I Love When A Character Is A Ghost But In A Tragic Way Instead Of A Scary Way. I Love When A Character

i love when a character is a ghost but in a tragic way instead of a scary way. i love when a character has been dead from the beginning but is still holding on to stay in the narrative. i love when a character could choose to resent the living but ends up loving them instead. i love when a character drives the story but isn’t quite there enough to be at the center of it. i love when the ghosts are the protectors instead of the ones causing the harm. i love when a character is at the heart of the story because depending on where you began it, no matter how you told it, the story is about the ghost who struggled to keep their humanity

❛ personal is professional is personal when it comes to you , hermie wormie , ❜ she replies with a wink .

❛ i have a vested interest in a certain ridiculously costumed group completes their next objective flawlessly . i have use for one of them ; he's about to pull out , and then his daughter can take his place . i've been working with her , she's great , and gives good offerings , but if this goes south , he won't leave , and i won't get what i'm after , you know ? good . ❜

she adjusts in her seat so she's now facing him , head tilted , blonde hair over her shoulder and golden curb stomping boots giving her a bit of bite to the generally soft outfit . ❛ i'd love to help them , but i need alone time to do that . and my lovely assigned handler is going to keep me from doing that . where you come in is to keep her sufficiently distracted . i can't do it because that mixes things too much . so , what do you say ? i personally help your little crew , and you keep her busy so i can do so . you get your cut , i get my plant , everyone wins !! ❜

@faunisms asked: she's perched at his kitchen island , sipping her cappuccino made at his coffee bar . she's relaxed , one leg crossed over the other and a strawberry on a toothpick held between her thumb and forefinger as she hands it off to shelley (who is standing on said island) for her consumption . there's a blur of movement and she doesn't bother hiding a smile as one of her favorite young ones backtracks .

❛ surprise !! you need more grounds by the way . y' busy ? no ? great , i have a favor to ask . come come , sit . ❜ she pats the other barstool , inviting hermes to sit in his own kitchen . [ty to herm, modern full gods!]

unprompted ask | Always Accepting

Hermes had been looking forward to a homemade coffee for quite a while. Despite the many good coffee shops, nothing could beat his carefully curated set up at home. After a quick whizz around his house to see if his wife was home and wanted coffee (she wasn't and therefore didn't), he came to the kitchen and saw for himself the coffee dispenser pretty low. He frowns then turns to hear the goddess's voice. Immediately he shakes his head with a soft smile and still makes his espresso puck as he glances over at her.

"Oh you're spoiling my Shelley. She knows her mommy would never let her up there. And a strawberry?" He states pleased that Shelley was enjoying herself and preparing his coffee, turning to lean against the counter and watch her. And watch Shelley slowly consume her treat, standing on the forbidden island as if it was her throne. Tyche really was pulling out stops to convince him.

"I'll stay here until my coffee's done, but a favour? What kind? Personal?" He couldn't help the way his smile widened at that. Her partnership was rarely juicy gossip but hell he could try.

He put the puck into his eccentric espresso machine and got out one of those tiny mugs for the pure coffee and set everything up to brew.

"All right, spill it."

As she spoke her explanation, he would finish his coffee prep and wander over to her offered seat. If it was Tyche, then the reward for the favour may actually be worth the task. Even without negotiation. Maybe.

hey sorry i can't come out tonight i have a thing

he holds her close , concerned and alarmed , and she lets him , trusting and knowing he would not hurt her . he makes his plea , and she nods , just wanting to grant him peace .

❛ i swear on my river i will stay , ❜ she murmurs . ❛ for as long as it takes for the storm to pass . you will not lose me , my love . look at me , look . ❜

she guides him to look at her and see how she is now , not how he fears she will become .

❛ i'm here . you're here . we're safe . be here , my love . be present with me . ❜ she's not well versed in these particular powers of his , but she needs him to know she isn't leaving , or trying to deceive him .

By now he is trembling, fingers pulling out his own hair with how tight his fists grip, but then she touches him and is beside him and he looks up and just tries so hard to slow his breaths from their hyperventilating state, feeling her touch on his skin. His hands leave his hair to clutch at her arms, keeping her close as he just sobs.

She says it's alright and he tries to shake his head.

"It's not alright, it's not alright." Is all he can say, though he almost collapses in relief as she says she will stay. "Do you promise? Swear to me on your river that you will stay." He begs of her, needing to feel absolutely certain that she will not sneak off or ignore his warnings.

The image of her dead is now burnt into his eyelids, never to be forgotten.

Tracy K. Smith, “Don’t You Wonder, Sometimes?”