#btchcrft

finally, loreto managed to track the beautiful artist down before it got too dark. “kian, hey!” he had jogged up to the man while fishing something out of the inside of his blazer. he took out a medium sized paintbrush. while it was rough around the edges because he was still getting used to how mount olympus worked and there wasn’t an actual brush at the tip yet, it was still a bit noticeable. “i made this for you.” 

ghosts did not a friendship make. a kinship, maybe. understanding in a way that only the two of them could cross the veil of death to speak to the other side, without, well.

dying.

𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

A doctor lost to the past and found in the present, who surrounds himself in bodies, hearts, and minds, who likewise shares a little bit of his heart to all

A priest composed of found families and a faith in higher powers, feeding mortal and spiritual hunger, and an unshakable spirit for righteousness

A witch crafted in stars, woven by ethereality, and painter that grants mortals immortality in acrylics, oils, or gouaches tainted with magic

A dancer stepping through bustling streets, slicing air and light through rift-fortifying shards, and rushing a little bit of himself into everyone he passes

A student wrought in frozen armor, shielding the world from his warm heart as it melts and melts and melts his own defenses, and a limitless soul as unyielding as subzero winds

Julian Dorado, Loreto Garrido, Kian Prieto, Niko Moreau, Gabriel Montgomery

By this point in the night, Asher could already feel the energy of the camp swell with a joyous, carefree, intoxicated energy. Inhibitions were slowly going out the window for most if not all of the people around the fire. Half the demigods around him were in various levels of undress, and the fairies and nymphs themselves... well, they had barely been dressed to begging with. Asher himself still managed to have at least his vest on, though his sleeves were rolled up and his shirt was untucked. The music blared throughout the forest, and as the crowd of dancers continued to grind and move to the beat of the upbeat melody, it was easy to forget... well, everything. He had to wonder fleetingly if it was some sort of enchantment in the song. Not that hit mattered much. He playfully spun a particularly plucky little nymph, sending her off to swing on a tipsy looking centaur. It was then that he caught sight of a familiar, curly haired witch standing at the edge of the group. “Come on, Kiki,” he called, an uninhibited smile spread shamelessly on his face as he reached out to take the son of Hecate’s hand, the smell of ambrosia potent on his breath. “Dance with me! Please?”

the lake was impossibly tempting.

cool water, to lap over his skin -- while the warmth of flame was now strangely comforting, the sense was coming from somewhere else in him. somewhere new, somewhere untested, untrusted. like a part of his headspace that was locked away, until the nightmare threw the door open.

but this -- a refreshing swim in the night air, bringing his internal heat down to somewhere more human, ivan had to mute himself from groaning aloud. until he did hear the sound of someone approaching, and he froze in the water, arms out.

his eyes dart to where his clothes are, and he needs them on. for all the fuck he knows, someone’s got night vision, spying on him already. the thought sends wretched chills down his spine.

!!!

The sound of a priceless porcelain artifact crashing into the hard stone floors of the library drew many eyes---most inhuman but all full of contempt and disapproval. Hudson let out a hiss as he gazed down at the mess he made, pressing three thick books against his chest protectively. His gaze rises, alarm evident, as hears a set of foot steps. “Uh, it wasn’t me!” he insists, pointing at a tome lying some five feet away from the shattered urn. “I went to grab this book,” Hudson points to the books in his arms, “and then they both started shaking and there was a green zap and that one went flying out of my arms!” Hudson steps over the broken shards, giving the discarded book a weary glance as he made his way over to the newbie. “Ya’ll ought to have signs in here warning folks ‘bout books not liking each other.” He wondered if it was a magic thing, or maybe they were sentient and some of them happen to have a feud or two going on with other books. “Shit’s gonna kill someone someday, y’know.”

“somewhat,” agathys chuckles. for once, she’s not behind her table, but sorting out her jars on a shelf to her right, several colored bottles hovering and shuffling into different slots on the pedestals. “i am many things. an oracle, an herbalist, a healer, the list goes on. but yes, a witch is one of those things.” she pops open a lid to a jar of squirming weeds and sticks her nose close to take a whiff, testing its stage of fermentation. “well? out with it.”