#ichor and nectar

[harleymaguire]

[dirusflor]

Doodles from awhile back that I don’t know whether if I’ve posted yet featuring AU versions of Ichor

[askthe-littlepoet]

Sooo- how is the Ichor genitalia?

"This is not what I meant by getting that 'godly dick.'"

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Words related to Mythology

to include in your next story/poem

Ambrosia - the food eaten by Greek and Roman gods; a very pleasant food

Chthonic - relating to or living in the underworld (i.e., the place in ancient stories where the spirits of the dead go)

Chimera - in Greek mythology, a creature with a lion's head, a goat's body, and a snake's tail

Delphi - an ancient Greek sanctuary (i.e., a holy place) on Mount Parnassus, where an oracle (i.e., a female priest) was believed to be able to answer questions with advice from the god Apollo

Fate - what happens to a particular person or thing, especially something final or negative, such as death or defeat

Gorgon - one of three sisters in ancient Greek stories who had snakes on their heads instead of hair, and who turned anyone who looked at them into stone

Harpy - in Greek mythology, a creature with the head of a woman and the body of a bird

Hydra - in ancient Greek stories, a creature with many heads that grew again when cut off; also, a difficult problem that keeps returning

Ichor - in Greek mythology, the liquid that flows in the bodies of the gods instead of blood

Muse - in ancient Greek and Roman stories, one of the nine goddesses who were believed to give encouragement in different areas of literature, art, and music

Nectar - in ancient Greek and Roman stories, the drink of the gods; also, a sweet liquid produced by flowers and collected by bees and other insects

Satyr - a god in Greek literature who is half man and half goat

Siren - in ancient Greek literature, one of the creatures who were half woman and half bird, whose beautiful singing encouraged sailors to sail into dangerous waters where they died

Sphinx - an imaginary creature with a lion's body and a person's or animal's head, usually with wings; in ancient Greek stories, a creature at Thebes with the body of a lion, the head and breasts of a woman, and wings. She asked people who passed by a riddle (i.e., a difficult question) and if they could not answer correctly, she killed them

Underworld - in mythology, a place under the earth where the spirits of the dead go

If any of these words make it into your next poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I’d love to read them!

More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[forsworned]

SWEET NECTAR ft. PUSSYDRUNK!PRICE

𓈒༑•̩̩͙ 𝗌𝗒𝗉𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗌: 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗑𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗌𝗒 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎

𓈒༑•̩̩͙ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝖼𝗎𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗎𝗌, 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 (𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗆!𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖾

𓈒༑•̩̩͙ 𝖺/𝗇: 𝗂'𝗅𝗅 𝗃𝗎𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 (´꒳`)♡

⤷ links: masterlist rules buy me a coffee!!

Fatigue was submerging into his muscles as he unlocked the door to the shared flat, not bothering to kick off his boots but instead placing his fishing hat on the console before heading to the bedroom. The door slightly ajar and his eyes softened at your sleeping form, so pretty, so...

He sighed at his listless, perverse thoughts, but he couldn't help it when you were wearing that soft pink night slip that clung to you like a second skin. He found himself palming at his hardened member as he leaned against the doorway taking in the sight of you. Honestly, he felt a little drunk from the sleep deprivation, buzzy light headedness that his mission consigned his now weary body as his half lidded gaze set itself upon the peaks of your breasts that rose and fell.

Your body stirring awake, squinting at the familiar form in front of you. "John?" You murmured softly and oh your voice.

Your voice had sent him over the edge, sinking him down to his knees at the end of the bed. His stubble tickling at your inner thigh, lips dotting against the surface of your skin that sent a pleasant shudder up your spine.

Fingers immediately carding into his soft, chestnut hair as you sit up a bit to gaze down at his exhausted form splayed out over your lower half. You couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that he was still fully dressed in uniform.

"Missed you, ducky." He hummed against your inner thigh, millimeters away from your now throbbing core. You licked your lips and flashed him a sweet smile that made his insides go gooey; his eyes might as well have had hearts in them from the way he was gawking up at you adoringly.

A small sigh escaped you. "Yeah?"

He alternated from side to side, showering you with heated kisses, making it unbearably achy between your legs. "Yeah." He breathed out, fanning over your clothed pussy.

"How bad?" You wanted to challenge, but your voice breaks as easily as your resolve in a failed attempted at provocation.

He chuckled as he flickered his sapphire gaze up at you and a sly smile graced his lips. "S'bad, ducky."

And honestly he wasted no time removing your frilly knickers and carelessly tossed them to the side before he dove into your sopping, wet cunt. The way he spat on it before lasciviously devouring you, as his calloused hands caressed your sides and rested at your belly. Lewd noises echoed in your shared bedroom walls both from the squelching of his tongue and mouth against your pussy to the moans and whines that salaciously curled out of your lips.

The way your back arched against the sheets to the way your fingers grasped at his mussed hair and shamelessly grinded against this tongue, Price was fighting the urge to absolutely pound you into the mattress. But he'd settle for the way you obscenely inundated his name while you pathetically writhed beneath his grasp.

Incoherence spluttering from your lips as your chest heaved from the euphoria his tongue was bringing you while he eagerly lapped you up, not quite rough but hungrily. The undivided attention your dripping core was receiving had you whining out for him as your fingers scrambled.

"Missed this sweet pussy." He exhaled as he withdrew from you, admiring the ichorous, dewy sight of your folds reflecting in the dim light from the living room. He gave your cunt a long lick, "So good." Another gluttonous lick. "Fuck, angel." He whispered, before gathering his saliva on your pussy once more and he watched as it sank down your swollen and puffy petals. You involuntarily clenched and he shot you an impish grin. Azure hues fixated on you as he eagerly shunted his flattened tongue from your opening to suckling on your billowy clit, sending your back arching once more as he nestled himself between your legs.

At this point you're begging for release in the form of disjointed pleas and half crescents forming into his scalp. "John...john, please! Need...to cu..."

By way of acknowledging your request, he hummed against your pussy and gently prodded his fingers past your needy folds. He moaned again at the feeling of your tight, wet walls soliciting another whine from you.

"H-hah...John...!" You squeaked out as he curled his fingers barely brushing against your sweet spot that threw you in a fervent daze, causing you to sit up as your jaw went aslack and no words could find a place on your tongue. Just the syrupy sweet, impassioned whines that escaped you as your toes curled, reaching your peak.

He was so lost in you, drinking up all your enraptured gasps and divine honey, feeding his carnal desires. "Cum for me, ducky."

And your orgasm ripped through you, completely coming undone as you cried out in pure pleasure. Though he was still having his fill of you even after, sending you wriggling away from him to which he smiled against you and placed a sweet kiss against your mound before he clambered ontop of you. Giggles filled the room as he held you tight against him and peered down at you lovingly with your sweet nectar coating his pinkened lips.

"Missed you." He beamed. Such an infectious smile he had. It made you grin ear to ear as he leaned forward to tenderly kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips and withdrew a bit too quickly for your liking as he sucked on your bottom lip. The corners of his mouth turned up as he tugged on it ever so gently, bringing it between his teeth before unlatching.

You snickered at the naughty grin on his face. "Missed you too."

His lids were beginning to droop as he gazed down at you and he burrowed himself into the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling your saccharine scent. Your digits gently looped into his hair once more, as he left a little wake of kisses from your jaw to your collarbone.

Sleep began to envelop this unwavering soldier, and soon the sound of his snores were heard and you inwardly chuckled at his incredible timing. All that work just to end up nodding off, though you'd never complain when he was that good.

𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗌 𝖻𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 ࣪ೀ ࣪ 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 © 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[monowritestoomuch]

Riptide

Art belongs to @saixria

Notes: I said bet motherfuckers. Never doubt me. I always deliver, even if I end up taking a year (I’ve done that before, we all have) Count how many times I write divine, lmao. Regardless, enjoy this as I’m still locked out of my main writing account. Yes, my Hamilton fic is being worked on, don’t worry. They’re all being worked on. 

Another thing, I’m no doctor of medicine, so I apologize for any medical inaccuracies.

Foretime = yesterday (in context of the story)

Word Count: 2460

Athena sat in one of the many plush beds in Apollo’s infirmary upon Olympus, staring down at the scars on her hands. They resembled lightning, a strike in the night. 

Athena knew how many mortals had received similar scars upon being struck by lightning, but none had it as harsh as herself. The scars, gold in color, stretched out over her body, up her arms and around her neck, the phantom pain of the injury still residing in her memories. 

A shriek sounded down the corridor outside the room, followed by shouting in one voice. Apollo’s voice. He seemed to be scolding whoever it was that had appeared at the infirmary. Sure, Apollo was easy to startle, but to make him shriek like a child, which hadn’t happened in many centuries.

Athena listened as she heard something, likely a body drop on Apollo, likely driven to unconsciousness. She listened to Apollo struggle and drag the body down the corridor and into the main room of the infirmary, where Athena herself lay recovering. 

Apollo practically dragged the body in, his hair a dastard mess and stygian shadows creasing his under-eyes. He placed the body down on the bed beside Athena, allowing her to gaze on whatever poor minor god who had somehow incurred a wrath so great that they could not heal themselves in their domains. 

Athena’s eyes widened, her body freezing. The god in the bed beside her was no minor god. No, it was her uncle. Poseidon, God of the Seas. Golden ichor dripped from the numerous wounds that had graced his immortal body. The main injury, that dripped golden ichor ceaselessly, was several, repeated stab wounds to the stomach. Three different wounds all dripped in tandem, equal in their intensity and violent nature. The markings of a trident. 

With the profuse intensity the ichor-bleeding wounds held, Athena could only guess that it was Poseidon’s own trident that had injured him. But the question still remained prominent in her mind, who would be able to take Poseidon’s trident and injure him profusely so? Athena didn’t know, not yet, at least, and not while Apollo fervently fretted over their uncle’s unconscious body.

Golden ichor covered practically every inch of her uncle’s injured body, the subtle rise and fall of his chest the only small indication of life still relaying it’s gift onto him. 

Apollo’s hands glowed a soft white over their uncle’s body, the smaller wounds on his body closing, leaving the larger trident-stab-wounds still dripping golden ichor onto the infirmary bed. This, in itself, caused Apollo panic. Athena knew how powerful Apollo was, she knew how capable he was, and yet the stab wounds in his stomach wouldn’t heal, no matter how much Apollo tried, over and over again.

Eventually, Apollo realized he couldn’t heal the wound, for the injury was given by the divine weapon of another god, a god more powerful than Apollo himself. The injury would not heal divinely, so as it was caused by the divine weapon of a god, the god of the seas himself. 

With that being the case, he stitched the wound, spreading a nectar balm over the injuries, before wrapping them up and finishing the wrap around his stomach, going over his shoulder and past his long, dark hair. Another bandage wrapped his left bicep. His head lay heavy on the pale ivory infirmary pillows, his body tucked under the tawny sheets. 

Apollo heaved a heavy sigh, short-term relief echoing in it. He pushed back the long, wavy, golden locks of his hair, a sheer layer of sweat on his forehead, shining in the soft glow of sunshine that graced itself through the windows of the room. He turned to Athena, his shoulders adjusting accordingly. 

“How are you, Athena?” he asked, eyes fleeting between each of his injuries, covered in bandage wraps and nectar balm. “The’ pain any more fleeting than foretime?” he inquired. 

Athena met his golden-eyed gaze. “The pain is–manageable, Apollo,” she answered. Her shoulders evened out as she spoke. “I can return to my duties–” she started arguing once more, being interrupted again by her divine physician half-brother. 

“No, Athena. We’ve had this argument every single day since you’ve awoken from Father’s. . .punishment,” he paused, pursing his lips and crossing his toned arms. “I have told you many times over, it will be another few weeks until you will be able to regain your strength and return to your duties, and until then, you will rest,” he scolded. “I don’t want you trying to sneak out one of the windows like you have tried prior, you are not strong enough.”

Athena shuffled back into the pillows of the infirmary bed, her head pounding and nerves tensing. Apollo’s shoulders sagged as he walked over to the side of Athena’s bed, conjuring up a glass of golden brown liquid. He placed it on the bedside, a wooden straw sticking out of the drink. He sat himself on the oak wood stool beside the bed, elbows on his knees. 

“Understand me, Athena,” Apollo pleaded. “Father’s wrath is hard to incur, and when one does, it never ends well. Father is not one for mercy or peace, and he gets insulted very easily, sister. He was not kind when giving you those scars, scars that I myself cannot heal,” he paused, his chin resting on his tanned hands. “All I ask, all I plead, is that you rest and heal. You cannot heal if you’re dead, sister.”

The word brought a heavy chill over the room. Dead. Death, a mercy for mortals and pitiful minor gods. But Athena dying? It was unlikely and unheard of. The frigid word brought a shiver up her frayed-nerve spine. 

Apollo stood up, walking to the arched doorway and turning to face Athena. “Rest up, sister,” he spoke, the sun emblem on his chiton clasp shining in the sunlight. “-and drink the nectar, you need it,” he finished, walking out of the room and down the infirmary corridor, leaving Athena alone, privy to her own thoughts.

She picked up the glass, placing the smooth wooden straw to her lips as she gulped down the sweet nectar, for it tasted like nothing else ever divinely made, dare most say, more addictive and divine than Dionysus’s own godly wine. 

It had been a few hours since her uncle had arrived gravely injured to the infirmary, the rays of sunlight through the window becoming dimmer, indicating sunset. Athena read a book, her eyes patiently focused on the words, although it caused her mental strain. Headaches, a new feature of her Father’s divine punishment.

Her divine ears perked up as she heard groaning from beside her. The dark-haired figure beside her opened their deep blue eyes, pushing themselves up with a hiss of pain to sit back-facing the infirmary pillows of the bed. Her uncle was alive, and clearly awake, and pained. 

He clutched his stomach, the bandages over them wrapping tightly around his torso. He hissed as his own hand wrapped around his stomach, the bandages unmoving on his body. 

He blinked, taking in his surroundings as his eyes scanned the unfamiliar infirmary room, until they landed on Athena herself. 

“Uncle,” she greeted, closing her book and placing it on the side table. 

“Athena–where-?” he responded, clearly confused, if not surprised at the appearance of his niece, of whom had her right arm in a large wrap of bandages, scars covering every inch of visible skin, bandages over the others. A hand flew up to his lower chest, hissing at the pain moving brought him. “Right, that.”

“That?” Athena questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“I was. . .injured,” Poseidon stated,, avoiding facing Athena, looking her in the eyes as shame echoed in his body language. 

“No doubt,” Athena responded effortlessly. “But to whom caused your injury remains a mystery to be solved.”

“It is none of your concern, niece,” Poseidon admonished.

“On the contrary,” Athena stated blankly. “Considering whoever managed to bring you to your knees and stab you with your own weapon, it could be a threat to all of Olympus.”

Poseidon seemed surprised at first at how Athena knew what had stabbed him, but it quickly faded away to but a feeling of irking. But Poseidon knew better not to question his niece, the goddess of wisdom itself, further than he already had.

“I got into a fight, and I began with the upper hand in my own domain,” Poseidon started, his voice without waver. “Until my. . .opponent used one of Aeolus’s wind bags, releasing a storm of my own creation to be able to battle me, tying the bag to the back of his chiton.”

Now this surprised Athena. Why in Gaia’s name would Aeolus give out one of their precious wind bags to someone to beat Poseidon? And even if they didn’t know it was Poseidon, shouldn’t they have been wiser than to give one of their wind bags to someone? 

But alas, wisdom itself was Athena’s domain, not the wind god’s. 

“My opponent. . .he fought me with a simple sword, but somehow wielded the power of a god, able to defeat me using whoever’s power he had taken, sending the full force of power through. . .five-hundred vengeful spirits, knocking me down onto a small cluster of uneven rocks,” he continued, causing Athena’s eyes to widen. 

Of course a minor god couldn’t have beaten her uncle, that would be both improbable and impossible. But someone wielding the power of a god, a seemingly powerful god, from her uncle’s description, could surely stand a chance. 

“Then how did they get a grasp on your own trident, Uncle?” Athena questioned, noticing a gaping hole in the story her uncle was telling her. 

“Once I had been knocked down, it occurred to my. . .opponent that my storm had been released, leaving them unable to depart,” he continued, a lump rising in his throat as his voice filled with more and more rage. “So he told me to call off the storm, and when I refused, what did he do, you ask? He picked up my trident from where it had dropped. . .and proceeded to repeatedly stab me with it, while shouting.”

This, to Athena, meant many things. One, her uncle wasn’t as strong as she had previously believed him to be. Two, that whoever had the gall to fight him, had beaten him with his own weapon. And three, that her uncle was still withholding information from her on the matter.

“And how did you survive then? How did he stop?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

Poseidon stayed silent for but a moment before speaking. “I told him I’d stop the storm and allow him to go where he needed as he pleased,” he answered. 

Athena could tell he was still hiding something. Lying by omission. 

“And who exactly fought you–and won?” Athena importuned, face as emotionless as she could manage it. She cut him off before he spoke again. “-and if you dare say that ‘it does not concern me,’ it concerns the safety of Olympus, ergo, in turn, concerning me, Uncle.”

Her uncle was silent for many minutes before interrupting the tense silence. “A mortal man.”

“A mortal man?” The words blurted out of Athena’s mouth before she could think properly. 

“A mortal king, who caught me off guard,” Poseidon attempted to justify, but to no avail. 

Athena could perhaps imagine a monster or a god of equal caliber challenging her uncle, but a mortal man? Even if it was a mortal king, his opponent had still been mortal, and he had lost to a mortal.

“Who, precisely, of the mortal kings beat you, Uncle?” she asked, using a tone that left no room for argument.

Poseidon gritted his teeth, aware that he had been checkmated by his own blood. “You might know him as your own student, Athena,” Poseidon answered, disgust clear in his expression.”

Athena’s eyes widened once more. “Odysseus of Ithaca,” she murmured. How long it has been, old friend? Her thoughts asked traitorously.

It was clear Poseidon was embarrassed, both his ego and his pride wounded from the loss to the mortal king of Ithaca, to Athena’s own student. 

Although Athena hadn’t spoken with her student since their argument over a decade prior, but she couldn’t have been more proud of him.

“Pussy,” she thought aloud, the person in question being her own uncle. 

“What did you just call me?” Poseidon demanded, hands curling into fists. He scowled, the pain in his ribs increasing as his anger increased. Deep down, he knew Athena was right, and that there was no way to fight her at this stage. “I am no pu–”

Instead of cowering, Athena chose to stand her ground. To fight in favor of her old friend. “You lost to a mortal king, Uncle. A mortal. You have lost your touch.” She dared to utter the final words, well aware of her uncle’s bitter wrath. 

Poseidon’s expression changed to one of anger. “Why you little–!” 

“That is enough, Uncle,” a newer voice interrupted. 

Apollo. 

“You are not to strain your injury, so until your injuries are fully healed, an argument turned fight is not in your best interest,” Apollo stated threateningly. “Am I clear?”

“Of course,” Poseidon responded, not wishing to irk his own nephew, the one who had chosen to heal him with his divine gift. To anger Apollo in a part of his own domain would not be wise of him, Athena was sure of it. 

“Rest, both of you,” Apollo demanded tiredly, massaging his temples. “And don’t let me hear arguing from either of you or so help me–” His voice raised at the words, before cutting off abruptly, meeting eye contact with each of his patients before exiting the room.

Poseidon grumbled, laying down achingly back in the infirmary bed, facing away from his niece. He mumbled something so quiet, Athena herself couldn’t hear it, as he adjusted the blanket over his body. 

Athena faced away from him, smiling to herself. For she could not have been prouder of her student–no, her friend. 

Before Athena succumbed to the gift of Hypnos, she remembered how she had been visited by Ares the prior day. He had promised her that he had kept an eye on her favorite little mortal. 

“Don’t worry sis, I’ll take good care of your favorite little mortal. Don’t you worry!”

She should’ve been wary of her brother’s enthusiasm.

Athena never expected Ares to help her, because of their due past. But despite their well established rivalry, he cared enough to help her friend. That alone, made her smile warmly, something she had not done for anyone in mere centuries, as she drifted off to Hypnos’s divine rest. 

Tag list: (none yet, but let me know if you’d like to be added!)

[tylermileslockett]

Mount Olympus: Home of the Olympians

       The real-world Mount Olympus is the highest peak in Greece and is located between the borders of Thessaly and Macedonia. The kingdom of the gods sits high upon the mountain as a majestic, bronze Acropolis (fortified hill top citadel). In Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey we get our earliest references, where the peaks of Olympus are described as “rugged’ or “cloud-dark” and the acropolis described as “bronze-founded”  and “under golden clouds.” (Lattimore). The fortress sits below the great sky dome, within in a specific position upon the mountain, in the light, blue upper air of Aether. Below that was the middle air Khaos which enveloped mortals, and finally the lower, dark subterranean mists of Erebos.

Guarding the gates were the goddesses of Seasons, constellations, and time; the Horai. Within the fortress complex was Zeus’ grand palace, along with the lesser palaces of other Olympians, and a divine stable for many of the different gods’ immortal chariot horses. In the golden court, the Olympians held councils to decide mortals’ fates, and feast-hall style banquets; drinking sweet, magical Nectar from golden goblets and eating restorative Ambrosia to maintain immortality by sustaining the fluid within the gods veins; Ichor. Twenty golden tripod Automotons (programmed machines), ingeniously invented by the smith god Hephaestus, autonomously wheeled food and drink amongst the deities. 

Did I miss any fascinating info about Olympus? Please let me know below! And if you can share this image with your followers I'll be happy to send you over an automaton with a goblet of ambrosia to keep your ichor running clear!😁🤟❤️

Support my book kickstarter "Lockett Illustrated: Greek Gods and Heroes" coming in early 2024.

[astraioskosmos]

The Ascendent is stronger than I ever could be, they resisted the urge to crawl on all fours in the Wood and remembered they walk upright by day and know fire and steel and words- but I was never good with words.

My tongue is not sharp, my teeth are blunt and my words desaturated in their meaning like a failed batch of paint. I would've dropped to crawl amongst the roots, to feel the moss against my fingertips and hide in the dirt. I would've fed on the nectar and ichor oozing out the trees, would've drank from the Painted River in the nights where it is most calm, would've cut myself and written the tiniest secret in blood against an upturned stone.

I would be a better dog than I am man. The Cross should not have Sheared, for what purpose does ascending the House gives you aside from the burden of Knowledge? Would life not have been better lived back in the days where the Sun knew us, protected us, was kinder in its light only in exchange for blood?

The Wheel still turns in the House of the Moon and mercy is only found in shadows and now the Wood is dark. It was not, before, but now it is. And so I will drop to all fours and crawl in its dirt and rest in its roots and seek mercy because I am a better dog than man, a worm of a scale.

I will watch as the Ascendent goes through the White Door from afar and think "they are stronger than I ever could have been, but here where the branches are low and Moth hunts, and the Velvet hides and the Ring-Yew renews, I am content."

[theobjectofmyobsession055]

Of Wonders and Witches: Chapter 2 (Zagreus x Reader)

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It took a very long time for Zagreus to make it back to the surface again. After his initial escape, Hades somehow tightened security even more. But finally, Hades fell once again, staining the snow with golden ichor as he was taken by the Styx. Zagreus was far less injured this time around as he began his trek through the cold. He’d brought the green shawl Y/N had given him to protect him from the chilly air, the keepsake proving tremendously useful during his clash with his father.

As he trudged on through the snow, he eventually spotted a quaint little cottage along the cliffside. As he approached, he noticed a bent-over figure clad in green tossing handfuls of something to several small creatures twittering about on the ground. His eyes widened as the sight came into clearer focus. Was that… Y/N?

She looked up, revealing to him that it was, in fact the woman who’d saved him. She gasped, her pretty eyes just as filled with shock as his were. “Zagreus? What on earth are you doing back here?”

Once his surprise subsided, a wide grin spread across his face. He raised his hand in greeting. “Y/N! Fancy seeing you here! As for why I’m back… well, it’s a long story.” He eyed the creatures gathered around her feet, watching as their heads bobbed up and down as they searched for more food. “Uh… what are these things? They sort of look like some of the paintings I saw in your house last time.”

Y/N stared blankly at him, as though he’d suddenly sprouted several more heads like a hydra. “You mean… my chickens? I mean, I suppose they kind of resemble some of other bird species I’ve painted—but, wait, are you telling me you’ve never seen a chicken before?”

Ah, so they were birds, He’d heard of birds before, he was pretty certain, he just… didn’t know what they looked like until just now. The way she stared at him made him a little self-conscious, a flush starting to creep up his cheeks. “Well, um… No. We don’t… have those where I’m from.”

She looked at him dumbfounded, as though he’d told her Dionysus was the ruler of Olympus. Her brows furrowed in abject confusion as she muttered under her breath to herself, “…Didn’t think there was a place on earth without chickens…”

The chickens clucked loudly, the sound brash and a little obnoxious to Zagreus’ ears. Y/N didn’t seem to be bothered by it, though, reaching into her apron and grabbing another handful of oats to toss at them. “Oh quiet, I hear ya! Spoiled little things.”

Zagreus knew he ought not to dawdle here, with his limited time available on the surface, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity. “Is there a reason you keep them? Or are they pets?”

“I eat their eggs,” she explained. At his look of confusion, she continued, “They’re unfertilized, of course. Seeing as I only have hens.”

He still didn’t fully understand, but he figured he’d made enough of a fool of himself by exhibiting his ignorance already. “I see.”

Y/N’s eyes suddenly lit up, and a soft smile graced her lips. “Ah, I see you’re wearing the shawl I gave you. I trust it’s served you well?”

He returned her smile with one of his own. “Yes, it has. It’s much warmer than it looks. Thank you once again.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said, her eyes shining with warmth. Her expression became thoughtful as she regarded him. “I wasn’t lying last time when I said green suits you. It looks very good on you.”

Heat returned to his cheeks at her compliment. Gods, he was blushing like a schoolboy, he needed to get a handle on himself. But it felt really good to receive praise from her, however minor. “Th-thank you. Ah, speaking of gifts—” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of glistening gold nectar. “I want you to have this. As thanks for saving my life.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she took the bottle from him. “What’s this? Wait, this can’t be—” She gasped, her free hand, flying up to cover her mouth. “This is nectar! The drink of the gods! What—where—how did you get this?!”

He grinned boyishly. That might just have been one of the best reactions to one of his gifts yet. His chest swelled with pride. “I have my ways,” he said cryptically. “I hope you enjoy it.”

She stammered, staring down at the bottle of precious liquid in her hands. “Z-Zagreus, I’m touched, flattered beyond belief, but I can’t accept this! This is worth more than gold, more valuable than anything I have in my possession! I couldn’t possibly drink it!”

“Sure you can that’s what it’s meant for, after all.” He chuckled. As she stared up at him in bewilderment, he gave her a sympathetic look. “Tell you what, how about we share it? Would that make you feel better about accepting it?”

Y/N’s expression became conflicted, appearing to war with herself internally. Then, she let out a long breath. “…A-as you wish. Please, come inside.”

Zagreus knew he needed to get going, but a few more minutes couldn’t hurt, right? They’d have their drink, and then he’d be right along his way to his mother’s garden. He followed her inside the cottage and accepted the seat she offered him. She sat beside him on the recliner, a nervous half-grimace on her face as she fiddled with the cork of the bottle. After a moment or two, she finally opened it, pouring it into two cups and handing one of them to him. She took another deep breath. “Well, I, um… I suppose we should toast to something, should we not?” she said, but it sounded more like a question.

“To our new friendship,” he offered, raising his cup in the air with an easy smile on his face.

Y/N gave him a shaky smile of her own and clinked her cup against his. “To our friendship.”

They drank, the indescribable taste of the nectar exploding on Zagreus’ tongue. It was delicate and sweet in a way that was wholly unique, even though he’d sampled it many times before.

Y/N’s eyes lit up with wonder as she took her first sip. “O-oh my! This is… it’s unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before!” She took another sip, savoring the flavor with closed eyes and a pleased hum.

He smiled upon seeing her happiness. That content, almost serene look on her face made his chest feel light and warm. It was only right that she should be happy—if anyone deserved to be it was most certainly her. Someone so kind and gentle, who’d literally given a stranger the clothes off her back, seeking nothing in return. Of course, it was far from ideal that he’d been taken by the Styx shortly after meeting his mother, but a part of him was glad that it happened, if only so that he got the chance to see Y/N again.

Once she finished her nectar, she set her cup down on the side table with a satisfied sigh. She gave him a curious look as she folded her hands together in her lap. “You really are an enigmatic one, aren’t you, Zagreus? You arrive from the Temple of Styx only to return from it once again some time later, and you carry with you the drink of the gods. I do not encounter many people, living all the way out here, but even I can tell there is something strange about you.” A smile that could be described as almost playful graced her lips. “…Would you be willing to play a game with me, Zagreus?”

He smirked, leaning back in his seat. “That depends, my fair maiden. What sort of game?”

Her smile widened, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “One where I try to guess what sort of creature you are, and you tell me if I’m right or wrong.”

“Creature? You wound me.” He scoffed, but there was no real derision to it. “And who’s to say I’m not completely human? Your game would be rather boring if that were the case.”

“Hmm, that would be true.” She gave him a quick once-over before her gaze met his eyes again. “But unless I’m mistaken, humans don’t typically have their feet encapsulated in flame.”

Oh. Right. His cheeks flushed. It wasn’t as though he was wearing shoes or anything, so she had probably noticed that from the start. He cleared his throat, hoping he didn’t look like a complete fool. “Quite right. Very well, guess away.”

She pinned him with her scrutinizing gaze, leaning forward on her elbows as she examined him with a furrowed brow. In truth, it made him feel a bit self-conscious. He’d certainly looked better, when he hadn’t just barely won a fight to the death with his father. He sat up a little straighter. “Hmm…” she mused. “…Are you a shade?”

He let out a soft chuckle. “No.”

She pouted, which he couldn’t help but find adorable. “A satyr in disguise then, perhaps.”

He snorted. “Certainly not.”

“Are you a monster of some kind?” she pressed on.

“You wound me once again, my lady. But no, I am not.” He grinned. This was becoming quite amusing.

“A demigod? A male nymph?”

He chuckled. “No, and I’m pretty sure nymphs can’t be male by definition. Though you are getting warmer, try again.” He leaned forward as well, looking at her with fondness.

The crease between her brows got even deeper. He could practically see the gears in her head turning as she wracked her brain for other possibilities as to what he might be. Then, she stilled, her eyes widening in realization. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again, as though she couldn’t believe the words she was saying. “Wait, you’re not… you can’t be…” She paused. Then, she whispered, barely audible, “…Are you a god?”

Zagreus’ grin widened, amused by her look of amazement. “What gave it away, the feet or my roguishly handsome good looks?” He ran a hand through his tousled hair for emphasis.

Y/N stared at him with eyes wide as saucers in what he hoped was wonder, not fear. After a long moment, she seemed to regain her bearings enough to speak. “O-oh.” Her voice cracked a little on the syllable, so she cleared her throat. “I’ve…. never met a god before.”

He laughed, despite the feeling of dread that began to creep into his gut, signaling that he was soon to be taken back to the House of Hades by the Styx. He swallowed, silently praying to the Fates for just a little more time. “In truth, I’ve—ugh—never met a moral before either. At least… not a living one.”

A look of concern flashed across her fair features. “Zagreus, are you alright?”

“I’m… I’m fine,” he grit out between clenched teeth. Blood and darkness, he thought he’d have more time than this, he didn’t even get the chance to see mother. “I’m just… I have to go soon.”

“What are you talking about, you’re not going anywhere in this state! Unless…” Realization dawned in her eyes. “Oh. You mean you have to go… there.”

Zagreus was glad she was so intuitive, that would at least save him from having to give her a lengthy explanation when his ribs felt like they were constricting around his internal organs. He coughed harshly, his whole body wracked with it.

Y/N’s gaze hardened with resolve. “Wait right here.” She stood and immediately got to work, tossing herbs and spices and other ingredients into the cooking pot in the middle of the room. She stirred the mixture a few times while muttering an incantation under her breath before ladling it into a bowl. She was back by his side in a flash, handing the bowl up to him. “Drink this. If my understanding is correct, then hopefully this should give you a little more time, stave off the call of the Styx.”

He didn’t even hesitate, taking the bowl and drinking its contents immediately. Almost instantly, he felt the dread in his stomach ease, and the pressure in his chest released. Once he gathered his bearings, he looked up at her in astonishment. “How… how did you…”

She offered him a warm smile. “I do live next to the Temple of Styx—I can sense when it is calling someone. And there are many plants with divine properties in this area, hidden beneath the snow as they are. Now go. You wish to see Lady Persephone, yes? My potion will only give you a limited time, so you’d best leave now.”

Zagreus stood, marveling once again at the woman before him. She’d saved his life twice now, as temporary as it may be. But it gave him another chance to speak with his mother, and for that he was eternally grateful. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Oh, but wait!” Just like last time, before he crossed the threshold, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. But unlike last time, she reached up on her toes and placed a gentle, barely-there kiss on his cheek. His head whipped around to stare down at her, a flush crawling up his face. Her cheeks were just as red as she murmured, “…As thanks for the nectar.” There was a pause where they both stood in the doorway, simply staring at each other. Then came her soft, shy voice: “…Will you return?”

His heart thumped hard in his chest. He instinctively reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers ghosting against her cheek. “…I will return as many times as it takes.” And then he was off, sprinting through the snow towards his mother’s garden. Though it wasn’t the physical exertion that left his heart pounding and his lungs wanting for air.

[harleymaguire]

[clasiann]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Odysseus/Paris

Word count: 5017

When the trial comes to Paris to choose who was the most beautiful goddess, Athena wins instead.

Dark irises meet even darker ones with the sense of drowning into them, staring in such a way that one could mistake as intimate with even mere side glances being treated as syrupy nectar, like a life force for one who had been blind for the majority of one’s life.

And as Paris continues to steal as many looks and side glances from the gorgeous Ithacan, no matter how short they are, he feels he might be eternally screwed.

But he doesn’t regret his decision.

-

A swap of who won during Paris’ trial of who was the most beautiful god; instead of Aphrodite, Athena wins.

[bldrdsh]

❝ But gods are born of ichor and nectar, their excellences already bursting from their fingertips. So they find their fame by proving what they can mar: destroying cities, starting wars, breeding plagues and monsters. All that smoke and savor rising so delicately from our altars. It leaves only ash behind. ❞

. ― Madeline Miller, Circe

. IND. PRI. HIGHLY SEL. OC & Canon Multimuse written by Joey

[thesummerstorms]

Random Thing in my head right now:

We know that using too much ambrosia or nectar to heal yourself, or taking it too soon after your last dose, can literally burn a demigod alive from the inside out.

They have enough ichor to handle some divinity, but not enough for it not to kill their mortal bodies as fast as it heals them.

So for situations like, idk, the quest through Daedelus's maze, or following the Mark of Athena, or basically any quest where you're going to be out of reach of CHB's healers and likely have difficulty keeping track of time, I'm wondering what that risk management looks like.

Granted, those types of quests don't see to be super common before Percy showed up and in a lot of them the demigods lose their supplies anyway. So maybe they never did come up with a management procedure if they're not in the infirmary with Apollo kids writing a chart.

But - and this is where this headcanon came from honestly- you know who would have the temperament, inclination, and bad luck needed to come up with something? Annabeth Chase.

I just kind of imagine her getting separated from her quest mates for whatever reason, badly enough injured she needs ambrosia but in danger enough she can't stop, gritting her teeth as the bones start to settle, uncapping a permanent marker, and writing across the skin of her own arm or leg like a triage medic.

Scribbling out doses and times, as best as she can figure by the old-fashioned mechanical watch she's praying is still accurate, so that if she's passed out when her friends find her they don't accidentally kill her.

Honestly, the Apollo kids or who ever is stuck playing medic on the quest probably appreciates it, but it probably gives Percy a whole new moment of trauma to reflect on once she's in the infirmary and he can stop to process.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

I’m not sure if you do nsfw words or phrases. But is there something you can post for the writers who need words for sex scenes? Ones that won’t make reader cringe or throw up? And ones that won’t sound repetitive?

110 "Beautiful" Words for Your Sex Scenes

A-E

Agitate - to move with an irregular, rapid, or violent action

Amatory - of, relating to, or expressing sexual love

Ardor - sexual excitement; extreme vigor or energy

Assail - to encounter energetically; to afflict in a manner that threatens to overwhelm

Austere - harsh and threatening in manner

Bemoan - to feel sorry or dissatisfied about

Bestrew - to lie scattered over

Carnal - given to crude bodily pleasures and appetites

Cavernous - suggesting a cavern; composed largely of vascular sinuses and capable of dilating with blood to bring about the erection of a body part

Coax - to gently urge by caressing or flattering

Compulsion - an irresistible persistent impulse to perform an act

Concrete - to become physically firm or solid

Constriction - the act or process of reducing the size or volume of something by pressing

Curvature - a curved surface of an organ

Delectation - delight, enjoyment

Deluge - a great flow of water or of something that overwhelms

Devoir - something one must do because of prior agreement

Dew - moisture especially when appearing in minute droplets

Douse - a heavy drenching

Ecstasy - rapturous delight; a state of being beyond reason and self-control

Enraptured - to fill with delight

Entreat - to make an earnest request; plead

Entwine - to become twisted or twined

Erogenous - of, relating to, or arousing sexual feelings; sexually sensitive

Exult - to be extremely joyful; rejoice

F-O

Fervid - marked by often extreme fervor (i.e., intensity of feeling or expression; intense heat)

Feverish - marked by intense emotion, activity, or instability

Flushed - tinged with red especially in the face (e.g., from physical exertion)

Flutter - to vibrate in irregular spasms

Foment - to promote the growth or development of; rouse, incite

Fragmentize - fragment (i.e., to fall to pieces)

Frisson - a brief moment of emotional excitement; shudder, thrill

Fuse - to come together to form a single unit

Gasp - to catch the breath convulsively and audibly (as with shock)

Gluttony - greedy or excessive indulgence

Harmony - pleasing arrangement of parts

Ichorous - of a thin watery or blood-tinged discharge

Immovable - incapable of being moved

Impetus - stimulation resulting in increased activity

Imprint - to mark by pressure

Impure - lewd, unchaste

Incantation - a written or recited formula of words designed to produce a particular effect

Intensity - extreme degree of strength, force, energy, or feeling

Inundate - overwhelm; overflow

Kindle - to stir up; arouse

Lecherous - given to or suggestive of lechery (i.e., inordinate indulgence in sexual activity; lasciviousness)

Levitating - to rise or float in or as if in the air especially in seeming defiance of gravitation

Licentious - disregarding sexual restraints

Lissome - easily flexed; lithe (i.e., characterized by easy flexibility and grace)

Luscious - sexually attractive; seductive, sexy

Mantra - a statement repeated frequently

Murmur - a soft or gentle utterance

Nectar - something delicious to drink

Nimble - quick and light in motion; agile; responsive, sensitive

Oceanic - vast, great

Overflowing - a flowing over; inundation

P-S

Palpate - to examine by touch

Palpitate - to beat rapidly and strongly; throb

Partake - to take part in or experience something along with others

Pearl - something resembling a pearl; precious

Pining - to yearn intensely and persistently especially for something unattainable

Piquant - agreeably stimulating to the taste; engagingly provocative

Plaint - wail

Plunge - to cause to penetrate or enter quickly and forcibly into something

Propulsion - the action or process of propelling (i.e., to drive forward or onward by means of a force that imparts motion

Pulsate - to throb or move rhythmically; vibrate

Rapacious - ravenous (i.e., very eager or greedy for satisfaction or gratification

Rasp - a rasping sound, sensation, or effect

Relish - enjoyment of or delight in something that satisfies one's tastes, inclinations, or desires

Repine - to long for something

Rhapsody - rapture, ecstasy

Ripple - to have or produce a ripple effect; spread

Salacious - arousing or appealing to sexual desire or imagination

Silken - soft, lustrous; harmonious

Siren - resembling that of a siren; enticing

Slaver - to let saliva or some other substance flow from the mouth

Sluice - to drench with a sudden flow

Sob - to catch the breath audibly in a spasmodic contraction of the throat

Sodden - heavy with or as if with moisture or water; to be soaked

Stirring - marked by much life, movement, or activity

Sublime - to elevate or exalt

Succulent - full of juice; moist and tasty; toothsome

Succumb - to yield to superior strength or force or overpowering appeal or desire

Sumptuous - extremely costly, rich, luxurious, or magnificent

Supple - capable of being bent/folded without creases, cracks, or breaks; able to perform bending/twisting movements with ease

Supplicate - to ask for earnestly and humbly

Surge - to rise and move in waves or billows; swell

Surrender - to give oneself up into the power of another; yield

Svelte - lithe (i.e., easily bent or flexed)

Swirl - to have a twist or convolution

T-Y

Taut - tense; not relaxed; rigid, stiff

Tempestuous - marked by bursts of intense activity

Tenderness - sensitivity to touch or palpation

Throes - pangs, spasms

Thrum - to sound with a monotonous hum

Torrid - ardent, passionate; hot

Undulate - to move in waves; to rise and fall in volume

Unyielding - characterized by lack of softness or flexibility

Unyoke - to take apart; to force apart

Vehement - marked by forceful energy

Vigorous - carried out forcefully and energetically

Vitality - power of enduring

Voluptuous - conducive to or arising from sensuous or sensual gratification

Voracity - the quality or state of being voracious (i.e., ravenous; excessively eager)

Wanton - causing sexual excitement; lustful, sensual

Whet - to make keen or more acute; excite, stimulate

Winded - cause (someone) to have difficulty breathing because of exertion; panting, gasping for breath

Worship - extravagant respect or admiration for or devotion to

Writhe - to move with twists and turns; intertwine

Yearn - to long persistently; to feel tenderness or compassion

Hope you use these words in ways that won't make your readers cringe or throw up, dear Anon! But it's fine if some of them do—as long as you are satiated with your own writing :)

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 ⚜ More: Word Lists

[threadboundgold]

Hypnos who has perfected that good old fashioned poker face, except no one notices because he wears a smile instead of a blank expression. Who lies as easy as breathing, because that’s the nature of dreaming. Who calls Zagreus ‘friend’ even as he watches how the godling usurps his place in the family.

Hypnos who keeps Zagreus awake most days-or-nights, refusing him the comfort of his domain. The one thing that Zagreus can’t take from him, the god of blood seeming to leech into every crack that’s left unguarded. His bright red ichor staining everything he touches. Hypnos who is losing- who has lost everything that mattered to him, to a godling who barely grasps the true intricacies of the underworld.

Hypnos who sees the nectar his “little brother” offers, and wants to throw the bottle in his face.

But he’ll take the bribe anyways.

No sense in wasting a good drink.

[obi-wan-kxnxbi]

sea and fire

a steddie fic - sequel to ichor and nectar