Louise
Every bite is a masterpiece.
Sherry
Accepting Alastor's invitation to learn how to bake, Hyacinthus was wrought with nerves as he made his way to the man's home. While their initial meeting became a playful rapport that took the god out of his comfort zone, the unshakeable feeling of inadequacy he felt amongst others wasn't easy to ignore. Alastor, however, radiated power and confidence in a way Hyacinthus had never felt or seen before. Whether or not his new friend knew it, he had done wonders for helping put a pep in the young god's step. 

In the dimly lit kitchen of Alastor's home, Hyacinthus cracked two eggs into a bowl as Alastor stood beside him. The man's gaze was intense and intimidating, but brought a sense of safety in a jarringly addictive way that made him curious. Unlike him, Alastor wasn't an easy person to suss out, and given that Hyacinthus didn't have many friends these days, there was always the possibility that he was simply being toyed with through pity...

He reached for the flour but paused as two arms stretched across the counter and blocked his path. Alastor had reached for the bag at the same time, offering that dark gaze to Hyacinthus who withdrew his arms and let them drop by his side. With a shy smile, the young god snickered, then moved the bowl of eggs closer for Alastor to add the flour to. 

**"Sorry Alastor,"** He said kindly. **"Maybe I'm getting too ahead of myself. I'm not actually sure what comes first,"** Hyacinthus pouted. **"The eggs or the flour. I actually used to bake with my mother before I was taken by Apollo to Olympus. That seems like so long ago,"** His voice was barely above a whisper as he recanted the memory with a glum disposition. **"When I had a family."**

He went quiet as he placed a hand on the countertop which trembled slightly while reaching for the sugar. Once a prince that was beloved by his people, Hyacinthus remembered the times of old, when his father would proudly dote and celebrate all his achievements, and when the citizens of Amyclae excitedly anticipated his succession of the throne. But gone were those happy times, replaced by a deep cavern in his heart. 

Nowadays, Hyacinthus barely found the drive to do little more than oversee the natural cycle of nature's decay and rebirth. As far as responsibilities went, he was happy to serve at Demeter's appraisal, but did little else outside of that. Since being taken by Apollo and made immortal, he had become adrift and spiritually lost - no close family to guide him, and no friends outside of Ganymede to call his own.

He nervously riddled with the sugar pot and quietly panicked as he began to open the lid, his breath hitching as it became clear he was too lost in his thoughts to focus. Suddenly, it popped off and the pot of sugar tipped over, white crystals engulfing the counter in a small spill of white. **"Sorry Alastor,"** He said glumly, but politely. **"I'll clean that up right away. I suppose I don't really fit in with all of you."**

He helplessly shovelled piles of sugar into his hand, scooping it back into the pot, only for more to spill over the counter and onto the tiled floor with each swipe. Slowly, Hyacinthus let go of the sugar pot and looked up at Alastor with melancholy eyes, realising that even the simplest tasks had somehow become a challenge.

**"I grew up in Sparta,"** He admitted, humiliation taking grip of him as his cheeks flushed a shade of pink. **"Back then, I wasn't allowed to be in the kitchen. But my mum used to sneak me in. I think I'm really bad at this."**

||
Karen
The taller God watched the other carefully, though since this was his time to learn, there wasn't much he wanted to say that wouod distract him. Alastor let Hyacinthus work as he pleased, though it seemed the golden boy had a way of making memory as flighty as birds. One moment the thought was there and in nearly the same moment it was gone.
His gaze settled on the God of Rebirth. Even though his eyebrows were pinched ever so slightly in that center, his eyes held no scrutiny.

**"At some point or another you will have to remember which comes first, depending on what cake you are making. Though there is really no reason to try to memorize it if you cannot. Recipe books do exist. As much as they teach that memorizing is learning... Application is more important than memorization. 
In any case, all the ingredients will come to together regardless when it is time to put the cake batter in the pan."** 

Alastor spoke matter of factly, attempting to alleviate the pressure that Hyacinthus was currently feeling. Though, more feelings were coating his skin like honey, making it hard for him to do much of anything. The small nervous titter in his hands didn't go unnoticed. 

He paused Hyacinthus' movements of swiping against the counter, turning his head with a finger to meet his gaze. 
He knew that Hya was internalizing a lot of guilt at that moment, however misplaced it was.

**"There will always be new things to conquer and experience, but of all those trials, you must not be afraid to make mistakes. 
Learning is not linear and you must always start from square one in order to progress. 
Leave the sugar on the counter, make a mess. 
Your task is not to be perfect. If you were perfect you would not need me to teach you. We will worry about mess at a later time. Be bad now, so you can be good at it later."** 

Alastor's hand dropped away. 
**"Since you already have eggs in the bowl, you will want the sugar and the vanilla and what other spices there are in there. We will put

The flour and baking powder in a separate bowl."** 

The God of Retribution grasped the edge of a different, clean, mixing bowl. 
He was silent momentarily as Hyacinthus caught up to what he was to be doing. 

**"I apparently had a family at one point. Though, I do not remember them. It is probably for the better. Those who look back to the past are missing every step they take as they walk forward."**
Peter
He may have been associated with notions of clarity, truth, and memory, but Hyacinthus was immortalised at a more tender age than Alastor; unlike the other gods, he had lived as a mortal and knew firsthand what it was like to be human, though that was many moons ago. He held power over history as it lived in the memory of others, but sometimes struggled with his own. 

Alastor, however, made *Everything* Look easy; he was, amongst other things, cerebral, confident, and capable. In stark contrast, Hyacinthus had buried years of honest experience beneath layers of fallacy, beholden to fit the expectations of others. Accustomed to being the plaything of those more powerful, he had become used to allowing others to dictate who he was and the idea of self-determinism had become alien to him. 

**"You're right,"** He said with a little more life in his soft voice. **"Everything will be ok. I could easily just pluck the knowledge of how to bake like an expert out of the zeitgeist, but then it wouldn't be true."** 

As Alastor held his swiping hands still, Hyacinthus' head was turned by one of his fingers to face him. The taller god looked down at him with a healing sense of wisdom and calm, which pacified the boy's panic, and beckoned his violet eyes to his dark ones, paralysing them in a soothing gaze while Alastor spoke.

Hyacinthus was quiet as he nodded but listened carefully to each word. There was a stylish honesty to the way Alastor spoke which cut through the minutiae of worry like a hot knife through butter, leaving his smaller companion inspired and determined. Whether that was for his own sake or to impress Alastor he wasn't quite certain, but he knew deep down that he was right. It was time to accept that even immortal creatures could never be perfect, even if they had lived a lifetime being cherished and loved for being so. 

When Alastor moved his hands and reached for the mixing bowl, Hyacinthus cast his violet eyes to the spilt sugar and smiled faintly, then darted them to watch everything the taller god was doing. 

**"I can do that."** He said agreeably as he added the right amount of spoonfuls of sugar to the bowl with the eggs, followed by the prescribed measurements of vanilla and other assorted spices. 

He tapped the little spoon against the bowl and listened while Alastor recanted his history, his eyes softening as he empathised. There was a lot that Hyacinthus had forgotten over the years about his early life, which he seemed so estranged from now. 

**"I think you're right,"** He smiled. **"Can I please ask you a question, Alastor?"**
Karen
Alastor saw Hyacinthus as having more potential than he gave himself. He down played himself to fit the expectation of others, to be palatable to the Gods, as if he wasn't a God himself. Alastor wondered what he was like before he died. Every time he tried to remember, it was like his memory was a VHS tape that someone had recorded of an ATV championship over a wedding ceremony. In his case, it was Hercules, the knife in his hand, driving into him and then darkness. Death. There was some time missing in the beginning of his godhood, like how his soul manifested, powerfully, from the river and transformed into something more. He was a symbol of unrest. 
The God of Retribution watched Hyacinthus work, while not really seeing what he was doing. It didn't register on his face, or in his gaze. It was never a far away look that Alastor got when he was thinking. It was the gleam of being present, his mind at work, yet not there. 
He could really use a cigarette right about now. 

The spoon resounding against the tempered glass bowl brought Alastor back with a slow start, as if he'd been doing nothing but monitoring and staying as hands off as possible in order to allow the other God to learn. 
The smile that pulled along Hyacinthus' mouth was nearly innocent, perhaps even a little more bold than before. Safe. That wasn't a word that he often attributed himself to in any situation, but being a figurehead of justice, there was some safety in a solid foundation. 
Alastor idly straightened out his arms to place the heels of his palms to the edge of the counter, a sharp eyebrow ticking up as he considered his student. 

**"Depending on the context of your question, perhaps."** He gave an easy smile of his own, entertained by his own coy nature. **"Please, proceed."**
Irma
His beginnings, while not grounded in divinity, still contained all the trimmings of certain notoriety. Hyacinthus was the son of a Muse and consequently a minor deity of Chthonic background; it was hardly something to brag about, however, as the wealth and power of his mortal life overshadowed whatever godhood he had been afforded by birth. A prince of Sparta, destined to follow a path pre-destined for him, only to become the plaything of something, of *Someone* Greater. 

Was it truly any different than what could have been? He was never cut for war, much less the dangerous games of men who saw him as nothing more than their pawn.

Thankfully, Alastor had preheated the oven and prepared the cake tin before the younger god's arrival, leaving only the dry ingredients that needed to be combined in a separate bowl from the eggs, spices, butter, and sugar. The smaller god reached for the clean bowl and turned his face toward the other god once more, tipping his head back and looking up at him for an indication that he'd weighed the flour and baking powder correctly, and was ready to combine them.

It was clear, however, in the man's present yet unnervingly absent disposition, that his mind was simply elsewhere. Hyacinthus quickly looked away, casting aside the remnants of doubt about his task, and poured the correct amount of flour and baking powder into the clean bowl, slowly mixing it together in silence. He was certainly a god, but the trials of youth, with all its uncertainty, still saw him adhere to the unwritten boundaries of decency. 

Alastor was thinking, and he did not want to disturb that.

When he *Did* Come to, Hyacinthus was still wearing his warm, winsome smile. The ingredients were ready to combine wet with dry, and the smaller god was somewhat more spritely than before, his confidence simmering as Alastor's inspiring words stirred something in him. He waited for the man to answer him, his eyes darting to his hands as the heels pressed against the edge of the counter, then slowly trailed them up to Alastor's face.

**"Were you always a god? And if not, do you ever miss your family?"** He asked, a little frightened about his response. **"I mean, I know that's a stupid question, I just mean that I used to have so much, and you would think that with what Apollo gave to me, I'd have even more."** His violet eyes burned with an inquisitive timidness, but quickly darted away to fixate on the bowl, where he idly sifted flour through his fingers.

**"I don't understand why he didn't just let me die. I know what you said about making my own path... But I don't really have anything else to do here. Everything I ever wanted and the person I once was are gone."**

He misjudged the power of his own introspection, quickly swallowing his words and the lump that formed in his throat. In a snap, he turned away from Alastor and reached for the other bowl, hurriedly taking the large metal spoon beside it to combine the ingredients with haste. **"I can't believe how quickly time is going,"** He said with a chuckle, his breath hitching. **"I suppose making a cake is a lot easier than I thought."**

He kept his back to him, widening his wet eyes, feeling the sting of air as it dried them. Then he went still, his wrist jittering as he held the spoon perpendicular to the bowl. 

**"I lied, Alastor,"** He said quietly. **"I really don't think it's ever going to be alright."**
Karen
The God of Retribution watched the man as if he were a flower, wilting before his very eyes; unable to survive the frigid temperatures that came with abandonment. Petals of his resolve were weak, and the roots of his confidence were drowning in the storms from a time past. Those waves crashed into violet hues, threatening to overtake Hyacinthus. 

Alastor was quiet, seemingly unphased. Instead of water, his own memories were filled with blood. Blood in his lungs, blood in his mouth, his hands, and dark. A darkness so empty that the color black would be jealous.
In that darkness lay a well of hatred, so still so as to not be seen - waiting to claim a victim. 

**"I have no memory, and if I did, it wouldn't serve me in what my goals are now. 
My view of life itself is very different from your own. I was given a gift, as were you. Another chance, and the real questions are: will you continue to waste it on who you are not and those who don't deserve it? Or will you make it worth while for yourself? 
You must clear your "House" - your mind, your soul, your heart - before you can truly move into it. Have a garage sale or put it all it a burn pit and light it ablaze.
*Don't* Carry the weight of something you can never change."**

Alastor's voice carried the tonality of a lawyer, edged with silk to soften the sharp connotations of the spade helping Hyacinthus dig the grave of his "Old" Self.

**"It will be alright if you make it from scratch - much like this cake. You may not have anything to start with, but make a list, prepare."** 

The taller grazed his thumb over Hyacinthus' cheek, softly turning his head to

Meet his gaze. 

**"Before you say you will try - I implore that you do not say you will try for me. Change starts here-"** Alastor placed his other hand to Hyacinthus' chest, letting him feel that he felt his heart beating there. 
**"-and you will do it for yourself."**

Alastor stepped behind Hyacinthus, placing his hands now over the other God's and helping him stir the remaining ingredients, combining the wet an dry until they were batter. That that batter was divided between two cake pans.

**"Once those are in the oven and they are baking, I have been thinking... I propose we do a cream center."** 
Alastor gave the other man a soft, impassioned smile.
Karl
Alastor's words were delivered like silk, but carried the weight of worlds. His wisdom was razor-sharp as his wit, balanced with gentility into a perfect storm of clarity that rained down on the smaller god like a shower of understanding. His stillness, though unnerving, began to seem oddly comforting, and Hyacinthus knew that despite Alastor's distaste for unruly emotional disruptions, he did care in his own way. 

He disclosed little about the details of his former life, and while the violet-eyed boy in front of him longed for just a flicker of it, he was glad to have been given even a glimpse. He contemplated the poised man's words silently as he gently nodded, wondering what would change if he too embodied Alastor's resolve. In his rebirth after death, Hyacinthus vowed to never give up on love, be it for another, nor for life itself. Somewhere, between the pain of loss and heartache, he had forgotten his own promise to himself.

His purple eyes flickered with a sudden burst of inspiration, feeling Alastor's certainty and assuredness hit him with the force of a freight train. The man's hand moved to the young god's chest and pressed flat against his heart, where the rhythm of its beat could be felt vibrating softly through his palm and fingers. 

**"I understand, Alastor. I will do it,"** He whispered with a little touch of misery in his voice and sniffled, then looked up at him with a promising glance as the god guided his gaze to him with a gentle turn of his head. **"For me. I want to do it for me."** 

As the pad of Alastor's thumb grazed his cheek, he felt the sting of tears against his flushed cheeks fade, much like the emotions that stirred deep inside him. There was a comforting feeling of safety that washed over him in that moment, not only because of the man's thoughtful reassurance, but also his sense of self. It spoke volumes to the impressionable Hyacinthus, who by then had calmed some and swallowed his upset in the security Alastor's physical proximity instilled in him.

He took a deep breath as the god moved to stand behind him, the back of his head brushing against the taller man's chest. Alastor's arms soon rested atop his, followed by his larger hands that clamped against Hyacinthus' own and began to assist him in stirring the remaining ingredients. For a moment there was silence as he reflected on his encouraging words, until eventually, the ingredients became a batter, and was then separated into two separate cake tins. 

His smile returned, much like the birdsong that ushered in the first portents of spring in the wet season when Winter had run its course. In his heart he knew that his sorrow was born from temporary dissatisfaction, and that only *He* Had the power to change it. For better or for worse, that is exactly what he intended to do.

**"I would like that very much."** He said sweetly, returning Alastor's enthusiastic smile as his breath hitched, enjoying how he enshrouded him. **"Maybe I should ask how much cream you're going to put in,"** He whispered and tilted his head back, looking up at the man's dark features, his visage now upside-down. The taller god's clever innuendo was certainly not wasted. **"But I really love surprises too."**
Karen
Alastor tilted his head to look around the other, finding his face. He was too adorable to be upset. 
Alastor knew the reality of emotions was that it didn't matter how beautiful one was, if one couldn't even percieve it.
The God of Retribution was content by this answer of new found desire, and he wondered briefly if making any sort of move on the smaller God was considered taking advantage of his vulnerability. He'd skirt that for now, easing the cake pans in the oven without so much as touching them. The shadows would do it for him. A construct in the form of a person, only slightly resembling the taller God, himself opened the oven and placed both pans in. Ofcourse a timer was set. They'd need it.

Hyacinthus' eyes found him, head leveled back to catch sight of Alastor. The taller God's hand, on impulse, found it's way to the smaller's neck. His fingers lead in the caress, palm just barely gliding along the plane and up his jaw and chin. 
His other hand slipped down to the God of Rebirth's hip, over the front of his pelvis. He was directed to tilt his hips back, his bottom finding the inseam of Alastor's slacks... Attentive.

**"I'm certain you'll find out..."** He mumured against the shell of Hya's ear. 

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