#her flower is a lily and his is pomegranate blossoms!

[kriscentrics]

it's not that complicated, no matter what they say you'll never meet another me it's not that difficult to get your head around you'll never meet another me

[ranmaruswife]

Hanamaru - Spider Lilies

In honor of Ranmaru's event in Shining Live that begins tonight, I thought I would write up a piece on the flower featured prominently in his new card art: spider lilies.

Red spider lilies are known scientifically as lycoris radiata (referenced in another work within Utapri - “Lycoris no Mori” or “Forest of the Lycoris”). They are one of the most popular symbols in Japanese folklore and in hanakotoba they are heavily associated with death and final goodbyes. As such, they are known by a plethora of ominous names including “hell flower” “flowers of the dead” and “ghost flowers.” 

Their most common name, however, is “higanbana” with “Higan” referring to the “Far Shore” in Buddhism (the realm of the dead), as well as the Buddhist holiday of the same name, which takes place in the days surrounding the autumn equinox, the specific time of year in which these flowers always bloom. During Ohigan, it is customary to visit the graves of one’s ancestors and pay your respects. So it is no wonder that they have become heavily associated with loss, death, and separation.

These blooms are also often grown near temples and graveyards for two reasons. The first is that they are thought to guide departed souls through the cycle of death and rebirth, while the second is that the leaves, bulbs, and flowers of the spider lily are poisonous. In old times, before cremation became the norm in Japan, these deadly blossoms would keep wild animals from disturbing the buried corpses of deceased loved ones. Their crimson pigment around gravesites is also said to be attained by the blooms sucking up the blood of the dead.

Another interesting piece of Japanese folklore related to spider lilies is one of a mother who died in childbirth, thus abandoning her child, who turned into a lycoris, earning them the name “sugetobana” or “orphan flower.” There is also a superstition that having one of these flowers in your home will cause it to burn down!

Now while red spider lilies are heavily associated with death and loss, white spider lilies on the other hand are representative of rebirth, new beginnings, and a simple way of life. They are also considered a guiding force, growing along the mythical Sanzu River, on the path to enlightenment.

Now that you’ve read this far, it’s time to tie all these meanings back to Ranmaru and his character in Shining Live’s Onmyouji series. In this drama, Ranmaru plays the character Ran, a kijin or oni god, who looks over Tokiharu, a half-human half-demon who was orphaned when his parents gave their lives to seal his power. Obviously, as an oni god and a warden of hell, it is only natural for his character to be associated with a flower with so many ominous meanings and connections to Buddhist mythology. As well as the awesome fire powers he seems to possess in the idolized artwork. But beyond the character he plays, these flowers can similarly be related to Ranmaru’s own life experiences.

Ranmaru’s backstory is one comprised of death and loss. And much of his character arc is about coming to terms with his feelings of abandonment and starting life anew with the person he loves. He cannot allow himself to be weighed down by death and grief; he must move forward on a bright road to the future, leading a simple, uncomplicated life without worry of what tomorrow holds. As he knows that anything can be taken away in an instant, he chooses to live in the present, which is considered a foundation of ultimately reaching enlightenment. 

Anyway, I really love rambling on about Ranmaru and flowers. So I’m happy to have a new one to canonically associate with him. ^^ If there is more information to be shared once the story is released for this event, I will be sure to update this post. And will also add on the symbolic meaning of that juicy pomegranate in his hand~

[the-mortuary-witch]

PERSEPHONE

WHO IS SHE?

Persephone, also known as Kore (meaning "young woman” or “girl" in Greek), is one of the main deities from Greek mythology. She is the daughter of Zeus and Demeter, the Goddess of the Harvest. She is also the wife of Hades, the God of the Underworld, and she is associated with spring, fertility, and rebirth.

BASIC INFO:

Appearance: Persephone is typically depicted as a young and beautiful woman, with long, dark hair and eyes. She is often shown wearing a white dress or robe, and she is usually associated with flowers, especially flowering plants that bloom in the spring. She is also often associated with pomegranates, which symbolized her wedding to Hades, and which she ate while she was in the Underworld.

Personality: Persephone is usually depicted as kind, gentle, and compassionate. She is often seen as a mediator and peacemaker, and a defender of the innocent and vulnerable. She is also often portrayed as a motherly figure who is caring and nurturing. She is also sometimes seen as defiant and rebellious, and she is known to have a more powerful side that can punish those who defy her.

Symbols: pomegranate, waxing moon, narcissus, bones, seeds of grain, bats, torch, flowers, and deer

Goddess of: spring, the dead, the Underworld, grain, and nature

Culture: Greek

Plants and trees: asphodel wheat, willow, narcissus, lily, ivy, cherry tree, lily of the valley, daisy, lavender, vines, roses, pomegranates, oak, and hibiscus

Crystals: rose quartz, pigeon’s blood, rosolite, star diopside, flower agate, grossular, balas ruby, chiavennite, red spinel, clinoptilolite, Mozambique garnet, heliodor, African jade, uvarovite garnet, biotite, green calcite, hiddenite, green agate, African emerald, quantum, vivianite, indigo gabbro, green jasper, diopside, garnet, clinochlore, aventurine, iolite, and snowflake obsidian

Animals: deer, bat, black ram, parrot, and monkey

Incense: rose, pomegranate, jasmine, apple, vanilla, almond, horal, bergamot, and cinnamon

Colours: green, pink, black, light blue, purple, magenta, indigo, and yellow

Numbers: 3, 6, and 7

Zodiacs: Cancer, Scorpio, and Taurus

Tarot: High Priestess and Ace of Pentacles

Planets: Moon, Pluto, and Venus

Days: Monday, Ostara, Beltane, Lammas, Samhain, Lesser Mysteries. Eleusinian Mysteries, Proerosia, Stenia. Thesmophoria, and Heliogenna

Parents: Zeus and Demeter

Siblings: several paternal half-siblings and maternal half-siblings

Partner: Hades

Children: Melinoë, Zagreus, Dionysus, and Erinyes

MISC:

• Grains: due to her connection to the cycle of life and death. She is often depicted with grains, such as wheat, barley, and oats, which symbolize the cycle of life and death.These grains represent the cycle of life, as they are sown and then harvested, only to be sown again in a constant cycle. This symbolic representation of death and rebirth aligns perfectly with Persephone's association with the underworld and the cycle of seasons. Therefore, she is associated with grains to showcase the cycle of life and death.

• Spring: due to her connection to the changing of seasons and rebirth, she is often depicted as rising from the afterlife in spring, representing the renewal and rebirth of nature.This is because in the Greek myth, Persephone spends part of the year in the underworld with Hades, but returns to the land of the living in spring. Her return symbolizes the return of light and warmth, and the blossoming of nature.Therefore, she is associated with the season of spring as she symbolizes the rebirth and rejuvenation that comes with the new season.

• Pomegranates: according to the myth, Hades abducted Persephone and took her to the Underworld, where he forced her to eat a pomegranate. This act was a symbolic gesture of his hold over her, and it was also seen to symbolically represent her connection to the Underworld.The pomegranate became closely associated with Persephone and the Underworld, and it has remained a symbol of Persephone and her association with the Underworld ever since.

• Flowers: she is associated with flowers due to her association with spring. She is often depicted holding a bouquet of flowers, or being surrounded by blooming flowers.This is especially the case from the Greek festival of Anthesteria, which was a celebration in honour of Persephone's return from the Underworld. During this festival, people would decorate their homes and temples with flowers, representing the growth and renewal associated with Persephone's return.

• Birds: mainly doves, she is frequently depicted with a dove on her shoulder, and she overall shown with doves all around her.There are a couple of reasons for this. First, doves have long been symbolic of peace and tranquility, which aligns with Persephone's gentle and calming nature. Second, doves are often associated with symbols of fertility and rebirth, which aligns with Persephone's connection to the Underworld and spring.

• Water: she is associated with water for a couple of reasons. First, she is the Goddess of spring, and water is a vital factor for life and growth. Water is necessary for flowering bloom and green plants, so it is closely associated with the growth and renewal associated with spring. Second, water is also a symbol of rebirth and renewal, as it is a fluid element that is constantly changing and transforming. This fits well with Persephone's role as an Underworld Goddess and her connection with the cycle of life and death, as death and rebirth are represented as a transformation process.

• Gold: the Underworld is associated with riches and treasures that are commonly represented in the form of gold. This connection to riches represents the fact that the Underworld was a place of great wealth and abundance, and it represents the treasures that were found there, such as gold, jewels, and precious metals. This is another aspect of Persephone's connection to the Underworld and her role as a divinity of death and rebirth.

• Trees: they represent the natural cycle of life and death, as they grow and flourish during the warm months, then shed their leaves during the winter months, before starting the cycle all over again.Trees are also associated with fertility and rebirth, as they produce seeds and fruit that propagate new life. This ties in with Persephone's role as a Goddess of spring, and her connection with the Underworld and the cycles of nature.

FACTS ABOUT PERSEPHONE:

• She takes her role in the Underworld seriously.

• Her epithets included but were not limited to: Despoina (The Mistress), Melindia (Honey), Aristi Cthonia (Best Cthonic), and Kore (The Maiden).

• Unlike Hera and Amphitrite, Persephone didn’t have a husband that constantly cheated on her (she was married to Hades). However, there is a myth about her cheating on Hades with Adonis, depending on the version. As far as I know, Hades did nothing about the matter. I think that implies it didn’t count as cheating to him, or maybe Persephone only loved Adonis as her son, which makes sense to me since she raised him. But yes, it’s perfectly acceptable and legitimate to say she cheated on Hades.

• Persephone is often called a spring or vegetation Goddess but all that seems to mainly be related to Demeter, her mother, when it’s time for Persephone to return her. Truly incidental. Persephone was much more an Underworld Goddess than a flowery Goddess.

• There’s evidence to suggest that, as far as religious history goes, Persephone as a character in religion is older than Hades, and was an underworld deity too.

• Some sources suggest Persephone was the mother of Dionysus, but to be fair Dionysus has a bajillion origin stories.

• As far as I know, and correct me if I’m wrong, it wasn’t too popular to depict Persephone with red hair colours until the Victorian era, when a popular red-headed model was used for a famous painting of Proserpina (the Roman equivalent to Persephone). Before, she had occasionally been depicted with red hair, but black and blonde were just as popular. Nowadays, in media, she’s often portrayed as red or pink haired, although even that trend is dying again.

• Some people like to think Persephone was a minor or weak Goddess. That was simply not true. She was considered frightening in her own right.

• Someone tried to kidnap her right from the Underworld. Hades had him attached to a chair for eternity.

HOW TO WORK WITH PERSEPHONE:

First, set up an altar or sacred space dedicated to her, you can then set offerings such as candles, flowers, and other symbolic items are also essential to respectfully honouring her. Prayers and incantations can be said to her to ask for guidance, support, and her blessings. Meditation and visualization can be used to feel Persephone's presence and connect with her energy. Feast days and holidays can also be celebrated to honour her.

PRAYER FOR PERSEPHONE:

“Lady Persephone, Goddess of the Underworld. I come before you in humility, I seek to find peace and healing to shed myself of pain and strife. I ask for your guidance and strength in my time of need to weather through the storms of life.”

“Thank you for your love and kindness. Please open my path to the light and give me the strength to continue to walk down this path. May we all find peace and healing, in the realm of both life and death. Hail Lady Persephone.”

SIGNS THAT PERSEPHONE IS CALLING YOU:

• A sense of calmness or peace around you.

• Feeling connected to nature and the changing of seasons.

• Attracting more birds or other doves.

• Seeing or smelling flowers in unexpected places.

• Having vivid dreams about death and rebirth.

• Experiencing a sudden increase in energy and motivation.

• Feeling connected to the Underworld and the realm of death.

• Having a deep feeling of contentment and acceptance within yourself.

OFFERINGS:

• Pomegranates/pomegranate juice.

• Honey.

• Floral tea.

• Breads.

• Flower crowns or arrangements.

• Dark chocolate.

• Flowers.

• Crushed mint.

• Animal bones.

• Jewelry.

• Art of bats, rams, or deer.

• Crystals: rose quartz, agate, black onyx, pink tourmaline, obsidian, coral, and jasper.

• Spring water.

• Grains.

• Plants.

• Incense: vanilla, almond, horal, bergamot, and pomegranate

• Sweets.

• Dirt from a dead plant (or person).

• Wine.

• Seeds.

DEVOTIONAL ACTS FOR PERSEPHONE:

• Stop to smell flowers.

• Pair lace and leather together, she loves this.

• Singing.

• Plant flowers.

• Wear pomegranate scented things--perfume, lotion, lip gloss, etc.

• Tend to wild plants if they need care.

• Go barefoot more often and feel the way the ground feels on your bare feet.

• Honour the dead.

• Support local farmers and beekeepers.

• Honour the deaths of animals and if you can, bury them or leave them in a place where nature will care for them.

• Buy yourself a nice bouquet of flowers, or make your own.

• Place flowers on barren graves.

• Spread seeds of native flowers on the sides of highways or other unincorporated places (be sure to check local laws on this).

• Wear something fancy when you feel like it, make yourself feel like the royalty you are.

• Offer her fruits/nuts.

• Listen to music that reminds you of her.

• Wear a flower crown.

• Collect crystals like rose quartz, garnet, citrine, green tourmaline, and topaz.

• Rose quartz is a go-to stone for me for many Gods, Persephone being one of the many.

• She really digs topaz and the tourmaline in my experience.

• Love yourself, of course, just as she loves you.

• Gardening.

• Taking care of graveyards.

• Visiting forests and fields.

• Learn about local plants, flowers, and herbs.

• Creating flower crowns.

• Going bone hunting.

• Creating a more biodiverse lawn/backyard.

• Not killing animals (spiders, mice, etc.)

IS IT SAFE TO EAT OR DRINK AN OFFERING I GIVE TO HER?

It's generally not considered safe to consume food and drink offerings that you give to Persephone because of her connection with the underworld and the realm of death.While food and drink offerings are traditionally given to the gods as a gesture of thanks and respect, in the case of Persephone, these offerings are associated with the underworld and the cycle of life and death. Consuming such offerings represents an immersion in the underworld and could lead to negative consequences. It should also be noted that Persephone is a deity of death, and consuming offerings meant for her may be seen as a disrespect to her position.

[multi-musemenagerie]

💐 for everyone?

💐 – What are your muse’s top three favorite flowers? What would they have in their wedding bouquet/boutonniere?

(Going to answer this is in a way that assumes all of them have paid enough attention to flowers to have opinions, and I'll try to do different ones for each because variety)

Hawks: "I think red spider lillies are cool, I like lillies a lot in general, also zinnias. I'd probably wear a cala lily for my boutonniere, the color would depend on the wedding colors."

Bakugo: "I don't know, I guess I always thought wisteria was cool looking. I also like gardenia and morning glories. I see them a lot whenever I got hiking and I like the way gardenia smells when they bloom. I think I could probably where a gardenia as a boutonniere, maybe it would still smell nice."

Shigaraki: "Chrysanthemums, carnations, and daffodils." They were all flowers he could remember his mother growing in the garden, carnations were her favorite, daffodils his sister's. "I don't think I'm ever getting married but I guess I would wear a mum in my boutonniere."

Guzma: "Plumeria is my favorite because that's my best friend's name, then birds of paradise cause they look cool and then hibiscus cause they get fuckin' huge. I'd wear a plumeria in my boutonniere, because then it'd be like my friend was with me even if she couldn't be there for some reason."

Bruno: "San joaquin, sugar flowers, and the begonia tuberosa. I guess the tuberosa would make the nicest boutonniere."

Kenshin: "I guess I'm a bit unoriginal, but I love Sakura blossoms, orchids, and lotus. I would not traditionally wear a boutonniere if I was to get married, but if I did, I think I would wear an orchid as they symbolize love."

Moonknight: "Oh I like lots of flowers, hard to pick just three. I think I'd say foxglove, bluebell, and primrose. However, I would wear anemone to symbolize my anticipation to finally wed my partner. Marc likes the narcissus, cactus flower, and pomegranate flower, though he's very adamant he doesn't care about flowers. Always has to be so macho that one. Apparently he wore larkspur at his wedding."

Sokka: "Dahlia, lavender, and daises. What's a boutonniere? I think I'd wear some lavender, it smells really good."

Larry: "Rose's, sunflowers, and tulips. I'd wear a rose."

[sweetheart-sunghoon]

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.”

[handicappedwriter]

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.

[hevel1990-blog]

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.

[typinggently]

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 :’)

[untilthenextencore]

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...

Perhaps...

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!..."

[profetizamos]

☾ 🌹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.

[writinggeisha]

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

[scriptflorist]

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/

[babylon-crashing]

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.

[itsapoemeveryday-blog]

Goblin Market

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.”

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. 

[pamphletstoinspire]

The Birth of the Blessed Virgin Mary - Feast Day: September 8 - Both Calendars

Mary, the Mother of God, was born five thousand one hundred and eighty-four years after the creation of the world.

Mary, was the child of Joachim and Anna. They were a husband and wife of noble birth, and had wealth and possessions. They lived in various places —in Sepphoris, in Nazareth, in Jerusalem. Anna had married Joachim—called also Eli, or Eliachim—when she was young. For twenty years her constant prayers for a child had been left unanswered. And then she conceived Mary, of whom King Solomon had foretold nearly a thousand years before in his Canticle of Canticles: "She is the only one of her mother, the chosen one..."

Mary, the Mother of God, was conceived and born in the town of Nazareth in Galilee, the northern province of Palestine. The date of Mary’s conception was December 8. Her birthday was the following September 8. These are two most important days which no one ever can or should forget, who really loves Mary, the Mother of God.

The Mother of God is so exalted that we cannot let her rest in her mother’s womb for nine months un-honored by our devotions and our prayers. A child is gendered from the moment of its conception, and so, from the moment of her conception, Our Lady was, in the affectionate sense, a girl; in the admirational sense, a woman. She was the woman spoken of in the Book of Genesis, when God declared to the devil, "I will put enmities between thee and the woman, and thy seed and her seed: she shall crush thy head, and thou shalt lie in wait for her heel." Lucifer began to fear Mary the moment she was conceived.

Mary, in her tiny frailty in the womb of Anna, is God’s masterpiece in flesh and blood. The moment she begins to be, we have given Heaven its Mistress, God His Mother, and the angels their Queen. To her alone has God outdone Himself in greeting when He says, "Thou art all fair, O my love, and there is not a spot in thee." (Cant. 4: 7).

Mary is, in the mind of God, the first-born and the first conceived of all creatures. God possessed her in the beginning of His ways. He was thinking of no one but her from the very dawn of creation. The reason He made winds and seas and mountains and flowers and lights and stars and birds is so that they might contribute in symbol to her praise.

The Lord chose Mary to be the one and only daughter of life. She was molded so as to minister salvation to us all. As Eve was the mother of death, so Mary is the Mother of life. She is the reconciler of the whole world. She was prefigured in the Ark of the Covenant before which the Israelites prayed, and in the Morning Star, which called them to prayer.

Mary, even in the womb of Anna, is a mother-to-be, fitting and becoming to God. She is, by reason of her Immaculate Conception, all innocent, undefiled, separated from sinners. She is a chosen vessel, exceeding all men and angels in purity. Before her, in the hidden enfoldings of her mother’s womb, the angels veil their faces. She surpasses the Cherubim and Seraphim in majesty, beauty and meaning.

Mary was set up before eternity, and of old before the earth was made. The depths were not as yet, and she was already conceived in God’s mind. The mountains with their huge bulk had not been established, and she was already planned. Before the hills, she was brought forth.

At Mary’s conception, God cries out, "Arise, make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful one, and come. The winter is now past, the rain is over and gone… Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come." Before the coming of Mary, the whole world was a winter to God. Her coming was the spring. And His coming to her, the summer of His love.

The holy prophets all anticipated the virginal maternity, waiting for the child in the womb of Anna. They knew her birth unsullied by sin would be pure as the morning dew. Solomon prophesies she is to be amid the daughters of Juda like a lily among the thorns. He tells us her eyes will be like those of a dove, and her lips, "red as a fillet of scarlet."

Solomon promises that Mary’s beauty will be radiant as that of the rising morn. Her tastes will be simple and poetical. She will love "to wander in the fresh valleys when the vines are in blossom and the figs hang in clusters of emeralds from the leafless branches." Her looks will seek out the red roses of the pomegranate, the tree of Paradise. Silent and collected, she will shrink from the gaze of eyes. She will conceal herself within her dwelling like the dove which makes her nest in the cleft of the rock. But, as Queen of the Nations, a crown is promised her, by Him whom already, in infant tenderness, her soul loves.

Mary in the womb of Anna will bear in her own chaste womb Him whose tent is the sun, and whose steps are over the highest heavens.

Immaculate in soul and in heart from sheerest infancy, Mary is the woman expected from the beginning of the world and revealed by God even in Paradise.

The memory of Mary, from her slightest beginnings, is unto everlasting generations. They who explain her shall have life everlasting. Anyone who is not for her is against her. She is beautiful above all the children of men. As soon as Mary is conceived in the womb of Anna, grace has begun to be poured upon her little dawning eyes, her little budding lips, her little infant-folded hands and limbs. God has already blessed her forever.

[miistical]

00:00

This is a commission for @colonel-curry. I hope you like your gay witches!

Very long ago, witches were thought to be a plague upon the earth. Humans of every creed and race had called them devil worshipers, Bringers of Evil, and all who were thought to harbor black magic had been executed. Any who wrote with their left hand was said to have had practiced black magic—many children disappeared that way. But they, those cursed witches, had not suffered from their fate. No, they had reveled in it. Witches had grown in the night, their powers beheld only among twilight, and they hid. No witch had left the coven without a matron and so it was only the foolhardy wishers who burned - those who had craved powers they did not understand. And now, after centuries filled with myth and interest, witches were no longer hunted. Instead, they were searched. Their abilities were legendary, the results the envy of anyone who knew the signs, and this had not changed even as the years gently rolled by. Soon, witches faded into tall tales and folklore as they blended easily among these who did not want to see them, but wanting practitioners were never turned away. All one needed was open eyes and a soulful yearn and the craft would come easily.

The Flower Petal Apothecary laid within the heart of New York City, its doors opened to anyone who may stumble upon it. It wasn't the only apothecary in business—it wasn't even the only one in the neighborhood, let alone the city itself. Other and more specialized apothecaries dotted the landscape from Boston to Queens to the New Jersey shore. Medicines whispered to heal any ailment, protection stones able to will away any negative influence, personalized tokens meant for any sort of want or wish. But none of them held the properties the Flower Petal Apothecary modestly boasted - that is to say, no witches worked at the others.

The stores did not, and would never, lie about their wares, but they did not have a hand in creating them. No, they had left the true craft to the pythoness and kitsune-tsukai witches - a formidable soothsayer and fox spirit pair - who hid among the blooming flower blossoms of Prospect park.

The path that lead the true believers and the desperate wanters to the shop was lined with fruit trees of all kind. Easily blended into the background of the more impressive-looking London plantrees, the eyes of those without yearning in their soul skipped over the more exotic flora. Those who wandered found themselves underneath the weeping branches of oranges, apples, and lemons. Though they were free to pluck the fruit for themselves, most did not in fear of retribution—weary of all that ensnared them.

Most were right to be cautious.

The further along one walked, the more eye-catching the plants became. White lilies turned to red dragon lilies to poppies to roses. Apple trees turned to peach trees to pomegranate trees to cherry blossom trees. The end of the dirt path was covered by Spanish moss that hung from southern live oak and bald-cypress trees; all one needed to do was brush it back, though some cannot bring themselves to touch anything teeming with the magic they wished to use.

A secret kept from the main road, the Flower Petal Apothecary was antique in its design. Wooden beams carried multiple terracotta pots, their emptiness filled with lavender, with basil, with aloe vera. Tinkling chimes and handwoven dream catchers gently spun and swung with every brush of the wind. The three steps that lead up to the white door, as well as the rest of the narrow porch, was nearly covered in overgrown vines - though they appeared as a genuine part of the surrounding garden. 

To an untrained eye, they would only see weeds and pesky, reaching fingers that snagged at loose clothing and unbound hair. They would see too bright colors and too big flowers and too many of them both. To the witches that regularly lived among the planted greenery, they meant something: white sweet alyssum for peace, white clover for vitality and good fortune, bright pink azalea and blue forget-me-nots for love, yellow daffodil for prosperity, orange gladiolus for protection. 

It looked like nothing more than a forgotten cottage, a quaint building recaptured by mother nature and lost to humanity's brutal and often cruel touch. And, in most cases, it was just that. The Flower Petal Apothecary had been built by a medicine man, a famous doctor known for his perfect remedies. Many a tale had spoke of him as one would of Jesus: able to heal any disease or bodily flaw. Yet, as the years went by and the people went west, not many remembered the once greatly hailed doctor - nor did they ever remember his young wife.

A witch forced to hide herself behind the man she did not love, she had made sure to never hold a grudge against those who persecuted her people. They were ignorant, she had told herself—they were too unaware, were too traditional, too scared. They did not know any better, but that did not mean she would let her sisters fear as she had. So, when her miracle husband died himself, she had cast a spell over their house. Never should another who wished to hurt any other witch find this home; only the believers, the wishers, those without a home themselves shall find it.

(Should one ask the workers, they'd say the wind that fluttered the leaves was her whispering spirit. They never dared to speak her name though - not because they feared it, but because they revered it. Names had power. Names were power. Names woke the soul, strengthened the body, bent the will.

They were content in her slumber.)

A woman born with bruises was one of the many wishers and she found the apothecary with ease, as if she knew where it was already. In truth, she was on her last desperate attempt at peace and the Flower Petal had heard her cries—and opened for her. Trembling legs brought her to the door, so bright and welcoming she was nearly afraid of what laid behind it. She had trusted bright and welcoming and now... now she was here.

She, nothing but a hollow body and hollow eyes, started when the door opened before she could even gather the courage to knock, let alone do it. A woman, taller and even thinner than herself, had opened the door, her brown eyes dark and piercing. A flash of gold and a deep breath was all the witch needed before she had pulled the wisher in, her wiry arms warm and strong.

"I am so sorry, Katerina. I am so sorry." It was nothing but a whisper, nothing but lips against her curly hair, but Kat immediately broke. Her hairline fractures finally splintered, her aches became stabs of pain, and she could hold on no longer. The brown haired woman collapsed and she let all of her despair go. She could feel herself being moved, laid across someone's legs, head in their lap, but she could not stop her weeping. The next hour was nothing but a blur. There were hands, long fingered and calloused and soft, and they were everywhere. A pair plucked at her hair, as if trying to untangle it from its rigid curls. A different pair rubbed her bare arms and her jean-clad legs; normally Kat would have balked at a stranger touching her anywhere lower than her shoulders, but she felt none of the anxiety, the nervousness. A third pair rubbed her back, gently kneading the knots out of her shoulders. All were gentle and any tug did not hurt just as no touch was intrusive. Kat couldn't remember a time where hands felt good. When Kat's mind finally returned from her haze, she could feel only one pair of hands. She nuzzled her face closer to woman she laid across before she realized just what she was doing. Kat shot up, apologies spewing from her mouth with well-practiced ease, her hands covering her face. Yet, while Kat braced herself, the only thing she heard was muffled laughter. Her eyes snapped open and she openly gaped. The woman she had been laying on was nearly all arm, all leg. A bright blue dress of sorts, though Kat distantly thought it looked more like a robe, was the only thing that covered her modesty - and even then it looked as if she had just thrown it on with no care as to how to laid upon her. She wore nothing below her knee and even then the dress-robe had a slit up to her hip; and while the fabric laid thick down her arms, the neckline was a deep cut that showed off her collarbones with ease. (Strangely enough, Kat thought she looked elegant all the while. As if her body was her clothing too. There was nothing sexual to the hints and flashes of her and Kat ached to feel like that one day.) Pale skin was the only thing Kat could see as she trailed her eyes up to the other woman's hands as they delicately cupped her mouth. She was of Asian descent, though Kat couldn't be for sure nor wanted to assume but she knew that her fine cheekbones and soft jawline did not allow for the harsher European genes. As she finally realized that she was staring, Kat ducked down, a fierce blush running down her neck. She stammered, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—I mean, I just thought—" her throat closed, her voice choked off. She whispered, "I'm sorry." one last time before a hand covered her own. 'Huh,' Kat thought, her mind dazed and hysterical, 'her nails are really short. And pink. It suits her.' The witch sighed before giving her a small smile. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Not here. Not ever again." Her voice was high and soft and so kind that Kat nearly burst into tears a second time. Her hands moved to clutch at Kat's wrists, her thumbs soothing the finger-shaped bruises there. She said, "My name in this home is Tsuki, Japanese for moon. Welcome, Katerina, to the Flower Petal Apothecary." For the first time since she got there, Kat looked around the building. From her view at the very front, nearly everything was opened to her. Right in front of her was a counter, the grain of it pure white against the deep mahogany of the wood slab. It, just like the stairs outside, was encased by hugging vines, flowers of all kinds blooming randomly. Crystals hung low from the ceiling, some dangling on cotton strings and leather strips while others seemed to have shot down from the apothecary's rafters. Pots and cups and containers of all kinds had been stacked neatly behind the counter - jars upon jars of specialty ingredients, Kat guessed. The closest ones were largely unlabeled, though some were named. Kat couldn't quite wrap her head around what had to have been inside: nevus paste, Dead Sea salt, volcanic glass, meteorite dust. Her eyes wandered over to the other side of the apothecary and Kat's jaw gently fell open. Shelves and shelves of plants and pots and books - oh god, the books - were lined neatly across the second half of the room. Muffled giggling drew her eyes to the back of the store. There were four women, all looking at her in varying degrees of interest, sat behind a long and narrow table. One played with a snake while another had a small kitten resting in her hair; the last two, blonde twins, were holding each other's hands and were just looking at her. A shiver ran down Kat's spine though the air inside the apothecary was warm. She glanced at Tsuki and she nearly gasped at the glare she was giving the other girls. Kat flinched when Tsuki's eyes returned to her, though Tsuki graciously ignored it. "I deeply apologize for my sisters' behavior." Kat swallowed and quickly darted her tongue out to wet her lips. She managed to murmur, "It's no problem." The other woman sighed as if Kat's response pained her. She stood, gently tugging Kat up with her, and returned her glare to the other witches. "Romalda, Orchid, do go help with the inventory - Prophecy shouldn't have to do it by herself. Ava, Eva, clean up that table." Tsuki's voice barely lifted from how she talked to Kat, but there was a certain weight to it that Kat didn't expect. The other witches had immediately gotten to work not a moment after she finished talking, their movements more elegant than Kat thought should have been possible—or fair. However, Kat was pulled along by Tsuki before she could watch the girls actually do anything. Tsuki dragged Kat through the many shelves before heading up a previously unseen winding staircase. As they walked, Kat's mind supplied her with words after words until everything got so tangled up that the first thing she was able to say was, "What's up with your names?" The other woman didn't stop, though she did quirk a bemused smile. "Our names?" Kat could feel her ears warm, but she carried on. "Yeah, I mean, like—they're not your actual names, right? I don’t know much about witches, but names are… important, I guess?" The two sat down at a small, circular table. To Kat's surprise, Tsuki beamed at her. "You would be correct. Not many people catch that - or, well, they don't ask about it." Not knowing what else to say, Kat kept silent. Tsuki said no more either as she began to pour tea for the both of them, the pot suddenly there as if it had been waiting for them. Kat gnawed on her lower lip, the skin of it already ridged from past teeth (sometimes not her own), and eyed her companion. She hadn't known what to expect when she had tried to find the witches, but now all she could feel was a bone-deep sense of resignation. However, before it could seep into her blood, a spark of color caught her eye. A fox, made of stardust and will-o-wisps, had slowly glided over to her and Tsuki. It was a specter of red and white and gold, it's body long and limbs longer, its fur sparking and glittering in the light. Kat gasped as it came closer and whipped her head to Tsuki, but her question died on her lips at the witch's face. Tsuki's eyes were filled with such a deep, aching fondness that Kat could feel her question roll back down her throat. But, when Kat followed Tsuki's eyes, she found that they weren't trained on the fox. No, they were focused on the woman coming toward them. The fox wrapped itself around Tsuki, it's coat gleaming as if it were made of candle flame, but she merely ran a hand down it's spine as if it wasn't the most breathtaking thing Kat had ever seen. Then again, with how Tsuki leaned forward, her eyelashes fluttering, she obviously thought the fox was second place. Kat couldn't blame her. The approaching witch was short but had noticeable muscles that caught on the thin material of her clothing; unlike Tsuki's glowing gown, this one was wearing a simple crop top and jean shorts. A glance toward her feet told Kat that she also wore no shoes. The brunette wondered if that was a witch thing. "Hello." The husky voice snapped both of the other women out of their trances, though Kat was the only one to show any shame at her blatant staring. She smiled, her lips slightly pinched but her shoulders more relaxed than before, and responded, "Hi, it's nice to meet you." The woman beamed, her smile so sharp Kat felt her lip get bloody. "I'm Prophecy , the Flower Petal Apothecary's resident spell caster. You needed some form of protection, right?" Startled, Kat turned to Tsuki, but the witch was fully preoccupied with the fox. Brows furrowed, Kat looked back to Prophecy, hoping for some explanation on how the witches knew her reason for coming. However, it seemed that Prophecy found her confusion amusing for she just raised a single thick eyebrow and leaned against the table, not saying a word. Kat turned back to Tsuki, her hands beginning to tremble as her stomach clenched painfully, fervently hoping that the kind Japanese woman would take pity on her. Instead of facing Tsuki though, Kat came face to face with the fox she had admired earlier. Eyes wide and bright, alive for what could have been the first time in years, Kat reached a hand out. It hovered above the floating animal, her courage hiding in her throat along with all the breath in her body. Fortunately, the fox didn’t leave her like that. Slowly, as if it could feel her bubbling anxiety, the fox nuzzled its face into the palm of her hand. As her fingertips gently stroked back and forth, Tsuki and Prophecy gravitated to each other. While Kat laughed breathlessly, her amazement keeping her eyes on the spirit in front of her, the other two women let themselves drift into each other’s arms. Normally they strayed from each other during work, but the deep pain Tsuki had felt from Kat had latched itself to her lungs. It had made it hard to breathe and harder still to keep her tears from spilling over. As Tsuki watched Kat play with her familiar, she was acutely reminded of herself, so young and naive and lonely that even a sly fox spirit was able to cheer her up. She snuggled into Prophecy's hold, her arms loosely looped around her lover's neck. Tsuki rested a cheek on top of Prophecy's naturally curly hair, her own hair shielding them from the others downstairs. Witches had been known for finding wives in other witches, though some ventured out to snatch a man or woman with enough magic to keep them from leaving. Some took another approach and just hid where their heart laid, exchanging their soul for it. Others went to find the most influential man to lay with, hoping for a new witchling for their coven. Tsuki and Prophecy had loved each other for centuries and had never strayed with each new cycle of their births. They called that affection. What love was, was something even deeper. Love was like names that way—much too powerful to be just be said. Together they rocked, their eyes on Kat and Shipp - Prophecy had named Tsuki's familiar years ago and the Japanese witch still regretted the decision. Black eyes focused on the many bruises Kat wore like jewelry, long and thin contusions that encircled her wrists and covered her throat. Prophecy knew of abuse, had felt its brutal sting, and she knew that Kat had lied with abuse much like newlyweds did: fully, with no room for the both of them apart. Only did they exist together, entwined and mixed until they could not see where one ended and the other began. Slowly, as if waking from a daze, Prophecy untangled herself from Tsuki. The taller woman let the black witch go, the tips of her fingers lightly brushing against Prophecy's skin as she steadily grew further from her touch. The sound of Prophecy's footsteps, soft as they were, had Kat's head snapping up. Her cheeks flushed brightly, her eyes wide and endless. Already she had begun to retreat back into her body, her energy wrapped and shackled under her skin once more. In a flash, Prophecy covered Kat's hands with her own. Kat flinched, but she tracked her hands just as Prophecy knew she would. The woman gasped at what she saw and Kat slowly raised her head to meet Prophecy head-on. Just as Kat's boyfriend's fingers still held on to her wrists, Prophecy's first husband's name was carved into the delicate skin of her hands. She whispered, "You are not the only one who has hurt, Katerina. Come with me and we shall see what we can do for the marks on your body and the ghosts in your eyes." Kat swallowed heavily and exhaled harshly. She closed her eyes before turning her hands over, letting Prophecy clasp their hands together and pull her from her chair. Prophecy cackled, her sharp voice startling Kat. Before she could say a word, Prophecy took off, dragging Kat behind her. Tsuki stayed back with the cold tea and snickering fox spirit, her fingers pressed against her mouth in an attempt to hold in her own giggles. Her brown eyes followed the two women as Prophecy made to her potion bench. In seconds anything that had been left out had clattered to the floor in a broad swipe of Prophecy's arm. Leaning on her forearms, Tsuki smirked as she watched the two, her hand cradling her chin. While Prophecy was exactly what Kat needed, especially considering it was the black witch who knew the best spells and curses, Tsuki refused to just sit back and be an idle observer. 'After all,' Tsuki thought, an eyebrow raised at her familiar, 'I'm the kitsune-tsukai for a reason.' She grinned, her teeth a straight row of headstones, and purred, "Shipp? What do you think of Katerina?" The fox laid himself across her narrow shoulders. "I'd say she could use some fun." Eyes narrowed in on the ingredients Prophecy had pulled from the shelves - rose steams filled with thorns, sea salt, onyx stones, and sage and rosemary - Tsuki nodded to Kat. Shipp bared his teeth in a savage grin and swooped down and circled around until he was behind Kat. The woman, still disorientated from the sudden run, didn't notice the spirit until he was breathing down her neck. Before she could turn, Kat yelped in surprise. She rubbed a hand against her scalp, the sting already fading from where Shipp had plucked a hair out with his teeth. "What was that for?!" Kat exclaimed as she watched the fox glide over to Prophecy. The witch plucked the hair from the fox and scratched him behind his ears in thanks. Prophecy glanced back and raised her eyebrows. "We needed an item to represent you. A charm, a personal knickknack, part of your nails, or," she waved the strand of hair, "some of your hair!" Kat huffed, too irritated to stay cautious. "You could have asked, you know." "Now, where's the fun in that? Anyway, come here so I can show you how to do this." The next hour was filled with spell casting. More customers, lost wanderers and yearning hopefuls, came in and were greeted like Kat had been. The other witches had popped in and out to help everyone out while Tsuki stayed on the second floor and Prophecy attended to Kat. Finally relaxing in the presence of such a fiery witch, Kat had taken to the spell with vigor. The warmth of the building had sneaked its way under Kat's skin, the scent of the many plants ingrained into the fiber of her hair; the magic of the witch's house had seeped into Kat's soul, leaving her with a glow that seemed to follow her, hidden in her shadow. When she finally left the cottage, the wood of the door had already took notice of her presence—should Kat ever find a want to return, the door would always open for her. With the natural witch gone, the witches of the apothecary finally noticed the dimming of the sun. With fast movements and little flourish, the women made quick work of cleaning up. No matter the day or the season, the Flower Petal Apothecary closed at sundown and opened at sunrise. As the sun kissed the edge of the horizon, the witches made it with just enough time to thank each tree as they made their way down the path. The twins broke off at the first right, the moss parting for them as they journeyed back over to New Jersey. Orchid disappeared into her namesake, hoping to make it back to Queens before her roommates tried to find her. Prophecy and Tsuki walked a little bit farther with Romalda, the purple haired snake charmer keeping off the approaching chill with her flute. Right before the trees blended back within those of the park, the branches on both sides of the path cleared for their respective witch. Romalda, quiet as can be, left with only a waving hand to say goodbye as she took the path that lead upstate. Cressida and Hisa, Prophecy and Tsuki no longer, leaned against each other as they walked home. It was in the darkness that their identities were stripped from them. While every witch was each other's sister, very few spoke their name aloud. Only lovers or siblings whispered their names but even then they were only used either among the secret or the ignorant. It was hard to tell them apart most days. When the trees opened for them, they smoothly walked out, as they had not just appeared from the air. The street was still and quiet, a residue of magic blocking the noise from brushing the pavement. The walk up to their apartment was familiar and calming, the day's many excitements leaving them both tired. Cressida's antique record player, a gift from a long dead mother who did not give birth to her, immediately began to play. They undressed as they made their way to their bedroom, each flash a skin an invitation for the fingers and a feast for the eyes. They danced as they made their way across the floor, their feet quick and nimble, their hips swaying to the crooning voice that sang to them. The witches ended up collapsed on their bed, Hisa's thin body curled around Cressida's many curves. They laid together, their breaths mingling, and they wondered if they would have such excitement again tomorrow. They wondered if Katerina would return. They wondered if there would ever be a lifetime where they would not love each other. They wondered if it even mattered. And when they woke up to the sun whispering for them to rise, their thoughts from the night before fleeting things, they would not know that Kat was waiting for them. That the twins, Nina and Amelia, had prayed for their love just like the mornings before. That it had been Lilli who lit a candle to burn all day or that Yeritza had whispered her name into her hands, hoping that one day they would hear her. That one day they would know all of their names.