#lyceius

[singofus-a]

@lyceius plotted a starter from ARTEMIS!

Artemis had sensed long before Hermes’ concerned message that her brother was hurting, but  thought that maybe her brother wanted time on her own first. She did send him letters, letting him know she was thinking of him. When she continuously didn’t hear back, Artemis gathered her things and took Apollo’s favourite of her hounds, and travelled to Olympus. She arrived quickly and let herself into her brother’s palace and up the grand stairs to his bedchambers.

Her hound, whom Apollo had given its name, was let in first as Artemis went to the hearth to set up the candle and incense she had brought with her. Her twin was comforted by many things, and so she had brought as many of them as possible. The candle she lit smelt like fresh pine and sea salt, mirroring the time they sat on a small shingle beach where a forest met the sea and spent an afternoon skipping stones into the calm ocean. Just the two of them.

The dog approached Apollo and liked at his hand before leaning in and pressing a few kisses to his face in a greeting and an effort to invoke a response from the prone god.

Artemis slipped into the bed behind her brother and wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m here. How are you?”

[singofus-a]

@lyceius requested a starter from ARTEMIS!

Tonight Artemis had not fancied getting extremely drunk, so she knew at some point she would grow very tired of socialising. The moment everyone else became more tipsy and increasingly loud, Artemis had began to tire. She both put on her flowing veil to cover her hair and face, and she retreated into the quieter corners of the party. When people still found her there, she left the main area altogether and sat in empty gardens.

By the light of a torch she had stuck into the ground, she sat beside the plants and happily sketched - her veil used only as a cushion now that she was was alone.

As always, she sensed her brother approach and so finished off her sketch of a sprig of lavender. This patch of garden had plants she had already drawn so she was making a rare page for her brother.

“This is only for tonight, but these ones I’m sketching are for you. Only tonight.” Was murmured, her voice quiet and blunt. She repeated again about this being tonight only, though knew it ultimately wouldn’t matter. Her twin would keep asking her for handmade pages and sketches until the end of time.

[singofus-a]

@lyceius asked: “Tell me a secret.” @ artemis

Late nights meme | Accepting

"I have none. Aside from where my sketchbook is hidden, and I am not telling you that." Now that wasn't exactly the truth, but the few secrets she had from him, she wanted to remain that way. Lest they not remain secrets.

"Tell me one of yours." Her head rests on his shoulder. She was once told that people liked to talk of themselves more than anything. Now she hoped that was true. At least with her brother in this instance.

[immortalmuses]

@lyceius​ sent:  ❝ The books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame. That is all. ❞ @ your choosing A Month Old ask that I Forgot About omg i’m so sorry | accepting

         "That is certainly one way to look at it..." Deimos squints at Apollo with a gimlet eye, his scarred mouth hooked into a half smile. The Son of Zeus is bright, even in the darkened halls of Olympus's sprawling, fathomless library. An unexpected encounter, yes; but not necessarily unwelcomed.

        The Daimon purses his lips, thumbing at the book in his hand, "... I wouldn't say that's all, though. For what even is shame, but man's fear of his own inherent immorality?" He holds the slim volume up with a flash of something cheeky in his expression. Lord of the Flies. "Tremendous, isn’t it? What mortals will do to not look their own hubris in the face.”

[vyrulent]

starter call || @lyceius​

Where Hades stumbles with words of affection for his children, Zeus exceeds at pretty words. Pretty words had been exactly what led to the god of gods having so many children in the first place, afterall. Smile was offered up. So many trials and tribulations had been cast upon his children and most had wholly succeeded with only the slightest of bumps or bruises. 

“I’m proud of you. Have I ever told you that?”

[ingolds-archived]

@lyceius​. — 51: sender plays a song for receiver - something on the lyre

     the world’s gone hazy, tinged gold, with the setting sun; it blazes the stone streets glittering hues of red, blistering white, sediment packed tight during construction. the artists would call it the golden hour, that perfect time of day where everything’s thrown dreamlike, glowing, as if the sun is that much closer to the earth. romantic, they’d say, with their brushes poised over the canvas, dreamy, they’d insist, aulos to their lips, a symphony ready to play. all it means to them is that the night is rapidly approaching, constellations beginning to wink in purpling skies, and it is time to retire to the barracks. the time to hope for the empty black of their eyelids and nothing more is upon them.

     they have not yet garnered a strong appreciation for the natural beauty held in the world, but they are certainly beginning to realize it with the rich notes that swirl through the summer warm air, that echo off columns and arched walls.

     “ that’s beautiful, ” theo murmurs, little more than a low rumble. a young tree dapples cool shade on his face, and he tips his head, one green eye opening to study delicate fingers plucking at strings. the rhythm is foreign to them but unarguably pleasant, soft and steady in this plaza that feels like a fantasy. “ you must have spent a great deal of time learning. ”

nonverbal prompts / accepting

[ingolds-archived]

@lyceius. — ❛ in the night your heart is full and by the morning empty. ❜

     the night is warmth for theo. for most, it brings chill, the baleful eye of the moon, goosebumps along their limbs as the clock strikes the witching hour. the sun, in contrast, is new beginnings, the start of something fresh and alive. they do not quite see it the same way. the moon is home, for them. the wolf reclines in its silver smile, ears back, tail wagging, and theo enjoys the solitude that midnight brings, how the whole world feels asleep except for his companion. in comparison, the sun can be cold. it certainly breathes blistering heat, freckling his skin and beading sweat on his brow, but that yellow eye catches mistakes and shines them bold for everyone to see. theo is comfortable to confess his transgressions in the night, but morning comes and they become his destruction.

     “ confessions don’t come easily when the sun is up. they’re more real. less excusable. ” the sky is a cool pink, orange flaring on the underside of clouds, and the breeze that kicks up smells faintly of the sea, brine and gritty sand. “ the moon is witness to all kinds of sins without judgement. the sun isn’t capable of the same. ”

[ingolds-archived]

@lyceius​. — [SHOULDER] - sender lays a hand on receiver's shoulder.

     there’s something about them both. theo has long realized how he differs, what causes him to not quite blend into a crowd. their eyes gleam a little too animal, their teeth glittering gold, and they tower over most people, seeing clear over the tops of their heads. they recognize when they’re in the company of someone great, or someone other - and he is both. he looks just human enough that he wouldn’t garner much more than a second look, or perhaps a preliminary appraisal out of curiosity, but not human enough to avoid theo’s critical eye. they keep him in their peripheral vision, golden curls and strong shoulders, gaze shifting when he recognizes something in theo - when he reaches the critical moment of his decision.

     a hand slips over his shoulder, fingers resting over theo’s clavicle. it’s as heavy as the world itself, atlas assigned his duty, and theo tips their head to catch his eye. their desire to know more beats heavy, intense, their pulse strong at their neck.

     “ you could tell, couldn’t you. ” it’s not a question. “ we’re the same. ”

simple actions / accepting