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Short fic: Greek Mythology
Title: Life of Lepidoptera
Summary: Hades/Persephone. Prompt: use rabble of butterflies somewhere in the text.
Words: 550
A/N: Sorry,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seraphcelene, I broke our rules and didn't write a drabble!
Life of Lepidoptera
She is a vassal to fear. The only life down here akin to the bright, wild life she’s known is the fluttering in her stomach.
But underground the dead, the souls of dear departed, flock around her still-wild life. An alien star is she, a wildflower, to their lives that died. A ragtag team they are, a rabble of butterflies—blighted, albino; moths flap for the light.
She is their vessel of life. A womb in this tomb for youth/innocence they can’t remember. Meanwhile, surface-side, she is a vessel of dark, shadow and unlit corners, white underbellies. She’s a black hole of worldly knowing, not to be approached lest she youth/ignorance suck down, besmirch. Their trembling is genuflection.
Everywhere she goes, she’s the one who knows, she tells him, what the Other holds.
She is queen.
“Madam Butterfly,” he says, because he knows history that hasn’t been written yet and loves to tease her for it.
“I will be,” she seethes, because she knows he wishes she wished to stay and loves to torture him with it. “Just as soon as I emerge from this cocoon of Hell.”
“Shall you?” He smiles.
“Until I’m caught again, smothered in your silk, buried underground!” (He gave her the raiment of royalty to wear; pupae are sometimes hidden by the earth.)
“Are you sure you’re in the pupa?” He looks down at her. “Consider your propensity to over-eat.”
“How dare you.” Her eyes narrow. “Call me a pig.”
“Oh, no. A caterpillar,” he says lightly. “I’m speaking of your propensity towards curiosity, of course. You always did have to know what everything tasted like. You always did have to know everything.” His voice goes sensual. “Even the forbidden.”
Three times six months ago he spoke in that same sinuous voice, tempting her to taste the feast he’d laid out on the table. The arm that offered her the pomegranate had looked to her like a serpent.
“In the world of the alive,” she emphasizes, “I am not your wife.”
“Not Puccini, then.” He shakes his head. “Or if it is, you shall take the part of Pinkerton, and I of poor Butterfly.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She stamps her foot. “You mock me.”
“Only trying to return your favors.” But his voice is serious. “You’re free here, you know.”
“Some consolation, when I’ve been brought so low!”
“Yes, your highness.” He’s being sarcastic again. “Only, has it ever occurred to you the world above could be a chrysalis? Come now, you never once felt smothered?”
“Of course not!” She almost laughs in his face. “My moth—”
“I’m sorry,” he says smoothly, turning to leave, “I meant to say ‘mothered’.”
She had not been starving when she ate those eighteen months ago. There was honey, berries, seeds surface-side aplenty, so much she ached with repletion. Sometimes though she wondered whether that swollen ache in her lower half was starving after all, for something new.
So much that when his voice insinuated in her ear, and he offered her the fruit, she planted his seeds inside her, and wondered what it would be to be filled of serpents, too.
“If only you hadn’t pulled me down,” she laments so often.
“My dear,” sometimes sardonic, sometimes gentle, “are you sure you didn’t fall?”
Summary: Hades/Persephone. Prompt: use rabble of butterflies somewhere in the text.
Words: 550
A/N: Sorry,
seraphcelene, I broke our rules and didn't write a drabble!Life of Lepidoptera
She is a vassal to fear. The only life down here akin to the bright, wild life she’s known is the fluttering in her stomach.
But underground the dead, the souls of dear departed, flock around her still-wild life. An alien star is she, a wildflower, to their lives that died. A ragtag team they are, a rabble of butterflies—blighted, albino; moths flap for the light.
She is their vessel of life. A womb in this tomb for youth/innocence they can’t remember. Meanwhile, surface-side, she is a vessel of dark, shadow and unlit corners, white underbellies. She’s a black hole of worldly knowing, not to be approached lest she youth/ignorance suck down, besmirch. Their trembling is genuflection.
Everywhere she goes, she’s the one who knows, she tells him, what the Other holds.
She is queen.
“Madam Butterfly,” he says, because he knows history that hasn’t been written yet and loves to tease her for it.
“I will be,” she seethes, because she knows he wishes she wished to stay and loves to torture him with it. “Just as soon as I emerge from this cocoon of Hell.”
“Shall you?” He smiles.
“Until I’m caught again, smothered in your silk, buried underground!” (He gave her the raiment of royalty to wear; pupae are sometimes hidden by the earth.)
“Are you sure you’re in the pupa?” He looks down at her. “Consider your propensity to over-eat.”
“How dare you.” Her eyes narrow. “Call me a pig.”
“Oh, no. A caterpillar,” he says lightly. “I’m speaking of your propensity towards curiosity, of course. You always did have to know what everything tasted like. You always did have to know everything.” His voice goes sensual. “Even the forbidden.”
Three times six months ago he spoke in that same sinuous voice, tempting her to taste the feast he’d laid out on the table. The arm that offered her the pomegranate had looked to her like a serpent.
“In the world of the alive,” she emphasizes, “I am not your wife.”
“Not Puccini, then.” He shakes his head. “Or if it is, you shall take the part of Pinkerton, and I of poor Butterfly.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She stamps her foot. “You mock me.”
“Only trying to return your favors.” But his voice is serious. “You’re free here, you know.”
“Some consolation, when I’ve been brought so low!”
“Yes, your highness.” He’s being sarcastic again. “Only, has it ever occurred to you the world above could be a chrysalis? Come now, you never once felt smothered?”
“Of course not!” She almost laughs in his face. “My moth—”
“I’m sorry,” he says smoothly, turning to leave, “I meant to say ‘mothered’.”
She had not been starving when she ate those eighteen months ago. There was honey, berries, seeds surface-side aplenty, so much she ached with repletion. Sometimes though she wondered whether that swollen ache in her lower half was starving after all, for something new.
So much that when his voice insinuated in her ear, and he offered her the fruit, she planted his seeds inside her, and wondered what it would be to be filled of serpents, too.
“If only you hadn’t pulled me down,” she laments so often.
“My dear,” sometimes sardonic, sometimes gentle, “are you sure you didn’t fall?”
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I forget, sometimes, how stunningly gorgeous your prose is.
“Not Puccini, then.” He shakes his head. “Or if it is, you shall take the part of Pinkerton, and I of poor Butterfly.”
Perfect.
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you just... this is... just so gorgeous.
I know you deserve better feedback than what I'm offering, but would it be enough to tell you that I was transported by this, carried on every word? Simply, outrageously beautiful. And how much do I adore you for writing Hades/Persephone?
And how deliciously evil Hades is. Wonderful.
When do we hear Demeter's wail, hmm?
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You should read Mother Love by Rita Dove if you have not. It's a short book of poetry. Usually I'm not a huge fan of poetry, but I *loved* this. It deals mostly with Demeter's relationship to Persephone and Hades. Demeter's been translated for the ears of this era there so wonderfully I doubt I'll ever try.
Thanks so much for your fb, hon. I used to not follow these ideas through because they don't have a fandom and, well, I suppose if I expanded on it and stuff it could get published. Maybe I will one day. But I just wanted to enjoy myself and give other people the chance to enjoy it if they could. I'm so glad you did!
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but...isn't all of fandom based on these archetypes? Well, maybe not all; the more carefully written ones, at least. I'm sure if I wasn't in the midst of a seriously blank menopausal moment I could say "aren't Hades and Persephone just like __________ and ___________ on __________?"
But I ramble. Thank you for sharing these. Don't ever stop.
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But it's not like they have a fandom just for them. I mean, it's not like there are a bunch of Persephone/Hades die hard shippers out there. I'm not saying people wouldn't enjoy reading about them, just that they lack specific following. Which is okay, just not as exciting fan-participation-wise.
Thanks again.
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Glad you liked the dialogue. Sometimes these two talk in my head.
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Well, feel free to share! They are awesome. :)
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And thanks for your prompt, also. It was crazy hard to come up with something, but lots of fun.
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Your new prompt is:
Half the time the world is ending
No restrictions. Use it as you see fit.
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I'll try to make one of your prompts something you know something about. But I can't promise anything. Thanks so much ;o)
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I figured I'd read through the drabbles you're posting because I haven't gotten to read much of your writing yet. Most of the fandom stuff is going over my head but it's still all good writing.
No need to promise anything, I like just throwing out prompts. :)
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The only life down here akin to the bright, wild life she’s known is the fluttering in her stomach.
You took an old metaphor and made it alive and new. Perfect.
“Madam Butterfly,” he says, because he knows history that hasn’t been written yet and loves to tease her for it.
Not only does this continue the metaphor, but it gives us great insight into Hades' character.
"Come now, you never once felt smothered?”
“Of course not!” She almost laughs in his face. “My moth—”
“I’m sorry,” he says smoothly, turning to leave, “I meant to say ‘mothered’.”
Oh, OUCH! Hurting with the truth - I love it. (Is it wrong that in my head Hades kind of looks like Spike? HEEEEEEEE.)
And the last line is just perfect.
This is stunning work, from beginning to end. I am in awe.
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Spike, huh? As I said to someone else above, I had a friend whose version of Hades looked like Snape, and I'm afraid I rather stole her idea. Well, mine doesn't look like Snape, but he is something different than just a faceless Lord of the Underworld. He's horribly sarcastic and clever like Spike, but I'm afraid his propensity to brood is far more like Angel's.
And Hades has some weird shit going on with his brothers. *wants Hades/Zeus*
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I'm sure it works much better in your head, but in mine it's very silly.
SORRY!
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...it would be like totally old school Thor/Loki. Except I guess Thor/Loki is pretty damn old school too!