#the shadows and gentle air and sun soft not hateful and leaves and flowers and green and gold and blue sky ocean clouds

[trashcanalienist]

[yostresswritinggirl]

Albedo. I just rolled him and finished his quest.

I would love to talk about travelling with him, or at least being someone who brings in the ingredients for alchemy. Someone who goes out of their way for him and gets the best. Maybe the only gardener in Mondstadt to grow alchemical roots and grasses.

I'm happy for you, rolling the cute alchemy boyo ywy I only rolled in his banner to get Bennett in five rolls I'm sorry Albedo, my primogems are for Xiao and Hu Tao- *shot*

Back to business! I really, really like this cute idea awww thank you for distracting from the angst fics in my head haha (TUMBLR DIDN’T SAVE IT PROPERLY AND SO THE POST IS HORRIBLY SHORT WAIT- FIXED IT WOOHOO)

Albedo's Personal Botanist

Background

Most ingredients in alchemy usually come from ores and liquid ingredients formed by chemistry methods. Stuff like Tuttia, Bismuth, all that shindigs-

So while plant life can be useful for alchemy, not everyone recognizes its utility straight away, and provide for the common plants for arrangements rather than scientific inventory

I can imagine that you'd be a normal gardener at first but very passionate of their properties.

Might be a Dendro vision wielder too, the Dendro archon loves those who wield the power of knowledge, more so when they use it on nature.

You carry with you a lil book about all the plants and shrubs that you've personally cared for, down to their finest detail and properties. But you're a gardener, not a master of Alchemy, so some parts of the notes you couldn't really figure out yourself.

The first time you met Albedo, he was around a year into staying in Mondstadt. He was forced to go out and take a breather because of his workaholic schedule, and instead of relaxing in a bath, he ended up drifting to the market area to get more ingredients local to Mond.

Unlike the other flower stalls, he was pulled into yours because of the wide variety of your wares. Roots, grasses, shoots, plants you couldn't just find outside of the walls.

You were tending to your mini greenhouse in the back and left your botania book on the shelf outside, and this LIL SHI- Albedo, having no proper training for social interactions, straight up just opened that shit and read it all.

"Oh, hello there, mister- HEY, THAT'S MY STUFF, WHAT THE HECK"

Flustered, confused and alarmed, Albedo tried his best to quickly reason with your garden-spade-wielding self. And with his pretty boy self, you managed to calm down and listen.

You may or may not had smacked him with a bouquet of horsetail for good measure.

"Such vast knowledge and detail orientation, why waste away your talents in selling productive fauna when you can wield them into something more?"

Master Phytologist of the Knights of Favonius acquired!

Working with Albedo!

Your greenhouse in the Knight of Favonius HQ is most definitely connected to Albedo's laboratory! And very spacious too.

More than one occasion, you've seen the Chief Alchemist casually sneaking around the area, plucking a Flaming Flower or scraping dandelion seeds from the pot while you were busy tending to other flowers on the other side of your area.

65% of the time you caught him red-handed and you will be met with the rare sight of a fumbling, queasy Albedo.

30% of the time you just find out something is missing after checking inventory for the day, usually ends up with you hunting and shouting for Albedo. Because the guy seem to have a sixth sense as to when you find out his thieving adventures.

5% of all of that, Kaeya would be the one stealing from your 'safer' floras to woo a random citizen in Mond. And as a master of botany, your precious babies are always in tip top shape. Top quality bouquets all day, all night.

Those moments are the ones Albedo hate more than getting smacked with your spade. Those are your flowers, and by association, his. Grown to their maximum potential by your calloused yet gentle hands FOR HIM-

Kaeya: *reaching out to pluck a perfectly healthy glaze lily*; Albedo: *his short ass of a shadow looming over him*

NOW IT IS HIM WHO WIELDS THE POWER OF THE GARDEN SPADE

The atmosphere of your work area is significantly different from his own messy laboratory. The glass walls and roof that lets in just the right amount of sunlight, with a perfect view of the scenic landscape of Mondstadt and beyond.

When Albedo reaches a wall on his research, he picks up his sketchbook and just- waltz in to your workshop through the door connecting your workspaces.

The fresh air, the soft kiss of the sun, your humming, it was all a symphony of heaven concocted just for him.

He’ll find himself sketching your babies, dozen or more times you are included.

Your notebook’s illustrations are mostly courtesy of him, and he greatly basks in your pure admiration of his drawing.

To help him focus, you once took on the great task of organizing his laboratory, to no avail. Even if you manage to fix and align his inventory, it’s gonna go back to chaos after three days minimum.

It’s okay tho, it’s normal for him, more excuse to visit you-

Guilty, he wants your spacious and refreshing greenhouse and often asks for a redesign of his laboratory to share similar workspace with you.

Acting Grand Master Jean had to decline this idea just because it costs more than a million mora.

He’s definitely gonna sulk in your greenhouse after that, back leaning on the warm glass wall as he does nothing but sketch you and your plants the whole day.

Don’t stop him

Just admire the pout

Actually Working with Albedo! (Finally)

Whenever Albedo discovers/explores a new area, you’re always sure to tag along whether willingly or by force

YOU BET YOUR FROZEN ASS YOU’RE COMING WITH HIM TO DRAGONSPINE

DEFINITELY BY FORCE

I imagine that despite being his assistant/student, Sucrose and Timaeus are more focused on research and the application of Alchemy, so they’re not much of the resource gathering type. That said, Albedo is very thankful of your existence, it’s a breather to his already full schedule.

Albedo is both considerate and inconsiderate unconsciously : While he may run off to experiment on the traveler and leave you scouting the area yourself, he doesn’t willingly set you on fire from the inside.

Every time he comes back to camp after finishing the step by step experiment with/on the Traveler, he makes sure to check up on how you are doing.

TAKE NOTE: Our prince is very occupied and busy with his own work a lot, so he’s never really seen you in action when you go out to get the the materials he needs-

So he is purely horrified when he saw you hanging off the cliff with nothing but a rope around you to keep you safe, carefully investigating a petrified tree branch up close.

Suddenly, elevator.

Again, Imma bet, he’s gonna be accompanying you in all your expeditions after that. He’ll need to know where and how you acquire every ingredient outside of your greenhouse.

Does it require you to climb a mountain? Are there any Hilichurl camps nearby? Maybe mobs that are attracted to that type of flower?

He would be very attentive of your inventory reports and would recognize if a dangerous gathering journey is near. He’ll be right there with you.

Violetgrass x1000

He’s gathering more than a month’s worth just to make sure you don’t go back to make that dangerous trip. It’s very impractical, but let him rest his heart.

You and Albedo: Resource Gathering Expedition; Other Knights: Outdoor Dates Disguised as Work-Related Outings

Flower crowns are good and all but have you heard of flower bracelets?

Omg so cute hhh imagine a Flaming Flower Stamen bracelet for his Dragonspine expedition- it’s not gonna last forever but it’s so precious he’s definitely keeping that shit even when the heat already dissipated from it gah-

“Paimon wonders, what’s that thing around your wrist?”

“A flame bracelet, made to keep the cold away.”

“Woah! Sounds very useful! Sure would be handy for exploring, you think we can borrow it-”

“No.”

Something angst-y: Albedo has yet to make a Dendro affinity potion and he’s really, really devastated about it and himself. You’ll have to forcibly pull him out of his self-deprecation, force him to get a breather.

Overall, Albedo greatly appreciates not only your utility but also your consistent company. He values your tenacity and comfort, sharing unadulterated curiousity as you both venture the great unknown. There’s a lot of stuff he can pray about to thank whichever archon has graced you. And despite his Vision lacking the function to actually help in the advancement of his research, he is now thankful for it, for he has found with it a greater purpose: Ensuring the safety of his precious Gardenia.

I CANT BELIEVE IT, THIS THING WAS 30 TIMES LONGER BUT TUMBLR DIDN’T SAVE THE DRAFT PROPERLY AND HAD TO GET EVERYTHING BACK THROUGH MEMORY, AND MY MEMORY IS B A D. I’M SORRY I KNOW YOU JUST WANTED TO TALK BUT IT ENDED UP BEING SUPER LONG AND LOOKS LIKE A HEADCANON THAN ANYTHING, MY FORMATTING IS REALLY LIKE THIS AAAAAAAA- I hope you enjoy ywy I like your brain, it brings good ideas and gives me good ideas too!

[psychee92]

The Three Sacred Mountains | The Sister Peaks

This post is a continuation of all my previous ones, and will focus on why I think that ACOTAR 5 is Elain’s book. Once again, please take your shipping and preference for other characters out of the equation if you plan on reading this post.

Isn’t it interesting how everything that is significant to the plot (death gods, objects, sisters, brothers, mountains, stars) comes in threes?

When I was reading this quote, I went back and searched through all the books to see if “sister peaks” has ever been mentioned before. It hasn’t.

It seems odd, then, that it would be mentioned now, in a book that constantly drew the attention of the reader to the three sisters.

So now we have three sisters and three sister peaks.

And what do we know about these sacred mountains?

Under the Mountain was at the heart of Feyre’s journey.

Similarly, climbing Ramiel was the final turning point of Nesta’s journey.

All that is left now is the Prison. And Elain.

One sister peak. One sister. One last journey.

I am going to repeat this over and over again—nothing is a coincidence. Why are there three sacred mountains? Three sister peaks? Three sisters?

SJM is leaving the best for last: the Prison.

“The Prison is law unto itself; the island may be even an eighth court”

“The bone-gates swung open silently, revealing a cavern of black so inky I had never seen its like, even Under the Mountain.”

“With the small lights floating ahead, I tried not to look too long at the gray walls. Especially when they were so rough-hewn that the jagged bits could have been a nose, or a craggy brow, or a set of sneering lips.”

“And there was silence. Utter silence as we rounded a bend, and the last of the light from the misty world faded into inky black.”

“I focused on my breathing. I couldn’t be trapped here; I couldn’t be locked in this horrible, dead place.”

“My words were so soft they were devoured by the dark. Even that thrumming power in my veins had vanished, burrowing somewhere in my bones.”

“Once the sentence is given and a prisoner passes those gates … They belong to the Prison. It will never let them out.”

“There were no doors. No lights. No sounds. Not even a trickle of water.

But I could feel them. I could feel them sleeping, pacing, running hands and claws over the other side of the walls.

They were ancient, and cruel in a way I had never known, not even with Amarantha. They were infinite, and patient, and had learned the language of darkness, of stone.”

“Down and down we went, and time lost its grip. It could have been hours or days, and we paused only when my useless, wasted body demanded water. Even while I drank, he didn’t let go of my hand. As if the rock would swallow me up forever.”

“The hall continued down—down into the ageless dark. The air here was tight, compact. Even my puffs of breath on the chill air seemed short-lived.”

Who is the last person you could picture in this environment? A mountain filled with the worst creatures you can think of—creatures we know nothing about? Who is the character who is the least likely to survive in such a place, let alone conquer it?

Elain. Sweet, gentle Elain.

The antithesis of everything the Prison is.

“But Elain, the flower-grower, the gentle heart … Nesta would go down swinging for her.”

“I marveled at it, actually—that those years of poverty hadn’t stripped away that light from Elain. Perhaps buried it a bit, but she was generous, loving, and kind—a woman I found myself proud to know, to call sister.”

“I gazed again at that sad, dark house—the place that had been a prison. Elain had said she missed it, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at the cottage. If she beheld not a prison but a shelter—a shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me.”

“She had looked at it that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger.”

“Nesta hadn’t wanted any dealings with the Fae, and Elain was so gentle, so sweet … how could I bring them into this?

“Beautiful—she’d always been the most beautiful of us. Soft and lovely, like a summer dawn.”

“My sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles.”

“Elain, who had been gentle and sweet. Elain, who was to marry a lord’s son who hated faeries …”

“Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light.”

“Even wasted away by grief and despair, Elain’s beauty was remarkable. Hers was a face that could bring kings to their knees.”

“Elain nodded, smiling up at me, and it was tentative joy—and life that shone in her eyes. A promise of the future, gleaming and sweet.”

“That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room.”

“Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows.”

“Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful. Elain never seemed to realize it.”

Can you picture her in the Prison? No? Neither can I. Yet.

Out of all the sisters, Elain is described as the most gentle. The warmest. Sweetest. Loveliest. Kindest.

And out of the three sacred mountains, the Prison is described as the worst. The coldest. The most barren. The most lifeless.

What will happen when the gentle grower of things enters the Prison? Will the Prison dim the light that is inside her, or will she infuse the mountain with warmth?

We’ll have to wait and see because, as Amren said,

[bubble-tea-bunny]

come fly with me

[hermes x reader]

author’s note: every time i see his name i pronounce it like the brand out of  habit even if there’s no accent grave lol

word count: 2,572

You sense the bright light of morning through your closed lids and it prompts you to wake. But even as your eyes slide open, you still feel as though you’re dreaming.

A man is kneeling down next to you. You don’t know who he is but perceive he means no harm, for his gaze as he observes you is concerned, no doubt wondering what you’re doing out here. You don’t remember falling asleep outside, but the weather has been so nice as of late, you wouldn’t put it past yourself to have drifted off after laying beneath the stars, simply appreciating their magnificence.

As your vision comes more into focus, and the blurred edges merge into finer lines, you note that the sun shines behind this stranger’s head, and it appears remarkably like a halo. Your focus slides lower, drifts over brown hair pulled back into a neat braid to avoid obscuring his face, the highlight of which are his eyes—brilliantly blue, like crystals, and putting the backdrop behind him to shame. He’s beautiful.

Suddenly you’re nervous to be the center of his attention, so rapt it’s like he can see right through you. You must look a disheveled mess in contrast, your own hair tousled, your eyes bleary with the last bits of sleep. But as if he can hear your thoughts, he smiles gently, a gesture to put you at ease.

“Hello,” he greets you. His voice is hushed, taking care not to disturb the peace of these early hours, and it’s warm, washing over your skin and fighting away the chill of the cool evening.

You open your mouth, poised to speak, but at first nothing comes out, though from nervousness or from the fact your vocal chords are still waking up after hours of not being used, you don’t know.

“I… I must have fallen asleep out here,” you state rather dumbly, because what else could it have been? It’s not as if anyone had carried you out here in the middle of the night. Your cheeks redden from embarrassment but the man’s smile widens, amused and—if you aren’t imagining things, owed to the idea that maybe you really are dreaming—charmed. Though for what reason, you haven’t the slightest clue.  You struggle to call yourself a picture of grace at any other point in a day, least of all fresh from sleep.

“It seems you have,” he responds. “I imagine it was comfortable?”

Not wanting to continue this conversation while still laying down, since it’s a little awkward, you sit up, and he backs away slightly to give you space. The notion of sleeping on the ground certainly doesn’t sound comfortable, and so you assume he asks this in light jest, but oddly enough, you don’t feel any stiffness or aches. Your body is relaxed, pliant. You feel well-rested.

“It was, yes…” you trail off, absentmindedly pondering on this anomaly.

The man nods, satisfied with your answer, and stands. You have to crane your neck to look at him, and as he turns his head to look out at the rolling hills, lush green and divided in the middle by a dirt path, you see a string around his neck which is attached to a golden helmet. The brim swoops and lifts in the back, colored silver to resemble a pair of wings.

Then he turns to you again, now offering you his hand. “Well the day is too nice to waste staying here. Would you like to take a walk with me?”

You’ve been aware this entire time that you don’t know who he is, and logic would dictate you turn down his invitation. No matter how nice he may be, it would be unreasonable as well as  unsafe. But even for all that, you find yourself not tied down by any semblance of reason, and perhaps it’s against your better judgment that you accept.

You take his hand and he pulls you up easily. Maybe it’s his smile that does well to quell any apprehension, for you think you would follow him anywhere. Maybe you were incorrect and to go with him now was the better judgment on your part, because you don’t feel that this is wrong or dangerous. And he’s right: the day is splendid and it would make no sense to stay on the ground alone. It’s better enjoyed with companions.

The two of you follow the trail for a while, pausing whenever small creatures cross from one side to the other: mostly bunnies and deer, but at one point when passing by a lake there’s a duck and her ducklings plodding single-file behind her. As the world around you wakes and you walk in comfortable silence, your anxiety melts away and you instigate a conversation.

“Were you just passing by and happened to see me?” you inquire.

The man glances down at you briefly before looking ahead once more. “I was.” He nods. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He’s sincere as he says it, and it makes you grin. “Well I’m glad it was you who found me.”

The smile on his lips mirrors yours. “I am too.”

Flowers line the path, leaning inward as if to welcome any who walk past. They grab your attention, and you skip ahead to pick some of them. They only require a gentle tug for the stems to snap and you gather them until you’re holding a small bunch of the white flower in one hand. You bring them closer to your face so you can smell them: the scent is subtle and fresh, like the air after it rains. The man finally catches up to you and you twist around. There’s that expression in his eyes again, one of amusement, and again you blush, attempting to hide it by the flowers as you duck your head, but you don’t think you’re successful.

He peers over your shoulder. “Let’s go this way now. There’s bound to be more flowers in that direction.”

You turn and follow his line of sight. The trail has led to a forest, and veering off here would lead you into the thick of it. The man takes the last few steps to close the distance and stand next to you, and you look up at him. “Okay.”

Sunlight pierces the gaps in the foliage, the rays which light the ground soothing to behold and to walk through. It’s like a painting, calm and peaceful, displayed on the finest marble and you’re honored to be in the midst of it, maybe not as the subject, for you think the birds who cast shadows as they soar above you are more worthy of the privilege, but you’re content to be there at all, even just off to the side.

The woods lead to a meadow and the man was correct: there are more flowers here. Their colors vary, from white to lavender to yellow, and the sun envelopes them all in its heat, unhindered in this clearing. The tall grass shifts with your every footstep and brushes your calves, light as a feather, and you giggle. It tickles.

Your eyes rove over the expanse before you. There are more trees, another portion of forest,  on the other side, but this place is so peaceful, and the sun is in the perfect position, centered in the sky, that you would hate to leave so soon.

“I’d like to lay among these flowers…” you murmur. It’s an aside you mean to mutter only to yourself, but given your proximity to the stranger—no, not a stranger anymore, but more of a friend—he hears you fine despite the low volume with which you said it.

“Why don’t we?”

At this, you blink and glance up at him. He’s already watching you with a twinkle in his gaze and he’s smiling. You can’t help smiling too and you feel so warm to be in his presence.

So in the middle of the clearing you find a suitable spot and settle down, lying on your back with the bunch of white flowers still clutched in one hand. You have to squint and use your free hand to shield your eyes from the glare of the sun, but then you close them and the furrow of your brow relaxes, and you can fully enjoy the nature which surrounds you.

Dragonflies buzz and you can hear them flittering along, the beating of their wings louder as they approach, then becoming quieter as they pass. The grass shifts as your friend comes to join you now. He sits, and you hear a brief shuffling before he follows suit and lays down. Together you bask in the sunlight, but for how long, you aren’t sure. Not that you’re interested in tracking the time.

“Your suggestion to tarry a while was a good one,” he compliments, breaking the silence. “It feels pleasant to rest here.”

His compliment makes you grin and your eyes open. You turn your head to look at him. He’d removed his helmet from where it was hanging around his neck and placed it next to him to allow him to lie back comfortably. “The sun makes you feel so refreshed, doesn’t it?”

He hums. “I think it has more to do with the company.” He opens his eyes and also turns to look at you, and the blueness of them is incredibly soft. Your smile grows.

And though you’re confident you could pass the rest of the day in that meadow, the two of you move on. It’s done with a bit of reluctance on your part, but it fades quickly because you agree with him: it’s the company which makes you feel refreshed. The colors of the sky are shifting as mid-afternoon turns into early evening and it occurs to you that you have been walking since the morning yet you aren’t tired, nor has it felt like many hours have transpired. You know it has to do with him. You think you could do this forever, walking with him.

When the sky is a blend of indigo and orange, you ask if anyone is expecting him. We’ve been together all day, you explain. No one might wonder where you are?

He chuckles. “That’s kind of you to be concerned.”

Your cheeks feel warm. He’s awfully good at getting that reaction out of you.

“No one’s expecting me,” he continues. “But even if someone were, they’d understand my lateness, given I’m with someone so sweet. I’m not keen to part ways too soon.”

Your chest feels tight, like your heart is wrenching and you’re scared it might break. “Me neither,” you state shyly.

Then gradually the indigos and oranges transition to black as the sun fully disappears below  the horizon and you are sad to see it leave. You’ve also long since left the meadow and the forest surrounding it behind. The land you walk through is wide, flat, empty. There aren’t any plants or animals and it feels foreign, adjusted as you had been to the lush scenery of this afternoon. The only feature worth noting are the mountains that come into view now, which, while you’d already assumed them to be tall, are taller than you first thought as you get closer, so high they seem to touch the clouds, perhaps even extending past them.

“This way.” The man’s voice pulls your attention away from staring up at the clouds. There’s a path that leads farther into the mountain. “Watch your step. It’s rather dark.”

What light of the moon reaches through small gaps in the mountain reflects off the helmet strung around his neck. He takes care to move slowly to ensure you don’t lose him but the glint of his helmet serves as a beacon. The more you venture in, you wonder where you’re going. Should you ask him? The idea of doing so hadn’t crossed your mind all day because you’d been happy just to be with him, no apprehension about the destination, or whether or not  there was one. But now…

The words are on the tip of your tongue, about to be voiced, but they die out once you turn a final corner and spot a river. The water is dark, almost black, and a haze settles above it that obscures what might possibly be on the opposite shore. Once you do speak, it’s still a question, but it’s no longer about where the two of you are headed. He doesn’t need to tell you that.

“Wanted to let me down gently, didn’t you?” The manner in which you ask this is quiet, lightly teasing but also laced with a sadness you do little to hide.

Hermes—for now you know confidently who he is—leads you right to the edge of the water and then stops, twisting around. “I chose to take the longer route with you.”

You meet his gaze. His eyes are sorrowful, yet for their melancholy they are still just as beautiful, and they’re tender as he looks at you. “Why?”

He takes a deep breath, momentarily glancing at the water then returning his focus to you. “You hadn’t realized what happened, and I didn’t want to tell you. I decided we would venture through the nature you love so much, taking breaks where you desired, to listen to the bugs and to feel the sun.”

Thinking back to this morning, you recall that when you’d woken up, you hadn’t checked behind you. If you had, you would’ve noticed your body there. You’d been too enamored by Hermes to do that. Though you suppose there are worse ways of being led to the Underworld, and you’d always be grateful to Hermes for choosing to take the long way.

“Through it I’ve grown very fond of you,” he confesses. He offers a small smile, and you surmise it’s a struggle, at odds with a frown because of where he has brought you, and what it implies. “A day with you was a lifetime, and it still didn’t feel long enough.”

You muster a smile of your own. “One day or an eternity, I don’t suppose any length of time ever would.”

A boat comes into view, appearing to materialize through the fog, and once it stops at the small dock, the front bumping gently and the water lapping against the support beams, Hermes gives the ferryman two coins. Treat her well, he instructs. And then he turns to you a final time, and when your heart squeezes, you really think it has broken.

Glancing down, your eyes settle on the flowers you’re gripping. You’d kept them with you the entire journey. But now you hold them out to Hermes, and the heaviness in your chest seems to lighten slightly as he takes them and the expression on his face becomes a little less crestfallen. You would hate to leave him in such a forlorn state.

“Thank you, Hermes.” You hope he can detect the sincerity, and when he smiles faintly, you know that he has.

He helps you onto the boat, clasping your much smaller hand in his to provide support, and he stands on the shore as the ferryman pushes away, watching you until the fog engulfs the boat once more. And though he’s alone, the flowers in his hand make him feel far from lonely.

[calpops]

meadow | l.h.

The only things stopping Luke from running away with the princess are the armor on his back and the vow he made to the kingdom.

1.2k words

my masterlist | feedback and reblogs mean the world

Copyright © 2021 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

❁ ❁ ❁

Luke was mesmerized. Sunlight glistened against silk. The rose pink dress the princess wore shimmered with her every movement. He saw her everyday, under sunlight and moonbeams, in the grandest rooms of the castle and engulfed by the perfectly tended flowers in the royal garden. But the sight of her trailing aimlessly through their secret meadow never failed to instill awe in him. She was one with the world when they made their getaway. Lost to the wildflowers and overgrowth of grass. Ease always captured her in the meadow; fully able to let worries of kingdoms and wars slip away. She felt safe there. She felt protected by Luke’s presence.

His cape flew in the wind as he followed her, the sign of his knighthood a sharp reminder against his skin. He was sworn to protect the crown. Vowed to his sword and the castle and nothing more. But secrets lived on his lips and in his heart. They were born of tilted crowns and shy smiles, flowers in hair and running through shadows and from responsibilities.

“We could keep going,” she said as she spun to face Luke. Her eyes sparkled under the light, were relentless as they peered at him and waited for his response. Perfectly stained lips pursed as Luke sighed. “We don’t have to go back.”

He reached for her hand, her skin was soft under his gentle touch.

“Where would we go?” Luke asked, only to amuse her and her wanderlust.

“Anywhere,” she answered softly and swept her gaze around their meadow. “Or we could stay here. Make a cabin in the woods.”

“Princess,” Luke whispered, words that ached sitting heavily on his heart in the momentary silence they lapsed into. Her eyes were filled with hope. “You know we can’t. We have to go back.”

The reasons for their return danced in the air between them, swayed with the wild lilies in the breeze and wilted their dreams. The reasons were sharp, broken vows meeting blades. A life of sworn commitment coming to an end. The princess nodded but turned away from Luke, hands gently gliding over petals as she kept walking.

“Then I will run away. As my sworn sword you will have to follow, to protect me,” she said as she looked back, lip quivering at the thought. Lies sounded sweet from her sugary lips. “You’ll follow me. Won’t you?”

Luke nodded, knowing there was no other way he could answer. He would follow her to the ends of the earth. Until death.

She sighed once more. This time the sound was resigned. Defeat captured her, slumped her shoulders and slowed her walk. Luke yearned to reach out for her again but the contact was forbidden. He knew he could. The meadow was theirs and no watching eyes would see. He could take her in his arms and whisper sweet nothings like many times before. Instead, he merely followed as his fingers curled into his palm. He was adamant to keep his promise to the princess his sword and heart were sworn to.

“Your father will be waiting,” Luke reminded. He hated the words, regret filling him as soon as they rolled off his tongue. Any mention of the king brought her down from the clouds, away from the privacy of the meadow and into a shadowed world of hallowed halls and sharp orders.

“Let him wait,” she insisted as she turned back to him and came to a full stop. “His throne is comfortable enough. The arrangement will be made whether I’m present or not.”

Luke swallowed down a lump in his throat. Once stained glass worries became transparent. He could see the refusal in her eyes. The indignant set of her jaw. She would not be swayed to leave. Luke worried, she would also not be swayed to stop. Even more so he worried that she would. That all of her talk and her late night dreams would be all for naught. So many nights they snuck out to the gardens, the meadow out of reach but the privacy of the night and the familiarity of flowers offering them comfort. She’d whisper words of longing to Luke, make plans he had to convince himself not to act on in those very moments. Each night it got harder and harder to resist.

“I don’t want you to go,” Luke finally said, the words scorching him from the inside out as the sun began to dip below the tree line. Too much time had been spent hidden away from the rest of the world. “But you must.”

The princess faltered, her knight in dented armor doing little to save her from her fate. She frowned and shook her head, perfectly done hair falling in her face with the motion. Luke kept his hands to himself though he wished to push soft tendrils behind her ear, maybe even let his fingertips linger on her jaw for a just a moment longer than necessary.

“They’re going to send me away,” she responded and furrowed her eyebrows. Suddenly, glimmering eyes turned dark, shimmers turned to tears and palid expressions became her. “They’re arranging a marriage to some lord of a holdfast. I might never see my home again. I might never see you again.”

Luke lost his breath at her admission. The details of royal arrangements always kept from him until the moment they were signed and sealed. He went where he was told. He protected when danger arose. He knew little of what the world was outside of the castle and the commands of a king. Outside of the forbidden love he bore for a princess he was not ready to lose.

“I’m your sworn sword. Where you go, I follow,” Luke reminded but the princess solemnly shook her head and Luke faltered.

“Not this time,” she answered and turned sharply, heading back to the entrance of the clearing and to a fate she did not want to be destined for.

Luke hurried after her, met her at the treeline where their lone horse waited. His hands found hers again and the realization it may be the last time he could feel the softness of her skin, smell the sweetness that lingered around her, he shattered. Pieces of himself falling to the dirt; ragged and sharp enough to sever ties and vows.

“It’s five miles back to the castle,” Luke said flippiantly, eyes searching anywhere but the trail they must take to bring her home. He helped her into the saddle and joined, her arms wound around him in a way that promised she did not want to let go. He let out a breath, ran his thumb over the back of her hand and took a chance. “It’s ten to the docks. Fifty leagues to the next kingdom.”

A demure smile curved her lips as she took in Luke’s words. She peered out to the other side of the meadow, tilted her head to the side and gazed up at Luke.

“Wherever I go…” she said and trailed off.

“I’ll follow,” Luke promised.

***

Part 2??

If you’d like to be added to my tag list just let me know!

Tagged: @rosecolouredash​ @who-do-you-love-5sos​ @caswinchester2000​ @wildflowergrae​ @malumsmermaid​ @babylon-corgis​ @gosh-im-short​ @loveroflrh​ @findingliam-o​ @flowerthug​ @g-l-pierce​ @talkfastromance4​ @cashtonasfuck​ @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer​ @notinthesameguey​ @lukesfuckingbeard​ @myloverboyash​ @treatallwithkindness​ @haikucal​ @wiildflower-xxx​ @egyptiangoldhood​ @drarryetcetera​ @another-lonely-heart​ @megz1985​ @idk-harry​ @wildflower-cth​ @idontneedanyone​ @everyscarisahealingplace​ @myfavfanficsever​ @stormrider505​ @karajaynetoday​ @333-xx​ @calumshpod​ @calumsphile​ @calumrose​ @justhereforcalum​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @calumance​ @ahoodgirl​ @chicken-ona-stick​ @wish-you-were-here-hood​ @hoodhoran​ @wiiildflowerrr​ @saywhatnow07​ @lonelyheart5​ @fallingforyou123​ @hemmingslftv​ @wontlastimokwiththat​

[fandom-blackhole]

Okay you have no idea how excited I was to see that you're open for requests! I love your Mando stories so could I please request my big boi Paz? I'd love to witness you do magic with prompts : 14 (bodyguard AU) and either 49 (fake marriage)/63 (mistaken for couple)/80 (green-eyed epiphany) *can you tell I couldn't decide* *I'm a Libra* *I do apologize*

Im honored that you love my mando fics and that you got excited about me opening requests 🥺💕Also, as a Sagittarius sun and moon, I relate on not being able to make decisions 😔, but I have a great idea for:

14. Bodyguard AU 

63. Mistaken for Couple

80. Green-Eyed Epiphany  

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x GN!Reader

Words: roughly 2k, woops

Send me some AUs/Tropes??

Note: So I just wanted to start this off with what I'm thinking about this mash-up, like whats going on and the situation. A little backstory/world building, if you will. So, im seeing this as after the tribe on Nervarro scatters after the fight with Grogu, Din, and the Stormtroopers. Paz is by himself and in need of work for credits, to both support himself and save up for when/if he is reunited with his tribe he can help rebuild and contribute. That leads him to a small midrim planet that is pretty divided. You are the head of the government, but there is a group of people who keep trying to kill you and harm your supporters because they want the "true ruler" to be in your place. Said "ruler" is part of a bloodline of radical tyrants that had been controlling the planet until around the same time the empire fell, their downfall resulting from being too involved with the empire. SO, the head of your defense team brings in Paz to protect you, because not only is he a big scary dude covered in big weaponry and armor, but also because you keep insisting that all the soldiers and guards should be protecting the people not you, so bringing in Paz was his little loophole. Now on to the story!

You were not happy with this arrangement, and you had told the head of your guard just as much. You didn't need a protector, it only showed your rivals that you were scared of what they were capable of, that they had the possibility to win this war they were waging. The man- the mandalorian that had been hired was unfazed by your indifference towards him, always just trailing silently behind you look just as menacing as mandalorians were said to be. It was easy to tell that he knew his way around a variety of weapons, it was easy to tell that he had been through battles and suffered their consequences. And it was easy to tell that this job seemed to be a bit boring for him. He didn't have any excitement, most days the mandalorian was stuck following you throughout the capital building, attending meetings that he could care less about, standing guard to your study as you paced around in thought. Nothing much happened, but as time went on and the war worsened and the threat of your rivals loomed over your head you started to notice that the mandalorian would do little things that shaved a little of your stress away, or would brighten you day if only a little. Little treats would show up on your desk, or cups of teas or caf just the way you liked them, walks through the garden would result in a vase of flowers- handpicked and cut with a sharp knife at an angle, delicately- placed in your room. The first time you broke down in front of him, the stress of loosing nearly an entire village not far from where you were to the grievous ways of your enemies broke you to the point of sobbing hysterically and the mandalorian surprised you with his gentleness, as he softly grabbed your arms and made you look up at him, his blue helmet staring down at you as he said, "You will get past this...you...you are a good leader, you care for your people more than yourself, and in the end, that is what will have you coming out on top."

After that night, something changed between the two of you. Instead of following behind you silently, you started walking beside the mandalorian, in meetings instead of letting him stand silently behind you, you started asking his opinions on the battles or if he had any suggestions to help combat. The two of you got closer, and you weren't sure when, but eventually you found yourself calling the mandalorian a friend, and you liked to believe he thought of you as one as well, he at least trusted you enough that he told you his name, which you only used in the private of your quarters or study during your late night talks. When you started to show signs of the stress becoming too much, or that you were nearing another breakdown, he would gently lead you away from whatever you had been doing. More times than not he lead you to the gardens and sat you down as he would tell you stories of his childhood or of his people and culture. One evening, he went as far as to set up a little spot for you to relax and eat a little snack with tea, to give you time away from everything, to give you a break from holding your home on your shoulders. It had been nice, and it helped you clear your thoughts, the gesture had you smiling fully for the first time in months, and it was one that was not quick to fade. As thanks, you had asked Paz what you could do, to which he only replied, "Seeing you smile is enough." So you did, you smiled at him and gently reached out and placed a kiss on the cheek of his helmet.

The smile Paz had gifted you stayed for a few days, your people noticed the happiness and it it seemed to affect all of them, each person growing their own little smiles. Melancholy still hung in the air, but you felt like you had the energy and will power to deal with it now. But as all good things must end, this happiness was ripped from you, when the head of your guard rushed into a meeting with the delegates of the planet, his face was crumpled in worry and he whispered apologies as he reluctantly handed over a letter addressed to you. Your heart pounding, you opened the letter only to freeze at the sight of a photo taken of the moment that had only radiated happiness until now, staring down you only saw yourself pressed close to Paz’s form with lips pressed against his helmet. The moment now felt tainted, and you felt sick to your stomach, the happiness that was shown in the picture gone, only replaced with pure terror. Glancing at the man stood before you, he took the picture and flipped it before handing it back with a somber look. On the back, in deep red ink and scratchy handwriting read:

Now, do you really think courting a mandalorian is going to protect you from your death by my hands? Ill make sure to kill him in front of you so you have to watch as he falls.

Yours loving,

The True King

You hadn't even realized you were shaking, nor breathing heavily, until a gloved had reached into very and took the note away from you. You watched as Paz looked the note over before passing it back to your head guard. He told him something, but you could not hear as your eyes started ringing. Gently Paz helped you stand, before leading you away from the meeting. You didn't care where he was taking you, at that moment you couldn't think straight, couldn't get past the thought of, how did they get so close to take a photo without anyone noticing?

After the letter had been delivered Paz took care to never leave your side, he became more overbearing and involved with planning your schedule. No longer were you allowed in the gardens, or outside for that matter, for the time being, Paz only really allowed you to go to your quarters, your study, and the meeting room. You didn't fight him, too tired from the lasting conflicts and worry over what would happen next. A month went by, and everything quieted, the attacks stopped, and it almost felt like your enemy had gone into hiding. You didn't relax though, the note still whispering in the back of your head. Paz found himself often sleeping in the chair beside your bed, after too many nights of having been awoken to you yelling out his name and finding you rushing to his room to reassure yourself that he was safe.

Then it happened. You knew the quiet was only leading to something, but you weren't prepared to be a woke in the middle of the night to Paz scream to you. It had been the first night you had been able to fall asleep and stay asleep without nightmares of Paz’s death, but you were only thrown into a different nightmare as your eyes few open and you saw Paz fighting off an attacker. You yelled for you to run, and as you hesitated he only growled your name and told you to go, so with a heavy heart you did, you ran. All around the capital you could seem fires burning and hear your guards fighting with silhouettes your tired eyes could not make out in the low light of night. You did not know where to go, only letting your feet carry you, only stopping when you were out of breath. Looking around, you found yourself in the garden, feet from where you gave Paz the soft kiss, the memory still churning out a small amount of happiness, but quickly turned sour once more when the grinning face of the man you loathed most in the world stood from the bench hidden in the shadows.

"My dear, I was hoping you'd come here. I know you are especially fond of the gardens, most certainly this area."

"What do you want Alun? Why wouldn't you stop this fighting? People, my people, our people are suffering!"

He scoffed and turned to look at the city burning around you both. "The people deserve what they are getting for forgetting their true leaders. And you for forgetting what you once were."

"Stop this. You are doing nothing but destroying the planet!"

Alun turned to look at you, small smile curling onto his hate filled face. Slowly he reached out and placed the rose he had picked behind your ear, the thorns pricking your skin, one digging in enough to make a drop of blood run down your ear.

"When I have control again, and we are again together, things will go back to the way they were. I promise you, love. You just need to stop fighting me."

Disgust formed on your face as you stepped back, "We may have been engaged before you fell, but I never loved you. I was forced into that position by you and your father, and I do not regret being apart of how he and you fell from grace. I will never stop fighting you."

"Oh, but I love you, and I will have you, my love."

"Not if I have any say," a voice growled from behind you. Whipping around, relief flooded you at the sight of Paz marching towards where you stood. He was covered in blood from fighting, but seemed like he was uninjured himself much to your relief. But he seemed angry, livid almost as he pushed you behind him, standing toe-to-toe with Alun. "If you want them, you will have to get through me, and I will not stop fighting until my dying breath for them," Paz’s words settled into your chest, warmth flowing through you as the next few second moved in slow motion. Paz reached out, before Alun even had a chance to grab for his weapon. Paz lifted him like a rag doll to his height, making direct eye contact, before growling out, "because I love them, and you will never have them."

And with that said, Paz simply slammed his forehead into Alun's forcefully knocking him unconscious, then carelessly dropping him to the ground where he laid unmoving buise already forming on his forehead. Paz then turned to you and reached for you, but you simply flung yourself onto him. "You're okay, i was so worried, I didn't want to leave you, I was so scared that something would happen and that Id...."

"That you'd, what cyare," Paz whispered as he held you close, arms wrapped around you as if he'd let go and you'd disappear. Looking up and into his helmet's visor you were quiet for a moment, before speaking up softly, "I love you too... I thought I'd never get to tell you that I loved you."

Gently, Paz pressed his forehead against your own, before whispering, "You don't have to worry. I'll always be around to protect you. And," a teasing note coming out in his voice making you smile, "You can tell me how much you love me anytime you want. As long as you don't have anymore previous fiancés out there professing their love to you. I don't think I could hold back from ripping off their heads like I did just now."

Giggling you shook your head, "No more love professions, I promise. Only yours matter."

Everything Tags: @mysticalgalaxysalad @phoenixhalliwell @moodsare @perpetual-fangirl900 @night-snows00 @dumbass-simp-for-fredweasley @stargazingthenightaway @meabravo @just-here-for-the-moment @masteracewindu @litakino

Paz Tags: @bunny-fairy @elinedjarin @shellyc9 @blackmarketmummy @djarin-junk

Join the Taglists

[ellitx]

maybe we could give nb his own ending like

he went to park to clear his mind off and someone offer him a can of soda and that person give out such a warm aura remind him of [y/n]

Ooh what if this is a different and a separate character of reader? So we have venti’s darling reader and this one is nb’s soon to be darling 👀 (imma name him himmel for now since nb seems odd)

Note: connected to this scenario (be warned it contains NSFW content)

word count: 816

Imagine you’re walking back home and see Himmel sitting in the park’s swing so late at night as he drinks his can of soda.

He still can’t get rid of that scenario that happened an hour ago and it still gives him bitterness and pain the more he thinks about it. A shadow looming over him caused him to look up and it’s a surprise to see you there.

“[Name]?” He muttered softly and brought down his drink.

“Himmel-senpai, what are you doing here at this kind of time? I thought you were already home after helping me out in the library...”

The male simply smiled at you but something was off. It’s not his usual gentle smile you always see, this one seems more... strained and forced.

“I just need some fresh air to relax my mind. Thank you for the concern.”

You puffed your cheeks and sat on the swing next to him. “Is something bothering you? Oh, you don’t have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

You shifted your gaze to the ground and bit your lip, clutching your skirt out of nervousness. Himmel is a really kind man and you wanted to repay his kindness. He always helps you in returning the books to their rightful shelves and a senior helping out his junior was a big shock for you.

He’s even staying late to assist you with anything. So seeing him so blue and downcast tugs your heartstrings so much.

Himmel’s eyes turned gentle and this time his smile was soft and warm. “Thank you. It’s just a complicated matter between me and my brother.”

Himmel didn’t say too much about what happened. You’ve noticed this and decided to change the topic to take his mind to somewhere else other than his current dilemma.

“Hey, Himmel-senpai, can I ask you something?” The sound of his small chuckle had you turning your head to him and tilting your head to the side in bafflement. Why was he suddenly laughing?

“You’re already asking me a question though.” He stifled his laughs with the back of his hand and pushed himself back to gain momentum on the swing.

“Th-that’s different!” You huffed at him and crossed your arms. It’s not unusual he’s teasing you like this but it’s not often he does this to you.

“My bad. What do you want to ask me?”

Talking to you brought him joy and laughter all night and it eased you to see him smile again. You talked about all your funny stories you can think of and share your similar interests with him. From songs to foods and even favorite movies.

“I’m telling you that movie made me cry so much!! How did you NOT cry during that scene?!” You exclaimed and looked at him in disbelief.

“Wasn’t it obvious it was bound to happen? All the clues were already right there and my predictions were correct after watching that scene.”

Laughing at each other’s opinions and even trying to make him admit that he did cry watching the movie. Both of you had completely forgotten it’s almost midnight and you feel bad for cutting off the conversation.

“Oh, it’s getting late already. I have to go home now.” Himmel lifted himself up from his seat and stood next to you.

“I’ll walk with you. It’s too dangerous to leave you alone in these dark streets.”

“Huh? But what about your brother? Or parents? Won’t they get worried you still haven’t come home yet?”

Himmel patted your head in assurance. “It’s fine. My grandfather isn’t around and Venti can take care of himself... he’s not a child anymore.”

The way his words trailed off had your feelings of doubt came back again. He’s hiding his sadness behind that smile again.

Your nails dug deeply on your coat and you hate yourself if his dilemma was about his family. Just a simple change of his behavior can also change yours as well and you don’t like seeing him like this.

Where’s the Himmel you know that always smiles? One that’s so sweet and soft instead of feigned and forced. He’ll keep continuing this facade no matter what. He’ll keep up this mask, the ones he wears for others and the ones he wears for himself.

There are so many ways he smiles, and only a few are told with his lips. There are times he smiles with the lilt of his voice or an unexpected bounce in his stride. There are times he smiles with his choice of words or the way he pauses to hear a bird sing. Yet your favorite is when he smiles with arms that hug, that pulls you close and brings you ease.

Maybe— just maybe, one day you’ll be able to make him smile that can outshine the sun’s brightness and one of happiness that grows, much as a spring flower opens.

[sp00kworm]

Under the Old Oak (The Lord of Darkness x Reader)

Pairing: The Lord of Darkness x Reader

Warnings: Adult Content

---

---

The forest was vast in the Kingdom. The Princess had her champion, even if he was not truly hers, and the realm was restored to peace and warmth. The winter, however, still arrived, though it was not as brutal as it once was. The snow was light, and the air was bitter, but no gales battered the lands. It was almost a peaceful winter. You’d spent the winter mornings breathing the cold air, wandering the woodlands in search of foxes and squirrels as you scribbled ditties into the journal. Music was perhaps the only joy you had anymore, and even Princess Lili was amused by the folk tales. The winter, however, was gone, and so spring had overtaken the trees, bursting forth bluebells heavy with flowers and delicate snowdrops which swayed in the breeze. The trees were bursting with new buds of growth, light, new green leaves bursting from curled up shells, but there was not yet enough of them to block the sun and create a canopy. You let out a breath of warm air into the cool morning and watched it drift away into the trees before you avoided a fairy circle of toadstools and tutted.  

 “You are mischievous and rude.” You uttered to the giggling sprites which had laid the trap on the route they knew you took every morning, “And to think I bring you cakes!” You teased as you threw your lunch muffin in the air.

The sprites gasped and darted for the muffin, their sparkly magic light glowing as they each took a sniff and a nibble at the candied fruit decorating the top, “It was a joke!” They giggled as they dragged away the muffin into their mossy homes, “Thank you!” They jeered together as crumbs fell into your hair. You brushed the mess out of your hair before continuing down the mossy path, bouncing around the poisonous toadstools and circles of stones before you reached the stream. It was shallow with the lack of rainfall yet, and you hopped along the deep-set stones, wetting your boots as you went across to reach the soggy bank on the other side. The mud slapped against your boots and you laughed as you headed towards the old oak tree. It sat away from the bank; its roots protected from the constant onslaught of water which would cause it to rot in the silty dirt. With a sigh, you tugged your scarf tighter and sat back against the mossy bed at the base, breathing in the fresh air as the stream trickled on in the background.

 After a few more moments of peace, you reached for your satchel and pulled free your journal from the leather bag with your pencil. Your hand harp came out next and you undid the cloth around it to play a little tune, filling the air with a simple set of scaling notes to check the tuning of the instrument. With a twist of one string, it was into the correct range and you opened your notes to look at the new song you have been working on. It was an old ditty, something that your grandmother had sung you as a child before she passed, and you were determined to rewrite the lyrics for the new legend. The old one was a sad tale, of the darkness being born and spreading sadness throughout the land, but you figured the new tale should be something joyful, with an ending that reflected the new era of light that had been bestowed on the world.

“What have I written?” You asked yourself as you opened the page the song was scrawled on, barely able to read your own writing half of the time. With a squint, you started to pluck at the strings, softly, letting the notes gently hang in the air as you opened your mouth to hum the words quietly.

“Under the old oak tree, boughs cast shadows of dark and silt.” You swayed softly, “In the shadow sits eyes of glittering green, watching a maiden of white and snow.” The harp sung with you as you gently continued into the old verse and rolled the words around in your mouth, thinking about how to change them.

 “Darkness, temptress, wanted one true love. The Maiden’s honour was not his to tempt, and hero slayed him with the sword.” A couple of sprites listened quietly in the branches over your head before glittering and dashing down into the water to pluck at the new water clovers growing in the silt. With a hum and a flourish, you continued, “The fairest maid denied his request, leaving him in shadows and dust, only for her handsome champion, to part ways when the sun rose up.”

A rabbit snuffled at your boot as you continued, “Daylight blinds her heart, when demons sit afar.” With a soft whistle you continued on, tapping your foot to the beat as you blended into a soft, harp solo and finished with a gentle smile. The rabbit sat quietly, chewing on bluebells before it twitched, its eyes wide with fright as its ears flicked. It twitched again before bolting for the trees and its warren. You jumped with fright as a fox tore past you, hot on the creature’s tail, its teeth snatching at the cotton tail of the rabbit. With a gasp you looked away as the fox caught it by the back legs and tried to ignore the scuffle as it continued into the grass and plants away from you. There was a rush of fur and you looked on sadly as the fox carted its kill past you, dripping with blood. There were squeals in the brush and you tried to take solace in the fact that the mother was feeding her new pups.

 Silence stretched out as you scribbled in the notebook, singing soft lines as the air grew warmer and warmer around you, stretching past midday. A few sprites came along to sit on your harp as you continued to sing about the end of the Darkness.

“Darkness sleeps in hearts of man, cruelty and hate combined he thrives.” You whispered, “Yet light blinds and he sleeps he sleeps.”

“A beautiful ditty.” A voice rumbled from behind you, “In details, however, it is wrong.” A beautiful timbre caressed your ears, deep and filled with wisdom of a thousand ages.

You clutched your handheld harp close and looked around the clearing, “Who are you? Where are you hiding?”

“Nowhere. I do not hide. You are sat in the shadows.” The voice purred, “Here I am.”

You flinched as you peered at the long shadows of midday, “The shadows? No creature is shadow.”

“I am no creature.” It purred, “I am the shadows. I am the darkness you are sat in.” It promised, “Can you not see me?”

 You looked at the floor and then peered hard at the shadows of the roots before two burning green eyes appeared in the darkness followed by a great smile, pointed fangs snapping before the smile melted away again.

“I am weak here, but I listened to your song. I heard you speak of me, sweetest thing.” The green eyes burned as they watched you.

“Why are you listening?” You asked, fear clutching at your heart, “I’m singing a song of what happened.”

“And your song is beautiful. You speak of the Darkness. I am he.” The Darkness purred as though his mouth was pressed to your ear.

“The Darkness is dead and gone. He was destroyed.” You whispered to the green eyes, “Everyone knows he is dead.”

“Dead?” The creature laughed, “Darkness cannot die, for the folly of man is where I reside. Every human is cruel and foul, and so I will never see an end.” He promised with another hiss, the teeth snapping in the shadows and disappearing once again as he moved along the shadowed roots, peering out from another hole.

 “Are you here to goad me…Am I to face the pits of your foul home?” Resolve held your words together as you peered into his burning eyes.

A great, deep chuckle resounded in your ears, and you felt the exhale against the hairs on the back of your neck. He laughed again at your shivering.

“Do you think me a liar? I have told you. I heard your song and came here to listen closer.” A black talon peaked from the shadow before curling back into the darkness.

“Isn’t lying your speciality, oh Lord of Sin.” You spat as you took a step back towards the sunlight.

“Lying? It is a sin, but I do not lie. Witches have pacts with me, I do not lie to them about power. I did not lie to the oh so fair maiden in your tale. She was to be mine. If she did that, she would have been a Queen.” He hissed from the shadows, “Do not twist my words, mortal. I too was lied to in that story.”

“Did you not deserve it? You corrupt the innocent and wanted permanent darkness and death. Those are hardly good things.” You took another step towards the light and the Darkness hissed at you with scorn.

“Think of another tale to sing. Your telling of mine is foul.” The eyes receded back into the shadowed roots before glowing, then disappearing, as the creature closed his eyes. There was silence. You rushed into the sunlight and peered around the clearing as you tried to catch a glimpse of the green eyes burning in the shadows. You rushed back for your harp and bag before making sure to run into the trees and back towards the town.

 It got warmer as the week progressed, the leaves on the trees were beginning to unfurl properly and soak up the warming rays of the new sun. After a week you dared to enter the woods again, taking the same path you always did, jumping toadstools until you reached the base of the sprites’ tree.

“I brought you a biscuit.” You offered up into the branches, “They’re lavender and honey, you said you all liked that last time.”

The sprites chittered before taking the biscuit from your fingers and letting crumbs fall into your hair. You brushed at the crumbs and smiled.

“Have you felt anything weird lately?” You asked, “Anything untoward?”

The sprites paused in their eating to look at you confusedly, their little pointed faces confused, “We sense all manner of things. Black and white, light and dark. All are normal in our woods.” One sang before another grinned and tugged at your ear, “White as the unicorn, black as pitch. All is the same to the Fae.” She giggled and the rest sang a soft little rhyme about the fox and the hare.

“You’re all so useless sometimes.” You sighed.

The sprites paused in their dances, “We told you the answer. No lies we speak.” They sang again as they took the food and disappeared back into the moss and birdhouses.

You huffed at the branches, “Useless Fae and their riddles.” You kicked a pebble into the small stream as you slowly moved across the steppingstones.

 The water had made new pond weed and sludge grow over the steps and you yelped as your boot slipped and landed in the stream, filling with icy cold water.

“Oh, by the Gods!” You cursed as you hopped along the rest of the stones. When you reached the bank, you hopped a little further, into the dryer dirt before standing on a great pile of moss and upturning your boot. Water splatted onto the dirt and you huffed again as you hopped to the oak and tucked your boot against the trunk along with your other, hoping the warmer air would dry the inside of it.

As usual, you opened your bag and plucked your hand harp from inside the fold, unwrapping the cloth from it carefully before listening to its gentle noise. The soft plucking of the strings rose up into the canopy and you smiled at the noise you had always loved. Your grandmother was the finest harpist you had ever met, and you wished you had her level of skill as you plucked at the notes for the song she had first sung to you as a babe.

 “Darkness see the Light, on the break of day. Season turn cold to warm, with her never ending sway. Once the dawn doth break, the dreams are chased away. Darkness see the Light, on the break of day…” You hummed softly, plucking in a gentle cadence as the sunlight worked through the new green leaves, dappling across your face. Soaking in the glow, you let the song die on your lips as the birds sang high above, hidden in the mass of leaves from predators and prying eyes.

“Such a wonderous song.” A dark voice rang out from behind you. Once more, you startled and peered into the roots beneath the giant tree, “Sweet thing, have you come to sing for me again?” The Darkness purred from the depths, his green, burning eyes morphing into the burning orange flames of fire, “Or do you sing of me again to tarnish my name?” He teased as he raised a single claw before curling it back into the shadows, begging for you to come closer.

Fear curled along your spine, “I don’t sing for anyone. I sing for myself.” You promised as you turned on the moss to see the eyes burning into your skin, looking as though into your soul, “I would not sing of you if it were not the song’s lyrics. I have to play this for the town festival.” The confession ran like water and you covered your mouth with a gasp.

“Lies cannot be spoken to me.” The Darkness chortled, “Your songs are tales. Beautifully woven to enchant even the deafest of ears.” He complimented, “I would like to hear another, if you would be so kind?”

 “Why should I play for you?” You asked, spitefully, “You almost ruined the world.”

The Darkness laughed again, “Ruined? I merely changed the order. There is balance in the light and dark, and one day that balance will be mine to destroy. The shadows will have their time once again. It is the order of things.” He observed mildly as you held your hand harp closely, trying to avoid his intense gaze.

“Would you destroy everything to have it?” You asked, curiosity burning away at the anxiety in your gut.

The Darkness hummed, “Perhaps. But perhaps it would be best to turn the humans to my own side.” He grinned, as though a new nefarious plan was forming in his mind, white teeth glittering in the roots of the tree before he spoke again, “Play for me little harpist. One more song, I beg of you. The sound is like nothing I have below.”

“And what is it you have below, Darkness.” You asked as you opened your book.

His smile faded, “Screams and bellows. The sound of the foulest torture. There is some music in my power, but it is not that of…” His mouth moved before he spat the word, “Innocence…or purity. There is little joy in it.”

 “You do not lie…do you?” You whispered as the eyes burned.

“Why would I lie about such things?” He spat, “Sing for me, please. Play a song.” There was tiredness in his voice as his mouth disappeared into the blackness of the shadows and dirt.

“I can sing for you.” You nodded gently and sat before the shadowed roots, ignoring the burning orange gaze as you remembered the next line of the song.

“Behold the singing song bird, watch the bubbling stream. Before the dawn breaks, naught can be seen. Dreams of sorrows past, chased by the burning light. No more will they bother you, despite the aching blight. Darkness see the Light, on the break of day.”

The Darkness’ eyes lowered with the song, his gaze low and tired as his claws slid back into the roots, disappearing into the dark chasm of his own shadows.

Your voice came to an end, and you opened your eyes not to see the Lord of Darkness nor his gaze. There was silence as the leaves rustled over your head, flapping against one another as you sat, staring into the roots, wondering where the creature had disappeared to during your tale.

 A groggy noise of discontent sounded, “Why did you stop singing, song bird?” He asked, a single eye peering out from the shadows.

With a smile you chuckled, “I thought you had fallen asleep.”

The Darkness smiled, fangs exposed as he laughed, “I was close. Your music is gentle, like a Mother’s song to a babe.” He complimented, “You surely sing for the court?” He asked.

A blush graced your cheeks, “No, I sing for myself.” You reaffirmed, “One day I will maybe share my songs with the world…but not for now.”

The Darkness watched you for a moment, “I could make it happen.” He tempted softly, “There would be no one that didn’t know your name.”

“I won’t fall for your temptation.” You huffed, “I would rather sing and make the children happy than be forced to entertain the King and his finicky court.”

“Then perhaps a world without a King is what you truly desire?” He asked with another purr.

“Don’t twist my words against me. I want nothing from you.” You told him as you laid your harp back in your bag.

 The Darkness opened his other eye, “Nothing? After such a graceful performance…” He tutted to himself before he twisted a finger into the dirt and you watched your boots wiggle, as though there were invisible feet within them, “Consider this a small token.”

You watched as your boots marched their way over, under the influence of some sort of magic, before jumping and landing in your lap, cosy, lined with rich fur and utterly bone dry. They shined bright with wax polish and smelled as though they were new.

“I…” You stuttered, “I can’t accept these. They’re made for royalty.” You brushed the fur inside.

“Take them. It is payment for your music and for your craft. Wear them well, little bird.” He purred before you watched his eyes grow tired again, the orange turning green and disappearing into the roots randomly before he hummed and disappeared entirely, “I will see you again.”

“Yes…See you next time.” You whispered as the roots twisted and knotted back into place, the Oak hiding where the creature had once been beneath it, “Maybe I’ll have something new for you.” You pulled on the heavy boots and smiled at the warmth and the fit before rushing back over the stream.

 You jumped from the rocks and smiled as you looked back into the trees. The sprites bolted from their homes.

“Darkness clings and darkness takes hold.” They whispered in your ears, hidden along your coat collar, “Temptation is the beginning of sin.” They rushed before ripping through your hair, “Careful little one. Darkness tempts in other ways.”

“What do you mean?” You asked but they disappeared up into their homes, leaving glittering dust behind them. You looked up and listened to the silence of the birds before rushing to make your way home before the darkness decided to set in. The sprites cowered in their moss homes as the night rolled in that night, and the wolves howled beneath their trees.

 “Does the bird’s song ever wake you?” The Darkness asked from his shadowed hole, his eyes watching your fingers move over the harp, “You only come to sing as the Sun raises to its highest point.” He observed, “Does someone else occupy your time?” He asked with a hiss.

“No.” You plucked a string particularly forcefully, “I’m busy in the mornings.” You confessed, “I have to cook and clean for myself now.” You felt tears well in your eyes.

“What troubles you?” The Darkness asked, the tips of his claws peaking from the roots.

“My Mother passed.” You confessed, “She was all I had left.” You whispered and the Darkness reached out before recoiling from the sunlight with a howl, forgetting himself as his eyes flared with anger.

“Does her passing not anger you. Such sorrow is ill-fitting. I have heard your song in the night.” There was a flicker of something in the shadows, “Can I not offer you some solace, bird?”

“I want nothing of your tricks, Darkness.” You spat, “I want to remember her in her chair, not as a walking corpse.”

The Darkness recoiled at your spite, “I offer no such thing…Only my company. If you would have it?”

You did not keep your shock to yourself, “Truly? You won’t trick me and drag me away into your hellhole?”

He laughed, “No, sweet thing. Where would the fun in that be?” The creature teased before tugging at your bag, “Sing your sorrows. Soon, your heart will not feel the pain anymore.”

You took hold of your bag and took out your hand harp, tightening one string with a watery smile before you sung late into the afternoon, beginning the process of healing your own heart.

 “Will you stay a little longer?” The Darkness asked as the sun reached to dip below the horizon. You’d been visiting for so long that you couldn’t remember the time before you did. Your days creating were much more fun with someone to critique your lyrics.

“It will be night-time soon.” You muttered over the rain which pattered against the Oak’s leaves. You were protected underneath it’s canopy, huddled in your fur, your boots tucked against you as you looked out at the rain. The stream bubbled with fresh new water, rushing harshly against the rocks.

“Night is just the day without light. What troubles you so that you cannot walk in it? There is nothing to harm you in these woods.” He offered, eyes flickering with green jealousy.

“There are wolves and mean sprites at night. Even forgetting that, I can’t find my way back without being able to see where I’m putting my feet.” You joked as the Darkness’ fingers tested the space outside of the roots, his claws curling into his own palm.

“Wolves are not after prey such as you.” The Darkness rebuked, “If I were here, no evil is greater than I. We would be alone, to enjoy the silence.”

You noted the whimsical tone of his statement, “Alone?” You asked gently, “Alone to do what? I have no songs about the night.”

He did not miss the joke, “All I would ask is that you sit, and talk with me.”

 The rain hissed as it poured against the trees and greenery. You were both quiet for a moment as you digested his request.

“Perhaps not tonight.” You replied, “I…”

“I do not need an explanation.” The Darkness’ tone was harsh, “I understand that your kindness does not go that far.”

“This is not a kindness. I do not pity you.” Taking a handful of leaves, you began to peel them from their stems.

“If not pity, then why do you still come?” He asked with a snarl, his pointed teeth clenched.

Peeling another leaf apart, you wondered why you still entertained his request, “I suppose that I have come to enjoy your retched company.”

“You flatter me, harpist.” The anger seemed to dissolve from him, “Then why not come, entertain me in flesh, tonight?”

 “Not tonight.” You smiled as you stood up, gathering your harp and shaking the sticks from your coat, “I heard there will be a storm soon.”

The Darkness moaned softly in the shadows, “Yes. Such a wonderous event. The fear, the agony and the unrest to the land. A time for my shadows to spread further.” He purred inside the roots before his burning gaze rested on you, “Meet me then, in the thunderstorm, I beg of you, my sweet.” His claws peered from the shadow before receding.

The taste of blood covered your tongue from biting your cheek, “When?”

“The day after next.” He whispered as you dipped your hand into the roots. The cold touch of the shadows made you shudder before there was a press of something to the back of your hand, “Wear something to dance.” The Darkness hummed before his lids grew tired and he disappeared into the roots. You jumped and took your hand back as the oak tree groaned and moved back its old roots, hiding the opening once more.  

 Thunder crashed for most of the next day before the real storm swirled over the land, black clouds twisting in on one another, rolling and spewing torrents of hammering rain. Wind blew down the mountainside for most of the morning. Carefully you chose and outfit in the afternoon, shuddering as the rain bounced off your windows, twirling in the fine silks and singing with the harp clutched in your hand about angering the mother of the skies. You watched the sun set as you ate, spooning your food into your mouth as fast as you could manage before you stole away into your room to grab at the large coat. The rain lightening as you stepped outside, your harp protected in your bag from the torrents. With a smile, you bounced into the woodlands from the cottage’s backdoor, mouth open wide as you sung once more.

“Rain and wind, thunder and howl, across ye plains. Birth of life, green and root, into the soil ‘gain. As the sun sleeps, douse the land, with water o’plenty. Watch and wait for Mother to sing, about when the larder was empty.” You sang as you rushed into the woods, listening in fear for the wolves as the rain slowed to a drizzle. Your hood flew from your head as you rushed beneath and over the homes of many animals, hunkered down away from the foul weather.

 Suddenly, you were laughing, twirling into the stream as the rain soaked your hair and the water filled your pumps. A great thunderous crash made you face the sky, looking into the clouds as blue electricity singed across their surface. Another crash was accompanied with a flash of light and you grinned at the power of it before jumping from the stream and throwing your coat off, the silks attached to your shoulders flaring as you plucked your harp from your bag and played over the rain and thunder, spinning in the moss beneath the Old Oak.

“Sweet harpist.” The Darkness purred and you opened your eyes as black silk and cloth rippled in front of the tree, the roots closing with a groan of upset behind his giant figure. The clothing covering him draped over his giant, ebony horns, falling in waves that rippled with the wind. You peered into the hood and saw his orange eyes. His eyes watched you, panting, sodden with the rain falling from the sky. His clawed hand reached from within the cloth covering and you span from his reach with a gentle pluck of your harp.

“You tease me.” He offered before another thunderous crash sounded, along with his laughter. The cape hood and cape around him billowed again in the wind, the encrusted jewels clinking, and you looked to see as the silk around his arms in two cuffs ripple gently. His form was interchangeable, and you watched him float before two cloven hooves thudded to the ground from beneath the bottom seam of the cloth.

 “Are you going to dance with me, my lord?” You asked as you span to play your harp away in your bag, thrown beneath the tree.

The Darkness nodded from within the hood and offered his red, clawed hands once more, “Let us celebrate this night.” He rumbled; his voice distorted as the thunder rumbled again overhead.

In his palms, your hands were dwarfed by his own, and you held onto them tightly as the Darkness drew you in closer to him, his silks blending with your own before he led you around in a small circle, one arm outstretched and the other placed at your hip. The cadence of the rain grew louder and louder as you both twirled past the oak tree and through the woodlands, trampling flowers and brambles as you span around in each other’s embrace. Rain soaked you as you laughed and ducked beneath his arms, and the Darkness howled with laughter as the thunder crashed and boomed overhead. A lightning flash revealed his red face, sharp, angular, and long with a mouth of white teeth, his incisors long and sharp. He leaned over and you reached to catch his face, pausing your dance in a great meadow which was soiled and boggy with water. Gently, you took hold of his cheeks, running your wet thumbs over his boiling skin. His hooves sunk in the mud as he leaned closer to you, staring into your eyes as the rain dripped from his great horns.

 “I suppose you think me a monster?” He asked as the thunder rolled above you both, drowning his bitter laughter from your ears.

“You’re the Darkness. You are not man nor monster.” You whispered close to his lips, “You are balance and sin.” It seemed like your tongue was loosened, “The sprites warned me…about temptation but you have given me nothing but comfort. There has been no agony, only laughter.” You reached to his pointed ears and closed your eyes as the rain rushed over you both.

The Darkness raised his great cloak and shielded you both from the downpour as his lips pressed against your own. It was gentle at first, hot and intimate, before his teeth nipped at your lower lip and his pointed tongue pressed into your mouth, hot against the coldness of your own mouth from standing in the rain. The Darkness wrapped you tighter beneath his cloth, the silk brushing your damp skin as one large hand cupped your face, his thumb tipping your head higher, and his other skated down your chest before cupping the small of your back.

 The kiss was long and passionate, filled with the decadence of the night, some things that the light simply could not offer to you. He pulled himself away from your lips, leaving you gasping for air as you recovered, wrapped in his great cloak.

“I feel…many things, when I am with you, little one.” The Darkness confessed into the folds of his cloak, his eyes looking into your own, meeting them with a confidence you had never seen before in an courter, “I would make you my ruler.” He confessed as he pressed your hand to his hot chest, underneath the cloth.

You looked up at him as rain dripped from his horns and over your own face, dripping down the bridge of your nose in speedy tracks, “I don’t want to be a master.”

“Then play for me, for all time. Play music and inspire my name into those once more.” He begged softly, clutching your hands before he hissed, the thunder crashing overhead once more.

“Can we be together?” You asked in a whisper, fear making your fingers tremble.

“For eternity.” He promised, “Beyond and after the ends of time. Sing songs of Darkness and Love for me.”

“Eternity…”

 There was another rumble, and you took his hands again, before the lightning struck a tree in the distance sending fire and wood exploding into the sky. His hood disappeared with a gale of wind before the cloth and silk wrapped around you once more and the Darkness hefted you into his arms, bleeding black with shadows and darkness as the storm and its plight fed him power. You leaned back in awe of the sky, rain burning your eyes as the clouds rolled above you. A great growl sounded from your lover’s chest before he laid you back against a great stone tablet, made for the harvest ceremonies of the fae. Your back met the stone gently before the silks slapped and stuck to the rock and you moved backwards as a furred leg rested against the edge. Red and black merged on his skin as he took hold of the silk and pulled you to the lip of the table, his eyes hungry for a taste of you.

 “Can we do this here?” You asked, breath escaping you as his huge form covered you, the black material shielding you from the rain as he stole another deep kiss.

“Yes. Anywhere. Whenever. I adore you.” He heaved as he pulled away, his words heavy in the air as he leaned back to tear as your clothing, exposing perfection to his gaze, “You are temptation.” He uttered with another heavy groan as lightning struck the earth again, “Glorious Sin.” He moaned as his tongue laved at your neck, tasting the flesh, “Surely this is what innocence tastes of. Purity and…” The Darkness broke off into another guttural moan as he kissed down your chest, pressing his tongue to your nipples, enjoying them as they hardened into sharp peaks. His hot breath pebbled your cold skin and he moved over your stomach, squeezing, and enjoying himself as he reached the dip of your hips. His tongue dipped to wrap around you, and you writhed against the table as rain crashed against the hillside.

[malpractiice]

OLYMPIAN AESTHETICS.

APHRODITE          laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, thrives on attention, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger

APOLLO         glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled wrath, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a Tinder account

ARES         armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fists raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell will make you think, exhausted, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath

ARTEMIS          keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling

ATHENA      discerning gaze, unreadable face, the patience of a lifelong teacher, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, go-getter, balls of wool displayed on shelves, ancient buildings, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, stoic statues, pottery classes  

DEMETER          soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, can lift you and your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air

DIONYSUS         drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause

HEPHAESTUS        sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles

HERA          resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold

HERMES          devil-may-care smile, ink-stained hands, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers

POSEIDON       storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns for more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow

ZEUS        thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, pretends they don’t have feelings but they do, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy calendar with ease, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, expensive watch

[sanktere]

Olympian Aesthetic Headcanons

Bold where applicable, italicize where situationally relevant

APHRODITE. (2.5) laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, thrives on attention, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive, wants to be adored, turned on by danger.

APOLLO. (4) glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeping naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes.

ARES. (4.5) armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell will make you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS. (2.5) keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA. (3) discerning gaze, unreadable face, the patience of a lifelong teacher, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, go-getter, balls of wool displayed on shelves, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes.

DEMETER. (4.5) soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants (elementals), leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS. (0) drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS. (0.5) the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry.

HERA. (1) resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold.

HERMES. (0) devil-may-care smile, ink-stained hands, always up-to-date on the latest technology, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers.

POSEIDON. (5.5) storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns for more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS. (2) thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, pretends they don’t have feelings but they do, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, expensive watch.

[illusionage]

OLYMPIAN AESTHETICS.

APHRODITE.   laughter loving.   sweet smiles.   dressed in silk and satin. flower in their hair.   sees the world as a runway.   unapologetically sexual.   the sea washing their ankles.  in love with love.   stirrer of passion.  cunning concealed by painted lips.  secret daggers.   doves.   revolution in their kiss.   delighting in the waves.   flirtatious winks.   strolling along the beach.   staring wistfully from a balcony.  this is how to be a heartbreaker.   wants to be adored.   gets turned on by danger.

APOLLO.     glitz and glamour.   art galleries.   turning the volume up.   being made of gold.  neatly organized music sheets.   notebooks filled with poetry.   bathing in the sunlight. the powerful urge to create.  collecting vinyl records.   beautiful cover of wonderwall.   playing multiple instruments.   tasting like sunshine.   healing touch.   speaking in prophecies.   smile mingled with wrath.   shunning lies.   sporting shades. hanging out at music festivals with their friends. sleeps naked.   arrow to the heart.  paint brushes.   probably has a tinder account.

ARES.   armed for battle.   wants to raise a dog with their significant other.   soft spot for children.  gives piggyback rides.   scarred body.   blood on their hands and face. willing to fight the world for the ones they love. fights against injustice.   warm hugs. well worn combat boots.   boxing gloves. bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles. fist raised in protest.  ignites revolutions. fear is a prison.  more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think.   exhausted.   damaged goods.  force to be reckoned with.  red roses. curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS.    keen sense of a hunter.   freckles like constellations on their skin.   piercing eyes.   disheveled braid.  moonlight peeking through the shadows.   the calm of the forest at night.   lying on the grass and staring at the stars. mother doe and her fawn.   protecting their kin.   the moon shimmering on a still lake.   quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree.  running with wolves.  bonding while circled around a campfire.   not being much of a people person.   arrow hitting a target.   popping egos.   patience on 3%. touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA.    discerning gaze.   unreadable face.   quiet museums.  owl perched on their finger.   armour that intimidates.   eye for architecture.   plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses.   studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid.   big fan of logic.   loves brain teasers.   ancient buildings.  sweaters in neutrals and cool colours.  hair done up.   can kill you with their brain.   heads to the library often to research. sharpened pencils.  abs that can cut steel.  stoic statues.  pottery classes.

DEMETER.     soil covered hands.  smile that can bloom flowers. skin loved by the sun.  being the mom friend. can lift you and your friends.  flowers kept in the pockets of overalls.   takes pride in their beautiful garden.   speaks to their plants.   leaves rustling in the wind. stalks of wheat.  picking fruit.   greenhouses. heart as strong as a mountain.   values simplicity. daisies dotted across a collarbone.  curls crowned with flowers.   folded pile of sweaters in warm hues.  pulling out fresh baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS.     drunk shitposter.   on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second.  seductive smirks.   untamed curls. rich fabrics on dark skin.   sleek furred panthers.   theatre masks.   stage productions.   receiving a standing ovation.   rose caught between their teeth.   being the baby of the bunch.  wild parties that last from sundown to sunup.   creeping vines.   inspiring loyalty.  grand opera houses.   masquerade balls.   rolls of film.  shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine spilled floor.   pouring champagne into flutes.   lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS.    the calloused hands of someone who knows labor.   sweaty brow. flame burning in their eyes. inventive mind. broad shoulders.   steampunk goggles.   nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes.  ashes.   striking a match.   blueprints for future projects.   fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades.   wrestles with bitterness.  work boots have seen better years.   wrinkled plaid shirts.   iron melted in blazing fire.  huge jackets.   crafting masterpieces.   greased stained overalls.   fascination with robotics.  pain is fuel. stack of weaponry.   even their muscles have muscles.

HERA.    resting bitch face.  dressed to the nines.   cows grazing on a pasture.  cool rain.   loving and hating fiercely.   hand clutching a string of pearls.   large chandelier with glittering crystals.   plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims.   romance to realism. pictures of the sky while flying on a plane. files that under fuck it.   downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix.  like their selfie or you’re grounded.   knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man.   dark eyes that penetrate your soul.   marble and gold.

HERMES.     devil - may - care smile.   always up - to - date on the latest technology.  will steal your french fries.  does it for the vine.   shitposter.   puts googly eyes on everything.   meme hoarder.   long drives on the highway.   ma and pop diners.   spontaneous road trips.   folded maps.   fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop.   shooting hoops on the basketball court.  chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations.   goes jogging in the morning.   mixes redbull with coffee.   menace on april fool’s.   hoodies and sneakers.

POSEIDON.   storm with skin.  colorful coral reefs.   waves crashing against the shore.   stroking the soft fur of a cat. their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop.  tousled locks.   clothes smeared with paint.  owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more.   leather jackets. fondness for diy projects.  handwriting that flows across the page.   nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin.   velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams.   mood as ever - changing as the sea.   the roar of a motorcycle. compass with a spinning arrow.

HADES.     walking home alone in the early morning.   back alleys.   drinking alone in a graveyard. crippling loneliness hidden by sarcasm and cynicism.   crows picking a carcass.   untended dead flowers.  the black sheep of the family.   black coffee.   money can’t buy you happiness.  murder mystery dinner parties.   blood on your shirt collar.   dust illuminated by sunlight.  classical music.  dogs are better than people.   a quiet wrath.  shady business deals.  taking what you are owed.   paint it black.  seasonal affective disorder.   popping the suit collar.   grey rain on a cityscape.

ZEUS.     thunder in their heart. running on coffee.   flash of lightning.   unnatural charisma.   eloquence.   badass in a nice suit.   aficionado of history.  force of nature.   lennyface.  nightmare - filled nights.  proud arm around their lover’s waist.   high - rise buildings.  planes soaring through a cloudless sky. technician on the piano.  maintains order. strong handshake.   juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease.   expensive watch.

tagged by: stole from my old blog! tagging: honestly any1 who wants it.... theres like four ppl in this rpc im not tagging them im shy 

[ishgard]

Greek Pantheon Aesthetics - Mana DeRosier

▪ Aphrodite ➜ laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, thrives on attention, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger    

▪ Apollo: ➜ glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of Wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled with wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a Tinder account

▪ Ares: ➜  armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell may have you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath

▪ Artemis: ➜ keen senses of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting its target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling

▪ Athena: ➜ discerning gaze, unreadable face, the patience of a life-long teacher, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic,loves brain teasers, go-getter, balls of wool displayed on shelves, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes  

▪ Demeter: ➜ soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom friend, can lift you and all of your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air

▪ Dionysus: ➜ drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause

▪ Hephaestus: ➜ the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted by blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles

▪ Hera: ➜ resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold

▪ Hermes: ➜ devil-may-care smile, ink-stained hands, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes red bull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers    

▪ Poseidon: ➜ storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow▪

▪ Zeus: ➜ thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, pretends that they don’t have feelings but they do, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with apparent ease, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, expensive watch, like a boss

[between-two-fandoms]

Thunder In His Mind

Another Franken Fic for your reading pleasure, brought to you by @thesevenumbrellas and @random-nerd-3, sponsored by the JatP 18 + Discord.

Ao3 link here

cw: past-gaslighting, trauma, ptsd

Summary:

There's more to Willie than what meets the eye and Alex has to find out in one of the worst ways possible. It's all Willie can do to not fall apart in his arms during a thunderstorm.

The worst part about being a ghost Willie thinks, is - that he knows - is that you can’t really check the weather. There are plus sides to it sure, skateboarding wherever he wants - but not whenever because that’s something Caleb controls - an extremely cute Hot Dog ghost boyfriend? Also a plus to being undead. The weather is an issue though, it had been for years. Ever since the day he died in that car accident. Being dead meant you can’t feel anything physically; you can’t feel the heat of the sun against your skin or the wetness of the rain when it fell from the sky.

The issue at hand is the thunder.

It’s the thunder because the loud echoing booming claps of the storm reminds him of the ear shattering crack that cut through the air when he died. When he skated into the road to save the life of a little girl who forgot to look both ways. “My name is Rose,” she whispered, tightly squeezing Willie’s hand between her tiny fingers. He can remember struggling to breathe - he found out later in the medical report that his ribs were shattered. Another boom of thunder sounded over head and Willie couldn’t help but wince slightly at the sound of it.

“Roses are strong flowers,” Willie managed to say between his hyperventilation. “You need to be strong,” he can remember saying. The shadow touch of the blood caked to the side of his head made him reach up to place his hand against it as he began to scratch at the side of his head.

“Willie?” Alex asked the question as he gently pulled Willie’s hand away from his face. Willie wasn’t dying all over again. He was here in the present with Alex, his amazingly awesome boyfriend who made him question whatever cosmic being ran the universe because in no possible world did he deserve someone as amazing as the drummer. “You okay?” Alex asked again, snuggling closer into him, wrapping his arms around Willie like he was a koala. They’re curled up in the dark corners of a Pride art exhibition together, broke in after it closed early because of the storm. The walls are painted with rainbows, filled with bright colors and Willie could feel hope sneaking through the pain he locked away long ago when he first signed onto the club. It was after hours so they spent time walking through the exhibits acting as each other’s tour guides only to end up snuggling together on the floor once the storm started to get more serious.

He wants to say no I’m not. He wants to say help me Alex, please. He doesn’t though because like Caleb always says, outside of skating he’s a coward through and through. Willie exhales slowly and when he spoke he tried to make it sound like he wasn’t lying to the only person who loved him back. “I’m fine,” Willie says, his voice dry and cracking and he knows Alex won’t believe him in a thousand years. Another clash of thunder sounds overhead and Willie couldn’t help but flinch again, he pointedly avoided looking Alex in the eyes.

“Yeah, I know,” Alex says softly. They were lying so close to each other that Willie could feel the vibrations in Alex’s chest when he spoke. The low timbre of the beat of his heart reminding Willie that he was safe . Reminding Willie that he was loved outside of whatever relationship he had with Caleb. Then Alex presses a soft kiss to the top of his head and whispers, “it’s okay not to be though. You know that right?”

Willie wants to be okay, he wants to keep pretending. That he hasn’t been . He's been dead the longest between the two of them after all, Alex needed him to be his grounding force and he couldn't be that for him if he was weak. But Willie was tired, he was so tired of being a ghost. He was tired because Caleb had been breathing down his neck recently, working everyone in the club to the bone after Alex and his friends escaped. Not that Willie blamed Alex because Alex was kind and Alex was good and he didn't deserve him . But apparently Alex had other plans in mind because suddenly Alex wrapped his arm around Willie and held him close, like he was something cherished, like he was precious . It wasn’t at all like Caleb’s cold shoulder pats after a long night of entertaining the guests or Caleb’s short worded compliments. Alex was warm.

“I’m sorry,” Willie whispers, turning to bury his face into Alex’s sweatshirt like they were a secret meant only for Alex to hear. He lets himself curl into his boyfriend, legs tucked in as close as possible, fingers clinging to the warm familiarity of the pink sweatshirt. He can hear Alex’s heart beating a gentle rhythm over the thunder. Just rest for a moment, Willie thinks to himself, still keeping up his guard. Caleb is going to want him back to the club after the storm ends. He doesn’t want to show up with bloodshot eyes and a tear streaked face - it would be hard for the makeup girls to get him ready for tonight’s performance. Willie waits, his shoulders tense in anticipation but Alex doesn’t speak. Instead he presses his lips firmly to the top of his head, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. For the next few minutes they stay like that, curled into each other with Alex wrapped around him protecting him from the harm of the outside world.

Then lightning flashes and Willie braces himself for the clap of angry clouds over their heads but it doesn't come. Which didn't make any sense because thunder always comes after lightening. Willie’s conditioned to it, anxiety building up in his chest as he waits for the tell tale sound of a car cracking his helmet in two. Willie fools himself, letting Alex's low hum wash over the eerie silence of the museum and then - and then... right when Willie let himself relax completely the loudest fucking thunderclap in the whole world cracks over head and Willie jumps, poofing out of Alex's arms and somehow manages to solidify across the exhibit, knees pulled into himself tightly, his fingernails digging into his skin; a welcome pain to distract him from the onslaught of memories and pressing his hands against his ears in a weak attempt to block out the memories flashing through his eyelids.

In times like these, times where he’s stuck and he’s trapped and he can’t find a way out are the worst. He has to remember though, to remind himself that he isn’t alone anymore and that even though he felt like his world was crumbling around him that it actually wasn’t. That Alex was there and Alex was solid and Alex was - well, he wasn’t alive but he was warm. “Shh, I’m here,” Alex murmured, his voice a blessing in the chaos of Willie’s mind.

“I’m sorry,” Willie whispers again, this time voicing his apology louder. He lets Alex hold him, wrapping his arms around him like he’s a child being comforted. “It’s so stupid I -” Willie starts before Alex cuts him off with a light tsk.

“It’s not.”

“It is ,” Willie insists, unsure of how Alex couldn’t see how foolish it was that he, a grown ass man, was afraid of a little storm. Alex wraps his arms around Willie, rocking him gently to the rhythm of the rain hitting the roof above them.

“You help me when I freak out,” Alex points out and well… yeah he does but that’s different. It’s different because he’s Willie and Alex is Alex. Alex, who never deserved to die just as his dream had become tangible. Alex, who Willie had betrayed and hurt. Alex who he almost lost because like Caleb says… Willie’s selfish and stupid and desperate for anything remotely beautiful in his life. Alex is so beautiful. He knows that to be true even now, as the thunder rolls overhead and the lighting falls around them. He’s so beautiful it hurts to look at him sometimes. His smile is so earnest, his concern so genuine. He holds Willie like he’s worth protecting, like he’s the only thing that matters in the world. Like… like he’s something precious meant to be treasured and protected and kept safe.

Willie’s not anything Alex thinks he is. He knows how much pain the world can give, how much more pain he’ll have to live through. As terrifying as knowing the pain is, it's even more terrifying because he knows the second he leaves here - the second he leaves the warmth and the safety of Alex and goes back to Caleb - the second he goes back home he'll lose this. He'll lose the safety net he built for himself because Alex doesn't like Caleb for some reason well no. Not for no reason. Alex has a very perfectly logical reason to hate the man who Willie saw as his surrogate father - even if their relationship seems a little too one sided at times- and he can't fathom a reason why Alex didn't hate him too because he had played a huge fucking role in getting the boys to the club and convincing them to sign their fucking souls over for the soul purpose of his selfishness. For thinking Alex would run the first chance he gets the second he realizes just how messed up he really is.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Alex says, finally breaking the silence between them. The sentence is said so matter of factly, Willie almost laughs. Almost being the key word in that sentence. Despite feeling like the world is crashing around him Willie lets a smirk cross his face as his eyes sparkle mysteriously.

“You can read my mind?” Willie asks, wincing at how intense it sounded, no sense of playfulness in the words at all. Alex doesn’t seem to mind the cutthroat question. He just hummed thoughtfully as he considered.

“It’s part of my ghost powers,” Alex answered back, Willie felt his smile against his shoulder.

The answer makes Willie snort which in turn makes Alex laugh and maybe Willie can finally let him have something nice and keep it . Alex’s giggles echo throughout the exhibit and Willie let the sound wrap around him, a blanket of warmth surrounding him in his cold.

“Oh yeah?” Willie manages to ask, the words sticky and dry. He swallowed thickly to hide the surge of panic in his throat. “What am I thinking of?” He asked, letting Alex press a kiss against the back of his head, his fingers starting to comb through his hair . Alex’s whispered suggestively into his ear, his throat ghosting against his neck when he placed a kiss against the exposed skin. Willie couldn’t help but let out a laugh, his heart beating a little faster. He didn’t deserve any of this, to be comforted during a storm when hiding in his HGC bedroom had worked just fine in the past. “That new trick you still haven’t shown me? The picture you laughed at because it looked like an upside down dog head?” Alex asked. The compulsion to look up overpowers his fear of the dark and when he finally does shift his head. Alex is almost shining in the light of the storm, his smile stretching across his face. In the midst of the storm he’s still shining brighter than Willie could ever shine himself. Alex smiles at him, his eyes twinkling in the reflection of a flash of lightning. “I’m thinking about how beautiful you are,” and there’s another clap of thunder but it isn’t as bad this time. Here, snuggled on the floor of a museum tucked between Alex’s strong arms was starting to help him relax more, keep his focus off the storm.

Suddenly, the shadows disappear and Willie's mind is cleared more than it's ever been before. There aren’t any expectations for Willie here. Alex isn’t Caleb. He doesn’t order Willie around or tell him to shush because he sounds like a whiny little boy when he complains about complicated choreography that was hard to nail down and the exhaustive rehearsal schedule that sometimes ended in Willie passing out in his room for over twelve hours straight before poofing into the middle of rehearsal to watch Alex kill it on his drums.

His world is once again centered on his gravity, his world, his boy in a pink sweatshirt.

Willie turned around, sitting so he was criss crossed on the floor and his fingers were intertwined with. Their noses brush together. He can feel the tickle of blond hair against his forehead where it’s escaped from the cap. “You good?” Alex asks, leaning forward slightly so their foreheads touch. Willie knows what he means the second he asks it. Sometimes it’s hard to forget that not everyone is like Caleb. That not everyone hides their intentions behind carefully crafted spiderwebs of lies. So at the next thunder crash Willie nods in response, his stomach still twisted in his gut but he was able to ignore it this time; ignore the pain he felt in his mind in exchange for Alex’s presence.

“Yeah, I’m good...” Willie says, nodding his head. They were close enough for their noses to brush against themselves. He’s surprised to discover how much he believed it even though he thought it was a lie. He’s good here with Alex. He’s good with a body protecting him from the thunder outside. He’s good to curl up here and dot kisses down his boyfriend’s jaw until he’s a blushing mess.

Because this is what home is, this is what he remembers his home being. He remembers the warmth and the kind eyes and the strong hugs and the pitter patter rabbit-like beat of his heart. Alex pulls him close again, Alex will always pull him close. And he's breathing. He's breathing. And Willie turns to smile into the nape of Alex's neck, letting the drummer tie off the braid with a spare hair tie and the drumming of his heart overpowering the sound of the clapping thunder echoing overhead. "Her name was Rose," Willie said suddenly, intertwining their fingers together, placing them over his heart.

"Rose?" Alex asks, his confusion masked by a hint of recognition in his voice. Willie nods as he plays with Alex's fingers, distracting himself from the distancing storm around them. She was so young , Willie could remember the flash of her smile, brighter than the sun had ever been. Ten years old was too young.

"The girl I saved when I died, when I raced into traffic? She was just standing there in the middle of the road alone and I - holy shit, Alex I died, " he said, the realization actually settling into his chest and he suddenly felt the weight of the car crush into his chest again.

Alex looks at him and for a split second, Willie can’t read his expression. “C’mere baby,” Alex whispers, pulling him in again. Willie collapsed into his chest, wrapping his arms around Alex’s back to twist his sweatshirt into his fists. For half a second the brief fear of pulling away flashes in his mind and Alex tightens his grip. Willie would never think about trying to pull away. “Willie you’re so brave, you know that? You’re so amazing. I mean me? I died eating a hot dog. You died saving someone, Willie. You’re incredible ,” Alex whispers and Willie can’t help but tense because baby.

Willie can't help the shudder that runs through his body hearing the pet name escape through Alex's lips. "Don’t - Don’t call me that," Willie said, starting to feel like he’s losing control again. He flickered and fell through Alex’s body landing on the floor in a heap. Caleb's warped whispers snaked into his ears, wrapping around his mind like a vice. William baby don’t you want to make me proud tonight? Caleb asks as he straightens Willie’s suit for him. Baby those steps were a little behind tonight. You need to pick up more rehearsal hours baby. I don’t need my best performer slacking off. What would my clients think? Caleb asked, his voice coiling around Willie’s thoughts and snaking through the cracks his fears left behind.

"Willie I'm sorry I -" Alex started, only for Willie to cut him off with a shake of his head. His hair fell in front of his face so Alex used his hand to hesitantly tuck it behind his ear.

"It’s fine. Pet names I mean just…” He trails off, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. Thunder crashes again and Willie jumps before finishing his thought. “Just not that one okay?” Willie asks, hoping Alex wouldn’t pry. Hoping Alex would never have to see how horribly rotten he really is from the inside out. Alex’s forehead wrinkles in confusion but like Willie hoped he didn’t pry, but he knew the conversation was just getting tabled for a later date. “You got it,” Alex promised, leaning forward to seal it with a kiss to Willie’s forehead. Willie feels himself flicker and his hand passes through Alex’s. Thunder claps at the same time Willie flinches and he has to hope Alex thought he flinched because of the storm and not his touch. It wasn’t fair how deep Caleb has his claws into Willie, using him to hurt the people he loves.

Willie hates how hard he has to fight the tremble in his limbs as he clings to Alex like a lifeline. He inhales deeply, breathing in the perfume Alex somehow managed to get his hands on. Alex smelled like peaches and summertime and everything Willie used to love when he was alive. The smell helped ground his mind, keep him in the present instead of spiraling into worst case scenarios. Think, Willie thought to himself, one again breathing in the smell of peaches off the nape of Alex’s neck. His eyes are diamonds, his skin feels like silk, his heart beats to it’s own rhythm and you’re the one who gets to hear it. Willie thinks, trying to calm the twisting panic and rise of bile stuck in his throat. “I’m sorry,” Alex says, the words whispered quietly between thunder cracks. When he peels his eyes from the ground and finally looks his boyfriend in the eyes again he’s met with hard pressed diamonds reflecting in concern.

“Don’t be,” Willie says back and Alex’s concern warps into something akin to festering anger.

“I am . I -”

“ - I know.”

“ I’m sorry ,” Alex says again, like if he heard it enough he’d actually end up believing it. Willie just shook his head - another clap of thunder sounded so loudly it shook the walls of the museum. Willie tensed, his shoulders tightening despite knowing that he was safe here.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Willie points out. If anything he should be apologizing to Alex. He should be groveling at Alex’s feet begging for forgiveness because he was selfish and almost had him sell his soul over to Caleb.

Something reflects in Alex's eyes that Willie can’t quite place. It isn’t just confusion or concern or anger. It looks like Alex is feeling a mix of all three, with a twist of cold understanding layered on top of it. "You know you can trust me right? This relationship works both ways," Alex says softly, his voice starting to tremble. Willie didn’t understand why he was acting so... so sad. Willie let them fall into a comfortable sort of silence, tense but easy at the same time. The sound of the thunderstorm filling the museum in their quiet.

"I should... I should get going. Caleb lets me out during storms cause he knows about uh... but he'll be wanting me back." Willie says, pulling himself out of Alex's soft sweatshirt covered arms and away from the beating of his heart. Alex's eyes furrowed in confusion. He always did look cute when he was confused, like a puppy dog. The storm’s far enough away that the soft dribble of light rain is the only thing left behind in it’s wake, which means Caleb would send someone after him if he doesn’t show up in a few minutes.

"What do you mean? Willie, if I said something wrong I -'' Alex stammered out before Willie leans forward to press a chaste kiss against his lips, lingering for a few minutes when he finally pulls away. Alex knew about the car crash now, the real reason he was really dead. He knew he was afraid of storms - William not even children are afraid of storms. It's about time you grow up - Caleb's voice whispers in the back of his mind, cutting into his spiraling thoughts.

Willie stumbles to his feet. He’s still shaky, but he can walk. He doesn’t want to risk angering Caleb more than he has to. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. The words feel flat even to him. Alex knows it all now - well not all of it, but enough - and that knowledge is almost too much to take. His boyfriend stares at him, big green eyes confused and sincere... and so unlike anything Willie has seen in a long, long time.

“I can help,” Alex insists, refusing to let go of Willie’s hand. It pains him, but he has to leave. Caleb might be evil, he might be the cause of all of their problems… but after everything the ghost club was still the only thing Willie had left to call his home.

“Sometimes there’s nothing you can do Alex,” Willie whispers, gently placing his hand against Alex’s neck. Alex leans into his touch as he wraps his own hand around his.

“Willie-“ Alex starts again but before he hears Alex ask him to stay again because he knows he would. He’d do anything Alex asked him too if it made him happy but he owes Caleb his life and that’s not a debt he forgets easily. But Willie resorts back to his instincts because well, they haven’t led him astray yet and he keeps Alex at arms length when the familiar tug in his gut pulled him back to the Hollywood Ghost Club in time to get ready for Caleb’s opening act.

[neonbluewaves]

𝕆𝕝𝕪𝕞𝕡𝕚𝕒𝕟 𝔸𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕤

got tagged by @scarlettroubles​, thank you!!

three characters undercut!

ℕ𝕖𝕠𝕟 𝕄𝕒𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕒 𝕎𝕖𝕝𝕜𝕚𝕟 ℙ𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕠

A P H R O D I T E  —  laughter loving.  sweet smiles. dressed in silk and satin. flower in their hair. sees the world as a runway. unapologetically sexual. the sea washing their ankles. in love with love. stirrer of passion. cunning concealed by painted lips. secret daggers. doves. revolution in their kiss. delighting in the waves. flirtatious winks. strolling along the beach. staring wistfully from a balcony. this is how to be a heartbreaker. wants to be adored. gets turned on by danger.

A P O L L O —  glitz and glamour. art galleries. turning the volume up. being made of gold. neatly organized music sheets. notebooks filled with poetry. bathing in the sunlight. the powerful urge to create. collecting vinyl records. beautiful cover of wonderwall. playing multiple instruments. tasting like sunshine. healing touch. speaking in prophecies. smile mingled with wrath. shunning lies. sporting shades. hanging out at music festivals with their friends. sleeps naked. arrow to the heart. paint brushes. probably has a tinder account.

A R E S  —  armed for battle. wants to raise a dog with their significant other. soft spot for children. gives piggyback rides. scarred body. blood on their hands and face. willing to fight the world . fights against injustice. warm hugs. well worn combat boots. boxing gloves. bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles. fist raised in protest. ignites revolutions. fear is a prison. more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think. exhausted. damaged goods. force to be reckoned with. red roses. curses under their breath.

A R T E M I S  —  keen sense of a hunter. freckles like constellations on their skin. piercing eyes. dishevelled braid. moonlight peeking through the shadows. the calm of the forest at night. lying on the grass and staring at the stars. mother doe and her fawn. protecting their kin. the moon shimmering on a still lake. quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree. running with wolves. bonding while circled around a campfire. not being much of a people person. arrow hitting a target. popping egos. patience on 3%. touches heaven and returns howling.

A T H E N A —  discerning gaze. unreadable face. quiet museums. owl perched on their finger. armour that intimidates. eye for architecture. plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses. studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid. big fan of logic. loves brain teasers. ancient buildings. sweaters in neutrals and cool colours. hair done up. can kill you with their brain. heads to the library often to research. sharpened pencils. abs that can cut steel. stoic statues. pottery classes.

D E M E T E R  —  soil covered hands. smile that can bloom flowers. skin loved by the sun. being the mom friend. can lift you and your friends. flowers kept in the pockets of overalls. takes pride in their beautiful garden. speaks to their plants. leaves rustling in the wind. stalks of wheat. picking fruit. greenhouses. heart as strong as a mountain. values simplicity. daisies dotted across a collarbone. curls crowned with flowers. folded pile of sweaters in warm hues. pulling out fresh baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

D I O N Y S U S  —  drunk shitposter. on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second. seductive smirks. untamed curls. rich fabrics on dark skin. sleek furred panthers. theatre masks. stage productions. receiving a standing ovation. rose caught between their teeth. being the baby of the bunch. wild parties that last from sundown to sunup. creeping vines. inspiring loyalty. grand opera houses. masquerade balls. rolls of film. shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine spilled floor. pouring champagne into flutes. lives for the applause.

H E P H A E S T U S  —  the calloused hands of someone who knows labor. sweaty brow. flame burning in their eyes. inventive mind. broad shoulders. steampunk goggles. nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes. ashes. striking a match. blueprints for future projects. fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades. wrestles with bitterness. work boots have seen better years. wrinkled plaid shirts. iron melted in blazing fire. huge jackets. crafting masterpieces. greased stained overalls. fascination with robotics. pain is fuel. stack of weaponry. even their muscles have muscles.

H E R A  —  resting bitch face. dressed to the nines. cows grazing on a pasture. cool rain. loving and hating fiercely. hand clutching a string of pearls. large chandelier with glittering crystals. plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims. romance to realism. pictures of the sky while flying on a plane. files that under ‘ fuck it ’. downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix a good book. like their selfie or you’re grounded. knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man. dark eyes that penetrate your soul. marble and gold.

H E R M E S  —  devil-may-care smile. always up-to-date on the latest technology. will steal your french fries. does it for the vine. shitposter. puts googly eyes on everything. meme hoarder. long drives on the highway. ma and pop diners. spontaneous road trips. folded maps. fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop. shooting hoops on the basketball court. chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations. goes jogging in the morning. mixes redbull with coffee. menace on april fool’s. hoodies and sneakers.

P O S E I D O N  —  storm with skin. colourful coral reefs. waves crashing against the shore. stroking the soft fur of a cat. their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop. tousled locks. clothes smeared with paint. owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more. leather jackets. fondness for diy projects. handwriting that flows across the page. nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin. velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams. mood as ever-changing as the sea. the roar of a motorcycle. compass with a spinning arrow.

Z E U S  —  thunder in their heart. running on coffee. flash of lightning (haha get it?). un-natural charisma. eloquence. bad ass in a nice suit. aficionado of history. force of nature. lenny face. nightmare-filled nights. proud arm around their lover’s waist. high-rise buildings. planes soaring through a cloudless sky. technician on the piano. maintains order. strong handshake. juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease. expensive watch.

𝕀𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕒𝕤 𝔻𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕖𝕝 ℙ𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕠 𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕧𝕒

A P H R O D I T E  —  laughter loving.  sweet smiles. dressed in silk and satin. flower in their hair. sees the world as a runway. unapologetically sexual. the sea washing their ankles. in love with love. stirrer of passion. cunning concealed by painted lips. secret daggers. doves. revolution in their kiss. delighting in the waves. flirtatious winks. strolling along the beach. staring wistfully from a balcony. this is how to be a heartbreaker. wants to be adored. gets turned on by danger.

A P O L L O —  glitz and glamour. art galleries. turning the volume up. being made of gold. neatly organized music sheets. notebooks filled with poetry. bathing in the sunlight. the powerful urge to create. collecting vinyl records. beautiful cover of wonderwall. playing multiple instruments. tasting like sunshine. healing touch. speaking in prophecies. smile mingled with wrath. shunning lies. sporting shades. hanging out at music festivals with their friends. sleeps naked. arrow to the heart. paint brushes. probably has a tinder account.

A R E S  —  armed for battle. wants to raise a dog with their significant other. soft spot for children. gives piggyback rides. scarred body. blood on their hands and face. willing to fight the world . fights against injustice. warm hugs. well worn combat boots. boxing gloves. bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles. fist raised in protest. ignites revolutions. fear is a prison. more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think. exhausted. damaged goods. force to be reckoned with. red roses. curses under their breath.

A R T E M I S  —  keen sense of a hunter. freckles like constellations on their skin. piercing eyes. dishevelled braid. moonlight peeking through the shadows. the calm of the forest at night. lying on the grass and staring at the stars. mother doe and her fawn. protecting their kin. the moon shimmering on a still lake. quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree. running with wolves. bonding while circled around a campfire. not being much of a people person. arrow hitting a target. popping egos. patience on 3%. touches heaven and returns howling.

A T H E N A —  discerning gaze. unreadable face. quiet museums. owl perched on their finger. armour that intimidates. eye for architecture. plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses. studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid. big fan of logic. loves brain teasers. ancient buildings. sweaters in neutrals and cool colours. hair done up. can kill you with their brain. heads to the library often to research. sharpened pencils. abs that can cut steel. stoic statues. pottery classes.

D E M E T E R  —  soil covered hands. smile that can bloom flowers. skin loved by the sun. being the mom friend. can lift you and your friends. flowers kept in the pockets of overalls. takes pride in their beautiful garden. speaks to their plants. leaves rustling in the wind. stalks of wheat. picking fruit. greenhouses. heart as strong as a mountain. values simplicity. daisies dotted across a collarbone. curls crowned with flowers. folded pile of sweaters in warm hues. pulling out fresh baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

D I O N Y S U S  —  drunk shitposter. on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second. seductive smirks. untamed curls. rich fabrics on dark skin. sleek furred panthers. theatre masks. stage productions. receiving a standing ovation. rose caught between their teeth. being the baby of the bunch. wild parties that last from sundown to sunup. creeping vines. inspiring loyalty. grand opera houses. masquerade balls. rolls of film. shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine spilled floor. pouring champagne into flutes. lives for the applause.

H E P H A E S T U S  —  the calloused hands of someone who knows labor. sweaty brow. flame burning in their eyes. inventive mind. broad shoulders. steampunk goggles. nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes. ashes. striking a match. blueprints for future projects. fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades. wrestles with bitterness. work boots have seen better years. wrinkled plaid shirts. iron melted in blazing fire. huge jackets. crafting masterpieces. greased stained overalls. fascination with robotics. pain is fuel. stack of weaponry. even their muscles have muscles.

H E R A  —  resting bitch face. dressed to the nines. cows grazing on a pasture. cool rain. loving and hating fiercely. hand clutching a string of pearls. large chandelier with glittering crystals. plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims. romance to realism. pictures of the sky while flying on a plane. files that under ‘ fuck it ’. downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix a good book. like their selfie or you’re grounded. knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man. dark eyes that penetrate your soul. marble and gold.

H E R M E S  —  devil-may-care smile. always up-to-date on the latest technology. will steal your french fries. does it for the vine. shitposter. puts googly eyes on everything. meme hoarder. long drives on the highway. ma and pop diners. spontaneous road trips. folded maps. fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop. shooting hoops on the basketball court. chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations. goes jogging in the morning. mixes redbull with coffee. menace on april fool’s. hoodies and sneakers.

P O S E I D O N  —  storm with skin. colourful coral reefs. waves crashing against the shore. stroking the soft fur of a cat. their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop. tousled locks. clothes smeared with paint. owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more. leather jackets. fondness for diy projects. handwriting that flows across the page. nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin. velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams. mood as ever-changing as the sea. the roar of a motorcycle. compass with a spinning arrow.

Z E U S  —  thunder in their heart. running on coffee. flash of lightning. un-natural charisma. eloquence. bad ass in a nice suit. aficionado of history. force of nature. lenny face. nightmare-filled nights. proud arm around their lover’s waist. high-rise buildings. planes soaring through a cloudless sky. technician on the piano. maintains order. strong handshake. juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease. expensive watch.

𝕀𝕞𝕖𝕦𝕥 𝔻𝕒𝕜𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕚 𝔸𝕥𝕒 𝔹𝕒𝕜𝕒𝕣𝕚

A P H R O D I T E  —  laughter loving.  sweet smiles. dressed in silk and satin. flower in their hair. sees the world as a runway. unapologetically sexual. the sea washing their ankles. in love with love. stirrer of passion. cunning concealed by painted lips. secret daggers. doves. revolution in their kiss. delighting in the waves. flirtatious winks. strolling along the beach. staring wistfully from a balcony. this is how to be a heartbreaker. wants to be adored. gets turned on by danger.

A P O L L O —  glitz and glamour. art galleries. turning the volume up. being made of gold. neatly organized music sheets. notebooks filled with poetry. bathing in the sunlight. the powerful urge to create. collecting vinyl records. beautiful cover of wonderwall. playing multiple instruments. tasting like sunshine. healing touch. speaking in prophecies. smile mingled with wrath. shunning lies. sporting shades. hanging out at music festivals with their friends. sleeps naked. arrow to the heart. paint brushes. probably has a tinder account.

A R E S  —  armed for battle. wants to raise a dog with their significant other. soft spot for children. gives piggyback rides. scarred body. blood on their hands and face. willing to fight the world . fights against injustice. warm hugs. well worn combat boots. boxing gloves. bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles. fist raised in protest. ignites revolutions. fear is a prison. more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think. exhausted. damaged goods. force to be reckoned with. red roses. curses under their breath.

A R T E M I S  —  keen sense of a hunter. freckles like constellations on their skin. piercing eyes. dishevelled braid. moonlight peeking through the shadows. the calm of the forest at night. lying on the grass and staring at the stars. mother doe and her fawn. protecting their kin. the moon shimmering on a still lake. quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree. running with wolves. bonding while circled around a campfire. not being much of a people person. arrow hitting a target. popping egos. patience on 3%. touches heaven and returns howling.

A T H E N A —  discerning gaze. unreadable face. quiet museums. owl perched on their finger. armour that intimidates. eye for architecture. plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses. studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid. big fan of logic. loves brain teasers. ancient buildings. sweaters in neutrals and cool colours. hair done up. can kill you with their brain. heads to the library often to research. sharpened pencils. abs that can cut steel. stoic statues. pottery classes.

D E M E T E R  —  soil covered hands. smile that can bloom flowers. skin loved by the sun. being the mom friend. can lift you and your friends. flowers kept in the pockets of overalls. takes pride in their beautiful garden. speaks to their plants. leaves rustling in the wind. stalks of wheat. picking fruit. greenhouses. heart as strong as a mountain. values simplicity. daisies dotted across a collarbone. curls crowned with flowers. folded pile of sweaters in warm hues. pulling out fresh baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

D I O N Y S U S  —  drunk shitposter. on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second. seductive smirks. untamed curls. rich fabrics on dark skin. sleek furred panthers. theatre masks. stage productions. receiving a standing ovation. rose caught between their teeth. being the baby of the bunch. wild parties that last from sundown to sunup. creeping vines. inspiring loyalty. grand opera houses. masquerade balls. rolls of film. shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine spilled floor. pouring champagne into flutes. lives for the applause.

H E P H A E S T U S  —  the calloused hands of someone who knows labor. sweaty brow. flame burning in their eyes. inventive mind. broad shoulders. steampunk goggles. nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes. ashes. striking a match. blueprints for future projects. fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades. wrestles with bitterness. work boots have seen better years. wrinkled plaid shirts. iron melted in blazing fire. huge jackets. crafting masterpieces. greased stained overalls. fascination with robotics. pain is fuel. stack of weaponry. even their muscles have muscles.

H E R A  —  resting bitch face. dressed to the nines. cows grazing on a pasture. cool rain. loving and hating fiercely. hand clutching a string of pearls. large chandelier with glittering crystals. plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims. romance to realism. pictures of the sky while flying on a plane. files that under ‘ fuck it ’. downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix a good book. like their selfie or you’re grounded. knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man. dark eyes that penetrate your soul. marble and gold.

H E R M E S  —  devil-may-care smile. always up-to-date on the latest technology. will steal your french fries. does it for the vine. shitposter. puts googly eyes on everything. meme hoarder. long drives on the highway. ma and pop diners. spontaneous road trips. folded maps. fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop. shooting hoops on the basketball court. chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations. goes jogging in the morning. mixes redbull with coffee. menace on april fool’s. hoodies and sneakers.

P O S E I D O N  —  storm with skin. colourful coral reefs. waves crashing against the shore. stroking the soft fur of a cat. their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop. tousled locks. clothes smeared with paint. owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more. leather jackets. fondness for diy projects. handwriting that flows across the page. nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin. velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams. mood as ever-changing as the sea. the roar of a motorcycle. compass with a spinning arrow.

Z E U S  —  thunder in their heart. running on coffee. flash of lightning. un-natural charisma. eloquence. bad ass in a nice suit. aficionado of history. force of nature. lenny face. nightmare-filled nights. proud arm around their lover’s waist. high-rise buildings. planes soaring through a cloudless sky. technician on the piano. maintains order. strong handshake. juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease. expensive watch.

[sirfluffig]

OLYMPIAN AESTHETICS CHALLENGE

I wasnt exactly tagged but I wanted to do this so, here we are I suppose 😅 I would have done this one for my HPHL Character but its not done yet so please, take a Flavio

Flavio Ceccere | Lord of Mind and Memory

(Art by @kuzmich-isterich )

APHRODITE. laughter-loving | sweet smiles | dressed in silk and satin | flower in their hair | thrives on attention | sees the world as a runway | unapologetically sexual | the sea washing their ankles | in love with love | stirrer of passion | cunning concealed by painted lips | secret daggers | doves | revolution in their kiss | delighting in the waves | flirtatious winks | strolling along the beach | staring wistfully from a balcony  | this is how to be a heartbreaker | your girlfriend SO thinks they’re attractive | wants to be adored | gets turned on by danger

APOLLO. glitz and glamour | art galleries | turning the volume up | being made of gold | neatly-organized music sheets | notebooks filled with poetry | bathing in the sunlight | the powerful urge to create | collecting vinyl records | beautiful cover of wonderwall | playing multiple instruments | tasting like sunshine | healing touch | speaking in prophecies | smile mingled wrath | shunning lies | sporting shades | hanging out at music festivals with their friends | sleeps naked | arrow to the heart | paint brushes | probably has a Tinder account

ARES. armed for battle | wants to raise a dog with their significant other |  soft spot for children | gives piggyback rides | scarred body | blood on their hands and face | willing to fight the world for the ones they love | fights against injustice | warm hugs | well-worn combat boots | boxing gloves | bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles | fist raised in protest |  ignites revolutions | fear is a prison | more sensitive than what their tough shell will make you think | exhausted | Believes himself to be damaged goods | force to be reckoned with | red roses | curses under their breath

ARTEMIS. keen sense of a hunter | freckles like constellations on their skin | piercing eyes | dishevelled braid | moonlight peeking through the shadows | the calm of the forest at night | lying on the grass and staring at the stars | mother doe and her fawn | protecting their kin | the moon shimmering on a still lake | quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree | running with wolves | bonding while circled around a campfire | not being much of a people person | arrow hitting a target | popping egos | patience on 3% | touches heaven and returns howling

ATHENA. discerning gaze | unreadable face | the patience of a lifelong teacher | quiet museums | owl perched on their finger | armour that intimidates | eye for architecture | plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses | studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid | big fan of logic | loves brain teasers | go-getter | balls of wool displayed on shelves | ancient buildings | sweaters in neutrals and cool colors | hair done up | can kill you with their brain | heads to the library often to research | sharpened pencils | abs that can cut steel | stoic statues | pottery classes

DEMETER. soil-covered hands | smile that can bloom flowers | skin loved by the sun | being the mom-friend | can lift you and your friends | flowers kept in the pockets of overalls | takes pride in their beautiful garden | speaks to their plants | leaves rustling in the wind | stalks of wheat | picking fruit | greenhouses |  heart as strong as a mountain  | values simplicity | daisies dotted across a collarbone | curls crowned with flowers | folded pile of sweaters in warm hues | pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air

DIONYSUS. drunk shitposter | on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second | seductive smirks | untamed curls | rich fabrics on dark skin | sleek-furred panthers | theater masks | stage productions | receiving a standing ovation  | rose caught between their teeth | being the baby of the bunch | wild parties that last from sundown to sunup | creeping vines |  inspiring loyalty | grand opera houses | masquerade balls | rolls of film | shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor | pouring champagne into flutes | lives for the applause

HEPHAESTUS. the calloused hands of someone who knows labor  | sweaty brow | flame burning in their eyes |  inventive mind | broad shoulders | steampunk goggles | nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes |  ashes | striking a match | blueprints for future projects | fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades |  wrestles with bitterness | work boots have seen better years | wrinkled plaid shirts | iron melted in blazing fire |  huge jackets  | crafting masterpieces | greased-stained overalls | fascination with robotics |  pain is fuel | stack of weaponry  | even their muscles have muscles

HERA. resting bitch face | dressed to the nines | cows grazing on a pasture | cool rain |  loving and hating fiercely  | hand clutching a string of pearls | large chandelier with glittering crystals | plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims | romance to realism | pictures of the sky while flying on a plane | files that under ‘fuck it’  | downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix | like their selfie or you’re grounded |  knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man | eyes that penetrate your soul  | marble and gold

HERMES. devil-may-care smile | ink-stained hands | always up-to-date on the latest technology | will steal your french fries | does it for the vine | shitposter | puts googly eyes on everything | meme hoarder | long drives on the highway  | ma and pop diners |  spontaneous road trips | folded maps | fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop | shooting hoops on the basketball court | chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations | goes jogging in the morning |  mixes redbull with coffee  | menace on april fool’s | hoodies and sneakers

POSEIDON. storm with skin  | colourful coral reefs | waves crashing against the shore | the sea casting its spell | stroking the soft fur of a cat | their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop | tousled locks | clothes smeared with paint | owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns for more |  leather jackets  | fondness for diy projects | handwriting that flows across the page | nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin | velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams |  mood as ever-changing as the sea | the roar of a motorcycle | compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS. thunder in their heart | running on coffee | flash of lightning | natural charisma | eloquence  | badass in a nice suit | aficionado of history | force of nature | lenny face |  pretends they don’t have feelings but they do | nightmare-filled nights | proud arm around their lover’s waist  | high-rise buildings | planes soaring through a cloudless sky | technician on the piano | maintains order | strong handshake | juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease | most likely to be voted class president out of their peers | expensive watch

[nagia-pronounced-neijia]

scream (until you’re satisfied)

It's a quiet night for once: peaceful, even.  The sun sits low on the horizon, casting gloam over the usual summer mist; insects buzz in the trees, loud and soft and loud again.  Ligiea smiles out her open kitchen window at the little copse that has taken over the edge of the complex parking lot, then slides her thumb over her phone for the last time before she starts on her dishes.

On the windowsill, a bluetooth speaker -- designed to look like an antique radio; it had delighted Nate for about four seconds before he realized he couldn't actually tune it -- begins to croon a soft jazz cover of an early 90's grunge song.  She smiles, humming along, and gets to work rinsing tzatziki and chili sauce from her plates.

Something rustles in the copse.  She doesn't hear it; she sees birds suddenly burst from the green, wings beating, out of the corner of her eye.  She sets the pan she'd fried her flatbread in back down in the sink, watching with instincts sharpened by too much shit having tried to kill her.

She hasn't made it back to the dishes when the scream cuts through the night.  It lasts so long and comes so deep from within someone's throat that she hears it gurgle for a beat before it pitches back up.  When the voice finally gives out, there's only enough time for a sharp intake of breath before it starts again.

Ligeia ignores the chills that roll down her spine, the hot-cold rush of adrenaline through her veins.  She picks up her holster and pepper spray, the Agency-issue Volt, and  tucks her badge into her pocket.  Detective Attano steps out the door, pacing in the direction of the scream.

##

First fun fact of the night: the scream didn't come from the damn woods.  That would have made sense.

Second fun fact of the night: Bobby's standing at the entrance to the laundromat.  This makes Ligeia instantly suspicious, and he apparently knows it.  The red ambulance lights flash onto his face and then off again, lighting him up before they leave him in shadow, and it makes what he clearly wishes were a fetching smile look demented.

"Miss me, angel?"

Ligeia bites down on her first reply, because she can't think of their college years -- or make a crack about her annual fucking chlamydia infection when she'd dated him -- without wanting to hit something.  She smiles like she doesn't want to punch her ex and says, instead, "What do I do with myself when I'm not watching your career circle the drain?"

That one hits the mark.  He flinches and takes a reflexive step back, like she'd slapped him.  And then he pours on the greasy smile, but there's an angry edge, a tightness, to his smile.  "I see dinner didn't go down so well all alone."

She's not allowed to say, 'shut up and get out of my way,' but she can say, "This is a crime scene, Bobby.  Just because the caution tape's not up doesn't mean you get to lurk."  She makes a shooing motion with her fingers.

He's not dumb enough not to move, but she hears his feet on the concrete as he tries to peer through the windows into the darkened building.

Third fun fact: when the ambulance is sitting in the parking lot with its lights on, and the paramedics are sitting uselessly in the open back of the bus, there's no good news.  Ligeia nods at Jeri and Ryan, and mouths three letters.

Ryan just nods dejectedly.  Beside him, Jeri winces, shrugs, and mouths them back: DOA.

Ligeia doesn't let herself sigh, much though she wants to, and jerks the door open.  She ignores the words "Spin Cycle 365" printed in white on the glass, focused as she is on finding the lightswitch.  It takes a few useless, obnoxious moments of groping in the dark before her fingers touch plastic.  She flips three switches in a row and the lights return with a click and a buzz.

She sees exactly how Jeri and Ryan had come to the conclusion of 'DOA.'  It's rather hard not to, given that the poor girl had fallen onto the floor, eyes wide and staring, mouth still open in a scream.  But there's no sound coming out of her throat anymore.  No breath in those apparently very powerful lungs.  Pale white marks dot the very corners of her mouth and jaw.

Ligeia kneels down next to the girl, considering, and pulls a pair of latex gloves from her blazer pocket.  She skips looking for any kind of trauma -- there would be blood, probably -- and instead picks up the girl's hands.  The victim's fingers are cool and soft, still flaccid rather than in rigor mortis, and it is the worst kind of intimacy.

She can't imagine how Verda does this every day.  Maybe she just likes people and all their intricacies too much.

Not a single defensive wound.  Not even a sign she'd thrown her arms out to catch herself as she fell. That's a reflex; she must have been unconscious or dead before she started to fall.

There's no new sound, but she feels something like a shift in the barometric pressure of the room.  Adam and Morgan both have a quality to them, an intensity that seems to suck up all the air and interest, even when nobody's looking at them.

Ligeia straightens.  "Looks like a heart attack, but I'll know more after Verda or the Agency pathologists take a look," she says.  She doesn't need to look back to know they're watching.  "Will we let Doctor Turner and Verda take the lead on this, or is the Agency going to take custody of her just in case?"

The words come out professional.  Not cheery, certainly, but smooth, practiced.  Like her heart isn't beating hard inside her chest, like she's not thinking about Murphy.  Like there's something going on in her head other than an endless litany of a prayer she keeps hoping she'll get to stop praying: no more deaths, please, not in my town.

"This is a known phenomenon to the Agency," her mother's voice says.  The tone is endlessly gentle.  "We'll take custody."

It takes her a few more moments to look away from the girl and the blue puddle of laundry soap.  It smells like fake tropical flowers and banana; it's probably called something like 'Bahama Breeze.'

#

Ligeia drives back to the warehouse, stopping only for fuel and a cup of petrol station coffee.  It's thick and tarry as the stuff she puts in her car, smells about as astringent, but it wakes her up.  Unit Bravo beat her back by at least fifteen minutes.  That doesn't surprise her, given her slow car and pit stop.

What does surprise her is that Adam is waiting for her by the entry.  He had been standing stiffly by the wall, like particularly handsome statuary, and as she passes him, he unbends.

"So what was I looking at in there?"

"A fae victim," is Adam's reply.  He stops moving when she does.

Ligeia starts putting together 'fae,' 'screaming,' 'laundry,' and 'death,' and what she comes up with makes her groan.  "You're kidding, right?"  But this is Adam, and he wouldn't joke about this.  Not even Farah would.

"They aren't what the folktales make of them," is his reply, steady and a little snide, like usual.  He sounds a little softer when he adds, "So few of us are."

They've had the talk about his disapproval of humans romanticizing vampires.  She even understood it, to an extent.  She felt the same way about the slew of torture porn and serial killer movies that came out in the early 2000's.  She still feels that way about the Purge movies and the way they glamorize surviving violence, the way they assume everyone's first thought is murder.

Point is, Ligeia sees where he's coming from.  She doesn't push.  She stays right where she is, just a little too close to him to be professional.

"I guess I should go inside and find out what they're really like," she says.

Adam holds the door for her.  She turns her head just enough to look over her shoulder at him as she goes through.  She offers him a smile and watches his jaw relax by a fraction.

Nate smiles up at her from where he's found an armchair -- she could swear he's always making himself smaller, and he's so big that the back of her neck thanks him, but she hates it, too.  There's a haunted edge to the way half his jaw has tensed, and when the smile slips, she can see that his focus on her has wisped away.  He's the same Nate as always, but he's somewhere else right now.  Somewhen else.

Morgan's the one who says the word.  She breathes it out around grey smoke, her tone heavy and dark not only from the cigarette but from her own closely guarded feelings.  "Banshees," she says, and near her, Farah actually sighs.