Is This Mystery On?

Sascha Becker | 37 | Son of Despoina

[cafesascha]

Oh What a Web We Weave

tyler hoechlin, hay, male, he/they, fighter (rogue) «—◦—→ well met, sascha becker! the godling born child of despoina. it’s been 37 years and now they have answered the song in their veins. can he change the course of history with their adaptability, generosity, focus? or will their jealousy, impulsiveness, impatience hinder them? only time will tell before this godling’s name is sung into myth and legend!

name: Sascha Becker

nicknames: Sasch, Beck, Becks

date of birth: October 31st, 1986

age: 37

face claim: Tyler Hoechlin

godly parent: Despoina

height: 6’3”

dominant hand: Lefty

education level: Masters of Business Management

occupation: Runs his family’s coffee shop and has an indie true crime podcast on the side

parents: Tony Becker ( father ), Despoina ( mother ), Susan Becker ( step mother )

siblings: James Becker ( little brother ), Amelia Becker ( little sister ),  too many foster siblings to count.

pets: Puck and Titania ( pet cats)

astrological sign: Scorpio sun / Libra moon / Leo rising. 

positive traits: Adaptability / Generosity / Focus 

negative traits: Jealousy / Impulsiveness / Impatience 

habits: Bouncing his leg / Cracking his knuckles / Playing with pens / Being a cup goblin (always has at least four cups of different liquids at any given point)

quirks: Says goodbye three times / Refuses to wear matching socks / Always carries a pack of cloves even though he has never smoked / Sleeps with the AC on even in the middle of winter

pet peeves: Slow walkers / People who chew with their mouths open / People who play music on their phones in public without headphones / People making fun of anyone’s tastes in coffee

hobbies: Puzzles / Reading / Hiking / Swimming / Podcasting / VIdeo Games

sexual orientation: Homosexual

sexual position: Verse

clothing style: Typically Sascha dresses like a stuffy professor. He loves a chunky knit sweater and just general being cozy. That said, he does have plenty of outfits to scandalise the neighbors reserved for the rare occasion that he actually goes out to a bar which typically consists of a jock strap and one of his many harnesses. 

prominent features: Resting Bitch Face, but also a killer smile, thick hair that is always perfectly mussed, giant dick and perky butt.

what were they doing when they hear the song of their godling blood? He was editing his podcast in an absolute panic because it was nowhere near being ready to publish and was supposed to be released in a couple of hours.

class: fighter 

inspirations: Riz Gukgak, The MC from this delightful series of PI smut books whose name I am totally blanking on, Sherlock Holmes

Biography to come

[everestphillips]

@cafesascha

By the gods, now he understood why people liked to drink. This was really fun. But it was better with other people he found out, so he decided it was only right to invite the raven haired man that he's been curious about since the party started. However, with all the drinks now in his system, Everest tripped on something and accidentally spilled most of the contents of the two cups he had in his hands.

"Well shit," the godling groaned, almost as if the feeling of his shirt getting soiled had sobered him up immediately. Still, he didn't want to let this get to him as he tried to keep his composure. So, the demigod set down the goblets onto the other demigod's table, offering the stranger a smile as if it was any consolation for this, before taking off his shirt. "Sorry about this, I'm usually way smoother than this," he assured the man. Everest raised his shirt to get a better look of the damage. "I really hope they got some magic potion that flawlessly removes wine stains." The words he spoke were mostly to himself, but he finally decided to just tuck his shirt into his back pocket. "I'm sure this makes for an interesting first impression, right? The name's Everest Phillips, son of Aphrodite, former F1 Driver."

[cafesascha]

Sascha never really enjoyed attending parties. They tended to be just a little too noisy, with one too many people. Although he considered himself a social creature, he found that he preferred more intimate gatherings, discussing a good book over a glass of wine, or enjoying a game of Mario Party despite the risk of losing a friendship or two. At least the feast being outside allowed him the flexibility to flit between conversations as he pleased or duck away to his table for a moment of distraction with more food than one person could ever possibly need. He was on the verge of returning to the festivities when he caught the sound of liquid splashing and a muttered curse from the man in front of him.

"No need to apologise. Looks like your shirt took most of the damage." He said with a bemused expression. His eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline as said garment was removed in one swift motion. God damn... With a body like that, he was genuinely impressed that he even chose to wear a shirt at all. "I don't know much about any magic stain-removing potions, but I'm sure there's plenty of cold water for you to soak the stain in so it won't set." He extended his hand. "You definitely made a memorable one. It's a pleasure to meet you, Everett. I'm Sascha Becker, son of Despoina, coffee shop owner, and true crime podcaster." While maybe not as glamorous as a career in F1 racing, it was something he was proud of. "Can I fill you back up?" He gestured towards the carafe of wine that he had sneaked away to his table. "It would be a shame, and possibly slightly problematic, to finish this by myself."

[raging-ale]

@cafesascha

out of everyone here, he's only actually meet one or two people. not really caring about getting to know people - he knew that he needed to shake that off. even more if he wanted to be their protector through all this. it was going to be hard, but he was trying his best. making his way out of what seemed to be where now everyone was gathering, he spotted sascha, at first he just turned away to as if to just leave until he had this battle in his own head to stop being a little bitch and go mingle. groaning at himself, he turned back around and headed towards the others demigod. standing next to him, he slowly bumped his shoulder against him and looked out at the stars above them. "it's... pretty out huh?" he asked, just smiling to himself before looking at the demi god next to him.

[cafesascha]

For someone whose whole schtick typically revolved around being social, what with interviewing guests and attending conventions, Sascha really was more of a solitary creature. A great night, in his mind, was spent with either research or a good book, his cats, and maybe an episode or two of Real Housewives. However, he did try his best to go out and meet the other demigods over the past couple of days. Between studying to control the actual fucking magic powers he seemed to possess, he felt a little burnt out. So, he found himself sticking to the edges of the feast. Chatting politely with anyone who approached him, but not actively seeking out any interactions.

'It's pretty out, huh?' Sascha wasn't proud to admit that he jumped when he heard Alejandro speak. His gaze shifted from the stars above to the man standing next to him as he returned the shoulder bump. "It is, isn't it?" He asked, raising his cup in salute. "I always forget how much I miss just looking up at the stars until I'm out of the city and away from all of the light pollution, y'know?" He took a quick sip of his drink."You enjoying the feast so far?"

[deathscn]

☠️ ⋅𓂃 ࣪ for the son of despoina ≻ location ; the bonfire ╱ @cafesascha

                   the fire was strong. he didn't have to be too far for him to feel the heat from it all. it was nice, being able to go out and be social. he was always someone who preferred to be alone, but tonight was a night to celebrate. and when it came to celebration, he never missed an opportunity to have fun.

as he walked towards the bonfire, a drink on one hand while the other was extended to feel the warmth, he felt a connection with the fire. he thought, it possibly was the many abilities he had yet to learn, since he saw a flame slowly dance around the palm. he chuckled, watching it as he waved his hand. but what he didn't expect was it to almost hit someone. eyes widened, as he looked at the other.

❛ i'm so sorry, ❜ winter awkwardly chuckled. he was glad it didn't hit the other. that would have only made things even more awkward. ❛ i guess i still have a lot to learn about myself. ❜

[cafesascha]

Staring at the bonfire with a drink in hand, Sascha had lost himself in his thoughts. The sounds of conversation and general merriment washed against him as he studied the shapes in the flame. Sitting there, he saw nothing in particular, but he had a sense that if he stayed long enough, something would come to him. Of course, he didn't want to be that weirdo so he tried to join in on one conversation or another. Just in time, he turned to see a blast of fire shooting right at him.

"Shit!" He flinched, his eyes screwed shut, waiting for the impact. Only to be met with a sudden gust of icy wind instead of searing pain. When he finally opened his eyes, he found a small patch of grass on fire instead of himself, and hey, that was a win in his book. "No harm, no foul." He said with a small smile. "We're all figuring whatever this..." This was accompanied by a flourish of his hand to encompass everything surrounding them. "Is out, right?"

"Looks like I'm the Snow Miser to your Heat Miser." He paused for a moment, unsure if he would even get that reference. "I'm Sascha, by the way." He extended his hand with a warm smile. "I don't think we've had a chance to actually meet just yet."

[cafesascha]

Ruh-Roh, Raggy...

TW: Mention of child death

This… was not how Sascha had expected his night to go. One moment, he sat before his computer, struggling to edit the latest episode that was due to be released in just a few hours. The next, he was packing to go to fucking Narnia. Ok, not Narnia, maybe Fillory? Either way, he certainly wasn't in Kansas anymore. A thought that he found to be a little less distressing than he probably should have.

He moved as if on autopilot, with his cats Puck and Titania trotting beside him on their leashes. (Yes, he leash trained his cats. No, it isn't weird. You're weird.) Nodding every so often to one creature or another that bowed in his direction as he passed, until he finally set his gaze on the massive temple before him. Not Fillory then… He thought, taking in the obviously Greek architecture. Before he had a chance to chicken out, his cats all but dragged him inside. The pair led him to a statue that seemed to flicker at its edges, almost as if the thing didn't want to be perceived by anyone. The only way he was able to make out any features of the figure was by relaxing his eyes, as if he were looking at one of those Magic Eye pictures from his childhood.

Immediately, he knew exactly who this was, even though she was nameless and certainly wasn't someone he had learned about in school. A whisper that was felt more than heard told him he could call her Despoina, though a quiet ‘mom' escaped his lips as he sank down onto the throne before her. He suddenly realised that he wasn't alone in the temple. In fact, he was one of many apparently experiencing the same existential crisis. Just as he was about to call out to the nearest person, a figure appeared before him and placed a chalice in his hands before disappearing once more. The same voice that had been speaking to him the whole time told him to drink and take his rightful place, but did this mysterious voice have a single clue about what he did in his spare time? He knew what happened when someone drank an unknown liquid, and it was never a good thing… Then came the screaming.

Sascha jumped at the first sound of it. His eyes flicked briefly to the chalice in his hands, worried that he might have spilled something, before he focused on the men around him dropping like flies. He flinched as the sounds crashed against him, fighting against the voice insisting that they would make it through to the other side and emerge stronger from the ordeal. Finally, he threw back his head and swallowed the vile-tasting liquid in a few quick gulps, just so he didn't have to listen to the cries of terror that surrounded him. It started out as an all-too-familiar tingle, as the rush of a panic attack swelled through him. Only to be replaced by a blaze that tore a scream from his lips that he would have never thought possible. He thought, for the briefest moment before unconsciousness claimed him, that he saw a smile appear on the blurred statue of his mother.

He woke up to the sound of wind howling through broken windows and the faint smell of rot. He knew this place, even though he hadn't set eyes on it in nearly three decades. His very first mystery. The old mansion sat tucked deep in the woods behind his house. Seemingly forgotten by everyone in town except for him and any of his friends whom he managed to sucker into listening to the tales he cooked up on sleepless nights. "I heard the family living there dissapeared without a trace!" He exclaimed one day on the playground. Everyone, except for Ricky, knew he was bullshitting them. The kid hung on Sascha's every word as if it were the gospel truth, not the wild imagination of another child. So, of course, he agreed to go on the adventure of a lifetime that weekend.

He watched the scene unfold as if he were living it in the moment and somehow above it all, directing the scene. Though his panicked warnings fell on deaf ears. Overall, the pair found themselves unimpressed with the place. There were no signs of a struggle, no ghost of a final meal left behind after an entire family vanished into the ether. Just a rundown building with very little to offer in terms of something for him to solve. Still, there was one place they hadn't searched, and the younger Sascha just knew in his bones that whatever he was looking for was hiding from them in the attic. It took some convincing, but eventually, they made their way up to the third floor, being careful to avoid any floorboards that appeared unstable. He knew what was coming in this bizarre memory, not memory, and try as he might, he couldn't look away from the scene unfolding around him.

Just as he reached to pull down the ladder, he heard an unfamiliar sound – one he now recognized as the noise of rotten wood crumbling beneath someone. Ricky's sharp intake of air was quickly followed by a dull thud, and suddenly, he was alone. Dropping to his knees, he peered over the edge of the hole that had appeared where his friend had just been. “R-ricky?” While his younger self couldn't see the full extent of the damage, the part of himself that watched on in horror knew that Ricky was already gone after hitting his temple on the corner of a long-discarded piece of furniture in the room below. “I'm going to get help… You stay there!” He cried out before turning to the window at the end of the hall. If he could just find something to shimmy down, he could run home, get his parents, and everything would be okay.

“YOU LEFT ME TO DIE!” The scream shook the glass before him, causing some of the panes to crack with the force of it. Sascha turned to face Ricky once more. His one leg bent at an unnatural angle, and the left side of his face was painted red with the blood that continued to pour from his temple. “I didn't! We needed… You needed help.” He pleaded with his long-dead friend as he backed up until he felt the cool surface of glass behind his back. The divergence in events gave him a sense of vertigo. In real life, he had tried to climb down to get help but only managed to fall and snap his leg in the process. The phantom pain of impact shot through his body, even though he remained, not safely, but firmly on the third floor of the house. “You know what's funny, Sasch?” The dead boy asked, closing the distance between the two of them with shuffling steps. "I solved the one mystery you never will. What comes next.”

Suddenly, he felt like he was flying. Shoved back against the window with such force that he broke through it easily. The sting of glass breaking his skin was forgotten amidst the anticipation of impact. Except it never came. The moment Sascha should have hit the ground, he found himself back in his own body. The reassuring weight of his cats on his chest as he stared up at the now clear face of his mother's statue. “What in the actual fuck was that?!” He asked no one in particular. Choosing to stay on the ground until the sensation of falling finally subsided.