength of the Muses and their talents into his blood once more.

It was silent until the queen finally spoke. “So you’re the musician?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“I expected you to be much older,” she said, her soft voice a plain contrast from her husband’s, and the dark setting of the Underworld. And then, Bucky understood that the stories weren’t embellished. At first thought, she didn’t seem to belong down there, least of all with Hades. He didn’t dare look up at either of them. “Your grief seems to be centuries old.” It felt like it was. The hole in his heart felt older than he was.

“This is Orpheus, son of Calliope,” Hades explained. “He can’t be more than a few thousand years, if I remember correctly.”

“Young, very young.” Persephone mused, the tone of her voice almost curious. “And what causes you to play this song?”

He explained it. He explained all of it. Your death, his need to see you, his stupid hope of bringing you back home where you belonged. He left it all on the table for them both to hear, even though he knew that the odds were unlikely for him. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he got ridiculed or thrown back out of the gate, all that mattered to him was that he tried his hardest to get you. And that you knew, deep down in your forgotten mind, that he tried.

“Your music has moved me so, truly.” Persephone said, and then Bucky looked up. She was beautiful, flowers all over her body. She was the brightest thing down there, no doubt, and she still had that godly glow that all the other gods had, a golden rim around her body. She turned her face toward her husband without taking her eyes off of Bucky. “And I want to give you a chance.”

Bucky’s heart stopped. “Your Excellency?”

She was facing Hades now. “Give him a condition.” She muttered, her hands gripping the arms of the throne she sat on. “But let him try.”

Hades frowned. “If I let her go, how many humans do you think will hear of this tale and try to do the same?”

“None.” The goddess answered quickly. “They’re afraid of you. This boy is not. And unlike gods, humans accept death. They know that it is a part of the cycle, and they wouldn’t dare dispute it. This is just a confused young god. He hasn’t seen death before. This will be the only time anyone will ever ask this of you, Hades.”

It was pure silence. It seemed to stretch on for eons as Hades contemplated his wife’s words. The lyre had fallen to the ground minutes before, and Bucky felt himself reaching for it. Tears were streaming down his face now. “I’ll play for you again. I’ll play for you for a decade straight if you let me take her home at the end, if you let her remember me.” He added desperately, body trembling with anticipation.

Hades had dark eyes, and those dark eyes were full of uncertainty and something close to anger while he stared at Bucky, with a look on his face that was so blank that it frightened him. His wife’s hand was on his chest as she pleaded with him on Bucky’s behalf, yet he only stared Bucky down.

“If you can walk your way out of my domain without turning back to look at her, you can take her with you above ground.” Bucky sobbed. “If you look back, boy, she stays in the Asphodel Meadows.”

Bucky sobbed again.

§§

His back faced everything. He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of his own heart, the heartbeat that seemed to extend all the way down to the fingertips that gripped the infamous lyre in his hand. He shook with every breath, and every blink was harsh on his eyes as he tried not to cry.

He wished he could hear you. He wished he could hear your soft voice reassure him, tell him that you remembered everything, that you were right behind him and that you would follow him everywhere, just like he would follow you. Just like he had followed you. He wished he could hear you.

He wished he could feel you. If your warm hands could just ghost over his shoulders and push him forward without quite letting go, he would have made the trek a thousand times. If he could feel your hands brushing away the hair out of his line of sight, he would have been walking before Hades even gave permission. He wished he could feel you.

He couldn’t. But he would walk anyway.

He hardly heard Hades give permission, his ominous tone echoing through the otherwise empty cavernous area, or the sound of Persephone’s whispers. But he could feel it in the air, suffocating and burying him.

Every lift of his foot was agonizing, every step far heavier than he ever imagined he could bear. But he would do it for you. He would push. Every whisper of doubt that crossed his mind, he would throw away.

It didn’t matter that at times, he wasn’t sure if you got what you needed from him. It didn’t matter that he felt like you weren’t fulfilled by the life you had with him. He had faith. It dwindled with every step, but he had faith. He would keep it and nurture it with every breath he had inside of him on the long journey back home.

Seconds started to feel like minutes, and minutes started to feel like hours. He hated it. His throat was closing in on itself like his voice was his enemy, like the voice everyone thought was so golden was the voice that would be the final nail in his coffin.

His feet were still aching, but the ache had become dull. Louder and more painful was the feeling of the cold biting his skin, like it was a reminder to stay conscious, to stay alert and thinking. Thinking was his vice and virtue. The silence was too loud. His mind was in pain, his heart even worse as he started to feel like the cold was his antagonizer. It was cold up above. It was in the cold where you suffered the most, where you struggled to stay positive. It was in the cold where he could hardly provide for you. It was in the cold where he had to hold you so close to him that air didn’t stand a chance between the two of you because every other man had already chopped the good wood.

But at the same time, he began to feel warm. It felt so warm to his skin that it felt like he was about to step into Tartarus. And it was in the warmth that you dressed in that pretty, short dress that got you harassed by men without humanity. It was in the summer that he found he couldn’t defend you. It was in the summer that he had a flash of realization that he wasn’t strong enough. It was in the summer that he got an even more fleeting flash of the thought that he wasn’t enough at all.

It was in the spring, in the months where there was sun and soft breezes, that he realized again that he was of no help. He had gotten a job one spring that was honest work, but brought in a lot less for the household than you did. He was working with the hands that were already calloused over to help men far more experienced than him craft things to sell to the town. He worked hard to come home tired just to know deep down that for all his work, he had not much more than chump change and a positive outlook to his name.

It was one autumn that he realized how much he had failed you, and he swept it under the rug like he did every other season. One autumn, he walked in on you crying in the arms of your friend- the local plum vendor that Bucky always used to buy from- about how you were terrified of being pregnant. As he walked through the Underworld, he asked himself how he could have ever forgotten that moment. Because what you said had shaken his heart to the core.

“There’s no way I would be able to take care of it.”

It wasn’t the certain doubt that was plants in your mind. It wasn’t the fact that neither of you had noticed Bucky hovering in the door because you were sobbing so hard. It wasn’t the way the woman comforted you better than he thought he was ever able to- because with him, you just never addressed the bad. It was as swept under the rug as dirt was. It was the way you said “I”. Alone. By yourself. Him and his contributions weren’t even in the picture. Were they even contributions?

It was never his voice that was his greatest feature and his worst. It was his mind. His mind was his killer. His mind was a killer, his poison and his weapon, and he was turning it right onto himself. His legs trembled as he fought the urge to look, to crane his neck and get his disappointment over with. Were you following him? Did you even remember him- or had you already drank from the river that would steal all of the life that you had before? Had Hades tricked him into leaving quietly?

And if you did remember him, why on earth would you follow him? You would be following him back to a land that was full of struggle and making it through day by day. You would be trudging after him this time only for him to bring up the rear in everything else. He would be the one smiling at you after you came from working to the bone, providing for him and yourself. That was all he ever had to offer, a smile and a song. What could he truly trade for a smile and a song? What could he get you?

Nothing.

What could he do if you got hurt again?

Nothing.

What could he do with his life when he surfaced and found you not there, far behind in the Underworld?

Nothing.

The doubt piled up. It replaced the faith like the faith was a forest and doubt was a wildfire. Every footstep added to it. He was convinced. He was sure that the result of him turning around at that one moment could be no worse than him turning around when he got to be above ground and away from the suffocating death. You weren’t going to be there. Whether he turned right then or in a hundred years, you weren’t going to be there. If you were in your right, beautiful mind, you would have seen him begging and turned your eyes from him and pretended like you hadn't known him.

He couldn’t tell where he was. His breathing was too shaky for him to think about anything else but breathing and thinking about you. It was too dark. His feet hadn’t touched grass yet and he knew he had to try to keep pushing, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He was bursting at the seams to confirm something that he already knew was coming for him.

His feet dragged. His steps sped up but it felt like he was fighting quicksand. He was struggling to walk through it, fighting to take breaths in it. The shallow breaths were somehow pitched high, bouncing off of the rocky, cavernous walls he began to hate. The only thing on his mind was doubt, doubt, doubt. It was a fever he couldn’t sweat out. A tremor he couldn’t shake away. A dark color he couldn’t paint over. A shadow he couldn’t run from. And just when he couldn’t fight it anymore, he saw light.

He never ran so fast in his entire life. He wanted to escape the feeling clawing at his throat and chest, the dread and preparation for pure disappointment. He wanted to step into the light, step into something he knew, before he allowed himself to collapse in grief again. It felt like the light was getting closer, and then it would fade again and come back lighter. He didn’t register the sound of sobbing until the sound faded out and stopped echoing, and then he was aware that his feet were touching the grass.

His feet were touching grass.

His hands shook as he raised them to his face, cupping his cheeks as he came to the realization that he was out of the nightmare that was the Underworld. Emotions were rushing into him faster than he could understand what they were, and then his mind stopped. His face was dry. His head whipped around.

Your eyes were wide and watery. Your dress was torn and bloody, just like it was when you had died. Your hair was a mess, and you were shaking from crying so hard. You stood there like a ghost, transparent and out of place, but crying real tears all the same. The sobs he had been hearing weren’t his own. They were yours. And you were still encased by the shadows of the Underworld.

You had been trying to catch up to him.

“Oh!” His exclamation was more of a dying moan than anything else. His trembling hands cupped his mouth again as he watched you cry again, crying even harder than that one time where the leaves were falling. He uttered your name once, and then once turned into four times, and as your cries got louder, his muttering turned into a shout, your name the one word he was calling out over and over again.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry baby.” He watched as you opened and shut your mouth over and over, shaking your head as silence was all you could produce. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He was drawing blood from how his fists were clenched. “Baby, my sweet love, my darling,” the names were dripping from his tongue like honey, like it was a balm that could soothe the both of you. His apologies were just as tender, as quiet and disbelieving as the language his eyes were speaking. He couldn’t help but reach out to you with a dying apology on his lips, his foot crossing the barrier you would be stuck behind forever, and just before he touched what must have been your cold skin, there was nothing but air.

Nothing but your lingering presence and his poisonous mind.

§§

He never thought that life could be so meaningless. Even before he met you, he felt like he had a purpose. He was an entertainer, a traveling man, a man who brought joy and music with him effortlessly wherever he went. Not anymore.

He was empty, and he felt like an empty glass jar. He wasn’t even an empty box— he was something anyone that had eyes could see right through. Everyone saw him and knew he was the one who had lost a wife and in turn given up all his divine talent. They looked at him through lenses that were wet with pity. He hated it.

He hated himself for doing the same to the humans who had lost loved ones. He felt horrible for giving them those looks, for telling Steve and Sam their stories without really knowing it. Now he was going through the unimaginable.

Nothing mattered, he learned. He thought that thought over and over again every time he woke up and every time he was going to sleep. He thought it while he sat in the cold on one winter night with no fire in the fireplace. It was something that would have made him worry a bit, or made him irritated at himself. Nothing really caused him to get angry or sad anymore. He was just there. It was like he was living yet another death by extension. The world gave him his cards and he played them in the worst way possible. But that’s what he did. He couldn’t change it.

He couldn’t change anything. All he could do was pray that you forgot the way that he failed you time and time again, and then where it was most important.

He would remember enough for the both of you.

****

hi guys! i feel like i literally have come back from the dead with all the time i’ve been in and out of here. it’s been so hectic and busy that i’m proud i got this out so soon lmao- i worked hard on this, so if you were feeling it please like and reblog!!

[littlesparklight]

What type of father Hades was, both for Makaria and Adonis? Did he have any involvement in raising Angelos (how old would she be when she was banished?)

Angelos had already reached "her age" when she was moved to the Underworld, which I imagine hers to be around 20-22 (which has nothing to do with her physical years lived), so no raising required! Hades was a quiet, subdued uncle-type and of course literally her uncle to her and always has been. It's probably what she needs a lot of - to be crass, both of Angelos' parents aren't exactly "subdued" in anything and she inherited their more easily roused temper.

For all three of them, though, his Special Skill is doing a variation of the "exasperated and Tired older brother" stare of disappointment. He's very familiar with it and know how to use it, and it works on all of them to various but satisfactory effect. The difference between how he was as a father to Makaria and Adonis lies less in any different behaviour and more that he tried to cling to a semblance of distance when it came to Adonis, at least in public, even long after everyone knew he definitely was acting as Adonis' father and just pretended like they couldn't see it haha.

Makaria suited him very well from the start - she's similar to both her parents, quiet, soft, subdued, and both less adventurous than a lot of others and more prone to actually listening if she gets told not to do something. But it probably helped that Hades is the type to explain why she shouldn't do something he tells her not to do, too. Hades is a lot... physically clingier... than he appears but with Makaria being the type to take things like that with equanimity as long as she has something to do, when she was still small enough for that she could very often be found on her father's lap or in the crook of his elbow napping, reading, or playing with some puzzle-toy.

Adonis... ok, what happened when Adonis first came to the underworld was that Hades, unused to mortal babies, got Very Unsettled by this floppy, non-verbal, etc etc infant. Persephone, more used to mortal things in general, wasn't put off, but Hades didn't start bonding with Adonis until he was, like 4-5 years old. Hades is just more comfortable with, and used to, infants and toddlers who can talk, and, more to the point, be reasoned with, even if they're obnoxious little shits (hi, Hermes) and don't listen to you. A mortal baby you can't really do that with. Fortunately, Adonis was never afraid of Hades, even before they started bonding (he's seen too much how Hades was with Persephone and Makaria).

He was probably a little insecure and worried about WHY Hades was much more distant in that short time he would have had a chance to start notice it, but Hades inadvertently and without noticing basically bridged the gap himself by starting to talk more to Adonis in private, but more specifically... if we assume Adonis never left the Underworld until Aphrodite came to pick late-teenaged Adonis up to claim him for herself, I feel like it was the spring right where Adonis is 4-5 when Hades comes to seek the little boy out at night right after Persephone has left. Adonis has been inconsolable all day, and it's never easy for Hades, who might have snapped, but they both miss her and, more to the point, Adonis is very much his adoptive mother's son, so maybe he smells like her. Hades (carefully, doesn't want to wake him up!) picks up a sleeping little Adonis and sits there, hugging him, and Adonis wakes up somewhere during this and just... snuggles in.

After that, Adonis knows Hades has nothing against him, and, in fact, proves to be Very Soft, even when he pretends not to be (sticking the boy things behind his back, etc). Which also means Persephone leaving every spring becomes much more easily dealt with (sure, he had Angelos and Makaria and whatever nymphs as nurses and whoever else to keep him distracted, but that's not really the same). And Adonis is very much a lover of hugs~ Hades can be as physically clingy as he wants. Even when Adonis gets into teenage years, his favourite thing to do is nap curled up next to his father while Hades reads/works on whatever, one arm around said napping boy.

The biggest difference between Adonis and Makaria (to a lesser degree Angelos too, which is funny considering her temper, but she really does get along more easily with Hades, maybe exactly because he isn't a parent to her) is that Adonis definitely has an argumentative streak in him and likes to explore and Do Things. So he seldom takes "don't do that it's dangerous for these reasons" as reason NOT to go poke it, which has led to Hades being Tried in his approach to parenthood. (Be angry at his brothers and, more rarely, sisters? Sure, he has no problem with that. Angry at His Babies? He doesn't like it!)