#『 ✧: roxy: pararennial 』

[dvarapala]

"Shoot, just missed it," in her hands she has bright-coloured saltwater taffy all wrapped in a pretty cellophane bag. "Happy Diwali, kid. Hope your yesterday was a sweet one!"

askbox fun // @pararennial

"that's okay! it still means the world to me that you stopped by, so thank you," udyati beams. "it was. it was really nice." she takes the bright-colored saltwater taffy, wrapped up in a pretty cellophane bag, with gentle hands before she steps aside to let roxy in. the narrow hallway that connects the front door to the rest of the house is a tight squeeze but udyati is sure that roxy will manage. "i've got some food for you if you want it. and if you don't, you can just pass it along to your neighbors or colleagues or whomever; that's the beauty of it."

"i never really knew that my mom had so many tupperware boxes hidden away until yesterday, though." a beat, and then: "also, can i get you anything to drink? tea, coffee?"

[never-surrender]

@pararennial asked: 🌧 with blue... because i miss them 🥺

The rain didn't bother him even a little bit. With steam rising off his form, he kept decent pace with her as they moved and attempted to find someplace to get out of the rain ... but not before Blue caught sight of something up ahead that had him grinning. Not bothering to say anything, he's quiet as they near the puddle ... and once they reach it? He jumps into it, kicking water at Roxy with a laugh just to get her riled up

[moonspower]

you were a mutual of another fav mutual of mine and i saw your url at the time, it was 90smagicalboi (at least that was what i recall) and i was intrigued! after following and seeing your posts, i was in awe of you of as a person and in awe of vi as a character, and the rest was history!

✨ @pararennial. meme. still accepting!

I STILL GOT THAT URL AND IM GONNA USE IT I THINK!!!!

omg ty. you know how i feel about u n roxy. flowers, flowers, flowers! encore!!!! we've been mutuals for over half a decade and that's nuttyyyy babey!!

[anthropolite]

@pararennial "Happy birthday, Roxy!" murmured Yali, pressing a glass of wine into her hands. She leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "That means you can be as decadent as you like, and nobody's allowed to say anything about it."

[bushido-jack]

Despite their efforts, this massive beast was gaining on them. The roots and trees that he and the woman had to dodge were mere twigs and brush to her. The samurai pushed forward, his eye on the stranger as she unearthed a large chunk of rock in moments, hurling it at the giant bear like it was a cannonball. The image conjured the recollection of The Scotsman or one of his clan members and their “rock” throwing contests, where they hurled a massive boulder as though skipping stones. It was almost unbelievable to see a human not even larger than himself manage that feat. Was she human? He had known many in Aku’s future who at first appeared to be human, but the resemblance was only skin deep. He had thought not to expect such surprises in a world where Aku had been thwarted, yet he had already been challenged to the thought that this earth was like the past he knew.

She caught step with him quickly, Jack allowing her to steer them toward the sound of escaping, the trickle of water almost inaudible over the footfalls and grunts of their pursuer. Yet they were not out of the woods yet. Eyes shot to the tree that loomed over them, hurtling down at alarming speed, but before he could decide what to do, he was shoved powerfully out of the way by the woman. Immediately he sat up, alarmed that she had fallen in its path, before the brief relief that she had managed to dodge quickly was replaced with dismay at the new and immediate danger before her. He had thought she would be attacked, but was surprised as beast payed no heed to the being before her, beady eyes set on the samurai instead. Realizing it was him she wanted, he returned her gaze, stance lowering to keep distance between them while not turning an inch away from the animal.

If it was him the creature wanted, perhaps he could buy the woman time to get to safety, or give her time to think of what to do next.

“Wait—“ Jack tried to stop her from provoking the creature, but could do nothing as she forced its attention to her.

How could he leave her there with that beast? If something went wrong, he wouldn’t be able to aid her. Mind raced as he thought of what to do. The creature wanted him, not her, yet if he remained it would surely keep the beast’s aggression high. However, if he fled, this woman who had helped him would be left to deal with this massive beast alone. Could he do something to aid her without continuing to infuriate the animal? Eyes glanced from the creek across the gap and back to the beast and the stranger.

Silently the man took a small running start and leaped the gap across the creek. The moment he landed, he turned course along the edge, locating a sturdy enough tree that he climbed up until he was close to the top. There, he positioned himself so that his body was pointed exactly across where the bear stood towering, a moment of calculating in his head before unsheathing his sword and with a swift stroke, slicing a chunk of the tree free. Before it had a chance to fall, he reeled back with all his strength and launched it out with the same force he would have used to “jump good”, sending it hurtling straight towards the white beast.

“Over head! Now is your chance!” He yelled as the massive chunk of wood catapulted down.

Jack was perplexed by this woman.

He noticed her sharp blue eyes looking past him, Jack himself hearing a faint crack of flora being disturbed, yet he couldn’t see whatever it was that caught her eyes so intently.

“What? What do you m—“ before he could finish his sentence, his body jumped to attention as a thunderous roar erupted from the distance. He recalled this woman telling him this creature was a baby… then the mother must not have been far behind. Jack glanced towards the sounds of gigantic bounds, horrified by the implication of its size and the speed with which it was closing in.

Before he could decide what to do, the mysterious woman had him by his sleeve, pulling him forward in retreat. Quickly finding his feet, he began fleeing with this woman, following her as she peeled ahead of him in a burst of surprising speed. He wasn’t sure exactly where they planned to flee, but simply away seemed reasonable enough for now. He caught pace with her, dodging branches and roots, keeping his step while trying to keep well ahead of the threat.

“What are these creatures?” He yelled after her as they ran.

Eyes did not stray from the path as he heard the stranger call out. He had to trust her for now, between this stranger and a gigantic and angry beast.

It seemed as he ran that the forest almost struck out at him, as though it meant to attack him as well. It couldn’t possibly be moving, however…? Still he found himself having to dodge roots he could have sworn he hadn’t seen until they were practically under his feet, branches and leaves that fell before him or just barely missed his body.

What is going on…? Something truly strange was afoot here.

“Look out! Ahead of you!” Jack called up to the shadow of the woman racing ahead of him, right into the path where a wide, long branch was coming crashing down from the sky.

Behind him he could hear the beast gaining on them— any prolonged halt would undoubtedly bring her to their heels.

Leaping with all of the strength his lower body had he launched himself over where the woman ran in front of him, sword unsheathing to slice it in two and send the pieces flying behind them. As he came crashing down, he caught himself before he stumbled, continuing forward with a glance behind him. Despite the routine of life-threatening danger and strange beasts, utter confusion remained ringing in his head. He had thought this was a world free of such otherworldly oddities. He had spent a week in this world without encountering them… why only now, when he was alone? It felt like he had trespassed onto yet another hostile world so different from the one he knew.

[moonglittering]

Did you ever get with your one friends dad?

✨ this is an act of cruelty against @velvetineblue tbh. also ft. @pararennial ofc.

❝A chilly, windy night in the city… I get pulled up in the Uber, the tires screech like skrrrrttt because that roads in that neighborhood are trash and I'm pretty sure several people died on that same street in the span of two weeks. I didn't drive because I was drunk by 10:55pm and I had six delta edibles in my pocket. I look to my Uber driver. She's an older lady named Nadia that used to drive a school bus in Santa Monica. I tell her, I'm here to hook up with my bestie's dad. She looks back at me and says, I don't know why you're telling me this shit, please just tip me and get the fuck out of my car.❞ He did tip her an easy $150, by the way! ❝I knock on the door… Knock, knock. I'm greeted by chest hair. I go in. The rest is history. He made me toast in the morning. It was the shittiest, worst, most booty ass toast I've ever eaten and it made me wanna die, but Jesus he was so sexy. Anyway. Roxy texted me and I ignored her because I don't feel like getting judged for my life choices until, like, Sunday.❞

[wineworshipped]

prev // @pararennial

“Tch, friendly fire. Still gonna make a bunch of unnecessary casualties that way!” There’s no real bite in his bark, though; his bitching has no purpose, it’s just meaningless banter for the hell of it. Who is he to this latest generation of demigod heroes if not their sassy, sarcastic, absentee uncle they only see once a year at solstice?

Dio takes no place among the Olympians, among most of their family really, despite having one. He prefers it that way—but he’s never turned away one of the mortal branches from the family tree. He knows what it is to belong in neither world—divine or mundane, living or dead—to hold both extremes and be offered none of their solace. He’s not exactly about to enact that shit upon someone he knows if he can help it, never mind someone he likes.

And he does like Roxy. She’s got moxie, hence not having a new moniker thrust upon her despite his affection. He’d have to out and out call her Moxie to give her one now, and that might contribute a little much to what he hears is a (deservedly) swelling ego.

“It’s not possible to find you boring, kiddo—it’s the familial curse, none of us get the luxury of being boring.” He shrugs but offers Roxy a half smile that says he’s still being facetious. “And we got the lucky end of the gene pool: you ever noticed Hera’s end’s stuck with the short stick when it comes to charisma?”

[seekesotsibteadmist]

@pararennial -Nothing like a night out.

It was all supposed to be such a good time. At least that was the initial intentions behind this adventure.

Saima had invited Roxy over to check out a band that was in town, figuring that she would like the combination of heavy and melodic sounds. The contrast alone when well done was something they personally really adored in metal.

Besides, any excuse to go out and listen to some live music was something that Saima deeply enjoyed. Just the power, the presence that was surfaced during such encounters was something they relished in.

With that excitement in mind, Saima and Roxy had met up at their place before heading to the venue together.

"I'm so.... so excited for all this. Glad that you were able to stop by for this. It's just so fun to be able to check out a good show together you know? " They walked with her, feeling almost buoyant as they tended to be at the prospect of going to a show. The evening air was a little cool, but refreshing - signaling the coming of a warmer season.

[phantombs]

What an interesting way to see yourself, he’d tell her. Like the art of broken pottery... Kintsugi. Her.

How, he admits, poetic to its core, and perhaps, he’d add, that’s the only word for it.

Cường stares. Enraptured by that sight before him, her wound shimmering too golden, he’d confess to passing knowledge in the handling of clay. He’s made pots out of stoneware, has cobbled terracotta dishes, and on occasion, perhaps, he’s kilned vases with his etchings – and on their surface, rudimentary, stares koi fish and birds. True, he loves his hobby, even its charming imperfections! So, when he thinks of spilling gold into his planters with their cracks, he'd say, unlike her, how unsupposedly pretty.

Like the hearts that he’s mended with love and patience... See? No fracture, he's learned, can smother beauty dead.

(In fact, his pots with their fissures are his absolute favorites.)

“Relax. I didn’t say all lies are bad, now did I? In fact, I’m impressed by yours, actually. I’m not judging you for it.” He isn’t. Instead, Cường wonders, and with a halfway potent intensity, what all her imperfections could truly be. As it is, no thing should be so delusional, should treat gashes as trifling little gripes, and she’s a hole torn clear through the skin of her back. He can imagine, in fact, the pulsing sinew beneath. It's red and throbbing. There's spindles of gold. How — unbelievable, and yet, how admirable, too. Something's making her do this, perhaps a responsibility, "but you talk like you’re desperate.” Like this struggle’s proving something. (That she’s better than her kind’s been.) “It says a lot about you."

Insanity. “Whatever you’re here bleeding for must really be important.”

If only he knew. Enduring the hardships of the world, of mortal creations like him? That, as it is for all godlings like her, shall remain, perhaps forever, her glorious weight. What a travesty, admittedly, and a heavier burden. The skies crack, rain pours, and the whole world weeps – but not Cường. Sat with her wound – red, mangled, and left by ghosts – he's instead fussing with fleshy pottery. He drags the threads in her cut, spindles spackled like suns in the summer, and it’s like he’s moving its weaving into legible words, like he’s observing, studying, and reading her. Yet, funny thing, however, is he doesn’t even mean to. But wolf-thing can’t help it. She’s bleeding gold. “You make it sound like we’re unreasonable sitting here chastising you,” he starts, “but you’re the one in my stool taking honeyed heart seriously. Is that what’s pouring out of you? I should’ve known you were soft.”

She jolts. Cường feels his bones throb. His thumb remains over the gape of her wound, the edges of it tattered by the seams, and suddenly, everything comes together. There’s a bolt of strange light, a flash of citrine and sienna-tinged tourmaline, and when he peers back again, her wound has bafflingly vanished. He stares, finger dragging. No raised flesh or scars. Odd. “I told you. I can handle the strangest hurts, even the strangest, meanest of patients. Meeting me like this, coming through all this midnight and rain... All the poets out there would have called this destiny.” Like! “Like some unlikely encounter before a blockbuster romance.” What an analogy. Dreamer sets his balm down, fingers slick with blood and cream, and looks up to her. There, the thunder lights up the dreary of the store, and his shadow, oblong, swallows the floor. A wolf’s growl, silent, fills the air at once: Eating you – gold and power, yes! You'd be so, so delicious. “You’ve gone and broken their hearts, you jerk. Made them realists. But there. Now that I’ve helped you, will you exorcise me, too?"

"What? Is a man now a ghost because he works too late?"

He's not all human, surely she knows. But god, sings his wonder, who is she, really?

As if on cue, the more he tutts, the more her resolve starts to buckle. Her muscles coil and unwind, flesh angrily curdling against the ghostly affliction. The occasional pulses of fine, ichor-gold threads shine through torn skin in attempt to quell the flames. Nothing too dissimilar to the principles of kintsugi: to celebrate the broken with seams of gold. To her, it’s a fractured existence mended and forged by means of something supposedly beautiful.

She sways a little on the stool, hands clasped around the edge of the seat and nails biting shallow crescents into the underside. Now everything is starting to burn.

❝Lying? That would be a strong accusation there, good buddy.❞ The branded woman scoffs, and doesn’t say more to rebut his chastising.

She rolls her head to the side as much as her body allows to pass a wry smile over, just as he briefly abandons his work to toil away near the back of the shop. Nevermind that her nerves scream with protest. She hears a cacophony of tins sliding over wood, clanking into each other, and then a pause. The hiss of a blade against flesh is jarring, but intuition tells her not to worry… yet.

Her lips part, an exasperated retort warmed on her tongue suddenly dies when he presses the pad of his finger against the large laceration at centre of the spectre’s vicious assault. At first she feels nothing, just the pulsing sting of her wound being probed. Her eyes cast warily over her shoulder, cobalt beholding his dark gaze. He’s hard to read, but it doesn’t take much to comprehend that he’s scanning through her like a book, its pages splayed open and he is casually thumbing through some of the contents based on whatever tragedy, or trauma, lingered in her bones from long ago. And yet, his wary and deciphering gaze studies her like a puzzle, trying to fit all the pieces together. She can hardly blame him, not many would easily welcome those who tango with the otherworldly on a day-to-day basis.

Though his tone is soft, but there is an edge that could cut sharper than a knife. He isn’t going to let her slide so easily, that she accepts. The torrent outside echoes softly around the walls of the shop, like a growl rumbling within the confines of a maw. She isn’t afraid, but she’s aware that the injury done onto her is more like the scratch of a cat; she knows well enough that she is in the jaws of a wolf. But something else rumbles and it seems to grow louder within the time elapsed through their poking and prodding of each other. The louder it grows in her ears, the more the stinging started to subside through the prolonged mingling of their blood.

❝Mm… I’ll remember not to chase ghosts next time… nor let them chase me. Maybe spare myself from the additional chastising on your part, got enough commentary on my life decisions from other people.❞ A snort, breathy tone trying to disguise the strain. While pain ebbs, something surmises in its place. Heat surging through, not burning, but something else…

❝Think I’m starting to feel-❞

Before she can say anymore, she pitches forward with a sharp gasp, sides heaving, knuckles burning white from the splintering grasp of her hands on the edge of her seat. In response to wolven blood, gold flares from torn flesh, smothering azure flames. It roars like a storm, putting the tempest outside to shame and as quick as it arrived, it vanishes, taking the venom that ails her with it. Her wounds start to self-suture themselves, and then, nothing. Her skin looks too perfect, just an expanse of tawny-gold stretched over muscle and bone that echoed of the stories Cường deigned to read the moment she stepped in. Bewildered, the godling sits up a little straighter. Rolls her shoulders once, twice.

❝Oh… that definitely did the trick, Doc…❞

[pararennial-archived]

a little meta on the url :3

Transcription:

#the concept behind pararennial is all in the prefix: 'para' #para meaning "beyond"; "abnormal"; "everlasting"; "altered" #also in latin it could refer to "protection"; "defense"; "ward off" #which symbolizes Roxy as a protector and someone who has become something far more #also it's a play on perennial #inspired by spiritbox's song #because it also symbolizes roxy's proximation to nature as a neutral force #and that she is resilient

[pararennial-archived]

First of all, I want to duly apologize for deceiving you all into thinking the url change is gonna be a democratic vote lmfao... after thinking it over... I determined that ' pararennial ' will be the new moniker that this blog will adopt. To me, it rolls off the tongue better and it sounds like an actual play on the word "perennial."

But thank you all for your votes and your input, I'm excited about taking on this new narrative journey with Roxy and the growth that will follow suit.

[moonglittering]

❣ - Are they secretive about their romantic relationships or do they not stop talking about it?

✨ @dynamoprotocol. meme. still accepting!

you're not even finding out vi's favorite color, you can straight up forget him talking about his relationships lol. unless he really, really, really mess with you like that? sure. but you'd be hard pressed to find someone that he does mess with like that—there's a few exceptions like lo / @starfoam because shes basically his sister or roxy / @pararennial because theyre partners in committing bully crimes against humanity. vi will talk about his relationship or whatever, but he's not gonna gush about it unless like.... ur one of those two ppl listed above....

because he's an adult. lfkjglkdjg. an adult with his own interests and etc etc etc that revolve outside of who's fucking him.... or not fucking him considering he's single as sh*t. -_-

anyway, i think one of virote's worst fears is becoming a My Man type of guy. like... sure he'll talk about his boyfriend should he have one. but he's not gonna be weird about it and he'll keep it movin'. he'd feel weird if his bf talked about him all the time, too. like.

go learn a new skill or read a book or something.

vi's not secretive or a blabbermouth. hes simply normal!

[escapedartgeek]

Poor Jimi Jilix probably had seen little moments where Zora had gotten this tense before. But it still was a rarity for anyone else had been privy to it. Despite being able to let most of their misadventures and poor results roll of of them, Zora was finding that they had this lingering anger. This kind of backlog of frustration that seemed to really bother them every so often.

If nothing else the sight of little Jimi rolling off of Roxy's legs and stretching its stubby little arms was truly a delight to see. Even in their more irritable of moments, Jimi was still somewhat soothing.

"I think.. that would be a great idea. I really do." There's a mischievous look in Zora's eyes, an eagerness that seemed to be an unlocked interest.

They are already putting down their supplies and going to get a coat. They might be out for a little while.

"There might be a few places around here that would be good.. but I'm down to explore our options. "

She blinks, and then her eyes peer down at Jimi Jilix, who also returned a questioning look in its emerald gaze. The Basle lets out a soft, concerned coo before rolling its head towards Zora.

❝Hm...❞ Roxanne mused out loud, finding her friend in this sort of mood to be unusual. She is not accustomed to that. From what she knows, Zora usually had an easy temperament, often letting misfortunes and misadventures roll like water off a duck's back. Or so she assumed. When they expressed the desire to destroy rather than create, a small mischievous grin makes its way across her lips.

She gently motioned Jimi Jilix to climb off her lap, in which the little creature did, rolling off her legs and standing on its stubby hind legs to stretch its equally stubby little arms over its head with a soft yawn.

❝Let's say we go out and find something to break then, yeah?❞

[anthropolite]

@pararennial "Hey!" announced Yali with a grin, pressing a parcel into Roxy's hands. "Happy Saturnalia!" (she'll find this inside):

[dvarapala]

❛ i know you go through life with your fists held tight. you see yourself as a fighter. well, i see myself as one too. this is how i fight. ❜

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 // @pararennial

udyati pouts at roxy, looking every bit the twenty year old she is instead of the esteemed warrior and dignitary she's become. she crosses her arms as she pulls a face. "i know, i know. you're right. it's just that... ugh, i hate sitting out. especially when i know i can help you." for a moment, she's silent and then udyati adds: "you're gonna be okay, right? against the pishachas, i mean?"

[phantombs]

"'Mildly'," Cường deadpans. "Well, where I come from, we call that something different. In the real world where you're not from, we'd say you're lying."

No. She hurts, surely. He notes the drooling of her blood, thick like maple syrup, and pauses. It isn’t staunching at all. All the same, stalwart, she holds herself startlingly well, and dabbing at that fissure sure, firm, and careful, he wonders once again what she truly is... Dangerous, he considers, but tonight? My patient. She needs some stitches. I'll get some cream.

But there, twinkling wet under the meager lighting, isn't any normal wound, is it?

He hangs there, considering. This ghastly sight, wrought in her skin by phantom, is no wound herbs or wit can soothe. "I’d tell you if you wanted rest, you should stop chasing things like ghosts," he starts, mind turning, "but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they chase you.” Do they? He's never done this before. Ghosts don't hurt him like this, have never touched him so physically, but an idea, novel and strange both, begins to boil in his skull. He takes up a knife, its edge jostling some creams on the tray, and without a moment to think, he snicks a half-healed gash. He gives a tug, a clean swipe, and splits its skin.

The pain's nothing. Lighting cracks again, shimmering up the fog-thick streets, and her guilt, much like the stormy night, blazes in bursts. Hm. "Come on. Don't you start getting all modest with me,” Cường hushes. He presses her wound with his finger, curious, and lets their blood mix. “It's near midnight on a weekday, far later than any woman has any business visiting me for, and I'm still here caring for you. No, I think, actually,” he breathes, “it's definitely your pleasure to meet me tonight."

Hilarious. He returns her gaze. Her’s rest a druzy blue, something coasting close to sapphire, and he sees -- a story. Much. What is she? Outside, the deluge pours on, but his attention’s little stemmed by the yowling shower Their daunting gazes hang, mirror shimmering when thunder cracks again, and carefully again, he digs her cut. It’s gives way, burning, but he hopes his werewolf blood, that thing that heals him swift, is paling that ghostly poison.

"Don't sell yourself short. I’m Cường, and you're still very capable of giving me a killer headache, I’d think. I’ve never treated anything like this before. Is that feeling any better?”

         ❝Helpless? I’d say more like mildly inconvenienced!❞ She chirps back with a playful huff, the quip wasn’t in defense of her pride. No. More that she doesn’t want to think about the surmounting ghost fire running into her skin and into her bones. It hurt. She won’t lie.

             A deep inhale follows the gentle probing around wounds, she doesn’t wince nor shy away. Her blood spills onto the cloth a vibrant vermillion, strangely as thick as paint. A violent hue clashing against the blazing blue that continues to persist in spite of Cường’s care. She made a wager, betting her well-being on the fact that this not-so-ordinary apothecary would be able to draw out the spectre’s curse.

❝Hm… I suppose that the bags under my eyes have been awfully noticeable as of late…❞ She dryly responds, it didn’t take special senses to detect her current state. She is tired. But she wouldn’t allow herself to be, if she could help it. A symptom for the restless, the dauntless; although, not by choice of course.

Then he rattles off about nearly closing for the night after remarking upon her well-being, and a twinge of guilt pinpricks at her gut. He was far worse for wear than she was upon arrival, she was asking for a significant favour from the wolf-cursed man. That she won’t deny.

When the storm picks up, something also rears. The wolf howls and the thunder roars. Will he understand the language of lightning in her veins? What would it tell him? What more can he see other than her hidden, private ( or so she assumed ) grief?

❝I’d say it would be nice to meet you, Cường, but… seeing that we’ve caught each other in not so pleasant circumstances, I’d say most pleasantries are forfeit at this point.❞ Roxanne cannot help a breathy chuckle, often masking her pain through a prism of humour. ❝Rest assured, I’m less of a danger especially when I’m slowly bleeding out from ghost-induced trauma.❞

Something glints in the corner of her vision, and she catches his moonlit gaze in the reflection along with her own. Her blue rivaling the ghost fire that snakes within her flesh, prohibiting her from healing as intended.

❝You can call me Roxanne.❞