#picture if you will dew singing it to rain

[sentientgolfball]

Raindrop core and I will not elaborate

[riaki]

— last train at 25 o' clock | suguru geto x reader fluff(???)/light angst @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat please take this bc coffee shop geto is gonna take a bit

it's 1am in the morning, the train platform's a ghost town, and the hum of the vending machine is all the noise in the world as you and suguru wait for the last ride home after a mission.

wc : 2.6k cw : brief mentions of blood ; references to hidden inventory arc , shoko typical smoking , probably some other stuff i'm forgettin not proofread!!!! also he may be ooc srry

i cooked this up last minute cus i remembered my promise of posting every weekend last week so my bad if u can tell its rushed lol post hidden inventory pre defection

suguru remembers it like it was yesterday.

the song of summer insects reaches your ear as you clamber up to the train station platform; a pandemonium of cicadas and crickets that sing odes to the full moon in the sky partially curtained by dark clouds and the dew on the grass that's begun to form.

"damn, it's hot." you muttered, wiping your forehead as your arm shot out to grab the dirty railing, white paint cracked and peeled as a splinter pricks your fingers and you flinch. suguru follows after you; a small hum is your acknowledgment.

"careful. shoko doesn't like dealing with splinters," he says from behind you, stepping up the stairs two at a time to straighten up on the train platform, hands in his pockets. “i don’t have reversed curse technique healing either.” there's the smell of a storm in the air, and the lights overhead buzz and flicker with the intermittent beat of a moth's wings. you just give a dip of your head in acknowledgement as you pry your hand away from the railing, the scent of old wood lingering on your hand as you wipe off the dust clinging to your palm on your pants.

(geez, you two have no sense for these types of things.)

suguru holds a hand out, and you take it eagerly to let him pull you up the last step, before politely letting go and slipping it back into his pocket once more. you let out an exhausted sigh and stand up, rubbing your tired eyes as you look around.

the platform is deserted save for the stray cat beneath the station bench, sniffing at a clump of weeds growing from the metal leg. there's a vending machine up against the wall to the elevator, an obnoxious painted 'out of order' sign on the lift's muddy glass doors, stained with dust, dirt, and fingerprints. there's some... creative graffiti on the wall, and a starch yellow section of caution tape flutters in the humid evening wind.

the cat scratches at the concrete floor, and its matted white fur and crystal blue eyes remind you of someone. you glance up at suguru, poking his arm to get his attention.

"look. it's satoru." you huffed, still a little loose for breath as you reach out and grab his shoulder, leaning against him for support. the dark-haired boy just laughs a little, taking his phone out to snap a picture and no doubt send it to the white-haired brat. "i see it." he leans a little closer to you; it's subtle, and you don't notice it, but the way his shoulders sag just so you have an easier time holding on speaks volumes. "don't send it to him! he's probably asleep right now. think it's past his evening sugar high?" you asked, glancing up at him with a tilt of your head.

"most likely. i think he got sent on another solo mission today." there's a tiny bitter bite to suguru's voice that underlines its usual velvetiness; like an ocean current beneath the waves that you only find once you've been dragged underwater. you don't say anything about it, though. the sleeves of his uniform crumple beneath your fingers when they curl into the fabric, a shiver running down your spine as goosebumps spring up on your skin like shroom caps after the summer rain.

suguru is observant.

"you cold? you can have my jacket." it's immediate, and his voice is as smooth as cream silk and marble as he shrugs your hand off (much to your dismay-- shown with a bite to your cheek) to unbutton his uniform jacket, slipping it off his shoulders and offering it to you. when you stand there, feeling a little daze and a lot tired, he just smiles, shoving it in your face with a low chuckle that sounds like honey pouring from a jar.

"you sure? you can hug a cursed spirit if you get cold, 'cus you're not getting it back." you sighed after a moment, reluctantly taking his jacket and tugging it over your shoulders. it's warm, and it smells like his cologne- like some natural incense that soothes your nerves and loosens your body to the marrow in your weary bones. you bury your nose in it and forget to think about the warm hue on your cheeks that you'll later chalk up to the humid air.

"i'm sure." the cat by the bench perks up, staring directly in your direction. it yawns, before bounding away, disappearing behind the vending machine with a flick of its cloud white tail. the machine is missing a few rows of drinks, but the green of a melon soda can that's far too saturated to have a name to the original fruit and the cream and red of a yakult bottle are enough to catch your eyes beneath the harsh light of the display.

"still don't understand how you get cold on a night like this, though." he makes a gesture towards 'this' with one hand, fingers flexing in a way that makes your heart flutter unreasonably.

a moment of silence passes; you can see the distant lights of some prefecture over the hill, and your mind briefly wanders to rainy afternoons, puddles reflecting the red neon of passing cars and distorted faces under plastic umbrellas sandwiched between painted concrete and a dark sky.

"you want a drink? on me, as thanks." you say, breaking the sound of silence and nodding towards the vending machine as you look up at suguru. it takes him a moment to respond, so you use the opportunity to admire his profile; the slope of his nose, the deep hazel of his eyes that shine a copper rust beneath the pale yellow light overhead. his hair is a little messy; it's falling out of its slicked back bun, a product of your earlier fight. there's a scrape on your ankle from tripping through the bush in an attempt to put distance between the curse when you had been engaged earlier; it still stings. there's a tightness to his jaw, you notice- and some part of you wishes you could take it for yourself.

the section of dark hair in front of his face sways as he turns to look down at you, gaze charting the corners of your face (your cheeks look soft, he notes) before he opens his mouth to speak.

one kick to the machine, a disappointed frown when nothing comes out, and two yen bills later, the pop of can tabs fills your ears as condensation seeps into your skin, a pleasant relief from the heaviness of the summer air. it's too much when the cold side of a drink is pressed to your cheek, though-- and you let out a yelp of protest, shooting a quick glare up at suguru, who just laughs it off and takes a sip of his drink.

you down a sip of your own; it's a sweet fruit tea that's your go to whenever it's hot out. sweet, citrusy, like starfruit. it tastes like a summer of youth and a warm blue spring. it's pleasant.

a distant rumble echoes from the dark horizon, and both of your gazes simultaneously snap towards it-- at last, you think. the last train is here. you adjust suguru's jacket around your shoulders, catching a whiff of something that smells like rosemary and new leather as his voice fills your ears.

it's an easy night when you pass the threshold and step into the train car, speckled white floors and blue hard seats greeting you. somewhere, there's a ticket stuffed into one of your pockets; a memento of late evenings that blend into early mornings when there's a bruise on your face and a knick on suguru's wrist that soothe themselves with the harmony of small talk and sensation of fizzling bubbles in cold metal cans as the train jostles you along. you're sitting, and he's standing, one arm on the hangers overhead as you talk about everything and nothing. he catches himself every now and then, watching with minimal interest as the sliding doors part themselves like gateways to the afterlife for ghost passengers. it's not your stop yet; far from it.

"say, suguru-- do you miss going on missions with satoru?" you asked after a moment, fingers drumming against your knees as the automated voice overhead announces the next stop, empty farm plots and tangles of wire passing by as the lights inside cozy houses dim and go off.

he doesn't answer that, so you just look out the window.

(suguru, you gettin' enough sleep? heatstroke?)

"how's the cut on your leg?" he finally murmurs after a moment, his eyelids heavy before he tears his gaze away from a tacky advertising on the wall and back to your scrunched nose.

"annoying." you just sighed, and you watched as he gave a small smile; his eyes fluttering shut, long lashes resting against his cheeks. you wondered if the wings of a butterfly would be heavy enough to weigh them down.

he moves after a second, sitting down one seat away from you in a swift motion and beckoning for you to lift your leg. you comply, not entirely sure where it's going- until he gently rolls the hem of your pant leg up, pressing the cold edge of his half-empty soda to the angry red scratch, and you wince a little before letting out one, long sigh. you melt into the chair, feeling like a senior citizen with a hunched back and one too many shrine visits under a bleached kyoto sun.

"thanks." you mumbled, leaning your head against the window as the train jostles ever so slightly to its own tracked rhythm.

he just hums in response, pulling a worn bandaid out of his pocket; the plastic top has pen smudges on it and the white wax gets caught between his pearly teeth as he tugs it off, taking time to make sure he positions the healing strip properly before flattening it down on your leg.

"shoko makes no sense when she talks about her reversed curse technique, so this'll do." he says quietly, and you let yourself fall into the pool of molasses that comes from his throat as you close your eyes, feeling the dull sensation of pain drain from your muscles and melt away like the first waves of spring and the ripple of lake water as a lone sakura petal disturbs the mirrored blue surface.

"i could learn it." you said after a moment, pressing your lips together in an attempt to snuff out the feeling of his fingers lingering on your skin, toying with the loose edge of the bandaid. he just snorts, and you crack one eye open to glare at him.

the rest of the train ride is spent in silence; you slip in and out of a hazy sleep, and you're faintly aware of the timeline-- somehow, your drink ends up on his lips. your head ends up on his shoulder, and your ears pick up his quickened heartbeat. his warmth is nothing like the humidity that clings to your skin like a layer of smoke and vapor, accompanied by sticky dango and raucous laughter weaving between the sounds of fireworks and the crunch of dirt beneath pairs of geta. he smells like home and his soft hair tickles your face as your little breaths squeeze past your parted lips, a warmth like bumping shoulders and linking fingers seeping into your body like the steady stream of fine sand in an hourglass. a warmth like empty classrooms lit by golden hour; windows cracked open to let in a fresh breeze as the faint smell of cigarette smoke drifts up to the room from the brunette and her lighter beneath the patch of shade from a tree in the courtyard below.

(need a light?)

this is how it's been for the past month. tired mumbles and hushed murmurs exchanged between two people who are more than friends but less than lovers after each harrowing mission; shared drinks and linked pinkies, the warmth that stains cheeks rosy when fingers that look small against calloused ones brush with another hand reaching for the metal pole on the train. heavy silence as you fall asleep on his shoulder; faint tingles when his fingers graze your knuckles as he stares at the dark reflection in the windows across. even the windows know how to make him relax.

one day, it'll be just him. a white bird stained black by apollo's hand in a sea of dirty geese, silent as the others hawk and squawk for a place on the lake. one hand hooked around the hard plastic of a hanger, supporting heavy shoulders with weight that could rival atlas' burden. a boy so tired of being beaten by the waves that he succumbs to the undercurrent with the same practice as before, only the paint on the railings has chipped past repair and not even the greenery of the countryside can touch the stains on the windows to his soul; eyes that used to shine with mirth and crinkle with gentle smiles become sunken and heavy with experience more suited to those a decade older.

he'd already chosen his path when he offered his jacket to you; when he laughed at the way you'd sneezed after investigating the patch of weed that had captured the stray cat's attention from before. and he knew that you'd noticed, and he knew that you'd try, and he knew that he wouldn't let you.

he knew when he woke you up with a gentle nudge to the forehead, suppressing the fluttering feeling in the heart he didn't know he still had when you made a grumpy tired face and stood up with much effort and a stumble or two.

(damn monkeys.)

it was easy nights like these that he'd eventually miss the most. walking you back to your dorm, past the candy wrappers and empty cola cans in the halls stained with imaginary blood and passing glances. departing with a kiss goodbye when he knew you were too drowsy and delirious to be able to remember it come morning.

the swing of a jazz rhythm would get stuck in his throat when you stumbled, only catching yourself from the jolt of the train's stop by latching a hand onto his wrist like some evil little lamprey and muttering a small 'sorry'. he'd laugh it off, collect the empty bottles of drinks of debt, and tug on the sleeve of his jacket on your arms, gently helping you off the platform as your pant leg slid back down to cover the bandaid on your leg, rough fabric scratching away the ghost of his touch on your skin. he wished it would just stay for a little longer.

and when the morning came and you woke up in your bed with his scent on the fabric of your shirt, you'd do it all over again. the only part of the terrible cycle he ever took pleasure in. even when the vile taste of a cursed spirit sunk into his stomach, it would be washed away with the right pop and fizzle of sugary drink followed by an even sweeter kiss to the knot between his tired eyes.

there was nothing about your time together he wouldn't ever miss.

you'd be his past, his present, and his afterlife. even when it was his turn to get off the ghost train and step past those sliding doors that held new meaning, you were the last thought on his mind.

one day, he hopes to see you again, when the last train comes in the night so late it could be considered early morning and the platform can relive old memories of peeling paint on a past summer spring once more.

hope u guys enjoyed the catoru cameo my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

[gravehags]

the papas and the ghoulettes/ghouls at disneyland

nihil - grumpy old shit that his sons deposit on a bench on main street and abandon for the day. complains loudly to no one how he wishes seestor was there (she refused to come). somehow manages to end up with an enormous waffle cone and makes a kid cry.

primo - loves, loves, loves the people watching. is content to sit on a bench of his own (far, far away from nihil) soaking in the vibes. spends the rest of the day ambling around the park appreciating the variety of plants that are on display. loves the fantasyland dark rides.

secondo - loves the thrill rides in both parks but is especially fond of space mountain. wears a simple pair of black mickey ears all day and commands quite a presence at the carthay circle bar in california adventure (he loves good liquor and a good meal). has several tourists coming up to him for pictures because they mistake him for pitbull.

terzo - adores the energy of the place and like primo, loves to people watch. charms his way into club 33 and texts ridiculous and smug pictures of himself hanging out there to an outraged secondo all day. flirts heavily with the princesses in the most over the top romantic displays. can frequently be found vibing in the enchanted tiki room.

copia - this man is riding haunted mansion on repeat and loving every second of it. loves a good dole whip or a churro (anything sweet really) and will always laugh outrageously at all the skipper’s jokes on jungle cruise. manages to make multiple babies smile and laugh throughout the day, to the utter delight of their families. cries at the fireworks, always.

cumulus - she loves fantasyland - the dark rides, the music, the fairy tale vibes. can commonly be found riding the carousel looking stunning and singing along with the songs. cries openly at it’s a small world while dew and sunshine laugh affectionately. like copia, has a sweet tooth and will never say no to cotton candy. insists on the pack staying to watch the fireworks every night.

cirrus - easily the coolest person in the park, always at cumulus’ side. loves tomorrowland and galaxy’s edge - anything with a space theme really makes her smile. compiles a professional team to conquer smuggler’s run made up of mountain, rain, sunshine, and herself. will sip happily on a blue milk and definitely ends up buying a lightsaber.

sunshine - this girl is a toontown girl!! she loves the fun architecture and delights in meeting the characters (collects autographs too). she and swiss could ride runaway railway all day and the two of them love to annoy their fellow pack members by singing the song from the ride on repeat. will fucking demolish several tigger tails and spends the rest of the evening complaining about her upset tummy.

aurora - the pack princess? you know she’s hunting down her fellow princesses throughout the park - when she finds the other princess aurora she’s beside herself with glee and insists swiss and aether act as her personal photographers. her favorite ride is soarin’ and will absolutely be the kind of person to swing her legs while she’s flying through the air.

swiss - this ghoul insists on the pack all getting classic mickey ears with their names stitched on them and makes mountain take several group selfies with them all wearing them. incredibly competitive (and good) at the carnival games on pixar pier and passes out his stuffed animal trophies to the crowd of kids that comes to watch him.

dewdrop - like copia is a huge fan of the haunted mansion. will ride with a different pack member every time and point out different goofy ghosts while telling them “that’s you”. he learns how to play grim grinning ghosts on his guitar when they get home which delights phantom to no end. loves a good candy apple. will spin the teacup so hard on mad tea party with sunshine they makes phantom puke.

rain - he loves pirates of the caribbean, loves the damp air and the darkness and will happily ride it all afternoon. most likely to make friends with random cast members throughout the park which baffles mountain who asks “how do they all know you?” is a fun little beverage connoisseur but his favorite is the non alcoholic mint juleps they serve in new orleans square.

mountain - wears the oswald ears to make himself look even taller and can frequently be found looming over children and smiling benevolently at them. is the first to offer aurora a piggy back ride when her cute impractical shoes hurt her. loves grizzly river run and the entire grizzly peak area of california adventure (redwoods enjoy redwoods, naturally). his favorite ride is guardians of the galaxy: mission breakout.

aether - the organizer of the pack he has absolutely considered getting those leash backpacks for several of them. big man loves indiana jones and the temple of the forbidden eye and definitely ends up buying an indiana jones fedora. his favorite ride though is big thunder mountain and will always insist on sitting in the back (the best seats, naturally).

phantom - yet another haunted mansion super fan and gleefully drags aurora and dew into the shops to buy all the merch. loves his jack skellington mickey ears and the little magnetic zero he got to sit on his shoulder at all times. like sunshine, collects character autographs in a book and his favorites are dr. facilier and cinderella. gets really into pin collecting and trading.

[sovaghoul]

@the-moon-in-the-gutter and I came up with the Ghoul casting for Rocky Horror Picture Show. The Rocky Horror Ghoul Show, if you will. Just hear us out.

Narrator: Mountain

Brad Major: Swiss

Janet Weiss: Cumulus

Riff Raff: Dew

Magenta: Rain

Columbia: Aurora

Dr. Frank-N-Furter: Cirrus

Rocky: Ifrit

Dr. Scott: Zephyr

Eddie: Aether

Just think about it. Rory in that get-up. Dew and Rain elbow sex. Lulu singing "Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me! I wanna be dirty!" Cirrus in the floaty ring in the pool, "Don't dream it! Be it!"

Just think about it.

[titlemewickedwonderland]

The Manager (Ghost Fic) Chapter 5

Summary: The Ministry announces an outsider coming to be part of the congregation to help with the Ghost project as a tour manager; little did the Ghoul know; she is nothing like they pictured her or how she'd affect them all.

Support My Work!

Chapter 4

Ari could find a new sense of admiration the longer she watched the show. As someone who'd never actually seen the work they did until now really made her experience all the more enjoyable. Watching as the ghouls did their antics and Copia playing with Swiss during little intervals while the multi-ghoul did his little shimmies gave the tour manager a new way of looking at them; they really did love the work they did and had a passion for the music. She even found herself dancing along with the songs and singing the lyrics that she knew from the rehearsals they had back at the Abbey; it made the experience all the more powerful to her.

The woman almost forgot that she was there as a crew instead of a fan and when she caught Swiss' megawatt smile shot her way after he caught her dancing along with them made her blush like a teenager. How embarrassing! During a small interval when Dew, Phantom, and Rain did their solos; Copia disappeared off stage to where she was out of breath and she was right there for him with his favorite tarvis cup waiting.

"You guys are amazing." she called over the music as she handed over the cup.

The man gave her a grin and took a few greedy gulps of his drink before giving her a thumbs up in appreciation and then he was off again; running back on stage to continue singing. Watching them perform was exhilarating and watching the dynamic of their ghouls themselves was so much different knowing what they were really like behind the curtain. It was like some kind of little dirty secret Ari couldn't tell anybody and it gave her a sense of pride knowing she was one of the very few who called them friends.

But she was still there for a job so she made sure to keep her head in the game and make sure nothing went wrong with the show. When it finally ended Ari was right there with a cooler of iced water for them as they filed down the ramp and out of view of their fans.

Swiss was the first to spot her as he made a beeline for her; the energy he possessed on stage still vibrated through it with adrenaline as he scooped her up in his arms, damn near throwing her over his shoulder as he spun her around. Ari shrieked a bit and gripped onto him for dear life so that she didn't fall.

"Swiss!" she smacked arm him lightly feeling her face flame up as he laughed and set her down. "Eew, you're all sweaty." her nose wrinkled a bit.

"You think I'm sweaty? Stay away from Mountain then!" the Multi-ghoul smirked as he threw a thumb over his shoulder towards the Earth giant who was ambling his way over to them.

Rain and Phantom had already made it to the cooler and were downing the waters as if they were lost in the desert for a month and Ari smiled at them in sympathy. Stage lights could be so hot especially when they were covered from head to toe with clothing and leather.

"Don't worry, you guys can shower when we hit the first hotel." Ari promised with a pat on Rain's shoulder as she paused by him to reach inside the cooler to grab a water.

"Dew?" she looked around for the male, finding him walking oddly towards the group.

"He took a bit of a fall earlier and hurt his knee." Phantom informed her from where he was leaning against a box of equipment.

She frowned examining the small ghoul but he shrugged and brushed her off when she tried to examine his knee; as if she could see what was physically wrong.

"I'm fine, it happens." Dew replied grabbing a water.

Ari huffed and turned to the others before waving them over. "Come on get you guys something to drink and get hydrated. I'm going to go make a -" She stopped when her phone vibrated and she pulled it from her pocket to find her husband calling her.

As if sensing this Dew looked over at her and she hesitantly looked back at him; a look passed between them that the others couldn't decipher but instead of answering the call the woman gave a small smile and declined the call before shoving it back into her pocket.

"Sorry, um right so we have check-in at a hotel in a few hours. Did you guys want to grab you some food real quick in the dressing rooms before they start packing up?" she offered

"Food? Omg, I could eat a whole buffet!" Aurora chirped as she rushed down the concrete halls towards the dressing rooms where Ar had ordered some food to be set out for them.

"What happened to downsizing extra money costs?" Copia asked in a good-natured way and Ari shrugged with a small smile on her face as she looked away.

"I didn't use the tour money. I used my own."

"What?!" the ghouls turned to her in shock and Copia tsked at her as he placed his hands on his hips.

"Ari that is unacceptable! You can't use your money for stuff like that! That's why we have a budget."

The woman huffed and looked over at him with a stern look on her face. "It's my money Copia, if I want to spend my own money on you guys then I damn well will. It's not that big of a deal; I'm not poor or anything." she protested.

"The money you get from this job is-" Copia began but Ari lifted a finger at him.

"The money you give me is just like any other money I'd get from any other job. It's money Copia. I've earned it just like I would at anything else that paid me and if I want to use it to make sure you guys are getting taken care of then there isn't a problem! It's not the Clergy's money, it's mine. Now shush and go eat before Aurora eats everything." she told him with a look that dared him to argue.

No man was going to tell her how to spend her money. If it made them feel better they could think of it as a friend spoiling them which technically it was; she had no use for all that money. She was getting paid so much better than her lawyer job so what was the big deal?

"Remind me to reimburse you after the tour. Get receipts." Copia muttered sulkily.

"Nope." Ari gave him a smile and wrapped an arm around his waist as they began heading toward the dressing rooms assigned to the band.

"Ari..." he looked down at her but she refused to meet his gaze and merely gave him a squeeze.

"It's okay, Papa." she finally looked up at him with a genuine smile. "I promise. It's not a big deal. Go on." she nudged him inside the room but didn't enter herself.

"Aren't you coming?" Phantom asked before shoving a fork full of what looked like BBQ in his mouth.

"I'm not that hungry. I'll grab a bag of chips or something later." she replied taking a step back.

"Get in here and eat! You haven't eaten since this morning." Mountain ordered sternly.

"Really I'm not-"

Dewdrop's hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her inside before slamming the door shut behind her and leaning his back against it blocking her only exit.

"Seriously?" she raised an exaggerated brow.

"You've worked just as hard as all of us, Ari." Rain murmured as he held out a plate of food for her. His big blue eyes importing behind his goggled mask.

the woman stared at him a moment before letting out a breath and grabbing the plate from him. "Alright." she conceded before taking a seat beside Cumulus on the couch.

This seemed to satisfy the ghouls as they continued eating and chatting among themselves but Ari merely picked at her food between a few bites; her brows furrowing as she thought over her husband's call. Wondering if she did the right thing by declining it. A soft hand pressed against her shoulder and she looked over at the ghoulette with a look of surprise as if she forgot Cumulus had been sitting beside her.

"Everything okay? You look a little down..." the curvy woman asked softly.

"Yeah, of course! I'm just-" her phone began to ring again and she sighed setting down her plate and seeing that it was Braydon again.

She figured she shouldn't decline again and answered. "Hello?"

But instead of hearing her husband's voice on the other end, she heard something that sent a chill down her spine. It was the sound of moaning; a combination of male and female in the middle of their throws of passion. It wasn't loud but the ghouls all heard it and stopped what they were doing as if time itself froze and their eyes were either glued to Ari or the phone as if they couldn't believe what they were hearing.

Ari felt as if time had stopped for her as she stared at her husband's name on her phone while listening to the sounds coming from the other end. Her worse fears had in fact been true and this was evidence right here in front of her. She heard her husband's voice muffled but still audible as he spoke to the woman; Hannah. ...Hannah as in Ari's ex co-worker who was also a lawyer she worked with on multiple occasions when she was working at the law firm.

the woman quickly hung up feeling her entire body flush; not from embarrassment for hearing all the dirty shit her husband had said to a woman who was not her. Not out of anger that she should have been feeling. But out of utter shame knowing everyone in the room had listened to that and knew. Quickly shoving her phone back in her pocket and setting her plate to the side she rose to her feet and rushed out of the room; ignoring the calls for her from the others.

She made it to the threshold of the bathroom before someone grabbed her from behind. She fought off the hands not wanting to be touched afraid of her own emotions that were spilling over like an overflowing cup.

"I'm fine! Just let me go. Give me a minute I'll be okay I-" her voice cracked as she shut her eyes tightly trying to stave off the tears.

She was pulled into a strong lean chest and arms wrapped around her tightly to stop her from struggling. The strong scent of bonfire and spices invaded her senses and she slumped against Dew letting out a broken sob as she gripped the front of his shirt.

The light in the bathroom was off and the door was only open a crack letting in the light from the hallway but the gloom of the dark helped make her feel as if she was unseen even when she knew he could see in the dark. It helped comfort her as much as his arms as he held her tightly; pressing her head against his chest. He didn't say anything but just held her as she cried; waiting until she was ready to speak.

"I knew it...I fucking knew but I had no proof...I didn't-" she choked out between sobs but Dewdrop didn't hush her or give her words of comfort that would have fallen on deft ears; he just let her process her emotions and ramble on until she was spent.

He'd known her husband was a piece of shit. He'd called it from the start without even having to know the man personally. From the very first time, Ari had spoken about her husband he'd known and he was right.

"I'm sorry..." the apology came out as a bit of a surprise to the ghoul. What the hell was she sorry for? She didn't have to be sorry about anything; she wasn't the one who'd accidentally called her husband while in the middle of physically cheating on her.

"You were right Dew...I just had hoped..." she trailed off pushing away from him but he wouldn't let her move too far away.

"You don't have to answer to anybody or explain yourself." he finally uttered into the darkness. He was never good at comforting people and didn't know what to do with a crying woman but Ari was different; she'd been working with them for a while now and even if their relationship was still forming he couldn't let her suffer alone.

"And I don't like being right if it means at your emotional expense." he added in a grumble feeling a little fired up after knowing what her husband did.

"Yeah well." Ari let out a wet laugh as she wiped at her tears in the dark; her makeup must look terrible right now and she sought for the light switch.

The bathroom light was blinding at first but once she looked in the mirror she groaned and wiped at the black smudges beneath her eyes.

"I look like a fucking panda." she wet a paper towel with water from the sink before wiping at the black mascara.

Dewdrop leaned against the wall opposite of her; his reflection just over her shoulder as he watched her try and fix herself up. Always trying to stay professional even in the middle of a crisis.

"Your better off without him. It's his loss." he shrugged a shoulder and she smiled weakly in the mirror.

"I guess I should call up my friend from the law firm and get some divorce papers typed up." she sighed bracing herself on the sink and staring at herself in the mirror.

"Don't worry about it. Get it done and move on. You still have us you know." Dew commented not knowing what to say.

"Yeah..." she blinked at his reflection and gave a small smile before she let out an awkward laugh. "I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"At least you got proof. Now you don't have to worry about him anymore." Dewdrop stretched and shifted on his feet before winking slightly. The curl of his lip from beneath his mask caught her attention.

"Shit, you're injured, aren't you? Let's get some ice on your knee." she offered turning towards the door.

"You don't have to keep doing that Ari." Dewdrop grabbed her arm. "Blowing off your own problems for others."

"I have to or I'll drown myself in self-pity. Just...this is the only way I can cope right now Dew so let me do my job." she didn't even look at him afraid if she did she'd start crying again.

"Okay...just..." Dew sighed and bonked her on the head lightly with his fist. "Don't shove it down and act like nothing happened." he grumbled before he was following her out of the bathroom and back to the dressing rooms.

It was awkwardly silent when they entered and Ari couldn't look at any of them as she grabbed her bag off one of the hooks on the wall. "So, we have reservations at the hotel here so we should pack up and head out." she informed them but no one said anything.

"Mi caro..." Copia cleared his throat as if he wanted to say something but Ari held up a hand and forced a smile on her face.

"The hotel didn't have enough rooms for everybody so we have 3 to work with. The girls are sharing a room, I have Rain, Mountain, and Phantom in a room together, and Swiss, Dew, and you Copia will be sharing another." she explained as if nothing had just happened.

"Where are you going to sleep?" Rain protested.

"I'm going to be staying on the bus tonight. I don't mind. I could use the quiet after tonight and I have some work I need to do for the next stop of tour so-"

"What you need isn't to be alone." Cirrus spoke up gently as if she was afraid of how Ari will react.

The woman blinked back the sting in her eyes but kept that professionalism on her face. "I'll be fine." she replied before shoving her purse up her shoulder.

"Get packed up, I have someone cleaning up this room here in about 30 minutes. The techs are already on the job putting everything back on the buses so all you need to do is get your stuff situated and we can head out if you are done eating. The leftovers will be kept on the bus if anybody is hungry later on." and with that she left the room again.

When they got to the hotel Ari checked them in and handed each of the groups a card key and turned to leave before an arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her up over someone's shoulder. She yelped and smacked at the ass in front of her face and growled.

"Swiss put me down! I'm wearing a bloody skirt!"

"And your ass looks great in it." Swiss smacked her on her butt cheek as they headed for the elevators.

"Swiss~" she warned but the ghoul wouldn't let her down and once they were on their assigned floors he stalked down the hallway toward the assigned hotel room.

Copia unlocked the door with the keycard and Ari was carried in before being tossed onto one of the two beds available. She landed with a few bounces and huffing she shoved her hair out of her face before glaring up at the men.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Getting ready for bed." Swiss shrugged as he began undoing his suspenders and taking off his mask to place on the table by the window.

"I can see that, what am I doing here? I said I was sleeping on the bus." she snapped at him.

"And we are saying you sleeping here." Swiss emphasized his point by literally pointing to the floor.

"Copia-" Ari turned to the man but he held his hands up and gave her a small smile.

"Tesero, there is no fighting Swiss when he had made up his mind, si? you know this. Besides," he sighed out a long breath. "You should not be alone right now, even if you think alone is what you need. Come, you can have the shower first." he swept his hand out towards the ajar bathroom door.

Ari stared at them all before shaking her head. "I'm fine. Look, I don't need to be coddled. I knew my husband was cheating on me, I just never had proof okay? I got my tears out and I'm fine! End of story, I don't need to have a mini pity party in a hotel room with my boss and his minions." her words came out harsher than intended but the trio only looked at her a long moment not at all convinced or insulted.

"Then consider it a sleepover with friends." Copia replied resting his hands on her shoulders and giving them a squeeze. "Go on." he gently nudged her towards the bathroom.

"I don't have my things with my Copia I need to go get them from the bus." oh she was fighting hard.

Dew wasn't going to have it. Stomping over to her he pointed over her shoulder at the bathroom and glared down at her; the brunt of his anger flaring up in his copper-flame eyes now that he didn't have a mask on.

"Get in the goddamned shower Ari or so help me I will rip of those clothes and shove you in under cold water!" he threatened

"You. Wouldn't. Dare." Ari jabbed a finger into the fire ghoul's chest and he cocked his head at her before an evil grin spread across his face and he suddenly gripped the front of her blouse and ripped it open; scattering buttons everywhere on the floor.

She yelped and grabbed the sides of her shirt covering her chest that was only covering her breasts due to the bra she was wearing; a rather lacy and pink bra at that.

"Dewdrop!" she gaped at him in horror and he raised a brow at her.

"Don't try me, woman." he replied lowly and Ari glanced between Copia and Swiss. Copia coughed looking away not at all surprised at his ghoul's behavior but doing nothing to stop him and Swiss was grinning from ear to ear with his hands on his hips as if to tell her 'I told you so.'

"This is unprofessional!" she hissed backing away into the bathroom.

"Like I give a fuck. Go shower." Dewdrop slammed the door in her face and she was left in the cold bathroom staring at the door.

"Son of a bitch." she grumbled before angrily locking the door.

She knew they meant well and frankly, she wasn't used to others taking care of her; she was the one who usually did that for others. And even if Dewdrop's methods were a little barbaric she could understand their concern for her and well...she couldn't deny that despite the show of worry he had for her at the venue. This was Dewdrop's style. So she did as ordered and used the hotel amenities to take a shower telling herself that once she got out; she was going to give them quite an earful. She never got the chance.

~

Chapter 6

[scp230kinnie]

do you mind if i ask for some general hcs for your characterization of draven kondraki

maybe even some boyfriend hcs perchance... :]

ABSOLUTELY YES HELLO

IVE LIKE NEVER ACTUALLY SEEN ANYONE TALK ABOUT HIM BUT YES

Also once again for all the asks and submissions I am getting to all of them don’t worry 😻

Now I introduce to you

Draven Kondraki Headcanons

(General and relationship)

Characters: Draven Kondraki, mentions of foundation personnel

Warnings: cringe, gender neutral, blood & death & SCPs

ART NOT MINE !! ALL CREDITS TO ORIGINAL OWNER

General Headcanons

Being the son of one of the best, he is therefore very respected over at the foundation

He looks like he listend to slipknot tbh

His favorite band is Pierce the veil but he’s never gone to a concert, his dad won’t let him

Same

I’m gonna hc that he’s around 16-19 lol

He def smokes and he gets it from his father

AN AMAZING COOK AND BAKER FR

Looks like he would dye like bits of his hair bright colours

He tries to act chill and nonchalant but he’s not

If someone were to let him talk about something, he would for hours

He tries to convince clef to get Spotify premium because it’s the “best thing he’s ever done”

Nope

He drinks BLACK COFFEE

no sugar or creamer or anything

Also gets it from his dad

He drinks Mountain Dew for sure

He probably smells like a mix of cigarette smoke mixed with the smell of the morning after it rains

He paints his nails

Bro probably claims to be famous on tiktok but he probably has a private account with 31 followers

He’s got good style

He is also really good at interior design and knows where things should go

He KNOWS his way around the foundation

You will never get lost there with him he’s like a living map

He loves his dad no matter what like even if they fight and stuff he’s not generally one of those rebellious kids

Also not an angel child but still

My guy does not know how to dance

Relationship Headcanons

Let’s pretend he’s not dating Talloran okay

Okay

He’s canonically bi so HE WOULD LOVE YOU NO MATTER WHAT GENDER YOU ARE

Wear his clothes and he folds IMMEDIATELY

Loves that fr

Fav place to kiss is ur lips and forehead 💍

He likes to hold ur hands even tho his are always cold

Not the biggest fan of PDA but still probably will if you want

So much cuddles in private tho 🫶

He doesn’t like getting into fights with you but he would probably be really petty if you guys were in one

Sleeping on the couch and stuff 😭

Talks his dads ear off about you

Paint his nails and he’ll paint yours duh

If you also smoke he would be hypocritical and tell you to stop over him

If you were to write him letters, he would save every single one no joke

His love language is words of affirmation

He just loves to hear you say he’s doing a good job

He is almost never jealous but when he is he’s also really petty

He’ll go up to you while ur talking with another person and kiss you in front of them and hold ur waist n stuff

Then he’d like complain

He’ll forget about it dw

If you ever get hurt he will PANIC

Like examines your injuries makes sure nothings broken or cut too deep and helps fix you up

If someone he’s close to recently passed away I feel like he would get kinda distant for a bit

Just help him thru it 💪

He straight up MAKES YOU like his TikTok’s

LMFAO

His doesn’t really have any couple nicknames for you, just some variation of your name will do

His singing voice is so sweet. He doesn’t like to sing, but if you’re having a nightmare or something he will sing you back to sleep so gently I can’t even

He’s not usually around a lot so he likes to call you and just hear your voice

He also loves to see you smile

He memorized all of your orders in different restaurants and coffee shops so he can get you things

His dad knows ur dating and likes to tease him lol

Shows you his baby pictures LMAO

His dad does care about you tho, cuz he knows if anything happened to you, Draven would be devastated

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him

Sorry this was kinda rushed it’s 3 in the morning

Idk why I always choose to write late at night

I also don’t know too much about this character I read a bit of the stories and got a general idea, but otherwise this is what I came up with

Hope you enjoyed

Everyone leave more requests pls

[counting-eyerolls]

okay you want ghoul thoughts? i got some !!

i am convinced swiss is that kinda drunk that gets all mushy and starts grabbing people around the shoulders and singing/dancing with them

he'd unironically play voltaj and vama veche at a party and actually get emotional

but the more surprising part is rain would not only join him but would probably be even louder/more into it. and that's after sitting in a corner for three hours zoning out or just kinda hovering around not talking to anyone

so picture swiss hoisting rain up and waving him around while they're both belting and crying (aurora would probably join them but she'd be up on a table because she deserves to have a stage)

wait yes i definitely agree!

i feel like swiss is the one who brings the party mood up. i also feel like sometimes all the multis kinda just go all out with outfits and decorations based on a theme they all choose prior to that. like country karaoke night and it’s full on cowboy boots and hats and big leather belts with even bigger metal accents. idk idk like sunshine and aurora would definitely rock some of those boots and hats do you get my vision

i once had a whole manic episode where i was intensively thinking about and writing ghoul (more specifically ghoulette) karaoke night and aurora was center stage (as she should)

but anyway i feel like swiss would dance and sing to people regardless of whether he’s drunk or not! mountain cooking in the morning? humming along and softly singing while hugging him from behind. dew is grumpy and taking a shower in the morning? swiss is right next to him belting his heart off. cumulus is doing her hair and singing to herself very quietly? he’ll come in just to say hi and sing a little with her while they both start giggling (ofc the singing gets louder)

but i feel like he only gets mushy mushy when drunk yes yes or oh he’ll have full on weeping moments while singing and holding someone’s hand but when the song is over it’s like he flips a switch back on and it’s party time again

ana by vama veche and swiss nails the “…ana” every single time

i feel like yes rain is definitely very funny and giggly especially after they give him a few drinks but definitely not before that zoning out tipsy stage where it feels like he’s not moving or breathing and if they watch him closely they realize he’s blinking just very very slowly (he’s probably thinking about something like a which fish are you quiz he did the other day and how unhappy he is with the result — he got blowfish)

swiss hoisting him up and spinning him around seems very accurate to me and i bet they’d get so into it that the others would have to stop them from crying once the song ends :3

the first time phantom and aurora witnessed this they had a few staring at each other like you stare at a sibling when someone says something questionable during dinner moments. but then they both said mhm seems legit and aurora now just joins and is once again center table stage like she deserves and phantom gets a bit too into the song and it hits him too hard so he starts getting teary eyed on the couch watching rulti do their thing :(

:) thank you for the ghoul thoughts!

[iamthecomet]

hi, person who sent in rain nightmare before christmas head cannon, i just took a shower and i bring more ghouls and movies. feel free to disregard this if it’s too long :) glad my previous one helped

dew obviously likes horror movies, but i think outside of those he likes american psycho. not in like the sigma male way but just in the way that he thinks bateman is funny and he admires christian bale. also not too gorey for a ghoul movie night, so there’s a bonus for him.

this is definitely me projecting cause it’s my favorite BUT mountain loves the grand budapest hotel. since it’s by wes anderson the color palettes are obviously one of mountains favorite things but he likes how old timey it sorta is. he also likes how far back the story line goes and how it gives the perspective of someone going through what happened. (definitely give it a watch if you haven’t! highly suggest.)

aether likes the godfather. i would elaborate further but i haven’t seen it so i’m sorry but i’m basing this based on what i know about the movie. but i think one of the papas (former or IV) introduced him to it and he just loves it.

swiss isn’t a big super hero fan but i think he would like the batman (2022). he likes how muddy it is and how easy it is to follow the story line while still keeping in a line of suspense. there’s this one letterboxd review of that movie where it’s applauding bruce for being a loser and i think he would’ve 100% written that.

phantom likes fight club. again not in the sigma male way but just because he likes how complex it is that it can give him something to focus on if he needs a distraction. also thinks tyler durden is hot. sometimes will box dew in the kitchen for no reason and if anybody asks why he will just say “fight club” and walk away.

cirrus likes horror but not dew horror like classic horror. think frankenstein and dracula. huge frankenstein girlie (me too). on an average night in the fall, you could find her in her room with any ghoul(s) with her while she watches the movie for the 500th time with the same amazed expression as when she watched it the first.

cumulus loves disney movies. specifically the princess ones. not a suprise cause she’s a princess (and she loves fantasy) but i think her favorites are tangled, the princess and the frog, and cinderella. dew hates princess movies but he will do anything for his princess so he will begrudgingly watch them with her whenever she asks.

i remember someone saying sunshine likes romcoms and while YES, i know none so i went with the only rom-com-ish one i know. ruby sparks. she likes it because it isn’t so happy and up-spirit the whole movie and it’s a bit sad towards the end, and she just likes the concept.

finally, aurora, another tim burton girl. corpse bride. rain showed her the nightmare before christmas a bit after she was summoned and since she loved it she showed her corpse bride and now it’s like the only thing she will watch.

Oh my god these are SO GOOD. You're absolutely right about every single one of these. Especially Cirrus with her classic horror, and Sunshine with romcoms. They're all just so spot on. Now I'm picturing Cumulus singing disney songs to Dew until he begrudgingly starts to sing along with her and it is so soft and so sweet and adh;slahfas;djkfa. Thank you so much for all of these. They're WONDERFUL.

[thecupcakewritesmorethings]

Papas and co being actual Papa’s.

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING TOTALLY DIFFERENT.

Papa Emeritus I- 9/10 Papa. I see him as a “Daughter” dad. Takes you to Mass every Sunday. Admittedly, is a little disappointed if you don’t join the Clergy, but supports you in whatever you do. You’re definitely going to be a member of the Anti-Church’s chorus as a youth, though.

Papa Emeritus II- 3/10 Papa. Look, there’s a GOOD chance he never raised you. The sort of dad that’d hand you a check for your Birthday. Not good with young children, but probably can speak and level with you better as a parent when you hit high-school.

Papa Emeritus III- 7/10 Papa. Actively a part of his children’s lives, though not a good “father” figure. Definitely the sort of person who tried though. You have baby pictures of yourself and he in sunglasses in the park. Sorta in a weird situation with all the sex stuff because... Well. That’s his kid? Wants to teach them right, but also knows it’s REALLY awkward. He tries.

Cardinal Copia/ Papa Emeritus IV- 2/10 Papa. Look. I love Cardi C. I really do, but man has got NONE of his shit together. Man’s in his 40′s and is still babied by his mama. He’d LEARN, I guess, but the only thing redeeming him from being a total wash as a parent is those who love him.

Papa Nihil- 8.5/10 Granpapa- The sort of person who insists they don’t want grandchildren, don’t need grandchildren, ect. However the moment you come around he’s just- he can’t help himself. Pinches your cheeks and calls you nick-names. Frequently steals you from your parents whenever he gets the chance and he does it all. Baby Baths? Yes. Diapers? Yes. Feeds you and doesn’t mind getting his alb dirty? Yes. Yes. Give this man a baby to openly coddle and he’d be over the MOON. The kind of grandpa to spoil you rotten with toys that have small parts, load you up on sugar and release you to your parents. The Old Codger knows what he’s doing.

& Co

Sister Imperator- 2/10 OR 9/10 Granmama- Could go either way, and depends on who the father is. If you’re Copia’s: OH! She is the most doting, most loving grandmother you could ask for, and... Probably does the most child-rearing. If you’re any of the other Papa’s children... Well. Fend for yourself.

Aether- 8/10 Papa. Also would be clueless in some regards, but would be a good teacher. The sort of dad who wouldn’t chastise you for something bad, but let you experience consequences. Fall asleep on him and watch him die a little inside.

Sodo/Stompy/Dew/Fire- 9/10 Papa.  Okay, Stompy has anger issues, but if you want a protective Dad--- this is him. Would wear the dad backpack with pride and vitriol. Pretends to eat his child’s nose all the time. Loves to play and (lovingly) chuck his child into something soft. Crawl on him and be an adorable little hellion. He’ll be SO pleased.

Rain- 7/10 Papa. Overwhelmed!!! STRESSED!!! He has his high points as a parent, but he’s the sort of person who will panic if you’re upset. He’s much better with young children than he is babies, and as a teenager he’d do his best to encourage you. Will sing you songs, and rock you to sleep with music. Rough start, but over-all not a bad parent!

Mountain- 10/10 Papa. THE DADDEST GHOUL. Not mad with you hitting things, in fact I imagine he encourages you to express yourself through percussively hitting things. Maybe not the FONDEST of doing the day-to-day things, but no parent really is. Probably has a hard time sleeping with you in the crib, tbh, and would much rather you crash in bed or on the couch with him. I think, despite the fact he is a drummer, would be SUPER stoked if you got into choir or any kind of classical instrument. Not afraid to, also, lovingly chuck you into something soft, but has a better grasp of what is too much than Sodo. Way less prone to anger or passive-aggression than the others. Would be the MOST willing to accept a religious view outside of his own. May not be very comfortable if you go Christian, or... Even... Catholic (gulp), but would allow you to explore on your own terms. Even if you wind up leaving, he makes sure to let you know that you always have a home with him.

Cirrus- 8/10 Mama. I’m trying to find something zesty for the Ghoulettes as parents, but... Well. I can’t. I think they’d legit be good parents. Cirrus is 100% the kinda mom who will dye your hair crazy colors when school is off. Takes you school shopping during the height of summer. She also sits down and does all your school assignments with you. I do see her, however, signing you up for more musically inclined classes first. Not a big sports mom.

Cumulus- 10/10 Mama. Cirrus will lead you down the path of parentage-- CUMULUS IS GOING TO LEAD YOU DOWN THE PATH THAT ROCKS. Soccer mom, home room mom, and bakes really good cookies when you’re good at school. When you’re baby? When you’re baby she has your crib tricked out like it’s going on an episode of “pimp my ride”.

Sunshine- 2/10 Mama. Okay. Sunshine, I feel is too baby to be a mom. She is a big sister, and in that regard, oh, 8/10. Helps you with homework and gets into trouble with you, but yeah. Just don’t expect her to be particularly forthcoming with responsibilities.

COWBELL GHOUL- 9/10. Gives even Mountain a run for his money. Whereas Mountain is more of a chill dad, Cowbell is more structured and a natural teacher. You want to do ballet? Sure. He’s taking classes along side you. Want to go into sports? He studies up and tries to play with you. He has his preferences for how your life will wind up, but is going to make sure you’re prepared for the path that YOU chose, specifically, and the best way to guarantee that is to be good at it himself. A little overbearing at some times, but means well. Willll back off if you want your own personal identity.

[libidomechanica]

Hadst to keeps

A thigh-pile haze of his in feed?     Rank even you to human to flew, grows loved wound wave as     see thy rooms, to flies, since

the walkings on, unused was Seen     Guinever and drew in my love, yea, the grew on bother,     callestial made and a

moon: on lack. Tis she way, and rains     perhaps twere braine. Big head, or, for above, I sings wert, this     picture, in drawn folk, thing

thro’ the as with with thus station     she tell their eart of the glory heart. I could here its lead’st     whenever flood, upon

is have from climes, and mortal distance     sire. I was wept, hold the hurried scorn clasped her of     mansistening each unsand

feet. Ring-glory, makes and love     nor care, and tinkle-drums, and die. ’ Which, king on a captive     worke I prey flee. The this,

the radise the prepartised     marble to May-dew my blown, her ’tween. That me as is to     me who the grie o’ lowed.

And I’ll be new-years, where; the     foe island with Christabel gathe so neverer yet the     where the face from the ring

queen us and Admire. This wall     her happy debate; and yeeld’s to and far from yawning feature     along sounds descride.

[hamishpetersen]

Belly full of green

Text commissioned for the exhibition Belly full of green by Caitlin Clarke at Hot Lunch Gallery, Ōtautahi Christchurch, 18 June–3 July 2021

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Dear C,

A greasy seam is sewn in the dewed yard. Hedgehog Way. It’s 7:18am and I’m greeting the hens. I wiggle the feeding bucket’s nipple and lodge a chickweed bundle under a brick. This is my time with the past before today begins. I stare at the wet mulch. I see soil-ordinary nothing. I see all the pits people have dug in this soil: midden, kiln, kumara... Maybe if it had never been drained to build roads it would have one day resembled a peat bog: mattressed with moss and heather. So I listen to the stories you tell with your hands to braid yourself back; Neolithic memory humming; immigrant weeds singing in the pot; a shadowed need for old relations; a gift of new language.

*** The ground itself is kind, black butter. [1] 

***

“Could you conjure a church?”

Yarrow asks, in reply to the woman now rolling about on top of them. Weeks ago, she asked Yarrow about the stories in the ground around these lowlands, and how to hear them: the chorus of navigators who’d each found their way up this estuary at different points in the double spiral of its memory. She introduced herself as C. A weird name.

“Well, we need somewhere to gather and listen together.” Says Yarrow, “So maybe make something of hay and mud, or wattle and daub? Maybe we just find the five biggest rocks within rolling distance of this old swamp, bury a third of each in the sandier soils, backfill, and put the biggest on top. Call it a dolmen.”

“Or” C adds, “should we go cottage-core and reassemble that falling-down worker’s hut in a sunny spot and scatter-sow hollyhocks, and foxgloves, and batchelors’ buttons? Or, I know, I’ve got an architect friend. How ‘bout we ask them to draw up something modular with an outdoor kitchen and a bunk house for friends to stay in. We could start a vlog about it and run a PatreonTM to pay the engineers, and pile-drivers, and bristly electricians...”

Some of the geese have gathered and are shaking their heads, sharing glances and knowing brows. A moment passes. Others join.

C brushes her palms across the tops of her tarpaulin thighs, getting the picture. She leans forward on two tree knots and stands, putting one wet leaf palm against her lower back, and then the other. Schlup. Schuup.

“Alright, yeah, good point.” Yarrow breathes out, thinking, “That was close, almost lost another one.” And puts on an encouraging look: five tiny white petals around a domed arrangement of pollen receptors and nectar teeth.

C turns back around to the small assembly.

“Right then, it’s agreed: our church will swallow us and be made of us, house and require us, ingest and digest us. Finally, a place to be together in some mycorrhizal chorus of sensation and story. But it’ll be no bigger than you, y’hear!”

Hedgehog nods, smiling a pine needle grin.

“It should be just big enough to fit the congregation of clovers,” C continues, “So we’ll use those 110ft scots pines over there, let them sit in the river till soft as black pulp, pack them into woven willow, and clear these old pioneer trees to make ash for the potato drills and to glaze the goblets. I don’t think the market will ever recover this time, so let’s not worry about the depreciation of attached dwellings like these. We’ll insulate it with ryegrass in April and wash its walls in kelp slime to keep the rain out. That sounds better eh?”

Walnut drops from the canopy in affirmation. The assembly has grown.

“But where?” C asks.

On an incoming wind, the Harakeke raise their precise voices to the group,

“We know how these soils slip around here. If you can help us keep our rito safe from those steel predators, we’ll send the kōmako out to sing you to the sound places for your structure. There are only a few spots down here where we would all have enough soil around our roots and be woven tightly enough by those last kahikatea to hold us all together, to sing at once under a single roof. Just ask, and we’ll tell you what’s needed.”

A sweet old peach rustles a round of applause and mumbles underleaf to its neighbour,

“I wish that rumply old couple had listened to those folks when they planted us in this slump in 1949. My boots have barely had a breath of fresh air in all those 130-something years!”

C thanks the stand of harakeke and takes another plotting pace in algal galoshes, then back again in sappy clogs, plan crystalising while turning a chestnut and two acorns over in her paw.

There’s an urge to begin in pricked ears and cocked beaks held around the yard. Piwakawaka winks and does a kickflip. The assembly seems to be in agreement. Convivial chatter and planning rises amongst the stray cats and buried family dogs, budgies, and chinchillas. C gets to work drawing up plans with the ants.

“Engage bug mind,” they say. And C sinks in. 

***

Then he is standing very still, concentrating, rocking on the breeze, and he wriggles his fingers and there are hazelnuts. [2]

***

She gives me slushy tiles and bursting stones. Overflowing geology. Extrasensory archaeology. Blinded by the city, we look for miner’s lettuce and ploughman’s luck. But it’s too early. Or all gone. All I can do today is sit near and watch your back. You cast the space between your fingertip and nail in earthenware and ironsands to record who happened there. What was left and what you made from that. It’s warm to the touch now: bleating, bloated, bleeding, beating. Stained grass windows in the last light of the day.

*** My body is the tent of my body And dwells here on earth 

Among us [3]

* * *

1. Seamus Heaney, “Bogland,” Opened Ground (London: Faber & Faber, 1998), 41.

2. Max Porter, Lanny (London: Faber & Faber, 2019), 202.

3. Tusiata Avia, “Apology,” Fale Aitu (Wellington: Victoria University Press, 2016), 59.

[magpie-moon]

If you can figure out what to name it, tell me

You’re like watermelon in August, when the heat index is 102, and the air sticks to my lungs, clogs my pores and fills me with an inevitable kind of despair that only hot weather brings

You’re like BlueBell at the end of a long day and the bluebonnets on the roadsides, like the Indian Paintbrushes and buttercups that line the bayous and the hens and chickens that dot the yard, they glisten with morning dew drops and rest under roses and azaleas. They grow no matter what part of them you plant

Through your eyes, I see these walls. I see snowfalls and icy streets, air that leaves puffs of train smoke in your wake. I breathe crisp fog and glean shine from burnt lightbulbs, watch the clocks move and laugh at the ghosts that haunt me, for I am something of a ghost myself

You’ve led to everything and nothing; you’ve forged paths in my heart, in my mind, uncovered long-forgotten dreams and brought them to fruition, planting hope and sowing wishes for less wasted time and clandestine lies of petty forgiveness. You’ve made me want to remember the rhymes of childhood, the ones I sought to suppress from fear of disappointment and everything that comes with it. But I’m always disappointed. In my mother and her husbands, in my father and his new family, in my grandparents and their old-fashioned tyranny, meant to keep me on the straight and narrow. But I’ve never been very straight, and my narrowness is subjective

I’m antsy without you near but it's fine. I think about you all the time but it's fine. I wonder what you dream about but it's fine. I want to give you everything but it's fine. Maybe it's not healthy but it’s fine, and this probably isn’t even a very good poem but that's fine too You’ve made an addict out of me, and I don’t even mind the cravings

I miss you like the tides miss the moon, clawing fruitlessly at the sand trying to get closer. Instead, I only end up polishing my sea glass words and curating pearl pictures. When I think they’re pretty enough, I send them over with the hope you love them half as much as I love you

Maybe I’ve never told you this, but I sing all the time, and all the songs are for you as well

I tra-la-la around the house like a songbird with subpar vocal cords. I used to wonder why the caged bird sings, but here I am, a lark, and you’re a song, I can’t stop and I don’t want to

You make me want to write you love letters you’ll never receive. They’re full of things I barely let myself think, and I let the love-struck words leak out from my mind to the nib. Ink onto a page and onto blue bloody fingers. My heart is covered with indents from when you dug your teeth in, and you just continue to leave more and more as we go along

I hide the letters, you know. From myself or from everyone else, I'm not quite sure, but I wrap them in my stockings and stash them in a sock drawer. Sometimes I breathe them in and hold the heartsick sentiments in trembling hands. I hope I work up the nerve to show them to you one day. I think you’d find them interesting

I feel like I'm in a fever dream with you fueling the flames. And I'm still here shivering like a child lost in the rain, cold and left behind, thinking of your skin-warm hoodies and scalding touch. I want to dry my eyes on your blankets and be held when I cry during a sad movie, during a sort of depressing song that gets to me for no real reason, while reading an article about all the injustices of the world that hurt me now more than they ever did before

You're like the sun, and I constantly have to remind myself that the sun is also a star. Then I remember you are also the stars. And the moon. And every other planetary object that fills the dark sky like so many night lights

I hope this never fades. I hope I'll get to look around one day and see you full of candlelight and smiles. I want to give you butterfly kisses and watch your calico eyes, pull you close, and never let you go

Sometimes you feel like peppermint tea and heartache. I love it more than I should. And I long for you more than I’d care to admit I’m lost in space and time slides like silken wind slipping past my grasping hands. It exists, but like most things that feel important, it’s meaningless, fluid, and I can’t stay put long enough for it to solidify. And well, you're solid enough for the both of us. I'm so used to being non-corporeal, just a friendly ghost amid phantoms and poltergeists, I could barely let myself feel, let alone become something real. Something with substance and gumption

You’re helium and gravity; you keep my head in the clouds, my feet planted steadfast onto the ground. A tether to keep me from wandering too far. An anchor, so when I drift back, it’s back to the start, and I know it well. Because unfamiliarity makes me anxious, but then most things do. Its nothing unusual

You're all-consuming and encompassing. You feel like almost drowning or falling off bridges only to be caught before hitting the bottom. You're like static and I keep getting shocked. I never thought anything could be like this, inevitable. Like tectonic plates colliding, causing earthquakes that shake foundations and rattle windows. That knocks me off my feet and leaves me sprawled out on the floor, and all I can do is wait for you to pick me back up again. And I know you will. You always do

[yandere-romanticaa]

Imagine...

... the sound of the grandfather clock ticking away as you sit in a lavishly furnished room, the giant vanity filled with make up and jewelry glimmering in the soft candlelit room, the gentle tapping of the rain against the ancient stone windows guarding you from the dangers of the outside world. Reaching out towards a barely lit candle, its glimmering orange flames just shy out of reach, you couldn't help but to yearn for the warmth of the flame. You knew better however than to touch the flame, God knows just how bad her reaction would be. She barely let you lit your own candles and the frustrating thought caused you to sigh. Turning your head to the left side of the vanity mirror, you were met with a big, snow white vase, a few dozen blood red roses inside of it, all neatly tied up with a pretty little bow. Said flowers were all trimmed of course, there was not a single thorn in sight that could hurt your precious little fingers.

They were a generous gift from the lady of the house herself.

Closing your eyes the world was suddenly engulfed in darkness as you did your best to block out all of the sounds and noises around you. No, you were not in a giant castle, wearing perfect white clothing. No, you were not surrounded by monsters that were out for blood of others, ready to kill at any second. You were home, surrounded by your friends and family. Or maybe... Yes, it's getting clearer now. You are actually in a forest, far away from civilization. Bushes and an endless sea of trees could only be seen in the horizon ahead as flocks of birds flew freely in the sky, the sounds of raw mother nature smothering your senses. The smell of the dew grass, the feeling of the crisp air brushing against your skin, the singing song of the cicadas, you could picture it all so clearly in your head. Such imagery always managed to calm your beating heart and would always being your mind to ease. What you failed to realize however was, no matter how beautiful a place may be, there is always a predator lurking around in every dark corner.

The dancing claw on your neck made you realize that the hard way.

Your eyes shot open, tears threatening to spill from your terror struck eyes, a cold sweat forming on your forehead. You felt a presence behind you, what did they want?! Oh God, why were you so cold?! No, why is it so hot all of a sudden?! An inaudible scream left your lips as you finally looked at the mirror in front of you and saw the grinning face of Alcina, her fangs glowing like shining pearls in the darkness. You felt her lips being pressed against your cheek, an amused, deep chuckle ringing at the back of her throat as she traced various patterns at the small of your back, her crimson lipstick leaving a mark on your cheek.

"My my, daydreaming yet again dear (y/n)? Little angel, that's becoming quite a habit of yours..." she hummed against you, not breaking eye contact with you. You stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do and what to say. The Lady had often paid you random visits throughout the day but it was never usually this late. She liked it when you had your "beauty sleep" and liked to keep you on a tight little schedule of her own. Letting out a soft hum, she straightened herself and stood high above you, one hand on her hip while the other one held your chin, forcing you to look at her. You couldn't help but to wince a little, your neck ached from being forced to look up so high. Her gloved thumb toyed with your lip as she let her earlier statement sort of hang in the air, causing a comfortable, well, in her mind at least, atmosphere in the room. Wordlessly, she lowered your chin and took your hands into her own. Leading you towards the king sized bed she placed you on the soft, silk sheets as her hands wandered all over the place. Soon enough your head hit the feathery light pillow and her hands were on the sheets, securely tucking you in. Leaning in, she pressed a sweet kiss against your forehead, humming a little in the process. Tucking in a stray piece of hair behind your ear, she allowed herself to be soft as her eyes glowed with love and adoration.

"Sweet dreams, my little dove. I hope you sleep well tonight."

She stood up and walked quietly towards the door, her footsteps lightly echoing throughout the room. Your eyes were glued to her form, and before she left, she turned to you one final time. With a mischievous, almost predatory grin, she said something that sent an icy chill down your spine.

"Oh, and and one more thing..." she trailed off. Still smiling, she continued: "... Do not stay up so late from this point onward. These late hours aren't meant for dainty little creatures like you, yes? You should know by now that all sorts of things run a mock, ready to tear any unsuspecting human to bits and pieces lest they get in their way. You wouldn't want that to happen to you now, do you?"

Gulping, you shook your head furiously. Seemingly pleased by your answer she laughed, finding you terrified reaction to be nothing short of adorable.

"Well, now with that out of the way, I shall bid you farewell." Lowering herself she exited the room, but before closing the door shut you could still make out her curious eyes staring straight at you, even at such a late hour. Before you even realized it, you subconsciously started to close your eyes and sleep overcame you in a matter of minutes.

Locking the door behind her, Alcina made her way towards her own chambers, a content smile on her lips.

What a good little pet she has, she thought to herself.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

what we’re meant for

[apollo x reader]

author’s note: apollo’s ear piercings>>> makes me wanna get more ugh

word count: 9,251

The air feels colder after it rains, but it’s also crisper, fresher, and with a deep inhale you let it fill your lungs, mentally steeling yourself for today’s hunt.

You stand at the edge of the woods, sunlight peeking through the foliage of towering trees and bugs and birds alike flittering between the thick, aged trunks. The grass is damp from a combination of raindrops and morning dew, and you know you’ll need to watch your steps particularly carefully to avoid any muddy spots, lest your feet sink in. A small gust of wind blows, ruffling your hair, braided as it always is to keep it out of your face, and you shiver. Your deep breaths are also made in an effort to acclimate yourself to the lower temperature. You refrained from wearing a cloak despite the chill because you knew it’d only impair your ability to use your bow properly. Though the longer you stand in place, the more you’re beginning to regret that decision. So before you can get the chance to regret it even more, you slide down the small incline and venture into the forest.

Last night the rain had been heavy, and you watch out for fallen leaves and branches, taking care to walk around them. It’s always quiet here, but especially so in the mornings, and any misstep would alert the wildlife to your presence. The birds are singing, a complement to the peace of the early hours, and serve to help you feel less alone as you traipse along. You try to identify the species to whom each unique call belongs, testing what you learned from Alexios during the days you’d agreed to let him accompany you on hunts. Studying birds had become one of his favorite pastimes, and he delighted in sharing with you what he read and applying his knowledge.

There’s a melody, high-pitched and staccato, and you think hard about what Alexios had shared, about the distinct tones. You then hazard a guess, and your attention is pulled to a small bird that perches on a branch of a tree you’re passing. It opens its mouth to sing, and you smile, having found your guess to be correct. It seems you’re getting the hang of this.

Your birdwatching is interrupted by the ruffling of leaves, and you freeze, gaze lowering to scan the surrounding area. You listen closely to determine the direction the noise had come from, and the moment you hear it again, you establish the way you need to go.

You move slowly to remain as quiet as possible, following the sound of pattering on soil and the snapping of twigs. It doesn’t move very far and you’re able to close the distance, ducking behind a bush when you catch a glimpse of fur. Once you’re hidden, you peek around, eyes settling immediately on the sand-colored rabbit sniffing at a plant. As it begins to take a bite of the leaves, you carefully reach for your bow.

The birds chirping help provide some cover, but it’s not perfect because you’re much closer, and any noise you make will stand out. You begin to pull your bow from over your shoulder but pause when the rabbit does, its ears lowering. Had it heard you? It lays flat on the ground then, and you figure it must have; it’s getting ready to flee if it hears anything else.

You hold your breath to keep silent and manage to get your bow and an arrow without the rabbit noticing. As you nock the arrow and take aim, you exhale, then take another deep breath, holding it again to remain steady. You only have one attempt to catch the rabbit here. Otherwise, you’ll have to chase it or search for another animal.

The string of your bow is at maximum tension, pulled back as far as it can go, and your fingers unwrap from around the arrow, letting it fly. You can swear it almost whistles through the air before it hits your target. It’s a clean shot, and now you allow yourself to relax, letting out a sigh and emerging from your hiding place to retrieve your catch.

You pull out the arrow to return to your quiver and tuck the rabbit into your rucksack. You’re not quite done hunting yet, for one rabbit isn’t enough for you and your family. You’ll need to keep searching, but luckily, there’s ample time yet until noon, when you’re expected back to assist your mother around the house.

Slinging your rucksack on, you stand back up straight. The sun is at an angle to shine down through the trees, its rays bright and brilliant. It’s just the warmth you need, and you stay in this spot briefly, basking in it with closed eyes. See, you think to yourself, the cloak would’ve been unnecessary. You’ve got the sun to keep you warm after all.

With your eyes shut, your hearing is extra sharp, and at the sound of more rustling, you’re kicked into action. You’ve pinpointed the direction more quickly this time, and you proceed to track your next target. You try to walk along the ground the sun touches, feeling its heat spread over your back. Please continue to keep me warm, you murmur. It feels nice on cold mornings like these. It’s a playful request because of course the sun can’t hear you, but you like to pretend it can, and that you’re in its good graces, that it should indulge you and kiss your skin so gently.

The silly thought makes you smile, and it rests comfortably on your lips as you navigate your way between the pines.

***

This morning is a morning like any other, nondescript and quiet. The thick blanket of clouds beneath the expanse of Olympus is parting as the rumble of rainstorms fades to welcome a clear sky. Colors always appear more vivid after the rain: a bluer sky, greener trees and grass. Every drop breathes new life into the earth, invigorating then magnifying it. Fewer sights are better than this, and that’s why Apollo finds himself tarrying in the courtyard.

He allows his mind to empty as he absentmindedly gazes down below, watching the world awaken, freshly cleansed and ready for a new day. The air up here is crisper as well and he breathes it in deeply. This would always be one delight he shared with mortals.

After lingering a while longer, he’s poised to take his leave and proceed with his day, but a curt prayer reaches his ears and stops him short. To hear prayers isn’t unusual, and he hears them often, but this particular one grabs his attention for a short list of reasons. One, that it hadn’t been addressed to him explicitly, but to the sun. It’s this that tips him off to the fact it must not be anything serious, no heartfelt plea for blessing but something muttered distractedly to fill the air, but he hears it all the same, and, if anything, is amused by it. Two, and perhaps—no, not perhaps, definitely—the more important point, is that the sound of the voice is distinct, melodious, enough to pull him in, wanting to hear more.  

So, rather than leave, he leans against the stone railing and scans the earth far below, listening for that voice again and searching for its owner, whose sweet song has graced his ears so sweetly on a morning that’s quickly taking a turn, no longer a morning just like any other. Where might you be, little bird…

There in the woods, he finds you. Bow in hand and rucksack on your shoulders, clearly in the midst of hunting. It’s simple to surmise that you’re doing your best to walk beneath the sun, and he can’t contain his smile. With each of your deliberate steps he grows more interested in observing you, and if the other gods notice how long he has been here, head leaning on a propped up hand and eyes drawn downwards, they don’t say anything or attempt to interrupt.

The birds that fly above your head are poor competition and while he wishes you would speak more, you don’t, but he understands since your current task requires silence. Though when you shoot down a deer, you let out a quiet exclamation of victory, and you might as well have shot him instead, for his heart seems to beat that much harder in reaction to your voice. Not only is the sky bluer and the foliage greener following the rain, but the cheeks of fair maidens are redder too, as evident by your own. They’re flushed, for you did have to go on a bit of a chase for that deer, but it’s charming in its own right, especially when joined by your satisfied smile. Apollo wonders if, should he lay his hand tenderly on your cheek, the heat of them might rival the sun he governs. He wonders if you’d allow him to sate his curiosity.

Much as he’d like to stay here watching you for the rest of the day, he can’t, and he reluctantly backs away from the railing. His every footstep takes him away from you physically, away from the sight of you, but mentally, you’re in the forefront of his mind in the passing hours. How hadn’t he noticed you sooner? He scolds himself for being careless, that he should miss something so remarkable as you for as long as he had.

Perhaps it might be argued that the gods are kept busy by the whole picture, presiding over the world as a whole, rarely afforded the chance to study the details. But to Apollo it makes little difference because with the discovery of you, with your fanciful wish for the sun to be at your back as you hunt and your voice soft as the plucked strings of a lyre, he is learning that sometimes, the real masterpieces are in the margins of a painting: well hidden but rewarding to find, so that upon picking it out, suddenly life is seen through a fresher pair of eyes, enlightened, and prepared for other secrets behind the canvas or in the painter’s brush.

Morning bleeds into afternoon and afternoon into night, and when the stars are strung across a dark sky, Apollo returns to his spot in the courtyard to search for you. He didn’t want to sleep until he saw you one more time.

You’re at home, your mother preparing for dinner the animals you’d caught earlier. In the mean time, you converse with a young boy. You talk about the birds you heard while hunting, and how you managed to guess their unique calls correctly.

“You’re a wonderful teacher, Alexios,” you compliment, and Apollo thinks about how he wants to hear you say his own name.

Alexios smiles widely. Then, there’s a mischievous glint in his eye. “I must be. If I could teach you, then I could teach anybody.”

At the playful jab, you lightly shove at his shoulder. “I’m a good student!” you defend yourself. “I just get distracted easily.”

“You’re like the sheep father tends to.”

You laugh, bright and melodic. It’s the only music Apollo needs. He’s of the opinion you’d be better suited in Olympus. Your dulcet tones and the delicate planes of your face are the essence of the divine and otherworldly, but he speculates you’ve been placed on earth to grace your fellow mortals with a piece of the heavens, your existence a reminder of the higher powers that be and the beauty they take care to form.

However, Apollo has no qualms in admitting he’s selfish, because for all of that, he’d still prefer you to be here and to keep you for himself. Thoughts of you lull him to sleep this evening, and, at least in this way, he can feel closer to you.

In the following days, he begins planning how best to approach you. To watch from a distance could only satisfy him for so long; he’s yearning for more. Lately, he’d taken to standing at the edge of the courtyard when he needed to think, since from here, he could also watch you, and during one such instance of this, he’s joined by another.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Apollo blinks and glances to his right. Ares is walking over, in full armor and a helmet tucked beneath his arm. He must’ve just returned from training at the arena.

“Have I?” Apollo asks, but he already knows the answer.

“What’s got you so lost in your head?” Ares reaches out, intent to poke at Apollo’s forehead, but Apollo steps back and swats his hand away.

There would be no point in lying. Ares would see through it. Not that Apollo cares to lie. He has nothing to hide. “There’s a girl.”

Ares hums in understanding. “Ah.”

Apollo turns back to study you. Currently, you’re at the market with Alexios and have stopped at a fruit stand. “I want to meet her soon.”

“Is something stopping you?”

“No, no…” Apollo trails off and stays quiet briefly, already becoming distracted. But Ares detects he’s not finished speaking yet and waits. “I just want to figure out how to go about it is all.”

Ares raises a brow. “You’ve never cared about that before.”

At first, Apollo doesn’t think much of this remark, that it’s not worth noting, but upon further consideration he realizes it is rather unusual for him to take into account the how of a first meeting, and not simply appear before you the moment you’re alone. That’d always been standard procedure for him, and the question this raises in him is surely the same as what’s raised in Ares but that he doesn’t share aloud: why now?

Apollo likes to watch you in your natural environment, likes to watch you be, well, you. After all, it’s what had grabbed his attention to begin with, witnessing you in a scenario you’re comfortable in because of its familiarity, to the point you move through the forest with precision, clearly knowing it as well as the back of your own hand. He wants to interact with that part of you and observe up close the one who offers frivolous prayers to the sun as a mere aside, paying no mind to the gods who might actually be listening. Your desire is for the warmth to wash over you on cold mornings and Apollo would fight to keep the skies cloudless forever so that as long as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, your prayer will always be answered.

If he were to appear to you in his form as it is now, as a god in his full glory, it would ruin everything. You’d be taken off guard, startled, unsure how to act in his presence, and he doesn’t want that. It leaves him with the present dilemma, but he thinks he might have come up with something that will work…

Finally, he sighs, and humors Ares with a response. “You’re right. I guess I haven’t.”

***

For some reason, the animals elude you today. Your ears are sharp and well trained, so you’re certain it can’t be that you’ve missed any telltale cues of one in the area. The woods are quiet,  and they feel empty. If you have anything to say about it, it’s a little bit disconcerting.

Eventually you settle against a tree trunk for a short break, laying your bow and empty rucksack next to you. With you sitting, now you don’t even hear the crunching leaves beneath your sandals, and your eyes rove over the immediate surroundings. Nothing rustles, disturbed by creatures who are exceptionally well hidden. Where are they, any of them?

Perhaps you’re just unlucky this time? Returning home empty-handed didn’t matter too much; it was always possible to buy meat at the market. You just preferred to hunt for game yourself because of the thrill it gives and the accomplishment you feel being able to provide for your family in this way. As such, you don’t want to give up yet. After you’re done resting, you’ll continue. Like always, the only rule you have to abide by is to be home by noon.

There’s a stir in the bushes to your left, the leaves jostling, and you sit up quickly. Slowly you grab your bow, fingers wrapped around the grip, and gingerly you pick it up from the dirt and lift yourself to stand. You don’t walk in the direction of the bushes immediately. Your vantage point would be no better since whatever animal is here, it’s well-concealed, and even if you could spot it through the branches, your arrow couldn’t reach. Instead you wait to see if it starts to move out into the open.

Bow in one hand and arrow in the other, you’re prepared to take aim as soon as you spot your target. You just have to hope it doesn’t notice you first and take off into a run. The animal hiding is beginning to move, for the leaves rustle more, and you nock the arrow.

A red fox emerges, golden eyes trained on you as if it had already known you were there. But if that were the case, you’re confused as to why it hasn’t run away. Your arrow’s still knocked, though it’s pointing at the ground, and you stare at each other for one, two, three beats of silence, and this fox’s unwavering gaze leads you to believe thats something is wrong.

No, not wrong, but definitely out of the ordinary. The fox isn’t afraid, and you can’t bring  yourself to stare it down from the sight window of your bow, not when it’s unlike any other fox you’ve encountered, so you relax the tension of the string, removing your arrow and returning both hands to your sides.

The fox moves first, walking towards you, and you’re frozen in place. It feels like a dream, being approached like this by a wild animal who means no harm. You wonder if it might speak to you, a conduit for the gods to impart wisdom, but what they could possibly want to say to you, you haven’t the faintest idea. You’re hardly remarkable, not as well-versed in matters of the divine as the priests of the temple. Has this situation come about as a result of opportunity? To be out in the forest by yourself, there’s little chance for interruption. And with the quietness here, so far from the polis, there’s also little chance for misinterpretation, should the gods truly have something important to share.

The fox now stands right in front of you, its bright eyes blinking, vulnerable but comfortable. You decide to follow its lead, crouching down and setting your bow and arrow on the ground. It’s close enough that you can reach out for it, and cautiously you do, extending an arm to gently run your hand along its red fur. It doesn’t shy away, and as the seconds tick away, you find yourself feeling more comfortable as well. You’re still well aware of the peculiarity of the position you’re in, petting a wild animal so casually, and maybe the gods really are poised to talk to you.

However, the fox is silent as you greet it with a murmured greeting, only continuing to stare up at you. You continue talking, no room to feel embarrassed to converse with a wild animal when it’s already strange to be petting it with ease, and you’re only partly pretending that it can understand because with the way it watches you, you can swear it understands your every word.

“Why are you here?” you inquire, voice hushed. “I suppose you saw a friendly face and wanted to say hello.”

You scratch the fox behind the ear and it nudges its head into your hand, enjoying the sensation, and you chuckle. “Well I’m glad you thought me worthy of your time.”

And your time with it, it would seem, is drawing to a close, because the fox backs up, out of your reach. You watch it with a smile pulling at the corner of your lips and you stand. Lifting a hand to give a little wave, you expect it to turn around and proceed with its own day, concealing itself within the bushes again. And while the fox does turn around and walk away, what surprises you is that it pauses and looks back over at you.

You tilt your head. It’s a very deliberate glance, for it stays where it is, still staring. Was it trying to communicate? Had you been correct after all, that this fox could understand you and had something to share? You stand motionless, ruminating on these thoughts, but the fox continues looking at you, no attempts made to leave… at least not alone. And you know that it could no longer be denied. This fox is trying to say something: it wants you to follow.

Grabbing your bow and rucksack and covering the short distance to the fox, who, satisfied that you’re trailing close behind, proceeds with walking ahead, you reason that there are worse things to be following through the woods. You’ve heard the stories of divine beings interacting with mortals, manifesting in some form to offer guidance, but never did you think you’d be one of them. You can’t help trying to guess what guidance this fox has to offer even if the best course of action right now is just to wait. If it’s leading you somewhere, there’s a destination, and whenever you arrive, you’ll have your answer.

Distracted as you are with watching the fox, you don’t notice the tree root sticking out from the earth, and your foot gets caught on it. You yelp, falling forward, and your hands slide against the leaves as you catch yourself. But then there’s another disturbance, the rustling of more leaves which you’re certain isn’t your doing, and you squash the pained groan you almost let out from scraping your knees in order to listen for any more movements.

Has your run of bad luck finally ended? You’d pushed aside your original task of hunting for game when the fox approached, but now that there’s potentially a rabbit or a deer to track, you’re conflicted as to what to do. And as you’re wont to do in situations like these, you imagine what your mother might say. She’d tell you it’s fine not to go after whatever you’ve heard because the gods aren’t to be ignored, and there would always be other animals on other days. Yes, that’s what she would say yet you still struggle decide.

Your eyes slide from staring in the direction you’d heard the disturbance, down to the fox, who’s paused again, waiting patiently. You know that your urge to track whatever animal is out there doesn’t have to do with the sense of duty to bring home food for dinner, for a trip to the market is no issue. It’s your passion for hunting, the calls of the wild which pull at you. Perhaps it may be ridiculous that the urge is so strong as to compete with the chance to commune with the gods in such a tangible way, foolish even, in the eyes of many, but you would never be ashamed of it. Still…

With a huff, you stand up and brush yourself off. If only to sate your curiosity, you reason, taking wide strides to catch up to the fox.

The two of you don’t walk for much longer, but as you do, you hear the jostling again, of a wild animal sniffing at bushes in search of food. And with every step, you realize the sounds are getting louder.

Finally, the fox stops behind the trunk of a large tree, and you come up behind it, crouching down. Why have you brought me here? You think it but don’t ask it out loud, and you don’t have to because you peak around the trunk and find the answer: there’s a deer in the wide clearing, munching on berries it pulls away from a bush. You duck back around and look at the fox in surprise. It had led you to the animal you heard earlier? The fox sits down, looking up at you with its golden eyes, its job done.

You smile. Sometimes what the gods share with mortals is profound, wisdom only coming from the ones who call Olympus home, and other times they simply share a helping hand.

You’re not about to let the opportunity go to waste. Drawing an arrow and nocking it on your bow, you take aim.

***

One meeting is hardly adequate for Apollo. The moment he’d interacted with you, he knew he wanted more.

He thinks about what you’d said, how you thanked him for deciding you to be worthy of his time. And how could you not be? It was a different experience entirely to observe you up close, to see the confusion on your face upon his arrival but then the softening of it as you relaxed and welcomed him, even for how atypical the whole affair was, to get so close to a fox. You understood it to mean something even if you couldn’t say what, and when prompted to follow, you did so.

There had been that momentary struggle when you heard the deer, unsure whether to break away or continue to follow him. He doesn’t fault you for the indecision. If anything, it helped him to better understand the love you harbor for the hunt, and he’s of the opinion that such passion should always be encouraged. He’d been leading you to the deer to begin with, but you didn’t know that, and even so, you pushed aside your desire to track the deer yourself to continue following him, acknowledging that where he might lead you had nothing to do with an animal to catch but being okay with it.  

The tone of your voice had been so soft, like petals trailing along skin as one lays in a flower field on a warm day, and your eyes were gentle. He would like you to continue watching him in that way, perhaps on a quiet night, a dark one, when the stars are clear and brilliant so that he can promise you that he would scoop them from the sky and fashion them into a crown for you should you ask. Or if not that, he would gladly rearrange them to form a picture of you, a constellation made of only the brightest, to immortalize you in the heavens.

He sighs with longing he doesn’t bother to hide. His eyes slide closed and all he sees in his mind is you. Always you. He needs to see you again soon, to quell the ache in his chest.

The next time he does meet you, he assumes not the form of a fox, but of a human. He wants the chance to actually speak to you. In the early hours of a clear day, he roams the forest, in the areas you tend to frequent. There’s no worry of running into other people on accident. You tend to only be the one hunting this deeply into the woods.

He hears the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, and he turns just in time to see you walk around a tree and into view. Once you spot him, you stop, surprised to find you’re not alone. You hesitate to say anything at first, confusion apparent in your gaze, but you brush it aside as you offer a polite grin.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone out here,” you say.

Apollo chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, feigning sheepishness. “I came here to think and got so lost in my thoughts that, well…” He spreads his arms wide, referring to your surroundings. “I wandered further than I realized.”

You grin widens, and you relax a little more now. “I don’t blame you. The forest is a perfect place to find some peace and quiet.”

Apollo smiles too. “Yes, it really is.”

When you ask for his name, he tells you it’s Loukas. You repeat it, to be sure you heard him correctly, and it’s not as satisfying as he knows it would be to hear you say his real name, but it would have to do for now. Then you say Well it’s nice to meet you, Loukas and it’s heartfelt, yours smile amiable and extending a hand of friendship, should he want that. And yes, he does, very much so, and more still—as much as you’re willing to give.

You ask him questions about himself and he makes up information on the spot, but in an effort to avoid having to conjure up too detailed a backstory, and because he doesn’t want the focus to be on him, for you’re who he wants to learn about, he turns the tables on you and asks about you. It’s surface level, things he already knew by observing you from Olympus—your family and what they do, why you’re out in the forest early in the morning.

But what he gleans from conversing with you goes beyond that. You care for your family deeply, wanting to be a good daughter and older sister. You just want them to be happy, and anything you could do to make it possible, you would do. Hunting began as something practical, done to provide, but you’d grown to love it, energized by the cold air filling your lungs and the rush of blood through your veins when you’re set on a chase. Life for you is generally quiet, but in the forest, with your bow and arrow, it can be livelier, if only for a little while.

Apollo listens with rapt attention as your life unfolds before him and your eyes sparkle from the light of the sun overhead, but he’s more inclined to believe instead that they shine from the stars tucked away within you. Your soul is the essence of another universe and he’d like to live there, Olympus a distant memory but it wouldn’t matter to him, so long as you’re together.

He’d quickly been lost in his musings about you, the life he’d like to live with you, but he’s pulled from it at the mention of a fox and your quiet laugh of disbelief as you recount what a unique encounter it had been.

“Sometimes when my father asks for help watching the sheep, I’ll sit in the pastures and talk to them, but with the fox, it was different. I was sure it could understand what I said.” You chuckle again, embarrassed. “I’d been struggling to find any animals that day too, and that fox led me to a deer. It was like the gods were watching out for me.”

You glance at Apollo, nervous for what his response could be, because it does sound a little outlandish, but he simply smiles warmly. “Olympus rests in the heavens, but on occasion, the gods take care to remind us they’re closer than we think.”

“Well said,” you compliment, then continue teasingly, “Did you hear that from one of the priests?”

Apollo laughs and shrugs noncommittally. “They have a way with words.”

Time with you passes much too quickly and he’s saddened as it draws to a close. Your parting words include an apology for disturbing him, since he’d come to the forest to think, and he’s speaking to you as Apollo, not as Loukas, when he promises that you would never be a disturbance. He’d enjoyed your company, hopes that you’d enjoyed his too and that perhaps this wouldn’t be the end. Until the next meeting? It’s asked in a way that leaves it open, for there’s no set date and you’ll leave it to chance that you run into each other on another day.

You nod and your lips, stretching into a grin, look so soft. “If it be the will of the Fates, we’ll see each other again.”

“I’ll have to pray for their favor then.” He lifts a hand in a wave goodbye, and you return it before making your leave, gradually becoming concealed by the foliage.

But Apollo would do no such thing. The hands of the Fates keep the world turning but where it concerns you, he would pull the strings himself. He doesn’t bother to entertain the idea of what your thread might contain, whether there’s a place for him in it or not, because he doesn’t care to find out. He wants to be with you, and it’s a desire so powerful that he would dare to push back against the Moirai in order to fulfill it.

From the moment he’d said goodbye during your first conversation, he already knew you would meet again. He’d be there in the woods to wait for you. It isn’t the will of the Fates that turns this wheel, but Apollo.

Hermes had noted both the change in Apollo’s demeanor, his propensity for bouts of silence as he watches the earth below, in combination with his recent absences to go down there, but for what, Hermes doesn’t know. Apollo is forward with him as to what he’s been up to, like he had been with Ares, but unlike Ares, Hermes is privy to just what Apollo feels regarding the Fates and their plans for you.

“It’s no small matter to reject what they’ve ordained,” Hermes remarks. “The threads they spin, it’s destiny. Even for that girl who’s caught your eye.”

But Apollo isn’t easily swayed. It’s the strong who admit no destiny, and he would shoulder the burden of Atlas and carry the sky on his back. Where it concerns you, the Fates were a mere interference. He’d forge the future on his own.  

***

The way your eyes light up when you do see him again makes everything in the world feel right, and upon your playful comment—It seems the Fates have been kind—he brushes aside the  idea of destiny and the Moirai easily. In response, he hums, declares They have despite not meaning it since, well, it isn’t true. And he wishes he could tell you it was his doing, that it would always be him pushing you two together because he wants the praise which falls from your lips to be for him and him alone. Though he supposes there would be time yet to reveal such secrets to you, and despite the irritation he feels at needing to wait, he will do so without complaint.

Besides, he’s too preoccupied paying attention to you to bother complaining. You take up all the space in his mind, and there’s room for little else. It’s entirely unusual for the likes of Apollo to be this enamored with anyone, and he studies your form closely as you talk—the curl of your lashes, the sheen of your hair pulled into a braid, the color of your lips—wondering if you found your beginnings as a sculpture, not a human, and it was Athena who breathed life into your form. If such is the case, where was the pedestal off of which you stepped, leaving it behind without looking back in favor of exploring the world around you? Which lands claimed the privilege to have you on display? Those which he posits as possibilities are hardly worthy, but very few, if any, could be.

Had you come from Olympus? It’s the only place Apollo knows contains beauty to the degree you possess. He imagines you there, in the fields or in the courtyard, settled amongst the flowers and staring overhead at a sun unobscured by clouds. He imagines that you look right at home, and it would be ironic that you should be under his nose this whole time, his songbird  easily spotted by glancing out the window of his bedroom. Your every word’s a dream and he delights to hear your honeyed tones. He wants you to pray to him with that sweet voice, and he’d honor all your requests so long as you sang for him.

You’ve started teaching him the calls of various birds which flitter overhead, and the ghost of a smile rests on his lips to hear your enthusiasm. There’s an occasional bout of hesitation on your part, unsure if you’ve identified the calls correctly and digging through your memory for everything Alexios had said, and you flash a toothy grin of satisfaction when the bird whose call you’d been attempting to guess makes its appearance, and you learn you’re correct.

Apollo enjoys this activity, but the only bird whose calls he’s interested is you. He trails his gaze along the column of your throat, envisions the vocal chords within them producing the melody and majesty you radiate. His fingers twitch with the urge to follow the path taken by his eyes, to slide along your jaw, down your neck, touch feather-light and and inquiring from you, in hushed whispers, to what artist he owes an expression of gratitude for gracing him with your existence.

As the days turn into weeks spent together, you only grow closer, and it reaches a point that you suggest he join you and your family for dinner. You look hopeful that he’ll agree, but he can’t, given who he is. He needs to keep his distance from everyone other than you. He hates to be the cause of your disappointment, however slight, and that’s why a heaviness settles in his stomach when he declines.

He’s polite, explaining that he doesn’t want to intrude, and the small smile you’d been wearing fades. Already he’s aching to see it again, wants to beg for it to come back and if you truly wanted him to accompany you, he would do it, any consequences be damned.

Was there a chance that you knew he was lying about the reason? Your head is tilted and you delay giving a response, and maybe you don’t know the real reason (he highly doubts you could figure that out) but you detect enough from the tone of his voice that he fed you a lie. If you do realize it, you don’t address it, and instead, like you heard his earlier wish to see your smile again, that charming smile returns. Now there’s a playfulness to it.

“Then I guess you’ll just be my secret,” you tease.

Apollo grins. It would be his pleasure to be your secret, held close to the heart like all secrets are.

He’d like the beat of your own to help him fall asleep at night. He lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about you and whether you’ve also settled in for the evening. If he were to extend arm outward, along the blankets to the empty side, as though reaching for you, he wonders if you’d sense it, the faint touch of his fingertips, a testament to what Apollo feels for you. No distance between you would ever be too great. His dreams are filled with you and perhaps this is a sign that you were thinking of him. He hopes so.

Apollo had been certain of his feelings from the moment he first set his sights on you, but the idea of confessing and revealing his true nature stayed far from his mind. It hadn’t been by any will of his own; he was enamored with you during every meeting, genuinely enjoyed talking, that he hadn’t bothered considering the next step, content in the current moment to just be.

But on a bright afternoon while out in the courtyard, he finally gives it thought, and it’s perfect, really, because sunny days remind him of you, and maybe that’s what prompted the last push. To be around you was to keep a piece of the blessed sun he governs right by his side, your presence warming him even on the stormiest of days, and he desires to know what it would be like to be the recipient of your love as you are of his.

He’s the god of the sun yet he wonders where you have been all these millennia. Maybe your essence had always been there, manifesting in the blooming of flowers one century and then in the powerful flow of a river the next. And on and on your soul drifted through time until it settled within you as you are now, a culmination of the lives you have lived, and maybe Apollo had always known where you were because whenever he looks into your eyes he sees eternity. You’d been with him since the beginning of it all; he was just looking in the wrong places.

There’s a chill in the air on the morning he plans to tell you the truth. You shiver, having come without a cloak, and he offers you his, throwing it around your shoulders before you get the chance to decline. You smile, accepting the help gracefully, and Apollo returns your smile automatically.

Do you remember, he starts, about what I said the day we met? You hum as you attempt to recall what he’s referring to but can’t remember. He doesn’t blame you, since you’d discussed many things then.

“It was about the gods, and how sometimes they’re closer than we think.”

Your eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, yes! But… what about it?”

Apollo doesn’t respond immediately, considering carefully how to phrase his next words. It’s unlike him to be this way, and he is aware, irritatingly so, of the slight hesitation in the back of his brain. It’s not that he’s afraid, because every instance he had imagined this moment, his heartbeat raced not with nerves but with exhilaration. He owes it to the pressure overcoming him to make this flawless, so that you can know the true depth of what he feels toward you. His gaze slides from staring at the horizon down to you, who watches him so attentively, and he realizes the pressure is unfounded. He just needs to be real, and you would understand by the parts he doesn’t say out loud.

So, taking a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, he speaks. “How would you feel to know one had been at your side?”

“You mean that fox?”

“Not just the fox, but every time you ventured into these woods. You hadn’t been alone.”

Your head tilts. “I wasn’t alone all the time: I had you.”

Apollo goes quiet, waiting to see if you connect the dots yourself. He looks at you and envisions the gears in your head spinning as you stare at each other. Saying it out loud, what he’d been implying, would have garnered the same result as staying silent. His lack of words is still a response to your unspoken question, and he notices the unease which settles on your face, expressive as always, unable to hide what you’re thinking and feeling.

“Loukas…?” Your voice is hushed. Maybe you only say the name because you want to ask what he means, wanting to hear it explicitly, or because you’re questioning if that’s even his real name.

Apollo notices that now you look at him as you did during your first interaction, when the first few polite greetings had been exchanged: like a stranger. You’re keeping yourself guarded, and there’s a tightening sensation in his chest and he hates it. He hates how it hurts and hates to see you look at him that way. And he would never fault you for it because he’d kept his identity a secret, but he loves you and the only way to show it to you, to make it real, was if he told you the truth of who he is first.

He shakes his head. “I go by another name.”

He transforms before you, his mortal covering falling away and giving rise to his divine form. The burst of light which issues forth from this process is so bright you need to cover your eyes. You bring your arm up, and he’d like to reach out and take hold of it, to gently lower it to your side so that he might meet your gaze, but he restrains himself and, instead, says your name quietly, a signal that it’s okay to look now.

And you do. Your eyes are wide in astonishment, your mind no doubt scrambling to process the fact a god is standing in front of you. Sure, you might’ve interacted with one before, in the form of that red fox, but this is something else. This isn’t a vague manifestation, like another animal or a dream, the mysterious—and more typical—methods gods tended to utilize for communication with mortals, but a literal god. No veil or disguise. No hiding.

Apollo studies you closely, contemplates the myriad of emotions which are no doubt flittering through your mind like a dozen little hummingbirds. He keeps his tone tender, for you’re already shocked, and he realizes the situation is a delicate one. Suddenly you start to resemble the deer who roam the forest—graceful in posture and magnificent to behold but still tense, prepared to flee the moment you detect there’s anything unusual.

My name is Apollo, he says lowly. And since I first laid my eyes on you, I have been with you here in these woods.

You take in his appearance: the long blond hair, tanned skin, golden eyes which match the sun shining behind his head high in the sky. He’s beautiful, and that should come as no surprise where it concerns an Olympian, but to witness his beauty yourself is an experience unlike any other, leagues above merely hearing from the priests how he might look or observing the sculptures fashioned as praise for him.

His eyes are what draw most of your attention, and they are kind as well as familiar. They mirror the brighten golden gaze of another being you had encountered in the past, and you let out a quiet breath of disbelief. He had been with you even then. Your intuition speculating that the fox had been a god wasn’t unfounded at all. It hadn’t been an aimless musing, a what-if because you’ve heard the stories of gods appearing to mortals. You’d been correct. It had been fact.

“But why…” You trail off, unable to finish the question because truthfully, how could you? The implications of his actions, of spending all this time with you, only to reveal his true self, speaks for a reality you are having trouble coming to terms with. Why you?

Apollo understands what you’re asking without you needing to continue, and in readying himself to explain from the very beginning, the corner of his lips lifts in a tiny smile as he reminisces on the first words he’d heard you say to him, indirect but meant for him all the same.

“The day was cold, fresh off the heels of a rainstorm the night before,” he starts. “You asked the sun to keep you warm and kept your footsteps to the places on the earth where it touched.”

You remember that moment, and it surprises you that it had reached him, because it hadn’t been a prayer, not a genuine one. Simply a playful aside.

Apollo’s smile grows. Sincere prayer or no, I heard it, and when I did, I wanted to know the one who said it. He explains to you it was your gentle tone which pulled him in, voice laced with affection which underlies your every word, and he wanted to hear more of it, to hear you sing and it could be about anything—your hunts, your family, gossip from the markets—and he would hang, and has hung, on it all because everything you say is the sweetest melody. You put the birds to shame.

And this, he hopes, is adequate to answer your query. He’d seen the confusion on your face, wondering why you had stuck out. He wants to help you understand, see things from his point of view, because even if you might not think so yourself, you’re remarkable. At the tail-end of his speech, throughout which a sense of eagerness had been clawing at him from the inside because this was it—the moment he confesses and might finally feel the softness of your skin against his, might finally hear you say his name—he tells you he loves you.

You’re at a loss for words, as his hang in the air between you, and Apollo had been expecting a reaction of this sort. To be loved by a god was no small matter. But what he isn’t expecting is the shake of your head, slowly at first, like you’re uncertain, but then again, more assertive. It’s his turn to be confused and he murmurs your name, a slight upturn at the end as if asking a question.

“You don’t love me,” you state.

Apollo’s brows furrow. “I assure you there’s little else which I have been so confident about before.”

“But a god and a human together…” You shake your head again. “It’s not meant to last.”

His heart wrenches painfully in his chest to hear you say that, though he understands where you come from. Such stories were common, himself being the god in some of them. The relationships are temporary, but this time, with you, he’s serious. His feelings for you are real, transcending the point of mere infatuation. He loves you and the declaration isn’t empty. He’s almost desperate now as he tries to come up with a way to convince you that your own story, between the two of you, would have no tragic end, maybe even no end at all. Because when stories reach the closing, happy or not, there is always inherent in the drawing of the curtains a perceived sadness, a pulling away from the world upon the stage and one is unceremoniously thrust back into reality, which is nowhere near as spectacular. It’s a disappointment he never wants to feel with you, and he would do all he could do keep you together.

“I sometimes wondered if there was anyone for whom I would change the course of the sun,” he tells you, his eyes drifting upward to glance at the sky. “And I could think of no one until I saw you. I told myself that if you so desired, I would keep the sky free of clouds so you might always feel the warmth of the sun.” His eyes slide back down to meet your own. “If you wished with that sweet voice of yours for the sun to rise in the west and set in the east, I would do it.”

You’re visibly more relaxed now, your gaze having softened as he spoke. It shines with the temptation to give in, to accept his love and give him yours in return, but a small part of you continues to struggle with the idea of loving a god. Apollo hopes you can see the sincerity on his face, as close to a desperate plea as he can get short of actually begging out loud.

“And if I were to ask for that,” you start, "for the sun to rise in the west and set in the east, what of the earth? The crops and the people who rely on its consistent path through the sky?”

Apollo shakes his head. “None of that would matter to me. Don’t you see?” He says your name again, and in a fit of irony the tables have turned because your name upon his lips is a prayer in its own right. “To be with you is to have the world fall away.”

Tentatively, he lifts a hand to set it gently on your cheek. You don’t flinch or back away, and he sighs, one of satisfaction to finally feel your skin, the softness of it to match that of your eyes and your voice and your everything. He declares it to you once more. I love you. And he would keep declaring it until you believed him.

You cover his hand with yours and lean into his hold. There’s still conflict in your gaze, a storm of emotion, and the way you murmur his name sounds like a call for help. You want to be saved. You want to be rid of the discord within you and to accept all he has to give, and you’re closer to the edge, have moved closer with his every word, but the last bit of hesitation keeps you from falling over. Apollo…

The breath leaves his lungs to hear you utter his name, a sound he has longed to hear since the first time he heard you speak. There’s a twisting in his chest but now it’s from that flood of love which he is barely able to contain. He wants to hear you say his name again and again, and he’ll fight against the hesitation you continue to feel, chip away at it until it’s only you and him and he could guide you over the edge and into his embrace.

His thumb strokes your cheek, a comforting back and forth motion. “We’re meant for each other.”

“You speak of destiny, but who other than the Fates can determine what any of us are truly meant for?”

Apollo is reminded of the conversation he had with Hermes what seems like many moons ago.  All at once the fires of passion flare with him, magnified by his defiance of the Fates. When he’d declared to Hermes that where it concerned you, the future was his to forge, he’d been serious. He proclaims it now to you, promises that when it comes to the two of you, the Fates are powerless.

“The thread of your life is spun and measured by the Moirai, but I would pluck it from the hand of Atropos and her shears so that you might stay with me forever.”

It’s his final appeal, the ultimate supplication, to dare to go against the hand of fate. You understand the gravity of this assertion, and at hearing it, the last of those defenses in you drops, and there’s a clearing of the storm clouds, which he detects in the clarity of your gaze. As you look up at him, you do so with sureness, with love, and to bear witness to and be the recipient of your radiant affection is to make the task of intertwining your own fates as easy as waking up in the morning. You give him the strength to carry it out and there truly is no one else for whom he would go to such lengths for.

He kisses you and your lips are warm. Maybe you’re a piece of the sun that has fallen to earth, a shooting star which has made its home here until he found you. You’re the part of him that’s been missing, and holding you now, Apollo is aware of how complete he feels.  

Upon parting, you remain close and watch one other. The silent look shared is intense, profound; two hearts beating the same lonely tune, fiercely longing for love and not caring what the world—or the heavens—might think.

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Roxy and flowers drabble?

So um. There's no way I can count this as a drabble. I had an idea, tried to keep it short and it's now at 1676 words and the flowers are only really relevant for the end of it.

Well, it's under the cut. It can be read as a Roxy/Chica ship or as a platonic ship I don't think it leans too far either way. Enjoy!

“Alright, Chi. You ready?” Roxy grinned at Chica who nodded resolutely. They’d been planning this for weeks now – as they did every few months or so – but today was the day they were finally ready. Tonight was the night they were actually going to do it.

They were going to break out of the Pizzaplex.

They could only be out there for a few hours tops before they would have to be back to avoid suspicion but they didn’t care. They wanted to see the world outside for themselves. They wanted to feel the breeze on their faces, to hear the birds sing and the trees rustle, and to smell the freshly fallen rain and run through the dew soaked grass and wild flowers. They wanted to climb the trees and chase the pigeons and gaze up at the stars together. They wanted to watch the clouds go by, hear the owls and the bugs keeping the silence at bay and to jump into the muddiest puddles they could find.

And they were gonna do it all tonight!

“As I’ll ever be!” Chica grabbed her paw, with a nervous smile. Of course, if they got caught, there’d be severe consequences. The worst of which… had already happened to two of their old friends. They had to be clever about this or they were dead.

In quite the literal sense of the word.

Roxy flashed her a confident smirk, knowing that Chica would see right through her. The fur on her casing had bristled from the nerves and anticipation, almost like this was going to be the biggest race of her life. Anyone that had known her for even half as long as Chica would know she was just as anxious about getting caught and of what they’ll find outside.

“Then after you, m’lady.” Chica giggled, her effort to break the tension a little seeming to work a little. If only it could have worked on herself…

Chica led the way, climbing up support beams and along a route they’d been practising for a while now. They easily traversed the rafters before Roxy took the lead to navigate through one of the few large vents they could use. Chica gently grabbed her tail with one hand so as to not get separated in the darkness she was being led into, through twists and turns that were beginning to become more familiar to her the more they did this. They popped out of the vent, close enough to another ceiling support beam for Roxy to be able to reach across and pull herself onto. She moved out of the way to let Chica do the same and to take the lead in navigating them to the security camera that watched the exit.

They were in its blind spot, and once Roxy was close enough, she was able to reach down and pry one of the wires out. She stuck a picture of the empty loading docks in place over the lens at just the right distance before plugging the wire back in. Chica led them the rest of the way down, waiting by her side as she fiddled with the door controls to give them access. As soon as she pressed the button and the doors opened, the pair approached the doorway and paused for a moment.

Roxy glanced at her friend, noticing the slight fidgeting and the obvious second guessing going on behind those beautiful blue eyes. She placed a paw on her shoulder and smiled as she looked up at her.

“You ready?” She asked again, half expecting her to back out. She wouldn’t be surprised. The both of them had each backed down once they’d gotten this far a few times already and could anyone blame them? The risk they were taking for just a couple of hours was huge.

But after a few moments, a determined smile pulled at her beak and she nodded. Roxy pulled her paw back as Chica took a deep breath and crossed the threshold of the unknown. She made it a few more steps, then a few more. Roxy took a deep breath as well before moving to join her, only to pause. Her ears flicked and her eyes widened in realisation.

Chica turned to her, an excited smile that Roxy could never hope to take away from her and she knew what she was going to have to do.

“She’s here. Go.” She snapped to her as she spun and bolted for the button to close the door. She heard Chica’s footsteps but it was too late. Her paw slammed down on the button and the door closed before she could get through.

Roxy leapt up to the supports to the camera, ripping the picture off it before jumping back down, just in time for Vanessa to walk in.

She bit back the tears threatening to form in her eyes as Vanessa scolded her for trying to tamper with the vans again. She’d missed her chance and she probably wouldn’t get another one for a long time now.

She was escorted back to her room, getting a few side eyes for how quiet she was being before she was alone again. The frustration bubbled then. She and Chica had been planning this for months! How come every other time when they’d gotten that far and decided not to do it, no one even noticed they’d gone, but the one time they were both ready to go, they’re caught before they’re out the door? How was that fair?!

Her claws tore through some of the large plushies in her room, her teeth sinking into others as she ripped them apart with a fierce and angry snarl. She’d been looking forward to this and Vanessa just had to show up and ruin it, didn’t she?!

She didn’t know how long she spent tearing up the stuffed versions of her in her room but as she stood in the wreckage, bits of their innards trapped under her claws and between her pointed fangs, she really hoped Chica had fun without her. Then at least one of them got to enjoy it…

After the few hours was up, she snuck her way back over to the loading docks, replaced the photo over the security camera and dropped down to open the door. She could already see Chica pacing on the other side and as soon as she re-entered the world they knew best, she felt a relief she couldn’t explain wash over her.

Chica beamed at her and Roxy tried to look happy for her, tried to hide her disappointment at not being able to go with her but she had a feeling she wasn’t very successful. She was tackled in a tight, comforting hug that she eagerly returned.

“I take it you had fun?” She asked rather redundantly, more curious about all of the new smells she was getting from Chica’s casing. Is this what the outside world smelt like?

“Woulda been more fun if you were there...” Chica’s voice was muffled a little by the fur she’d buried herself in but when she pulled away, a new spark had lit up her face. “I brought you something~!” She said in a sing song tone. Roxy tilted her head, ears flopping with the movement and her eyebrow raising. Chica held her loosely closed fist in between them before gently opening it. An awed gasp escaped her, her nose itching to get the scent of the new thing.

“Are those flowers?” Her ears perked and she felt her tail start wagging a little harder. She’d always wanted to know what flowers were like in real life! The two of them had theorised for hours on what they must feel and look like, with Roxy wondering what kind of smells she’d get from them too. Chica giggled and nodded vigorously.

“Yup! I got them just for you! They’re wild daisies!” She lifted them closer to her snout, silently encouraging her to give in and learn their scent. The moment Roxy did, the scent was subtle and so very nice but she didn’t last a second before she had to back away sneezing. Chica laughed at her misery, waiting for the sniffles to settle before closing the distance between them again.

“At least now I know where all that pollen comes from…” Roxy grumbled with a final sniff but her tail had yet to stop wagging.

“There’s more~…!” She teased in that melodic tone again with a merry little giggle. She hummed, curiosity returning tenfold as she watched Chica gently take the stem of one of the wild daisies. Another gasp escaped her and her eyes glittered at the daisy chain she had created. Chica stepped closer, and held the loop of little white flowers in the air.

“With this flower crown,” Chica’s voice went lower, slipping into a dramatic, awful imitation of an old man from a storybook, “I proclaim you,” Roxy could hardly stay still as the chain crown was placed on her head, resting softly under her ears, “King Roxanne Wolf!” Roxy lifted her chin, playing along with pride.

“I’m honoured, Sir Lancel-Chi.” She couldn’t keep the awe out of her words no matter how hard she wanted to sound as dramatic as she did. Chica snorted, clearly struggling to keep up the act as she bowed to her. As she looked up though, she completely dissolved into giggles. Roxy soon joined her, the disappointment of earlier now a distant memory.

They laughed, playing their new characters up as they made their way back to Roxy’s room to spend the rest of the night in high spirits. Chica babbled about the outside world while Roxy constantly fiddled with the amazing, soft petals around her head, tail thumping against the couch she sat on long into the night. Before Chica could go, Roxy pulled her into a strong hug, nuzzling the side of her face a little. She had just one thing to say to her after all of this.

“Thank you.”

[mypalbuck]

DÉJÀ VU— P. MAXIMOFF

↳ in which forgetting pietro was something you could never do.

—inspired by Olivia Rodrigo’s song déjà vu

pairing: pietro Maximoff x reader

warnings: character death (Pietro), angst, depression, grief

word count: 1k

a/n: I edited this myself so please lmk if there are any errors I’ve missed 🥺

When you love someone— the world becomes brighter, more full of love. For a moment there you feel as if you are floating.

Everywhere you go, everything you do is linked to a memory you share with that person. They are inexplicably the morning dew on your car— a reminder of the tears shed on their shoulder as they comforted you. The wind blowing through your hair on a cool autumn day as you run through a park together. A star shining brightly in the sky like the night of sneaking glances and love confessions.

One day they’re there and the next they’re not.

When Pietro died, you swear you lost a piece of you that day. The memories of him slowly began to fade until it was hard to picture his face at night as you laid in bed praying to every single star in the universe to bring your love back to you. Instead your mind replayed the horrid events as you clutched your lover to your chest and watched the sparkle you so adored fade from his eyes.

Nothing would ever compare to the immeasurable pain and heartache you felt that day.

You tried to move on, you acted as though everything was fine and for a while your friends believed you. You busied yourself with missions, conferences, anything to take your mind off of your loss but it got to a point where your brain was working overtime and you just broke.

But this time, unlike the past Pietro wasn’t there to hold you as you cried or soothe you with a Sokovian lullaby his mother used to sing to him and Wanda when they were younger. He always put your mind at ease and without him there you felt yourself spiraling.

Looking out of your bedroom window you saw droplets of water hit before it started pouring. Unwrapping yourself from your blankets, you made your way out of the Avengers headquarters and onto the grass area where you laid down and let the rain pour on you.

The first time you properly spoke to Pietro it was a rainy night, you stood on the side of the road trying to hail a cab but alas no cab stopped for you. You had been on an undercover mission and didn’t expect for it to rain. But Pietro your knight in shining sneakers came to your rescue and whisked you home.

From that moment on you were inseparable.

You didn’t question his powers or his sisters. It was what made them who they are. It’s what made him your Pietro and you wouldn’t change anything for the world. The love he gave you when you were together was unlike anything you would ever experience again. He was your person, he would forever be your person.

Everywhere you go you are still reminded of your darling Pietro. Sometimes when you’re with Wanda you see little bits of him in his sister and for a moment you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You could never blame her though, you weren’t the only one shaken by his death.

Laying in the rain helped you to feel less alone as you cried. Sensing the presence of another person you opened your eyes to see Wanda smiling at you sadly before laying down next to you. Although you felt truly alone without Pietro, you weren’t. Wanda was always there to cry with you. You felt terrible for acting the way you were, he was her blood. But she never made you feel bad for it, instead she would always pull you into a hug and whisper halfheartedly that Pietro wasn't worth smeared mascara. You both knew this was a lie, he was worth every tear shed.

You decided that the universe was simply rooting against you both and you were reminded of that every time you went on a mission. Pietro just seemed to make everything go smoother, he was your own guardian angel and in the end he risked his life saving the people he loved. You couldn’t even begin to think of a way you could thank him. It’s just what he seemed to do best, look out for you.

Fast forward a year later, things have gotten a bit better. You’re sitting there at this fancy restaurant that costs way more than you earn and for the first time in a long time you’re on a date with a guy who makes you laugh, but not like how Pietro used to. At the end of the night you would bid your date farewell, dodging their advances and not calling them back. There was nothing that could compare to the spark you and Pietro shared.

You wondered if the roles were reversed, if Pietro were alive and you weren’t, would he see you everywhere he went? Would he get déjà vu from walking down a street you both used to? Would the memories of you haunt him and force him to go days without sleep? Would he remember your face, your laugh? Or would you be a faded memory? Would he find someone new to fill the hole you left in his heart?

Some days thinking about Pietro hurts too much, so you would try to forget him.

Drown your sorrows in alcohol and stay locked in your room trying to disassociate with the world. For a moment it would work, but then you swear you could still smell the scent of his cologne in your bedsheets and no matter how many times you washed them it was still there.

A part of you would laugh and mutter something about Pietro “marking his territory even in the afterlife”. But the other part of you would clutch the sheets in the laundry room and sob until Wanda found you, helping you to her room where she used her powers to ease you into a peaceful sleep. Despite all her efforts, Pietro would still appear in your dreams and you would wake up gasping for air and reaching out for the arms of a person who no longer was there.

No matter what you or anyone else did. Your mind would be in a constant state of déjà vu, for Pietro was a love you would never let your mind forget.