#the garden of innocence

[peggy-sue-reads-a-book]

The Garden of Innocence | Dionysus x Ariadne | 18+

Chapter 6

It would be creepy, he decided, to follow her further. Zeus behavior, really. She had a water source. She’d mapped out trails to get around. She’s be fine.

Only, she wouldn’t because Apollo had said she wouldn’t live long. It crossed his mind that his brother was only fucking with him, a theory he quickly dismissed. It wasn’t that gods couldn’t lie — Hermes did every day— but for Apollo it was out of character.

Dionysus didn’t ordinarily feel sorry for humans. There were too many and so few lived long enough to learn their names. But this one he’d stopped and paid attention to and now that he had, well …

At night, he found himself staring at the stars. Scrutinizing them for any information. He didn’t know how to read them. Not really. He had named the island in his days there: Naxos. It flourished. The branches were thick with fruit and the wind through the trees was as heavy and fragrant as temple incense. It knew he was there, responded to him.

And he was having fun with it. Somewhere on the island was the Minoan girl, abandoned and fated to die soon. But at least not of hunger or thirst. He’d made sure of that: every fruit she could want- figs, pomegranates, apples of every color practically dripped from the forest and none of it toxic to humans.

As for the river gods, he threatened to evaporate them if they so much as looked at her too long.

Admittedly, he was getting preoccupied with the challenge of keeping her alive. If, for no other reason, than to thumb his nose at Apollo.

The truth was, Dionysus was stuck. He could go wherever he liked, but the slightest distraction jerked him right back to Naxos.

He hadn’t actually seen Ariadne for awhile now. He didn’t want to. She was too interesting. And too pretty. The thing to do was fuck her. Get it out of his system.

It’s not that he’d never taken a mortal lover before — he had— but only for a night or so. The truth about sex with humans was it gave him a feeling he couldn’t quite name. It was in the big warm arms of a soldier, the Ephesian whore who had kissed his forehead and called him a pretty baby.

She had not been a gorgeous woman. She was heavy, her nipples pointed down and her eyebrows grew too close together. She worked for his own temple. He did not tell her this when they made love. It felt too good. The concern humans took for each other. Some of the time.

A river god never asked if it felt alright.

What would Ariadne be like? It was easy to imagine her sleek waist between his hands, her breasts firm and brown and warm as figs in the sun. Would her curls still smell of palace perfumes or only of the sea air?

He was thinking of this and more, thrusting furiously into his hand, angry at this island and its hold over him. With each thrust, the ground was firmer under his feet, the sea birds louder. It was a hot evening, as if the ocean were evaporating and trapped by the forest like a pot nearly boiling over.

And something stank. Like. Like rotten fruit. That’s when he saw the grapes. He had been lounging under an oak tree, wanking off with the fury of all Sparta. Only, the tree was nearly choked with vines. As he looked up, the sour juice dripped onto his face. As many bunches of grapes were putrid as it were ripe. The earth was littered with grapes. Some of the brown and squashy. Others molded over.

He wondered for a moment why they hadn’t simply been eaten by animals. Ants crawled over the ground and gnats hovered in the air but they wouldn’t touch the grapes. He looked around, this time really looking, as if he hadn’t idled the past week away on Naxos. It wasn’t just the grapes. Nearby, a pomegranate seemed to have swollen and burst.

Of course, he thought. The animals won’t touch it because it’s all for her. Dionysus climaxed, an underwhelming and distracted event. He wiped his hands hastily and took off. It was a pleasure to run, his godly ankles never twisting, nor his breath running out. His hair streamed in the wind, the envy of any maiden. And for the moment, he did not really care.

Without exactly planning it, he found himself at the fig tree where he had first seen her with Theseus. What he saw would ordinarily have been beautiful. The tree had nearly doubled in size, yet the branches drooped, so heavily were they loaded with figs.

And surrounding the dripping figs were more butterflies than he’d seen in one place in hundreds of years, each one vivid, peacock blue. He could feel their frustration.

“It’s alright,” he said numbly. He could almost hear them shifting around the tree, stepping their impossibly small feet. “I said it’s fine. You can eat them. No one else is.”

It was getting cooler. The awful humidity was turning clammy. He decided to falling water, find the biggest stream and let it take him uphill. He wished that he could sweat and cut his feet and be miserable running. He deserved it. Laying around pleasing himself over the mere thought of a girl who was probably dead now. By nightfall, he was feeling pretty rotten.

He’d gotten cocky. Told the animals and the leering spirits to fuck off and assuming she’d be find if only he showered her with fruit and magical fountains. He felt silly now. He hadn’t even considered exposure. Or any number of accidents. She could have drowned and oh gods, there were always those high crags.

He felt sick as he ran. He still never tripped but rather than dart around them as a fish through water, he broke branches and even shattered the small boulder he stubbed his toe on. It was his first time ever stubbing his toe.

When he reached the high crags, he scanned the beach below for a sight of her, the blue flutter of her dress, anything. The beach was empty besides a dead seal and the carrion birds surrounding it. For all the island teamed with life, there was just as much rot.

He searched carefully among the rocks. As if a whole girl could be as easy to miss as a rabbit. Should could be hurt — what if she’d struck her head? Maybe it wasn’t too late. It was dark of course. Past midnight with no moon. Not that it mattered to him. All he found were a couple of snakes, who took immediate interest in him and followed in his search.

He almost called her name. He realized he had not spoke it aloud before.

“Ariadne,” he whispered, before he could stop himself. It rustled through the tree tops, cooling the night beautifully.

Hooves clicked behind him. A stag had woken up and was following. Along with the snakes, along with the butterflies.

***

He found her, at last, huddled under a jutting outcropping of rock. It was closer to the sea cliffs than he might have liked, but slanted such that there was no way for her to roll off in her sleep.

She was sleeping. Bunched in her arms were remains of Theseus’s cloak. She looked like a baby with a blanket and for a moment he felt embarrassed, intrusive even, and then angry. He turned over the possibility of tracking Theseus down and plaguing his dreams with visions of her huddled on that cliff with that pathetic cloak. He was the god of madness after all. Dionysus could make the idiot boy suffer.

But that would mean leaving her. He bit his lip and crept forward. Dionysus wore little save for the fawn skin covering him waist down and a cloak of richest crimson. Mortals had to spill each other’s blood just to see its equal. The soft wool was combed spidery fine, blended equally with linen and silk. He didn’t know any of this, or course. These were things you paid nymphs to take think of for you.

It was a treasure. This much he might have known, but did not consider as he unpinned it at the shoulder. Her face looked small and cold. Curls had sprung loose from her practical braid.

Dionysus knelt cautiously. He tucked the red cloak around her without a sound, covering her feet, drawing it around her shoulders. Beneath her was merely the bare rock. Stupid girl. Cuddling the last scraps of Theseus when she might have used it for warmth. Dionysus sighed and frowned, too frustrated even to enjoy the night wind on his bare chest.

As he backed away, his eyes were met by luminous yellow ones. A lion padded onto the ledge directly above her. It could not see her, of course, but no doubt it was attracted by her scent. Dionysus could have shouted with annoyance. He’d fared better looking after himself as a mere toddler. Was there no end to the tedium of keeping one human being alive?

The lion was female, and by the looks of it old and underweight. It dared snarl at him.

“Oh, fuck off,” he said to the lion.

Its teeth glinted despite the almost total darkness.

“I mean it,” he hissed, trying not to wake her, “get out of here. Shoo, kitty. Beat it.”

The creature could not refuse a god. It yowled bitterly before it bolted. The sound startled the sleeping girl.

“Oh!” She jumped back against the rocky wall, terrified, immediately clapping a hand over her mouth. Her chest heaved but she had the sense to stay silent.

Minutes passed. Ten. Then thirty. Ariadne’s eyes showed dark and wide. He wondered absurdly why she did not move before it occurred to him that of course, she couldn’t see to navigate the ledges. He wondered if this was how humans filled up their time, how it seemed to they they had any life at all. The way fear could draw out mere flickers of existence. It was awful to watch.

Forty minutes. He felt wrong staring at her but certainly wasn’t going back down the mountain. The lion had been a bit cheeky for his taste. He watched the forest dutifully. Feeling smug at he prospect of his brother being wrong. She hadn’t drowned and she hadn’t frozen to death and now he could say she hadn’t even been eaten by a lion.

He’d wait till morning, if for no other reason than the satisfaction of another sunrise on this girl’s short little life.

@margaretkart @hycinthrt @kebriones @i-rove-rock-n-roll @sir-lancelot-du-lac @dionysian-daydream @hades-bat

[fannyrosie]

Botanical gardens again

Outfit rundown Dress: second-hand Mary Magdalene Jacket: second-hand Innocent World Hat: vintage Bag: second-hand Jane Marple Shoes: old Queen Bee Brooch: Design Festa Everything else is thrifted/offbrand

[sumerek]

.the head boy.

[dameaylins]

on my "anti elain/anti elriels are allergic to reading comprehension" tirade; taking the word of nesta (who is literally proven in the same book to be unreliable when it comes to her perspective of elain with her "elain is like a dog" comment that cassian later disproves) on blind faith about how elain would love the spring court or that it was "made for someone like her" simply because it has flowers when, in the first book, we are explicitly told that there is no gardening done in the spring court- which is what elain actually enjoys about flowers, the actual process of gardening and getting her hands dirty. it's like sjm is trying to tell us something about elain and how fundamentally no one in the inner circle (cough, besides azriel, cough) understands her as a person.

[kkkkkkkitty]

[hycinthrt]

let ariadne say fuck

[bobosbillionsknives]

Why's he so sleeepyyuy 🤗💖 I swear there are so many moments of knives yawning what the FUCK does he have to be so sleepy about. 😒 GET YOUR ASS UP AND WORK ! He's so silly I love him

He can't be tired from doing his job because he literally doesn't do anything. 🙄 He always has people doing shit for him he just lies around in his garden all day BROODING.

I always assumed he had terrible nightmares or something because somehow despite his cushy ass lifestyle he seems to get less sleep than VASH dude like are you serious. 🤦‍♂️

[becca-e-barnes]

I'm not really feeling like myself today so I'm gonna indulge myself a little.

I don't remember the last time I talked about anal on here but more specifically, I'm imagining Lee and his little innocent wife again (I know you've all missed Lee as much as I have 🥵)

I think anal would be something she wouldn't often ask for because I always imagine she's quite shy about asking for what she wants but anal becomes one of their mutual favourites very quickly.

The way Lee would dote on you before anal just makes me melt. He's not nearly as reckless and rough. It's all gentle praises and soft kisses, trailing his thick fingers against your soaked sex until they're well enough coated in your arousal that he can slide two into your ass.

He'd be so mesmerised by the way you enjoy it; watching the sweet, innocent woman he married begin to explore her own sexuality and slowly start to indulge in fantasies she'd never admitted to anyone else just does it for him.

Lee's not a stranger to toys in the bedroom but nothing makes him hard like the memory of the first evening he came home from work to his wife, a couple of days after he'd got you a cute little princess plug.

He's usually greeted with a brief kiss when he comes in the door but that night, you couldn't tear your mouth off his if you tried. He tastes faintly of the toffees he keeps in the car but his mouth is so warm and distinctly his, it's addictive.

"What's gotten into you, sweetie?" You've pressed yourself flush against his body, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him while your fingers hook his belt loops, pulling him closer.

" 'm sorry. I need you." You've been worked up all day, imagining how your husband will touch you when he gets home and now he's here, you don't want to wait. The dinner can burn for all you care.

You notice how warm his hands are as they shift from your waist, reaching down to squeeze your ass and when you whimper against his mouth, it all clicks for him.

"Livin' room, sweetheart." That's exactly where he wants to be right now, instead of cramped in your tiny little hallway and when you don't make a move, he scoops you up and carries you there before sitting down in his armchair.

"Turn around. Bend over." They're clear instructions. Your feet are planted between his as you follow his lead. He pulls the skirt of your dress up and your underwear down your legs.

"God, do y'have any idea how wet you are?" The sparkling end of the plug sits neatly between the cheeks of your ass but it's hard to miss the way your slick arousal seems to almost glisten on your skin in the dim lighting.

Your breath catches in your throat feeling your husband trail his thick fingers from your neglected clit, back to tease your soaked entrance. Your body resists him pressing into you though. Having one hole filled at a time is more than enough for you for now.

"Thought I'd try it this mornin'. Slipped it in before I started the cleaning." You might feel embarrassed at how exposed you are if you weren't so turned on. "Couldn't even think straight by noon."

"Such a good girl for me. Shoulda called, honey. I'd have come straight home" He taps the base of the plug rhythmically and even that's enough to make you squirm. With his other hand, he's palming his own cock through his work trousers but that's not his main focus in that moment.

"Let me take the edge off for you. I'll take real good care of you after dinner, how does that sound?" His fingers circle your clit with the kind of ease that only comes with practice while he taps the base of the plug with the fingers of his other hand. Your body flutters around the metal inside you, offering a pleasant reminder of how full you feel and you're quite sure nothing will compare to the evening you have ahead of you.

[dnangelic]

u can't spell sea witch without serve

[asgoodeasgold]

Yes, this is a post solely focused on Matthew Goode's arms (with a bit of chest and neck thrown in).

But before someone accuses me of being shallow (the cheek), let me explain this is purely for scientific and educational purposes, so that we can improve our knowledge and understanding of human musculature. You are welcome.

Apogies forthe quality of the Roadside Picnic edit, the trailer is not HD.

📷 My edits from The Lookout (2007), Ordeal by Innocence (2018), The Hatton Garden Job (2017), Roadside Picnic (the trailer) (2016)

[peggy-sue-reads-a-book]

The Garden of Innocence

Summary: Dionysus is not a Joe Goldberg tier weirdo following her around the beach because he would never be so that.

Chapter 5

She waited for despair. But all that came was more anger. Stupid Theseus. Stupid man and his stupid honor, his proud parents, his princely laurel, and all the other things he should have thought of before accepting her help. It was ridiculous.

She wished she’d been quicker that morning on the beach, negotiated with him. Had she been thinking, she might have played on his guilt and convinced him to deliver her somewhere safe. Surely, surely there was somewhere for her. Circe, her aunt might take her.

Perhaps it wasn’t too late. She thought of the fig tree again. She tore through the woods, never tripping, never looking down. Even if she did not find it, there had to be others. She was hungry. And more than anything, thirsty.

…

The argument has been pretty dull. The man moaning about his kingdom and his crown. The woman, indignant. Dionysus was a young god, but already one mortal squabble was the same as the next.

He sighed and tried to leave. He could not. Uninterested as he was in the scene, he had planned to sleep for the entire week and their voices were growing louder.

Will you shut up! he cried. And a flock of gulls squawked overhead. One of them even shat, barely missing the man’s hair. A petulant wave slammed into the hull of the boat, indicating that they really had ought to get a move on. Couldn’t they take their domestic problems back to wherever they came from?

When the man finally boarded his vessel, Dionysus was sure to give it an encouraging little push.

“Zeus be praised,” the man muttered, bowing his head piously.

Zeus, my ass. He wouldn’t notice the likes of you if were to fuck his mother with your hair on fire. Now get out of here. And look where you’re going, would you? Nevertheless, Dionysus drew a breath and released a gentle puff, just enough to fill the sail. It stretched against the wind like the wing of a great crow.

Dionysus wasn’t an expert in sailing, but it looked to him that the man was harried, juggling tasks. Maybe he was just sunburned. That is when he struck him that the woman was missing. Mortals were not generally afforded close scrutiny unless they had very much offended him. For Theseus, he felt only a mere pinprick of dislike. Just enough to draw him from his ennui.

The a wave split against the prow. For an instant, the sun was blistering bright. Dionysus squinted against the sudden glare.

She’ll die, you know.

“Shut up, Apollo,” he muttered.

Theseus startled. Of course, he could not hear their voices but he sensed a threat. They always did. Dionysus decided Theseus was a liability. If he stuck around for long enough for the god’s presence to send him into cardiac arrest, the chances are some other god would be offended. Probably one of his sisters. After all, he was handsome. A little taller than Dionysus himself, actually. Aphrodite’s type, come to think of it.

The god took his leave. Underwater, he allowed himself to take form, if only to feel the pleasure of a cool current against his sides. His body was sleek, with beautiful wrists and jutting hipbones. The salt stung his face where the sun had burned him in its sudden flare. He was glad. He knew why humans occasionally pursued pain in their lovemaking; it rendered pleasure so much sharper, clearer. It was perhaps why the luxuries of Olympus failed to hold his attentions.

When he returned to the beach, the girl was crying. Not loudly. She perched on a rock in the shadow of a larger rock, inconspicuous. Theseus would not see her if he looked back.

Of all things, she was tearing ruffles her skirt. The lovely sandals were gone from her feet. She bandaged them in the strips of linen. Makeshift shoes, he supposed. She didn’t look hurt. Another strip she used to secure her hair in a braid.

With her hair back, he could see she was a sweet-faced girl, despite how sour her expression. Once the boat was out of sight, Ariadne climbed down from the rocks and began walking slowly inland. The beach was full of scrub and yellow flowers. None of it remarkable from the rest. She found a branch jutting from one of the taller bushes and tore another strip from her skirt, marking the branch with a tight not.

Dionysus watched her, bemused. As the forest grew thicker, she snapped twigs from trees as she passed them, leaving them to dangle. And every few paces, she would tie another marker to a branch. Her dress — what was left of it — was brightest blue. The same cheerful aqua as the sea at midday. It looked well against her warm skin. Sometimes, she would stop and frown, with the appearance of listening for something.

At first, he did not understand the pattern of her movement through the woods, until it became obvious she chose paths leading downhill. She was looking for water. Dionysus felt stupid for having taken so long to have guessed. Then again, he needed nothing for mere survival.

There were streams on the island, plenty of them. But where there were streams there were naiads. They might see her pretty face reflected in their own vessels and turn salty out of spite. Worse were the river gods. They would be all to pleased to find a pretty mortal, parched and alone. He knew. This place was rich with divinity- even Theseus had felt it.

Well, she’d been through enough for one day. Apollo had said she would die soon. There wasn’t much he could do about fate. But give her today. Thirst was a terrible way to go. Hidden in the shade of an oak, he shut his eyes.

“Oh!” Ariadne cried, jumping. Where her foot last struck the earth, icy water spurted. As she stared, more water shot from her own footprint, taking the most perfect shape of a small fountain. Dionysus smiled at his handiwork. Dispensing blessings was fun. Usually, they slaughtered a cow for you, maybe even pledged their firstborn to your holy service.

He waited for her smile, her hands clapping in relief. Instead, she was terrified. Ariadne stared at the water, obviously desperate for it. She looked around, eyes large and frightened. She knelt by the fountain. Instead of drinking, she prayed.

“Please. Please, please.” Though barely audible, she was begging not to be poisoned.

Dionysus rolled his eyes. Humans were pitiful. You show them a miracle and still they grovel. Tentatively, the girl reached her cupped hands and drank from them. The water was perfect, as he knew it would be. Colder and purer than melted snow, which even she had never tasted. It would probably sustain her even in her hunger.

She splashed her face in it, her arms, her feet. Watching her joy, it struck him how dirty she was. Sandy and sunburnt. Once she had cleaned up and had her fill, she knelt again and bowed her head. “Thank you,” she whispered.

To his surprise, she unpinned a golden broach from her bodice, dropped it in the fountain like a child making a wish. It was so mortal of her. Attempting to pay you in their trinkets. Probably just afraid of being smote. She took a last sip of water and left. Who knew what she was looking for now. Food maybe. It was anyone’s guess what a human being did when it was lost. He’d never paid much attention.

Dionysus did not follow her immediately. He stopped to look at what she’d dropped in the fountain. The thank you gift. It was no fatted calf but the gold was nearly pure, yellow as a bee. The broach was in the shape of two dolphins. Nose to nose, tails brushing. He felt bad for taking her treasure, and almost left it behind in the fountain.

Then again, nymphs nearly all had sticky fingers and any number of them were running around gossiping already about the fountain in the footprint. The gold warmed in his hand. He took it with him.

@dionysian-daydream @hycinthrt @withlovefromolympus @kebriones @margaretkart @lefty-scissors @human-still-developing @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @axhicleos @shitfacedalways @johaerys-writes?

[fannyrosie]

Up until April 30th, the Montreal Botanical Garden had a special exhibit greenhouse called Le jardin de l'étrange (The garden of oddness), mixing steampunk exploration tools and interesting flowers. My mom and I visited it a few days before it closed. I decided to go with an outfit that mixed oddness, steampunk exploration, vintage and flowers.

Outfit rundown Jacket: second-hand Innocent World Tapestry skirt: second-hand Jane Marple Hat: vintage Bag and shirt: second-hand Axes Femme Boots: Belt: thrifted Bow: from a Mary Magdalene dress Herb brooch pin: Lily of the Valley Globe brooch and flower pin: Design Festa

[filmap]

The Age of Innocence Martin Scorsese. 1993

Conservatory Haupt Conservatory, Bronx Park Rd, Bronx, NY 10458, Estados Unidos See in map

See in imdb

[melonisopod]

I want him playable in FGO. Come on, let me romance the fish man!

[kandifloss-finn]

Silly little guy 👁

No consequences for him, he's too silly

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

||Regular day in the neighborhood||

~~Reserved rp with @videogamer382~~

Another day has come in the small Neighborhood down town, seeing out the window was Yor who was drinking some coffee while humming. She can see some of the teenagers walking down the street while they were talking about the day. They must have had a good day which was nice.

"I'm telling you class was just as normal. Their is nothing happening now." ochacko explains to her friends nezuko and tanjiro who was walking by her holding books.

"I guess but hey, at least school was just another day." Tanjro admits with his little sister nodding.