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fandomweekly2022-03-06 01:03 am
stefanyeah) wrote in fandomweekly2022-03-06 01:03 am
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[128] — You Will Find Me Waiting For The Apples To Ripen (HADES)
Theme Prompt: Gardening
Title: You Will Find Me Waiting For The Apples To Ripen
Fandom: HADES
Rating/Warnings: PG — I guess this contains spoilers about Zag's godly domain, a room that is unlocked after the credits and the motivation behind Zag's continued escape attempts.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 716
Summary: Gardening. How hard could it be for the God of Life?
Title taken from the Einstürzende Neubauten song The Garden.
Achilles kept insisting that Zagreus was the god of blood and life.
Zagreus scoffed as he dug his hands into the soil. What a god of life he was. After his first visit to his mother, he had brought back seeds from her garden. He had found a way to sneak into the sealed off garden to replicate what he had learned from Persephone.
However, without the guidance of her hands, Zagreus was lost. None of the seeds he brought back grew. He didn't know what kept them from thriving. Was it that he could only provide water from the Styx? Maybe Ixion's Wheel was only a poor substitute for the warm sun? Maybe it was the fact that they were in the lowest bowels of the underworld? Nothing would thrive in the land of the dead. Even the supposed god of life wouldn't change this.
With a grunt, Zagreus let himself fall back, leaning against the trunk of a pomegranate tree. He rested his head against the bark and lifted his left hand. God of blood, yes, that Zagreus could agree with. He had bled all over the underworld, staining it with his weirdly mortal-coloured ichor. Could he even call the red liquid in his veins ichor? He bled and died like any mortal, the only difference being that death didn't quite stick with him.
He noticed dirt on his fingers and beneath his nails and let his hand fall down, feeling grass beneath them. It was brittle, crackling beneath his fingers and feet. This grass was a far cry from the lush, green blades that grew in Persephone's garden and even defied his burning feet.
Zagreus looked up at the leaves, blossoms, and fruit hiding between them with no care for the seasons of a mortal world. His mother had created life in these surroundings. Even if it wasn't as lush as up in his mother's garden, it was possible. Grass was growing, trees were growing.
It was possible.
Zagreus pushed himself off the tree and knelt down in front of the heap. If he had inherited one character trait from his father, it was obstinacy.
Zagreus had died again and again. Oftentimes somewhere in the underworld, more often by his father's hands; rarely in his mother's arms.
He wished he could spare her these moments. Maybe this was their curse; a punishment by the Fates. Starting from Zagreus' unlikely birth, Persephone had to relive her child's death for daring to act against their verdict that Hades shall have no heir.
Zagreus had brought Malphon into the garden and used the twin fists to scratch the soil open. He let the left fist dissolve and pulled the pouch with spring seeds free from his chiton.
God of life, right.
None of the seeds had sprouted yet. He had watered them, had even brought Lethe's vaporous swathes; he had brought his lyre into the garden after he had heard Persephone humming a song while planting her flowers. All to no avail.
“Please, grow,” Zagreus whispered as he dropped the seeds into the scratched soil. “Grow and proof I'm not a good for nothing god." He pushed the soil over the seeds, patting the loose earth tighter. "Just prove my father wrong. Please."
He hit both his hands against the ground, Malphon still wrapped around his right hand. "Just. Grow. Grow." He kept hitting the ground, movements growing erratic and just uncoordinated enough to hit his fingers against Malphon's claws. Zagreus hissed and slouched down, forehead pressed against the moist soil. "Please, please, just live."
He remained in his crouched position until something tickled his forehead. Frowning, Zagreus lifted his head and looked down at the withered grass. Strong, green blades pushed through the soil.
Blood-smeared fingers reached out to touch the growing flower, a bud forming beneath his hand. Elongated, purple petals opened, revealing golden pistils. "You're a crocus," Zagreus whispered.
He laughed and fell onto his side next to the blossoming crocus. "Welcome to the land of the dead," he chortled.
Blood and Life.
Maybe his weird blood wasn't as usually as Hades and Alecto always asserted him.
Title: You Will Find Me Waiting For The Apples To Ripen
Fandom: HADES
Rating/Warnings: PG — I guess this contains spoilers about Zag's godly domain, a room that is unlocked after the credits and the motivation behind Zag's continued escape attempts.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 716
Summary: Gardening. How hard could it be for the God of Life?
Title taken from the Einstürzende Neubauten song The Garden.
Achilles kept insisting that Zagreus was the god of blood and life.
Zagreus scoffed as he dug his hands into the soil. What a god of life he was. After his first visit to his mother, he had brought back seeds from her garden. He had found a way to sneak into the sealed off garden to replicate what he had learned from Persephone.
However, without the guidance of her hands, Zagreus was lost. None of the seeds he brought back grew. He didn't know what kept them from thriving. Was it that he could only provide water from the Styx? Maybe Ixion's Wheel was only a poor substitute for the warm sun? Maybe it was the fact that they were in the lowest bowels of the underworld? Nothing would thrive in the land of the dead. Even the supposed god of life wouldn't change this.
With a grunt, Zagreus let himself fall back, leaning against the trunk of a pomegranate tree. He rested his head against the bark and lifted his left hand. God of blood, yes, that Zagreus could agree with. He had bled all over the underworld, staining it with his weirdly mortal-coloured ichor. Could he even call the red liquid in his veins ichor? He bled and died like any mortal, the only difference being that death didn't quite stick with him.
He noticed dirt on his fingers and beneath his nails and let his hand fall down, feeling grass beneath them. It was brittle, crackling beneath his fingers and feet. This grass was a far cry from the lush, green blades that grew in Persephone's garden and even defied his burning feet.
Zagreus looked up at the leaves, blossoms, and fruit hiding between them with no care for the seasons of a mortal world. His mother had created life in these surroundings. Even if it wasn't as lush as up in his mother's garden, it was possible. Grass was growing, trees were growing.
It was possible.
Zagreus pushed himself off the tree and knelt down in front of the heap. If he had inherited one character trait from his father, it was obstinacy.
Zagreus had died again and again. Oftentimes somewhere in the underworld, more often by his father's hands; rarely in his mother's arms.
He wished he could spare her these moments. Maybe this was their curse; a punishment by the Fates. Starting from Zagreus' unlikely birth, Persephone had to relive her child's death for daring to act against their verdict that Hades shall have no heir.
Zagreus had brought Malphon into the garden and used the twin fists to scratch the soil open. He let the left fist dissolve and pulled the pouch with spring seeds free from his chiton.
God of life, right.
None of the seeds had sprouted yet. He had watered them, had even brought Lethe's vaporous swathes; he had brought his lyre into the garden after he had heard Persephone humming a song while planting her flowers. All to no avail.
“Please, grow,” Zagreus whispered as he dropped the seeds into the scratched soil. “Grow and proof I'm not a good for nothing god." He pushed the soil over the seeds, patting the loose earth tighter. "Just prove my father wrong. Please."
He hit both his hands against the ground, Malphon still wrapped around his right hand. "Just. Grow. Grow." He kept hitting the ground, movements growing erratic and just uncoordinated enough to hit his fingers against Malphon's claws. Zagreus hissed and slouched down, forehead pressed against the moist soil. "Please, please, just live."
He remained in his crouched position until something tickled his forehead. Frowning, Zagreus lifted his head and looked down at the withered grass. Strong, green blades pushed through the soil.
Blood-smeared fingers reached out to touch the growing flower, a bud forming beneath his hand. Elongated, purple petals opened, revealing golden pistils. "You're a crocus," Zagreus whispered.
He laughed and fell onto his side next to the blossoming crocus. "Welcome to the land of the dead," he chortled.
Blood and Life.
Maybe his weird blood wasn't as usually as Hades and Alecto always asserted him.
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