his hair and his eyes and lips

Complete

Originally posted by pinkharold

when i got the idea for this i got so excited, i wrote it up so fast lol
anyways i hope you enjoy it and if you want a part two let me know x



It had been about a month and a half since school started, and I had a parent/teacher conference with Mason’s teacher. I showed up early, and as I walked down the hall to his classroom I heard his class singing the clean up song. I smiled as I got to the door, seeing all of the kids happily singing as they cleaned up their messes, cheering once the room had been cleaned.

I saw Mason’s teacher, and noticed he was wearing a red floral print shirt, one that most people probably wouldn’t be able to pull off, yet it looked great on him. He was tall, with short brown hair, and though I could barely see his eyes from across the room while at the door, I could still tell how pretty they were.

“Alright everyone, fingers on lips, please.” The teacher said, putting his index finger to his mouth and the students followed suit as they quieted down, then sat in their seats.

“Now, before you go make sure your field trip paper is in your take-home folders, as well as your matching homework. They are both very important. I would like both of them back tomorrow, but if you can’t get the field trip paper back tomorrow it’s okay. As long as I get it by friday.”

Just then, the bell rang and everyone got their backpacks and left for the bus, the teacher saying his goodbyes to them as they did so. I walked in and Mason beamed as he saw me, running to me and hugging me tightly.

“Hey sweetie, did you have a fun day today?” I asked him.

“Yeah!” He said excitedly, pulling away to look at me. “We learned about seasons today.”

“Wow, how fun!” I smiled.

“You must be Mason’s Mum,” His teacher said as he approached us, shaking my hand. I immediately noticed how gorgeous he was up close, but I quickly pushed the thought away.

“The kids call me Mr. Styles, but you can call me Harry.”

“Hi Harry, I’m (y/n).” I replied.

I started to get butterflies as his hand lingered a bit on mine before he pulled away.

Harry bent down in front of Mason. “Hey, Mase, do you want to go draw a picture while I talk to your Mum?” 

I thought it was cute that he’d only been Mason’s teacher for a short amount of time, yet he called him by his nickname.

Mason agreed, going to his desk as Harry brought him some paper and crayons. I then followed him to a table in the back of the room, sitting across from him.

“So, before you ask, Mason’s not in trouble,” Harry assured me.

“I just figured we should talk, as you couldn’t make it to orientation.”

I smiled sheepishly. “That makes sense. I’m so sorry I couldn’t come.”

“No need to apologize, I completely understand.” He smiled.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you questions like I’ve asked the other parents. Just to get a sense of how things are for my students outside of school to see if we need to adjust things here.” He explained.

I nodded. “Ask away,”

He chuckled lightly. “So, what is Mason’s home life like? Does he have any siblings?”

“Well, his home life is fine. And no, it’s just me and him. He doesn’t have any siblings and his father isn’t exactly… around.” I said, looking at hands.

Harry frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“It’s fine, I’m managing on my own. I’d rather it just be me and Mason than having to deal with drama or visitation stuff. With me working, it would be so difficult to get him back and forth like that.”

“Do you have a babysitter for him?” Harry asked next.

I sighed. “I did, but she quit recently.”

Harry all but frowned again, then said, “Well, if you ever need someone to watch him after school or on the weekends then I’ll gladly do so.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t.” I waved him off.

“I’m sure you’re already busy as it is, and you technically already watch him five days a week anyways.”

Harry smiled. “Exactly, so what’s a few more hours here and there?”

I laughed, him joining in. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

Of course my son’s teacher had to be one of the most beautiful, sweet guys I’d ever met.


“It’s no problem,” He said as he pulled his phone out, tapping on the screen, and handed it to me. “Put your number in for me.”

I obliged, grabbing my phone and pulling up my contacts so he could do the same. Then we returned each other’s phones.

“Thanks for coming in,” Harry said nicely.

I grinned. “It’s no problem, it was nice meeting you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” He smiled back.


We looked over at Mason, who looked content as he drawled. I looked back at Harry and he was already looking at me, an adorable look on his face. As we looked at each other, a feeling washed over me, one that I couldn’t quite put words to. But the moment was interrupted as Mason came up to us.

“Momma, Mr. Styles, look at my drawing!” He said eagerly. It was a picture like most kids would draw of their family, everyone holding hands, except it was of Harry, Mason, and I. My eyes got wide, and I looked at Harry to see how he reacted. I expect him to look slightly uncomfortable, but instead, there was a big smile on his face. I mentally sighed as I looked at the picture again. It was honestly really cute. And I couldn’t help but think that it looked so… complete.


thank you for reading, if you have any other imagine ideas feel free to request them, requests are always open x

3

It was her

The girl from the market stood with her arms crossed, a smirk ghosted on her lips. Suddenly, her eyes met Hermione’s—a flash of realization crossed her face, and then her lips tugged up into a smug smile. She winked.

The man was speaking again. “I am Rhodes. This is Ianthe and Nico.” A young man with bright blue eyes tilted his head. He was singularly beautiful, all tousled hair and plump lips.

They certainly made an odd group.

“We are not entertainers or musicians. We do not dance or tell stories. We belong to a class of beings that only exist in myth.” Closing his eyes, he wet his lips. “On the count of three…one, two…”

“What kind of nonsense is this?” Calista muttered.

“…Three.” The group suddenly leapt into air—and then they just…hung there, their bodies suspended above the ground.

“Gods…what is this…”

For me, a lot of Cosmica & the Astronaut songs feel bittersweet, almost like a dark song disguised in an upbeat/devoted love song. I got a lot of that vibe during The Speed of Light because it sounds like the Astronaut is becoming obsessed with his new blue matter powers.

[Image description: it’s an ink and colored pencil drawing of the Astronaut from Steam Powered Giraffe, drawn from the chest up. He has relatively short black hair that’s parted to the side, a pointed chin, and glowing light blue eyes. His skin is pale and bluish, his cheeks are gaunt, his lips are cracked, and he has bags under his eyes. The blue light from his eyes shines on his face and space helmet, and his face is shadowed in dark blue. Stark yellow light shines from above, and he’s surrounded by a light blue aura, as well as dark purple to represent space. He wears a torn space suit with a red arrow decal on the torso and shoulders, as well as a smashed space helmet. He grins in a power-hungry way. Aggressive, all-caps text above him reads: “We’re faster. Much faster.”]

anonymous asked:

NSFW? Dom!dolokhov sub!anatole name calling?

anatole is so pretty, tied up like he is. fedya is admittedly proud of his work, standing by the foot of the bed in a pair of dark jeans and a button down shirt, remnants from a night out. smudged eyeliner and a hint of lip gloss are all that remains of the makeup helene practically forced him into. 

and anatole. anatole, whose clothes are strewn across the floor. anatole, whose lipstick is a mess around his lips, eyeliner smudged, eyeshadow a mess, hair a disaster. anatole, whose wrists were tied behind his back, whose a fidgety mess. 

“stop moving, toto.” fedya drawls and anatole freezes on the bed for a moment before he begins to struggle again. truth be told, fedya has plans for the boy. and it starts by grabbing him, tugging his hair harshly. anatole inhales sharply, letting out a soft whine when it results only in fedya tying a cloth around his eyes. 

“fedyaaaa,” he whines and fedya raises his eyebrows, shakes his head.

“what was that?” he says quietly and anatole pauses visibly. 

“fedya?”

“sluts don’t get to call me that.” fedya breathes, voice low, dropping an octave, and anatole shivers, noticeably aroused, excited. fedya notices. “slut likes being called that, hm?”

“please, sir?” anatole whimpers and fedya laughs. 

“sluts don’t get to get off.” anatole audibly moans, and struggles against the ties again. fedya grins. tonight is going to be fun. 

maybeishouldwait  asked:

HOW DO I CHOOOSE okay uh.... GeldaxZeldris 19!!!

“Come home with me.”

This…this is becoming dangerous, Zeldris was thinking as Gelda tugged on his hair, pulling him deeper into a kiss that made his hearts pump madly. Groaning, he tightened his hold on her, one hand sliding beneath her pink waistcoat to stroke her bare back, then finger at the buttons fastening her dress together. Gelda hummed against his mouth, her lips curling slightly, and she parted from him. She locked her blue eyes with Zeldris and smiled sweetly; and then, she slowly began to unbutton her waistcoat.

With eyes round and heat flashing from his neck, Zeldris watched as the coat gave way to reveal plush breasts and a strong torso held by the bodice of a maroon dress that left Gelda’s shoulders bare. Gelda smiled wider at him, her cheeks flushing as her eyes gleamed. As her gaze went dark, she tipped her head forward to trail kisses along his neck. She paused in her tender ministrations and then, with a slight hiss, opened her mouth wider to graze her sharp teeth against the skin. Zeldris swallowed a groan but held her closer, leaning against the thick tree, his head tipped back.

“Come home with me,” Gelda said suddenly, her voice deep and a little rough. “Stay with me tonight.”

Zeldris froze, his eyes snapping wide open as he choked out, “I-I…what, now?”

She lifted her head and cradled his jaw in her hands, coaxing him to look into her eyes. Gelda bit her bottom lip in thought, her face flushing darker, and then smiled.

“My room, tonight,” she told him. “Stay with me.”

He stared at her for a beat, pretty sure he must have heard incorrectly, but the way Gelda was smiling at him—all regal, but inviting, especially as she pressed her body close to his—Zeldris realized there could be no question of her intent. The hot blush at his neck spread to his cheeks. He opened his mouth, tried to voice what he could register from his hazy mind.

No way, I can’t, it’s too dangerous. Meliodas will literally kill me and make my skull his newest doorstop. Hell knows what Estarossa will do, Zeldris thought with a swallow, his stomach churning. I don’t even want to think of what Father would do. She can get hurt, I can get worse, and there’s no way anyone can overlook this.

But Gelda was still so gorgeous, so much so that it was absolutely criminal, and she was still looking at him like that, like he was worth something, worth wanting and maybe even lov—

Uh, NOPE, we are not going there, nope nope nope—

“Y-yeah, okay.”

…Fuck.

In that moment, as he watched Gelda beam victoriously, Zeldris was certain: He was either the luckiest demon alive, or the biggest idiot to be spat from Purgatory.

Zay had meant to study, he really had. But every time he laid eyes on that boring book about people who were dead, he zoomed out, his eyes meeting Riley’s who was across the room.

I mean who would be focusing on this damn book if Riley’s hair that was ever so smooth was killing him.

“Zay,.Are you ok” she asked moving her hand to touch his face. “Riley, when did u get over here”? He asked, genuinely shocked at her moving without him noticing.

She chuckled as she smiled at him, “oh living fuck” Zay thought as he bites his lip, with her biting hers.

“Zay, why are you..?” She started to say as Zay had shut her up, making his lips Connect with hers.

His hands found their way to her waist with him pulling her towards his bed which was hard cause he did not want to wake up Lucas and Maya who have been secretly hooking up for a month now but won't tell anyone. 

“Zay, I ” Riley says, making Zay smile at her as he says “yeah, riles”. Her laugh made him smirk.

“I like you Zay” she said which makes Zay smile. “I hoped that I would say it first but I like you alot” as he kisses her lips one more time. 

anonymous asked:

Okay not a request but just imagine but just sitting, reading something on your phone idly as Penny finishes up devouring a meal, you just sit beside him stroking his hair as he finishes up. I'd assume afterwards he'd still have a waft of the glowing amber in his eyes, you adore it, pressing a small kiss to his lips, still wet with blood but you don't mind the taste anymore. He's probably tired afterwards and just lays his head in your lap and rests <3

I support you, anon. Thank you.

anonymous asked:

You managed a soft, "yes" despite the fingers digging into your face. You kept your gaze on his face and watched as the sparkle in his cold eyes shone brighter than ever. He pushed his fingers deeper into your face. "Open. Tongue out." You followed his commands never breaking eye contact. He stroked himself slowly twisting his wrist as he reached the head, spreading pre-cum over his dick. Soo placed his hand in your hair, holding you still. "Make sure you listen to me while I throat fuck you"🐞

All you could do was nod as he kept a firm hold at the back of your head, making damn sure that you wouldn’t pull away.
“Good girl..” He purred, licking his pillowy lips as he laid his cock against your tongue; allowing you to wrap your lips around it.

“Now..” He growled, his eyes going dark once more as he gave your mouth one harsh thrust; hitting the back of your throat. “I’m going to fuck this pretty throat of yours nice and raw.” He added, his tone knifelike as he began fucking your mouth at a steady yet harsh speed.

“I don’t want you to be able to even say a word once I’m through with you, little girl.”

-Jade

anonymous asked:

A growl rumbles through Mare as he pulls back to watch you with a devious glint in his eyes. "You're gonna play games with me now, babe?" He laughs, low and mischievous. "Alright then... give me your best shot, doll." Then his lips were at your temple, voice barely a whisper as he twirled a strand of your hair around his fingers. "But you'd better hope you don't miss..." - 🦇

OH FUCKING HELL, HOW DARE THESE COME IN AFTER I’VE POSTED! AAAAAAHHHH

anonymous asked:

Okay but honestly just throwing this out there the thought of just sitting, reading something on your phone idly as Penny finishes up devouring a meal, you just sit beside him stroking his hair as he finishes up. I'd assume afterwards he'd still have a waft of the glowing amber in his eyes, you adore it, pressing a small kiss to his lips, still wet with blood but you don't mind the taste anymore. He's probably tired afterwards and just lays his head in your lap and rests <3

I’m sure you and Penny would do this very often. :)

things i am not ok with: 

- yoongi’s very rude lip bite and how he quickly glances at the camera

- hobi’s very seductive bedroom eyes feat. a lil smirk

- mr. worldwide handsome and his ridiculously handsome face

- this hairstyle feat. these damn lips

- tae staring straight into your soul with these dreamy eyes 

- don’t even get me started on his hair

- the way his hair bounces and omg he looks so good

I CAN’T BELIEVE WE STAN THE MOST BEAUTIFUL KINGS

wingardium-letmefuckyou  asked:

Hey, I love your gods&monsters series, could you write something about Apollo? ^Preferably something with a positive vibe, something romantic... But that's totally up to you, anything about Apollo makes me happy

Apollo has many sons.

He only ever has nine daughters.

~

He has his first when he’s young, too young to know better.

Daphne is beautiful and coy, and leads him on a merry chase. He catches her, and finally silences her laughing mouth with his own. They sleep together, and she leaves bite marks up his neck.

Her father, the river god Peneus, finds out about them. Apollo had not known it was secret. Peneus is a hard, selfish god, and he slits Daphne’s throat for her impurity. Better a dead daughter then one who does not listen.

Apollo finds out too late. He arrives to Daphne dead on the side of her father’s riverbank, stomach swollen in a way Apollo doesn’t remember it being the last time he saw her, which was – which was – it couldn’t have been that long, could it?

He cuts open her stomach, throat too tight to call for his sister’s help, heart too tight to bear anyone else looking at Daphne’s slack, bloody face.

The child is still warm.

The child is still alive.

He cannot bring himself to bury Daphne, to sentence her to an afterlife beneath the earth. Instead, he transforms her into a large laurel tree, so her beauty will remain eternal. He presses a hand against her trunk and says, “My hair will have you, my lyre will have you, my quiver will have you.” Apollo looks down at the baby, too small, tucking into the crook of his arm. “Our daughter will have you.”

He calls her Calliope. Their daughter weaves laurel leaves into her hair every day of her life.

~

When he is older, but not wiser, he gets drunk on the top of Olympus. It is not the first time, nor the last, but this time it is different.

This time Hestia, goddess of the hearth, of warmth, of family, places her delicate hand around the back of his neck and leads him to her rooms.

Months later, he lands his chariot, the sun finally set. His arms are shaking, and his legs are covered from burns when the sun grew tired and tried to consume him, but could not. Hestia stands before him, something held in her arms. “What’s wrong?” he asks roughly, throat dry and the skin of his lips cracking. Hestia rarely leaves Olympus.

“I am no mother,” she tells him, and he doesn’t understand until she places a warm, squirming bundle in his arms. He holds it to his chest automatically. “Her name is Terpsichore.”

She leaves before he has the chance to question her. He looks down, and the baby has his golden eyes and her dark hair. “Hello, little one.”

Calliope is fully grown now. Apollo leaves Terpsichore in her care, and promises to come when called.

“Yes, Father,” Calliope says, rolling her eyes as her little sister grabbing fistfuls of her curly hair. There’s an ink smudge across her face, and her home is bursting with books. He should really talk to Athena about letting Calliope use one of her libraries.

He kisses both their foreheads before leaving.

~

Apollo falls in love with a Spartan prince, graceful and strong and with a wide, pretty mouth. He falls in love with a mind that can match him, with a smile that leaves him breathless. Hyacinth captures his affections and attentions utterly, and for a few short years Apollo is enchanted, for a few short years Apollo feels a love deep in his chest that is only surpassed by the love he has for his sister.

Then Hyacinth is killed.

He shows up at his daughters’ door, and Calliope and Terpsichore take one look at him and usher him inside. He can’t bring himself to speak, but he’s covered in blood that isn’t his own, is pale and shaken and mourning.

They clean him and care for him and settle him to bed, although he cannot bring himself to sleep.

Less than a week later, there is a mortal woman there looking for him. Her eyes are red, but she stands tall and her lips are pressed into a straight line. A toddler who shares her dark coloring clutches her skirt. “I am the Princess of Sparta, and wife of Hyacinth.”

Apollo hadn’t known Hyacinth had a wife. He hadn’t asked. Surely he would have noticed – but then again, perhaps not. Love makes people stupid. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“As I am sorry for yours,” she says in return, which surprises him. “Sparta must have a prince. I am to be remarried.” She brings the little girl forward, and she can’t be more than a couple years old. “This is Urania, the child of myself and my husband. I have been ordered to kill her.”

Apollo flinches. He knows such things are done, but – she is Hyacinth’s daughter. “I will take her.”

She smiles. “I thought you might.” She kisses the girl on both cheeks, hands her to Apollo, then leaves as quickly as she’d came.

Urania watches them with big liquid eyes that she got from her mother. He stays with his daughters for a year after that, playing with Urania and watching Terpsichore dance and listening to Calliope’s beautiful poetry. Urania loves the stars. She stares up at them each night, and Apollo patiently explains the name of each one.

When she is fully grown, he begs a piece of ambrosia off Hestia and feeds it to her.

Urania is his daughter as surely as if his blood ran through her veins. He cannot bear to watch her age and die.

~

Marpessa chooses Ida over him, but it is too late. She already swells with his child, and he could use that to keep her. He could force her to stay at his side, she loves him, she said so, it would not be such a cruel thing.

But she is not wrong in her assessment. Apollo is immortal, and will not grow old with her, will not change with her, will not die with her. Ida will.

There’s fear on her face, and he thinks she deserves it, for proclaiming to love him and choosing another. But he is not interested in keeping her captive for a lifetime.

“Have the child, and give it to me,” he commands, “and I will leave you to your life.”

Ida is furious in his jealousy that Marpessa will bear a child for Apollo before she bears a child for him, so there is that comfort, at least.

Artemis delivers the child to ensure it goes smoothly. She’s beaming as she holds her niece. “What will you call her?”

“You choose,” he says, running the back of his finger over the babe’s soft cheek.

His sister considers the squalling child for a long moment before she says, “I think you should name her Thalia.”

“Thalia it is,” he says.

She’s mischievous, and reminds him of himself on his worst days. She grows, and pulls pranks on nymphs and deities. Her older sisters are constantly straining to keep her out of worse trouble.

He gets a frantic message from Calliope that Thalia has gone missing, and he eventually finds her at the edge of a scorched battlefield, the soldiers long gone but the bodies and stench remaining. He’s furious at her for going to a place so dangerous, but when he marches up to her he sees something that he hadn’t expected.

She’s hallway through a story about pranking a wood nymph that he knows is at least half lies and a quarter exaggeration. Curled up on the ground, clutching his stomach as he laughs so hard he can’t breathe, is Ares.

Apollo hasn’t seen the tormented god of war this carefree since he was a child.

Thalia finally notices him, and cuts herself off, paling. “Oh, uh. Hi Dad.”

Ares is downright giggling. “Hello Thalia,” Apollo crosses his arms and glares, “You shouldn’t go wandering away from your sisters.” She winces and nods, ducking her head to look up at him through her eyelashes, doing her best to look contrite and innocent.

It might have worked, if Apollo hadn’t taught her that look himself.

He sits down on the ground next to Ares, who doesn’t acknowledge his presence beyond shifting enough to use Apollo’s thigh as his pillow. “Well,” Apollo says, “keep going.”

Thalia lights up and launches back into the story, and when she finishes she continues into another which is mostly true and somehow even more ridiculous.

~

Because he’s an idiot with a death wish, Apollo ends up spending a month with Hecate in the underworld. He stumbles out one night when she falls asleep, because he feels if he doesn’t leave now there’s a possibility that he never will.

One of the most horrifying moments of his life is looking for the way out, and finding Hades instead. The god of death looks to him, walking around naked in his realm, to the direction he came from, and says, “That was you? Are you crazy?”

“It … it was a good time,” he says faintly.

“Obviously,” Hades shakes his head, and slices his hand down in the air in front of them, creating a doorway for Apollo out of his realm.

Apollo gives him a clumsy salute and steps through.

Roughly a year later, he’s playing his lyre when a little girl with black skin and grey hair and eyes appears in front of him. It’s terrifying enough that he accidentally snaps one of his strings.

“Lady Styx,” he says, voice higher pitched than normal. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The child snorts and reaches her hands into absolutely nothing and pulls out a baby. She holds it out to him. “Hecate says this is your problem now.”

Improbably, the babe already has a mouth full of too-sharp teeth. Her eyes shift between every color, unable to decide, and there is something a little too knowing about her face for one so young. Artemis says he too was born knowing too much.

A child of Apollo and Hecate can only be a mistake, something that will never fit quite well among others of her own kind.

He sighs and take the baby. “Very well.”

“I like the name Clio,” the child goddess says before leaving him.

Thalia tells him it’s too small and to give it back. Urania is fascinated, and takes over most of the child’s care, which is likely for the best since Calliope is neck deep into a new epic, and would be cross if she needed to pull her attention from it to rear a child.

As Clio ages, she stays just as unsettling and strange. Hephaestus shows up around the time she starts breaking into Athena’s libraries, even though stunts like that get people worse than killed. “I don’t know why she gave her to me,” Apollo says as they watch the teenager devouring a stolen tome on the history of the Persian Empire. “Hecate raised you, I don’t understand why she didn’t want to raise her actual daughter.”

“You’re a better parent than she is,” he says thoughtfully. Apollo gives him an unimpressed look, but he says, “I’m serious. Your girls are turning out to be quite lovely – all of them.”

“Of course they are,” he says, nose in the air, but grins when Hephaestus elbows him the side.

By the time she’s an adult, Clio is easily one of the most accomplished scholars to ever exist. She and Athena regularly get into academic debates that last weeks, and scare off anyone from daring to come closer.

She stays strange, and too smart, and Apollo loves her utterly.

~

Apollo is lying on the beach when a large wave overtakes him and drags him into the sea. He struggles for the surface, but can’t seem to shake the waves, and is dragged to the sea floor. He’s a god, so he won’t suffocate, but he’s terrified when the water drags him down to Poseidon’s palace and deposits him in front of his wife. “Apollo,” she says, “I can see what your daughters will become.”

He has no idea what she’s talking about. “Excuse me?”

Amphitrite grabs his jaw and pulls him closer. He doesn’t dare resist. She looks into his eyes, then smirks. “The god of prophecy doesn’t know that which he has wrought. How … ironic.”

“Is it?” he wonders. He really hopes she doesn’t kill him.

“Quite,” she smirks, and with a flick of her wrist she’s naked before him. “I wish for one of your daughters to be mine as well. Lay with me.”

“Uh,” he says eloquently, because Amphitrite has never given her husband any children, he hadn’t even known she could. If he sleeps with her, Poseidon might kill him, regardless of how many people the god of the sea sleeps with that aren’t his wife. But if he refuses her, she might kill him, and it’s not like having sex with Amphitrite is any sort of hardship. She’s as gorgeous as she is terrifying. “Okay.”

He’s deposited back on the shore the next day, feeling oddly used.

If Poseidon has any opinions on Apollo knocking up his wife, he doesn’t voice them.

Amphitrite doesn’t foist the baby upon him as soon as she’s born. Instead years pass, and one day a dark skinned, amber eyed sea god shows up at his door. There’s a teenager at his side, who has Apollo’s coloring and Amphitrite’s bone structure, and hair that shimmers golden-green in sunlight. “Glaucus,” Apollo greets warily, “and who might this be?”

“I call her Erato,” Glaucus says, “I’ve raised her since birth. It’s time for her to join her sisters.”

Erato is not as terrifying as her mother. Instead there’s a sweetness about her that she must have gotten from Glaucus. She’s shy at first, and spends many days looking out into the sea. But his daughters are persistent, and soon she’s laughing and joining them. There’s something dreamy about her, and she loves love, writes romantic ballads and beautiful poems, so much so that Aphrodite commends her talent.

Erato is also the most like him in the area of her love life, meaning she leaves behind a constant trail of heartbroken men and women.

Calliope complains about the constant wailing around their home, and Clio proves she has some of her mother’s talent with magic when she casts an unplotable spell around their home so former lovers stop following Erato home. Of course, she forgets to tell both Apollo and her sisters about this, and it’s very confusing for everyone until Clio remembers to tell them where the house is.

His daughters’ home is a place of constant music, poetry, and literature. He thinks he’s starting to suspect what Amphitrite was talking about.

~

Not all hunts are easy things.

Apollo feels the moment his sister is wounded, the arrow through her abdomen as painful for him as it is for her. He’s in his chariot, and he can’t leave it, if he leaves his chariot unattended the sun will consume it, and then consume the earth. “Calliope!” he snaps, and his eldest daughter appears by his side.

“Father?” she asks, huddling into him and away from the sun. “What’s going on?”

“Artemis is hurt, I have to help,” he says urgently, and places the reins into her hands. “You can do this.”

She pales, but steps forward, keeping a white knuckled grip on the chariot. “Go.”

He kisses his forehead, and goes to his sister. Her huntresses have set up an honor guard around her, defending and dying as cruel faced giants draws closer. “ARES!” he screams, and he doesn’t know what they’re fighting for, what this war is about, but it doesn’t matter. “WE NEED YOU!”

The god of war appears, and he’s clearly come from some other battle, covered in mud and other worse things. He throws himself into the battle, but it’s not until they gain more aid that the tides turn in their favor.

He first sees Erato on the field, water swirling around her as she slices through them all, the power of her mother making her golden eyes glow. Clio is at her back, the glittering magic Hecate passed on to her filling her hands.

Thalia has long curved knives flying from her fingers, and all who face her don’t figure out they’re dead until she’s already left them behind. Urania is letting loose arrows against the giants and though she’s not his by blood, not a goddess by birth, none would know it watching each of her arrows hit true and take down another enemy.

Terpsichore uses her honed abilities of dance differently here on the battlefield, twirling and ducking around enemies with her sword flashing as it slices through all who go against her. Celestial fire licks up the sword, and the daughter of Hestia and Apollo is laughing as she dances through the battlefield.

He wants to yell at them, to tell them to get off the battlefield, to get to safety. But it is thanks to them that the fight is being won, so he says nothing.

Ares looks around, grimaces, and catches Apollo’s eye before he disappears from the battle. They must be invoking his name. Apollo is only grateful he managed to stay as long as he did.

The giants are all dead by the time Apollo manages to make it to his sister’s side. She’s pale and covered in blood, her huntresses seated around her and trying to stop the bleeding. “What were you thinking?” Apollo demands, grabbing her hand and pushing her hair from her forehead. Terpsichore comes forward and lays her burning sword against the wound, sealing and cauterizing it at once. Both Apollo and Artemis scream

“They – took – a – child,” she pants, leaning in for his touch, for his comfort, and he has never been able to deny her anything. He pulls her up, biting back a scream at the pain that rips through them both, and props her up against his chest. “A – nymph’s child. Zeus’s child. They killed – it’s mother. That – that sort of injustice will – will not be – tolerated.” She lays her head back against his shoulder, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, and Apollo almost wishes the battle were not over, because he wants to murder something.

“I’ll get it,” Erato says, and a moment later she returns with a toddler in her arms. She has the copper skin of Zeus, and pale blonde hair. “What do we do now? Zeus does not care for his children.”

“I think it’s time you became a big sister,” Thalia says, and Erato looks stricken. “Right Dad?”

He looks to his sister, who nods. “I can think of no better place for her. She cannot stay with me – a hunting party is not place for children.”

“Very well,” he sighs. “Does she have a name?”

The girl attempts to hide behind Erato’s hair, then says, “I am Euterpe.”

“Welcome, Euterpe,” he says.

It’s then that the sun finally sets, and Calliope stumbles into existence next to them. She’s covered in deep, bleeding burns, but it’s not as bad he feared it would be. She’s certainly faired better at her first time driving the chariot than he had. “What’s happening? Is everything all right?”

“We have a new sister,” Thalia says brightly, even as Clio rushes forward to tend to her burns.

Euterpe, thankfully, seems to inherit none of Zeus’s madness. She has a singing voice like a clear bell, and soon surpasses even Calliope’s talent with the lyre.

He knows, technically, that Euterpe is his half-sister. But it takes him no time at all to regard her as his daughter, to love her with same simple ferocity as he loves her sisters.

~

For a while, all is well, is quiet. His daughters are all fully grown, accomplished and beautiful.

Then Demeter corners him when he’s walking through quiet city and pins him against an alley wall. “If Amphitrite thinks she can one up me over this,” the goddess hisses, “she’s sorely mistaken.”

At least this time he knows what’s going on when Demeter starts pulling her dress off. “You can’t raise the child,” he says. He’s not adverse to laying with Demeter, although at this rate it looks like there will be less laying and more standing against a rough alley wall. But Demeter only knows how to love in a way that crushes all it touches. He won’t let her do that to his child.

“Fine,” she snaps, “Now get moving.”

He’s vaguely terrified the whole time, and it mostly reminds him of his month with Hecate. He’s left alone and naked in the alleyway an hour later.

Nine months later, a baby is delivered to his door by a nervous wood nymph. His daughter still has the squashed appearance of a freshly born baby. “She didn’t waste any time,” he comments, settling her into the crook of his arms. “Does she have a name?”

“Polyhymnia, my lord,” the wood nymph says, then bows before fleeing.

He brings her to the home where all his daughters live.

She grows, and she’s the spitting image of Demeter, of Persephone back when she answered to the name Kore. Her voice is lower than Euterpe’s, but just as pretty and when they sing together it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. She’s quiet, and thoughtful, her big brown eyes watching all around her with a measured stare.

Polyhymnia asks after her mother, something none of the others had done, and Apollo doesn’t know what to say. The truth is too callous, but he can’t bear to lie to her. Instead he begs an audience with Persephone, and says, “Your sister asks after the mother you share. I don’t know what to tell her.”

Persephone has no advice to offer, but she starts spending some of her time outside of the underworld with Polyhymnia. It is enough, and her questions stop, and Apollo tries not to feel guilty that he never really answered them.

~

Cassandra is unlike any woman he’s ever met, unlike any person he’s ever met, and the flames of love and passion burn inside him in a way they haven’t since his Hyacinth died.

She’s bull headed and irritating, and whenever he tries to complain about it Artemis rolls her eyes and his daughters laugh at him. He supposes he’s not doing a very good job hiding that he’s in love with her. Not even from her, because at one point she crossly asks if he’s ever planning to do anything with her, or if she should accept the offer from the butcher’s son.

They don’t leave her house for five days.

She is curious, hungry for knowledge, hungrier for it then she is of him. She wants to know impossible things, wants to be an impossible thing, and so Apollo laughs and takes her hand and says, “I will make you a bargain. I will give you the gift of prophecy, if you will grant me the gift of your hand.”

He’s never take a bride before. He hasn’t wanted to.

Cassandra is screaming and laughing, and she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him until she’s breathless. He takes it as a yes.

That’s when everything goes horribly, incredibly wrong.

It’s too much, all the horror she sees is too much, and Apollo tries to tell her to focus on the good, to see the happiness of the future. But she can’t, gets too caught up in too many wars, and she wastes away in front of his eyes even as her stomach swells.

He tries to take back the gift, tries to save her, but he can’t. It cannot be ungiven, and his headstrong, vivacious lover fades before his eyes. He only manages to alter it, to change it so no one believes the horrible things she cries to prevent the horror people feel when she looks at them and screams the way that they’ll die.

Artemis helps deliver their child, but halfway through her face goes pinched and worried, and Apollo knows that Cassandra won’t make it.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, kissing her gaunt face, feeling the sharpness of her cheekbones under his lips, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this would happen. I didn’t want this to happen.”

She looks at him with glassy eyes, barely reacts when Artemis places their child on her chest. There’s a growing pool of blood under her, but she can’t be saved, she will die, here, now.

Apollo wonders if she saw this coming.

She blinks, and meets his gaze with a sharpness and awareness he hasn’t seen for a long time. “She is your last daughter,” Cassandra says, “Melpomene is the last daughter you will have.”

He kisses her, his last chance to do so.

She’s dead before his lips leaves hers.

Apollo tries to flee, to run from the claws tearing apart his heart, but Artemis doesn’t let him. She yanks him back and pushes Melpomene into his arms. “You can’t leave,” she says harshly, “She needs you. Your daughter needs you. You’re not allowed to run.”

He crumples, leaning his head onto his sister’s shoulder as he sobs, and her calloused hand grasps the back of his neck. Melpomene is stuck between them, soft and warm and alive.

Time passes.

Melpomene is Thalia’s other half, her best friend, and they do everything together. Her dark hair is a mass of unruly curls just like her mother, her laughter is just like her mother’s.

She, like her sisters, is his pride and his joy.

~

Apollo has nine daughters

Calliope, who reigns over written epics.

Terpsichore, who reigns over dance.

Urania, who reigns over astronomy.

Thalia, who reigns over comedy.

Clio, who reigns over history.

Erato, who reigns over love poetry.

Euterpe, who reigns over song.

Polyhymnia, who reigns over hymns.

Melpomene, who reigns over tragedy.

They are known as the Muses.


gods and monster series, part xxi

read more of the gods and monsters series here

Bruise [ IV ]

Genre [Rating] : Angst [M]

Length: 9.8k

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Summary: He wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, but that couldn’t stop your heart from believing otherwise.

Part One: x Part Two: x Part Three: x Part Five: x

Originally posted by porkdo-bi

The frigid air blowing against your back did little to alleviate the heat brewing just under your skin, lips parted as you gulped down oxygen. A daze was overtaking your brain as your eyes fell shut and your lungs heaved, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin. His lips pressed into your barely covered chest, followed by your collarbones, making a trail of wet open mouthed kisses up your neck. It made a lazy smile flutter up on your lips, fingers reaching out to push through his hair as his palms slid along your hips, grinding you down against his lap. He leaned forward and combined his lips with your parted ones, exhaling heavily against them as his body fidgeted with a faint moan. It vibrated through you as your palms massaged his broad chest, the car filled with enough heat to begin fogging the tinted windows while you straddled his lap.

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Rivals

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Taehyung

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex, biting / growling / thigh riding / overstimulation - ENJOY)

Word Count: 3,557

Summary: Taehyung is your biggest competition in the workplace. Everything he does just makes you want to scream. HAPPY BIRTHDAY @rudeboywonho , as part of your week of pain fun. 

Originally posted by jeonstyle

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A Moment (Richie/Eddie)

Summary: In which Richie and Eddie are both flustered by a moment that was rudely interrupted.

Prompt 86: “Have you seen- oh

Prompt 42: “I’d like to talk to you when you have your pants on, okay?”

A/N: Thankyou to who requested this!! This is so hard not to make sexual as the request specifically asked for them to be in the middle of a ‘moment’ like a make out and they’re walked in on. Please don’t think I’m trying to sexualise the kiddos in any way shape or form because that is not my intention. ALSO, they’re 15 in this fic!! I’m this age and people at my age are doing MUCH worse than making out so please keep your argument about me sexualising them to yourselves bC TEENAGERS MAKE OUT, TEENAGERS DO A LOT OF BA D THINGS

“Eds, hey- Eds.”

Eddie grumbled, pulling the sheets over his head to block out the voice of Richie Tozier.

“Eds, c’mon. Get up.”

“Fuck off Richie. Don’t call me that.” Eddie hissed, staying under the sheets and attempting to fall back into a peaceful slumber.

Richie frowned, his head tilted with his glasses falling down his nose. He lifted a single finger up and pushed them up, leaving yet again another fingerprint against his dirtied lenses. His imprint smudges the sight in once light, but Richie barely notices.

“No one is fucking here, I think Bill and Stan left.” Richie pestered on, grabbing Eddie’s shoulder and shaking it heavily.

Eddie frowned, eyes slowly sliding open and a groan of frustration leaves Eddie’s lips and he sits up, glaring daggers at Richie with fresh tears of waking up abruptly on his waterline.

“Richie, you fucking asshole. That is what you wake me up for?”

“Well, I woke up alone and I didn’t want to be alone. Why is that a problem?”

“I barely sleep as it is, Richie! You just fucking broke me from an actual good sleep!” Eddie cried, anger pulsing through his veins before he quickly calms down, grabbing his hair strands as he places his head in his hands.

Richie couldn’t help but feel guilt for his own selfish actions, sighing quietly and awkwardly patting at his bare thigh as he only wore underwear and a random band tee, as always, to sleep.

“Eds, I’m sorry.” Richie sat down, climbing onto the mattress next to Eddie.

Eddie was silent for a moment before speaking up, “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to totally freak out.” Eddie too let the nickname slide, as he played with the edged trim of the blanket that covered his own bare legs. 

Silence pierced the thin air of Bill’s room, as the two sat in silence next to each other with their elbows grazing one another. Richie sucked in his bottom lip, and shuddered as he wasn’t covered by Eddie’s bedding and was exposed to the late September air.

“Why don’t you sleep good, Eds?” Richie questioned, with his head tilted and looking towards Eddie.

Eddie nibbled at the skin that peeled from his lower lip, rubbing his hands together and he shrugged.

“I..I guess it’s just nightmares? They’re weird. Like, fuck.” Lies. Total fucking lies.

“What are they like?” Richie watched the way his hands moved and jittered, which was a sign he was lying as well as the lip biting.

“Well,” Eddie started, before trying to find his words as if thinking through everything he was about to say and how he would say it, “Um, just stuff like me getting sick. Shit like that.”

Richie thought about how long he had to think about his supposed ‘nightmares’ and his response to his question. Richie nodded, not pressuring the boy any further.

Eddie gulped as he thought of the real reason, one of his slight fears that often triggered his anxiety late at night. His sexuality. See, Eddie was still curious and testing the waters with himself; not knowing if he was into girls or into guys or both. That wasn’t the problem though, his problem was his Mother. His mother would possibly think that Eddie would be screwed up mentally and have many mental illnesses if he told his Mother that he liked guys in any way shape or form. He’d never get a break and he’d never be allowed to have sleepovers like this or even be allowed to talk another male ever again.

Eddie cringed as the thoughts came back to him, quickly trying to shake them away by focusing upon Richie. 

“So, how was your night? Sleeping, I mean.”

“Oh, I sleep like a fucking rock.” Richie chuckles, his shoulders moving as he chuckles. 

“How is sleeping like a rock a good thing?” Eddie tilts his head, looking to Richie, “Rocks are hard, it must be hard to sleep.”

Richie smirks, “Maybe that’s because I am hard most of the time.”

Eddie is confused for a moment before realisation hits him forcefully and he groans with a blush spreading over his cheeks, “Fuck off, Richie. You know what I meant.”

“Especially morning wood, oh boy, let me tell you-”

Eddie clamps a hand over Richie’s mouth before he gets more flustered than he already is. Eddie’s eyes are wide, staring into Richie’s without blinking. Richie can’t help but notice how the two boys were as close as ever, with Eddie obviously blushing like a tomato. Richie felt his smirk grow even more under Eddie’s palm and he wiggled his eyebrows at the crimson boy.

Eddie felt the movements under his palm, staring into Richie’s large eyes due to his spectacles, before sighing in annoyance.

“Seriously, Richie? Your lenses are jacked up.” Eddie removes his hand before taking Richie’s glasses off slowly and carefully.

Richie was too slow to protest, feeling his own face heat up as his whole face was no longer hidden by his coke bottle glasses which covered a lot of his insecurities up.  Richie felt exposed in a weird way, not being able to see Eddie properly but Eddie being able to see every pore and flaw that laid upon Richie’s face. 

Eddie breathed hot air onto both lenses, using his own shirt to wipe away each of the finger prints and splashes from substances that had stained the lenses.

Richie watched with blind eyes, barely being able to tell what he was doing for him. His eyes were squinted and his head tilted forward and staring directly at the hazed actions.

Finally, Eddie was done and he lifted them up delicately, placing them back on Richie’s face with a small and soft grin. 

“Be more clean, asshole. Isn’t that much better?” Eddie folded his arms over smugly.

Richie blinked and pushed them up higher on his nose, this time with the small space between the lenses and not smudging them like he usually does. He could see much clear, being able to see the soft sun rays peak through the curtains and shining on Eddie’s baby face. He admired everything in that moment, how one eye of his was squinting due to the orange-y hue that blinded one of his eyes from seeing Richie properly and the other remaining soft and bambi like. How Eddie’s right corner of his lips was arched higher than the other and how his usually neatened chocolate strands were in fact out of place and going in every direction.

Richie couldn’t help himself, he really couldn’t. The moment before him couldn’t be more flawless.

Really? You’re gonna do this now? Now-

Richie’s thoughts were cut off by his actions as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Eddie’s.

Eddie’s smug look was wiped away in a split second, his eyes widening as he stared at Richie’s closed pair of eyes with shock and in awe. Eddie had both of his hands raised at the side of Richie’s face in shock which soon, he melted. He melted perfectly against Richie and his hands fell onto his cheeks, feeling Richie’s heated skin beneath his clammy palms. 

Richie felt his hands snake around Eddie’s waist, pulling him onto his lap for a better position in the kiss. Richie, being much more confident than Eddie in the whole ‘first kiss’ scenario as Eddie was of course, oblivious on how to kiss.

The two newly found 15 year old boys, had their arms all over each other with their lips smearing against the other pair that battled for dominance in the kiss. Richie ran his tongue across Eddie’s bottom lip for a silent ask for permission, knowing his boundaries due to Eddie’s phobia of anything to do with germs or sickness’. Eddie hesitated, before opening his lips to allow Richie swirl his tongue inside in perfect sync with Eddie’s. Richie was soft, comfortable and caring for Eddie, making sure to not cross any lines that would make Eddie be disgusted or revolted in any way.

Eddie then pushes Richie forward. At first, this caused Richie to think that he did somehow cross the line but instead- he was pushed on his back and Eddie was sitting on his lower stomach.

Richie stared up at Eddie with soft eyes as well as a smirk. “I always thought you’d be a bottom, Eds.” 

Eddie’s chest burned bright as his blush had spread all over. “Shut up, asshole. I don’t like it when you call me that.”

But oh, how they both knew that what Eddie had said was a lie.

Eddie then leaned down, his lips colliding with Richie’s again, tasting the same blackberry bubblegum that lingered on Richie’s set of lips from the previous night whilst his own tasted of mint. His legs begun shaking lightly from the intense makeout session that was happening currently, only for Richie to place his hand on the back of Eddie’s thigh to soothe him.

Hey have you seen- oh.”

Eddie flung himself away from Richie and Richie fell off the mattress head first with a grunt of pain leaving past his pink and swollen lips. Eddie pressed his back against the wall, tidying his messy hair and trying to cover his own flustered blush that had been permanently tattooed onto his cheeks.

Both saw Stan, stood there, with a water gun in his hands and his own face heating up in embarrassment from walking in on a situation which could’ve went anywhere if he had not walked in. Stan gulped audibly and looked elsewhere.

I’d like to talk to you when you have your pants on, okay?

The two boys looked at each other in horror and realised how the situation must look to someone like Stan who just walked in on the two boys pantless and in their underwear with Eddie sitting on top of Richie in a heated makeout.

“No Stan it’s not-”

Stan had already walked off, without letting Richie finish his sentence.

Eddie quickly reached for his inhaler which was kept under his pillow, taking a few quick puffs from anxiety racing under his skin. Richie looked over worryingly before sighing.

“Look, don’t worry. Lets just get dressed and go talk to him, kay’?”

Despite Richie’s comforting words, Eddie couldn’t help but feel his fear of his sexuality raise higher and higher. He pushed it back as both him and Richie dressed themselves in their usual attire for the day.

Both boys, once done changing, looked at eachother with soft eyes and Richie then offered his hand out to Eddie and tilting his head as if he was mentally asking, ‘Are you okay?’

Eddie nodded, reaching his own out and grabbing Richie’s for comfort. Richie then walked forward and guided his soon to be boyfriend out of Bill’s empty bedroom.

Better Latte than Never

it’s my birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE 21ST OF SEPTEMBER IS FINALLY HERE, and that means a fic!!! have a destiel coffee shop AU on me. <3

“What are you having?” Castiel asked with a smile, and Dean’s stomach flipped.

“Um. Regular latte,” he managed to say, and smiled.

“Regular latte,” Castiel repeated. “Coming right up.” He turned away, and began to prepare Dean’s drink, tanned hands picking up a plain white cup which he spun into position onto the coffee machine, glancing up to see whether Dean had noticed. Dean smiled, hoping it came across as ‘impressed’ and not ‘totally smitten’.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other behind the cafe counter, Dean waited for his latte to be ready. He preferred espresso, if he was honest - but lattes took longer to drink, and just recently, Dean had found himself becoming a professional in the niche field of ‘reasons to take a long time over drinking a coffee in a small cafe’. He’d never even liked coffee that much - it had always been more of a necessary evil, utilized when he’d pushed his sleeping schedule beyond the reasonable limit - but that was something that he’d conveniently forgotten, just recently.

In fact, he could date this very specific amnesia to the exact moment that he’d walked through the door of this tiny cafe, tired in the middle of a long day at work and gasping for something to drink on his lunch break. That had been the first time he’d come, but there had been a second time, and a third… and now it was almost a whole month later, and Dean was still coming in every day.

He wished he could say that it was the coffee at Better Latte Than Never that kept him coming back. The coffee was good – or at least, Dean thought it was, though he was no expert - he hadn’t exactly sampled a whole lot of different brands. In fact, recently, he hadn’t even bothered buying his usual packet of filter coffee when he went grocery shopping. He spent so much time in Better Latte Than Never that he was starting to genuinely worry about the effects of overcaffeination.

After all, maybe those effects included giddiness, and butterflies in his stomach, and a heart rate through the roof, all of which Dean had been experiencing on a daily basis - but if he was honest, Dean didn’t think he could blame the coffee so much as the maker of the coffee for the symptoms.

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