#but i could see it being a repentant Hades as well | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yandere-wishes · 4 years ago

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𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕆𝕝𝕕 𝔾𝕠𝕕𝕤

Warnings: Suicide, homicide, emotional manipulation, death, gore, mention of self-hate.

Edited By: The amazing Peri! @tealyjade-libran

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓰𝓸𝓭𝓼 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓭.

Their once towering golden statues, reduced to rubble inside silver alters that were little more than ruins.

Their glamorous lives debunked as mere legends told by jaded storytellers and avid priests.

The old gods were dead, with nothing left of them but feeble, sickly descendants whose lives held not an inch of the glory their ancestors once did. Their golden blood was almost all dried out, blood that could never be spilled, now pumped through the veins of deformed creatures hiding away under a school meant for the wicked of heart and broken of mind.

Idia was no exception to this.

It made little difference that he was technically the grandson of the infamous God of the underworld, lord of the deceased. It mattered little whatever or whoever his relatives had once been. What great and glorious lives they had led. None of it applied to a century where fantasy had been killed, buried in an unknown grave, and left to decay forevermore.

All that "golden blood" had now run blue. Trapping itself within the body of a semi-dead demi-god, with neither purpose nor will.

But lineage is such a hard thing to erase. The little ticks and habits passed down from generation to generation are something ever potent no matter how rotten the binding blood gets.

Before he was a god before he was a member of Olympus, before he was anything else, Hades had been and always would be the monarch of the eerie, the ghoulish, and the damned. A true lover of anything that was decaying and dying, a maniac for gore and endless bloodshed.

That was the vilest of his traits, the most revolting and the only one that had been passed down to poor Idia. First and foremost, before being the head of Ignihyde, before being NRC's brightest mind, Idia was and would always be a descendant of Lord Hades.

Meaning that at heart -no matter how tattered it may be- Idia would always be a catalyst for the macabre, a lover of the mania that wafted through the air as another mortal writhed in a pool of their own blood.

The yearning for carnage, the zest for death, was what still bounded the Shroud family to their creator.

Maybe that's why he found you all so desirable. Why he fell in love upon hearing such a brittle voice for the first time. He'd never forget those first words you'd said to him all those nights ago, while you danced on the cemetery floor in the spotlight of the crooked moon. The way you looked at him with dead eyes and the most broken smile he ever had the pleasure of seeing in his infinite life.

"I really, really, really want to die"

Those words had pierced his heart faster than any arrow from any flying deity from the days of old.

You were perfect! Someone else who was fed up with this revolting thing known as living!

You're a glutton for punishment.

A death-obsessed freak.

Just like him...

Idia's mind didn't stop to consider just why you'd uttered such peculiar words. Why you'd said them to someone you barely knew.

He just fell in love,

right then and there.

Did he fall into such a deep love with you or with the words that he'd heard?

But that was of little importance, just like everything else, it didn’t matter.

From that day on, any and all rules that seemed to restrain the new generation of demi-gods from attaining their own grandeur, shattered into a million pieces. Idia was no longer merely existing in a world with no legend nor glory. No, he was now living in a world where anything was possible! Where he would show the earth and the heavens that the golden blood running through his veins was most certainly that of the lord of the dead!

Just like his grandfather had done, Idia would steal his beloved away from the cruelties of the bright world and seal her away in the protective embrace of his everlasting darkness.

To Idia, you had become everything, his unmitigated paraphilia reverie, his absolute grotesque prep school daydream. You're exactly what he wants and what he needs.

He would protect you, cherish you, love you!

He would be your Hades, so long as you played your fitting role of his darling Persephone.

But there's just one thing left...

one last act to repent for tarnishing his grandfather's name for all so long.

He had to make you his, in the only way a descendant of Hades knew how.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

There's a desperate, ailing urge to run away pounding at the back of your mind. Tempting you to kick and punch and scream until your “loving” boyfriend has no choice but to let go of you.

You want to, oh, how you really really want to...

it's just you can't, you can't, you can't.

Not in this state, not as the thick red streams of your essence gush out from both your slit wrists.

Somehow it's draining, leaving your body slumped but your mind wide awake and hyper-alert of every little thing that happens around the two of you.

Yes two, because he just has to be here too. He has to be the one to end you. You're not sure why it has to be him that finally claims your life. A vague voice in the darkest corners of your mind tries to stutter out a sort of half-witted response, tries to remind you exactly why you wanted to die in the first place, why you had begged Idia to end your life. It fails time and time again. For some reason when it comes time to finally receive the fruit of all your begging, you just don't want it anymore.

The way he cradles you in his lap is anything but comforting. The jacket of his dorm uniform is glacial and solid in all the wrong ways. It feels like you're leaning against a frozen rock in the aftermath of a snowstorm. His legs keep switching side to side like a cradle that's too distant to fully come to mind. Maybe in his own way, this is meant to be nurturing? Although it's hard to define nurturing when he's the one that slit both your wrists from behind under the pretext that it's what you wanted.

if it wasn't for the fact that almost all feeling had been deprived of your body that you might have found this assortment even more painful. Your bleak eyes could see exactly where his fiery blue hair was sizzling away the flesh of your leg. The blue flames keep blowing out, turning into a transparent black before lighting up once more.

You choke back a sob, with what little energy you have left,

"I-I can't do this! Idia--Idia please stop!"

It's too late to turn back now, you know it's too far gone. But maybe, just once, there can be a sort of hope in your life. Maybe, just once, the Faiths will find a way to help you out.

"SHHH darling this IS what you want, you're just a little confused now. But

I'll make it better. I'll give you what you want.”

His voice isn't reassuring, it's the exact opposite. It doesn't sound like he knows whether he's convincing himself or attempting to convince you. He's uncertain, doubtful. But, who wouldn't be in a situation like this?

Breaths come in at heavy intakes, with long intervals between each one. You know you're dying, it's expected at this point. The blood is slowing down, there's nothing left to spill out.

It's black, everything is fading to black. The blue surrounding the two of you, the ghoulish hand wrapped around your midriff, the red that only minutes ago was glowing. It's all going, disappearing into a sort of endless nothingness.

"Really, I don't see why you were making such a big fuss about this earlier. You're mortal (y/n)...sorry, sorry, you were mortal, but like this you're...well you're something else. Not divine by any means, but I guess infinite in a sort of way."

You can hear Idia huffing, although it's still a mystery if it's the last or first words you're hearing. The last thing you hear as a human or the first thing you hear as..whatever it is he's made you into.

"Like this, I...well I can keep you around longer, it-it's better like this for the both of us. The future lord of the dead and a ghost as his lover. It’s right. Correct in some sort of satisfactory way."

It's not, it really isn't "right" or "correct"...it's wrong in every single way. Then again, it's too late for that now. You're the one who drove Idia off the deep end.

Deep, deep down were fractured fragments of logic still cling to life. You know this to be true.

You're the one who turned him into Hades, it's only fair that you be his Persephone now.

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

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Long Lost Love // Part One (D.M.)

Summary: Two piles of twelve letters, hidden away in the bottom of a trunk, browning with age. Twenty-four letters in total, all addressed to him.

A/N: This is my entry into @teheharrypotter‘s two weeks of angst! I just really want to take a moment and say that I am so proud of this fic and how it has come out, like ridiculously proud of it. I would really appreciate some feedback on this - reblogs and comments are so important. There is going to be a second part where all the love letters will be compiled into one long post. However, I think not giving too much away only adds to the suspense and angst. Also, the ending... I love it and I think you’ll all hate me for it.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: this is a lot of angst combined with hurt/comfort but there’s a lot of growth in Draco (I think?)

Word count: 5.4k

It had been fifteen years since the end of the second wizarding war; it had been fifteen years of healing and working on himself, of repenting for his family’s crimes during the war. Draco Malfoy had aged in that time; his hair had grown past his shoulders, tied back with a black leather hair tie, and there were lines on his face that had not been there when he was an eighteen year old running away from the castle he classed as his home.

He had lived a lifetime in those fifteen years. He had seen the world before training as a Healer; working his way up the ranks to become head of the emergency department of the only wizarding hospital within Britain. He had trained Healer after Healer; many of them going off to establish clinics in their own community, all of them sending cards at Christmas, regaling him of their successes.

Draco had lived a lifetime. He lost his father first. Lucius had never truly recovered from his time in Azkaban, and though Draco had tried his hardest to form some semblance of a relationship with his father, Lucius had remained cruel until the end. Truthfully, Draco doesn’t want to think about what it was that killed him in the end. Whether it was the spite that had poisoned him for years, or whether it was something else. Draco doesn’t dwell on it; instead, he leaves white roses on his father’s grave every Sunday like any loving son would.

Narcissa hadn’t lasted long after Lucius passed. She had been distraught. Whilst Lucius was not a doting father, he was a doting husband and he adored Narcissa until his very last breath on this earth. To Draco, her tears started that day and didn’t stop until she passed away in her asleep. Her heart, the coroner said. She had died of a broken heart.

A feeling Draco knew only too well.

Despite achieving so much and traveling so far, he had only ever been in love once. There had only ever been one moment in his whole life that had been filled with the kind of love read about in books, sang about in songs, and played out in films. Draco had fallen in love with you when he was sixteen years old and entering what would be the darkest period of his life. To him, you had been the light in the dark. The answer to his constantly asked question: will there ever be a happy ending?

Nothing had ever happened; nothing could happen. You were the epitome of goodness; the very incarnate of its definition, and he… he was the opposite. In those days, his self-hatred ran so deep that he would argue he was the Hades of the story. Doomed forever to the underworld only to fall in love with the Goddess of Spring and hope for retribution that would never come.

However, in this version of their well-told myth, Hades and Persephone never fall into a relationship. In this version of events, feelings were known and reciprocated, but letters that pleaded for a chance either never arrived or were never answered.

So for fifteen years, Draco Malfoy has been working hard on repairing his family’s tattered reputation whilst coping with the depth-defying grief that comes with losing both parents within the span of a year as well as never truly dealing with the heart wrenching grief that accompanies a relationship that was never given the chance to bloom.

--------

It was a bright, clear day in the middle of March when Draco decided to clean out the attic. He had woken with the urge to clean; with the urge to organise his life and start to work through the piles of his parent’s belongings. He hadn’t been able to touch them in the beginning; the most he had been able to do was relocate everything to the attic and then shove the very thought to the back of his mind where it began to fester like an open wound.

Bright and clear was the day when Draco chose to enter the long forgotten attic in the Manor. Bright and clear was the day when he had to hold a handkerchief to his face to stave off the inevitable sneezes from the dust floating in the air.

Looking around the old and dusty attic, Draco takes in the first of the mess. Trunks line the wall; some ancient – locks worn down with time, almost rusted from their exile to the attic; others are much newer such as his parent’s belongings. Their trunks remain almost new; their initials still painted onto the lids in bright gold paint.

The majority of the morning is spent creating two piles; one to be thrown away, one to be donated. Expensive gowns and suits were to be donated. Anything that reminded Draco of his allegiance in the Second Wizarding War was to be thrown.

As he goes through the belongings of not just his parent’s, but also his grandparents, Draco begins to feel conflicted. With each addition to the bin pile, he feels lighter, he feels one less burden. However, he cannot help the guilt that unfurls in his stomach as he thinks of his mother’s kind face and her forever painted red lip.

By the time Draco makes it to his mother’s final trunk, he feels as if he has been in battle once more. Weariness hangs heavy over in shoulders, settling in his bones. His body slumped, not just from the tiredness from lifting heavy trunks and boxes, but from the emotional weight of memories freshly unleashed upon him.

Draco’s movements are slower as he opens the lid to this final trunk. He thinks back to the day he filled it; piling his mother’s correspondence and personal effects in here – separate from the clothes he knew he would one day get rid of. He slides his hands over the emerald green lid – a Slytherin till the day she died, Draco thinks as he smiles to himself.

At some point, he lets a few tears fall. It’s the sight of Narcissa’s handwriting, he realises. He hadn’t seen it in so long – not having received a birthday card or a Christmas present this year due to her death. Seeing her strong cursive brought tears to his eyes; he remembers being a child, sitting by her desk, watching her write away and wondering who on earth she could be talking to. If Draco focuses hard enough, he swears he can still smell the fresh ink drying on the parchment and the melted wax being pressed with Narcissa’s signet ring.

At the bottom of the trunk, Draco notices a latch. Frowning, he flips it open to reveal a false bottom hidden away. Uneasiness spreads through him, turning his stomach to lead as he reaches inside to feel two distinct piles.

The uneasiness turns to heavy anguish when Draco realises just what he is holding in his hands.

------

Two piles of twelve letters, hidden away in the bottom of a trunk, browning with age.

Twenty-four letters in total, all addressed to him.

They now sit on his kitchen counter; the ageing paper a stark contrast to the obsidian black of his counter top. Draco leans back in his chair, huffing out a long sigh, running a hand down his face as he does so. It had been fifteen years, but he would recognise your handwriting anywhere.

It had been fifteen years and he hadn’t had any contact with you. He wondered for so long why his letters had gone unanswered to the point where he stopped writing altogether, feeling the keen sting of rejection.

Fifteen years and he now had his answer.

Hidden away in a trunk; squirreled away in the hopes that he would never find them. The hope that he would forget about you and move on. He never had; he just kept his feelings silent, caging them up in his heart along with everything else he kept from his parents.

Anger surges through him. The first emotion he has felt since he opened that damned trunk.

He lets out a choked scream; the intensity of his anger surprising him as he slams a fist onto the counter top, wincing slightly from the pain now radiating up his right arm.

How dare they, he roars. How dare they keep this from him? How dare they keep you from him? Did you not fit their ideal – a pureblood from a well off family? Did you not meet their needs visually? Your hair perfect, your face just the same.

There was no good reason he could think of. Draco pads over to the bar, tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. There, he pours himself a knuckle’s length of the amber liquid, knocking it back with a hiss. The whiskey burns as it goes down; burns just like his emotions, like his anger.

Draco’s lip curls in distaste as he hears his father’s voice: a distraction, Draco, that’s all.

Lucius Malfoy had never uttered such words in Draco’s presence, but Draco was well aware of his father’s distaste of you.

Reading over his home address once again, Draco is hit with a sense of helplessness. He doesn’t know where to go from or what to do. He reads over your home address, neatly written in the top left hand corner of the envelope.

Sighing, he runs a hand down his face, still uncertain what his next move is going to be. He runs through the options in his head once, and out loud after.

To no-one in particular, he argues:

“I could reply. I could write a letter back, apologising for the absence of replies with a brief sentence or two about meeting up after so much time has passed.”

Draco waves that option away; his tongue too tied up to even think about coherently writing a letter out now. He moves onto option two:

“I could show up. I could apparate to the address right now, knock on the door and ask to speak to them.”

He shakes his head; immediately ridding himself of the idea. For starters, what if you had moved, and he finds himself knocking on the door of an unknown family? However, what if you still live there, and you answer the door? What is Draco to say to you then after such a long time apart?

He imagines the situation; forces himself into shoes that he could possibly be wearing in the near future. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Not a word, not a whisper, not an apology.

So he ignores option two.

Draco knows its cowardice that drives him to the third option, but to go fifteen years without a reply to a letter declaring love… it is too long of a time to expect any form of forgiveness, and he supposes that is what he is most afraid of. Draco’s terrified of not being worthy enough for your forgiveness.

So he goes with option three:

Do nothing.

------

Draco does the only thing that makes sense.

He takes the letters to work.

Draco slides the letters into his satchel, latching the buckle afterwards and taking a deep breath. Already, Draco feels the twenty four envelopes burning a hole through the soft, worn leather of his bag.

Their presence continues to haunt him: placing his bag in his locker and grabbing his lab coat, walking towards the admit desk where Martha – the head nurse – smiles at him before handing him a cup of coffee.

The emergency room is swamped. It is full to capacity with even more waiting in triage. They work as hard and as fast as they can, but it takes time to cure burns from potions and injuries from spells gone wrong.

It gets to the point where Draco needs to take a step back. He has to take a step back and re-evaluate. His personal life is shot; the love he had found at sixteen a dead end until this last weekend. His professional life is all that he has going for him, but on days like this, when he isn’t feeling entirely himself for the shock from the weekend, Draco does find himself being short with patients.

He escapes to the break room; the familiar bitter scent of coffee already relaxing the tense muscles in his shoulders. He settles into a chair at the rickety table, head in his hands as he takes a deep breath.

Draco represses the urge to cry. He pushes it down; deep, deep down inside him where he can deal with it another day. At this moment, all he wants is a hug from his mother and the age old promise that everything is going to be okay. It’s her fault’ it is Narcissa’s fault that he is like this.

That he is a husk of a man.

He feels like a therapist’s wet dream. Blaming his mother, his parents as the source of his problems, but he cannot help imagining how different his life would be if those letters had been delivered to his hands.

He would be with you. He would have given it all up for you.

His lineage; his inheritance; his name; the pureblood mania that infected his parents.

He would give it all up for you.

Fifteen years later and he would still give up every aspect of his life, every part of him that makes him him.

Draco would drop it all in a heartbeat for you.

“What’s gotten into you?” A feminine voice questions. Draco turns in his seat to see his closest friend and confidant, Alexandria Delphi, leaning against the door with a smile on her face.

He cannot help the smile that grows on his face at her presence. He shrugs, hoping he appears nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

Alexandria pushes herself off the door, coming to sit next to Draco at the old rickety table that has been at home in the break room since before time itself. She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at his obvious aversion. She gestures to his entire being, “I mean this. You’ve been off all day – not as attentive to patients, not your usual flirtatious self with the nurses which I know they are missing very much. What’s gotten into you, Draco?”

Draco sighs, knowing very well he could never hide anything from her. Alexandria and Draco had known each other since their first year of training; an unlikely friendship forming between them, but a friendship nonetheless. Thirteen years later, they had been working in the emergency department of St Mungo’s the longest – second only to Martha, the Head Nurse.

“I was cleaning out the attic over the weekend. Getting rid of some of my parent’s things.”

Alexandria frowns, reaching for Draco’s hand over the table. “You should have called me. I would have come and helped you; you shouldn’t have had to that alone.”

“I know,” Draco starts, running a hand down his face, “I know you would have but I think I needed to do it alone.”

Alexandria nods, releasing his hand at last and bringing it to the coffee mug sitting in front of her. Draco smiles at her before standing, opening his locker and grabbing the letters that call to him from his bag.

Sitting back down, he slides the two piles of letters in Alexandria’s direction, all the while saying, “I found these in my mother’s trunk. It had a false bottom, and they were sitting there.”

Her deep brown eyes widen, “How scandalous! They’re addressed to you?”

Draco nods, “When I was at Hogwarts, there was a girl.”

“Isn’t there always?” Alexandria quips, rolling her eyes at the dramatics of her colleague.

“Anyway,” Draco comments pointedly, “I was in love, or at least, I was as much in love as you can be when you’re sixteen years old. I still am, I think.

“Anyway, my parents didn’t approve of her; they never would so when war started brewing and I went home, I never imagined I would get letters. I never got letters. Turns out, she had been sending me letters all along and my parents had kept them hidden until now.”

“Bastards,” Alexandria spits; furious at people long dead.

“What do you think I should do?” Draco asks earnestly, his eyes never leaving the pile of letters.

“Have you read them?” Alexandria asks; her eyes fixed on the two sets of letters placed between them on the rickety table.

He shakes his head, refusing to meet Alexandria’s eyes, “I think I’m too scared.”

Alexandria smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She sighs, “You aren’t going to know what to do until you read them. Reading the letters should give you the answer you are looking for.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“When you made me Attending,” She quips, yet there is still no heart behind it – none of her usual heat that tends to come out when Draco baits her slightly. She shakes her head, standing from her seat with her coffee in her hand, “I want to see you back out there soon. I don’t care whether you’re the head of the department.”

He raise an eyebrow at her in challenge; she simply smirks. He shakes his head at her antics, already rising from his seat, “I’m on my way.”

“Good, I have plenty of patients for you to see.”

Draco doesn’t reply, he watches her leave with a fond smile on his face.

Alexandria leaves the break room. She leaves as it is the only way that Draco will not see the sorrow and the longing reflected in her eyes. Alexandria doesn’t let him see the jealousy over the letters; the very emotion gnawing away at the ever growing pit in her stomach, only making it deeper as she replays the story of Draco’s first and only love.

She remembers when she used to look forward to coming into work; to help those in need and be a source of comfort for those she couldn’t help. Now, she struggles to make it through the door with the knowledge that she has been in love with the same man for years and nothing had happened.

That’s the thing about loving someone who doesn’t love you back – it turns you into a ghost of your former self.

------

Draco finds himself reaching for the first letter in the pile on a Friday night in the middle of April. If he had to be honest with himself, it had taken him a whole month to work up the nerve to read them. Draco had come home after the conversation with Alexandria and dropped the letters on the side table where they have taunted him ever since.

He knows he isn’t in the right frame of mind to be reading them; a bad shift with too many deaths combined with the two half full tumblers of whiskey consumed creates the equation of self-destruction. However, Draco reminds himself, he’s had fifteen years of internal self-destruction – what’s one more night when you tear yourself down so regularly despite the accolades attached to your name?

Draco hesitates, holding the first of the twenty four letters in his hand. He hesitates; unsure as to whether he is ready to read the handwriting of someone whose notes through class not only made him happy, but hopeful.

Releasing a shuddering breath, he tears open the seal and begins to read.

------

The letters are not long. They aren’t pages and pages of eloquent syntax over your feelings for the blonde haired, cocky teenager he once was. The closer he gets to the end of the pile, the less is written as if you had grown tired of such an act and not getting a reply.

Draco keeps his favourite close to him. It’s tucked away in his inner coat pocket, on the left hand side close to his heart.

The letter has been with him a month now. A month of one letter being read and reread too many times a day; to the point where Draco is reciting it in his sleep. It’s creased beyond recognition, but he still takes the risk every day to take it out and read it.

He misses you. He misses you. He misses you.

Now, Draco unfolds the paper. He unfolds the paper and reads the opening line: do you remember that night in the greenhouse? Writes your neat handwriting; the letters perfectly formed on the now browning parchment.

How could he forget? Draco closes his eyes, letting himself fall into the memory perfumed with compost and night blooming evening primrose.

*****

“Name two purposes of Valerian Root.”

“To help someone sleep as well as to ease anxiety.”

“Very good,” You laugh, moving quietly between the rows and rows of plants. You turn to him suddenly, “What is one danger of Black Henbane?”

Draco pauses, eyes already searching for papery flower with spidery black veins. He finds it nestled towards the back of the greenhouse, hidden away from sight and away from the wandering hands of children. Draco follows you closely; remaining near you as he says, “As a member of the nightshade family, the plant can be toxic if used in large quantities.”

The sight of your smile takes his breath away. You rush to him; toothy grin and loud laughter as you nod your head. “Madame Pomfrey was right,” You splutter, “You’re going to make an incredible Healer, Draco Malfoy.”

He doesn’t need to see the blush to know it’s there; he can feel the heat creeping its way up his neck to his cheeks. “I don’t think I’ll get there if I don’t have you.”

A satisfied smile replaces the happy grin that was on your face only moments ago. It was as if you were waiting for those words to fall from his lips; the reassurance within those words spreading over your worry like a balm over a wound.

How many more nights would they get like this? How many more nights would they have together?

Somewhat foolishly, Draco hopes he has forever. He hopes he has an eternity and a day with you, but he can feel the changes in the air, and he knows it isn’t good. Draco can see the tension at home; more and more people arriving, each just as secretive as the last, and Draco suddenly knows he only has a short amount of time before he’s inducted into the same fanatic group as his parents.

He’s on limited days with you so he’ll take the nights.

He’ll take all the nights.

-------

The shoebox had remained untouched under his bed for years now. Draco had shoved it there in a fit of anger and despair and he hadn’t looked since.

Reaching for it now, Draco represses the growing anger directed at his parents. He ignores the growing resentment surrounding the fact that they hid your letters for years and never thought to whisper a word of it – not even on their death beds.

The shoebox has aged; not unlike himself, he thinks as he wipes the dust from the top. The thick layer drawing a sneeze from him before he can open the box.

It doesn’t matter how many years it has laid unwanted under his bed; it doesn’t matter how long it has remained there, untouched and not thought of – Draco, to this day, can still recount for every little thing in there.

Notes that have now turned brown with age; old photos where youthful faces glance up at him; a chocolate bar wrapper from Honeyduke’s.

They each line the bottom of the shoebox. Draco’s memories of you out there for him to finally confront, to see. He sinks down onto his childhood bed; almost blinded by the force of the wave of nostalgia washing over him, threatening to drown him with the strength of his memories.

The memories hadn’t plagued him for some time though you played on his mind constantly – even more so since the letters.

They’re silly memories, but memories, nonetheless. Ones that he adores; ones that he cherishes.

It was the letters that triggered this. The letters that have brought the ghosts back from where they had been hidden, haunting him quietly until now.

Draco runs a hand through the trinkets in the box. He smiles at them, thinking of Hogsmeade and how he had surprised you with a bar of your favourite chocolate. The grin on your face worth all the jibes from Crabbe and Goyle when he got back to the Slytherin common room that evening.

Draco falls back onto his childhood bed with a huff.

He has a decision to make, and he doesn’t know where to begin. He has a decision to make, and he doesn’t have the guidance he so desperately needs.

Draco wants to see you; he needs to see you, but what if you don’t want to see him?

----

“I heard you handed in your notice,” Draco states as a way of breaking the ice.

Her notice of leave had landed in his hands not even three hours ago. He had spent the time since in a panic; rushing about the hospital to find Alexandria and to question her, to find out why she would leave after so long.

Why she would leave him.

Alexandria nods, “I have. I leave in two weeks.”

“Why?” Draco all but demands, “You love this place.”

“You’re right,” Alexandria sighs, “I do.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

“Because I can’t do this anymore, Draco. I can’t sit here and listen to you talk about those letters and sigh dreamily, or date someone else. I can’t do it,” Her voice breaks, “So I won’t. I want a fresh start, so I’m going to get one.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“If I had known…”

“What? You’d have loved me?” Alexandria laughs mirthlessly, “Love me, Draco! Love me.”

“I can’t,” He whispers; the words the death knell to any scrap of friendship remaining.

Tears fall down her face, “And that’s why I have to go.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek; lingering for longer than what was probably good for her. When she pulls away, she can see the wetness of her tears on Draco’s cheek. “I hope you find her, Draco. You deserve a love story.”

-----

The cottage is small, but it is perfect. Ivy covered walls with a neat front garden; every inch showing the love and attention being paid to it. From the red roses that makes Draco think of his beloved mother to the intense scent of lavender that reminds Draco of the perfume you wore through Hogwarts. Looking up at the cottage, Draco realises that he had never seen a house look so much like a home.

He pauses at the gate; eyes focused on the bricks of the cottage and nowhere else. He doesn’t let the hope grow; he doesn’t let himself dream of what could happen. He’s thankful he has made it this far.

That he’s made it back to you.

The black gate creaks when Draco pushes it open. He winces at the noise, praying it doesn’t give him away and that you answer the door unexpectedly.

He needs this.

He needs the time.

It’s been fifteen years and since he found your letters months ago, he thought he would be ready by the time he found you.

Now Draco is thinking, perhaps he isn’t ready.

Will he ever be ready? He asks himself. Will he ever be ready to confront the very person he has been in love with since he was sixteen years old?

Draco doesn’t know; he doesn’t think he’ll ever know until he steps through the gate.

Draco’s hands shake as he rushes down the well-worn footpath to your dark brown front door. His hands continue to shake as he raises a single fist to knock on the door, three times.

He’s about to turn away; he’s about to walk away and never enter your life again. He will go away and never think of you again; of what could have been.

But then the lock clicks, and the handle moves.

“Hello?” A sweet voice calls out; your voice calls out.

“(Y/N)…” He breathes, and suddenly his nerves are gone and so is his worry. Suddenly, Draco is back at Hogwarts, the feel of your hand in his as he presses you into walls and steals kisses behind statues. He’s back to being sixteen years old and feeling the unrelenting agony of teenage love for the first time along with the merciless fear to do with the rising tensions.

“Draco,” You whisper, bringing a hand up to your mouth. Shock reflects in your eyes; your eyes that show no signs of aging other than the lines that are now forming in the corners.

Draco can’t help himself; he runs his eyes over your body, taking in the changes that becoming an adult has brought. It means nothing; he would love you regardless, but he cannot seem to help himself from drinking it all in.

From the realisation that he in fact stood in front of you.

You are there, and he is here with you.

“How have you been?” He asks; more out of politeness than anything else.

You shift awkwardly, “I’ve been good, Draco. How have you been?”

Draco nods, “I’ve been good too. I know you’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

You laugh, tucking yourself slightly behind the door, “That did cross my mind.”

He smiles; a large grin that he hasn’t felt on his face in a long, long time. Less than five minutes with you, and you’re already bringing out a side of him that Draco had long thought was extinct. He reaches into his coat, grabbing some of the letters that he keeps there. He holds them out to you, “I’ve only just found them.”

Audibly gasping, you instinctively reach for the letters. Your fingers brush Draco’s and he swears his heart skips a beat at the small touch. “I sent these years ago.”

Draco closes his eyes, “I know, and I cannot apologise enough to you for how long it has taken. I thought a reply in person would be better.”

Tears line your eyes as your fingers brush the worn paper; the crease marks more than evident from where Draco has folded and refolded the letter to read. “I always wondered what had happened…” You trail off, lifting your gaze from the letters to meet his eyes.

“My parents,” He whispers; voice pained. He takes a moment to collect himself, but you put a hand up to stop from saying anything else.

“I understand. You don’t need to explain more, Draco.”

“Thank you,” He replies, smiling softly. Then he launches into his tale, “I was cleaning out their belongings; cleaning in general really when I found a false bottom in my mother’s trunk. When I took it out, I found your letters… and I read them and reread them. I practically memorised them. I don’t think there are enough words in the English language to convey just how sorry I am.”

“Draco…”

“No, let me say this… please,” He whispers, adding on the last word for politeness. You fall silent, your eyes begging him not to say out loud what you know he is going to confess.

“Until the last star fades and we succumb to darkness, I shall love you. I have always loved you; from being a scared teenager to being a just as scared adult. My feelings haven’t changed. I’ve thought of nothing but you for fifteen years,” He pauses, drawing in a shuddering breath, “I love you.”

Silence falls over you both. Draco’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches the emotions flicker over your face in a pace he didn’t think was humanly possible. Acceptance, happiness, relief and then finally, sadness.

He furrows his brows; surely this would be a happy event no? Draco has tracked you down after a fifteen year absence. He has found his one true love at last, and now he stands before you wondering the cause of such sadness on your face and in your eyes.

“Draco…” You trail off, holding up your left hand, “I’m married.”

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @lunalovegxxd @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @storyisnotover

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @reaganwonders @aspiringsloth20 @just-a-belgian-girl @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley @dracosathenaeum

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagines

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scarletarosa · 4 years ago

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Pluto

Greek god of death; King of the Underworld

Pluto (also Pluton or Hades) is the king of the Greek Underworld (which is called Hades) and is the lord of death. He presides over funeral rites and defends the right of the dead to their due burial. Pluto is also the god of the hidden wealth of the earth, from the fertile soil which nourishes the seed-grain, to the mined wealth of gold, silver, and other metals. One of the gods who works alongside him is Thanatos, who holds power over gentle deaths (while Pluto is death in general). In one myth, Pluto was said to have brought a plague to inflict Thebes after the king refused to give proper burials to warriors, which depicts Pluto’s harsher aspect of delivering death and justice. Pluto was also usually regarded as an infertile god, for a god of death should, by his very nature, be incapable of siring any children.

Pluto was depicted as a dark-bearded, regal god. He was depicted as either enthroned in Hades, holding a bird-tipped sceptre, or as the giver of wealth, pouring fertility from a cornucopia. The Romans named him Dis, or Pluto, the Latin form of his Greek title Plouton, "the Lord of Riches."

Myths: According to Hesiod, Pluto’s parentage is said to be of Kronos (god of time) and Rhea (goddess of earth and motherhood). He was said to have been devoured by Kronos along with four of his siblings while the infant Zeus was secretly hidden away by Rhea after his birth. When Zeus later returned and fought Kronos, his siblings were spat out and together they drove the titan gods from the heavens and locked them away in the pit of Tartaros. When the three victorious brothers then drew lots for the division of the cosmos, Hades received the third portion, the dark gloomy realm of the Underworld, as his domain. However, in another version of Pluto’s parentage, it is said by the Orphics that he is actually the son of Nyx (goddess of night) and Olethros (god of doom). In my workings with Pluto and Nyx, they have said the latter myth to be the true version, which makes Pluto the half-brother of deities such as Eris (strife), Philotes (unity), Hemera (daylight), Aether (god of the aether and upper light), etc.

In another myth, Pluto had desired a bride and petitioned Zeus to grant him one of his daughters. The god offered him the young Persephone, the daughter of Demeter. However, knowing that Persephone would resist the marriage, he assented to the forceful abduction of the girl and carried her away on his chariot as she cried out for help. When Demeter learned of this, she was furious and in great despair, causing a great dearth to fall upon the Earth until her daughter was safely returned. Zeus was eventually forced to concede lest mankind perish, and the girl was fetched forth from the Underworld. However, since she had eaten the pomegranate seed after being deceived by Pluto, she was forced to return to him for a portion of each year.

Apollodorus in the following passage summarizes the contents of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (quoted here in the following section). Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 1. 29-33 (trans. Aldrich) (Greek mythographer C2nd A.D.):

“Plouton [Haides] fell in love with Persephone, and with Zeus' help secretly kidnapped her. I begin to sing of rich-haired Demeter Semne Thea (Reverend goddess) - of her and her trim-ankled daughter [Persephone] whom Aidoneus rapt away, given to him by all-seeing Zeus the loud-thunderer. Apart from Demeter Lady of the golden sword (khrysaoros), Giver of glorious fruits (aglaokarpos), she was playing with the deep-bosomed daughters of Okeanos and gathering flowers over a soft meadow, roses and crocuses and beautiful violets, irises also and hyacinths and the narcissus, which Ge (Earth) made to grow at the will of Zeus and to please the Host of Many [Haides], to be a snare for the bloom-like girl...The girl was amazed and reached out with both hands to take the lovely toy; but the wide-pathed earth yawned there in the Nysion plain, and the lord, Host of Many, with his immortal horses sprang out upon her...

He caught her up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. Then she cried out shrilly with her voice, calling upon her father, the Son of Kronos [Zeus], who is most high and excellent. But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tender-hearted Hekate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaios, heard the girl from her cave, and the lord Helios (the Sun), Hyperion's bright son, as she cried to her father, the Son of Kronos [Zeus]. But he was sitting aloof, apart from the gods, in his temple where many pray, and receiving sweet offerings from mortal men. So he, that Son of Kronos [Haides], of many names...was bearing her away by leave of Zeus on his immortal chariot--his own brother's child and all unwilling. And so long as she, the goddess, yet beheld earth and starry heaven and the strong flowing sea, and still hoped to see her dear mother [Demeter] and the tribes of the eternal gods, so long hope calmed her great heart for all her trouble; and the heights of the mountains and the depths of the sea rang with her immortal voice: and her queenly mother heard her.”

Appearance: A man in his 40’s with tanned skin, black hair, a short black beard, and black eyes (only the irises). He wears a black toga and often has a solemn expression.

Personality: Pluto is very solitary, withdrawn, just, fair, serious, aloof, brooding, and compassionate. He requires his followers to respect the resting places of the dead, to show humility, and to overcome their toxic ways. He is one who understands that we all must go through the depths of suffering if we wish to gain wisdom and become better people. Yet this is something very difficult to do, so he is glad to assist along this path if one politely requests him to do so. Pluto is also a healer, but only in regards to mental sufferings due to loss and regrets; other things are not specialties of his. Pluto is a highly respectable deity and will be the guardian of many of us once we die (unless we enter a different kingdom). One should not speak cruelly of him or disrespect him due to his role as a divine king, lest they seek to invoke his wrath.

Personal experiences: Pluto embodies a feeling of immense loneliness, and had even bound himself to the Underworld as he felt that he could belong nowhere else. But in doing this, he is unable to leave this realm for very long and has made it very difficult for him to find a companion. So, in an act of desperation, he kidnapped Persephone when he saw her in a meadow one day and carried her off to his realm as she raged against him. He pleaded with her to listen and be understanding, but of course, someone who has been kidnapped does not respond well to this. So Pluto kept her locked up in his palace hoping that she would eventually calm down and come to want to understand him, but instead, Persephone became angrier and even more desperate to escape. This soon led Pluto to force himself upon her, and he continued this for ages. After a very long time of being kept prisoner, Persephone finally managed to be rescued by other deities, but she was not the same and had lost her connection to flowers due to her stay in the Underworld. She has been traumatized ever since and harbours great anger towards Pluto and any who change the myths about what had occurred. Pluto, however, is not the same as he was before and is repenting for his actions.

Nowadays, Pluto is a better version of his old self but still pains over his solitude. However, he does receive some company from some visiting family members such as Nyx and a few of his siblings, like Philotes. However, one is not advised to enter the Underworld through astral travel unless they are highly experienced and are granted permission to enter since this realm is not a pleasant place and some areas can even cause insanity. Despite this dark, abysmal domain, Pluto is a very understanding and patient god who is not quick to judge others and helps us to overcome our past evils in order to be reborn. Pluto also has a very strong understanding of pain and solitude, and what these emotions can turn a person into, so he can assist in healing these burdening emotions from our hearts.

He has explained that Pluto is his true name while Hades is simply the name of the portion of the Underworld which he rules over (as the Underworld is immensely vast and has multiple kingdoms such as Kur, Duat, Helheim, etc). His role as king of Hades is to watch over the spirits of the dead who enter his domain; where they are then tormented in order to overcome their wrong-doings, negative habits/emotions, and harmful obsessions. It is not like Hell, since only evil spirits go there and they are tortured for eternity in far worse ways; the Underworld is moreso a place of harsh lessons and rebirth before one is allowed entrance to Elysium. The torments of the Underworld are also all symbolic and assist the spirit in realizing what they must change about themselves before they can become anew, yet this process usually takes many years (sometimes decades or centuries). Pluto also has power over death itself (since he embodies it) and has explained that the god Thanatos is an aspect of himself, representing a small portion of his own power. Pluto also has the power of illusion, which makes him able to cause spirits and humans alike to see whatever he wants them to see (even able to manipulate one’s astral senses).

Some of Pluto’s Epithets:

Adámastos (Unconquerable)

Adesius (The Grave)

Agelastus (Melancholic)

Aidis (The Unseen)

Amænthis (The One who Gives and Receives)

Ánax (King)

Eubulius (The Consoler of Sorrow)

Feralis Deus (The Dismal God)

Larthy Tytiral (Sovereign of Tartaros)

Moiragetes (Guide of the Fates)

Nekrôn Sôtêr (Saviour of the Dead)

Opertus (The Concealed)

Polydegmôn (Host of Many)

Pluton (Lord of Riches)

Offerings: ginger ale, spiced rum, well water, ginger root, plums, mushrooms, eggplant, beetroot, parsnips, black peppercorns, bones, ash, scorpions, vipers, clay pots, black candles, styrax incense, chalk powder, black or grey rags, sceptres, scythes, black or dark purple cloaks, ebony wood, black leather moccasins, moleskin, old silver coins, bronze, silver, ivory, rust, obsidian, onyx, jet, charcoal

The Underworld

#pluto #pluton #hades #the underworld #greek gods #hellenic polytheism #hellenism #deity work

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delicatelyherdreams · 5 years ago

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Pragma(tic) 24: She Mends a Body and a Heart

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 4016

Warnings: Language, mention of wounds

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 23: Her Heart Betrays Her

The fires of Hell seemed dull compared to the fires of the forge.

They were hot. They made you tired. They cast a ghastly glow over the walls.

But there was no place you’d rather be.

Tony was right; having complete control over your own project was therapeutic. And the project you were working on was even more so.

You were constructing Bucky’s prosthetic arm.

As an amateur builder, you didn’t know if it was such a good idea to be responsible for such a major task, but Tony had assured and reassured you time and time again that you could do it. He told you that he was confident in your ability and that he would be there to help you if you needed it.

You worked day and night on your project, sculpting the arm and embedding it with nerve endings and mechanics to make it function properly. Tony helped you with the exact operations to make it like a real arm, but the whole thing was crafted by you. You took the measurements Tony had taken and used them to build his arm. It was surprising how easy it was for you, but you had a feeling that Tony was giving his divine blessing to you to make you more adept and capable. You appreciated this.

You made Bucky’s arm out of vibranium—the rarest metal on earth—and embedded it with rivers of gold. You crafted it with tender care and love, each detail added painstakingly to make it perfect. You would settle for nothing less than perfection. He deserved nothing less than perfection.

You spent a month and a half working. Peggy took over running the Underworld and Clint volunteered to lead all of the dead mortal souls to the afterlife for you while you were in the forge which allowed you to devote all your time and energy to your project. You appreciated them immensely. You needed this break.

You found that Tony was right: working on something you controlled entirely allowed you to cope. With every passing day, you found yourself losing tension in your body. A weight was being lifted from your shoulders.

You accepted your father’s death, finding the strength to move on. It was surprising how easy it was to push past his death, but, then again, you did hate his guts. You’d spent the majority of your life keeping him in the corner of your mind, letting him plague you always. You let the trauma he’d inflicted fester without fully forgiving it and healing. But now that he was dead, you were able to let it go, and, as the month came to a close and your project neared its completion, you felt lighter than ever.

It was liberating.

“Hey, kid!”

You looked up from the arm you were working on. You’d been polishing the metal and buffing out the blemishes with heat. Your hand glowed hot with hellfire embedded in your skin and you pulled it off as you looked at Tony. “Yeah?”

He had his bag slung over his shoulder and a lopsided grin on his face. “I’m calling it quits early tonight. I’m taking Pepper out for a date.”

“Alright.”

“Will you lock up if you leave? I trust you in my forge, but I don’t like it open if it’s unattended.”

You understood this so you nodded. “We both know I’m not leaving, but yes I will if I do go.”

“Thanks! You’re the greatest!”

You heard the heavy forge door slam shut behind him and you were left alone. You almost preferred it like this.

Left to your own devices, you warmed your hands again and began to even out the rougher parts of the surface. This was the finishing touch, really. It had already been tested for flexibility and function and, after one simple procedure, the arm would be a perfect replacement for the one that Bucky had lost in the battle.

You just hoped he’d accept it. It was crafted to be your apology to him. It was an offering to say “I’m sorry for getting you hurt. I’m sorry you lost your arm because of me. I’m sorry if I’m not worth it.” You hoped that the love you’d put into this gift would be enough to earn his forgiveness and show him that you still cared.

The creaking of the heavy forge door pulled you from your thoughts, but you didn’t look up. “Forget something, Tony?” you called out as you took your hands off it and allowed them to cool. Taking a soft cloth from the work table, you used it to polish the surface of the metal.

There was a pause before a voice that definitely wasn’t Tony’s responded, “No. I have come to talk to you.”

Your hands stilled and you slowly brought your eyes up to meet Winnifred’s.

She looked dressed for gardening in a pair of simple jeans and a green blouse. Her dark hair was tied back in a loose bun. She was pale and dark circles rimmed her eyes. She looked exhausted. She met your eyes without delay, though you could see the slight anxiety in her posture. She was nervous about something, though you couldn’t tell what.

Perhaps it was because your hands were glowing with heat.

You stood up straighter, taking your hands off your project. “Winnifred,” you said, your voice adopting formal diplomacy, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

She looked uncomfortable under your gaze as she shifted her weight from side to side. “I… I wanted to talk to you. Privately.” She was quick to add on that last part as her eyes darted around.

“Well, we are the only ones in the whole forge. This is about as private as it gets.” You weren’t going to leave. You were still working and leaving would just disrupt your progress. You looked back down at your project and continued to polish the arm’s surface. “What is it that you need?”

“It’s about my son.”

Your motion faltered for only a second. Anxiety began to bubble up in your chest. “Wh-What about him? Is he alright?” you asked, your voice fighting to stay calm and even.

“Yes! Yes, he’s fine. Everything is progressing well in his recovery. He’s doing well.”

“Then why have you come?” You didn’t understand why she would come all this way to visit a person she loathed.

Winnifred hung her head as if she weren’t quite sure of the answer herself. “I wanted to thank you!” she finally blurted after a short pause. The suddenness of the claim startled you both and she looked taken aback by her own words. She hung her head.

It was… odd to see her like this, all submissive and repentant. There had been a time when Winnifred was nothing but snarky with you at council meetings or in the streets. She hated you with a burning passion and was never afraid to let you know it. But now she was almost reverent for once. She was tiptoeing around her words and choosing them carefully. She was watching her tongue and actions and keeping them in check. It unnerved you to be treated with such respect by her. You supposed that this was a result of your explosion on her after the council meeting despite it being months ago.

You frowned at her. “For what? I haven’t done anything for you.”

“For saving my son’s life.” She took a deep breath and glanced up. “I… I watched him try to fight the titan to save you, but you dove in front of him in time to stop the blow and when he… when he…” Her voice cracked and she pressed her lips together tightly. Her eyes found the ceiling and stayed there for moments on end. You could see her eyes reddening. “When he lost his arm… You were there to stop the bleeding. You saved his life and I… I know we’ve had our differences and I really don’t like you, but I have to thank you for that. You saved my son and for that, I owe you everything.”

“You owe me nothing.” You sighed and hung your head. “I would’ve saved him regardless. I couldn’t bear it if Bucky were killed because of me. He’s too precious to me.” You breathed a laugh and shook your head. “You don’t have to thank me for something I would’ve done anyways. Besides…” You shrugged and placed your hand on the prosthetic once more. Dragging it against the vibranium before you, you watched your reflection become clearer. “My life wouldn’t be complete if he wasn’t a part of it.”

Winnifred fell silent, her expression conflicted. “You love him, don’t you?” she asked, her voice as quiet as a whisper.

You nodded. “Yeah. I do. With all my heart.”

“I should’ve guessed.” She sounded resigned by your confession as if she expected this. “I really don’t like it, but I suppose I don’t have much of a choice. My son is grown; he can make his own decisions on who he loves.”

“And you really don’t have the power to stop me,” you added nonchalantly.

“Don’t remind me.” She pursed her lips. “You should go to him.”

You paused. “I’m sorry?”

“Go to him. In the hospital. He asks for you every day, wondering if you’d gone to see him. He’ll never ask me, but one of the nymphs brought it to my attention after the tenth time he’d asked for you. He’s quite confused as to why you haven’t gone to see him yet.”

“I did see him… Once…” And he was sleeping. You hung your head. “I can’t face him yet. Knowing what I’ve done to hurt him, I don’t deserve to see him—not until I’ve finished.”

Winnifred’s eyes trailed down to the prosthetic you were working on. “Is that for him?”

“To replace the one that was stolen by my father,” you confirmed. “I can’t leave until it’s complete.”

“When will that be?”

“Soon.” You paused in your work and looked up at her again, your gaze unsure. “Do you really think I should go to him?”

“I do. I know he loves you more than he’s ever loved another. He needs you, (y/n). Please, don’t keep away from him too long—for both your sakes.”

You frowned at her. “Why are you doing this?”

She shrugged as she took a step back, beginning to make her way to the door once more. “I’m not sure myself. Maybe it’s because I’ve finally accepted that my little boy has grown up. He’s going to love you whether I approve or not. I’d rather not lose him over something silly like this. Just… Promise me you’ll take care of him? He’s still so young and I fear for him every day. But… If he had the Queen of Hell protecting him, then I might just sleep a little better.”

You smiled softly at her and nodded. “I promise.”

An understanding between you was forged in that moment—one where she finally accepted you as a part of her son’s life and where you vowed to love him. After years of bickering and animosity, you finally found it in yourselves to tolerate each other.

———

Your heart hammered in your chest as you stood in the white halls of the hospital. You felt out of place in your dark clothes and a large prosthetic wrapped in cloth in your arms. It’d been a while since you’d last been here and you wanted nothing more than to get out.

But you had to be here. He was calling you—pulling you to his side.

Behind the door, inside room 107, your love lay in wait for you. He didn’t know you were here, but you figured that he could sense you. Your aura had grown stronger since the execution when you took on another domain and you reeked of death. It was not a good omen for a hospital, but you had to be here all the same. You only wondered how Bucky would react to you after being apart for so long.

You knew you didn’t have to be nervous; this was Bucky after all. You loved him and he loved you. But you still feared the worst. What if he was disgusted by the very sight of you? Appalled by what you had become? Would he send you away? Would he ask to never see you again?

Logically you knew that each situation was more unlikely than the last, but you were still afraid. You were afraid of being rejected by the only man you truly loved.

You glanced down at the white cloth that covered the arm you’d built for him. Would he accept it? Would it even fit him? You’d done your best to make it exactly like the left arm he’d lost, but was it enough? Was it suitable for a god?

There was only one way to find out.

Steeling your nerves and shifting the prosthetic to one side, you slowly raised your fist and knocked on the door of his room.

“Come in!” urged the voice of a god and you stopped for only a second. Gods… How you’d missed his voice…

You swallowed the lump in your throat and slowly opened the door.

The room had taken on Bucky’s personality over the weeks he’d been here. When you first visited, it’d been bare and sterile. There’d been no color. But now it was lively. Bouquets of flowers filled almost every available surface and the room was bright. The colors made you dizzy, there were so many and so vibrant.

The only occupant in the room was sitting on the bed and your eyes found him immediately. He wasn’t looking at you yet and this gave you time to appreciate him.

His hair had grown out a considerable amount. At least two inches had sprouted, giving length and volume to those locks you loved. He’d grown a short stubble of a beard as well. You could only imagine how prickly it was. He looked good. His skin was tan and warm and he had a small smile on his face as he looked down at the book that was opened in his lap. His hand fondled the page, rubbing the paper between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand… His other hand wasn’t there nor was his arm. The hospital gown covered the stump that remained, but you could see the bandages peeking out from under the short sleeve. It was pure white and haunting—a chilling reminder of what had provided it.

Bucky’s eyes stayed on his book as he turned the page. “Is it time for my meds again?” he asked, his voice even and expectant.

You forced your voice to work as you set the prosthetic arm down on a side table that had a bit of spare space. “I… I don’t know. Do you usually take medicine at,” you paused to look at the clock, “1:30 in the afternoon?” You crossed your arms and hugged your body anxiously.

His head snapped up as he heard your voice, his blue eyes going wide with disbelief. His lips parted in a silent gasp. His gaze was filled with wonder as he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room. He whispered your name like a desperate prayer. “You came…”

“I came.” You offered him a weak smile as you took a step into the room. “I’m sorry it took me so long, but I—”

He was out of the bed in an instant, his legs making wide strides over to you. You had to drop your arms as he engulfed you in a tight hug. His arm clutched you tightly, his fingers digging into your back as he buried his face in your neck. “You came,” he repeated, his breath warming your skin.

You shivered beneath him as you wrapped your arms around his torso, holding him just as tightly if not more. Oh, how you’d missed this—missed him. You clung to him desperately, taking in every inch of him. Your face was wet. Tears streamed down your face, dampening his hospital gown. But you didn’t care. You just wanted to hold him and be held by him.

His shoulders shook with silent sobs as he held you tight like he couldn’t believe you were there. You could only imagine what was running through his mind.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the second syllable. “I’m so, so sorry for everything. For all the pain—”

“Shh…” He shook his head in your neck. “You don’t have to apologize, Doll.” He pulled away ever so slightly, letting his hand fall from your back and rise to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed your tears away and he gave you a watery smile. Tears of his own were starting to fall from his eyes as he gazed at you. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Your lips trembled as you looked him over your eyes falling on his left shoulder. “But… I hurt you.” Your shaky hand reached out to what remained of his left arm but you stopped before you actually touched him.

“You didn’t do this to me, (y/n),” he said taking your hand and guiding it to his arm. He let your hand linger on his wound, not even flinching. You figured that it had mostly—if not fully—healed by now with immortality helping him. “You are not responsible for this. Your father is. But, from what I heard, he’s gone now.”

“He is. I made sure of that.”

“I’m sorry.” he inhaled sharply and leaned forward to press his lips against your forehead. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I… I wish I could’ve been there for you, but I wasn’t. Now, for that, you will need to forgive me.”

You stared up at him, a soft smile covering your lips. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

He chuckled. “I guess not.” He reached down and took your hand. “Come. Let’s sit down and talk. I haven’t seen you in two months. I missed you.”

You went willingly, smiling at him as you brushed lingering tears away. “I missed you too.”

He climbed back into the bed and slid under the thin hospital blanket before lifting it up for you to join him.

You felt a little squished as you squeezed into the bed meant for one, but it was cozy. With your body pressed against his right side, he was able to wrap his arm around you and pull you in close. You turned into him, resting your head on his chest and wrapping your arms around his torso. He’d lost some weight. He was thinner around the middle.

He pulled you in close and buried his nose in your hair, taking a moment to simply breathe you in. His body relaxed more and more with every passing second, soaking in the comfort of your presence that only you could give.

In all honesty, you felt more at peace in this moment than you had in months. Being with him had some effect on you that you couldn’t explain. It was lovely and you never wanted it to end.

“Where have you been?” he asked after a while, his voice husky with longing.

“Working,” you mumbled into his chest. “I’ve been in the forges working… I needed to be able to do something productive to get into a better headspace.”

“Is that why you didn’t come to see me?” His voice was hurt but sympathetic. You could tell that it had pained him that you didn’t come to visit him, but he understood needing space. You appreciated him for that.

You nodded. “I couldn’t come until I was done… Until I had something to offer you as my apology for everything I’ve put you through.” Your eyes flickered up at the cloth-wrapped arm still sitting on the table. “I brought it with me.”

“Oh?”

“Mhmm. I wasn’t sure if I should even come, but then your mother visited me and—”

“My mother?” He was astonished. “You mean the woman that hates you went to see you willingly?”

You couldn’t refrain from giggling. “Yeah. She came in to tell me that I should see you and she gave us her blessing in a weird way. She’s not happy with it, but she finally realized that she can’t really stop us if we want to be together. Anyways, she was the one who really convinced me to come. I wasn’t sure I should until she told me to. But, again, I couldn’t come empty-handed.”

“What did you bring me?”

You smiled softly at him. “Let me show you.” You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before pulling away from him and sliding off the bed. You made quick steps to the table where you’d left your creation waiting. You could see a small sliver of gold shimmering through a gap in the cloth. “It’s not much,” you said, wrapping your arms around the metallic prosthetic, “but it’s all I have to offer.” You took a deep breath and turned to him. “I worked on it for about a month and a half to make it perfect for you. We tried to get all the measurements right.” You carried it over and deposited it on the bed beside him. Taking great care, you unwrapped it slowly. The black metal shimmered in the light and the gold was as radiant as the sun. You heard Bucky’s sharp intake of breath but you couldn’t look up. “It’s not much, but I figured it’s a suitable replacement. Tony helped me with the wiring.” You could feel your nerves growing and you looked down. “A-A simple surgery will attach it to your body and nerves and it’ll be just like the old one only—you know—metal. But you’ll be able to feel things and move it just like you did your arm and I made it from vibranium so it’s indestructible and—”

“(y/n).” He took your hand to pause your rambling.

You swallowed and looked up at him. “Yes?” Did he hate it? Did he not want it? Had you made it for nothing? Your heart pounded in your chest.

His smile was soft as he gazed at you, his eyes dancing with light. “Thank you… This… This is more than I ever could’ve asked from you.” He moved his hand from yours and placed it on the metal prosthetic. His fingers traced over the embedded gold with a tenderness you’d only seen him use with you. “You made this for me… You made a new part of me…” He let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. “Why?”

“Because I love you.”

His head snapped up as the words poured out of your mouth.

It took you a moment to realize why they’d shocked him.

You’d finally said it.

I love you.

After all this time, you finally told him.

His lips were parted in quiet wonder. “You love me?” he whispered softly.

You could only nod. “With all my heart.” It was relieving to tell him. It’d felt like a secret lying heavy on your shoulders and, now that you’d finally told him, you were free of the burden. Because you did love him. You loved him more than you’d loved any other being. You loved him with every fiber of yourself and with everything you had. Why you hadn’t said it earlier, you didn’t know. But you were glad you’d said it now. Now it meant something.

He opened his arms to embrace you and you found a home in him once more. He held you close and hummed. “I love you too.” He pulled away just slightly to place a kiss on your lips.

A kiss that said, “I love you.”

A kiss that said, “I need you.”

A kiss that said, “I won’t ever let you go again.”

And that made you love him even more.

Next 25: She Almost Murders Someone (Again)

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #pragma(tic)#hades and persephone #hades & persephone #persephone!bucky x hades!reader #delicatelyherdreams #bucky au

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toushindai · 4 years ago

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sometimes a fic you’re very proud of gets unceremoniously booted out of canon compliance by something that........ really does not earn the right to evict your fic from canon compliance, and your only recourse is to

Decide that in your own headcanon, what you must begrudgingly call the “canon scene” was merely a dream, and

Remind yourself why you wrote what you wrote.

Anyway I still love “The Diamond” because it does a lot of character work that I really wanted to see done, and although no one asked I’m gonna talk a little bit this is fifteen hundred words long so a lot bit actually about that out of a combination of sincere enthusiasm and very poorly hidden spite.

Within twenty-four hours of completing the Meg route and learning that both relationships were fully above-board, I concluded that Zagreus would want a threesome, and shortly thereafter I concluded that if he got one, it would be a disaster. I’m speaking literally, this is not an exaggeration. Within forty-eight hours I had a rough outline of what would become “The Diamond” written up, and the structure of the encounter is basically what it is in the final draft: Zag suggests it, Meg and Than are less enthused but decide to go along with it, Than is persistently awkward about the experience that Zagreus and Megaera seem to have with navigating each other, though he makes a gallant effort anyway which is interrupted by a reminder that Meg is still there, watching all of this, and the encounter falls apart.

As I began to flesh the idea out, I really became interested in exploring just... a number of different complications, a number of different tensions that to tell the truth I had expected to be present in the relationships based on the antagonism displayed by both Meg and Than early on. It’s clear that, canonically, they sorted out their differences somewhere out of Zag’s sight. And I have no objection to this, really. But “The Diamond” became about forcing the two of them to face their permissiveness towards the other relationship in close quarters, and to experience tension and discomfort that they may have shrugged off originally. They are each different things to Zagreus—this is a canon line, I just wanna emphasize that that’s a canon line, not something I came up with in a dream once—and in “Diamond,” I wanted to bump those two things up against each other and have them clash in ways that were awkward for everyone involved. Not wrong, not even unnavigable in the end, but awkward in a way that should be faced rather than looked away from. Thanatos, not just an uncomfortable outsider to the D/s dynamics that are so natural and inherent to Megaera’s relationship with Zagreus, but also watching the two of them follow familiar steps and feeling inadequate compared to how well they know each other. Megaera deciding that she is best suited to lead the encounter but in the process of giving Than space to play along shunting herself off into a corner, from where she feels awkwardly left out, and in her attempt to reintegrate herself into the scene by trying to take charge as comes naturally to her, shattering the entire encounter. Because the fic was strictly from Thanatos’s POV, I didn’t get to highlight this quite commeasurately to how strongly I felt it, but both Meg and Than saw glimpses of the shape of the other relationship and wondered, is that something Zagreus needs? Is that something he can’t get from me, does that make my relationship with him lesser? I saw a failed threesome as a perfect encounter to force them to have these thoughts.

(The answer to these questions is of course that neither relationship is lesser; they’re just wildly different, and for Zagreus, with his heart so full of love that it constantly overflows, to have both is beneficial to all involved. Maybe more strictly canonical iterations of the characters can understand that more easily, without having to question it. But where’s the fun in that? I want to see them working through it.)

The other big tension I wanted to put these characters through is... eh, it’s a combination of communication and respect issues. Like I’ve said and will keep saying, it’s pretty cute that Meg and Than sorted themselves out, and certainly that’s preferable to either relationship being secret or even just having to clear surprise polyamory with them after the fact, but at the same time... it is a little weird to me that Zagreus was excluded from the conversation. And so “Diamond” became about how Megaera and Thanatos think about Zagreus, and how they need to do better about that. Zagreus thinks, sincerely, that this will be great fun for everyone involved!. Neither Megaera nor Thanatos agrees, but how is Zagreus supposed to know that when they gripe amongst themselves and agree to go along with it? He gives Thanatos really a number of opportunities to back out, but Thanatos just grits his teeth and treats it as here Zag goes, being unreasonable again, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. Megaera’s attitude is similar. They both fail to show Zagreus the respect of communicating their actual opinions to him. He’s right to be hurt by that, at the end of the main chapter.

And I wanted to show Than and Meg making this mistake, together, because I feel that even canonically, even with both romances complete, both of them take the attitude that they are reasonable and he is unreasonable. Their adherence to the order of the Underworld and the House is something they are doing that is morally good, and his defiance is something that is morally bad, and they’ll both permit it because of his circumstances and because, mortifyingly, they’ve both come to care for him, but even so that is taking the attitude that they are in a position to permit, to allow, and that his actions are the aberrance. And you know what? That’s a shitty attitude to take with anyone, let alone your boyfriend. I wanted them to face this hurting Zag, and moreover making things wildly uncomfortable for them, too—so that they could see the truth of what a negative stance that is, and repent of it. Decide, consciously, to do better.

And then the last thing I wanted to touch on was an idea that, bluntly speaking, Zagreus is better and more practiced at wanting things. Megaera and Thanatos have been living and working for aeons in this environment where what they sincerely want is the last thing they’re able to take into consideration when it comes to what they must do. Zagreus... lives and has worked in this same environment, but because of whatever quirk of personality, he refuses to sublimate himself. Prior to the game, it seems, this mostly took the shape of just not doing what he wasn’t motivated to do; but now, during canon, Zagreus is going after what he wants no matter how many times he fails. No matter how many times his father or the fates themselves tell him no, he is going to keep trying. And I wanted to look at how this is foreign and overwhelming to Meg and Than, how they might even reject it at first because it’s so foreign—but also how they are drawn to it. How it’s something liberating, how they might learn from it and become more fully themselves. More honest, more relaxed, happier. If only they take the step of admitting that they are in the wrong here, and that they’ve been stifling and harming themselves for a long, long time and calling it justified.

(That post about what your favorite Hades ship says about you has my number so thoroughly; why, yes, I am bisexual, and yes, I do live and breathe for repressed characters letting down their guard for exactly one person; and yes, I am a fan of men getting p—wait, that last bit’s not relevant here.)

I’m ready for 1.0, I think. There’s been a lot of post-clear content integrated into the game without the ramifications of a true clear—one that doesn’t involve the storyteller killing you in increasingly aggravated ways, whatever that’s going to look like—actually being incorporated. And I’m hoping a true clear involves a little more tension. Not permanently, not in a way that breaks some of the happy endings that are already in place. But in a way that makes the characters work for them a little more, in transition. Who clings harder to the status quo, which is broken but has been stable? Who fights a little more against the good that Zagreus is doing by pushing back? What prices are paid for breaking things so that they must be rebuilt better? I want to see these tensions. The game starts in an untenable place and asks hard questions, and I hope that the mechanical difficulty of the escape process isn’t considered enough to have earned emotionally easy answers. Because complication is what I’m interested in. Complication, and characters deciding that it’s worth it to put in the effort needed to address that complication. That’s why I wrote “The Diamond” and that’s why I’m proud of it.

#hades game #megzagthan #thanzagmeg #hades game spoilers #this is tremendously self-indulgent but it’s very sincere #tou wrote a thing #the diamond #LISTEN... post #spoilers #mzt

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liberty1776 · 4 years ago

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Troubling Worldview of the 'Rapture-Ready' Christian by Bill Barnwell

Well, actually, it does matter. I will submit that the popular doctrines of the Left Behind series When the subject of the "end-times" comes up, many Christians and non-Christians don’t want to talk about it. Some Christians, annoyed with all the competing theories and terminology just say, "What difference does it make? Jesus is coming back and I just need to be ready." Non-Christians just assume that since Christianity isn’t true, then the whole issue doesn’t matter.pose very real threats not only to Christianity, but also to the wider culture.

Probably most conservative Protestants (though not all of us) believe that humanity is certainly in the final generation of life on earth as we currently know it. Not that we "could be," but that "we must be." That’s a big distinction. They believe this because of their views on a couple key Biblical texts. The first is the Olivet Discourse. This discourse by Jesus about the "end of the age" can be found in Mark 13, Matthew 24, and Luke 21. Dispensationalists – a group that believes God has two separate prophetic programs for Israel and the Church and generally believes that Christians will be removed from the earth before a final tribulation – see all of the events or signs spoken of by Jesus as referring to events that are happening now or going to happen very soon. Never mind that Jesus was first and foremost referring to events that would occur within his own disciples’ lifetime (Matthew 24:34). They believe that nothing past chapter 3 in the book of Revelation has occurred yet. It is all in the future, and all relates to the tribulation period, which true Christians will avoid.

But the New Testament says nothing about a seven-year tribulation. The book of Revelation refers to a 3.5–year period – five different times. They are most likely referring to the same time period. Dispensationalists believe by prophetic necessity a number of things. First, they assume that the world must get worse in just about all ways. Second, they assume that Daniel 9:27 calls for the rebuilding of a Third Jewish Temple at the site of the Dome of tAnother key text is Daniel 9:27. It is from this verse alone that we get the idea of a "seven-year tribulation" during the end times.he Rock. Therefore, prophetic necessity demands that the current Islamic al-Aqsa mosque must be torn down to build this new Jewish Temple. Halfway through the tribulation period, the antichrist will come and exalt himself in the new Jewish Temple, stop sacrifices in the Temple, break a peace treaty he had earlier made with Israel, and proclaim himself to be God. They get all this from cutting and pasting Daniel 9:27, Matthew 24:15, 2 Thessalonians 2:4 together and then associating those passages with everything that will be going on in Revelation 4–19.

There are all sorts of problems with these interpretations. First of all, the New Testament says nothing about a "pretribulational rapture." To see how bankrupt that position is, The evidence for a "pre-trib" rapture is not just weak, it is non-existent. Regarread my offering on the subject here.ding the key verse of Daniel 9:27, see my refutation of the dispensationalist position here. Read those, especially if you are a dispensationalist who already presupposes that I’m wrong.

Once you begin thinking of the implications involved, you begin to see why this doctrine is so dangerous to everybody. Dispensationalists seem to have a preoccupation with war. In fact, right now, dispensationalist mega-church pastor John Hagee is preaching that a war with Iran is not only the right thing to do, but is prophetically inevitable. Apparently, Bible prophecy demands a showdown with Iran. You see, if you aren’t on the side of war, then you aren’t on the side of God. Talk of peace now becomes irrelevant. It’s God’s will that we be militarists. In fairness, not all dispensationalists are militarists. Our own Laurence Vance is an example. But they are in a definite minority. The prevailing worldview of dispensationalism glorifies war, militarism, and the State.

The dispensationalist view of Daniel 9:27 provides some troubling implications as well. They don’t care that tearing down the al-Aqsa mosque would result in a regional war and cause all sorts of global distress. This would not be a bad thing in their minds. They believe that it was all foreordained and is a sign that the end of the world would be soon upon us.

And who will be the one bringing peace to the Middle East in this popular end-time paradigm? Not Jesus, but the Antichrist. Therefore, talk of Middle East peace during this current "dispensation" is not from Jesus, but the Antichrist. WhenAlso, if you buy into these interpretations, talks of peace in the Middle East are futile. Jews and Muslims must continue killing each other at high rates. dispensationalists hear talk of peace summits or treaties in the Middle East, they assume it must have evil origins and be antichristic. If that’s the cause, why bother trying to make the world a better place? All we need to do is be good Christians and wait for our ticket out of this earth and make way for the Antichrist.

Dispensationalists are numerous and popular. Well-connected preachers like Hagee have political connections. Dispensational preachers and lobbyists have the ear of the White House and are directly trying to influence foreign policy based on their very questionable theological views, which, by the way, are less than 200 years old. This is more than just a quirky theology that doesn’t affect those who do not hold it. Dispensationalists want to bring about world events that would have catastrophic implications for other Christians and for non-Christians.

If they are correct, why should any of us bother trying to make the world a better place? Dispensationalists get very annoyed at this question. They say, "Final peace on earth will only come through Christ!" They basically insist Christians trying to do good in the world should only focus on "spiritual things." Trying to change social institutions for the better is futile and presumptuous. Apparently the only two options are handing the world over to Satan or believing that humans can do everything in their own strength. Not much room for nuance here.

Ironically, many dispensationalists are involved in the Religious Right movement and want to stem abortions, ban gay marriage and make America more Christian. But at the same time they believe in a theology that says the world can only get worse, that there’s nothing any of us can do about it, and that it’s about to get so bad Christians are going to be taken off of the earth. If the ship is irreversibly sinking, why try and patch up the leaks?

If you need more proof that many dispensationalists hold troubling worldviews, just take a visit over to the Rapture Ready message board. The main site is one of the bigger dispensationalist/pretribulational sites on the web. You can read for yourselves how they view the world, how they can’t wait to escape it, and their obsession with war.

One angry pre-tribber wrote me a few weeks back. He had this to say:

When the RAPTURE of the CHURCH takes place, and mark my words it will, maybe them you will see the light! After you have been left behind you are going to look back on all the people that you deceived, who will probably be in your face at that time, and hopefully repent of the false gospel that you were teaching! It's not to late to be saved during the 7 year tribulation period but it will be harder when you hear that Christians, who become Christians after the Rapture of the Church, are being beheaded for the witness of Jesus! Hopefully you and those who partake of your beliefs will see the light before Christ comes for the Church!

Notice in his mind I’m not even a real Christian. The reason? Because I happen to have a different position than he does on the issue of the "rapture." I’ll also apparently be too much of a coward to "convert" during the "7 year tribulation" because other people who become Christians after the pre-tribulational rapture are being beheaded. Ever notice with people who so strongly believe this doctrine that they assume everyone who will be "left behind" is going to be absolutely clueless? Maybe I too will just assume aliens came and abducted the "true Christians." Apparently I’d be too scared to be beheaded, even though I’d find myself instantly in heaven along with all the real Christians who were taken up in the rapture.

Finally notice the great confidence of this guy. He is so convinced of his position that only an idiot or heretic would disagree. Well, I challenge people like this, and the crew over at Rapture Ready to actually put their interpretations up against the Scriptures and think about the logic and implications of their beliefs.

The logic and implications are clear. Society is going to hades in a handbasket. There’s little we can do to stem the tide of evil. The Middle East must further deteriorate. Anyone who disagrees with Israel’s foreign policy is opposing God. The third most important site to Muslims must be crushed to make way for a new Jewish Temple. Good Christians should support the building of a new temple with new animal sacrifices taking place inside of it (compare Hebrews 10 to the theology of Darby and Hal Lindsey). And in a strange sense, war is kinda good and peace is kinda bad – since war is a sign that the end

#Rapture Ready Christians Evangelical Christians False doctrine #Religion

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yandere-romanticaa · 5 years ago

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Please please please, Hades/Persephone taking, your version, your vision, queen bless us with your work

"Are you sure this is such a good idea, my darling? I fear little (y/n) might not like this place very much..."

Persephone turned to her husband with a small smile on her face. She found his concerns to be nothing short of adorable but they were unnecessary in the end. They were going to take good care of her, were they not? Hades was always sweet towards Persephone even if his appearance might tell people othervise. "Intimidating" was a pretty good description for Hades. He was very tall and he often wore long black cloaks that only seemed to make him bigger. He was also quite muscular and his black hair framed his face perfectly. His blazing blue eyes stared deep in to the abyss which showed sweet little (y/n).

Persephone on the other hand looked nothing like her husband. The black dress on her looked slightly out of place but she still looked nothing less but stunning. She always wore a gentle smile on her face, and no matter where she went her golden blonde hair always flowed behind her, like the gentle tide on a summer morning. Her forest green eyes trailed on the girl that caught both her and her husbands attention. The King and Queen of the Underworld loved eachother very, very much and they were proud to say that their love was eternal. But (y/n) was just so special. Her gentle soul was so pure, the couple could not help but to feel protective of her. The darkness in this world irked Persephone but (y/n) was always so perfect. Even in her faults she remained pure and she always repented for her sins.

They knew that the day would come when (y/n) would go to the Underworld but the least they could do was to keep an eye out for her. Whenever someone wanted to harm (y/n) in any way, shape or form, Hades and Persephone would immediately smite the person right on the spot. Neither one of them were sadistic and they didn't really enjoy downright torturing anyone but there would definetly be a price to pay once they come down to the Underworld. A sigh left Hades' chapped lips as he pressed his wife closer to his chest. She leaned in to his touch, her gaze still never leaving (y/n). Her smooth voice soon filled his ears as she asked him:

"My love, when do you think (y/n) could visit us? I know she won't be in her world forever but..."

Hades pressed his index finger against her lips, silencing her successfully. He understood her question and his patience was also running thin. Soon enough a smirk made its way on to Hades' face as Persephone looked up at her husband, somewhat confused. Their gazes met and a little mischievous giggle filled the room.

♡♡♡

Walking down the forest path, (y/n) gently picked some of the flowers in some nearby bushes. The warm rays of the gentle sunset casted a shadow over the forest, but this didn't frighten (y/n) at all. Her mother and father always wanted her to be home by sunset but she just could not help herself. The woods at this time of the day were always just so beautiful and if she could she would freeze time in order to bask in its beauty. The way in which the birds gently sung was more beautiful then any song that (y/n) had ever heard, and the smell of fresh flowers always filled the air no matter what time of the year it was.

Humming an old song, she continued down the path which seemed to become smaller and smaller. This area of the forest was not familiar to (y/n) but she was always up for a little adventure. Her heart was beating excitingly in her chest as she ran down the path, basking in the lightly chilly air. Even if it was just a second, it was the most magical second of (y/n)'s entire life. Something just felt so right about this place. She didn't know how to put this feeling in to words but something about these parts always made (y/n) incredibly happy. For a second she could have sworn that she heard a faint voice in the distance though.... Never mind that, she was probably just imagining it! Laying down on the soft grass, (y/n) looked up towards the sky. A joyous graced her tired face as she looked up at the sky, admiring how the warm colours seemed to blend perfectly together. She sat there for a few moments, just taking in the scenery around her, totally oblivious to the eyes that followed her the entire time. After finally coming back down to Earth, (y/n) picked herself up from the ground and took one last final glance at the perfection that surrounded her. A sad sigh left her lips as she slowly started to walk back...

During the entire walk, (y/n) could have sworn that she could hear singing though. At first it was faint and she brushed it off like the first time, but now she heard it loud a d clear. The voice was soft and gentle, it beckoned (y/n) to follow it. A part of her brain was telling her that it was foolish to follow a voice like that in the woods, especially at this time of night but she just couldn't seem to fight the strong wave of curiousity that hit her. With each step she took, the voice became louder but suddenly it broke off for a split second.

"Darling, I... I'm not sure (y/n) is going to like my appearance..."

A soft chuckle could be heard as the same woman spoke once more:

"Do not worry Hades. I assure you, (y/n) will not mind."

By this point (y/n)'s mind was nothing more then putty, desparate to find the two people who were talking. She had left her path long ago and now stood in front of a grand door. The cave surrounding the door could only be described as ancient and the plants surrounding the door gave it a somewhat homey appearance.

Without hesitation, (y/n) opened the grandiose door to reveal a garden. The plants in this garden were odd, she had never seen anything like them ever before. Instead of the usual cheery and warm colours, the flowers were all black but still well kept. The black roses in particular caught (y/n)'s attention. Bending down on one knee, (y/n) caressed the ink black petals. Even the stem of the flower was black! Her (e/c) eyes widened at the sight, but she was careless. She had failed to see the thron in the stem and (y/n) proceeded to prick herself on her finger. She yelped in surprise and the small cut caused her to bleed. The tingling sensation in her finger finally brought (y/n) back from her daydream and she just now realized just how off everything was. Before she could pick herself up from the ground though, a strong hand was placed on her shoulder. Gasping in shock, (y/n) turned around and her (e/c) gaze locked was locked with Hades' blazing blue eyes. She was left spechless and unsure of what to do she quickly started to stutter out apologies. Hades merely chuckled at her silly antics and he lightly squeezed (y/n)'s shoulder. His deep voice rang in (y/n)'s ears as she couldn't help but to blush. Just the thought of breaking in to someone else's private garden was enough for poor little (y/n) to be flustered, especially if the owner of said garden looked like this.

"It's alright little one. My wife and I are to blame for you being here. If I may be so bold to ask... Do you like my garden?"

A confused look adorned (y/n)'s face as she slowly turned her head from left to right, taking in all of the details.

"Yes, of course it is. I've never seen anything like this before! Did you plant all these flowers on your own?"

"Yes I have, for you see, here in the Underworld I cannot have the sweet blooms you have grown accustomed to. I hope that is not to big of a problem..."

"Oh, uh... It's not a problem at all!"

♡♡♡

Several hours had past, but for Hades and (y/n) it felt like mere minutes. People always did say that time flies by when you're in good company... Poor (y/n) had to hurry back home as she now knew in just how much trouble she was. Knowing her mother they might as sent out a full blown search party for her. Hades on the other hand had a wounderful time with her. Her curious nature was refreshing, but he was a bit sad that his wife could not join them. Hades accompanied (y/n) to the main gate, saying his farewells.

"You know, you can always come back whenever you wish. My wife would love to meet you as well."

(y/n) happily agreed, not noticing the small lovesick glint in the gods eye. Oh yes, he and Persephone were going to keep this one and they were all going to be so happy...

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #greek gods #greek mythology #greek gods x reader #yandere greek gods #yandere greek gods x reader #hades #hades x reader #yandere hades #yandere hades x reader #persephone #persephone x reader #yandere persephone #yandere persephone x reader

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barricadebops · 4 years ago

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Cold, Dark, and Dreadful; Light, Spirit, and Life

Cold. Dark. Dreadful.

Such words were used in common association with the Underworld, the realm of the dead which Grantaire- worshipped under the name Hades by the mortals- presided over. And he wouldn't disagree- it was for these reasons his heart had turned so bitter when Zeus compelled him to remain below the Earth where no other living being walked. The Underworld was a realm meant to poison the heart.

At least, poison the heart for six months.

For the other six months, the Kingdom of the Dead was unexpectedly filled with light as Grantaire's love, his life, his husband returned for his stay. Even dressed in his melancholic greys, Enjolras- or known perhaps better as Persephone by the mortals who at once adored his presence as the god of springtime and feared his power as the Bringer of Death- managed to radiate within the realm of the dead a luminous light that brightened even the most hidden nook and cranny. And that included Grantaire's heart. For those six months, Grantaire felt more alive, more merciful, more happy.

But it was not those six months.

In the realm above, the son of Demeter ran free through the fields, encouraging the growth of the harvest beside his mother, magicking the coming of springtime, and smiling as he grew for the poorer families of the land the ripest of fruits and vegetables, delivering himself the most nutritious and healing of apples to the sick baby, the ailing grandparent, the overworking mother. Up above, he would be gathering flowers for his friends, those who sat on the Council of Olympus, light weaving through his golden hair and fashioning for him a crown made of light.

As Enjolras laughed in the light of the sun, Grantaire gripped the arms of his throne while he impatiently awaited the return of his husband, the shadows of his throne room seemingly crushing him, joining hands with the stifling power of loneliness.

It was by the riverbank of Cocytus that he met her. A simple river naiad, paling in comparison to his husband's beauty, and yet more solid and nearby than Enjolras currently was. Grantaire was lonely, and loneliness moved it's hand like a snake, pushing you forward into a deal you would soon come to regret.

"I wish to live in the land above. This hell is no place for one born of the Earth and it's many rivers, plants, and life."

How eerily close her words were to Enjolras' when Grantaire had first dragged him down here and made him his husband.

She turned to look at Grantaire. He swallowed; not too bad looking, with eyes blue like the fresh rivers his brother Poseidon was constantly taking care of. Desperate. Would probably give into his demands without a second thought as long as she had what she wanted in the end.

Grantaire was lonely. There was something he wanted. And there was something she wanted. It was a simple transaction.

"I shall take you there. Simply grant me one kiss and a name, and you will be free to live in the world above."

When she kissed him, he found it was not as satisfactory as he thought it would have been. Perhaps it was because he had better before.

Still, he had made a vow. Spiriting her away, he set her gently on the grass. For the first time in months, he looked up and squinted at the sun, bathing him in light that, after having spent so much time trapped in the gloom of Hades, seemed almost ethereal. A gentle breeze played in the wind, causing the grass to sway gently in a springtime dance.

The naiad leaned in close. "Minthe." She pulled back and pressed her lips to his once more.

In the fresh air of the realm above, his mind cleared. Shoving away, he cried, "What have I done! I'm married! My husband could be here anywhere! I cannot stay!"

The naiad- Minthe's- face contorted with fury. "Your husband? What does your husband have that I do not?" she demanded. "I doubt if he's more beautiful than I." Grantaire opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by the naiad's incessant ranting. "It's clear you love me and not him if you agreed to my wishes simply for one kiss." At this, his eyes grew dark. She dares to assume his love for Enjolras had lessened? And for who? Her? "Discard him! Take me and make me your new Queen. You love me, not him."

Jaw clenched, he went to give the girl a befitting reply, but found his nerves curl up in paralyzing fear as he caught the feel or a familiar, powerful presence; the gentle breeze whipped into a fierce wind, the grass uprooting itself as lightning struck, blinding him before he blinked open his eyes once more to find himself standing impossibly small before the fifty foot colossus of his husband's angered form.

"You?" he boomed, eyes burning brighter than any fire Bahorel, or rather Hephaestus, could conjure or create. "You believe he loves you over me? You wish for him to discard me and take you as his Queen?"

Though the words were not addressed towards him, Grantaire still felt his limbs tremble in fear; Hades was the Lord of the Dead, but Persephone was the Bringer of Death. As easily as Enjolras could bring to life the fruits of spring, he could also bring down divine justice upon those deserving of wrath. His presence eminated power, and when enraged, that power was something fearsome.

Beside him, Minthe trembled violently, her form rippling like water. Still, she found enough misplaced courage to raise her head to look his husband in the eyes and say, "Yes. Hades loves me. I would be of more use as a ruler who stays by his side year round, rather than leave him to choke for six months."

Grantaire closed his eyes in horror. He knew what was coming. There was no hope for this girl any longer.

Enjolras' eyes blazed dangerously like an inferno. "Foolish spirit. You know nothing of how the spring works, of how the harvest grows, of how the people eat." Gripping his scepter adorned with the sheafs of the new harvest's wheat tight in his hand, he looked down upon her and declared, "If you cannot understand how the people eat, perhaps you would make of better use and learn- by becoming that which is eaten itself." With a wave of his scepter, Minthe screamed and spun like a hurricane, splashing to the ground. From the dripping water, a growth of some sorts began. Grantaire crouched to inspect it better; it was a green plant that wafted a distinctly sharp smell.

It was a Mint plant.

With a flash, his husband came to stand in front of him as a mortal's height, in which this time Grantaire, with an inner sigh of relief, towered over him.

"Would she have done well, Grantaire? As the Queen of the Underworld?" he asked mockingly.

He shook his head resolutely. "No. No one would come close to you, my Sweet Pomegranate."

Enjolras crossed his arms and glared. "Then why the kiss? Am I so bad a husband that you turn to other, illegitimate sources for your pleasure?"

"You know I don't believe in that, nor will I ever. I felt crushed by my loneliness, as if spending a single moment more apart from you would end with my spirit scattered like Father Kronos' is. In my loneliness I made the most regretful decision of my eternal life."

"You have strayed."

Grantaire reached out for Enjolras' hand, bringing his delicate knuckles to his lips. "I have indeed. And for that I repent like no other sinner has or will ever. On the River Styx, it shall not happen again."

His husband kept his disdainful expression for a moment more before dropping it enitrely and opting for an imppassive look. Crouching low, he broke off a single leaf from the stem of the newly-made plant, popping it in his mouth and chewing for a minute before deliberately looking at Grantaire and swallowing.

Grantaire drew in a breath. His mouth watered at the prospect of tasting the sharpness of the plant on his lover's lips. Splaying his large hands on his husband's waist, he drew him close to his chest, a breath away before he leaned his head down and closed his eyes.

A hand on his mouth stopped him before he could claim those lips for which he had to wait six months each year before he could kiss the breath out of them.

"You know I cannot."

He opened his eyes. "And why is that, my Sweet Pomegranate?" he murmured against his fingers.

"I have responsibilities," Enjolras replied firmly. He tugged him closer.

"I wasn't stopping you." He pressed a kiss to the fingers still rested upon his lips, watching with satisfaction as his husband shivered.

"Somewhere a plant will die. And then Mother will know. She will know I have been here with you."

"Let her know. Demeter would not beat her beloved son. And what objection can she raise? I am your husband. You belong to me." He grinned as he watched Enjolras' eyes narrow the same way they always did when he provoked him so.

"I belong to no one," he grit out, shoving away. "No one belongs to anyone, not even the slaves they so outrageously insist on keeping in Athena's city. Let not that attitude persist when I return to our home, or I shall see myself to an early spring next year."

Grantaire wrapped his hand around Enjolras' wrist and pulled his husband against his chest. "Do not say such a thing even in jest," he murmured, tracing a thumb over his husband's lips. "I fear my heart will darken even further if you were to leave me for a second more than is strictly necessary." His gaze dropped to the plant on the ground beside them. "Let a plant die then, but only one- it shall be this one."

Enjolras stared for a moment at the mint growth before nodding decisively and saying, "Very well." And with that, Grantaire bent down for a kiss that, had this been one of the six months of winter, would have been gentle.

But it was not those six months.

Grantaire had been lonely, and he knew that a few moments after this, he would be lonely once more, so he feasted ravenously, a clash of lips and teeth. He swiped a tongue across his lover's lips and tasted the plant, sharp with a defined edge to it, like Enjolras himself. It was cold in his mouth, like the winter that soon enough, if he waited patiently, would be upon them.

Below them, the plant did not wilt.

Breaking apart, Grantaire watched with a grin as his husband gasped for breath. They were gods, they had no need of actually breathing, but Enjolras had always insisted that he act more mortal when above the ground, allowing himself a better opportunity to connect with the mortals.

Enjolras casted a glance at the mint plant still standing. Crouching low, he murmured, "It seems you did not die. Quite the resilience. Yes, you shall have good use as food for the mortals. Perhaps you shall even have medicinal use to you as well. I shall take you to Joly and find out."

Standing back on his feet, Enjolras gave him a sad smile. "You must leave now."

His insides twisted. There were still three months to go. Three months for which he would bear solitude and darkness and despair.

But what was the payoff? Once more the underworld would be filled with filled with light, with spirit, with life.

Grantaire could wait.

Pressing a gentle kiss once more to his husband's hand, he smiled softly and whispered, "I would endure another six months ontop of this if it meant you came home for even a day." He leaned down and bestowed another soft kiss. "I shall wait for you, my Sweet Pomegranate. Give to the people their cherished spring, and come home only when you have finished."

Three months later, the world above would turn cold, dark, and dreadful as the harvest died with the biting chill of winter. Below, however, as the King of Death's lips reunited once more with his eternal love's, the Underworld would light up in a brilliant radiance that would flood the once desolate Kingdom with uplifting spirit and life.

#les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #exr #exr fic #hades!grantaire #persephone!enjolras #based on a story I read in Percy Jackson's Greek Gods on how the mint plant came to be #I couldn't think of any nickname that Hades would call Persephone #so I made up a really cringy one #I know it sucks okay but I had to write it #greek gods au #enjoltaire #annie writes stories

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starlight-and-seafire · 5 years ago

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As a personal challenge to myself, and because I’m pretty fond of writing about these two dorks in love, I wanted to see if I could complete all the available Damerey Daily prompts.

And, as of a few hours ago, they are all complete (and one prompt got two fics because I had two different ideas, and one prompt I did twice because I forgot I did the first one. Oops.)

All together, it’s 19,719 words over 93 separate works. Thank you to everyone who read, hit that kudos button, and commented!

The full list with links to the drabbles or ficlets, all relatively short with a few exceptions, are available below!

(Anything with three *** at the end are rated M or E)

January

Unspin the laws

No, his smile isn’t much like a skeleton at all.

Um… I’m gonna need vodka in a water glass, with ice, and I’m gonna be ordering ‘water’ from you all night long so… one… ‘water,’ please.

I write mostly on hotel paper, knowing that my thoughts will never leave this room.

You are the best thing that’s ever been mine.

Say that you’ll hold me forever; say that the wind won’t change on us.

I guess I kind of hate most things. But I never really seemed to hate you. So I want to spend the rest of my life with you, is that cool?

What’s that? In the distance? Such a ghostly glow.

I know.

Anywhere you go, let me go too. Love me: that’s all I ask of you.

“That’s right! It was a twist!” “No, it was a lie. A lie is not a twist.”

Sometimes a feeling is all we humans have to go on.

Everything seems simple until you think about it. Why is love intensified by absence?

There are so many lives I want to share with you. I will never be complete until… I do.

There will be boys who will tell you you’re beautiful, but only a few will see you.

Thinking that you can’t protect the ones you love, you have to hope they’re smart enough to save themselves.

Live with me and be my love.

Silence is a protective coating over pain.

He looked at you like you were the brightest planet in the galaxy.

And all the constellations shine down for us to see. Fic 1 / Fic 2

They are the hunters, we are the foxes (and we run). ***

It well may be that in a difficult hour… I might be driven to sell your love for peace… or trade the memory of this night for food… It may well be – I do not think I would.

And mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

As you wish.

I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday.

“Sir? I’d like you to take the helm, please. I need this man to tear all my clothes off.” “Work, work, work!” ***

‘Cause we got the fire, and we’re burning one hell of a something.

Take this sinking boat and point it home.

Most of all, I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling, the rest of my whole life, the way I feel when I’m with you.

So this is how liberty dies: with thunderous applause.

I did not make it out unscathed! I am extremely scathed!

February

And this all started as your standard ‘who would survive the zombie apocalypse’ debate.

Darling, I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream.

We sow our truth, wait patiently.

Sweet creature, had another talk about where it’s going wrong.

I know that a life without love is no life at all. ***

They’re fascinating. It’s like being inside a dream or something. There’s truth but no logic.

You know, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually checked out that snow globe museum that you recommended, and it was pretty awesome, I have to say. I mean, I did get in trouble for shaking one.

Is this horny crying?? ***

Do or do not, there is no try.

I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.

Just when I think I’m out, those cheeks pull me right back in. ***

When I was growing up I didn’t have a normal mom and dad or a regular family like everybody else, and I always knew that something was missing. But now I’m standing here today knowing that I have everything I’m ever going to need. You are my family.

Make the baby do the magic hand thing! C'mon, baby, do the magic hand thing!

I’ve been thinking. What if I decided to go flying around the galaxy with some scoundrel?

This bridge will only take you halfway there.

Great, I’d like your $8-est bottle of wine, please.

Just remember, every time you look up at the moon, I, too, will be looking at a moon. Not the same moon, obviously, That’s impossible.

I keep meeting all the right people–at all the wrong times.

I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you–especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame.

Never repent of your own goodness, child. To stay true in the face of evil is a feat of great strength. Fic 1 / Fic 2

He saved me in every way that a person can be saved.

I lost so much of the world’s beauty, as if I were watching every shining gift on its branch with one eye. Because I was hungry. Because I was waiting to eat, a self crawling about the world in search of small things.

She had fallen in love with him twice. She loved him now with both loves, so overpowering it was almost unbearable.

Make ten men feel like a hundred.

the long syntax of las montañas that lined his village, the rhyme of sol with his soul—

“You’ve got this. You could debate the entire Senate in your sleep.” “I have!” “I know you have. We share a bed. It’s been hell.”

[Kylo Ren], Good to see you. But if you’re here, who’s guarding Hades?

I cannot make speeches. If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. ***

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

March

Because I knew you, I have been changed for good.

It’s not about who you know. Enlightenment comes from within. [Luke Skywalker] texted me that.

This is not yours to fix alone. You act like you’re all alone out there in the world, but you’re not. You’re not alone.

“But what if you met the right man, who worshipped and adored you? Who’d do anything for you? Who’d be your devoted slave? Then what would you do?” “I’d pity him.”

“You Rebel scum!!” [Han]:“…Scum?”

I bet I’ll never appear in a dream or a summer dress or next door. Displaying on one hand my prowess, the other my difficultness, I bet there will be just enough pain to keep me alive, long enough for the moon to be mine.

“Hate that nickname. Addicted to lemon bars. I’m in!”

Laugh it up, fuzzball.

I will love you until there is no till. / Till I die.

“The first time we met we hated each other.” “You didn’t hate me, I hated you. And the second time we met, you didn’t even remember me.” “I did too, I remembered you. The third time we met, we became friends.” “We were friends for a long time.” “And then we weren’t.” “And then we fell in love.” “Three months later we got married.” “It only took three months.” “Twelve years and three months.”

You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go.

If you live to be a hundred, I hope I live to be a hundred minus one day, so that I never have to live a day without you.

Just as the whale, stuck in its baleen grin, climbs up out of the depths.

This is my boyfriend [Poe], and this is [Poe’s] boyfriend [NAME]. [Poe] is gay but he’s straight for me and he’s gay for [NAME] and [NAME] really gay for [Poe]. And I [love/]hate [NAME].

“I’m still mad at you, but I need to prioritize my hate right now. It goes [him/them/]her, cooked green peppers, and then back to you.”

She’s our friend, and she’s crazy!

If you’re ever lucky enough to find true love, you fight for it every day

Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder.“

“She’s at that age where she only has one thing on her mind.” “Boys?” “Homicide.”

Does [he/]she know that you told me you’d hold me until you died–and you’re still alive?

There is nothing more terrifying than the absoluteness of one who believes he’s right.

Our fates are sealed. But I think we have one move left: We can try.

The world is too quiet without you nearby.

“Why has the car stopped?” “It’s frightened.”

I am totally butt crazy in love with [Name]!!!

Any day spent with you is my favorite day. So, today is my new favorite day.

What you did was impulsive, capricious and melodramatic, but it was also wrong.

But what was the point of living so quietly you made no noise at all? ***

I, myself, am strange and unusual.

We have no plan. No one’s coming to save us. So… I’m going to do it.

#damereydaily2020 #damerey #jedipilot #poe x rey #poe dameron #rey #star wars #writing #fic

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reblogthiscrapkay · 4 years ago

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Persephone in “Jasper In Deadland”

Thanks to a random comment from a friend on a Tumblr post, I only just remembered that there’s another musical with Persephone that lies somewhere in between “Hadestown” and “Mythic”: “Jasper In Deadland.” I saw it back in 2014 and I thankfully have an audio recording of the show (there was an official recording made in 2016 and they’re quite similar but it doesn’t have the dialogue bits). It’s functionally a modern teen-audience retelling of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth but the Underworld has been replaced with Deadland, a land that is a ultimately a mixture of different mythological underworlds.

When Jasper is in Deadland searching for his dead friend Agnes, he encounters a bunch of people and places from myths in the six-layered combo-Underworld:

There’s a boatman named Lester, not Charon. The river they’re on is the River Lethe from Greek mythology (the first layer) and serves the same function. There is a Mr. Lethe, as opposed to a goddess of the river as there was to the Greeks.

Mr. Lethe is the story antagonist (of the evil capitalist factory owner variety; think an evil Hadestown!Hades and the closest thing to Satan) and Mr. Lethe’s goons who follow Jasper around are Loki and Hel of Norse mythology.

A three headed dog (who isn’t referred to as Cerberus in my 2014 recording but is referred to by name in the 2016 recording) guards the second layer.

Osiris, the king of the Underworld in Egyptian mythology, is a club DJ in the city layer, the third layer.

The club is called Helheim, the domain of Hel in Norse mythology and obviously where Hell comes from.

At one point Lester appears again and mentions that the only living souls in the Underworld are Orpheus, Lazarus, JC (I think it’s easy to guess who that is), and Jasper thus bringing in Christian mythology. The comparisons between Jasper and Orpheus are mentioned frequently throughout the show from this point.

Ammit of Egyptian mythology guards the fourth layer and weighs hearts along with “Blind Justice” (it’s been too long for me to remember what that means).

The fourth layer is some sort of gulf, but I’m not sure if that comes from any myth.

In the gulf, they meet Beatrix from The Divine Comedy who in this is part of the Elysium transit authority who drives a vehicle called Purgatorio.

They are brought to Mr. Lethe’s factory, which seems to be most like the Christian Hell or Tartarus, and there are Sisyphus, the Danaids, Brutus, and the fallen angel Luke, who’s the foreman.

They get to Elysium from there, and Jasper meets Eurydice in a fever dream.

In this musical Pluto and Persephone dwell in Elysium, the sixth layer and it’s implied that they rule that layer (I couldn't find an image of them from the show I saw but they were both wearing traditional Greek garb possibly in pink and burgundy or light green and black or something). It’s a little unclear what their relationship is to Mr. Lethe but it seems like everyone in the musical more or less runs their own specific domain without really stepping on anyone else’s space. It drives me nuts that they use those names since Pluto is the Roman name and Persephone is the Greek name (of unknown origin truthfully) so I’m just gonna call him Hades. At the beginning of their introduction Persephone is saying goodbye to Hades and he is begging her to stay longer and calling her snowflake. Lester comes in as her attorney to makes Hades sign their annual divorce contact. Persephone tells him that the year was “almost bearable” (and calls him Plutes, which sounds kind of gross to me but okay). It’s unclear whether she is messing with him or being honest but their relationship comes off as very unbalanced. Hades is very clearly in love with her and her feelings towards him are less clear. While I kind of like the idea of Persephone being so powerful because of how it recalls very old earth goddess/male consort ideas, it reads as kind of sad. There’s no mention of the origin of their relationship, which could have at least made it seem a bit more like maybe Hades was still repenting for kidnapping her or something but nope. She’s just kind of weirdly ambivalent to him while he worships her.

When Jasper and Agnes show up Hades is kind of annoyed to see him since he’s been causing such a ruckus but Persephone is amused by his presence. I support both aspects of this characterization. However, they are in agreement that Jasper needs to go back to the world of the living but that Agnes can’t. Jasper says he wants to trade his life for Agnes’ and Hades says he will allow it. An interesting change from the 2014 show to the album recording is that “Lifesong”, a song originally by Jasper about him giving up his life for Agnes, is now a Persephone song and then partially repeated by Jasper in the following song “The Trade/The Swim”. The ideas in the song about bringing life and the end of life vibe very well with her purpose so I understand the change and always support the idea of Persephone getting more screen time.

After Jasper’s declaration, Persephone steps in to say that maybe an exception can be made because she sees herself in them in how she too wants a “meaningful life.” This “meaningful life” line is actually not on the album so I wonder if they cut it because it feels completely random without the characterization to back up what she means by that. It could hint at the idea that maybe part of her ambivalence to being underground has to do with her not having as much work to do as she would on earth, but this is purely speculation.

Persephone offers to stay one more day with Hades if they are allowed to both go back and Hades is comically pumped. She makes a comment about how it’s hard for the first few millennia but you get used to it (seemingly she means she’s used to Hades or possibly his enthusiasm?). This may have also been cut from the show by 2016 because it’s not on the album but I don’t know. It is kind of startling that after millennia, this is still the dynamic between them. I can’t say I’m a fan.

Persephone gives them instructions to get out and later when they get above ground Jasper attributes the snow in spring to “an act of goddess.”

Overall, I like how powerful Persephone is in this interpretation but I can’t say I like sitcom!husband and sitcom!wife as a choice for her relationship with Hades.

#jasper in deadland #the persephone project #musicals #personal #persephone

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diveronarpg · 5 years ago

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Congratulations, KAT! You’ve been accepted for the role of OTHELLO. Admin Rosey: So, one thing that’s really difficult to highlight without overemphasizing is Othello’s dichotomy and his constant conflict. Sometimes you can focus so wholly on one aspect of a character that it’s overwhelming. But Kat, you write Odin so effortlessly, so FREAKING effortlessly that you capture it throughout the application as an integral part of his character -- interweaving it into the plot, the sample, even the “what drew you to this character” section. I am completely blown away and utterly terrified of what havoc you’re going to wreak on the dash. I am screaming over this application and I always will, time and time again. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Kat Age | 25 Preferred Pronouns | She/her Activity Level | OK so my classes went online and my job has cut staff in half so I have so much free time and so much muse. Listen…. LISTEN I know I’m not always reliable but it’s game time lemme say like at least twice a week, I’m here for the haul let’s write baby!!!!!!!!!!! Timezone | EST How did you find the rp? | I originally came across it in the lsrpg tag, also my girl Taryn recommended it and also I miss y’all :( Current/Past RP Accounts | These are links to inactive past accounts:

https://neosy.tumblr.com/ https://grchcmisms.tumblr.com/ https://99gael.tumblr.com/ https://halogenq.tumblr.com/ https://odinbellc.tumblr.com/ ;) https://pavellam.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Othello, Odin Bello – requesting faceclaim change to Trevante Rhodes :^) What drew you to this character? |

Through my first experience writing Odin I learned a lot about both him and myself as a writer. He was initially a challenge for me because at my roots I was never someone successful in writing characters with good intent, the easier side of him being the one of violence and chaos, something that was difficult considering more often than not… that isn’t who Odin is, or more fittingly, who he wants to be. I struggled with his daily life, the man he tries so hard to be and who he’s used to becoming over the years and I realized that was the key in; the struggle. I’ve teetered around writing for a while recently, the desire and the muse not being there for me when I remembered my dear, dear, Odin and for a split second I wondered about him. Such an interesting thing, to wonder about a character, to dive deep into your mind’s eye and ask, “How is he doing, I wonder? The man of gold and copper, the being of olympus and hades? How is my boy?” And realizing the responsibility of creating and finding that out is all mine. It felt like seeing a past lover in the check out line, wide eyes as you remember the missed calls and blocked number, and realize how fuckin’ good they look today and, damn, were stupid for leaving them.

Dearest Odin, please take me back. I miss you so dearly. I’ll try hard not to leave you so suddenly this time, that was my bad.

Who am I to fool myself? My heart always brings me back to him. Feed me an optimist with nothing but a history of failure, rocks beating down on a pristine marble surface til the cracks spell misery. It’s all his fault, the pain, suffering, and failure… but he tries so hard. It’s as if he’s doomed from the beginning, the first cries from his mouth as a child, a bad omen, the first steps he takes, the small tottering of a baby, were faced in the wrong direction. Some people are born bad, some people are cultivated as such, and Odin, at his root, is a demon in disguise even despite his most valiant efforts; it’s a nature he fights everyday and, oh, the battle grows bloodier and bloodier.

The rest may look familiar to you:

I’ve always been a sucker for a good heart and bruised knuckles.

Such beauty and chaos, such destruction and uncertainty, an aching heart that slips through your fingers as you struggle to grasp it, begging it to hold still. He shakes and struggles with nature and nurture, who he should be and who he wants to be, and more importantly, what he’s become. He feels the remorse and pain of it everyday when he wakes and each night he goes to sleep – for a time he managed to be the person he worked so hard to be. It crumbled under his feet and his developing insanity, the rumble of his father’s ways breaking the ground under his skin and causing something of a snap, a moment of true obscurity. He hates himself for it, but he cannot yet again break his mold, he cannot become someone else. His will is cracking, his heart breaking.

Give me his nuance, give me his pain, give me his turmoil, and oh, please, give me his struggle; the desperate gasp of collapsed lungs and a tattered chest. I cannot stress how beautiful I find him, the feeling in my ribcage so solemn at his childhood and forthcoming, his painful attributes and breaking spirit. A man who shows his kindness through terror and bloodshed, so intent on being a good person that he’d tear the throat of a thief with his teeth.

Yes, I’ve found love.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

(I have new ideas but lord, do I struggle with formulating plot ideas in this format so I’m just gunna keep the same ones because of such and because I DO in fact still want to play them out.)

MEN SHOULD BE WHAT THEY SEEM //

Oh, can the flash of his teeth brighten a room. His smile is bright but, these days, so rarely genuine. He no longer knows who he is truly fighting for, what side of the coin he lays on with his copper spinning on its side in a never ending spiral. He does not know where he belongs, nor, who he truly is and it plagues him in a way that’s all too familiar, a way that feels like his mother’s comfort and his father’s recklessness, the smell of alcohol on someone’s tongue when they speak and the feeling of a caress on skin. He needs to make a choice, a permanent decision for once in his life, pick his path and follow it to the end instead of cutting through the woods once more. Who are you, Odin? His own face in the mirror becoming more unfamiliar in each passing day, a building anxiety and insanity, a hurricane creating a disaster inside him. Who are you?

His reflection tired, tainting his handsome face and false expressions, a hunger growing just under the surface, a desperation so hot; who will you be?

FOR SHE HAD EYES AND CHOSE ME //

Delilah, oh, how she filled something inside of him, and oh, how he tore into the filled space as if rabid, as if being whole was too much to bear, the filled space too heavy, and the paranoia of losing it all creasing his forehead and melting in his palms.

So he did what he does best, and he ripped through the plaster and insulation like a hammer, shattered the glass and caused the empty space to bleed. It hasn’t stopped aching, despite his insistence that it has healed, sometimes he still wakes with his shirt soaked in blood, drenched in suffering. How can he learn to forgive? He learned his lessons but the morals cannot seem to stick, the weakness he caused in his own self and the horror he caused for the woman he loved – loves, still finding its way through his mind and heart. He seeks self forgiveness just as much if not more than he seeks hers. He cannot move on without finding solace or closure but those are two things so hard to capture and accept. Sometimes, he feels so much like his father with his past misgivings it stirs disgust.

It’s time to repent.

THE GREEN EYED MONSTER //

Ivan is a scab, an infection that Odin refuses to treat. He’s become cautious, wearily aware of betrayal in the past and more on the horizon. He has a feeling, a ponderance that keeps him up at night, the sends shocks through his veins. He hates to think of his friend, his family, as a traitor, as a monster in disguise seeking to antagonize the worst parts of Odin himself, but it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore. It scrapes the back of his mind, creates an itch that he cannot scratch no matter how deep he digs, no matter if the skin starts bleeding, it won’t go away. How does he cut out another piece of his life, another piece of himself so vital? It feels like he is losing those most important to him, that they’re all turning on him and it creates nothing but fear, more paranoia and uncertainty.

He wants so desperately to be wrong, but knows what will happen if he is not.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | If anyone deserves to die at some point in this rp I feel like Odin’s a good contender to get fuckin’ GANKED

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Para Sample:

Act I

The sun beats down on darkened skin, wind blowing through open cruiser windows, sunglasses adorned on his face and a holder keeps track of coffees. In the daylight he glistens – not in a literal sense of glowing skin and eyes, he does not hover over the earth as if ethereal, not a streak against the sky that blinds any human eyes that dare linger, but instead in the sense that no one could ever find the man to be anything but happy. His teeth, those straight, white, teeth that come alive in a smile and clear rooms with a sneer peek from behind pulled lips in a grin. He walks with a swagger, bearing gifts in coffee for other officers and sharp humor and barked laughs for poor moods. He so easily falls into the facade of being created from nothing but light and the body of Christ, a saint in all regards except moral, light jests greeting all who perceive him and all who engage.

Well groomed, upkept and clean, there was no reason to suspect anything was amiss in the crook of his grins, the sharp of his wit, the movements of his muscles under skin. He even makes arrests like a holy man, like someone with something to lose to violence. His hands rest on the steering wheel, music plays from the stereo and he nods his head, every other line finding its way out of his lips even in no one’s presence but his own. He isn’t playing a character in the moment, enjoying the everydayness of the outside world, the warmth of the air touching his limbs and being sucked into his lungs. He feels joy, he embodies it, he hovers with it. His foot eases off the gas at the turn of a light and one hand finds itself resting outside the drivers window, head cocked to the side, heart beating steadily in his chest – firm and ever present in the strength of his pulse.

A human being in all forms; a person, a person, a person, and his phone rings.

Pulling in the parking lot he answers the call, the perspective outside leaves the voice on the other end muffled as it’s pressed to his ear, his face falling ever so slightly, car pushed into park. He nods even though the speaker cannot see him, he makes a sound of understanding as they continue and suddenly something is more solid inside of him. The fluidity, the liquid that flowed between sunlight and good music steels itself against the reality of his life, of who he is and what he is to do, the lake jostled and good-feelings distorted. It’s not for the faint of heart, not created for those with poor constitution, and he is a police officer until ten tonight; that’s what he says to the voice on the other end so they tell him to have it done by eleven. He does not hesitate until he hangs up, a sigh of the last good breath leaving his lungs. A moment of silence for what he lost.

He grabs the coffees and heads inside.

Act II

The headlights send streaks through the night, the yellow color sending shadows running rampant across the near empty field – long and sickly. The air is not still but choked, a vice grip stealing the oxygen away from those who dared attempt breathing. There stood a figure in the darkness, large shoulders over a larger frame, muscles tightened as he digs and digs, the shovel breaking the earth harshly with each bend of his arms. His breathing is rough, like a rubber band pulled to full capacity trying to bend and break to fit the expansion of his lungs. The shovel carries on.

The silence that hung heavy around the lone sound of crumbling dirt could kill in its own regard; ringing in his ears as he ignores the shower curtain wrapped in duct tape buried in the back corners of his trunk. Odin’s mind is empty to everything but the task, split skin and dried blood from his face and knuckles, the bruises adorning his ribcage. Perhaps it was self defense for the sake of defense, he threw the first punch but it was returned just as well and by then, truly, the control was lost. It was what they had wanted to happen, and he was nothing if not complicit. He supposed that was what they liked about him, another body, a bloodhound. Caving for the sake of therapy, sober by daylight and drenched in sweat and blood by nighttime – if only to keep his sanity. He was nothing if not built of power and control in both physical and mental regards over everyone but himself.

Try to carve a better god out of wood, put him on a pedestal and pray all you’d like, the real sacrifice will come in blood much later – but this flesh and bone, that which has created the man who finds himself up to his chest in dirt standing at over six feet, he is paid now and up front. He is solid, and real.

He straightens up, dirt caked to his jeans and soiled t-shirt, sweat broken across his skin making him shine under the glare of the headlight, the sheen making him appear as if glowing under the half exposed moon. He plants his hands on the outside on the deepened earth and pulls himself out, breathing hard through his nose, a noise like a grunt, face twisted, teeth appearing behind pulled lips. He stares at the dip of the trunk, chest moving, knuckles tightening, shovel thrown to the side. He isn’t even halfway done yet; he gathers himself, and pulls the latch free.

Act III

(TW: self harm kind of)

The neighborhood is still and quiet, blackness behind every window and curtain at such an ungodly hour, the only sounds being the low rumble of the occasional car passing on the main road nearby. In the stillness there begins a movement, the shape of a tall man shaking open the gate leading to the back of a house, his clothes defiled and leaving trails. He strips in the backyard of the home; shoes, socks, shirt, and jeans forming a pile of mud and dirt by the sliding glass doors until he stands in his boxers, fingers unlocking the back door, the cold of the night wetting trails down his back and sides, whispering to his skin. He walks slowly to avoid making any noise, the sound of keys hitting the granite of a kitchen countertop. Even despite how delicately he walks, the mass of his body makes the stairs protest lowly when his feet find them.

The man first goes to the bathroom, the light flicked on as he tries to avoid his face in the mirror. He is not the same creature that caused the blood to pool in his wounds, not the same monster with dirt caked under his nails – not here, he can’t be; not in front of her. He turns on the shower, body directed towards a corner of the bathroom while he waits for the water to heat, staring blankly at the space where the two walls meet, hands twitching, brain fighting not to think, the sound of static until smoke fills the room. The adrenaline still pumps through his veins, the wild-eyed insanity created by anger and a lack of self control, the rush of the final blow still stinging in the shaking of his muscles. The water turns first brown from the dirt adorning his limbs, then becoming a far more sinister red when he submerges his face and hands, he washes himself slowly, rubbing at his back and shoulders, the sweat off of his skin, the searing pain of smoking water near boiling scalding the back of his neck. He doesn’t allow himself to think, not now, not yet. He doesn’t hum or sing, doesn’t talk to himself, but instead thinks only of his actions as they happen or nothing at all.

He doesn’t know how long he stands under the water, so hot it scalds, burns off the sin and the disgust, scrubbing and scrubbing until he could feel himself beginning to cause harm, wounding, convincing himself he’s becoming clean until he forces his hand, stopping the running water. He stands even longer still, his wet skin freezing over in the silence of the steamed room. Finally when he finds himself ready, he dries off until he feels pristine, the wash of the shower head like a baptism into the form of a different man, a new mold built into his model. Only then does he look in the mirror, eyes meeting the reflection of a handsome man, a cursed man, a martyr only in the sense of self respect and fear. His eyes are tired, his face adorning new cuts and scratches, bruises blooming his sides under skin and over muscle. He aches all over. He bares his teeth at the reflection and it does it right back, a snarl of bright white, the bones straight and sharp, and his eyes so quickly become frightening. He turns away.

Odin’s face peers around the door of a new room, hands finding covers and the soft sound of a woman waking. She turns to him, her face telling of sleep and her lips turned slightly down in a frown, her hands finding his chest, wrapping around his torso, her face in his neck, breath fanning over that damn skin of his and she says, “Long night?”

His fingers trail down the back of her shirt, fingertips pressing to the small of her exposed back stretched between her clothes and he hums quietly, face buried in her hair, body melting and moving to fit hers more comfortably, grip tight to squeeze her form, to hold onto something solid, to find his anchor. “Always, baby. Go back to sleep.” He says in a low voice, something comfortable, something familiar there, as if he’s smiling. She makes a noise of acceptance, curling even further towards him, as if a safety, sinking even further as his fingers trail up and down her back, soothing, as to not allow her to be distraught. Delilah was always the one he worried about, not concerning himself with the rotting inside his own chest, the ache of something breaking within him. He fights with the inability to sleep while the rush of the night still feeds inside of him. He does not concern himself with what little is left of him because while he is with her he is safe from the part of himself that only consumes, he is not concerned with the fragility of his own being, not while he breathes in the heat radiating off of l'amore della sua vita.

Meanwhile, miles and miles away, something begins to rot under the cover of freshly turned Earth.

Extras: I made a tag for him a long time ago and haven’t touched it much since tbh but like I'ma probably add stuff the next few days so this 4 u: https://hypnosreigns.tumblr.com/tagged/character:%20odin%20bello

#accepted #accepted: othello

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