head exploding with rage

The Tale of Harecules

So earlier today I got bored and was looking through old Hercules au art. And then I wrote this. Enjoy :)

@trashasaurusrex @judylavernehopps


Long ago, the world was ruled by almighty powers. Merciless, omnipotent, capricious beings full of arrogance. These hateful Titans ruled unchallenged, preying upon the land and it’s denizens, draining it of resources and leaving their subjects to starve and die while they sat in the luxury of their realms, leaving only to sow more terror among the land. But that would soon change. These beings, while almost invincible, made one tragic mistake. One careless, unconsidered action which brought about their downfall. They reproduced. Except, their offspring was different, unlike them, possessing fur, teeth, and claws, the aspects of ordinary mammals, but the powers of their parents. These Titans soon realized their mistake, but it was too late. Their children, led by the mighty lion Zeus, cast them out. They locked their parents in a pit of inescapable darkness entombed beneath the ocean floor and deep in the underworld: Tartarus. Not only were the Titans incapable of breaking free from their prison, Tartarus was only accessible when all the planets aligned, and then only for a few moments. The Titans had fallen and their children became the Gods, far more benevolent and kind beings, happy to help their subjects so long as an appropriate sacrifice was made. However, much like their parents, the Gods made several mistakes. The worst of which was that of Zeus, the fearless leader who finally cast out the Titans. As the eldest of his three brothers and the most powerful, he christened himself lord of the skies, the most powerful of the gods. He gifted the domain of the ocean to his brother Poseidon, who was a mighty sea lion and greatly appreciated his brother’s gift. And then there was Hades. The runt. The baby. The weird one. Hades’ domain was to be the underworld, a dark and desolate place where the souls of the dead gathered in droves, forever circling in a bottomless pool. Zeus and the rest of the Gods receded to the heavens to build Mount Olympus, an inspiring and wondrous edifice that was beautiful beyond comprehension. Hades was left to the Underworld. To his dark palace. To his schemes. He vowed revenge upon his brothers and the other gods for the way that they had wronged him. He would take his revenge and bring about the downfall of the Gods! And much like the downfall of the Titans, it all began with a child.

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2

“So what is this thing called again?” Fred asked you, pointing toward the  screen in the movie theater, blocking the view of the people behind you. You quickly lowered his hand and set it on the arm rest, entwining your fingers with his. 

“It a movie screen, I’ve told you that a thousand times.” You whisper to him, “Also, please keep your voice down. You can’t be loud in here, others will complain like last time.”

Fred chuckled at the memory of the rude mother scolding him for laughing to loud at the film a few weeks ago. You slap his arm, “It wasn’t funny, it was embarrassing!”

A few seats over, someone shushed the two of you and you quickly looked back to the screen, squeezing Fred’s hand to make him to the same. 


After the movie, you and Fred walked along the sidewalk of your city, heading toward the ice cream shop and taking in the view of the night sky. 

“I haven’t had the ice cream here yet. What kinds do they have?” Fred asked you.

“Well, my boy, you’ll just have to wait and see.” A smirk made it’s way onto your face as you both rounded to corner, arriving at your destination. 

Quickly, the two of you ordered your ice cream, found seats on the patio, and discuss your days. Fred tells you how the shop was and about the eager child who just so happen to knock over an entire shelf. 

“It took forever to clean up! The kid’s mother didn’t even try to help at all. I swear George was about to explode with rage!” Fred shook his head, “And once we got that all cleaned up, the same kid decided that he wanted to see how high he could climb on the other shelf, almost knocking that one over too!”

You giggle as his voice fills with disgust, “I think you were the one about to explode with rage, not George.”

He looks at you, making an offended face, “I would never loose my cool, I am always calm and collected.” 

You roll you eyes, “Yeah, say that to the guy who was flirting with me the other day. I don’t think he deserved the fireworks in his pants.”

Fred stopped shoveling ice cream into his mouth and looked at you, “He most defiantly deserved it, I was standing right there!”

With that, you laughed out loud and got up the throw away the now empty ice cream bowls. Fred got up right after you and you both went back onto the sidewalk, headed to the arcade down the street to finish off your date night.


“I don’t understand how to play this! Why do those stupid ghost thing want to kill me?” Fred looked at the game of Pac-man, all three of his lives gone.

“I don’t know why but now you’re just wasting your money. You’ve tried it four times. Why don’t we go play something else like ski ball?” You ask him and he signed, obviously defeated by the multicolor ghosts. 

“Okay.”

The Witching Hour

Okay this is a fanfic I came up with based on a prompt that I made up that is “Drunken 2am thoughts”. IDC if anyone else wants to use that for a prompt thing, but ye I’m writing a, you guessed it, Snowbaz fanfic. :-)

This is a little spooky bc u know….. halloween….

Let’s see how this goes….

——–

It was 2am. 2am, a magical time. “The Witching Hour,” as some call it. A time where you could sit alone, let the darkness lull you into a soft trance. A time where the only sounds are your steady breathing in the empty room. A time where monsters lurk, creating fantasies out of shadows of the past. A time where you’re mind twists things such as a small sound, or a flash of a memory. A time that consumes some, leading them down dark, twisted allies until they can’t find their way back. 

Not all of us experience the horrors of these nights. Some are asleep before it starts. Some, it grazes over, leaving nothing but a small shake of a head to rid themselves of it. But for some, it slips in silently, reaches ever so close, whispering it’s secrets, driving some mad with worry. Unfortunately, Simon happened to be one of these poor souls on this cold and sleepless night. 

Baz came back into the room four hours ago. He slipped in like he always did. Silently and gracefully, pulling himself into his bed without so much as a crinkle of the sheets. Simon closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, but watching him through his half lidded eyes. Baz was staring straight back at him, completely unaware that Simon was still awake. They stayed like that for at least another two hours or so, then Baz closed his eyes and drifted off.

Simon let himself fully open his eyes. He could hardly see because of the pitch darkness that surrounded him like a thick bucket of paint, but he could make out Baz’s features somehow in the darkness. His hair blending into his surroundings with its inky blackness. His face looking like it was carved out of marble from an expert sculptor. His long, thin, violinist fingers clutching the pristine white pillow, rumpling it. There was something elegant about Baz, but at the same time, it was demonic. Like when something seems too good to be true and you know it’s all some twisted lie. 

That’s why I hate him, Simon thinks to himself. He frowns in disgust and a bronze curl falls in front of his eyes. He mindlessly pushes it back and stares at Baz, wondering what kind of plotting goes on in that head of his. He then notices the small smile curling on Baz’s lips. It’s not like his smirk. It doesn’t seem cruel or twisted. It seems happy. Probably dreaming about when he finally sinks his fangs into my neck, Simon thinks to himself.

The clock on his bedside table clicks, and clicks, and clicks. Simon takes turns staring at Baz, and then at the ceiling, trying to figure out a way to fall asleep. Soon, the time passes until it’s almost 2am. 1:59 to be exact. Then, one loud, sharp tick rings through the air. 2am, on the dot. A stillness settles in the air that wasn’t there before. Simon no longer hears the quiet, steady breathing of Baz. All there is is his breath and the loud beating of his heart. The rain seems to pound harder, to the beat of his racing heart. The air gets cooler, causing small goosebumps to dot Simon’s skin. He pulls up the covers tightly around himself to try and block out the cold, and turns back to Baz.

An almost shadow like figure creeps behind Simon. It eyes him like it’s next meal, which he pretty much is. It lays a long, withered hand on Simon’s shoulder, causing him to shudder. The figure leans close to Simon, so it’s face is right next to Simon’s ear. It latches onto every memory clinging to Simon’s brain, searching for something in between girls with blonde hair and tall boys with slicked back black hair and grey eyes.

He looks so vulnerable when he sleeps, the silhouette whispers. Simon cocks his head. His secrets seem to gush out from him, don’t they, Simon looks closer, seeing the happy bliss on Baz falling on his face. His lips seem to mouth words that don’t make a sound. Huh. That’s funny. They seem to be saying “Simon”. 

It’s really beautiful when his hair hangs around his face like that. The shadow feels Simon’s shoulders tense, then relaxes in a sort of happy fondness. Interesting. 

I wonder what it would feel like to run my hands through his hair. The shadow feeds the thoughts to Simon with a slight push forward. Simon reaches out, as if to touch Baz’s hair. Then pulls his hands back suddenly, his guard back up. The shadow tries to break the walls again.

I wish I saw his smile more often. It’s really magical. Simon lets out a dreamy sigh. I wish I made him smile like that. A feeling wrenches in his stomach that he can’t quite explain. The shadow finds pleasure making the boy’s gut twist in a feeling that’s part of a whole new world. 

Aleister Crowley, his lips are perfectly shaped, the shadow pushes again. So perfect. I bet it’d be a miracle to kiss them. Simon stiffens as if the thought surprised him.

“What the hell?” he whispers into the room.

C’mon Simon. It’s not like you haven’t thought of it before. Simon tries to push the thought out of his head. The shadow grips tighter. Simon flashes back to all the times he pinned Baz to a wall after a particularly nasty fight. How his eyes always searched Baz’s for any sign of weakness, anything that told him to stop. Any emotion. And then his eyes drifted to Baz’s perfectly shaped lips curved into a sneer, begging Simon to do his worst. Simon remembered feeling Baz’s warm breath on his neck and how it made his body tingle in an emotion he couldn’t quite identify. He remembered the way he always looked for Baz first. 

No, Simon thinks.

But… what if–

NO!

But what about this–

I. Am not. In love. With Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

Snow-Pitch does sound lovely, doesn’t it?

AGH!

Simon and Baz Snow-Pitch. Has a nice ring to it.

Just–

I bet he’s really muscular underneath that shirt. What would it be like to run my–

STOP!

I should corner him. I should kiss him. I should ask him why he mouths my name in his sleep…..

NO NO NO NO NO!! HE’S THE ENEMY!

Aw he’s doing a happy little sigh. He’s so hot.

I–I–I–

I am in love with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

I am in love with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. My enemy. My roommate. A boy. A boy. 

I am in love with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. 

The shadow’s work was done. It removed it’s hands and left the poor boy to sort out the mess of emotions swirling around him like a tornado. He clutched his head as if it would explode if he didn’t. A battle was raging inside him, and the wrong team was winning. 

…..

The next morning, Simon could barely Baz’s eyes. The grey eyes like the silver buttons on his coat. The grey eyes like the weather just before a storm. The grey eyes that where the perfect balance for his stunning blue. He was the rain to his sky. He was the calm to his fire. No no no no NO! Stop it Simon! 

Baz noticed Simon’s strange behaviour. He was beating himself up more than usual, looking around like a lost puppy. He hardly paid attention to Bunce during breakfast. Something happened, Baz thinks to himself. And he was going to figure out what.

When Simon walked into the room, Baz took no time into pushing him against the wall, causing Simon to bang his head painfully. His eyes looked equally as painful. Both of their hearts started to leap into their throats as they realized how close they where. Close enough to kiss, they both thought in unison. They looked into each other’s eyes, sky on a spring day between them.

“What are you doing, Baz?” Simon asks, trying to act like his usual self. Before he found out–NO!

I would ask you the same thing, Snow,” Baz says in his usual tone. He notices Simon look at his lips as he forms the word “Snow”. Baz is so glad he hasn’t had enough blood to blush, otherwise he would’ve resembled a tomato. 

Simon,” Simon says.

“What?”

“Call me Simon.”

“And why the hell would I do that, Snow?”

“Because…. because….” Simon only sees one option. He never had a relationship with Baz to risk anyway, right? Surely this couldn’t hurt….

Plus, Simon was curious. And a lovestruck curious boy drunk on 2am thoughts is a dangerous thing.

Simon reached and put his hands on Baz’s chest. Baz thought that Simon was going to shove him off, but he was surprised when the golden fingers clenched on the fabric of Baz’s shirt, and instead of pushing him away, clutched him closer. 

“Simon what–” Baz never finishes. How could he when a dream is playing in reality. Simon kisses him fiercely with so much passion, Baz isn’t sure he’s isn’t dreaming it. He closes his eyes and tentatively hovers his hands over Simon’s waist. Simon releases Baz’s shirt, not breaking contact, and presses Baz’s hands to his hips. Baz is shocked by the sudden movement, but clutches Simon tighter anyway, letting his lips work against Simon’s. He lets his hands slip under his shirt and trail over his back, feeling new curves he never seen before. 

Simon slides his hands through Baz’s hair, drinking Baz in. His hair is soft, he smells like Earl Grey tea, and Simon loves it. He loves the fiery wisps that Baz trails on his skin with every new kiss and touch. He loves how the both dive in after taking a bit of air. He loves feeling Baz’s smooth, marble-like cheeks under his hands. He practically melts when he lets his hands slip under Baz’s shirt. 

That’s when they realized they are both hopelessly in love with each other. 

The Witching Hour really was a magical time.