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demigod-shenanigans · 25 days ago

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The choiceless hope in grief

Summary: Leo Valdez has lived and died for the gods. Their war has shaped his life since he was a baby. With Gaia defeated, he sort of hopes he can finally rest. He has friends and some semblance of home to return to for the first time since he was eight years old. Just this once, he allows himself to hope the good things might stick.

But the gods aren’t done with them just yet, by the time Leo finds his way back, Jason is gone.

This time, Leo decides he’s done just taking the Fates’ bullshit lying down. If getting his best friend back means striking a deal with the gods and venturing into the Underworld… well, it’s probably not even the most reckless thing he’s ever done.

The caveat of said deal? He has to trust Jason will follow him, or his self-doubt will doom them both.

And after the life he’s lived, Leo is so intricately familiar with self-doubt that he could probably trademark the word.

Or: The only possible way for Orpheus to succeed is if he learns to think of himself as a person worth loving.

Word Count for chapter 1: ~5k

Rating: Teen and Up

So! *claps hands together* I’ve been threatening you guys with my Orpheus Eurydice valgrace fic for a while! Technically I wanted to wait to post this until I’m completely done writing the fic, and I mostly intend to stick to that! I’m only posting this now because I have a minor surgery tomorrow and I’d rather be anxious about fic related things than about the surgery in question. So, take this chapter as a preview of sorts, more to come soon-ish but probably not immediately!

A couple of important notes before we start:

-TW for suicidal ideation. It’s less Leo actually wanting to die and more his canon behavior of “I’m doing something extremely reckless that might succeed but if it doesn’t, my death is an acceptable consequence”, paired with general grief related self-loathing, but if you think you’re not in the right headspace to read about that, come back when you are or at least tread carefully. This fic pics up at the end of The Burning Maze, so especially the beginning is pretty heavy on the grief stuff.

-Since ToA is vaguely canon to this fic, Leo and Calypso are technically dating in the beginning, but they don’t really interact positively as a couple (honestly they don’t interact that much in general) and break up pretty early on. Just be aware in advance that they’re still together for a little bit.

-Fic title is from Talk by Hozier which is maybe a painfully obvious pick but it was too perfect for me not to use it.

Chapter 1: Leo and Piper have an extended sleepover

It wasn’t a discussion between Leo and Piper whether or not to go to Jason’s funeral. They came to the decision that they wouldn’t silently—or as silently as one could come to an agreement when all parties involved were sobbing.

Maybe it should have been a discussion. There was a part of Leo that worried he’d regret this later—his refusal to take this chance to say goodbye and let himself grieve.

But Leo remembered his mother’s funeral. Remembered the way his aunt Rosa had looked at him like she knew his mother’s death had been his fault. Leo couldn’t stand the thought of people looking at him like that again.

He also didn’t remember his mother’s funeral bringing him any sense of closure or comfort. He’d stood at her grave, afterwards, just as desperate and afraid and utterly inconsolable as he’d been before the funeral, except it had suddenly felt sickeningly final. The wound it had torn in his soul had kept bleeding for years, and the scars would stay forever. He didn’t need any of Apollo’s shitty oracles to know Jason’s death would be exactly the same.

At this point, Leo was pretty sure his sanity was being held together by a combination of jokes and a truly questionable amount of duct tape.

Beyond all that, though, Camp Jupiter was a battlefield right now. It would continue to be a battlefield for the foreseeable future.

Leo wasn’t a coward. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go back and help. But one of his best friends was already in a box, and there was no way in hell he’d risk the other.

With how tightly Piper was clinging to him, maybe she was thinking the same thing.

For all his big talk about dragon escorts, Festus did most of the actual escorting on his own, occasionally torching what Leo hoped were monsters and not random public monuments. Leo, for his part, spent most of the journey crammed into the backseat of the car next to Piper, sandwiched between her and a bunch of moving boxes that seemed determined to flatten him into a Leo-shaped pancake whenever they took a sharp turn.

He’d spent so long thinking about seeing her and Jason again.

He’d talked Calypso’s ear off about them the whole journey, to the point where it had clearly started to annoy her. He’d thought about various ridiculous entrances he could make, and the fact that he’d probably get yelled at, but he’d also thought about sitting together by the campfire, sharing nachos. He’d thought about Jason hugging him so fiercely that he couldn’t breathe, and Piper cussing him out while she held him, making him promise never to do anything that reckless again.

Now Piper was actually holding him, and Leo couldn’t feel anything. There was a numbness in his chest. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to ever feel happiness again. Hell, even if he did, what was the fucking point? Every time anything even remotely good happened in his life, it got ripped away from him again.

They didn’t talk a whole lot for most of the drive. They cried until it felt like they couldn’t anymore, clinging to each other like desperate children.

Even if they’d wanted to talk about what had happened, Piper’s dad was right there, and despite the Mist usually working overtime for them, having him overhear seemed like a gamble. Or, well, maybe that was what Leo told himself. Maybe he just wasn't sure he was ready to hear it all. He still felt like he couldn’t think. He was overwhelmed to hell and couldn’t stop fidgeting.

Several hours into the trip, his stomach started grumbling. Piper dug through the bag at her feet and offered him one of her PB&J sandwiches, but Leo couldn’t eat. He hadn’t skipped a meal in forever—he’d been homeless and unsure when he’d even get access to the next meal enough times that it had been all but tattooed into his skull that he couldn’t afford to—but he couldn’t even think about eating without feeling sick. He thought about Jason. He thought about the state he’d left Camp Jupiter in and the fact that they hadn’t even been able to give the dead their proper funeral rites.

Had Leo’s help made any difference at all? Had anything he’d done in his life changed things even slightly?

Leo knew the Fates had intended for it to be fire that fell—for him to burn in a bright, hot blaze and turn himself to charcoal. But he’d refused to stay dead like a good little pawn, and now Jason was gone, and it was all his fault.

He wasn’t sure how Piper could even look at him right now, but he was beyond grateful that she was holding onto him as tightly as she did. It was the only reason he didn’t fall to pieces completely. The cog at the heart of Leo’s machine had broken in a way that made it utterly beyond repair, and now it felt like a matter of time before the whole thing came apart. Piper holding him was the only reason his remaining pieces were still functioning.

It should have been impossible for Leo to fall asleep under these circumstances, but he’d been traveling for hours and fighting before then and he’d cried out his remaining energy, so eventually, the world started to fade around him, reduced to just the sound of Piper’s breaths, until finally, those went, too.

~~~~

It would have been kinder, maybe, if Leo had dreamed up some shitty visions promising violent death and/or the end of the world. That would have been business as usual.

Instead, he dreamed of his time on the Argo II—of one of those early nights when the different groups were still getting to know each other, having a brief moment to breathe between their ridiculous tasks and saving the world.

It had seemed reasonable to catch each other up on what had happened on their end. Percy, Hazel and Frank had talked about rescuing Thanatos, and Piper, Jason and Leo had told them what had happened with Hera in turn.

This would have been a boring intel conversation at best, seeing as Leo had been there for all of their part, but they’d grabbed snacks and sat on cushions on the floor and made it a whole bonding activity. Jason had been wedged between Piper and Leo, and they’d taken turns storytelling.

And Jason had bragged. So much. But he hadn’t even had the decency to brag about himself like a normal human being. Instead, he’d talked about how capable Piper and Leo had been, somehow managing to make Leo sound like the coolest person he’d ever met. Which was ridiculous, considering he’d met everyone else on their team.

And sure, Leo made it sound like he thought he was amazing all the time, but he was exaggerating, which everyone, himself included, knew.

Jason didn’t seem to have gotten the memo, though. He had one arm wrapped around Leo the whole evening, and he got all starry-eyed when he talked.

“Leo took on three Cyclopes by himself. Three!”

“Dude, stop!” Leo had laughed, shaking his head. “I know I’m incredible and you’re blessed to be friends with me and stuff, but you weren’t even conscious for that part.”

“Still happened, though.” Jason had beamed at him. “You’re amazing, dude. I would have died about fifteen times on that mission if it hadn’t been for you. You guys should’ve seen him.”

It would have been easier if Leo had thought Jason was just trying to talk him up to the others to make them more willing to trust him after how badly he’d messed up in New Rome, but Jason wasn’t the type. He’d looked like he honestly believed every single word he was saying.

So, of course, Leo had refused to seriously deal with any of the things that made him feel.

“Sorry, Pipes, but I’m pretty sure your boyfriend is in love with me. It’s the fire powers, I’m afraid. I’m just too hot to resist,” Leo had joked instead, and Piper had untangled herself from Jason’s other side to throw Doritos at Leo, and everything had been right in the universe.

~~~~

Waking up from that, blearily blinking himself awake in the car full of moving boxes and remembering… that was a worse punch in the gut than waking up from most nightmares had been. And Leo should know. He’d had so many of those over the years that he was basically a certified nightmare expert at this point.

Leo wanted to go back in time and spend forever in that one evening, living it over and over and over again until the Fates or a temporal paradox or something eventually killed him. He wanted to hold on to what they’d been back then—the three of them together and happy and whole,back before they’d realized what the prophecy really meant.

He wanted to stay wrapped in Jason’s arm and hear him laugh at whatever stupid joke Leo came up with while he and Piper threw snacks at each other like ten year olds. He wanted to believe he could actually be the person Jason was bragging about—this invincible hero that could do just about anything and saved people’s lives.

But Leo had never been that hero. Even his sacrifice had been the selfish decision of a coward who wasn’t ready to die just yet. Jason had been their Superman. The guy who could fly and threw lightning and saved people from falling to their deaths. Jason had been the hero. And ultimately, that had been what killed him.

Leo wasn’t exactly sure what he planned to do once they got to Oklahoma. He should have been heading back to the Waystation, to give Calypso the normal life he’d promised. But he wasn’t thinking about Calypso, or the Waystation, and the thought of a normal life had gone out of the window the second he’d seen the coffin. Besides, the Waystation would mean people asking questions, wanting to know about his mission and asking him to talk about his feelings, and he didn’t want that.

The only thing Leo really wanted to do right now was not think.

By the time they got to the house, it was so late that cross-country dragon flight seemed inadvisable for visibility reasons alone, so Leo agreed to stay the night. Festus nuzzled him for a bit, got a fuel snack from the canister Leo had brought and then folded down into his million pound suitcase form for the night.

It took a little under two hours to carry all the boxes inside, which was an annoying amount of time to be carrying boxes but seemed like an absurdly short amount to move the contents of an entire life.

They spent some time in search of the necessities that needed to be unpacked, but the house was still furnished and also had running water and electricity as of a few days ago, so it wasn’t that bad.

While Piper went in search of some ancient camping gear so Leo wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor—this seemed silly to him, the floor was far from the worst place he’d ever slept—Leo asked Piper’s dad if he could help with dinner.

Tristan looked relieved at his offer, actually. He’d been staring at the assorted vegetables with a slightly lost expression, trying to hack at one of the zucchinis with a butter knife. It seemed like he was trying to remember how cooking worked and had just discovered he had absolutely no idea.

Considering how long he’d been an insanely rich guy with a personal cook, Leo guessed that actually might have been a pretty accurate read on the situation.

“You might want to try a sharper knife,” Leo suggested, which made Piper’s dad look absolutely mortified. “Try not to chop off any of your fingers, though. I think Piper’s been traumatized enough for one week.”

The words were out of his mouth before Leo could think to stop them. Tristan didn’t laugh, but at least it didn’t seem like he’d be tossing Leo out of the house over this. Maybe he realized people sometimes said stupid shit when they were grieving. Maybe Piper had just warned him in advance that Leo was like this sometimes.

Tristan just went to find a different knife, which would have maybe been concerning if he hadn’t gone back to hacking at the vegetables a moment later.

“Well, at least this one is actually cutting through the zucchinis. That’s already an improvement.”

“Yeah, I’m basically a cooking expert,” Leo said with a grin, only half-joking. He went to peel and chop up the carrots, and was done with those and about half the mushrooms by the time the poor zucchini had been hacked to bits.

“You and Piper went to school together, right?” Tristan asked after a while of them quietly chopping vegetables for the casserole, trying to make sense of things with information he didn’t have and that, judging from past evidence, probably would have made his skull crack. “You and her and Jason.”

“Yeah. We went to Wilderness school together.” Leo winced, trying not to think too hard of Jason while also trying to remember the lies they’d already told Piper’s dad. At this rate, he was pretty worried his own skull would crack, too. “Then all three of us switched to a different school. Then I was gone for a while.”

Tristan nodded like this made perfect sense, though he mostly seemed lost in thought. That was a little rude, in Leo’s opinion. If he went through all that effort to remember their elaborate setup of lies, the least Piper’s dad could do was appreciate it!

“I’m glad you’re here now, with everything that’s happened. Piper was really upset when you left,” Tristan said, still with that faraway look in his eyes. “The last few months were hard for her. Between the move and the breakup, she really could have used a friend.”

Leo promptly lost all rights to make fun of Piper’s dad and his vegetable chopping skills because at the word ‘breakup’, the knife slipped and he nearly sliced off two of his fingers.

“Fuck! Ow!” he said eloquently, trying to avoid bleeding all over the cutting board in his attempt to get to the sink. “Jason and Piper broke up?”

The question sounded absurd even to his own ears. Why would Jason and Piper break up? They’d been happy together.

Surely, Piper’s dad had to be talking about something else.

To Leo’s shock, Tristan nodded.

“A while ago, yes,” he said, but he didn’t go into details—possibly because Leo was bleeding all over the sink. “We should bandage that. Do you think you need stitches?”

“No, the cuts aren’t that deep,” Leo decided, turning on the faucet and holding his bleeding hand under the stream of cold water. Maybe he should have been more concerned about the injury, but his mind was still whirring at the thought of his best friends breaking up. Unfortunately, the cold water stung like hell. He hissed with pain. “Sorry for making your kitchen look like a crime scene right after moving in. Usually, I at least have the decency to wait a day or two.”

Because the house was a small, cozy place and Leo had not had the decency to curse quietly, Piper appeared in the doorway a moment later, an alarmed expression on her face.

“What happened?”

“I’ve been bested by a stupid potato,” Leo cursed, holding up his bleeding hand and wiggling his fingers for emphasis. He figured out immediately that this was a mistake. “Ow.”

“Stop that, dumbass!” Piper cursed, moving to stand beside him. “Sink was the right call, but you need to use soap or the cuts could get infected. Dad, any chance we have gauze lying around somewhere?”

Tristan didn’t seem to question why his daughter had immediately jumped into emergency medical treatment mode. He just abandoned the cutting board and headed for the front door.

“Not exactly sure what box our regular medical supplies are in, but I’ll get the first aid kit from the car. I’ll be right back.”

“Do we have to do the soap?” Leo whined, because fuck, that stung, but Piper nodded with a scary expression on her face, so he complied. “How do you even know this stuff? Are we sure you’re not secretly an Apollo kid?”

“I know this stuff because I’m friends with a bunch of morons who have zero sense of self-preservation,” Piper cursed, gritting her teeth. “You shouldn’t be around knives when you’re this distracted.”

“I can usually cook just fine when I’m distracted. Your dad was the one who told me you and Jason broke up in the middle of this stupid potato,” Leo said defensively. “Is that the Mist messing with him?”

That was the only explanation his mind had supplied so far that made any sense to him.

Piper shook her head. “We really did break up. That was a few months ago.”

Leo felt his jaw hit the floor.

“What the hell happened? You were together for ages. I thought- you always seemed so happy.”

“I know, but-” Piper broke off abruptly when her dad came back inside with the first aid kit. Demigod stuff, then?

Leo’s mind was racing. The breakup was a completely stupid thing to focus on, considering everything that had happened in the last few days. He knew that.

But it was easier to try and make sense of this than it was to try and make sense of the fact that Jason was gone and he’d never get to see him again.

“Is it alright if we do this somewhere else?” Piper asked her dad, taking the first aid kit from him.

“Of course. It might be easier to patch him up when you’re both sitting down, anyway.” He turned towards Leo. “Thank you for your help, but I think I can take it from here.”

Leo sent a silent prayer to whichever deity was responsible for protecting vegetables—Demeter, probably?—and gave what he hoped was an encouraging thumbs up with his uninjured hand before he followed Piper into the hallway to presumably be reprimanded some more.

~~~~ They ended up sitting on an old bed that looked like it had lived a long, miserable life and was excited for retirement, but the wooden frame thankfully didn’t break down under the weight of the new mattress or the additional weight of them sitting on said mattress. Piper explained that this had been her dad’s room when he’d lived here as a child, and that it would probably become her room now. Then she went very quiet and focused on bandaging his hand, clearly avoiding looking at him.

“It wasn’t because of me, was it?” Leo asked. The thought made him feel ill. “Please tell me it wasn’t something like, I don’t know, you two being unable to stand being around each other after what happened to me. I think I’d actually have to blow myself up again if it was.”

He tried to make it sound like a joke, but it didn’t feel like one at all. The thought that he'd managed to ruin his best friends’ relationship on top of everything else made it hard to breathe.

When Piper shook her head, it felt like a whole boulder was lifted off his shoulders.

“I actually think we would have broken up sooner if you hadn’t gone missing. We leaned on each other a lot after you disappeared. It wasn’t until we realized we wouldn’t find you and things started to settle down a little that I had time to think. And when I did…” Her voice went very quiet, and she still didn’t look up at him. “I realized I wasn’t happy in the relationship. I don’t think I ever was.”

“How did I not know that?” Leo wondered quietly. “I just… you two seemed happy to me. What kind of garbage best friend am I?”

Piper shook her head. “It isn’t your fault. I was telling myself I was happy for a long time. It’s almost- sometimes I wonder if I was charmspeaking myself. That maybe I kept saying I was in love with Jason until I convinced myself I actually was. And with Hera and my mom setting it up… I love-” her voice caught in her throat, and Leo felt like maybe he needed to throw up, “-loved Jason, but not like that.”

“Pipes, I’m really sorry.” Leo squeezed her shoulder. “That sounds like it was super hard for both of you.” Leo felt awful about the fact that he hadn’t even been around to comfort either of them, but it wasn’t like he could fix it now. It was just another item on Leo’s unending list of epic screwups he’d never be able to make up for.

“Jason was… well, he took it exactly like I expected him to. He was surprised, but he didn’t get angry or anything. He mostly seemed okay. Part of me wonders if maybe…” But whatever Piper had been thinking about, she seemed to decide it wasn’t important. “It was hard to get a proper read on him, and as nice as he was about it, things were still super awkward after. I'm terrified he died thinking I didn’t care about him.”

And then she was tearing up again, and Leo thought he would shatter if she cried.

“He knew you cared,” he said as earnestly as he could manage, pulling Piper to his chest again. “You love way too annoyingly for him not to have known. Hell, even I know you love me, and we both know I’m a fucking nightmare when it comes to this stuff.”

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his back like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Oh, I’m about to make you regret saying that,” Leo said, forcing himself to smile. “I’ll bring it up each and every time you say you find something I do annoying.”

“You’re annoying as hell, but you’re still my best friend.” He could feel her tears dripping onto his shoulder, and he knew that would make him start up again too. “I don’t know how I’d do this without you.”

And well, passing away from dehydration after crying too much would be a really lame way to die the second time, but everything was just too much right now, so if that was how he went, Leo wasn’t sure anyone could blame him.

~~~~

For the next couple of weeks, Leo stayed.

Helping Piper and her dad unpack was the perfect way to keep himself occupied and not have to think. Usually, a mundane task like this probably would have driven Leo nuts. But right now, it was a bit of a godsend—if not literally, at least figuratively. Being productive was always so much easier when it was done in order to avoid something you wanted to do even less. There was a reason his spaces in the foster homes had only ever been tidy when he had exams coming up.

He helped cook, too, and Piper’s dad became increasingly less garbage at it the longer this went on—like muscle memory was finally kicking in after years of disuse.

It was mostly good—listening to Piper reminisce about trips she’d taken with her dad and where she’d gotten the weird variety of items she kept in her room. When they weren’t unpacking, Leo and Piper played video games or watched movies or explored the area. Twice, during the night, they took Festus on a little flight to a nearby fast food place. Finding a parking spot was a bit of a nightmare, unfortunately. Leo would submit a complaint about their inability to accommodate celestial bronze dragons the first chance he got.

The first time they tried hiking—Leo didn’t even like hiking, he’d spent enough time outside for several lifetimes, why did he do this to himself—they got hopelessly lost in the woods, and of course, due to demigod bullshit, neither of them had brought a phone, so Google Maps wasn’t an option. It was probably for the better. The last thing that situation needed on top of them being lost was a monster attack.

They were already jokingly planning out their new life in the woods when, thankfully, a girl their age came to their rescue.

“A human being! Thank the gods. The squirrels weren’t talking to us,” Leo greeted her, which had Piper shout “Please ignore Leo!” loudly from the branches of the tree she’d been climbing.

The girl lifted her head, spotted Piper and promptly burst out laughing.

“What in the world are you doing up there?”

“Trying to get a better vantage point,” Piper sighed, making her way back down the tree. “We’re hopelessly lost.”

“Well, nice to meet you, hopelessly lost. I’m Shel,” the girl said, still grinning. Leo decided immediately that he liked her.

Piper had almost made it back down when she somehow missed a branch and fell the rest of the way. In comedic movie fashion, Shel moved before Leo had the chance to and caught her mid-tumble. “That was a bit of a dramatic way to get my attention, but you’re cute, so I’ll allow it.”

“Oh yeah, Piper’s got a bit of a thing with falling for people that way,” Leo commented, and Piper gave him her most murderous look while she got back on her feet.

“You guys need help getting back?”

“Please, yes,” Piper said immediately. “It turns out we’re both garbage with maps.”

“Maybe you just need a tour guide next time,” Shel suggested, winking at Piper, whose face turned scarlet. Leo wasn’t even mad about being the third wheel for once. He’d give her so much shit about this later.

And he did. And then Piper properly came out to him—no label or anything, mostly as extremely confused but sure she liked girls, which also made a few additional pieces click into place regarding her breakup with Jason. She ended her anxiety-riddled explanation by thanking Leo for being so normal and annoying about all this.

Which was how Leo realized he’d apparently never told Piper he was bi.

Or maybe he had, and it had gotten lost along with their other memories of Wilderness. Stupid memory-stealing babysitters.

Well, at least they got to hug about it now.

~~~~

It was strange how normal some days felt when nothing would ever truly be normal again. When in every moment Leo and Piper spent together, the gaping hole that had been ripped into their trio was so blatantly obvious.

The benefit and problem of this friendship was that Leo and Piper were both experts at not talking about things they were struggling with.

This wasn’t exactly news. From what little Leo did remember of Wilderness School, they’d spent months not talking about his mom, or about the fact that Piper’s dad kept canceling their weekend plans. They’d both known there were things left unsaid, but as long as they’d been able to cheer each other up, that hadn’t really mattered. It made sense, honestly. Put two people who hadn’t had a shoulder to cry on for ages in a room together and see what happens!

Right now, this meant they were expertly ignoring the box of belongings Piper had picked up from Jason’s school. It had been pushed so far under the bed during that first night that it was no longer visible, and neither of them made any effort to move it out of its new home since. They ignored the topic of Jason, period, until it inevitably hit them in the face again.

It was mostly dumb shit that set them off. Piper automatically reaching for vanilla ice cream at the grocery store because it was Jason’s favorite—seriously, who in their right mind even liked vanilla ice cream?

Sometimes, Leo would make a joke and burst into tears instead of laughing because he knew it would have cracked Jason up. They found old photos unpacking. One time, Piper’s dad suggested they make tacos and they started simultaneously bawling their eyes out.

Leo had spent a long time exactly like this—pretending everything was normal and okay when it wasn’t either of those things until he inevitably broke down. Then he’d started to actually feel sort of okay whenever he was with Jason and Piper. Now, he was sure he would spend the rest of his life pretending.

His appetite was too used to being stuck in survival mode for him to bow to nausea for long, so he went back to eating properly after a few days. He still cried himself to sleep most nights. He kept dreaming about Jason. The memories wrapped themselves around him like a safety blanket that he knew would get ripped away again in the morning. He always woke up feeling empty. Sometimes, he wished he could just go to sleep and never wake up again.

But other than that, it was mostly good.

Then demigod communications went back up, and everything went to hell.

———

Chapter notes:

Fun fact! I originally planned for this chapter (as well as the next few chapters) to just be backstory in my head and for me to maybe do a flashback or two. Unfortunately for me, Piper McLean waltzed into the room and refused to leave.

I do actually think the fic works better this way, but it will take a second to get to the plot! Hopefully you’ll enjoy the whole journey :)

I may not be able to have Leo and Piper go to Jason’s funeral without seriously messing with the plot of Tyrant’s Tomb, but I could at least pick the most evil reason possible for them not to go!

Side note: I sort of forgot that Hedge and Mellie were supposed to be here according to TBM, but by the time I remembered I already had this chapter written out and, as someone who cannot be bothered to figure out how to write them, I decided to just leave it. ToA is vaguely canon to this universe, but only for the most part. Some details are inaccurate, and I think that’s okay.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs super, super appreciated as always!!

List of people that at some point asked to be tagged when I post this: @poppitron360 @ginnyluna @keefessketchbook (feel free to comment if you want to get taken off or be put on the tag list for future chapters!)

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reinedeslys-central · 3 months ago

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ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE ARC FOR VALGRACE.

please please please I know this will never be canon BUT LISTEN -

SPOILERS UNDER KEEP READING (if you haven't read TOA)

what's that marvelousspider post about the tragedy of how leo found a way to beat the prophecy (and in some stories, that kind of thing works, reinterpreting the lines into a potential that comes true like how the act of observing forces the electron to 'choose' a path) but in doing so doomed jason? Yeah that's what I'm talking about. obviously jason's in elysium but. BUT.

what if he isn't? (or what if he is)

what if leo doesn't tell anyone what he's doing/planning on doing? (obviously someone finds out anyway, my bet is piper or nico or reyna)

what if that theme of glory repeated comes back here too? (hades is tired after millenia dealing with mortals. hades has a sort of hope. these two facts are not mutually irreconcilable.)

Leo's guilt. Leo's guilt. (To storm or fire the world must fall. Gaea burned.)

The surrounding characters (I don't think calypso and leo would stay together in the canon percabeth golden-couple, partners-in-life-and-crime way. I think they'd grow together and eventually grow into people that weren't partners anymore and be okay with that. would calypso feel guilty? She's a titan, eons old. maybe not. maybe the weight of fate is the same to her as sand on her beaches. Maybe seeing leo break down over it does make her feel guilty.)

Nico's resentment. (over jason's and leo's prophecy debacle, over bianca not getting the same chance, over not being able to reach for her hand, charging into the underworld like leo is, so many more things)

Percy. because percy will have all kinds of mixed feelings over the demigods in elysium, some of them he would say he put there. in the end, though.. percy will understand. (I wonder if he and grover and annabeth would fight about it.) he's understood since he was twelve and more willing to save his mother than any god-given quest.

Quests are in threes. (would this be a quest with a prophecy? or does leo just charge in? is the prophecy given after the events have been set in motion?)

Leo goes alone. (An oath to keep with a final breath.)

One more time. One more oath to put everything into question. One more twist to the prophecy.

--although technically, the prophecy should be done and dusted. Jason's, like, actually dead and in the underworld in this story. it's not like he didn't breathe his final breath or something. it's not like he didn't keep that oath.

#okay Ig I'll just write it then #.....I have no idea how to write it as a post-canon fic though instead of a myth rewrite #im gonna do it anyway #.....after my exams and finishing the three fics I need to work on #uM #anyways #valgrace #valgrace headcanon #leo valdez #jason grace #hoo #orpheus and eurydice #pjo hoo toa #post canon

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hermesmoly · 3 months ago

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I just realized that Kaos tried so hard to turn Orpheus and Eurydice into Helen and Menelaus.

That reminds me of how ppl also try to write Hephaestus and Aphrodite as Helen and Menelaus.

(Again, is true love really a boring plot line nowadays? Man, Let Eurydice like her husband.)

Yeah the uh. “Sacrificing Loyal Boyfriend /Evil Cheating Girlfriend Who Doesn’t Deserve it” trope. Done to a couple who in the myths just really loved each other. Boo 👎👎👎

The thing is the premise was a bit promising at the start; Orpheus going to the Underworld for a Eurydice that has fallen out of love for him. While watching them I found myself asking questions like: Would you fight death itself for someone even if you knew they wouldn’t do the same for you? If they didn’t love you the way you love them? The answer being yes is essentially Menelaus’ drive, because to Menelaus, especially to Menelaus, Helen was worth fighting for. It’s why he (all heavily morally questionable aspects of it aside) wages war and all its consequences to get Helen back home. Love is a strong motivator, thorns and all. The only difference between Menelaus and Orpheus is Menelaus wielding a spear and a thousand men to prove it while Orpheus had only his lyre and his words as a great poet.

AND THE POINT, THE POINT of the Orpheus Eurydice myth is even if their love was doomed, even if he knew the ending, Orpheus would have still loved her, he still would have tried to traversed the Underworld for her, and he still would have looked back, because he loved her. Most accounts have Eurydice die shortly after their wedding— they never even had a chance to settle down, to have a family, to grow old together. The grief of that pain to be translated through song was enough to melt a King’s heart.

Eurydice in the myths was worth fighting for. Eurydice in the show however? Didn’t even seem to care about Orpheus at all. Like not even as a friend. The two episodes I’ve watched had Eurydice being so good at faking being in love Orpheus dedicates songs to her. Despite what we see that she never makes an actual effort for Orpheus. How do you sing your heart out for a woman who doesn’t even remember your favorite cereal? It’s just so laughably bad and written with no care.

As for Hephaestus/Aphrodite… I can see the temptation to make them Like That but it just isn’t comparable. Helen leaving Troy (either via force or willingness) leaving Menelaus and Hermione behind is too different from Hephaestus learning of Aphrodite's infidelity by lying to him about Eros’ (and seemingly Harmonia’s) parentage. Helen could have made an impulsive decision, could have agreed to it only to regret it or maybe she wasn’t given a choice, but it's leagues better than Aphrodite lying straight to Hephaestus’ face, even if she regrets it. Just let them divorce!!!

#ok apologies if i went off #but yeah #imagine if paris stayed and had like Hermione with Helen and Helen lies about it to Menelaus #awful right? thats basically Hephaestus and Aphrodite!!#and the diff between Aphrodite x Hephaestus and Zeus x Hera is the latter having the monogamist wanting to stay.#while Hephaestus wants to be free and marry Aglaia #and he’s allowed to do that!#greek mythology #hephaestus #aphrodite #helen of sparta #menelaus #orpheus #eurydice #anyways try as they might Menelaus/Helen are superior

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rosesradio · 21 days ago

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For the halloween prompt, heres something i was going to do but got to lazy

So basically, there's a killer at CHB, and everyone thinks it's Nico except his boyfriend (whoever you want it to be) but his boyfriend betrays him and is revealed to be the killer

here you go, warning for general darkfic/suggestive content <33

A soft, tell-tale humming sounded through the trees. Flickering flames.

The scraping of a knife against wood.

Just the other day, Nico thought, Leo never would have caused harm to the nymphs. He had a soft spot for them, always chatting with them as he made his way to the Bunker.

Just the other day was a lifetime ago.

Nico curled in on himself, breath catching in his throat. He trembled where he sat, leaning against the tree that was quickly fading out of existence. The son of Hades could hardly blame her for trying to hide, trying to escape.

Nico was trying to do the exact same thing.

Truth be told, he could have ran farther. If his shadow travel wasn't hindered by his stupid overwhelming anxiety, he could have gotten away.

But he couldn't. Orpheus loved Eurydice, so he looked back. Nico loved Leo, so he stayed. He stayed in spite of what he knew.

"Gotcha, sweetheart!" Leo cooed, scraping around the tree with his large butcher knife just as it completely faded away. He pouted, wiping away green nymph blood on his sleeve. "I never was very good with women," he grinned, eyes lighting up maniacally as he picked Nico up by the sleeve, throwing him against another nearby tree. "But I'm happier playing with you instead…"

Nico coughed as his back hit the hard wood, the air temporarily knocked from his lungs. He whimpered as Leo approached closer, fumbling for his sword, but…he couldn't do it. It all felt like one big game. Any minute now, Leo would snap out of this—his gaze would be soft, his words concerning as he asked Nico if he was okay. Leo would do anything to take care of his boyfriend, to make him laugh and feel better.

But that didn't happen.

Because Nico knew his secret, and he would die with it.

"I don't appreciate how ungrateful you've been," Leo mused, pinning Nico to the tree. A hand wrapped around his throat. He didn't apply any pressure, though the threat was there. Nico stayed deadly still, his face flushing, his breathing heavier.

"I'm supposed to take care of you, muñeco," Leo continued. Underneath his eyes was dark—too many sleepless nights in the Bunker, concocting inventions once used for good.

Nico had seen the contents since. The son of Hephaestus had succumbed to a sick darkness inside of him, creating machines of torture like the world had never seen.

"You and I both know Will was getting too close to you," Leo explained. "He was playing with fire and he knew it, always flaunting around like he'd take you from me at any minute. He was dangerous. And I know you're mad at me, but…" he twirled his knife expertly between his fingers in his free hand, batting his lashes almost innocently at Nico. "When I was innocently going through his things and found a pair of your underwear, well…I had to do something. He couldn't just get away with something like that, sweetheart…"

Nico's lower lip trembled. His eyes stung.

"There were other things you could have done," Nico managed hoarsely. "Other things I could have done…"

Leo hummed, mockingly contemplating the idea before shaking his head. "I don't think so, Neeks. But it doesn't have to end this way. Stay with me! My machines, your power over the dead…we'd be the most powerful lovers in the world…" he leaned in, kissing Nico's cheek. He moved his lips down to his neck, the feeling soft and warm against the cold.

It was familiar. So painstakingly familair, it made Nico's heart ache.

He had lost his mind…but perhaps Nico could help him find it. Roadblocks happened in relationships all the time—what was a little murder when compared to Thanksgiving with the in-laws?

Nico loved him. Leo would surely be sent to the Fields of Punishment, but perhaps Nico loved him enough to follow him there.

#this was supposed to be open-ended but eh #sick bastard mad scientist leo ily <33 #valdangelo #leo valdez #nico di angelo #pjo #tw suggestive #asks

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xjulienbakerx · 6 months ago

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I think prompt 02 or 23 would be really cute, also so glad you’re gonna start writing again! :)

Thanks so much for sending in a prompt! I went with #23. Will probably do the cabin one later, too.

Lucky (Julien Baker x Reader RPF)

Julien surprises you by finally asking for a tarot reading. Prompt: a spacious, light-filled meadow.

Word Count: 1,059

Content: no smut, just sapphics reading tarot; lil bit of anxiety from JB

Disclaimer: this fic is inspired by a real person. don't read it if that bothers you. do not repost this fic off platform. do not share it with the person who inspired the character or anyone who knows them.

Prefer AO3? Read it here.

"Will you read my cards?"

You and Julien are resting on your backs on an oversized blanket in the middle of a spacious, light-filled meadow. You've been lying there for hours, enjoying the day and each other. You're currently spaced apart, just the tips of your fingers touching.

You open your eyes and squint against the sun, suddenly giddy. You turn to Julien with a hand shading your eyes.

She's staring up at the sky raw despite the sunglasses sitting off to her side. You hate how often she does that.

"You serious?"

She smiles but doesn't turn to look at you.

"Yeah, baby, I'm sure. I wanna see what you see."

You bite your lip against a smile and nod.

"Okay."

You'd both loaded up the back of JB's truck for your day trip. You've always been an over-packer and you wade through several jackets and changes of clothes until your fingers ghost across the only deck you brought along.

It’s your favorite, a gilded tarot deck featuring historical romances. It felt appropriate with how often you were both buried in a book.

You grab the deck along with the leather-bound journal you use to track your own readings. You can't pass up the opportunity to remember everything about reading for Julien. Who knows when she'll let you do it again.

When you get back to the blanket, Julien is sitting cross-legged with her hands resting on her knees. She visibly swallows and gives you the tiniest smile.

"Ready, baby?" you ask as you sit opposite Julien with the deck and journal between you.

She nods.

"Ok. Let's just start by breathing together."

Julien follows your lead, the two of you breathing gently in and out together for a few minutes. When Julien is at ease as she gets, you pull the cards out. Your hands dance over them as you clear them and start shuffling.

"Got any specific questions?"

She looks thoughtful.

"Mmm, no. Just wanna see what comes up."

You've never been one for spreads, content to read the cards as they come without boundaries.

You smile to yourself as you draw the cards, still unable to believe she’s trusting you with that unseen part of herself. You pull a few cards from the top of the deck until you feel done.

In front of you is a Five of Cups depicting Orpheus and Eurydice, Judgement represented by Hades and Persephone, and a Seven of Cups featuring Titania and Oberon.

“You’re fretting too much,” you say quietly, looking at the cards as they speak to you.

Julien snorts. “Me? Nah.”

“Yeah you, Baker…mmm. Running the same decision over and over in your head.”

You turn the cards around so that Julien can see them right side up. You walk her through the cards and their meanings to you.

“This story is all about being so in your head that you end up outside of yourself, which sucks on its own. But the thing being warned about here is that there isn’t really a choice that avoids change. I think you’re in a leaping season, gotta make big moves. You’re going to have to grow into an evolved version of yourself no matter which way you want to go. And that’s okay. You’re already you, can’t really do it wrong.”

She stares at you for a beat. “Fuck.”

You preen at her awe. This reading was the first you’d heard about what’s been going through her head lately.

Julien’s a loving, communicative partner but she needs time to process things before she brings them to you. She’s always worried about “making you” do the labor of processing things for her. You’ve told her dozens of times that it’s no bother, that you want to help unburden her even if you can’t fix anything. But time and space are what she needs and you’ve learned not to take it personally.

It’s nice to know you were dead on about whatever quiet battle she’s waging.

Julien gestures at the cards. “May I?”

You nod at her and she grabs each one, staring at the intricate designs and turning them over in her hands. When she gets to the Orpheus and Eurydice one, she lingers.

"Ya know, I used to think he was so stupid but now I get him,” she says. “Like, it’s not about what you think is true, it’s needing to know when it comes to the people you love. I don't think I could be anywhere and not know for sure if you were safe. Asking someone not to love like that is cruel."

You frown.

“Are you worrying about us?”

“No!” she shakes her head vehemently. “No no, not at all.”

She scoots closer and takes your hand, gently rubbing her thumb over the skin as she speaks.

“I just…,” she tucks her hair behind her ears and takes a deep breath. “The last year was so, so amazing but it changed me. I’m different now as an artist and as a person. I don’t want to go back to doing things the way I was before. I don’t…it feels really scary. Like, I can give people what they want from me or I can…experiment. Try new things. But then maybe they’ll be disappointed? I don’t know.”

The sun is beginning its descent for the day, currently covered behind some trees. Julien stares off for a while.

You watch her, struck by how the golden light makes her look like she’s glowing from the inside out.

When she’s ready to speak again, she squeezes your hand.

“I’m just really excited about this all. About you and me moving in together. About the new record. About the new dog…I just don’t want to fuck anything up.”

You shrug. “We’re all fuck ups. But you wanna hear something funny?”

“What?”

“This is literally what the cards were saying. That instead of fretting and worrying about what other people are doing or thinking about you, you just have to focus on what feels right for you. People will always have opinions and you can’t do anything about it. Just focus on making yourself happy. And when you can’t do that, I’ll help you.”

Julien smiles at you, her eyes wide and a bit misty.

“How’d I get so fuckin’ lucky?”

You lean in to give her a quick peck on the lips. “This is what I’m saying!”

icymi, here's a link to the prompt list. I'm trying to write short fics to get back into the writing groove. Send a prompt if you want a JB fic :)

#julien baker x reader #julien baker fanfic #julien baker #boygenius fanfic #xjulienbakerx #xjulienbakerx fic #julien baker rpf #julien baker fic

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 2 months ago

Text

Somehow, Through the Storm

Summary:

Living in the slums of the Warehouse District, Kaz and Inej are struggling to cling on to life through a seemingly unending winter. Wrapped up in a stranger's overcomplicated marriage contract that he is convinced is key to solving the merciless weather, Kaz remains busy and distracted for days on end, putting everything else at risk. So when a storm ravages the city and sweeps Inej into danger, the offer of safety, food, and a place to stay is an overwhelming one - no matter the cost. Terrified of mounting threats, Inej signs a contract - not knowing she would land herself trapped at the Menagerie. Kaz signs a contract that states if he can walk all the way through the city and back to the Warehouse District with Inej behind him, never looking back at her, they will both go free. But this is the Barrel, the darkest part of the city where the rules of physics can change with the stroke of a pen; the journey back will not be the same as journey there…

This is a Hadestown-inspired reimagining of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, casting Kaz and Inej as our main characters and heavily featuring our beloved Crows, set in an alternate version of the Grishaverse with a different magic system based entirely on contracts.

Tags: @lunarthecorvus @marielaure @multi-fandom-bi @igotthisaccountunderduress @thelibraryofalexandriastillburns @devoted-people-hater @spraypaintstainonawhitewall

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list let me know <3

Warnings for this chapter: implied sa references, slavery references (similar to Kerch indenture contracts), implied imprisonment

AO3 link:

Chapter 4 - Nina

The River Styx is a river of stone. And Hades lays them high and thick, with a million hands that are not his own.

- Epic II, Hadestown

Nina hated Ketterdam.

She lay on her side for almost an entire hour after she’d awoken, staring at the wall and keeping her hands clutched close to her chest in the warm little cocoon beneath her blanket. Her fingertips were cold as she stretched them out to touch the skin of her forearms, as far as she wanted to move for fear of losing her comfortable warm spot and failing to find it again, and ran them over the tattoos hidden under the sleeves of her nightclothes. Nina had three tattoos; two on her right arm, one on her left. Only one of them was important, but she lay and traced her fingers over all of them anyway. Just as she’d done before she fell asleep last night, and just as she would do tonight, and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow evening. At night it had become a strange comfort, something in the routine or the motion or the soft, kind touches she could give herself that could carry her away from this city as she closed her eyes, could trick her for a brief moment into comfort, even safety. In the morning, it was just anything to extend the minutes she spent alone, calm, quiet, for as long as possible.

She had to get up at some point, though. Nina sighed as she rolled out of bed and fumbled in the half-darkness for her slippers; dawn seemed to mean little in this city, with its endless winter and relentlessly thick clouds, so even when Nina begrudgingly parted the curtains it did little to illuminate the room. She peered through the slightly misted glass down to the street below.

It wasn’t particularly busy this morning, probably too late in the day for the work rush to be in full swing, but a few strangers in fine suits hurried over the road and disappeared between the buildings. Nina used to have a better view of the city from this window, looking out the Government and Zelvar Districts, her position on the fourth floor even letting her see the distant harbour and a pocket of the True Sea on a clear enough day. Not anymore though. The wall was too high for that by now. A cart trundled by on the street beneath her; an old wooden thing with a half-faded laurel painted on its side, pulled by a tired-looking horse and carrying more tired-looking workers next to the stacks of bricks within. Nina couldn’t see them properly from here but she knew the workers perched atop the cart were wraiths, that their eyes would be glassy and their voices non-existent. The horse plodded along the cobbles, making its way towards the wall even though the driver was paying far more attention to the wraiths huddled behind him than the road ahead. Nina watched them for a moment, until her throat became too dry to breathe and she forced herself to turn away.

What time was it? She must be due at the house relatively soon.

The Red Laurel Enterprise’s property extended down pretty much the entire street, this and the next building being accommodation for the Grisha who wrote the company’s contracts, but the house itself stood at the top of the road, glowering down on it like a castle casting shadows over its crooked kingdom. Nina was to report to the house each morning and if she was needed, which it would be a damn miracle if she weren’t, would complete her tasks for the day within its walls. Let it just be reviews, she thought, eyes drifting back to the window. Reviews were hardly easy, but they were better than drawing up a new contract from scratch. That was the kind of thing that she thought might drive her mad one day.

Someone shouted her name from down the hallway, and a moment later came a hammering on her door.

“Nina!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nina sighed as she shoved her arms into her dressing gown, tying it loosely as she crossed the room, “I’m coming,”

Nina hadn’t been expecting to see Eamon on the other side of the door, but of course it had to be him - why would her luck ever swing in a different direction? He smiled at her and a surprisingly charming dimple creased on his cheek, as though it existed for the singular purpose of juxtaposing the boy’s unpleasant, leering smirk.

“Nice to see you dressed for the occasion,” he said, leaning against the doorframe and very neatly placing his boot in the way of her closing it again. Not that she would’ve done, not matter how much she might’ve liked to trap his ugly fingers in the hinges, “Suits you,”

His eyes wandered up and down Nina’s gown, and she considered giving him a swift kick between the legs.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped, “Because if you’re just here to-”

“Don’t you own a calendar, love?” Eamon smiled again. Saints, he really did look punchable, “‘It’s changeover day,”

Nina felt something tense inside her chest, and hoped that it hadn’t been visible. How could she have let it slip so close to changeover without realising?

“I thought he didn’t need me until this afternoon,” she said, trying to keep her voice as casual as she could manage.

“Well you thought wrong then, din’t you? You fancy hurrying up? I ain’t got all day,”

“Then you’d better move out the way so I can close the door,”

Eamon huffed a small laugh, and for an unpleasant moment Nina didn’t think he was planning on leaving. But then he took a step backwards, and she slammed the door against his nose as quickly as she could.

Changeover day.

She closed her eyes and took a slow, shaky breath, trying to still her shivering hands.

Changeover day.

She’d done it before, and she could do it again.

Nina had been in Ketterdam for almost a year, and in that time had seen herself through three changeovers. She didn’t entirely understand how the deal struck between the Barrel and the Geldin District worked, but she was one of around twenty or so Grisha who officially resided in both areas. Every three months, the changeover came. Nina did not want to go back to the Barrel. But, of course, no-one had asked her for an opinion on that.

She dressed quickly, wrestled hair into a little red ruffle because there was more than one skiv around here who had an unpleasant habit of taking hold of it when it was loose, and shoved her feet into the single pair of shoes she owned. They didn’t exactly work with the outfit, the ridiculous little skirt and blouse embroidered to mimic a Grisha kefta that the Geldin District specifically required of her, but if Jan Van Eck didn’t like that then he’d just have to buy her a new pair. Maybe she should point out how incongruous the clunky leather boots were herself, just on the off chance that it meant she would get something new for once.

Eamon thumped his fist hard against the door again as Nina was washing her face, shouting for her to hurry up. She brushed a hurried line of gloss over her lips, then slipped out the door and ignored Eamon’s grumbling as they walked downstairs.

This outfit really wasn’t suitable for the weather. Goosebumps prickled up and down Nina’s legs as she followed Eamon through the front door and onto the damp cobblestones, a cold and angry breeze catching them the moment they stepped outside and clinging on so tightly that it may have been trying to pierce her flesh and dig right into her bones. Hopefully she would be able to get a seat below decks on the boat - it wasn’t a long journey, but she would gather together every crap of warmth she could for as long as possible. The walk to the Van Eck house wasn’t long either, but Nina was still almost surprised to discover that she hadn’t turned blue by the time they arrived.

They didn’t go in through the front entrance, of course, but were greeted at one of the side doors by a blank-eyed girl in dark uniform, a laurel tattoo on her arm that matched the one on Nina’s. Eamon practically threw his coat at her and Nina more than noted his wandering eyes, but either he wasn’t stupid enough to try anything in the house or he wasn’t stupid enough to try anything in front of Nina. Still, politenesses or none, Nina wasn’t sure she’d have minded withstanding whatever waited for her in the aftermath of beating him to a pulp in the middle of the Van Eck living room so long as she got to do it.

The girl hung Eamon’s tattered coat over the hatrack very much within his reach, then led them down the hallway in silence. Nina always found this house eerily quiet. It was too big for itself, like it was abandoned and ought to be overgrown with ivy and weeds. That might look prettier than the austere panelled walls that glared down at them now. She tried to imagine the carvings, which were mostly stories about Ghezen, the Kerch god of industry and commerce, replaced by leaves and flowers. Maybe they could even grow amongst the gaps between the bricks and tear down the wall. Maybe Ketterdam could fall to something as simple, something as complicated, as a single geranium.

Maybe Nina needed to give herself a firm shake.

The girl gave a quiet knock on an unnecessarily tall door, and a moment later they were inside the office. It was a spacious enough room, home to an oversized, ostentatious mahogany desk, a real DeKappel hanging on the wall, bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Behind his desk, of course, sat Jan Van Eck himself. Ever at his side was Marya, clad in the traditional black dresses of the merchant wives, a dark red rose tucked into her hair the only show of colour in her outfit. Nina had had two whole conversations with Marya Van Eck, and still she was just about her favourite person in the entire city - or at the very least, the only person she could stand. Right now she looked distinctly bored, an expression she was making absolutely no effort to hide from her husband, and Nina thought that was hilarious.

Nina bowed, as did Eamon - not even he was enough of an idiot not to - and waited a moment for acknowledgement. He always liked to make them wait.

“Nina Zenik?” asked Van Eck, glancing briefly up from the list of names laid out over his desk.

“Yes, sir,”

He beckoned her forwards, and Nina rolled her sleeves up as she obeyed. It was the same process every time.

Van Eck surveyed her left arm, where the laurel tattoo lay, first. At his instruction Nina turned her arm each way to show him that there was nothing new, nothing wrong with the mark, and then held herself very still as he reached out and took her wrist in his hand. He pressed his fingers hard into the ink of the tattoo, and in response it darkened and pulsated beneath his touch. Nina closed her eyes as her skin thrummed like something was trying to clamber out; Van Eck’s signature trying to return to him with every contact. Relief flooded through her chest as he released her, nodding his satisfaction, and the hot, rushing pressure vanished from her arm as quickly as it had appeared. She opened her eyes to meet Marya’s sympathetic gaze, and tried to smile - and tried to keep her gaze from drifting to the woman’s gloves. Nina was very much in the minority of people who knew what was hidden underneath them, and she definitely didn’t need Jan Van Eck knowing that she knew.

Van Eck nodded at her other arm, and she raised it up. There were two tattoos on this one; a ring of growing ferns around her bicep, and a lion curled into the shape of a crown sleeping on her forearm. They rattled through the usual questions about them - Where did she do her work for Rollins? The Sweet Shoppe. What did she do for him? Exactly what she did here. When had she signed the contract? The day after she signed the one with the Red Laurel Enterprise. Who had drawn up the contract? She had. And the ferns? A prior contract. With? Matthias Helvar. Where is he? Hellgate prison. Has she had any contact with him? No. When did they sign their contract? A little over a year ago. Who had drawn it up? She had. Did she have the contract? No. Did he? No. Where was it? Lost somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, with no hopes of ever being undone.

Saints, you’d think that they could just write all this nonsense down somewhere. Why did he have to make her say it every time? Though maybe it was good for her. Maybe if she wasn’t forced to stand here and relive everything she had done to Matthias, the memory of its pain would start to fade. She couldn’t have it do that. She wouldn’t let it.

Van Eck nodded.

“Alright then. Thank you for your service,”

It almost took effort not to laugh at that. Nine gave each of the Van Ecks a polite nod.

“Sir, Ma’am,”

Van Eck waved his hand to dismiss them, and Nina bid them good day as she turned around and murmured something she hoped sounded polite about seeing them in three months.

“Oh, I’ll miss you this time, dear,” said Marya, softly, the first time she’d spoken at all.

Her voice was gentle and melodic, like at any given moment she might be about to sing, or like she knew how to shape the world around her into a tune with every word. Nina wasn’t sure if she was supposed to turn back or not, but when Marya kept talking she decided it was probably more polite to look at her as she did so.

“I’m visiting my mother for a few months at…” she glanced at her husband, smiling at him, “well it’s about at the same time, isn’t it?”

His only response was to nod.

“So I suppose I’ll see you in nine months, Nina,”

Nine months? Of course, yes. Nine months.

It took Nina a moment to form words, but when her voice finally answered her she could only wish Marya a pleasant trip, politely excuse herself, and try to hold back the need to run from the room.

Nine more months. Here. In Ketterdam. Right.

Nina stared at her beaten up shoes as she followed Eamon towards the harbour, and the melancholic melody of Marya Van Eck’s voice followed her all the way.

“Have you had any contact with Matthias Helvar in the past three months?”

“No,”

Nina resisted the urge to sigh. Had she not just been through this with Van Eck? This Saintsforsaken system was nothing if not thorough.

“And do either of you have a copy of this contract?” asked Rollins through the cigar tucked between his teeth, leaning back in his chair as he shook out the match he’d just used.

The office above the Emerald Palace was both similar to and completely unlike that of Jan Van Eck. It was dissimilar in its colour - its outright gaudiness, to be frank - and its shimmer had a fake, almost cheap sheen to it even though Nina was sure it had taken a good amount of cash to fill it with all this nonsense. It was exactly the same as Van Eck’s office in that both of them were the most ridiculous show of overcompensation that Nina had ever witnessed with her own two eyes.

“No,” she repeated, through gritted teeth as she tried to argue her impatience deeper into her stomach to hide, “It was lost off the coast of Fjerda,”

“Destroyed?”

Saints, he was making Nina want to bang her head against something.

“Well it's made of paper and it sank to the bottom of the ocean, if you need help connecting the dots then-”

“That’s enough,” he snapped.

Nina bit her tongue, but thankfully Rollins appeared to be done. He waved her off impatiently, and you definitely didn’t have to tell her twice. Besides, now that all of the ridiculous meetings were done she didn’t need to have an escort. She was free of Eamon and she could wander to the Sweet Shoppe in her own damn time - although, in saying that, it was still cold outside and she was still wearing a skirt that didn’t reach her knees, so the walk probably wouldn’t be turned into a long one.

Nina hated Ketterdam. But it was probably fair to say that she hated the Barrel, individually, even more. The Staves were both busy as she moved across from East to West, buzzing and thrumming with the endless sound of brightly-costumed thrill seekers moving through the streets and over the bridges, moving like they were one creature, ebbing and flowing as though the canals had burst their banks and were crawling over the cobbles. As she approached Goedmed Bridge, where most of the bigger pleasure houses were situated, a barge passed along the canal close enough for to see a wraith in purple silks with someone’s arms tight around her. She stared blankly out over the barrier and into the city as he leaned closer, until his lips met her neck and she tilted upwards in response to the movement. Nina closed her eyes for a moment. If she’d thought anyone was listening, maybe she would have prayed.

By the time she arrived, Nina wanted to wrap herself in a blanket and hide away in her room at the Sweet Shoppe for as long as humanly possible, doing nothing and speaking to no-one. But, typically, it was apparently not going to be her choice - the first thing she saw when she slipped into the third floor bedroom was a note on the table in unmistakable, scratchy handwriting.

Boundary stone, 5 bells. Someone you should meet.

Nina was just about ready to rip the note into shreds and scream into a pillow.

Of course Kaz Brekker knew it was changeover day. And, of course, he couldn’t let her have two minutes of something that might have vaguely resembled peace.

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im-not-corrupted · 1 year ago

Text

Part 1/6 of my merman Hob au (also on ao3 here!), of which I previously posted a snippet of here. Chapters two and three are half done so far so updates may take a bit? I’m not sure but we shall see!

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Merman!Hob, Human Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, the fantasy is very vague but like. mermaids., Dream of the Endless | Morpheus has Depression, Grief/Mourning, deals with the death of Orpheus, and Dream and Calliope's divorce, Brief suicidal ideation, Near Death Experiences, Drowning, Touch-Starved Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, POV Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Arranged Marriage, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Saves Hob Gadling, Developing Friendships

—————

The first time Morpheus de Endeles steps foot on a ship, it is with the intention of sailing to his wife’s homeland—the place of her birth, the place her parents rule, the place their son once knew far greater than he does now.

Ex wife, that is. They are no longer married now, because he had thoroughly ruined whatever the two of them had. The divorce had been a swift affair, and he is glad for it, despite the uproar it caused amongst his parent’s court and the disappointment his parents expressed in the face of such disaster. Last they saw one another, Calliope’s parting words had been scathing things, weapons made to kill and maim and cause the most damage possible while doing so.

She hates him now. This he acknowledges distantly as he steps on board the ship, feeling a little like he walks towards his own death. More than once, he bore witness to the end of a criminal’s life with the distinct impression that justice had been served, brutally and efficiently. Now he wonders if this is how they felt, facing their own end.

A bleak thought to start the trip off on, but that seems appropriate. If the knowledge of Calliope’s hatred for him is a distant thing, that is only because his mind remains occupied by other recent events. Namely, his son’s death.

The first time Morpheus de Endeles boards a ship, he does so with the intention of sailing to his son’s funeral.

Calliope insisted—over letters, written in elegant, swooping hand that did nothing to hide the sharp edges to her words—that Orpheus be buried in her homeland. And though the knowledge of her hatred is a distant thing, and has been since she spoke her last parting words, there was room inside him even then for the ache that arose as he read that letter.

There was more than enough room inside him for the guilt, too. There still is. You sent our son off to his death, Calliope hissed at him. This, he knows, is true. It is a different kind of agony, this knowledge. To know his son is dead is one thing. To be the one to blame, to have Orpheus’s blood stain his hands however indirectly—well, that is another thing entirely.

It was also this knowledge that prompted him to grant his past wife this wish and agree that Orpheus should be buried in her homeland. It was, he figures, the least he could do. He had subjected her to the same pain that currently sits inside his chest, an agony he thinks he won’t be rid of for as long as he lives. If this would soothe some of that agony for her, then he will gladly make that sacrifice for her.

On this ship is Telute, too. As Morpheus stands by the railing, looking out at the sea and the sky with a sense of detachment he has not felt since dear Del’s death, she stands beside him. She is dressed similarly to him, in mourning regalia. This is not so different to either of their typical styles—black suits them both well, and they each prefer the darker, drearier colours to those Epithumia tends to don.

She places a gentle hand on his shoulder. It is a comforting weight. His shoulders bow underneath it. He does not deserve this comfort—She is dead, he told Orpheus, unsympathetic as he wept for his lost love Eurydice, and yet you live. So live.—but he is a greedy thing, and therefore does not push her away.

She does not speak. She does not move away, either. Not as the sails are raised, commands shouted across the deck of the ship. Not as they begin to leave the harbour, and any sense of familiarity. She remains there, standing beside him, in a show of solidarity as the ship begins to move.

The swaying motion leaves him feeling ill. He pushes it down insistently. It is a feeling he must bear—a punishment, for all he has brought upon both his own family and Calliope. The disappointment in Nyx’s eyes, the rage in Cronos’s, and Calliope’s final words are not things he is likely to forget. He holds them close to his chest, a reminder of his own failures and regrets. Perhaps this way, he will not make them again.

A foolish thought, that. He has always been particularly resistant to the idea of change.

”It’ll be alright,” Telute tells him softly.

It is not a comfort. He nods stiffly anyway.

The two siblings remain standing for a while, silent and still as statues, and the feeling of dread doesn’t leave him for the duration of the trip.

+++

It is a quiet affair, the funeral. The hushed air, the grief that seems to live in it, do not disguise the looks he receives from both Calliope and her sisters. They hate him too. He does not begrudge them this, and tries his best to ignore them.

They are not his concern. His concern is Orpheus—his dear son, whose eyes were the same lovely brown as Calliope’s, whose raven hair curled at the nape of his neck. Orpheus was a joy, with a grin made for laughter and a voice made for singing. His affinity for music made things all the brighter back at home—there was no way to be miserable, even under the shadow of his parents, when Orpheus sang or played the lute. It was his own joy that made it so lovely, Morpheus thinks. It had been infectious. He had been made for music, and that became apparent with every string he plucked and note he hit.

This reminder made the funeral all the more painful. It is spent mostly in silence, broken only by the weeping of immediate family members and speeches made by Orpheus’s Calliope’s family. Not himself—he adamantly refuses when Calliope offers him the chance. It disappoints her, he sees it in her face, but how is he supposed to put words to the grief he felt over his son’s death? How is he supposed to speak and remain composed while reliving the death of one he loves more than he has loved anything or anybody before?

The silence is a mournful thing, sorrowful and weighing heavy. He thinks, for a moment, that he should’ve liked to hear Orpheus play at least once more before his death.

He does not cry. He is too scraped raw for that, for tears to come to his eyes. (Later, Calliope admonishes him about it. They are the last two standing before his grave, the sight o the name Orpheus carved into his headstone a knife in his chest. You did not even cry, she murmurs, her voice a terribly brittle thing. And Morpheus stands there and wishes he could turn back time, that the names they were given meant something more than abstract concepts. You do not even care.) He wants to cry. He wants to shed tears over his son’s death, to rage and agonise and scream at the sky. It all seems terribly unfair.

Telute remains by his side. Their arms are interlocked, now, his sister’s hand on his arm, and he is glad for her. For the steady, comforting presence she offers—for the ability to lean on her, to let himself succumb to despair while she remains the strong one. He has always looked up to Telute, to his dear sister Death, and he is more grateful than he thinks he can ever put into words for the fact that she didn’t leave him to face this by himself. He does not know if he would’ve coped otherwise.

She leaves him eventually, as those gathered begin to disperse. “You should say your own goodbyes,” she tells him, head tilting towards Orpheus’s new grave. Calliope sits before it, a motionless study of sorrow and mourning.

She is wise, dear Telute. He knows this. He knows this well. Always, she has had the answers, the right words to say. She is right about this, too.

But he stares after Calliope and yearns. Yearns to reach out, to offer a comforting hand on her shoulder or his own shoulder to cry on. Neither of those are things she will welcome. He does not blame her for this, but the yearning does not follow any kind of logic he knows of. They are nothing now, their relationship little more than ashes between them. His memories of their time together is soured by grief, by frustration and rage aimed at this entire damned situation, the hopelessness he feels so keenly.

He loves her still. Would offer her comfort despite it all, if he knew she’d accept it.

”I should,” he agrees softly. He doesn’t move. He isn’t sure he can. Grief has made his heart a cold, hardened thing. He is chilled with it, his blood like ice in his veins.

Telute offers him a terribly sympathetic look. It grates on him, makes him clench his jaw. He does not need pity.

Yet he would not dare say such a thing to his sister, and so she ignores the affronted expression he knows he wears and urges, “Go.”

He does. Calliope speaks to him only once, and it is as painful as the funeral itself. (I care, he wants to tell her. He wants to scream it, wants to make sure she knows. I care. He was my son, too.) She leaves him standing by their son’s grave.

He does not cry even then. He leaves a flower atop the gravestone instead, knowing it will be a while until he sees it again, and returns to Telute. (His eyes sting as they make their way back to their accommodations. He cries then. A single tear, but it is something.)

+++

The second time Morpheus de Endeles boards a ship, it is to return to his own homeland. It is to turn his back on his son, on the woman he once called wife and still loves as one despite her thorough abandonment of her. (There is a slowly rising anger there, too, as he thinks of her hardened eyes, once so gentle, as she accused him of not caring. Does she not know him better than that? Did their five years of marriage amount to nothing, for her to know him so little?)

It is also to face his first storm at sea, and to nearly drown.

It happens after a week and a half on the sea. They are nearly home, the captain tells him. He is a prideful thing, this captain, sure of himself and his abilities. I have not steered this ship wrong before, my Lord, he says, and this is enough for Morpheus, who only wishes to return to his home and immerse himself in the library so he might escape the horror of the last couple of months. He finds himself too tired to ask further questions, and simply leaves to return to his own cabin. His body has mostly acclimated to sea travel now—his stomach no longer feels like it is about to betray him at any given moment, and he is able to walk steadily.

A day later, they are hit by a storm.

It is a brutal, savage thing. At first, it is just the rain—the sky opens up above them to drench them in rain, the event so sudden it comes as a surprise. The skies were overcast before this, yes, but not bad enough for a storm so terrible, surely.

The sudden winds rip at them fiercely. The tides, which had been gentle for their journey so far, turn violent, larger than he ever imagined the sea capable of. His own fault, that—there are many stories about the brutality of the ocean, the fury that hides within its depths. He simply forgot about them, distracted by the beauty of the sun glistening on its calmer waves and the knowledge of why he stands atop a ship on the sea. He chose to see the beauty instead of the danger—he knows, in that moment, that he will not do the same a second time.

If he lives to see a second time. He is suddenly unsure he will—both sea water and rain drenches the deck. The crew hurries to obey the captain’s shouted, panicked orders, only just heard over the roaring winds. The ship tips and rocks and sways precariously. Morpheus grips onto the railing, tight enough his palms ache, and finds himself filled with a loud, insistent fear.

People die in the ocean all the time. The sea is not kind—it is full of rage and it is vengeful, determined to drown those who try to conquer it. He knows this. He knows this and yet he had let himself be distracted. And now he will die here, so soon after his son’s own death.

It is not that idea that terrifies him. Death does not scare him. He does not think it ever has. He believes not in any kind of afterlife—death, he believes, is simply nothing. To die is to no longer exist. There is beauty in that, he thinks. He is tired of existing already, and the grief that only swells within him makes that exhaustion all the more unbearable.

He does fear for his sister, though. His sister, whose eyes shine brightly, who treated his son kindly. Who had been there for him during his younger years, when misery clung to him like a parasite and sucked him dry of all desire for life. She does not understand him properly and often says the wrong things, but Morpheus doesn’t think that’s the point. She tries. She cares, offering him soft, fond smiles that are sometimes exasperated. She loves him, and even made this journey for him.

He thinks she does not deserve to die. He thinks, too, that he would do any number of things to ensure she makes it out.

There are shouts on the air, growing more urgent by the second. This is, surely, proof that this storm is far stronger than the rest of them, and he grits his teeth. Insistently, he surveys the crew as they rush back and forth, only—only he cannot see Telute anywhere. She doesn’t seem to be on the main deck, or perhaps he isn’t looking hard enough. The ship rocks and sways and his stomach lurches with it—he is not used to so much violent movement, and it is distracting.

But he steels his spine and stumbles across the deck, shouting as loud as he can, “Telute!”

”My Lord,” somebody says behind him, and he whirls—too fast, for his stomach lurches and he fears then that he will throw up, which would certainly be a reaction to have here and now—to find Lucienne standing behind him, her expression panicked and concerned. “My Lord, we must get you onto one of the boats.”

”No,” he denies immediately. The worst of his nausea dissipates but his voice still feels weak. He looks past Lucienne, ignoring the rain drenching his clothes and his face and his hair, and tries desperately to find Telute. “No. I must—I must find my sister.”

”My Lord, Jessamy is looking for her,” Lucienne informs him. When he returns his attention to her face, there is a quiet devastation there, and he regrets how harshly he spoke to her. She is a patient advisor, dear Lucienne. She does not deserve his harshness. Not now and not ever. “You must come with me now.”

He would trust Jessamy with his life, if it came to that. There is nobody more steadfast, nobody more loyal, than her. If she searches for Telute, there is little chance that she will stop until she inevitably finds her. Her stubborn streak runs bright, as does her loyalty to the Royal Family.

It is enough to inspire relief. Enough to make his shoulders slump for a moment—and as he says, “Very well,” he sees Jessamy escort a rather worried-looking Telute, who glances over her shoulder frantically, desperately. She will be safe, then.

“This way, my Lord,” Lucienne urges him, and he makes to follow.

He takes nothing more than a single step before the ship crests another wave violently, the winds driving them in the wrong direction, and it suddenly tips.

There is nothing for him to grab immediately, save Lucienne. Only, as he loses his footing and watches as Lucienne quickly regains hers, he doesn’t think that would be fair. If he falls—and he is, he realises belatedly, he is falling and falling and the violent, beautiful sea has never seemed quite so close—if he falls, he knows he would only drag her down with him. He is unaccustomed to this, to being upon the sea like so. He was not made for this. He was made for a throne to sit beside his parents’, and then beside his elder brother when his time eventually comes, just like the rest of their siblings. If not that, then marriage to another kingdom, to keep their ties strong, to keep trades between countries going. His fate was never supposed to be this.

He loses his footing and he falls and there is railing behind his back, digging in, and panic flares inside his chest. The ship is righted quickly, only to be assaulted again, and he does not cling tightly enough to the railing behind him to stop himself from falling overboard.

Then he is in the ocean. It is frigid, freezing, and he gasps loudly when he breaks the surface. It is the kind of cold that could seep through to bone, that could freeze him all the way through until he is nothing but ice.

He never really learned how to swim properly, but he knows enough to keep himself afloat. The winds whip his hair, soaked through with rain and sea water both, into his face, and he is not sure how he can make it out of this. The ship he fell from is being pushed away from him, the winds terrifyingly strong, despite efforts of the crew and the captain. With some deep-rooted instinct, he tries to swim forward, cursing inwardly at himself and his younger mind’s insistence on finding pleasure in things other than his lessons.

For a moment, it seems like he may be capable of making it back. It seems like he could truly do it, could make it close enough to the ship they could help him back up, or close enough they might be able to pull him back up.

Then a wave crests behind him, shadowing him, a great, looming giant, and falls atop him without a care in the world.

He is pulled under the surface of the ocean and holds his breath intently. It is dark down there. The sea pushes him from seemingly every direction, with the same ferocity as the storm, and try as he does to push against the currents, he is unable to do much at all. The surface remains terribly distant, and that distance seems suddenly insurmountable. He knows, with abrupt and perfect clarity, that he is not making it out of there.

Morpheus de Endeless does not often contemplate death. Not truly.

There are thoughts, of course, that sneak past his own defences. They boil down to this: If I were to die today, I do not think I would mind. Ultimately, that is easy to ignore, to push away. He does not truly want to die, the way he knows some people do. He has his duties to his family, after all. He simply would not mind if death caught him in its clutches.

Now, with his lungs burning and his frantic struggles against the damned ocean proving futile, he thinks this may be preferable. Beneath all the pain of oxygen deprivation as he stubbornly refuses to try to take in a breath only to swallow the ocean into his lungs lies the grief, the ache, the knowledge that he so thoroughly ruined everything good he somehow managed to make his own. His Calliope. His Orpheus. His loves. One hates him now. The other is buried in the ground at only nineteen, hardly an adult and far too young to lose. His parents’ disappointment is an easy thing to conjure up in his mind, and he hates that just as much as he does his losses. What is there left for him, above the surface? At home?

When he frames it like that, he thinks—he thinks it would not be so terrible to face death. He thinks it might be better than rising another day only to remember his son is gone, to see another sunset and acknowledge the fact that Orpheus will not get to see one again.

When he thinks about it like that, it is remarkably easy to stop struggling. Involuntarily, he tries to suck in a breath only to choke on ocean water, and now he is stuck in an endless cycle of pain as he slowly drowns. His head feels…fuzzy, his vision full of little black spots. Distantly, he knows this isn’t good. Knows if he doesn’t do something, he will not make it out of this alive.

He does not want to. The ocean is not violent, he realises now. It is kind, and offers him a reprieve as his body slowly sinks, weighed down by the rich fabrics he wears, as his vision grows hazy and dark and keeping his eyelids open seems like an insurmountable task.

Before he closes them properly, he thinks—he thinks he sees something in the water. A figure, moving towards him. A person, perhaps, only—only that looks like a fish’s tail, fins and all.

Then his eyes fall shut, blocking out everything around him, and he loses himself to the void and the cold and the blissful, welcoming nothing that waits for him beyond.

+++

He awakes with a gasping, heaving breath. His lungs are greedy things, sucking in air with desperation, and he presses a hand to his chest. Beneath his palm, his heart races. Adrenaline and panic both fill his veins and his hand shakes. His lungs feel full, but as he coughs mostly involuntarily, nothing comes up.

It takes a bit for him to calm down. When he does, when his lungs stop heaving and he stops coughing and he is left with nothing but an ache in his lungs, his head and a rawness in his throat, he looks around himself.

He sits on a beach, the sands golden and kissed by the sun. It shines down on him, blessing his face with its light. His clothes are soaked through and no doubt ruined, and before him—before him is the ocean.

It holds none of the fierceness he saw earlier, and he stares at it blankly. It looks as welcoming, as lovely, as it did the day he stepped on board the ship. His mind had been occupied then, yes, but he had enough awareness to acknowledge the sea’s beauty.

Not enough awareness to acknowledge its dangers, though. He remembers in startling clarity the coldness of its waters, the ferocity with which it drowned him, the storm that waged and threw him overboard.

He should’ve been more careful.

It is not just the ocean that lies before him, he realises after a moment, but a man, too. A man, staring at him with honey-eyes that catch the sunlight as though they were made for it, with a curiosity on his face that, if it weren’t for the sudden anxiety twisting his all-too empty stomach, would’ve endeared him immediately. His skin is tan, golden like the sands, and some distant part of his brain wants to press his lips to that skin and find out what it tastes like for himself. Like ocean salt and sweat and the sun itself, he thinks, and then considers the possibility that he may have suffered some brain damage due to oxygen deprivation.

It takes him a bit to find his voice. During that time, the man—sitting in the ocean as though he belongs there, ignorant of its gentle waves lapping at him—continues to stare, head tilted like a particularly curious bird.

“Who are you?” Morpheus asks, wincing at the hoarseness of his throat. It feels scraped raw, and he thinks he would like to simply not speak for a while, only—only this is rather strange, isn’t it?

The man’s shoulders shake with laughter. He is a beautiful creature, this man, with chestnut hair framing his joyful face. Laughter, and amusement, becomes him. Distantly, Morpheus is aware that he should probably take offence at the man’s laughter, only—only he doesn’t really have the energy. If anything, he thinks he’d much rather sleep. “The one who saved you, obviously. Or did you forget you nearly drowned?"

He has half a mind to scowl at the strange man in the water, but only just has enough energy to narrow his eyes. "You saved me," he repeats dumbly. In his defence, he did nearly drown, and sleep calls to him now, an alluring song. Nearly drowning is, apparently, rather exhausting. "We were in the middle of the ocean. We weren't even close to any land. How did you—"

Come to think of it, he can't recall whether he has seen this man's face before. Though perhaps that's explained easily. He was distracted on the ship, after all, and it wasn't like he went out of the way to remember the entire crew. Both Telute and Lucienne always said he should try to interact with people a little more than he does, but he thinks recent events made him exempt from that rule these last few months.

Still. The man's statement doesn't really make sense. They were in the middle of an ocean, and in a storm no less. It would've been impossible for the man to save him then, at least not without a boat or ship of his own.

Thinking of it makes his head hurt more. For a moment he feels ready to simply shrug and accept the nonsensical answer as truth in the hopes that maybe the man would leave him to rest. Logically, he knows that isn't what will happen at all. If this man knows who Morpheus is, if he recognises him, then there will be some kind of demand. A boon for saving Prince Morpheus de Endeles’s life.

He can't do anything about that now, though, and the idea of laying on this beach and letting himself wither under the sun's heat seems very appealing. He doesn't even know where they are, or how close he is to his kingdom. How he's supposed to make it back in this condition, he doesn't know. The task seems impossible, in all honesty.

The man does not leave him to rest, not even when Morpheus simply nods stiffly and says, "Sure. Saved me. Alright." He remains in the ocean actually, the waves lapping at his torso, and continues to stare at him expectantly as though waiting for something more. Eventually, he rolls his eyes—Rude, Morpheus thinks, but hardly cares in the moment–and moves a little closer. It looks almost like the ocean parts for him, but that's ridiculous.

Then—well, then things get even stranger. Which also seems impossible, but—there they are. The man shifts in the water and brings what looks like a tail out of the ocean, all golden scales and fins. Beautiful, he thinks, knowing he's staring but unable to help it. Of course the man's tail would be golden. That only makes sense when the rest of him could've been carved from sunlight.

A little belatedly, he realises just what he's staring at. Which is the man, who has a fish's tail instead of legs.

Hallucinating. He is hallucinating, then. That makes sense. Still, he can't help but laugh quietly—it makes him wince, his lungs still raw and tender, but the pain is temporary and certainly doesn't matter much if he's hallucinating—and says, "You're a merman."

The statement is ludicrous. Morpheus wonders just how much damage nearly drowning can do to a person, and then figures he doesn't want to know at all, actually.

"That is what you call us, yes," the man agrees easily.

Sure. Why not? "Why did you save me then?"

He shrugs softly. “Too pretty for death,” the—the merman, of all things, tells him. It sounds almost petulant.

He is losing his mind. He had swallowed a lot of water. A merman. “One can be too pretty for death?” he asks weakly, his throat hoarse and his chest tight with pain. The ridiculous nature of the question at least makes that pain easy to ignore. It will get him later, he knows that much, but he lets himself be distracted by his amusement at the situation for a while.

The merman blinks at him, expression ever-serious. “You are.”

”Right.” Right. Of course. Too pretty for death. That makes sense. As much sense as a merman fishing him out of the water does, anyway.

Whatever energy allowed him to carry this conversation leaves him suddenly and he falls onto his back on top of the sand, his elbows failing to hold him up any longer. The sun glares down at him and he gazes back up at it blearily. Exhaustion clings to him just as the beach does to his sea-soaked clothes. Sleep seems like a wonderful, bright idea.

He let his eyes fall shut. It isn't very effective for blocking out the sun’s rays—it remains insistent, and closing his eyes doesn't give him the satisfaction of darkness that he dearly wants. Still, while that would’ve been a problem any other time, his body yearns for the void, to let the dark take him. It would be easy to simply lay here and wither, until either the tide takes him or someone finds him. Whichever comes first. He doesn’t mind either way.

Then the merman speaks again. “Are you dying, pretty one?”

It takes a great deal of effort, but he grunts, “No.”

”Are you sure?”

He is not, actually. But that is no concern of this mermaid, and he merely answers, “I am certain.”

Silence follows that statement. Morpheus lets himself relax, lets himself hope this is it. He can sleep now, he thinks, and the thought is almost blissful—and then he is quickly proven wrong, for the merman states, “You look like you’re dying. Does anybody look for you?”

He hardly cares. Distantly, though, he thinks Lucienne might be. Jessamy and Matthew, too, maybe. “Perhaps,” he says after a couple of minutes pass, when he realises he has not yet replied. "I would like to sleep now."

The merman makes a considering noise. "I do not know much about humans," he says slowly, and Morpheus can practically feel the concern in his voice now, "but I'm pretty sure that's a bad idea. I'll stay and talk to you until you're found."

"Must you?" he asks, a desperate edge to his voice. The merman's voice is pleasant enough, yes, but rest is the preferred option here, regardless of what he says.

"Yes," he confirms. Morpheus's eyes are still closed so he can't actually see but he can imagine the smile on his face easily enough.

He sighs heavily and wonders what he did to deserve this. Then figures this is some weird, twisted kind of punishment for all that happened with Orpheus and Calliope and resigns himself to his fate. "Very well."

The merman talks, almost endlessly, until the sun is low in the sky. It is truly an impressive amount of talking. Morpheus doesn't remember much of that afternoon. At some point, he regains just enough energy to sit up, to listen more attentively. The merman, whose name he doesn't learn, seems to appreciate that. And just when despair begins to eat at him—I will not be found, he thinks and despite his inaction while he sank into the ocean, the idea panics him, I will die on this beach—there are calls of his name from behind him. They are voices he recognises and his heart picks up its pace when he turns around to see Lucienne, Telute and Jessamy walking down the beach towards him, each of them looking a little rough but all of them alive.

When he turns back to the ocean, the merman is no longer there, and Morpheus wonders if he dreamt the whole thing up. He does not mention it as Jessamy helps him to his feet, as Telute pulls him in for a hug, as the three of them begin to make it back home, to their duties, but he does not forget the kind eyes of the man who saved him from death at the hands of the ocean.

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #morpheus dream of the endless #dreamling fic #the sandman fic #merman au #eris writes things #death of the endless

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aingeal98 · 1 year ago

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hello hello! i saw your post and need your thoughts and verdict (hypothetically) for yhk in the last chapter. what would yjh and hsy do once kdj woke up, what if he never woke up and remains unreachable to them after all the effort?

thoughts on doksoo/ joongdok centric and which (poignant) scene makes a neuron lit up and go ah, them. and makes you go crazy, like, every single scene might as well an orpheus and eurydice-d, such as that "cancel your skill, kim dokja"

DHGFVJDFGV sorry you're just such a joy to read on the tags as you go through the story on tumblr since the yhk tags are most often then not, lifeless

Aaaaa thank you for this it's a fun ask! :D

Personally I believe Dokja woke up. Both because I want a happy ending for them and because I wouldn't put it past yoohan to track down and kill everyone who read orv and imagined a sad ending. But also I think him waking up is only the first step. There's no way things aren't complicated afterwards because Dokja will feel guilty for putting his friends through the trauma of losing him and his friends will try and convince him that he deserves love and they don't mind but at the same time the trauma is real and it's there. So it's going to be a long road to helping him forgive himself even if they all have done so already.

I feel like YJH would be pushy at first. Like this is the guy who became a terrorist rather than try therapy. He wants to find meaning through Dokja, to ask Dokja how he's supposed to live now, and that's a lot of pressure that none of the others will want to fall on Dokja's shoulders. Which I think will be good for HSY because it let's her fall into the comfortable zone of yelling at YJH for being terrible at expressing himself and ignoring her own terrible emotions as much as possible in the mean time. So I kind of see it like:

YJH & HSY: Screaming clawing kicking biting each other outside the hospital because HSY thinks YJH is being too pushy with Dokja and YJH thinks he's helping both of them by asking Dokja for guidance and HSY is getting in the way of his recovery.

Sangah, calmly pouring herself and Dokja tea inside his hospital room: So I spoke to your mother today and she'll be here soon! Oh don't worry about those two they'll probably only break a few bones.

But then if he never did wake up... I don't think either of them would be able to truly move on. I think they'd keep hoping that he would get better and the longer he doesn't the more the likelihood grows that one of them snaps and comes up with another reckless life threatening plan to increase the odds of his recovery. I'm not sure what it'd be but I like to think HSY is the one that snaps first this time. Just goes up to YJH like "hey are you ready for me to subject you to more horrendous torment for the slim tiny chance that it could make Dokja wake up" and YJH is like "naturally".

Whether they actually succeed or whether their plan is so terrible and hopeless that Sangah has to step in and force them to accept he's gone (an impossible task but she'll push them as close to the acceptance stage of grief as she possibly can.) I'm not sure. Either way it'd be fun to read about. I haven't looked into the side stories yet but I'm curious if they might make me change my mind about any of this. For now this is how I imagine it going down anyways.

Doksoo are insane and they consume my every waking thought. Reading the webtoon after the novel is so crazy because HSY really shows up as this random villain and no one including her has any idea that she's one of the three most important people in the universe. Like she's just a little fella. A prankster who's pranks sometimes involve murder. And the way she and Dokja are so unimpressed by each other and have no idea how much they'll end up loving each other... I feel like rereading any early doksoo interaction is going to come with extra loud clown music like even Dokja calling her a plagiarist and Sooyoung being like ugh you're such a cliche like oh you dumbasses. You have no idea.

I enjoyed both doksoo and joongdok's early banter a lot like it always added a ton of energy into every scene. But the moments it really clicked for me was the whole reincarnation island arc for doksoo. Like reading his narration about Sooyoung it's like ohhhh my god he's down bad. He's as in love as I am. He doesn't even realise it but he is so enamoured by her. Like that was the moment I could see the potential for them to become as important to each other as they did. The foundation and foreshadowing was done so well, not one bit of their relationship progression felt unearned.

And then for joongdok I think it was their divorce era that really got me on board. Like they were fun in the early stages but once Dokja is convinced there's no going back and is actually emotionally vulnerable and honest with YJH and YJH gets to vent his own frustrations about being nothing more than a character... It really solidified their bond for me. It brought Dokja down to YJH's level rather than the reader he was trying to be to YJH's character. Plus we get HSY dying and traumatising Dokja for once instead of the reverse. It's what they deserve.

Also punisher and transfem YJH and everything that's implied in the novel and how that would add to to her dynamics with doksoo. Haven't gotten any solid thoughts on that yet but the concept is slowly taking a grip on me.

So yeah after the reincarnation island arc I was so fully on board with this ot3 and every single Orpheus moment that followed hit right into my heart.

Sorry this is so long and barely scratches the surface alsjsjdhdh. I'm still processing everything but man. What a story. What a trio. Wretched mirror soulmates with toxic codependency my beloveds.

#orv #orv spoilers #orv rambles #yoohankim #yoo joonghyuk #han sooyoung #kim dokja #asks

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yanderu-deredere · 1 year ago

Text

a/n: to commemorate the beginning of october (which his halloween month), i've decided to write this little cute thing! hope you guys like it hehehe

what they yanderes would wear as halloween costumes

warning: gender neutral reader, absolutely no mentions of reader being a specific gender, mentions of reader being sexy LOL, mentions of costumes that might not conform to reader's gender/crossdressing

eun-jeong yoo ★ profile

beauty and the beast lmao

eun-jeong would really want to do an animal cosplay with you doing a matching costumes

so like beauty and the beast, werewolf and red riding hood, wolf and sheep, etc etc

he'd be the type to like buy pre-made costumes but then he'll see how badly the pre-made costumes are and do the costumes up a little bit more LOL

he wouldn't do a good job of it but he'd try to make it look better

liam arieh ★ profile

mans is nothing if not a mythology freak

he'd be the worst date to take to a halloween party becos he'd do some obscure shit and then be a bit annoyed or arrogant when people can't guess who the two of you are dressed up as

think persephone and hades, aphrodite and ares, orpheus and eurydice, achilles and patroclus, pylades and orestes, etc

most people will just guess that you're a greek couple LOL

you could probably convince him do do an angel and devil couple

gavin byrne ★ profile

no jokes, he'd wanna do those like stereotypically sexy halloween costumes LMAO but like the both of you have to do the same one

like for example: two sexy nurses, two sexy black cats, two sexy demons, etc etc

and it'll be like exactly matching LMAO no matter your gender (if you're comfy), you guys would be wearing female nurse outfits or sexy witch outfits

and the worst part is that like he'd 100% buy them from spirit halloween or the local party store so they're not best quality either

ayaka yamato ★ profile

would die to be able to do a j-fashion lolita outfit with you LOL

she's always wanted to dress up that way but it's hard to go around in lolita fashion and also it's something that immediately sticks out so she's never done it

but yeah, it has to be something cute and frilly

she'd pay attention to detail a lot and commission some renowned tailor or something to do the outfits

they have to be the same colour scheme so that it's obvious the two of you are matching

ryuunosuke yamamoto ★ profile

anime couple, anime couple, anime couple--

it can literally be any anime couple you want but it has to be from an anime that both of you have watched together/that both of you really love

he's a professional-level cosplayer so like he'd take over (but will let you help if you really want) and the cosplay will literally turn out so so good

he won't shy away from like armour or mech suit type stuff either

fujio watanabe ★ profile

won't really wanna dress up but you can force him to LOL

will only wear a costume if the costume is really easy to put on

like it has to be as easy to put on as regular clothes. it has to be something like a shirt, pants, maybe head gear but like nothing too complicated so it has to be either a headband or a hat

so like you're stuck with really boring costumes like cowboy? police man? stuff like that LOL and they'd be the cheap kind you can buy

gawain byrne ★ profile

vampire, vampire, vampire--

but like not dracula vampire! oh no, it'd be like period specific vampire with the loose white ruffled long sleeve shirts and tight pants LMAO

very victorian gothic style

and you have to also wear victorian gothic style. you don't have to be a vampire tho but i think gawain would just have a lot of fun putting on fangs hehehe

he'd want your costume to include like two red puncture marks tho LOL to signal that you're his vampiric snack

ryouta watanabe ★ profile

not to be repetitive but like video game couple, video game couple, video game couple--

would totally dress up as mario and princess peach or luigi and bowser if you'd like LOL

as long as it's like a video game that both of you love to play

he'll also do a cosplay of more detailed outfits like something from league of legends or overwatch or valorant

he's also a seasoned cosplayer so it'd be easy peasy for him to make a cosplay for both you and him

yeong-bae kigal ★ profile

GOD I KNOW I JUST SAID IT BUT video game couple, video game couple--

but yeong-bae would want it to be a bit more cutesy? so definitely like cookie run cookies, pokemon?, mario characters? something like that

would shy away a little from more complicated outfits like mech armour or video game outfits from more fight-y games. not becos he doesn't like them but becos they really want to look adorable and cute with you LOL

yeong-bae is literally in charge of a lot of the outfits the band wears so like he'd be really great with making the halloween outfits

he wouldn't be professional level though and he'd ask a little help from their stylist

soren kumar ★ profile

BORING BITCH

he'd wanna do something work related or uniform related lmao like a police couple or like a nurse and doctor? it definitely would be the type of outfits that are readily available and would be low effort for him

also low-key just wants to see you in uniform LMAO not that it's a kink or anything but just that he thinks it'd be sexy

and it's very! heteronormative! nasty man! he'd wear the man police uniform and (regardless of gender) he'd want you to wear the woman police uniform (cus it's sexier!!), etc etc

you can definitely argue with him abt it loool and he'll relent

would get them from spirit halloween or some cheap store though

emm fiala ★ profile

would want to dress up as something where she can utilize her burns. think freddy kreuger, jason, deadpool, frankenstein's monster

would want you to be her victim if she dresses up as a slasher or maybe be the spiderman to her deadpool? or even better, be the bride to her frankenstein's monster?

she'd definitely be all over you, doting on you, if you decide to dress up as her bride LOL and then you, casimir and her can be a trio! (frankenstein, his monster and his monster's bride!!)

would want to be more hands-on with the harder stuff of the costume like masks or weaponry but is absolutely useless when it comes to finer detailing like sewing together the clothes

casimir fiala ★ profile

desperately wants to dress up as a mad scientist LMAO just becos he already has the lab coat right so might as well?

would love for you to dress up as his deranged patient or as frankenstein's monster? or as his science experiment?

the outfits would be very home made but casimir is good enough and sewing. he's also very resourceful about things and can figure out how to make a decent enough costume

mel lowell ★ profile

honestly would want to be a wolf and something else couple LOL and no, the irony does not escape him

so something like wolf and red riding hood, wolf and pigs, wolf and sheep, etc etc

would buy the costumes becos he can't really control his shift enough to not freak people out if the two of you go to a party or something

he'd definitely buy online though and he'd make sure they costumes are really durable and can last a long time just in case the two of you want to save them for something else? or for next year

isamu lowell ★ profile

doesn't wanna dress up LOL but not becos he doesn't like halloween! it's becos he wants to go as himself for halloween

unlike mel, he's very eager to just go as a werewolf!

but, like mel, he wants to do a wolf and something else kind of cosplay! honestly, at this point, you might just become three wolves and a lowly sheep group cosplay LOL

like i said before, he won't need to really buy his outfit just becos he'll transform into it LOL but, for your outfit, he'd want it to be the highest quality he can get his hands on becos he wants you to be comfy

leonard lowell ★ profile

honestly, leonard wants to go with the flow so whatever you want! but be warned that he'll be very critical of the outfits LOL

the costume has to be high quality and, if it's not, he'll nag you or just take the costumes and try to do them up a little bit so they're more comfortable

he'd be willing to do a wolf cosplay if you want to go with whatever the other wolves want LOL but he'd be like a very anime-fied sexy werewolf, yknow what i mean?

might even throw in a thick leather collar in there to be extra sexy LOL

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little-engineer-who-cant · 7 months ago

Text

Jason confronts Bruce

Part 5 of Sirens Scream Names Forgotten by Tomorrow, Laid to Rest in Infinity

(also posted under cut)

“You cannot create a monster and then condemn it, hate its ugly features, its terrible gait. When I look into the mirror, I do not see myself but all of you who made me.”

- David Jones

(Shoot him.)

(That’s not the plan.)

(Fuck the plan. Shoot.)

(You’d have me waste all this?)

(It’s what you want, isn’t it? No one walks away.)

(Ideally, I will.)

(You’ve been dead for how long now? No one is walking away.)

(I-)

(It was never going to be you.)

He’s staring down the barrel of his own gun at the man who should have been his father when he finds the truth.

(You came back from the dead. You were never making it out alive.)

(No one walks away.)

No one walks away. He’s cheated death to ensure it.

(Reaper made flesh.)

(Pull the trigger.)

So he does.

—

There are burns on his arms. The hair singed right off. He reeks of smoke and despair, cloaked in failure as he hunches over the metal railing. He aches of broken bones that are healing, of bruises on his ego, his body, his memories, his everything. But that’s nothing compared to the sting of failure. Of all the times to grab me, old man, it had to be now? At least if Bruce had let it all happen, Jason wouldn’t be alive to care about the aftermath. He’d be back in the ground-

(where you belong-)

-making nice with the worms and decay.

But that’d be too easy. That’d be nice and neat, a pretty little bow on the tragedy of Jason Todd. Born to die, again and again, until he finally got it right.

(Maybe you’re still trying to be the perfect son.)

(I can’t be. I’m not Dick.)

(No. You’re not even Jason.)

It’s an old truth. That doesn’t make it sting any less. What’s really fucking with him, running in incessant circles in his already insane mind is the why. Why did Bruce grab him? It wasn’t like he was Bruce’s son anymore.

(When a man puts a dead thing in the ground, he expects it to stay there.)

But he’d clawed his way back out. And like every warning sign on the way up from Hades, he hadn’t come back right. Would Eurydice have been the same, if she ever broke the surface? He’d done that, come up from the water, reborn and remade. Jason Todd, Talia and Ra’s had christened him. A dead man.

(You’re not making sense.)

(Isn’t that what you wanted?)

It’s easier not to think, to let his body turn and twist and ache in whatever direction it decides to take him. It’ll make sure he’s safe, that instinct is too ingrained to ever die. As long as his mind is blank, he’s not thinking about Bruce.

The Pit stays quiet. No use trying to drive a man towards a cliff when he’s already leapt off the edge.

Jason has never fucking once wanted it to talk more than he does in that moment. Just for a reminder that he’s not alone.

—

Weakness, plain and simple. When he comes out of his haze, he’s staring at his worst weakness in the form of her bedroom through the window. Perched precariously on the concrete sill, he leans his forehead against the pane and watches his breath fog it up until he can’t see inside. Can’t see if she’s home or not. Can’t see if she’ll see him.

(Weak.)

But the voice is weak too. It can’t goad him over something he’s already accepted, something he already knows. She’s his pressure point, the chink in his armor and it’s all because she-

Click.

The window unlatches and he leans just far enough away that he won’t tumble when it opens to reveal her, the off-white hue of distant neon light catching in her dark hair like a halo of starlight.

“Hey,” she whispers, leaning her elbows on the still and looking up at him, seeing the dirt and blood, smelling the smoke and sulfur, hearing the sirens that herald emergency vehicles screaming towards that fire.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles, resting his head against the rough brick exterior, the edge of her window digging into the back of his mask.

“Come’ere.” She holds out a hand.

“I shouldn’t be here.” It’s the one thing he knows for sure.

“I don’t care.”

“They can find you.”

“Let them. I’ve faced worse.”

“You shouldn’t face what’s after me.”

“If it means keeping you, I’ll welcome them all with a smile.” Her stubborn expression hasn’t changed. Hasn’t even flickered. “I’ve lost a lot of people that I’ve loved. I’m not losing you too.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe. What a pair we make.” He takes her hand, she pulls him in the window and they press their foreheads together. Her fingers come up and gently, carefully, reverently undo the clasp on his mask, peeling away the vengeful Red Hood to show the exhausted man underneath. And he is exhausted.

“I let him get away,” he confesses, like a bullet to the gut. “The Joker- I-” Her fingers rest over his lips, silencing him.

“It’ll take time, but he’ll get his due.”

“You say that like you know.” Her smile is full of teeth, knives gleaming in the dark as her blue eyes flash through with the soft pink of an unknown power that absolutely terrifies him. Carefully hidden away, only to be drawn out to hamstring someone without warning, to hobble, to cripple, to destroy.

“For you? I won’t give Fate a choice. And he’ll beg for one.” Was this how Paris felt when Troy burned for Helen? Like any price was worth paying to keep those eyes on him with all that promise, that devotion, that dedication to do anything. Her fingers stroke down his jaw and he follows those streaks of heat like he’ll die if they leave his skin.

It’s an incredible dichotomy, the violence of her words mixed with the gentle affection in her touch and it’s more intoxicating than any drug he knows.

“I don’t want you in danger,” he protests, but it’s weak in the face of a woman stubborn enough to defy gods.

“And I don’t want you to get hurt. But here we are.” But here we are. With him hurt and her in danger. “Come to bed, the world can wait.” There’s so much he doesn’t understand, so many questions he needs answered, but in this moment, he can’t ask. Can’t be reminded she belongs to other people too. He needs to pretend, just for one more night, that she’s no one’s but his.

—

It’s quiet and dark and he loves it here, curled around her in a cocoon they’ve made of blankets and their bodies. It’s quiet and dark and he cares more about that than the fact that he’s overheating under the blankets. If he got rid of things he loved for the sake of his own comfort, he’d be in a very different place in life. He’s got the quiet and the dark and her, he’ll endure any discomfort to keep them.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asks, voice a bare breath that stirs the room and him towards a semblance of life. But he doesn’t have any right now, none that he can speak. None that she can hear and live to see another day.

“I can’t say what I want to,” he admits in the silence of her room, breathing that truth into the back of her neck.

“Hm?” her head twists, trying to look at him, but he digs his forehead into the nape of her neck to stop it.

“I can’t say it,” he repeats, arms banding more tightly around her, clutching her like a child holds their most comforting toy. “Or you’ll get killed.”

“Jason, let me turn around.” He clings harder, petulant, pressing a kiss to her spine and tasting salt. “Jason.”

“Silena,” he growls, curling further, squishing her more firmly into the circle of his body while he tries to shut the world away.

“Can I at least look at you?” He shakes his head. He likes it here, in the dark of her room, buried in the softness of her hair. Childish of him, absolutely, but right now he can’t face the thought of seeing her eyes pick him apart. “Fine, then…” she grumbles something under her breath in what sounds like Not-English but he’s not concentrating enough to tell exactly what dead language it is. “Give me.” She pries at one of his hands with that ever surprising strength of hers.

“Silena-”

“Please can I hold your hand at least?” That he can do. He can keep her like this with one arm, that’s not a problem. So he gives her a hand, letting her pull it up and towards her face, what is she-

She presses each one of his fingers to her mouth, kissing the calloused tips, her breath warm and grounding. The sensation hits him like a pile driver, tears welling in his eyes as he buries his head deeper. Maybe not seeing her was a mistake, maybe then he could have stopped her before- Her mouth presses delicately into his palm, a gentle and reassuring hum vibrating against his skin.

“I love you too,” she whispers into the hand that has taken hundreds of lives, destroyed thousands more, a hand that could so easily smother her with just a bit more pressure but she puts her life in it again and again- “I love you too.”

#jason todd #bruce wayne #the joker #silena beauregard #my writing #ao3 link #batman #percy jackson and the olympians

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