anon i hope this is what you were looking for!!

someone on a private instagram account said that Harry had a big leather shoulder bag with him backstage yesterday that was partially unzipped, and inside there were knitting needles and a big ball of fuzzy blue yarn. When asked what he was knitting, he answered “grrrrr Cookie Monster grrrrr”

Look, I don’t know who sent me this - but I swear to God - this is the best thing I have EVER read. I really hope it’s true. Please identify yourself anon, privately if you wish….because I have never been happier than I was after reading this. 

My little knitting boy. I love him so much it hurts. 

Breaking Down

Request: I love your stories so much! If it is no trouble I was wondering if you could write a newtxreader where the reader feels like she has been a burden to Newt and it gets to the point when she leaves when he isn’t noticing? And then he comes to find her? Really angsty please? Thanks! 

Word Count: 2,106

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in

The pot clatters to the ground, breaking open and sending black dirt rolling across the floor. Newt cranes his head around from where he’s working. He watches the shrivelfig bounce across the ground and ricochet off his boot.

Wiping his hands on a towel, he leans down and lifts it. “Efficient.”

You return his grin with your own half-hearted smile as you turn to grab a broom.

Newt notices your insincerity. “You okay, love?”

Your back to Newt, you nod. “Fine.”

He focuses back on the potion in front of him. “You sure?”

“Positive,” you murmur. Guilt tugs at you. You don’t like lying to Newt, but this isn’t his problem.

You go to sweep up the spilled dirt, but before you can even touch a grain of it with the broom, it starts spinning around. The pieces of the pot reassemble themselves, and the dirt shoots back into the mended pot. Newt doesn’t need to look at you for you to know he’s smiling.

“No need for the broom, love, I’ve got it.”

You stare at the clean ground, unmoving. Of course you’d mess up and break something Newt needed. Of course he’d need to clean up after you.

“Everything okay?” The nonchalant question comes from over his shoulder as he stirs the mixture.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

This is me opening up a request for mild one-sided sheith. Where Keith once had a crush on shiro and lance is a bit jealous and gets into an argument with Keith over his crush, but Keith yells at lance and tells him he doesn't like shiro anymore and that he likes someone else. lance is confused and confides in hunk because of this mystery person Keith's crushing on and he hates that it's not him although it is.

this request was super interesting to me and i really hope this is kind of what you were looking for… 

i plan to end this happily in a part 2 if anyone is interested lmao but i thought i’d leave this kinda angsty since so many people have been sending me messages like “MOM I NEED LANGST/KLANGST PLS IM DYIN GIVE IT TO ME” and i just don’t understand why you want our precious boys to be sad???? lmfao

*curled up in a corner crying softly* why does everyone want me to hurt my son

anonymous asked:

Im a single Hufflepuff i was wondering if you could one of those slytherpuff relationship thing thats like a convo kinda..?? Idk how to explain it (other houses can be in it) and please allow your creativity free with this just make it cute please i love your blog Oh my god im even awkward over anon im so sorry

Hufflepuff and Slytherin relationship convos through the days:

The “Seduction”:

Slytherin, exhausted after weeks of being coy and low-key flirtatious, wearing killer outfits every day, just generally putting in all sorts of effort to get Hufflepuff’s attention: “Okay seriously, what the fuck do I have to do to get you to notice me.”

Hufflepuff, oblivious af: “Wait, you were flirting??? I thought you were just being nice!”

The Honeymoon Stage:

Hufflepuff: “I’m so happy we’re together!! Being with you makes me smile!”

Slytherin: “I don’t want to murder people quite as often when you’re around - plus being in jail would make dating lots harder, so…”

After 2 Years:

Slytherin, sitting on the couch with Hufflepuff curled over in their lap, stroking Hufflepuff’s hair and watching the same show they watch together every Thursday night at 7: “So when the fuck are we getting married?”

Hufflepuff, jolting up: “Did you seriously just propose to me during an episode of M.A.S.H?”

Slytherin: “…yes?”

Hufflepuff, smacking Slytherin on the arm: “Are you SERIOUS?? I was going to propose to you!!! I had a PLAN - there was CAKE and the restaurant we went on our FIRST DATE and I made a SCRAPBOOK.“

Slytherin, silently panicking because Hufflepuff is yelling: “So is that a yes or???”


BTS Reaction to not being able to communicate with their foreigner crush-

(for anon)


Originally posted by vainjunhui

Jin saw you and was instantly interested. He could see the confusion in your face when he tried to communicate how attractive you were. He thought as hard as he could on how to say it properly in English. “Where’s namjoon when you need him?”


Originally posted by sugasuite

Yoongi couldn’t believe how adorable you were when you looked shy and confused. After trying to ask your name in his language, your cheeks turned red after asking “i’m sorry, what?” several times. “Waaaaay too cute to handle.”


Originally posted by hohbi

After Hoseok attempted (and failed) to try to speak to you, he whined and pouted back to the boys. “I just wish I could say something to her, you know?” 

Rap Mon-

Originally posted by kthspjm

Once Namjoon realized that you couldn’t speak any of the languages he could, he became just alittle bit more shy and slightly frustrated. “Ahh, how am I supposed to tell her how cute she is?”


Originally posted by sonyeondan

After a failed attempt at the communication, Jimin could only blush and blow a small kiss to you. Hoping you’d realize that he is in fact interested. “What do you speak? I’ll learn it for you.”


Originally posted by sekaiz

When Taehyung watched you walk by, he knew he needed to know you. After he realized that you both didn’t speak the same languages, he only smiled wider at you and tried to think of other ways he could talk to you. “Maybe google translate?”


Originally posted by vhope

When Jungkook saw you and pretty much fell in love, his heart practically broke when he realized you could not communicate properly. “How am I supposed to tell her that i’m her future husband then?”

terror — p.p.

wc: 1.9k
summary: “are you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” in which peter saves her from a horrific situation. (requested)
warnings: attempts at rape/mentions of rape

A string of curses left her mouth as she glanced at the time displayed on Peter’s alarm clock. A look of confusion spread across his features.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, watching as she hurriedly stuffs her belongings into her backpack.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just I probably should’ve been home already, but I’ll manage,” she smiles at him and is up on her feet in the blink of an eye. She rushes through the hallway and to the front door.

“Thanks for letting me stay for dinner, May! It was great, as usual!” she exclaimed as she shoved her feet into her converse.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Can I please please please get like Keith and lance are already dating but like secretly but then accidentally they send something to the others that was meant only for their eyes?? Also I love you thank

(hope this is at least kinda what you were looking for, anon) (also ily too & ur welcome lmao)


For @analogicalityhell I hope you like it.

Tag list: @planetahmane @wingedchickadee @netzoflix 
@iaminmultiplefandoms  @loonierlovegood @aaliyahadams1738 @doggo-fiends-on-a-spaceship @snickerz171 @the-laarmy @orhaven02 @aperfectcontradiction @tickleesdream @1dcrazy14  @onemorebookidontneed @justphantasia @zoeyheys @liberalautisticnerd831 @lamsforlams @alzac-saber @the-sanders-sides @fugitive-angel @starrykid @thebaagelboy @xix-leiloves-xix @reallysaltypotato @justanotherpurplebutterfly @gottajett03 @andy-the-anon @virgils-old-sweater @satisfied-sanders-sides @analogically-prinxiety

They were sitting on a couch watching a movie when it happened. Virgil felt Logan’s hand hesitantly brush against his, his fingers slowly moving to cover Virgil’s.

Not really sure of what to do, but also worried that he would say the wrong thing, Virgil tilted his head to look at Logan, hoping that his confusion was clear in his expression.

Logan flushed slightly.

“I, I just thought,” he began stiffly, “That since we’ve admitted to romantic interest in each other, we could perhaps engage in signs of affection. Hand-holding being one such example.”

Virgil blinked, not really sure how to respond. Honestly, it was still hard to believe he and Logan were actually dating, especially given how much of a mess it was when they got together. He looked down at their hands, where Logan’s fingers were tentatively covering his. It, it wasn’t bad. It was actually kind of nice.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered ducking his head to hide the red rising on his cheeks.

Logan gave him a small smile, and his fingers tightened briefly before he turned back to the move. Virgil couldn’t do the same though, still looking at Logan out of the corner of his eye.

He’d never held hands before. He’d never really done physical affection before. Part of him was terrified that he’d mess it up. But on the other hand, Logan seemed almost as nervous as him. Maybe they could learn together.

The very next day, Virgil yawned as he walked into the kitchen, planning on grabbing some breakfast. Well, lunch really. He’d ended up staying pretty late, so he’d slept through most of the morning.

When he walked into the kitchen, he was greeted by Logan and Roman.

“I see Sleeping Beauty has arisen,” Roman teased from where he was leaning against the counter. “And here I thought you wouldn’t wake till dinner.”

“Shut up,” Virgil said grumpily, making his way to coffee pot, pulling out a mug from the cabinet.

“I see someone is a little more briar than rose today,” Roman laughed.

Virgil didn’t dignify that with an answer, focusing only on filling his mug as fast as possible. Once it was full and he has taken a few sips, he shuffled closer to Logan who was standing in front of the stove cooking quesadillas.

Logan looked up at him.

“Hello,” he said softly. And then looking at little bit nervous, he- held out his arm?

Virgil wasn’t sure what he was doing, so he just stared in confusion. It was only when Logan began to pull his arm back towards himself with a look of quiet disappointment that Virgil’s half-awake brain realized what he had been asking.

Internally berating himself for being an idiot, Virgil quickly stepped forward, ducking under Logan’s arm to lean ever so slightly into the embrace. He held his breath, glancing up at Logan to see if he’d gotten it right. He still felt a bit tense.

But Logan didn’t say anything, only turning back to the stovetop. Studying his expression though, Virgil decided he did look pleased.

The longer he stood there, Virgil could feel his exhaustion creeping in again and as his eyelids grew heavier, he let himself leaning more and more against Logan.

Eventually Logan spoke up.

“You know if you’re going to fall asleep standing up,” he said, “You probably shouldn’t do it in front of an open flame.

Virgil just grumbled in reply, too warm and content to move, too tired to be coherent.

Logan sighed, but it was a fond sound.

“You should really go sit at the table,” he said, his arm lifting off of Virgil’s shoulders to give him a small nudge towards the table. “The food’s ready, and you do require sustenance.”

Virgil let himself be directed, slinking towards the table and plopping himself down on the nearest chair.

He adjusted his jacket absently, pulling it more tightly around him. He could have sworn the kitchen hadn’t been this cold when he’d come in. He dismissed the thought though, choosing instead to focus on the plate Logan was setting in front of him.

A week later, Virgil was pacing in front of Logan’s room. He didn’t really want to barge in and annoy the other. But Logan had been his room all day, and Virgil was worried about him. He’d seemed super stressed out about work yesterday, and well, Virgil knew better than anyone what it felt like to be overwhelmed.

Making up his mind, Virgil took a deep breath and slipped into the room. He could see Logan in the corner hunched over his desk, which had papers scattered all over it.

“Hey,” he said cautiously, creeping closer. “You okay?”

“Virgil,” Logan said curtly, “Salutations. And yes, fine, I’m fine. I’m just- well, I’m just busy.”

Virgil was now standing right next to Logan, running a critical eye over him. His boyfriend looked exhausted. He was paler than normal, his hair was mess as though he’d been running his hands through it, and his shoulders were hiked up around his ears.

Virgil wasn’t sure how to help. If there was only some way he could get Logan to relax. That was when the idea came to him.

He hesitated, staring at Logan uncertainly. It might help, but he was nervous. Although he and Logan had gotten more affectionate recently, Logan had always been the one to initiate the contact. Would he be okay of Virgil tried to? What if he made things worse?

After another moment of dithering, Virgil looked at Logan’s face again. He had it cradled in his right hand, as he slumped on the desk, far from the perfect posture Virgil was used to seeing. With that, Virgil’s mind was made up.

He slipped behind Logan and slowly, shaking a little bit, he let his hands come up to rest on Logan’s shoulders.

He could Logan shift a little at the contact, but before the other had time to ask him what he was doing, Virgil dug his thumbs into the knots of muscles next to Logan’s neck.

There was a pause, in which Virgil desperately hoped he hadn’t miscalculated, but then Logan leaned into the touch, a soft groan of contentment passing though his lips.

Emboldened by the noise, Virgil resumed his massage. After about fifteen minutes, he’d gotten the worst of the knots out, but he didn’t move just yet, letting his hands still rest on top of Logan.

“Thank you” Logan murmured, one hand reaching up to cover Virgil’s. “That was wonderful.

Feeling his face heat up, and glad Logan couldn’t see him, Virgil tried not to squirm.

“I’m just glad I could help,” he finally said.

Virgil stormed into his room, swiping at his eyes in frustration. Why did things never go right for him? He sat down on his bed, trying hard not to cry. Today had been the worst.

First he’d slept through his alarm, and then he spilled orange juice on his hoodie, and then he’d found out he’d lost one of his notebooks, and on and on and on. It had just been a string of incidents, one after another, and he hadn’t gotten a break!

Virgil tried to take in a deep breath, but his chest felt far to tight, and his vision was beginning to blur. He pressed his lips together tightly trying to stop himself from letting out a sob. Then there was a knock on the door.

“Virgil?” Logan called out. “May I enter?”

Virgil cleared his throat, trying to make his voice sound normal, and quickly wiped his eyes hoping they weren’t too red.

“Yeah,” he called out before wincing. His voice sounded raw.

The door creaked open, and Logan stepped inside. As soon as his eyes landed on Virgil, his face filled with concern.

“Are you alright?” he asked coming and sitting beside Virgil on the bed.

Virgil looked down at his lap.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I’m fine. It’s stupid really. It was just a lot of stupid little things, and just a really shitty day, and I just couldn’t catch a freaking break”

Much to his shame, he felt his voice crack and tears began to threaten again. He let out a long shaky breath, trying to gain back some measure of control.

“Virgil” Logan spoke up. “I don’t want to impose, and you are well within your rights to say no, but I was just wondering something. Would it be alright if I hugged you.”

Not even bothering to give a verbal answer, Virgil just turned and pressed his head against Logan’s shoulder, shaking with the effort of keeping his sobs from breaking though.

But as Logan’s arms came up to wrap around him, he lost the battle completely, and the tears began to soak Logan’s shirt.

When he finished crying, he shuddered again, and pulled back a little, although still not leaving the circle of Logan’s arms.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to freak out on you.”

“It’s fine,” Logan said, shaking his head. “I’m just glad I could help, I was worried I would make the situation worse, that you would be uncomfortable with physical affection right now.”

“You always help,” Virgil said. “And, um, well, I liked the hug, really. It felt nice.”

After that last part he had to look away for a moment in embarrassment. But when he glanced back at Logan, he could tell the other felt equally flushed, small spots of red having risen on his cheeks.

As he sat there staring up at Logan’s face, his arms still carefully draped around him, Virgil’s mouth opened without his permission.

“Can I kiss you?” he blurted out, his cheeks going straight to scarlet when he realized what he had just asked. But before he could bury his head in shame, Logan replied.

“Always,” he said, ducking his head to press his lips to Virgil’s.

Leaning into the kiss, Virgil let himself get wrapped up in it, the warmth, the softness. This was perfect.

As they broke apart, he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

“That was, that was nice” he said, his brain to blissed out to think of a better word.

“Indeed,” Logan said, sounding a little dazed. “That was a most enjoyable form of physical affection. Perhaps we would engage in it more often?”

Virgil laughed.

“Just shut up and kiss me, you dork” he said, pulling Logan closer once more.

cryptidsanonymous  asked:

I just read everything in your gods and monsters series and wow I am in awe. I am absolutely blown away by your writing it's beautiful the Icarus one had me staring at a wall for ten minutes afterwards absorbing what I'd just read. anywhoozle, I love everything you've written and not to rush or pressure you or anything but I was wondering if perhaps we could get more of the greek mythology stories?

a continuation of this

Caeneus has only ever had two loves in his life.

First is the sea. He’s loved her his whole life, heard her siren song from the time he had long curly hair and still tolerated being put in dresses and called a girl. He loves the sea like his parents go to temple, in an unmovable and inexplicable way that he no longer questions.

Second is Poseidon. Foolish, but so achingly kind. He’s a man who professes his wish to master the sea without ever really understanding it, and Caeneus smiles and kisses the stress lines from his brow but does not worry.

The sea has never loved him back, and it never will. She is power and coldness and loss, and her beauty is in her tragedy. Poseidon is warmth and thoughtfulness and strong hands on his hips. He is nothing like the sea, and he will never rule it.

Caeneus knows this, and he’s relieved by it. Poseidon loves him back. Poseidon is not the sea.

Then he wakes up to his lover’s lips on his neck, cold enough that flinches away from the sensation, and for a terrifying moment he doesn’t recognize the person touching him as the man he loves.

“I can do it now,” he whispers, and cool fingers splay against his waist, “I can make you the man you want to be.”

Caeneus wants the body that men usually have, wants people to stop looking at him and seeing a woman. But if Poseidon had asked, he would have told him – Caeneus would choose his lover over a new body, would rather live as he does now than have Poseidon harm himself for his benefit.

But he did not ask, so Caeneus closes his eyes and accepts the gift his lover is so eager to give him.


Amphitrite has never had a heart before.

She was the sea, and what she desired, she took. Men, women – she wanted, and she had, and then she moved on.

But the heart in her chest is softer, warmer. It turns her pearl hued skin pink and makes her swim to the surface to watch the sun set, makes something like empathy stir inside her when before all she had was selfishness.

The heart in her chest is in love, and she thought it was something she could control, something she could stop. It’s not. It will be one day, when she masters this heart in her chest, but not yet. She spends hours following Caeneus as he sails her seas, guides fish into his net and feels her borrowed heart beat that much faster whenever he pears into the ocean and she catches sigh of his gorgeous amber eyes.

So she says to Poseidon, “You spend too much time on the shore for a god of the sea.”

He glances at her, and his eyes are green just like hers, are cold and uncaring just like hers used to be. She wonders what her eyes look like now. “Caeneus is on the shore.”

“Bring him here if you’re so concerned with your mortal,” she says, focusing on weaving shells into her hair and giving the impression that she couldn’t care less what he does with his mortal plaything. “The palace is big enough.”

He stops and turns to her, eyebrow raised. “You do not mind me bringing him here?”

“Do with your mortal as you wish,” she repeats, and stamps down on the trembling joy in her chest, “It’s no concern of mine.”


Caeneus doesn’t know how to love a god of the sea. He knew how to love Poseidon – take him onto the water to watch the sunrise, feed him warm, sweet drinks, and let him curl around him at night and listen to his stories of his siblings, of impossible gods who do impossible things.

But now he sits in a palace under water, with his own room and the freedom to see the other side of the ocean he loves so dearly. There are no sunsets here, no cocoa to barter for, and Poseidon doesn’t tell him stories any more.

Poseidon still loves him. He kisses him and holds his hips when they sleep together and keeps him by his side while he crosses the sea and gains more and more control over this domain that he now commands. Poseidon still loves him, he tells himself when he itches to return to the surface and the home Poseidon build for him, and the life he built for himself.

He didn’t want to be a consort of the king of sea. He just wanted to be Caeneus, a man who loved a man and was loved in return, a man who loved the sea even though it would never love him back.

The sea will never love him back. He’s known that since he was a child, so the real question is – how much of the Poseidon he knew is left, and how much of him the depths of the ocean?


There’s a hurricane that requires her husband’s attention, and even he is not so foolish as to bring his lover to a place as dangerous as that. Which means it’s the perfect time for her to run into him in the interior gardens, as he stares up through the iridescent seaweed to the rays of sunlight that just manage to penetrate the water. “Do you miss it?” she asks him, and he startles, swinging around to face her and stumbling away.

“My lady!” he says, and falls to his knees before her, bowing his head. It’s what she expects of all mortals, but not from him, never from him. The heart in her chest loves him, and if it’s not her heart, well – the rest of her doesn’t know the difference. “A thousand apologies.”

“You are welcome here,” she says, and smiles. She’s never smiled quite like this before, she’s never felt quite like this before, fond and fluttery and so painfully eager that it would be embarrassing if she ever dared articulate it. It’s a wonder Poseidon managed to get anything done at all if this is what he had in his chest.

He looks up, hesitant, and she holds out her hand. He takes it, and she pulls him to his feet, pulls him closer until they’re nearly touching and he’s forced to look up into her eyes or be stuck staring at her chin. He’s warmer than her, she can feel the heat pouring off him in waves, and she wants him to hold her in his arms so she can languish against him like she would a sun-warmed rock.

Before she had a heart, she took who and what she wanted, when she wanted it.

Now she has a heart, and she takes his hands in both of hers and says, “Would you like to visit the surface? I can take you, and bring you back before my husband returns.”

He’s hesitant because he’s afraid of her. Caeneus will never love her, because although she holds the heart he loves she is not the person the heart belongs to. Not that he knows any of that, not that anyone will ever know the details of her and Poseidon’s arrangement. But she doesn’t want Caeneus to be afraid of her. She wants him to smile at her like she is a sunrise. “Yes, please,” he decides on finally.

She stands and watches as he walks through his home, as he touches the hearth and looks longingly at the bed, as he stands in the small cottage that he clearly prefers over her palace, over all the riches and adoration that comes with being consort to the sea.

Caeneus is a simple man, whose heart loves with a simple love.

He is a man whose heart loves someone who now has no heart, and Amphitrite can’t bring herself to tell him. She’s the one who took it away, and she won’t give it back.

She likes having a heart, and one day she will need to return it, but not now, not yet, not for a long time.


Caeneus lies besides Poseidon, curled up so his head rests on the god’s outflung arm and he can watch his chest rise and fall as he sleeps. There are bruises on Caeneus’s hips and down his chest, bite marks on his shoulder and up his neck. It’s not the first time his lover has been rough with him, and he doesn’t mind, like that Poseidon doesn’t touch him like he’s afraid he’ll break, likes that whenever he’s rough he’s careful enough with his strength not to ever cross the line from bruising to breaking.

It’s different than it used to be. It’s been different for a long time, ever since Poseidon somehow convinced the Lady to hand over her title as monarch, to share her power with him for no reason that Caeneus can see. It’s not love between them, because the sea does not love. But she got something out of it, something valuable enough to bargain away part of her power, and as soon as she did the man Caeneus loves ceased to exist.

He slides out of bed and angrily rubs at his eyes. He can’t do this anymore, can’t sleep and live with this man who has his lover’s face and memories and nothing else.

He knows this palace well, and everyone else knowns him too. The servants don’t question him, only offer shallow bows before hurrying on his way. He’s a fisherman who lives on the outskirts of society. He’s not any sort of person that people were meant to bow to. He stands in front of an ornate set of carved doors, the beautiful shimmering inside of a muscle shell of impossible size. Two guards stand at each door, but neither move to stop him as he pushes it open and slips inside.

“Lady?” he whispers. Large, bioluminescent carvings flare to life all across the room, bathing them in soft golden-green light. Amphitrite pulls herself out of bed, green hair loose around her and the rest of her on display, pale and flawless, as perfect an example of a beautiful woman as Caeneus has ever seen, and he averts his gaze. “Lady!”

“So modest,” she teases, and when he glances over she’s in a simple white robe and pulling her hair up behind her. She looks vulnerable like this, almost like his mother did when she would rouse him and his father from sleep in the darkness of early morning so they could catch the fish while they were still sleeping. “What’s going on Caeneus? I thought my husband had exclusive rights to your nights,” she winks, and he forces a smile.

He walks over to her, takes her hands in his because he knows she likes how warm he runs compared to her, and her smile slips off her face. “Please,” he whispers, “Poseidon is different than he once was, and I want to know why. Please.”


She shouldn’t tell him, but the heart in her chest loves him, and she loves him too, thinks she would even without Poseidon’s heart influencing her.

So she tells him, and when he starts crying she brushes away his tears and he doesn’t stop her. “He’ll never love you like he once did,” she tells him, “It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he just can’t.”

“The sea doesn’t love you back,” he says, because he knows, because he’s a skilled sailor, because he’s one of the people who has worshipped her his whole life without ever expecting anything back, because that’s what an ocean gives back – nothing at all. “Can – can I give you my heart?”

She stares. “Excuse me?”

“Let me give you my heart,” he pleads, “so that I may hold Poseidon’s in my chest. You can have mine, I know I’m only a mortal–”

“You’re all mortal to me,” she says, because a hundred years, a thousand, ten thousand, what does it matter – she and Gaia were around long before gods and humans, and they’ll be around long after them. “If I give you Poseidon’s heart, you will become a god.”

He pales and flinches away from her. He’s not in this for power, this was never about power to him. It was always about love. “Lady, I’m not trying to – I don’t want that.”

“If you become a god,” she continues, because she loves him and that means she wants him to be happy, even at her own expense, “you will be alive when the time comes for me to reclaim my title of monarch. One day I will take back my heart from Poseidon, will reclaim the cold, black thing in his chest as my own, and when I do he will no longer be master of the sea. When I do, you can give him back his heart, and he will love you as he loved you before, as he will always love you.”

Caeneus has a hand over his chest and there’s so much hope shining in his eyes that it’s almost painful to look at. “Please, Lady. Please. I love him, let me carry his heart, let me have him back once you are done. I will wait.”

“It will be a long time,” she answers honestly, “Empires will rise and fall before I’m willing to give this up, before Poseidon will be willing to give up his power over the sea.”

“I will wait,” Caeneus repeats, “I love him. If you have my heart, maybe you will grow to love him too. If you have my heart, you will protect him, you will keep him safe.”

Amphitrite loves Caeneus, and Caeneus loves Poseidon, and Poseidon is incapable of loving anyone at all. “Very well,” she whispers, because a heart is a heart, and just like Poseidon she’s unable to deny Caeneus anything.

She breaks open her chest and takes out the warm, beating heart of Poseidon. She slits open Caeneus’s chest for him, and holds him upright while struggles to take out his heart and clumsily places in into her chest. She heals over instantly, and nestles Poseidon’s heart in Caeneus’s ribcage. He too heals over, and his eyes flash with power as the heart settles inside of him.

Caeneus becomes so much more than a mortal man in that moment.

This heart doesn’t feel too different, she still loves Caeneus because she’s capable of loving and he is worthy of it. “Go,” she says, “Say your goodbyes, and leave. If you stay, he’ll just continue hurting you, and in a few thousand years he’ll hate himself for it. Leave now, and spare both of you that pain.”

He leans forward and cups her face in his hands, kissing her on each cheek. “Thank you,” he breathes, and then he’s gone.


Caeneus can feel the power of a god flowing into him, but he doesn’t care about that, the only reason he’s glad he’s a god now is so he’ll live long enough to get Poseidon back, to get the Poseidon who loves him back.

He goes back to where Poseidon is sleeping, and takes a long, careful look. It will be a long time before he sees this man again. He kisses him on the lips, softly and carefully, the way Poseidon first kissed him when he thought he was sleeping.

Then he leaves, stepping outside the palace and using his newly gained powers to bring himself to the shore.


Poseidon is furious, bur Amphitrite won’t budge, says only that Caeneus left. He throws a temper, and half the palace is lost in the aftermath, but she does not care.

She doesn’t tell him that she no longer carries his heart. It doesn’t matter. Caeneus’s heart beats in her chest, and she sits on her throne amongst the rubble and does nothing more than sigh at the way he threatens to tear the world apart looking for his lover. It will pass. The depth and coldness of the sea is unable to sustain such fits of wild passion.

Years pass. Rumors reach them of a sea god, one who is known for rescuing sailors and fisherman from storms, one who they say used to be a mortal fisherman himself.

They call him Glaucus, and say that he swallowed a magical herb to become a god.

She smiles when she hears these rumors, and thankfully Poseidon has long given up trying to get her to explain herself. The rumors are only half right, but she likes hearing them none the less.

It comforts her to hear that Caeneus is well.

gods and monster series, part xiii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

anonymous asked:

can you talk more on what you like about the renaissance and the artists? i find them so fascinating

i answered a more specific one about leonardo alone here, but here are some of my general favourite things about the important figures of the italian renaissance

  • on her deathbed, caterina sforza said to a monk: “se io potessi scrivere tutto, farei stupire il mondo" (if i could write everything, i would shock the world) which i think just makes her the second coolest person in the entirety of italian history
  • speaking of the coolest person in italian history, da vinci took so long to finish the last supper that when the prior complained, leonardo said that the reason it was taking so long was because he couldn’t find a face that was so filled with evil that would fit judas, but if the prior was so desperate to have it finished, leonardo said that he would use him as a model
  • lucrezia borgia was said to have a hollow ring that she used for poisoning drinks
  • michelangelo hated everyone. he mocked leonardo for his failed statue in milan and had a bitter grudge with raphael ever since raphael looked at one of his paintings before it was released
  • leonardo, in turn, wrote bitchy comments about michelangelo in his diaries
  • seriously if someone were to make a show about the renaissance artists, it wouldn’t be some high brow drama, it would be something along the lines of mean girls crossed with the office
  • leonardo: “omg michelangelo, i love your fresco. what inspired it?” 
    michelangelo: “the bible” 
    leonardo: “vintage, i love it!”
    leonardo [after michelangelo walks away]: “that is the ugliest fucking fresco i have ever seen”
  • da vinci himself was really well liked by everyone but he was such a fucking DORK he used to buy caged birds and just to release them and was a chronic procrastinator. he was also gay af and the love of my life
  • machiavelli’s ‘the prince’ is the biggest piece of mancrush literature since plato’s symposium
  • also they were like, all gay, all the renaissance artists except for raphael who was tragically heterosexual. michelangelo wrote really over the top romantic letters to some dude, and da vinci was arrested for sodomy
  • @ historical fiction that tries to make my guys into aggressive womanizers: fuck off
  • so if the artists were the sitcom of the renaissance, caterina sforza is the blockbuster politics heavy action film. she literally occupied the vatican on behalf of her husband by riding across the tiber river on horseback while seven months pregnant
  • she was honestly so fucking savage when the orsis family threatened to kill her children she ‘exposed her genitals’ and said  “do it, if you want to: hang them even in front of me…here I have what’s needed to make others!” and they were so fucking shocked they didn’t dare touch her children
  • i could make a whole post about her, she was so fucking cool i adore her she is incredible
  • moving on, this: “the theory is that people were generally not too enthusiastic about the catholic church’s regular massacres of jews and muslims, because the people they were killing looked like jesus.  pope alexander vi then ordered the destruction of all art depicting a semitic jesus and commissioned a number of paintings depicting a caucasian jesus. his son, cardinal cesare borgia, was the model for these paintings.”
  • cesare tried to kill lucrezia’s first husband and probably did kill her second. he also apparently came to her wedding dressed as a unicorn, the symbol of purity which is just about the most laughable thing he ever did in his life
  • botticelli claimed that the prospect of marriage gave him nightmares

this kinda swayed a lot from being just about the artists, but i hope it was what you were looking for!

anonymous asked:

Hey :) have you know any sterek fic where Stiles have to hide what he really is (omega, human, etc)? Something like Mulan AU?

Hope these are along the lines of what you were looking for!  -Emmy

Originally posted by anastasiagreenleaf

Suddenly You’re Standing Still by gottalovev 

(7,669 I Explicit I Complete)  *sterek, secret werefox!stiles, first time

A long time ago, Stiles promised his mom that he’d never cross the Hale property lines. He has kept his word even if there hasn’t been a Hale in Beacon Hills for years, not since the fire. But suddenly Scott gets turned into a werewolf, Derek Hale is back, and Stiles has to share his biggest secret. (AU set in S1+ where Stiles is a born werefox)

Stiles Isn’t Allowed to be Awesome by neil4god 

(19,137 I Not Rated I Complete)   *sterek, stiles/omc, secret bamf!stiles, Marvel fusion

Stiles isn’t just the pack’s resident human, soft & squishy & easily breakable. Stiles comes from  long line of secret agents and could probably give James Bond a run for his money. Of course Stiles isn’t allowed be awesome which might be why some of the pack think he’s not worth their time.

Or, the one where Stiles can’t take it anymore and moves to New York without telling anyone & Derek finds out and has a melt down.

I Could be Long Gone by idratherwrite 

(26,421 I Explicit I Complete)  *sterek, secret Omega!Stiles, threat of rape

Humans alphas and betas are used to treating human omegas like objects. Stiles and his father have managed to hide for years the fact that Stiles is an omega. When Stiles arrives at Beacon Hills he meets one Scott McCall and his friends and family, who are hiding an even bigger secret.

It’s almost everything that Stiles wants.

In the Hearts of Men by dinokittyalchemist 

(50,732 I Explicit I WIP)  *sterek, historical au, prince!derek, knight!derek, magic!stiles

There is no evil in magic, but in the hearts of men. This has been said many times, but never understood. Any caught using magic will be sentenced to death. This law has forced many into hiding and many to hate the king, his family, and his knights. Stiles is one of those many, but when he finds a knight with a potentialy fatal injury he can’t just leave him there to die, can he?

The Runaway Mate AU (Series) by SometimesyougettheBear

(88,989 I Explicit I Series WIP)  *sterek, secret Omega!stiles

Stiles is brilliant. He’s one of the youngest executive forensic accountants at the well-known security firm Baroff & Sons. He’s the one everyone hates, who owns disgustingly expensive furniture, always somehow wins the cases without trying, clean cut, attractive. It’s a charmed life and Stiles means to enjoy every minute of it. Until Derek Hale walks into his room and says one word that brings his entire life to a standstill
Now Stiles is running for his life and Derek  is hot on the chase.

Hidden Omega by Akinasky 

(107,401 I Explicit I Complete)  *sterek, stiles/omc, derek/omc, derek/stiles/omc, secret Omega!stiles

As Stiles leaves for college, he must hide who he really is and then he meets his roommate and likes him … a lot only there is no chance for him to fill the needs that Stiles has as an Omega. Then he also finds his Alpha, Derek Hale (of course) and they all struggle to find their way and learning more about the special aspects of being an Omega and trying to have a unique relationship that will never be typical especially with Stiles, pushing and bossy Stiles as the Omega.