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stalkerofthegods · 5 months

Text

Apollo Cheat sheet

God of - prophecy and oracles, Music, song and poetry, archery, healing, plague and disease, and the protection of the young, divine distance, fertility, knowledge, dancing, wolves, locust, doorways, mice, entrances, foreigners, happy travels, light, omens, averting evil and harm, boundaries, and borders, laurels, mildews, the god who punishes and destroys, he helps and wards off evil, he protects the flocks and cattle, the foundation of towns and the establishment of civil constitutions, protection of young boys, god of purification, he’s also a Psychopomp.

Symbols- The lyre, Silver bow & arrows, Dolphins, Swans, Crows, Ravens, Lions, Wolves, Wolves, Mice, Griffins, Hawks, Snakes, Laurel wreath, Fire/flame, The sun/sunlight, Tripod, Apples

Incense/scents - Bay, Frankincense, Cypress, Clove, Cinnamon, Mugwort, Myrrh, hythincath, Rays of light radiating from his head, Branch of laurel, Wreath, amber, myrrh, lily of the valley, frankinscences, orange, lemongrass, marjoram

Colors • orange and yellow, red, gold and pure white blue, pink (means healing) purple and green (associated with the Oracle)

Herbs• Palm Tree, Apple Tree, Poplar Tree, Mistletoe, cinnamon, myrrh, bay leafs, sunflowers and red roses, oak wood, cypress (his veey dear friend ((not a lover or crush))), mint, heliotrope, Goldenseal, Date Palm, orange, lemongrass, marjoram

elements • his element is light

Day, month and festivals• Yule, Midsummer, May, sunday, his festivals are Noumenia, Delphinia, Thargelia, Apatouria, Pyanepsia, Asklepia (maybe), Pandia (maybe)

Patron of - medicine, mental health, physical health, therapy, the alphabet/words, defender of herds and flocks, justice, prophecy, and mental and moral purity, herdsmen and shepherds, anything in the medical field.

What I resonate with him • resseces pieces (I forgot why), Raven, lyre, lemonade, yellow, sun, bob Ross, painting, singing, humming, melody, Oracle’s, prophecies, knowledge, Purification, suns/ stars

Crystals•Sunstone, Citrine, Carnelian, Clear Quartz, Pyrite, Selenite, Lapis Lazuli

His sacred items - Bow and arrows; lyre; the wreath of laurel leaves (he wears that which is to be understood as Daphne’s hair.)

Planet - The sun

Tarot card- the sun, the chariot

Number - 7

Animals - Wolf, griffin, dolphins, Swans, foxes, roe deer, swans, cicadas, hawks, ravens, crows, foxes, mice, and snakes

Signs he's reaching out• Significant Dream Encounters of him, Frequent Solar Imagery, Increased Interest in the Arts, Strong Connection to Healing, seeing his Symbols and Animals, having Prophetic Experiences, finding yourself seeking the truth all of the sudden, Attraction to Light and Warmth

What u could put on his alter • Sun water, Wine (diluted with pure water), Milk, Olive oil, Herbal teas, Honey, honey cakes, Orange and lemon pastries, Lamb meat, goat meat, Fruits, Cheeses, Wheat, Breads, Golden objects (ex- such as gold bowls, gold wine cups, flakes of gold), Bows and arrows (real or fake), art, Images of the sun, All musical instruments, (especially stringed instruments), Wolf imagery, dolphin imagery, Any images of birds (especially crows and swans), Yellow, gold, and white candles, Incense he likes. He likes his alters Neat, clean, not cluttered, orderly, surround him with who he loves (ex- past lovers, Leto, artemis) , add images of wolves, mice, and ravens, Wine, incense, gifts of solar imagery, oranges

Other titles of apollon• ABAEUS/ Abaios (derived from the town of Abae in Phocis),

ACERSE′COMES/Akersekomês (Apollo expressive of his beautiful hair which was never cut or shorn.) ACE′SIUS/ Akesios (surname of Apollo, under which he was worshipped in Elis, This surname, which has the same meaning as akestôr and alexikakos as the god of averter of evil), ACESTOR/Akestôr (A surname of Apollo which characterises him as the god of the healing art, or in general as the averter of evil, like akesios), ACTIACUS (a surname of Apollo, derived from Actium, AEGLE′TES/Aiglêtês (that is, the radiant god), AGE′TOR/Agêtôr (a surname given to several gods, example is Zeus at Lacedaemon) AGO′NIUS/Agônios (a surname or epithet of several gods, like Zeus), AGRAEUS/Agraios (the hunter a surname of Apollo After he had killed the lion of Cithaeron), AGYIEUS/Aguieus (a a title describing him as the protector of the streets and public places), ALEXI′CACUS/ Alexikakos (the averter of evil, is a surname given by the Greeks to several deities like Zeus.), AMAZO′NIUS/ Amazonios, AMYCLAEUS/Amuklaios, ARCHE′GETES/Archêgetês (A surname of Apollo, under which he was worshipped in several places, as at Naxos in Sicily), Megara (The name has reference either to Apollo as the leader and protector of colonies, or as the founder of towns in general, in which case the import of the name is the same as theos patroôs.), BOEDRO′MIUS/ Boêdromios (the helper in distress), CARNEIUS/ Karneiosx, CATAE′BATES/Kataibatês (invoked by this name to grant a happy return home, katabasis (to those who were travelling abroad), CHRYSAOR/Chrusaôr) (The god with the golden sword or arms), CLA′RIUS/ Klarios (derived from his celebrated temple at Claros in Asia Minor), CO′RYDUS/Korudos (from the temple eighty stadia from Corone, on the sea-coast), CY′NTHIUS and CY′NTHIA/Kunthia and Kunthios (surnames of Artemis and Apollo from island of Delos, which is their birthplace), DAPHNAEUS and DAPHNAEA/Daphnaia and Daphnaios (surnames of Artemis and Apollo), DECATE′PHORUS/ Dekatêphoros (that is, the god to whom the tenth part of the booty is dedicated), DE′LIUS and DE′LIA/ Dêlios and Dêlia or Dêlias (surnames of Apollo and Artemis respectively), DELPHINIUS and DELPHI′NIA/ Delphinia (a surname of Artemis at Athens & The masculine form Delphinius is used as a surname of Apollo), EPACTAEUS or EPA′CTIUS/ Epaktaios or Epaktios (the god worshipped on the coast, was also used as a surname of Poseidon in Samos) EPIBATE′RIUS/ Epibatêrios (the god who conducts men on board a ship), EPICU′RIUS/ Epikourios (the helper),

EUTRESITES/Eutrêsitês (derived from Eutresis, where he had a ancient Oracle), GALA′XIUS/Galaxios a (from Boeotia, derived from the stream Galaxius),

HEBDOMA′GETES/Hebdomagetês (was derived from the fact of sacrifices being offered to him on the seventh of every month, the seventh of some month which became the god's birthday), HECAERGUS/Hekaergos (same meaning as Hecaerge in the case of Artemis),HY′LATUS/Hulatos (derived from the town of Hyle in Crete, which was sacred to him), INTONSUS/unshorn, (surname of Apollo and Bacchus showing the eternal youth of these gods, beacuse the Greek youths allowed their hair to grow until they attained the age of manhood), ISME′NIUS/Ismenios (A surname of Apollo at Thebes), ISO′DETES/Isodetêg (the god who binds all equally, is also used as a surname of Pluto),I′XIUS/Ixios (derived from a district of the island of Rhodes which was called Ixiae or Ixia.), LAPHRAEUS/Laphraios (a surname of Apollo at Calydon), LEUCA′DIUS/ Leukasios (a son of Icarius and Polycaste, and a brother of Penelope and Alyzeus. Leucas was believed to have derived its name from him), LIBYSTI′NUS, LOE′MIUS/Loimios (the deliverer from plague),

LO′XIAS/Loxias (derived by some from his intricate and ambiguous oracles), LYCE′GENES/Lukêgenês (describing him either as the god born in Lycia, or as the god born of light), LYCEIUS/Lukeios (the meaning is not quite certain, some derive it from lukos, a wolf, so that it would mean "the wolf-slayer;" others from lukê, light, according to which it would mean "the giver of light;"), LY′CIUS/Lukios (the Lycian, a surname of Apollo, who was worshipped in several places of Lycia),

LYCO′REUS/Lukôreus (A surname of Apollo perhaps in the same sense as Lyceius), MALEATES/Maleatês (surname of Apollo, derived from cape Malea, in the south of Laconia),MARMARINUS/Marmarinos (the god of marble), MALLOEIS and MELUS/Mêlos (A son of Manto, from which the sanctuary of Apollo Malloeis in Lesbos was believed to have derived its name), MOIRA′GETES/Moiragetês (the guide or leader of fate, occurs as a surname of Zeus and Apollo at Delphi) MUSA′GETES/MUSAE (?), NO′MIUS/Noumios (surname of divinities protecting the pastures and shepherds sheared with Apollo, Pan. Hermes, and Aristaeus) ONCAEUS/Onkaios (a surname of Apollo derived from Oncesium on the river Ladon in Arcadia), PAEAN/Paian, Paiêôn or Paiôn (meaning "the healing," however, used also in the more general sense of deliverer from any evil or calamity, PAGASAEUS/ Pagasaios/the Pagasaean, from Pegasus, or Pegasae, (town in Thessaly, uses the surname of Apollo there.), PALATI′NUS, (surname of Apollo at Rome), PARNO′PIUS/Paruopios (the expeller of locusts) paruôps (a surname of Apollo, under which he had a statue on the acropolis at Athen), PARRHA′SIUS/Parrastos (A surname of Apollo, who had a sanctuary on Mount Lyceius, meaning “the helper”, PATAREUS/Patareus (derived from the Lycian town of Patara, where the god used to spend the six winter months in every year), PHILE′SIUS/Philêsios (surname of Apollo at Didyma, where Branchus was said to have founded a sanctuary of the god, and to have introduced his worship) PHOEBUS/ Phoibos (the shining, pure or bright, occurs both as an epithet and a name of Apollo), PHY′XIUS/Phuzios (the god who protects fugitives, also occurs as a surname of Zeus in Thessaly), PY′THIUS/Puthios the Pythian, from Pytho (the ancient name of Delphi, often occurs as a surname of Apollo), SALGANEUS/Salganeus (a surname of Apollo, derived from the town of Salganeus in Boeotia), SARPEDONIUS and SARPEDO′NIA/Sarpêdonia (a surname of Artemis, derived from cape Sarpedon in Cilicia, where she had a temple with an oracle, The masculine Sarpedonius occurs as a surname of Apollo in Cilicia.) SMINTHEUS/Smintheus (a surname of Apollo, which is derived by some from sminthos, a mouse, and from the town of Sminthe in Troas), SPO′DIUS/Spodios (a surname of Apollo at Thebes, derived from spodos, ashes, because his altar consisted of the ashes of the victims which had been sacrificed to him.), TEGYRE′IUS/Tegurêios (a surname of Apollo, derived from the town of Tegyra in Boeotia. where, according to some traditions, the god had been born), TELMI′SSIUS/Telmissios (a surname of Apollo derived from the Lycian town of Telnissus or Telmessus),TEMENITES/Temenitês (a surname of Apollo, derived from his sacred temenus in the neighbourhood of Syracuse), THEOXE′NIUS/Theoxenios (a surname of Apollo and Hermes), THYMBRAEUS/Thumbraios (A surname of Apollo, derived from a place in Troas called Thymbra, where he had a temple in which Achilles was wounded, or from a neighboring hill of the same name), ZOSTERIUS and ZOSTE′RIA/Zôstêria (a surname of Athena among the Epicnemidian Locrians, The masculine form Zosterius occurs as a surname of Apollo in Attica, on the slip of land stretching into the sea between Phaleron and Sunium)

Epithets•Abaeus, Apollo Acesius, Acestor, Acraephiaeus Apollo, Acraephius Apollo, Actiacus Apollo, Apollo Actiacus, Apollo Aegletes, Agetor, Agonius, Agraeus, Agyieus, Alexicacus,Amazonius, Anextiomarus, Aphetor Apollo, Aphetorius Apollo, Apollo Musagetes, Apollo Soranus, Apollo Apotropaeus, Apulu, Archegetes, Argyrotoxus Apollo, Apollo Articenens, Apollo Averruncus, Apollo Clarius, Apollo Coelispex, Apollo Culicarius, Apollo Cynthius, Apollo Cynthogenes, Delius Apollo, Apollo Delius, Apollo Delphinius, Apollo Didymaeus, Apollo Epicurius Apollo Galaxius, Apollo Genetor, Hecaërgus Apollo, Apollo Hecebolus, Hekatos, Helius Apollo, Apollo Helius, Apollo Iatromantis, Apollo Iatrus, Apollo Ismenius, Kourotrophos, Apollo Leschenorius, Leucadius, Apollo Loxias, Apollo Lycegenes, Lyceus, Apollo Lycoctonus, Manticus Apollo, Apollo Medicus, Apollo Nomius, Apollo Nymphegetes, Paean (god), Apollo Paean, Apollo Parnopius, Apollo Patroüs, Apollo Phanaeus, Ptoion, Ptous, Pythius Apollo, Apollo Pythius, Apollo Smintheus, Apollo Sosianus, Thyraeus, Virotutis. (I’m not gonna put who, why or what the epithets are, cut me some slack 😔)

Equivalents• Abru (Berber), Horus & Ra (Egyptian), Aplu (Etruscan), Helios (Greek), Apollo & Janus (Roman), Nergal (Aplu Enlil) (Semitic)

Offerings• Candles (he’s the god of light), Paint brushes/paints, Canvases, Colored pencils, markers, crayons, Collages, Journals, Art books, Art prints, Anything you mad, Sculptures, Zines, Stickers, Any art supplies, Music boxes, Records, CDs,Cassettes, Record players,radios, MP3, Headphones, Music posters, Band merch, Instruments (especially String instruments), Dance shoes, Concert tickets, CD book holders, Sun and Light imagery, Sunscreen, Aloe for sunburns, Golden objects, Matches, Candles, Sunflowers/sunflower seeds, First aid kits, Medicine, Pain relievers, Band - aids, Ice/heat packs, Rice socks, face Masks, Aloe, Ambulance toy cars,Adaptive aids, Darts, Bow and arrows, Arrow quiver, Dart board, Targets used in archery, Bullseye used in archery, Snake skins, Snake imagery (ex - Python), Laurels, Bay leaves (because of Daphne), Palm trees (based on his birth myth), Ravens/Crows related things, Crow feathers, Cattle/turtles (related to Hermes birth myth), Swans (the animals Pull His chariot), Hyacinths (Hyacinthus is his past lover), Locks of hair, Vanilla flavored/scented things , Honey, Sunny D drink, Lemons/lemon juice, Oranges/orange juice, Citrus, Water, chocolate milk (UPG), molten orange-scented wax cube used on an oil burner, The first bite of every meal (keep a tea plate close by at mealtimes), Pot Pourri, visit a clairvoyant, Welcome foreigners, teach others your own culture/language, make sure foreigners are able to find helpful resources and social life in your community, Make sure the street outside your house is clean and secure, Resin, Sun-shaped cookies or cakes, Wine, Golden cakes, Golden raisins.

Devonatal- Donate to medical charities, Support beginner indie artists and musicians, Sing to Him, Play musical instruments for Him, Hold dance parties in his honor, Make a playlist for Him and listen to it, Read poetry to Him, Take care of your mental health in his honor, take your medicine in his honor, Try/do archery in his honor, Try/do different types of divination (ex- Tarot/Oracle decks, Pendulums, Rune stones, Charm casting supplies, Crystal balls, Scrying bowls, Cookie fortunes, Tea leaves), Try and wake up early and watch the sun rise, Go for a walk and feel the warmth from the sun, Let more sunlight into your home/room, Learn a musical instrument, learn how to sing, Learn simple medical care (ex- CPR), research his family in his honor, research Apollon, Attend pride, advocate for LGBT+ rights, Wear yellow clothing in his honor, wear orange clothing in his honor, Honor Leto and Artemis in his honor, Pray to Him/ speak to Him often (ex- for guidance, healing/good health, and new inspiration, protection, improvement in your mental health, fertility, ecstasy, for everything going well in the health aspect), Dance and sing to your favorite songs or songs you’d think He would like, Throw a feast in His honor, Support/donate to your local Hospital in his honor, Exercise in his honor, Get vaccinated in his honor, Get STI tested in his honor, practice Self care in his honor, Keep a first aid kit at home/in your car in his honor, Learn about alternative medicine in his honor, Advocate for accessible in his honor, Advocate for disability rights in his honor, Volunteer at a hospital in his honor, Give blood/plasma in his honor; Volunteer at a retirement home in his honor, Learn about anatomy/biology/nutrition in his honor, Learn about health conditions/rare disorders in his honor, Eat healthy for your body in his honor, Help fund surgeries if you can in his honor, Trip sit for someone in his honor, Listen to your body when it needs something in his honor , Sunbathe in his honor, Wear sunscreen in his honor, Start a garden in his honor, Make sun water in his honor, Music Go to a concert/show, Listen to music in his honor, Make a playlist for someone you love in his honor, dance in general in his honor, Sing in general in his honor, Support local bands in his honor, Explore new music in his honor, Daily tarot card/rune stones sessions in his honor, Make an oracle deck in his honor, Give divination readings in his honor, do Shadow work in his honor , do Colormancy in his honor, Make something in his honor, Draw in his honor, paint in his honor, craft in his honor, Color something for him, Make a zine in his honor, Go see a play in his honor, Get a tattoo in his honor, Throw darts in his honor, Use a slingshot in his honor, Go to a shooting range in his honor, follow and support artist/poet YouTubers and their social media, Check in with your neighbors, do Photography (painting with light), light a candle in his honor because he’s the of…light!

Crystal•Sunstone, Citrine, Carnelian, Clear Quartz, Pyrite, Selenite, Lapis Lazuli, amber, calcite (only the color honey/yellow), quartz (rutilated or clear), rose quartz.

Parentage• Zues and Leto

Siblings• his full sibling was his twin Artemis, His half siblings were Athena, Hermes, Dionysus, Aphrodite, Ares, Hephaestus and Persephone, Heracles, Ares, Perseus, Hebe, Aphrodite, Athena, Some Muses, Eileithyia.

Works well with• people who are respectful, and are honest, and not boastful.

Jewelry • friendship bracelets

Hates• saying that your better than him, (too boastful), being to stubborn to learn (he is the god of knowledge.), and anything contradicting his godlyness

Mortal or immortal • immortal.

Zodiac • Leo.

Curses• Sickness, and often seeing yourself lying, and in trouble.

Blessings• your healthy and protection and purification.

Vows/omans• he swears he will be Hermes best friend, and that he will never marry (he still has godpouses, pretty frequently, just as a boyfriend) because he swore he would never because he couldn't choose between all the Muses.

Morals• Morally grey.

Courting• he is unmarried.

Past lovers & crushes• Admetus (a crush), Daphne (rejected him and he fell so in love she had to run away and turn into a tree..), all the nine muses (couldn’t choose so decided to never unwed), Cyrene (a crush), Evadne (a lover who bore him a child.), Rhoeo (bore him a child and made him raise it..) Ourea (had a crush on Apollo and they hooked up on his exile and bore him a kid), Thero, Hyrie or Thyrie (said they were lovers but he made them suicidal so..idk..). Hecuba (bore the child who made Apollo kill Achilles.), Coronis (bore him Asclepius), Creusa (bore him a child and left him to die and then to be raised by a priestess of Apollo.), Hyacinthus (his most dear male lover.), Cyparissus (a dear friend but still a honorable mention.), Admetus (a crush), Branchus, Adonis (poly with apollon and Aphrodite), Helenus, Hippolytus of Sicyon,Hymenaios, god of marriage hymns, Iapis, Phorbas, minthe (who he turned into mint)

Personality• He has a quick temper, He’s very energetic, cheerful, wise, honest and kind, but sometimes he could be jealous (from what I've heard.)

Fact• He was the god of so many things that even the Ancient Greeks got confused, Apollo was temporarily stripped of his immortal power by Zeus – twice (maybe y’all might have a little more in common with being atleast human once!), he tried to over throw his father Zeus once! (He failed.)

Roots• Greek mythology, born at Delos in Cyclades archipelago.

Appearance in astral or gen• depicted as a handsome, beardless youth with long hair and wears a wreath and branch of laurel, bow and quiver of arrows, usually accompanied with a raven, and holding a lyre.

Children• Acraepheus, Aeneus, Agamedes, Agreus, Amphiaraus, Amphissus, Amphithemis, Anius, Apis, Apollonis, Arabius, Aristaeus, Asclepius, Borysthenis, Cephisso, Chariclo, Cinyras, Coronus, Cycnus, Delphus, Dius, Dorus, Dryops of Oeta, Eleuther, Epidaurus, Eriopis, Erymanthus, Eumolpus, Eurydice, Eurynome, Hilaeira, Hymen (god), Ialemus, Iamus, Idmon (Argonaut), Ion, Ismenus, Korybantes, Laodocus, Lapithes (hero), Linus (Argive), Linus, Linus of Thrace, Lycomedes, Lycorus, Melaneus of Oechalia, Melite, Miletus, Mopsus, Naxos, Oaxes, Oncius, Orpheus, Phemonoe, Philammon, Philander, Phoebe, Phylacides, Polypoetes, Scylla, Syrus, Tenerus, Tenes, Troilus, Trophonius, Zeuxippus of Sicyon.

Pet• the swans pulling his chariot called the “singers of Apollo” or just “birds of Apollo”

Status• Greek mythology god, in the big theoi, not a Demi god.

Prayers•

Prayer to Lord Apollon for Help with Divination

Hear me, Foreseeing Apollon, Son of Indomitable Zeus and Gentle Leto, Brother to Far-Shooting Artemis. He who speaks of truth, If I have ever revelled in your sunlight, accept this prayer, Apollon Leader of Fate, I ask you to be with me during this divination and to guide my cards with your knowledge, I ask for your favour with a token of my praise, I offer to you (offering)- @praise-to-the-theoi

To Lord Apollon when taking medication

Hear me, healing Apollon, Father to Soothing Asklepios. He who controls both plague and healing, If I have ever honoured you, please accept this prayer, Shining Apollon, Please allow me to be safe when taking this medication, to aid it in its effectiveness, and to reduce the likelihood of negative side effects. I ask for your favour with a token of my praise, and I take this medication in your honour. -https://www.tumblr.com/praise-to-the-theoi

Prayer to Artemis and Apollon

Praise today, O Lord Apollo and Lady Artemis, rulers upon the Sun and Moon. The Celestial Twins, on this date, join each other in the sky, shining upon us their divine light and presence. Praise the children of Great Zeus and Leto; Hail Lady Artemis, the oldest daughter, who helped her mother at birth. Godess of the hunt, divine virgin, patroness of girls, their childhood and innocence. Hail Apollon, youngest son, born by his sister's hand. God of the plages and sickness. Patron of the arts, music and poetry. May they raise their bows and guide us towards their light. - serotoninbetweenpages

Prayer with his epithets in it-

Let us hymn Paean the great god, Apollo; Immortal, gloriously formed, unshorn, soft-haired, Stern-hearted, king, delighting in arrows, giver of life, Joyous, laughing, slayer of giants, sweet-hearted, Son of Zeus, slayer of dragons, lover of the laurel, Sweet of speech, of ample might, far-shooter, giver of hope, Creator of animals, divine, Jove-minded, giver of zeal, Mild, sweet-spoken, sweet-hearted, gentle-handed, Slayer of beasts, blooming, charmer of the spirit, soft-speaking, Shooter of arrows, desirable, healer, charioteer, Weaver of the world, Clarian, strong-hearted, father of fruits, Son of Leto, pleasant, delighting in the lyre, resplendent, Lord of the mysteries, prophet, magnanimous, thousand-shaped, Lover of the bow-string, wise, stiller of grief, sober,Lover of community, common to all, taking thought for all, benefactor of all, Blessed, making blessed, Olympian, dweller on the hills, Gentle, all-seeing, sorrowless, giver of wealth, Saviour from trouble, rose-coloured, man-breaker, path-opener, Glittering, wise, father of light, saviour, Delighting in the dance, Titan, initiator, revered, Chanter of hymns, highest, stately, of the height, Phoebus, purifier, lover of garlands, cheerer of the spirit, Utterer of oracles, golden, golden-complexioned, golden-arrowed, Lover of the lyre, harper, hater of lies, giver of the soul, Swift-footed, swift-voiced, swift of vision, giver of seasons. Let us hymn Paean the great god, Apollo.

- Epigram from Book 9 of the Greek Anthology, translated by W.R. Paton (1916-18)

Links/websites/sources •

@praise-to-the-theoi

ofbloodandfaith

Reddit · r/Hellenism5 comments · 1 year agosimple offerings for apollo? : r/Hellenism

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo#Children https://www.thoughtco.com/roman-equivalents-of-greek-gods-4067799https://www.reddit.com/r/Hellenism/comments/d20s5v/would_amber_be_an_appropriate_incense_for_apollo/https://www.reddit.com/r/GreekMythology/comments/du0z4k/did_the_olympian_gods_have_particular_color/https://www.tumblr.com/eldritchhorror06https://www.tumblr.com/themodernwitchsguidehttps://web.pdx.edu/~scarmody/art342/exercise2/index.html#:~:text=Animals%20sacred%20to%20Apollo%20include,foxes%2C%20mice%2C%20and%20snakes.

let the light in and let your truth of loving Apollo shine aswell

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songmingisthighs · 3 months

Text

Lonely Breeze

group : ateez

pairing : poly!yungi × reader

genre : angst, hurt/comfort

wc : 3.1 k

tw : angst, poly relationship, heavy stuff maybe; relationship issues, psychological issues, mentions of blood (injury), mentions of anxiety, ngl I'm just rambling at this point so if this is not your thing, pls skip lol.

a/n : this is why i don't listen to anything produced by mingi. I'm textbook kubler-ross every single time and idk how to feel about it. and yea i wrote this in 2 hours

buy me coffee ?

It had been three days since you ran away.

Can it be counted as running away? You're a full-grown adult with intact mental faculties and 'running away' sounds rather juvenile.

Life had gotten too hard and you were overwhelmed. Despite having wonderful boyfriends like Yunho and Mingi, this time you truly didn't know what to do but you knew that you had to get out of there before you completely exploded.

To be honest, Yunho and Mingi were one of the reasons you had to run away.

It was nothing against them per se but you felt bad for having to always rely on them all the time.

The three of you met on the cusp of adulthood, at a dance academy workshop. The three of you didn't mean to join that joint workshop because each of you was from different area branches of the academy but you all just clicked. From then, you and they planned your lives together even down to which university you three will attend. But it wasn't until nearing the senior year that you three decided to pursue a romantic relationship. You still remembered it like it was yesterday. How you, Mingi, and Yunho join your other friends on a countryside trip to celebrate the end of the 6th semester only to find out that the cabin was at maxed capacity so you three had to rent a small, dusty place on your own. Little did you know, you, Yunho and Mingi had each planned separately to come clean about your feelings. You were the first to confess after having a particularly tiring clean-up session (just so you won't inhale the dust that had accumulated in the cabin), accidentally telling them how you could see the three of you in your 30s cleaning the apartment you will share together. You remembered the dread that washed down on you when Mingi asked what you meant. Like the reliable pillar he is, Yunho was the one who helped you calm yourself down and told you that he could see the same thing, how he felt the same way about you and Mingi. Then Mingi confessed his own feelings and from then on, you three were even more inseparable than you had ever been before.

While it surprised people that the three of you decided to commit to a relationship that was far from orthodox, no one was really fazed. Everyone who knew the three of you had at least assumed you three were sleeping together which was why no one approached either one of you romantically all through university.

Some called it fate, some called it dedication.

You believed in the former more than the latter.

But recently?

You feared that you had trapped them.

Maybe it was a quarter-life crisis but you suddenly felt nauseous at the thought of your life. It wasn't like things were falling apart. On the contrary, the pieces of your life were finally falling into place; you were starting to really shine at work, and you were finally able to start saving whilst resolving some of your financial issues. Your relationship with your boyfriends was even at its peak, there was more love than the three of you ever needed and you three were beyond happy.

Then one day, one day a week ago, things crashed down on you.

You didn't know what it was, you didn't know what caused it, but you suddenly couldn't breathe. You remembered holding onto the bathroom sink while your body trembled, tears streaming down your face like a busted faucet and you couldn't move. The cool bathroom suddenly felt suffocating and the sound of your boyfriends laughing just on the other side of the door felt deafening. It took you a long while to break free from that state and you only managed to do so because Mingi had knocked on the bathroom door asking for you to let him in because he needed to use the bathroom. That night, you found yourself unable to sleep and even finding their presence too much for you to handle even after switching position with Mingi so you could be at the edge. You had slipped away and cried yourself to sleep on the couch, sobbing silently until fatigue took over.

That whole week you were distant until three days ago when you came home from work to see a note on the table from Yunho who let you know that they were out for a bit to get something special for you.

One second you were pouring yourself a glass of water to calm your trembling hands and the next, you were in a train with a duffle bag heading to the countryside, cradling your hand that had a gash and fresh dried blood.

When you arrived at the dark and lonely cabin, you finally broke down, wailing into the emptiness as you hugged yourself in the middle of the room.

Neither of them was aware of what happened.

Or so you thought.

The first person who noticed how distant you became was Yunho. He had sensed that something was wrong since that day in the bathroom. He could never forget the look on your face as you stepped out. Your usually lively eyes were empty and you didn't even react when Mingi pressed a kiss on your forehead. At first, he thought that you might have had a bad day and that you were just not in the mood but as the days passed, you seemed more silent and distant. Yunho wanted to ask what was wrong but he didn't want to make it seem like he was prying so he tried to let you know that he was there for you in different ways; soft touches, words of affirmation, little presents in the form of your favourite drink or plans of going on a trip. He wanted you to have all the space you needed.

Mingi on the other hand immediately jumped into worrying about you. Suddenly he kept texting about your whereabouts and your feelings. He had even asked if he should pick you up early from work and even showed that he was already in front of your building. Mingi knew what it felt like to be all alone stuck in a headspace and it had taken him so long and finally relent, letting you and Yunho pull him out and believing you two that you were there for him. So he wanted to repay all that especially since you were the one who gently washed his tear-stained face and slowly fed him until he regained his own strength. He remembered the pit and he didn't like the idea of you being there.

So when they were met with an empty apartment the day you left, they went into panic mode. The sight of a couple droplets of blood near the broken glass and your work bag thrown carelessly on the couch was enough to send them into a frenzy and sadly, they even turned on each other.

Yunho wanted to calm himself and Mingi down first because neither of them even knew what happened and where you had gone to while Mingi, pointing that out, stated that they both needed to catch you before you could even go far. Then they fought over the fact that they were fighting when they should be looking for you and it ended with Mingi leaving the apartment when Yunho ran into your shared room, trying to charge his phone to see if you had contacted either of them.

Essentially, the three of you were alone at that moment in time. Nothing made sense and none of you had any ways of getting an answer.

You were alone in the cabin, crying your eyes out about... Nothing. You felt stupid for feeling bad over your life that was going rather well and you felt bad for leaving your boyfriends without an explanation. It was simple, you could've simply grabbed the phone and texted either one of them to let them know... Something. You could tell them that you needed time alone. But do you really? You could tell them that you were sorry. But were you really? You could tell them that you were overwhelmed and that they were not making your situation any better by being so supportive. But were they really? You felt like you were not worthy to even send them a text because who the fuck were you to be acting like that and then asking for understanding?

Mingi was running around aimlessly with worry sitting deep in the pit of his stomach. He had gone to several of your friends' places, friends you trusted who wouldn't blab about your disappearance. He hated being in a state of not knowing because he felt helpless. He hated being helpless. Mingi was not a helpless person so he didn't want to be associated with the feeling. First things first, he had to find you. But where could you be? Why had he never taken the time to ask you places you wanted to go to, thinking that you had gone alone because he was too busy with himself. Seeds of doubt planted by the negativity of the situation started sprouting its ugliness. Was your leaving his fault? Was he too self-involved to not have taken the time to dedicate his attention to you once in a while? Was he taking too much of Yunho and your attention? His head hurts.

Yunho, in defeat, slumped against the bed you three shared. Your pillar, your rock finally broke down and with each sob, his mind found it even harder to make sense of things. All the decision in his life was made on a strong foundation, Yunho was a sure man, and he didn't regret the choices he made and the path he took. But was he too sure of himself this time? Out of the three of you, Yunho was always the tie-breaker because he makes his decisions carefully and with logic. He never found any reason to resent that part of him until you left. Did he miss something? Were there signs that you had needed a different kind of treatment? Had he gotten too overconfident this time? Had his so-called level-headedness cost him something important?

Whatever it was you hoped could happen or appear by running away alone never came. Each hour you spent trying to make sense of things or finding a way to calm yourself only made it clear that you were all alone.

Dark thoughts started plaguing your brain, skewing your happy memories into something that was far from reality. The memories you had of banding together into a trio with Yunho and Mingi turned into fear that maybe you had inserted yourself into their friendship. After all, they found themselves together first before you bumped into Yunho and told him how you were alone, effectively guilt-tripping him. The thought of how they have always had your back turned into anxiety that maybe you had leaned on them too much. You relied on them more than you should and now you were a burden to them. The things you told them, should you have told them? Especially the dark ones, the ones that stemmed from your bad mental state. Were you manipulating them without realizing it? Were your promises of the future even really promises? How could you be sure that it wasn't you pressuring your expectations to them?

It had been three days. Were you still alone because they thought you were better off alone? That they too, needed time away from you? Maybe you never needed your own space, maybe it was your subconscious telling you that you needed to give them space from you.

Loud bangs broke the train of thought and the more you came back to reality, the more you recognized the voices.

"Mingi?" you inhaled sharply, seeing the face of one of your lovers on the window as he banged the wall.

Thinking that you were hallucinating, you turned your head away and stood up. There was no way he could be there.

More bangs were heard and when you turned around again, you saw both Mingi who was now with Yunho staring at you from the window.

"(y/n), open up!" Yunho called out.

Normally, you would register his voice as is but your brain, in its unstable state, thought that he was demanding you to let him in. Mingi too, though he was only standing there looking at you, sending knocks on the window as he wanted to hold you once again, your brain took that as him glaring at you and being in fury.

Anxiety shot up and your head shook violently. "N-no..." you whimpered, bottom lip trembling as you took a step back only to trip on a carpet and fall.

The sight of you on the floor caused Mingi and Yunho to abandon all reasons and logic and all they wanted to do was to help you. They started banging and trying to pry the door open, needing to get inside to be there for you but all it did was send you into a deeper spiral without them realizing. Your body curled into a ball while they were yelling for you to open the door. The more you heard them, the worse you felt and before you knew it, you were yelling for them to leave you be, leave you alone, you didn't deserve them.

It wasn't until you started yelling at how you should have never burdened yourself on them that they stopped banging on the door. Their eyes welled with tears hearing the things, untrue things, you hurled at yourself. It hurt them to hear you think so low of yourself like that. You were everything to them, you were something so precious and special and to think that you believe they would be better without you, it was like a serrated knife had been plunged into their hearts multiple times.

"That's not true (y/n), please..." Mingi rested his forehead on the door as his eyes closed slowly, letting tears wet his cheeks, "Please let me in, I... We... (y/n), please," he whimpered.

Looking around, Yunho remembered that the owner of the cabin had told him about a spare key a long time ago. Thinking that it was worth a shot, Yunho was glad to see that there was still a key hidden under the cushion of the porch lounger.

You were too busy bawling to realize that Yunho had opened the door successfully which was a good thing because had you realized, you would have done something stupid like run out into the field in the cold January breeze.

Mingi tried to rush inside only for Yunho to stop him, holding onto his arm as he watched you cry with a broken heart.

"Yunho, wha-"

Wordlessly, Yunho pulled Mingi down to sit in the doorway while maintaining his gaze on you.

Though confused, Mingi followed along, sitting down and looking between Yunho and you.

"We should go in there. She needs us," Mingi said, voice cracking as he shook Yunho slightly, trying to convince him to go inside. He knew he could definitely go inside himself, but for some reason, he felt like he shouldn't.

For once, Yunho didn't give any explanation and just shook his head one more time. Soon, however, his hand took one of Mingi's and they sat there with you with hands linked, waiting for you to... Well, they weren't sure what they were waiting for but they were sure they would understand soon.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You must have passed out from crying because you remembered feeling cold and alone but the moment you came to again, you realized that this time, you were... Warm.

Sitting up, you noticed that the skies outside were dark and when you turned your body around, you saw Yunho and Mingi attending to the fireplace. The cabin was dark save for the illumination provided by the warm fire.

It took a bit of time for your eyes to adjust but when your eyes really focused, you noticed that Mingi was holding onto your favourite blanket that you forgot to bring. How did they even got inside?

For a moment, you only watched them do their thing, comfortably sitting in silence as if enjoying conversation done by the soft crackles of the fireplace.

Mingi felt something on the back of his neck and when he turned his body slightly, he saw that you were staring at him with puffy eyes. His instinct told him to run to you and envelop you in a hug and tell you how worried he was and how much he regretted things that he thought he did. But his better judgement stopped him from making a move forward. Instead, he cracked a gentle smile and ducked his head down, carefully opening your folded blanket as a silent invitation.

Your body moved automatically towards him and before you knew it, you were suddenly sat in between Mingi and Yunho.

While Mingi draped you with your blanket, Yunho made final adjustments on the firewood before he sat down close to you and even moved so that you and he were shoulder-to-shoulder.

You were sure that they were going to ask what happened, what was wrong with you, why you ran away. But minutes passed and all there was was... Silence. You were sure that when you saw them again you'd be anxious because you had to explain yourself but all you felt was a sense of calm. It was rather ridiculous but you could feel the anxiety melting off of your body.

"I'm tired," finally you opened up even though your voice cracked due to how hoarse your throat felt. "I'm so tired," you exhaled as you closed your eyes, your bottom lip trembling once again.

This time, Yunho moved to sidle even closer to you so he could guide your head gently to rest on his chest. "You... Can you find it in your heart... To rest in mine?" Yunho spoke up finally, voice cracking as well. Mingi then moved closer until he was able to wrap his hands around your waist whilst leaning his head on Yunho's strong shoulder, effectively caging you securely between them. "You can rest in our hearts, love," he added, ducking to press a gentle kiss on your shoulder.

Nothing else needed to be said because nothing else should. The three of you had been through so much together in your youth that it felt like you were all alone. But, with the stars as your witness and the fire as your companion, you realized something that was always true. Even lonely, you were always together and your inadequacies made you whole. While pain exists and will always find its way back to remind you of your faults, it allows you to remember who and what you are, but most importantly, what you now have from that.

network :

@cultofdionysusnet @sandsofire @kflixnet @pirateeznet

taglist :

@kodzukein @phenomenalgirl9 @skzatzloveismonsterous @memorymonster @surveilenceysystem @dreamlesswonder86 @maddiebabyxoxo @imababywolf @do-you-actually-care @marievllr-abg @ilsedingsx @wasteitonserendipity @bbymatz @noonaishere @honeyhwaaa @ateezourstars @yoonjunshi @yoongiigolden @camillelafaye @charreddonuts @kpopnightingale @starryunho @atinct @mirror-juliet @hyuckilstan @jayb17 @kpoplover718 @haatohwa @x-bluee @erinaimeexx @blackb3ll @mingiholic @angelicyeo @vampcharxter @meowmeowminnie @marvelous-llama @kawennote09 @hongjoong-lovebot @stopeatread

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in-correct-trolls · 4 months

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Things overheard in Troll Village

creek, to branch: that’s the fourth time this week you’ve brought up cannibalising me. should i be worried?

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chenille: so, needless to say, satin peed on me…

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guy diamond: wow! this heineken has such a smooth finish!

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cooper: do you think i can fit an entire orange in my mouth?

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branch: if i hear cloud guy sing hamilton in the shower one more time, i’m joining him in the shower so i can drown him.

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clay: someone just gave me a free cake! should i be worried?

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val: how did they manage to get that in BOTH stalls?

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branch: how much caffeine is poisonous? asking for myself, i’m actually worried.

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poppy, faintly as though yelled from a distance: can you hand me my swiss rolls? my head spins if i sit up!

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hickory: well actually, marxism is— [anguished yelling from multiple trolls]

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john dory: why is clay sitting in a box in the hallway with his sweater romper over his head?

viva: stress.

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bruce: let bob ross caress your happy little struggles away.

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barb, about some other troll: he talks like he thinks the world is waiting with bated breath to hear what he thinks about fight club.

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floyd: [screaming in harmony with a vacuum]

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saraw4ters · 3 months

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#Hero #Hero Motorsports #Hero MotoCorp #Ross Branch #Etapa11 #Dakar 2024 #Rally Dakar

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crosscountryrally · 1 year

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Ross Branch gana la Etapa 8 del Dakar 2023 en motos, Skyler Howes llega al día de descanso como líder

El piloto de Botswana y Hero Motosports Ross Branch lideró la mayor parte de la especial de hoy partiendo desde la posición 17 en un día donde la navegación era clave y quienes abrieron ruta la sufrieron bastante. Otros que tuvieron un buen día partiendo desde más atrás fueron Mason Klein y Daniel Sanders.

Pese a terminar P19 y a 15 minutos de Branch, Skyler Howes pudo aferrarse al primer puesto de la clasificación general, aunque las diferencias se han apretado considerablemente. Hay ocho pilotos en menos de 10 minutos de Howes, seis de ellos en menos de 4 minutos. La ventaja de Howes es de apenas 1 minuto y 13 segundo sobre Kevin Benavides y Mason Klein. Si Howes mantiene todavía la punta de la general se debe principalmente a que ha hecho un gran trabajo abriendo etapas y ha acumulado mucha bonificación, hoy fueron 3 minutos y 16 segundos a una lista que supera los 10 minutos en todo el rally.

Fue un buen día para Pablo Quintanilla que terminó cuarto en un día que fue muy desafiante para varios punteros. El chileno es quinto en la clasificación general a amenazantes 3 minutos y 45 segundos de Howes.

Nacho Cornejo terminó en la P12 y llega al día de descanso en la novena posición de la general a 20 minutos y 32 segundos del primer puesto.

Pato Cabrera se mantiene P21 en Rally2 y Tomás de Gavardo ha subido a la P34 en la misma división. Giovanni Enrico se mantiene sexto en Quads.

Clasificación General - Etapa 8 de 14

Skyler Howes (Husqvarna) 30:33:16

Kevin Benavides (KTM) +1:13

Mason Klein (KTM) +1:13

Toby Price (KTM) +2:58

Pablo Quintanilla (Honda) +3:45

Adrien van Beveren (Honda) +3:49

Daniel Sanders (GasGas) +8:03

Joan Barreda (Honda) +8:21

Nacho Cornejo (Honda) +20:32

Matthias Walkner (KTM) +23:35

Imagen: Hero Motosports

#Ross Branch #Skyler Howes #Kevin Benavides #Mason Klein #Pablo Quintanilla #Nacho Cornejo #Jose Ignacio Cornejo #Dakar 2023 #Dakar #Dakar Rally #Rally Dakar

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prodigal-if · 1 year

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Prodigal is an up-and-coming Murder Mystery IF that depicts a tale of deceit, latent pain, and a hidden past that could either heal or completely destroy.

The Reaper— it’s a name that’s haunted you for a little over two decades now. One of the most infamous serial killers of the 20th Century, in New York City. Killing over 25 people, most believing the final tally is much more, and not getting caught until one fateful day. When you were the reason behind his arrest.

The Reaper— the boogeyman made flesh.

The Reaper— the man that made New York City hold its breath until his arrest.

The Reaper— your father.

You’ve tried getting past it, fighting through the darkness that always seems to follow you, and for the last few years you’ve been fairly successful; working for the FBI giving you just the distraction you needed. Being one of their top profilers, as you found it easy to get into the mind of a killer, you even started to believe that your past would stop haunting you.

Until you were fired for misconduct and you found yourself back in New York City, back where it all happened. Will you finally be able to find peace? Especially when you begin to work with the Major Crimes Unit of the NYPD?

Or was the boogeyman just waiting all this time to finally strike?

Features

Customizable MC: name, nickname, some hobbies, appearance, sexuality, and gender. Other things will probably crop up as the story continues too.

Will you fight your demons or succumb to them?

Reconnect with your family after being away for so long. How much has changed? Will you be able to uncover things that are amiss?

Solve cases with the Major Crimes Unit, and solve a much deeper mystery that seems to always be lurking within the back of your mind.

Romance 1 of 4 potential options. Will they help you heal?

Don’t forget about the boogeyman…

LINK — Prospective release Late March/Early April

Ross/Rose Garner

Between Detective Bishop and Detective Garner, the latter is much more open to working with you than the former. With an open smile, that's only slightly tinged by weariness, they're willing to give you a chance and see where that takes them. Offering an olive branch, a helping hand, whenever you could use one. Will you be able to offer them something else in return?

Appearance: Detective Garner stands at a solid 5'10" with sharp blue eyes. Slightly curly, raven black hair complements their olive complexion, mixed with a light brown hue. They have a lithe body type.

Daniel/Danielle Bishop

Detective Bishop isn't as open to you joining the Major Crimes Unit as a Consultant-- not because of any inherent dislike of you, though that may be there somewhere, but for the simple reason of not being as trusting as their partner and boss. Will you be able to crack through their defenses? To the person that's willing to quip an amused one-liner, or crack open a cold beer and hang out? Or will they forever remain a mystery to you?

Appearance: Detective Bishop stands at around 6'2" with closed-off gray eyes. Brown hair, with bits of golden highlights strewn throughout, brings out the fair complexion of their skin. They have an athletic body from years as an athlete beforehand.

Ethan/Emily Yang

The mortician that helps the Major Crimes Unit with every case that comes their way. With an almost innocent quality about them, despite being surrounded by death on a daily basis, they couldn't help but be fascinated by you and your knowledge. Will you only ever share your scientific thoughts with them, and a joke or two, or will something else evolve as you continue to grow ever closer?

Appearance: Doctor Yang stands at a whopping height of 5'7" with intelligently kind brown eyes. Ebony black hairs brings out the porcelain hue of their skin. Along with the delicately slender quality of their body, Doctor Yang is surely a sight to behold.

Caleb/Carina Sinclair

Your old partner in the FBI-- a person that took their job seriously, but you never believed that they'd leave you behind too. Their walls of ice, of stoicism and vast professionalism, had always fallen away for you and only you. They never looked at you like you were something broken because of your past. Will you ever find out the reason they left you behind? Or is it a case, a mystery, you're just never meant to solve?

Appearance: Special Agent Sinclair stands at a striking 6'5" with piercing green eyes-- the likes you've never seen before. Wavy, blonde hair complements the lightly tanned quality of their skin. Their muscular build, from hours spent training, barely being hidden by the standard issued suit for a Federal Agent.

Special: Can choose to have had a romantic entanglement with them in the past (something like FWBs).

#prodigal #upcoming if #choice of games #hosted games #no demo #interactive fiction #interactive novel

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andhumanslovedstories · 8 months

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Also the sound editing on Columbo is insane. Why can you so often hear his lips smack. And the constantly soft rustle of his raincoat? It’s giving Bob Ross micing up his canvas so that the sounds of painting were as prominent as his voice and accidentally inventing a whole branch of ASMR. It’s also giving sound engineer who hates that fuckin raincoat.

#Columbo #if you don’t hear the lip smacking you’ll never understand

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blueywrites · 1 year

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turtle dove and the crow, interlude 1930

A 1940s Farm AU, featuring bsf!neighbor!eddie x fem!reader

story tags: 18+ (minors dni). smut; true love; unexpected pregnancy; angst, angst, angst; parental issues; corporal punishment; scheming, plotting, and betrayal; hurt/comfort; period-typical stigma regarding unwed pregnancy; angst with a happy ending.

Set in 1930 - ten years before the events of Turtle Dove and the Crow - this interlude is the first of two glimpses back to their humble beginnings.

INTERLUDE 1930: MUSIC BOX (5.7k)

There’s a music box in the bedroom

It’s playing songs from 1922

And if you listen for long enough

You’ll fall asleep and might wake up

Walking in a wonderland

Music Box — Leith Ross

Before he was your crow, and you his turtle dove, Edward Munson was the strange new boy next door.

The morning he arrives is colored the clear blue of late May. It’s one of those first few days after school has let out for the year, and you’re stuck half in a daze, acclimating to a sense of freedom that has not yet seeped entirely in. That irreality keeps you inside for now, and thus, you’re perched in the formal sitting room, occupying one of the stiffer chairs chosen for its proximity to the window offering a view of Mr. Wayne’s front porch. Your eyes are fixed not to its neat row of balustrades standing proudly from the white-painted decking, or even the gnarled branches of the forsythia where some yellow petals still cling stubbornly despite the lateness of the season. Instead, you’re looking at the lattice that protects the porch’s underside, at the place where it meets the corner of the house’s red clapboard. The wood there is broken at one criss-cross, leaving a small gap.

From there, a rabbit is slowly emerging. Breath catches in your throat as it shimmies its small russet body from beneath the broken lattice into the open air. Your eyes widen; tiny fingers find the window pane, leaving tiny, heedless smudge marks on the glass. Raptly, you watch its nose wriggle, head dipping to the grass and nudging around before coming up again. It ventures forward with staccato little hops before halting with its head perked high.

You hear what has alerted it a second later: a muffled rumble begins to permeate the glass between you and the rabbit. The sound grows gradually louder, and your eyes dart from the red house to the yard and then to the dirt road beyond, where the source is now visible. It begins as a vague blue shape, sharpening slowly but steadily until it resolves itself, finally, into a familiar truck. The truck putt-putt-putts gradually up the dirt road before turning with a crunch of thick dirt and gravel into the unpaved drive of your neighbor.

The rabbit stretches its neck and freezes warily for a long, tense moment, legs bunched and ready to flee. Interestingly, though, it never does. Even when a metallic creak draws your attention from the rabbit back to the parked truck, it eases back into the grass, seemingly unbothered now.

This is when you see him for the first time.

It's a silent affair, his arrival, but the new boy next door rolls in with all the beautiful violence of a summer storm. Face wedged between your Mama’s gauze curtains, you watch the passenger door of the truck pop open to allow the chaos inside to tumble out in a whirl of thrashing limbs. And those limbs become a boy. Pale and jagged, thin and angular, he stalks ahead with clenched fists and a strange backward tilt to his upper body— a posture which implies that, while his feet may carry him toward the front door, the rest of him wants nothing more than to rebel. His face, what little you can see of it from this distance, is contorted into a fierce scowl. It cuts pale beneath a wild mop of dark cloudlike curls, slashed by red lips snarled open as if in the middle of a tantrum.

Yet you cannot hear him. Mr. Wayne catches up to him quickly despite the stiffness of his hips; he dwarfs the smaller boy’s roiling shadow, containing his tempestuousness with a hand on his shoulder and guiding him to mount the porch steps before him. You hear the creak of the wood under their feet, and you hear the crack of the screen door as it bounces off red clapboard, and you hear the vague rasp of your older neighbor’s voice before the gentle click of the handle closes the red house up again behind them. But the boy does not make a sound.

Strange.

In your eight-year-old mind, strangeness does not beget caution; it beckons curiosity.

For that reason, Mama doesn’t have to drag you reluctantly with her to deliver a peach pie welcome, though she still plies you with one of her little decorum lessons nonetheless. “It’s the polite thing to do. And never go empty-handed,” she informs you as you slip your hand into the crook of her elbow without resistance, shuffling alongside her across the grass. Together, you mount those same steps you’d watched a summer storm thunder up yesterday; the recollection causes wonderings about the strange boy to whip through your mind like wind touseling your hair. You end up too sluggish for Mama’s taste, and she gestures impatiently for you to knock on the door for her since her hands are occupied. You rush to comply, rapping quickly but for a little too long, so that she has to shoot you a sharp look to get you to stop.

Your curiosity mixes with both wariness and excitement as you hear movement from within the house, and you find it bubbling over as the sounds come imminently closer. Anticipation thrums as the bolt clicks and the knob turns, but when the door finally opens, Mr. Wayne stands there alone.

Your neighbor, Mr. Wayne, has always seemed a calm, steadfast presence to you. It’s a combination of his homely, dirt-dusted clothes, his tanned forearms and weathered knuckles, his thinning hair that leaches color too fast for his age, and his downturned mouth that feels comfortingly familiar but is also a shade less severe than your papa’s. You aren’t unhappy to see him now, but your insides sag as your expectations are thwarted.

Above your head, you watch the adults exchange pleasantries, but the specifics of their conversation are lost on you. You’re consumed by that sagging disappointment; you’d been so sure you’d see your new neighbor standing beside Wayne like you stand with Mama, or perhaps half-hiding behind his legs, had he a shyer disposition. You could forgive that easily. But only a glance is needed to tell you that he’s nowhere in the vicinity of the front door. Perhaps, you suppose, he’s concealed behind a nearby wall to listen without being seen. Or maybe he is loitering at the bend in the staircase, too hesitant to come closer. It’s possible; you begin to hope it is so, and your hope emboldens you.

The pie plate has passed from your mother’s hands into Mr. Wayne’s, but you don’t see that because you’ve begun inching your nose past the threshold of the doorway, craning your neck around Mr. Wayne’s sturdy legs as you search for a peek of that tumultuous boy. You don’t get far before Mama is tugging you back with a sharp yank of your collar, and you stifle a surprised yelp as you yield to her quickly. She clears her throat— a clear chastisement— and as your face creases with remorse, Mr. Wayne huffs with amusement.

“No harm,” he rasps, and your mother’s squeezing fingers drop from your neck upon seeing the easiness in his crinkled blue eyes. “Why don’t you both join me for a slice o’this pie? Looks might fine.”

You brighten visibly, which makes Mr. Wayne chuckle again; when your wide eyes meet your Mama’s, the surge of your excitement is clear, and she is left with no choice but to accept the invitation. Her tiny wry sigh, fond and exasperated, is likely borne of the false assumption that you are excited by the prospect of dessert. That is, in fact, not what has you excited at all.

Your head whips this way and that in search of that elusive boy. You crane and twist, peeking around corners as best as you are able without slowing down as Mr. Wayne guides you toward the dining room. But your seeking yields no results. You plop at the table without having claimed your prize, feet swinging in impatience as a slice of pie is placed in front of you. The large fork is clumsy in your fist, but you manage to eat your desserts with dainty bites that Mama would approve of as she continues to exchange more pleasantries with your neighbor. It doesn’t take long for them to begin discussing the new arrival, and your eyes dart between them intently as you grasp for explanations— who the strange boy is, where he came from, why he wasn’t at the door to greet you, anything to sate the curiosity that has been growing since your first glimpse of the storm.

It quickly becomes clear that there is little for you to glean listening in on this conversation. You grow disinterested with their murmuring, their painstaking way of speaking as if each word must be turned over like fruit to appraise, and each each possible selection must be examined slowly before being settled on. Your disappointment returns with a tinge of frustration as the discussion continues on nonsensically, growing less clear with each successive comment.

“I’d give Joyce and Lonnie a ring,” your Mama suggest to Wayne, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug with a tiny chip along its rim. “Their older boy is goin’ through a spurt, outgrowin’ his clothes quicker than they can keep up with.”

You crinkle up your nose. What does that matter? You can’t understand them, and you give up trying soon enough.

As they continue talking, Mama and Mr. Wayne cast you occasional glances as if they’re assessing whether you will react. But you’re preoccupied now with sweet peach filling and flaky crust, which coats your lips until you rub it off with the back of your arm. Once you’ve consumed the entire slice and licked up all the crumbs, you manage to sit quietly for a minute or so before your curiosity, without that distraction, grows too insistent to ignore. In typical fashion, you’ve just barely conceived of a question before it’s already being voiced.

“Is your son gonna come eat pie with us?” you ask baldly.

Mama stiffens beside you, but Wayne remains unruffled. “He’s my nephew,” he corrects you gently. “And I don’t reckon he will.”

The next question— “Why not?”— is begging to burst from your mouth. But one quick look at your Mama’s face tells you you’d be in for it if you give in to that impulse. Mr. Wayne must read the discomfort in your pouted lips, so he offers you a morsel to tide you over.

“He’s not up for visitors just now,” he explains, and his blue eyes leave you to fix on your Mama’s in a weighty way. “M’tryin’ to get him settled in here first, make sure he’s comfortable. Then y’can meet ‘im, if he’s willing.”

There’s a silent conversation then that passes between their gazes. There is a shade of fear and hesitation in the blue, a hint of vulnerability burdening the short silence following that vague explanation. It’s met with empathy across the table, with tinges of experience and reassurance offered without reluctance.

“You will, Wayne.” Your Mama sounds decisive, and your eyes follow the movement of her hand as she reaches across the table and pats him briskly on the hand. “The boy’ll be fine.”

You are ignorant to the significance of these things. All you know is that you’ve been denied that which you want, and you will need to wait to get it. You manage to contain your frustration until you reach the sanctuary of your bedroom; only then do you let your limbs flail against the comforter and pillows, beating out your impatience like rain pattering a roof.

On the third day after the boy’s arrival, you awaken the way you fell asleep: to the melody of a song. But it’s not the soft plinking of the music box your Mama always winds to lull you to sleep at night. Instead, it’s some twangy, uneven notes, starting and stopping in awkward cadence. As daylight streams in warm stripes across your comforter, they filter through wood and glass to rouse you from your slumber.

It’s the first evidence you have, besides Mr. Wayne’s word during your visit, that your new neighbor is actually still residing in the house across the way and that he was not, in fact, a walking daydream conceived by your own boredom. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since he’d tumbled from the truck; you’ve been spending many hours outside now in the midday, and you know beyond a shadow of doubt that he has not ventured into his front yard, and likely not into his backyard either. There has not been even a ruffle of a curtain, or a silhouette in a lit window, or a slivered door opening through which he might peer out to provide evidence of his existence.

But now, you can hear him. You hear him in this indirect way, in the fumbling of his fingers on some instrument, a sound that has you rising early despite the lazy minutes you could steal before Mama expects you to start on your morning chores.

It’s almost worse now that you can hear his invisible presence because it makes the silence of his arrival feel even more frustrating. And the more elusive he is, the more you want to see him. You find yourself looking toward the fence that separates your properties as if compelled; you walk slowly on your way to the goat pen, eyes tracking the gaps between the posts, desperate for a glimpse of dark curls and pale angles. This endeavor has yielded nothing but the vague unease of unfulfilled wanting.

Your curiosity can never settle. It haunts you, sustained by the knowledge that as you close your eyes at night, drifting off to the sound of that dainty music box, you will awaken to a twirling of staccato notes too intangible to grasp.

It isn’t until May has eased into the sticky warmth of June that you properly meet your new neighbor. As you’re cutting through your sitting room, slinking toward the kitchen in search of a covert midday snack, you catch a glimpse of him through the flimsy gauze of that same window which afforded you a view of his arrival. The sight is so unexpected that it nearly gives you a fright, and your heart thuds wildly until you realize what that vague shape must be. You stare until your eyes blink clear and reveal a boy hunched in the front yard across the way, pale and topped by a wild mop of wayward dark. That swooping of fear quickly gives way to familiar curiosity, and curiosity then to eagerness. Soon enough, the slight rumbling of your stomach is forgotten entirely as you find yourself turning sharply on your heel and redirecting toward the front door.

The grass is soft as it creases under your small bare feet, and you cross the yard with your eyes fixed on your prize, who crouches in front of the leafy forsythia lining his front porch. He doesn’t seem to notice you, occupied as he is in his task, and you seize the chance to drink in every detail you can as you approach. The boy wears gray pants, which have been gathered at the hems into thick, sloppy rolls but still drag across the grass like he doesn’t have any feet. He wears a rumpled white shirt, slightly yellowed from age and wear. His curls dust the nape of a gaping collar, which sags even farther open as he leans forward to poke around in the bushes. From this angle you cannot see his face properly, only the slope of a soft nose and the suggestion of dark lashes above it.

Your appraisal ends when you grow too close to continue. You stop a short distance away, looking down at the crown of his head as you watch him push aside branches. This yields a new observation, which is that his hands appear too big for his thin wrists— overlarge, they twist and grasp, long bony fingers moving restlessly as if searching for something in the greenery.

Absent any prior consideration and with the baldness only a child can possess, you announce your presence with a loud question. “What’re you doin'?”

The boy’s short curls flop against his ears as he looks up sharply in your direction, and your directness is rewarded with a view of his face. Though he doesn’t appear to be startled, there is something close to that in his brown eyes— something shifty and skitterish. Under the left is a healing bruise a shade lighter than the streak of dirt on his cheek, and his red mouth is a little too wide for his face, moreso when he opens it to answer you.

“Lookin’ for bugs,” he replies, and his voice rasps like Wayne’s but isn’t as deep, nor as pleasant.

“Why?”

He squints that bruised eye and matches your baldness. “‘Cause I’m makin’ ‘em a home, and I wanna see who’s gonna be movin’ in before I put together the furnishings.”

“Oh.”

As your reply falls flatly into the space between you, the boy eyes you warily for a moment longer before returning to his quest. If he moves a little more brusquely than before, it either escapes your notice or you pay it no mind, and after an extended beat of silence, your next question comes out— again— bald and loud. “So where’s the house?”

The next look he shoots you is less sharp, though somehow also more impatient, with the way his red mouth is set in a long, flat line. “Hmm?”

It’s not so much a hummed question, more a vague grunt, but you interpret it correctly. You repeat yourself with more emphasis. “Where’s the bug house? I wanna see it,” you declare.

The boy’s face scrunches up in a scowl then, and he makes no attempt to sweeten his reply.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” he snaps, and you’re dismissed with a shake of those messy curls.

You fall back on a hip, crossing your arms as he pushes aside forsythia branches with increased aggression. You huff impatiently. “Well, how’s I gonna help you if I don’t know what size bugs to find? I dunno ‘bout where you come from, but there’s lots of bugs here.” Dramatically, you grab onto your fingers one at a time as you count, drawing out the words as you recall them. “We got… worms,” you snatch up your index, “rolly-pollies,” you switch to your middle, “ants…”

You pause there, twisting your ring finger in your opposite fist as you cast your eyes upward, trying to think of another bug to illustrate your point. The boy’s rolled trouser hems drag against the grass as he shifts restlessly in his crouch, but your next example never comes. Instead, you pull your finger out of your grip, crossing your arms and staring down at him with an air of triumph you really aren’t entitled to. “See? Loads of bugs,” you finish almost smugly.

The boy twists his lips and narrows his eyes at you. He drags those eyes from your bare toes to the top of your head in a slow, appraising path. It feels distinctly like you’re one of the bugs you’d mentioned, and he’s trying to puzzle out whether or not you’ll sting him.

You want to ruffle up your feathers and squawk your protest, but this brief conversation has not satisfied that yawning pit of curiosity inside you. Instead, you just plant your hands on your hips like your Mama does when Papa’s not listening fast enough. He stares up at you, and you look right back, staring down at your new neighbor’s guarded face.

This you manage for a fair while. But, inevitably, you cannot contain yourself for too long. Soon enough, your next question of the day sees fit to burst and pop from you like the first bubble in a pot set to boil.

“Well then?”

Your voice is loud; your sass is too potent to ignore. When his scowl returns in earnest, you clamp your lips shut too little too late. Mama always did say you need to be more patient, after all, and now you’ll just be left to mourn the permanent disappointment you’ll feel when he barks back. He’ll send you away unkindly, and you’ll have to retreat with your tail between your legs—

The boy next door straightens to his full height, and it’s only then that you realize just how much bigger he is than you. He is still lanky and angular, with ill-fitting clothes that don’t disguise his thinness, but the sudden shift from looking down into those guarded umber eyes to looking up, up, up ‘til your neck cranes is enough to make a teensy twinge of foreboding tighten in your chest.

This boy, you realize, is under no obligation to tolerate your sass. He isn’t your kin, and though he is Wayne’s, that doesn’t automatically speak to his nature.

Your composure falters for the first time as he frowns harshly down at you, and you begin to shrink. You shink like you do when Mama’s caught you doing something wrong and you know her admonishment will be swiftly followed by Papa’s until you’re left feeling hollow and thoroughly castigated. All of you presses in— your shoulders, your elbows, your knees, your brows where they pucker in the middle of your forehead. It’s the perfect opportunity for this strange boy to seize hold of the cracks within you and shatter you to pieces.

But at the sight of your breaking, those umber eyes do not harden further as you expect. Instead, the stormcloud clears; where you shrink and tighten, he gentles, and the furrows of his face ease into smoothness. Silently, he jerks his head to the side in a clear indication for you to follow.

You do.

It feels like grace when he bids you to follow him, and you resolve not to waste it. ‘Y’could use an attitude adjustment,’ you think to yourself, and so you let your sass leech through the soles of your feet as you follow the boy around to the side of his house opposite yours. By the time he stops in front of a small mound of rubbish piled near the concrete foundation, your manners have returned. You regard it with a carefully neutral expression in case he happens to look at you as he explains its purpose.

“M’gonna build the walls out of bark I stripped from that big oak,” he tells you. “And the roof’ll be leaves, so they can eat their way out if they’re clever enough.”

You appraise the rubbish heap, which, you quickly realize, is not rubbish at all, but is, instead, a carefully gathered pile of supplies meant for building a bug house. A hollow acorn cap catches your eye. “Could use that for a trough in case they get thirsty,” you suggest. You turn wide eyes to him, craning your neck back to look into his face and holding there until he meets your eye. You’re hoping he can tell from the bright tone of your voice and the earnestness of your expression that you’ve left your rudeness behind in the grass.

He appears, thankfully, quick to forgive and move on. The boy nods a little too hard in his haste to agree with you, and when his unruly curls flop in front of one dark eye, he blows them out of the way with an impatient puff. “Was thinkin’ that very same thing,” he replies, and there’s even a touch of warmth in his voice.

With that hint of warmth, the foreboding within you finally wisps away as if it had never been. In its absence, the full force of your self returns.

You crouch eagerly to examine the pile more closely, heedless of the way your pink skirt drags over the dirt as you carefully spread out each supply he’s gathered. He wavers nearby hesitantly before joining you near the ground, though he keeps his hands hanging between his knees, seemingly content to let you organize things yourself without interference.

“Looks like it’ll be big enough for a whole lot o’bugs,” you say, and your voice is eager, swollen with your obvious intent to be generous. “Which kind d’you like the most? We can start with those.”

Thus begins the hunt for your neighbor’s bug house residents, a venture that occupies half an hour of your young lives and concludes as a resounding failure. You search first all along the forsythia beds and the edges of the porch. When this yields nothing, you move on to the taller grass at the edges of the yard near the treeline, and then even venture into your own yard. But all you and your neighbor manage to find is the husk of an old worm stuck to the lowest step of his porch and some elusive beetles too quick for even him to catch. Frustration builds within you both over the course of that half-hour, a shared irritation at the difficulty of what should, by all accounts, be a fairly simple endeavor.

“Y’always get ants all over when y’dont want them,” you grouse, flopping yourself down onto the bottom porch step and planting your elbows on your knees and your chin in your hands. You quickly wriggle your hips away from that dried worm as he comes to stand in front of you.

“I know!” he exclaims, throwing his hands wide and letting them slap against his thighs. You sigh heavily together, a near simultaneous sound of defeat, and for a moment you listen to the distant cooing of a mourning dove, allowing yourself to wallow in disappointment.

“Y’know…” you say suddenly, looking up at him from the cradle of your palms, “there’s a bunny livin’ under your porch. Maybe it ate all the bugs ‘round your house.”

The boy’s soft nose wrinkles with a frown, but it’s not critical like before. “Do bunnies eat bugs?”

You stare at him and shrug, a sharp tug and fall of narrow shoulders. After a moment, the boy shrugs back as if in acquiescence. “Well,” he offers, “we could just make a house for the bunny then. In case it wants a ‘change of scenery.’” The phrase trips inelegantly off his tongue like it’s something foreign, something he’d heard once and is now repeating.

You, however, pay that no mind, because a blooming of color fills you at his suggestion. It’s blooming so big and bright and fills you so insistently that the tumultuous boy startles visibly when you leap from the step and scrabble off without a word of explanation.

Some swift minutes later, you’re returning at a trot, your hands laden with a new companion who swings at your side with flopping brown ears and a billowing red cloak. The corner of his eye is caught by your approach; he straightens up whip-sharp and shields his face with an overlarge palm to watch the remainder of your journey back to him, dropping his hand only once you skid to a stop one pace away. Eagerly, you set your bunny doll carefully atop one of the flat rocks lining the garden bed, nudging her arms and legs so she’ll sit there primly without assistance.

Breathless still from the quick run to your house but smiling nonetheless, you explain as if he’d asked, “If we’re buildin’ a rabbit house, Mopsy’s gotta watch! She’s my best friend.”

“Mopsy?” the boy asks curiously, “like from Peter Rabbit?”

Again, you bloom; your eyes light from within as you turn to him. “Yes, that’s exactly it! Oh, Peter Rabbit was my favorite book Ms. Willard read w’me this year!” You blink at him, eyes big and wide and so earnest. “Did you read it too?”

His head tilts just slightly, and the frizzy curls shift across his forehead. “How old r’you?” he asks in lieu of answering your question.

“M’eight,” you reply, still earnest if not a bit confused at the question. “Why? How old r’you?”

“Eight,” he answers, “same’s you.” He scratches at the corner of his wide mouth with a dirty fingernail, eyeing you as if he wants to say more but is holding back. You don’t know it, but it’s because your neighbor is trying to reconcile how you’ve just told him that you read this book with your teacher just this year, but it’s been quite some time since he had need of reading together with a teacher, and even longer than that since he last read Peter Rabbit— something he very much considers a ‘baby book’ now.

You don’t know that. But what you do notice is that he seems to be appraising you again, though not in the same way he had when he checked you for a stinger earlier. This appraisal is gentler and over much more quickly; at its conclusion, he changes the subject yet again. “If we’re building the rabbit a house,” he tells you, “we’ll need sticks f’r the walls. Bark’s not gonna be good enough.”

It’s an adequate distraction, and soon enough, you’ve forgotten the dangling conversation about Peter Rabbit as you and your neighbor collect sticks and branches, gather more leaves, and tear long grass from its roots to lay it down for cushioning in the bottom of your construction project.

The process is not entirely smooth, as it never is between two people who are still learning to work with one another, but you and your new neighbor share a common desire which helps to ease it. Despite starting your acquaintance firmly enclosed within your own tough shells, since then, common ground has been discovered. As such, both you and this strange boy are reluctant to trample the new seed of friendship freshly planted between you. As you work alongside one another, you tend that seed with the best of yourselves: you resist the urge to insist on your own way, and he resists the urge to assume the worst in you.

You are, as Ms. Willard would put it, acting on your very best behavior.

Mama would be proud.

By the time the sun has reached its highest point in the sky, your makeshift rabbit house has three walls and a soft bed of grass at its center. The leaf roof he’d intended to make was more difficult than anticipated, so you used them instead to adorn the ground and create a path from one side of the red house to the other, with the intention of leading the bunny to the new sanctuary you’ve created. How likely it is to take you up on the offer remains to be seen, but you are pleased nonetheless with the fruits of your labor. The gleam in the boy’s eyes seems to indicate that he’s pleased, too, and you watch him begin a meandering circle to admire your hard work from all angles.

He’s pleased up until the point that tragedy strikes.

On the back end of the circle he’s making around your shared creation, an accidental knock of his calf sends Mopsy tipping slowly backward. He feels the impact and spins clumsily, but his scrabbling fingers are too late to prevent her from falling off the flat rock into the garden bed

Mopsy only lays there in the dirt for maybe a second before the boy snatches her up and cradles her to his chest in a crushing hug, holding her close and then yanking her back out to look her over. Yet the damage has been done: dirt is smudged into her red felt cloak, and it also marrs the pale cream of her long ears and the entire back of her head.

The boy tries to clear the stains away with hasty swipes of his hands. But his fingers are dirty, so all he manages to do is streak her with more brown filth. The more he tries— the more frantic he becomes, desperate to correct his mistake— the worse she gets. Helplessly, he turns to you, and you take in the crinkle of his brow, the pinch of his wide red mouth, the panicked look in his eyes as he waits for your reaction.

It’s not unreasonable for him to assume you will be angry. You had, after all, told him that Mopsy is your best friend, and now she’s been soiled by his hand. And he has, after all, already caught a glimpse of the impatience, the stubbornness, the hotness of temper that lives inside you. But what he doesn’t know is that life has already taught you that accidents happen. You remember all the times Ms. Willard has soothed hot tears, or helped you and your classmates clean up spills. And despite— or, perhaps, because of— the ire you face when your accidents make Mama and Papa so angry with you, you accept the earnest apology in his expression without any further fuss.

“Oh, that’s all right,” you tell him, and there isn’t a hint of sourness in it. When you take Mopsy from his loose fingers and look down at the new stains on her fur and clothing, your expression doesn’t even flicker. “S’just an accident. Accidents happen, y’know,” you add when the worry in his dark eyes doesn’t ease.

And then, just to make sure he really, truly understands, you smile at him. Big and wide and uninhibited, you smile.

Though you’re missing one front tooth and the effect is borderline manic, it is so poignantly obvious that the reassurance your smile offers is an instant balm. The worry clears; the boy smiles back, crinkly-eyed and wide. It warms you like a ray of sunshine has overtaken his whole face, like dark clouds have broken to reveal the wild beauty left in the sky after a summer storm has passed.

In the end, that's all it took for inevitability to take hold: a single bright smile echoed on two faces.

You don’t know the name of the strange new boy next door, but it little matters. Because when two like souls finally find their rest on a common wire, fluttering their wings as they descend to perch together and rest in the comfort of sweet company, what one calls another becomes nothing more than an afterthought.

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