Well, staying in actual houses was a step up from a tent. Granted, he felt like he was staying in some dingy apartment in the bronx, but it certainly beat the wilderness. The son of Cronus stretched as he wandered out of the house he’d claimed for himself, clad in a pair of short track shorts and the crop top he’d slept in, Asher Jones had been lingering around the front ‘yard’ of the house when he saw a familiar face skulking around another house. “Hey, Dali,” he called out with a new found piqued interest. While to be fair, at one point he’d chalked the kid up to some emo creeper, after watching him on the trial, seeing him handle himself, he couldn’t help but wonder.
So, in pure Asher fashion, he sauntered over, still in clad in the clothes he slept in. “How you feeling super star?”
this was a familiar feeling, the slow climb before the plummet. hell hounds, dexter bringing the three other members to fight cerberus, the inevitable confrontation with malik. it was all beginning to align and, for once, romeo felt as if he could stand his ground with the rest of them.
maybe he’d proven himself to them.
maybe he’d proven himself to himself.
hearing his name, romeo turns to look at asher—barely dressed—and stops to turn toward him. “i don’t think i’d call myself a superstar.” romeo answers honestly, a shrug of his shoulders. he looks around at undertown, at the demigods finally coming back and being reunited with one another. “but i’m okay. tired.” he pauses for a moment, lets silence fill the space between them.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐒𝐊𝐈. their past lives probably couldn’t have been more different - that much was obvious - but the loneliness that the son of hypnos portrayed simply hit differently. maslo would never admit it, much less say it out loud, but the feeling was there; enough for him to continue sitting regardless of romeo’s reaction. “well, not yet… maybe.” he shrugs his shoulders, more focused on drawing lines into the dirt in front of him. “but we gotta start somewhere, right?” the smile he offers romeo is surprisingly genuine, surprisingly harmless - something not usually seen on maslovski’s features.
“sooo, like, what’s your favorite band?”
the attempt at casual conversation catches him off guard, more so than maslo’s declaration of best friendliness. for a moment or two, perhaps even a moment too long, he stares at the son of pan with a blank expression.
“why do you care?” romeo asks him, defensively. almost all of the conversations he’s had since arriving have been about who he is, what he can do, if he’s enjoying himself, if he’s okay. surface level, demigod bullshit. but this is different. this is personal.
and romeo dalî does not do personal.
“i don’t know. i don’t have one.” he shrugs his own shoulders, eyebrows knitting together in a frustrated expression as he looks away from maslo and out toward undertown.
Yves’ unruly hair, while fabulous, can really cause trouble. Like right now, when he can’t seem to get the chain shirt over his head without disturbing it. “Romeo!” he calls as soon as he sees the slumped shadow walking nearby. “I really hope this wasn’t an attempt to sneak by me. Your stealthiness sucks. Come over here and help me put this on. And be careful with the hair, please!” He stands patiently, two arms only halfway through the sleeves of the thing.
romeo stops and pivots, turning to face the son of aphrodite. he cocks an eyebrow before he looks around at all of the other people who he could’ve possibly asked to help him out.
“your hair is going to get fucked up anyway, yves. it does every time you fight.” he reminds him. he doesn’t move any closer than just outside of the man’s reach. “might as well just get used to it. you had blood in it the other day.”
“There you are!” Hudson beams from the doorway, ecstatic to see the perpetually grumpy twink. “So, they didn’t get you! Was afrai—” He freezes, a voice in his mind helpfully pointing out that the party could have, in fact, been attacked and the young man in front of him was actually a very well made disguise or a well built machine! His face crumples. How was he supposed to tell if this was the real Romeo? He couldn’t ask him questions, after all, they could have pulled his memories from him– like the river guardian had done to him. However, faking instinct was difficult, and there was one thing Hudson knew Romeo hated.
“C’m’ere!” In a split second, Hudson crosses the room, wrapping his arms around the kid for a tight hug, waiting and ready for a stab or the heavy hand of sleep.
hudson’s chipper attitude grates on romeo in a heartbeat. he’s exhausted, not mentally but physically, from the fight with the hell hounds and the overexertion that he’s already been forcing himself through to earn his place among them. he’s about to say something when hudson’s demeanor changes.
he’s about to say something when his entire world shifts and his space is invaded.
hudson, who stands taller than him and is vastly larger than him, wraps him in a hug without so much as asking.
romeo reacts instinctively. first, his body tenses, eyes close, and he can already feel the dream dust particles beginning to form beneath his palm. they swirl like a tornado, a dust storm of nightmares that he can grip. he twists and brings a floating umbral black dagger toward hudson’s throat.
“don’t fucking touch me.” he growls out, eyes a bottomless pit of fear and anger.
“𝐉𝐄𝐄𝐙, 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎 - 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇?” maslovski raises his hands in surrender as he’s threatened at blade-point, brows furrowing so hard that his perfect forehead creases. “is it so wrong for me to wanna talk to my best friend when we both can’t sleep?” best friend was pushing it - far - but that was also kind of maslovski’s brand.
romeo raises a single eye brow at the term ‘best friend’, and it makes him scrunch up his face in distaste. “i wouldn’t even consider us friends, much less best ones.” he clarifies, just in case maslo seems to have any other ideas going on in his head.
the idea of friendship is almost foreign to the son of slumber, especially to someone who he barely knows or trusts.
“what do you want?” he asks after a second of silence, lowering the dagger on maslo and fixing him with an unbothered stared.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
a wind eddied around credence, making his silk robe billow gently.
ever since the dream, he felt this whorl of power in him – pulsating in seamless rhythm with each breath, hidden behind each heartbeat. he felt stronger, more a whole than he’d ever been, mosaicked together by lightning. the lack of a sky here had yet to stop bothering him but at least credence knew that wherever he was, he carried a piece of it in him.
the sudden question made the wind that encircled him fade, the dust motes in the air coming to a still once more. he cocked an incredulous bow at romeo. ‘dying’ was a hefty concept to throw around before breakfast. “i am afraid of not accomplishing the things i want to accomplish before death. i am afraid of not having the chance to prove myself.” credence finger-combed his dark locks back, looking out at the suburbs and then back at romeo. “but, the actual thing? i don’t .. know. i am curious about it.” he gingerly nudged romeo’s shoulder with his own. “that’s a dark question, even for you.” a smirk cut across his features. “are you afraid of death, snoozy?”
“there are worse things to be scared of.” romeo says not looking at credence.
he lets the nickname pass over him like credence’s hawk passes through the skies. it’s there one moment and gone the next. his lips never curl into a smile, his expression doesn’t soften. instead, he continues to stare out toward the bleak suburbs of undertown, into the greyness that swallows them all.
finally, after a moment, he looks toward credence. hazel eyes meet electric blue and he holds them for a moment, angling away from the man so their shoulders aren’t touching, so there’s space between them.
“when i was younger, i thought about death a lot. sometimes wished for it.” he keeps the eye contact, and laces his fingers together over his knee. “death isn’t a monster to fear. not really. it’s why i’ve thrown myself into everything. i think i’ve almost died three times since coming down here.”
romeo dalî sits on the outskirts of the makeshift camp the demigods have created, a protective dome over their head thanks to something and rests his chin to his knees. the exhaustion that once was settling in his bones seems to have disappeared and a strange dream later, he feels more himself than he has since before he can remember.
he stares out toward the bleak, desolated undertown, with its ash riddled sky and skeleton bone houses, and wonders how much longer they’ll be down here and if time passes the same down here as it does back up top.
when he turns his head to look back toward the other demigods, his hazel eyes land on credence. “credence,” romeo says, head lilting to the side. “are you afraid of dying?”
“You think you might get some use out of this?” Joshua carefully slung the longbow he’d had over his shoulder and away, making sure not to damage the bowstring.
“Got it back at camp before I knew what I could do. Turns out that a son of Ares kinda wants to be up in the enemy’s face, not shooting things from a distance. Who knew?” He grinned but the exhaustion was clear on his face.
“I know you can do all that sand stuff but don’t know if there’s a limit to it.” The two of them had been on both quests Josh had experienced so far so he had some idea of his capabilities. “And you’ve got good aim so I figured you might want it.”
romeo looks up toward josh and then toward the longbow that he moves from over his shoulder.
a gift.
he stares at it for a little too long, his eyes going distant, his expression tightening. he doesn’t even realize he’s made a face until he goes to open his mouth and no words come out.
it takes a few more tries before he can even make out a sentence. he doesn’t remember the last time anyone’s ever given him something as a gift—never, if he’s being honest with himself.
“uh—” he starts, clearing his throat, he shakes his head before turning it into a nod. “yeah, i can try to use it. never really used one before. mostly just knives.” he offers a bleak peak behind the veneer of a carefully constructed persona.
Greyson still couldn’t get that dream out of his head and how he now felt. More purposeful, focused, like he finally knew where he was going and what he was doing with these powers that had been given to him or unlocked inside him. He felt as though he didn’t always need a light source to power him anymore, but instead he was the light. He toyed with his sun orb in his hands, the little golden ball sat in Grey’s pocket most of the time, always there if he needed it but for now he was letting the glow of the lava river help charge it.
When he noticed Romeo, Grey gave a warm smile, even though he didn’t know the other demigod particularly well. The son of Hypnos was quite the enigma to Greyson. Down time was like a waiting game in the underworld, unless there was some small quest to go on or they were heading to the next big thing. Grey never really knew what to do with himself during the waiting. “The waiting around’s kind of frustrating huh?” He mused conversationally.
@drmthief
a swirl of black sand seems to coalesce around romeo’s fingers. it weaves between them, defying time and space, a constant infinite between his knuckles. he moves his hands together and the dust begins to weave itself together, forming a glinting, black dagger out of the dust of dreams.
he grins when he sees the small, black fox pop up out of the earth, sitting beside him as he focuses on his power.
the voice startles him, but only for a brief moment. the dagger fades away, blowing away as if on a breeze and the small fox curls up beside him and does the same. he looks toward greyson and attempts to offer a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes )they never do).
“yeah.” romeo agrees, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks around at the waiting demigods. “but sometimes the waits worth it. can’t run ourselves ragged if we’re expected to survive.”
he feels like a hypocrite even saying something like that considering how many times he’s run himself to the brink of exhaustion just to prove himself to the others.
it’s ironic that the demigod of sleep tends to not sleep that much over all. he carries his sleepy bones daily, pushing himself to the limits of exhaustion before he has to crash and sleep for a few hours and start all over again. it’s been that way since he was little. sleep, for him, was never a safe space—the land of dreams could easily turn into a land of nightmares, an inescapable hellscape.
but a fox told him that he is strong enough to wake himself up, that he’s enough.
and that’s enough for him.
he sits on top of his bedroll, some of his things neatly tucked underneath it, and balances a black and gold dagger between his fingertips. the sands pour back and forth like an hourglass, shifting the two opposing colors back and forth. it brings a small smile to his face.
looking up, he sees maslo watching him. he twists his wrist and the dagger moves, point pointing toward the son of pan.
“can i help you with something?” romeo questions, arching an eyebrow.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Just like while they were journeying to find the source of the buzzing, Joshua was mostly quiet for the walk back from the quest. His mind had been on how reckless he’d been, how close he’d gotten to being taken out by the hellwasp and how he wouldn’t have done it any differently. His thoughts did trail to one other thing, though. Something that might’ve been better in someone else’s hands.
Once the group was back to the group of tents they’d put up, Josh watched which way Romeo went. After that, he went to his own tent, grabbed the item in question and caught up to the other demigod.
“Romeo, hey.” Josh spoke up as he was still a bit away. He’d noticed how he’d treasured distance even more than the son of Ares did. “Got a question for you.” It was more than just a question but he couldn’t just come out with it. That was a bad look.
his muscles ached, pain was throbbing beneath his skin like boiling water. he could feel himself on the brink of his exhaustion, ready to fall from the rocky cliff that he was clinging to by his fingertips. he knew he had to do it, though, knew he had to constantly fight for his place among them.
maybe now they’d realize that he wanted to be here, that he’d fight to earn his spot if he had to.
he barely notices joshua’s approach until he’s being spoken to. wearily, romeo drags his gaze up toward the son of ares, locking hazel eyes with the other’s.
“might have an answer.” he replies back, quieting a yawn with the back of his hand to his mouth.
weeks have turned to months and your journey to olympus, your acceptance of your life as a demigod, has lead up to this moment. it's been brutal, wrought with pain and close calls, thick with loss, but you've endured. as you begin to get ready to sleep, winding down for the night, something inside of you feels different. there's a strength that grows that you only dimly knew was there before. you feel stronger, faster, more attuned to your senses and your own inner power. if you ever doubted that you might have divine blood in your veins before, now, more than ever, you feel it.
as soon as your head hits the pillow you fall fast asleep, exhausted from the events that have lead up to this point. who knows however long later, you "awaken". you're not where you fell asleep, nothing is as it was when you slept. you have to blink a few times but you realize that you're in a place that seems familiar to you. describe this place? what does it look like, sound like, smell like?
romeo opens his eyes and he's met with an endless, star filled sky. it's a sea of twinkling white stars, cloudless and ever reaching. it takes him a minute to get his bearings as he blinks his eyes—once, twice—and he recognizes the safe haven from his teenage years.
the roof top of an old apartment complex where the roof access door was thought to have been broken. he can see the buildings now, the tops of other apartment buildings and the streets that crisscross underneath his hanging feet like a maze. for a moment, he watches the cars go by, a blur of bright neon lights that almost match the luminescent stars ahead.
then it comes back to him, that feeling he constantly chased while swinging his feet over the edge, cigarette in hand, wisps of smoke curling around his fingers.
the fear. the heights. his stomach does a flip and he averts his gaze back toward the sky line, back to the stars.
for the longest time, this place was an escape from reality, a way to clear his mind and focus on a fear he can control, on a feeling he can beat away if need be. he digs one hand into the side of the building and brings the cigarette in his other to his lips and takes a long, slow drag.
despite the feeling of vertigo that overwhelms you, you find this vantage point to be an escape from your current reality. the cars whizzing by eventually blend together, the honks and cacophony of city life drowning beneath your feet. above you, the stars twinkle radiantly, each one seeming bigger than you remember them to be. it's a beautiful place, and as the passing breeze ruffles through your clothes, you feel a sense of relief and comfort you haven't felt in a while.
your gaze scours the busy streets below and then you see it, a familiar scarecrow, staring back up at you. fear, like a bucket of ice water, seizes your heart. it doesn't do much but stare ominously as the scenery around it goes on by. what do you do?
he freezes.
the scarecrow stares at him and all he remembers is the feeling of uselessness that girls his heart too tightly. his hand stops as he brings the cigarette to his lips and stares back at it.
he didn’t prove himself to the demigods he went along. the others had done so much more than him. was this a nightmare? it had to be.
but maybe it’s a chance to prove himself. if not to the others, to himself.
romeo reaches within himself and digs up the power he feels thrumming in his veins. the cigarette in his hand burns away, embers turning a brilliant gold before they whirl around his fingertips and coalesce into a chakram, perfectly rounded as sharp as one of the blades he has tucked away.
“i won’t be scared of you.” he says to himself, barely above a whisper.
and then he throws the golden chakram of dream dust.
the chakram, spun of gold dust, cuts through the air and beheads the scarecrow that's standing on the pavement. the straw head lops off and rolls into the street but the scenery around you, the passerby and cars, seem unfazed. it's as if it's not really there.
you feel an unwanted presence behind you, and turn, only to find the scarecrow standing behind you now, its glowering, sunken eyes staring right into your soul.
"fear will be your inevitable demise," it cackles.
for a split second, he feels like he’s succeeded. for a split second, he can feel a smile that doesn’t belong to him—as unwanted as he was—spreading across his face.
but the hair on the back of his neck stands on end and a shiver courses down his spine. romeo turns to see the scarecrow, what he thinks might be the real one, standing before him. he stares back into the glowing eyes and can remember the feeling of weightlessness when he fell to the ground, when he almost died.
panic slams against his ribs like a caged animal, he can almost feel himself splintering to pieces.
“no!” he lets out in a panicked yell, he can feel the golden dust trickle to his palm and he throws his hand forward, a sharp, golden dagger shooting forward toward the scarecrow as he jumps to his feet to put some distance between them.
your panic only seems to strengthen the scarecrow as it takes one intimidating step forward, cornering you between it and the ledge. the cars below honk louder, the sound of maddening traffic louder than your thrumming heartbeat. your fear amuses the scarecrow which bulks up, its physique made of straw fattening up, until it towers above you. the scarecrow, with an agility that you don't recall, grabs the thrown dagger and crushes it into fine sand.
"what's reality, and what's a dream, romeo?" the scarecrow taunts. "the boy who lives in nightmares; has he truly woken UP?" the scarecrow swings its arm, knocking you off the ledge. you fall, but like your close-to-death encounter, you feel weightless. you don't hit the harsh concrete below, but land... somewhere else.
where do you fall? where is the first place you think of when you're met with blood-curdling fear?
he thinks that this is going to be the end. a familiar weightlessness overtakes his body and numbs him. it's not in a way that makes him feel invincible, but a way that makes him feel infinitesimal. he closes his eyes as he plummets to the ground, arms flailing around him as if he can use them to brace for impact. he knows the concrete will hurt, but maybe this numbness will dampen the pain.
except that pain never comes.
nothing does.
he counts to ten in three different languages—spanish, english, greek—and then opens his eyes.
his heart drops. his blood goes cold. the hair on the back of his neck stands on end once more and he feels as if this is much worse than falling to his death.
this place is death a thousand times over, slowly, meticulously, methodically.
the navy blue walls seem too close for comfort and the large, metal bunk beds are just as he remembers them. stark white, rusted in places, with nothing but a bright orange mattress topper on the top bunk where he was forced to sleep. the tattered and torn blanket is still crumpled to the side and the single pillow he used looks lumpy and well used.
he turns and goes for the door. the holes from fists are patched over and painted, though the paint doesn't match and anyone who looks closely enough can tell that fists were the cause of the damage.
he inhales, exhales, and tries to think, tries to reason with himself. but this place feels too familiar to not be real. he grabs the folding desk chair and pushes it under the door knob to keep it from moving before he turns toward the bifolding closet doors. they're large, wooden, and broken in places. he opens them as quietly as he can and steps inside, closing it before he sits down underneath the row of hanging shirts and folds himself into a small ball, arms wrapped around his knees. he rests his chin atop them and closes his eyes.
he knows no matter how hard he wills it to be gone, no matter how hard he hopes for a different outcome, it'll always be the same.
this was where they tried to tell him was "home".
but for romeo, this was hell.
you hide in the bifolding closet doors. while it's not a fond memory, it provides you a peace of mind, or at the very least some brief comfort as the scarecrow stalks you.
you hear the chilling sweep of its straw feet brushing across floors. you hear it taunting you, calling out "oh, romeo, romeo, where are you, romeo?" you hear another door opening, then closing; it's looking for you. then, like the chair under the doorknob was just a hallucination, it opens the door with a slow creak. "romeo, i smell your fear. i smell your uncertainty. i smell your... sadness. do you think you can hide from me?" the light under the doors' crevice flickers as you see the scarecrow exploring the room.
"how long will you hide, romeo? run from your fears? wish it was all just a nightmare?" the voice seems to penetrate the closet's walls.
"is this your RESOLVE?"
he closes his eyes, willing his heartbeat to quiet down. it's a thunderstorm beneath his ribs, kicking and screaming against his chest. he can hear it drumming in his ears, a steady thump thump thump that slowly begins to dissipate.
is this his resolve?
the question catches him off guard and his heart stutter steps as he tries to form a coherent thought, let alone a string of words.
for so long he's been the product of fear. he took the abuse, the neglect, and endured it. he shoved it down and learned to live with it. he buried it so deep inside of him that not having it made him feel naked.
is this his resolve?
when he'd had enough what had he done? he ran. he ran from his fear and, no matter how far he went, no matter what new city he lied his way into, or whatever name he called himself to find a job, the fear caught up to him. the nightmares still plagued him when he closed his eyes, still gripped his hear too heavily.
is this his resolve?
when they'd found him and told him who he was, who he was meant to be, he ran to it because he had nowhere else to go. running was getting tiring, trying to find a place he belongs was becoming a feat he didn't think he could accomplish. every twist and turn since becoming a demigod, since accepting his birthright, has been to prove to himself, to everyone else, that he can make it.
he's fought tooth and nail for a scrap of recognition, for a reason to no longer run, and he's still not found it here.
but maybe he needs to stop asking for permission from others. maybe he needs to start demanding it.
he lifts his head up slowly and he can feel that familiar sensation course through him; the need to prove himself. this time, to himself. he stands up, careful not to make any noise, and closes his eyes. he counts again, inhales and exhales, and places his hands against the closet doors. he can see the scarecrow through some of the cracks, through some of the missing planks of wood that run across the bifold door.
"no, this isn't my resolve, asshole." he mutters under his breath.
and then he pushes. his eyes shift from hazel to a brilliant gold as the dream dust pours from his palms and his hands, exploding the door from the hinges and sending it flying toward the scarecrow.
"fuck you." romeo spits out. "that's my resolve. i can't run anymore. so i'll fight."
for what feels like an eternity, you sit encumbered in the closet, conflicted with your own demons. you reason and feud with yourself, and fortunately, the scarecrow is patient enough to wait as you come upon an ultimatum. as dream dust coalesces around your hands and shoots forth, blasting the door off its hinges, the scarecrow, too, explodes into a confetti of straw. it's almost anti-climatic, how easily it slumps to the ground like a rag doll.
"fear will always follow you, like a shadow, but you mustn't keel to it," a voice says, but it's not the scarecrow's. is it familiar, or unfamiliar? is it intimidating, soothing, or none of those? as it speaks to you, you see everything in the room disintegrating into fine, golden dust. your feet begin to sink into the dunes of sand, and a trickle of the same sand that sparks from your hands trickles from the ceiling, into your hair. you start to feel as if you're trapped in an hourglass, and a figure rises from the golden dunes, standing alone in front of you.
what does this figure look like? is it unfamiliar or familiar?
this is a different type of sinking feeling.
it's relief as he watches the scarecrow burst into thousands of tiny pieces. even if it isn't a firework of an explosion, there's a weightlessness to him now that feels less haunting.
the words, however, force a shiver along the mountain of his spine. it seeps into his bones, down to the marrow. there's a hopefulness to the words though, a sense of relief and comfort. a reassurance that, even when the nightmares plague him like the disease they are, that he can be strong enough to fight back.
he focuses and the voice is a mixture of gravel and silk, like sandpaper being brushes against something soft and velvety. it's smooth, but there's an edge to the words that reminds him of a knife waiting to slot itself between ribs.
as the sands shift, as he feels himself almost being entombed by them, he watches as a large fox begins to climb the dunes and look at him. it's large, golden tail wrapping in front of it as it sits there and stares at him. he's not too familiar with foxes, if he's honest. outside of seeing them here and there, but they've always been an animal he felt he could understand—weary of its surroundings, ready to react quickly if necessary, driven by a sense of survival and fear.
romeo stares back at the fox and furrows his brows. "was this a test?" he questions.
the stream of sand thickens above your head, spilling into your hair and getting into your mouth. the sand pools around your knees, and even so, the area around you spans out like a desert of glittering gold, the fox gracefully seated on top of its dune, like a throne.
"of sorts," the fox says as it licks its paw. "life is." it glances off, and you follow its gaze to the scarecrow's head buried pathetically in the sand. "fear will always follow you, romeo. in all aspects of life. i've come to test your resolve, see if you can remember to simply wake up when you are in a nightmare." it leaps off the dune and lands on another. "it's all too easy to succumb to your worst fears, insecurities, and selfish wants." as if it's painting a story, the golden sand turns a necrotic black for a split second, then shimmers gold again with a flick of the fox's tail.
"do you have any questions for me?"
romeo watches the sand shift colors, watches it seem to switch from dreams to nightmares in seconds. from brilliant gold to obsidian darkness.
he lickens it to the raging war inside himself, the teetering tightrope he walks between living life and living a nightmare. fear has always been a primal force that's pushed him further than ever.
fear of abandonment, fear of rejection, fear of being tossed aside like this week's garbage.
or this week's child.
it's made him try harder but also made him fail harder. it's made him chase impossibilities that he can never tangibly grasp, made him put limitations on himself to fit someone else's ideal of who he should be. even after he ran away, the fear still followed him around—like a shadow, as the fox said—and he let it.
he knows it's not something he can get rid of, not something that he can ever truly beat. fear, like his own blood, will always be part of him. nightmares, as much as dreams, will always be his destiny.
but the fox is telling him that all he has to do is wake up, that all he has to do is remember that he, somehow, can control it if he wills himself awake.
"just one," romeo says as he dusts the golden sand from his hand, spits it from his mouth before he attempts to climb on top of the dune's as if they, too, are his own throne. "are you here to help me wake up or to remind me that i have the power to do it on my own?"
are you telling me that i'm enough? he thinks, but doesn't voice it aloud.
the sands, whereas they were like quicksand before, feel solid underneath your feet as you climb them. the fox, pleased with your progress, bounds off, willing you to follow it. "i don't mean to turn your own question on you, romeo, but DO you?" it asks with a twitch of his ear. "do you have the power to do it on your own?" that's why it's here, after all.
do the sands around you take any shape? do they remain gold?
does he?
it's a question he didn't know he needed someone else to ask him. he's thought about it before, has questioned his own resolve plenty of times. he's been beaten down, left battered and bruised, and left for dead.
but he's never been fully broken.
he's somehow gotten up, even on shaky limbs, and kept going. he's gone against monsters while still bleeding from fresh wounds, without sleep, without thought or care for his own safety. he's fought battles just with his will power to prove himself alone. and yet, he's still never felt like he had the power.
but maybe he has all along, he's just been too blinded by fear to accept it. to consumed by the nightmares of his past, of the hands battering against him, of the taunts whispered and yelled into his face, to truly listen to what he's always been wanting to tell himself.
"i do." romeo says, nodding his head.
he holds out his hands and the sands begin to wisp around his fingertips, weaving through them like a flower on the wind. they're still gold, but not as bright as before, flecked with obsidian—a reminder that a nightmare is just a dream that he can wake up from. slowly, he curls his fingers and the sands swirl into a chakram, a dagger, an arrow, another blade—weapon after weapon he's created time and time again, a reminder that he has to fight, that he is strong, that he is enough.
he inhales and holds it and another fox appears from the dust, not the golden king of this desert dreamscape, but a smaller one flecked in darkness that reminds him a little of himself. a nightmare and a dream wrapped together.
"i do." he whispers, accepting it, and he sprints after the fox, a trail of black and gold dancing from his fingertips.
the fox looks to be smiling as it bounds over the golden dunes, and just when you feel like you've caught up to it, the golden fox collapses, its form pooling into the sand below. "keep going," the voice whispers, a breeze speckled with gold-and-black dream dust tickling and caressing your cheek. "i've seen your resolve, so keep going!" the little fox at your side sprints with you, nipping playfully at your heel as your feet feel lighter and lighter like you're skipping over the sands.
as you run into the light, you hear your guardian's voice in the back of your head:
"yes, you are enough."
you wake up, though strangely you feel as if you weren't sleeping at all. the air is light around you and for once you feel well-rested. as you gather your thoughts, you swear you saw the silhouette of a little fox flitting across your tent.
“I don’t mind at all,” Yves’ sing-songs from behind and gives Romeo a teasing poke to the soft end of his ear. The most skin contact he’d allow himself, given Romeo’s allergic reaction to anything Yves related.
He walks around to face the new demigod, although he didn’t feel as new anymore. Too much cuts and bruises on him at this point. “Is it the nightmares?” he asks more quietly now, serious. “Ever since that thing paralyzed me, I– Sleeping has always been an issue, but recently I’ve started to have a lot more nightmares. I feel like… I don’t know. Am I losing my mind, or are you experiencing the same thing?”
he closes his eyes when he feels the phantom touch of yves’ finger on his ear and he bites down the remark that threatens to break through the cage of his teeth.
he’ll give credit to yves, at least he’s learning not to overstep the lines that romeo’s drawn in the sand.
“every time i sleep i have nightmares. it’s nothing new.” romeo says casually, almost waving his hand in dismissal. “probably means there’s something unresolved that you need to fix.”
romeo rests his elbows on his knees as he sits under the large dome that the demigods have made into their makeshift camp. his bedroll is out beside him and made up neatly, as if he made it like a bed every morning. he’s ripped up a piece of a shirt and made it into bandages, wrapping them around the larger cuts and more tender bruises that line his body.
he looks around at the other demigods, all sitting around in their groups, their friends or more, and then there’s him.
alone.
it’s easier that way, he thinks, but he knows his survival depends on the other’s, too.
and he hates that.
with a sigh, he stands up slowly and makes his way toward a cluster of demigods. awkwardly, he clears his throat.
“do you mind if i join you for a bit? until i nap.” he gives them a small time frame, just in case they don’t want his company for too long.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
it's strange to think that he isn't the newest member of the demigod pantheon. hazel eyes flicker from face to face, until he lands on the newcomer who, unlike him, perhaps seems to be fitting in—there's a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach but he shoves it down even further.
his muscles ache from the strain of the fight against achilles and he pushes the thoughts about how yves almost died because of him to the side. yves didn't matter. romeo did. he had to remember to think of himself. it's a selfish thought, but he's still not convinced, even with the neatly wrapped words and brightly colored promises, that they'd have his back like they say they will.
in the end, he knows he has to take care of himself or they'll get rid of him. it's almost inevitable.
he stands around one of the fires that the demigods have started, arms folded over his chest as if to keep himself together, to keep himself in his own space.
"i don't remember seeing you on any of the boats." it's not a question but a statement. even if romeo hasn't interacted with all of the demigods, he's committed their faces to memory, knows them in passing. this didn't sit right with him. a wild card, someone he didn't know that was here now. "did you enjoy the ride?" his voice doesn't seem genuine, as if he's forcing the questions out, forcing the conversation to happen.
romeo sits on the outskirts of the demigods who’ve made it to undertown. the old, dilapidated town doesn’t seem inviting and thoughts of what could be lurking among the run down buildings, blanketed with ash-like snow. the underwold could only host so many horrors that he never thought existed.
but expectation has been thrown out the window. he’s already been possessed by an ancient warrior and defeated another one.
a pang of guilt pulses beneath his ribs and he frowns at the unexpected feeling. he looks down at his hands before he pulls out one of the blades he’d fought achilles with, admiring it. every now and then a golden spark emits from the tip of his finger, running it against the edge of the blade. he’s no stranger to knives, or violence, but sometimes he wonders what the point of it all is.
he sighs, inhaling and exhaling a few times before he looks up and meets a pair of familiar eyes. he furrows a brow, hazel eyes looking away for a moment. “not ready to sleep?” he questions, looking passed the son of hecate toward the other demigods who seem to be pitching their tents and getting ready to settle down for the night.
he doesn’t know how they could sleep like this. romeo has a hard enough time sleeping in his own bed, behind a locked door. he knows he won’t sleep in a tent with a zipper that can easily be opened and not locked. it sends a cold shiver down his spine but he tries to hide it as best he can.