Chapters: 4/?
Fandom: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Apollo/Hymenaios, Apollo/Magnes, Apollo/Kalliope, Apollo/Admetus, Gyges/Magnes, Apollo/Hymen (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Apollo/Magnes son of Argos (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Apollo/Calliope (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Admetus of Pherae/Apollo (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Gyges of the Hecatoncheires/Magnes son of Argos (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Characters: Apollo, Hymenaios, Magnes, Kalliope, Admetus of Pherae (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Additional Tags: period typical adult-child relationships
Hymenaios, nowhere, knowing nothing, encapsulated in golden light, feathers falling all around him, borne on the surge of the god’s love swelling inside him, feeling the impossible heat of the kiss, the taste of the Apollo’s music vibrating on his tongue, filling him, and he was falling, the ecstatic wave of unendurable bliss overwhelming him, burning, the light taking everything he was.
He is 52 , but since the age for marriage for men in Ancient Greek was 30, he’s a bit flustered he didn’t manage to have a family by now (he craves it, he’s married to me now) so he always says he’s a bit younger 49, and hides his grey/white hair (mostly under hair (luckily for him).
I'm pro Agnes x Gomez, because she wants to taste the dick that Wednesday came from.
...This made me laugh a whole lot because that would probably be Afterburn Agnes 😭
I'm still laughing at the thought. Let's f
ETA: Here's 100 150 words for your thought.
Fully Circled (NC-17, Agnes Demille x Gomez Addams/Gagnes, oral, age gap, 100 words)
BONUS: So Close (R, Agnes Demille x Morticia Addams/Magnes, lesbian, age gap, 50 words)
For many years, Gomez Addams never suspected anything but his wife’s loving lips encapsulating the base of his midnight erection and dragging up to its knobby head, repeating the motion with great variation until he came.
Sometimes he would be in a dream state, his tired eyelids cracking open to the feel of the coolness on his spit-soaked girth, the mouth attached to it diligently sucking, only to see nothing but his cock disappearing into the thick air of pressure and rolling.
But Agnes Demille had to. She had to draw out exactly what had helped to draw her in.
✨✍🏽🕸️🕷️✨
Agnes cuddled against her breast, the heady scent of the older woman still on her upper lip. It made her bold enough to admit that she had always wanted to feel the exact spot from where Wednesday had emerged, to which Morticia laughed.
5 Skyphoi of glass are to be taken, all of the same size and capable of holding the same amount of liquid, which should be arranged in such an order as portrayed in the schema below.
Skyphos A is to be filled with aqua vitae
Skyphos B with a good wine
Skyphos D with aqua subtilis
Skyphos C with aqua crassa
and the middle, Skyphos E, with drinking water
Once done, having wet one's fingertip, brush along the lip of the cup until the ringing, which in the above experiments I have demonstrated how to elicit, is perceived. Here a very high pitched sound, to no small astonishment, will stir all of the other humours and all the more vehemently move them according to the discrepancies in the viscosity between one liquid and another.
Hence the aqua vitae in Skyphos A which bears a fiery or choleric nature will be roused more vehemently than the rest.
The wine in B rather bearing a sanguine or aery nature will be subject to moderate agitation.
D then which exhibits a phlegmatic constitution shall exhibit a slow and rather dull commotion.
And the aqua crassa contained by Skyphos E due to its earthy complexion shall scarcely be capable of moving.
Not otherwise music must be found to affect the movements of the human soul.
The room was, in short, a freaking disaster area. Well, in Ansgar’s estimation it was. Or would have been, if he’d cared.
But at that moment, he didn’t mind the chaos so much. At that moment, he paid no heed to the way he’d neglected his home office over the past two weeks. He cared not that his laptop rest open on the floor, or that there were myriad blue and black architectural drawings unrolled, askew across, and draped off the edge of his drafting table. He didn’t fret over the blankets on the chairs or the documents, scattered pencils, scratched-in legal pads, post-it notes, and empty coffee mugs that lay scattered over the expanse of his desk.
All that mattered was the steadily breathing bundle - warm, round, heavy and solid - her soft baby skin against the bare skin of his chest.
Ansgar blinked against the amber dawn light that streamed in through the picture window. He stirred, moaning quietly as he woke. He woke but he didn’t move, entirely unwilling as he was to relinquish the weight and comfort of the baby, the little girl, his daughter. And so he stayed there, one arm thrown over his head, his leg bent haphazardly off the edge of his Poul Kjærholm sofa, the woven pink blanket barely covering his midriff, but securely snug and tucked up beneath his hand and around the little bundle.
And his gaze centered strictly upon her. A blithe, placid smile flowed across his lips and remained there, breath after contented breath.
As irritated as he’d been during the first few nights after he and Joline brought Magnes home, eventually the strange sleep patterns, the late hours, the near constant cycle of feeding, changing, playing and sleeping had become routine. In fact, over the past two weeks, Ansgar had come to almost enjoy the pre-dawn hours he’d spent with his little Maggie. The soft cries from the co-sleeper attached to Joline’s side of the bed, Joline waking to feed her, and then Ansgar taking her into his office for a lie down on the sofa - quiet time for mama - had become a welcome part of his life.
And it was a part of his life that, for the first thirty-five of it, he thought he’d never have. The fact of his inability to father children - well, his alleged inability - had shaped choices he’d made, attitudes he gave, personas he’d adopted. He’d led his life as if the only person he would ever care about, be responsible for was himself. Just him. Nobody else. Ever. And he’d been okay with that. He’d even built his business, birthed his multi-national multi-billion kronor enterprise on the very concept that it alone would be his child, his offspring....
His legacy.
But now, things were different. Vastly different. And like the unaccustomed disorder in his office, he didn’t mind the paradigm shift so much. In fact, in that moment, Ansgar Martinsson felt as if he had not truly been, as he’d thought, on a lifelong climb to the summit of success in business. In reality, the trail had been leading him to this. To more - so much more. To a truth. To fatherhood.
And maybe, just maybe, Magnus was right all along. Maybe, just maybe, one day, he’d admit that to his brother. Maybe. And maybe one day he’d tell Magnus this: that he now knew exactly what had been missing from his life. That he’d been inexplicably, secretly, and insanely jealous of Magnus all these years, ever since Viktoria was born.
He now knew why. And he was no longer jealous.
He brushed pooled tears from the corners of his eyes, sniffed, and sighed beneath his broad grin. Humming tunelessly, he wrapped his hands around the tiny body of his baby daughter and sat slowly, carefully up, cradling the newborn against his chest. He kept his movements slow, cautious, deliberate, easing himself to the edge of the sofa. “Ah, here we go, Magpie,” he murmured as he rose to his feet. “Let’s go see mamma.”
At the very mention of “mamma” Maggie squirmed in protest against his shoulder, pulled an irritated face, and whined quietly. She curled her little body downward, buffing her cheek against Ansgar’s breast, her little mouth opening and closing -- a baby bird desperate for its mother’s nourishment.
“Ah no. Not there, Maggie darling,” Ansgar chuckled. He adjusted his grip so that she lay in the crook of his elbow. “You can suckle on that all you want, I suppose, but I’d advise quite strongly against it. It’d only be disappointing for you and painful for pappa. Then we’d both get angry and we’d both cry, and we don’t want that, now do we? Hm? No we most certainly do not.”
In response, Maggie twisted up her face, clutched at a tuft of Ansgar’s chest hair, growled, and let out a low, rumbling - and very wet - fart.
“Oh, Christ, Maggie! Perfect timing, that.” Ansgar sniffed and groaned. “Yes. Make pappa change you before you go to mamma. I get it. No interruptions on the num nums, ja?” He laughed as he turned the corner, swiftly shifting his destination from the bedroom to the nursery. “Yes. I see how it is. I do. Two weeks old and you’ve already sussed how to work the system, haven’t you?” He cradled her in his hands as he rest her down on the changing table. “My little mogul. Yes, that’s what you are. Conniving, cunning little thing you are ....”
“Just like her pappa.”
Ansgar peered over his shoulder as he worked, and gave Joline a broad smile. “Morning,” he chirped. “I’m just um... ugh!” He moaned and coughed as he opened her diaper and the fetor reached his nostrils. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Maggie, that’s... that’s... oh Christ! That’s disgusting!”
Joline laughed, stepped comically outside the door and covered her nose.
“Sure,” he choked. “Save the nastiest one yet for me.” He bent over Maggie’s face, narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “And here I thought you liked me best. Serves me right, ja?”
Maggie cooed happily and kicked her legs, her eyes wide and her fists balled up against the sides of her head. She stared brightly at Ansgar as he made quick work - or as quick as he could with a squirming child - of cleaning up the malodorous effluent and once again clothing her in a clean diaper.
“There,” Ansgar cleared his throat. “Finished, you nasty little beastie, you.” He picked her up and turned to Joline. “Here,” he said. “She keeps trying to breastfeed off me, and I keep telling her it’s no use.”
“Girls never listen to their pappa,” Joline joked. “Not at first, at least.”
“Great,” he replied. “Is that what I have to look forward to, then?”
Joline sat in the rocking chair, opened the flap of her shirt and put Maggie to her breast. “Not if we do things right,” she said lightly, airily, as she toyed with a wayward lock of the baby’s hair. “Not if we don’t spoil her.”
Ansgar knelt down in front of her, his hand rest on Joline’s knee, his other hand caressing the crown of Maggie’s head. “Oh, I intend to spoil her,” he said. “But I won’t allow her to become a little hellion. She’ll get the things she needs, but the things she wants, she’ll have to work for.”
Joline hummed in agreement.
“I mean, I’ll buy her a car when she’s old enough, and it’ll be one that’s nice and one that’s safe, but it’ll be perhaps a Toyota or a VW. If she wants something more luxurious or with more prestige, she’ll have to get a job and work for it.” He chuckled. “I may be a wealthy man but I’m still Viktor Martinsson’s son, damn it. If there’s one thing Viktor taught us, it’s the value of hard work.”
“Same with my dad,” she smiled. “And I know we’ve talked about this before, but I’m glad to hear that.”
“Why? Were you ever worried about that?” Ansgar lowered himself to sit on the floor, his head rest against Joline’s knee.
“Sort of,” she shrugged and curled the fingers of her free hand into his bed-mussed hair. “I just know how you enjoy the finer things, and how you like to... well....” She bobbled her head and rolled her eyes, her lips in a tight smile.
“Throw my money around?”
“Your weight. You throw your weight around.” Joline corrected. “You know what you want and you know you have the power to get it. Not that you ever act spoilt or anything because you don’t. Maybe a bit brutal and demanding from time to time but righteously so, but.... oh, here, take her for a sec. I need to switch sides.”
After a few minutes of shifting, covering, uncovering, and situating Maggie back in her arms, and in response to Ansgar’s “But what?” Joline continued. “But we just have to be cognizant of the fact that Maggie will learn by example, that’s all. She’ll watch you especially.”
Ansgar stood and nodded. “I get it. It’s a Herculean responsibility, raising her right,” he replied. “I want her to learn how to assert and defend herself, how to not be a doormat. However,” he lifted a finger, stopping the words on the tip of Joline’s tongue. “However, she shouldn’t be vain or boorish or selfish about things. That’s a bit of a fine line, I know. But, between the two of us, I’m sure we can make that happen. We can make anything happen, you and I.”
Joline smiled and shifted her gaze to Maggie’s fluttering, sleepy eyes. “We made her happen.”
