a fickle entity

Intended to be affiliated with Citta Alveare My Sweet Ganymede, I'll take you back Just name your price, and we'll try and confide in what the higher ups have to spout It's not impossible to bring you home It's not.

[ghastlyleader-deactivated201508]

heiscapricious

 “I wonder how this summer will turn out in terms of weather. Are you fond of summer?”

[heiscapricious-blog]

With life shriveling up, the scorching hot sun beating down on citizens’ back. Everything dying is hastened, -- and no one is happy.

Of course it’s his favorite. He’s offended you’d even ask, for one.

Miracle two... the eccentric stranger isn’t ready to collapse, suffering from the heat -- Apollo wonders if he can whiff him out, depending on how flammable that static-y material is. 

Small talk, at that. He doesn’t miss a beat. ...Probably thinks he’s. 

Probably thinks he’s a woman. Apollo ...turns his head away, tucking a bang behind his ear. 

He inhales shallowly, beckoning with his index finger for him to come closer, -- meanwhile holding his breath. 

To achieve a higher register than anyone is used to hearing the sun god using. ‘-- Do I like the summer?’ His voice comes out in a higher-pitched, feeble volume if the other is close enough. 

‘-- Well, I thought everyone did.’ 

Patience.

[hansei-hansui-deactivated201609]

He knows this guy. He’s not – he’s a mystery all his own, really, fire in shade and all the more captivating for it. The contact comes as just one more surprise: expected for how unexpected it is.

And once the amazement’s let him go, Haruka… smiles.

He doesn’t know this guy, not really, but he likes him all the same.

‘I’ve been up for a little while,’ he replies, unconsciously reaching for some on the bangles on Apollo’s wrist. He stops himself, at first, but something makes him reach up anyway. He raps his knuckles against a bracelet and makes it jingle. ‘I’ve been – I’ve done a lot of stuff! This place is really fun.’

His voice is hushed, because for all his enthusiasm, he’s in the presence of someone special. Haruka backs off a step but takes the god’s wrist, giving a gentle tug to tell him – come down, maybe. You should come see. ‘Have you seen it all already? I can show you – if you want.’

Slowly, he lets go, but the awed-happy-encouraging smile he wears, it stays.

‘I think you’d like it, too.’

[heiscapricious-blog]

It’s not very often that the smaller variety does something he likes, -- but he’s found ...the quiet ones don’t really react at all. 

He favors that.

‘So you have.’ Apollo doesn’t bother to retract his arm, letting the playful sounds resound. 

Much more playful than him, at times. They’re simple, colorful, -- unappreciated, -- and only important when fiddled with for the most part. 

Haruka’s no exception, but... donned from one wrist to the other, they stop in front of Haruka’s face -- making a gratuitous inviting noise, as if to provoke him to try that once again.  He reaches over Haruka’s shoulder to wave his fingers in front of his face.

They’re here to please. 

Apollo himself? Not so much, -- getting into the full swing of things, he’s made an appearance to check if there’s anything down here for him. 

Without having to pretend like he’s enjoying himself any less. 

‘They make a nice sound, don’t they? I forget they’re there sometimes.’

His other shoulder pulling into a gradual shrug while he extends his arm leisurely, -- the bracelets drifting down to his wrist, ‘You look awake, for a change.’

He allows the tug to the wrist, -- hovering off the ground an inch or two before landing on his toes. 

‘Are you so sure? I just got here.’ He tiptoes and considers how light the boy must be, with how fast his stamina gets used up. ‘You think you can make it down there? it might be sundown, soon. 

-- I’d like to see everything before it gets dark.’ He jests, ‘It’s over in that direction?’ He points with his third and fourth fingers, ‘Where all the noise is coming from.’ 

He reaches under Haruka’s arms, trying to figure out how he’d support the gangly youth. He’s having second thoughts as -- the concern isn’t dropping him. He can’t envision the boy enjoying that too much. 

‘...Do you want to walk me down there?’

He taps his fingers Haruka’s sides, thumbs tracing over his ribcage. ‘Unless you want a lift? You’ll have to hold on.’

[heiscapricious-blog]

Something has been flicking about, giving it a pronounced satisfactory wind to every whipping corner it takes, -- that licks at the back of Apollo’s heels. 

It’s what you’d call a fuse, breaks off and fizzles out the day before it’s born. 

It’s a nuisance that tries so hard to placate the fact that its life is going to be brilliant but short, scarce fulfilling, -- and that’s why Apollo is going to mess with him. 

The matter is catching nature’s scourge, first. 

Vindictiveness is easy. If he hasn’t been noticed already, he will now, as he cuts the ribbon of speed off and hooks his ankle -- snagging him to a proper stop. 

“They cut out areas for no flying first. They promised you that speed every day, for short spurts? 

Have you taken it upon yourself to check if it’s as faster as you were, the day before.”

caughtspeeding

[heiscapricious-blog]

She doesn’t look amicable, and perhaps that’s why he linger. In fact her taut drawn smile, fingers flexing over her sleek bow as she stands with her shoulders drawn back, broadened farther than they should go. 

A colorful mate hovers over the tip of her bow, quick-tipped wings flitting faster than her sight, blurring their differences and familiarizing the distance between them, -- which isn’t far at all. 

The tender moment, no matter how rare is there.

She’s changed for a fleeting moment. It’s instantaneous, it’s regal, the transformation in the fighter’s stance --  her shoulders fall, the way her visitor meets her halfway, turning her in every which direction. 

Just a moment ago, she stood proud, tall -- considering her surroundings with less affair than survival.

Things like this are meant to last, but since they’re brief, and they always, always end. Apollo just...

Sees every need to hasten it. 

The perplexed casts over her face when her newfound confidence abandons her -- flits and disappears, just like saturated happiness. 

The invasion is quick -- a tug to her back, and her bow yanked out of her hands as Apollo drifts beyond her reach, tapping her bows as a victory medal against one of his shoulders.

“Are you using these? That look back there, -- It suited you better.”

woodlandguard

[kokkei-deactivated20160917]

‘That’s a little rude, don’t you think?’

It’s not his place to intrude. It’s not even his place to speak – not when he’s someone who regularly insults his own siblings, avoids them until they force his hand. It’s in that sense that he can sympathise with her, the lady in the moon. She’s not looking too happy, and Apollo’s demands for answers aren’t helping one bit.

Sibling rivalries, though. You just had to love them.

‘Give her a break. Bet you she doesn’t even know what’s going on.’ He rounds on the other man, running his hands through strands of fire-branded hair as he passes on by. When he settles, it’s against Apollo, elbow resting on his shoulder like they’re the best of buds. Like there’s nothing wrong with this situation, not in the slightest. ‘And if she did – do you really think she’d want you knowing? Any answers you do get are probably just going to be what you want to hear.’

He’s gone as soon as he came – moving away, hopping up on top of the guard rail that separates their hill from the rest of the world. He holds his arms out and swings a step forward, almost jokingly losing his balance. ‘The moon is a reflection of the sun. That’s what everybody used to think, isn’t it?’

And he turns back to the god, smirking all-too-condescendingly at the beads of juice running down his arm. He looks pathetic like that, like a lowly worshiper come to demand answers from an angry god. Like that, he looks… boring.

And that’s something that has to be fixed.

‘Maybe you should force it out of her,’ he suggests brightly, pointing up.

‘If you go all dramatic, like, “I’ll destroy the night if you refuse to answer me,” you might actually get something.’

[heiscapricious-blog]

Hardly does he care enough to go into it. Now this dissolved bickering translated farther into the air up evaporates, - right before Him. He’s included himself assuming a speechless stance, in a record breaking 

There goes the devastating heartbreak, there goes their horribly met ends untied. He’s not too swept about it any more, due to the whiff of indifference that practically kings their whole conversation. 

It’s a delicate affair that briefly flickers its sufficient light, and the redeeming feature of that is the moon looks condemningly closer than it was before. She’s beautiful, sits quietly and fair. 

As if to ask, ‘Who’s this ?’ Which he surprisingly doesn’t have an answer for. 

He could go on for days. 

Give it a moment or two, and the impossibly unforseen comes forth with a name. No chime, no prelude, just the right given amount of authority that makes him see stars, then forecasts sparks that -- 

-- bristle with great allure in his open palm. 

It’s only when he lets go and moves away. 

“Give me ONE good reason I shouldn’t ask her grace in your favor a reason to blow you away.” That Apollo’s curt temper shows its truer colors, the one he knows. “The only chatterer she’s experienced with,” Is him. “She doesn’t invite others over.” 

“Try being with her half the eternity on earth of how you’ve spent your Time.” 

“She’d...” Bore you to pieces, he bites down into his lip the forceful statement moving its weight that wants to be validated. Kind of sad. “You wouldn’t last moments with her.”

He’s pushing the side that needs to be tested. Apollo provokes people, but he’s not a provocateur. If anyone can convincingly get her out of her dominion, it just might be him. 

“It’s NOT your place to butt in,” He crisply exhales, exasperated not with the development of things -- but how near he is to taking, trying out his scathing recommendation. 

They haven’t even scratched the surface, and Really, there seems to be no better way. 

He turns to her, shoulders sharply casting down. Maybe, the goddess of the moon -- with the same dormant temperament of the sun, adorned with his affections of past - just wanted the rest to grovel. 

Things have changed. ...He’s glad she can’t speak back, afraid to hear what she has to say on him, -- but he raises his arms, making a gradual display of the crushed fruit. Sarcastically offering it to her. 

The god winces, despite himself spitting the word at the nonrespondent conversational figure. “I hold him in best confidence, I have a feeling you’d be better judge of that.” 

“Now that you’ve met him.” 

He waits until the other has past his shoulder to cross in front of her, “You’ll give us some answers. I’m all the convincing that you need.” He stutters, presenting the offering in a way where his hands are free again. 

“What do you think of her?” He bumps directly in from the side, nectar-free hand carefully carding through his bangs. “Like I said... She’s not much of a talker. 

You try.”

[heiscapricious-blog]

Ten thousand ways to avoid understanding a man who avoids saying any thing about himself deliberately. You get him on a pedestal? He could talk a storm about anybody else. 

A countless measure that just proves he doesn’t have to know. It’s almost to that extent achievable he can’t ignore, it’s been on his tongue all day. Something he can repeat, but he’d rather not. 

He’s asked before, he’s sure. All things in making have a ‘start’, but here, they almost look identical. That’s why he keeps close, and that’s his excuse of trying to locate the man today. Especially today. 

He gives the earth a stomp. 

He starts early. Mid day, when the sun’s alignment comes into full power and scorches the earth in its entirety, he rakes his larger hands through the crowds as it moves along above with him. 

Figuratively, when the sky was bathed in red? He would just have to follow its theoretical position in the sky, along with his senses.

   Nevermind that nothing made much sense. 

To resolve anything, he makes noise wherever he goes. Apollo successfully doesn’t say a peep before noon. Exaggerating his gestures, he gets the activity down pat. Asks a couple people, gesturing for the distinct collar around his neck that makes him noticeable from any bypassing walk. The strut gave it away. For some... 

He mimics it, a sight sore if he’d seen it himself, but it communicated the people that missed out on the way he tosses his hands, recreating the unmistakable voluminous pelt around his neck. They didn’t seem to get, or miss, anything. 

Angrily taking through most of the city, descending into the levels that fostered the more frightened crowd - the most depraved inhabitants of this whole fiasco. The ones he asks that he’s dubious of, suspicious answers, he uses his sharp tongue to reiterate what they just said, -- and if he couldn’t, granted their size and how worth it it was, to keep them afloat in a stilled current. 

Apollo took something of his. 

In another light. The ones that pointed him out in the general direction of where the tell tale plague sauntered off to, he’d lose an accessory each time that day. Belongings of his, humbly no longer a part of his amassed collection, the only that signed his authority, -- he’d never unhand in the light of day.

With each sincere response that helped point him out closer to his so-and-so target, he lost individual, distinct namesakes’ disappearing and his arms grew more barren. by the end of the day, the sun he couldn’t make out obediently following him - started to give. It was about that time, but his resolve didn’t. 

Apollo wrang his hands out, unable to give any warning of the laboring sun, - and the likes of the increasing night that didn’t care about his search. 

He looks to the moon, all kinds of burnt out and if you give, I’ll take, with an unpromising commitment he gives to her every time he really wants something. His shoulders at just the right point to sink to a believable level. He appears wary, at his best -- but gives a sigh. 

This time, when he asks its permission without being able to give it back anything. 

The spitfire in his speech is absent, once he finally stutters the most roundabout way, like they do, -- even if he’s not talking to anyone. He tosses his hand up at it in frustration, the last of his two twin bracelets letting out a sound. In likeness of something valuable gone missing, ‘Have you seen him,’ his question gets consumed in the roar of a passerby rebellion. 

They’re so loud. He goes for the ledge, peering over just in time, wherever carnage was he was. Wherever there were people, real miscontrued, horrible, all of them, each and every one of them --- identical people, committing deeds lost to the wind hoping to leave a mark. 

He can always spot him first. 

Forgetting his confiding in the single-faced ring of serendipity, that met his promise. He thinks back briefly to the unrelenting favors he could have reaped himself, but he’s asked that of just as many today. 

Perhaps the wind picking up, the stars being swallowed by the darkness above, just proves that it could be neither of their faults this time. 

Letting momentum pick him up full swing, he swoops down to where fire is breaking out, somewhere someone could get blown out in a moment.  And it’s this moment, he grabs for the man unafraid of anything, unafraid of being seen, being caught, being involved with any of this --- 

--- knocking him into position, where he’s just out of sight. The moon pours in and the narrow segue they depart from the scene where screaming still reaches their ears, something only he’d enjoy, of course he would. 

 He mouths something, lost in an unforgiving ‘boom’ in the background, bathing everything in the flicker of a distant fire. The charismatic red that consumes both their outlines, making them perfectly unnoticeable. 

 ‘Say it yourself.’ His barren forearms clasp each side of his head, not removing a gaze that means this from that universe, that from this depraved walk of life. 

For someone that’s never prayed before, his smile grants him a chance, and his hands get purchase or hair tangled between his fingers. His eyes narrow, ‘Today’s unlike any other day. Isn’t it?’ 

‘Say it yourself.’ It not what I do, his eyes flicker, ‘I’ve been chasing down people all day.’

For the man who made himself, he can’t lay any claim other than giving him a chance to talk. Which he likes best. He runs his hands through, tilting his head at an angle that gives him less of the advantage, scarcely giving him room. 

‘How is it? To walk in, you’ll walk that dynamically out.’ 

But not today. What a day to make yourself known, to be carried out like a storm. 

‘You’re not the modest type. What is today?’

kokkei

[heiscapricious-blog]

Nothing spells out the most fantastic, cruel whims of those, not unfamiliar to Apollo,

cruel, righteous, self sufficient and convinced he doesn’t need to provide anyone for himself.

‘You’ve …come out early tonight.’ He clicks his tongue and projects openly, blotching the unsightly, unknowable face framed he once knew.

but when the skies open up. By themselves, pouring out a dyed red that bloodies the hands of those who keep their palms open. You know you haven’t lived in accordance to how you should, offering its lavish supply never, ever ending.

There are the signs you need to know, something went wrong. a heist is amock, to restore the natural order of things, from tiers that behold them, beyond what they have liberal reach to.

Apollo knows, even when his power peters at the magnificence of the other torch holder in thesky, since it’s something they pass on day in and into night.

For once, he shouts. Not at anyone, but her. ‘Is this your doing?

   He feels helpless. He’s certainly not going to help, ‘You’re quiet all this time, and this is howyou make yourself Known?’

She has answers he doesn’t, but she never cared to share them when he was talking her into a lull.

Apollo knows, even when his power peters at the magnificence of the other torch holder in the sky, since it’s something they pass on day in and into night.

‘Did someone anger you?’ The fruit in his hand, rich in pulp and all too easy to create lasting impressions in, Apollo extends his arm towards the malevolent onlooker, webs of the perfectly usable offering coming apart clinging to his wrist, and he compresses them in his palm, dripping in likeness to how she wore herself today.

‘I know you didn’t prefer hearing about yourself, when it was just the two of us, but.’ The crisp statement hangs, the sister he wasn’t well aware of he could never tell if she appreciated the honesty. ‘You’re looking more haggard than ever,

by the passing every time I see you.’ To her,

He was anything but true.

[heiscapricious-blog]

Worst comes to ...Well. He's not sure what to do with this one,

it isn’t always the case. He’s a bit of a stick in the mud, in the way he approaches him anyway. Why? With the glowing awe on his face, 

spells out that he can. ‘Fearless’, is one way to put it. Not a greatly effective way to get what you want,

but with distinctively less push than he’s seen humans use. The way he grabs for what he doesn’t know, what definitely isn’t his, strikes him with ...a deficiency of 

what he’s likely to be afraid of. If he is afraid of anything, it doesn’t show. 

It's not somebody he can taunt, they’d have no gab back or business with him. so, Apollo caps his descent and takes contact while not bearing any of his weight. He perches just barely on his toes, easily to make his getaway. 

Between the better "deeds" he's done, this isn't one of them.

He palms the boy’s head, steadying shoulders, letting him experience seeping warmth that starts from his head to his toes. He snatches a garland hanging above them, a party favor sought to be lost. It looks ...better. 

On behalf of boy with the unfavorable sway, wide eyes, prying gaze. Anything to get him to shush for a second, “Are you participating?” 

“Did you just wander out here, or do you know at all,” He gestures to make his heavy gold bangles exclaim for him, punctuating his sigh. “What all this is for. It’s a pretty big throw, isn’t it?” 

"Hm. Did you just wake up?"

[rpfunstuff]

Send me a ✍ and I'll draw our muses together!

[heiscapricious-blog]

[crown]

my opinion on;

character in general: Do they gotta

 how they play them: It’s hard to give a character that’s so wide AND strongly opinionated on, especially giving them presence without catering to the general appeal of breaking everyone all the time or taking means to get them out of his face

But. The way he’s brought about at citta leaves how willing he is to engage with just about anyone. No focus on just any one aspect is hiked up in their presentation, not too much of ‘anything’ that overpowers the rest. 

He just came out to have a good time make it happenthe mun: 

For ever thinking I was nice and for that remark you will suffer 

Less

Considerably less than others

do i;

follow them:rp with them: no  want to rp with them: 

are you even paying attentionship their character with mine: I don’t wish to get set on fire by a certain god that is not on my bucket list

what is my;

overall opinion: 

Don’t burn

**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty.

[kokkei-deactivated20160917]

♛

Read More

[boysnsplinters-blog]

[ ♛ ] send me your url and i'll tell you the following:

[heiscapricious-blog]

my opinion on;

character in general: how they play them: the mun:

do i;

follow them: rp with them: want to rp with them: ship their character with mine:

what is my;

overall opinion:

**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty.

[heiscapricious-blog]

With the way the petals revolve around each other, slowing their motion in a befuddling trance that stalls the most pronounced in their tracks, It’s like they were never here. The built to stun, the head turners, now direct their attention up at what’s out there. 

It’s an outrage he’s not here. The time, the place, it’s perfect,

and it could all do so well, without his commentary. That’s how he sees it. Apollo knows just how this goes. 

Now that they’ve survived, sustaining their riches, holding onto their keepsakes, losing, remaking, themselves and their faith, this is how they celebrate. They’ve come through, somehow. 

It leaves him space to outstretch his hands at something he’d never once appreciated before, experimenting with the whirling above. He directs which way they go, eyes fleeting when they listen to him. He’s still got it. 

The carpet beneath his feet in a high-tension world of his he’d bothered showing once, would come apart at the touch.

 crumble in ways with each step taken that wasn’t his own.

Everything did, under the wrong impression, 

the wrong maker, an ill intention. The owner of a destroying thought, that’s all it took. He was almost convinced should he show, the new life restored to the balance and movement, like his, instilled in them when like lightning, he 

claps. Apollo was light, with everything made out of his likeness as he clasps and with a hint of a mean streak, he - hooks the ankle of a passing child and sprinkles his spoils on its head. 

Shedding the worst smile a god could, on par with the one promising drought, famine, - not quite. It’s a genuine smile, and it’s not for anyone else but the misfortuned child that saves its fall, patting the top of his head. Genius. 

Even humans a third of their normal size could think for themselves.

Since he’d done so well, Apollo considers something every other god should do. Materialize a foolproof way to never, ever, ever be forgotten by their witness, no matter how small. 

He perches on the ground, feet barely touching just as he starts to take the small hand and kicks up dust, making gold spring up and cover the child head to toe. Nodding, as if insisting ‘Now you try’. 

The back and forth is short lived, as the god lifts his head. For a stressed moment he’s mystified. He’s been spotted, and this isn’t what it looked like. His arm hangs at his side, heavy bracelets complimenting startling laughter too good to be his own --- And then 

there’s that same fleck storm in his face. Apollo sputters. 

That’s enough, he wants to snap but nods instead at his smaller company as is to say ‘very good.’ 

He’d shown up after all, but this isn’t the state he’d have liked to be found in.

[heiscapricious-blog]

Nobody’s happy with the way things turn out, so what makes this day in particular such a fantastically horrible occasion?

He can count off the reasons on his fingers, slipping each gaudy collector’s ring off as he proceeds to jam them til they back into place in the open-chested safe with a billion compartments he can’t think of how to use. 

That makes it down to two rings, slipped on his third and fourth fingers, lighter equipped than he usually is ...and though it doesn’t look bad, - nothing does on Apollo, - he’s decided that the one with the greater fit he’d share with the man. 

 Something about giving the company you remember three times more, than they can afford to give you. One-uping the favor.  

He doesn’t need to know how he looks, he doesn’t even have to check. Every hair on his head should be in place, but he neatly tucks the one that grazes his neck behind his ear, and he checks. 

That’s half the horror of it, stretching and testing his knuckles to bend the other way as he turns three angles, then several and reaches to slam the house of valuables shut on his own fingers. 

The jewelry box itself goes on the mirror, as he kicks the dresser with bare sole not once, but twice. The dresser gives out a shy rattle, just short of a shaky sigh. The vibrant redhead’s shoulders sink, a string of mumbled expletives successfully getting away from him. 

Apollo would never let his heel strike anything were it not worthwhile, but it starts here where it’s all unplanned for him. It’s been this way since he landed, regardless how acceptant he is to it or not. 

He fixes a glare, out of the corner of his eye, shaking out his ringed hand, sorely looking over his nails now a devastating pale white as they return in color. 

Taking to the floor he kneels and, unwilling to exert any more insult to he fumbles with the plaything, knick knack whatnot the man left him and showed him how to make use of. ‘If you need me’, if he ever did, he’d said. 

If he didn’t want to spend his day flying around looking if he needed him right then - but wait, ‘you can’t stay afloat for more than a few minutes at a time.’

At an impatient jab one of the keys, the screen blares light at his face and he cringes when the screen involuntarily reflects the likeness of himself, looking back at the mirror that does exactly the same thing. -- Just how many portals does one place -- 

Apollo averts his eyes, thumb taking up nearly the entire lens until he figures it all out, pressing the first key with ‘1′ on it, press this one, if you really can’t bear not seeing me. 

The call’s still going through, but he starts talking. 

‘I’ve checked all your recent places and not once today did you show.’

It’s like he’s never made a call before, which would be true, he has other ways of finding someone he needs to ever see. They’ve never necessarily arranged anything, so Apollo readies himself for the crackle of a laugh on the other end, from wherever he is. 

The buffering animated bubbles on his screen stop abruptly, but he’s looking elsewhere, -- ‘I don’t want to hear it.’ -- ‘but I got this working.’ Not purposefully, but the god isn’t visible within the frame, accidentally having cropped himself out. ‘If you want me to hear something,’ He heaves, not included in the picture yet. 

What is, is the mirror and the shelved home for his trinkets shucked away, and a vacated bed with assorted pages, carefully removed tucked in between folds in a bed that finally seems to be used. ‘I’d rather have to hear it out within proximity.’

‘Oh.’ 

There’s a scrabbling noise at his end, turning the camera -- sideways, upside down. ‘Do you get it.’ 

‘Make yourself available. If I’m to come and find you tell me exactly where you are,’ He reaches for the device with his ringed hand, the doubled rings clacking against the screen. ‘

Glowering at him through the peephole, Apollo backs up towards the blinds and wrenches them down open just so he can see cracks of light that barely suffice, ‘Do you see. Ought I stay here or if I’m to look for you, I set out right now.’ 

...

He peers up curiously at the screen, laying back into the blinds that crush behind his back as he nestles into them. Arms extending high above his head, he clears his throat. ‘Are you listening?’

kokkei

[heiscapricious-blog]

That one time the sun god was relatively happy

[heiscapricious-blog]

Pliable, forthright, and… surprisingly non-combative. Apollo doesn’t take to his jabs like he normally does, lacing their arms together and stringing him along. Everything he says is devoid of offence, and by the time he gets to the end — it almost stops Izaya in his tracks. Almost.

So what’s this, exactly? His idea of a joke? It’s not a very funny one, he’s got to say.

But it could be.

'The thing you hate the most. We can go do that?' he repeats, his almost every word a scoff. Izaya's sceptical, and for good reason — but he's rapidly coming around, he is. 'And how am I supposed to know what that is? You hate everything I do.' He's playing the victim here, playing it up for laughs, but there's a grain of truth to that, too. This guy doesn't like him all that much. 'Give me a break. You can do better than that.

'Unless you're saying we can do anything I want?' Once he latches on to that interpretation, it's like a boulder rolling down a hill: he can't stop smiling. 'Are you sure you want to go there? You're the one who says I'm untrustworthy all the time.' But already, already. He's planning, using that brain of his to think and scheme and come up with something horrible. He has to be. 'Do you want to dig your own grave?'

But then he stops, pulling on Apollo’s army of bracelets so he pauses, too. He unwinds their arms, wraps his fingers around the god’s now-bare wrist. ‘Because you know what? I’ve got an idea.’

He shouldn’t squander this, should he? There’s plenty of awful things he can do with this. So…

Izaya steps close, grins like he’s hit the jackpot.

'Why don't we see what you're made of?'

The sense of disconnect that goes through his head just moments ago disappears with the power of the man’s suggestion. That’s how good he is. 

“I was thinking we’d try something you’d like. I’ve suggested it,” One moment, he’s almost experiencing sorriness for letting this flitty idea of an accomplice get to him.

“and you’d never live to hear it.” For a second there, the sun recognizes just what the sun does, remembers what he is. 

But does that stop the refreshed smile on his face? It doesn’t feel wrong, so it stays. No blemish lasts, upon his face when the god of sun acts out. Not a permanently grooved scowl that deters his most faithful, no one dares correct him. Since it’s always been that way. 

But what happens when one challenges him? 

‘Everything.’ Or so he's told, “Then every outlandish act you commit must be flawless, is that what you’re saying? Even for someone incapable of error, that’s a strained design...” 

A tragic handful have, ...but they didn’t know any better.

“You live like that?” He prompts him, smoothing his palms over his shoulders to -- soothe, irritate him, who’s to say. That’s no way to live, and the rest of him agrees. 

Hardly a challenge. All the same, haughty and sticking to the brunt of their knowledge, stopping right where they are, insisting they know all there is. Too similar to himself, although Apollo’s one grace is to keep an open mind.

“Can you really enjoy yourself by deliberating what you do, if that’s everything.” He insists, flexing his fingers in the grip where his wrist is now trapped. Trapped, only, that is if he doesn’t start thinking for himself. 

  »  Perhaps this is liberation, letting somebody else do the thinking for him. 

and that’s hardly like Apollo. He hates letting anything slip between his fingers, he doesn’t care about anything that doesn’t involve his own joy, because why ought the world not be brought to him?... 

“I don’t think that possible.” He remarks in a snippish tone, “I thought you knew better than anyone else, haven’t you ‘read’ up about me?” Apollo leans, grasping at the arm steadying him and dragging him somewhere he shuts out so he’s not sure of. “Why don’t you tell me what I’m made of.” 

Awareness is all he has, yet where the man drags him he leaves to the ropes of surprise. ...So does he really, truly, without a flicker of a doubt hate everything that brings this man delight?

He can laugh at himself. And that’s why he gravitates to a man like this. 

[heiscapricious-blog]

Lilith, Jezebel, Mephistopheles.

REFERENCE 

lilith: what was your biggest rebellion against authority? why did you do it? 

There are no concrete written rules for Apollo to follow, or not follow. Everything he does is seen under the sky, nor does he care, and if it’s really not okay and the sky asks for the rest of the gods to abide by, you’ll know.  

Taking a prince in, to add to the sky’s collection for him to dote and pause upon was one of the greatest favors Apollo none so dutifully took upon himself. He doesn’t do anything but for himself, appearing only where he’s required or summoned by name — faithful to his impulses, most of those cries and requests go unheard. 

Keeping a human at bay under his wing, may have been the greatest strain to the structure that contains personalities like Apollo. For a while, the abducted prince himself seated in his own court was his best kept hidden secret, but nothing truly has that chance at staying undiscovered in the realm of the gods.

jezebel: talk about a time you used your sexuality immaculate beauty to get your way 

If you think he’s going to use his divine gift for one second to appeal to something he can crush beneath his heel, think again. 

"They’re not the faultless kind. Certainly not helpless. Many fall to their knees once they’re met by something bizarre they encounter once. Though I wouldn’t blame them, to be stopped in their tracks when something miraculous enters their life. On that bleak stage, anything that catches light will glimmer It’s only natural.

Even the most low quality of life is recognizant to something simply like beauty.” 

Starting by, admitting how simple a solve beauty is.

mephistopheles: have you ever helped  a loved one destroy themselves?

Apollo loves very few and selective people, including himself, starting with his sister. His confidant, his everything, the only one who comes closest to par with his own beauty that once, he could see on eye level. 

However, ever gradually thinning the lines by frequenting one (mortal) individual on his own time is one, unspoken but unheard of. it’s a mistake he unexpectedly learned from. He neglected, a little late to see what distancing himself from his leveled equal, and closer to something much beneath him could do. 

Apollo doesn’t keep secrets, he doesn’t keep anything close, but perhaps that was the lesson to his well kept story, one he keeps well today. 

And though it’s no secret, someone could leaf through and pick it up, he’s very closed about the matter and is in no favor of disclosing such a story without a dismissal wave or a snippy remark that shuts down this aspect of sharing altogether.

You don’t keep something so close that doesn’t stay for long.

[lunar-butch-deactivated20160510]

"ask me about my demons"

lilith: what was your biggest rebellion against authority? why did you do it? raum: do you have a tendency to hoard anything? if so, what? jezebel: talk about a time you used your sexuality to get your way mephistopheles: have you ever helped  a loved one destroy themselves? verrier: do you find yourself disobeying or obeying most authority? asmodeus: on whom do you want revenge and how would you take it? baal: if you were a god, how would you prefer to be worshipped? lamia: how do you feel about children? lucifer: what are you most proud of? sonneillon: do you hate anyone? batibat: talk about the worst nightmare you have ever had abaddon: what person, place, or thing have you most wanted to destroy? belias: do you gossip? abraxas: do you believe in any higher power? if so, what? ornias: talk about a time where you felt drained of energy lix tetrax: if you could travel by wind, where would you go? astaroth: have you ever falsely accused someone? carreau: do you consider yourself compassionate or harsh to others? why? leviathan: what do you believe lies in the unexplored areas of the ocean? belphigor: if you could pick 3 forms to shapeshift into, what would they be? azazel: talk about a time when you were falsely blamed for something mammon: when were you most greedy? for what? verrith: are you a patient or impatient person? pythius: out of all the lies you have ever told, which is your favorite? berith: do you often argue with others?