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garbagegirlblog · 5 months

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my bedroom is a sacred place now there are children at the foot of my bed - lana del rey

𝐿𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇, 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝓌𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝑒𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝐼 𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓁𝑒𝒹𝑔𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒

𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒 𝓃𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓃𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎’𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓃𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈

𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒿𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓂𝒶𝓏𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝐼 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓈 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝒹𝑜

𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓈 𝐼 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑜𝒾𝒶𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒴𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓂𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓈𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒾𝒷𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝓅 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝓂𝑜𝓀𝑒

𝐼’𝓂 𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝐼’𝓂 𝒻𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼’𝓂 𝒹𝓇𝓊𝓃𝓀 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃’𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝓇𝓊𝓃𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝟣𝟦 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝐼 𝑔𝑜 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓅𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼’𝓂 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝓏𝓎 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒹𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒹𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊

𝐵𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝒹𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝓈𝒶𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓊𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝓈𝒽 𝒸𝓊𝓉 𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓌 𝓂𝓎𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻 𝒾𝓃 𝓋𝒶𝓈𝑒𝓈 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓎𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈, 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓅𝒶𝓁𝓈 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝐵𝒾𝑔 𝒮𝓊𝓇

𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝐼 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝐼 𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓅 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶 𝓅𝑜𝑒𝓉 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝐼 𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓅 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝑜𝑒𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊

#lana del rey #poetry #lana del rey poetry #hyper feminine #girlblogging #vintage #girl blogger #female hysteria #my bedroom is a sacred place now there are children at the foot of my bed #lizzy grant #violets bent backwards over the grass

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yourgirlrey · 10 months

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#lana del rey #violet bent backwards over the grass #my bedroom is a sacred place now - there are children at the foot of my bed #lana del rey moodboard #lana del rey aesthetic #coquette #ldr aesthetic #lana is god #lana del slay #lana del rey lyrics #ldredit #dolette #girl blogger #girl blogging #gaslight gatekeep girlboss

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fiftyftafro · 2 years

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The more I step into my poetry, the less I will fall into being with you

#Lana del Rey #violet bent backwards over the grass #poetry #remember #My Bedroom is a Sacred Place Now – There Are Children at the Foot of My Bed

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candymay · 10 months

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One year ago I posted 'Armie is Happy' during a much more difficult time. Today he's come so so far. Onwards and upwards.

'My Bedroom Is A Sacred Place Now There Are Children At The Foot Of My Bed' by Lana Del Rey

#armie hammer #fanvid

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tru3loveontheside · 5 months

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#Spotify

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eleutheria4ever · 6 months

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i didn’t call you by any other name. i let you know that i knew the true nature of your heart - that it was evil. that it convinced me that darkness is real; that the devil is the real devil and that monsters don’t always know they are monsters.

my bedroom is a sacred place now - there are children at the foot of my bed.

#lana del rey #violet bent backwards over the grass #lizzy grant #sad girl autumn #girlblogging #courtney love #the virgin suicides #coquette #girlcore

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azar-rosethorn · 2 years

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It's Been 1 Year (Songfic)

Summary: Takes place during season 4. It's the Rowdyruff Boys' birthday, but since they aren't around to celebrate it, their father takes matters into his own hands.

Rated T for the following triggers:

Death, Child Death

Song: It's Been So Long by The Living Tombstone (lyrics have been slightly altered to fit the circumstances)

Lyrics will be in italics and bold

The City of Townsville! Where it's a bright and sunny spring day! All of its citizens were hustling and bustling about in the fresh spring air! The cold, hard winter has passed, and now there's nothing but warmth, love, and happiness in the air all throughout the town!

I don't know what I was thinking, leaving my boys behind

But wait, there seems to be one resident of Townsville who isn't feeling the love and warmth of spring. For this, dear readers, was the one day that one of Townsville's most dramatic, eccentric, and emotional citizens, went numb.

Now I suffer the curse, and now I am blind

Don't let the smell of homemade chocolate cake wandering throughout the volcano fool you, this was not a happy day in the lair of Mojo Jojo. Nor was it overly sad. This day was a bittersweet day, and even with Townies flocking around the park outside having the time of their lives, Mojo Jojo has never felt more alone.

With all this anger, guilt, and sadness coming to haunt me forever

Under different circumstances, today would be a tremendous, splendid, and utterly terrific day. Exactly one year ago, Mojo Jojo gathered snips, snails, and a puppy dog's tail to create the Rowdyruff Boys, three superpowered children that were equal in strength, agility, and power to his arch enemies, the Powerpuff Girls. He then sent them to destroy those accursed little girls, hoping he would finally have a chance at beating them this time.

I can't wait for the cliff at the end of the river

Should the boys fail to destroy the Powerpuff Girls, Mojo expected he would be tending to quite a few wounds at best, and at worst plan a rescue heist from some highly secure prison facility.

But never, ever, in a million years. . .

Did he expect to witness not one, not two, but all three of the boys, his boys, die right in front of him. . .

Is this revenge I'm seeking? Or seeking someone to avenge me?

Mojo grabbed the nearest towel and wiped his face as the memories came back. He can forget about a lot of stuff, but the agony on his sons' faces, and the fact that he couldn't go to them and comfort them, tell them that he was here and that things were going to be alright, even though the both knew they weren't, well, that kind of scar stays there forever.

He didn't even get to say goodbye. . .

Stuck in my own paradox, I wanna set myself free

Finally, the cake was done. It was a chocolate cake, with blue, red, and green stripes as frosting, along with blue, red, and green sprinkles scattered across it.

Maybe I should chase and find before they'll try to stop it

Mojo stopped and examined the cake for a bit. "Blue for Boomer," he thought out loud, "Red for Brick, and Green for Butch." The evil chimp was surprised at himself. They boys only told him their names once or twice, and the only time he really took the time to get a good look at them and process what was actually happening was when the four of the celebrated after he thought they destroyed the Powerpuff Girls. He only ever had one photo of them, and that was kept sacred, stored in the one room in his entire lair that he hadn't dared set foot in for almost a year.

It won't be long before I'll become a puppet

With the cake in hand and a sad smile on his face, Mojo made his way to that very room. The room that was going to be the boys' bedroom. The room that should still be their bedroom. The very thought that they would be in there right now, either roughhousing, sleeping in, playing video games, or a combination of all three if it hadn't been for those Heartlesspuff Girls made Mojo Jojo fume with hate.

It's been so long, since I last have seen my son, lost to this monster

Mojo slowly came to a stop as he approached the door. It was very recognizable by the RRB CAVE, KEEP OUT LOSERS that was painted in graffiti-like spray paint on the front of the door. Mojo remembered that before the boys died, the four of them started on making their room, and one of the boys had the idea to do that, though Mojo couldn't really remember which one. Once he got to the door, he stopped, trying to process everything that was happening right now, and what was about to happen as well.

To the girls behind the slaughter

One year. He had endured one year without them.

Since you've been gone

He moved the cake to one hand, and slowly turned the knob with the other. The silence and the tension was quickly cut by the chimp's shaky breath, and the creak of the door as it opened.

I've been singing this stupid song so I could ponder

He looked inside the room. It hadn't changed one bit. The first thing you see when you walk into the Rowdyruff boys' room is they're bed. It was similar to to the Powerpuffs', but instead of pink, lime, and baby blue sheets, the sheets were a blue-ish indigo, scarlet, and forest green, and their headboard was an ebony black with a white skull painted on it. In the drawers inside of Boomer's nightstand was a variety of spraypaints that they could've used to do graffiti across the town. Directly across from the bed was a TV with a game console hooked up to it, along with some video games stashed in the TV stand for safe keeping. To the left of that, in the corner next to the door, was a toy box filled to the brim with trucks, dinosaurs, robots, and who knows what else. To the right of the TV, in the corner by the window, was a punching bag hanging from the ceiling that the boys would've used to train. It even had terrible graffiti of the PPG's faces on it. Even though the window of their bedroom was huge, just like the other ones in the volcano, the room never got much sunlight. Its blood red curtains had been closed so that there was only a sliver of sun escaping through and sprawling out onto the bed, right across its pillows. Boy, the boys would've been annoyed at that if they were sleeping in the bed right now.

But they weren't. . . .

The sanity of your father

Instead there were three glass cases on their dresser. One of them had a single snip of hair, one had a dead snail, and the other had a servered dog tail inside of it. Underneath each glass case was a name. The case with the snip was labled "Boomer", the case with the snail was labled "Butch", and the case with the tail was labled "Brick".

I wish I lived in the present, with the gift of my past mistakes

Mojo set the cake down on the bed and made his way to the dresser. Usually he has a whole dictionary of words at his disposal that he uses repeatedly way more times than necessary, but right now, with his vision becoming blurry from tears that he has given up on wiping away, he could only mutter two.

"Hello, boys."

But the future keep slurring in like a pack of snakes

Suddenly he remembered something. Something Professor Utonium said to him, back when he was a normal monkey, and the Professor's lab assistant. The Professor had told him about his latest project he had been working on. He was trying to create children for himself, specifically little girls. Apparently three "perfect" little girls saved his life when he was younger, and he wanted to create little girls just like them. Mojo never really understood the way he just went on and on about kids that he didn't even know for two days.

"Now, I know you probably think I'm talking like a crazy person since, you know, I've never even truly met these girls that I'm trying to create, but I promise, Jojo, one day, when you have kids of your own, you'll understand. You'll take one look at their precious little faces. . .

Your sweet little eyes, you little smile is all I remember

"and you'll fall in love. You'll do whatever it takes to protect them, and keep them safe. And if anything happened to them, well. . . you'd just absolutely break."

Those fuzzy memories mess with my temper

And he did. Right then. Right there. Mojo Jojo, one of the most goofy, eccentric, and notorious villains in Townsville, broke.

His mind went blank as he started to grab the pillows off of the bed and almost tore them apart. Punching them, kicking them, stomping on them. Then he attcked the punching bag with everything he had, all while his vision was blurred by a river of tears and the room, as well as the hallway were filled with his unintelligible screams, sobs, and wails of agony and fury.

Justification is killing me, but killing isn't justified

He kept at this for a little while before tiring himself out, plopping onto the bed, right next to the cake, and finished his mental breakdown into a pillow, staining it most likely beyond a level of repair. Whatever. It's not like Butch is gonna be using it anymore.

What happened to my sons, I'm terrified

Even after he stopped crying, Mojo continued to lay there. He had a few bites of cake, but for the most part he just laid there, occasionally sniffling every now and then, mindlessly roaming his own thoughts.

It lingers in my mind, and the thought keeps on getting bigger

He imagined where the boys could be now, if they were able to make it to some sort of afterlife, or if they had been reincarnated into someone that would live a full life, or if they were just spirits wandering around Townsville, haunting people. Haunting him. He also thought about what it would've been like if things were different. If those cold-hearted Puffs hadn't resorted to murder. Today would be the best day ever. They'd have a much bigger cake, that's for sure. And ice cream. Oh, you better believe Mojo would spoil those boys rotten with gifts today. He thought about all the heists and crimes the four of them could've gotten away with. He thought about them building a huge, super powerful battle robot together. . .

I'm sorry, my sweet baby, I wish I'd been there

The thought of it turned the faucet in Mojo's eyes back on, and this time, it didn't stop. At least, not for a good while.

It's been so long

Things will be back to normal tomorrow, but for today, just let him grieve.

Since I last have seen my sons

Tomorrow, he would be Mojo Jojo again. Just not today.

Lost to these monsters

Tomorrow, he would be a notorious criminal again. Just not today.

To the girls behind the slaughter

Tomorrow, he will be infamous for his genius evil plans and goofy demeanor. Just not today.

Since you've been gone

Tomorrow, he will be a little more agressive than before, but it won't be anything new. Just, not today.

I've been singing this stupid song

Today, he's a grieving father. Tomorrow, he'll be an evil genius

So I could ponder

A year's worth of bottled up emotions takes its toll on you, so please.

The sanity of your father

Wait for tomorrow.

#tw death #tw child death #ppg #the powerpuff girls #mojo jojo #boomer rrb #butch rrb #brick rrb #fanfic #angst fic #the rowdyruff boys #rrb #rowdyruff boys

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thathalfflowerlily · 8 months

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I can do that

I can do anything,

Even leave you🖤

Lana del Rey · “My bedroom is a sacred place now - There are children at the foot of my bed.” Violet Bent Backwards Over the Grass (2020)

#lana is our queen #lana del rey poetry #poetry

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traumnovelledreamstory · 7 months

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i read lana's poem

My bedroom is a sacred place now - there are children at the foot of my bed

I cried and cried and cried under the shower. I'd read it before obviously but this time it hit personally i don't know why

@lanadelrey u don't even know ur keeping me alive 🍒💚💚💚🖤🖤🖤🤍🤍🤍🍒

EVERYONE SHOULD READ HER POETRY BOOK VIOLETS BENT BACKWARDS OVER THE GRASS

#spotify #sorry for being depressing #lana del rey #poem #SoundCloud

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tofreezetime · 3 years

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the more I step into my poetry the less I will fall into bed with you

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yourgirlrey · 9 months

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I am my soulmate.

#lana del rey #lana del rey moodboard #lana del rey aesthetic #ldr aesthetic #coquette #lana is god #lana del slay #lana del rey lyrics #ldredit #dolette #just girly thoughts #tumblr girls #girl blogging #girl blogger #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #my bedroom is a sacred place now there are children at the foot of my bed #born to die #lana del ray quotes

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sillynickelpieturtle · 4 years

Photo

MP3: Lana Del Rey – My Bedroom Is a Sacred Place Now There Are Children at the Foot of My Bed Lana Del Rey My Bedroom Is a Sacred Place Now There Are Children at the Foot of My Bed Mp3 Download: …

#Lana Del Rey #My Bedroom Is a Sacred Place Now There Are Children at the Foot of My Bed

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ardett · 3 years

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Courtings and Crossroads

Description: “Have you seen my daughter?” Demeter rasps.

Hecate debates lying. She owes nothing to Demeter. Her desperation has given Hecate more mortals than ever to bring to the Underworld. But Demeter is more than the Goddess of the Harvest. She is a mother. And in her eternal life, Hecate has seen enough mothers mourn.

“I know where she is,” Hecate answers. She summons her torch and holds it to the open flames, lighting it. “You’ve been looking in the wrong domain.”

in which Hecate is Persephone's guide and companion in the Underworld

written for the @greekmythszine !

You can also read this on Ao3!

Hecate feels a twist in her gut, a warping of the natural boundaries between the Underworld and the mortal realm. Someone is crossing between the worlds. As the Goddess of Crossroads, the Goddess of Boundaries, transitions are her dominion.

She has guided many down paths of destruction and of triumph. Sailors and shepards alike burn food in her name, asking for safe passage. Sometimes she listens, letting the blaze of her torch light the way forward. Other times she does not.

Mothers and fathers pray to her when they lose a child too soon. She has led innocents peacefully into the Underworld when their bodies hadn’t undergone proper burial rites and Charon refused to ferry them.

She has never led anyone from the Underworld back to the surface.

Hecate concentrates on the feeling. She knows exactly where the line is going to be crossed.

She goes.

But when she arrives, nothing seems amiss.

The sun hangs high in an empty sky, guided by Helios’ chariot. The heat beats down on a girl in the valley. A goddess.

Persephone wanders the field. In each footstep blooms narcissus flowers and mint.

Hecate recognizes the sacred plants of Hades a moment before the ground distends and out of the gaping hole bursts the God of the Underworld. The field beneath his chariot withers and dies. The bones of his steads rattle louder than Persephone’s startled scream.

Hades snatches her from the ground.

Hecate tenses. She feels the boundary straining. She could close it but she risks much. If she gains Hades' contempt, he could stop allowing her to guide the penniless dead to the Underworld. She imagines rows of ghostly children waiting at the shore of the River Styx without the coin to travel onward to eternal peace.

Besides, the Underworld has always welcomed her when the Olympians scorned her. Zeus allowed her to retain her power, the only titan to do so when her parents, Leto and Tartarus, had been defeated with Cronus, but the mistrust from the gods remained. Perhaps it was time for the Oympians to realize what it meant to lose.

Persephone is just another innocent traveling to the Underworld. Hecate can at least make her transition easier.

Hecate twitches a finger and Persephone falls asleep in Hades' arms. The ground seals shut behind them. The boundary settles. As Hecate leaves the scene, the narcissus flowers begin to wilt.

Ten long days pass. Ten rotations of the sun and sky. Ten days of Demeter scouring the Earth for her daughter.

Demeter ravages everything that stands in the way of her search. All the while, Hecate watches. Each path Demeter traces is like a brand upon her skin. She is acutely aware of where the goddess goes and she knows that while Demeter still hunts in the mortal realm, she will not find what she’s looking for. It’s hard to pity Demeter when all Hecate sees is the destruction she leaves in her wake.

But on the tenth day, Demeter makes an offering to Hecate. The smoky scent of burning grain lures Hecate forward to the fire. No Olympian has ever given her an offering before.

When she arrives, she sees Demeter face to face for the first time since Persephone’s abduction.

Demeter is devastated. Her cheeks are wet with tears. Her hair is tangled with branches and burrs. Her hand shakes around the burning stalks of grain she’s clutching. She looks older. The lines in her face look deeper.

“Have you seen my daughter?” Demeter rasps.

“I know where she is,” Hecate answers. She summons her torch and holds it to the open flames, lighting it. “You’ve been looking in the wrong domain.”

Hecate bears her torch and guides Demeter through the darkness. They wind through forests, over hills and valleys, until Hecate’s flicking light reflects off a narcissus flower on the ground. Hecate hears Demeter’s breath catch in her throat. A footstep ahead is another, and then another, and another. The scent of mint wafts through the air as sprigs are crushed beneath their feet.

Then suddenly, the footprints stop. Demeter looks wildly around for the next one before she sees the ring of dead grass. Her face hardens.

“Hades took her,” she intones. Hecate nods but offers no other response. Demeter demands, “You can take me to her.”

“I cannot.”

Demeter takes a step forward. “You can. Do not lie to me. No gate is closed to you. You will take me to my daughter.”

Hecate doesn’t flinch. The night presses in on them as the flame of her torch begins to dwindle. “We would not survive it. Hades would end us for trespassing in his territory long before we were anywhere close to your daughter. Then what home would she return to?”

This makes Demeter pause. In her eyes, Hecate can see the glisten of unshed tears. “I cannot leave her down there.”

“You cannot save her.” Hecate gentles her voice. “Hades wants to court her. He doesn’t seek to hurt her.”

Demeter sinks to the ground, knees turning ashy gray as she kneels in the circle Hades left. Her fingers dig into the dirt. “Then I will grieve until she is returned to me.”

Hecate feels Demeter make her choice and take a turn at her personal crossroad like the breaking of a rib. Blight spreads from Demeter’s body. As far as the eye can see, plants fade to brown and shrivel. Seeds stop spouting. Life stops growing. As Hecate looks to the sky, the first snowflakes begin to fall.

The severity of Demeter’s choice takes time to set in but soon enough it becomes clear that without the Goddess of the Harvest, all of Olympus suffers. Scores of humans freeze in the bitter cold. Those that do survive don’t have enough food to spare for offerings.

Hecate tries to visit the Underworld but Hades is on edge. Even she is unwelcome in his kingdom.

Finally, Zeus intervenes. He demands that Hades return Persephone to her mother. The resolution they come to is not without consequences.

Persephone ate the food of the dead, six ripe pomegranate seeds. For the six seeds, she must spend six months of the year in the Underworld.

Demeter accepts the compromise and though the snow doesn’t melt just yet, the winter storms lessen. Hecate is surprised to smell burning grain again. She hears Demeter’s prayer to her. She pleads with Hecate to protect her daughter.

This time when Hecate tries to enter the Underworld, she slips in easily. When she begins to approach Hades' home, he appears before her, stepping out of the shadows.

“You’re awfully far from the shores of the Styx,” he states, voice low.

“Demeter sent me.”

The shadows surrounding Hades deepen. The ground rumbles. “We agreed on six months. My time is not up.”

“I know. I’m not here to take her back,” Hecate placates. “I can help with her transition. Let me act as her minister, as her companion. She’ll need one if you want her to be content here.”

Hades considers her for a moment. Hecate holds his gaze. He waves a hand and a skeleton rises from the dread soil. “He will take you to her,” he declares.

Hecate follows the skeleton into Hades' personal palace. He leads her to a grand guest bedroom. The room is decorated with the Underworld’s finest, practically dripping in the gold and jewels of dead kings, but none of it fits the goddess who’s confined there. In all the hard edges, her organic form is lost.

Persephone turns when she hears the door open. “Who’s there?” she calls from where she sits on the bed. She tilts her head. The motion is like that of a bird. “Hecate? Is that you?”

“It is. Your mother asked me to watch over you.” Hecate walks inside. She hears the bones of the skeleton click against the stone as he leaves.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to take me back, are you?” Persephone asks. Her voice is almost petulant.

“No, not yet.” Hecate notices a pile of courting gifts at the foot of the bed. Mirrors, combs, jewelry. None of them have been touched. “How have you been adjusting to life in the Underworld?”

Persephone falls back onto the mattress, her forearm covering her eyes. “Oh, it’s terrible,” she groans. Hecate tuts in sympathy, thinking of the goddess’s abduction, but Persephone continues, “The Underworld is just so dreadfully boring. I’ve never been somewhere so dull and dreary.”

“Ah,” Hecate vocalizes. She asks carefully, “And what about Hades?”

Persephone peeks up at her. “What about him?” Hecate raises an eyebrow at her. Persephone rolls her eyes and sighs. “Oh. Well, yes, the kidnapping was in poor taste. He hasn’t exactly been blessed by Aphrodite. But I suppose I’m stuck here now.”

Hecate takes a seat on the silken bedsheets besides the other goddess. “Do you think you might grow to love him?”

Persephone’s nose wrinkles. “Perhaps. Better courting gifts would be a good place to start at the very least.” She kicks at the pile and something clangs to the ground. “All this metal. Everything here is dead.”

“Yes,” Hecate concedes. “But everything that was once living is here now.

Persephone frowns. “So?”

“Maybe I’ll get to show you another time.” Hecate stands, dusting herself off. Persephone sits up.

“Are you leaving?” Her eyes are wide and green. “Will you be back? You’re the only one who I’ve talked to since he took me down here. Hades doesn’t even speak to me. He just sends gifts with his skeletons,” Persephone huffs.

Hecate is suddenly struck by how young the goddess is. All the Olympians are so much younger than her. It seems like it’s not the imprisonment that bothers Persephone so much as the loneliness. Six months to an immortal being is merely a dip in the water, the passing of an ocean wave. However, this is surely the first time Persephone has ever been deprived of her mother and the earthy wonders that she is the goddess of.

“I’ll return,” Hecate promises.

She goes to find Hades.

“You’re back!” Persephone bounds up to Hecate when she knocks on the door. She holds up a vase of yellow flowers. “Look what the skeleton brought me this morning! These are extinct on Earth.” She sniffs at them, eyes bright. A soft smile graces her lips. “I’ve missed them.”

“What a thoughtful gift,” Hecate comments diplomatically.

“Yes, thoughtful.” Persephone places the vase back on the table, arranging the flowers just so. “And entirely Hades' idea, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” Hecate echos.

“You know, if Hades were to have any other ideas, perhaps he should think about visiting me himself instead of sending his silly skeletons.” Persephone twirls a flower between her fingertips. “After all, how am I supposed to get to know him if we never see each other?”

“I wouldn’t want to speak for Hades but I believe he might be, shall I say, apprehensive. The circumstances of your meeting weren’t the most amenable.” Hecate gives her a pointed look.

“Perhaps I could forgive him if I could speak to him,” Persephone suggests airily. Hecate only nods.

The next time Hecate visits, the room is covered in flowers. There are even garlands strung across the ceiling. Since they are the souls of flowers, they don’t need water or sunlight to survive.

“Certainly seems like you’re doing well for yourself,” Hecate notes.

Persephone admires her handiwork. “Yes, it looks much better doesn’t?” Then she glances over at Hecate and pouts. “I must say though, you’re not doing a very good job convincing Hades to visit me.”

“He’s very busy,” Hecate contends.

Persephone huffs. “Doing what? The dead aren’t going anywhere.”

“No, but you are.”

Persephone perks up. “Is he doing something for me? What’s he doing?” she asks.

“I suppose you’ll have to wait and see,” Hecate says evenly.

Persephone groans. “Fine, if I must. As if I’ve done anything but wait.”

“Well while you continue to wait, would you like to meet Hecuba?” Hecate sits cross legged on the ground.

Persephone gives her a confused look. “Who’s Hecuba?”

“She used to be the Queen of Troy. Now she lives on as one of my familiars.” Hecate summons the black dog to her side. Persephone squeals and falls to her knees next to the animal.

Hecate managed to negotiate with Hades for Persephone’s freedom within the palace. As they walk Hecuba through the halls, she notices Persephone peer out the windows a couple times but Hades is being careful to keep his latest project hidden.

Hecate isn’t there to see the first meeting of Persephone and Hades since the abduction. That was something Hades had to conquer on his own. It seems to have gone well though because she glimpses them walking in the garden Hades built for her.

The amount of time and care Hades spent on the garden is evident. He wanted to impress her and had waited to see her again until he was finished with it. It’s a stunning menagerie against the dark landscape of the Underworld, filled with flowers both living and extinct. The paths are tiled in jewels from Hades’ personal collection. It’s a beautiful union of their two domains.

As Hecate hears Persephone laugh bubble over the grounds, she hopes for the future.

When the six months is passed, Persephone leaves Hades with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. Hecate guides her back to the surface and witnesses a heartfelt reunion between mother and daughter. Olympus rejoices and revels. The Earth thrives.

Six more months pass. A couple days before she is to leave for the Underworld, Persephone calls Hecate to her side to ask for her advice. When she arrives at Hades’ palace, she comes bearing a gift.

Hades places Persephone’s flourishing pomegranate tree in the center of the garden where it can be admired during their many walks together.

A few months later, Hades crowns Persephone Queen of the Underworld. She accepts. All of Olympus comes to witness the ceremony.

Hades sees them off at the end of the six months. Before they leave, he says to Hecate, “I’m forever grateful for your help easing Persephone’s transition. I hope you know you will always have a home here in the Underworld.”

“You could even have my old bedroom,” Persephone winks.

“That’s very generous of you. It means more than you know.” Hecate tilts her head in a slight bow. Hades returns the gesture.

Hecate has been stuck at a crossroad for an eternity, pulled between the gods and the titans, the Underworld and Olympus. At last, she has a path to travel.

#thewar #Greek Mythology #Persephone #Hades #hecate #myth retelling

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ninbayphua-moyan · 3 years

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Where The Harvest Moon Is Brightest

Sweat trickled down my back as I lugged my suitcase behind me along the five-foot ways of Penang. A sense of Saturday afternoon languidness hangs in the balmy air like a soft, heavy blanket, lulling you to sleep. A gentle breeze fleets through the walkway, pleasantly cool against the slight stickiness of my skin. I paused and took a deep breath, head tilted back with eyes closed, listening to the faint rustling of palm leaves. The air was steeped with the fresh, earthy petrichor of a recent shower, and tinged with undertones of the alluringly sweet scent of frangipanis.

Loud giggles. Shrieks of laughter. Opening my eyes, I turned towards the sound and saw a group of children playing a game of ‘The Eagle Catches The Chicks’ on the street. They dodged and ran with unabashedly childish grins plastered onto their mud smeared faces, eyes twinkling with youthful glee and carelessness. I smiled. It wasn’t that long ago when I too was a little rascal playing on these very streets without a care in the world. I remember the days when the neighbourhood kids and I would play in the streets until our mothers called us in for dinner. Oh, the adventures we had! Climbing up trees; playing in the rain; racing the roti man down the street as he rides by on his bicycle. Ah yes……the roti man……how we used to wait for him to make his rounds each evening after school……The tinkling sound of the metal cup-like object being struck with an iron rod signalling his arrival…our short legs running, shouting ‘roti!’ until he stopped by the side of the road…the chaos that ensues as we crowded around him like hungry chicks waiting to be fed, coins held tight in our sweaty little palms……

Then, I heard it. The familiar ‘Ting! Ting! Ting!’ of the roti man echoing down the street, as if summoned by my reminiscence of it. The children had heard it too. They ran towards the roti man shouting ‘roti!’, their game abandoned without a second thought. Instinctively, I started running as well, fumbling around my pockets looking for loose change to pay for the bread. I joined the little gathering crowd just as the roti man was getting off his bicycle. A tantalising aroma of freshly baked breads and buns wafted out the minute he undid the catch on the little glass framed doors of the meat-safe seated behind his bike. I couldn’t help but groan internally at the heavenly sight and smell. I watched as he slathered the savoury margarine and rich kaya onto thick slices of roti benggali, mouth watering uncontrollably. After a few minutes, he handed me a big bag of the bread to me and I dropped the money into his outstretched palm. He flashed me a quick grin before returning his attention to the next customer.

Making my way back to the five-foot way, I stuck my hand into the plastic bag and brought out a piece of warm roti banggali. Biting into the bread, I felt my tongue melting. The crispy, golden crust and soft white crumb of the bread served as a fragrant base, a sacred chapel where the buttery saltiness of the margarine and the rich, creamy sweetness of the kaya sang, each in their unique tune before harmonizing into a heavenly choir and melding into one savoury mouthful of bread. Before I knew it, I had already finished a third of what I’d bought. Realising that I wouldn’t have any left by the time I reached my destination if I continued eating, I quickly knotted up the bag and hurried along.

Ten minutes later, I came to a stop in front of a shophouse at the end of the five-foot way. A large ebony plaque hung regally above the doorway, my family name engraved upon it in golden Chinese characters. U-shaped terracotta tiles covered the roof and three full length louvred windows lined the upper floor of the two-story building. The pillars were adorned with painted, three-dimensional decorative plaster of beautifully crafted flowers. Majestic peonies and tender lotuses blooming, their elaborate and delicate carved petals unfurling elegantly. Majolica tiles lined the dado façade on the lower quarter of the walls, adding yet another splash of colour to the otherwise, dull and plain exterior. The carved timber ventilated doors stood wide open, each of its panel depicting legendary creatures of ancient Chinese folklore. The exquisitely detailed carvings of phoenixes never ceased to amaze me, even after all this time. Perching nobly on golden branches, their wings were spread wide as if to take off at any second as I gazed, entranced. Then, as the late afternoon sun shines upon their gilded bodies, it was as if those carved mystical beauties were suddenly brought to life. Their once dull sheen now aglow in brilliant shades of scarlet, orange and gold, almost as if they would burst into flames at any moment, just like in the myths of old, and be reborn from the ashes.

The sound of fluttering wings and clear melodic chirruping snapped me out of my daze. Looking up, I saw a family of swallows roosting in their nest at the corner of the roof. Ah…it was that time of the year again wasn’t it…the swallows always left the nest as the harvest moon approached. I remember how excited I used to get when they came to roost in the spring and how sad I would be when they’d left as autumn drew near. A-Poh[1] would always pick the nest once the swallows had flown, clean it and turn it into a bowl bird nest soup. She always told me it was good for the skin as well as health but I was never sure how true these claims were.

Peeking my head through the door, I announced my arrival home out of sheer force of habit. There was a loud clanging and scuffling from the kitchen as I heard a delighted shout. I had barely stepped across the threshold into the house before I was pulled into a tight bear hug by A-Poh, immediately enveloped by the familiar scent of incense and rice powder. She was strong despite her age and sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder if all her stories about bird nest soup were true. Pulling out of the hug, she gave me a quick look over and pinched my cheeks, complaining that I’ve lost weight again even though I hadn’t. I tried protesting but she shushed me with a fond pat on the cheeks and shouted for A-Gong[2] who instantly came wobbling out of the ground floor bedroom, a large toothless grin on his wrinkled face. He wrapped me into a warm hug whilst A-Poh hurried off into the kitchen, determined to stuff me up with food before anyone could stop her. I shook my head in resignation whilst A-Gong just laughed and ruffled my hair, amused.

Pouring some pu-erh tea into two clay teacups, A-Gong motioned for me to sit down, asking about my time abroad. As we sipped on the earthy fragrance of the pu-erh, I told him about my time in the UK; about its miserably wet weather; its tasteless food; its strange customs; and how much I had missed home whilst I was away. Upon hearing that comment, he chuckled heartily, a knowing look in his eyes. He too had left the comforts at home at a young age, sailing the seas to unknown lands to avoid the war. When I asked if he ever missed Hainan and his childhood home, he would always smile a little wistfully but would then shake his head saying home for him was where my A-Poh, a content look upon his wisen face. Even after all this time, they were still as in love with one another as they were back then, just like the butterfly lovers from Chinese folklore.

Halfway through our conversation, he suddenly stood up as if he had just remembered something. Giving me a wink, he disappeared out the door. I grinned, knowing exactly where he was headed off to. As I sat by the round wooden table in the living room, I gaze absentmindedly at the sparrows fleeting about A-Gong’s potted plants. The afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the lightwell, brightening the otherwise dimly lit interior. I remember still how my siblings and I would play hide-and-seek in the interior courtyard amongst those potted plants. Ah, those really were the days……

Shifting my gaze, my eyes were immediately drawn to the majolica tile floor. Its kaleidoscope of bright colours a stark contrast against the plain wooden and rattan furniture. Come to think about it, those mosaic pattered tiles were probably what triggered my interest in art in the first place…oh, the afternoons I’d spend on those cool, smooth floor drawing and trying to mimic their intricate patterns and colours…..

I was brought out of my reminiscence when a bowl of steaming hot pork dumplings was placed before me. Ahh…A-Poh’s pork dumplings. How I’ve missed it while I was away! Eagerly, I picked up the chopsticks and took a bite, my mouth immediately exploding with flavour. The saltiness of the pork meat marinated with soy sauce and sesame oil, the refreshingly sweet spring onions contrasting the meat’s saltiness, the delicately wrapped flour encapsulating it all, the slight bitterness of the herbal broth…this was my definition of heaven. Seeing me happily wolfing down the dumplings, she smiled and returned to the kitchen.

I was only halfway through my bowl of dumplings when the intense aroma of spices and chili came wafting out of the kitchen, making my mouth water. There wasn’t a need to look. I already knew what it was A-Poh was preparing. And sure enough, she came tottering out of the kitchen a few minutes later with two big bowls of hokkien-mee. Taking a seat next to me and we both dug in. I took a big slurp of soup and my tongue was instantly set on fire, the spices clashing as they performed a tango on my tongue. I had forgotten how potent the chili at home were. My lips were turning a numbing red within seconds but that didn’t stop me from downing down the entire bowl of noodles. After all, no self-respecting child of Penang would ever be caught dead bested by a bowl of spicy hokkien-mee. A-Poh chuckled as she watched me switching comically between fanning my tongue and slurping down the spicy soup.

Just then, A-Gong came walking in through the front door and I squealed in delight. He grinned, handing me the little plastic bag in his hands before sitting down. Like a child who was just given her Christmas present early, I happily started munching on the packet of ais kacang. The frozen sweetness of the shaved ice instantly cooled my burning mouth and I quickly took a few more mouthful. Content, I glanced at my grandparents and started noticing things that had previously escaped my attention. A-Poh’s once salt-and-pepper hair was now silvery white and her hands seemed more worn and wrinkled than I last remembered. The wrinkles on A-Gong’s face seemed deeper now and his hands, especially the one with a missing finger, shook a little more than they used to whenever he held something. Since when had they aged so much?

Realising that I had stopped eating, A-Gong pushed the plate of pandan cake closer to me, urging me to eat. Now, I was never much of a sweet tooth but I was particularly fond of this green coloured sponge cake that just melted in your mouth like a piece of cloud. The mild, aromatic sweetness of pandan and the light, fluffy texture of a chiffon cake, a beautiful fusion between European cake-making techniques and locally grown ingredients.

As I continued munching on the cake, I couldn’t help but smile, having realized how beautifully diverse my hometown was. Just like the pandan cake, it was a place where cultures of the East and West collided and coexisted in harmony. Yes…this little culture cocktail of an island was what I called home and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

NOTES:

[1] ‘A-Poh’ means ‘grandmother’ in Hainanese

[2] ‘A-Gong’ means ‘grandfather’ in Hainanese

[3] ‘Where The Harvest Moon Shines Brightest’ is a play on 月到中秋分外明，每逢佳节倍思亲 meaning the moon is brightest in mid-autumn; homesickness multiplies during each festival

Author's Notes:

Back with Part 4 also known as the final part of the short story slash prose pieces from uni series (this was the earliest piece I wrote in first year lol). The story takes place a year and a half after Part 3. A-Yun has finally graduated uni and has now gone home. All is well ends well. Yes I am aware that there is a slight glitch and A-Gong shouldn’t exist at this point but I wrote it before I wrote everything else so we’re bringing him back to life OuO Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading Part 4~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Since exams are over and graded and I've officially graduated, I can finally post my work online without having to worry about Turnitin picking it up as plagiarism because apparently you aren't allowed to plagiarise yourself according to university which is absolutely ridiculous but I'm not the one making the rules here so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, please don't reupload my works without permission.

#ninbayphua 墨彦 #prose #short story #constructive critisms are always welcomed #please don't repost without permission

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