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sweetheart-sunghoon · 4 years

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BEOMGYU IMAGINE ࿐ ࿔:･ﾟ*

contains: fluff, angst, happy ending, fem!reader

word count: 3.7k

summary: you’re forced into a marriage with beomgyu, the son of hades

this wasn’t what he wanted. this wasn’t how he wanted it to happen. when beomgyu had told his father he liked you a lot and wish he could date you, this isn’t what he meant. but really, what else would you expect from a man who got his wife in the exact same ways. damn hades and his impulsive and irrational ways.

beomgyu paces around persephone’s garden, walking up and down the dark stone paths past pomegranate trees with orange blossoms, deep green bushes, poisonous shrubs and glowing mushrooms. like the cloudy mahogany sky above him, there is a gloom over his mind. groaning and tugging at his hair, beomgyu tries to figure out what to say to you.

“y/n, i’m so sorry. i swear i didn’t ask hades to do this. my dad… he’s… he’s a bit… he’s a bit…” beomgyu groans and flops onto the wide edge of a fountain that spews a blood-like liquid rather than water. “this is hopeless. y/n, i’m so so so so sorry.”

“it’s okay.”

beomgyu jumps at your sombre voice. his heart flutters. there you are, looking solemn yet as beautiful as ever. you’re dressed in your usual bright colours and there’s a flower behind your ear, but you don’t look like you usually do. you look dreary and tired and… honestly? half dead. and beomgyu would know. not only does he live in the underworld, where you currently are, for a quarter of the year, his demigod powers include sensing the life auras of other’s. yours is surrounded by a layer of death.

usually, you look like a beautiful spring flower in full bloom, but right now beomgyu thinks you look like a wilted flower, dying a slow death. your cheeks are hollow, your skin is losing its glow and colour, dark lines circle your eyes.

“y/n,” beomgyu says. he’s surprised to see you here. ever since his father dragged you down here you’d been locked in your room, avoiding everyone. “y/n, i’m so sorry.”

you shrug weakly. “i know this wasn’t your intention.”

“i’ve tried to persuade my dad to let you go but… he doesn’t like being told what to do. his temper is… extreme. but i’ll keep trying. i’m so sorry.”

shrugging again, you sit on a nearby marble bench, your shoulders hunching forward like your spine is struggling to hold you up.

beomgyu feels his heart break at how little energy you have. that’s the effect the underworld has on outsiders. it reacts much like an immune system when a foreign bacteria or disease enters the body. because the underworld is a place for the dead, it sucks the energy out of the living which it does not know, those not from it or tied to those from it.

beomgyu sinks back to his seat on the fountain. “have you eaten?”

“no.”

it might sound weird to others, but beomgyu’s glad you haven’t. eating from the underworld means you cannot leave.

“i doubt you’ve been sleeping well,” beomgyu then says.

as if having your literal life force drained from you and not being to eat wasn’t enough, the constant tortured screams echoing out from tartarus can be hard to block out at night.

you shake your head.

beomgyu watches as the flower behind your ear dislodges and floats to the ground, shrivelling to dust when it touches the ashy ground.

you see it too, an ironic smile forming. “this really is the land of the dead, isn’t it?” one strained laugh leaves your lips. “you know, the longer i’m here, the more i feel like i’m becoming like everyone else hear. dead.”

beomgyu’s breath hitches. he can’t stand this.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

the next night, beomgyu knocks on your bedroom door and calls your name, praying you’ll let him in. he had persuaded a hermes child he knows to deliver some ambrosia to the gates of hell. beomgyu hoped the food of the gods, known to heal and recover, would help you regain your energy.

beomgyu is surprised when you open the door, even if it’s only a crack.

“yes,” comes your tired voice through the small gap you’d opened.

“i have some ambrosia for you,” beomgyu says. “i doubt it’ll do much but hopefully you’ll feel a little better.”

you open the door fully for beomgyu and walk back to your bed. you hold in the sigh of relief when you sit down. you’re so drained and lacking in energy that just walking making you feel nauseous.

you observe beomgyu as he steps in and shuts the door behind him. even now, late in the evening, he wears a sleek black suit jacket and dress pants. he doesn’t wear a tie. his fingers are adorned with silver rings matching the silver chain you see peeking behind the colour of his button-down shirt. maybe if you weren’t so miserable you’d find him attractive. you always did at camp, particularly after he’d spar with his friends and push his jet black hair off his forehead.

“can i sit?” beomgyu asks, gesturing to the spot beside you.

you nod.

beomgyu perches on the edge of the bed next to you, leaving some space because as much as he likes you, he doubts you like him right now.

“there’s not a lot but…” beomgyu hands you the small paper box. there are nine cubes of golden ambrosia inside.

“thank you,” you say. your voice is weak and it hurts beomgyu to hear it.

“i’m sorry,” he says again.

“it’s okay,” you reply, popping a cube of ambrosia into your mouth. “there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

for what feels like the hundredth time, beomgyu’s heart breaks and he whispers, “i’m sorry.”

and for the first time since you arrived here four days ago, you look beomgyu in the eyes. you see for the first time that he’s hurting too. there’s a sadness in his eyes you’ve rarely seen before. the sadness one feels when someone they care for is hurt.

slowly, you lean your head against his shoulder. beomgyu flinches from shock but stays still. the two of you stay like this for a while until beomgyu helps you under the covers and you fall asleep, your last thought being that while you’d rather be a million other places than this, there are worse people to be forced to marry.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

the next day, beomgyu finds you in the garden. you look a little better. you’re admiring some black lily flowers and beomgyu is suddenly reminded of your parentage.

“i’m sure your mother is absolutely furious with my father right now,” beomgyu says, startling you a little. “he’s stolen two of her children now.”

“bold of you to assume she wasn’t already,” you say, eyes still on the lilies.

“right, yes.”

“demeter is a very bitter woman, you know,” you continue. you turn and slowly make your way to a nearby tree with low hanging branches. it’s a pomegranate tree.

beomgyu watches you silently. he’s happy you’ve recovered a little, though you aren’t nearly as joyful as you are above ground.

“do you see her often?” you ask suddenly, running a hand down the trunk of the tree. “persephone?”

“no,” beomgyu answers, making his way towards you and the tree. he walks with his hands behind his back. “we have… conflicting schedules, you could say. i leave for camp during the summer. when i return she is here but not for long as she leaves just before spring and is gone all season so that the harvests will be successful.”

you nod in understanding.

beomgyu stands just beyond the reach of the tree branches. “have you met her?”

“no. we are only half-sisters. plus she’s here mostly.”

“that is true.”

“is she nice?” you ask, a question that you have considered a number of times.

beomgyu kicks at the ground absentmindedly. “yes. she’s kind to me. though, i think my father’s temper has rubbed off on her after all this time. she can be surprisingly fierce.”

nodding to show you’re listening, you put both of your hands against the tree and focus your power into it.

“she treats me well. like a son, i suppose. she asks me about camp and my friends, she jokes that she only leaves during spring to make sure i get fed.” beomgyu smiles. “she’s really kind and polite and gentle and loving.“

beomgyu looks at you. your eyebrows are pulled together in concentration. he’s seen you use your powers like this at camp before. you can heal plants and prompt them to produce flowers or fruit. a fond smile tugs at his lips. "like you.”

your eyes open, landing immediately on beomgyu. his widen, shocked, realising his words. he turns away from you to hide his blush and clears his throat loudly. he wasn’t intending to make any a move of any sort of you, thinking it wrong to flirt with you when your marriage is forced.

but you find it amusing that the compliment just slipped out. and you appreciate it. you can see the tips of his ears burning red.

deciding to return to your room, you reach up to the pomegranate you had used your powers to produce and tug it from its branch of the tree. stepping up to beomgyu and tapping his shoulder, you place the red fruit in his hand and walk away.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

yours and beomgyu’s wedding is not for another week. in the days leading up, you spend a lot of time together, the ambrosia he brought slowly healing you more and more. you find yourself able to laugh again. perhaps you even find yourself growing to like beomgyu.

you knew him well enough at camp half blood but mainly through mutual friends. after a week of getting to know him more, you wonder why you weren’t closer before. though, the screams from tartarus at night remind you that the whole son of hades thing likely formed a negative bias against him in your mind.

but that bias dissipates over time. you see that he’s just a boy trying to enjoy life. he didn’t ask to be a demigod, and he certainly didn’t ask for his godly parent to be the king of the underworld. this detail almost completely slips your mind until three days until your wedding when you ask beomgyu what it’s like beyond the garden walls.

he’s reluctant to take you outside at first but eventually does.

“um, you should probably hold my hand,” he stutters. “it’s easy to get lost out here and there’s a lot of dangerous things.”

you glance at his hand. he’s wearing an odd piece of hand jewellery. thick rings around his fingers are connected to a matching bracelet at his wrist by thin chains. the black metal is a stark contrast to his pale skin.

your staring turns beomgyu’s ears pink and he’s quick to say, “y-you can just hold my jacket if you want.”

“no, no,” you say, taking his hand in yours. you’re not entirely surprised by how icy his hand is. “it’s okay."

honestly, you didn’t even realise you were staring at his hands so much.

you walk for about an hour around the dry land, the hazy red sky growing darker and darker the further from hades castle you are. you talk about many things. the topic of powers and abilities comes up.

"so what are your powers?” you ask beomgyu who is beginning to look antsy.

“if we stay out here any longer, you might find out,” he mumbles, his voice low.

“what do you mean?” you ask.

“we should turn back,” beomgyu tells you, his eyes narrowing as he glances around. “something’s not right. i can feel the dead nearby.”

“this is the underworld, beomgyu. everyone is dead.”

“yes, but they’re too close. something’s not right. let’s go.”

you frown but nod and let beomgyu pull you back in the direction of hades’ palace. you’re halfway there when a piercing screech sounds from above. a strong force suddenly knocks you into beomgyu and a sharp pain seers on your arm. a shocked exclaim jumps past your lips as you find three large gashes on your arm, blood pouring down.

“y/n,” beomgyu gasps, his arms catching you around your waist. he sees the blood too and his jaw clenches. he spots the cause of your injury just in time to pull you closer, out of its field of attack.

your heart rate doubles. “w-what-what-”

“a fury,” beomgyu growls, manoeuvring you behind his back.

holding your arm to stop the bleeding, you peek over his shoulder and see the ugly bat-winged monster circling back to your direction. it flies at full speed, baring its huge yellow fangs.

“stop!” beomgyu commands, his voice strong, deep and demanding.

to your surprise, the creature does, halting in mid-air, growling at beomgyu. it is now you recall just how powerful beomgyu must be. being a child of the big three (zeus, poseidon and hades) makes him indefinitely stronger and more powerful than the average demigod. even if hades wasn’t one of the big three, the kind of power he possesses is terrifying. the thought of beomgyu sharing some of those abilities…

beomgyu glares at the fury. “leave now before i banish you back to tartarus.”

the fury snarls.

“leave!” beomgyu yells, loud enough to make you flinch. he feels your movement and reaches back to grip your hand reassuringly.

with one last snarl, the fury flies away. beomgyu spins to you the moment it’s out of sight, his demeanour flipping as he cradles your arm in his hands.

“are you okay?” he asks quickly.

“not really,” you admit, shaking a little.

beomgyu inspects the large scratches and winces. “it’s too big for me to heal.”

he can heal? you think. it’s an odd concept considering he’s the son of death.

beomgyu stretches out his hand and makes an upward motion. a dark and opaque wall rises from the ground. he pulls you towards it. “let’s go.”

“wait, what is this?” you question.

he turns his head to you, the hint of a smirk on his lips. “shadow travel.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

the night before your wedding, beomgyu knocks on your door to check on you as he didn’t see you today. he was visiting a friend because, while you are stuck here, beomgyu is free to come and go as he likes.

“how are you feeling?” beomgyu asks, sitting at the end of the bed. for once, he isn’t dressed up, instead donning a black plain tee and pair of sweatpants.

“i’m okay,” you tell him.

“that’s good.” he fiddles with the bed cover, avoiding your eyes. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine,” you say. “i can’t expect you to follow me around all day every day. you should see your friends too.”

“that’s not what i meant,” beomgyu says, his dark eyes taking on the sorrowful look he gets when he thinks you’re not looking. “although i’m sorry for that too now."

he takes a deep breath. "i meant that i was sorry for this. all of this. for my father dragging you down here. for our forced marriage. for making you unhappy, sick, lonely. i’m sorry for everything.”

“beomgyu… beomgyu look at me.”

he hesitantly meets your gaze and you see a tear sliding down his cheek.

“oh, beomgyu,” you sigh, leaning forward to wipe away the tear. “stop apologising.”

“but it’s true,” he says, his voice becoming rough and strained. “i know you don’t like it here. you don’t want to marry me. you’ve only been eating ambrosia for the past week but you still look half dead. you can’t even sleep at night. you-” his voice catches and he shakes his head, looking down.

you grab his hand and squeeze gently. “but it’ll get better once we’re married, right? i’ll have my energy back, i’ll be able to eat and sleep.”

“yes but that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t want this marriage,” beomgyu says. “i don’t want this marriage. i never asked for this, it was all my stupid father.”

“okay, you’re right,” you say. “i don’t want the marriage. but because i’m young, i’m unprepared, i have no say in it. i know you think i hate you but i don’t.”

beomgyu looks up again.

“i may hate the circumstances but i don’t hate you,” you say honestly. “at first, i did resent you, but i realised that this really isn’t your fault and that i shouldn’t hold your father’s actions against you.” you squeeze his hand again. “it’s not your fault. i don’t hate you. stop feeling sorry for me, okay? i’m fine, really.”

beomgyu nods. “okay.”

he’s silent, thinking, contemplating, processing.

you too have some thoughts on your mind. one thought actually. something that you’ve wanted to ask beomgyu the past few nights but never have, feeling too foolish. but seeing as you’ll be married to him tomorrow, you don’t see the harm in asking now.

“beomgyu,” you say quietly.

“yeah?”

“w-will you… will you please stay with me tonight?” you ask.

beomgyu’s ears flush bright red, the colour you’ve come to associate with his bashful and shy side.

“i think it’ll be easy to sleep if you do,” you continue. “will you?”

beomgyu needs a second to process your question but he eventually splutters, “yes.”

folding the blanket back for him, you shuffle over and lie down. beomgyu cautiously slides in beside you. he looks so stiff and awkward, it makes you smile a little.

“lie down,” you tell him and he does.

you take the initiative and cuddle up to him first, slotting yourself under his arm as you lay your head on his chest. immediately, you feel one hundred times better than you have all week. you feel safe and as though you can now breathe easy.

beomgyu finally relaxes, his arm looping around your shoulder, his hand slowly brushing over your hair.

the noises that usually keep you up at night fade away and sleep takes over. for the first time in almost two weeks, you have a good nights rest.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

when you wake in the morning, beomgyu is gone and a gorgeous women with long, flower adorned hair is carrying in a long black dress.

“you’re awake!” she says. “great. i’m persephone. i’ve heard you’re my half sister. it’s lovely to meet you. now let’s get you ready. you’re getting married today.”

you barely have time to process any of what the goddess has said before your being stuffed into the ebony gown. the silk body somehow fits you perfectly and the lace sleeves are the exact length of your arms.

the next half an hour is a blur as persephone styles your hair with a flower crown of red and white roses, clasps a chunky bejewelled choker around your neck and swipes red gloss on your lips and dark glitter on your eyes.

and suddenly you’re standing at the entrance of a large grecian temple with black marble pillars. beomgyu is standing at the other end of the temple on a raised platform. a… skeleton?… is standing near him, a large book in it’s bony hands. as you start walking towards beomgyu you vaguely wonder if you’re really about to be married by a skeleton.

to your right and left are rows of skeletons, odd creatures and the odd person who seems to be relatively alive. hades and persephone are in the front row.

the ceremony passes by in a flash. beomgyu holds your hands softly as the skeleton addresses the crowd of undead. he looks at you with more adoration than you knew was possible, but he never smiles. you slip gothic black rings onto each others fingers. he kisses your cheek. then the wedding is done.

afterwards, you and beomgyu take a walk in the garden again.

“how do you feel?” beomgyu asks you after a minute of silence.

“good,” you say, heading to a pomegranate tree.

“you look good,” beomgyu replies.

you smile over your shoulder at him. “thank you.”

“really,” he says. his eyes rake up your body. “not just the dress and everything, but your whole aura. you look alive again.”

you reach the tree and pick the closest fruit. “i suppose i’m allowed to eat this now, right?”

“if you’d like.”

“will you eat it with me?”

“okay.”

you find a bench to sit on. beomgyu picks a rock from the ground and, using a power you didn’t know he possessed, he transforms its shape to be sharp and pointed. he cuts the fruit with it and you eat in silence. you have to admit that it feels nice to be eating something other than ambrosia.

once the fruit is gone, you scoot a little closer to beomgyu and put your hand on his knee.

“you don’t seem happy, beomgyu,” you say. “what’s wrong?”

he sighs. “i don’t know. it’s just… i like you a lot. even more now then i did when i told my father about you. but i… i can’t be happy when you’re not.”

“who says i’m not happy.”

“well aren’t you?”

“i’m… unsure… i think i need some more time to fully process everything, but it could be worse.”

beomgyu scoffs quietly. “how could it be worse?”

“i might not be married to you.”

beomgyu almost flinches at your words, eyes going wide. “what?”

“like i said, i’m still a little conflicted but one thing that i’m certain about is my feelings for you.”

“and?”

you smile. “i like you.”

“r-really?"

"really. throughout this all, you’ve been so kind and gentle. you haven’t pressured me and you’ve made me feel as comfortable as possible. i really appreciate it and i can’t say that i haven’t grown to like you.”

amusingly, your words render beomgyu speechless so you add, “plus, being married to the son of hades is a bit of an ego boost, if i’m being honest.”

said son of hades smiles.

“you know, i’m pretty sure you didn’t kiss me properly earlier.”

“i didn’t think you’d want me to,” beomgyu admits sheepishly.

“well, i do, so…”

his smile turns to a cheeky grin as he cups your face in his hands. “may i kiss the bride?”

you grin too. “you may.”

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handicappedwriter · 2 years

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魔王を黙れ! (Shut Up Demon King! / Maō o damare!)

A reverse harem concept but it's like a harem.

Summary: In a world where everyone's position in the world is based around the year you were born in. There are three types of years: King, Queen, and Knight. Aki (MC) was a king born in a yakuza family. She just moved to a new school due to some 'family incident', there she immediately gained the nickname 'Demon King' due to her sharp tongue and tendency to refuse Queens' advances. But with her family (her mother more specifically) constantly urging her to "Find a wife and get married already!" she needs to learn to hold herself back if she wants to make friends/find a Queen.

Okay, terrible summary done. Now meet the cast:

Aki

VA: WIP

King

Born to a yakuza family.

Knows how to fight.

Is mean to her harem, she says things like: You are not that pretty. Are you that low in self esteem that you need confirmation from a pervert? Fuck off slut.

Even though she is mean she is actually quite chivalrous, she has saved her harem from many situations. She is only mean because queens won't stop bothering her.

Only has two friends, a childhood friend who lives next door and another king she befriended at the new school.

Now for the Harem Boys

Haru

VA: Takahiro Sakurai

Queen

Fruit/Flower Associated: Plum, Plum Blossom.

MC saves him from bullying when they were kids and they've been friends ever since.

Acts like Aki's wife. Cleans her room and makes her bento everyday.

Cherry (chan)

VA: Sato Takuya

Queen

Fruit/Flower Associated: Cherry, Cherry Blossom.

The tallest in the group. By 1 cm from Aki.

The school's idol.

Attention seeker.

One time Aki said he wasn't that pretty, he despise her ever since.

After his arc he became slightly more fond of her and became Aki's first follower (but he still doesn't forget their first meeting).

Kendo Club.

Angsty background???

Ichigo (chan)

VA: Nobuhiko Okamoto

Queen

Fruit/Flower Associated: Strawberry, Rhododendron.

Cherry's best friend.

Cute and mysterious.

Follows Cherry in becoming Aki's follower.

Kazuya

VA: Tomoaki Maeno

Queen

Fruit/Flower Associated: Melon, Amaryllis.

The popular Queen in school.

Likes to date a lot of Kings and break their hearts.

Aki rejects him and he went berserk because HE HAS NEVER BEEN REJECTED BEFORE F YOU AKI!

After his arc he became Aki's follower too. (But he's still mad at her though).

Kyudou Club, best aim out of all members.

Yurihiko

VA: Hiroshi Kamiya

Queen

Fruit/Flower Associated: Pomegranate, White Lily.

Smartest student in class.

Has an annoying brocon big sister.

His arc is about him being Aki's tutor.

Diligent student by day, prostitute at night. (Sister doesn't know about this).

Other cast members:

Mai

VA: WIP

King

Was the only one willing to get close to MC.

"We are friends now, I decide it, no getting out of it!"

Energetic and a pervert.

The harem boys (and many queens) finds her gross.

Akira

VA: WIP

King

Yurihiko's annoying brocon big sister.

School's infamous delinquet.

Hates Aki because she thinks she's tainting her little brother's innocence.

Her and Yurihiko are orphans.

Oh yes, and everybody in the cast can fight to some extent.

#original #original character #reverse harem #tw prostitution

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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not-close-to-straight · 5 years

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Pomegranates (Spideypool)

A very Spideypool twist on the Hades/Persephone story. It hurt my soul to not write 12381927 words of lore and mythology and world building on this, but I love what I managed to get down without going too far over the commission limit (which was 7500 words, and this is like, 12k but hey, its not THAT far over the commission limit, right?) Plus, I love a Peter who is determined to love Wade no matter what.

@pumpkin-spidey thank you for commissioning this and for allowing me to go a little wild with the interpretation and for responding to my nonsense emails while I chattered about random greek mythology bullshit... you’re the best!

THERE’S MORE SPIDEYPOOL ON MY MASTERLIST!

Enjoy!

*****************

In the beginning–

No. Not the beginning. In the before the beginning, before the humans knew what the beginning was and wove stories to try and explain the cosmos–

In the before the beginning, the Titans and giants ruled and the gods rose up to overthrow them. Anthony fought in the heavens and took the throne of Olympus, his heart glowing from his chest and lightning flashing in his palms. Steven fought among the waves, subduing the Hydra monsters and claiming the throne of the seas. The other gods settled through out the world, content with minor titles and various duties and Wade– Wade came to stand in the throne room of Olympus, his body twisted from the fight, his skin scarred from a thousand wounds, his immortality not enough to keep the pain at bay, his psyche and soul shredded by brutality.

There was still blood on his hands, the stink of ravaged Titans clinging to his shoulders, the wounds of countless battles trying and failing to heal. They called him Deadpool now, the unkillable one, the unstoppable one, the one that came in the night with flashing swords and maniacal laughter. There would be stories written of the terror he’d brought to the giants, there would be songs sang in the dark of the way he killed, the way the victims screamed to the stars for help and none came.

They had fought in the skies and in the depths but it had been Deadpool that had fought in the worst of it all and turned the tide of war and for his prize, for his reward, for his efforts–

“No.” Deadpool whispered, when Anthony took him to the place where the ground fell away and stairs dropped deep into the earth. “No, please–” he begged when the stench of the river reached his nose and the cries of a million souls yet to be collected came to his ears. “I deserve a seat in Olympus, I gave everything to fight this war, don’t condemn me to the Underworld.”

The lonely howl of the beast Cerebus and the cold empty of a realm where nothing grew made Deadpool shiver and he fell to his knees, clutching at the green grass. “Don’t shut me away.”

“All thrones need a ruler.” Anthony’s voice was unrelenting, but not unkind. “You are one of us trapped between living and gone, your soul in pieces but not destroyed, your body warped but unable to perish. You will reign over the Underworld, watching over the souls that linger, punishing those that deserve the darker places. Deadpool–”

“–my name is Wade.” he choked out. “Please– please–”

“This is not a punishment.” the god said slowly. “Your power here will be limitless, you will be able to cover your scars, settle your mind, ease your pain. You are hurt brother, and the brightness of Olympus would shatter all that is left of you. You are a being that is neither dead nor alive and here in the place below places, you will be home and you will be safe.”

“Home.” Wade Deadpool looked up to the sky, to the sunshine, to the flowers that bloomed and the trees that offered fruit and whispered, “But nothing grows down there.”

“Nothing dies, either.” Anthony strived for comforting, but his words fell flat. “This is the safest I can make you, the only way I know to keep you from falling apart. In a place with no time, your descent to madness and pain will be halted.”

Nothing dies either.

What if I want to die?

“Please.” Deadpool whispered, even as spectral hands came to drag him below. “…please…”

The throne of the Underworld was dark and cold, unforgiving rock and unrelenting stone and Deadpool huddled into the blue grey shadows to hide his scarred face.

The river Styx flowed silent, the souls themselves hushed as if waiting for a proclamation from their new King and Cerebus held itself very still.

From the darkness, from the corners, from the rotting places and damp rocks, slithering and creeping to the throne came Panic and Pain, winding their way into Deadpool’s mind and whispering in his head, voices in his ear, terror on his skin.

The Earth closed herself to him, and no sunlight came to touch his face, and even the Fates turned their back and let the golden strand of his life lie mangled and nearly torn, stained with blood and dulled to nearly black.

And Deadpool threw his head back and screamed and screamed and screamed.

**************

There was no time in the Underworld, there was neither day nor night, not sunshine or rain. There was nothing but monotony, nothing but sameness, nothing but cold and damp and muted colors, bare branches and silent waves, the wail of those in the darker places, the melancholy of those meant to whirl endlessly in the chasm, the quiet tears of the ones Charon carried between worlds.

Deadpool lived a thousand lifetimes listening to terrible whisperings in his ear, suffered an eternity feeling his skin and body twist and shudder and hurt and as Wade’s power grew in his new realm and he earned his place in legend and myth as Keeper of the Underworld, not even the endless amount of hours could still the loneliness in what was left of his soul, the sadness in what was left of his heart.

It was a century in the dark, a millennia in the shadows, a life time and a day, an hour and a decade, only a breath and then a terrifying amount of uncountable seconds, and the sameness of it all drove Wade to the brink of madness and beyond, until the god that had fought the Titans was no more, and only the devil Deadpool remained.

Oh what he’d give to remember what sunlight felt on his face, to feel the grass in his fingers, to scent a cherry blossom, to taste the sweetly sharp juice of a pomegranate fruit, to breathe in fresh air and be around the living.

But time marched on with unending steps into the suffocating dark, and Deadpool sat on his throne with nothing more than Pain and Panic to keep him company, his true self lost and nearly forgotten in the memories of all but a few, alone and alone and alone.

...until...

…They said the boy came into existence in the Spring, a child crafted from dew drops on a spider’s web and left lying on the flower petals for Demeter to find as she walked the fields and brought them to bloom for another season.

Peter, they called him. Demeter’s son, a child of May and the favorite of Anthony and Olympus. As he grew, he was able to bring Spring with a simple touch, banish Winter with his fingers and create entire forests bursting with life, the planet itself sparking at the sound of his voice.

They said he was lovely and sassy with eyes that tinted gold in the sunshine and fingers that lit green with the color of life, they said his laugh sounded like bells, and Deadpool could not imagine such a beauty.

The only colors he saw anymore were black, blue and gray and the only bells he heard were death tolls and after an eternity alone in the beneath, Deadpool was desperate for something --anything-- beautiful.

“He brings life with just a touch.” Deadpool muttered to himself, staring at the barren trees lining the way to his throne. Their trunks were twisted and bark as marred as his skin, the branches reaching towards a dark sky with not a leaf or bud to be seen and for just a moment, for just a moment he wondered, “If I could see something bloom one more time, perhaps the madness won’t take me. If I can see something live, perhaps the darkness won’t-- won't crush me.”

And Pain whispered, “You cannot go to the surface, the sun will ruin you.” and Panic insisted, “The boy will be too frightened of you and refuse to help.”

Pain warned, “Death and life cannot coexist, the Fates won’t allow it.” and Panic shrieked, “You will bring the wrath of the gods with your selfishness!”

But Deadpool didn’t care.

What did he have to lose, what could the other gods to to him for punishment? Toss him in a pit, hurt him, banish him from the light?

He had nothing to lose and everything to gain, even it was just for a moment, a second, a breath--

He had nothing to lose.

****************

“Peter!” May had shed the name Demeter centuries ago, preferring the name the humans chose as they worshiped her the change of seasons and the fertility she brought to their lands. “Peter, child where are you!”

“May!” Peter burst from beneath the surface of the lake, shaking the water from his hair and laughing out loud over May’s startled surprise. “Look how beautiful.” he held out his palm to show off an exquisitely crafted flower with delicate petals. “I created this for the water nymphs. I think I’ll make them in a thousand different colors and call them nymphaea-- water lilies. Aren’t they lovely?”

“Are you creating flowers to please yet another lover?” May raised her eyebrows and Peter wrinkled his nose in a teasing smile. “Some day one of your many consorts will demand your loyalty, and then what will you do? What happens when you find the one meant to be your eternal love, when the Fates wind your strand with another in an unbreakable bond? You cannot continue frolicking with a different companion every night.”

“Anthony does.” Peter pointed out. “He has found the one meant to be his for all eternity and yet he has a hundred lovers.”

May rolled her eyes. “Do not strive to live your life like Anthony, my love. He has an eternal partner and a hundred lovers and a thousand children. He is irresponsible and wild and a thousand years has not changed that. If the humans had any idea how petty and reckless the god of Olympus was, they would not build him temples and praise his lightning.”

“If the humans knew how petty the gods were, they wouldn’t worship any of us.” Peter laughed, and at his side the flowers colored brighter as nature reacted to the sound of his joy. “But I do not scatter children across the Earth or send my lovers into fits of jealousy where one or the other ends up cursed to be cows or peacocks!”

May begrudgingly agreed and Peter continued, “When I spend the night with a companion, flowers bloom and the trees bear fruit. I am a creator god, and my pleasure brings life, whether I find it with one partner or many. Surely there is nothing wrong with that.”

“Surely not.” May allowed and dropped a kiss on her child’s forehead. “But you will change your mind when the Fates bring you your eternal love. Go on creating your water lilies for now, but don’t wander far. The Earth feels restless today and I’m not sure why. Guard yourself carefully.”

“I’m fine.” Peter waved off her worries and dove back beneath the surface to design another lily, this one with brilliant purple flowers and leaves that stretched further than his reach, humming a quiet song and losing himself in the wonder of creation for longer than he realized.

It was May who felt the change first, who felt the earth shift and open, felt Nature recoil as something that did not belong rushed to the surface. There was a flash of light and a roll of shadows, the sound of horses thundering and chariots crashing, and May saw just the glimpse of Peter’s curls and the wild grasp of his hand as he scrambled for a hold, but it was too late.

Disfigured arms reached out to snatch the boy away from the land and drag him down into the beneath and when May screamed for her child, the fields beneath her feet went black with the force of her emotions.

“Peter!” the goddess went running for the chasm, but it closed too quickly and May fell to her knees to dig at the Earth. “Peter!” Clouds filled thick and heavy across the sky, blanketing the sun and wiping out the light and May’s tears brought snow to the dying grass.

Even the Fates themselves paused in their weaving when the goddess dug her fingers into the dirt, her eyes opening the color of raging wildfire, sparking and furious.

“Give me back my child!” May screamed, and when she clenched her fists into the ground, black vines shot from her palms and crawled up the trunk of the nearest tree, strangling the life from it and leaving it barren within a few seconds. “PETER!”

The dead tree burst into flame, the fields scorching in a path straight to where Peter had been swimming and turning the water to mist and the gods in Olympus froze when the atmosphere seemed to catch fire.

“PETER!”

*****************

Peter didn’t scream when he was snatched from the water, nor did he cry out in surprise when he was unceremoniously dumped onto cold, rough rock and abruptly abandoned, the steel like pressure of arms at his waist falling away with the sound of footsteps and what sounded like whispers.

He took a moment to orient himself, absentmindedly pulling the length of his chiton up from his waist and looping it over one shoulder so he wasn’t dripping wet and half bared to whichever eyes were watching. Then he cocked his head at the empty trees, at the hedge bushes that were nothing more than spindly branches. The river ran slow and sluggish, the air tasted stale and heavy and when Peter turned his palms over and tried to call his power, it came like syrup through his veins until it finally glowed faint green on his skin.

A noise like the skitter of claws on rock, whispers abruptly silenced by a near snarl, and Peter finally lifted his eyes to the raised dais to his left, up rough hewn stairs to a massive throne, and to the figure sprawled in the seat, and when the man on the throne shifted forward and leaned into the watery light, Peter’s mouth fell open in surprise.

“Oh.” he breathed. “Oh, I know who you are.”

“I would hope so, there aren’t many faces like mine around.” A lifetime in the Underworld had turned Deadpool’s voice caustic, the words biting and nearly sneered. On someone else, the answer might have been sarcastic and quippy but from Deadpool it only sounded bitter. “Tell me, do they still call me Deadpool on the surface, or has my name evolved into something more human friendly? I hear they call Anthony Zeus these days. Zeus. Ridiculous.”

“The humans call you Hades.” Peter kept staring, his eyes brightening in interest and a smile curving his lips. “They think you and the realm you rule are one and the same, Hades and Hell, but on Olympus they still call you Deadpool. I’ve heard stories about you, you know.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Deadpool twitched uncomfortably beneath the boy’s perusal. “Am I still the horror stories told around campfires? The one the humans claim make them do horrible things? The Devil?”

“Oh no, I haven’t heard anything like that.” Peter either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the scorn nearly dripping from Deadpool’s words. “No, I meant I’ve heard the stories of how you fought the giants, how you drove the Titan’s back, and why you were sent here. You’re considered a hero, do you know? They have statues of you in Olympus.”

A hero? “...I see.” Deadpool said slowly, but it was obvious he didn’t see at all.

“Besides, I don’t care what the humans say.” Peter laughed softly and out of the corner of his eye, Deadpool could have sworn he saw the river lighten for a split second. “They know nothing and pretend they know it all. Silly things. I don’t know why Anthony loves them so much.”

“No doubt because they are naive enough to think we gods aren’t every bit as awful as humanity.” Deadpool tried not to cringe when Peter’s eyes found his again, the dark brown swirling gold as that interested smile stretched even wider, a plush bottom lip caught between Peter’s teeth as he tipped his head and simply stared.

Deadpool tried not to cringe but it had been a long time since anything other than the eyes of the dead had looked at him and now May’s child, a creator god, an embodiment of life was standing in the realm of death, face to face with the one who hoarded the souls of the deceased.

Deadpool didn’t want to cringe but the sun had hurt him even for the few seconds he’d been on the surface and the fresh air had stung his skin and he couldn’t stand to be so hideous in the face of such beauty.

And Peter was beauty. Even wearing only a simple chiton with hair still drying into thick waves, even with a nearly painful curiosity in the golden eyes and with eerie, otherworldly green lighting the tips of his fingers, Peter was beauty alive and Deadpool was horror unending and it hurt.

“What are you staring at!” He suddenly snarled, angry that he was so affected by the boy, almost furious that this-- this Adonis could be so blase about the moment, could be laughing and looking as if nothing was wrong. “Do not stare at me!”

“I’m sorry.” Peter startled from his focus and held up his hands peacefully. “I’m sorry, but I’ve heard so many stories of you and never once did they mention how handsome you are. I expected the Deadpool to be a monster, not--” he made a vague gesture. “I suppose I should be terrified, but I’ve never been scared of anything in my life and certainly not of a man who looks like you.”

“I am no man.” Deadpool’s heart startled when Peter’s nose scrunched in delight like he thought Deadpool were teasing. “You- you would be wise to fear me, child.”

“Child.” Peter rolled his eyes and huffed as if annoyed. “How old must I be before I am no longer a child to you ancient gods! I have seen over two hundred summers already, and they still call me--”

“They say you can create life with nothing more than a touch.” Deadpool interrupted, pushing down the shiver of wonder that Peter hadn’t recoiled from him like the other gods did, that he had called him handsome. It wouldn’t do any good to bask in the warmth that flowed from the creator god, nor to linger in the way Peter made Deadpool feel inexplicably whole.

He wanted one thing from the beauty-- “Lies.” Panic hissed. “You want everything from him!” -- and then he would let the god go.

“You will make something grow and then I will let you leave.” He said quickly. “Bring something to bloom and you’ll have my permission to leave.”

“That’s it?” Peter looked over his shoulder to peer at the river and then twisted to the other side to look at the hedges. “You went through all the trouble of kidnapping me just so I would make something grow?”

“I--” Deadpool blinked a few times. “Yes. That’s it. You will make something grow, and then you are allowed to leave my realm.” Peter waited, and Deadpool hesitated before adding, “Why else would I kidnap you?”

“Because I’m beautiful!” Peter laughed as if it made perfect sense. “I assumed you wanted my company, not my creator power! Being kidnapped for a moment with a lover would be so much more fun than simply growing things, don’t you think?”

“You--” No, he cannot be serious. “You thought I kidnapped you because I wanted--wanted a rendezvous? You thought I snatched you from the surface because I wanted to see beneath your robes?” Deadpool laughed but it was an ugly sound. “You’re joking.”

“Why would I be joking?” Peter asked frankly. “You are very handsome and I’m a creator god, I’m gorgeous. I assumed you could not join me in the sunshine so you brought me here instead.”

“And you’re alright with that?” Deadpool asked incredulously. “Are you standards for your lovers so low?”

“Well, it’s not the most traditional proposition I’ve ever received.” Peter winked and Deadpool swore felt it to his soul. “But I can assure you, it would not take much convincing to bring me around.”

“I feel as if I’m missing an opportunity here, but I didn’t bring you here for that.” Deadpool slumped back into his throne and pulled his hood over his face.

For a moment he’d almost wanted to laugh but his reality was far too harsh for something so lighthearted. No matter how teasing and flirty Peter was, everything would change if he saw Deadpool’s face in the light, and the god would rather Peter make something bloom and be gone than risk the humiliation of having the beauty look on him with pity, or worse, recoil in horror.

“Make something grow and be gone.” He said hoarsely. “Please.”

“I’ll have to have your permission to leave, won’t I?” Peter knelt and swept his fingers over the soil curiously, bringing a few bits to his tongue to taste the acidity “Not even the gods on Olympus can pass through your realm alone, much less a lesser god like me.”

“That’s correct--”

“Oh!” Peter jumped up again, eyes wide. “Could I see Cerebus? You brought me down through a split in the earth so we didn’t come to the gates! Could I see them before I go?”

“...you want to see Cerebus?” Deadpool asked in confusion. “Child, you should be--”

“My name is Peter.” he interrupted. “May calls me child and so does Anthony but I not near as innocent nor half as guileless as they want to believe. if you and I are to be friends, you should call me Peter.”

“Friends.” Hope bloomed before Deadpool could squash it, an eternity of loneliness sparking with anticipation for just a second before it was gone. “And-- and why would you think we are friends?”

“Well we aren’t lovers yet, but we certainly aren’t strangers anymore.” Peter winked again and Deadpool had to call his power to physically quell the reaction the pretty brunette brought around in him. “Friends seems appropriate for now, don’t you think?”

All creator gods were like this, Deadpool reminded himself. They were always half drunk on too much oxygen and herbal aphrodisiacs, sweetly flower scented and warmed from the sun. The act of making life moved so easily towards making love that gods like Peter, like could hardly help the way they were drawn to others and others were drawn to them.

But Deadpool was hideous, twisted and deformed, scarred and ruined and Peter should not be staring, much less winking and flirting--

“You will make something grow.” he said again, ignoring the pull in what was left of his soul, ignoring the way he nearly itched to be closer to Peter and bask in the glow of life. It didn’t mean anything, it was just the thrum of a creator god, Peter’s power twisting in the air and creating a connection between them that wasn’t truly there. It didn’t mean anything. “I don’t care if it’s simply grass or a single bloom. Make it grow, then you will be free to--”

“--see Cerebus?” Peter finished, and flattened his palms to the trunk of the barren tree. “Yes, I very much want to see your pet.”

“They aren’t my pet, they are a beast to guard the gates to this realm.” Deadpool argued and when Peter scrunched his nose again in obvious disagreement, Deadpool chuckled and said, “Pete, I’m not going to let you waltz over and pet Cerebus’s nose.”

“You called me Pete.” Peter’s eyes lit golden in approval as his magic ran through his body and out through his hands. “See? You already like me!”

Deadpool scowled but it wasn’t in anger. He had called the creator god Pete, had slipped through with a nickname without even realizing, had laughed a little bit without any effort at all. It was the power of life, of creation that was so unexpected in this realm and that was why he had let his guard down.

It didn’t mean anything, it didn’t mean anything, it didn’t mean anything.

“Come to me.” Peter’s voice was soft and sweet then, nearly a croon and practically a purr and Deadpool’s head snapped up, his body jolting forward as if he’d been physically yanked by it, his eyes going helplessly to where Peter had pressed his forehead to the bark of the tree and was whispering, “Eláte, ómorfo, come here beautiful, grow for me. Grow.”

Deadpool held his breath and in the silence that followed, Panic slithered to his ear and hissed, “Nothing grows here, not in the underworld. Death and life cannot coexist.”

He didn’t want to listen, he didn’t want to listen, but Panic’s words were terribly prophetic as Peter leaned away from the tree and stared down at his palms in confusion.

“It didn’t work?” Peter sounded entirely mystified. “I can’t believe-- why didn’t it--” he called his power again and this time his palms lit with a dark, vibrant green that made the very air seem to spark around them and Deadpool held his breath---

--nothing.

“Hm.” Peter clicked his tongue and shrugged. “Perhaps I need time to adjust to this realm. Come on, shall we explore?” He held out his hand to Deadpool and waited with an expectant smile.

“...what are you doing?” Deadpool asked slowly, inching backwards in his throne until he was nearly plastered to the back rest, his breath coming hard and uneven, fingers digging furrows into the rock as every cell in his body screamed to go to Peter and Pain and Panic screamed for him to stay put.

“I can’t very well wander here alone.” Peter said, as if that were a perfectly valid reason for Deadpool to take his hand and escort him through the Underworld. “Usually when I wander I lay a trail of flowers behind me so I don’t get lost but until my power sparks again, that isn’t an option. How else will I find my way around?”

“You’ve been to Olympus.” Deadpool’s fingers bled where they scraped stone to keep himself from running to Peter. “The place is a mirrored copy of the mountain top. Don’t you recognize the throne room?”

Peter’s brow furrowed, his features pinching as he looked around the cavernous space, then his expression cleared in understanding. “Ah. It’s Olympus but without the glitter and gold, without the flowers and flowing fountains. Still a domain of the gods, but--”

“--but dark.” Deadpool finished, and then with a grimace and far more vulnerability than he intended, “Ugly. There is no beauty here.”

Creator gods were drawn to beauty, drawn to life and laughter and it didn’t make any sense for Peter to be smiling that way at Deadpool or for his eyes to be lit quite so warm as he replied, “Humility among the gods is as rare as an eclipse, who knew I’d find it here in the Underworld? What could you possibly mean, no beauty here?”

It would have been easy to discount Peter’s words as kindness, his flirting only flattery for a captor. It was easy to think the beauty talked of propositions as if they were already lovers because creator gods were lovers to almost everyone. But Panic was snarling lies into his ear and suddenly-- suddenly Deadpool had to know, he had to know--

“Pete.” There was the nickname again, easy and natural as if they’d known each other for centuries, as if they were friends and it felt so right, Deadpool couldn’t believe it. “Pete?”

“Yes?” Peter’s chiton had slipped down his shoulder again, baring sun bronzed skin glittered with gold and Deadpool couldn’t tear his eyes away. “What is it?”

“Why--why---” Deadpool wet his lips anxiously. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be nervous, to be unsure. He’d been angry for so long, and after he was angry he was cold and then he’d become numb and he’d forgotten everything else. “....why don’t you flinch from me?”

Peter’s red lips parted, one slim shoulder lifting in a half shrug. “Why did you kidnap me?”

“...because you are beautiful.” Deadpool didn’t mean to be honest, he didn’t mean to even be kind but something about Peter soothed his edges, calmed the anger in his soul and even just these few moments in the creator god’s presence had tempered the furious whisperings of Pain and Panic at his side.

Deadpool didn’t understand, but he was grateful all the same. “I took you because you are beautiful.”

“I think our answers are the same.” Peter held out his hand again and that damnable hope bloomed in Deadpool’s chest again. “Now then. You’ll walk with me around this place? Mirror of Olympus or not, I am hopelessly lost without my plants to guide me, and the last thing you’d want is someone like me wandering your realm. Imagine the chaos if I found Cerebus and tried riding them through your Kingdom.”

“Cerebus would never let you ride them.” Deadpool stated, fighting a smile, fighting the growing anticipation that perhaps his eons of loneliness could be drawing to a close. Peter wasn’t flinching from him, wasn’t running away, wasn’t acting as if he desperately wanted to leave. It was more than Deadpool could have ever hoped for after everything and maybe--just maybe the Fates had decided to grant him just a bit of happiness.

But still, he tried to temper his smile as he said, “Cerebus is vicious, Pete. They are more likely to bite your hand than allow you to pet them.”

Peter had no such qualms about hiding his smiles, and the room lit with his brilliance as he returned, “Are you sure? I’ve never met a dog I didn’t love.”

“You should be in a hurry to leave this place, you know.” Deadpool finally peeled himself off the throne and came down the steps, close but not too close to Peter, letting his his sleeves fall over his hands to hide the scars. “Not trying to adopt the guardian of the Underworld.”

“And you should be in a hurry to make me leave.” Peter countered, tipping his head back and back to meet Deadpool’s eyes, his hair falling loose and curled around his face. “Not standing here being so tall and tempting me to try and climb you like a tree.”

“Climb me like a--” Deadpool shouted with unexpected laughter. “Pete--!”

“Come on!” Peter laughed too, reached for Deadpool’s hand and clasped their fingers together, humming when the god shivered at the gentle touch. “Show me your world.”

****************

Deadpool did not let go of Peter’s hand as they walked, even as the creator god dusted his fingers across various plants and tried to spark something green. Every once in a while there was a flash, sometimes even a burst of color but it never stayed and when it inevitably faded, Peter only shrugged and moved on.

And Deadpool didn’t let go of his hand, not sure if he even could at this point. The energy that rolled through Peter’s body was almost intoxicating, electrifying and Deadpool felt as if his fingers were nearly fused to the other god’s, woven together and unable to separate.

Before the beginning, creator gods were hidden away and protected from the Titans and the giants and Deadpool had only heard of them in theory, in passing, in whispers from the more lecherous of the gods as they talked about aphrodisia that hovered above sun warmed skin, lips stained red from berries and kisses.

He’d never been this close to a creator god, had never touched one, had never had one turn and offer him a smile or tease and flirt, or stare at him as if he gorgeous instead of cringe away as if he were hideous.

It was unbelievable and almost too good to be true, and when they stopped at the banks of the river and Peter knelt to peer curiously into the water, it was then that Deadpool caught sight of his own reflection and realized that it was too good to be true.

All the time he had been in the Underworld, Deadpool had never sought his own reflection. It was telling enough that the newly arrived souls shuddered in horror when they saw him, that even Charon would not meet his eyes, that Cerebus whined and ducked their heads when he approached.

Deadpool could see the scars on his hands and could feel the itch of pain on his face and didn’t need a reflection to tell him he was ruined.

Anthony had promised the Underworld would heal him, and as Deadpool stared down at the reflection of clear skin and nearly blonde hair, he suddenly understood why Peter hadn’t cringed away.

Too good to be true.

The creator god was drawn to beauty and somehow this realm allowed Deadpool to look how he did before the war, when he’d rivaled Anthony and Steven in looks and the goddesses and nymphs had fought over who would lie in his bed each night.

Peter didn’t see him, he saw the glamour the Underworld had afforded him and that was all it was, that was the basis for the attraction that flowed thick between them and the reason Peter didn’t drop Deadpool’s hand and run away.

Too good to be true.

“How long did it take the scars to heal?” Deadpool startled from his thoughts when Peter squeezed at his hands. “The stories all say the war ruined you, ruined your body, but I can’t see it. How long did it take them to heal?”

“They haven’t healed.” Deadpool looked down at his palms, at the rough patches and raised lines that only he could see, the awfulness of it contrasting so sharply with Peter’s flawless skin. “It’s an illusion, one I didn’t realize had taken affect. This is why you didn’t scream when I grabbed you, why you are drawn to me. I’m not healed but the Underworld has given me a glamour to cover it.”

“I wouldn’t stare in horror even if you weren’t glamoured.” Peter countered and Deadpool denied, “That’s easy for you to say that when you are not seeing it.”

Something like sadness flickered through Peter’s eyes, turning the honeyed brown almost black, and he turned on his heel to press his hand to the ground and whisper to the dirt, green rippling from his palms and then fading into nothing. “Damn. Not quite. Come walk with me some more and I will try again--”

“Leave it be.” Deadpool was still staring at his own reflection, a mix of awe and revulsion making bile rise in his throat.

This was why Peter was willing to stay, this was why the creator god was letting his power spark and form a connection that felt nearly intimate. If Peter were really seeing him, the beauty would have turned tail and screamed to be returned to the surface, he wouldn’t be flirting and teasing and insisting on holding Deadpool’s hand as they wandered.

“You are stupid for hoping.” Panic whispered and Pain chimed in, “This will be another memory to hurt later on. Let him go.”

“Tell him to leave.”

“You were banished here alone, why would you think the Fates would grant you someone so beautiful as company.”

“Do you hear that?” Peter tipped his head in confusion, and shook his head. “The whispers, are they constant? Is that the--” he gestured to the river. “--the souls? Or the wind that sounds like voices or--”

“You should go.” Deadpool dropped Peter’s hand and stepped away, hunching his shoulders and turning his back. “Go on. You have my permission to leave.”

“You told me I had to make something grow before I returned home.” Peter’s eyes flickered dark again but his tone was light, expectant. “I’m not leaving until I bring something beautiful here. Something beautiful besides you, I mean.”

He was flirting again and it hurt like nails raking down Deadpool’s cheek. “You are the something beautiful.” he said hoarsely. “The only thing beautiful this world will ever know. Now go.”

“Why are you hiding from me?” Peter reached for Deadpool’s hand and frowned when the god jerked away. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“You are being kind to me because you only see this form.” Deadpool said bitterly. “You creator gods, you are only drawn to beauty and if you saw me in my true form you would turn away from me. I thought perhaps the Fates---”

Deadpool shut up, wrenching his hand free from Peter and putting it over his mouth. “Leave. Get out. Consider this your permission to go to the surface and get out.”

“What did you say?” Peter reached for Deadpool’s hand again and matched the span of their fingers. “About the Fates?”

“I said nothing about the Fates and I told you to get out.” Deadpool couldn’t look away from their hands, the heat gone from his words and defeat evident in the slump of his shoulders. “May is no doubt unleashing some sort of awful Winter on the surface world as she searches for you, and you do not belong in this realm. Leave.”

“You don’t want me to go, and I do not want to leave.” Peter ignored everything else Deadpool said and stepped closer until they were nearly chest to chest. “What were you going to say about the Fates?”

“Only that they are cruel women to tempt me with you.” Deadpool whispered and Peter’s eyes tinted gold in understanding. “Leave before I make you stay. Please.”

“I’ll stay until I can bring something to life.” Peter said decisively. “That is what we agreed on and that is what I will do. But first you must tell me your name.”

“My name is Deadpool.” Deadpool’s emotions roiled over and his eyes flickered haunted red, the glamour fading from his skin and revealing the scars for one awful second. “Everyone knows that.”

“What was your name before you were Deadpool?” Peter lay his hands gently, so gently where the scars had shown on Deadpool’s arm and stood on his toes to make their noses bump, smiling when the other god didn’t pull away. “Who were you before? Who are you really?”

“Your name doesn’t matter.” Panic whispered, and Pain agreed, “He won’t care anyway. You will tell him and he will leave and it won’t matter.”

“Do you even remember it?”

“Are you anyone at all besides this monster?”

“My name.” Deadpool breathed out shakily. “...is Wade.”

“Wade.” Peter’s finger tips lit light green as he reached for the hood and pushed it further away from Wade’s face, drew his fingers to Wade’s temples. “Kiss me.”

“Pete--”

“Kiss me.” Peter said again and Deadpool grimaced away from him. “No, no I know what you’re going to say about how creator gods want to kiss everything, how we make love as easily as we make life, but this is different. Please. Kiss me.”

“I don’t think--”

“Just one.” Peter’s touch was soft and so so warm and Wade could have fallen apart beneath it. “What will it hurt? One kiss. Please?”

He had nothing to lose and it had been so long since Wade had known anything beautiful at all, so he gave in, bent down, leaned in to press his lips to Peter’s and swallow the quiet gasp the gorgeous brunette made.

“Oh-h-h--” Peter sighed and chased the kiss, the vibrant green at his hands heating until Wade’s entire body was thrumming with energy. “Wade…”

Too long Wade had been jagged pieces and sharp edges and but as their kiss lengthened, deepened, his brittleness melted into slow, caramel languidness that began and ended with Peter’s drugging mouth, the sweet taste of Spring and the verdant suddenness of sunshine--

--and somewhere in their place between places, the Fates wove a strand of gray so dark it was nearly black with a red as ruinous as blood, and put them together with a brown that shifted gold in the light and a lush, living green.

“Interesting.” One said to the other, and the other said to a third, “We did not see this.” and the third set the strands as stone and decided, “What Fate has brought together, not even the gods will tear apart. A creator will love a guardian of souls.”

**************

*************

There was no time in the Underworld, so it might have been minutes or it might have been days, as Wade and Peter wandered hand in hand along the paths of the god’s realm. It could have been an entire season or nothing more than an hour as they shared kisses that grew more and more heated with each pass, Peter’s power flexing in the air like aphrodisia, Wade helpless against the pull and not caring to try and stop.

Some things were meant to be, some fated lines were meant to cross, and though Wade knew the surface world was no doubt paying for his selfishness, for his boldness in snatching a god of Spring and Growth, it was difficult to care when Peter was laughing and bells were ringing, when Peter was teasing and Wade was whole.

It could have been a hundred years for all the time between them lasted, a million steps they took in no particular direction, a thousand quiet conversations that didn’t have to mean anything at all.

They went aimlessly through gardens every bit as grand as those in Olympus but empty, the vines brown and brittle, the ground littered with the remains of petals that had fallen before they’d even opened all the way. They explored the winding maze hat was nothing more than spindly branches and tangled hedges, paused at fountains that had never flowed, sat at benches that had never been used.

The orchards were empty and bare, the trunks twisted as if wrenched by force into horrid shapes and though animal eyes peered from behind walls and out of darkness, the shapes that separated from the shadows weren’t quite right, not quite normal, and Peter pressed a little closer to Wade as they passed.

The only creature Peter didn’t shy away from was Cerebus, in fact the creator god greeted the beast with wide smiles and awed exclamations and Wade didn’t know whether to smile or to curse when the three headed monster huffed at Peter’s clothing and then simply fell at the god’s feet and blinked up at him in adoration.

“Oh you beauty.” Peter crooned, getting right down on the ground next to Cerebus and patting at each head in turn. “What a lovely creature. There is nothing like you on the surface, nothing at all, you are magnificent.”

“He is a monster.” Wade disagreed and Peter scowled at him-- or gave the closest approximation to a scowl he could manage when he was flushed pink in happiness and laughing out loud as massive teeth closed whisper soft over his wrist as Cerebus demanded more attention.

“Just because he is different doesn’t mean he is a monster.” Peter denied and pushed his face into one of Cerebus’s foreheads. “There is beauty found everywhere, if only people would look.”

Wade felt the approval and acceptance from the creator god as healing balm on his skin and once Peter had murmured at least a hundred praises of ‘good dog’ and relinquished his hold on Cerebus, he pulled Peter back up into his arms and buried his face in the curve of Peter’s neck.

“Alright?” Peter asked softly, holding Wade just as tight for just as long. “Are you ever so devastated that I’e ruined the guardian of the gates?”

“I’m sure he’s perfectly worthless.” Wade said dryly and when Peter laughed, he tipped the brunette’s chin up for a long kiss. “Walk with me, Pete.”

“I’m right here.” Peter scrunched his nose and kissed Wade right back. “You’re the one not doing the walking, oh god of the Underworld.”

Wade laughed which was-- well it was surprising all on it’s own, and tugged Peter further down the path, ignoring Cerebus’ whines and quiet growls at having their new friend taken away.

“May says the Fates always know where our lives are leading.” Peter said sometime-- maybe days?-- later, green sparkling everywhere he touched, there and gone again, bright and then dimming, flaring with life before succumbing to the call of death. Peter didn’t even seem to notice, his touches too casual to be purposeful, his eyes either on Wade’s face or on the creatures that flitted on the shadows. “And the harder we pull on the strings, the tighter the Fates draw them until we have no choice but to walk the path they design.”

“Are you saying I was fated to rule the Underworld?”

“Whatever you were fated for, it led to our paths crossing, even if it’s only for today and that is enough for me.” Peter yanked Wade in for a kiss that went on and on and on until the creator god was gasping and shivering and Wade was clutching at his sides with a sort of desperation he’d never thought he’d feel again.

“Peter.” he whispered, and the beauty smiled into another kiss. “Lovely, you practically bloom when we touch.”

“If we were on the surface there would be new flowers appearing every time we were together.” Peter decided and Wade left a gentle kiss on his palm. “I’d create entire forest for you, my love. Moonflowers and jasmine and night orchids. Beauty that you could enjoy without the sun hurting you. Which one is your favorite?”

“It doesn’t matter, Pete.” Wade denied but Peter insisted, “Tell me! I want to try to make something for you!”

“I--” Wade didn’t want to tell the creator god how badly it would hurt if even after all this time together-- or, the little time together perhaps. How long had it been? Had he loved Peter forever, or was it still only a few minutes?-- he didn’t want to tell Peter how badly it would hurt to love and to be loved, for it was certainly love brightening golden brown eyes, and then to see even that wasn’t enough to bring life to the Underworld, to bring beauty to this domain.

“Tell me.” Peter swept aside the folds of Wade’s robe and and pressed his hands to the god’s chest, humming and sighing when Wade leaned into the touch with a quiet moan. “Mmmm, do my hands feel good, my love? Like sunshine, isn’t it, but no pain?”

“No pain.” Wade tugged the sleeve of the chiton off Peter’s shoulder and mouthed over the glitter on the creator gods skin, reveling in the pleased sound Peter made, the way the brunette pushed tighter into his arms. “I only feel you, Pete.”

“What is your favorite thing in the entire world?” Peter pressed. “What is your favorite flower, your favorite fruit/ I want to make something bloom for you, don’t make me guess. Time between lovers should be spent learning each other but not all learning requires questions. I’d rather learn by touch, but first I want you tell me just one thing. Please?”

“...Pomegranates.” Wade could practically feel the strands linking his and Peter’s hearts and souls strengthening, weaving, settling as he admitted,“Pomegranates are my favorite and I haven’t had them since before the Titan’s fell.”

“Then that’s what I’ll make for you.” Peter decided and with one last kiss, he pulled away to crouch on the ground and rake his fingers into the dirt. “What this is between us has brought my power back to the surface, look.” he held up his hands to show Wade the brilliantly green glow. “Be still, my love. Be still and watch.”

This time Peter lifted his chiton above his knees and knelt on the ground, spread his hands wide and leaned over until his forehead touched the cold soil as well, and Wade held his breath--the Underworld held it’s breath-- in the places between places the Fates stopped in their weaving and waited--

--and Peter whispered something soft and sweet, gentle and coaxing, clicking his tongue and trilling under his breath--

--and the ground exploded with the force of life, a trunk shooting skyward and weaving together with supple limbs, leaves bursting from the tips and coloring gorgeous green, flowers unfurling in all the colors of sunrise and then fruit, ripening heavy and round and plentiful until the branches strained to hold themselves upright.

“Oh!” Peter fell back onto his heels and clapped his hands. “Oh, I did it! Wade, look!”

Wade was looking, but he wasn’t looking at the tree. He was staring at the creator god laughing in excitement, at the way Peter’s eyes were wide with wonder as if the pomegranate tree was the first thing he’d ever created, the way Peter kept glancing at him as if for approval.

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” he whispered, and Peter’s cheeks flushed a surprised, pleased pink, his eyes sparkling gold. “Pete, you are the most beautiful wonder--”

“Taste.” Peter broke the first fruit in half and scooped the seeds from the inside, holding up his fingers to Wade’s mouth and gasping when the god sucked them into his mouth with a low moan. “How-how is it?”

“Peter.” Wade pushed the rest of the fruit away and crushed their mouths together, sharing the sweetness and holding Peter as tight as he could. Moonflowers and night orchids burst into bloom at their feet and Peter laughed again as his power surged between them in a blast of warm air.

Wade fell backwards onto a ground suddenly covered in thick grass and Peter landed on top of him, hands roaming and legs tangling and mouths meeting again and again and again. It could have been weeks, it could have been years while Wade remembered what it was to love and Peter proved how easy it was to learn someone with nothing more than touches and whispered yes and please and more, my love, always always more.

It could have been a hundred years lost in each other’s arms, an entire millennia while the strands of Fate wove tighter and tighter between them until Peter wasn’t sure where he left off and Wade began, where creation and life met death and end but it didn’t matter when their kisses were stained with pomegranate juice and their skin was slick with sweat and Peter was--

“Ah!” He cried out, breaking away from a drugging kiss and rolling out from beneath Wade, clutching at his head. “Ow ow ow--”

“Pete?” Wade sat up in an instant, adjusting his tunic to cover more of himself and reaching for the brunette. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“I can feel um--” Peter shook his head, dazed from the sudden drop of swimming in pleasure to nearly crying from pain. “I can feel May, feel her anger-- the surface-- Winter--”

“She’s taking her pain out on the humans because she can’t punish me for taking you.” Wade realized. “She can’t see in here to know you are fine.”

“I forgot you kidnapped me.” Peter managed a laugh, and shook his head. “I’ve been so lost in you, I don’t even know how long we’ve been here, I forgot how it all started. I have to go and see her so she stops unleashing blizzards on the surface.”

“--you have to go?” Ice cold reality crashed over Wade, rocking him to his core with a rush of horror, the woven strands that tied he and Peter’s souls straining at the thought of being apart.

Peter only sighed as if the entire thing was a simple inconvenience. “I’ll come back, my love. Give me time to soothe May and right whatever the Winter has ruined above and I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“But Pete if you leave, you can’t--” Wade started to answer but Pain dug it’s claws into his calves and muttered, “Better to let him leave.” and Panic whispered, “If he knows he cannot come back, he will feel obligated to stay, then he will resent you.”

“He will hate you and wither to nothing if you make him stay.”

“Wade?” Peter held out his hand and waited for Wade with raised eyebrows. “I’ll need your help to leave, won’t I? Come on.”

Wade got to his feet and clasped at Peter’s hand, swallowing back his fear as he said, “You have my permission to leave, Pete. You don’t need anything more than that. But--but you can’t take anything with you, or you’ll be bound to this place. If you leave now, you are free but if you take anything with you, you will be forced to return.”

“You don’t have to force me to return.” Peter said with a quiet laugh, pressing at Wade’s palm and falling into step beside him. “Look at the beauty we’ve created together! I’ll come back of my own will.”

But if you leave, you won’t be allowed back in.

Wade pushed the truth of it away, pushed away the Panic at the thought of losing Peter when he’d only just found him, pushed away the Pain of facing another eternity alone. “It’s very important that you take nothing with you, Pete. Being bound to this place is not like visiting, do you understand? It’s awful, and I won’t let you do that.”

I’d rather lose you forever, then bind you here against your will.

“I understand!” Peter insisted. “But stop worrying! You are staring at me as if I’ll never--” he frowned. “Wade?”

“Pete.” Wade cupped his jaw and forced the creator god to meet his eyes. “Give me the pomegranate.”

“Wade--”

“Give it here.” he ordered again and Peter gave another one of those put out sighs before withdrawing a handful of seeds from the folds of his chiton. “Pete, if you took these with you and ate them along the way, you would have to return. You wouldn’t have a choice, and I don’t want to do that to you.”

“You think if I don’t have a choice, I’ll grow to hate you and this place.” Peter realized slowly. “You want me to come back of my own free will to prove--”

“--not to prove anything.” Wade hastened to correct him. “No Pete, not like that. But I don’t want you to hate me. Whatever this has been, whatever we have here, I want it-- I want--”

“You think I’ll leave here and never come back.” Peter whispered. “Don’t you? You’d rather give me the choice of never coming back than let me be bound here with you.”

Yes.

No.

Oh god, please please stay with me.

“I think you’ll find the sunshine and forget about the shadows.” Wade said around the lump in his throat, around the strangle of the strands of Fate as they strained to nearly breaking. “You will find your other lovers and forget about me.”

“How dare you.” For the first time since Wade had snatched him below, Peter’s eyes dimmed, the glow disappearing from his skin. “You think so little of me, after all we’ve shared?”

“You are a creator god.” The words were ash in Wade’s mouth, bitter and painful but he said them anyway, spoke over the slither and hiss of Panic and Pain. “You love whoever is beautiful at that moment and then you move on. You think I am beautiful, but the truth is, I am not and when you return to true beauty, you won’t want to come back to me. It’s your nature and I will not try to change that.”

“No!” Peter came close to Wade and shook his head. “No, you are wrong. I know you feel it, I know you can feel Fate winding through us. This is not my magic, this is not my nature, this is truth and eternal and--”

“You have my permission to go.” Heartbreak, a new voice, companion to Pain hovered over Wade’s shoulder. “But do not feel as if you owe me anything to return. You’ve done what I asked and made something grow and now you are free to leave.”

“I don’t know if I should be angry with you for assuming I will forget you, or love you for giving me the freedom to do so.” Peter’s eyes were nearly black in sadness and the grass at the base of the pomegranate tree started to wither. “Will you kiss me before I go? One more time?”

“Peter--”

“Kiss me, damn you.” Peter threw his arms around Wade’s neck and yanked him down into a fierce kiss, crushing their mouths together and biting down into Wade’s lip until he drew blood and the other god cursed, held him tighter, kissed Peter back until neither of them could even breathe.

And then Peter’s eyes swirled gold with affection and a sweet sort of satisfaction that Wade didn’t understand, the creator god’s fingertips lit green as he brushed them over Wade’s temples and down along the line of his jaw. “You taste like pomegranates, my love. A taste and a beauty I will never forget.”

“Go on.” Wade said raggedly, pushing Peter away gently but firmly. “Peter go, get out. Get out before I change my mind.”

“I’ll come back to you.” Peter promised, but Wade turned his back and shook his head, and Peter went on his way.

Lost in the gathering darkness, hiding from the sight of the Earth opening to allow Peter back to the surface, Wade didn’t see Peter leave, and when Cerebus didn’t lift his head and howl in anguish as the Earth closed above them again, Wade knew even the dog was heart broken.

But he hadn’t seen Peter kneel by Cerebus’ post and whisper, “I’ve done a wicked thing, you lovely beast. I’ll see you soon.” and he hadn’t seen Peter pause by the pomegranate tree and whisper a blessing into the flowers.

Stumbling for his throne and slumping into the gloom, Wade Deadpool saw nothing but Pain and Panic, Heartbreak and Self-Loathing writhing around his feet--

--and clawing up his legs to get to his heart.

*************

The Winter on the surface ceased as abruptly as it began, the blizzards easing and lightning calming the moment Peter stepped from the Underworld and reached out his arms for May.

“You are over reacting.” He scolded the goddess teasingly, letting his power flex and warm the frigid air, bringing flowers to bloom to make May smile. “I left to spend time with a lover and you devastate the human’s with an unending Winter! You cannot be so angry when I am reckless!”

“A lover.” May repeated in disbelief. “Peter, you were kidnapped! Taken from me! The Earth opened up and swallowed you and you-- you---” Peter raised his eyebrows and May cursed out loud. “By Olympus. Peter! You took Deadpool as a lover?”

“He’s very handsome, May.” Peter said absentmindedly, dusting his hands over the banks of snow and banishing them with a flick of his wrist. “Lonely, too. I would not wish a banishment to the Underworld on anyone, let alone someone who helped fell the Titans.”

“His body and mind could not survive the aftermath, and living in a place where time is still was the only way to save him.” May relented quietly, sadly. “There was a time when Deadpool was the most beautiful of us all, but the things he did in the war-- they ruined him, Peter. You have to be careful with this. It is in your nature to be drawn to those that need love but you have to be careful. Deadpool’s power might have eased his mind and masked his scars but that doesn't change who he is.”

“No.” Peter brought an orchard back to life with nothing more than a few words and a pulse of green from his palms, gold brightening in his eyes. “No, it doesn’t change who he is and yes, it is in my nature to want to love, but this is different, May.”

“Different.” May hesitated, her eyes narrowing. “Peter, you cannot go back and see him.”

“Of course I can.” The wind warmed around them as May’s hold on the Winter eased even further, and Peter created a pomegranate tree from nothing more than his will, coaxing it from the soil and stretching it towards the sky. “What is there to stop me?”

“My child.” May’s face fell into sadness. “Oh, you think you can go back and forth to the Underworld, but you cannot. It doesn’t matter what connection you think you forged with the Deadpool or how wonderful your months--”

“Months?”

“--you’ve been gone for almost six months.” She confirmed and Peter’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I do not know how he fooled you for all that time, but you cannot return to him. Once the portal to the Underworld is closed, no one can come through unless it is time for their soul to pass by Cerebus and through to Charon. You will never see him again.”

“Yes.” Peter said firmly and May paled at the belief in his voice. “Yes, I will see him again. The Fates have woven us together and we will not be torn apart.”

“Peter.” May whispered. “Oh Peter, what have you done?”

Peter only touched his lips where they were stained with pomegranate juice and a remnant of Wade’s blood, and smiled.

***************

All life failed in the Underworld.

Any humanity left in the souls that came to Charon flickered and fell away before they departed the ferry, the darker souls in the deeper places writhed in an existence that was only alive enough to cause pain and the rest was nothing but death.

The grass Peter had brought to green as they kissed withered away to chaff and scattered, the flowered hedges wilted and the orchards fell to ruin until all was black and bleak and bare again.

All life failed, and as the beautiful pomegranate tree lost it's color and then it’s leaves and the fruit rotted on wasted soil, Wade let his own power fail, let it seep away like blood into the cracks of the throne room, taking his glamour along with it and leaving him scarred and twisted and in body racking pain.

Everything hurt and Wade couldn't manage the energy to will it away. Pain and Panic roamed freely, not corralled by his will any longer, and Heartbreak and Self Loathing grew content in his psyche until Wade could hardly hear over the noise in his own head.

“You sent him away.” one voice hissed, day after day after day. “It’s your own fault you’re sad now.”

“You did the right thing.” another snarled for weeks at a time. “Perhaps you have some humanity left after all, to spare the beauty an eternity of your horror.”

“You are disgusting.” Abrupt and scathing, repeating for ages and ages. “No wonder the humans tell horror stories about you.”

“They call you the devil Deadpool, perhaps you should act like it.” Encouragement to awful deeds, unrelenting in his ear.

“Stop letting the souls circle in peace, force them to pay for their sins.” Coaxing, nearly pleading, non stop for more minutes than Wade could count.

“Stop standing idly by, command this place like the damnation it is.”

“He was a creator god, you made yourself into a god of destruction. Prove it.”

“Violence. Anger. Destruction. You are so good at it. Unleash it all.”

“Burn it all to the ground.”

“Get back at Olympus for what they did to you. They wanted you when you won the war and then forgot you here below.”

“The Fate’s spun those threads and then severed them just as quickly.”

“You are meant to be a madman, meant to be cursed, why don’t you enjoy it a little.”

“Burn it all to the ground.” “You are disgusting.” “He is never coming back.” “You should have forced him to stay.” “You should have forced him to love you.” “You should have forced him--”

“NO!” Wade fell from the throne to his knees on the unforgiving stone, dragged his fingers across the surface until they bled. “No no no. Please. Please--”

So long he’d been alone with the voices and the pain and after Peter had come and gone it all seemed worse. It was so much worse, it was so much worse, he couldn’t--he couldn’t--he couldn’t--

Warmth.

Wade froze when he felt the softest ray of sunshine on his skin, the barest puff of summer wind, the lightest hint of something floral and beautiful in the air.

“....Pete?”

There it was again, warmth and sunshine, summer wind and flowers and Wade forced himself to sit up and look and there-- there on the pomegranate tree was a single bud forming on the tip of the highest branch, turning from brown to green and then unfurling into a beautiful leaf as Wade watched in shock.

And then another, joining the first, a third joining those two and as the god’s jaw fell open in disbelief, the pomegranate tree leafed out entirely until it was green and healthy and glowing.

“...what?”

It had been so long, or maybe it hadn’t been long at all, but it felt like forever since Peter had gone and yet here was life, proof of the creator god, right here in the Underworld.

“Oh.”

“Pete.”

*****************

The pomegranate tree grew at something of a regular pace, the leaves lengthening until flower buds appeared, the flowers opening into brilliant colors a while after, the first signs of fruit coming along much later after that.

And on the day the fruit was ripe, Wade stumbled from his throne and lurched towards the tree, leaving Pain and Panic, Heartbreak and Self Loathing behind as he plucked a red pomegranate from a tall branch and broke it open to stare at the ripeness within.

“Are you going to eat that without me?”

Wade’s head jerked up when he heard Peter’s voice and when he tried to speak, the words failed the first time. “P--Pete--”

“I told you I’d come back.” Peter was almost painfully beautiful, his eyes a season wiser and skin a summer more golden, the green at his finger tips swirling in the air as if he couldn’t quite contain his power. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“You--” Wade glanced back down at the mouthwatering fruit then up again to Peter. “You aren’t allowed back in my realm without permission, no one passes Cerebus without my knowing. How are you here?”

“Oh my love.” Peter touched his lips gently. “I never really left. I carried a piece of you the surface and left a piece of myself here.”

“When you bit me.” Wade said numbly. “And I bled.”

“Only after we shared a pomegranate.” Peter acknowledged. “Something of me and something of you.”

“I--” Despair, not a new companion but one that had made itself so loud after Peter had gone the first time. He’s only here because he is bound to this place. “I didn’t want you to return to me because you had to, Pete.”

“I chose to stay because I wanted to.” Peter said simply, easily. “I’m not bound to this place, Wade. I’m bound to you. Willingly. My choice, not yours.”

And then with teasing smile, “I mean, you didn’t have to let me force feed you pomegranates and you could have pushed me away when I bit you. So I suppose this is sort of your choice, too.”

“My choice.” Hope, blooming unexpectedly and nearly taking Wade’s breath away and then all at once it was crushed when Self Loathing hissed, “Your scars. Your glamour is gone.”

“Oh.” Wade dropped the fruit and turned away, hiding his face. “Pete, I--”

“I thought you were going to kidnap me again.” Peter’s smile didn’t even waver as he ambled in closer to the tree, plucking a piece of fruit of his own and breaking it open, inhaling the syrupy sweet scent and smiling as he scooped the seeds free. “I even waited by the lake, sure you’d spring up and take me away.”

“You need to give me some time.” Wade mumbled, stumbling blindly up the stairs to his throne, desperate for the cover the shadows would provide. He needed a moment to gather his power, to flex his will and cover his scars and his ugliness. “Pete, please just give me a minute.”

“Wade.” The creator god might have just been light on his feet, it might have been his magic, but suddenly Peter was there right in front of Wade, pushing him back into the throne and crawling onto his lap to straddle his thighs. “Why are you hiding from me?”

“I--I--” Wade had thought he’d forgotten what it meant to be terrified, but right now he was terrified as Peter brought his palms up to frame his face, fingers stroking careful lines over his cheek and jaw. “Pete--”

“I’ve missed you.” Peter leaned in and pressed their mouths together, inching closer until they were touching everywhere possible. “Mmmm, my love. Haven’t you missed me?”

“Of course I have but--”

“But?” Peter bumped their noses together, slid his hands beneath Wade’s tunic and flattened his palms to the rough skin. “But what?”

“Do you see me?” Wade caught Peter’s wrists and held him still. “Pete, do you see me? This is me, this Deadpool, the scars and the--” he swallowed. “--the demons at my feet. My glamour is--”

“Unnecessary.” Peter glanced down to the foot of the throne and then kicked out at Panic and Pain until they scattered, waved his hands at Self Loathing and Heartbreak until they slunk away and said conversationally, “I had to compromise with May, you know. She is upset I want to be here, but I promised to be on the surface for an equal part of the year so the two of will have to learn to share.”

“Share.” It felt incredible to be the recipient of Peter’s smiles again, to feel the lithe body against his own and see the open, honest, affection in the golden brown eyes. Wade was still trying to understand it all, still tempted to cringe away from the light, but Peter was smiling and touching him and pressed close as if nothing was wrong and he didn’t see anything awful even when Wade’s glamour was gone.

“Share.” Wade said again and this time he tried for a smile. “I have to share with May? I don’t share well Pete, I don’t-- don’t think that will work.”

“You ancient gods are so selfish and petty!” Peter’s laugh was clear and bright and intoxicating. “But that’s why I left the pomegranate tree behind! When the leaves fall, I’ll go back to May, and when the fruit is ripe, I will return to you. It’s balanced! Learn to share!

Wade tipped his head back onto the throne and squeezed at Peter’s waist, trying not to let his roiling emotions spill out and over. “You’ll come back to me when the fruit is ripe?”

“Like the seasons, my love.” Peter promised, and then with a thoroughly enticing wiggle, “Now then, aren’t you going to tell how happy you are to see me?”

“I uh--” Wade pressed at Peter’s waist again and the gorgeous creator god came closer, sparking his magic until the air was filled with aphrodisia and Wade’s body was surging to answer the invitation. “I just barely got Cerebus trained to be vicious again, you’re going to ruin them.”

“Oh no, not a vicious Cerebus!” Peter gasped in mock horror, then tipped his head back and whistled, and in the distance, Cerebus answered with an excited howl.

“And um, if you’re going to stay, you’ll need a throne.” Wade said next and Peter’s eyes crinkled when he grinned. “Unfortunately there isn’t room for a second one in here so...”

“So, I suppose I’ll have to sit on your lap.” Peter said solemnly. “Any other complaints, oh guardian of the Underworld?”

“I thought I’d lost you.” Wade’s voice cracked then and Peter magicked a pomegranate blossom out of thin air and into his palm, dusting the petals over Wade’s lips.

“Never, my love. Never.”

**************

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Certified Farmers Markets in Los Angeles County.

On a cool Saturday morning toward the finish of October the two flying creatures of heaven, Zel and Reuben, wore their beautiful VIP sweatshirts and traveled down the 405 to Wilson Park in Torrance. Their insightful task was to return to the Torrance Certified Farmers' Market and update their perusers on one of the biggest and best ranchers' business sectors in Southern California.

Z: Three words suitably portray the Torrance Farmers' Market: Success! Victory! Victory! Some time ago when Vegetarians in Paradise was an infant on the web, we started our visits to ranchers' business sectors with a review of the Hollywood, Santa Monica and Torrance markets. We thought every one of ranchers' business sectors resembled these three. Various raids into business sectors since have persuaded us that Hollywood, Santa Monica, and Torrance are the special case as opposed to the standard.

R: Our unique report on the Torrance Market showed up in our February 1999 issue and chronicled our January advertise understanding. We found a clamoring market with roughly 65 ranchers offering a wide cluster of new produce and blossoms just as food merchants to fulfill customer cravings for food or entice non-customers who were getting a charge out of Wilson Park. Quick forward to 2005 and there are as yet around 65 producers and very nearly two-dozen food merchants to take into account the six to 8,000 customers who visit on a run of the mill Saturday.

Z: Wilson Park has heaps of parking spots and a lot of room in the parking garage for various sellers to show their contributions, however that Saturday there was a touch of rivalry for parking spots since this was the center of banner football season. Our early introduction was that the market had become so fruitful that scanning for stopping resembled partaking in a fortune chase. As we glanced around, we saw the groups who were getting a charge out of the recreation center understanding and not shopping at the market.

R: Mary Lou Weiss, who has been advertise chief for a long time, has gotten one of the senior legislators, or should I say senior states ladies of market administrators. Individuals intending to begin ranchers' business sectors will frequently talk with her to gain proficiency with the privileged insights of her prosperity. "Perceivability and stopping are the two most significant things," she says.

PersimmonZ: She likewise guides persistence. "It takes 3 years for a market to create," she says. She may include that she has a network support and what business experts talk about: area, area, area.

R: Mary Lou admitted that she had a market disappointment in 1991. The Torrance Tuesday advertise had been in presence for a long time when she started a Thursday evening market. Notwithstanding the extraordinary area, perceivability, and stopping, the market just made due for a half year. It was practically overwhelmed by the cool evening ocean breezes. She tuned in to the network that was mentioning a Saturday morning market and opened this market in March 1992. The Saturday showcase is currently more fruitful than its Tuesday cousin.

Z: As a full-time representative of the city of Torrance, Mary Lou additionally deals with the city's 250 network gardens. Occupants can pursue 20 x 20-foot plots to develop their own nursery vegetables. The city even gives the water.

R: There's another entire story there that we'll need to investigate at some point. On this market visit we were submerged in persimmon paradise. Wherever we turned we were confronted with either a hill of Fuyus or slope of Hachiyas, yet for the most part Fuyus with 10 ranchers highlighting Fuyus while 6 offered Hachiyas.

Z: People perusing our persimmon article can get familiar with this delightful harvest time organic product. Fuyus have come to command the market since they hold up better and are less muddled to eat. Individuals appear to lean toward the Fuyu crunchy surface rather than the soft Hachiya.

R: We were shocked to locate that stone natural products were as yet accessible this late in October. Ken's Top Notch Produce from Reedley sold pluots (plum and apricot half and halves) alongside persimmons and Asian Pears. Arnett Farms from Fresno had green and red pluots just as purple Angelina plums. Their table likewise showed Pink Lady and Fuji apples, pomegranates, the two assortments of persimmons, and jujubes.

Z: No not that minuscule natural product seasoned candy with the gelatin surface! Jujube is the name given to Chinese or red dates. This organic product is the size of an olive and ordinarily has a rough skin that can be red, rosy earthy colored, grayish, or dark. The yellow tissue will in general be dry and crunchy.

R: Anyone needing a taste can venture into the bowl on our lounge area table. K and K Ranch in Orosi had jujubes just as Angelina and red plums, the two sorts of persimmons, pecans, pomegranates, dark grapes, Fuji apples, and guavas.

Z: More stone natural products were in proof from Garcia Farms from Kingsburg. Once more, we were astounded to discover yellow peaches and Angelina plums. They additionally sold champagne and dark grapes, Fuyus, Fuji apples, tangerines, and three sorts of yams: gem, garnet, and Japanese.

Castilla SquashR: The Japanese yams are the ones I like to such an extent. They're typically rich yellow and strongly sweet. There were different merchants like Thys' Ranch from Fresno that sold more than one assortment of yams. H and R Citrus from Orange Cove had both Bette Ann red plums and the Angelina purples notwithstanding yellow peaches. They offered an incredible choice of grapes that included Red Ruby, Thompson Seedless, Sweet Crimson, and Autumn Royal dark. Their table contained pomegranates, Fuji apples, and Asian Pears. H and R was likewise the main wellspring of figs- - the lovely, stout Black Mission assortment.

Z: I'm so astounded by all these stone natural products still accessible. One of the producers ascribed this late yield to the heaviest downpours in more than 70 years followed by many summer days that were more than 100 degrees. Scattaglia Farms from Littlerock had late yield yellow nectarines alongside Fuji and Black Arkansas apples. We were astonished to discover that the Black Arkansas has just a fourteen day reaping season. They're more tart than most apples and are perfect for preparing.

R: There were various sellers offering tomatoes however Valdivia Farms from Carlsbad offered a significant determination of treasure tomatoes winnowed from their 75-section of land plot. While I wasn't looking, Zel filled her pack with at any rate one each of Bellmato, Ox Heart, Green Zebra, Brandywine, Pineapple, Cherokee Purple, Golden, and Pineapple White. The Bellmato is a serious novel treasure and could without much of a stretch numb-skull one into intuition it's anything but a tomato. Its shape takes after a yellow ringer pepper and however its flavor is obviously tomato.

Z: Since we're talking tomatoes, Valley Heights Ranch from Oceanside had Romas and green tomatoes just as Japanese tomatoes. Their sign trumpeted the low corrosive substance of the Japanese tomatoes. Valley Heights likewise had an extraordinary showcase of pumpkins and huge, fluted, sweet Castilla winter squashes.

R: Melons were accessible from three ranchers: Z Ranch from Costa Mesa, Tanaka Farms, and Smith Farms from Irvine. Zubair from Z Ranch showed melons, Galia melons, French Charantais, and Honeydew, and guaranteed orange-substance Canary melons in half a month. Tanaka likewise had French Charantais, while Smith Farms offered child round watermelons around 4 to 5 crawls in measurement.

Z: While you referenced the melons of Z Ranch, I continued contemplating the natural cranberry red okra he was selling. They were more thin than the recognizable green okra and had a glossy shine. He depicted the flavor as sweet and nutty. Likewise on Zubair's table were Rawaza, the little, round Indian eggplant about the size of my clench hand. Both of these needed to return home with us alongside a Galia and a French Charantais. Zubair gladly tucked a formula into our sack for Indian Eggplant Stir-Fry created by Zebunnesa, his significant other. Zubair

R: Always keeping watch for the strange, we found an avocado we had not seen previously. Crown 12 from Corona was offering the Teague assortment that won't almost certainly be found in the business sectors since it's anything but difficult to jab openings in the skin. The Teague is a combination of a Fuerte and a Duke. A couple of avocados on the table had skins that were at that point broke, a distinctive element of this assortment.

Z: Both Weiser Farms from Bakersfield and Zuckerman Farms from Stockton had their typical presentations of little potatoes. Zuckerman had their bright collection pack while Weiser sold fingerling assortments. Weiser included the Roman Candle Tomato that was unpredictably striped with green, red, and yellow and extended to right around three crawls long. They additionally sold squat Nantes carrots and jujubes.

R: At the tallness of the apple season Ha's Farm in Tehachapi held nothing back. They had the best determination of apples we have seen at any of the business sectors. Their variety included Fuji, Golden Delicious, Tsugaru, Mutsu, Winesap, Granny Smith, Gala, and Red Delicious. They likewise offered Asian pears, dried apples, syrups, jams and apple juice vinegar.

Z: Flower darlings had a lot of decisions that morning. Turner Seaside Farms had an alluring presentation including goliath yellow sunflowers, gerbera daisies, and alstromeria. Horizon showed those extraordinary orange and yellow stew pepper bunches alongside celosia and Asiatic lilies as a component of the game plan. Their splendid orange paper lamp bundles were works of art. For me the blossom feature of the day was the gigantic white and yellow mums at West Flower Growers from Oxnard. Their immense white mums matched 5 creeps over. They guarantee to be the main ones at the ranchers' business sectors to develop monster mums.

Monster MumsR: Quite striking and lovely were their spiky safflowers in splendid tints of brilliant yellow and orange. Likewise significant were the brilliant red and burgundy Asiatic lilies with names like Monte Negro and American. Talking about names, I was taken by the cuphea plants from C Stars Nursery in Gardena.

Torrance Certified Farmers' Market is the largest Farmers market in the South Bay, offers live music, prepared foods, pastries, fruit, vegetables and flowers.

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typinggently · 4 years

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6 for Hannigram! :)

6) marvel sculptures, old books, a burning building

thank you so much for this! :) I had great fun with it! The idea is based on something I mentioned on twitter once some time ago and it never truly left me:

Art Historian/Collector Hannibal and Journalist Will

Dr-Count-Prof Hannibal Lecter is a celebrated art historian and collector with a collection that could very well be called legendary. In his mansion, he keeps and presents a selection of exquisite and quite exotic art, arranged in fascinating and fantastical displays.

This year, Lecter invites a very exclusive group of people to admire this treasure chest of a house, have some snacks and celebrate his extraordinary taste. Now how does Will Graham end up at said party? Easy. He’s an editor for Film et Beaux Arts Illustré (in short: FBI), a French-American art magazine for which Alana Bloom writes, who happens to be a friend of Lecter’s.

She also happens to break her leg shortly before the party, so Will is dragged out of his secluded house in the middle of nowhere (working for an online magazine is great when you dislike people and have a bunch of dogs) and shoved towards the nearest tailor.

Freshly suited up and very miserable, he attends the party, armed with a frown and a notepad. He doesn’t do fieldwork anymore, but he still knows enough to write a decent article, so that’s the least of his worries. But if you’ve ever been in contact with art historians, you know that they all know each other and that’s just the. worst when you know absolutely no one. So Will decides to go explore the place on his own.

Now we have to say a few things about the mansion itself, just to get a glimpse into the palace Hannibal has curated for himself. Ignoring the people having polite conversation and eating dubious looking finger food, Will wanders through the different rooms, losing himself a little – which is, as he notices at some point, very easy, since the place is constructed like a maze. He passes through a hallway overlooking the garden that reminds him oddly of the hall of mirrors. Illuminated by flickering, multiplied candles, the mirrors and windows both are rows of black pools in which Will catches glimpses of his own reflection. On the ceiling, fragments of ornaments have been arranged into a strange collage, what looks like Pompeiian frescoes next to pieces of rococo plasterwork next to pieces of gothic faults. Like looking into the splintered mirror of time.

In the dining room, the living wall of herbs mirrors the table overbearing with a bacchanalian arrangement of fruits and flowers, the scent of lilies, wine, orange blossoms and quinces almost too much to bear. On the wall, an etching after Michelangelo’s Leda. Will thinks of the fairy realms that entrap you with their fantastical buffets and selects a pomegranate, licking juice off his fingertips.

There’s a winter garden, too, right in the middle of the house, a green spine throughout the building. Will can make out marble amidst shadowed green, but instead of following those schemes and the distant whisper of a fountain, he turns to another hallway. Maroon walls, more etchings, drawings, some small portraits, and he finds himself in front of another door over which a marble sign has been installed, weathered with age. Arrète! C’est ici l’empire de la mort.

“Are you lost?”

Will turns, faces the man stepping out of the shadows. “I assumed that was the idea.” It takes some dedication, he thinks dimly, to match your tie with your wine and your wallpaper.

There’s a faint twitch in his lips, then Lecter offers his hand for a shake. Warm, a nice grip. Will wonders if his fingers are still pomegranate-sticky, if Hannibal can feel it.

“I’d love to invite you in, but I’m afraid I can’t let my other guests wait for the amount of time I’d be obliged to spend with you once the door closes behind us. But please, give me your card.” The hand is just as warm on the small of Will’s back, gently leading him from the door.

“I don’t have a card.”

“Your number, then. You’re here for the FBI, aren’t you? I’d be honoured to give you a more in-depth tour of the place.”

“Are you suggesting an interview?”

Yes he is. Which Will doesn’t think too much about, other than the fact that he feels vaguely hit on. But come Monday, when he explains the whole thing to Jack and Alana, both completely flip their collective shits. Hannibal Lecter has never offered anyone an interview before. Not even Alana.

The decision is quickly made: Whore out Will Graham for an exclusive interview with THE Dr-Count-Prof Hannibal Lecter and an exclusive house tour. Will isn’t exactly thrilled at how quickly his friends pimp him out, but he remembers the taste of pomegranate and honey, the scent of wine dripping from the stained petals of a lily, flickering candle light on black pools and sweet-soft, marble-smooth bodies.

The interview goes well, to put it that way. You know some of the rooms, you can imagine the art Hannibal shows him. Busts and sketches, paint and pastels, wood and canvas and paper and marble. The honey-darkness of Caravaggio, the peach-soft eroticism of Boucher, the cruel desire of von Stuck. Martyrs and nymphs.

In the library, Hannibal offers him the illustrations of Beardsley, first editions. Will stands at a table of soft-warm cherrywood, taking in the faint scent of leather, old books. Hannibal, standing behind him, almost close enough for his. breath to brush the back of Will’s neck.

Now whose house is burning? Who knows what the family is called but the mess causes a terrible traffic jam. “Oh, that’s too unfortunate”, Hannibal says, smile glinting in the soft light, “If you’d like to stay the night, I’ll show you my guest rooms.”

Will looks up from Beardsley’s The Examination of the Herald. “We have time, don’t we? Show me the catacombs.”

Hannibal’s smile sharpens.

This was fun fun fun. The chemistry suffered a little because I was a tad focused on the art part but I also have to say, once again, that I feel like at some point, this would be a great skeleton for an actual fic. I can just imagine how n a s t y this Hannibal is. Absolute decadence. Wrapping Will up in silk and not letting him go before he’s drunk on pleasure.

The idea that they both seduce each other with art knowledge is. Appealing. And of COURSE Hannibal would put a sign from the Catacombs in Paris over his bedroom door.

Also please check out “The Examination of the Herald” because that’s the type of shit poor Will had to go “ah aha I see” at for three plus hours. They’re both into art, but there’s art and. Then there’s. Well. Subtle flirtation? Anyhow, I’d love to show it here but tumblr would kick me off the platform in 0.3 secs I feel.

Again – thank you SO much for your ask, I hope you enjoyed this mess!! It certainly cheered me up :’)

#hannigram #drabble #I sucked it up and did some writing after all!#this was VERY self-indulgent :')#also there is NO reason for the magazine to be french-american other than the fact that I wanted it to be called FBI and couldn't think #of a good B word.#yeh

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untilthenextencore · 5 years

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Kashmir Pt. 2

Written with @where-the-hot-springs-blow

Forever editing~...

...

The girls were so close now, both Heston & the Hermit feeling their springlike, wild energy rapidly filling the air, slowly making its way into the library. It was heady, dizzying, nearing soporific. Like the sweetest, richest of opium smoke. Like standing in a full-blooming lavender field at dewy daybreak.

Their hands tightened in desire, in fascination.

"Restrain yourself, magician. Seek potential, ability, knowledge first. Separate yourself from earthly boundaries."

The Hermit’s voice was firm, yet somehow gentle. But it was a warning nevertheless. Dedicated magicians needed to cut past earthly pleasure, superficiality, ordinary enjoyments, all in the name of attaining knowledge & ability.

As an adept, with centuries of practise & ability, he knew well how to seclude himself from baser corruptions & distractions. Many knew him to spend days locked away in his own manor, ignoring even a violent siege by the local villagers on occasion!

But this was different.

The presence of the girls so near...

Such innocence combined with such unpolluted potential...

It perfumed the very air of the castle, teased him with phantom whispers, fingers, even visions. Visions of moonflowers opening at nightfall, images of plum trees shedding their delicate pink petals in torrents, the carpets of them being blown away on a soft breeze.

He could even scent flowers in the air, the longer the girls remained in the castle. Jasmines, honeysuckle, lilies, & gardenias. All flowers that blossomed best at nightfall, warmed themselves by the light of the waxing moon phases.

The air had even begun to taste different to them once the girls had stepped inside. Apples, freshly-picked at the height of their ripeness, the tartness of their juices, the crispness of the first bite. Luscious, ruby-coloured pomegranates, splitting & spreading apart under firm thumbs, their jewel-like seeds spilling free, the sharpness of blood-red juices the strongest taste upon their tongue. Both of them could almost feel the sweet flesh between their teeth, feel trickles running over their lips.

The Hermit remained standing proud & tall, but Heston could not. He craved such innocence too deeply, even being merged with the Hermit. He’d often found the deepest, most enlightening of magickal experiences with such maidens, when surrounded by such innocence. Even if the Hermit did not approve, it was a path he preferred to walk, & would do so alone if need be...

...

The storm grew fiercer outside, beating the windows with torrents of rain, the trees shedding blossoms & fruits all over the meadow."Excuse me?" Charissa inquired, tilting her head with a curious look on her face. "What was that you just said?

Robert shook his head with a disarming grin. "Nothing, Charissa love. Nothing at all!" He sipped from his cup, draining the last of his tea before delicately placing it on the table in front of him. "And as for my name, dear..." He tossed his head back with a flourish, sending yet another sparkling, playful grin in their direction. "Count Robert Anthony Plant at your service. Or Lord if you prefer?" His grin widened. "Lord... Lord... Lord Kidderminster of Worcestershire. And of this here Wolverhampton Manor that is... Quaint & humble abode that it is..." He added with a chuckle, remembering their earlier gaping at the ornate, palatial splendour of it all.

"I knew it!" Sibby gasped, an incredulous smile brightening her face, bouncing happily in her seat, strawberry blonde curls bouncing along.

He laughed at the young girl's youthful enthusiasm, enjoying how it only added to the strength of the energies swirling in the air, the lingering fruity scents intoxicating him all the more with each breath. Turning to Charissa he saw her energies haloing around her in an altogether different way. While Sibella's enveloped her in a warm pink glow, Charissa's energies crackled around her like what he initially termed to be similar to static. Little intermittent flickers and flashes of white light, lighting up & disappearing in a snap. But then he saw that as she cast a wary look at her enthusiastic friend, the wariness melted as she leant in to towel off a few errant lingering drips from the ends of a lock of Sibella's hair, with a small scoff & warm smile. The action in all its warm affection took the crackling flickers away, replacing them with a strong red orange glow that haloed Charissa just as Sibella had been in pink. Now he figured that it wasn't static electric energy after all that surrounded Charissa. It was fire. This notion made him chuckle lowly to himself. Well, Pagey WAS always going on to him about how Robert's star sign of Leo was a fire sign & all the things that that entailed. Perhaps he would then also say that this was yet another sign. Perhaps Robert was meant to surround himself with these girls with their respective playful bubblegum pink & fire red-orange glows. Perhaps he should then take steps to ensure that he was surrounded by them...

In a sea of pillows and blankets...

Adrift in a sea of perfumed hair & soft skin...

Lose himself in the midst of fine curves & mile long legs...

Perhaps in bed?...

Perhaps...

Preferably in bed.

And if Robert had anything to say about it, that was exactly where it would occur.

He just needed a way to get there.

His idea.

"You don't believe me, dear?" He asked Charissa with a cute pout. She laughed softly, nervously & shrugged. "I don't know... I don't know exactly... See, I... I... I don't know what to believe, really..."

He nodded, smiling comfortingly. "I see. Now that's perfectly alright, dear." He leant in to pat her hand in additional attempt to allay any fears or nerves that she might still have, before then rising to his feet with the announcement. "I have an idea! See, I noticed the two of you gazing at my artwork here. You seem to enjoy it. You've been admiring it this whole time!"

"Yes." Charissa nodded. "Yes, its quite gorgeous. You have a splendid collection here."

"Perfectly wonderful! The paintings, sculptures, all of it!" Sibella enthused with yet another joyful bounce.

That gave Robert the in he needed. "Thank you both very much." He said with his right hand over his heart, bowing with another flourish. "You're too kind." Grinning at the giggles that he received from the two, he then made an offer. "You haven't seen the half of it though. Which leads me to ask... How would you two lovely ladies like a tour? What do you think?"

"Ahh! Yes! Yes! Yes, of course!" Sibella enthused bouncing again. "Oh my God! Thank you so much, Lord Kidderminster! You're too kind!" As ever Charissa was a bit reluctant. "Too kind. Too, too kind. You've um... You've opened your house to us in the midst of this dreadful storm. A rather sudden storm at that! You've lent us these cloaks & towels to dry ourselves, sat us by the fire & gave us tea to warm up. You've even chatted with us. Two strangers you caught dallying around the grounds of your splendid home. You've done so much already. I'm not sure that there's much more that we could ask of you. Nor is there much more that I think that we should ask of you. I wouldn't want to impose. I'm sure that you have better things to do than waste away the rest of your evening with the likes of us. You needn't worry or trouble yourself, sir. We'll be out of your hair by morning. Or as soon as the storm lets up." Like clockwork, as if on cue as she said that a flicker of concern and something imperceptible flashed across Robert's eyes and another clap of thunder sounded startling her & Sibella into another mutually comforting embrace & the sky opened anew with another almighty downpour.

Robert just chuckled and shook his head. "Think nothing of it, my dear. Nothing at all. I'm only too glad to show my home with people who hold such interest & admiration for it. Especially two such lovely ones as yourselves." Sibella blushed & giggled at those words. Try as she might, even Charissa's cheeks colored. With that, Robert bent down & extended a hand two both girls. "Now... Shall we be off? We have a great deal to get around to..." Sibella took his hand & bounced up happily with an excited nod before looking to Charissa. Charissa met her gaze & shrugged with a sigh, taking the hand extended to her & rising as well.

Robert couldn't help but grin, now draping the girls in their capes yet again before wrapping an arm around each of them yet again & starting down the hall. "Let's go..."

The corridor they turned down was a bit dark at times what with the heaviness of the black clouds outside dimming everything quite a bit. Sibella did her best to combat this by handing her beloved books to Charissa, taking up a candle from one of the little nooks & using it to help light the way. She used it to illuminate the pieces that Robert pointed out.

"This painting dates back to the mid 1800's..." Both Sibby & Rissa were struck with the uncanny resemblance of the blonde figure in the painting to the surprisingly warm & open Count they had in their midst as he played makeshift tourguide for them. Down to the fur trimmed cape, turquoise jewelry & down to the last little blonde ringlet. It was stunning, almost eery & unnerving how close the resemblance was. Sibella gasping. "It's gorgeous! Unbelievable! Positively Pre-Raphaelite, Lord Kidderminster!" Even Charissa had to agree, nodding as she remarked. "Like a Rosetti. The warmth & attention to detail. A truly gorgeous piece. The same as that bust you last showed us. Or the sculpture of My Lord with his beloved hound, Strider."

Robert puffed up his chest with all of the favorable attention & compliments. Even if they were of his artwork & directed towards his artwork. Seeing as the pieces were primarily of him & his beloved Strider, naturally he took no small pride in the compliments of him & his "gorgeous, unbelievable, positively Pre-Raphaelite" good looks that brought to mind works by the likes of the great Rosetti. As such there was no way the smile on his face could get any bigger or any wider. "You're too kind, darlings. The both of you. And very well versed in your art history it seems. Are either of you devotees of the Brotherhood as it were?"

"Oh, yes! Those pieces are some of our favorites! We even both love Christina Rosetti! Goblin Market! All the scents & tastes! The imagery! The-- OW!" In all her enthusiasm over everything Sibella had begun to talk with her hands & in her gesticulating had tilted the candle slightly, leading it to drip hot wax onto the side of her index finger. Charissa gasped. Robert took the candle from her & moved it to a nearby shelf, moving his arms from around both of them to take Sibella's hand in both of his to inspect. He carefully peeled the wax from her finger before bringing it to his mouth to kiss it & "make it better". As he did so his gaze locked onto Sibella's as again the scent of fruit intensified at the contact, growing intoxicatingly thick. Sibella just blushed & fidgetted under the heat of his gaze, gasping softly. "Lord Kidderminster!"

In all of the commotion, neither of them noticed that Charissa's gasp wasn't for Sibella.

Well...

Not entirely...

It was more along the lines of half / half.

Half for Sibella's sudden cry at injuring herself...

And...

Half at finding herself suddenly pulled into a room behind her by a mysterious figure after which the door to the room was quickly sealed shut & locked.

At that sound however both Sibella & the Count looked back & noticed the sudden absence of the young brunette with a mutual gasp. But only Robert had anything to say about it seeing just where they were in proximity to the library, gritting out a terse & low. "PAGEY!..."

#jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #untilthenextencore #robert plant fanfic #robert plant fanfiction #led zeppelin fanfiction #led zeppelin fanfic

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missnmikaelson-main · 5 years

Text

Tabula Rasa - Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals or any related media.

Summary: 20.65 centuries… 206.5 decades… 2065 years… 24,780 months… 107,380 weeks… 18,089,400 hours… 1,085,364,000 minutes. It was a long time, so why had it passed in the blink of an eye? One minute she watched her husband die, the next she was lying on something very soft surrounded by strangers.

Warnings: Some chapters will be rated M. These chapters will have warnings at the beginning.

67 BC

The first time she lost Amara she was six years old.

They were supposed to be completing their chores; collecting the many different flowers and herbs used by their mother.

She liked the task well enough. She loved the way the flowers would sing to her when she stroked their silken petals. Soft ballads played out on her heartstrings. Epic, daring adventures danced through her mind.

The lilies sighed longingly of love that she was too young to understand.

The daisies giggled mischievously like her sister: with an air of childhood innocence.

She had learned to steer clear of the plants that whispered heinous lies, and the ones that spoke of death; those ones scared her terribly, and whenever she had the misfortune to touch one she would fall into the depths of despair.

There was one herb that spoke of immortality. When she had touched its bright red leaves it had whispered the secret. The voice had caressed her mind as softly as her mother’s kisses. She had giggled in response and asked why anyone would want to know that secret. It seemed silly to want to live forever: ‘you’d get all wrinkly and terribly lonely’.

The herb had not been offended by her words as she had thought it would be. It had merely chuckled and told her that ‘one day she would understand’ while the wind had ruffled her hair as her father would have done. That had surprised her; usually the plants only told her the one thing, and didn’t respond to her questions.

Amara hated her chores, and would do anything to get out of them. She never understood her twin sister’s fascination with the plants; Amara didn’t feel the same connection to nature.

Mother would smile and tell Amara it was because she didn’t listen and was always in a hurry.

Amara would stomp her little feet and shake her wild hair. She claimed her sister was making it all up for attention, never mind the fact that her sister rarely shared what the plants said.

The one time she had it had been to say that father was returning from a hunt. Amara had laughed and said she couldn’t know that.

She had clenched her fists and set her chin before shouting that she did know it: the grass had whispered and said he was crossing the field with a heavy burden.

Amara never believed her. Amara never listened. Amara never wanted to sit for hours and run her fingers over the grass, but she did it for her sister. Amara did it because she loved her mirror image dearly; they were the best of friends.

In return she would sometimes sneak off with Amara to play when they were supposed to be doing chores. Sometimes they would chase each other. Sometimes, after she had asked politely, they would make flower crowns; the flowers didn’t respond, but she still liked to ask before plucking them.

Some days they would swap clothes and try to fool their parents; father always fell for it, but mother never did.

Today they were playing a finding game. Amara had raced into the field while she counted slowly. Today was the first time she had lost her sister.

The thought to ask the grass where Amara was never crossed her mind; even if she were the type to cheat the plants wouldn’t answer. Those were not the kind of secrets they told.

She covered every inch of the orchard and the herb garden with a huge grin on her face. She loved this game; she loved the surprised look on Amara’s face whenever she found her. It got increasingly harder every time they played.

The plants might not be able to lead her to Amara, but she had always shared a special connection with her twin.

She scrunched up her face and told herself this wasn’t cheating. She was worried now; they weren’t supposed to leave the clearing because it wasn’t safe. Her nose crinkled as she concentrated and located her twin.

She took a deep breath and looked to her house. She waited until her mother slipped inside for her baby brother. Once her mother was out of sight she bit her lip and darted into the field where Amara had taken refuge.

When she was in the field she lost sight of her end goal. These were plants she had never seen before. Her fingers and toes skimmed over the grass. There were herbs for love, sickness, and the destruction of lives.

She stopped and cocked her head sending the orderly braids tumbling over her shoulder. Kneeling in the grass she pulled the bright red and yellow flower from the ground. She heard the secret nobody was ever meant to hear: ‘combine me with the petals of a white rose, the gel of aloe, the berries from a holly tree, sage and zinnia and I will return your departed friend from Hades’.

“I have no departed friends,” she murmured to the soft petals. “May I keep you anyway? You are very beautiful.” Her mother had raised her to be polite. The flower raised no objection; they never did, so she broke off the stem and tucked the bright blossom into her pocket.

She frowned when she stood up and saw the sky darkening. Heavy grey clouds writhed overhead. She scrunched up her face again and concentrated but this time she could not find Amara.

Opening her eyes she began to tremble; the grass was higher than she was and she didn’t know the way home.

“Amara,” she called. Her shoulders hunched when the thunder rumbled: Zeus was angry. She screamed when the ground shook beneath her feet and knocked her to her knees: Hades was angry too.

She hunched over and grasped the back of her neck the way her father had shown her. She curled into the position her mother had told her about and waited for the earth to cease its movements. She was crying too hard to notice when the ground stilled.

A warm hand on her shoulder brought her back to the realm of reality. She stood on shaky legs and sniffled when she stared up into intense brown eyes.

The boy was perhaps two years older than her and at least a foot taller. She had to tilt her head back to see him.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

She trembled. The rain had soaked through her blue dress and set a chill to her bones. “I’m lost,” her lower lip shook, “I lost my sister and now I can’t find my way home.” She turned her head down to shield her face from the rain.

“Where is your home?” Rain plastered his dark hair to his sun bronzed brow. She thought he must be very pale when Persephone made her yearly journey underground.

“Beneath the pomegranate tree in the orchard,” she pushed away a heavy lock of hair when it fell in her bright eyes. She watched as the boy turned around and pointed to the left.

“The orchard is that way,” he said. He offered his hand when a lightning strike made her shake with fright.

She crossed her arms and gave him a wary glare. “Mother says I’m not supposed to speak with strangers.” She had quite forgotten that fact with the storm. She wondered if that rule applied to helpful boys with kind eyes. Surely the rule was only for adults from other covens.

“If you live in the house in the orchard then I am not a stranger,” he reasoned, “I am your neighbor. My family lives in the villa on the hill.”

She squinted and scrutinized his features. He did look like the boy on the hill, and she had seen her father talking with his, but they had never been introduced. He had his own siblings to play with… or were they cousins?

“Okay,” she broke out in a brilliant smile. Reaching up she took his hand and started pulling him in the direction he had pointed.

He was genuinely surprised when the rain clouds did not scamper off to cower in the wake of her sunny smile and luminous eyes. He was certain she was radiating light.

He stopped up short when they stepped from the grass. His eyes landed on a girl who was a perfect physical copy of the one holding his hand. He shivered when his companion released his hand and wrapped her arms around her doubles neck.

“Amara!” She cried happily. “There you are. I was so worried.”

Amara crossed her arms and glared at him. “Who’s your new friend?” She pouted.

“He helped me get home,” she frowned when she remembered her fear, “when I got lost. This is…” Her eyes widened when she realized she realized she didn’t know his name.

He stepped forward and looked between the sisters; up close he could see subtle differences in their eyes: Amara’s were not as bright.

“My name is Elias.”

Tags: @rissyrapp20 @elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall

#the vampire diaries #the originals #fanfic #tvd #to #elena gilbert #elijah mikaelson #caroline forbes #amara #klaus mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson

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profetizamos · 6 years

Text

☾ 🌹Flowers and Plants of the Virgin Mary🌹☽

I couldn’t find this information online so I sat down and did my own research and this is what I’ve found. Plants are listed with their suggested association for offerings and rituals based on inference, and then their traditional associations and lore. Only plants widely available or available in North America are listed. Please do not consume anything without researching whether it is food safe!

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Arborvitae Symbol of the Conception

Asters Symbols of the Nativity of the Virgin

Cherry According to legend and immortalized in the Cherry Tree Carol, cherry trees bowed down to Mary to let her eat the cherries she was craving when she was pregnant with the baby Jesus

Common Lady's Mantle Rest, rejuvenation. Also known as Our Lady's Mantle, traditionally placed beneath the pillow for sweet sleep

Cowslip Unlocking knowledge or emotion. Known as Our Lady's bunch of keys

Cyclamen Grief. Traditionally represents the piercing grief of the virgin at the death of her son, symbolized by the "drop of blood" found at the center of the blossom of some varieties

Damask roses According to record damask (or Castile) roses were the flower that Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe miraculously made bloom at Tepeyac and with which St. Juan Diego filled his tilma (cloak). When Juan Diego let the roses spill out, they left behind the famous miraculous image of the Virgin.

Feverfew Healing. Consecrated to the Virgin in parts of Italy

Hazel Protection. In Bavarian tradition, hazel trees sheltered the holy family as they fled the wrath of Herod.

Juniper Protection, driving away evil spirits. In Italian folk tradition, juniper is one of the trees that used its branches to protect the Virgin and Child from the assassins of Herod, and is traditionally used to ward off evil spirits.

Lady's Bedstraw Peace, rest. Supposedly Mary laid down Our Lady’s bedstraw in manger so Jesus could sleep sweetly.

Lady-tresses orchid Beauty, femininity. Known as Our Lady’s tresses.

Lily-of-the-valley Grief, sacrifice. Also known as Our Lady's tears

Milk thistle Spiritual sustenance, nurturing, motherhood. According to legend, the speckling of plant is from being spotted with Mary's breast milk.

Palm Protection. Another tree which in Mediterranean legend protected the Virgin and Child as they fled Herod

Pellitory Eternal life, divination, clear sight. Associated with the Ascension of the Virgin Mary. Known as the herb of the Madonna, in Tuscany it was traditionally gathered on the Feast of the Ascension and hung in bedrooms until the Nativity of the Virgin. If the flowers would opened after being cut, it was seen as a blessing of the Virgin, but if they didn’t, it was interpreted as a sign of divine displeasure

Pomegranate Fertility, femininity. Known as the apple of the Virgin

Rosemary Protection. Yet another plant known for protecting the Virgin and child during the flight to Egypt

Roses Purity, love, the rosary. A classical symbol of the Virgin, who is known as the rose without thorns, symbolizing her freedom from sin. White and red roses are specifically associated with the Visitation.

Sea thrift Rest, freedom from stress or financial burden. Known as Our Lady's cushion

Snowdrop Purity. Associated with the Purification of the Virgin

Star of Bethlehem Hope, birth, devotion. According to legend, the flower is the remains of the star that marked Christ's birth, which Joseph gathered from the field and gave to Mary.

Strawberry Sweetness, love. Simply a fruit consecrated to the Virgin.

Sweet grass Also known as Virgin's grass, this grass has long been associated with Mary and can be burned in invocation, prayer, or cleansing.

Virgin's bower A symbol of the Assumption of Mary

White iris A symbol of Mary as the queen of heaven

White lily Good news, purity. Lilies especially the Madonna lily are classical symbol of the virgin's purity. Because according to lore lilies were borne by the angel of the annunciation, they are special symbols of the Annunciation.

Willow Protection. Yet another tree which protected the Virgin during the flight to Egypt

Wormwood Cleansing. Known as the smoke of Our Lady

Sources:

Folkard, Richard. Plant Lore, Legends, and Lyrics. 2nd ed., London, R. Folkard and Son, 1892.

Skinner, Charles M. Myths and Legends of Flowers, Trees, Furits, and Plants: In All Ages and in All Climes. J.B Lippincott Company, 1911.

#christian witch #green witch #christian mysticism #christian mystic #christian witchcraft #marian witch #virgin mary #flower correspondences #plant meanings #flower meanings #herb meanings #christopagan #catholic witch #marianism #my post

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writinggeisha · 5 years

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Your first mental image when thinking about lips or mouths might be a passionate kiss. Percy Bysshe Shelley said “Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.” However, lips and mouths are more than kissing (or eating) machines. This post provides hundreds of ways to describe them in creative writing and poetry.

Emotion Beats

The way people move their lips and mouths reflects overt or hidden emotions.

Pouting might indicate agitation, aggravation, confusion, contemplation, disapproval, disbelief, dislike, exasperation, flirtatiousness, impatience, irritability, nervousness, pessimism, resentment, sadness, skepticism, suspicion, wariness, worry, et al.

In fact, pouting can imply so many emotions that it’s probably best to consider alternative body language.

A few more emotions mirrored by lips and mouths include:

Adulation, arousal, flirtatiousness Parted lips Running tongue over the lips

Anticipation of a delicious snack or entrée Smacking the lips Watering/salivating mouth

Determination Pressing lips into a thin line

Dislike Pressing lips into a thin line

Fear Bad taste in the mouth Chewing on lips Clenched mouth Dry mouth Gaping mouth Gulping huge mouthfuls of air Licking the lips Trembling lips

Impatience Pinched lips

Repressed hatred Pressing lips into a thin line

Shyness Pinched lips

Skepticism Biting the lips

Stubbornness Tight lips or mouth

Uncertainty Forceful exhalation through pursed lips

Adjectives (1)

Adjectives such as haughty save words by telling about a character’s motives or personality. Use sparingly. They function well in flash fiction or third-person omniscient point of view, and when you want to speed the pace.

Several adjectives, when describing lips, may suggest something different when describing mouths.

Provocative lips might indicate a seductive tone, but a provocative mouth might be aggravating.

Demanding lips evoke a sexual image, whereas a demanding mouth implies an overbearing character.

Generous lips might be large, or they might be yielding and responsive. Provide context if necessary.

Rather than modify lips or mouth, a number of the following words could refer to faces, expressions, or motivations.

Many skin attributes also perform well as lips and mouth descriptors.

A Active, adulterous, adventurous, affectionate, aflame, aggressive, alluring, amorous, amorphous, ample, appealing, ardent, audacious, avid, awkward

B Barbarous, belligerent, bewitching, bitchy, bitter, bloody, bone-dry, bony, Botoxed, boyish, brash, brutal, busy

C Cadaverous, callous, capable, capacious, careworn, carnivorous, caustic, cautious, cavernous, chaste, cheerful, cheery, childlike, clumsy, coarse, coherent, cold, complacent, conspicuous, contemptuous, corrugated, critical, crooked, cruel, crumpled, cynical

D Dainty, dead, delectable, delicate, delicious, demanding, demure, desirous, desiccated, determined, devilish, disdainful, dispirited, disrespectful, dissatisfied, doll-like, dour, downcast, droll, dry

E Eager, effeminate, elastic, electric, eloquent, energetic, enigmatic, enthusiastic, evil, expectant, experienced, expressionless, expressive, exquisite

F Fascinating, fevered, feverish, fine, firm, flaccid, flat, flawless, fleshy, flexible, flirtatious, foolish, forceful, formless, foul, fragile, fragrant, frigid, frothy, full, furrowed, furtive

G Generous, gentle, girlie, girlish, glassy, glib, glossy, gnomish, goofy, grave, greasy, greedy, grim, grotesque

H Hard, haughty, heartless, heavy, helpless, heretical, hesitant, honeyed, hungry

I Icy, impassioned, impassive, impatient, imperious, impertinent, impetuous, implacable, impudent, incoherent, inflamed, inflexible, innocent, insatiable, inscrutable, insubstantial, intractable, inviolate, irreverent

J Juicy

K Kissable

L Lax, leathery, lecherous, lewd, libelous, libidinous, licentious, lifeless, loathsome, loose, lopsided, lovable, luscious, lush, lustful

M Malicious, manly, masculine, masterful, meager, meaty, merciless, merry, mischievous, misshapen, moist, motionless, mute, mutinous

N Narrow, nasty, naughty, nervous, numb

O Obstinate, oily, oversized

P Passionate, pathetic, pebbly, perfect, perfumed, petulant, pinched, piquant, playful, pliable, pliant, plump, practiced, prim, prodigious, profane, proficient, prominent, proud, provocative, puffy, pugnacious

Q Querulous

R Randy, rapacious, ravenous, raw, relentless, reluctant, repulsive, resolute, responsive, restless, reticent, reverent, rigid, ripe, rough, rubbery, ruthless

S Sacrilegious, sad, sarcastic, sardonic, sassy, satirical, saucy, savage, scabrous, scaly, scornful, scurrilous, seductive, sensitive, sensuous, serious, sexy, shapeless, shrunken, silent, silky, sinful, skillful, slack, slick, slippery, sloppy, smooth, soft, sore, sour, spicy, stained, starving, stern, sticky, stiff, stony, strong, stubborn, submissive, succulent, sulky, sullen, sultry, sunken, sweet, swollen

T Talented, tense, tentative, thick, thin, thirsty, tight, timid, toothless, tough, traitorous, tremulous, truculent

U Uncertain, uncooperative, unrelenting, unresponsive, unsatisfied, unsmiling, unwilling, unyielding, upturned

V Vacuous, virgin, voluble, voluptuous, voracious, vulgar

W Wanton, warm, waspish, waxen, well-cut, wet, wide, willing, winsome, wistful, withered, witty, wormy, worshipful, wrinkled, wry

Y Yielding, youthful

Adjectives (2): Upper Lip

Although some of these adjectives might suit lips or mouth, they excel for describing the upper lip:

A to Z Bifurcated, bushy, clean-shaven, furry, hairless, hairy, long, mustachioed, naked, perspiring, short, stubbly, sweaty, whiskered

Adjectives (3): Lower Lip

Likewise for the lower lip:

A to Z Droopy, exaggerated, floppy, generous, missing, non-existent, pendulous, sagging, soul-patched, split, square-cut

Adjectives (Misc.)

Besides describing lips and mouths, writers can:

Describe the teeth, or mention missing teeth

Describe a person’s smile.

Similes and Metaphors

When creating comparisons, familiar animals are a good place to start. Readers know what they look like and will conjure an immediate image of the lips so compared.

Some of the following act as adjectives, while others function best in as or like similes. For example:

Fred had horse lips.

Fred had lips that looked like they belonged on a horse.

A to Z Angel fish, apish, baboon, baboon’s butt, bestial, bovine, camel, Cheshire cat, chimpanzee, chipmunk, dead fish, duck, frog, giraffe, goldfish, horse, largemouth bass, leeches, lizard, porcupine’s back, raw oysters, reptilian, serpentine, simian, squirrel, toad, twin slugs, zebra

Other comparisons could include:

A to Z Ancient prunes, angel’s cheek, blow-up doll’s maw, bread dough, cherries, embers, glue, lily petals, overstuffed sausages, pincushion, pinecone, plum, pomegranate blossoms, raspberries, raw liver, rose petals, rosebuds, rubies, sandpaper, satin, suction cups, twin cacti, velvet, vise grips

And here are a few more thought starters:

Awkward as a newborn trying to find his mama’s nipple

Bigger than his ego

Deader than a slab of cement

Dry as the Sahara

Foul as an overflowing cesspit

Fragile as butterfly wings

Large as Texas

Like a cow chewing its cud

Moist like morning dew

More brutal than a pounding sledgehammer

Smelly as an old sock

Colors

Foods excel as color substitutes. Words such as cherry, bubble-gum, and tangerine capture color, scent, and taste.

In a modern novel, lipstick and stage makeup allow lips to be almost any color. Not so much in a Victorian-era piece.

A to F Anemone-pink, ashen, bloodless, bubble-gum, burgundy, carnelian, cherry, colorless, coral, coralline-red, cotton-candy, crimson, flamingo, florid, freckled

G to Z Golden, grey/gray, licorice-twist, pale, pallid, pasty, peach, pink, purple, red, rosy, ruddy, seashell-pink, sunburnt, sunset-scarlet, swarthy, tangerine, vermillion, wan, wine-red

See also 1000+ Ways to Describe Colors.

Shapes

Many of the following words function well in similes or can be converted to adjectives by adding suffixes such as –like, -ish, or –esque.

A to Z Apical, asymmetrical, bleeding heart, blimp, bow, cherry pie, cinnamon roll, cinnamon-heart, doughnut, fishy, goldfish, heart, inner tube, O-ring, peaked, petal (name specific flower), shapeless, shapely, sharp, stop sign, unsymmetrical, toilet boil, urinal, watermelon, wedding ring, yield sign

Verbs

Some verbs relay feelings or senses of the POV character, while others are appropriate for secondary players.

Consider antonyms. Rather than belittle, a mother’s lips might praise her child. Instead of relaxing his lips, an uptight worrywart might tense them.

You might prefer to pair many of these verbs with characters themselves rather than their body parts. Listen to your writer’s voice and choose what works best for you.

A to F Belittle, blister, burn, caress, clamp, clench, close, coax, coerce, compress, contort, crack, crimp, criticize, curl, denounce, deprecate, dribble, drool, entice, force, fuse

G to R Gossip, graze, heal, insult, kiss, loosen, lure, meld, open, perspire, practice, press, pucker, purse, quirk, relax, respond

S Salivate, scrunch, seal, slaver, slide, slither, slobber, smart, smooch, sparkle, spasm, spit, squirm, squish together, sting, stretch, suck, sweat, swell

T to Z Tempt, throb, tighten, tingle, turn down, turn up, twist, ulcerate, unlock, yield

Nouns

Inventing nouns to replace lips or mouth can lead to silent snickers while you hunch over your keyboard or pore through your favorite thesaurus. Try some of these:

A to L Bazoo, blower, bragger, cakehole, chops, doughnut disposal, doughnut hole, flycatcher, flytrap, food vacuum, gob, hatch, hot-air vent, jabberjaw, kisser, laughing gear

M to Z Maw, motormouth, mug slit, mush, muzzle, nagger, oral cavity, oral orifice, phiz slit, pie hole, puss, skull cave, soup sucker, trap, woofer, word hole, yap, yapper, yodeler

Props

Add humor, suspense, or atmosphere with well-chosen props.

Does your protagonist notice a roll of duct tape on the counter in his apartment—then whip around to see a face-masked intruder with a gag in hand? Duct tape + gag = kidnapping. Or maybe an amorous encounter. Or__________?

A to O Acne, asthma inhaler, baby bottle, blueberries, chewing tobacco, cigar, cigarette, coughing fit, dirt, duct tape, electric razor, facemask, flute, gag, glitter, handkerchief, intubation tube, kazoo, lipstick, mouth guard, mouth organ, mud pie, mustache, muzzle, nebulizer, oboe

P to Z Piercings, pimples, pipe, razor, scar, scuba regulator, sneezing, snorkel, soot, soother, spit, spit up, stain, straw, teeth, thumb, tic, tissue, tongue, toothpaste, toothpick, trumpet, veil, wart, whistle

Clichés and Idioms

Some narrators might warrant trite phrases, but it’s usually best to avoid them—except in dialogue.

All mouth and trousers: arrogant, brash, brazen

Born with a silver spoon in one’s mouth: born privileged or wealthy

Button one’s lip: hush, keep quiet, shut up, stop talking

By word of mouth: orally, verbally, via gossip

Down in the mouth: dejected, depressed, glum, sad

Foam at the mouth: fume, rage, rant, seethe

Give some lip: disrespect, sass, speak rudely

Have a stiff upper lip: display fortitude, exercise restraint, remain resolute (in the face of adversity)

Have one’s heart in one’s mouth: be afraid, alarmed, apprehensive, or terrified

Leave a bad taste in one’s mouth: nauseate, repulse, disgust

Live hand to mouth: barely get by, eke out an existence, subsist

Lock lips: French kiss, kiss, smooch

Look a gift horse in the mouth: be ungrateful, find fault with a gift

Mouth off: rant, sass, sound off, spout

On everyone’s lips: popular topic of conversation, trending, widely discussed

Pay lip service: agree in public while personally dissenting, pretend to agree

Put one’s foot in one’s mouth: blurt, say something tactless; blunder

Seal one’s lips: keep a secret, keep classified

Shoot one’s mouth off: boast, brag, talk indiscreetly

Slip of the lip: inadvertent mistake (while speaking)

Stiff upper lip: fortitude, resignation, stoicism

Straight from the horse’s mouth: from a reliable source

Talk out of both sides of one’s mouth: contradict oneself, lie (usually to please the most people)

Through word of mouth: orally, person to person, verbally

Zip one’s lip: hush, say nothing, shut up, stop talking

#links #words

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scriptflorist · 6 years

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I'm looking for flowers that represent gods or goddesses. Of any culture.

Hey there Nonny!

That is a great question! But also one that is very non-specific. There are a great many deities and a great many cultures. So without knowing what you're looking for specifically, we've decided to scan The Big Five – Greek, Roman, Indian, Egyptian and Norse mythology. I've found a great many things and this is going to be an incredibly long ask, so grab a drink and some food we'll be here for a while.

Put under a cut so this doesn't block anyone's dash.

Key:

misc: might be a symbol, might be a sacred plant IT'S SOMETHING to say the least

sacred plant: sacred plant

plant: might or might not be sacred but is certainly associated with them

offering: things offered to the deity in question

symbol: generally something they're depicted with or sth that was listed as their symbol, often both

incense: incense used for offerings/temples, listed as long as it’s derived from a plant

Notes:

if wine counts so does beer so does mead so does ale

cornucopia/horn of plenty listed bc flowers are a common filling, also it holds floristic value

I’ve had to translate some of the offerings to Indian deities, take ‘em with a grain of doubt

Greek Deities:

achelous – plant: cedar

aether – offering: saffron (according to a hymn)

althaea – offering: fruits

aphrodite – sacred plants: (wood) anemone, apples/apple tree, myrrh (tree), quince, (gallic and red) roses, lime tree, (prickly) cedar, (prickly) lettuce, big-leaf linden (unsure), myrtle, pomegranate tree, narcisssus/ offerings: apples, pomegranates, roses, myrrh, myrtle, wine / symbol: apple, myrtle wreath, flowers

apollo – sacred plants: (italian) cypress, larkspur, laurel, date palm, violet (unsure) / plant: (bay) laurel, palm tree, apple tree, poplar tree, mistletoe / incense: myrrh, frankincense / symbol: laurel wreath

arachne – plant: monkshood

ares – sacred plant: manna ash

artemis – sacred plants: (persian) walnut, almond, fir, (italian) cypress, willow, wormwood, daisy, laurel, chaste tree, (prickly) cedar, (italian) cypress, amaranth / offering: saffron

asklepios – sacred plants: various herbs

athena – sacred plants: mulberry, oak, olive tree / said to have created the very first olive tree

cerce – renowned for her vast knowledge of drugs and herbs

cotys – offering: wine

demeter – sacred plants: grains, wheat, barley, (penny royal and spear) mint, opium poppy, chaste tree, fig tree / plant: chaste tree, myrrh, sunflower / symbol: wheat ears, horn of plenty, lotus / goddess of corn, grain, harvest and the fertility of earth / her sacred eleusinian drink was made of barley, honey and mint

dionysos – sacred plants: bindweed, elm tree, fennel, fig tree, (grecian) fir, grapevine, ivy, (aleppo and corsican) pine, plany plant (w/e tf that is), calamus, cinnamon / symbol: pine cone, fig, grapevine, wine, pine cone tipped staff, ivy crown / god of wine agriculture and fertility of nature

eileithyia – sacred plant: (grecian) fir

eirene – sacred plants: corn, olive tree / symbol: horn of plenty, olive branch, often depicted carrying/wearing ears of corn

eos – sacred plant: saffron (was also associated with the colour of the same name)

eris – symbol: golden apple of discord

gaia – goddess of the earth

hades – sacred plant: asphodel, elm tree, spear mint, white poplar / plant: ebony, cypress / offering: pomegranates / symbol: narcissus

hebe – plant: lettuce, ivy sprigs

hecate – sacred plants: asphodel, various herbs, belladonna, hemlock, mandrake, poppies, many hallucinogenic plants, yew tree / plant: oak, cypress, aconite, dandelion, garlic, lavender, willow

helios – sacred plant: frankincense tree, heliotrope, black poplar

hera – misc: iris / sacred plants: apple tree, chaste tree, pomegranate tree, lotus, willow / plant: opium poppy / symbol: lotus staff, pomegranate

hermes – sacred plants: crocus, greek strawberry tree

hestia – misc: unknown flowering plant / sacred plant: chaste tree

hymen – symbol: flowers in general

hypnos – plant: poppy

iris – sacred plant: iris

nemesis – plant: apple tree

nike – sacred plant: date palm

pan – sacred plants: (corsican) pine, calamus

persephone – sacred plants: grain, lily of the valley, spring flowers, pomegranate, asphodel, spear mint, black poplar, wheat, white willow / offerings: seeds, flowers in general, pomegranate, grain / symbol: pomegranate

phanes – incense: myrrh, god of creation

pluto – plant: cypress / offerings: figs, dates / symbol: horn of plenty

pontus – plant: seaweed / symbol: seaweed

poseidon – sacred plants: (aleppo) pine, parsely, wild celery, rock-rose (unsure)

rhea – sacred plants: fruit bearing trees, pine, oak

selene – misc: selentrope / plant: chamomile, valerian, hyssop, rosemary, mugwort, myrtle, birch, willow / offerings: white roses, poppies / incense: aloe, jasmine, lotus, sage

zephyrus – plant: hyacinth

zeus – sacred plants: manna ash, parsley, wild celery, holm oak, olive tree, white poplar

Roman Deities:

abundantia – guardian of the horn of plenty / symbol: horn or plenty, corn, wheat

aesculapius – symbol: several herbs, pineapple

aeternitas – symbol: horn of plenty

angitia – goddess of healing herbs

anna perenna – plant: fruit trees, rose, foxglove, violet, daffodil, birch, elder / offering: wine / symbol: wreaths / incense: honeysuckle, sandalwood, jasmine, lavender, vanilla, pine

apollo – symbol: laurel, hyacinth

bacchus – plant: fennel, pine, ivy / offerings: wine, honey, figs / symbol: grapes, wine, grapevines, pine cone tipped staff

bellum – offerings: grain, fruit, flowers, wine (among others)

bona dea – offering: wine / symbol: horn of plenty

bonus eventus – plant: poppies / symbol: grain stalks

cardea – plant: hawthorn

carmenta – plant: walnut, willow, juniper / offering: flowers, fruits, vegetables / symbol: bean leaves / incense: bay, laurel

ceres – sacred plants: chaste tree, corn, pumpkin / plant: poppies / symbol: wheat, grains, horn of plenty, poppy / offerings: flowers, wheat, first fruits of harvest / goddess of agriculture, grain crops among other things / “Poppies were her emblem as the grow in cornfields. All other flowers were banned as she had lost her daughter to the underworld when she was out picking flowers.” / enna is her most ancient sanctuary and its said flowers bloomed on it throughout the year on its “miraculous plain”

cloacina – plant: myrtle / offering: incense / symbol: incense burner

concordia – symbol: horn of plenty

consus – offerings: garlands, flowers, corn seed / symbol: corn seed

cupid – symbol: rose

cybelle – personified mother earth

diana – sacred plants: oak groves, apple, balm, beech, jasmine, mugwort, oak trees, vervain, wormwood / symbol: cypress tree, woodland/woods / goddess of the woods/nature, her followers would wash and decorate their hair with flowers for the festival of torches

egeria – plant: oak tree

fecunditas – symbol: horn of plenty

felicitas – symbol: horn of plenty

feronia – some believed her to be a harvest goddess appeasing her with the first fruits of the harvest, also considered a goddess of wilderness, of untamed nature, and nature's vital forces

fides – offerings: (unnamed) flowers, wine, incense / symbol: olive/laurel branch

flora – misc: blossoming plants, wheat, crops / plant: flowers / offerings: grain, fruits goddess of flowers and the season spring (so?? spring flowers??)

fons/fontus – offering: garlands / fountains and well-heads where adorned with garlands for his festival

fortuna – plant: oak tree / symbol: horn of plenty / protector of grain supplies under the name annonaria (brings luck of the harvest)

janos – offerings: dates, figs

juno – sacred plant: wild fig tree / symbol: pomegranate

jupiter – plant: oak tree / offering: walnuts / symbol: oak tree

juturna – offering: oil

lares – symbol: horn of plenty

laverna – plant: wild poppy

liber – plant: ivy / offering: oil, the first, sacred pressing of the grape-harvest, known as sacrima / protector of vines and grapes

libitina – plant: mugwort, patchouli, hourehound, sage, henbane

lucina – misc: lotus trees

meditrina – offering: wine

mercury – plant: dogs mercury, anise, dill, fennel

minerva – sacred plants: olive, mulberry, alder tree / symbol: olive tree

mithras – symbol: pine cone

ops – symbol: corn spikes/corn / earth goddess

pales – offerings: branches, wreaths / may be male or female

pax – plant: olive tree / symbol: horn of plenty

pilumnus – symbol: grain

pomona – sacred plant: apple (tree) / offerings: fruits / symbol: horn of plenty / goddess of fruit trees, gardens and orchards / was said to be a wood nymph, generally depicted with a platter of fruit or a horn of plenty in art

priapus – symbol: flowers, fruit, vegetables

proserpina – offering: pomegranate / symbol: poppy, white rose, pomegranate

rumina – plant: fig tree

salacia – symbol: crown of seaweed

salus – offering: grain

saturn – symbol: wheat / god of seeds, harvest and agriculture among other things

silvanus – plant: cypress / offering: grapes, grain, wine

tellus/terra (mater) – offerings: flowers, fruit / symbol: flowers, fruit, horn of plenty / “mother earth”, goddess of the earth

terminus – offerings: crops, wine, garlands / marker would be decorated with garlands

tranquilitas – symbol: grain

trivia – offerings: grain, fruit, flowers, wine

venus – sacred plants: aloe, wood anemone, apple, benzoin, maidenhair fern, heather, sweet marjoram, (especially) myrtle, parsley, quince, sandalwood, pomegranate, rose / offering: wine / symbol: rose

victoria – symbol: laurel wreath, palm branch

virbius – god of forests

volturnus – offering: wine

vortumnus/vertumnus – god of seasons, gardens, fruit trees, change, plant growth

Indian Deities:

aranyani – goddess of forests

ardhanarishvara – in the four-armed form the left hands holds a flower, an early depiction shows the left side of the head covered in flowers

ayyappan – flowers are commonly scattered near the shrine

bhairava – offerings: red flowers / one of his forms is depicted with a garland of red flowers / eight types of flowers and leaves are used in arcana to bhairava

bhikshatana – garland of sylvan flowers which is the only thing he wears to entice the sages' wives to humble and enlighten the sages

bhumi – plant: blue lotus / offering: pomegranate, vegetables / symbol: blue lotus, pomegranate / personification of mother earth

brahma – offerings: white lotus (6)

chamunda – plant: fig tree / offering: wine

dattatreya – offerings: jasmine (7), bael tree leaves, indian fig tree leaves, indian fig tree branches

durga – plant: lotus flower / offerings: lotus, jasmine flower and bael tree leaves (1 or 9), most red flowers (e.g. hibiscus) / some shaktas worship durga's symbolism and presence as mother nature

ganesh – offerings: red sandalwood paste, red flowers in general, dhurva grass blades (1,3,5,7) , the red hibiscus is his favourite, lotus, champa (magnolia most likely), rose, jasmine, yellow and orange marigold flowers, bael tree leaves, herbs / usually 21 different varieties of flowers and leaves are used while performing ganesha puja

ganga – having washed the lotus feet of the Lord, which are covered with reddish saffron, the water of the ganges acquired a very beautiful pink colour

gayatri – plant: red lotus

hanuman – offerings: chameli (a type of jasmine flower), garland made up of basil or crown flower leaves

jagannath – (ratha yatra festival) chariots/rathas have wheels painted with flower petals and inverted loti behind the throne

kali – worshipped as the preserver of nature, standing on shiva her presence represents the preservation of mother nature, red hibiscus flowers to match the blood she's depicted with

kathyayini – incense: sandalwood

krishna/avatar or vishnu – offerings: blue lotus (3), coral flowers, carnation of india, basil leaves, local flowers

lakshmi – plant: lotus / offerings: pink lotus, yellow marigolds) and desi gula/rose (no hybrids), bael tree fruit, likes loti best, red jasmine, red flowers in general / often depicted on a seated on a lotus flower, holding lotus buds in her upper pair of limbs

lingam – offerings: flower petals, fruit, fresh leaves

mahakali – offerings: yellow oleander (9)

mariamman – plant: limes, red flowers

narayana – described holding a lotus flower

padmanabha – offerings: flowers (daily)

parvati – plant: lotus flower / offerings: arabian jasmine, white lotus, parrot tree, crown flower, prickly chaff flower, champa and chameli (a type of jasmine flower), fond of all flowers offered to shiva / one of her festival encourages flowers as gifts, gauri-shankar is a particular rudraksha (bead) formed naturally from the seed of a tree found in india (represents parvati and shiva esp when seeds fuse together naturally)

rama/avatar of vishnu – offerings: chameli (a type of jasmine flower) (4)

saraswati – plant: white lotus / offerings: any white flower or white lotus (9) or parrot tree flowers, yellow flowers / seated on a lotus

shiva – offerings: flowers, fruits, fresh leaves, blue lotus (if there is no blue pink or white loti can be offered), oleander, bael tree leaves (9 or 10), dhatura flowers, indian rose chestnut, night jasmine, crown flower, flowers, any white flower, loves wild flowers

tripura sundari – symbol: flower arrows / her hair may be decorated with flowers among other things

umi – plant: lotus flower

vaidheeswara – offerings: grain, flowers

vaikuntha kamalaja – the vishnu half holds the common attributes of vishnu among them a lotus, the female half might hold a kalasha (coconut-mango leaves atop a pot) and sometimes a lotus among other things

vishnu – offerings: pink lotus, jasmine, burflower tree, screw pine, chameli (a type of jasmine flower), champa (magnolia most likely), ashok, velvet pink banana and marigolds(?), basil leaves (1,3,5,7,9), fond of loti, mogra / his fourth arm holds a lotus flower

Egyptian Deities:

amunet – plant: papyrus / symbol: papyrus (staff)

bast – sacred plant: catnip / symbol: papyrus wand

dedun – offering: incense / god of incense

geb – god of the earth, depicted with green skin and plants growing from his body

hapi – plant: papyrus, lotus

hathor – sacred plants: myrtle, sycamore tree / plant: rose, papyrus

hauhet – plant: palm

heka – plant: twisted flax

heket – plant: lotus / symbol: lotus

huh – plant: palm

imhotep – symbol: papyrus scoll

ipy – offering: incense

isis – plant: sycamore tree / symbol: sycamore / incense: myrrh, cedar, narcissus

iusaaset – plant: acacia tree

khepri – plant: blue lotus

meret – symbol: blue lotus, papyrus

min – plant: lotus / symbol: lotus

nefertem – plant: lotus, water lily

neper – offering: grain / symbol: grain, barley, emmer wheat

nut – plant: sycamore tree

qetesh – goddess of nature among other things

rem – his tears produce vegetation

sekhmet – offerings: wine, beer

seshat – sacred plant: papyrus in form of writing paper / plant: palm

shezmu – offerings: wine, grapes / god of the oil press for some time

tenenet – offering: beer

wadjet – plant: papyrus

Norse Deities:

aegir – offering: beer

bragi – offering: mead

freyja – sacred plants: cowslip, daisies, primrose / plant: elder, birch, rose / offerings: strawberries

frigg – sacred plant: mistletoe / plant: lady's bedstraw, alder, birch, elder, feverfew / incense: myrtle, rose, sandalwood / frigg's grass is a plant was traditionally used as a sedative during birth

gerðr – offerings: mead, apples

heimdallr – offering: mead

hel – sacred plants: holly, yew (toxic), elder and more

höðr – plant: mistletoe

iðunn – sacred plant: apples / offerings: apples / symbol: apples

kvasir – offering: mead

mímir – offering: mead

thor – plant: oak tree / offering: mead, ale

ullr – plant: yew tree / symbol: yew tree (toxic)

valkyries – offering: mead

Misc Deities:

Celtic

arianrhod – sacred plant: ivy

cerridwen – sacred plant: corn

epona – sacred plants: garlands of roses / offerings: incense, wine

morrigan – sacred plants: mugwort, yew (toxic), willow

Misc Religion:

west african deities are commonly offered food rather than flowers bc they like practical offerings and flowers aren't practical but food among other things is

yoruba religion includes the fruit of the palm oil tree more than often, either in parts or as a whole, its 'white' and 'red' oils are associated to specific deities, its 'nut' is used for traditional divination, mostly it's offered as a source of food

- Mod Jana

Disclaimer

This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.

Sources:

http://www.thespiritualindian.com/flowers-offered-to-hindu-gods-and-goddess/

https://www.boldsky.com/yoga-spirituality/faith-mysticism/2012/hindu-gods-flowers-030009.html

http://www.thewhitegoddess.co.uk/

https://en.wikipedia.org/

http://www.goddess-guide.com/

http://www.flowersofindia.net/

http://www.theoi.com/

http://www.talesbeyondbelief.com/

#flower language #writing advice #flowers associated with deities #flowers and deities #greek mythology #roman mythology #indian mythology #egyptian mythology #norse mythology #ask answered #mod jana #Anonymous

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babylon-crashing · 7 years

Text

christina rossetti’s goblin market

“Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices.” Longing for forbidden goblin fruit the impulsive Laura enters into a bacchic orgy with the demons of the woods only to develop a consumptive wasting disease that threatens to kill her. It takes the brave Lizzie to cross through hell for her sister, enduring the Victorian equivalent of bukkaki and return, urging, “Eat me, drink me, love me;/ Laura, make much of me,” who then proceeds to lick and suck goblin juice off Lizzie’s face. For reasons that I have never understood parents keep insisting that this is quaint children’s verse, whereas I consider it one of my favorite subversively erotic poems. Not only is the ending message that Sisterhood is Powerful, but that the only heteronormative representation that Rossetti presents for us (the goblins are all clearly male, lecherous and untrustworthy/ Laura and Lizzie live independent as a couple in their own house) warns the reader that random forest gangbangs might leave you with something suspiciously like syphilis. Ah, literature.

Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: “Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy: Apples and quinces, Lemons and oranges, Plump unpeck’d cherries, Melons and raspberries, Bloom-down-cheek’d peaches, Swart-headed mulberries, Wild free-born cranberries, Crab-apples, dewberries, Pine-apples, blackberries, Apricots, strawberries;— All ripe together In summer weather,— Morns that pass by, Fair eves that fly; Come buy, come buy: Our grapes fresh from the vine, Pomegranates full and fine, Dates and sharp bullaces, Rare pears and greengages, Damsons and bilberries, Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries, Bright-fire-like barberries, Figs to fill your mouth, Citrons from the South, Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; Come buy, come buy.”

Evening by evening Among the brookside rushes, Laura bow’d her head to hear, Lizzie veil’d her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather, With clasping arms and cautioning lips, With tingling cheeks and finger tips. “Lie close,” Laura said, Pricking up her golden head: “We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?” “Come buy,” call the goblins Hobbling down the glen. “Oh,” cried Lizzie, “Laura, Laura, You should not peep at goblin men.” Lizzie cover’d up her eyes, Cover’d close lest they should look; Laura rear’d her glossy head, And whisper’d like the restless brook: “Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie, Down the glen tramp little men. One hauls a basket, One bears a plate, One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious; How warm the wind must blow Through those fruit bushes.” “No,” said Lizzie, “No, no, no; Their offers should not charm us, Their evil gifts would harm us.” She thrust a dimpled finger In each ear, shut eyes and ran: Curious Laura chose to linger Wondering at each merchant man. One had a cat’s face, One whisk’d a tail, One tramp’d at a rat’s pace, One crawl’d like a snail, One like a wombat prowl’d obtuse and furry, One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry. She heard a voice like voice of doves Cooing all together: They sounded kind and full of loves In the pleasant weather.

Laura stretch’d her gleaming neck Like a rush-imbedded swan, Like a lily from the beck, Like a moonlit poplar branch, Like a vessel at the launch When its last restraint is gone. Backwards up the mossy glen Turn’d and troop’d the goblin men, With their shrill repeated cry, “Come buy, come buy.” When they reach’d where Laura was They stood stock still upon the moss, Leering at each other, Brother with queer brother; Signalling each other, Brother with sly brother. One set his basket down, One rear’d his plate; One began to weave a crown Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown (Men sell not such in any town); One heav’d the golden weight Of dish and fruit to offer her: “Come buy, come buy,” was still their cry. Laura stared but did not stir, Long’d but had no money: The whisk-tail’d merchant bade her taste In tones as smooth as honey, The cat-faced purr’d, The rat-faced spoke a word Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard; One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried “Pretty Goblin” still for “Pretty Polly;”— One whistled like a bird.

But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: “Good folk, I have no coin; To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse, I have no silver either, And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather.” “You have much gold upon your head,” They answer’d all together: “Buy from us with a golden curl.” She clipp’d a precious golden lock, She dropp’d a tear more rare than pearl, Then suck’d their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock, Stronger than man-rejoicing wine, Clearer than water flow’d that juice; She never tasted such before, How should it cloy with length of use? She suck’d and suck’d and suck’d the more Fruits which that unknown orchard bore; She suck’d until her lips were sore; Then flung the emptied rinds away But gather’d up one kernel stone, And knew not was it night or day As she turn’d home alone.

Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: “Dear, you should not stay so late, Twilight is not good for maidens; Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men. Do you not remember Jeanie, How she met them in the moonlight, Took their gifts both choice and many, Ate their fruits and wore their flowers Pluck’d from bowers Where summer ripens at all hours? But ever in the noonlight She pined and pined away; Sought them by night and day, Found them no more, but dwindled and grew grey; Then fell with the first snow, While to this day no grass will grow Where she lies low: I planted daisies there a year ago That never blow. You should not loiter so.” “Nay, hush,” said Laura: “Nay, hush, my sister: I ate and ate my fill, Yet my mouth waters still; To-morrow night I will Buy more;” and kiss’d her: “Have done with sorrow; I’ll bring you plums to-morrow Fresh on their mother twigs, Cherries worth getting; You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in, What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold, What peaches with a velvet nap, Pellucid grapes without one seed: Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink, And sugar-sweet their sap.”

Golden head by golden head, Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other’s wings, They lay down in their curtain’d bed: Like two blossoms on one stem, Like two flakes of new-fall’n snow, Like two wands of ivory Tipp’d with gold for awful kings. Moon and stars gaz’d in at them, Wind sang to them lullaby, Lumbering owls forbore to fly, Not a bat flapp’d to and fro Round their rest: Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Lock’d together in one nest. Early in the morning When the first cock crow’d his warning, Neat like bees, as sweet and busy, Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetch’d in honey, milk’d the cows, Air’d and set to rights the house, Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat, Cakes for dainty mouths to eat, Next churn’d butter, whipp’d up cream, Fed their poultry, sat and sew’d; Talk’d as modest maidens should: Lizzie with an open heart, Laura in an absent dream, One content, one sick in part; One warbling for the mere bright day’s delight, One longing for the night.

At length slow evening came: They went with pitchers to the reedy brook; Lizzie most placid in her look, Laura most like a leaping flame. They drew the gurgling water from its deep; Lizzie pluck’d purple and rich golden flags, Then turning homeward said: “The sunset flushes Those furthest loftiest crags; Come, Laura, not another maiden lags. No wilful squirrel wags, The beasts and birds are fast asleep.” But Laura loiter’d still among the rushes And said the bank was steep. And said the hour was early still The dew not fall’n, the wind not chill; Listening ever, but not catching The customary cry, “Come buy, come buy,” With its iterated jingle Of sugar-baited words: Not for all her watching Once discerning even one goblin Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling; Let alone the herds That used to tramp along the glen, In groups or single, Of brisk fruit-merchant men. Till Lizzie urged, “O Laura, come; I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look: You should not loiter longer at this brook: Come with me home. The stars rise, the moon bends her arc, Each glowworm winks her spark, Let us get home before the night grows dark: For clouds may gather Though this is summer weather, Put out the lights and drench us through; Then if we lost our way what should we do?” Laura turn’d cold as stone To find her sister heard that cry alone, That goblin cry, “Come buy our fruits, come buy.” Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit? Must she no more such succous pasture find, Gone deaf and blind? Her tree of life droop’d from the root: She said not one word in her heart’s sore ache; But peering thro’ the dimness, nought discerning, Trudg’d home, her pitcher dripping all the way; So crept to bed, and lay Silent till Lizzie slept; Then sat up in a passionate yearning, And gnash’d her teeth for baulk’d desire, and wept As if her heart would break. Day after day, night after night, Laura kept watch in vain In sullen silence of exceeding pain. She never caught again the goblin cry: “Come buy, come buy;”— She never spied the goblin men Hawking their fruits along the glen: But when the noon wax’d bright Her hair grew thin and grey; She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn To swift decay and burn Her fire away. One day remembering her kernel-stone She set it by a wall that faced the south; Dew’d it with tears, hoped for a root, Watch’d for a waxing shoot, But there came none; It never saw the sun, It never felt the trickling moisture run: While with sunk eyes and faded mouth She dream’d of melons, as a traveller sees False waves in desert drouth With shade of leaf-crown’d trees, And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. She no more swept the house, Tended the fowls or cows, Fetch’d honey, kneaded cakes of wheat, Brought water from the brook: But sat down listless in the chimney-nook And would not eat. Tender Lizzie could not bear To watch her sister’s cankerous care Yet not to share. She night and morning Caught the goblins’ cry: “Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy;”— Beside the brook, along the glen, She heard the tramp of goblin men, The yoke and stir Poor Laura could not hear; Long’d to buy fruit to comfort her, But fear’d to pay too dear. She thought of Jeanie in her grave, Who should have been a bride; But who for joys brides hope to have Fell sick and died In her gay prime, In earliest winter time With the first glazing rime, With the first snow-fall of crisp winter time. Till Laura dwindling Seem’d knocking at Death’s door: Then Lizzie weigh’d no more Better and worse; But put a silver penny in her purse, Kiss’d Laura, cross’d the heath with clumps of furze At twilight, halted by the brook: And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look. Laugh’d every goblin When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling, Flying, running, leaping, Puffing and blowing, Chuckling, clapping, crowing, Clucking and gobbling, Mopping and mowing, Full of airs and graces, Pulling wry faces, Demure grimaces, Cat-like and rat-like, Ratel- and wombat-like, Snail-paced in a hurry, Parrot-voiced and whistler, Helter skelter, hurry skurry, Chattering like magpies, Fluttering like pigeons, Gliding like fishes,— Hugg’d her and kiss’d her: Squeez’d and caress’d her: Stretch’d up their dishes, Panniers, and plates: “Look at our apples Russet and dun, Bob at our cherries, Bite at our peaches, Citrons and dates, Grapes for the asking, Pears red with basking Out in the sun, Plums on their twigs; Pluck them and suck them, Pomegranates, figs.”— “Good folk,” said Lizzie, Mindful of Jeanie: “Give me much and many: — Held out her apron, Toss’d them her penny. “Nay, take a seat with us, Honour and eat with us,” They answer’d grinning: “Our feast is but beginning. Night yet is early, Warm and dew-pearly, Wakeful and starry: Such fruits as these No man can carry: Half their bloom would fly, Half their dew would dry, Half their flavour would pass by. Sit down and feast with us, Be welcome guest with us, Cheer you and rest with us.”— “Thank you,” said Lizzie: “But one waits At home alone for me: So without further parleying, If you will not sell me any Of your fruits though much and many, Give me back my silver penny I toss’d you for a fee.”— They began to scratch their pates, No longer wagging, purring, But visibly demurring, Grunting and snarling. One call’d her proud, Cross-grain’d, uncivil; Their tones wax’d loud, Their looks were evil. Lashing their tails They trod and hustled her, Elbow’d and jostled her, Claw’d with their nails, Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking, Tore her gown and soil’d her stocking, Twitch’d her hair out by the roots, Stamp’d upon her tender feet, Held her hands and squeez’d their fruits Against her mouth to make her eat.

White and golden Lizzie stood, Like a lily in a flood,— Like a rock of blue-vein’d stone Lash’d by tides obstreperously,— Like a beacon left alone In a hoary roaring sea, Sending up a golden fire,— Like a fruit-crown’d orange-tree White with blossoms honey-sweet Sore beset by wasp and bee,— Like a royal virgin town Topp’d with gilded dome and spire Close beleaguer’d by a fleet Mad to tug her standard down.

One may lead a horse to water, Twenty cannot make him drink. Though the goblins cuff’d and caught her, Coax’d and fought her, Bullied and besought her, Scratch’d her, pinch’d her black as ink, Kick’d and knock’d her, Maul’d and mock’d her, Lizzie utter’d not a word; Would not open lip from lip Lest they should cram a mouthful in: But laugh’d in heart to feel the drip Of juice that syrupp’d all her face, And lodg’d in dimples of her chin, And streak’d her neck which quaked like curd. At last the evil people, Worn out by her resistance, Flung back her penny, kick’d their fruit Along whichever road they took, Not leaving root or stone or shoot; Some writh’d into the ground, Some div’d into the brook With ring and ripple, Some scudded on the gale without a sound, Some vanish’d in the distance.

In a smart, ache, tingle, Lizzie went her way; Knew not was it night or day; Sprang up the bank, tore thro’ the furze, Threaded copse and dingle, And heard her penny jingle Bouncing in her purse,— Its bounce was music to her ear. She ran and ran As if she fear’d some goblin man Dogg’d her with gibe or curse Or something worse: But not one goblin scurried after, Nor was she prick’d by fear; The kind heart made her windy-paced That urged her home quite out of breath with haste And inward laughter. She cried, “Laura,” up the garden, “Did you miss me? Come and kiss me. Never mind my bruises, Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices Squeez’d from goblin fruits for you, Goblin pulp and goblin dew. Eat me, drink me, love me; Laura, make much of me; For your sake I have braved the glen And had to do with goblin merchant men.” Laura started from her chair, Flung her arms up in the air, Clutch’d her hair: “Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden, Your young life like mine be wasted, Undone in mine undoing, And ruin’d in my ruin, Thirsty, canker’d, goblin-ridden?”— She clung about her sister, Kiss’d and kiss’d and kiss’d her: Tears once again Refresh’d her shrunken eyes, Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth; Shaking with aguish fear, and pain, She kiss’d and kiss’d her with a hungry mouth. Her lips began to scorch, That juice was wormwood to her tongue, She loath’d the feast: Writhing as one possess’d she leap’d and sung, Rent all her robe, and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste, And beat her breast. Her locks stream’d like the torch Borne by a racer at full speed, Or like the mane of horses in their flight, Or like an eagle when she stems the light Straight toward the sun, Or like a caged thing freed, Or like a flying flag when armies run. Swift fire spread through her veins, knock’d at her heart, Met the fire smouldering there And overbore its lesser flame; She gorged on bitterness without a name: Ah! fool, to choose such part Of soul-consuming care! Sense fail’d in the mortal strife: Like the watch-tower of a town Which an earthquake shatters down, Like a lightning-stricken mast, Like a wind-uprooted tree Spun about, Like a foam-topp’d waterspout Cast down headlong in the sea, She fell at last; Pleasure past and anguish past, Is it death or is it life? Life out of death. That night long Lizzie watch’d by her, Counted her pulse’s flagging stir, Felt for her breath, Held water to her lips, and cool’d her face With tears and fanning leaves: But when the first birds chirp’d about their eaves, And early reapers plodded to the place Of golden sheaves, And dew-wet grass Bow’d in the morning winds so brisk to pass, And new buds with new day Open’d of cup-like lilies on the stream, Laura awoke as from a dream, Laugh’d in the innocent old way, Hugg’d Lizzie but not twice or thrice; Her gleaming locks show’d not one thread of grey, Her breath was sweet as May And light danced in her eyes. Days, weeks, months, years Afterwards, when both were wives With children of their own; Their mother-hearts beset with fears, Their lives bound up in tender lives; Laura would call the little ones And tell them of her early prime, Those pleasant days long gone Of not-returning time: Would talk about the haunted glen, The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men, Their fruits like honey to the throat But poison in the blood; (Men sell not such in any town): Would tell them how her sister stood In deadly peril to do her good, And win the fiery antidote: Then joining hands to little hands Would bid them cling together, “For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands.”

notes:

The illustrations come from Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s (1862), Laurence Housman‘s (1893) and John Bolton’s (1984) editions of Goblin Market, as well as the 1973 Playboy issue that was illustrated by Kinuko Craft.

#christina rossetti #goblin market #poem #poetry #reblog #illustrations #dante gabriel rossetti #laurence housman #kinuko craft #sisterhood is powerful #john bolton

26 notes · View notes

itsapoemeveryday-blog · 6 years

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Goblin Market

“Oh,” cried Lizzie, “Laura, Laura, You should not peep at goblin men.” Lizzie cover’d up her eyes, Cover’d close lest they should look; Laura rear’d her glossy head, And whisper’d like the restless brook: “Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie, Down the glen tramp little men. One hauls a basket, One bears a plate, One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious; How warm the wind must blow Through those fruit bushes.” “No,” said Lizzie, “No, no, no; Their offers should not charm us, Their evil gifts would harm us.” She thrust a dimpled finger In each ear, shut eyes and ran: Curious Laura chose to linger Wondering at each merchant man. One had a cat’s face, One whisk’d a tail, One tramp’d at a rat’s pace, One crawl’d like a snail, One like a wombat prowl’d obtuse and furry, One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry. She heard a voice like voice of doves Cooing all together: They sounded kind and full of loves In the pleasant weather.

Laura stretch’d her gleaming neck Like a rush-imbedded swan, Like a lily from the beck, Like a moonlit poplar branch, Like a vessel at the launch When its last restraint is gone.

Backwards up the mossy glen Turn’d and troop’d the goblin men, With their shrill repeated cry, “Come buy, come buy.” When they reach’d where Laura was They stood stock still upon the moss, Leering at each other, Brother with queer brother; Signalling each other, Brother with sly brother. One set his basket down, One rear’d his plate; One began to weave a crown Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown (Men sell not such in any town); One heav’d the golden weight Of dish and fruit to offer her: “Come buy, come buy,” was still their cry. Laura stared but did not stir, Long’d but had no money: The whisk-tail’d merchant bade her taste In tones as smooth as honey, The cat-faced purr’d, The rat-faced spoke a word Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard; One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried “Pretty Goblin” still for “Pretty Polly;”— One whistled like a bird.

Early in the morning When the first cock crow’d his warning, Neat like bees, as sweet and busy, Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetch’d in honey, milk’d the cows, Air’d and set to rights the house, Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat, Cakes for dainty mouths to eat, Next churn’d butter, whipp’d up cream, Fed their poultry, sat and sew’d; Talk’d as modest maidens should: Lizzie with an open heart, Laura in an absent dream, One content, one sick in part; One warbling for the mere bright day’s delight, One longing for the night.

And said the hour was early still The dew not fall’n, the wind not chill; Listening ever, but not catching The customary cry, “Come buy, come buy,” With its iterated jingle Of sugar-baited words: Not for all her watching Once discerning even one goblin Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling; Let alone the herds That used to tramp along the glen, In groups or single, Of brisk fruit-merchant men.

Till Lizzie urged, “O Laura, come; I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look: You should not loiter longer at this brook: Come with me home. The stars rise, the moon bends her arc, Each glowworm winks her spark, Let us get home before the night grows dark: For clouds may gather Though this is summer weather, Put out the lights and drench us through; Then if we lost our way what should we do?”

Laura turn’d cold as stone To find her sister heard that cry alone, That goblin cry, “Come buy our fruits, come buy.” Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit? Must she no more such succous pasture find, Gone deaf and blind? Her tree of life droop’d from the root: She said not one word in her heart’s sore ache; But peering thro’ the dimness, nought discerning, Trudg’d home, her pitcher dripping all the way; So crept to bed, and lay Silent till Lizzie slept; Then sat up in a passionate yearning, And gnash’d her teeth for baulk’d desire, and wept As if her heart would break.

Day after day, night after night, Laura kept watch in vain In sullen silence of exceeding pain. She never caught again the goblin cry: “Come buy, come buy;”— She never spied the goblin men Hawking their fruits along the glen: But when the noon wax’d bright Her hair grew thin and grey; She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn To swift decay and burn Her fire away.

One day remembering her kernel-stone She set it by a wall that faced the south; Dew’d it with tears, hoped for a root, Watch’d for a waxing shoot, But there came none; It never saw the sun, It never felt the trickling moisture run: While with sunk eyes and faded mouth She dream’d of melons, as a traveller sees False waves in desert drouth With shade of leaf-crown’d trees, And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze.

She no more swept the house, Tended the fowls or cows, Fetch’d honey, kneaded cakes of wheat, Brought water from the brook: But sat down listless in the chimney-nook And would not eat.

Tender Lizzie could not bear To watch her sister’s cankerous care Yet not to share. She night and morning Caught the goblins’ cry: “Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy;”— Beside the brook, along the glen, She heard the tramp of goblin men, The yoke and stir Poor Laura could not hear; Long’d to buy fruit to comfort her, But fear’d to pay too dear. She thought of Jeanie in her grave, Who should have been a bride; But who for joys brides hope to have Fell sick and died In her gay prime, In earliest winter time With the first glazing rime, With the first snow-fall of crisp winter time.

Till Laura dwindling Seem’d knocking at Death’s door: Then Lizzie weigh’d no more Better and worse; But put a silver penny in her purse, Kiss’d Laura, cross’d the heath with clumps of furze At twilight, halted by the brook: And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look.

Laugh’d every goblin When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling, Flying, running, leaping, Puffing and blowing, Chuckling, clapping, crowing, Clucking and gobbling, Mopping and mowing, Full of airs and graces, Pulling wry faces, Demure grimaces, Cat-like and rat-like, Ratel- and wombat-like, Snail-paced in a hurry, Parrot-voiced and whistler, Helter skelter, hurry skurry, Chattering like magpies, Fluttering like pigeons, Gliding like fishes,— Hugg’d her and kiss’d her: Squeez’d and caress’d her: Stretch’d up their dishes, Panniers, and plates: “Look at our apples Russet and dun, Bob at our cherries, Bite at our peaches, Citrons and dates, Grapes for the asking, Pears red with basking Out in the sun, Plums on their twigs; Pluck them and suck them, Pomegranates, figs.”—

“Good folk,” said Lizzie, Mindful of Jeanie: “Give me much and many: — Held out her apron, Toss’d them her penny. “Nay, take a seat with us, Honour and eat with us,” They answer’d grinning: “Our feast is but beginning. Night yet is early, Warm and dew-pearly, Wakeful and starry: Such fruits as these No man can carry: Half their bloom would fly, Half their dew would dry, Half their flavour would pass by. Sit down and feast with us, Be welcome guest with us, Cheer you and rest with us.”— “Thank you,” said Lizzie: “But one waits At home alone for me: So without further parleying, If you will not sell me any Of your fruits though much and many, Give me back my silver penny I toss’d you for a fee.”— They began to scratch their pates, No longer wagging, purring, But visibly demurring, Grunting and snarling. One call’d her proud, Cross-grain’d, uncivil; Their tones wax’d loud, Their looks were evil. Lashing their tails They trod and hustled her, Elbow’d and jostled her, Claw’d with their nails, Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking, Tore her gown and soil’d her stocking, Twitch’d her hair out by the roots, Stamp’d upon her tender feet, Held her hands and squeez’d their fruits Against her mouth to make her eat.

She cried, “Laura,” up the garden, “Did you miss me? Come and kiss me. Never mind my bruises, Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices Squeez’d from goblin fruits for you, Goblin pulp and goblin dew. Eat me, drink me, love me; Laura, make much of me; For your sake I have braved the glen And had to do with goblin merchant men.”

Laura started from her chair, Flung her arms up in the air, Clutch’d her hair: “Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden, Your young life like mine be wasted, Undone in mine undoing, And ruin’d in my ruin, Thirsty, canker’d, goblin-ridden?”— She clung about her sister, Kiss’d and kiss’d and kiss’d her: Tears once again Refresh’d her shrunken eyes, Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth; Shaking with aguish fear, and pain, She kiss’d and kiss’d her with a hungry mouth.

Her lips began to scorch, That juice was wormwood to her tongue, She loath’d the feast: Writhing as one possess’d she leap’d and sung, Rent all her robe, and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste, And beat her breast. Her locks stream’d like the torch Borne by a racer at full speed, Or like the mane of horses in their flight, Or like an eagle when she stems the light Straight toward the sun, Or like a caged thing freed, Or like a flying flag when armies run.

Swift fire spread through her veins, knock’d at her heart, Met the fire smouldering there And overbore its lesser flame; She gorged on bitterness without a name: Ah! fool, to choose such part Of soul-consuming care! Sense fail’d in the mortal strife: Like the watch-tower of a town Which an earthquake shatters down, Like a lightning-stricken mast, Like a wind-uprooted tree Spun about, Like a foam-topp’d waterspout Cast down headlong in the sea, She fell at last; Pleasure past and anguish past, Is it death or is it life?

Life out of death. That night long Lizzie watch’d by her, Counted her pulse’s flagging stir, Felt for her breath, Held water to her lips, and cool’d her face With tears and fanning leaves: But when the first birds chirp’d about their eaves, And early reapers plodded to the place Of golden sheaves, And dew-wet grass Bow’d in the morning winds so brisk to pass, And new buds with new day Open’d of cup-like lilies on the stream, Laura awoke as from a dream, Laugh’d in the innocent old way, Hugg’d Lizzie but not twice or thrice; Her gleaming locks show’d not one thread of grey, Her breath was sweet as May And light danced in her eyes.

Days, weeks, months, years Afterwards, when both were wives With children of their own; Their mother-hearts beset with fears, Their lives bound up in tender lives; Laura would call the little ones And tell them of her early prime, Those pleasant days long gone Of not-returning time: Would talk about the haunted glen, The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men, Their fruits like honey to the throat But poison in the blood; (Men sell not such in any town): Would tell them how her sister stood In deadly peril to do her good, And win the fiery antidote: Then joining hands to little hands Would bid them cling together, “For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands.”

This 1862 poem by Christina Rossetti remains one of my favourite testimonies to something that has always been very close to my heart: sisterhood and female bonding. In a world where women are taught to despise each other, compete with each other over the most trivial things, and treat each other as enemies, we need to remember the message of this wonderful narrative poem.

#poetry #itsapoemeveryday #a poem a day #poems #christina rossetti #victorian #literature #female bonding #sisterhood

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