#Calliope: musings

[uranian-umbrella]

callie do u think u could do a really sick backflip?

hmm, let me see!

short answer: no. please ignore my Ugly hoUse arrest bracelet. Urgh.

[artcrystals]

The Nine Muses

Calliope, First of the Muses, Goddess of Epic Poetry

(fan design, ofc)

[literallyjusttoa]

My designs for the Muses! They are the moment.

[s-c-r-ee-ch]

Three muses complaining to Apollo of the barbarity of men

Bas-relief in plaster by Émile Morlaix (1937)

[allmythologies]

greek mythology: calliope

calliope is the goddess and muse of epic poetry and eloquence. according to hesiod, she was the wisest of the muses.

[dearorpheus]

"In ways that are often hard to articulate but run through everything, my work has been deeply informed by my own experiences. I have been reading Homer throughout my adult life. Whenever I hear blustering winds and rain-storms, surging rivers or choppy seas, when I watch a flock of geese or a swooping hawk, when I walk through rustling woods or up a mountainside, I know I am inside the world of Homeric similes. Even the most trivial moments of daily life remind me of Homer. I notice that my feet are not "well-oiled" whenever I tie my sandals on. I cannot watch my dog happily rolling in mulch without thinking of Achilles, prostrated in grief and tossing around in the dust. More seriously, the poem gives me a language to understand my deepest emotions and those of people around me. When I weep for my mother, who died recently in a distant land, I remember the grief of Achilles and of Priam. The Iliad is with me always."

— Emily Wilson, in the translator's note of her Iliad

[musamora]

HIHI congrats on 1k !! I adore the way you write for fyodor, it's so so nice to read and I love the characterization

For the event could I please request a wild berry cheesecake (fluff) with the prompts "do you need to use your safeword?" And 'aftercare' with fyodor. Thanks you sm <3

wild berry cheesecake order three — calliope’s confectionary

content. gn!reader. heavily implied not-safe for work, non-sexual nudity, aftercare, hurt/comfort. notes and translations at the end. not proofread. 1.1k+ words. ⟶ features fyodor dostoevsky.

would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.

Quality time with Fyodor is rare. He’s always twisted into another scheme, spending every waking hour of the day in front of his monitors. You prefer he takes care of himself whenever he sanctions a proper break, not wanting your lover to step into an early grave—which he reminds you he can’t do—but there is an exception.

Because indulging in him is a rarity on its own, only to be held on special occasions. The evenings when his mind descends from the heavens to worship something a bit more carnal. 

His lack of stamina takes a backseat to his methodology of stimulus. Your limbs float away with only a touch as you sate your desires through the fire of his fingertips, playing you like the very instruments he adores—but you have been his favorite to play.

However, your body grows heavy, aching with a pain you cannot name. Not the sweet kind that tips toward an edge. This one only burns. Your breath weakens, trembling as he slows.

“Do you need to use your safeword? he coos, breath brushing against your ear.

The world drifts into a haze. Your mind has slowly emptied, and your thoughts slip away faster than they arrive. You blink several times, attempting to reaffirm reality as it falls from your fingers, but you can only lie there and breathe.

“Любимая, look at me.”

Your eyes grow heavy from an overwhelming warmth drifting from your head down to your feet. Lashes flutter shut, only to open as a hand cradles your chin, and you fail to make out the blurry form before you.

“You can barely function,” he remarks proudly, hair falling in front of his eyes as he looks down at you. “Let alone handle another round. As endearing as you are like this, I’d much rather not break you.”

Your breath catches as his fingers graze your racing pulse.

“At least not yet.”

You can’t help but moan as his hands glide across your curves like he’s mapping them to memory, messaging the bruised apex of your hips with careful strokes.

“Красивый, моя дорогая. You certainly have an afterglow.”

“I look like a mess,” you mumble, finally able to regain partial speech function.

“Hm. But was that not the exact intention?” You shudder as he nips at the hypersensitive, hickey-stained bow of your neck. “You knew what you were in for.”

“Sadist.”

He chuckles, leaving kisses instead. “There you are.”

You tremble with uneven breath as he cleans your inner thighs with a rag from the bedside table. He smirks as he pries your legs apart to look upon his work, soothing your burning skin with his cool touch.

“You’ll need to be cleaned if you don’t want to risk infection,” he says, disregarding the cloth onto the floor to lift you into his arms.

“But I’m comfy,” you complain, stretching away from him in an attempt to grab the sheets.

“Now, now.” He threads your fingers together, effectively breaking your grip. “None of that. We both need to wash up before it’s time to sleep.”

You mumble your complaints, but he only acknowledges them with an amused shake of his head, carrying you into your cozy shared bathroom. The first time you saw it, you laughed, unwilling to let Fyodor in on what was possibly so funny about the little room. You had chosen not to comment on the homey atmosphere he crafted that contrasted with his everyday persona. Even now, the sight of the thoughtful decor fills you with warmth.

You try not to doze off for the second time as he settles you on the countertop, momentarily removing himself to draw a bath. His entertained huff stirs you awake as he helps you off the counter, balancing you as you step into the water. 

He removes the small remaining clothes he has on, slipping in behind you before you lounge against his chest. You tap your fingers to an unsung melody as he works to lather soap across your skin, scrubbing and massaging as he goes.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You hum in reply, not paying much attention to his words.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he continues. “There’s still much work to do before we go to bed.”

You frown. 

“Don’t remind me.”

“Remind you of work?”

“Remind me that you won’t be there when I wake up.”

The minstrations of his hands pause, but you don’t take it as a sign to stop. Your exhaustion has loosened your lips, and the thought of keeping your words at bay only tires you more.

“I’ll find the bed empty, and you’ll be in your office, hunched over a screen like always,” you utter, wiping away the frustrated tears that escape as your confession catches up to you. “Sorry. This is stupid.”

You brace yourself for a familiar lecture, a stern voice explaining that his work is important and impertinent to your shared future. It’s a sentiment you don’t care for and a sacrifice you loathe—you may understand his intentions, but it doesn’t mean his actions don’t feed your isolation.

“I’ll be there.”

Your eyes widen, and you crane your head to look at him, not believing the words falling from his mouth. His expression is one he has never made in your presence, eyes softening with a vulnerability and frustration equal to yours.

“We can sleep in tomorrow.” His voice sounds so tired, making you want to hold him. “It’s time to rest.”

You refuse to break this moment with any more words than necessary. Instead, your fingers intertwine with him, and you carefully bring his hand to your lips, afraid he’ll shatter. You know you’d never be able to explain to anyone that this is the man you love. From his masks to the truth lying underneath it all, you’ll remain by his side until the bitter end.

You almost laugh as he wipes stray tears from your eyes, the dam breaking without your knowledge. But as you sit in the lukewarm water, as nude as the day you were created, you find that you’re completely satisfied.

любимая = darling красивый, моя дорогая = beautiful, my dear

TAGLIST: @imhandicapableofmath @ishqani @squigglewigglewoo @deepseafragments @osameowdazai @little-miss-chaoss @justcallmesakira @osarina @ruru-kiss @yonseibananamilk @saeandscaralover @vnk91t @v4mpash3 @quaao @meiluvrr

thank you for the request dear! i hope you'll like it <3 i've only realized recently that i haven't made a masterlist for this event. woops! hopefully, that should be done and up soon :D

© MUSAMORA 2024 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[csodaturmix]

Huzzah!

[thewinedarksea]

myth: the nine muses

in ancient greek religion and mythology, the muses are the inspirational goddesses of literature, science, and the arts. they were considered the source of the knowledge embodied in the poetry, lyric songs, and myths that were related orally for centuries in ancient greek culture.

[abbidavisart]

Muses (Redesign)

[uranian-umbrella]

Omg wb Callie! I've got a question, how do you feel about robots?

to be honest, i’m not a fan. u_u

[apollon-quotes]

“The Mousai are always dancing, and the goddesses love to busy themselves with songs and strings. But when they see Apollon beginning to lead the dance, they put their heart into their singing even more than before and send down from Helikon an all-harmonious sound.”

- Simonides, Fragment 578 (from Himerius, Orations)

[the-cloudy-dreamer]

Sandtober 2023, Day 13 Lovely Ladies

It’s quite late and I didn’t think I’ll be able to do something for today’s prompt but since I find myself on bed rest and in need of distracting myself here’s Calliope!

I’ve been messing around more and more with paint brushes and thought it would be cool to do something like an old fresco, in an abandoned temple of worship to the muse calliope and so…ta- dah?

Feels like I could do more added details to this but it’s late and I feel like I’ll end up overworking it!

thank you @orionsangel86 for all the lovely prompts!

[fine-arts-gallery]

Calliope, Muse of Epic Poetry (1798) by Charles Meynier.

[my-name-is-apollo]

Orpheus and Linus being mortal while having two gods as their parents (Apollo and usually Calliope) makes sense to me only if their biological father was a mortal and Apollo just came into their life like this:

I mean, Oeagrus is mentioned as the father of both Orpheus and Linus in some versions. And in Dionysiaca he also leaves behind Calliope and a new born Orpheus (and his entire kingdom) to join Dionysus in his war against the Indians. So Apollo stepping in as a father figure is entirely plausible.

[nyxshadowhawk]

My Hymn to the Muses

Since I can apparently write poetry now, I've decided to begin work on a hymnal. It's going to be a long-term project. As is proper, I've begun with the Muses. (I also really could use their help right now.) I was sobbing while writing this, so, that's how I know I'm on the right track.

To the Muses O Muses, from whom all stories flow Like the waters of the Hippocrene, that pours from Helicon’s towering heights onto the sacred planes of Greece; Daughters of Zeus and mothers of song, whose voices sound like chiming bells, heard in the ripples of the stream and the calling of the wind, singing stories older than the many languages of men; Your voices sing within my soul And always have, since I was born.

Urania, who in my youth led me to a sacred stream, and turned my face up to the stars; Calliope, who leads me through the lengthy stories that I tell; Terpsichore, who compels my limbs to express what’s in my heart; Euterpe and Erato, who with their sweet voices, charm my soul; Polyhymnia, who speaks to me now, encouraging me to praise the gods; Clio, she who calls my glance back to the rich lore of the past; Thalia and Melpomene, the witty players on life’s stage, who remind me to enjoy the show, and teach me how to cope with endings.

Pegasus brought me to you, Once, very long ago. And in that time you’ve taught me well How to sing and dance and write, the many arts of lorekeeping. Sisters, now I call to you-- fill me with the voice divine, so that always, always the words will come.