#and orpheus doesn’t respond when eurydice leaves because he’s working—he’s working and he’s going to give her what he promised.

[braisedhoney]

some tragic love stories be like: if i could bottle the galaxy, i would pour it into a cup so it would be easier for you to drink. do you want them? do you want the stars? or do they suit you better as adornments for your eyes than glitter on your lips?

but they don’t want the stars. they don’t want the galaxy. but how can they not? is that not enough? (it’s too much, that’s the problem. it’s too much.)

[hurricanes-art]

i am interested in your hades au, would you mind giving some details about it? 👁 it looks really interesting

[This AU is from these drawings!]

*cracks knuckles* Ok! I actually got enough sleep last night so I'm finally feeling up to explaining this au lmao

Also I hope that by “some details” you meant “way way too many” because I am nothing if not long winded. Also @hades-hellsite asked for context too, here you go

The central premise is that, after he dies, Achilles manages to make an arrangement with Hades that allows both him and Patroclus to stay in Elysium together. He's not employed to work at the house and he never becomes Zagreus's combat trainer.

Hades makes a few attempts to find Zagreus a different teacher among the shades of great warriors, but being skilled does not make someone able to teach. And being able to teach one way doesn't mean someone will be good for every student. When Zagreus doesn't learn well with the few mentors Hades tries, which he barely gives a chance to breathe anyway, he's quick to decide that he must have no martial ability and declares Zagreus a failure in that as he has about so many things.

This has two major effects on Zagreus before his escape attempts begin. One, without any chance to actually grow into aptitude in combat, he's left without anything substantial to put his energy into and, more importantly, he's left without anything he feels good at and that gives value to his efforts. Two is that, in Achilles' absence, very few people in the house give him any care and support untwisted by the politics of the house and the judgment of his father. There is Orpheus, kind to him before Hades locks him away for refusing to sing, Hypnos, willing to put the house to sleep so he can find the truth though jumbled up in his own problems, and Nyx.

Nyx is the only one to aid Zagreus when he decides to try to escape. She contacts Olympus and weaves careful lies to win their support and blesses his departure. She's also the only one who believes that Zagreus has the slightest chance of escaping. Already in canon, most everyone tells him there no way he'll make it out, but here, it's so much worse. He doesn't know how to fight, his initial attempts are pitiful and his progress negligible, and near everyone lashes out at him to get back in line and stop making things worse.

He doesn't even have the Infernal Arms. Achilles is the one who brings them to him in canon; here Zagreus takes a simple bronze sword from one of the house's many displays of weapons from wars long past. He thanks the Fates that the Styx restores it the same way it does his body when he dies because he nicks and dulls the edges every time.

Despite all the disadvantages, Zagreus throws himself into escaping with unshakable determination, bone deep stubbornness. He picks up his sword and will figure out how to use it himself. Experience will be his teacher. He dies over and over and he watches his enemies and learns how they move and how he must react, mimicking their attacks for his own use and adjusting and adjusting after each failure. And contrary to Hades' adamant belief, Zagreus is very intelligent and learns brilliantly when allowed to and he grows stronger and stronger.

There's no teacher more savage than experience in something like this, though. The pursuit is agonizing and the cost is enormous and adjusting to this ceaseless violence feels impossible.

Much of my interest in this idea is how the added strain on his circumstances and relationships affects Zagreus and his mental state. At his best, Zag looks a lot like he does in canon, with his laurels unfurled and vibrant, and his feet glowing hot, but he rarely feels his best here. His laurel leaves curl in dry and crisp, muted like the leaves of autumn. Flakes of ash and soot build up over his legs and encase more and more as he suffers. So deep is his feeling of failure and being trapped that it affects him physically.

Not always, though. His flames respond to his emotions, burn brighter in his passion. Enthusiasm, love, fervor, bliss, anger set him glowing.

After a brutally drawn out span of time, Zagreus meets Achilles and Patroclus in Elysium and tbh, the rest of my interest is really in how the altered circumstances change the evolution of their relationships with each other. The pair of warriors were never separated for an extended time and Achilles is less downtrodden and resigned and Patroclus is less bitter and abrasive when Zagreus stumbles upon them.

They don't fight him, which Zagreus counts among his greatest blessings, although Achilles still seems to have an interest. It makes him twitchy and he jumps when Achilles finally lifts his spear and swings it around in his third time in their little glade only to bump the flat of the blade against elbow and tell him to keep it in more towards his body. Zagreus blinks rapidly at him before adjusting his arm.

Achilles helps him here and there, tips and tricks and valuable advice, but he never gives anything near the thorough instruction he did in canon. On one hand, he doesn't need to. Zagreus is a self made fighter and it leaves him with weaknesses but it is also a powerful thing. He is unpredictable and incredibly adaptable and he only continues to improve.

On the other hand, there's no room for it. Achilles is gentle with his guidance, but Zagreus is rubbed raw by all the fighting he's done and all that still depends on it. He doesn't want to always focus on the weapon in his hands. Patroclus notices and curbs Achilles' input when it exceeds its bounds. He sits aside and observers carefully when they spar. Zagreus doesn't need another's direction which is fine by him, who's lost all desire for combat. He gives his aid through his assortment of trinkets that carry Zagreus further to the surface.

Zagreus barely knows what to do with himself in the face of their care. He's so unaccustomed to such generous and genuine support, interest devoid of expectation or blame. As familiarity between the three of them grows, their interactions grow warmer, more tender and comfortable. Their care lays on a foundation, not a hinge, and Zagreus grapples with understanding that he really can lean on it. It all leaves him so uncertain yet so desperate because he wants more than anything to have joy and conversation and company with others where he doesn't shoulder heavy guilt from unspoken accusations over his escaping the house and to have a place he feels he belongs without being an intrusion.

He does at first believe he's intruding, though. Intruding on their time together in the peace of Elysium. It takes them time to convince him that they value his presence immeasurably. The opportunity to stay together in the Underworld has been invaluable for Achilles and Patroclus, but the peace of Elysium is a deceptive thing. It wears away and prickles at them, pressing down in odd warping ways. Patroclus is beyond pleased to have the war behind him and that it can never force him to fight again, and despite Achilles retaining an interest in competition and combat, he does feel the same way. Having a cause though, something to believe in and worth devoting their efforts towards... They didn't realize how deeply they missed it until Zagreus. It is revitalizing. They thrive in his genuine, boundless kindness and long to support him.

The drawings of Orpheus arguing with Hades and Zagreus fighting with Nyx is from one of my plot point ideas. Later down the line, together, Hades, Persephone, and Nyx agree to forbid Zagreus from seeing Achilles and Patroclus at Nyx's behest. Similarly to how she talks about Dusa in canon, she sees mortal shades as beneath his station and that it's highly unbecoming for the prince to be consorting with them. Zagreus fights against the idea ferociously and is only smothered by the threat that, if he seeks them out anyway, Hades will void Achilles' agreement and have Patroclus moved to the proper plane of the Underworld.

It crushes Zagreus. He loves them and cares about them so much and being torn apart from them is a wound that cuts so deep. But even more than that, what breaks him open most, is the fact that it came from someone he cared for and trusted most. Nyx was the one person in the House he could depend on most and this betrayal at her hand is devastating. And for such a worthless reason as propriety and godly vanity. It's not her place to force those upon him. It hurts Zagreus to the core.

Orpheus is the only one willing to stick up for him in this, deeply empathetic to the grief of being separated from loved ones and well acquainted with the fact that such punishments will only damage, never correct. After all, his stint of punishment in Erebus didn't revive his desire to sing, it was Zagreus's dedication and vibrancy that did that. One of the many invaluable gifts Zagreus gave him, including reuniting him with Eurydice, making him happier than he'd been since her death. Orpheus can't keep biting his tongue when all these gods refuse to see any of this.

It all comes to a head dramatically and painfully and I've thought of a few variations on how it would play out. I'll leave it for now though, I might draw it or write it later >:3c  Also this got really long lol. Hopefully the idea is at least somewhat interesting!

And here, have the lines from these two drawings because I like the way they look

[omniscientoranges]

Hold My Hand On the Way Out

Idea's been done to death but I'm thinking,,, thinking,,, Dean goes to save Cas from the Empty but Cas doesn't think he's real at first. Yeah. That's what I'm thinking.

1.5k words

[ao3]

Dean trips slightly on the way out of the portal. That's probably because Sam sighed and pushed him in when he turned back and started to say something like you know, maybe I'm not the best guy for the job? Maybe you should go or Jack cou-. Dean doesn't blame him for that, really. He knows he was being overdramatic, but it's not every day a guy hurls himself into an endless void to save his currently dead best friend (who might also be the love of his life but, one thing at a time). 

It looks like he's standing on a whole lot of nothing, which gives him vertigo for a second before he remembers that nothing is really the whole point of this place. Still doesn't make him any less queasy, though. 

"Cas?" Dean shouts into the void. Which is ridiculous, shouting into a literal limitless nothing and hoping Cas hears him. But it's the only play he's got, so: "Cas! You out there? Come on, man, I'm praying, okay? Cas!" 

"Dean?" 

Dean spins on his heels and breathes a sigh of relief when his eyes fall on Cas, standing like a monolith against the stark black Empty surrounding them. That worked way faster than he expected it to. 

"Shit, hey, there you are. Look, I'm here to-" 

"Stop it." Cas responds. And he actually looks- scared? Angry? Upset? 

"What?" 

"Stop doing this to me. I know he's not real, I know you're not real. Stop toying with me like this. You said I could rest, this is cruel, even for you." 

Even for you, what is Cas talking about? Sure, yeah, Dean can be a dick, but he's not that big of a dick. Is he? "What? Cas I-" 

"Stop, please just- just leave me alone." Cas all but whimpers saying that, and that's when it clicks in Dean's head. He thinks he's the Empty. Or some manifestation of it. He thinks Dean's not real. Jesus, what has this place been doing to him? 

"No, it's me. Cas, it's me, really." 

"I know you're lying." 

"I'm not lying I-" Dean turns and scrubs a hand down his face, "What can I do to make you believe me?" 

Cas just shakes his head and closes his eyes, looking away with pain etched on his face. 

"Cas, look at me please," he doesn't know why, but Cas looks up. "It's me. I promise." 

But Dean's looking at Cas and Cas doesn't see him. Just looks right past him. No, not quite past him - just looks at him like he's not him. Like he's a fake. A ghost. 

It sucks. Fully, fully sucks. Dean didn't realize that there was this pit in his chest that only felt whole whenever Cas was looking at him, but he really gets that now. And Dean's heart beats a hard rhythm against that pit and it makes his breath come out stilted, makes it hardly come out at all. He wants to sob, or scream, or hit something or get hit. He feels likes everything's closing in around him and he never realized how it could feel to have everything you could ever want standing right in front of you only for it to look back at you like you aren't anything, like you aren't fucking real and it's- it's- it's-

"I love you." 

Dean says it softly, reverently. In a way that doesn't convey that it feels like the words tear out of him, rip from his throat- rip from his heart. Because that's what Cas is to him now. He's his heart. 

"And I- I always did, always have. Don't you know that? But no, you didn't know. That's the whole point. You didn't know, but, Cas, I've been yours the whole time. You've had me the whole time. And I can't believe you didn't know that. I can't believe I never had the guts to tell you before. But-" And Dean's pacing, he's determined to lay it all out because he needs Cas to know this time. He needs him to really understand. Needs him. Fullstop, if he's being honest. And, right now, he is. 

"It's you. Always. You're it for me. No one else, Cas, no one. I need you. I love you, do you hear me?" Dean's stepping into Cas' space, bringing both his hands up to either side of his face, like if he holds him there and makes him look and really listen that he'll hear it. That he'll understand it. That Dean’s right here and that he was always worth it, to Dean he was always worth it. 

"I love you, you stupid son of a bitch, I love you." Maybe he can fix it if he says it enough, says those three words enough, repeats them like a mantra, like a fucking heartbeat in his head. I love you I love you I love you. Dean's pretty sure he's said I love you more times in the last 2 minutes than he's said it in the rest of his whole life combined. 

Cas is still looking past him, hopeless. So, once more with feeling. "Cas, Castiel, please listen to me. I love you too." 

Dean leans in and seals his lips over Cas'. 

Cas doesn't move to kiss back, and Dean almost cries out with the sharp wave of pain that sends through him. Please, please, this has to be enough. It's all I have. This has to be enough. Please. 

With a jolt, Dean feels Cas' hand tentatively brush his elbow, then reach up, up, and fit perfectly onto his left shoulder. And that's it. Cas moves his other arm and wraps it behind Dean's neck, pulling him in closer, kissing him deeper. One of Dean's hands trails from Cas' face and curls into the lapel of his too-heavy trench coat. 

When they pull apart it's not because they need to breathe, it's because they feel like if they kiss any more they'll shatter under the weight of it. This thing- this love that's been between them for so long finally coming to the surface. It's entirely too much. It's entirely not enough. Dean unfists Cas' coat and smooths out the wrinkles, Cas lets the arm wrapped behind Dean's head fall and slip around his waist instead. 

"It's really you?" 

"'Course it is, you expecting someone else?" 

"Dean," Cas breathes out. And that's a sentence in and of itself - just Dean. The way Cas says it like a prayer, like a promise, like a goddamn benediction. Like Dean's the holy one in this equation. Dean's hit with the realization that there's nothing different in the way Cas said his name just then compared to any time before that - that he's always been Dean. That he's always been loved. 

Somewhere caught up in an epiphany and half Dean finds a second to register they should probably - very quickly - get the hell out of there. 

Dean slides his palm from Cas' cheek, down his arm, and twines their fingers together. "Cas, come on, we gotta go," and nods his head at the flickering yellow line of a portal a few paces behind him. 

Cas trains his eyes on the portal, and looks a bit skeptical. "Are you sure it'll work?" 

"If it doesn't then I'll keep coming back here until it does work, or until the Empty gets so sick of me that it either kills me or tosses us both outta here on principle," Dean says. His brazen recklessness has Cas making a face that Dean knows means he's doing everything in his power not to roll his eyes. But it's fond, it's so, so fond, and Dean can't believe he never saw it before. How much Cas truly loves him - loves every stupid, reckless part of him. How much Cas loves all of him.

Dean grins, "Either way, I'm not leaving here without you."  And, oh, that's familiar. This is something they've done before, the two of them - pulling each other out of impossible situations. Done it more than once, actually. 

"So what, I'm Eurydice and you're Orpheus and we're just supposed to hold hands and sail off this cliff together?" Cas says, trying and failing to hide a smile because not only is he making an accurate pop culture reference but he's also making an accurate Dean reference. Double points. 

"Yep, exactly." 

"You're insufferable." 

"Yeah, but you love me anyway." 

Cas' eyes soften, "I really do." 

Dean, since apparently he's reverted back to being a 16 year old, blushes at how earnest Cas is when he says that. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come on, let's go." 

"Lead the way." 

Dean leads, hand reaching back and gripping Cas' so firmly he knows the skin's going paler where their hands link. Maybe it's the mythology reference Cas just made or maybe it's something else, but Dean doesn't let himself look back. They pause for a second when they reach the portal. If there was anyone to pray to Dean would pray with every part of himself that this works. Instead, he just hopes it does. 

A step, a bright light, a dimmer light, the sound of shoes hitting reinforced concrete, a portal closing behind him, a hand still- blissfully still in his. Dean turns around. 

"I guess it worked," Cas beams. 

Dean doesn't stop to think before he's kissing Cas again. Afterall, they've got a lot of time to make up for.

[therainbowwillow]

When Hell Freezes Over AU: Epilogue

“I’m not ready for this,” Orpheus whispers. 

Eurydice rocks him back and forth. “You’ll be okay.”

He shakes his head. “This is my punishment, isn’t it?”

“Hush. No, it’s a practicality.”

“I’ll see them again. All the people I...” His voice breaks off with a sob. 

“I’ll be right there. Plus, it’ll be good to get some fresh air,” she changes the topic, “Does it wear on you? The underworld air? I worry sometimes, Orpheus...”

“I wear a mask,” he protests, wiping his eyes. “It filters out the smog.”

She sighs. “Your voice shouldn’t have to take so much strain.”

“Shouldn’t you wear one too?” he inquires. “You aren’t really dead.”

“I’m not really alive either. You are.”

He laughs, more of an quick exhale. “I came close to changing that.”

“You pulled through,” she reminds him. 

It had been torturous, watching him struggle to survive. But she hadn’t dared to let him die. He would have been alone, on the other side of the Styx. Sure, it would’ve been just minutes before he was ferried across. She had never let the coin Hades had given her leave his person, so he would have payed his fare with ease. Still, she hated to think of his terror when he found himself all alone, a shade on the banks of the dismal river.

“Only just,” he says, “And mostly thanks to you and Hermes.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I was asleep! I didn’t help much,” he jokes. After a moment’s pause, Orpheus sighs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d rather file death certificates than visit the surface.”

“By file death certificates, do you mean doodle in the margins?” she teases, attempting to lighten the mood. Orpheus had never been very efficient at filing paperwork. Still, they’d needed the money and though he wouldn’t admit it, he wasn’t strong enough to work in the factories. Even now, she doesn’t think he’d last very long. He tires easily even on their short walks through the streets of Hadestown. Filing paperwork for Hades had certainly been easier on him. Still, Orpheus wasn’t particularly cut out for office jobs.

“Oh, hush,” he laughs. “I wasn’t doodling. I was writing music!”

Eurydice smiles. “In the margins of important paperwork.”

He opens his mouth to reply. Then he closes it. “Fair.”

Eurydice drapes her arms over his shoulders. “You’re gonna be alright, lover. I’ll be there, Persephone will be there. Hermes too.” Without thinking, she says the final name with a slightly harsher tone than the first two. 

Orpheus picks up on it. “Eurydice, he saved my life.”

She narrows her eyes. “By nearly ending it?”

He sighs. “Can we not do this right now? Please?” His eyes are still puffy from crying. 

Eurydice nods and presses her head against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she mutters. 

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” she says. “I’m sorry, Orpheus. It’s just... hard to forget.”

“I’m not asking you to forget. But I forgave him and I’m the one who would’ve been on the receiving end of that knife.” 

She winces, hating to hear him speak of his near-death so casually. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk about his betrayal like someone stole your pocket change.”

“I’m not! If someone stole my pocket change I-” She glares at him. “Alright.” 

They sit in silence, leaned against each other for a moment before Eurydice speaks up. “We should be going.”

Orpheus nods. “How long’s the walk?”

“To the station, not too far,” she says. “I can help if you need,” she adds, realizing he’s afraid he won’t make the journey.

“Yeah,” he responds. His gaze is fixed over her shoulder.

“Hey, look at me.” He glances at her face and then back out the window beyond her. “Orpheus, it’s okay.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true,” she promises.

He makes no reply, instead opting to push himself to his feet. He lifts his single bag of belongings over his shoulder and steps towards the door. Eurydice slings his guitar over her shoulder and takes his hand. Together, they begin to navigate the winding hallways and staircases of the residence that only fractionally belongs to them. 

They had chosen Hades’s great tower for a home mostly out of necessity. At first, Eurydice had picked it because Orpheus was too sick to be moved. When he was strong enough to sit on his own, she posed the option of moving away. It was Hades who had refused her offer. The remaining shades who had arrived in the underworld thanks to Orpheus’s song weren’t keen on seeing the poet in the streets. So they had only switched floors. The fifteenth story had been their home for the first year or so in the name of protecting Orpheus.

Once Hermes had returned the last few out-of-place shades to the surface, Hades himself had asked if they wished to find a place of their own. Orpheus had refused this time. He had taken up a job filing paperwork on the forty-fifth floor. He was too weak to walk much farther than the short distance between his bedroom and the elevator. Taking note of his troubles, Hades had allowed them to move to the floor where Orpheus worked, converting half of the storage corridors into a cramped but cozy home.

Orpheus had been more comfortable here, quite clearly. His walk to work had been shrunk to only a few steps, which prevented reoccurring incidences of Orpheus passing out on his way to the elevator, an event that had happened a few more times than Eurydice cared to admit. 

With his increased sense of security, Eurydice sometimes returned home to discover Orpheus strumming his guitar. He had been afraid to spare it so much as a glance when he had first come to his senses in Hadestown. Still, he hadn’t dared to sing. Just plucked out a few notes on his out-of-tune instrument. He had jumped back, almost dropped his guitar into the fireplace when he had first noticed her listening. 

“When does the train leave?” he mumbles, as they reach the end of the hallway.

“Whenever we get to the station. We have as much time as we need.”

Eurydice guides him down the hallway. They step inside the elevator. “How are you holding up?” she gently checks on him.

Orpheus shrugs. He leans against the wall.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Why do you care?” he snaps. “Can’t we just go?”

She hides her concern at his sudden outburst and adjusts the bandanna over his face. “Because I love you.”

Orpheus takes her hands. “Do we have to do this?”

“It was part of the deal,” she reminds him.

“It was supposed to be ten years,” he retorts.

...

Eurydice leads him through the smoggy streets, a map in hand. She doesn’t trust herself to find her way to the station by memory, even without the Lethe in the way of her thoughts.

The longer they walk, the farther behind Orpheus falls. He’s been quiet the whole way, so she’s allowed him space to sulk. But now he’s almost a block behind her slowest pace, so she doubles back. He takes a step, as if to prove he’s well enough to walk and leans against the nearest wall.

“Orpheus?”

“I’m right behind you,” he mutters.

“Do you-”

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m fine.”

“I hate to say I don’t believe you,” she says. “Your leg?” He nods in defeat. “Okay. Sit down. Please, Orpheus, tell me when you’re hurting.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

Eurydice feels his tears soaking her shirt. The workers in the street glance at her. “Hey. Hey, it’s alright, Orpheus.” She strokes his hair as he sobs against her. “I’m right here. I always will be,” she promises. 

After a moment, Orpheus looks up, his eyes reddened with tears. “Eurydice...” She wipes his cheeks with her sleeve. “We should keep going.” His voice is small and strained. She hears the desperate fear in his tone and wonders if he’s right, if they ought to turn back. But this was the agreement and she fears betraying Hades’s contract more than anything else. 

“Let’s go,” she says, after allowing him a few minutes’ rest. “Can you stand?” He glances away, unwilling to meet her eyes. She reads him easily; the answer is clearly ‘no’. Eurydice lifts his arm over her shoulder and pulls him to his feet. “Try to step when I step,” she instructs him. 

He does try. Eurydice sees his effort in his every movement, but it is slow progress. His face is pale under the too-bright lights. He looks fragile down here, he always has. A single mortal in a kingdom built for dead men and gods. He is out of place, more so than even Lady Persephone. For the first time, Eurydice wonders if it would’ve been easier to just let him die. Is all of this worth avoiding those few seconds of hurt? A shade among the thousands...

Orpheus coughs and sinks more of his weight against her. He looks as frail and helpless, his arm draped over her shoulder for support. Finally, she spots the train station. Eurydice can make out the form of Persephone rapping her fingers against a bench, waiting impatiently. “Persephone!” she calls out. 

The Queen looks up, for a moment searching for the source of her name. She’s at their side an instant later. “Orpheus. Look at me, honey.” Persephone places a cool palm against his forehead. “I can carry him,” she says. Eurydice hands Orpheus to the goddess, who scoops him into her arms as if he weighs nothing. 

Eurydice follows her to the train, where Persephone helps Orpheus into a booth. Eurydice takes a seat beside him. He rests his head against her shoulder. “Get some rest,” she says. 

“Eurydice, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... any of it.”

She presses a finger to his lips. “Shh. I know that, Orpheus. I’m right here.”

He’s half asleep when he speaks up again. “I wish we could go home,” he says

Eurydice is taken aback by his statement. She had never stopped considering the surface her home. When had he? “We...” Are. She wants to say it, but the words don’t come out. She pulls him tight into her arms.

...

The train pulls to a halt. Eurydice wakes Orpheus with a gentle shake. He blinks, tensing at the realization of his location. Eurydice forces a smile. “We’re... here,” she says, faking enthusiasm. 

The doors roll open, revealing Hermes, a light snow coating the train station behind him. Orpheus recoils at the cool breeze. Eurydice squeezes his hand, concerned. His eyes seem to beg her not to let go. She helps him to his feet, her fingers entwined around his and not relenting for a second. They step onto the platform, where Hermes pulls Orpheus into a tight embrace. He looks shocked for a moment, before he sinks into the god’s arms. Hermes whispers words of comfort to the young man. “I missed you,” he says.

“Ho- the bar?” Orpheus quickly corrects himself. Home is Hadestown. Home is his little nook behind the bookshelves where he tapes up music that he knows he’ll never sing. Home is not the bar he had run from. It has been six- nearing on seven- years now since he’d seen the establishment. 

Hermes nods. “If you’d like, we can go,” he says, finally releasing Orpheus from his embrace.

Eurydice takes Orpheus’s hand. As they walk, she can’t help but notice how much more alive he looks up here. The bags under his eyes haven’t gone away, nor has his heavy limp, but his eyes are brighter in the light of the sun. And the way he looks at her, as they stand before the bar. He’s smiling slightly. Nervous, but smiling. 

She remembers all at once that he belongs on the surface, where the light bathes his cheeks and his eyes sparkle with warmth. Eurydice realizes, too, that she isn’t holding his guitar. Instead, Orpheus clutches it tightly in his shaking hands. He catches her staring at him. He half-smiles, half appears to be on the verge of tears. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he admits, as Hermes opens the door to his small bar. 

“Please don’t stop thinking it,” Eurydice whispers.

The crowded bar erupts into cheers when Persephone steps inside. “Look who’s late!” someone teases.

“I ain’t late!” Persephone retorts. “What is it? March...”

“Twenty-first,” Hermes informs her, tapping his watch. “A minute past midnight.”

“Oh, for the sake of the gods. Sixty seconds late and this is my greeting?” she jokes. “Next time, I’ll be sure to forget the wine.”

The crowd boos. Persephone flicks the cork out of a bottle with a wink. “Kidding.” She pours the first glass and swallows it with a single sip. 

As she passes around wine glasses, the bar patrons seem to notice Orpheus’s presence. Uneasy murmurs fill the room. Eurydice hurriedly guides her lover through the crowd to a relatively secluded table where she takes a seat across from him. She knows this place all too well. How many times had she sat at this very table, drinking glass after glass of unaffordable wine, praying that the alcohol would numb her to the cold? Today, she doesn’t accept even a single sip. Orpheus needs her.

“I missed this,” Orpheus tells her, after minutes of silence. “I know it isn’t the same, but it... it isn’t all that different either.”

Eurydice moves her chair to his side of the table. “We can pretend it hasn’t changed,” she says, softly.

He nods. They sit still for a while, watching the increasingly drunken celebrations. Persephone laughs and dances with mortals, many of whom are new faces. Eurydice remembers she and Orpheus had danced like that once. She turns to watch Orpheus instead. His jealousy is plainly written across his face as he gazes at the dancers. He glances at his leg. It had never fully healed, having become infected in the woods.

Eurydice grabs his hands and pulls him to his feet. Gods, she will not watch him endlessly pine after a dance. “I can’t,” he mumbles.

“Yes, you can!” she encourages, “We’ll go slow and we can stop if it hurts. Let’s try, at least.”

Reluctantly, he accepts her offer. She places her hands on his hips and sways back and forth. “You okay?” she asks, after a moment.

He nods, humming along with a few notes of Persephone’s song out of habit, before he catches himself and falls silent.

Persephone’s singing louder now, with a drunken lisp to her voice. She’s standing on a table, stomping out the beat, while Hermes looks on, pitying his furniture. She leaps off of her vantage point and into the crowd. The surrounding party goers catch her.

Orpheus laughs, to Eurydice’s surprise. Laughter had been a rarity between them for far too long. His eyes sparkle with genuine happiness. She can tell there’s no sadness in the way he smiles.

He dances with more vigor now, too, suddenly twirling her under his arms. She laughs, as he invites her to return the motion. His spin is awkward and clumsy, but perfect all the same. He bobs back and forth to the music, grinning all the while.

A woman appears at his side. Eurydice starts at the sight of her, but still she holds tight to Orpheus, praying he doesn’t notice his lover’s recognition of the girl he had encased in ice six years prior. Somehow, the woman smiles. She smiles at the man who once ended her life. “You know what I could do with right now? Some real music.” She gestures to Orpheus’s guitar.

He blinks in surprise. Before he can turn her down, the rest of the bar patrons are cheering their agreement. He sighs. “I’m out of practice,” he informs the woman. To Eurydice’s relief, he doesn’t seem to recognize her.

“Nonsense! Give us a song!”

“I...” He glances at Eurydice. She nods her hopeful encouragement. What she wouldn’t give to hear him sing again. How many times had she tried to convince him to do so down below?

“Please?” the woman begs.

He takes a deep breath. “I’ll try.”

A grin spreads across the girl’s face. She grabs his wrist and pulls him over to the bar counter, pushing past the chewing crowd. Eurydice hurries after him. “Up here!” she calls, leaping onto the countertop. Hermes cringes at the dirty boots on his hard-bought furniture.

Eurydice helps Orpheus up, watching him carefully all the while. He’s clearly anxious, but there’s a tiny glint of excitement in his eyes. She lifts him to his feet, standing beside him above the crowd.

Orpheus takes a deep breath. Last time he’d sung, he had delivered a ceaseless wintertime to the surface and underworld alike. He had frozen a year’s harvest and starved countless people. How many of his accidental victims are staring up at him now? Eurydice wonders.

Eurydice brushes her fingertips against his hand. “It’ll be alright,” she whispers.

Orpheus strums a chord on his guitar. The crowd cheers. Spurred on by their enthusiasm, he continues. The notes are simple, nothing like the complex harmonies he’d written up back home. Still, the onlookers clap and whistle their approval. It’s Eurydice he watches, though. She gazes at him, beaming with such pride that he can’t help but to go on.

He finds himself pleasantly absorbed in his own melody. The song seems to morph and change as he sings, from a simple celebration of spring to a story of his love. Soon, he finds himself singing the very same notes he had vowed never to hear again on the day he had fled. The song that had lost him his lover. Yet it feels so easy to sing... so natural that he can’t stop himself. The world seems to warm with each note.

Eurydice sways to the music, caught up in memories of their first meeting. Orpheus’s stupid grin. His paper flowers. That song. It had surprised her in its beauty when she had first heard it, but it shocks her more now. He’s singing! She had begun to lose hope that she’d ever hear him produce a note again.

The clock says he has been performing for almost ten minutes, though it feels over too quickly to Eurydice. With the last notes, he hands her a bouquet of carnations and the crowd erupts into applause. Orpheus is grinning, slightly out of breath when the song ends. Hermes helps him down from the counter. 

He offers Eurydice a hand as well. Hesitantly, she takes it. Six years and she’d never gotten a chance to ask him why. For all of his warnings, Hermes had fallen himself victim to one of Hades’s impossible contracts. Success or Orpheus’s death, and he’d signed his name. She clutches his hand tighter than she needs to. “Why?” she hisses, too quiet for Orpheus to hear as the crowd chants his name.

She doesn’t need to elaborate. His expression darkens. “I believed in you,” he tells her. 

“And if you were wrong to trust me?”

“Then you would have taken up permanent residence in Hadestown. Orpheus would not have been apart from you,” he explains. “That was the agreement.”

Eurydice exhales sharply. “Yes, he would have. The deal was that I wouldn’t be given a choice but to kill him, my hands willed to harm the love of my life. You,” she spits the word like a curse, raising her voice, “agreed to take everything away from me. He would never have chosen to live with the woman who murdered him.” The crowd is watching them now, a few dozen sets of eyes on Eurydice.

Orpheus takes her hand, in a weary attempt to pull her away. Without words, his expression alone pleads her to stop. “Let him answer,” she snaps. He tenses at the harshness in her voice and backs down. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s pathetic, Eurydice thinks, a god, whispering his apologies. 

“That’s it? ‘I’m sorry?’ And what would you say if I had killed him, at Hades’s will? ‘Deepest condolences?’”

Orpheus takes a step towards Hermes. “I forgive you,” he says, genuinely. “Besides...” He sighs, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. His expression changes to one of sadness once more. “If there’s anyone who owes an apology,” he addresses the crowd, “It’s me.”

Eurydice falls silent, taking a step back. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but hadn’t she known that he would jump to his adoptive father’s defense, whether or not the god needed it? She feels guilt crash over her as he fiddles with the base of his guitar, his anxiety quite apparent. She wants to speak up, to tell him that he had caused none of this, but she cannot find the words. 

“I am sorry for the grief I caused you,” he continues, speaking with rehearsed eloquence. Still, she hears the trembling of his voice over his feigned confidence. “The sorrows I brought you are unforgivable and my wrongs cannot be righted. But I can at least provide you this.” He hands Hermes a bag of coins. “Drinks are on me this week.” 

The drunken crowd explodes into shouts and cheers of joy, as if they had forgotten Orpheus had ever wronged them. Hermes closes his hands around the bag. “This is too much coin. Enough for a month of wine for everyone in this bar, if not more,” he says.

Orpheus half-smiles. “You always complained this place was drafty.”

Hermes sighs. “I can’t accept this.”

“I’m not asking.” The poet tucks his hands behind his back so Hermes cannot return the gift.

“Where did you get this?”

Orpheus shrugs. “I’ve been filing paperwork for Hades. It’s a bit dull, but I don’t mind. It... it’s a good distraction.”

Hermes stares at him, dumbfounded. “Paperwork?”

Orpheus’s cheeks go pink. “Is it really that unbelievable?” he asks.

Eurydice answers. “Yes. I was under the impression that you were only touching up your skills at drawing portraits and writing music.” His face turns a deeper shade of red. 

“I was... distracted.” 

Eurydice realizes the implication and struggles to stifle a laugh. “By me?”

He bites his lip. “I...”

“There wasn’t much else to look at, I suppose,” she says, laughing, surprised by how easily his humored embarrassment cheers her up.

Orpheus takes her hands in his, his expression turning solemn once more. “Eurydice... I’ve found forgiveness,” he begins. “And I’ve forgiven.” For a moment, she almost grumbles her distaste, before she notices how clearly rehearsed he sounds. How many times has he repeated these lines to himself in preparation? Gods, had he been that afraid to approach her? 

Orpheus draws a shuddering breath. He fixes his eyes over her shoulder. “But I...” She can tell he breaks from whatever script he had planned to follow by the way his words quicken. “I can’t bear to see you two argue! I love you, Eurydice, but Hermes raised me. Why do you blame me for having allegiance to the man I call my father?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but once again finds herself unable to produce words. “Orpheus...” she finally manages. “I’m sorry.”

He gives his head a slight shake. “No, it’s alright. I would’ve said something sooner but wasn’t sure where to start.”

Where to start? How about the hundred times she had brought the topic up? All of which she feels desperately guilty for now. Before his fateful trip to Hadestown, he had never been shy to voice his discomfort when something unpleasant was brought up in conversation. During his years underground though, he’d become quieter. Eurydice had always known the guilt had worn on him, but she hadn’t fully realized how much her words had exacerbated his pain, partially because he was almost never willing to mention it.

She finds her eyes drawn to Hermes. She has avoided looking at him for years, always sharply reminded of her trials in the forest when she had accidentally spared him a glance. For the sake of Orpheus, she looks at him now. His eyes are duller than she remembers. He looks older, fatigued, even. She is sure that Orpheus had noticed all of this long ago and scolds herself for not doing the same. 

Eurydice had felt the effects of Orpheus’s lament, but not as Hermes had, she now realizes. She had been practically a shade when she had approached her lover, wailing his sorrows to the winds. But Hermes was alive. Immortal, maybe, but the power of the song had the most severe effect on the living, made clear by the fact that Eurydice, half dead, hadn’t been frozen solid in her approach. Hermes had suffered worse than she had, and she knows it. It’s visible in the lines on his face and the way his hair is parted to hide the scar he’d received when the winds had flung him backwards and slammed him into the ground with force enough to concuss a god. 

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is nothing more than a whisper. “I am so sorry.” Eurydice isn’t sure if she apologizes to Orpheus or Hermes. Maybe both. 

“I don’t know that I deserve your apologies,” Hermes says. 

“You risked everything for us.”

“And I’d risk it all again.” It is a completely truthful statement, Eurydice knows.

“Thank you,” she says. And she means it. 

...

For six years Orpheus had hoped she would see that Hermes had never intended to hurt them and finally, she had. He feels unburdened for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He’s crying, he realizes. Eurydice notices too. She breaks free from Hermes’s embrace and pulls Orpheus into her arms, swaying back and forth. “I love you,” he whispers. 

“I should’ve seen this sooner,” she says, ashamed.

In part, he wishes she had. All the while, he understands why she had avoided the possibility for so long. Hermes’s agreement had seemed ill-conceived, even to Orpheus, who had experienced the consequences of his stormy weather first hand. But the deal had been signed for a reason, a cause which lay more with Hades’s wants than any other consideration. Control was all the god cared for and no amount of quick words from Hermes could have talked him down. Orpheus’s father had accepted the least detrimental terms he had been offered.

“You saw it. That’s all that matters,” Orpheus tells his lover.

Hermes excuses himself to allow them to talk.

Instead, Orpheus finds himself following Eurydice as she guides him up the stairs. She pushes open the door at the top after a brief pause, revealing a room far more comfortable than the one he had left behind. The bed linens had been replaced. The nightstand, where he had found his guitar is barren, save for a vase, containing a single dried carnation. 

Eurydice pulls open the curtains, allowing moonlight to spill into the small bedroom. She takes a seat on the bed and beckons Orpheus to follow. He does, habitually drawing his guitar into his hands. Eurydice leans back in bed, propping her head against the pillows with a sigh. “I could... sing something,” Orpheus says. “If you’d like.”

She grins, throwing her arms around him and pulling him down with her until his head rests against her chest. “How could I refuse?” 

Orpheus listens to the faint but still steady beat of her heart. He plucks out a few notes on his guitar, drawing each one out, as if to imitate the murmuring from the bar below them. “La... la la la..” he half-hums, half-sings.

Eurydice sighs with relaxation. “La... la... la-la...” It’s the same tune he had sung in the bar. The carnation in the vase darkens in color, the brown tips of its petals change to a deep red, unfurling into a full blossom. 

Eurydice plucks the flower from its vase. “It seems you haven’t lost your touch,” she says, smiling. 

“Hm?” He takes the flower and twirls it between his fingers. “I’m out of practice.”

“It’s hardly noticeable.”

He continues to sing, the melody becoming more complex as he continues. He had memorized the way the notes had looked when he had written them out in Hadestown. For the most part, Orpheus had known how they would sound, though he had never planned to test them out loud. As he sings, he edits details, tests new lines. It’s easier with audible reference. What might have taken him days previously only takes minutes when he can hear what his notes sound like instead of only imagining them. 

He sings long into the night, watching as Eurydice’s eyelids grow heavier as his song lulls her to sleep. He listens to her soft breaths, feels the rise and fall of her chest beside him. The vase of flowers blooms fuller with each new line. His notes coax more buds to form. Deep red poppies and pearl white lilies. Carnations, both pale and rosy. 

The moonlight beams through the window, nearly sinking below the horizon by the time he finally closes his eyes. He sets his guitar beside the bed and hums the last few notes of his song. He feels warm air across his cheeks, creeping in through the rickety walls. Orpheus drifts off to sleep, in his own bed, in his own home, Eurydice resting at his side. Only now does he realize how much he has missed this.

[ochakourarakah]

long way down to the underground | chapter 1

Summary: It’s an old tale, except…Eurydice was already waist-deep in the Underworld when he met Orpheus.

Notes: Hawks x G/N Composer! Reader

Story: previous | next 

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This is the thirty-seventh (thirty-eighth? fortieth?) document you had to sign with your already cramping hand and you’re seriously considering tossing them all into a dumpster fire if fire wasn’t the reason you were in this mess to begin with.

The next few weeks after the accident (arson by some gang, apparently) are spent getting everything back on track.

You did not expect this much paperwork to come with it. 

Ugh.

You lean back and stretch in your chair, wincing at the audible pops your back made as you did, tearing your eyes away from your desktop screen.

With relocation still underway, you were instructed to work from home until further notice, corresponding through emails until a satellite office could be established.

It wasn’t really a problem; you lived alone and you had your own recording set-up if you wanted to work on a demo. Most of your work files were backed up on a cloud (thank God for modern tech, you probably just overreacted the day of the fire) and you still had basic instruments in case you wanted to arrange something.

You sigh. 

Okay, maybe your apartment was still on the small side (struggling musician and all) and what soundproofing you had didn’t block out everything (from construction machines across the street to neighbors fucking), but it was still your apartment. 

You had fridge magnets from the places you’ve been all over Japan. Framed and signed posters and album covers lined your walls. A bulletin board dedicated to photos, tickets, backstage passes and other paraphernalia from singers and other musicians you’ve worked with. 

Furnished just enough. Music is always playing, whether it was your own or someone else’s. Cluttered, cozy and lived in.  

It was home.

.

.

.

At home as you were, though, there were still insurance claims to receive, files to sift through, warranty policies to review and the last few weeks of work to salvage if not work on.

.

.

.

There was a whole orientation on this when you were first hired. 

Emergency Response and Recuperation. 

You should’ve known better. 

.

.

.

You glance at the to-do list you hastily wrote up in your planner, grimacing that the unmarked checkboxes still outnumbered the checked ones. 

.

.

.

Ugh.

You really should’ve known better. 

The clock on your phone screen told you that it was roughly half past five.

You groan again, getting off your office chair. 

A much-needed break was in order. 

You save whatever files were open on your laptop before shutting it down. 

And dinner too, if you could help it. 

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Another one of the perks your apartment had to offer was that the complex was within walking distance of Fukuoka’s shopping district, giving you a variety of places to eat.

You take your time on the streets, earphones in and music up as you make your way and map out your night. 

You’ll take your time with dinner, and finish the reimbursement form for your work laptop then call it a night. Tomorrow morning you’d follow up on Ishikawa from accounting and maybe add to the latest song you were writing, if inspiration allowed for it. Maybe get some groceries later this week, too.

Your eyes narrow at the crowd clogging up the sidewalk on the other side of the road. 

Rallentando.

Maybe there was a hero?

And it took you tiptoeing to see above someone’s head to catch a glimpse of crimson wings.

Oh.

He was on patrol. 

In your area. 

Even with your earphones on, you can still hear a few feminine squeals and childish cries, excited voices from people of all ages as they surround the Number Two Hero.

You glance at the scene a beat more before continuing your walking, shrugging off the idea of joining the fray. 

A tempo.

You may be grateful to Hawks for saving your life, but you were busy and hungry and not in the mood to wade through all the people for someone who wouldn’t even remember you. 

It was all in a day’s work, you recall telling yourself that day.

.

.

.

Did his job also entail calling you Songbird, though?

.

.

.

You stepped into the alley that led to your favorite izakayas in the district. It was thankfully empty, and from the restaurant’s windows, you can tell they weren’t as occupied either.

Your steps go from andante to moderato. 

Then there was a gust of wind and a shadow overhead. 

Caesura.

And then Hawks was right before you.

You manage to take off one of your earbuds in time to hear him say, “Hey, Songbird.”

You blink at him. “You remember me?”

“Of course, it’s only been a few weeks since you jumped out of a building and into my arms,” 

If you were flustered at that, you don’t show it. “Right,” You look around. Maybe he had to check out all the alleys before he could call it a day. 

The alley was still empty. 

He’ll be off in no time. 

You give him a smile. “Thanks again for that, by the way.”

He waves you off. “Don’t mention it,” 

For a moment, you just look at him. You’ve only seen his face in short glimpses, in passing billboards and magazine ads, maybe even the occasional skippable YouTube commercial. 

(Which you, admittedly, have opted to skip more often than not.)

And on the day of the fire, you maybe saw him up close for one, two minutes before he took you to the ground then sped off into the sky?

Now he seems more relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets. His wings were another story completely, though. 

They seem bigger, even if they were folded behind him. His feathers look plush and supple. 

If he noticed you staring, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he gives you a lazy grin. Almost cheeky. 

“You work for Hayashi Records, right?”

You snap your gaze back to his face and nod. “Yeah,”

Were you caught staring? Most definitely yes. 

But he’s probably used to the attention, anyways. 

“So what do you do?” he cocks his head to the side.

“I’m a composer,” You were about to add to the answer when you realize that he didn’t leave right away like you thought. 

He was still here. 

Why? The street looked pretty safe. 

“Do you do anything else?”

You don’t understand why he was still talking to you. 

Didn’t your acquaintance end as soon as the villain attack was over?

You nod anyways. “I’m a composer, but I’ve done just about everything, really.”

You busy yourself by unplugging your earphones and tucking them into your pocket with your phone.

Is he always like this? Did he always follow up on the people he saved?

When you look back up, you ask him, “Don’t you have other hero things to do?”

He only gives you that grin again. “I do, but I have some time to kill.” he gestures around him. “And besides, this place is the last area on my patrol.” 

“I see,” you say slowly. 

How the heck were you supposed to respond to that?

You clear your throat. “I’ve been working from home all day. Emergency Response and Recuperation and all that. A lot of paperwork,”

You’re rambling. 

“I got hungry and my head was starting to ache so I’m taking a break for dinner.” you nod over to the izakaya. “One of my favorite spots.”

Oh my god, kill me now. 

Hawks raises a brow. “You were going to dinner? Well so am I.”

Wait. 

Is he..?

“How about it?”

He is. 

Holy shit. 

You barely manage to follow behind him as he strides over to the izakaya. 

He even opens the door for you. 

“After you, Songbird.” 

You walk in the restaurant in a bit of a daze. 

Who were you, that you were about to share a meal with the Number Two Hero?

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It’s after you’ve settled into a private booth and ordered that Hawks spoke again. 

“So how long have you worked under Hayashi?”

“About two years,” you take a sip of your water. “That’s including my unpaid internships,”

Then you’re both silent. 

You swallow, and the air feels like a chord that was a microtone off. 

Not completely off key, but not right either. 

Just...off. Strange. 

A little jarring.

Hawks must’ve noticed that you were uncomfortable because he shifts in his seat. 

“Be honest, did I come on too strong?”

And here you thought you were the one overstepping your boundaries. 

You shake your head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m just surprised that you’d have dinner with a random person you rescued.” 

“I uhh,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I’m actually familiar with your work,”

“What?”

“I thought I recognized your name somewhere so I looked it up. You worked with Ayapeta on an album?”

He was a fan. 

Again, holy shit.

He looks up at you. It’s then that you realize his usual visor was on the table. “I’m gonna ask you again, am I coming on too strong?”

You shake your head. “I just never really had a fan approach me before,” 

You were far too used to the singers getting all the credit for the songs you wrote. 

It actually feels nice.

The waiter arrives with your orders and you give a small thanks, getting your bowl and chopsticks.

“Itadakimasu.” The two of you say in unison.

A due.

You smile at him before digging in.

Yes, the ramen you ordered was exactly what you needed.

You look across the table to see the yakitori skewer he was helping himself to. “Isn’t that cannibalism?” you ask after swallowing.

Hawks stops mid-bite. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m a hawk.”

You shrug. “Still a bird.” 

He chuckles. “What can I say, chicken’s pretty good.” 

You roll your eyes at him, and taking another good slurp from your ramen bowl.

Hawks adds, “I try to avoid chicken wings if I can help it, though. Can’t be too cannibalistic now can we?” 

After swallowing, you meet his eyes from across the table.

Amabile.

And this time, you chuckle along with him. 

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Hawks was a celebrity. You know this much. 

While you weren’t aware of any dating scandals or affairs on his end of the showbiz spectrum, you knew that he was considered an eligible bachelor by the press. 

So what was he doing here with you? 

The curiosity gnawed at you so insistently that, when the tab’s been paid and you’re out of the restaurant, you ask him, “Why’d you come along with me?”

He stops in his tracks. “Can’t I share a meal with someone who seemed nice?”

You purse your lips. “You barely even know me.”

Granted, even if you were a villain, you were pretty sure he could beat you in a fight anytime. 

The silent dissonance is back again.

You watch as he nods his head, just a little bit. “I feel like I’ve always known you.” 

You raise a brow. “Do you say that to everyone you hit on?”

“Nah,” He shakes his head. “Only for songbirds that fall into my arms.” He starts walking again. You follow suit as you roll your eyes, retort ready and then he speaks again.

“How about it, we go on one date?”

You furrow your brows. “Wasn’t this a date?”

He grins, shaking his head again. “Close, but no cigar.” he tucks his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sadly my favorite place burned down in the last Nomu incident.”

You nodded, remembering seeing it on the news the day it happened. You watched the carnage unfold from bay windows in your studio building, then you were told to evacuate to the lower floors before the fighting escalated any further. 

Maybe I didn’t have it so bad...

“But I know of another place I can take you.”

You smile at him. 

Then a phone rings. 

But it isn’t yours. 

You hear Hawks curse under his breath. “Hey listen Songbird, I’ll be busy the next few days and I bet you will be too with your Emergency Recuperation whatever,” he winces as his phone kept ringing. 

“But I’ll come find you when I’m free so we could set a date.”

You barely stutter out an affirmation when Hawks spreads out his wings. “I’ll see you soon, Songbird.” 

And then he was off. 

Leaving you staring up at the sky yet again. 

.

.

.

You walk home in a daze.

Did tonight really just happen? 

You shake your head. Maybe this was just a one-time thing. 

That seemed about right. 

You were just in the area. 

He’d probably forget when he rescues someone else. 

.

.

.

This doesn’t stop you from blushing all the way home, though.

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All thoughts of Hawks are banished when you get back to work for the next few days. 

It was all probably just by chance. One of those once-in-a lifetime things that might as well happen to you because real life was weird that way. 

And real life was also taxing because Ishikawa hasn’t looked over your statements yet and you were missing a few more requirements for your insurance claim. 

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A few days later, you find yourself trudging home from the grocery store as planned.

You're carrying a whole tray of eggs in one hand while your other groceries sit tight in the reusable bag hanging off your other shoulder.

Even though the night is peaceful, you were still stressed.

You still had some forms to fill up and lost equipment to canvass for and a meeting with one of the bands and-

“Hey there, Songbird,”

-and you yelp at the voice, dropping the carton and spilling eggs all over the pavement. 

You look up at the sight of an equally shocked Winged Hero.

Oh. 

He didn’t just not forget about you. 

He came.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。 °。  °。°。°。

A/N: in case the whole basis for this fic isn’t enough to go by, i’m also a musical nerd. i’ll try updating this weekly, as well. 

thanks for reading!

[silent-silver-slip]

For the behind the scenes asks: 1, 4, 16, 18?

Me? Buzzing with excitement to respond to an ask? Always! Thank you for asking lovely. ♥️♥️♥️ I am somewhat sorry for such a long post, but I am incapable of writing small things it appears. 

1. What was the first fandom and/or pairing that you wrote fic for?

Oh god, I think it was Harry Potter? I started out with original works before branching into fanfiction, so I’m not certain though.

4. Do you outline before you start writing? If so, how far do you stray from that outline?

This one’s a bit up in the air to be honest! Sometimes I outline and sometimes I don’t. Almost always, I never outline anything under like 5k, which is normally written with a basic idea that keeps growing. There are also a number of longer things that I’ve done before that didn’t really have an outline either (some of my novellas happened this way). However, a number of my longer works do get an outline - either beginning with one or I hit a roadblock and begin to sketch an outline out and then it ends up being massive and more than I expected.

Parts of my outline go into depth and parts don’t, so as a result I usually keep pretty close to it. Occasionally an extra scene or a side character will take over a bit, but usually it’s very very close which is nice and helpful.

16. What is your most underrated fic?

Oh no, decisions. [I then leave this question blank, and forget to come back to it...] Okay, so I went back and started going through my fics and I was in struggle town, let me tell you.

In the end, I picked up two main ones that I think are my most underrated ones?

There’s the broken bones of our childhood which is an HP fic and actually sparked a piece of writing that got published online in the AZE which is neat. And the other is Everybody Knows (the deal is rotten) which is a Naruto fic that’s based on Orpheus and Eurydice and their legend, but is about family instead. One of these I appreciate because of the meaning behind it and it’s writing style, and the other was a lot of fun to write and I’m pretty proud of it.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

Firstly, this assumes I remember anything I write and it doesn’t just vanish from my brain straight away. I barely know what I did yesterday, let alone an actual scene or line I wrote.

I’ve been staring at a few passages for a while, and this is awful I cannot make decisions. However! I figured I’d go with one that I haven’t mentioned in an ask response before and also isn’t too tricky to explain and comes with a good explanation? And fit my current mood I guess.

This scene comes from tonight’s our time which is a Naruto fic. It was a short fun piece to write and definitely related to something I felt back in summer. My comments are in italics.

And she reaches out, offering her hand, and Minato grips it, tight. Their hands are sweaty and gross, because of the weather and how it’s somehow still humid even as the sun sets, streaking the sky with pale purples and pinks and oranges. (Fuck yeah, I love the sunset! And the sunrise! The sky just looks so pretty almost all the time okay. But also - just the idea of people reaching out to each other even when it’s uncomfortable because they want to and they love each other regardless?)

The sky, however, is not what Kushina or Minato pay attention to. Rather, then launch forward, uncoordinated and laughing, towards where the sprinklers send water over the grass and pavement, turning it dark. (The idea of not paying attention to the sky because someone else is there and more important, more beautiful, definitely strikes a cord with me. And launching forward, laughing and unbalanced and just complete chaos? I can imagine it and it feels so good? Just letting go and- and I don’t even know, living, I suppose.)

They don’t go through the edges of the sprinkler, where the water’s a mist and light, they run through the worst of it, laughing and holding hands. Immediately, they’re soaked, clothes plastered to their skin as droplets of water run down their arms and faces and necks. Minato’s hair falls over his eyes whilst Kushina has flyaway strands finally pinned down, and she rubs a hand across her forehead, shoving them to the side so they stop irritating her. (Not gonna lie, this was partially me just working on descriptions, but hey. If it’s hot and humid and gross even at like 8.30pm, hell yeah I’m gonna run through the worst bit of the sprinkler if my friend wants too as well. That weather is gross and you’re dying, okay? Trust me on that one, it’s not fun. But, well, to meet up with a friend after so long, there’s not much I won’t do.)

Now out of the sprinkler, they turn. The weather no longer feels so hot and muggy. It’s cool and warm and the perfect temperature, even though their clothes have darkened with water and their hair will definitely turn fuzzy. (More description stuff.)

Looking at each other, they laugh, loud and wild and happy. This is, undoubtedly, what life is all about. Laughing and living, looking at each other and grinning. They’re adults but that doesn’t mean they have to leave childish acts behind them. (They’re just so happy!! They’re in their like twenties and they’re “adults” but they’re having such a fine time and they’re loving and happy and it’s just glorious. This is what we all deserve, okay? Around work and uni and life in general - we deserve to be happy and loving and loved in return, laughing and glorious and far frome alone.)

Because of the challenges I had figuring it out, there are a few of the ones I was tossing up beneath the line.

My favourite bits are in bold.

Scene from i don’t believe that love was made to break:

“Hey look,” Reggie says, ��the sun’s rising.” And it is, painting the sky with colour. The sun itself is a circle of orange and the lake is fractured by every golden ray, colours rippling across the water.

Yet not one of them watches it. Instead, they are caught by each other. How the sun makes them glow. How the light gentles their faces. How they smile at each other.

The day grows warmer, the sun goes higher, and they are trapped in a single moment, aware of the way they are pressed up against each other, the way they are happy, the way they are loving without reserve.

Scene from the sea isn’t yours but you’re still the sea’s which may or may not be an AU of my own AU:

Sometimes kindness is an innate part of us, sometimes it’s there regardless of whether or not we know it. Sometimes kindness is apologising and saying ‘What can I do to help?’ Sometimes kindness is helping when help isn’t wanted but needed anyway.

In one world, there would be an information network growing in the shadows, spreading further and further with no one aware of it but one boy. In another world, there is no information network growing, but something else grows instead—hands stretching out, faces looking down. Kindness shared is kindness that can be passed on. Small things can stack, one on top of the other, and sometimes they lead to massive changes that are unforeseen. When a boy extends his hand out to a homeless child, she reaches back cautiously, but their story will end in trust and loyalty, (always).

Scene from Wayfinders‘ epilogue:

“This is what it means to be human.” The words seem to shock everyone and Toru smiles as he watches heads turn to one another, muttered discussion growing once again. “It is human to fight when the odds are against you,” he says. “It is human to say ‘we will keep living’ when it seems impossible. It is human to find a way to survive when an army marches towards you.

“It is human to fight. Sometimes this is against another opponent in a test of strength and sometimes it is against grief that threatens to overwhelm you. Sometimes you fail. Sometimes you fall. Sometimes you bow your head and give up. But you are not alone. Someone will reach ask if you’re alright. Someone will gift you a kind word. Someone will reach out a hand. There will always be someone reaching out a hand.

“A new era is dawning,” Toru lifts his chin, looks not to everyone below but to the sun overhead, shining down. “A new era is dawning and it is not one of war. It is one of peace, of love, of acceptance. It is one of kindness, of family, of friendship.” He smiles. “I speak not only to my people now, but to all of you. Let us remember hope, in times of hardship. Let us remember kindness, in times of cruelty. And let us remember to reach out and lift one another up high for you are never alone.”

(There are so many things Toru wants to say. He wants to engrave the lessons he learnt into people’s skin. He wants them to know what he does, that kindness is not a flaw, that mercy is not a weakness. But they will only learn that in time. And they have the time. They have the opportunity. Toru will see that they have all the time in the world.)

 (In the end, there is only one village that hears the words Toru does not say. One full of ghosts and laughing people. One full of refugees and fighters. One full of survivors and graves. Uzushio hears him and hears what he says with every word that escapes his lips.)

 (The sea will never die.)

[hadestownmodern]

Junie Meets Melody

(posting for Annika while she’s in the car...this is her space to say something...this fic made me cry and I love it and I love her. The end)

-----

“Now, baby, what are the rules again?” Persephone prepped, carrying her four year old through the white halls, the sterile smell unsettling at the least. Her grip on her shifted as she held Junie even closer to her. It had been thirteen years since she last stepped foot in a hospital setting, and even so grief wrapped around her heart and squeezed as she took the elevator up a few floors. Even after over a decade, it was a muscle memory, to the labor and delivery floor. This time, of course, was remarkably different. She had always left empty handed, nothing to show for the pain, the suffering, and the heartbreak. There was something empowering in knowing that the first time she stepped floor on this floor in thirteen years, she had her daughter. The daughter, who against all odds, existed. And then, of course, there was the reason they were here: Orpheus, Eurydice, and their new, healthy daughter. 

Junie lifted her head from Persephone’s shoulder, nodding excitedly. “Don’t be too loud and don’t try to grab the baby.” She blinked innocently at her mother, identical brown eyes catching each other’s. “I thought we were bringing presents?”

“Good girl.” Persephone kisses her daughter’s curls, managing to avoid eye contact with nurses who knew Persephone personally, pushing her anxieties further into her chest. “Presents? Oh, well, baby, I wanted to bring Eurydice something to eat but it’s too early for anything to open.” 

Persephone arrived to the room Orpheus had instructed her to, and gave Junie a little bounce. “You ready?” She smiles at her, leaning her forehead against her own as she knocked on the heavy wooden door and waited for Orpheus to open it. 

The door opened within seconds, Orpheus standing there, tear marks still streaming down his face. HIs eyes were puffy from crying, but he had a smile brighter than Persephone had ever seen etched almost permanently into his face. He wasted no time before wrapping his arms around Junie and Persephone both, a new round of tears falling into her hair. 

“She’s perfect, she’s so perfect and Eurydice is incredible and-” He rambles a little, pulling from the hug as Persephone extends a hand to wipe his tears, a warm smile on her own face. “I’ve never been this happy in my life.” 

“Ophie!” Junie giggles, holding her arms up to him, a silent request to be held by him instead. “Ophie I missed you swimmin’!”

He holds his hands out to Junie, who’s lunging at him, and holds her on his hip. He notes mentally what a difference it is, to hold his toddler semi sister, semi niece, now that he’s held a newborn. “I’m so sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.” 

“It’s okay Ophie, mama said you had to be with ‘Rydice. ‘Rydice is important.” Junie pats his face in understanding, before wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug. 

“Rydice is very important.” Orpheus agrees, flashing another smile at Persephone. “Buggy, you wanna come see my baby?”

Junie nods, clapping her hands excitedly. “Come on mama!” 

Persephone laughs lightly, but nods. “Lets see that baby of yours.”

Persephone is not sure what she was expecting when she followed Orpheus the extra steps into the little hospital room. 

Eurydice, laying back on the pillows, with a tiny baby flat on her chest, her hands both holding her little clothes-less baby to her skin should have been it. 

Eurydice is not looking up, her thumb rhythmically tracing the baby’s cheek as she stares at her, entranced with her girl. Even under the striped hospital hat, Persephone can see the little peaks of dark brown hair peeking out. 

“Hey little mamas, how are you feelin?” Persephone whispers, a soothing edge in her voice that is reserved for her children in their most vulnerable moments. 

She has tears in her eyes when she looks up at Persephone, her voice catching in her throat. “I did it.” Is all she can get out, before the heavy hiccup of a cry bubbles through her voice. “I did it.”

“Of course you did, baby, of course you did. I never doubted that you could.” Persephone’s hand cups Eurydice’s cheek, her thumb rubbing away the tears spilling from her eyes. She leans down and kisses her forehead gingerly, whispering again to her. “I am so so proud of you, Eurydice.”

Persephone leans back smiling at Eurydice and trying to blink back tears of her own. “Does she have a name yet?”

“Not yet.” Orpheus chimes in, bringing Junie from the window where he had been pointing out his apartment in the distance, to hover on the other side of the bed. He kneels, bringing Junie to eye height with Eurydice. Eurydice nods, her hand still firmly planted on the bare skin of her daughter’s back. 

“This is our baby, Junie.” Orpheus whispers, an awe in his voice unlike anything Persephone had heard before. She suspected that awe inspiring love would be all consuming for the foreseeable future of Orpheus’ life.  

Junie’s eyes almost immediately go wide, and she reaches out a little hand. It is impossibly gentle, the way this four year old hovers her hand over the baby’s. Eurydice nods, a gentle encouragement, as Junie reaches a little closer and Melody’s fist reflexively wraps around Junie’s pointer finger.  

“Hi, best friend.” Junie whispers, her other hand ever so gently touching Melody’s hat covered head, eyes going even wider when the baby moves at her touch. She scrunches her nose when she sees Melody’s face, and innocently whispers across the bed to her mother. “Mama..why does she look like that?”

“Like what, honey?” Persephone muses, her hands pushing back Eurydice’s bangs absently as she watches her daughter interact with the baby. 

“I thought she’d look like a baby doll, but she isn’t very cute, mama.”

“Juniper!” Persephone lectures, her voice raising just a little in disapproval. “That's not very nice.” 

“Her face is all squishy!” Junie defends, gesturing at Melody for emphasis. “Rydice is so pretty, why isn’t her baby pretty? Rydice i’m so sorry! You should have a pretty baby.”

“Juniper Beatrice that is enough-”

Eurydice though, is laughing. Laughing in a way that makes her shoulders shake, laughing in a way that has her eyes squeezed shut as she wheezes. “No, no, it’s okay. Junie’s right. I know she isn’t very cute yet, Junebug, but she’ll get there. It doesn’t make us love her any less, just because she looks kind of funny right now.” Eurydice promises, reaching a hand up to hold Junie’s. “She’ll get there.”

“I think she’s beautiful.” Orpheus murmurs, trying not to show offense at Junie’s harsh criticism of his newborn. 

“She’s my best friend, even if she isn’t very cute.” Junie assures, tilting her head to the side so she could be face to face with the baby. 

Eurydice sits up, and looks at Orpheus with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Do you want to hold her, Bug?”

Junie nods rapidly, holding her arms both out expectantly. This causes the adults to laugh, as Orpheus stands. 

“Orpheus is gonna hold you if thats okay..” Eurydice explained, as Orpheus settled in the chair beside the bed, holding Junie on his thigh. “Seph, can you take her over there..” She gestures towards Melody, as she peels her from her chest and cradles her in the crook of her arm, “walking isn’t my friend right now.” 

Persephone only laughs, before gently taking the infant from her mother. She looks at her for a few seconds, already able to see Eurydice in the shape of her mouth or in her nose, something she left out after Eurydice acknowledging her appearance. She revels in the feeling of a new baby in her arms, something she had long since forgotten the feeling of. 

Persephone stands infront of Orpheus and her daughter, watching as Orpheus settles his arms and Junie reaches hers out. He is gentle in the way he instructs Junie to keep her arms down, nodding at Persephone as she starts to lower Melody into his, and therefore Junie’s awaiting arms. 

Junie is enraptured almost immediately, her tiny finger tracing the baby’s nose. “My best friend.” She cooes, leaning down almost immediately to kiss her nose. “I love you, best friend.” 

There is something natural in the way Orpheus immediately responds to fatherhood, in his knowing ability to coach Junie through holding his daughter. It came from the practice of Junie herself, as well as inherent instinct within him. 

“She loves you too, bug, look how quiet she is for you.” Orpheus assures, kissing Junie’s hair gently. “She loves you.”

Persephone has the thought to take a picture on her phone, one of both Junie and Orpheus beaming at her, but another which is more candid, of both of them looking down at the baby with nothing but adoration on their faces. 

She settles on the edge of Eurydice’s bed, running her hand over her arm. “I brought shots, but now is not the time is it?”

Eurydice snorts as she shakes her head. “Not the time. I don’t think the baby needs shots on the first day of her life, do you?”

“I can agree. Maybe next weekend.” Persephone teases, kissing Eurydice’s forehead again before grabbing the throw blanket at the end of the bed from her home and tucking it around her. 

Time passes with idle chat, Persephone inquiring more after Eurydice’s health than anything, even declining the offer to hold the baby herself. “We’ll be back later, Hades, my mama, and Hermes will want to come.” She promises, coaxing Junie to give up the baby. “Come on, we’ll be back soon… lets go back to sleep at home, your daddy should be gone for work.” 

Junie relinquished the baby, and eventually agreed to leave after many rounds of hugs to Orpheus and Eurydice. 

Persephone is carrying her out, heart fuller and happier than it had ever been as she left a hospital. 

“I know what her name is, mama.” Junie announced as they walked out of the building and into a local coffee shop. “But amma says they have to pick it!”

“Amma didn’t let me pick your name.” Persephone muses, but indulges Junie anyway. “And what is her name, baby?”

“Her name is Melody, mama.”

[icarusmoons]

Wait For Me

@our-newdream

New Dream Appreciation Week: Fairy Tale Swap 

I took some liberties with this prompt and decided to swap Eugene and Rapunzel’s story with the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. Yes, I’m a monster. Thanks to Hadestown for the title and writing soundtrack. Enjoy! Or don’t! Like I said, I’m a monster. 

The gods are no longer protecting Eugene.

He’s alive, of course, and he managed to subdue Cerberus. No other mortal would make it this far. He knows this, and he is grateful. 

But as Hades studies Eugene’s face, he realizes the gods’ work is done. They cannot protect him from the way Hades cocks his eyebrow and smiles wickedly. It’s a look Eugene is all too familiar with, because it’s the same look he wore when cheating or stealing. It’s the look that says, “I’m going to make you a deal.” 

And usually, one end of the bargain is impossible to keep. 

Eugene listens intently as Hades makes his offer. 

“And if I succeed,” Eugene finally says, “Rapunzel comes back with me?”

“She comes back with you alive.”

Eugene narrows his eyes, searching for any sign of a trap or loophole Hades can slip through. 

He finds none, and shakes hands with the god of the underworld. 

                                                        *****

It’s so simple. 

It’s so simple, and yet, it is agonizingly difficult. Eugene has never been one to follow orders; furthermore, he has never been one to avoid looking at his wife. 

He just has to keep going. Follow the light. Stare straight ahead. 

If he looks back, he will lose Rapunzel forever. 

Eugene can’t hear Rapunzel’s footsteps, and he starts to suspect it’s all a trick. I’m a fool, he thinks. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking off the voice, reminding himself the dead don’t have footsteps. He wishes he could feel her presence, but he has no power over the underworld. The rules are different here.Maybe the rules are so different that Rapunzel would choose to stay.  

His heart is threatening to burst out of his chest, every beat singing part of the same painful refrain:

Don’t. Look. Back. Don’t. Look Back. 

                                                        *****

Rapunzel knows Hades. 

She knows that he keeps his promises. She knows that he is cunning, and that he will never give another soul a second chance at life. 

And she knows that he made this difficult for a reason. 

The path seems to stretch endlessly in front of them. She wants nothing more than to look at her husband’s face; to tap his shoulder.

Instead, she speaks to him. 

“Eugene,” she calls. “Eugene, I’m here. I’m right behind you. Don’t look back, Eugene. Keep going.”

But her words seem to get lost in the darkness. Eugene doesn’t respond, doesn’t change his pace. Can mortals hear the words of the dead? She prays that he knows she’s here; that she’s always been here, and always will. 

Rapunzel’s prayers seem to work, because her husband keeps walking towards the soft light. She stays close behind, reassuring him, reminding him to focus on the path ahead. 

After what seems like a lifetime, the light is within reach. 

Rapunzel beams. They’re going to make it. She’s going to leave the underworld. They’re going to be together again. 

“We’re almost there, Eugene! We--”

Before Rapunzel can finish, Eugene comes to a halt.

No. No, no, no. Not now. Not when they are so close. 

“Eugene, no! Don’t!”

But Rapunzel’s protests are swallowed by the underworld. Eugene turns, and his brown eyes grow wide as he meets his wife’s gaze. 

“Rapunzel?”

She nods. “It’s me.”

Eugene lets out a deep, shaky breath. I really am a fool, he thinks. 

He reaches out, hoping he can hold her one last time before Hades claims her forever.

[joyfulsongbird]

A Proposal

Orphydice fluff where Orpheus didn’t look back and they officially get engaged. Literally just fluff.

***

Orpheus woke early that morning, early enough that the sun wasn't all the way in the sky, just a small mound on the horizon. He reached a hand out, feeling for the warm body beside his. And to his relief, felt soft hair under his fingers and the soft skin of her cheek. He found himself instinctually doing this every morning until it became a conscious habit. He didn't mind and neither did she. Rolling onto his side, he watched her breathe for awhile. Her eyes closed, he let his soft touch glide over the bridge of her nose, over her eyelashes, across her lips until her eyes fluttered open. She registered him first, smiling at the sight of him next to her.

"It's so early." she murmured, closing her eyes again and burrowing her face into his shoulder. "Go back to sleep."

He hummed out a single note, letting the vibration fill up his bones and flow to hers. She hummed it back, messily, the vibrato flying all over the place. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, Eurydice sat up on her elbow.

"How long until you leave for work?"

He glanced at the clock on the wall, he could just barely make out the numbers. "An hour."

She mumbled out her disapproval at him leaving for work so early, but despite herself, her fingers danced up his bare chest. Leaning in for a kiss, a kiss that lingered and grew and kept them in bed for awhile.

***

He dressed for work quickly, leaving Eurydice wrapped in the sheets, and half asleep again. The woman was anything but a morning person, and it always made him laugh. To watch her nose wrinkle in disgust at the early hours Orpheus found himself waking at and accidentally waking her when he got out of bed. She was quite perceptive of those things for someone who hated early hours, she could sense the slightest change in the temperature of their mattress. The weight of him standing up could wake her in mere seconds.

"G'morning, mister Hermes." Orpheus greeted him at the doorway of the bar.

"Another early shift?" Hermes raised an eyebrow at the sheepish boy as he unlocked the doors. "You and that girl of yours having money problems again? Cause you know me and Persephone are always here to help out, son."

He waved a hand. "No, no, just..." he ran a hand through his hair as they stepped inside the building and looked about like he was afraid someone was listening.

Hermes narrowed his eyes at the boy he'd known since he was a baby, the kid couldn't tell a lie if his life depended on it. "What're you hiding?"

"I'm savin' up for a ring." Orpheus explained quickly. "Two rings actually. Wedding bands. From that antique shop down the block."

Hermes let out a booming laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. "Well, that sure explains quite a lot. Only that girl of yours could drive you to work so hard. And for a trinket."

"It's not just a trinket." Orpheus said, reaching up to the cabinets and taking glasses out. "I feel as if... it might... I just want her to know that she's, y'know, loved. And everyone else to know it too. It means a lot to the both of us."

"You two talked about it yet?" Hermes asked, dragging chairs across the floor to the tables on the floor.

"Marriage, yes. The rings, no." Orpheus said. "I wouldn't buy two rings if I didn't think she's up for the idea. I've heard her call me her husband dozens of times. I've called her my wife before. Half the town thinks we got married in secret. But she doesn't know that's the reason I've been taking early and late shifts even though we're already set for winter."

Hermes leaned against the counter, watching the boy, so in love, so nervous yet confident at the same time. "How long until you've got enough for them?

"'Bout a week." Orpheus shrugged. "They aren't fancy but I wanted to give her something. Something she's never had before. Neither of us got nice things when we were kids, or now, and I just want her to have all good things. I want to give her everything. But I can't. So I'm working really hard to get her this one thing right now."

"You're a good kid." Hermes said, reaching to take Orpheus by the shoulders, holding him at arms length. "I've always known you were a good kid but you turned out so great."

Orpheus blushed. "Thank you, mister Hermes."

Hermes grinned. "Now," he said sharply. "Help me get those bottles from the cellar."

** A WEEK LATER **

"Thank you." Orpheus says to the cashier at the antique shop, he pockets the rings, planning to give them to her as soon as he gets home. He's not supposed to be home for another few hours, but he got off his shift early since Hermes knew exactly what he was planning that day. Gave him his paycheck and sent him on his merry way.

There's a nervous flutter in his stomach, a feeling he's familiar with, the same feeling he has when he sees Eurydice dancing. The same feeling he had when he first saw her.

"Orpheus!" He turns away from their house towards the garden and sees her giving him a wave.

He clambers over the fence.

"Be careful," she warns, walking between the neat rows of plants she's worked so hard on. "Don't want you ruining my hard labor."

She reaches him, pressing a kiss to his lips, lingering for a moment, before pulling back.

"You're home early." She says accusingly. Stepping back, he can't help it admire her. In her jeans and an old t-shirt- probably one of his- both stained with dirt, she's so beautiful. With dirt smeared on her face and forehead, especially right on her nose. He feels the urge to wipe it away and kiss the same spot.

"Hermes let me off early."

"Hm." She, obviously, doesn't believe his weak excuse and walks back to where she had been. "I was just finishing up anyways. Let me grab my basket and get cleaned up, then you get to hear about my awful day."

He laughs following her out of the garden, she's already beginning on her tangent.

"Do you know how many women reside in the dark corners of the trading post? You would not believe. It's like they stand there and wait for specifically me to walk through the doors in order for them to critique and criticize me. I'm pretty sure this whole damn town has a problem with young people getting married because if you'd heard the things they were saying... ugh! You are lucky I did not get in a fistfight today, Orpheus."

She's already in the door, and placing her basket of vegetables on the table. He closes the door behind him, eyes following her and as she paces, placing things back in cabinets as she continues on one of her patented rants.

"One of them literally said I should still be in school. Really. I know I look fifteen but that doesn't mean they have to point-"

His hands reach for her unconsciously, pulling her flat against him. His mouth hovers inches from hers.

"You do not want to kiss me right now," she warns. "I'm hot, I'm bothered, and I smell like a sewage pipe."

"Nah," he says. "I really, really do. I haven't seen you all day."

"Yeah," she agrees, fingers grabbing his belt loops and tugging him closer. "That's your own fault. Leaving so early this morning, barely even kissed me goodbye."

"Don't worry, I'm done with early shifts." He says, though only he knows why. The rings in his shift pocket grow hotter against his chest.

"Good, then I actually get to see you through the hazy mist of the morning when I don't know if I'm dreaming or not."

"You dream about me?"

"Gods, all the time." She laughs. "Except half the time I'm pretty sure it's just you leaving in the mornings but it usually consists of something like this."

Leaning forward and pressing her lips to his, he doesn't hesitate. He knows this route, knows this women. Pressing a kiss to her cheek, to her jaw, winding downwards to her shoulder barely covered by the drooping neckline of her oversized shirt.

If he doesn't do it now, he never will. Pulling back, leaving her slightly annoyed by the sudden stop but without saying anything about it.

"What?" She asks, tugging at the curl by his ear. "Is something wrong? You won't meet my eye."

"I have something for you. Well, for both of us." He takes her hand in his, uncurling her fingers until it's a flat surface and pressing it to his shirt pocket. Her breath catches audibly when she feels the circular feel of the trinkets under the fabric of his shirt.

"Orpheus-"

"Take them out. Come on." He prompts gently. Her fingers tremble as she reaches into his pocket where he usually keeps a few mints. Or a red carnation. She pulls out two rings, made of copper wire wound together into rings.

"I was thinking we could make it official," he says quietly when she doesn't respond, just stares at the rings she holds. "Since everyone already thinks we are married. And not only that, there's also the fact that I really love you and-"

She cuts him off with a kiss. A long, hurried one where neither of them want to pull away. One where both of them forget to breath.

"Gods, what do I even say?" She whispers into his mouth. "Yes? I love you?"

He laughs. "Either of those would suffice."

Their foreheads lean together, they stay silent for a few moments. "We'll have to get the paperwork done before we are officially wed."

"Who'll be our witness?" Eurydice asks, combing her hand through his hair.

"Hermes, perhaps? Or Persephone?" Orpheus suggests.

"I'm sure the other would offended if we asked one."

"So, both then." He says. She laughs wetly, leaning her face against his shoulder.

"I love you."

"I know," he replies promptly. "I love you too."

He takes her hand, which still clutches the rings tightly in her fist, unfolding her fingers again and slipping the ring onto her left hand. She does the same to him. His eyes find her face, she stands there, looking beautiful and frightened and in awe. There is some sort of finality in the way she takes his ringed hand, as if they are having their on private ceremony in the quiet of their home. Without a word, he leans down, gently catching her lips with his own and loosely holds her there. For a long time, neither of them think of speak or think of complications or winter or tomorrow. They stay like this. Stay close, closer, close.

Orpheus only thinks of his wife.

Eurydice only thinks of her husband.

How can two people love each other this much?

The answer isn't simple, but the lovers live in constant fear that their love will burn itself out like a candle with a wick on both ends. Burning maliciously. But what they don't know as they kiss against their front door, is that this kind of rare love is one that dips up and down, yes, but never fades. Not even in death. Not even in mourning. Nor in the darkness or in fear or in resentment, love burns as long as they are just bright enough to make out the other figure in the dark. And even in the darkest night, they can still see just faintest outline of the other to use as a lifeline of hope.

[bookwormscififan]

To Doubt is to Lose

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A/N: I got really into Hadestown (I thank @purp-man​ for planting the seeds of curiosity into my head a very long time ago), and decided to write two fics from different songs in the soundtrack. This is the first, I’m still figuring out a plot for the other one. I also wanna thank Purp for giving me a better idea of what the heck the storyline of this musical is, because sometimes soundtracks don’t give a lot of information. 

Song: “Doubt Comes In” - Hadestown

Characters: Roman, Thomas, a Lost Side, the guardian of the Deep Mind

Lost Sides? Check this post!

Warnings: self-doubt

Word count: 3237 words

[FATES]

Doubt comes in

The wind is changing

Doubt comes in

How cold it's blowing

Doubt comes in

And meets a stranger

Walking on a road alone

Where is she?

Where is she now?

Doubt comes in

 To think of the Deep Mind as being the coldest part of Thomas’ mind was like looking for a warm pocket under bedclothes in winter.

But still, the guardian of the Deep Mind could tell something was wrong. He shivered, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders, and peered into the gloom. Somewhere out there, the right side of Thomas’ brain was creating his dreams. The guardian could just make out the border, a slight discolouration of the ground where lost meets found.

“Lost meets found” was a strange way to put it. Lost can’t really meet anything. It’s a state of being: one is either lost, or they aren’t. Still, the guard could see a line defining the end of the Deep Mind’s territory and the start of the Imagination.

A figure was sneaking across the border, wearing a hooded cloak coloured scarlet. Roman. The guard rolled his eyes, pulling a small clipboard and pen from the folds of his cloak. This would be the seventh time Roman came to the gate to enter the Deep Mind.

 [ORPHEUS]

Who am I?

Where do I think I'm goin'?

 Roman’s cloak fluttered behind him, echoing his footsteps as he crept toward the Deep Mind.

I will get there. I’ll save them all, and I’ll be the hero again. His thoughts repeated themselves like a mantra in his head as he walked, spurring him on. Sword braced at his belt, Roman took a deep breath and stopped in front of the guard.

“Let me in.”

 [FATES]

Doubt comes in

 “Your attempt is fruitless.” Roman stared at the guard, eyes wide.

“What do you mean? I can do this!” The guard lowered his head, shadows falling over his face.

“You won’t. I’ve seen too many Sides come in here, and none of them return. They all had your energy… once.” Roman unconsciously took a step back, bile swelling in the back of his throat.

 [ORPHEUS]

Who am I?

Why am I all alone?

  What if he never came back? Did he really, honestly think he could make it? He was starting to feel unsure.

Thoughts raced in his mind, and he swayed. You can’t do this. You aren’t strong enough. Why did you ever think you could? Pushing the thoughts back and biting his lip, Roman clenched his fists and looked at the guard.

“I can do this.”

 [FATES]

Doubt comes in

 The guardian of the Deep Mind sighed, knowing he couldn’t reason with a True Side. He took a step back, waving a hand in resignation toward the gate.

“Go. I won’t try to stop you. But I tell you, nobody has ever made it out. Not even Creativity.”

 [ORPHEUS]

Who do I think I am?

Who am I to think that she would follow me into the cold and dark again?

 Roman stepped toward the gate, suddenly nervous.

Creativity’s in there. The real Creativity. You can get him out. Thomas’ career is secure if you get Creativity out. But what if he couldn’t? The guard’s words echoed in his head. If Creativity couldn’t get out, how was Roman supposed to make it?

 [FATES]

Where is she?

Where is she now?

 Roman was more than just Thomas’ creativity. He was Hope, he was Dreams, he was Ego. Without Roman, Thomas would have nothing.

What would happen if the Deep Mind were opened to Thomas? The guardian bit his lip, weighing options in his mind as he waited for a sign that either Roman was coming back, or he was lost.

 [EURYDICE and WORKERS]

Orpheus

Are you listening? Are you listening?

I am right here

We are all right here

And I will be to the end Will be to the end

And the coldest night Coldest night

Of the coldest year Coldest year

Comes right before the spring Comes right before the spring

 Thomas woke with a start, heart pounding. Something had woken him, but he wasn’t sure what exactly.

“Thomas… is this working? Can you hear me? Can you see me?” Something moved in his peripheral vision, but when Thomas turned to look, there was nothing there. He took a deep breath, placed a hand over his heart, then swung his legs over the edge of his bed.

Pulling his striped dressing-gown on, he reached for the light, glancing at the clock as he moved. 2:48 am. It was too early to be awake. Thomas bit his lip, then flicked the light on. He almost screamed as the room was flooded with light.

A figure stood at the end of his bed, wearing a hooded cloak. He looked up, staring at Thomas as if daring him to scream, then lifted an arm to remove his hood.

“Please, don’t scream. I don’t like the screaming.” Thomas stared at the figure, confused about his origins.

“Who-” he paused to swallow, clearing his throat, “who are you?”

“They called us Lost Sides. Once, we were as important as them. Now, we wander in doubt and confusion.” The Side, as he claimed to be, sat on the edge of Thomas’ bed and shook his head.

“The guard sent me here. I’m supposed to take you with me to the Deep Mind.”

Thomas’ eyes went wide, and he moved further away from the Side.

“Wait a minute. I need to process this.” The Lost Side looked at him with unblinking eyes, mouth set into a line.

“Process what? It’s all pretty straightforward.” Thomas held a hand out to silence the Side, shaking his head.

“No… no, it’s not straightforward! I have a lot of questions here! What do you mean by ‘Lost Sides’? What’s the Deep Mind? Who the heck is the guard? My head hurts…” The Side lifted a hand toward Thomas, then reconsidered and dropped his hand.

“The Lost Sides are the ones who went searching for themselves in the Deep Mind… and never came back. Think of the Deep Mind as your subconscious. It’s the part of your mind that works when you don’t, the part that you have no control of. One of the Lost Sides guards the gate there, tracking every Side that goes through the gate, and at times stopping the careless Sides.” He sighed, seeing Thomas’ blank face.

“There was a rumour that the Deep Mind would give us reason to be Sides. People went in looking for a purpose, and they get drawn into the sea of confusion. The Deep Mind doesn’t give us purpose, it takes it away. I don’t know why the guard sent me to find you, but Roman went into the Deep Mind.” That made Thomas look up.

“But… if Roman went into the Deep Mind…” he ran a hand through his hair, then looked at the Lost Side.

“What do I do?”

 [ORPHEUS]

La la la la la la la...

La la la la la la la...

 Who am I?

Who am I against him?

Who am I?

Why would he let me win?

Why would he let her go?

Who am I to think that he wouldn't deceive me just to make me leave alone?

 Roman had never seen the Deep Mind beyond the gate. He always pictured it as being an extension to the Imagination, with maybe some connection to Logan’s side of the Mindscape.

But this… was unexpected. Roman stood two steps from the gate, just looking at the area. It was bright, to start. White everywhere, and impossibly large. It seemed to go on forever. The ground could barely be seen due to the shoe scuffs or the countless Sides wandering around.

Roman took a deep breath in, struggling to breathe in the place. The air was filled with doubt, and heavy with confusion. Roman swore he could cut the air with his sword… if he even remembered how to draw it.

It’s already started. You’re beginning to forget. How can you possibly save everyone if you can’t even remember how to fight? The voices echoed louder here, almost as if the white walls made the sound reverberate.

The prince took another deep breath, then let it out slowly and shook his head defiantly. He could do this. Maybe. If he at least managed to get Creativity out, then his job would be done. But what if Creativity doesn’t want to be saved?

He would deal with that when he got to it.

 [FATES and ORPHEUS]

Doubt comes in

The wind is changing Is this a trap that's bein' laid for me?

Doubt comes in

How cold it's blowing Is this a trick that's bein' played on me?

Doubt comes in and meets a stranger I used to see the way the world could be

Walking on the road below But now the way it is is all I see and

 Where is she?

Where is she now?

 Following goals was never a forethought in the Deep Mind. You enter the place, and everything you think of goes away.

The guardian chewed his nails, wondering if pulling a Lost Side from the Deep Mind was the right call. Sure, this Side hadn’t been Lost long, but was it too much to throw on Thomas? He never wanted to hurt his host.

Additionally, how would the Sides be able to get Thomas here? Lost Sides had no more power after entering the Deep Mind, there was no way Thomas could use the Mind Palace to get here. They would have to use some ‘back roads’.

The guard looked at his watch, counting the minutes since Roman had entered the Deep Mind. Maybe this was all a huge mistake. Maybe Roman was supposed to come here. The Side groaned, flinging his hood off his head in frustration.

I was never supposed to handle this! Why did I have to be the guardian? His hair fell over his eyes, and he blew the strands away out of the corner of his mouth. He had been promised a new purpose, with no doubts if he came here; so why was he questioning this whole scenario? It made no sense.

Why did you choose me? Nobody responded. Nobody ever did. The guardian grumbled to himself, then pulled his hood back over his head and crossed his arms, leaning heavily against the gate.

 [EURYDICE and WORKERS]

Orpheus

You are not alone

I am right behind you We're all behind you

And I have been all along We have been all along

The darkest hour Darkest hour

Of the darkest night Darkest night

Comes right before the- Right before the

 Thomas followed the Lost Side through the “back roads” of the Mind Palace, too nervous to speak. The Side hurried forward, cloak billowing behind him.

“As soon as we get Roman back, you need to forget everything you’ve seen here,” the Lost Side said, stopping at a seemingly random place. Thomas looked around, taking in the vast emptiness around them.

“It’s not like I’ll forget anything important. Where are we, anyway?”

“You’re in the Imagination. Roman and Remus stay here, and they brainstorm their ideas here.” The Lost Side looked around, eyes full of longing.

“Creativity used to create the most wonderful landscapes. He would get inspired by whatever film you had gone to watch, and create the area to look like a scene from the movie.” He sighed, adjusting the hood on his head.

“The twins never managed to agree on a good setting, so they left the Imagination blank until they came in for brainstorming.” He shook his head, beginning to walk again.

“Come on, we need to keep moving.” Thomas blinked, trying to process what had just happened.

“Wait, wait. You can’t just say things like that and then move on! What do you mean, Creativity? I thought Roman and Remus were Creativity!” He hurried after the Side, still asking questions.

“Ask Roman. When we’ve rescued him.”

 Thomas and the Lost Side stopped at the gate to the Deep Mind, and the Side continued to walk forward after telling Thomas to stop. Another Side took his place, holding a clipboard and pen.

“Thomas, it’s good to see you again. Welcome to the gateway to the Deep Mind. I’m the guardian of the gate, and I check everyone who comes in. We needed your help. Roman came in here, and he shouldn’t be in there.” Thomas stared blankly at the guardian, scratching his head.

“Hold on. I’ve just walked through my own mind, spoken to a supposed ‘Lost Side’, and learnt about some other Creativity stuff, and you expect me to just agree to help get Roman out of the Deep Mind? Are you insane? I need you to give me more information before I do anything.” Having said his piece, Thomas folded his arms and fixed the guard with a glare.

The guardian rolled his eyes upward, then returned his focus to his host.

“Alright, I understand. The Side told you about going into the Deep Mind and getting lost, yes? Well, Roman believes he’s no longer the hero you need, and so he went into the Deep Mind to find himself, Creativity, or rescue the Lost Sides.” He leaned forward, making eye contact.

“Nobody gets out of the Deep Mind, but we need Roman to get out. We need you to get Roman out. He’ll listen to you. Thomas, you need to go into the Deep Mind.” Thomas stared, mouth agape.

“But… that makes no sense! I can’t go into my subconscious! That’s why it’s called a subconscious, it’s different to consciousness! Logan would have so much to say about this!” He began to pace, talking to himself in vain attempts to reason. The guard just watched him, heaving a heavy sigh. Eventually he placed a hand on Thomas’ shoulder.

“Listen, I know it sounds weird too, but I can’t think of any other way to fix this. I don’t know what will happen when you go through those gates, I’ll be honest, but just know that I’m here for whatever happens. Take a deep breath, let me accompany you if you want.” Thomas looked into the guard’s eyes and for a second, he was certain a flash of orange went through the irises. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and nodded.

“I’ll go.”

 [ORPHEUS, spoken]

It's you...

 Roman struggled to continue forward, and his breathing was laboured.

His feet felt like lead, and the doubtful air got thicker with every step he took. His thoughts were blending together, making him confused. Nothing was making sense anymore, but he knew he had to press on. He had to find someone… something?

The faces in the crowd stared at him, faces blank. Roman had stopped looking at faces, deciding instead to just follow his gut. But how could he follow his gut if the directions all made no sense? It was like going into a maze without consulting a map first.

You’re going to get so lost, nobody will be able to find you. He shook his head for the umpteenth time, trying desperately to dispel the thoughts. Maybe if Remus was with me, I’d have better chances. That thought was just weird. He hadn’t wanted Remus’ help since before they were separated. When they were still under the guidance of Creativity.

Creativity. That was who you were looking for. Get him out, help Thomas. Roman felt the weight on his feet lift as the memory resurfaced, and he began to walk a little faster. He had to find Creativity. He had to help Thomas.

“Roman!” That voice… it sounded like Thomas’. He had to laugh, how would Thomas be in the Deep Mind? Hosts can’t be in their subconscious. Yet, something made him turn around.

A couple of figures stood among the crowd, looking at him. The guardian of the Deep Mind, and another one. Mostly faded, but still clearly…

“Thomas?”

 [EURYDICE]

(spoken)

It's me...

(sung)

Orpheus...

 The guard stood beside Thomas, keeping tabs on the host’s form as they travelled further into the Deep Mind.

Thomas had begun to fade the second he stepped through the gate, and by the time they were two minutes into the Deep Mind, he had become as faint as yellow pencil on white paper. They had to find Roman quickly.

“There he is! Roman!” Thomas pointed, stopping, as he spotted Roman’s red cloak. The guard looked as well, and saw Roman’s vaguely confused face. The duo moved through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea at the sight of Thomas, and stood in front of Roman.

“Thomas?” The prince looked more confused when the pair reached him, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Roman, why are you here? What were you thinking?” Thomas reached forward to shake Roman’s shoulders, then gasped as his hands went right through the other.

“What am I thinking? What are you thinking? You can’t come into the Deep Mind! You’ll disappear, then we’ll all cease to exist! You have to leave, I need to find someone…” Roman’s voice trailed off as he began to forget who he was looking for again.

“You’ve been here too long, Roman. You need to get out before you become Lost,” the guardian said, beginning to back away. Thomas followed, each backward step regaining his opacity. Roman watched them go, battling with his thoughts.

“No… I need to stay… I have to find Creativity…” The pair stopped, and Thomas stared at him in astonishment.

“Creativity? Roman, you are Creativity! You and Remus! We went through this! What are you talking about? Why do you guys keep talking about another Creativity?” His voice got more faint as time ticked on, and the guard backed away another step.

Roman looked at Thomas, head tilted to one side.

“Creativity was the Side responsible before Remus and I split. If I find him, then you’ll get better ideas.” Thomas blinked, then felt the guard’s hands on his arms as he dragged Thomas backwards.

“Thomas, we need to get you back out.”

 [ORPHEUS]

Eurydice...

 Roman watched as the guardian pulled Thomas out of the Deep Mind, eyes wide.

Slowly, the crowd of Lost Sides began to converge, blocking Roman’s path. The prince stared as the gates closed, and Thomas’ opaque form turned to the gate. He could see Thomas shaking the gates, calling out to him, but he couldn’t hear anything. It was as though someone had stuffed cotton into his ears, and all sound got trapped inside the substance.

Roman wanted to go to Thomas, plead his case, but his feet felt glued to the ground, and he couldn’t make himself move. Helpless, he watched as Thomas gave up, the fight fading from his eyes before he turned and walked away.

 “You did it this time,” a voice said behind him, sounding clear as a bell. Roman turned and looked into the eyes of another Lost Side, looking at him with pity in his eyes.

You know him. He’s who we’ve been looking for. The longer Roman looked, the more familiar his interlocutor became. Roman could almost see a crown atop his head, and a velvet cloak around his shoulders. Swallowing around a lump in his throat, Roman uttered a final word before his colours drained:

“Creativity?”

[damienthepious]

hhhhh okay so maybe lkt this week is gonna be a little sad. i hope any of y’all even remember this one, i haven’t touched it in a grip

You Want To Live (When Life Is Achingly Unfair) [Chapter 2]

[Chapter 1] [ao3] [Chapter 3]

Archive Warning: Major Character Death

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Angelo

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Orpheus/Eurydice/Hades, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (though there will NOT be relief until later chapters), Death, (Death but it’s Weird when the afterlife is a place you can just Go), Singing

Summary: Damien’s beloved dies in spring. His flower dies, among flowers. This cruelty is not without beauty.

Chapter Summary: It is natural, for a doctor to have a complicated relationship with Death.

Chapter Notes: This just in: I fucking love Rilla.

~

Lord Arum, he who rules the realm of the dead, greets each of his new charges as they arrive. This is deserved.

All is still, in death. Time is… distant. It brushes by, tickles at the corners, but it does not impede his methodical work. Time is distant, and therefore he never needs worry if he has enough of it to spend on each new soul. He guides. He understands. He helps, when such opportunities present themselves.

His visage is not comforting. It is not meant to be. Death is only ever itself, all complication and incomprehension. His visage is not comforting, but that does not mean that he should not be, himself. Lord Arum greets those who come to rest, and he and his realm ease the difficulty of their transitions, as they are able.

His charges may take as long as each requires, to reconcile their life, to reconcile their death. Arum understands that difficulty. He has seen countless causes, countless cruelties of humanity and godkind alike, seen murder and mistake and malady, seen suffering and seen moments gone so quick they may be missed in a breath. Even a more gentle death can take effort to move on from, if the life left behind is dearly missed, if the person were not ready to leave. Arum guides each as they need, or allows his realm itself to guide, when he knows his own hand, the hand of a god, would be unwelcome, or intrusive.

There is time enough for this, for every patient comfort.

For if time is a river, unceasing and relentless in the realm above, then death is a swamp: wide waiting shallows, subtle eddies, echoes, swirling currents, the air as thick as the loam and water below. Stillness. Calm. Arum rules this still calmness, his still calmness. He rules it, and he loves it, and it loves him in return. Among the gods his station may not be coveted, may not be lauded, but he is useful. He is needed. He performs the tasks that are required, to keep the flow of life as the universe intends, and he excels at his duties.

Some faces, some souls are more familiar when they come to join his subjects at last. Some have brushed close to death many times in their lives, and Arum notes these well. Some come close time and time again, a dance with a partner they do not see. Some never bear the reality of his presence in their lives until the very moment of their last breath.

Some, in the style of his newest subject, he is familiar with in a way that is… painful.

He cannot afford this pain, of course. It does not befit him to care, to mourn in the fashion of mortals, when a soul joins him at a time that seems unfair. Arum attends the transition, but he rules the after, not the moment itself. Death is a calm place. A place of rest and finality. Dying, as it were, is chaotic. Unpredictable. It follows no logic, no reason, no rules save one: that dying is final. Dying is the river that may only be crossed once. Arum rules his shore, and he may disagree with the schedule of certain crossings, but his place is not in that decision.

Arum disagrees with the schedule of this crossing, certainly. He disagrees, but he may do no more than give himself a moment of quiet sorrow before he goes to perform his tasks.

~

Rilla wakes. Rilla will never wake again. The two facts coincide, the two banks of the river each obeying their own rules.

Her parents do not greet her as she rises, and she finally knows with certainty that they still live. Her relief is less than she expected.

Death is less than she expected.

She observes. Herself, first.

She does not breathe. Her heart does not beat. She needs not even blink. She is preserved, one last moment stretching out, a prism through which she can view her life backwards, the last change her body ever bore tattooing her ankle in twin pinpricks. She remembers her end. So very, very simple. Rustle, hiss, strike, fall.

Her parents do not greet her, and Damien still survives (I would follow, o I would follow-), but there is nonetheless someone beside her as she rises to awareness, her toes in the soft silt of the riverbank.

She knows him. She knows him instantly, without thought. Of course she does: Rilla is a healer, after all, and he looms always in the corners of her patient’s rooms. She has been setting her stubbornness against him since she was barely grown.

Death greets her, and his form is ancient and inhuman and wild. Clawed, and fanged, and scaled. Impossible, like something cursed. Or-

Not cursed. Only beyond and outside life as she has known it. He is death. It’s perfectly natural that he seems incomprehensible.

Rilla turns towards him, and he watches her with patient eyes, eyes the precise color of the flowers scattered across the field in which her time among the living ended.

“How… how long have I…” Rilla trails off, her own voice sounding strange and muffled, here, and the Lord of Death shakes his head.

“Time is only an idea, Amaryllis,” he says, his voice all fallen leaves. “We are beyond that, here.”

“That’s not a particularly useful answer,” she responds, and he blinks. She has surprised him. Surprised death, which is gratifying in a strange sort of way.

“I apologize,” he says, still soft. “I have no other answer to give. Time no longer matters to you.”

“But it still matters to-”

Rilla feels an ache, a pull, like the rush of the dying still upon her.

(paint joy even in the pale light of grief / for the flower which blooms in darkness / remains still a flower)

She presses a hand over her unbeating heart, her unbreathing chest. “To Damien,” she finishes quietly. “It matters to him. How long has he been alone? Is he- is he safe?”

“He is not among my subjects.” The deity assures her. “Not yet.”

“How long has he been alone?” Rilla repeats, and the Lord of Death drops his violet eyes from her.

“Any answer I give will leave you unsatisfied, Amaryllis.”

“Why are you here, if you can’t even answer a question as simple as that?”

His tail twitches, his jaw tightening, and Rilla takes some measure of satisfaction in that.

“I apologize,” he says again, further dryness slipping into his tone. “Such a question may seem simple to you; I understand your perspective, but time does not pass here as you know it. For your Damien-”

(the dead are only ever still)

He pauses. Rilla presses her hand over her heart with just barely more pressure.

“Not yet a year, perhaps, as he passes through it. That time is not set, however, Amaryllis. Not from where we stand. This realm merely glances at such measures. It is malleable, how our perspectives interact.”

Not a year, but it must be close enough to that amount for the God to pluck that measure as his metric. So long- so long for Damien to be alone…

“That still doesn’t make any sense,” she says, eventually, because it is true.

The Lord of Death sighs, a withering sound, and Rilla realizes that she cannot observe the space she currently occupies. There is a fog, not something extant, not something she feels she could touch, but this realm is dreamlike and unmemorable besides the God in front of her and the river at her back.

“I will not apologize a third time,” he says. “I will answer any questions you may have, as I am so able. You are now among my subjects, and I serve you as I serve this realm, but there are answers I cannot give. Your irritation with that limitation will not change it.”

Her anger feels like a curl of smoke, hard to grasp, though she certainly makes an attempt. Her hands are cold, but she clenches them into fists at her sides. "Well, Lord of Death, I certainly beg your pardon. Considering how long I've been fighting with you, I'm sure seeing me here is emotionally vexing." She grins precisely like the viper which cut her line, both venom and glee. "I'm not in your way anymore, but now you have to see me."

The Lord of Death tilts his head, staring at her for an immeasurable moment, and then it bursts from him in a laugh, wild with surprise. She is surprised, as well. When this deity laughs, all brightens around her like the flickering of lightning.

"I believe you have misunderstood, Amaryllis. Fighting me? Oh, oh certainly not. Death, Amaryllis- I have stood close beside you often enough, that much is true, but it has never been death whom you have fought. Your bitter rivals are pestilence, violence, plague, and misfortune. You make such forces quake."

"... What?"

"To death you have been a companion. You have been an ally."

"I am not an ally of death."

He pauses, his violet gaze upon her going oddly soft, oddly fond. "You are wrong, Amaryllis. You have only ever remained a friend to death. Graceful death. Kind death. Death at its natural moment." He smiles, and there is an ease to the inhuman curve of it. "Whether you have known it or not, we have been acquainted for some time already."

Rilla contemplates that, and he is patient as she does. “I knew who you were when I saw you,” she murmurs. “You were familiar.”

“You have passed many into my care with compassion, Amaryllis, and kept many, many more from crossing at times that would have been cruel. Your own passing at this time is… regrettable.”

Rilla laughs, a light sort of noise, and it does not echo here. It falls muffled, the strange fog of this place swallowing the sound. The Lord of Death responds, regardless, his lips parting and showing the sharpness of his teeth, his eyes widening and showing the dilating angles of the violet.

“Regrettable,” she echoes, and she is not even bitter about it. “Do gods usually regret?”

“No,” he says, simple and without pause. “No, we do not.”

The quiet of this place, without even the measured beat of her own heart, makes it difficult for Rilla to say how long a pause passes, after that. Rilla does not need to breathe. She inhales, regardless, so she may sigh a steadying breath.

“Yeah, well.” She looks down at her hands, stained green at the fingertips from the herbs she had been picking. “I regret it too, Lord of Death.”

He stares at her, and even in their inhumanity she can see some strange measure of pain in his eyes.

“Come,” he says, his rough voice muffled and soft as he lifts a clawed hand towards her. “Walk with me, Amaryllis.”

“Why?”

His lip curls at her question, and she thinks it might be a smile. “You cannot remain forever with your heels in those waters, Amaryllis. You deserve more peace than that.”

Soft mud between her toes, the pull of running water on her heel like the clear note of a flute.

(weeping of the wilds follow me down, follow me down / follow her down / feed each river and flow into the last)

There are tears in Rilla’s eyes, and she does not quite understand why.

“Not yet,” she says. She needs to close her eyes, then, against the sympathy she can see on his face as he lowers his hand again. “I’m not… I’m not ready, just yet.”

[kenzierose53]

Promises (xxii)

I am getting so close to 600 reads on this on Wattpad it’s crazy! Like WHAT! When I first started this story I never expected ANYONE to want to read it. 

- MaKenzie ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bar was quiet during the afternoon, a few stragglers here and there but overall not bad. Thankfully during the afternoon, the kitchen was busy so I didn't have to deal with Sofia. Right now, it was just myself, Hermes and Sofia here at the bar. Orpheus was out running some errands for Hermes leaving me alone. Hermes was in his office working on some things.

Persephone was actually with Hades; he had kept on his promise to come and visit her. Of course, no one can know he is here but she told me immediately. The smile on her face when she told me her husband was coming to see her made me so happy. I remember telling her in the Underworld to ask him for visits never honestly expecting him to take time off work to come but he proved me wrong.

Thinking of my time in the Underworld brought that gem I had hidden to mind. I started to think of all of the things I could do with that, all of the things I could buy with that. There was one thing I knew for sure that I was going to get with it, wedding bands. Even though Orpheus and I consider ourselves married already, I know that he really wanted it to be official. I can already picture the smile on his face if I give him a ring.

"Excuse me," a rather rude voice snapped me from my thoughts. Standing on the other side of the bar was an older woman with copper hair. I have never seen this woman before and I know everyone in this town. Maybe she is a traveler?

"I apologize miss, what can I get you?" I brushed off her rudeness, who knows how long she was trying to get my attention. She told me her order bitterly, again I brushed this off before making her order. Her eyes followed my every move, making me super uncomfortable. "I haven't seen you around here, you just passing through?" I tried to make small talk to lessen the awkwardness of this situation.

She remained silent, taking a large gulp of her drink her eyes never leaving mine. "I could say the same about you. I haven't seen you around here," her tone was accusatory. I have no idea who this woman is but she rubs me the wrong way.

"Uh I just recently got back to town," I remained vague hoping she wouldn't press. I really didn't want this mystery person to know that I just got back from Hadestown recently. Thankfully she just ignored it and continued on drinking.

"Ah Sofia dear it's good to see you!" the woman's voice sounded happy for once. This is the first person I met that doesn't seem bothered with Sofia. They engaged in conversation, allowing me to get some cleaning and stocking done.

When I returned the two were whispering, looking in my direction. Sofia pulled away with a smile on her face. "She's not giving you any issues is she?" her tone was bitter.

The woman smirked, "She has been a little less than friendly I would say." What? I thought I have been more than pleasant. If anyone was being unpleasant it was her.

I was about to apologize when Sofia cut me off, "I would think she would try to more pleasant to the mother of Orpheus." With that, she laughed and walked away. This is Calliope? This is the mother of my love?

"You're Calliope?" my voice was breathless, not wanting to believe this. She just gave me a sharp nod. "I'm Eurydice. Your son and I are together," my desire to show myself as good enough for her son was taking over. This woman has been nothing but rude to me so far but I would still do anything for her approval.

"I have heard all about you," her tone was teasing. I instantly got nervous, hoping that she heard about me from Orpheus and not anyone else. "You left my son," her tone was bitter, cold. Before I got the chance to continue she slammed down her glass continuing her verbal assault. "You caused my son the wort heartbreak imaginable. You almost cost him his life! And now you're just back and everything is okay? Is it? When winter comes are you going to tuck your tail and run again?"

Her words were igniting a fire deep within me. Even though she was his mother I did not deserve this sort of treatment. "You don't even know the first thing about me," she opened her mouth to respond but I lifted my hand stopping her. "You think you know me due to my past mistakes but those are just that, mistakes. Leaving your son was the worst mistake of my life and I regret it every day of my life! What you don't know is that I left with the thought that I was helping him. Without me, he would have more food, fewer distractions, and I'm dammed goods anyway. I thought by leaving I was doing him a favor!"

My voice was raising volume the more worked up I got. We had attracted some of the attention of the bar patrons but right now I was too angry to care. "You want to come at me for leaving your son but you abandoned him the moment you could! He was just a baby and you left him! You decided that he was worthy to be in your life after he saved the world. You didn't see his worth until after everything. I saw it the moment I met him. You don't know a thing about either of us so don't you come in attacking me, when you're just as guilty."

The fire burning in her eyes looked like it could incinerate this whole building. Her knuckles were turning white from how tightly she gripped the counter. "You will never be good enough for my son!"

Her words instantly brought up my insecurities. "You don't think I don't know that already?" the anger in my tone fading slightly, my insecurities clouding my mind. "I know that I will never be good enough for you son but I am going to try every day for the rest of my life to make up for my mistakes and be the best I can be for him. He loves me for who I am," I paused gauging her reaction. The fire in her eyes reignited the fire inside of me. "Regardless of what you think, what anyone thinks, I am going to marry your son and we are going to be happy!"

The bitterness in my tone seemed to be the last straw for her. Next thing that I knew I was one the ground, my cheek burning. There was a commotion going on all around me but I couldn't focus on anything. There was a hand on my shoulder, concerned eyes gazing at me. "Come on child, why don't you go upstairs?" Hermes helped me stand and make my way to the stairs.

He quickly turned and made his way back to the commotion. There was lots of yelling and it was driving my head nuts. Carefully I drug myself up the stairs, my stinging cheek making it hard to think. When I finally reached the apartment, I collapsed on the bed tears coming to my eyes.

I know this feeling, Calliope had hit me. The mother of my future husband had hit me because I loved her son. She brought to light the insecurities that I was never going to be good enough for him. Maybe I shouldn't marry him...was I ever really going to be good enough to deserve him?

I hadn't registered anyone was here in the apartment until I was pulled flat against a chest. The feeling of being wrapped in his arms caused the tears to come stronger. He whispered soothing words into my ear, rubbing circles on my hips. He was comforting me without asking me any questions.

I pushed myself to sit up, my back still facing him. My hand came to cradle my swollen cheek; I didn't want him to see it. The shifting of his weight indicated that he was sitting up as well. I brought my knees to my chin, curling up in a ball. "Eurydice?" his tone was soft as if not to disturb me. Still, I refused to turn around or answer him. "Love please talk to me. I don't know how to help if you don't talk to me," he sounded broken.

The thought that I was hurting my poet caused me to finally answer him, "It's nothing you need to worry about love." His sigh let me know that he didn't believe me.

He wrapped me up into his arms, "If everything was okay why did I walk in on you sobbing on the bed? Why did Hermes tell me that you needed me as soon as I walked in the door?" His lips connected with my forehead calming me slightly.

Hermes talked to him? Oh, does he know everything? "I just got into a fight with a customer and it really got to my head," I tried to sound dismissive as not to draw more attention. "I'm just being overdramatic I promise," this time I turned slightly to look at him.

The concern in his hazel eyes was comforting. I leaned up capturing his lips, my attempt to comfort him. I had gotten so consumed in the kiss that I forgot about my tender cheek. When he reached up to cup my face I pulled back instantly, the pain shocking me. His eyes widened immediately, pulling away the hand that was covering the cheek. "They hit you!"

Quickly I pushed myself off the bed, away from the concerned poet. I wasn't able to make it that far before I was pulled back into his chest. He forced chin up to look into his angry/concerned eyes, the look in eyes was frightening. The look he was giving my swollen cheek made it look like he was about to murder whoever hurt me. My hand came up to rest on his cheek, my thumb rubbing back and forth in an attempt to calm him.

He closed his eyes taking a few deep breaths. When his eyes finally reopened the fire inside of them quelled but the concern still bright. "Rydice please tell me what happened," his voice cracked slightly at the end.

The longer I would put off answering him would only hurt him worse but I also didn't want to tell him the full truth. "As I said I got in an argument with a customer and it elevated enough to where they slapped me," I tried to keep my voice calm to help quell his nerves as well as my own.

He sighed, pulling me back to sit on the bed. His head came to rest on top of mine, his large hand stroking my back. "This doesn't make sense...the whole town loves you. Who would hit you?" He was starting to dig, this can be dangerous.

"Orpheus please just drop it," my tone was pleading. I really didn't want him to find out it was his mother who hit me. He stiffened up when I begged him to stop, I know he's going to dig until he finds out the truth. His eyes connected with mine, slightly narrowing. "Orpheus please she is going to hate me even more," my voice was starting to shake.

"Who was it Eurydice? Sofia?" I just shook my head afraid for him to hear the truth. "Tell me," his grip on me tightened slightly, the fire returning to his eyes.

I couldn't control the tears that fell from my eyes, the waterworks quelling the fire in his eyes again. "I'm so sorry love," my voice cracked. "You have to promise me you won't do anything rash," even though his jaw was clenched he shook his head. "It was your mother."

[songstresstinyteacup]

ad astra headcanons?????

Oof I haven’t really thought much about this. Let me see what my brain says... okay so I don’t have a ton but I do have a few that are related to each other so here they are! (This is 100% the outline of that dream I had and wrote down)

I headcanon that when under extreme stress or panic, Lyra can pull the earth up and form a protective barrier over her and the ones she loves, a power she inherited from Hades.

She found out she could do this at the age of 6, when one of the meaner village children was picking on Astra, and when they shoved her friend Lyra lost it and screamed, forming a dome of rocks around Astra.

Seph and Hades heard the scream, and went barrelling out of the house to go find their daughter because that’s their baby and they recognized her magic.

Eurydice went too because she knew Astra was with Lyra. (Orpheus was at work)

When the parents arrived at the field, Lyra was out cold on the ground because it was too much exertion for her little body to handle all at once.

Seph starts hysterically trying to rouse her daughter, while Hades went to try and examine the structure she created.

Eurydice’s freaking out because Lyra’s out cold and she has no clue what happened to Astra.

Then Hades calls Eurydice over toward the structure and she hears Astra crying inside of it. This both relieves and continues to eat at Eurydice’s heart because she can’t get to her daughter but knows she’s there.

Hades tries to bring down the structure but it refuses to respond to him, which ramps up Eurydice’s anxiety.

The two go back to Seph and Lyra, watching as Lyra finally starts drifting back into semi-consciousness.

Seph starts crying and Hades kneels to be with his little family in this pivotal moment.

Lyra blinks a few times and can just hardly choke out a greeting to her parents, too exhausted and drained to do much else.

Eurydice asks Lyra if she created the dome to protect Astra, and Lyra nods.

Hades asks Lyra if she thinks she’s strong enough to bring the dome back into the earth, because Astra’s stuck inside and his powers alone can’t make it budge even an inch.

Eurydice, though worried about her daughter, jumps to Lyra’s defense with Seph because the poor baby is just too weak to be asked to try that again.

Seph is ready to spit nails at Hades, because he sees the impact that kind of magic had on their baby daughter and he had the audacity to ask.

Lyra ignores her mom and her aunt’s protests, trying to find the strength to stand on her own but she can’t, so Hades scoops her into his arms and brings her closer to the dome.

Lyra touches the dome, and it immediately responds to her touch, quaking as if it wants to retreat but can’t find the way.

Hades then puts one of his hands on the dome and watches as it plummets back into the earth and reveals a trembling Astra.

Eurydice rushes to her daughter and pulls her close.

After the dome is gone, Lyra pales and blacks out again, too spent to even try and stay awake.

This sends Seph into a panic and she snatches her baby away from Hades and sends her sprinting back to the house, telling Hades he better not come back without Hermes present.

Eurydice scoops up Astra, who’s rattled, but too worried about her friend to acknowledge anything has happened at all, and follows.

By the time Hades gets back to the house with Hermes in tow, Astra’s been bathed and has already told her mom and aunt what happened in the field.

Seph is pacing furiously at the foot of Lyra’s bed, tangling her fingers in her hair and trying to keep herself composed.

The sight of Hermes calms her a little, so she sits on one of two chairs by Lyra’s bedside and allows Hades to join her as Hermes looks their daughter over.

Hermes tutts, and gives Seph and Hades a look that conveys only his slight disapproval that they allowed Lyra to get this way, and Seph is full ready to defend herself and her husband but the words die on her tongue when Hermes says that Lyra will be alright after a day or two in bed.

Hades is surprised but complicit when Seph slams her body into his, hugging him tightly as she finally breaks down and cries, worries of the day catching up to her.

Seph doesn’t leave Lyra’s bedside for much of anything unless Eurydice forces her to do so, tending to her daughter until Orpheus or Eurydice or both drag her off to go eat or sleep.

Astra tells a bedridden Lyra stories and brings her toast in the mornings, but mostly Astra thanks her friend for protecting her.

Lyra is antsy after the first day, ready to be allowed to go outside and play with Astra, but Seph is determined to make sure Lyra is fully recovered.

Eurydice makes Hades have a chat with Lyra about her new power, since it is in his domain. About how to handle it and to work with it slowly so that she doesn’t over exert herself again and subsequently give Seph a heart attack.

After this chat, Seph is confident that her daughter is well enough to return to business as usual

[therainbowwillow]

https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/640094221880197120/therainbowwillow -Part 2

Well! Part 3/??? Here’s the premise: Hades’ terms for Orpheus leaving Hadestown are extremely harsh. Persephone threatens to leave him, and he’s forced to back down, leaving Orpheus with a single rule: he can’t sing until he’s out. He orders the residents of Hade to kill Orpheus, the only living mortal in the underworld. Eurydice, Persephone, and other mythological heroes join him on the journey to escape. Hermes gets word of his son’s trial and decides he’ll assist Orpheus. Dionysus joins him to visit Persephone (his mother, I’m using his Orphic parentage: Hades and Persephone) and Apollo comes, inspired by Orpheus’s attempt at freeing Eurydice, to find his lover, Hyacinthus.

TLDR Hadestown, but a different terms for our favorite singer and WAY more characters because why not.

Unrelated but my phone really wants to autocorrect “Orpheus” to “Orange,” which makes for a whole different story, honestly.

Anyway, here we go:

Eurydice lays beside her sleeping lover, staring up at the cracked ceiling of Persephone’s greenhouse. Burnt vines wrap the walls and climb towards the artificial lights of Hadestown. “Plants don’t grow towards neon the way they do the sun,” Persephone had said. “Not even when coerced by a goddess.” Still, the abandoned building provides decent shelter, which is far better than the rest of the underworld. Instead of trapping the heat, it seems to keep in the cold.

Eurydice glances at Orpheus. Even in the cool of the greenhouse, he sweats in his sleep. He’s exhausted and hungry, she knows, but they have no outside food. If he eats the food of Hadestown, she fears it’ll bind him to the damned place, just as the pomegranate seeds had bound Persephone.

Orpheus rolls over. He mumbles something incomprehensible. Eurydice keeps a closer eye on him. “Persephone?” she asks.

“Hm?” The goddess responds.

“What will Hades do if he catches us? I know the stories... Sisyphus, pushing his stone uphill forever. Tantalus, starved, with food just out of reach. Eternal torture. Is that what lays ahead?” Her voice doesn’t quiver. She finds she isn’t afraid of the answer, not after the mines. Hours and hours of her pickaxe against stone. And once she’d finished, she’d be building Hades’ wall or laying wires or partaking in some other pointless feat. Everyone in Hadestown feels like Sisyphus now.

“It’s best... it’s best if you don’t think about it.” Persephone sips from her canteen. Alcohol, certainly. Her voice has a drunken lisp to it.

“I want to know what’s at stake,” Eurydice says. Orpheus again tosses in his sleep.

“Eternal torture sums it up fine.”

“He’ll separate us, won’t he?”

Persephone shrugs. “Your contract will change. All of ours’ will. Probably a ban from speaking to each other.”

“What can he do to stop us?” Achilles mutters. “We’re dead already and he took our paridise. I can bear his whip, his mines. This whole place is torture.”

“Tell me about it.” Persephone rolls her eyes. “A goddess of spring, confined to... this.” She gestures around her.

“They say you loved him,” Eurydice says.

“Loved him. An emphasis on loved.” She takes another sip of her alcohol and slips off her wedding band. She flips it in the air and catches it. “I chose this. I chose Hades over light. Over life and clean air and springtime. I preferred Hades’ tyranny over Demeter’s. That dance... it almost felt like a fresh start. But what did I expect?” She takes a withered vine between her fingers. “This is futile. We should be planning. This place sucks the life out of everything it touches. Our poet included.”

Orpheus gasps. “Speaking of our poet, he’s awake!” She tilts her head. “You alright?” Eurydice asks.

Orpheus swallows. His eyes are wide and his breaths quick. He shakes his head. “No... no. You need to go. All of you.”

“Hey,” she rests her palm over his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. You need rest.”

He wipes his eyes. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand! Go. Please Eurydice. Please.”

“Shh... shh. You’re alright.”

He snatches his hand away. “No. I’m not. It’s... it’s too far. I’ll be... I’ll be dead by the time we reach the Styx.”

“Orpheus! Don’t talk like that. We’re gonna make it.”

“No, we aren’t. Hades is going to find me and he’ll kill me because I... I can’t do this. I can’t walk alone and I’m not allowed to sing and whatever he did to me...”

“Orpheus, look at me. You’re gonna be fine.”

“It’s not over, okay? I... I should’ve told you but...”

“What are you talking about, Orpheus? What is this?”

He sobs and sinks into her arms. “I feel worse. Eurydice, I’m getting worse,” he whispers.

“Once we’re out-“

“Once you’re out. Leave me here.”

“How can you say that? I’m not letting Hades have you!” Eurydice raises her voice.

“I came for you. And now... you’re dragging me out. I’m useless and I’m holding you back. Eurydice, I’d never forgive myself if you didn’t... if...”

“We’re going to get out of here.”

“Would you listen to me?” He yells. “We are not going to get out of here. Not so long as you’re carrying dead weight! I...” he tries to push himself upright but sinks back into Eurydice’s embrace. “I can’t sing. I can’t walk. I can’t even stand.”

She doesn’t respond. She just holds him, tight in her arms. “I don’t care,” she whispers. “I’ll carry you out of here if I have to. I love you and I’m never letting you go again. I promise.”

Orpheus says nothing. “Orpheus?”

She lifts him up and his chin falls against his chest. “Orpheus... no. No, you can’t do this to me.” She places a finger under his nose and feels his shallow breaths. She breathes a sigh of relief. “You’re alright. You’re alright.” She isn’t sure if she’s trying to convince herself or Orpheus, who cannot hear her. She lays his head back down on his coat, a makeshift pillow.

Patroclus kneels at her side. “Orpheus is right. He is getting worse.”

“What’s wrong with him?” She begs.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “He could be ill with some plague, but that’s Apollo’s domain, not Hades’s. Maybe he is only hungry or dehydrated. Regardless, he’s right that he won’t last forever down here. We should get moving.” Eurydice nods. “I wish I could be more help.”

“Someone’s here!” Achilles shouts. Patroclus leaps to his feet.

“Protect Orpheus,” he commands Eurydice and Persephone.

“If it’s my husband,” Persephone growls, “I’ll deal with him.”

Patroclus nods and returns to Achilles.

—————————————

Hades sits beside his office window. He’d given the orders in the morning: kill Orpheus. If the boy dies, his killer will not be asked to work for the rest of their time in the underworld. His plan would soon succeed. His shades would end the fool’s life and finally, finally, Hades would have his kingdom back. It had only been 48 hours or so since Orpheus’s failed serenade, but it had felt like an eternity.

Hades reaches for his wine glass. The portrait he’d torn from the wall catches his eye. Persephone, smiling, a babe at her knee. It had been a long while since he’d seen that child. Dionysus, god of wine and madness. He visited the underworld plenty, once or more every winter. Never the tower, though. He only knew the boy had come by because his wife would return, drunk out of her mind. He’d drag her to bed and every time, he’d bribe Hypnos to keep his dear Persephone asleep an extra few hours, to let her sleep off the hangover. Dionysus could wash away her intoxication with a wave of his hand. He used to. But for a long while now, she’d return drunk. Upon her request, Hades knew. He tried now not to feel the sting of this fact. His own wife would rather be blackout drunk than speak to him.

Still, he loves her. He’d laid a thousand miles of wires to brighten his kingdom, to mimic the sun she so loved. And she’d complained it was too bright. He’d let her have a wide stretch of land to attempt to grow a garden. He’d tended it with her, but still, the plants wilted. And now he had let Orpheus tear out his heart for Persephone. He’d done everything for her, nearly lost everything for her, and still, she hates him.

Hades lifts the painting from the ground and lays it across his desk. He sees his labors. To keep his hold on the underworld and his wife’s affection, if she has any left. He must prioritize his realm. He loves her, more than any kingdom, but the binds of death must not be unwound, Hades knows. The mortal realm his wife so loves would wither without death. It cannot be overrun by fleeing shades. His kingdom is his responsibility, and he must keep it in check. And so he tucks the painting into a drawer, gone from sight, gone from mind.

————————————

Hermes was beginning to wonder if Zeus could think up a worse punishment than his current circumstances. Dionysus tips his head back and chugs another flask of wine. “Want some?” he offers, for what must be the thousandth time.

Hermes sighs. “Yes.”

“Aha! Finally! The best of the best for you, my friend.” He holds out the flask and curtseys, sloshing wine over his tunic.

Hermes pinches the bridge of his nose. “Read the room,” he mutters.

“What?”

“I said thanks,” he lies. He takes a sip. The wine is incredible, better than any mortal’s best vintage.

“My dear flower, light in my eye, the sun to my sky...” Apollo recites.

Hermes wants to scream. His son is probably miserable, cast into Tartarus or locked in a cell somewhere, and here he is, listening to Apollo memorizing lines for Hyacinthus, who’s probably so deep under the Lethe’s amnesia that he won’t remember who the god is. He takes another sip of wine. “Dionysus!”

“Yes?” Dionysus laughs.

Hermes grits his teeth. Intoxication is no help to Dionysus’s ability to understand the severity of the situation. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“You’ll undo the effects of your alcohol on me before we get to Hadestown.”

“Sure.”

“Excellent. Now, do you have something stronger?”

“‘Course! Here.”

Hermes drinks. The alcohol burns his throat. He forces himself not to cough.

“Too strong?”

“Mm.” Hermes clears his thoat. “Not at all.” He finishes the flask.

—————————————

“Show yourself!” Achilles shouts. Patroclus stands back to back with him, armed with a pickaxe from the mines.

“I don’t think you’re in much of a place to be making demands.” The voice echoes from every corner of the greenhouse.

“Funny, I disagree.” Achilles whirls and throws his pick axe through the man’s chest. His body dissolves as if it’s made of smoke.

“Could’ve questioned him,” Patroclus says.

“What would we ask? ‘Who sent you?’ Take a wild guess.”

Patroclus shrugs. “There’ll be more of them.”

“So we don’t let our guard down. Let’s get going, Pa-“

“Argh!” He yelps.

“Patroclus!” Achilles whirls. A bowman from the roof. “To cover!” He grabs his lover’s hands and drags him to the nearest wall, out of the range of the archer’s arrows.

Patroclus clutches his shoulder. “If I hadn’t moved, that would’ve gone through my chest,” he states. “Warn Persephone. I’m alright.”

Achilles nods. “Keep your eyes open. There’s no way he’s alone. I won’t be long.”

He runs along the wall. He glances up at the ceiling. The archer is gone. He runs for the exit, then the entrance to Persephone’s greenhouse. An arrow strikes the ground at his feet. He dives in the door and slams it behind him. “We were followed,” he announces.

“So we discovered.” Persephone’s vines wrap the ground and up the wall, where a man dangles by his wrists. “Orpheus is-“

The door opens, Patroclus stands in its frame. Achilles runs to his side. “I told you to stay behind.”

“There’s more of them. They were going for a better shot on me, so I ran.”

“Your arm...”

“Is fine.” Patroclus answers. “Where’s Orpheus?”

“Here! A hand, one of you?” Eurydice calls from the opposite wall. “He’s hit.” They both run for Orpheus.

Persephone’s captive screams. “I’ll ask again. Who sent you?”

“Hades!” The man yelps. “Please!”

“I knew it,” she snarls. “His orders. What were they? Be exact.”

“Any man who kills Orpheus won’t have to work for the rest of eternity.”

“How many are after him?”

“I don’t know!” He cries. “Please!”

She tightens the vines around his throat and the man vanishes into ashes.

“Is he breathing?” She calls to Orpheus’s aids.

“Yes,” Patroclus replies. “He’s only been hit in the leg.”

Persephone nods. “I’ll hold the doors.”

Orpheus groans. “I know, I know,” Eurydice murmurs. “You’ll be okay.”

“I need to get the arrow out. Give him something to bite down on,” Patroclus tells her.

She stuffs a piece of cloth into his mouth. “Bite.” He does.

“Hold him down.” Orpheus screams. “Almost there. And it’s out. Hold pressure. Right here.” He guides Eurydice’s hands over the wound. “Press hard, don’t let up,” he tells her. “I know it hurts, Orpheus. Focus on Eurydice.”

“O-okay.” Orpheus chokes out.

“Achilles, we’ll need strips of fabric. One of the blankets should be fine. Tie a tourniquet above his wound. Apply pressure. The bleeding will stop.”

Achilles begins to tear a blanket. “Your shoulder, Pat.”

“I’m alright.” He presses a hand against it.

“No, there’s an arrow through your arm. And love, that’s what Hades has on us. If you die, you’re stuck on the banks of the Styx forever. I’m afraid... we’d never see each other again. An eternity without you... I don’t want to imagine it.”

“Okay, okay. Give me a piece of that blanket.” Achilles does. “When I take the arrow out, it’ll bleed. If anything happens, I’d recommend you leave me behind. Hades might let me live, if I say I’ll give him information and you won’t be burdened to carry me.”

“You know I won’t leave you here.”

“Yeah, I thought that might be fruitless.”

“You’re gonna want to see this,” Persephone calls. Achilles stands.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Patroclus.

“Look.” Persephone points at the roof. An arrow whizzes and the bowman standing on it falls. “Someone wants us to make it out.”

“Or someone wants to take us alive,” he says, grimly.

Something drifts down from overhead. A scrap of fabric, maybe. It lands at Persephone’s feet. A cloth carnation. Beneath it, a note: “Hermes is coming.”

[reblogthiscrapkay]

What Got Better In Hadestown on Broadway (And What Got Worse)

So I saw Hadestown in London last December and I just saw it in New York last weekend (I’m not crazy rich; my boyfriend lives in London and I live a fairly reasonable drive from New York). Here is my hopefully somewhat concise breakdown of what has changed.

For my overly long analysis of Hadestown in London, click here.

For my concise list analysis of Hadestown in London, click here.

For my favorite essay on Hades’ politics, click here.

Good Changes:

1. Hermes’ role has been reinstated. In the original Hermes very much was the intermediary between the humans and the gods and was especially friendly with Orpheus and Persephone. In London he was weirdly distrant from everyone, standing in the corner the whole time and being very detatched. Now he’s more like Orpheus’ mentor and is very clearly a friend of Persephone in addition to his role as narrator (oh, and he’s no longer an unreliable narrator too).

2. More mythology stuff. In the beginning Hermes gives a bit more mythology stuff to the beginning. I don’t like how he straight up explains the myth of Hades and Persephone (Epic I existed for this reason, guys) but I like the background about Orpheus’ mom. Persephone’s mom gets more shout outs too.

3. Overall the first act is tighter. They didn’t change much from London but everything feels smoother somehow. One of my favorite examples of this is “All I’ve Ever Known.” I hated the choreography in London but they really fixed it. Now it’s much simplier and follows a very logical progression. When Eurydice first sings, “Now I wanna hold you” she does so while gripping his arms as if she’s fighting the desire because she’s still unsure. By the music breakdown they do the simulated sex thing (although it felt less weird than in London), showing her accepting her feelings, and the last verse involves her sitting up from the floor as if she can’t sleep because she’s genuinely afraid he may leave her. It’s beautiful.

4. The costumes are more cohesive. I said that I liked the human costumes in London as clothes but they drove me nuts because they were so anachronistic with the gods costumes. Now they’re all looking more “vaguely early 20th century.” I love how Eurydice’s costume looks like she literally bought a nightgown and a vest from a thrift shop. Also, minor details but I think they added wings to Hermes’ suit (didn’t notice before if they did) and Hades’ nylon sleeve wall tattoo doesn’t look as bad as I thought it would. Although Hades’ hair is slightly different and it’s not better.

5. More humor. They’ve added in some humor and it mostly all works. There’s a moment when Hermes says to Orpheus, “Don’t come on too strong” and he responds with, “Come home with me!” Persephone before singng “Our Lady of the Underground” drunkenly stumbs out and shouts “Step into MY office.” Also after two lines of “Epic III” Hades interrupts with, “Oh, it’s about me” which made everyone laugh.

6. The Fates. I think I forget about them a lot but I was startled by how much they KILLED it in this show.

7. They brought back most of the original New York musicians. I just thought this was cute. When Persephone is naming them in “Our Lady of the Underground” I was shook.

8. Amber Gray grabs her boob. To explain, in London “Our Lady of The Underground” was performed with the workers and they raid her bag. Now it’s just her onstage, singing moreso to us. They clearly have it set up so that the chorus parts should be sung by the audience, and there was just enough audience who knew the lines to make it happen (this will probably improve over time). Instead of having her bag and wine bottles, she just has a flask on a string which she puts in her bra at the beginning of the song. At the line “I’ve got the wind right here in a jar” she grabs her boob where the flask is. Overall, I don’t know if this staging is an improvement, but this moment amused me.

Bad Things:

A lot of the bad things can be broken down by the phrase, “Why does she love him.” Also unfortunately, the bad things had really profund consequences.

1. Orpheus is an idiot now. He is a deer in headlights the whole dang show. I’ve thought it over and even with the lines that seemingly make him look stupid, if they were simply acted more sincerely and less awkwardly there wouldn’t be a problem. Because he is so dumb now, it makes no sense why Eurydice falls for him aside from the fact that he’s vaguely magic. The guy sitting to my right HATED him and blamed Reeve. I don’t know who’s responsible for this change but it really undermines the quality of the show and all the decent things I said about Reeve in London.

2. Hades is meaner. In London Hades and Persephone’s relationship was easily one of the strongest parts of the show. Now what used to be a lot of genuine sadness on Hades’ part seems to have turned into anger. “The girl means nothing to me” used to be a line that kind of hurt but it was said a bit too maliciously here. They’ve also added in other bits where they snip at each other and it makes me uncomfortable. Persephone is now present when Orpheus shows up in Hadestown and tries to speak for him and Hades tells her to be quiet. He also, very condescendingly, tells her, “Oh, go have another drink” before “How Long.” If this line had been said sadly, this would have read so differently. Persephone snips back at him in “Epic III” when she demands that he let Orpheus finish. They also cut the bit where Persephone is present when you find out the Eurydice didn’t sleep with Hades and her crying when Hades takes Eurydice to his office is WAY more subtle. They also cut her verse in “Chant II” which really affects their relationship. I didn’t even cry at any of their parts and I usually cry at all of them. I am worried.

3. Lots of the songs in Act II has been shortened. I thought something like this might happen but I’m still sad about it. First they came for “Promises.” Now they also cut down “Chant II” (Persephone doesn’t even have a part in it anymore, why), “His Kiss, The Riot” “If It’s True” “Epic III” and “Way Down Hadestown II” and “Doubt Comes In” felt shorter too but I could be wrong. “Lover’s Desire” didn’t even sound like the same song which majorly messed me up because that song usually makes me bawl like a baby. Also, all the “Epic” s are now the same song over and over. I hate this because the “Epic”s before showed this nice progression of Orpheus writing about the gods in general to realizing that he needs to tell the story of their love. Now he realizes this in “Chant I” but at least they made it seem like he realized this on his own and didn’t tell Eurydice so her leaving has gone back to being a reasonable solution. In London she seemed like she didn’t care he was trying to fix the world, but now she doesn’t know about it.

4. They still haven’t really integrated the worker subplot. And they probably won’t. I think you’d have to pry this out of someone’s cold dead hands at this point, which sucks because it still feels like a hastily slapped on “We have been left behind by the system” concept. Perhaps even worse, Persephone is now frequently positioned on the side of the workers instead of being an intermediary between them and Hades, which further weakens her relationship with Hades. Hades isn’t supposed to be the bad guy! Doubt is!

So anyway, Anais Mitchell walked past me during intermission and my friend Alex was like, “Are you going to talk to her” and I, a person who can’t ever talk to people if I think I may be bothering them, said, “Hell no, What would I even say.” “Just ‘thank you for the show.’” “I would definitely fuck up and say ‘Thank you for the show but please stop messing with it.’”

The joke later became me sidling up to her and saying, “One socialist to another, how much corporate nonsense is making you change things that didn’t need fixing.” I don’t think that would go over well though.

Anyway, they gave me a flower before I left and the shows not locked in until April 16th so I can dream for the next few days that they might fix it.

[danrdarrenc]

inthedreamatorium

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YAS YAS

Here we go. So after Reid dies, Luke struggles to remain in Oakdale. He spends a couple years puttering around, making sure that Reid’s neurology wing is functional. When he starts craving alcohol, he searches for a new coping mechanism, since his writing’s not doing it for him anymore. 

He leaves Oakdale around the third year after Reid’s death, heads to Chicago and stumbles upon hedge magic. It makes him feel alive again and he thinks it might be only slightly less addictive but more manageable than the drinking. He finds that he THRIVES at being a hedge witch, works his way up the ladder, becomes the leader of a prominent and powerful coven in Chicago. He knows about the underworld, of course he does, he’s even heard rumors that people can make it out, but rarely. But he digs deeper, searches black market options, contacts coven leaders more powerful than him. He maybe even summons some demons. It takes him another seven years after poking around about the underworld, but he finally gets what he’s looking for, in New York, of all places: the truth about The Orpheus and Eurydice contract with the Library. Granted, many have signed the contract, tried to honor it, but all have failed. 

On the night when he learns about the contract, he literally bumps into someone on the street right outside the coven’s safe house. The guy is tall, lanky, put together in a way Luke never could be, but also deeply broken. And clearly drunk. Having been there himself, Luke helps him (with major resistance) back inside the safe house (which is thankfully empty) and runs into the kitchen for water. (He’s actually surprised the man is still there when he gets back). It’s like pulling teeth, but he finally gets it out of him that his name is Eliot and the love of his life (Quentin is his name, Luke learns) has just died without Eliot getting the chance to tell him he loves him and he was a goddamn fucking idiot for turning him away. (That’s something Luke can relate to. Why the fuck had he turned away sex with Reid???)

Eliot’s still drunk and clearly needing someone to talk to, his tongue loose from the alcohol. Luke learns quickly that Eliot is a Magician, that he went to Brakebills, that he used to be the High King of Fillory (that’s a shock. Luke used to read those books as a kid), there’s something about killing the Beast, something about peaches and plums, and a key quest, and Luke thinks he might have heard Eliot mumble that he’d recently been possessed by an evil greater god. Eliot’s voice goes wonky and heavy and his speech slurs when he mentions something about a mirror universe, a seam between worlds, and magic shattering, and Quentin along with it. 

“I just need to tell him...” Eliot mutters again, his head falling into his hands, his body looking exhausted and like it’s weighted with lead.

Without a second thought, Luke asks, “What if you could do more than tell him?”

Eliot’s head snaps up. He looks sober as anything. 

“What if you could free him from the underworld?”

“No one comes back from the underworld.” Then, “Well, Q did actually once. But he was only temporarily dead then.”

“It took me almost a decade but I have a way. I’m going to bring my boyfriend back too.”

“Too?”

“I could share the magic with you.”

“Why would you do that?”

Luke shrugs. “Because I understand. Reid and I were just starting when he died. I want the life with him I was denied.”

“How?”

“An Orpheus and Eurydice contract with the Library.”

Eliot doesn’t respond right away. Then, “I know the head of the Library. She loved Quentin too.”

Luke cocks an eyebrow. “It won’t be easy. It’s one of the hardest magics to conquer. One of the hardest things you’ll ever do.”

Eliot’s face crumples for a second or two, looking like he’s in pain. Then he sits up straighter, a determined look on his face. “I made a promise to someone once, that I’d be braver because of them. I’ll do it.”

Luke grins and a minute later they’re both outside the entrance to the Library.

@inthedreamatorium @waughliot tl;dr