#* . ⊹ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ɪs ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴғᴏʀɢɪᴠɪɴɢ. › ❨ headcanon. ❩
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[ SILAS LEVEL 05 PATH — PATH OF THE INDOMITABLE FORCE ]
the son of kratos had answered the call, he'd drunk the ambrosia, he'd left an offering to his father, he's prayed to him in times of great need. since that day, weeks ago, divinity has been coursing through his veins. every day it threatens to swallow him whole or to grant him an opportunity of a life that few others could ever walk.
silas finds himself in a peaceful slumber, tucked away in his cabin or perhaps another place that he finds comfort. the last few weeks have been long and arduous. near death experiences have been more common than laughter on some days and the attack on camp still lingers within him, the shock and despair of it all. the loss of companions and the danger that they all seem to put themselves in still weighs heavy on his mind. it begins as a soft hum, a gentle baseline that reverberates through his being, travelling through his bloodstream with each passing note. at the edge of his consciousness he can pick up each soft note; a familiar tune. it strums and tugs at his heart, the lullaby slowly growing louder and louder; a siren song that gets clearer through the haze of his slumber. the song reaches out for silas, desperate to put him in a choke hold, to be seen, heard, felt. it's like a punch to the chest, nearly knocking the wind from him, dragging him down, down, down. the tempo crescendos, the speed of the song becoming nothing more than a flurry of cacophonous sounds that bang discordantly within him. it's a battle, a force of will, two pieces of the same person wanting to be heard. when he tries to wake up, he can't. the song only grows louder and louder and louder. divinity calls upon silas once more and he must answer. an overwhelming feeling, like that of the repeated punches to a vital organ causes him to wake with a start. his eyes flash open, his chest rises and falls as he tries to get air into his too tight lungs. he gasps for air and, when he's able to finally choke down a panicked breath, he can see a little more clearly. it's then that a realization hits him. he's no longer back where he remembers falling asleep. was any of it real? had all this been a dream? WHEN SILAS FOCUSES, WHAT DOES HE SEE? WHERE IS HE? IS IT FAMILIAR? PLEASE DESCRIBE WHERE HE IS IN DETAIL.
ever since the invasion on camp, sleep had not been a friend. it had been a necessary companion - at best, though SILAS had found ways & means to get the rest he needed regardless of that. his dreams weren't always pleasant, some were the opposite - but they all had one thing in common. he failed. no matter how hard he tried, he failed. most often, he'd find himself on rooftops, trailing the edge without any memory or reasoning as to why, though since he'd met the titan on mount atlas, he found himself atop the mountain once more.
though this time he was alone. no fake audience, no test - no nothing. it was just …. him & the endless sky. though no matter what he did, he usually ended up falling regardless. this time was no exception, except for … except for that when he woke - he wasn't in his bed, drenched in sweat & leaping out of bed to feel the ground beneath his feet. this time he was in a place he … hadn't been in …in a while.
it's his old gym, *his forever home *- the only place he ever truly felt at ease at. it wasn't pretty, it was pretty run-down actually, but it had heart. it was the place he learned to fight at properly; how to use the anger & channel it into his fists - or kicks - or into not giving up, which… had made up the first two years of his training for sure. this is the place he was found at. the gym is … not too brightly lit, it's about the size of a small grocery store with a large boxing ring in the center of it. punching bags on both sides of it, speed ropes, dumbbells … it was the best & most wonderful place he knew at the time.
it’s early morning, the sun barely up -his favorite time of the day. SILAS stands on the side of the ring; the gym's cat - nobody knew its actual name, but it practically lived there, was balancing over one of the ropes from the ring.
a familiar sense of belonging creeps into silas' chest as his forever home comes into view. the color of the ropes around the ring, the music that would play whenever he would train, the familiar creek of his footsteps against the floorboards, even how the light trailedin through windows. all of it was the same as he remembered when he was last here. this is a place he found himself, this is a place where home meant something. the cat, balancing on the ropes, seems to watch him with a curious gaze before dropping down and walking toward wherever it would rest. that's when the sound of a punch or a kick lands against a punching bag. early morning was his time, his favorite time. did people used to be here when he was? was this sacred space already occupied? when, or if, silas looks toward the sound, he sees a figure on the opposite side of the bag, striking, striking, striking it. WHAT DOES HE DO?
he spent most of his mornings at the gym alone, up before the birds were, up before most even had their first coffee of the day. seldom was company - other than the cat. once upon a time he named it floof, but the name never actually left his lips because he felt silly the second he did name it. he watched it leave, fully expecting it to rest on one of the sports bags in the locker room. or a discarded towel. he didn't check, curious who decided to be up as early as he was.
there were a few people he could think of who shared the gym with him with a schedule almost as crazy as his own, but … nobody shared this space with him this early usually. nobody was as driven as him. frowning a little, he tilted his head to the side as he observed the punching bag as it moved. hmm.
he edges closer, though he doesn't go straight for it, but instead circles it to try & get a look at the other person.
with cautious steps, an ingrained habit since maybe his training, silas moves. his footsteps are light, like a trained fighter, and he circles, looking for an opening��not for a weakness, per say, but for information, to see who could be here. as he does, he sees it, at first it looks like nothing but a blur, a figment of his imagination, but as he steps around the punching bag, the figure takes shape, his eyes almost adjusting as if seeing them for the first time, or maybe seeing them again after far too long. WHO OR WHAT DOES SILAS SEE AT THE PUNCHING BAG? DESCRIBE WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE. ARE THEY FAMILIAR TO HIM?
he should've known before he even saw, should've known that only one person in this godforsaken town would even bother getting up this early. he should've heard it, too - the pattern in the strikes; the little dip in timing before the second punch hit - a little later than it should, an issue SILAS had spent years on fixing.
it took him a moment until he could make out just who he was watching - who'd disturbed the peace at his favorite place. was it, though? the kratos gym was ..phenomenal. if it held less of an emotional connection for the time being.
seeing the figure though, he remembered. the mornings after bad fights had always been … rough. all defeats were. body in pain, bruises manifesting overnight & tainting pale skin, ego… undone for the time being. all the little voices in his head chiming louder than ever.
but it never lasted.
SILAS saw himself, younger - fitter & yet …not, because back then he didn't know yet what he had in him. but it was definitely him, face bruised, split lip, dark circles under his eyes. he hadn't slept yet. defeat …never sat well with him, so when he did fall, he made sure to rise again. like a phoenix. get up early, train longer, train harder. overcome defeat no matter the cost.
as soon as the figure—this younger version of himself—notices silas, he swings harder. the hit rocks the punching bag, making it sway like a twig in a breeze. perhaps there had been power in him all along, he just never noticed it. maybe there was a strange strength in him back then, too. maybe the defeats were meant to teach him something. he can't be too certain. as the bag swings back toward him, he holds up a hand to stop it. the momentum of it halts in its tracks and he turns his head to look at silas. his lip is split, his eyes bruised. he nearly looks like he stepped out of the match moments ago and yet, there's a fierce determination in him, a need to continue, a need to rise. "the fuck you lookin' at?" he spits out, words tainted with bitterness, callousness, self loathing. at first, the words seem a little jumbled, almost hard for silas to hear. like his heartbeat is beating too loudly in his ears, like the rhythm of hands against flesh or hands against a bag is drowning out each syllable. if silas focuses, he can start to hear the voice. it repeats. "what the fuck are you lookin' at?" this time, he hears the voice loud and clear. WHAT VOICE DOES HE HEAR? IS IT HIS OWN? IS IT SOMEONE ELSE'S? WHAT DOES HEARING THIS VOICE MAKE SILAS FEEL?
oh yeah. he remembered all too well what these mornings were like. he'd like to claim he didn't miss them, for the longest time he was free, but ever since becoming a godling he'd … felt that way again more often than he'd like.
it was sad to admit he still coped the same way he did back then. so he didn't.
hm. he couldn't pinpoint down just which fight this was after. he'd lost too many back in the day, back when he was far from a fighter & more ..of a wild dog barking & snapping at everything he saw.
it's his own voice he hears & yet not. it's deterred in a way, it's missing something he can't quite describe. something he found in camp for sure. a lightness he'd not known of himself before. no, this version of him was ..different still. if only he could tell him it was going to get better. had he really changed or was he imagining that? was this even real? was any of it real?
he knows it's hard to keeping going when everything within said to stop, to give up because it was to no avail to try, but .. he never gave in. he hears it in that voice snapping at him like he tends to snap at others, that underlying doubt & overwhelming fear of defeat. hearing it … it's …comfort & yet it worries him, because he knows how easy it is to fall back into old habits. hell, most of them he's never stopped.
the younger image of him rests with a hand on the bag and two bruised eyes that stare at him as if he's waiting for a throwdown. perhaps this was the defense mechanism he always had—train and train and train and any time someone looked at him, fight. the hand moves from the bag and he steps forward, nearly toe to toe with silas. "i asked you a fuckin' question." he grunts out, the lightness he'd had in his voice, one that he grew used to now, gone. it's all bite, all bark, all feral and angry and broken. even shorter than himself now, there's an imposing force, a presence, a strength that this version of him had. had it always been there? was that what made other's notice him? "you gonna answer or we gotta settle this in the ring?"
it's like he's looking in a mirror, but one of those that showed the world upside down. seeing himself move, the way he held himself. was it the ribs? had to be the ribs. in this moment it's all gone, he knows this. every win he's had, every success he'd experienced in his life gone for the moment, because failure overwrites everything.
had he always been like this? snapping at strangers for no reason? does he not …recognize himself? sure, he looks older now, but the features … were still the same. maybe. he comes closer, but SILAS stands strong, not because he wants to prove anything - he doesn't need to, does he? nah. "'relax, i heard ya the first time, kid." he knows how much he hated being called that & it makes him hide a smile. some called it good genes, he called it a curse to look barely twenty in his late thirties.
"been curious is all." hands up in the air, he's not a threat, not yet at least. SILAS was never one to avoid a fight - least of all one presented to him like this - only improvement would've been a bow wrapped around it. but fighting him when he was like this? don't kick a man when he's down, there's no honor in that. honor & rules … had always been important to him. "that bag's gonna need a break soon. as do ya."
"what the fuck do ya know about what i need?" the words are out before silas even gets his sentenced finished, as if this conversation has happened before, as if he's anticipating it. loss is a noose around his neck, an anchor tied to his ankles. loss is a gut punch, splintered knuckles, cracked lips. but loss is all he knows, loss is all that silas knew, too, once upon a time. is that loss still lingering? is it a festered wound? is it split knuckles, scabbed over and bleeding with each punch to the bag? "you don't know shit about me. you don't know shit about you." he twists and kicks the bag, splitting it in two, the sand within spilling out onto the floor around their feet. the younger version of him pants, chest heaving, anger radiating off him in waves. he's all power, no refinement. he's all rage with no outlet. "you don't know shit."
sigh.
same old, same old. as a little boy, in-between private lessons to help him keep up in school, the numerous clubs his parents demanded he become proficient in & hobbies he actually enjoyed, he'd find a few moments of peace out in the yard. he'd just lay down, watch the sky & on the really, really bad days he'd pray to a god he didn't believe in to let him become a bird so he could fly away. he took him a good ten years to realize he could pray, beg & plead all he wanted - it would never happen.
he feels the same anger inside him still. it's locked up; he's found a way to keep it - or at least a big part of it locked away & he wants to think it's what helped him find friends among the other godlings. this silas, the one who only knew the dark side of the world, oh - he wouldn't have made it this far.
"rude." he says with a little smile & a pout crossing his lips. he knows it's … not wise to talk to himself when he's in that state. there's nothing anybody could've said on mornings like these - or the days after, that would make him feel better. he'd spend the day hearing his parents, he'd feel their scrutinizing eyes on him during training.
seeing him makes him wonder. does locking the anger away …make him weaker? does it hide who he truly is? what if there's more to his father's gift than…this? "i know you fucked up an' i know you're beatin' yourself up about it. i know you think you're too slow and too weak cause some dipshit knocked you out. yeah, i know it sucks an' i know you think workin' out till you drop makes you feel better about it." he did more times than he could count. punched his hands bloody for hours until he blacked out & coach would find & scold him - like a little boy. though come next KO, he'd do the same thing again.
"what now? you gonna punch me? i know your left's slower. it's the shoulder."
his younger self bristles. each call out of his weakness makes him grit his teeth, makes his hands curl to fists, makes blood drip from crackled knuckles onto the floor.every word makes the other tense, makes his shoulders rise, makes the anger coil. "don't fuckin' talk about my left." he snaps, barring his teeth, split lips twisting around them like a vicious smile. "the fuck you know about it anyway? some has been has some notes for me?"
yeah, that's his buttons alright. it's so easy to make him snap. it still is, he knows. he's not even sure why he does it, maybe it's amusing to be on the other side of this for once. because usually he's the one getting teased or poked.
at the end of the day he's just… him. that boy who's afraid of the world for it's only ever beat him down. he's older now, he knows that it's different now. he'd seen so much since, even before camp. he's seen there's more & sure he's lost it all again, but that only means he's got to try again, right? always keep trying.
"i know enough. i know your stepsister kicked you down the stairs in the mansion an' then she popped your shoulder back in cause she was sure she'd be a doctor one day. she is now. but nah, no notes. it's fine, your secret's safe with me."
he can see his chest rise & sink faster, faster & it makes his own heart race just a little. it's that urge he feels, it's the same one his younger self must feel, but … so, so much more intensely. it's almost blinding, though by now SILAS would like to think he's got. adecent grip on it.
"you really wanna punch me right now, don't ya? guess i kinda earned it, but it won't change the truth."
he's like a bomb, ticking and ticking. the wrong combination put in that could send him nuclear. it's strange to remember himself this way, to remember the anger and the fear, to remember the way he was and to know who he is now. they are two sides of a coin, they are one in the same. "you some kinda fuckin' stalker or some shit? i could beat your ass." could he? who knows. but he'd sure as hell give it everything he had. even if the loss still stings, even if it still pushes him to his limits and then over that edge. "punchin' you wouldn't do anything. you're old as fuck. i'd break you." he huffs, a cocky laugh, a bruised-mouthed smirk. "i'm just so fuckin' sick of this shit. i can't fuckin' win. i can't fuckin' do it. throwin' the towel in's not an option. i ain't a bitch. i ain't a quitter. but fuck." he goes to turn around to punch the bag once more, but it's already been broken. he sinks down into the spilled sand, onto his knees, and stares down at the ground. "how much is too much? when does it stop?" when does the weight get easier to carry?
it's fascinating. does he still have this … whatever it is, in him? is he, too, just waiting to explode? was he on a timer other than his age? he's aware he's older than the other demigods in camp, he knows he's most likely got less time left than all of them, but that's okay. he …still aged, right? fuck, he didn't know.
"do i look like some nutjob stalker?" they look one & the same, except for the fact age & a lifetime of strain withered him down. it's the same type of clothing, because SILAS never saw reason to change, though the hair's longer. no more almost buzzcut, no more edgy patterns shaved into the short hair on the sides of his head. god, he was such a silly sight. "you could try, but you wouldn't like what comes next." or maybe he will, knowing himself.
"i know." gods, he knows. his heart throbs hearing these words, he still sometimes feels this way. he can't take away the pain, it's not that easy, he knows that. the person who could have never bothered to try. *what good could a boy aspire to knowing his father wasn't proud of him? & with a mother who didn't see him, not really. * of course he's broken, of course he's a mess, of course he hates people. he's only ever had himself. he's … quiet now, lets him speak, because what else can he possibly do? he's not his father, he's not… anybody. he's not special. how could he possibly help?
but he knows the pain, he knows the fear that it's never going to get better. he knows what it's like to get crushed under the pressure of trying to prove everybody wrong, including yourself. so… he steps forward, closer & closer until he hovers his younger self, eyes on his back. it's … not a sight he ever thought he'd see. a calm hand reaches out, though it does so with a light tremble to it. he hovers. but eventually, he brushes fingers through short hair, before the same hand lodges somewhat firmly into that little crevice between his shoulder blades.
as the hand touches his shoulder, as eyes bare down on his back, silas feels it too. the slump. the breath that was held being let out through clenched teeth, the feeling of tension between shoulder breathes seeping out of him like air in a balloon. he deflates. the bravado, the anger, the facade. all of it fades. his younger self simply sits there, within the sand, stained by his own blood and tears as they fall from his cheeks. "i know i can take it. hell, i've been gettin' beat all my life. but when is enough, enough? when the fuck do i get my break?" he looks up at silas now, eyes locking. the question nearly reshaping itself in silas' mind. when did you get your break? when did you save yourself? who saved you? why are you still fighting?
"nobody's gonna come save you. nobody. you're savin' yourself. all this? it's fate. you're gonna keep fightin' an'… you're gonna hate it. all of it. but it's gonna make you …" he… can't help smile at that, because this is exactly what atticus tells him when he finds the son of kratos struggling. "you're gonna be indomitable." it's.. such a strong word, such a good word.
"it ain't gonna be what you think, it ain't gonna .. be like you dream of it, but it's gonna be great anyway. you're gonna find people who got your back. yeah, sounds wrong, i know, but you are." he never thought he would feel ready to trust another person with his life again, but now? he had several in camp who he know he could rely on. jesse, atticus, harley, alejandro.
"you just… gotta hold on. endure. believe in… yourself. i know you can't, i know it ain't easy, it's fuckin' hard an' some days you're gonna fail, you're gonna make mistakes, but that's okay. you get back up on your feet an' you keep goin', cause you… you're indomitable. you're gonna stand back up no matter how hard they try to knock you down. an' fuck, maybe one day you're gonna fly high an' show 'em all what you're truly made of. but if you give up an' hide your head in the sand, you ain't ever gonna find out what you can do an' they'd win." he's still waiting for that moment - his very own moment to shine. that one…. special moment that makes it all click into place for him. he knows it's coming. it has to be.
the pain is his and it isn't. it's a dam breaking only to met by a force greater than the held back water. silas is a force to be reckoned with, he knows this. he's endured, he's survived. he's become indominitable, or has he? is there still room to grow? is there still pieces missing? maybe there always will be. maybe the puzzle just keeps getting larger. maybe more fights only equate to more pain and strength and growing. pressed against his chest, he feels something inside of him expand, like his lungs are finally taking in air for the first time after holding his breath for what felt like forever. there's a force inside of him, a strength that he's cultivated after years and years of being beaten down, nearly broken. maybe now is his time to soar. maybe now is his time to finally win, to finally succeed, to finally stand up from a loss and not beat himself bloody and bruised. as he's holding onto himself, as he's saying those words and they ring in his ears, reside in his chest, he feels a weight being lifted. maybe all that strength he found isn't supernatural afterall, maybe that strength was never a blessing from a divine birthright but forged in this gym, with his bare hands, with practice and relentless endurance. arms wrap around silas now, a hug returned. a squeeze to his middle. "indomitable." his younger self says one last time, right before — silas wakes up. he's back in his own bed, he thinks. or maybe he's elsewhere. but whatever had happened, woke him with sweat staining his brow and his fingers curled into fists, his arms nearly hugging himself. defeat has been a constant companion, grief has lodged itself into his chest, anger has been the only love he's maybe truly known. but there's a force within silas rivera. a strength unmatched that few could stand up against. he feels it now, alive and inside him, a writhing thing, something his, made of him, made by him. eventually, silas falls back asleep. dreamless, painless, and powerful. when he wakes up, he's not the same man he was the day before, the week before, the years before. no, he's changed. he's grown. he's growing still. he's become indomitable.
PATH COMPLETE !
(note: in my brain there's a pair of pitch black wings curling around them as silas hugs his lil him.)
#* . ⊹ ᴛʜᴇ sɪsᴛᴇʀs ᴏғ ғᴀᴛᴇ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ. › ❨ isms. ❩#* . ⊹ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ɪs ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴғᴏʀɢɪᴠɪɴɢ. › ❨ headcanon. ❩#level 5 path
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THE KRATOS CABIN I
—— (raw industrial style, v simplistic bc kratos being raw power and bla, v candle-dependent hehe, v dimly lit after the sun has set)
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BLINDSIDED
GLIMPSES OF THE PAST - send BLINDSIDED for a scene from my muse’s past in which they were betrayed or shocked by what someone did (atticus is the only one who knows about this atm :3)
it hurts.
fuck, is this how it ends?
soft grunts fill the dark, the sound of flesh squelching echoing in the space between his ears, loud & unrelenting. he ...felt sick at the sound alone.
it hurts.
— gods, it hurts.
eyes snapped open to find the world flying, peaceful & calm, the sun setting in the far distance. he could almost get lost in the sight, he felt his heart rate slow with every second he stared into the dark, deep red of a beautiful sundown. he should take more time to appreciate what nature had to offer. he lived a life of materialism & forgot what really mattered sometimes, but bills needed to be paid, right?
maybe this wasn't the end after all. maybe he was just getting started.
oh yeah, he had to be dreaming or why was everything upside down? right? & why were the voices louder than usual? louder than the subtle whispers in his ears, the little devil on his shoulders - or something the angel, though... rarely that one. they just wouldn't stop.
silas. silas. silas. SILAS!
"..the fuck you want?" his voice a low rasp, barely audible even to himself, which snapped him out of whatever gentle sleep he'd been lulling himself into.
the first time eyes blinked open once more, the world was still upside down, but blurrier than before - a dark red shimmer obscuring his vision, though he could still see someone stepping into his line of sight. still upside down.
hand against his cheek, gentle & warm, he wanted it to stop. don't fucking touch me. but the words wouldn't come. eyes meet his own, they ... looked concerned - like he was in trouble. was he?
the pain is sharp, it's searing hot in his side, like it's trying to tear out a part of him. "fuck." voice soft, barely audible still & silas wondered why the hell he couldn't get the words out he wanted, curse up a storm & fucking take names.
the voices kept hissing, whispering in that sweet, alluring tone in his ears, but it didn't make sense. nothing did.
hold him.
hold his head.
you've got to keep him awake.
shit, he's blacking out.
do something!
it's the arm! there's too much blood. oh god.
which was about the same time silas coughed, but it wasn't the usual dry-spending-all-day-in-the-desert-sand cough, it was ... full. warm. red & dripping down his face.
fucking hold his head up! he's gonna choke on his blood!
he ... knew that voice. corporal. shit, did he fall asleep on night shift again? he promised that'd never happen again. fuck, he was in so much trouble. he didn't need another i'm so disappointed in you speech. he got enough of those for a fucking lifetime. but he still couldn't bring himself to speak.
then his vision went dark, but ..it wasn't him. someone covered it. someone..something... when he came to again, he could see. his unit, they were all standing around him, some in full armor, some .. not. but the majority of them were.. bloody. what the fuck happened?
so cold.
"si, si, listen. you gotta stay awake!"
"ah.. shit. ow. the fuck's happening?"
"you're gonna be okay, you hear? just don't move. they're coming as fast as they can."
— who?
who's coming?
who's...coming where?
"put pressure on it!"
they did & silas groaned, his body convulsing against his will, one of his hands ... stuck while the other came up to find his face, fist pressed against his lips. he pulled the other & was met with resistance.
"don't, stop it. si! don't move, damnit!"
"why?" why did his body hurt? what did he do? why couldn't he focus? why was he so cold? he could feel his teeth clatter, but they were in the damn desert. another tug. nobody ever said he was smart.
"do that again, i swear to god, i'll knock you out."
"hurts... it hurts." voice shaking, his eyes found his corporal's & that's where they stayed. irrevocably. they forever would.
"i know, i know, baby. you got this. please, don't fall asleep. don't give in. i know you're a stubborn little shit, be.. be stubborn. f-for me." a pair of blood-soaked hands cupped his face & he wasn't sure why it dawned on him then, but ..it did.
he was dying, wasn't he?
his parents were right. he'd die in a puddle of his own blood & nobody would give a shit. well, at least he wasn't alone, right?
head lifted a little, it'd been held up by someone anyway & he couldn't help a weak little laugh at the sight, coughing up more blood. what a fucking joke. he couldn't even die properly, struck down by an enemy in a brave gunfight defending his home country. or something.
a fence would strike him down.
— seriously?
he could see it sticking out of his body, an impressive piece of metal sticking out of the left side of his abdomen & another got his arm. fuckin' hell. that explained the blinding hot pain tearing his insides apart.
weak little chuckle, cough followed, rocking his body on the fence again, which had the entire group huddled up around him hold their breaths. "you tell my folks the truth ...how.. how i died, i'll .. i'll fucking haunt your ass." eyes so heavy, he really just wanted to nap. everything was so heavy, always. now, right now he felt light. like .. like he could fly if he just wished for it hard enough.
up up & away.
away from condescending eyes & ridiculing sneers. it was so easy, wasn't it? all he had to do was...give in. sounded simple enough. simple enough for him to manage, surely.
"don't you fucking dare." soft growl in his ear & he knew who... who it was. ugh.
"'s fine. i'm.. okay." he could be free.
"no. stop. you're not gonna die here. i'm not gonna go, you can't either. it's my damn fault, so you're gonna pull yourself together and you're gonna fucking keep your eyes open."
sigh.
"please, si. i'm sorry. i'm sorry."
he did realize everybody was watching, right? weren't they supposed to be a secret? hm.
wait, what did he mean.. his fault?
hold...on. he was... he was.. they were alone & he was behaving like an idiot, silas didn't get it.
you're a spy. tell me why. was any of it real? hm?
he... still didn't get it. why would he think that?
he remembered them arguing, one yelling louder than the other; heart rates through the roof & then... fuck. he remembered. palms had soared closer, had pressed against his chest & pushed him over the railing in one strong... push.
words still ringing in his ear now that he remembered the scene in vivid detail, his heart clenched. those words were meant to be the last thing he heard
"maybe in another life we can be happy, i'm sorry si. i really loved you."
the medics in the area brought blood, but they didn't have the necessary tools to free him, so silas was stuck on that fence with his entire unit sitting by him.. for six hours.
silas had tyche on his side that night, the fence missed vital organs by mere inches & after a few months, he was back on his feet, though - despite a thorough explanation afterwards ... trust... between lovers was broken.
& then... there was karma.
#* . ⊹ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ɪs ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴғᴏʀɢɪᴠɪɴɢ. › ❨ headcanon. ❩#blood mention tw#death mention tw#kinda#thanks for sending this innnnn#this is like super far back ...20+ years mnn
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THE KRATOS CABIN II
— a weight room, much like that of the gym in ares, but specifies on weight training specifically, using this could lead to gaining even more raw power.
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* ── 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹 ❜ ⟨⟨ A FIGHTER'S GIFT TO THE STRONGEST ⟩⟩
upon birth, a father is deemed protector of his offspring as no babe is capable of defending themselves. no child should have to. no child should grow up in a web of lies, spun not by the sisters of fate, but a pair of bitter old perfectionists who saw the world in only one light.
where had his protector been when he needed him?
all this talk about parents... didn't sit well with him. it was ... it brought back memories & thoughts he spent a long time trying to bury in the depths of his heart.
silas grew up a very troubled child & for the longest time, he blamed himself. he blamed himself for not being smart enough to please his parents, he blamed himself for not being sociable enough to hold a conversation, he blamed himself for not being wordy enough to compete in arguments & it felt like whatever he tried, it just wasn't enough.
nothing he did was ever good enough, even when he felt he was doing quite well. his passions usually brushed off, but when they didn't - like his joy for music, they found a way to infiltrate that as well. he always had to be better than others, always had to be the center of attention in a crowd, but silas ... was not. ordinary at best, he never reached the required level of attention to prove he was worthy.
he was just ..not good enough.
for a long time he thought his life was just going to be ...that. he'd chase this perfection & never succeed, over & over again. he didn't. sooner rather than later he broke out & ran away. maybe he was meant to, maybe he wasn't - he wasn't one to tell, but he wished he knew what he did now .. back then so he didn't spend his life wondering why his parents .. never felt like his parents & his life never felt like his life. he never felt like he belonged. not in new haven, not in vegas, not in los angeles. it wasn't for a lack of trying either.
finding out neither of his parents actually were his parents was an epiphany, truly. it came a good thirty years too late, but the saying better late than never ... existed for a reason, right? in camp, silas felt ... different, still. he always had, so maybe that would never change, but he noticed it when he watched the others train, which was a good portion of his everyday routine at this point.
they all had ..something that made them .. them. magic, fey spirits turning into animals, thunder (or was it lightning?) or wings. he couldn't take more than half of them in a fight despite being the son of the god of strength. did he have to train more? could he even train more? he just .. had so many questions, so many worries, so many concerns & wonders when it came to this new life he let himself be dragged into.
but this is your chance. give an offering to your parent, say a prayer, or have a conversation. this is your chance to take that step.
...what did that even mean?
they say it's normal for young godlings to be connected to their godly parents, but he was far from a fledgling. very, very far from it. he still wasn't sure why he was even here. surely, there had to have been a younger kratos child out there, right? so why him? he looked at the others in camp & just ...wondered. constantly. questioning his worth, just like he'd been raised to. he really thought he broke out of that cycle. clearly not.
not one for public display, or crowds in general, silas left once the announcement was done & he didn't return until late at night the next day with seemingly only his guitar in tow. he thought about what he could possibly gift this father of his he never met & came up mostly blank, not because he was clueless, but because he struggled to make up his mind. gift or no gift. speak or grace him with silence. blame or ...don't.
you've already accepted the song in your veins. there's no going back.
these words... they'd been goin 'round & round his head & he knew that they were true, so he may as well attempt to find ... peace. silas didn't have much to offer; he had nothing to his name - not in life or death, but he had a love he could share. he could've brought wine, food, could've spent the night cooking to burn whatever he felt worthy in the morning, but ... would that have been truthful? not really.
in front of his father's statue, silas took a moment in silence... just .. watching, focus heavy on his breath - on calming himself. setting his guitar aside for the moment, he pushed his sleeves up, two sets on both sides - because silas tended to wear two pairs of shirts even when they were long sleeves & raised his hands. one formed a fist & for a moment bystanders might've thought he'd attempt punching the statue, but he didn't. fist slowly brought against it, eyes cast down, he hummed a quiet tune.
"you know, they're tellin' us to pray, to bring sacrifices or .. whatever. i get it for the kids, i do. let them think daddy or mommy are watchin'. i'm sure it keeps them in line, but me? we both know i'm long past that. i'm not gonna sit here 'n cry my heart out. i think we're both better off that way. i wanna believe you got my back, but all this here? lil late, don't ya think?"
maybe they weren't needed before, maybe he'd been mortal up until recently, but .. he was still there. he could've been found & maybe his age was the actual issue here, because the others were young enough to get used to the idea of a father coming into their life, but not him. he was too old for a reprimanding father.
he pulled his hand back to himself & flopped down in front of the statue, legs crossed & guitar in reach, but first he unwrapped his hands, the dark blue wraps coming off slowly, one side came off with a squelching sound in tow & silas hissed softly, but didn't slow down until both his hands were ... bearing skin. bruised & bloody, they bore the result of endless training. they always did, but the stakes were higher now.
"you gave me strength. that's your thing. i've got nothing else. all i've got is my blood an' my sweat. you made me what i am. i dunno if it's been fate or if i never had a choice in the first place, but this is all i know. it's what i am, what i've always been. i guess the anger's yours, too. made for a good time growin' up. i guess.. i wonder why me. got no other kids around? did you even know my mother? would make one of us. or was she just a means to get what you want? it don't matter anymore now, but i guess i'm tryin' to find out more 'bout you two. funny to think i'm here, fightin' ... your fight an' i never met you or my mother."
matches rattled & blood-crusted wrappings were placed in the little bowl & set ablaze swiftly, but silas dropped something else in the bowl, it was .. an heirloom of sorts. it was stupid, but he thought it his good luck charm. during one of his first fights in the ring, he almost died. in the end it cost him a tooth. it was replaced, because even a fighter had to look proper these days - apparently, but he kept it. felt only right to offer something he valued. he did. both. when fighting was the only thing worthwhile in your life... well, options were limited. but his blood & his body .. he'd given both to the cause. freely. irrevocably.
"i'm seein' that ares kid shred everythin' in his sight, the zeus boy's ..well, you know what he's doin' an' there's pan's kid summonin' armies of wolves to fight for him. or that one kid who' s controllin' plants. i guess i feel i'm bein' left behind. can't fucking win against most of them. kratos' son losing against ...i can't even say it. sorry for being a failure, story. of my life."
failure, a constant companion before he discovered his talent for fighting back in the day. he just... maybe for once he wanted to make a parent proud, strange as that may be given he had the age of a parent himself. though, that urge to make daddy proud never quite went away for any son.. did it?"
"i mean i did fine outside of camp, took down a pack of lions, the boogeyman- yeah, don't ask. but i had help. i.. never did. it's new, but i like it knowing someone else has my back, yeah, i'm.. i .. do. more reason to be better, y'know? i just.. struggle. fightin' the kids in camp? it's frustrating. reminds me that all this... is new. some of them got wings. fuckin' wings. guess you forgot mine or the books are lyin' and you didn't have any. yeah, i read. surprised me too. fine, okay.. got an audio book. readin' ain't my thing. but, yeah.. figured i should learn some about that world your blood dragged me into. fuck, wings would've been nice. anyway, i guess what i'm tryin' to say is... i try to make you proud. dunno if you care, or ever did, but if there's one thing i'm made for... it's all this, so if you got advice or anythin' you need me t'do? y'know where to find me. i'll do what i can."
soft sigh.
"uh, right. one more thing. heard this a long.. long time ago. never thought it'd call to me. well, now it does. assumin' y'all don't got radio, so... hope you enjoy, but i don't really care if you don't either. it's good, i promise."
guitar in his lap, fingers slowly wrapping around the neck, forming chords after chords as he struck string after string.
♫♫ "Like blood upon the snow The ground walked here is a wonder It ceases never to hunger And all things nature's given She takes all things back from the living I've walked the earth and there are so few here that know How dark the night and just how cold the wind can blow I've no more hunger now to see where the road will go I've no more kept my warmth Than blood upon the snow Blood upon the snow It's not my arms that will fail me But this world takes more strength than it gave me The trees deny themselves nothing that makes them grow No rain fall, no sunshine No blood upon the snow Blood upon the snow..." ♫♫
"y'know, i forgot somethin'. i never thanked ya. not sure if i coulda got here without you. you didn't do shit, not really, but this ...gift. that part o'me that's you got me here, i'm pretty sure. the bloodlust, the anger, the unbreakable will... worthy of a god of strength. i wanna guess that's all you, in a way. you got me in your corner an' i ain't goin' down easily. so yeah.. teach me your ways if you will. i’ll do whatever it takes."
he felt silly talking to a statue, but he understood the meaning behind it & he knew that it was the same principle as graveyards - only this time around they knew for sure that someone on the other side was listening. would he answer?
"i'll have another song next time." he wasn't done yet, not quite. there was ... something else, something he clearly struggled with more than the previous comments & he lingered for a good five more minutes before he spoke again. "...see ya, father."
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* ── 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬 ❜ ⟨⟨ YEE-FUCKIN'-HAW MOTHERFUCKER !!! ⟩⟩
the son of kratos was not born in texas.
silas may have grown up the privileged life in a middle-sized city, but that is exactly the reason he's spent more time with horses than the norm. his family had its own ranch on the property & when silas was nine, he got to choose his first horse. horse riding was one of many skills his family thought good for discipline. if you're afraid, the horse is, child. control your emotions. his very first horse was brown. she was a terrible fit for him, uneasy & skittish with a tendency to throw him off. lady lina.
het met the next when he was sixteen. pitch black. a true beauty. fastest horse on the ranch, but stubborn, too. perfect for him. if he .. had been born a horse, he would've been that horse's twin. romeo. he had to leave him behind when he left for the army & after that, he'd never had the time or space for horses again, but - like most animals to this day, he prefers their company over humans.
easier to talk to, less judgmental & usually kind.
he never lost his love for the ranch life though, kept his favorite boots (which - some may say, might've almost got him killed at the cliff) & hat, which he both wears quite often. boots more than the hat, it messes with his hair.
so, the mission... easy peasy. (note that the rifle on the last pic will be his axe, the pistol his short sword :3)
as for the horse, it's one he acquired when he knew he'd stay at camp. there's the room for it. it's a pinto lady he adores. mia.
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* ── 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙 𝑶𝑵𝑬 ❜ ⟨⟨ EIGHT IS A MAGICAL NUMBER. ⟩⟩
to drink, or not to drink...?
one may think silas needed a considerable amount of time to debate on his options, let his mind wander & make up where this path might - or might not lead him, but truthfully, deep ..deep down, he'd long-since decided when that voice first spoke to him. he'd never been one to fear the unknown, he'd been the one to conquer it.
admittedly, finding out everything he thought true had been another person's imagination running wild while the truth had been kept hidden from him all his life, had been quite the blow...
but silas had taken worse hits before.
chalice rested peacefully in his big palm, the liquid within carefully observed, sniffed & eventually considered legit. warnings had never frightened him, he chose to prove he was capable instead. he usually was. time & time again had coach warned him to keep his mouth shut, to not defy his enemies, to decline fights offered as they were no more than him being led to slaughter, but silas never bowed out of a challenge. never.
not once had he tucked his tail & ran. not in school when the other boys conglomerated to take him out after he'd taken them down one by one previously with sheer luck on his side. he sat through the onslaught. HE SURVIVED. he always did. he sure didn't struggle finding his place in the mortal world, he had a good job even after giving up fighting, he had a nice apartment all to himself, he had enough money saved to get him through the worst & his music refilled his reserves in a slow, but steady pace.
he didn't need to do this.
but oh, he wanted to. finding out he'd lost a lifetime of being someone else - not only with his true parents somewhere out in the world, but also that part where he had power nobody knew about? how could he decline? how could he walk away when he was so close to finding out who he truly was?
"better make it worth my time." he rumbled quietly despite being the only one in the room.
because if he was promised pain & suffering, they better deliver. chalice raised, tilted towards him as brown hues watched the liquid flow. it burned on his tongue, it scuffed down the entirety of his throat, but silas pushed through. drop after drop, inch after inch until the chalice was empty. he thought. a loud noise filled the room when it dropped, but silas himself didn't hear it. he didn't hear any of it. not himself, not the voice that'd been so chatty a mere few minutes before.
knees hit the ground, palms followed, but balled into fists a good few seconds after, sweat pooling on his forehead as muffled grunts & groans filled the air around him. his arms gave in & his shoulder hit the ground with a crack, a noise he remembered all too clearly still - like it hadn't been thirty years at least, but he remembered the fear he felt when his sister grabbed his arm, put a foot on his back & counted. what did he know? he'd just been ..him. the pain cursing through his body when she attempted to fix it had been some of the worst he ever felt - comparable to today. he got lucky then.
but he no longer needed luck, did he? no. he'd outgrown that need a long time ago. though now, with that old, familiar throb in his shoulder back, he wasn't sure if he could keep going. what if you lose it? a hand appeared within his peripheral, slamming on the ground & counting. "stay down, boy. stop fighting." the low rasp of his coach carrying itself all the way through his haze, past the throb & it settled right above his heart.
"fuck off." it was wrong, he was wrong. coach would never. silas would never surrender. he'd die trying.
"you're too weak. you can't beat him."
"but i can try."
"why? why bother? why fight? they're never gonna see you, they're never gonna accept you."
"i don't fucking care."
"then why?"
"why not? it's all i got left."
"and whose fault is that?"
"mine. it don't matter anymore."
"then why keep going? just give up. take my hand, let's get outta here. you don't belong here. look at you, you're too old. too old to fight, too old to start over, too old to make amends. you can't make up for lost time, boy. stop trying and save us both the trouble."
"how about you shut the fuck up and go yap at someone else? kinda busy here." words come by harder & harder, but silas was far from done. nor was he ready to surrender. in it to win it. always.
"so what now? you do this and then? you think they're gonna want you? you don't belong here. you're not like them. you lived your life, well - you tried to. go home, wait for death. it's coming for you anyway. sing a little song for me, why don't you?"
"the fuck do you even know? just go. leave me alone. fucking piss off."
"so you can wallow in self-pity like you always do? ah, right. woe is me, my mommy was mean and nobody loves me so i beat up everybody i see. that right? they're gonna see you, the real you and that'll be it. end of the road. back home to sweat, lockers and community showers. livin' the dream, aren't you?"
"jokes on you, she ain't my mother."
"oh right, yours dropped you like a hot potato. think she knew what a fuck up you'd be? can't hold a job, can't hold a man. guy had a kid, you know how hard it is to date with a kid? most desperate guy in the world, still he dumped your ass. you're a joke, admit it and go home. you will never be enough. but we can end this, it's easy. just take my hand. or say it. that'll do. i'm a brat, lemme go home. see? it's that easy."
".....no." never. without knowing, he'd managed to push himself up to roll on his side at least, all curled up & in on himself, hands over his ears to drown out the laughter. maybe he was right. he could already see himself alone, doing his thing as he always did. relying on nobody but himself, watching the others band together, watching them laugh. yeah, he'd never been the type for that anyway. so, didn't really matter, did it?
he felt warmth on his skin, the pain flaring up once more, threatening to overtake, but ..it didn't. instead he managed to bring one of his hands down to it, dipping fingertips into the wetness spreading on his abdomen. blood. for sure. but he wasn't in that room anymore, there were trees around him & he was literally laying in the dirt, alone. not another human in sight. just him. dying. alone. no back up, nobody who even remotely gave a damn. just like it's always been, right? why should this ... be any different? his guitar laid torn to pieces not far, his axe stuck in a tree close-by. at least he fought.
smile more, they always said, but silas never felt like it. if only you smiled more, people wouldn't be afraid of you, they said, but silas ... didn't see why. why should he lie? why should he pretend? why wouldn't people accept him the way he was?
"because you're desperate, they are not. you're lonely, they are not. you want to be seen, they already are." there was that low rasp again, but what it spat was still far from his coach's real words. that man had raised him better than his father ever could have. the only person in the world who at least pretended to care about him. "look at you, old man. dying alone in the gutter. i warned you this would happen. you didn't want to listen."
silas was trembling, his body shaking & teeth clattering, but he was not afraid to die. it made no difference to him, or maybe it was for the best. maybe he could finally stop fighting.
"ugh, there it is again. pity party full force. but... i'm feeling generous today, cause seriously - nobody should die out here all alone. i'll help you up, just take my hand and i'll take it from here. you'll be patched up and warm in no time."
temptation was .. running strong within him at that moment, the pain unbearable - though .. he endured, that emptiness in his chest overwhelming - though .. he endured, the voices cutting like knives - though .. he endured. silas pulled himself through the dirt, away from the puddle of blood below him & towards the closest tree. it was slow. it was excruciatingly painful, it was a fight he didn't think he could win.
& yet he made it. curled against the uprooted trunk of it, hands went back onto his ears, but this time around - no whisper could move them again, no pain in the world could make him let go again.
he didn't.
when morning came, he sure as shit aged twenty goddamn years, his clothes drenched in sweat & his palms had the imprint of his thumbs etched into them. but he was still here.
& he didn't plan to go any time soon.
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* ── 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙 𝑻𝑾𝑶 ❜ ⟨⟨ ACTUALLY, I JUST PUNCH THINGS ?! ⟩⟩
part one. (pre-path)
godling domain ── your struggles develop your strength
silas was raised an athlete in a way; admittedly his parents preferred the lean to be athletic instead & supported that more than anything, but silas - even as a boy spent a lot of time in gyms or outside. horse riding, sprints, volleyball, gymnastics ... as a little boy he was dragged to every post-school club in the hopes of him becoming more balanced. less angry, less spiteful, less distracted during the lessons. it was to no avail on that front, but it affected him nonetheless.
in the army he already realized that he just had more in him than most others. despite being clumsy when it came to fighting, he had power behind his jabs, after hours & hours of working out, others falling victim to short breath & weak limbs, silas kept going. he was not a quitter.
child of strength ── strength does not come from winning
with proper motivation & a strong will, silas always knew how to push himself just a little further. strength has its roots deep within his being to pull on if needed. being struck down time & time again, he learned to only rely on himself.
over-exertion ── where there is no struggle, there is no strength
out of sheer will to survive - so to say, silas learned to push himself beyond limits. stronger, faster, more steadfast. fueled by adrenaline, anger & the need to not lose, silas could move mountains ..if he tried. the consequences are grave, with the heat of the moment passing & his body slowly coming down from that high again, exhaustion takes over. but the win is worth the price paid. always.
brutal swing + empowered strike ── never stop. never stop fighting
when silas puts his mind or heart into something, he does so .. with all of himself. when he swings a weapon or fists, he'll do so with purpose - to maim, to kill, to hurt. cut flesh, break a bone ... it doesn't matter, silas goes all out on every single hit. he's trained too hard for too many years not to. worked on his jabs, hooks & punches for too many hours through nights, days & over the years for them to not shake the ground.
force of impact ── protect your peace at all costs
silas may not be a support of the traditional kind, but after spending time in camp, even early on, he found himself protective of some. seeing those who can't protect themselves focused in fights is unacceptable. the urge to protect - even if only by killing the attacker (in comparison to actively protecting/healing the attacked party), is stronger than anything else. nothing can stop him on the way across the battlefield when he's on a mission.
force shield ── he is a shield to those who take refuge in him
being up front & knuckle-deep in enemy guts comes ...with a price. vulnerable to attacks, silas had to learn that heart way that the best defense isn't always to attack. as a sort of last defense, silas learned to create a shield of pure, raw force around him that is not impenetrable, but strong and attacks ricochet off it with the chance of enemies getting hit by their own attacks. he can, if need be, summon a similar - but weaker shield around an ally to protect them as well.
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* ── 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. ❜
people always say karma's a bitch, they say that you'll reap what you sow & you shouldn't forget that everything ...connects to everything else.
well, in hindsight ... silas would like to claim he'd do it all differently if given the chance, but truthfully? he'd do it all over again. he wouldn't change a damn thing, because every second of it was real & he wouldn't change it, not for anything - or anybody in the world, even through the pain. would he like to fix his mistakes? surely. but the risk... what if doing the "right" thing changed his fate & led him to miss out on the best year of his life?
silas spent a long time looking for a purpose. for a reason to be alive that went beyond having been born & beyond his family's wishes when it came to what kind of a man he was supposed to grow up to become. some thought being born into wealth was a privilege, but it wasn't - not for everybody & definitely not when you were different. not that silas had ever suspected anything that went beyond the mortal realm. but his "parents" sure hoped for a different child than they'd got.
smile more.
speak more.
stop scowling.
stop hiding.
stop mumbling.
socialize more.
but he didn't want to. he'd never had that wide-spread urge to push himself in the center, to draw everybody's attention to him. he'd never had the need - never felt like he had to define himself by what others thought, though whether that was simply due to everybody in his vicinity thinking the absolute ...possible lowest from him, or whether he truly just didn't care ... not easy to say now. nevertheless...
for most of his life he wandered, searching for something he didn't know. he thought he'd find it in rebellion - he didn't. he thought he'd find it in the army - he didn't. he thought he'd find it in a relationship - he didn't. not in this one anyway. for the longest time silas thought that maybe his parents had been right after all & money, or rather success was the only way to feel like his life meant something.
but even then... even after he reached the top, which - truthfully, silas didn't see coming... it just ... felt like he was missing something. he was happy. he was ..content most of the time, he had everything he could wish for, right? a fiancé, a son, a career, a house ....what could he possibly be missing, right?
well, he found his missing piece in a cocky little mechanic. he wasn't much shorter than him. in fact, the boots he wore made him the tiniest inch taller than silas, which apparently was important to him. silas never cared about his height. he didn't need to be tall(er) to make someone eat his boot. besides, the guy's ego made him twice silas' height at least.
dante di cesare changed life as he knew it.
stupid-ass name definitely changed the way he appreciated his own. but regardless of that... dante was a little younger than him, but silas also never cared about age. his fiance was ten years older than him, so that had been the least of his worries. he didn't even like the dumbass at first. cocky little shit tried barged in on the afterparty of one of his fights & acted like he owned the damn world. it was love at first sight. he fucking hated his guts.
& for the longest time that didn't change, because he was engaged, dante was a brat & silas didn't see himself with a .....playboy. to put it mildly. but months passed & his defenses crumbled. didn't help that dante seemingly got off on making him angry, which isn't a very difficult task to achieve. some said they were yin & yang. silas was so far from home, he only had half a mind to hide when they were out & about.
it wasn't until ...a little while later that he realized that dante was ...his opposite. in everything. in the good & the bad ways. he was the piece silas had been looking for, he was the one person on earth who got him. which he hated. who the fuck gave him the right to read him like this? but he did. no secrets left unspoken between them, not when dante was determined to read his mind. little fucker.
silas thought he loved sindra, he truly did. sindra, the ever-loyal fiancé, but it wasn't until he met dante that he knew love. he would've died for him in an instant, would've given all he had to him without asking why, would've moved mountains to be by his side. they spent most of their time together bantering - or rather...well, yes. dante liked to poke fun at him, enjoyed it when he grumbled & silas let him.
for ...a little while silas thought he found his future in someone else. true fucking happiness. silas went from thinking of ways to strangle him to debating dropping a ring in his beer. he'd been very much aware that he should break up with his fiancé first, he knew, but he'd dreaded it, too afraid that if he accepted what dante & him had was real, that it would cease to exist. that he'd come home to the little place they shared to find him with another guy - like he was doing.
but he didn't. it ...was perfect. months went by & dante was the one to bring up the next step. silas had been ready for ...a long time. eager even. too lost in this to think of the consequences of his actions. but he wouldn't be spared for too much longer.
because karma is, truthfully, a bitch.
with dante's ring in his pocket - yes, he'd asked & of course he'd said yes... silas had taken the week off to cut ties in new haven, ready to move on & away, start fresh somewhere else without the weight of guilt dragging him down. he wasn't sure what his future would look like, but at that point he'd been ready to find out. dante never asked him to put his work second, but�� silas ...wanted to. all that traveling he had to do for the fights was time spent apart, which was the last thing he wanted. maybe one day's regret it, he thought.
if only...
back home went as he'd expected, but at least he finally got it done. the ring was returned & replaced by dante's, he packed his shit & left. one twelve hour flight later, dante was supposed to pick him up at the airport. he could've taken a cab. or an uber. he... could've walked if he'd been determined enough, but dante insisted to pick him up so they could grab some food & celebrate before ......yeah. heading home. silas, social butterfly as always, had grumbled ...but agreed regardless.
only dante never made it to the airport.
some kid ran on the road, dante pulled aside ... he didn't even make it to the hospital. silas didn't get to say goodbye.
it was that ...wrong time wrong place kinda nonsense, they said. karma's a bitch, silas thought. he played with fire & got burnt. in fact, he played with fire & burned down his house. he ..did this.
him & the fates who snapped a thread that wasn't meant to be snapped yet. clearly.
but it also confirmed what silas had long-since known. he ruined everything he touched.
a month later, silas found out about who he truly was & for the first time since that day, silas thought that maybe ... revenge would be his one day. the fates now closer in reach than ever before. he just had to get stronger. they took his life from him, so he may as well return the favor.
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tag drop.
* . ⊹ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴘʀᴇᴠᴀɪʟs. › ❨ bodyclaim. ❩
* . ⊹ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ. › ❨ silas. ❩
* . ⊹ ᴛʜᴇ sɪsᴛᴇʀs ᴏғ ғᴀᴛᴇ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ. › ❨ isms. ❩
* . ⊹ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ɪs ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴғᴏʀɢɪᴠɪɴɢ. › ❨ headcanon. ❩
#* . ⊹ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ɪs ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴғᴏʀɢɪᴠɪɴɢ. › ❨ headcanon. ❩#* . ⊹ ᴛʜᴇ sɪsᴛᴇʀs ᴏғ ғᴀᴛᴇ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ. › ❨ isms. ❩#* . ⊹ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ. › ❨ silas. ❩#* . ⊹ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴘʀᴇᴠᴀɪʟs. › ❨ bodyclaim. ❩
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