#godlingprompt001

[timexticksxby]

Prompt 1: Passage of Time

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

What would it be? Tortured by memories of his most embarrassing moments? Horrific visages of nightmares long past? The description of what would actually afflict him had been vague at best, a heaviness in the air that he'd decided not to question while still getting settled. Listened to the warning, listened to the explanation, and opened his mouth to drink dip the ambrosia of the gods. How cool was th-

He'd probably have enjoyed it more if his head hadn't immediately clouded over. Fogged. The temple swam in fog. Or was it his eyes that had fogged? It's a head rush that left him breathless, regardless of the what or where. He might have wondered if this what falling through a cloud was like, but there was something more to it. It didn't... End.

There wasn't any more movement. The fog hadn't moved. The wind rushing past his ears was still.

His lungs didn't fill.

His heart didn't pump.

Everything just... stopped.

Tick. Tick Tick Tick

He had nothing to count. No heartbeat. No breath. No movement. No anything. Isolated. Alone. Was this what timeless was? He couldn't tell how long he'd been there. Run through every song he could remember off the top of his head. Every favourite comic scene, every favourite movie. Books, words, memories. But still.

He remained. No decaying. No breakdown. He couldn't even pull the air in to his lungs enough to scream. Yell. Cry. Make a sound, make a move, make a-

Like waking up from the dream of falling, the first gasp of air in to his lungs had him choking. Body jolting where he was sprawled, and scrambling for air. Lungs filling. Time moving. Breath. By breath. Moment by moment.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

[everestphillips]

A Loving Touch

"This was insane, right?"

In one moment, Everest was in the middle of a board room where people barking about his performance at each other, while another bunch was yapping about pretty clothes and frivolous events he needs to attend next. It was all jumbled noise until he heard the song, which cut through everything like a sharp blade. Without much warning, he stood from that room and made his way out, leaving everyone in confusion.

The last thing he remembered was being in his room and sending his family a text that everything will be fine and that he was going to miss them. And practically the moment after he sent that message, he was in darkness. The air cool and damp, and his surroundings unfamiliar, with creatures only barely fathomed through media. Everest was definitely going insane.

Truly, everything from the moment he arrived to his walk to the temple was a blur. Things Everest was witnessing that he couldn't quite believe. Hell, even in the big temple where he's had a moment to be in, he was in disbelief. The godling felt his body was basically on autopilot, instinctively taking him to a certain spot in the giant marble structure before he noticed everyone was waiting patiently before a different god. Maybe he'll finally figure out who his parent is. Maybe it was someone that would make sense of his life. Then he turned around and saw Aphrodite.

"Hmmm." Seemed like it was the only thing he can respond with to this new discovery. He shouldn't be disappointed. I mean, he wasn't. Because at the end of the day, his mother was and still is a stranger.

Nothing seemed to click for Everest, even when the voice started to ring through his head, he just thought it was some elaborate ruse. Though, it's not like he do could anything else but stare at the clocked figured coming closer to him with the chalice. Taking it in his hands, Ev inspected the ornate cup and the weirdly pretty drink inside of it. "Awfully pretty for something that can supposedly do such damage," he thought to himself. Of course, he should have just drank it like he was instructed. The racer did already come this far but he still had some concerns. Even so, before he could say anything, he already saw a few men downing their drinks and being escorted out.

"Oh, so we're just drinking the kool-aid with blind faith?"

Which probably got an ugly look from those who could hear him. Now, all he could think about now was the Jonestown massacre. If this is happening, might as well not be the last one to drink it, he didn't want to be the last one dead. And for some reason, he looked back at the statue once more, feeling a strange sense of comfort before he got the courage to drink his first sip. God, this was fucking awful, he thought to himself as he choked on the strange substance, making sure not to accidentally spit anything out. Nah, he needed to drink everything in one go and not prolonge his torture. So, he raised his chalice like it was some shot and knocked it back in one chug.

When the last drop was swallowed, he felt his blood become hotter, and his heart beating faster until eventually, it felt like fire burned under his skin. Everest gripped onto the chalice while his other hand gripped his chest, his nails digging into his skin, desperate in stopping the acceleration of his heart one way or another. But it was obvious he was losing this battle, and once he lost the grip on his cup, the ring of the metal against the marble was paired with the sound of heart going *pop*.

Everest regained consciousness with a scream, fighting to fill his lungs with the air he needed. It took him many deep breaths until he could feel himself calm down, but once he felt composed, he noticed he was back in his old room. "So it was just a dream" the driver said to himself before reaching out to his phone and noticing that no one texted back. Not even his family. It was bittersweet, but now, they had no reason to worry.

However, now that he was back home, everything he just dreamed about felt real. Like it was meant to happen. Regardless, there was nothing he can do now.

Ever since that day, Everest felt like his days have become meaningless. Everything he did was becoming monotonous, even losing the passion he had to drive. But they still had him in full display, using him to get all they needed from him. He just became a puppet for those he worked for.

Everest has become an emotionless husk, but he still dreaded being made to go out. He was now uncomfortable everywhere he went, because now all eyes were on him. That shouldn't have been something new to him, but this felt completely different. Like they were dissecting him. Like they were undressing him. Like he was in an enclosure for everyone else to enjoy.

Regardless how uncomfortable he was, what was going to come next was even worse. Like clockwork, the crowd just stampeded towards him. The same things being screamed at him, the same empty words trying to take advantage of him, as they clawed at him, ripping through his clothes, through his flesh, until his chest was bare and heaving, ashamed to be at the mercy of the public once more.

Everything has gone exactly the same as every day since his weird dream. Everest expected things to go black, and he'd wake up again back in his car. But instead, he felt the some cool droplets on his skin. Somehow, the gentle rain tethered him to reality, and made him realize, was his life always like this? Beyond the exaggerated horror's he's experienced these past few days, his life has been nothing more than a pageant and a mean for others to climb up the social hierarchy.

Slowly, he was feeling more like himself, the rain now began to pour, washing over his wounds, slowly foaming up only for them to disappear. Everest even felt his heart beat faster. But instead of the same frantic fear he felt when he drank the ambrosia, it made him feel butterflies at the pit of his stomach. He could feel his cheeks turn red, and couldn't stop smiling. Yeah, he was alone, but for once in a long time, Everest didn't feel lonely.

As cute as that heartwarming moment was, he still endured days of torture in just the past eight hours. And now, Everest was on the floor of this strange room. Clearly fallen from the bed with how the sheets have dragged along with him. "Water. I need water," he shouted to no one was as he attempted to get up and find something to drink. Running to the bathroom, Everest splashed water onto his face before he gave himself a good look at himself in the mirror. The godling might have been the son of Aphrodite, but he's definitely seen better days.

"I guess this is real... and i'm doing it too."

[sonssofhecate]

tw: family abuse

there was something intimidating about the beautiful liquid. as a wiccan, sethan understood that just because something looks pretty and harmless doesn't make it so. and when he heard of what the drink was to do? he couldn't help but think that he was in over his head. a simple wiccan who worked as a cook, bartender, and waiter to try to avoid going back to his life of crime...and yet he was going to drink the nectar of the gods?

he thought of all of the people back home who would likely be more qualified for such a task than him. but, as he looked up at the statue? he reminded himself that this was his mother. this beautiful, mysterious, scary, seductive and dangerous woman was his mother. he recalled all the times that he wished for a mom. recalled how his father had been close liipped, and all that he had told him was that she was a wiccan...he stopped that line of thinking before worse memories got brought to the surface.

"i...i can do this..." he definitely sounded unconvincingly, but that didn't stop him from lifting the chalice up with both hands. the moment the drank touched his lips, he felt the pain. as one of, if not the, first people to drink? he tried to downplay it. hoping to inspire the others. but FUCK, this was painful. and soon? he was already struggling to force his body to ignore the pain and drink. and drink. and drink...until, thankfully, the darkness took him away.

he would soon find out that the darkness wasn't a relief.

waking up to the familiar tiny apartment. beer bottles and cans laid on the floor. some of them shattered, and some of them with more left. but, most importantly to him right now? was his closet door being left open. eyes widening, sethan made his way to the very back desperately. needing to see...needing to know....

"looking for something?" he tensed as he heard his father's voice. "there's no need. it's gone." sethan's eyes widened before he shook his head and shakily looked. his father, of course, had lied. it wasn't gone...just destroyed beyond repair. the alter resorted to mere crumbs of what it had been. he could remember how many people he had pick pocketed. how many people he had stole from. just for this?!

"i told you that you would not practice that wiccan bullshit under my roof!" a yelp escaped sethan as he was yanked back by his hair. flung carelessly against the wall. his body was racked with pain, but his head even more so when it made contact with it. he knew it hit hard enough for the neighbors to hear, but he knew better than to expect them to help.

they never do.

his father's fists began raining down on him. but more than his fist? the words hit him as well. weak...hopeless...powerless...useless...a embarrassment. a failure. that last one stung, but he fought through it. crying out as he tried to get his father off of him. until he finally did. he tried to crawl away, and the scene slowly faded to black. the statue that used to be on his alter began to reassemble itself. getting bigger and bigger as sethan looked up. seeing it slowly rolling towards him. and then? it began to speak.

"i thought you would be a decent wiccan. thought you would be good. and yet once again, you've proved incapable of doing anything correct. to clumsy and dumb to do anything right." a scream came from him as he felt the statue slowly beginning to roll over him. feeling as if every bone in his body was truly being broken and crushed. feeling truly defenseless as he could do nothing more but watch as it rolled further and further, crushing him more and more. a physical representation of his fear of failure and helplessness

more and more nightmares began to arise. nightmares and memories of things he didn't do, things that he has done, and things that were done to him. the pain increased more and more...getting worse and worse. but underneath it? he could feel something else growing. something else festering. as the hours ticked by, the magic around him grew as it was unlocked. and right as the eight hour struck? his eyes flew open as he awoke, and a gasp escaped him. a single wave of magic threw everything back, before seeming to settle itself back. only his familiars appearing unarmed, quickly making their way to their master. belle and naga comforting him as he blearily looked at them and offered a small smile.

"...no more pink drinks..." he mumbled almost deliriously.

[kieransyphe]

🏛️ ︰ # NECTAR OF THE GODS. trigger warnings for some gore and horror elements.

HE HAD BEEN WAITING TO WAKE UP FOR QUITE SOME TIME NOW. after all , kieran acheron syphe was not a stranger to night terrors. and no matter how macabre , no matter how uncomplicated , he knew that these nightmares always ended one way or another. but there was one night terror had always stayed with him — burned into his mind for an eternity.

there was nothing but darkness for miles and miles. no earth , no sky , just him traversing through the pitch black until he found two bodies. they were on their knees , almost as if in prayer , their eyes shut and bodies bare. but it was all wrong. serenity in their expressions was the last thing he expected to see , so dissonant from the way the flesh of their backs had been cut down the middle ; each side peeled back and morbidly outstretched like wings.

and behind them , from the darkness , emerged a far more intimidating figure. prodigious dark wings and a merciless stare , something so deeply inhuman about the strange man despite the features that somewhat echoed his own.

the man began to approach , passed by the two bodies who were reduced into dust with the simple graze of his fingertips. the man came to halt in front of him and kieran knew he should feel dread , he should will himself awake , but something in his bones sensed familiarity. the winged stranger placed a hand on his shoulder and expecting the same fate , he closed his eyes and waited to be dust in the wind. but nothing happened.

"  our song is of duty , " he heard the man say before he woke up.

that was a nightmare.

and this was a nightmare , too ; sitting on a throne before the statue of the same man all these years later , listening to a chorus of promises , an invitation to a symphony where he must accept his birthright as a moving part in protecting the world. it was stupid. he killed someone mere hours ago. someone he loved. how could anyone ever accept a birthright that took away lives ?

wake up , wake up , wake up. how ironic that he had always felt like he had been sleepwalking throughout his life and the first time he heard the song in his veins was also the first time he felt awake when his eyes were open. yet , he still begged. wake up , wake up , wake up.

but more he pleaded to his mind , the more it was becoming impossible to deny this just might be reality.

he stared at the ambrosia. and in desperation , he took the first sip and hoped that the suffering that came with it would be the very thing to wake him up.

everything went dark as the ambrosia made its way down his throat. he felt like he was being torn from limb to limb. teeth sinking into his flesh and tearing him apart alive.

then , he finally woke up.

he was in that dingy motel room again. relief washed over him as he felt the weight of another body beside him , it was all a nightmare and will was alive. there was never a song in his blood. kieran reached back and grabbed the other man's arm to wrap it around himself for warmth.

but as his touch lingered on will , he could slowly feel the weight beside him become lighter , the skin under his touch wrinkling until there was nothing but dust in his hand. and he felt the guilt all over again. but his anger was more potent than anything else , clawing at his chest for deliverance. he didn't want this. he never asked for this.

"  our song is of duty. "

and kieran stood up and staggered towards the small bathroom , clawing and scratching at his face , at his neck , anything to muffle the cacophony of voices in his head. he looked at himself in the mirror and noticed the dark wings that had suddenly appeared on his back and he loathed seeing himself become just like his estranged father , striking the mirror with with his head in white - hot rage. with blood running down his face , he looked at himself again in the broken fragments. death wasn't fair , death was merciless.

he didn't want to be that way.

wake up , wake up , wake up.

he was back on his throne , chalice still half - full. every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire , every movement felt like it could make his body fall apart. if this was just another night terror , he would have already woken up by now from all the pain. it filled him with dread.

but more than anything , the realization put him at a crossroad — always with a savior complex and no matter how much he resented his father , death himself , and everything that he inherited from him , this was much bigger than just himself. if the voices spoke of truth , then this was about the fate of the world. he didn't ask for this , but he couldn't deny that sense of responsibility.

"  our song is of duty. "

he closed his eyes to prepare for the pain then drank the rest.

the next time he opened his eyes , he stood in the middle of the temple surrounded by the torn and mangled bodies of the other godlings. blood pooled on the floor and stained the once pristine marble pillars.

he was alone again.

a blink , and he was at his mother's morgue. but instead of some jane doe recovered from somewhere , it was her who was lying on the cold stainless slab.

he was alone again.

another blink and he was trapped in a dark containment , lying on a cold cadaver tray inside one of those mortuary cabinets. his fingertips hesitantly traced the y - incision on his torso before reaching for the arm he couldn't feel ; an awful realization that it had been severed. breathing rapidly became uneven , unable to control it , gasping and panting , his fist banging and slamming against the walls as he screamed for help. he should have already ran out of air. he should not be alive , let alone moving. he brought his hand to his chest and began tearing through the stitches — cracking his sternum and spreading his ribs , grasping his own heart to pump it back to life. he begged and cried and prayed for his father to come and guide him to the afterlife.

but even in death , he was alone.

he had similar visions before. unfamiliar faces in his dreams that he would then see on the news or the obituaries or in the morgue. but this felt more of a warning , part of an unfinished tapestry that could still be changed.

he blinked and he was back in the temple again , writhing on the floor and gasping for air. his bones felt hot and the ache was agonizing , almost as his skeleton had been struck by a blacksmith's hammer. he could hear the other's screams and cries , how ironic that he felt comfort in their despair and knowing he wasn't the only one suffering.

all through his life he had always felt lonesome. separate from everyone else.

he didn't want to be alone anymore.

so , he bargained with the song in his veins. he asked them for strength , for power , for the will to survive this and he'd carry out his duties if only for a chance to finally have people who might understand him. a chance at being someone to people.

the pain began to wore off at the eighth hour. his breath steadying with every rise and fall of his chest , shifting from his fetal position to lie on his back and stare at the statue of his father. damn , bastard. he thought it was unfair of death himself to beget life. he thought it was unfair to pass down the birthright of taking life away. maybe , it would have been cooler to have been born to another god but his mother did always have a bad taste in men.

but as the pain washed away , kieran was just left with an empty feeling. he wasn't angry anymore. he didn't resent his father less , but he felt a certain kind of resignation. sure , it was depressing , almost paralyzing , to think that they could all die in battle but nothing was set in stone. he couldn't let fear rule him. after all , his feelings barely mattered in the grand scheme of things. the world needed him and he was just glad not to be alone in this duty.

after some time to recover , he was led to thanatos' cabin , his new home. and with a gloved hand , he opened the door , ready to accept what the fates had woven together for him.

[khaicrafts]

They lived in an age where life seemed picture perfect through the photos posted on social media. It was easy to get a little envious of his classmates posting their highlight reels while he was busying every brain cell he had to work on his projects in the lab; his true passions that made it seem like he was missing out on life.

Little did he know, life was really just beginning. There was nothing on Instagram or Snapchat that could compare to his new surroundings in the camp inhabited by creatures of myth. Finding out that he kind of was one too via his divine blood?

"This is so epic," he whispered. Knelt in front of the statue of Hephaestus, the chalice of liquid held in his hands. The substance that would trigger his latent powers. That's right. He was going to get POWERS and he didn't have to hey bitten by some insect or...well. He may as well had been an orphan...bit he lacked Bruce Wayne's inheritance. He had that brilliance though.

The choice was clear. Mostly. Every other second that passed, he wondered if he should really be giving up to be here after he worked so hard to build himself. Then again, why live in the world mundane when he could be divine....

"It's like an elixir...it's gonna build strength. It's going to level me up..." He mumbled to himself. Then, he quickly guzzled down the ambrosia. It seemed fine at first until the world around him began to fade. He fell back until he hit the bed he'd once slept on those years in his group home. That twinge of seeing the other kids always leaving or actually being adopted. That...didn't matter anymore? Why was he even here and thinking about that? He was an adult now and actually doing well. He had his education. He had the lab at school. Which...

He noticed something on fire outside the bedroom window. Across the way, the familiar large structure of one of the school's labs was up in flames. How could he see the school from his old bedroom? Each wad on completely different sides of the country...

"You're so chained to your accomplishments. You pride your work over your heart." A fiery facsimile of the professor who guided him on his path to tech school spoke to him with an even tone, but he could hear the underlying aggression. "What's all that work for when you don't have a fami-"

"I've seen the Princess and the Frog, Mam." Khai interjected as he squinted at the figure. "I know how you're going to steer this conversation. Just because I value my work doesn't mean I can't find value in people or welcome them into my life. On my terms, I either fuck with them or I don't, vice versa but my mind, will always be my crown to show off. " Khai retorted. His boldness only led to the sudden combustion of himself. His glasses, cardigan and dark hair burned away, revealing his muscular physique, ash blonde hair, and his brown eyes now burning fiery orange; literally molten.

"This is my fate right? I'll use my brilliance to help guide the course of history. With great power cones great responsibility, I know this! And, yo? I've just noticed..." he looks down at his unharmed yet burning physique. "THE FIRE DOESN'T BOTHER ME ANYWAY." He belted before feeling the heat only intensify until finally the whole room erupted...

Only hours later did the son of Hephaestus find himself waking up in the bed of his cabin. It felt like a horrible hangover. He coughed, smoke escaping from between his lips as he smirked lazily.

"I always knew I was kinda fire, but damn. Hold up, did I just go Super Saiyan!?" the thought pinged in his mind as he recalled the color change of his hair. He bolted up and tried to get to his feet, only to fumble and realize how exhausted he truly still was while he faceplanted into the floor of his room.

"Not Super Saiyan enough..."

[sonofahero]

🏺︰ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝟎𝟎𝟏

The forest appeared around Evan like a he was stepping through a fog, a bit confused about how he got there, but that was before he noticed the creatures, satyrs, faeries, all creatures that his mother read him 'fairy tales' of growing up, if only he knew how connected he was to Greek mythology growing up. The creatures seemed to murmur, something about him being young, new. Still, the creatures parted ways and allowed Evan through and he was guided through the camp, seeing the flying horses, farms and cabins, it was a camp, and Evan, despite just being happy and dumbfounded by all this new information, put together that this would be his new home going forward, it felt like home. Their final stop was a large marble building, it looked straight out of the drawings in his children's books. Walking inside, he looked down the hall at all of the Gods and Goddess, huge marble statues that went far down to a bigger statue sitting in the center at the back and Evan instantly knew it was Zeus. He looked around, trying to figure out who was his parent, and he did not have to wander far to find his father, being a minor god, and a god that was once a demigod, his father was near the front of the building, Heracles. His father was a massive man, the stone was more like a slab of marble, he was adored in lion cloths, a bow and arrow, a huge club that was about half of the height of him, all made of marble. Evan was told to sit, and as soon as he did, the voices entered his head, which took him a few minutes to figure out that the person talking to him was not here. They told him that this was his new home, that the Gods are not nearly as prominent anymore and that fate of the world rests with him....wicked. The ambrosia was presented to Evan, and having chugged quite a few beers in his day, Evan took the chalice, listening carefully to consume every drop, being careful not that any it drip down as he chugged it. He wasn't scared of dying, he knew was a demigod, he could feel it, but that feeling was intensely replaced as Evan doubled over, falling out of chair and having his chalice hit the marble floor with a crash. Evan woke up in a bed, adored in lion fur blankets, thick pillows and comforters, the bed stood on a stone slab, actually the entire room was various stones. Evan was shirtless, his body covered in sweat as he woke up with a start, his head pounding as he collected himself. It hurt to think about, the feeling of the liquid as it moved down his body, a sharp stab of pain in his abdomen and his head as it hit the marble floor. He thought was going to die and he was so upset that he wasn't strong enough to be the son his father need him to be, strong enough to be the son his mother wanted him to be and then he was angry and Evan never got angry. He remembers throwing something, a pot, a plant? It flew, way father than he had thrown that mugger. Then he was sad again, he hated that he hurt that man, he was mugging him of course, but Evan broke his arm. What if that was his mother, what if he was still at home, if he hurt his mother, killed her? The pain would be unbearable, this pain was unbearable. He doesn't remember all of that night, maybe more would come to him later. Still, Evan laid in his bed, having survived it all, and despite the pain, the nausea, the pounding headache, Evan chuckled to himself, his familiar smile plastered back on his lips, but a hitch of his breath, laughing hurts...he need a hot soak in the bath.

[fatedstarfall]

PROMPT 001 - Another Face in the Crowd

This was not like anything Leonardo has done before. As if anyone were able to do something like this. So, the smile that he sported on his lips may have been seen like he was not taking the whole situation seriously. But that could not be farther from the truth. The man understood the weight of this decision, and although the previous ones probably do not compare to the one he's going to make, Leo is more than experienced when it comes to doing whatever possible to follow greatness. To live his truth. And if drinking this ambrosia meant learning about this side unknown to him this whole time and transcend him to a world of potential, why wouldn't he take the leap of faith? Even if it meant fighting for a cause he barely knew anything about.

Maybe it was more ceremonious for the previous men that have arrived at the camp, considering how empty this temple felt as he was doing it alone, but all Leonardo needed was himself. However, the familiar sight of a fiery-headed man did make this strange experience a little easier. Definitely made the feeling of the statues of the gods and goddesses witnessing this first step to divinity feel normal.

Finally, the moment of truth came and Leonardo began to drink the strangely beautiful liquid. There was a slight cough as he took the first sip of the Ambrosia, as it had scratched the back of his throat, but everything else felt so... easy? Were they just trying to psyche him out to test if he was brave enough? Leo didn't get it. Was something more going to happen?

Just as he was going to ask a question, someone else seemed to have entered the temple as well. Leonardo couldn't make out the person's face as he was surrounded by so many people. Nevertheless, it wasn't like he was able to look for too long because suddenly, the few people around him started to make their way around this mystery person. Pushing and shoving him like he wasn't important, and now the once empty temple was filled to the brim, and he was packed in it like he was just another face in the crowd.

Leonardo was being suffocated by the sea of people, and the only thing he wanted to know was who this mystery person was. Not his survival. What was so damn special about this man that suddenly everyone was flocking around him? Leo included. So enthralled by this endeavor, he was slowly losing his fight against the crowd until he was being consumed, trampled under the herd.

Defeat. That's what happened when Leonardo decided to stop focusing on himself. It was sink or swim for so long that he didn't realize how tired he actually was. However, even know that he laid under the weight of someone's shadow, he had to fight. And fight he did. It was a struggle getting back on his feet, but when he did, he pushed with all his might against the torrential waves of spectators. Leo went against the current like he usually did. It may have been tough at first, but slowly he found his stride, and the strength to practically move through the crowd with ease.

This was a battle no longer.

This was his destiny.

To go his own path.

Eventually, at the end of the seemingly never ending waves, Leo found himself outside of the temple. It was dark and he was alone. However, he didn't feel lonely. Not with this newfound vigor. There was a part of him that still wanted to look back, to see who it was, but he knew better. The man had to go forward even if it was at a different direction from everyone else. And so he did, he faced forward with his head held high and that's when he saw that the stars were shinning above him keeping him company, with one shinning brighter than all of them, guiding him.

Leonardo couldn't stop admiring the beauty of it, until slowly, the star was slowly becoming so bright that it turned everything white. That's when he finally opened his eyes and was flashbanged by the morning light flooding through his window. "Fuck was 'at?" Leo groaned as he tried to sit up, but his head retaliated with a pang of a headache. Where he immediately surrendered and laid back down. "This shi is worse 'han any bloody 'angover i've 'ad."

[bornatnightt]

PROMPT 001. carvin' through the dark

Gods, magic, dreams come alife. Called to Olympus (of a sort, anyway) and offered a drink that would awaken power in him.

Tempting. Too tempting. Would it kill? Scar?

Power, knowledge, ability beyond what he had ever seen. Was any of this even real? Bad trips had been known to cause strange effects on him.

Either way, Jesse probably had taken worse from less trustworthy people in a club. He could do this.

Drinking was the easiest part. Then came the worst.

Darkness. Blinding, eyes watering, bloodshot like there was something wrong in the inside. Laughter almost bubbling in, of course there was something wrong.

Song, booming in his head, like standing too close to a loudspeaker, like a concert he never paid to watch. Voices, left and right, above.

He couldn't see. Nails scratching his skin, anxiety like caffeine boiling in his blood. His eyes were still watering, or was he crying. The voices of his father, lost somewhere in the darkness. His voice, Omari's voice, hurt, full of rage.

Then, no darkness, light. Too much light, to the point of blindness. Was it day already?

Shadows, slowly dancing, taunting, english accent, icelandic accent, mixing into one. Whispering to him of his true value (none, they had always seen none) of what he would achieve (nothing).

Silence. Scream piercing through him, quieting everything around as he clawed not at himself but at the ground.

Then shapes, shadows, dancing. A boy, walking into the forest, asleep and shivering as he drifted into the night.

What could he do but follow? This time, he was awake (was he?) and the trees mocked him, the ground threatened to swallow him as he stumbled and fell.

Through the dark, he saw himself as a young child, clear as day, crying in the ground. Only now his father was there, body bleeding into the snow. He blinked, teary eyed, shivering now as well, feeling snow falling and melting on his arms. He hadn't dressed for snow.

In just a second, his father's body decayed, crows feasting on his carcass, open wounds exposing the rotting insides.

He threw up, maybe. Couldn't tell, just taste something bitter, stumbling away through the dark trees, eyes closing and opening to the voices still ringing in his ear.

A figure, in darkness, shielded. Standing proudly ahead of him. "Mother?" He whispered, but the figure was sinister, with a cruel snarl of a smile, ready to devour him. He stood, frozen, as voices taunted at him for always being so good at running; except when it counted.

His scream was nothing short of terrified, consumed by the shadowy figure of his maybe mother Jesse fell through the darkness for what felt like an eternity until he landed on wet ground, covered by a liquid that he couldn't identify.

There was no light but he could see, there was no sound, no right or left or up or down but he saw him standing there. Bloodshot eyes, looking at him like he was a monster as blood dripped down bare skin, Omari's body falling to the ground. Eyes open and accusing as Jesse crawled to him.

"This is how it ends." He said, "this is how it'll always end. You can't help it. You can only make it worse."

He shook his head, and Omar's mouth twisted into the same devil's grin of the shadow. "How will such an empty man save anyone but himself?" He asked as he faded away, leaving Jesse alone in this empty space.

This is how it'll always end.

His body shook, crawling through the wet ground looking for a way out.

You have nothing.

Dark shadows crawled over his skin, piercing until they seeped into his veins. Breath caught in his throat, body turning rigid. Shadows surrounded him, flew into his mouth, keeping him from screaming.

Not so charming now, are you?

Jesse lashed out, trying to fight off the voices in his head, ignore them. Survive.

You are nothing but an empty shell, and when the time comes they will see.

It sounded like her, stepmother dear. With icy eyes, and a cutting smile. He stumbled to his feet, quick to anger, quick to act, lunging at nothing, fighting off shadows. Retching the ones in his mouth. "Face me, if you dare." A dare in broken whisper.

You'll ruin everything you touch. That is how it ends.

Another lunge, step faltering, falling into his knees. Face down into the liquid, the taste of blood filling his mouth. Hand reaching for his throat as he choked on it.

A hand, dark and made of shadows pulled at his necklace, cool stone pressing against his neck, almost piercings skin as he clutched at it, fighting for air.

You won't survive much longer...

Son of Night.

Child of Nyx.

and neither are those dear to you.

Jesse spluttered, spitting out blood and feeling it drip down his face. Anger and fear consuming him, darkness surrounding him, drowning him. Closer, no air, nothing. Nyx, his mother...

and mother of nightmares.

His hand clutched the stone, the one he had carried throughout his life, the one that had been shaped into a promise of... more. The one that'd left a scar on his hand, the one imbued with too much ignored meaning. He pulled at the string around his neck and screamed.

Darkness shook around him, waving like a blanket then stilling... everything quiet for a second... until they sharpened into jagged edges and circled around him, floating for a second before they crossed the air like bullets, narrowingly missing him to pierce the shadows behind.

He fell once more, breathing deeply all but once before the ground faded before him. This time though when the darkness embraced him... it was welcomed.

[duckandash]

Prompt 001

He was in over his head. But that’s kinda his thing, wasn’t it? Axel was always biting off more than he could chew and living with the consequences. Maybe this time he’d be coming out of this not holding the short end of the stick.

He considered himself well adjusted. People joked that he was a lot smarter than he looked and Axel took that as the compliment it was. Intelligent and underestimated was how he got through life. But all the brains in the world couldn’t make sense of myths being real, his dad not actually being his dead and his real dad being a god.

But they said drinking this stuff in the goblet (and not stopping!) will help. Was he skeptical? Of course he fucking was. But he still dove in to the deep end head first, bringing his lips to that goblet like there wasn’t any other choice. There really didn’t feel like there was one.

It burned but it was a head rush. It felt like his blood was pumping fast. Too fast. Was he having a heart attack? A stroke? His bones felt ready to vibrate right out of his body. He felt like he was dying. Or maybe starting to live for real for the first time? Each breath hurt but came faster than the last and man if this kept up there was no way he was gonna last another 10 seconds, let alone long enough to finish this drink.

But… it was gone. All of it. Already. How?

“This wasn’t meant for you.”

Axel looked over his shoulder, his reaction time being faster than it should’ve been. No one was there.

“Old, useless, do-nothing who never amounted to anything.” He turned again, still no one. Or maybe whoever it was just happened to be faster than Axel. “And now somehow you’re part god? Hilarious. Someone made a mistake. I’m not even sure you should’ve been classified as human.”

Axel opened his mouth to quip back but a hand was suddenly on top of his. It was him- or someone who looked goddamn identical to him at least- with anger and disgust on his face as he denied the son of Hermes the one defense he’d always had through the years: his words.

“Don't worry, they’ll see how much of a waste of space you are. Save your breath for them. You’re gonna have to beg to keep this spot once they see this so called demigod trip over his own feet and never get better at anything.”

“SHUT UP!” Axel shoved at his doppelgänger, shouting at the top of his lungs. That was enough to snap him back to… reality? Or whatever this was.

It was daytime.

And people were staring.

He needed to go find somewhere to lay down.

But why was he not tired?

[pavetisprescott]

;bitter drops of ambrosia;

- PAVETIS WYATTUM -

ouch, i have lost myself again...

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse/Neglect, Cults, Blood, Violence, Death, Despair, Explorations of Mental Illness.

i am small, and needy...

There is so much happening at once, too much for Wyatt’s racing mind to process neatly. His heart is racing a million miles a minute, enough so that it feels like he’s on the verge of a medical crisis. This isn’t real. It isn’t. He always knew this day would come. It was only time. He is a man meant to crumble, a bundle of broken, faulty pieces trying desperately to be a living thing. Wyatt is his mother’s son, and it’s always been a futile game trying to lead a normal, good life. He should be helping the victims of the motor speedway tragedy, helping his fellow paramedics, the men and women from his station, the closest thing he’s ever had to a family. If anything happens to them, their blood is on his hands. How long has his mind been fragmenting? One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. He’s frozen, except for the shaky fingers of his right hand tapping out a rhythm on his left arm. One. Two. One. Two. Wyatt’s eyes are shut tight, his body ice cold with fear, so tense and frigid that he’s not even sure he’s still alive. Is he dead? Maybe he hasn’t lost his mind, and instead this is the afterlife. Wyatt stopped believing in any god the second he had any conception of such a thing. Would a god stand by and allow the things that happened to his mother? To him? To the women and children whose faces he tries desperately to forget? His father would allow such things…apparently. The thought makes him retch. There’s a sudden overwhelming warmth rushing down his face, coursing down his neck, and he feels like he can’t move his limbs. No. It can’t- Against his better judgment, Wyatt wrenches his eyes open, but half of his vision is blurred. His left eye is wet with something, and when he opens his mouth he can taste metal. His right eye does most of the work as he tries to focus on what’s in front of him. Wyatt knows where he is though, he knew the moment he felt that familiar warmth, he just needed to confirm his fears. Before him is a dark wooded forest, one he can only barely see, the only light source is the warm orange glow of a small lit torch held in front of his mother’s face. His mother’s eyes dance in front of the flame, a restless fear present in them, fear he’s sure is mirrored on his own. Does his mother notice? Did she ever notice? Is his mother capable of feeling empathy for him? For her son? 

His bottom lip trembles as he tries to say something, to scream. The taste of metal makes his stomach turn. Wyatt struggles against the ropes tied around his body, so tight he can barely breathe, his feet stomp on the ground beneath him, snapping small twigs. “STOP IT! Wyatt stop screaming and crying!” His mother looks around frantically, “You should be GRATEFUL! YOU are chosen!” The words make Wyatt’s eyes well up with tears, further blurring his vision. He sobs against the ropes, hoping that if he moves enough, they’ll loosen up and he’ll be free. “Mom! Please! I’m sorry!” He can barely get the words out, and when he does they’re not like he remembers. Wyatt’s voice is the voice of a man as he pleads. It’s then that he realizes he’s taller than his mother. “You should be sorry! You’re so defiant, you evil little thing. That’s why we had to punish you.” His mother’s words are laced with disgust. Contempt. “You don’t care about our mission, about the new world!” Wyatt cries out again. “The beasts of the night are going to take you,” his mother slowly approaches him, the flames of her torch inches away from his cheek. It’s hot in a way that makes him sweat immediately. “You’re going to be devoured and made anew. A perfect thing.” Wyatt is silent as he stares out into the darkness beyond the looming forest. Could it be true? Is he actually going to be taken by the mighty beasts of Appalachia? All he wants is for his mom to untie him, to wrap him in her arms, and to take him away from this. He knows she won’t. She’s too afraid. Always afraid. “It could be worse, you could’ve faced the flame,” she whispers, moving the torch ever closer, enough so that Wyatt is certain he’s going to be burnt. Wyatt knows that some of the others have faced unspeakable horrors in these woods, turned into piles of ashes with forgotten names, but he still doesn’t feel like he should be grateful. “Yea…exactly. Now, be a good little boy, and stop screaming so goddamn loud! We don’t want the great ones to think you’re ungrateful, do we? You know what that would mean for us.” Wyatt doesn’t say anything, his lips pressed firmly together as he cries silently, just staring at his mother’s face. He doesn’t want her to leave, even if she is berating him. He knows that when she leaves all that will exist is darkness. He’ll be a scared little boy, beaten and tied to a tree in the middle of the forest. Left alone to rot. Offered up. And rejected. He squeezes his eyes shut again, “Please, mommy! Please don’t leave me here! I’m scared!” It hurts to get the words out, but he does. When he opens his eyes, the only thing he can see is a small ball of flame retreating in the distance. He sobs and struggles against the ropes again. He closes his eyes, trying to will this away.

He deserves this. Wyatt deserves this. If he had been better, he would be back at camp with the other kids. It’s his fault. He taps out a rhythm on his leg, his hand plastered to his side, barely able to move. Wyatt can fix this. Somehow. There’s an urge, a need to prove his worth, to prove his innocence. If he does this everything will be okay. He can fix it. One. Two. One. Two. A familiar pattern, comforting. One. Wyatt. Two. Mom. One. Two. One. Two. He can save himself, and save his mom. Wyatt wants nothing more than to take them away from this place. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two.He can’t stop, if he does, he’ll die. Wyatt will die and everything will come undone, and his mother will face a similar fate.

He can fix it.

One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two.

It’s pathetic in a way. Wyatt is a man now, he knows better. He knows this doesn’t actually accomplish anything, but he can’t stop.

One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. One. Two.

He doesn’t know how long he’s stuck in this trance, all he knows is that suddenly he feels a presence before him, a horrible warm gust of moist air blowing in his face.

A chill runs down his spine.

Wyatt doesn’t remember this.

He opens his eyes slowly, his body trembling in a way it never has.

In the overwhelming darkness he sees two glowing red eyes staring right at him.

One of the beasts, one of the great ones.

His mother was right…they were all right…

How could he have been so foolish?

The thought just fills him with dread.

“WH-WH-” he begins to say something when he feels an incredibly sharp burning sensation in his midsection. Wyatt unleashes a guttural scream into the night as he feels himself being torn apart.

Everything fades. Wyatt gasps painfully, frantically looking around as his eyes burn from the overwhelming brightness of daytime around him. He’s immediately confronted with the smell of burning, of blood, of death. The sounds of panic ring all around, a symphony of tragedy. He’s back where he was when he heard the song, the thing that ripped him away from one of the most dangerous calls of his career. Wyatt looks on in horror, shaking his head, willing everything to go away. This can’t be. Things are worse than when he was here. The flames have spread, covering a significant portion of the stands, pieces of the almost colosseum-like structure have collapsed, crushing everything underneath. Members of his team are trying to remove debris, searching for possible survivors. Wyatt rushes to join them, seeing that one of his fellow paramedics is crouched over a severely injured victim, trying to administer CPR. She’s frantic as she tries everything possible to save the patient. He tries to help, but it’s like he’s invisible. His colleague can’t see him, can’t hear him either. He’s a ghost. Wyatt hears the firefighters screaming commands at one another nearby, and recognizes his name. His feet move toward the commotion, as if on their own accord. “WE HAVE TO GET HIM OUT.” The fire captain is digging away pieces of concrete, a couple of the other firefighters aiding him in his mission. “C’MON, PRESCOTT, SAY SOMETHING! LET US KNOW YOU’RE ALIVE!” Okay, now he feels like he’s dead. Is this purgatory? As the rubble is cleared, more of the figure crushed underneath is revealed. They’re no longer a dirtied uniform, the puzzle is complete as their bloodied face comes into view. It’s Lewis. Benny… Benjamin Lewis. His fellow paramedic, the one he’s closest to. The man that Wyatt tries to convince himself he doesn’t care deeply for. His chest tightens. It feels like something’s hit him square in the stomach. “LEWIS?!” The world is a blur, all he can feel is this sinking weight. It’s his fault. “WHERE THE FUCK IS PRESCOTT? DID HE GO MIA?” He abandoned them. “WE GOTTA KEEP LOOKING.” The edges of his world start to fade into black as he hears another loud boom and more screaming. There’s a whisper in his ear, impish and filled with glee. It’s all he can sense. “pavetis wyattum!” “wyattum pavetis!” “You are ruinous.” “filius dei es” “filius pavoris” “pavoris filius”

[hearthwxrmth]

PROMPT001 -

You were a gift, Gabriel. Strong from the day you first gripped this hand with tiny fingers. We didn't know where you came from, who left you with us, but you were so strong. So happy. It's why I called you Gabriel, for your strength.

Father Cristiano had always been fond of telling him the tale. Always spun it to the positive, like he did with so much in their lives. Always made sure to treat him like family, like he belonged, like every child under the churches care.

But as the Ambrosia slid down his throat, searing the inside of his throat, those same thoughts came clawing back as darkness enclosed Gabriel.

Was he a gift? Or had he been unwanted? Had his parents laid eyes on him, and decided there and then that he wasn't for them?

He felt cold, like the warmth in his skin had been drawn away. Untouched by sun, untouched by life. Dark, and cold, and empty. Eyes clenched shut against it, but even that just brought more of the same. An awareness of the chill, of the dark, of the emptiness. He could tell that he was inside, at least, wooden floorboards beneath bare feet. Could feel something around him, probably furniture. A bed, as he tested a tentative step backward and met the frame.

How many times did you picture yourself in a home that was yours? A bedroom that was just yours?

How much time did you spend waiting for them to come back for you?

He'd seen so many of them off. Waved, big smile on his lips, as his friends were adopted, or parents reached the point where they could have them back. Every time, with that same smile on his face. Even when he knew what it meant. A new empty room, a new empty bed, an empty dinner plate and an empty wish. An empty prayer that it would be him next time. It would be his turn.

But they never came, did they? No mother, tears in her eyes as she scooped you up. No father, to ruffle your hair, tell you he was proud of you.

He never got that happy ending he dreamed off so many times. Never got the perfect picture. The chill turned numbing in the air. Knees downward lost to pins and needles of ice prickling the skin.

"They never came for me..." Small, such a small voice. When he'd been a child, still trying to figure out why they didn't. Why they wouldn't want him?

"They never came for me, so I made something of my own."

Just a flicker of warmth. He never had this room, never had this family that he'd pictured so many times. But he did have a family. They came, they went, but they were still his. A spark, turned to a flame. Catching at his fingertips, his lips, each exhale just a brief flash in that encroaching darkness.

"They never wanted me, but they also never knew me. Who I am, who I became, who I will be as I keep growing without them. They lost out on me."

From sparks came embers, came a roar of something so much more than those fragile pieces he tried so hard to put together back then.

"I built my home and my family from those ashes. It may not have been easy to see, and it took so long to know that I am worth it, but I see it in every smile. In every happy memory I have built. So Hestia, I do not know if you are my mother, or if you delivered me to where I needed to be to find my family and my home, but I have built it, and now? I will defend it."

What was once darkness, empty halls, had burned away from his footprints. Halls built of pictures, of people. A hearth, the roar and crackle of a fire. Welcoming those that needed it from the cold and darkness. Those were the memories he built this house from. Would continue building it from, every day. It didn't match, it wasn't pristine, but no real home was. It was made of the bits and pieces of so many lives fit together to make one messy, misshapen masterpiece.

[sweatforged]

* ── 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.

[seaspraycd]

Ronan is of verified fact and data strings ; he doesn't often take things at face value, but here he is listening in trepidation to a voice within their heads forcing them into circumstance that not any one of them had chosen for themselves. The alleged son of Poseidon took a moment to glance over to the group brought to camp to ascend and annihilate a looming threat to humanity. He almost laughed at the absurdity, but noticed how serious and committed some of the other faces were in the lineup with their enthusiastic nods and what looked like unwavering resolve. Ronan would have been happy to turn around and return back to his mundane life with his mundane realities, if his curiosity hadn't been piqued with the collections and research that would expand his own base of knowledge immensely. Selfishly, the idea of exponential growth aways fascinated the researcher and to have a collective of subjects to prod and experiment on was a dream come true. The man would, indeed, drink the liquid from the cup after a few others had gone and decided the solace of his cabin would be for the best for the series of events to come.  The night was long as it cycled through the following night terrors: a lobotomy without general aenesthetic, being waterboarded endlessly while being asked for information, the gnashing of teeth in the deep ocean against flesh, jellyfish stings into complete paralysis, ro' biological family capsizing in open water, and freezing to death, in no particular order. There is a deep fear that is pulled out of inadequacy in the bizareness that Ronan lives his life that finds its way through the glands in beads of sweat and for eight hours the body clenches in both fear and agony.  But time passes as it does, the sun rises and a mind haunted is returned back to Ronan to make amends and come to terms with the very things that could destroy a person in an instant. 

[springs-heir]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓 𝟎𝟎𝟏. TW: cult shit, blood, gore, excessive violence, murder, death

Walking through the large archway the room is filled with beautiful flowers. Greenery lines the walls from floor to ceiling in a display of decadence that Oliver had only seen in his wildest dreams before. The floor is a rough cobblestone covered in moss. Thick vines wrap around pillars that hold the roof to the old green house aloft. Vibrant hues of color fill his vision from the exotic plant life, yet the only thing he can look at is the man standing there at the end of the aisle. A man he had met two years ago. A man who had loved him unconditionally, not caring of his background or status. A man whom Oliver believed would become his family. The smile that etched across those lips drew the blonde in like a moth to a flame. In an instant he was standing before him, their eyes never leaving one another as they held hands tightly. 

"Do you Oliver Greenwood take this man to be your husband?"

"I do."

"Then I now pronounce you Partners for Life."

A warmth spreads through Oliver as his now husband pulls him close. Strong arms wrapping around him tightly before pulling Oliver into a dip. Their bodies melting against one another as they share their first kiss as newly weds. Still wrapped in his own little world Oliver ignores the cheers, lost in the taste of his lover’s lips. So enrapt by this precious moment that he does not notice the dark gazes that seem to linger, the intense hunger that fills his new in-law’s eyes. Instead he’s pulling his husband back in for a second kiss, fully embracing honeymoon bliss.

Laughter fills the air as the hour grows late. It’s nearly midnight, but Oliver’s husband won’t let them leave just yet. He whispers sweet promises of the night to come. How he plans to bring Oliver the greatest pleasures imaginable, but first there is something they must do. Gathered in the estates foyer the blonde finds himself surrounded by his new in-law’s. They smile and posture, welcoming the new member of their family yet something about them feels cold. None of the greetings feel sincere, and their smiles feel twisted. It’s an unsettling feeling, especially for someone like Oliver who had always been so perceptive of those around him. He tries to push these thoughts away though. This is his family now, the family that he’d always been dreaming of.

As if on cue his husband can sense the tension in the blonde. A gentle arm wraps around Oliver’s waist and pulls him close. Lips brush against Oliver’s ear as hushed words are spoken. Confusion washes over the man for a moment, pulling back from his husband to give him a look. Raised eyebrow arching up as if to say ‘you can’t be serious?’ Yet his husband’s composure stays strong. If this is a joke it certainly is an odd one.  

"So whenever someone joins the family you have to play a game?" He laughs openly, bright and cheerful. Yet no one seems to join, not even Oliver’s husband. Instead they simply nod. "Okay, if it gets your family to accept me I will play the shit out of this game. But remember babe… I’m really competitive."

It’s Conrad, Spencer’s Father, that speaks up next. Appearing as if out of thin air next to the couple. His hand firmly grasping Oliver’s shoulder as he pry’s the two apart. "When someone new joins the family we play a game. The goal is simple my boy, stay hidden until dawn and you win. If you are found though the game ends."

Walking alongside his father-in-law Oliver can’t help but laugh again. It’s a struggle to keep his composure, especially when everyone in the room seems so very serious. A calming breath has him able to speak once more, though it is a challenge to keep a straight face. "Hide and seek? Are we really going to play that?"

"It’s a time honored tradition, we do this in honor of our Lady." The old man’s eyes dart towards a large marble statue of a woman holding what looks to be a bundle of wheat. Demeter. The thought comes to your mind in an instant, though you have no idea how you know this to be true. "Just as she looked for her daughter, we will seek you. You can hide anywhere in the manor, we shall count down from 100 and then come find you."

"I mean there’s nearly 20 of you, don’t you think that’s a bit unfair?"

"Not up for the challenge Dear?" The question comes from Margaret, Spencer’s mother and Oliver’s new mother-in-law. To say the woman had it out for him might have been an understatement. From the moment Spencer had brought Oliver home it had been as though she was trying to chase him out. Oliver refused to let her get to him though, he’d prove his place amongst this family.

"Alright… Game on, but try not to get too sad when I win."

That girl is dead

Is the first thought that runs through Oliver’s mind as he watches one of the maids, Yolanda he thinks, falls to the ground with a thump. The gunshot had rang loud and clear throughout the house. So much so that even if Oliver hadn’t been hiding in a service corridor to watch as the young maid had been shot through the chest with a shotgun that he’d definitely have heard it. Of course seeing it was much worse. 

She’s fucking dead and those sick fucks are laughing.

Is the next thought that comes through his mind as he watches in horror as several of the relatives come pouring into the room laughing and cheering. Calling out praises to the Goddess, to the mother, to the harvest. 

Wait, why are they all carrying weapons? 

This was the third thought that crossed Oliver’s mind. A question he can’t help but ask himself as he notices each of his new in-laws are holding what appear to be weapons. They range from medieval armaments to some rather old looking firearms. Nothing uniquely modern, yet all just as deadly.

That girl is literally fucking DEAD! Oh my god they killed her! 

The shock might be fucking with his head as he can’t stop going over the fact that yes that woman is dead. That innocent woman is dead and bleeding out all over the floor. His new family doesn’t even seem phased by it. In fact they seemed rather excited just a moment ago, yet now they’re yelling. Voices loud as arguing begins to fill the room until Conrad seems to quiet them all. His stern voice silences the room as he reminds them that their search is not done, and that Oliver might have heard the gunshot.

Wait… 

"We must find the boy, the Harvest must be completed."

Fuck…

Stay quiet...

Another gunshot rings loudly throughout the house. The round demolishing a banister that Oliver had been standing next to, the wood splintering as a large hole is punched into it. As the blonde turned to see who had fired the round he would have to thank whatever god was looking out for him as he noticed the attacker. It was Spencer’s uncle Cedric, who was definitely drunk off his ass from the way he stumbled and couldn’t seem to aim to save his life. Moving through the dining room Oliver avoided a second shot, but was grazed by a third before he could reach the older man. Grabbing onto Cedric’s wrists he tries to wrestle the gun away causing it to fire a fourth and fifth time. With a sharp tug the pair go toppling over and the firearm sounds off one last time. Still in the heat of the moment, Oliver struggles against the weight of Cedric who’s now on top of him. Yet it takes a moment before Oliver realizes that Cedric isn’t moving anymore. As he climbs out from underneath the man he sees that the final shot had struck the man in the heart somehow. Hands shaking as Oliver looks down towards the pepperbox in his hand, the chamber empty, he tosses it to the side. He didn’t mean to hurt him, he just wanted to get the gun away. He’d just wanted to survive! The chorus of cheers throughout the house are getting closer now, there’s no time for Oliver to think more on the fact that he’s now killed a man. He has to get out of there, and he has to do it fast. 

Don't let them find you...

A hand reaches into the servant corridor and with a harsh tug is pulling Oliver from his latest hiding spot. He’d been tired, eyes drifting asleep as he held a random piece of clothing to his wound to try and stop the bleeding. Distracted for just a moment was all they needed to snatch him in surprise. Now pinned to the floor he struggled to push… Who the fuck even was this? A cousin? An aunt? God this family was big. The spindly woman had her nails digging into Oliver’s open wound, causing a desperate scream of despair while she laughed with glee. The blonde feared for his life, not sure whether he’d be able to make it out of this. It was only when she went to call out for the others that he was able to shove the woman off of him. With a hard thrust she’s dumped to the side and Oliver is scrambling for the corridor once more. Pulling the secret door closed once more before booking it deeper into the house. 

Stay hidden...

The blade slams into his shoulder and draws out a scream from the blonde. His hands instinctively go to push the attacker off of him. Not even sure which of this crazed family is on him this time. A shooting pain radiates from where the blade still sticks into his shoulder, but far too distracted to go and pull it free. Instead with mouth agape he whirls around ready to lunge, charging at the person while holding back a scream he slams into the cultist. Hands grabbing onto them and shoving hard, his force trying to send this bastard over the staircase railing. Only his force is too much, railing old and in need of repair, the wood snaps and now he’s going over the edge with this homicidal maniac. Toppling from the third floor down to the first Ollie uses his grip to keep the man beneath him as they slam into the ground. A horrifying crunch sounds right at the time of a large crash. Gasping for air as the wind is knocked out of him, looking down ready to keep fighting he sees that the person he’d used as landing pad is dead, their head at an odd angle, neck snapped from the broken coffee table they’d landed on. 

Can't let them hear you...

A scream fills the air as Oliver slams his brother-in-law’s face into the open stovetop. The burner on high as a bright blue flame roars as it catches the man’s clothes on fire as Oliver holds him down. Gripping onto Albert’s shirt he hefts him up before slamming him down onto the stove, knocking his head against the metal grates. Desperately trying to quiet the man as he continues to scream out for help. "WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?!" Voice raw as he looks around the room in desperation for some kind of weapon. There are knives and a large frying pan nearby he could use. Looking around further it's there on the counter that he sees it. A bottle of vodka comes into view and a sick idea twists into his mind. Wanting this man and his family to suffer Oliver is all too eager to go for it. Lifting Albert up he shoves him to the floor before reaching out and grabbing the bottle of vodka. With a hard throw he sends the bottle flying at Albert with enough force that the bottle shatters. Alcohol spilling over the man as the flames ignite even brighter. His screams have definitely alerted the others, but Oliver can’t seem to care.

Hide...

There’s so much blood. It’s covering Oliver from head to toe. The Chitton he’d been put into for the wedding was now stained blood red. This in itself should be alarming. Though the fact that Oliver can no longer discern who’s blood is who’s anymore is what truly has him reeling. The night has yet to finish though, and dawn is fast approaching. One way or another this will end. There’s no more hiding. 

"All I wanted was a real permanent family. All I wanted was to make you happy!"

His voice comes out in a harsh whisper. Words dipped in venom and seething with rage as he looms over Spencer. Sweet, loving, kind Spencer. He’d been the man of Oliver’s dreams, the one he thought would be with him until the end. Of course it would be just his luck that his husband would be the future leader of a cult. The future leader of a cult who in order to gain the rights to lead must sacrifice their spouse to the Goddess Demeter. He’d heard his husband’s great aunt screeching about it earlier. The promise of a fruitful harvest all but riding on this sacrifice. 

"I'm really scared Ollie, please, please I don't wanna die! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean any of it, don’t do this!"

His husband's words are filled with fear. The look in those eyes is almost enough to kill Oliver. Almost… He’d never wanted to see Spencer look like that. All he’d ever wanted was a family. To finally know what a family is, to feel their warmth and love. To be able to call someplace home and mean it. What they’d given him instead was a nightmare. Instead of a honeymoon he’d been chased throughout the manor and hunted like a dog. Instead of the warm embrace of a new family they had 

"NEITHER DID I!"

For the first time since the game had begun his voice rises above a whisper. The rage in him swelling, quickly climbing to newfound heights. Did this man really think he’d be so easy to appease with such pathetic begging? Would he really be so meek as to accept this half assed apology? Now that was fucked. Hand gripping tight around the handle of the sickle he’d found in the green house earlier in the evening, Oliver prepares to strike. It’s as he looms over his husband that the beginnings of a melody begin to play. The tune comforts him as Oliver prepares to do the one thing he never thought he’d be able to do before tonight.  

"I want a divorce."

The rage all but gone from his voice as he speaks plainly to the man cowering on the ground. With one swift motion a spray of red douses across Oliver’s face. Hot thick blood covers him, dripping down his face as he let's out a shudder of a breath. His white robes had long been stained red in the night, several rips and tears can be seen throughout the garment as it clings to his muscular frame. The flower crown somehow still perfectly placed atop his blonde locks. In the distance the sound of crackling flames can be heard as the estate has gone ablaze. It should be a concern that he could become trapped inside this burning home, yet the song keeps Oliver calm. Instead he continues to hum along to the tune, slowly staggering along the path that the music leads him. With each step the pain of his injuries flashes but he can’t stop just yet. 

No. 

Not yet…

He has someplace to be.

The voice inside of his mind has not even finished speaking when the cup is brought up to his lips. The sweetest aroma Oliver has ever smelled caresses his senses, yet this is what is to cause him pain. In a flash he’s reminded of Spencer. That loving smile, those kind eyes, sweet yet full of poison. In an instant he’s tipping back the jeweled chalice. Not a single moment of hesitation, he gladly takes the poison. The first sip burns in a familiar thrum of pain. Then lessens as more of the drink spills down his throat. With a shudder the last of the ambrosia is gone, and at first there’s nothing. Handing back the chalice he’s just about to speak, to ask if this place perhaps has a shower as the feeling of dried blood is quickly becoming annoying. Before the words can even leave his lips the pain shoots through him. Oliver’s mouth clamps shut tight, mind immediately shifting back to the manor. 

Keep quiet. ᴋᴇᴇᴘ Qᴜɪᴇᴛ. 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭.

They’ll find you. ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

They’ll hear you. ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ʜᴇᴀʀ ʏᴏᴜ. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

They’ll kill you.  ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ᴋɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

The stabbing sensation sears against his mind as each of his wounds begin to thrum as though they are happening for the very first time all at once. Before he can fall a hand reaches out to steady him. The stranger who’d given him the chalice to begin with helping him stay upright. It only takes a look from Oliver, gaze filled with agony and begging for release, for the cupbearer to help bring him towards the cabins he’d seen earlier. His steps are staggered, breathing labored as he’s led back the way he had come earlier. Again the urge to scream builds up in his throat but Oliver wills it down. Quiet, can’t let them hear you, can’t let them find you. The blonde can only hope that this cabin of his will have some place for him to rest. Just a moment to lie down would be more than enough, and then maybe the pain will stop.

As they finally reach the entrance to Oliver’s new home he gives a silent nod of thanks towards the cup bearer. The poor boy seems nervous about leaving his charge on their own, but with a shake of his head Oliver signals for him to leave. Perhaps it’s the look of determination in Oliver’s eyes or maybe it’s the fact he’s covered in blood, but either way the boy is quickly backing away and heading off. With the stranger gone Oliver turns back towards the cabin just as the pain seems to amplify even more, burning, boiling, searing him from the inside out. He prays to anyone who might be listening for a place to lay his head as he pushes through the front door and heads inside.

Walking through the large archway the room is filled with beautiful flowers. Greenery lines the walls from floor to ceiling in a display of decadence that Oliver had only seen in his wildest dreams before. The floor is a rough cobblestone covered in moss. Thick vines wrap around pillars that hold the roof to the old green house aloft. Vibrant hues of color fill his vision from the exotic plant life, yet the only thing he can look at is the man standing there at the end of the aisle. A man he had met two years ago. A man who had loved him unconditionally, not caring of his background or status. A man whom Oliver believed would become his family. The smile that etched across those lips drew the blonde in like a moth to a flame. In an instant he was standing before him, their eyes never leaving one another as they held hands tightly. 

"Do you Oliver Greenwood take this man to be your husband?"

"Oh fuck."

[cafesascha]

Ruh-Roh, Raggy...

TW: Mention of child death

This… was not how Sascha had expected his night to go. One moment, he sat before his computer, struggling to edit the latest episode that was due to be released in just a few hours. The next, he was packing to go to fucking Narnia. Ok, not Narnia, maybe Fillory? Either way, he certainly wasn't in Kansas anymore. A thought that he found to be a little less distressing than he probably should have.

He moved as if on autopilot, with his cats Puck and Titania trotting beside him on their leashes. (Yes, he leash trained his cats. No, it isn't weird. You're weird.) Nodding every so often to one creature or another that bowed in his direction as he passed, until he finally set his gaze on the massive temple before him. Not Fillory then… He thought, taking in the obviously Greek architecture. Before he had a chance to chicken out, his cats all but dragged him inside. The pair led him to a statue that seemed to flicker at its edges, almost as if the thing didn't want to be perceived by anyone. The only way he was able to make out any features of the figure was by relaxing his eyes, as if he were looking at one of those Magic Eye pictures from his childhood.

Immediately, he knew exactly who this was, even though she was nameless and certainly wasn't someone he had learned about in school. A whisper that was felt more than heard told him he could call her Despoina, though a quiet ‘mom' escaped his lips as he sank down onto the throne before her. He suddenly realised that he wasn't alone in the temple. In fact, he was one of many apparently experiencing the same existential crisis. Just as he was about to call out to the nearest person, a figure appeared before him and placed a chalice in his hands before disappearing once more. The same voice that had been speaking to him the whole time told him to drink and take his rightful place, but did this mysterious voice have a single clue about what he did in his spare time? He knew what happened when someone drank an unknown liquid, and it was never a good thing… Then came the screaming.

Sascha jumped at the first sound of it. His eyes flicked briefly to the chalice in his hands, worried that he might have spilled something, before he focused on the men around him dropping like flies. He flinched as the sounds crashed against him, fighting against the voice insisting that they would make it through to the other side and emerge stronger from the ordeal. Finally, he threw back his head and swallowed the vile-tasting liquid in a few quick gulps, just so he didn't have to listen to the cries of terror that surrounded him. It started out as an all-too-familiar tingle, as the rush of a panic attack swelled through him. Only to be replaced by a blaze that tore a scream from his lips that he would have never thought possible. He thought, for the briefest moment before unconsciousness claimed him, that he saw a smile appear on the blurred statue of his mother.

He woke up to the sound of wind howling through broken windows and the faint smell of rot. He knew this place, even though he hadn't set eyes on it in nearly three decades. His very first mystery. The old mansion sat tucked deep in the woods behind his house. Seemingly forgotten by everyone in town except for him and any of his friends whom he managed to sucker into listening to the tales he cooked up on sleepless nights. "I heard the family living there dissapeared without a trace!" He exclaimed one day on the playground. Everyone, except for Ricky, knew he was bullshitting them. The kid hung on Sascha's every word as if it were the gospel truth, not the wild imagination of another child. So, of course, he agreed to go on the adventure of a lifetime that weekend.

He watched the scene unfold as if he were living it in the moment and somehow above it all, directing the scene. Though his panicked warnings fell on deaf ears. Overall, the pair found themselves unimpressed with the place. There were no signs of a struggle, no ghost of a final meal left behind after an entire family vanished into the ether. Just a rundown building with very little to offer in terms of something for him to solve. Still, there was one place they hadn't searched, and the younger Sascha just knew in his bones that whatever he was looking for was hiding from them in the attic. It took some convincing, but eventually, they made their way up to the third floor, being careful to avoid any floorboards that appeared unstable. He knew what was coming in this bizarre memory, not memory, and try as he might, he couldn't look away from the scene unfolding around him.

Just as he reached to pull down the ladder, he heard an unfamiliar sound – one he now recognized as the noise of rotten wood crumbling beneath someone. Ricky's sharp intake of air was quickly followed by a dull thud, and suddenly, he was alone. Dropping to his knees, he peered over the edge of the hole that had appeared where his friend had just been. “R-ricky?” While his younger self couldn't see the full extent of the damage, the part of himself that watched on in horror knew that Ricky was already gone after hitting his temple on the corner of a long-discarded piece of furniture in the room below. “I'm going to get help… You stay there!” He cried out before turning to the window at the end of the hall. If he could just find something to shimmy down, he could run home, get his parents, and everything would be okay.

“YOU LEFT ME TO DIE!” The scream shook the glass before him, causing some of the panes to crack with the force of it. Sascha turned to face Ricky once more. His one leg bent at an unnatural angle, and the left side of his face was painted red with the blood that continued to pour from his temple. “I didn't! We needed… You needed help.” He pleaded with his long-dead friend as he backed up until he felt the cool surface of glass behind his back. The divergence in events gave him a sense of vertigo. In real life, he had tried to climb down to get help but only managed to fall and snap his leg in the process. The phantom pain of impact shot through his body, even though he remained, not safely, but firmly on the third floor of the house. “You know what's funny, Sasch?” The dead boy asked, closing the distance between the two of them with shuffling steps. "I solved the one mystery you never will. What comes next.”

Suddenly, he felt like he was flying. Shoved back against the window with such force that he broke through it easily. The sting of glass breaking his skin was forgotten amidst the anticipation of impact. Except it never came. The moment Sascha should have hit the ground, he found himself back in his own body. The reassuring weight of his cats on his chest as he stared up at the now clear face of his mother's statue. “What in the actual fuck was that?!” He asked no one in particular. Choosing to stay on the ground until the sensation of falling finally subsided.

[raging-ale]

TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH, BLOOD, & SUICIDAL THOUGHTS !

fast -- everything felt like it was happening too fast. not having yet been able to recover from the bar fight he just encountered. still black and blue to the face, blood on his knuckles he looked around to spot other men around him looking as confused as him. taking in the new scenery around him, ale just followed the crowd as he wiped the blood off on his jeans. his mind was racing with thoughts on how this was all happening - did he die? he knew the cops were chasing him but he didn't feel like he died. moving inside the building that was surrounded by statues of all the god's around them, alejandro wasn't very knowledgeable on greek gods - having not really had much time to stick to one school long enough until he just ran off, dropping off before finishing high school. something the about a statue that caught his eyes, calling to him, almost embracing him with welcome - ares, the god of war. with still no understanding of what was happening, he turned to look at everyone else around him as they were told to sit - and that is what he did. slowly moving up and taking a seat at the throne made for him, he just listened - his heart racing at an abnormal speed. each word spoken had ale's full attention, trying his best to keep up and understand what was going on. taking everything in as the shadow's start moving out and presenting a chalice for each demigod. ale stared at it, unsure if the grab it or not. extending out his hand with such hesitation - ale held the chalice in his hand and stared down at it. his birthright - looking back at the statue before him, this was his father -- the man to blame for everything gone wrong in his life. a god, a man that could have saved his damn mother from dying. gripping tight to the chalice he felt this anger rushing him, all he was thinking about was how more fucked can his life actually get. with everything being said, the power that comes with being a demigod, the pain that will come with just a sip alone - ale just stared at the damn chalice, still nearly death gripping it. the only thoughts were how he wanted to be powerful enough so when if he ever fucking met his father he was going to make sure he gave him a good damn fight. it was time - demigods around were taking their drink and falling all around him it seems. ale stood up and took a damn good look at the god of war once more before smirking. "fuck you." downing the liquid as quick as he can - it was almost like drinking lava - burning down slowly as he kept just staring down the statue. a metallic taste on his tongue. blood. everything around him felt like it was starting to go black, almost like one of his episodes but this time he felt like his body was being ripped out of him from the inside out. the pain - he was able to handle a lot of it, but this mixed with the aching of the fight he was just in before was almost too much. ale let out a loud painful cry as he dropped to the ground. darkness. the sounds of old spanish music can be heard, a women singing her heart out as he opened his eyes and he was in a car - turning to look at who was driving. he didn't know who it was but something about her seemed like -- home. she was pregnant, looked so happy until it all took a turn as he was taking a green light and bright lights came fast, slamming the car off, flipping across the street. -- but in just a moment everything around him seemed to be in slow motion as his mother turned to face him and smiled, glass shattered around them, blood. "you're not just a weapon"

she said as he slowly began to reach out and touch ale's cheek. it was then that he knew, this was his birth mother. this was the day he lost her, the day he wishes that he wasn't born to be with her. "mama?" he said in the most softest of tone - and once against the car right then began to go back to crashing at a fast speed. a moment of darkness flashed and he was standing over her on the ground. paramedics working hard to keep her alive, but she was fading. he couldn't move, he was trying so hard but he stuck - forced to watch the horrors of the death of his mother. "let me fucking GO! i can save her!" he yelled out as he kept trying to get to her. silence - all around as his mother reached out for the paramedic. "alejandro... his... his name... is .... alejandro... funetes." everything started to fade away as she said her last words which caused ale to yell out, tears just falling as he was standing in darkness once more. his anger getting even stronger, he was able to actually feel his blood starting to boil from the inside. "let it over take you! let it consume you." a voice echoed around him as he once more just yelled out in such pain and everything around him shifted. he was standing in a very familiar dirty ass bathroom, staring at himself in a mirror. he was in the underground fighting club that change his life to be the weapon that he was forced to be to live. looking around for a moment he was once more not able to move his feet from where he was standing. the mirror before him began to flash his past like a movie - all the people he's hurt, some on purpose, some because they were around him at the wrong time and others because they got to close and he didn't know how to act upon actually having someone care of him. bodies, blood, violence and right then it shifted to the times he has tried to take his own life, the times he didn't care if he lived or died in a brawl. this was fueling his anger, his eyes seemed to be glowing a blood red, the veins all over visibly pumping as once again he yelled out but this time in a rage ! "FUCK YOU!" with that he went to slam his fist against the mirror and his own mirror image came through and grabbed his fist. ale looked at his own reflection in shock and without warning the other hand of his own mirror image grabbed his hair - slamming him face first into the mirror, shattering it as he fell back onto the ground. bodies all around him now of those people that were a victim to his rage but one out of all of them slowly came through - parting the crowd. his mother - smiling down at him as she leaned down, cupping his blood and tear stained face into her own loving soft hands. "mom... " ale whimpered as he was now able to reach out and hug her. pulling her in close and just sobbing right then. the rage inside him calming down, able to control it for once in his life. "am i dead?" "no papo -- you are not dead, you are more alive than you have ever been before. now, i need you to stand up." the man listened, slowly getting up and as soon as he did so, he looked around and everyone was gone. the room around him was somewhere new - it felt like home - unknowing that it was the once home of his mother before her passing. "this path before you was something i knew would come - i am so proud of you. you have overcome so much, mi amor. there is so much that now you need to do. the world needs you.. the other demigods need you to protect them. i know that you are afraid and that is okay.. you were destined for greatness." she placed a hand on his chest and something inside him burned his heart began to race again.

ale just looked down for a moment and closed his eyes as soon as he opened it back up - she was gone. he knew what he had to do. taking in another deep breath before he looked to the side and a long spear had appeared next to him, ale slowly walked towards it and placed a hand around the weapon. it was calling to him - all that anger, that bloodlust was building inside him but with control - there was control now. "welcome home, my warrior! been waiting for you, my boy."