titan-army-week

[titan-army-week]

I'll Follow You Into The Dark - a PJO fanfic

@titan-army-week

Summary:

Pairing: Alabaster x Male OC After the attack on the Princess Andromeda the Son of Spring wakes up in the enemy's territory, scarred, alone and too late. The war ended, and Malachite slept through the whole thing. No one will tell him where Alabaster is, or even if he's alive. It's up to Mal to track down the last person who cares about him.

Notes:

This is OC centric!! Malachite is my oc that my friends kind of fell in love with, so this for everyone in the Lily's Garden server. Malachite is the demigod son of Persephone.

Chapter 1: Back To The Big House

“Percy- He’s here! He told me to get off now if I want to live! Tell the others!”

Dread filled Malachite’s stomach. FUCK! Percy Jackson is here. The Son of Persephone swallowed the lump in his throat and went to go find Alabaster. His red tear dropped earring dangling back in forth as he moved.

While running Malachite tried to think of a way to get off the Princess Andromeda. Okay, let's think, it's August, so plant powers only. Can I use seaweed to...to do what? Goddammit! I hate water. He grimaced.

Damnit. Damnit, dammit, dammit! Malachite had no way to get out of the ship. No way, using his spring powers, that is.

Malachite glanced at his left arm, dark shadowy scarring curling around his arm. The last time he had used his underworld powers during spring or summer, he passed out for a week, and his tanned skin of his arm was now a purplish. 

Alabaster was drawing runes on the sleeves of a white collared shirt he was wearing underneath his green sweater vest. When Malachite burst in, and his hand slipped, causing him to mess up one of the runes.

“Al! He’s here!” Malachite gasped out. 

Alabaster’s bright green eyes widened, and his lips moved but Mal couldn’t hear him. Not over the deep rumbling in the ship. The ground started to shake, and panic overtook Malachite.

The ship burst into green flames around him, one explosion almost hit Malachite’s face, causing them both to sway on their feet.

As he sunk into the shadows like quick sand, he saw Alabaster reach out to him. "Malachite!" Alabaster screamed, his desperate look in his eyes and the way his freckled face paled at the sight of his closest companion being swallowed by darkness, literally. 

“Alabaster!” Malachite tried to reach out, his fingers almost grabbing Alabaster’s before it swallowed him whole and he fell into pitch darkness.

***

Malachite opened his eyes, well only one of them, as he couldn’t feel the right side of his face. He took a loud, sharp breath, and he placed his hand on his chest, imagining he was holding his heart in his hand and that he was slowing it down manually.

Mal touched the right side of his face, and felt bandages wrapped around his head. Now we match, Ethan, wait. Where…am I? 

The son of spring sat up, looking around the room. The room was familiar to him, and it made him want to disappear again. Malachite was in Camp Half Blood’s infirmary. 

He had his head in his hands when he heard the door open. A young blond kid entered the room, sniffling, “Oh, you’re awake.” The kid looked tired, his eyes were puffy and red, most likely from crying. Was this kid an assistant or something? Malachite thought.

“Are you my doctor? How old are you?” 

“My name is Will, I’m a healer, not a doctor, and I’m 13. How are you feeling? Any pain?” The kid grabs a clipboard, flipping through papers. 

“No,” Malachite sighed and stood up, wobbling as he did. He leaned on the wall, shaking his legs back awake.

“You should lay back down.”

“Maybe you should lay down, kid.”

Will's eye twitched, might’ve been because he was tired, or simply annoyed, “So, nothing hurts? You were asleep for a week.”

“A week? Well, damn, my face feels numb if anything,” Malachite sat back down.

“The ambrosia in your system is still working to heal the right side of your face, but I’m afraid there might be scarring. Green fire is an extremely dangerous substance that not even ambrosia can heal it's effects entirely."

“Alright well, thank you,” Mal spoke quietly, laying back down, “Can I leave?”

“Er...well,” The kid flipped through papers on his clipboard, though Mal was starting to doubt if he was actually reading the thing. 

A voice said behind him, as Chiron stepped into the infirmary, “It’s alright, Will, I’ll take over from here.”

Malachite bolted up, backing away, trying to merge himself with the wall as dread coiled around him in a way that made him nauseous. It was then that he was claimed, although Malachite didn’t need a floating pomegranate above his head to know that Persephone was his godly parent. 

“Welcome back, Mal,” Chiron smiled with kindness that Malachite did not deserve. “We should talk.”

Chiron and Malachite walked around the camp grounds as they talked. Malachite had his arms crossed over his chest, the bandages still wrapped across his head, “I'm surprised you remember my name.”

Chiron raised an eyebrow, glancing at Malachite for a moment before looking ahead, “Of course I do, Malachite. I remember all of the demigods I helped train.”

“You didn't really train me, though,” Malachite sighed, his shoulders sagging, “Luke did.”

Chiron stopped and turned to Mal, placing his hand on Malachite’s shoulder, “Right, about that. Mal, you should know that the war has ended, Luke…he sacrificed himself to destroy Kronos.”

Malachite stepped back from the centaur’s hold. Why is being kind to me? Why does he make it so hard for me to hate him? “I…It's for the best, I guess.” Malachite gulped down his nerves, and ask the question that kept plaguing his mind, “Do you know what happened to Alabaster?”

Chiron tensed slightly, looking around nervously at the newly built Hecate cabin, “I can't say I recall. Now, you're going to have to stay in the Hermes cabin just a little while longer. Meanwhile, we built a cabin for you. Why don't you help tend to the strawberry field?” Chiron smiled a tight-lip smile before trotting back to the big house.

Malachite had so many questions, most about the whereabouts of Alabaster. He turned to stare at the strawberry fields like it personally wronged him, and kicked a rock that laid by the fields, it almost hit a satyr in the forehead. He didn't notice, otherwise he would've apologized, too lost in thought.

Where are you, Al?

When Malachite’s face had healed as much as it could, Will Solace, the now sole healer in Camp Half-Blood, helped him take off the wrappings. Once they were off, Will held a mirror to his face. "I tried my best, but like I said, I can't stop the scarring."

His olive green eyes started inspecting the scar. It left his skin pink and raw, with a large purplish scar going across from his hairline to his jaw, although his dark brown hair covered most of it. "It looks like a supernova exploded on the left side of my face...cool." 

Malachite spent the remainder of the summer by the strawberry fields, helping them grow and "reconnect" with nature by trying to bury himself in the ground. The satyrs and Demeter's kids would stare warily at him with confusion and concern.

Just a little while longer. Chiron's words rang in Malachite’s head. I wonder what "a little while longer" meant to an immortal being who's been around for centuries. A week? A month? A year? 5 years?

With other cabins being built, with those cabins having more than one soon-to-be-occupants. Persephone's cabin wasn’t forefront of their list, who only had Mal. Afterall, "She was just a flower goddess."

***

The last day of summer, Malachite had dreamt of a snow fallen forest, the trees and plant life were dead, covered with a blanket of snow. Fog moved in, swirling around, causing a mini blizzard before the fog morphed into a woman wearing a white dress, and a white veil that had emboldened flowers, and obscured her face.

Once the woman’s feet touched the snow, it melted, and under the dress of the woman, there was fresh grass and flowers sprouted. They reached out and wrapped around Malachite’s legs and arms, causing him to kneel.

The glint of gold in her eyes when she turned around told Malachite everything, “Mother,” he whispered breathlessly. 

Persephone hadn’t visited Mal in ages. He hadn’t seen her in person since he was 7, and hadn’t seen her in his dreams since he turned 13, which was around the time he joined the Titans’ Army. So this surprise visit meant only one thing, and it terrified Malachite to his core.

Some people might be wondering what’s so terrifying about a flower goddess? Well, they don’t call Persephone the Dread Queen for nothing. 

“Your participation in this war has disappointed me greatly,” Her voice echoed, as if she were using the voices of the dead to speak. 

Shivers ran down Malachite’s back, and he felt so cold. So alone. “Mom, I-“ The grass squeezed him, causing him to stop talking. 

“My child, you have embarrassed me. I love you so, but I cannot bear seeing you betray me so. Be thankful I saved you and put you to sleep.” The Dread Queen grabbed Malachite’s chin, tilting his head to face her. Her veil shadowed her face, and her son could not find any kindness in her eyes. Love? Yes, but forgiveness? There was only hurt and anger. "I will no longer protect you, you're on your own, alone.”

Mal’s eyes widened, and he felt flowers sprout all over his body, covering every inch until they invaded his lungs, causing him to cough up flowers. He stared at a flower covered in spit and blood until he fell onto his side and his vision started to blur.

The son of Dread Persephone woke up in a cold sweat on the floor of the Hermes cabin, shaking and crying, grabbing at his arms, hugging himself as the night wind howled outside the window.

[titan-army-week]

I MISSED TA WEEK OH MY GODS???

You may get a few late submissions from me very soon

All good! Have fun doing them :3

[titan-army-week]

With that said. Ta week is officially over!!! THANK YOU to everyone who participated!!!!

Friendly reminder that: I reblog posts till the year's end so if you haven't posted yours yet, no worries. This also goes for if I haven't seen your submissions, just tag me on tumblr

[titan-army-week]

Three Children of Nemesis - my (late) submission for @titan-army-week , day 3 and 5 prompts!! Siblings, and Drowning.

I hope my silly oc-centric fic is good enough because it KILLED me LMGNDHDGDF

[titan-army-week]

@titan-army-week

Please enjoy my and @drksanctuary ‘s late submission. I’m pretty sure this covers all the prompts lmao.

Feast well, Titan army stans ~ I hope u enjoyed my vision.

Thank you for helping me bring this to life @drksanctuary !

[titan-army-week]

@titan-army-week

Day 7: Mourning

silly guy.everyone knows you shouldn't sleep at graveyards,,,

also, hope this suffices to the Chris anon in my inbox:

I think it could count

[titan-army-week]

Titan Army week, Day 7 Mourning/Au

Back when Prometheus first shaped humanity from clay and divine fire, he molded them with wings—sleek, strong appendages meant to grant freedom beyond the confines of land. The gods, he reasoned, had dominion over sky, sea, and underworld alike; why shouldn’t mortals taste a fraction of that liberty?

But as evolution took place, and generation after generation sprouted from those original creators of clay, those wings became smaller and flimsier, more convenient to tuck away or to show off as a simple decoration. 

Of course this wasn’t the case for all bloodlines, those connected closely with the land and with spirituality carried on the genes for strong healthy wings, and of course those with divine blood untouched by evolution carried on those genetics as well.

Thousands of years passed, the titans fell, and rose once more. 

The battle of Manhattan had come and gone, leaving only grief and destruction in its wake. Demigods dead by the handfuls, struck down both by kin and by the gods themselves. 

Ethan had just barely escaped death with the help of Alabaster, and the two were forced to stake it out on their own. 

Hecate, ever the benevolent mother, had kindly offered them a new purpose. To start a cult-a religion in her name. Even going as far to gift them a camper-van to start the journey. 

The cult-community was based online, with zoom prayer sessions and discord discussions. The couple first went seeking out former titan army members, then branched out to recruiting clear sighted mortals and even the occasional intelligent monster. 

Monster-proof technology had been easy for the goddess of magic to make, and even easier to distribute to her ‘subordinates’. Joining her worship meant a promise of protection for half-bloods, knowledge for mortals, and support for monsters, not to mention community for them all. 

One half-blood in particular had chosen to join them on their trip directly, a son of Aphrodite disowned by no less than three parents after seeking refuge with the titans and then having his family be torn apart by a particularly nasty divorce. 

He had nothing left after the war, homeless until being found by his now significant others. 

The winnebago rattled like rocks in a tin can, clattering over cracked asphalt as dusk bled into the western sky. 

Feathers—black, white, and maroon—dusted the floor, a molting mess that grew worse each day as Persephone returned to the Overworld and winter gave way to spring.

Alabaster sat in the passenger seat, one boot propped on the dashboard, large raven wings reflecting the window’s light like rainbow obsidian as he sifted through a deck of cards. 

Ethan kept both hands steady on the steering wheel, weary eyes staring strictly at the broken down back roads of Florida.  

Mitchell on the other hand, was sprawled in the back, trying unsuccessfully to tuck his frilled wings beneath the large jacket he definitely hadn’t stolen from his magically gifted lover, fingers and focus trained on an album filled to the brim with memories from those golden years. All older feathers dyed ink black to help conceal his identity. 

Alabaster yawned, leaning even further back on the seat to smile at the sight. “You know I always think you look cute wearing my clothing, but you could’ve just asked me for one of my newer jackets, that thing is older than your mother, from way before my wingspan hit even five feet.”

The son of Aphrodite huffed, gently placing down the album before flinging the old jacket at his witch and covering his red face. “Okay, here, have it back” 

Alabaster sputtered as the jacket smacked him in the face, waving his arms around and flailing before Ethan mercifully lifted it off his head, Mitchell giggling all the while. 

The son of nemesis grinned, elated by the sound of his lover’s laugh. “I swear, you guys are the worst, can’t turn my back for even a second. I’m trying to drive here!” 

Mitchell groaned dramatically. “Whatever just find a place to park, we have a prayer zoom at 9” 

Dead silence.

“What?!”

“I thought it was at ten—”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner!?”

Mitchell shrugged, unapologetic. “Meh. Thought y’all knew.”

Ethan inhaled sharply through his nose, voice calm in the way that meant very not calm. “Mitchell. It’s 8:30. We’re on a highway. Don’t you think I would’ve found a rest stop if I’d remembered we had a Zoom prayer at nine?”

“Okay but—”

“No buts. Sit your ass down. I’m stepping on the gas.”

Mitchell and Alabaster scrambled for the passenger seat at the same time, ending up tangled in a heap of feathers and limbs, clinging to each other like panicked earthworms.

Ethan hit the gas, and the Winnebago flew, headlights like twin moons burning through the mist. 

There may have been a police chase. Possibly several traffic violations. A brief airborne moment they all agreed not to talk about.

But they got there.

And really, that’s what mattered.

They pulled into the rest stop at 8:57 p.m., the Winnebago screeching to a dramatic halt between two long-haul trucks and a suspiciously smoking sedan. 

The moment the gearshift slammed into park, Alabaster launched himself from the seat, wings half-flared

 “Quick, Mich-grab the incense, Ethan-ignite the runes!” 

Mitchell, already half-collapsed over his backpack, groaned, “It’s just a Zoom call Al, not an exorcism!”

Ethan didn’t pause for a second—already crouched by the van’s open side door, tracing a hand over the engraved triple moon sigil with enchanted chalk, muttering the protective chants under his breath. His graceful goose wings flexed once, tense and purposeful, before folding neatly against his back.

Inside, the camper transformed. Mitchell flung open their “ritual drawer” (formerly the snack drawer) and started assembling the makeshift altar on the fold-out table. Candles—battery-powered and haphazardly anointed—flickered to life. A box of totally not half-eaten insomnia cookies were placed on the alter as an offering. 

At exactly 9:00, the laptop was open, the screen blinding them with blue light. The Discord pings started almost immediately.

[🐦‍⬛Hekate's Hearth – Voice Prayer Room] Call in progress: 14 participants.

Faces popped in one after another—grainy, dimly lit rectangles of demigods, monster-folk, and a few bold mortals. A heavily scarred teenager logging on from a college dorm. A two-headed snake greeting them from the ruins of a temple. 

Alabaster instantly slipped into his “High Witch” persona: all poised reverence and smoky-voiced eloquence. His inky wings unfurled behind him like a ceremonial cape.

It was a Thursday, which meant Lilian-an older spawn of Melinoe with vulture wings and a streak of moonlight in her hair was leading the prayer tonight. 

She clasped her hands together, commanding silence as she spoke. 

“Welcome, children of the dark and divine. Tonight, we gather under the waning moon to remember what was lost—and to strengthen what remains.”

Mitchell tried to look solemn, though his eyes kept flicking to the chat window as someone sent yet another sticker of chibi morpheus doing finger guns.

Ethan, as always, kept his gaze lowered, fingers knotted together as the priestess began the invocation.

“Out of Erebos and Chaos she [the witch] called Nox (Night) [Nyx] and the Gods of Night (Di Nocti) and poured a prayer with long-drawn wailing cries to Hecate,” the woman intoned. “night-wanderer of the underworld (nyktipolis khthonie)and Queen of the dead (anassa eneroi).”

“Hear our plea oh lady of the night, to help us through our grief and to protect those we lost in your delightful afterlife.” 

Tonight’s prayer was one of accepting grief, honoring those lost and remembering them in glory. A moment of silence was taken for those fallen ones. 

As the prayers were read, the mood in the van shifted. They'd all known someone. Fought beside someone. Lost someone.

Mitchell's wings drooped, the soft curls of his frillback feathers twitching faintly.

Alabaster lit a single white incense stick and uttered a name that made Ethan flinch.

They said nothing for a moment, letting the stillness speak.

Then came the part where everyone shared—a line, a prayer, a memory, a woe.

When it reached Ethan, he cleared his throat and leaned forward, voice thin but steady. “Grief is not something to be ashamed of, I plead with our lady for strength to overcome it and knowledge to learn to live with it. Perhaps it will never disappear, but that doesn’t stop the motion of the world. Life changes, and so must we”. 

A beat of silence. Then the priestess gave a solemn nod. “Well said, child of balance.” 

The camera caught Mitchell blinking fast, eyes glossy as he smiled sheepishly.

Ethan squeezed his hand beneath the table.

Alabaster didn’t speak, but his wings reached out to curl lightly around both of them.

The ritual closed with soft goodbyes, waves, and flickering screens blinking out one by one. The call ended. The laptop screen went dark, casting them in the gentle glow of battery candles and incense smoke curling through the cramped space.

For a while, none of them moved.

Then Mitchell exhaled shakily, wiping his cheeks. “Gods. That always hits harder than I expect.”

“Because it matters,” Alabaster said softly.  “We’re still here. That has to mean something.”

Silence settled again, thick and comfortable.

Outside, the wind stirred. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called.

Ethan smiled faintly, resting his head back. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a long drive.”

“Where to?” Alabaster asked.

“Wherever we’re needed.”

The Winnebago didn’t move yet, but the road was already calling.

And with three mismatched sets of wings, a laptop, and a dream, they were ready to answer it. 

Together.

@titan-army-week

[titan-army-week]

@titan-army-week

day 5: Drowning

[titan-army-week]

@titan-army-week

Day 6: Prophecy

probably one of my least favorite pieces, but hey, I got to take the liberty of the prophecy hanging from a cord! I also keep thinking about the lightning burns luke canonically got from being thrown against zeus' throne in tlo.. :3

[titan-army-week]

Day 6: Cursed

I originally thought there was a day for labyrinth, but I think I misread one or maybe looked at the former years lol. Cursed just kinda came in because insanity is a curse, and so many people think that the king (the one that deceived Nico I forgot his name) was the one who cursed Chris.

@titan-army-week

[titan-army-week]

Titan army week, Day 6 Prophecy/Curse

Lee Fletcher woke with a jolt, heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted out. Chest heaving and sweat slicking his skin despite the cool night air inside the cabin. 

Around him, the other bunks slept undisturbed. No monsters. No blood. No panic. Just his siblings sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the horror their brother had gotten a glimpse of. 

Lee sat up slowly, gripping his sheets like they could anchor him to now. The images still pulsed behind his eyes. The sight of Luke–his best and eldest friend, standing over a battlefield of broken children holding a dual-metal blade that burned with betrayal. 

There was more after that, mangled corpses of the innocent and the golden eyes of a stolen face, his own death, Kronos. All of it soaked together in his brain, mixing and melting to the point of impossibility. 

He didn’t know exactly what he saw, just that it was horrible and somehow at the fault of someone who’d been nothing but friendly to him for years. 

He didn’t know who had sent the dream, or what it meant. 

All he knew was that he needed answers.

And unfortunately, he knew exactly where to find them.

The son of Apollo found Luke at Zeus' fist, surrounded by the smell of ash and sweat, dark circles under his eyes and a cigarette tucked between his fingers. 

Usually Lee would join him, and they’d talk for hours about things that didn’t matter, avoiding the real reasons they were out of their cabins in the first place. 

But tonight he approached hurriedly, grabbing his friend's arm and speaking with a serious tone. “We need to talk.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “What’s this about? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The half-blood didn’t pause. “Not a ghost,” he said quietly. “The future.”

The son of Hermes blinked, cigarette hovering near his lips. “What?”

“I saw you,” Lee pressed, grip tightening on Luke’s arm. “In a dream. A prophecy. A nightmare– Whatever it was.You were standing over bodies, Luke. Kids. Campers. My siblings-your siblings! Starting a war, one that would destroy us.” 

Luke flinched, almost too fast to notice. That flicker of guilt and recognition, an admission that Lee almost didn’t want to accept.

“I don’t know what you’re planning,” Lee continued, voice trembling from both fear and fury. “But you’re hiding something, and I need you to tell me the truth.”

His friend was quiet. Too quiet. The cigarette burned down between his fingers, forgotten. “That’s not going to happen, I won’t let it happen.” He said at last.

Lee’s breath hitched. “So it’s true, you do know what I saw.”

Luke looked away, jaw clenched. “It’s not going to end like that, you have to believe me.”

“Then tell me what’s going on,” the son of Apollo demanded. “Tell me why the person who taught me how to hold a sword is about to start a war that endangers the very children he swore to love and protect.”

“I’m trying to fix things, Lee.” Luke’s voice cracked with desperation, years of pain bubbling up to the surface. “Camp is broken. The gods are broken. I just... I’m going to do something about it Lee, I’m going to stand up for myself, for us–all of us!”

The archer shook his head, recalling the grotesque images from his dream and trying to reconcile it with his friend’s words. “That’s not what I saw Lu! I saw the suffering of demigods-not gods!–our suffering” 

A silence hung between them like a glass balanced on the edge of a counter.

Then Luke quietly spoke. “Please don’t tell anyone. Not yet. I’m going to fix this, fix everything”

Lee crossed his arms over his chest, trying to comfort himself. “Promise me, promise me you aren’t going to hurt anyone.” 

The son of Hermes stepped forward to wrap his friend up in a hug, grateful and regretful all at once. “I promise.”  

Lee wanted to believe him. Gods, he wanted to.

But the image wouldn’t leave—tiny bodies crumpled and tossed to the side like discarded puppets, the golden eyes that belonged to neither of them, the broken thrones. 

He swallowed the ache in his throat. “Okay,” he said softly. “But if I see something-if you break your promise, I will snitch.”

Luke nodded once, sharp and slow. “It won’t come to that.”

They didn’t speak of it after that night. Not directly. Not even as things began to click and roll into motion. The new kid being claimed by Poseidon, a hellhound getting into camp, the lightning bolt going missing. 

It worried him, but the archer kept quiet. 

And then that kid came into the infirmary on his death bed, and Lee had no choice but to chase Luke down for answers again. 

And this time, there was no question, a promise had been broken and he’d been lied to. 

Lee found his target loitering by the treeline, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a hesitant look on his face, he didn’t get to react before a bow was drawn and an arrow embedded itself in a tree right next to his head. 

The first words out of Luke’s mouth were panicked. “Wait! I can explain, I promise–” 

Lee cut him off, teeth barred in aggression. “You just broke your promise! You lied to me and tried to murder a child! The dirt means more to me now than your stupid promises.” 

The son of Hermes held up his hands slowly, like his word held any weight now. “It wasn’t like that. He—he was never supposed to die–he’s not going to die” 

The archer took a step forward, bow still drawn, jaw clenched so hard it ached. “You poisoned him. You stood over him and watched him writhe! What part of that communicates you're not trying to kill him?”

“I didn’t want this,” Luke insisted, eyes wild. “it was never supposed to turn out like this!”

“But it’s what you chose! You tried to kill him Lu.” Lee shouted, voice breaking. “You promised me. You looked me in the eye and promised you wouldn’t hurt anyone, and now there’s a kid in my infirmary suffering because of you.”

The traitor flinched like the words had struck deeper than any arrow would’ve been able to.

Lee stared at him, searching for the boy he used to know. The one who taught him how to disarm a sword, how to read without hurting his eyes, how to hold hope in his chest keep it there no matter what.

He couldn’t find him.

The son of Apollo lowered the bow just enough to look his former friend in the eye, chest heaving and words sounding pained as he spoke. “I should’ve told Chiron. I should’ve told everyone, the second I had that dream. I stayed quiet because I thought you would never do something like that, I trust you knew better, I trusted you were still the same kind kid I’ve leaned on since forever."

Luke’s voice cracked as he stumbled forward. “I am! I still am.”

“No.” Lee said, voice colder than the Atlantic. “You're not, and you haven’t been for ages, I’ve just been too blind to see it.”

“From this moment forward,” Lee said slowly, like the gods themselves were eavesdropping “I curse you, Luke Castellan. For the blood you’ll spill. For the children you’ll send to die. For every oath you broke and every lie you’ve spoken with malicious intent.” 

He stepped closer, eyes glowing radiantly with his father’s power. “May your war end with you. May your mind and body rot in the jaws of what you thought you could control.”

Luke just stood there, too stunned to respond. 

The silence stretched for minutes before the thief simply turned around and ran. 

Faintly Lee could hear the sounds of chaos behind him, but instead of rushing back he just stood there, crushed under the burden his own secrecy had granted him. 

This wasn’t over, not for either of them. 

.

.

.

The curse didn’t come true, not for years, and Luke and Lee both had begun to doubt its validity. 

It wasn’t until that day far in the future, when a blade finally lodged itself in Luke’s gut and Kronos uttered his last words through mortal lips, that Luke was reminded of the words that damned him.

His last thoughts were of the revenge the fates had inflicted on him for his foolishness, if only he had listened, if only he had changed. 

But he didn’t, and now here he was, bleeding out on a floor older than his mortal bloodline. 

Luke didn’t have the strength for last words, but that was only because they had already been spoken long ago. 

@titan-army-week

[titan-army-week]

@titan-army-week

Day 5: Drowning

idk how to feel about this one or day 6&7.. my motivation sort of crashed after day 4 😔

But yeah!! PA goes boom!!

[titan-army-week]

Titan army week, Day 5 Drowning/Last time

This was it, it had to be, Charlie was dead. 

And if Charlie was dead then what reason did Silena have to still be living? 

Grief pressed on her lungs like seawater. Every breath burned. Her heart still beat—but it shouldn’t have. Not after his stopped. Death would be the only thing to redeem her. 

She hadn’t cried when she got the news. Not in front of anyone. Instead, she smiled, tight-lipped and empty-eyed—and said, “He died a hero.” Just as was expected of her. 

But him dying a hero didn’t sooth the hole in her soul, just doubled the weight pressing down on her. 

This was her fault after all, she killed him. 

She had orchestrated the murder of the love of her life, and now she was weeping over it like a child. 

Gods, how pathetic was that? 

Silena Beauregard, daughter of Aphrodite, had spent her whole life learning to hold her chin high and smile. She had learned to build herself into a weapon, something unbreakable and something untouchable. 

But nothing in her arsenal had ever prepared her for this kind of heartbreak.

Her first and last love, of that she was sure. 

Silena was tired. Tired of pretending she hadn’t already died with him. Like she didn’t die a little more every time a pitying glance was thrown her way and every time some offered her their condolences. 

Shame haunted her every waking moment, and Kronos dominated her every sleeping second. 

Everyone either pitied her or hated her, and Silena wasn’t sure which was worse. 

The battle of Manhattan loomed over the future, and yet she couldn’t find the strength to pull herself out of bed. 

But war waited for no one, so when Chiron came to rouse the other soldiers, she fell into line behind them. 

The bracelet felt like a chain around her wrist. 

Silena knew she would die, she could only hope it would be soon. 

As expected the streets of Manhattan were a war zone.

Smoke coiled from burning dumpsters, monsters thundered through the avenues like stampedes of buffalo. The air was thick with the scent of ozone, ash, and blood, so much blood.

Silena fought like someone with nothing left to lose, ignoring both the concerned looks from her friends and the pointed glares from her former comrades. 

She hurled herself into the fray with reckless precision, her blade flashing like an emergency flare.

 A hellhound lunged, and she met it head-on, rolling beneath snapping jaws to drive her dagger through its throat. It disintegrated with a howl, but she didn’t have time to pause when there was already another enemy in front of her.

A dracaenae slashed toward her with claws outstretched and fangs barred. Silena sidestepped and slashed at it, the movement fluid and vicious. 

She felt the sting of lacerations opening across her torso, but the pain didn’t phase her. Nothing really did anymore. 

Her world had narrowed solely to the fight and the beat of a heart that had stopped some time ago.

“Silena!” someone yelled—one of the younger kids, maybe, there was panic in their voice—but she ignored them. She didn’t want to retreat. Didn’t want to be helped.

She moved from street to street, fighting alongside kids who knew nothing of her crimes, alongside those who both doubted her and alongside those who falsely respected her. 

No one stopped to congratulate or communicate with each other, because by the time they regained the energy to do so they were already moving again.

The battle was ruthless and everlasting, but she would endure it, for it was nothing but what she deserved. 

And through it all, Silena prayed—not to her mother, not to any god who would hear her. She prayed to Charlie, prayed that he would forgive her when she went down to join him.

The ceasefire was unexpected but greatly appreciated by her allies. Most took this as the time to rest and heal. 

Not her though, rest would’ve been impossible with the static floating between her ears, and when Will came to pester her about her wounds she just sent him off with a single word. 

There was no point in wasting resources on somebody who was already dead. 

It had been hours and yet the Ares cabin had yet to appear, behind her sounded a barely concealed argument, something about a draken only Clarisse could beat. 

The ceasefire wouldn’t last. The enemy was regrouping—and the Ares kids still hadn’t come. She overheard one camper curse their name, spitting that they were useless without Clarisse. Another whispered that the drakon would kill them all before help arrived.

They needed Clarisse. 

But she wasn’t coming, not without intervention at least.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the van, the same one she rode every summer into camp, it must’ve been heading back for more supplies. 

Silena started walking towards it before she could talk herself out of it.

Argos didn’t question her presence. 

The ride was short and tense. But she made sure to say goodbye before she got out, knowing never again she would meet his eyes. 

The Ares cabin was the largest source of sound in the empty camp, loaded with anxious warriors ready to fight but unready to disobey their leader. 

Clarisse’s armor was easy enough to find, it took her a while to steal it and even longer to fit into it. 

And when she was sure the daughter of Ares herself was in the bathroom, she stormed the Ares cabin, never letting them get a clear enough look to doubt. Anger and authority poured off her like heat, enough to make it a convincing act.

She ordered them to load up into the chariot, and so they did. 

By the time they marched onto the battlefield, the drakon already tearing through lines of demigods, Silena led the charge with barely concealed terror. 

For a moment, she was weightless—soaring through the air, stolen spear clenched in trembling hands, every muscle screaming.

The drakon snarled beneath her, mouth wide, golden eyes locked onto hers.

Charles had died a hero, and now so would she. 

@titan-army-week

[titan-army-week]

@titan-army-week Day 4 (I’m doing these out of order shhhh): Immortals/Coffin

Wow! This looked way better two months ago on a roadtrip when I made it!

[titan-army-week]

@titan-army-week Day 2: Poison

Ethan piece! I… tried.

[titan-army-week]

@titan-army-week

Day 4: Immortal

so uhhhh...pretty sure this prompt was meant for something else, but I made them all into gods by pairing them w songs I like ........

i also had to switch up a bunch of songs due to the fact that I didn't like some, which is why Ethan and Kelli have a duo art

but yeah I wanted to include everyone

[titan-army-week]

Titan army week, Day 4 Immortals/Coffin

It was a nice day, Alabaster supposed. He had already fulfilled all his required guard duty shifts for the month, which left the next two weeks free, barring the daily tasks of training and supervising. 

If it was sunny he would’ve considered taking his siblings out for a picnic like they had been begging earlier. The weather however was overcast, with gray skies and the scent of rain heavy even inside Othrys’s thick stone walls. 

The potions room was full, with Carnelian and Flint having reserved it for the next three hours to do some big experiment involving the re-animation of small animals. Usually Alabaster was the one the watch and make sure none of the experiments manage to burn the entirety of the mountain down, but this time it was Jasper who volunteered to supervise. 

Seeing as he had nothing to do, Alabaster gradually gravitated towards his beloved, after all it had only been a couple days since Ethan had accepted his advances–and they had yet to separate for more than a few hours since. 

Ethan was walking through the long halls when Alabaster slid out of the shadows behind him, the son of Hecate moving forward to place his chin atop his lover’s shoulder. 

Ethan didn’t flinch—just letting out a breath like he’d been expecting this. His posture eased, and he reached up to brush his knuckles against the auburn hair poking again his jaw. 

Words came after a moment of comfortable quiet, his voice low and warm. “Somebody’s been lurking again, what happened to that experiment in the potions lab?”

Alabaster hummed quietly, leaning more weight onto the stout body in front of him. “Jasper’s watching for me this time.” 

Ethan quirked an eyebrow. “For real? I thought you said the twins were close to a breakthrough this time, your usually so hyped for those” 

The witch groaned and buried his face in his lover’s shoulder. “Yeah but Jasper seemed so excited to actually see some real Necromancy in action” 

The son of Nemesis lowered his hand and crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you both just supervise?” 

Alabaster didn’t wait to consider the option. ”Are you trying to send me away? Gods forbid I want to spend time with my lovely boyfriend.” 

Ethan chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Yeah whatever, I’m just not exactly on my way to do something fun.” 

The witch dramatically straightened. “Well I’m already here, so it’s fine.” 

The soldier shook his head fondly, but intertwined his fingers with his lover’s when prompted, tugging the other along to the heart of the mountain. 

The trickle of people slowed as they approached the throne room, silence leaking in through the walls along with a sense of seriousness. 

Currently Kronos was posted on the Princess Andromeda, which meant it was empty, sans the huge golden coffin resting in the very middle of the room. 

Alabaster stiffened after stepping through the door, the innate magic the sarcophagus oozed started to lap at him, invading his senses like a gentle wave–powerful and threatening in a way that didn’t require words. 

Ethan let go of his hand and continued on, kneeling by the ten foot casket. 

The room was freezing, prompting Alabaster to soon join his boyfriend on the floor, sides pressed against each other. 

The carvings were horrific to look at, but impossible to look away from, wars and massacres engraved in cold gold, evoking emotion with less than a glance. 

Despite that instinctual repellence Ethan continued on, tracing the depictions from the destruction of the Acropolis to World War one to Hiroshima. Alabaster huddled close behind, studying the images with a detached melancholy. 

Around them the room was littered with offerings, different incenses and trinkets left in hopes the titan would grant the worshipper his favor, 

Finally, after half an hour of relative silence and stillness, Ethan sat down, legs dangling just off the stone floor. Soon enough the witch followed, once again grabbing his lover’s hand to hold. 

Alabaster surveyed the room. “Do you think Kronos ever has nightmares?–about being cut up and trapped, do you think he dreams? Like we do?” 

Ethan blinked. “I don’t think Kronos can dream no, he’s nothing like us, not Kronos.” 

The witch met his gaze. “You think so?” 

The soldier confirmed. “Yeah, I think so. He gave life to the gods, didn’t he?” 

“But he’s nothing like the gods, he’s not supposed to be.” 

“Well he’s nothing like us either, so he must be like them.” 

A pause.

“I guess you must be right”  Alabaster nodded closer like he agreed. Or like he didn’t, but it didn’t matter.

Ethan’s thumb rubbed absently over his partner’s knuckles. “You ever think about how we ended up here? Not just the war. All of it. The gods, the titans. Their kids. Us.”

Alabaster leaned his head against Ethan’s shoulder again, eyes flicking toward the casket’s edge.

“All the time.”

“I used to think immortality was some prize, like the coolest power ever, something only deity’s possessed for a reason.” Ethan murmured, eyeing on a carving of a particularly brutal conquering 

“And now?”

“Now?” He sighed, leaning his cheek into Alabaster’s hair. “Now I think maybe death is one of the kindest gifts mortals ever received.” 

Alabaster didn’t argue. He thought of what Kronos had promised—what he was—and the weight of forever, damming even the luckiest of immortals. 

“The gods don’t care what happens to us–they never did” Ethan continued, voice gaining heat. “Not really. Not the way they pretend to. They come down from Olympus, give out quests, take a couple of kids for trophies, then vanish. ‘Minor gods’–our parents are left to wither away with no credit for their own power. That’s why we joined, isn’t it? That’s why we’re doing this”

Alabaster closed his eyes. “Yeah-yeah it is. The titans will lead us to victory, to a better tomorrow, for all of us” 

The son of Nemesis huffed bitterly. “Who’s to say they’re any better” 

The witch went rigid, squeezing his partner’s hand. “Because they have to be.” 

Ethan leaned back, glancing mournfully at the back of his partner’s head before pulling him closer. 

“Okay.”

Alabaster let himself be guided, melting into the warmth stone could not provide. 

The titans have to be better, he won’t let himself consider the possibility that they’re not. 

@titan-army-week