Writing Check-In: The Huntress and the Honey-God (Cupid/Psyche Everlark)
This whole fic was supposed to be done in time for Love in Panem. :_( However, copious life stuff got in the way so I’m nowhere near done, and the best I can do for Valentine’s Day is give you guys the most recent bit I worked on (about 10 days ago :/). Hope okay.
Big thanks for all the birthday wishes last week, by the bye. <3 I get an unprecedented two days-off in a row after the massage marathon weekend, so I really hope to use the time to catch up here and on FB…
(In which the mythological!Everdeens prepare for Katniss’s marriage to a mysterious bridegroom and journey to the court of harvest goddess!Raisa. Minute flickers of half-related-but-not-weird-because-it’s-mythology Primko *may* lie ahead…)
Upon the morrow Alyssum roused her daughters gently but
early, for the walk to the sacred grove was not a short one and they must be
dressed for the midday audience in raiment befitting their birth and station,
and Katniss most of all.
“You shall not be given away as a goatherdess who has dwelt
these ten years in exile but as the firstborn of spring herself,” said her
mother, already arrayed in her own robes of power: heavy, regal folds of bold crimson
tulips and deep purple crocuses, trumpeting the triumph of new life after
winter’s cold, with her pale hair netted up in jewel-bright violets beneath a
crown of daffodils.
With deft hands she spun about Katniss’s slight form a billowing
gown of fragrant apple blossoms, the silken white petals blushing here and
there with rosy sunrise, and plaited her long black hair into a coronet of
dainty snowdrops, then she formed a bridal cap of silver catkins on supple
willow vines and pretty slippers of the same. The mortal maid looked not unlike
a blooming crocus herself when her mother was finished, so small and exquisite
she was in her snowy raiment, with her dusky face and bosom radiant as gold amidst
the white of fragile blossoms, and her mother and sister – indeed, the harvest
king himself – looked upon her in awe.
“You will unman your bridegroom with such quiet beauty,”
breathed Janek, venturing strong fingers to touch a single ivory snowdrop
amidst the intricate plaitwork. “And he is your slave already, unable to deny
you anything. I think he would bring you the moon itself to wear about your
neck,” he murmured, “did you but wish for it.”
“I want no impossible gifts, nor the slavish devotion of any
man or beast,” Katniss scowled, but her fine cheeks were dark as ripe plums,
and she swiftly turned her face from the harvest king’s gaze.
A bedtime storylet: The Huntress and the Honey-God (excerpt)
Hey kids, here’s a snippet from my Everlark Cupid & Psyche retelling (prologue here - it’s the one with Venus!Raisa, not Hades!Jack, if that rings any bells), which I tried mightily to finish for Fandom4LLS in August. (Unfortunately, I had precious little time for writing this summer and the submission deadline was the week of my hysterectomy anniversary, which didn’t help. :/) I plan to finish the fic eventually but I thought you guys might like a little extra splash of Everlark for dreamtime, so you’re getting a sneak preview tonight. :)
This sequence features the Everlark equivalent of Cupid pricking himself with his own arrow at the sight of Psyche, minus the love induced by artificial means. ;)
Sweet dreams, little ones. <3
Ten years had passed since the day when Peeta bounded into
the woods on golden paws and fetched a perfect honeycomb for his playfellow – a
perfect honeycomb that held pride of place in his expansive larder, even now –
when he observed his father slipping away from the threshing floor, a lover’s
knot of wheat stalks in one hand. It had never before occurred to the honey-god
to seek his sweetheart of his own accord; he revered his good father and was
obedient to his commands, but despite Janek’s insistence that Peeta wait
patiently for a reunion with his playfellow, he had never directly stated that
his son could not look for her – merely that she was hidden away from all but
Janek, who had settled the family in their place of refuge – nor, more to the
point, that Peeta could not follow him on one of his clandestine visits. Always
the grain-god stole away when none might see, least of all his youngest son,
but on this occasion there was a hesitance in Janek’s manner of departure,
almost as though he felt Peeta’s gaze and wordlessly bid him follow.