delianxapollo

[delianxapollo]

They would always need him. The little birds, no matter what, would always fly home. Her question was amusing, however, and he turned to look at her. "You're not an Oracle anymore. What makes you think you get to be both? Don't you feel special enough?" His words were somewhat biting, though it wasn't anything unusual for Apollo. The aspect looked at himself once more, the marble catching the light how he wanted it, until he finally turned his body toward's Vivianne's. "Sounds like you made your choice when you ate a little flower. I owe you nothing because you're no longer someone that falls under my little category." He spoke the truth as he saw it; he couldn't lie, anyway. "So your little family was strangely special, yes, yes, save it. No one wants another it girl, Viv. Take it from me – you've made your choice so...move on. This coven isn't meant to be your home forever."

Well, it was definitely a masterpiece. She couldn't be angry or bothered about art like this, given by a God, placed in her home but it would definitely get some getting used to. What Abel did about it was now completely his prerogative. She didn't mind standing there for about 5 minutes if only because it let her think about all the many different things going through her head these days, very last of which was this statue. Her eyes were distant even as she looked at the marble.

"I didn't choose spartoi, not exactly," she replied, looking a bit tired. "My biological father was an artifact collector, prideful of some apparent distant fey ancestry. My mother became a dracaenae. The Fates have humour but I can't deny they're creative." Vivianne shifted to look up at Apollo, finally taking the chance to ask about something that had been bothering her. "Apollo... do you know anything about the Fates and what happened to them? I still had... visions and oracles during the lost years but I haven't since we've all been back."

#vivianne

[delianxapollo]

Apollo looked up from the book he was reading, a smut book about himself of course, to give Artemis a funny look. "You're one to talk. Where in my name have you been for so long? Out there carousing with Ganymede, pouting – I've been here." He snapped the book closed, crossing his arms over his chest. It was unfortunate he remembered it all, but when it came to Hyacinth, he took everything seriously. It's why he'd been taken out so quickly, perhaps, but no one else needed to know that.

"We died once before, didn't stick. Won't stick next time, either." Apollo gave a small smile, especially since he had no plans to remain as nice as he had been as of late. He'd only cursed one little witch, one little Asphodel oracle, and with no words, he'd be able to spill no secrets. He let it wear off of course, he was benevolent like that, but Apollo would have to change his tune sooner rather than later. "So, what's your excuse for running off?"

Date: January, some time Location: Your choice Characters: @delianxapollo & @divinitydiana Notes: i need sibling crack again

Artemis had barged into the room her brother was in without invitation or any sort of warning, ignoring whatever might have been happening without her because she had things to say. She'd brooded in the Otherworld with Ganymede long enough and now she was back and in a very good mood because of Harlow.

"I decided to forgive you for being a dick and also for dying without me." They literally weren't supposed to do that. She made her brother promise and, fortunately, the first time they'd died it had more or less been together. The second time was really stupid and Diana made herself remember it even though it never really happened, thank gods. "It's okay, you don't need to say thank you. I know I'm generous and I know I'm the best sister ever."

#artemis

[delianxapollo]

@hyckinthos Location: let's go to the beach beach Notes: Apollo needed a vacation from his vacation and i had a dream so we doin it

The little island off the coast of Italy was mostly uninhabited. It'd been visited many times, but it had a pretty beach that Apollo had decided long ago was his. He'd had a temple somewhere around here once, but that hadn't been the reason that he'd dragged Hyacinth out to the beach. The golden sand was perfect for them, the clear, small waves that chased them up and down the shore – a place of contradictions. A mortal realm that held its own beauty, but also not enough. Not like Elysium. Apollo would have to think of something eventually, but he was only one god amongst peasants.

Apollo was grinning now, clad in nothing because what did he have to hide when it was just the two of them under the sunshine on a beach? Then there was the avariel, the only one worthy enough of Apollo – to Apollo. He moved towards the avariel now, letting the water crash around his ankles. His lover was a walking contradiction. Soft avariel feathers indicative of seraphim, there was a strength in his jawline that contrasted with the almost delicate slope of his nose, a dark sensuality in his soft lips set against his clear eyes. Hard edges softened by golden skin. A face full of contradictions, just like Hyacinth himself, who kept himself out of Apollo's reach – but only for the time being. His words were sometimes soft, but pointed, and a rough voice that followed suit. Another contradiction. In Apollo's hands, a discus made of light formed, solidifying after a moment, "Care to play?"

#hyacinth

[delianxapollo]

JAMIE DORNAN as Elliot Stanley/Eugene Cassidy The Tourist (2.04)

#hello 911 #mirror

[delianxapollo]

Fortunately, Apollo's libido was a thing of legends. He'd pleased many, many people in his lifetime, but he'd been an honest man as of late. He would never betray Hyacinth's trust now, anyway. But he did enjoy a good tease. He grinned once more, filled to the brim, as his avariel stayed perched between his thighs. There was nothing more fulfilling, literally and figuratively, than to see Hyacinth somewhat content. Rome would have to do for now, until he found a place worthy enough for the two of them. The mortal realm did have its beautiful places, and Apollo already imagined an island in the sun off the shores of all the old places that used to worship him. His fingers curled around Hyacinth's strong jaw, "Again."

Angular, toned, and refined; Hyacinth felt the flush of his body rock against Apollo's with every stride. Their lips tangled together as Hyacinth tasted the heat that broiled through the air itself. Definitive, haunting, and familiar. Unseen were the marks that Apollo had raked across Hyacinth's soul already, long torn and buried across the breadth of his chest. Time and time again the Spartan would return to the other, to his bed, to his side, to every part of him that Apollo permitted. It wasn't for any duty, responsibility, or debt of patronage, but because as much as it was possible to love another, Hyacinth loved the God beneath him. Finality swelled within him, warmth spread like the flames of the sun as he felt himself fill the vessel that Apollo inhabited. Release washed from him once more as his body blanketed the other's, collapsing in a way as he smiled against Apollo's lips. After a brief moment of reprieve he lifted himself enough to look into the other's eyes, Hyacinth's fingers brushed through the curls over Apollo's forehead, the other wrapped around the length splayed between their abdomens.

"Again?"

#hyacinth #i suppose we could wrap this up

[delianxapollo]

There were plenty that wondered why. Why would Apollo lower himself to an avariel; he was a god, he could have what he wanted. Though it all came in the form of the Spartan. Tethering their souls together had been easy, no second thought about it. Apollo was a vicious enemy; he knew how plagues could deteriorate anyone who stepped close, how to heal them if he wished – none had suffered more so than the wind that had thought they deserved Hyacinth's favor simply because they asked. Apollo's thighs rested on the sharp hipbones of Hyacinth, the Spartan's brutal pace nothing less than what the god wanted.

Every time he was filled, he'd demand more. More until the two were spent, until the afterglow bronzed the avariel's skin, and Apollo's warmth evened out. The words were quiet, ones that Apollo never let go of. He was melodic in his own words. To curse, the heal, the god always had something to say. Hyacinth's gift was his devotion and intention, and Apollo saved that for the avariel as well. "Forever, beloved," he murmured in return, his fingers dragging along the other's swollen mouth. Apollo could say more, but he'd give the other silence: something that he was sure would be appreciated. Pulling Hyacinth down, he pressed another kiss against his lips, "I release you from this prison," he teased, letting his legs fall to either side of Hyacinth's body.

Apollo was a God and as a God he saw it as his right to lavish those he deemed worthy with his blessings, to elevate them above those around them so his blatant favour was as clear as the midday sun. Pride, strength, and certainty defined the laconic creature and for all that Apollo wished to devote to him Hyacinth didn't want any of it. This was what he wanted; more than the God beneath him, more than the God's blessings, and more than the gifts that could be laid at his feet. Those were meaningless trifles that any deity could have thrown at him - and they had, because one and the same too many assumed a demigod's heart was so easily won. From Apollo all Hyacinth wanted was his affection, his love, and his respect. Those three things held more value than any boon or treasure, those three things were the only immaterial items that mattered to the Spartan. For all Apollo's wealth, they were all that had any value to Hyacinth.

His body moved against the other's, their pacing switched periodically across the hours or the days that had transpired between them. Fervent in one instant, languid in the next as the pair savoured the skin between them. Even ministrations as the avariel felt himself building once again, his hands everywhere at once, his lips attached to the vessel that Apollo had inhabited. Another mark, another brand made from love as the creature's pacing picked up once more. Hyacinth's head tilted to look into the God's eyes, even through the hues of the chosen vessel he could see the divinity that glimmered within. That sparkle of ecstacy and delight. Hyacinth said little, but the words he used were always carved from absolute, raw intention.

"I love you."

#hyacinth

[delianxapollo]

JAMIE DORNAN photographed for The Sunday Times Style Magazine, 2018

#mirror

[delianxapollo]

"Yeah yeah, you always say that. To everyone. No one has forgotten you exist, Than. You don't need to worry about it." Death was a broken record; it happened all the time, and Apollo wasn't about to give him any more spotlight than need be. "Isn't it? I've been told I have kind eyes and a nice heart. Anyway, neighbors? I was thinking it'd be nice. Is your weird brother still around?"

"You'll see it again, briefly." Death came for everyone eventually, the Gods and their desire for immortality, everything had an end, even the young deity in front of him; especially his father. The wine stayed untouched in front of him but Death appreciated the gesture, even if he didn't show it. "That's surprisingly considerate of you."

#thanatos

[delianxapollo]

Hyacinth moved, and Apollo easily went. The god bent for no one, no one perhaps except the avariel. Too often he'd watched people bow to him, and he enjoyed that. But his back arched under the calloused hands of a spartan, his vessel reacting easily to the pace that Hyacinth had set. Apollo had chosen a form glorious enough for Hyacinth to have, to ravage, because it was only meant for that. Lips meant once more, ragged breaths between them as Apollo let out a moan of Hyacinth's name.

He could feel the other deep within him, hitting every part of him that was intimate to the avariel. It made his back arch, and his mouth whisper sweet praises to the one that was worth it all to him. No life was worth his own except for Hyacinth's, and if he could make the world bow to the Spartan once more, he would. Worship was easy, it was divine, and Apollo would bathe Hyacinth in divinity if the Spartan weren't so stubborn. Aching, Apollo tangled his fingers into the other's brown locks, holding on tight as light spilled between them and Apollo reached his overflowing point once more.

Framed in the light of either dusk or dawn - Hyacinth couldn't be sure just how much time had passed - Apollo was lit with gold. The fine hairs of his vessel's form were alight with the mystical hue. His skin glossed by the rhythmic passion that seemed to set them both ablaze. It could have been this forever, two bodies with no definitive end or beginning; Apollo was connected inherently to the division of souls. Creatures that were too powerful to remain entwined, Hyacinth thought that in this act that the avariel had been severed from him at some point. Cleaved away and tossed towards the mortal realm, only to be picked up and stitched together after the fateful fall of a discus.

Hyacinth's hands were strong, his body sturdy, and he used the leverage of both to turn the God onto his back. Rolling his hips on top of him as light streamed through the parted velvet curtains, bits of dust framed in the shafts that cascaded about them. Nothing between them but skin, heat, and the tandem that Hyacinth set in a fluid, marked pace. His tongue was not that of a poet's, he could not hold any fanciful tune, but he claimed the famed deity's as if it had been carved by Pygmalion himself.

#hyacinth

[delianxapollo]

Apollo liked to burn with the heat of the sun. This was no different, as he felt completely filled by the Spartan he was straddling. He was overflowing, bodies that met in a rhythm as ancient as the music of the muses. So many had fought for Hyacinth's heart, over and over again, to the point where killing the avariel had seemed like the best answer. Not for Apollo; sweat slicked skin was now beneath his lips, as fine as the ambrosia the gods loved so much. His fingers threaded through the curls that decorated the soldier's head, the prince of his heart – he'd make him a king, if he could.

He didn't need to whisper honeyed words about love. It was such a mortal word, one that did not envelope what Apollo felt about his avariel. There were times when they were apart, when even the mortal words couldn't figure out how he truly felt. His mouth moved to press against Hyacinth's, tasting every inch of the avariel's mouth. Swallowing any words, any breath, he'd steal it and keep it for himself just to have a part of the avariel with him.

This tongue that Apollo passed across Hyacinth's had the edge of ambrosia, like the avariel was made more divine with each passing moment. A venom lurked beneath the tarmac there, a spiteful curse that could instil the worst in someone, Hyacinth had seen it done before. That was the true glory of Apollo, his true radiance was that he was both the mallady and the poultice, he was the curse and the prayer all wrapped into one. He brought pestilence and then wove it away with the soft brush of his ichorous tongue. A fiend in divine form, a sinful God and a patron that could only be denied for so long. Inevitably, Apollo always had his way; stubborn as the Spartan was, he could refuse him no longer.

Hyacinth slipped inside, felt the warmth that Apollo was so proud of offering. The comfort of the God that had enraptured him time and time again, his well laid trap in the form of a divine amphora begging to be filled. Calloused fingers braced the small of the God's back, the sheets spilled and coiled about them like the python Apollo had bested in legends. Smooth silk strewn with the sweat of their unending exchange. Passion and glory, love and bliss; it was true that Hyacinth might never find the beginning of himself apart from the constellations arranged in Apollo's name but it was enough to permit the God to show him the stars he'd pluck for him instead.

#hyacinth

[delianxapollo]

"So how's the neighborhood? Alfheimr. Does it have a lot of good space? I usually prefer really big pillars, lots of cloud, a lot of sun. I know it's a whole dark realm thing, but I think I could be a beacon of hope in trying times." Apollo waved his hand now, sighing as the other mentioned beer, "I know, but I prefer wine and I know you're a bit of a dabbler in wine making. Thought I'd help out."

"I don't have a phone." Thanatos said simply before he conjured a pair of goblets for Apollo to dispense his wine into, Death could be bribed. It was unfortunate what had happened to the God, the first time was his own fault, but being denied Uthenera? Well, that was Thanatos having something of a tantrum. He could only be patient in regards to Apollo and the rest of his kin's inane desire to live forever... For so long. "Hasn't Hermes told you? I prefer beer but this will do." Apollo was a slippery one, tying the avariel's life to his own? Clever indeed.

#thanatos

[delianxapollo]

Apollo loved it when they got cheeky. When someone who loved to speak out at him forgot his place. Forgot that it was he who spit in his mouth, he who could put him on his knees, and he who would be thanked for ever remotely looking in Bastien's direction. He was a god. He was the moment. "In whispered verses, dark and sly, A curse befalls, no need to pry. For 24 hours, hush your speech, in silence deep, let lessons teach. No uttered word shall pass your lips, no secrets slipped from fingertips. A mute embrace, a quiet shroud, As a rhyming god decrees, be bowed." Humbled, probably, and Apollo leaned forward now, probably a little too close for comfort, "Remember your place. It's on your knees, thanking me. I'll speak to you tomorrow when you remember how to use that tongue."

"Perhaps so," he stated without hesitation, a look of momentary consideration upon his features. The powers of an oracle had been his since birth, since he had been a young boy within the forest of his home. With a knife in one hand and his offering in the other. One offering after the next had given him what he desired, visions of a future ripe for the taking. But now, his power had weakened. The book had been destroyed, and the visions had been less than what they once had been. For now, at least. "Are you not my patron of visions?" There was an amused smirk on his lips, if only because Bastien knew this could not be the end of the Asphodel. No, they still had so much left to do. "Perhaps I should be sending my praises to a new god. Hm, a better one, if you will."

#bastien

[delianxapollo]

Jamie Dornan in Fifty Shades Freed (2018) dir. James Foley

#mirror #cake

[delianxapollo]

Apollo had made his home in Hyacinth, in between the avariel's thighs, deep into his throat as he met the other in the devouring kiss. His mouth plundered Hyacinth's as much as he could, grinning because he couldn't help himself at times. The god's realm had burned, and while he couldn't go back there, for now, he was content to be in the arms of the Spartan that he held dear and above all. There was no other that had ever held close, and while Apollo's list of one hit lovers was long and hard, much like the other bit of Hyacinth he held in his palm, none ever came close to the avariel.

Hushed promises were nothing that Apollo felt like he needed to continue to give the avariel, but he always murmured about his devotion in every single way. It was in the way he ran his tongue over the other's lips, the way he moved his mouth to the hollow of Hyacinth's neck where the saltiness of his skin stuck to his mouth. Apollo was divine and he only wanted the best for himself, and that was what he'd found in the avariel. Everything could be forgiven with just the whisper of his name from Hyacinth's mouth, something that he wished to hear at all times.

Work would wait, it had to, for Apollo had decided now that he'd remain on this realm. It had definitely been his choice now, he wasn't going to think about the alternatives. His fingers remained curled around Hyacinth's rigid length, squeezing lightly as he let his free fingers dance along the edges of the avariel's hipbone, jagged edges that had known pain, had known suffering – until Apollo had come along and ensured that he only had to deal with some of that. It wasn't the god's fault that the avariel liked to do everything the hard way.

For now, though, the god would submerge himself in the divine taste of Hyacinth. He'd toppled shrines for the avariel, laid down his bow when he was asked – his love knew no bounds, and his grief and vengeance was even more obscene than it had been in centuries. For now, though, he'd worship at the shrine of Hyacinth, the one that his body held, the way his heart and his magic sprung to life beneath tanned flesh. The gods were beautiful and craved it, strove for it, but Hyacinth simply existed, and that was the most beautiful thing to Apollo. "Where you go, there I'll go; where you rest, there I'll rest." The words whispered in confidence, the days blurred together as Apollo wasn't sure where he began and Hyacinth ended. He brought his mouth back to the avariel's, deepening the kiss as he straddled the other's lap. Sun blinded its way through the room, alighting golden skin once more as he threaded his fingers through Hyacinth's hair and down to the softness of the avariel's back.

Apollo had locked the door to the estate that he'd purchased and called it a golden dream version of Elysium, the God was clearly jaded that his home had been sacked and burned: Hyacinth was a senator now, as much as Apollo liked to think the avariel was solely beholden to the other's whims, but he had duties that extended beyond their bedroom. Not now though, and not for many days yet. For now they would rejoice because their victory precipitated the need for celebration, and that's what this was, a victory. Less so for Apollo, but at least Hyacinth would not be confined to Elysium for a second time. Very few knew how to celebrate better than Apollo himself and so long as they were together they could paint any wall the colours of paradise.

While the demigods of the mortal realm were plagued with many years of servitude, Hyacinth was blessed in that he'd died shortly after his possession. His curse came in the wretched sin his hands had committed, in the blow he'd been made to deal against his own lover. Apollo's eyes were eternally full of a youthful glory that it had been impossible to imagine that the light could ever fade from them again. This world was returned to them and Hyacinth had committed to himself that he'd see Apollo's blown into an epiphany of stars again and again; if only to erase the image that was now so ingrained in his mind's eye.

Love drunk and physically drunk, Hyacinth hadn't lifted from this euphoric stupor for innumerable days. Bliss came in the form of the divots above Apollo's thighs, in the length that hung between them, and the desire that lurked further beneath. Skin marred from the symphony of the turbulent recreation, of the expansive estate they'd already claimed more rooms than either would ever know what to do with. Every surface christened and blessed, every wall marked by the stretch of their palms, fingers, or in some cases the flats of their feet. Even Gods could run dry, but Hyacinth had long learned that you could still pull from an emptied amphora.

As insatiable as the day, Apollo found another spot to mark, and then another. The battle had ended quickly but soon enough Hyacinth was bound to be more battered and bruised than ever before. His skin marred again and again by the scope of Apollo's devotions as for what might have been the hundredth time that week the God descended between the avariel's thighs. Any who'd known Apollo well enough knew the breadth of the man's divine talents, the capabilities of his vessel, and the diligence he put behind the pleasurable task. Hyacinth's head tilted against the mound of comfort built around them, his fingers tangled in his lover's hair, and with fluid devotion he pulled the other back as he leaned forward to capture Apollo's lips with his own.

#bet #i have no gifs #hyacinth

[delianxapollo]

@thanatcsx

One of the cats sat on his lap, and Apollo had to basically force his way inside. Thanatos is busy, Thanatos had somewhere to be – he was tired of the excuses. It was easy to be annoyed, easy to wonder why the god had to do him dirty like this twice, but he wasn't going to bring him up because he was so mature and so brave. "You don't call. You don't write." They all had their fallouts, their history. Thanatos the dark elf, formerly light. Apollo, dead once and back again. Thanatos was just lucky he never had to deal with the hardships of life like Apollo did. "So I'm here. With wine."

#thanatos

[delianxapollo]

@oraculumx Location: wherever hon hon le bas hangs out

"Are you here to get your mouth spit in again?" Apollo was happy to do it, Bastien was here, his little soul hopping around from town to town, body to body. "If you get on your knees, you can, but I don't think I can help you." Visions were fickle, the fates were upset, and how could he blame them? They always giggled when he visited, but that was eons ago. He should've sent them a card. "So don't blame me, or...no, no, it's not my fault. Its yours. And all your little friends. And my long lost sibling. Yikes."

#bastien

[delianxapollo]

@seeingvivianne Location: Ye Olde Dalhia House

"Damn, I look fucking good." The statue was amazing, brilliant, and awe-inspiring. His statue was clad in a thin sheet around his waist, his original form, his true form, blinding and beautiful. His abs, he could take shots off of them all day. It wasn't until he realized that he'd forced Vivianne to stand there for five minutes that he finally addressed her. "So, now you're a spartoi." He'd have to tell Diana, she'd love another friend to add to her possible possession list. Apollo sighed as he caught sight of himself once more, "Unfortunate. You all get the short end of the stick. And unheard of, really. A spartoi? Bit strange, you should've stayed a witch."

#vivianne