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Entry tags:
prompt #096: earth
Title: Adam of the wicca ~ earth
Pairing/Characters: Adam, Demeter
Rating (Word Count): PG, 12 x 100
Contains(s): magic, altered realities, difficult memories, food
Beta: @leela_cat – thank you hun!
Author's notes: 1. This continues from last week’s Water
2. Yep, there is one more part (at least) after this one.
~~~
1.
Adam lands ass first in a pile of hay, the impact rattling up his spine so hard it makes his head hurt.
“Fuck,” he groans.
A horse whinnies from somewhere close by. As he gets his breath back, more sounds become clear- something buzzing overhead, chickens squawking, even a cow mooing.
The hell? Adam thinks. The fall, from – wherever – must have scrambled his brains along with all his bones. He shakes his head, then pushes up from the hay to stand, mostly, upright, and fights back another groan.
“A barn?” Really?”
“Really,” a woman’s voice remarks from just behind him.
2.
Turning, Adam at first sees only golden light. Then there’s movement and a woman appears, silhouetted against the sun.
“What did you expect?” she asks, her voice filled with music and strength.
“Honestly?” Adam brushes bits of hay from his hair. “Um – a lot more stone and dirt. Less, “ he waves his hands at the stalls and wooded walls around them. “This.”
She laughs. “You’re not the first to think that. Come on, you can help me get some honey for our lunch.”
She turns and heads away from him, into the setting sun.
After a moment, Adam follows.
3.
After everything he’d been through, Adam really should have expected the beehives. But nothing about this journey has matched his expectations.
A trickle of fear and cold spreads across his skin. He shivers and for a moment he is vividly aware of his bodies- the one he wears in this altered reality and his physical body standing blindfolded in LA.
His world tilts, ice cold air freezing the sweat on his skin.
He stumbles, falls into snow and is caught by a strong arm. It pulls him up, and back, out of the cold into the sinking rays of sunlight.
4.
Warmth spreads out from the woman’s – goddess’ - arm and into Adam, her light easing back the shadows that came with the ice.
He shivers, more from the shock he thinks, than cold. He’s actually warm now.
The goddess presses a kiss to his forehead then releases his hand and steps back.
Adam closes his eyes and fills his lungs with the scent of fresh cut grass, warm baked bread and something that feels like home.
When he opens his eyes again, the goddess is standing close by, watching.
“Demeter?” he asks. The word sounds more like mother in his chest.
5.
“Hold this,” Demeter says, handing him the woven lid from the top of one hive.
It’s crawling with bees.
“Don’t worry about them,” she says, waving a smoldering pot over the open hive. “They’re half asleep from the smoke.” She makes another pass with the pot, smiles, and says, “That should do.”
Holding the edges of her yellow sleeve back with one hand, she reaches into the hive with the other. She tugs, and then gently lifts out a slab of honeycomb.
“Lovely.”
She shakes the comb lightly over the hive and the remaining bees tumble down into the dark.
5.
Demeter turns to Adam, looks at the lid he’s holding. “Cover them. They’ll resettle more easily in the dark.”
Fear spikes hot and fast through Adam. The bees still on the lid are beginning to wake up, buzzing their annoyance. He tries to move his hand, but all he can think about is being stung as a kid. How much it hurt. His mother holding him close as the doctors gave him a shot to reduce the swelling, another to calm his heart rate. If he moves, the bees will sting him, he’s sure of it.
“I can’t,” he whispers.
6.
Demeter waits, her face passive.
“They need your help.”
There’s no judgment in her words or her demeanor, only patience and a quiet certainty that Adam can, and will, push through his fear.
Adam understands her words but his memories are overwhelming. He closes his eyes, tries to even out his breathing. Then, in the past, and in this moment, his father appears. A solid presence telling him that he is strong and safe and loved.
Adam stretches his hand out and slowly lowers the lid onto the hive.
“Well done,” the words are his father’s as well as Demeter’s.
7.
Demeter leads Adam out of the field that holds a dozen or more conical-shaped hives, past the barn and up the steps of a two story Victorian style house with ocean blue siding and gingerbread trim in shades of gold and green.
On the front porch she pauses to stroke a hand over the head of a ginger cat curled up in a wicker chair. The cat yawns and pushes its head up into her hand.
Demeter smiles and moves on, walking through the front door, down a hallway lined with photographs and into a magnificent kitchen filled with light.
8.
In the kitchen, Demeter points to a bowl on the table in the center of the room. “Put it in there.”
Adam slides the dripping honeycomb into the bowl then licks the leftovers off his fingers. He grins then shrugs when she catches him. She chuckles and pats his shoulder.
“When my daughter was little, she loved to gather honey with me,” Demeter says bringing a second bowl to the table. “She’d get it all over her face then giggle with delight as she licked it off.”
The smile falls from her eyes. “Things change so quickly,” she says softly.
9.
Silence fills the air around them, and just when Adam thinks he can’t take it another minute, Demeter removes the cloth from her bowl and tips the contents, a soft round ball of dough, onto the table. With a sharp huff of air that sounds like the rumble of an earthquake, she punches her fist into the dough once, twice.
She raises her hand as if to punch a third time, then goes still.
“Neither of us understood what the cost would be when she fell in love with Hades.” She strokes a hand across the dough. “No one did.”
10.
Demeter’s hands rest on the dough for a minute. Then she divides it in half and hands one piece to Adam.
“Change isn’t a bad thing,” she says quietly. “It just hurts when you least expect it.”
She presses her hands into the dough, kneading it in a rolling, fluid motion. Her hands move forward, pull back. She curls the dough in on itself and begins again.
Adam remembers his grandmother doing the same thing, the warm dough so soft to the touch, fun to push his fingers into. She hummed while they worked, filling the room with her love.
11.
“So many things change over the years,” Demeter says, dividing her dough into three ropes. “Children grow up. People die. Language and hope shift with the tides. We lose track of the small things, the things that are most important.”
She twists the dough into a braid. “We lose more than we know just by trying to keep the things – the ones we love, safe.”
Adam has to squint as power pours off her in waves. The setting sun turns her hair and body to fire. Her clothes shift, her dress reaching in draping folds to the now grass-covered ground.
12.
She turns to look at Adam, the whole of creation in her eyes.
“Initiation is not as simple as saying a few words and stepping over a line. Nothing ever is. Such events change who you are, what your dreams are and what you’re willing to sacrifice to reach them.”
“Once you feast from a God’s hand, there’s no going back. Be certain that what he is offering is something you are willing to become.”
She cups his cheek in her palm, seeing into the core of him. An eternity later she nods and leaves him alone in the kitchen.
Pairing/Characters: Adam, Demeter
Rating (Word Count): PG, 12 x 100
Contains(s): magic, altered realities, difficult memories, food
Beta: @leela_cat – thank you hun!
Author's notes: 1. This continues from last week’s Water
2. Yep, there is one more part (at least) after this one.
~~~
1.
Adam lands ass first in a pile of hay, the impact rattling up his spine so hard it makes his head hurt.
“Fuck,” he groans.
A horse whinnies from somewhere close by. As he gets his breath back, more sounds become clear- something buzzing overhead, chickens squawking, even a cow mooing.
The hell? Adam thinks. The fall, from – wherever – must have scrambled his brains along with all his bones. He shakes his head, then pushes up from the hay to stand, mostly, upright, and fights back another groan.
“A barn?” Really?”
“Really,” a woman’s voice remarks from just behind him.
2.
Turning, Adam at first sees only golden light. Then there’s movement and a woman appears, silhouetted against the sun.
“What did you expect?” she asks, her voice filled with music and strength.
“Honestly?” Adam brushes bits of hay from his hair. “Um – a lot more stone and dirt. Less, “ he waves his hands at the stalls and wooded walls around them. “This.”
She laughs. “You’re not the first to think that. Come on, you can help me get some honey for our lunch.”
She turns and heads away from him, into the setting sun.
After a moment, Adam follows.
3.
After everything he’d been through, Adam really should have expected the beehives. But nothing about this journey has matched his expectations.
A trickle of fear and cold spreads across his skin. He shivers and for a moment he is vividly aware of his bodies- the one he wears in this altered reality and his physical body standing blindfolded in LA.
His world tilts, ice cold air freezing the sweat on his skin.
He stumbles, falls into snow and is caught by a strong arm. It pulls him up, and back, out of the cold into the sinking rays of sunlight.
4.
Warmth spreads out from the woman’s – goddess’ - arm and into Adam, her light easing back the shadows that came with the ice.
He shivers, more from the shock he thinks, than cold. He’s actually warm now.
The goddess presses a kiss to his forehead then releases his hand and steps back.
Adam closes his eyes and fills his lungs with the scent of fresh cut grass, warm baked bread and something that feels like home.
When he opens his eyes again, the goddess is standing close by, watching.
“Demeter?” he asks. The word sounds more like mother in his chest.
5.
“Hold this,” Demeter says, handing him the woven lid from the top of one hive.
It’s crawling with bees.
“Don’t worry about them,” she says, waving a smoldering pot over the open hive. “They’re half asleep from the smoke.” She makes another pass with the pot, smiles, and says, “That should do.”
Holding the edges of her yellow sleeve back with one hand, she reaches into the hive with the other. She tugs, and then gently lifts out a slab of honeycomb.
“Lovely.”
She shakes the comb lightly over the hive and the remaining bees tumble down into the dark.
5.
Demeter turns to Adam, looks at the lid he’s holding. “Cover them. They’ll resettle more easily in the dark.”
Fear spikes hot and fast through Adam. The bees still on the lid are beginning to wake up, buzzing their annoyance. He tries to move his hand, but all he can think about is being stung as a kid. How much it hurt. His mother holding him close as the doctors gave him a shot to reduce the swelling, another to calm his heart rate. If he moves, the bees will sting him, he’s sure of it.
“I can’t,” he whispers.
6.
Demeter waits, her face passive.
“They need your help.”
There’s no judgment in her words or her demeanor, only patience and a quiet certainty that Adam can, and will, push through his fear.
Adam understands her words but his memories are overwhelming. He closes his eyes, tries to even out his breathing. Then, in the past, and in this moment, his father appears. A solid presence telling him that he is strong and safe and loved.
Adam stretches his hand out and slowly lowers the lid onto the hive.
“Well done,” the words are his father’s as well as Demeter’s.
7.
Demeter leads Adam out of the field that holds a dozen or more conical-shaped hives, past the barn and up the steps of a two story Victorian style house with ocean blue siding and gingerbread trim in shades of gold and green.
On the front porch she pauses to stroke a hand over the head of a ginger cat curled up in a wicker chair. The cat yawns and pushes its head up into her hand.
Demeter smiles and moves on, walking through the front door, down a hallway lined with photographs and into a magnificent kitchen filled with light.
8.
In the kitchen, Demeter points to a bowl on the table in the center of the room. “Put it in there.”
Adam slides the dripping honeycomb into the bowl then licks the leftovers off his fingers. He grins then shrugs when she catches him. She chuckles and pats his shoulder.
“When my daughter was little, she loved to gather honey with me,” Demeter says bringing a second bowl to the table. “She’d get it all over her face then giggle with delight as she licked it off.”
The smile falls from her eyes. “Things change so quickly,” she says softly.
9.
Silence fills the air around them, and just when Adam thinks he can’t take it another minute, Demeter removes the cloth from her bowl and tips the contents, a soft round ball of dough, onto the table. With a sharp huff of air that sounds like the rumble of an earthquake, she punches her fist into the dough once, twice.
She raises her hand as if to punch a third time, then goes still.
“Neither of us understood what the cost would be when she fell in love with Hades.” She strokes a hand across the dough. “No one did.”
10.
Demeter’s hands rest on the dough for a minute. Then she divides it in half and hands one piece to Adam.
“Change isn’t a bad thing,” she says quietly. “It just hurts when you least expect it.”
She presses her hands into the dough, kneading it in a rolling, fluid motion. Her hands move forward, pull back. She curls the dough in on itself and begins again.
Adam remembers his grandmother doing the same thing, the warm dough so soft to the touch, fun to push his fingers into. She hummed while they worked, filling the room with her love.
11.
“So many things change over the years,” Demeter says, dividing her dough into three ropes. “Children grow up. People die. Language and hope shift with the tides. We lose track of the small things, the things that are most important.”
She twists the dough into a braid. “We lose more than we know just by trying to keep the things – the ones we love, safe.”
Adam has to squint as power pours off her in waves. The setting sun turns her hair and body to fire. Her clothes shift, her dress reaching in draping folds to the now grass-covered ground.
12.
She turns to look at Adam, the whole of creation in her eyes.
“Initiation is not as simple as saying a few words and stepping over a line. Nothing ever is. Such events change who you are, what your dreams are and what you’re willing to sacrifice to reach them.”
“Once you feast from a God’s hand, there’s no going back. Be certain that what he is offering is something you are willing to become.”
She cups his cheek in her palm, seeing into the core of him. An eternity later she nods and leaves him alone in the kitchen.