𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗔𝗚𝗜𝗖𝗜𝗔𝗡

rod swung his head wide, side to side. “nah. that’s old life.” swinging back to kian, “if I go back on that, it’s like. popping the seal. what about all the other stuff I’ll get hung up on?” still, he grinned.

and that grin grew, watching kian go on about his father’s dishes. “see, there’s something right there. those of us that had full families. or– as full as they could be, with good memories.” hands on his knees, “why’d we leave?”

but it wasn’t his turn. “fears. I mean, once you take death off the list, it’s kinda chill. not heights, not monsters.” with a frown, “maybe it’s, that we go through with all this, and one day, we look down. look in.” his head bops to the side. “and a flash hits, we don’t know who we are.” his upper lip scrunched up under his nose, a bit. “last question to you, though. why’d you leave all that good cookin’ behind?”

rod has a point. going back to the old after so much of the new would be hard. there’s still that ache in kian’s chest for his family, his friends. but it’s not as poignant anymore. there’s different aches now, newer ones. 

the question was one poised before, just seconds ago, but this time hammered home. why did he leave? the smile on his face falters for a moment but he paints it back on in an expert stroke. he shrugs his shoulders, carelessly, and looks over at rod before he rests his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. 

“something always felt missing.” he shrugs again, a lazy smile drifting over his lips. “like i was meant for more. i thought it meant i’d have my own art gallery one day but instead i got all this.” he moves one hand, gestures around them. “it’s more dangerous but it’s exciting, it’s new, unpredictable.” he stands up, holding a hand out for rod to take. “i like that.” 

for a second, loreto had to find his own breathing once more. as they got higher in altitude and he felt kian’s body pressing up against his own, he could think about several things that could make his breath hitch once or twice. then, a sense of comfort washed over him and he finally relaxed once more. so did his hands around the material tied to guide the pegasus. “i’m going to have to analyze all of my actions then if i’ve been dating this whole time.” he chuckled softly as he lowered guided the mythical creature to lower themselves a bit. then he took back up to the skies once all he saw was water still. “if you want to go somewhere else, there’s still time to change course on this thing.” with the sky as their oyster they really could have gone wherever they wanted to. 

Recently, the trial had been rather heavy on his mind. Or more like, Yves was. He felt increasingly more pressured to communicate with his father the more times Yves mentioned it in their conversations, but the more stressed he was about it, the thinner the tether to Poseidon’s domain seemed to get. The earth no longer trembled beneath him, and the waters were still, almost like Poseidon had gone radio silent. It was frustrating, to say the least, to try and narrow his focus so he could feel somewhat in control again. The neglected cigar between his fingers was running short as Viktor zoned out, deep in thought in front of the lake. The thick blocks of ice on the water’s surface groaned, but not by his doing.

He barely acknowledged Kian’s presence when it was near, or the sting of the embers finally reaching his fingers after he’d gone long enough without a hit. “How do you do it?” he asked. “You magic boys. You act like this has been part of you your entire life.” How did Credence feel so at home in a thunderstorm, and how did Kian manipulate his mother’s magic like a second nature?

@btchcrft​

there’s nothing unusual about spotting the son of the seas near a body of water. it’s strange to not see yves around him or to see him standing there as if he’s frozen in time, but that’s neither here nor there. with his hands tucked into the pockets of his large coat, he walks over and stands a foot or so from the man. he doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t want to throw whatever train of thought viktor might have off track. he figures when the other wants to speak, he will.

the question hits differently now. how does he do it? how does he word it? how does he tell him that he’s trying so hard because he feels like he has to, that having other mageian housemates who seem so much more powerful than him makes him feel inferior and that he has to work that much harder than the rest? he could say something like that. he could also say he needs that tether to his magic so he feels like he’s in control. the wild nature of it, the chaos of creation, of reality at his fingertips, and he uses it so he can get some sort of adrenaline rush when he commands it. 

instead, he goes with a different truth. 

“because if i deny it and don’t give in, it’ll get me killed.” he remembers feeling powerless when his magic wasn’t as potent, when he’d had a piece of him drained into another being. he remembers feeling powerless against eris, against the thoughts she wanted to plant into his head, against the ease she had in taking him away from his friends. “or worse, one of you.” 

“I heard you got into a fight with Hudson.” The words worked their way out to breach the stillness of Mageia’s library. One of the special settings where the demigods could find near perfect silence. It’s why River felt guilty to speak, especially regarding what must be a private matter, but practically the entire camp had heard the outburst. River didn’t know what caused it. “Are you two not talking?”

River didn’t pull his eyes away from the book he’d just tugged off of a higher shelf to reference. It wouldn’t do well to make Kian feel like he was being put on the spot over something that could be so trivial.

@btchcrft​

at the words, kian stills. there’s a split second where he thinks that hudson is going around telling people, but then he remembers that he assaulted him with snowballs in the middle of the courtyard. he closes the book he’s reading—something on removing enchantments and curses—and looks up at river. 

he makes himself cold, turning to steel as best he can. “no, not anymore.” he clarifies. there’s a finality to his tone, like it’s a subject he doesn’t want to expand upon. because, in truth, it isn’t.

“have you been trying to find your trial location, too? i can help you research if you’d like.” a quick subject change, a deflection. 

he is not weak, he is not powerless. he's the son of witchcraft, the very fabric of the world is at his fingertips and he can reach out and shape the weave how he sees fit. he knows this and yet there's still that voice in the back of his head that hums whenever he thinks differently.

the goat in a sky blue sweater cries out as hudson nearly trips over him in his attempt to dodge the snowball. “gods, it’s like i’m dating emotionally stunted yves.” hudson grumbles to himself. the demigod tosses the bale aside, tossing his hands up in exasperation, “you know what, you’re right! it wasn’t a smart thing. the smart thing to do would have been to ask you to marry me!”

Busy feeding a trip of boisterous pygmy goats, Hudson very nearly drops the bale of hay in his arms as the snowball lands against his back. “Ow!” The goats bleat in excitement, scampering around the demigod’s legs at the outburst. “What the heck, Kian?!” Hudson turns, confusion etched into his features as he tosses a handful of the leafy mixture in his direction.

A goat in a pink knitted sweater bleats at them, demanding Hudson’s attention be returned to her and her siblings. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.”

“don’t fucking what the heck me, asshole!” kian calls back, watching the leafy greens fall to the ground. kian’s hazel eyes shoot a menacing glare toward the goats and then he directs it back toward hudson. 

regret. rod did his best to live without it, accepting both choices and consequences with an ease as if they were almost preordained. what was done, was done. nothing to do but look forward.

but now, kian had him looking back. “we had this double black diamond.” rod only broke the eye contact to look into the table, peering through the wood as if he could see the mountain there. “I was always on med staff for it, since I was the strongest on hand, more able to carry an adult out. and I knew, if I ever went down it…there wasn’t gonna be a medic on the other end, for me. never a ‘just in case’.” his brows furrow. “the guys that went down it, the ones who could make it, they were so…I don’t know. zen. chill. at peace, at the bottom. like it was some kind of religious experience.” rod knew he’d come face to face with god in some shape or form, if he ever took it on.

“that’s my regret. never hitting that slope, before I chose to leave.”

there’s a few seconds of silence before he slaps his thighs, lighting back up. “your turn. and I’m gonna ask… if you could get anything you’ve ever eaten brought to you, right now, what would you get?”

kian keeps his gaze focused on rod as he begins. even when the eye contact is broken and rod stares at the table as if he could summon the mountain here and see it. there’s something in rod’s voice that keeps kian captivated. this slope was something in his past he always wanted to conquer but couldn’t for one reason or another and, for a man who seems like he’ll roll with the punches, this is something that obviously still weighs on him. 

“we should go down it.” kian says to fill the silence after the confession is out in the open. “you don’t really need a medic now that you can,” he waves a hand at rod before his fingers trail down his arm and then rest on the table. “you know, heal yourself.” 

the question posed for him is more lighthearted and kian has his answer almost immediately. “my dad’s homemade carne guisada.” his mouth almost waters thinking about it. “the ‘gravy’,” he holds his fingers together, brings them to his lips, and kisses them. “the spices?” another chef’s kiss. “i don’t know what he does that i don’t, but every time i try to make it it’s never the same. i miss his cooking. home cooked food was always the best. i’m gonna have to figure out if we can get the ingredients and try it now.” he lets out a small laugh with the shake of his head. 

Grey gave a smile when told he could join and was quick to get into the warmth of the water, taking the hand offered so he didn’t end up cracking his skull on the rocks in his haste. He sighed as soon as his chilled body was under the warm water quickly heating up once more. “Thanks.” Grey smiled gratefully making himself comfortable opposite the other demigod in the water. “Yeah. Been a lot on my mind lately I guess.” He nodded when asked if he couldn’t sleep, hazel eyes turning up towards Kian’s own. “Yeah, I mean as well as anyone here. Just…trying to prepare for my trial, help everyone else out too if I can. And forget about my…personally drama. I got decayed by a ghost recently.” He said with a brief chuckle. “How about you? Done any more caroling without me?”

When Grey couldn’t sleep he usually found solace in a book, made himself a warm cup of tea, if he’d been able he’d have played some games on his switch but that wasn’t currently and option and everything else had fallen short of helping the son of sunshine find some rest. So he’d decided to take a trip to the hot springs, figuring maybe the soothing water and warmth might help him relax enough to sleep finally. Grey hadn’t expected the place to be occupied so jumped when a voice sounded from out of sight. “Oh! Sorry I didn’t think anyone else would be here, I’m not disrurbing you am I? Because I can always come back?” He asked giving Kian and apologetic smile for the inneruption although Grey lingers by the water because well he really had hoped to take a dip himself. Of course he’d take a hike if told but if not he’d be straight into the warmth of the water to escape the winter chill on his naked skin. A pair of swim shorts doing nothing to brace him against the winter night air even with the steam from the water.

keaton loved christmas. both it and halloween were his favorite holidays. the fact that he was actually getting to see snow only made it all the better. he was helping with the decorations and ‘christmas-ing’ up the place. there was no way he was going to let this time of the year pass without going absolutely all out. he still had to think about the presents he wanted to get everyone but he still had an entire month for that. for right now, the main goal was to make everything look like a christmas card. with his culinary field of comfort expanding, he was thinking of different recipes to add to the rotation for the season. ‘peppermint hot chocolate’ was the recipe of the moment when kian walked up. he looked over his shoulder and saw the man with the mistletoe. never one to forsake a tradition, he grins and gets up. “already forgiven, bro.” he says as he cups the sides of his neck and goes for the kiss.

the thought makes him chuckle as he leans his head back against the rocks around the hot springs. the natural heat of it chases away the bitter cold, giving him goosebumps along his exposed skin. he takes a wet hand and combs it through his curls, pushing them out of his face, and closes his eyes. relaxation after the last few weeks is something he’s looking forward to, even if just for a moment. it’s then that he hears the sound of footsteps, twigs breaking under feet, and with his eyes still closed, he calls out. “hot springs are occupied but open. don’t try to sneak up on me, thanks.” ribbons of gold and black dance around his fingers just in case. 

he marches around the camp until he finds hudson—have they been actively avoiding one another? probably—and now that he sees him, he’s almost overcome with a strange type of rage. his magic crackles around his fingers, threads of gold and black slither around his fingertips until he picks up and packs snow into a tight ball. “you’re an idiot!” kian calls out as he hurls a magic infused snowball at hudson’s back. “dumbass!” there’s no actual heat in his voice, more annoyance than anything else. but he chucks another snowball for good measure. 

before, he had told orion this – a burial under open skies – and being reminded of that now made credence’s heart twist. how many familiar faces had he lost through the last few months? it was too many to count and not feel bad about. what if viktor or yves left?

credence shelved the thought, sitting down beside kian. the wind wove itself to his hair, went past him, through him. if it wasn’t for kian’s words, he would have let himself drift along its current. “an ex,” credence echoed, arching a brow incredulously, then smirked. “oh, so not the one you want to rekindle things with.” blue eyes looked out at the blue skies ahead of them. “at least all your lays weren’t soldiers full of internalized self-loathing. the sex was delightful,” he looked back at kian with a small smile. why was he telling him this? a sharing of secrets, perhaps, a true secret. “what came after? not so much.”

“i had my fair share of sex with men who had their own internalized self-loathing to deal with. maybe not soliders, but there’s plenty to go around.” he quips, head lilted to look at credence as they sit beside one another. 

he turns his gaze away to look straight ahead, at the vast expanse of norway that rests before them. through the trees and the mountains. it’s an openness that makes him feel vulnerable and it isn’t a feeling he likes feeling. vulnerability is earned and, although he’s shown credence sides of him he hasn’t shown others, there’s still that nagging pit in the depths of his stomachs that screams for him to stop.

it’s an act of betrayal, he thinks. 

“are you a holiday person?” kian’s voice is hazy, tired. he cups a ceramic mug with an outlined santa beard on it between both of his hands and the wisps of heat flicker into the air in front of his eyes. he tilts the cup forward and takes a long, slow sip. it burns but he grits his teeth and endures. the smell of peppermint and chocolate is thick in the air as he looks over the brim of the glass toward julian. the banquet hall is partially empty, outside of some satyrs and nymphs decorating. “i miss winter in new york, los angeles it never felt like ‘winter’,” he removes one hand to finger quote before it moves back to the warmth of the cup. “any traditions you have?” he questions, eyebrow arching.