#go read Eurydice really
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Eurydice by Sarah Ruhl
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Me playing Persephone actively warning Orpheus of the dangers ahead specifically because I didn’t want him to turn around too early from doubt only for him to turn before Eurydice could exit the underground thus dooming them both to one of the most proliferated endings. Oh lord “Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?” And “'Cause here’s the thing/To know how it ends/And still begin to sing it again/As if it might turn out this time” we in it now…
#I spent HOURS reading this IF and I’m not normal about it ❤️#its actually really good writing for me to get that ending and NOT want to go back and try and change it despite knowing the game does give#u alterante endings for the myth depending on ur choices. it still felt so meaningful for everyone involved to have to grapple w#the implications of this ending#GOD eurydice trying to absolve hades and persephone of guilt simply for the face they let her try#DYING NOW A SECOND TIME UTTERED NO COMPLAINT AGAINST HER HUSBAND#WHAT WAS THERE TO COMPLAIN OF BUT THAT SHE HAD BEEN LOVED?#fields of asphodel#tunes talks foa
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His Kiss, The Riot
Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader
Summary: When you and your secret lover make plain to Feyd-Rautha your wishes for a life together, despite the proposed arranged marriage, he surprisingly acquiesces. But he can't let you go so easily, can he? Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.
Word Count: 1.6k
TW: manipulation, Dark!Feyd-Rautha, arranged marriage, NONCON elements, gore, violence, she/her pronouns, female!reader, tragedy, star-crossed lovers, songfic, not quite a happy ending (oops), dark dark dark interpretations of Hadestown and the story of Orpheus and Eurydice.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who read If It's True and liked, reblogged, or commented. I appreciate every single one of you. As always, I would love some feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs if you can :)
This is Part Two to my Feydestown trilogy (I'm so sorry for the pun). You can read Part One here.
AO3
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.
The devil takes this Orpheus
And his belladonna kiss
“So you wanna get married? Take away the woman I just offered my hand to, to whom I all but have legal claim?”
Your beloved’s replied words of affirmation to his words hold the slightest tremor, but like a dog to fresh meat, Feyd-Rautha sniffs this out immediately. Another smile graces his face. Feyd speaks to the crowd now, “Yes, I was promised the Lady’s hand in marriage. But! I am a benevolent figure, so I guess I’ll let the lovebirds go.”
The crowd starts to give polite applause, while your knees grow weak at the news. You can go? Has love really prevailed on this day?
“However,” and with that, your heart drops “I have some conditions for these… nuptials.”
You could sense the air growing thick with tension as the reality of the na-Baron’s ruling twists out of your favor.
“Conditions?” You whispered.
“Of course, my darling! I can’t make this too easy on you, now can I?” Feyd paces back and forth on the steps from which he speaks, making your eyes dart back and forth with each step he takes. Vigilance overtakes your body in case of any rash decisions.
“You two can leave the city, but it won’t be hand in hand. This pair will have to walk in single file, with the boy in the front and my darling Lady at least thirty paces behind. No ships, no speeders, no running. Walking.”
The energy of the room starts to grow more electric as the points of this term seem to set in.
“The Lady cannot speak out or make any indication of her following behind. You’ll be faced forward the whole journey. Once you reach the edge of the city and passed the threshold, you can be together for eternity.”
Your breath hitched. Seems easy enough, right?
“But, if the boy so much as turns his head to check and see if the Lady is following, the deal is off. She’ll return to me, and we will be married.”
Nothing makes a man so bold
As a woman’s smile and a hand to hold
“Is this a trick?” Your beloved asks plainly.
Feyd tilts his head, pacing down the steps to ground level. “Now, what makes you say that? I’m being generous. I’ve set my terms.” He is now nose-to-nose with the man attached to you.
“Now meet them or face the consequences.”
The hand holding yours is now pooled with sweat. You quickly and subtly jerk the arm of your beloved when he starts to protest, not recognizing a gift when he sees one. You bow, the picture of poise and grace that you were raised to be. There is still time to leave with all of your limbs intact, you could not afford to slip up now.
“We offer our most sincere gratitude, my Lord na-Baron. Thank you for this most auspicious opportunity. We will not squander it.”
Your beloved gives a clumsy bow to match yours. Feyd’s manic smile grows as he clasps his hands together. The sound echoes through the hall.
“So it shall begin!”
But all alone his blood runs thin
And doubt—doubt comes in
The pair of you hold hands, side-by-side, at the entrance of the palace gates. A crowd has followed you to the edge, with onlookers from the outside spectating the unexpected appearance of a noble. Occurrences like this did not happen often, if ever.
“You heard the terms. The Lady must walk thirty steps behind. She must not speak to you.” Your hands reluctantly separate, following the orders you were given. You can feel your heart pounding with each step that you take away from each other.
“Some of my guard will accompany you, to ensure that you comply to the letter.” Four Harkonnen warriors step forward and encase you in a square formation, leaving the love of your life alone and vulnerable. He looks back towards you, fear and doubt creeping into his eyes. You nodded at him, believing that you could succeed in your task. That you would prevail.
“You may begin.” Feyd voices, and with that—you start your journey. Step by step, you walk further through the foliage that immediately surrounds the castle gates and into the city square.
Once you and your beloved reach the horizon, Feyd turns to walk past the crowd and back into the corridor.
Your father, the Duke, bows quickly and offers his gratitude, but is ignored as the younger Harkonnen goes to gather his blade and shield. With a yell, he summons his guards to formation. As Feyd checks the integrity of his weapon, one of the Baron’s advisors tentatively steps towards him.
“My Lord, perhaps you should consider letting them go—” In the blink of an eye, the man is silenced with a swift slash to the throat. Blood spills through the advisor’s hands as he struggles to put pressure on the opening. His body flops to the floor and Feyd carelessly steps over the writhing body to march forward.
“Let’s go fetch my bride.”
Dangerous this jack of hearts
It had been almost an hour of walking by this point. There had been almost a dozen times where you wanted to give any audible indication to your lover that you were here. A whisper, a whistle, a stomp of your foot. Anything. But now you could see the edge of the city, you could almost taste it.
A life with your love was within reach.
The guards accompanying you shifted inward, almost boxing you in. You were hopeful, but nerves were creeping in.
This was going well. Too well.
The grand arch signifying the edge of the city was above your lover now. The field that you used to meet at in secret lay just beyond it. You’re almost there. Just twenty more steps and you could be together, forever.
He steps over the threshold, you see his shoulders lift and fall in an exhale. Then, the man you had fallen in love with— who you wholly believe in— slowly turns his head to lock eyes with you. A pale figure steps out from behind a pillar accompanying the arch.
The growing smile on your face immediately falls. You call out his name.
Oh no.
The na-Baron tsked and shook his head, as if scolding a child. Harkonnen troops flanked the area, giving Feyd-Rautha enough berth to have his fun. The three of you were surrounded, but only one really had the advantage.
“You were so close!”
Your beloved held out a hand, “Wait, wait! I made it over!” He started to back away in fear, unarmed and exhausted from the long walk. Colorful, ripe foliage brushed his legs as he back into your field.
“Ah, but she didn’t. So, face the consequences.”
Then his blade pierced the man you love.
Your ears started to ring, throat working itself raw as you wailed. Tears blurred your vision, you could hear the gurgles of the blood leaving your fiancé’s mouth and the slosh of his newly disemboweled entrails hitting the lush field before you.
With his kiss, the riot starts
His body made a sick thud on the floor, and your body jumped along with it.
You ran towards your dead lover, cradling his face and sobbing for the soul that was just ripped away from you. He didn’t deserve such a violent end. His only crime was loving you and being loved in return.
A chuckle sounded from above you, and you turned your tear-stained face to the brutal Harkonnen. He was covered in the blood of your lover, his spoils of war staining his pale skin. Black teeth on full display, his shoulders gave a slight shake as he expressed his humor. His laughter sparked a rage in you like you’d never seen before. It didn’t matter what bonds you may or may not have formed over the conversations you had the last week. He’s a monster. He needs to pay for what he’s done.
Red flooded your vision.
With a roar, you lunged for the man. His laugh grew more manic as you smacked, punched, kicked, and hit every visible part of him that you could identify. In your grief, every ounce of training that you received flew out the window. He took every blow with a smile, as if he enjoyed the punishment you were attempting to bestow on him.
“There we go, my darling. Show me your pain. Your rage!”
Your mind started to clear with the more hits you landed. With a quick swipe, you had the weapon that killed your beloved against the naBaron’s neck. The Harkonnen soldiers immediately stepped forward, but Feyd stopped them with a wave of his arm.
“Ah ah ah! Leave her be.” His grin almost split his face in half, specks of dried blood making a painting of his face.
“Do it. Go ahead, come on.”
He pressed his neck forward, purposefully putting pressure on his own blade. Fresh blood started to trickle down his neck, adding to the gallons already spread all over his uniform.
The shock of his willingness to put his life on the line made you hesitate, which made him cackle in your face. Your anger made you draw the blade back and slice it across his chest. A groan left Feyd’s mouth,
“Good girl.”
An unexpected thunk to the head made your vision start to spin. Feyd’s arms braced around you, slowly lowering you to your knees and down to a lying position. He cradled your head as if you were a precious commodity, when he leaned forward and captured your limp lips with his.
As black started swallowing your vision, you heard him say,
“Don’t worry, my darling bride. It’ll all be alright. You won’t feel a thing.”
#feyd rautha#feyd x reader#feyd rautha x reader#feyd rautha x you#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd harkonnen#feyd x you#house harkonnen#feyd fanfiction#feyd rautha fanfic#feyd rautha fanfiction#dune#dune part two#dune 2024#dune part 2#dune 2#austin butler character#austin butler x reader#austin butler fandom#jada writes sometimes#hadestown#inspired by hadestown#hadestown au#kinda#eurydice!reader#feyd rautha x female reader#feyd rautha x oc
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on looking back & repetition as metaphors for grief
1. a grief observed - c.s. lewis // 2. spirited away - dir. hayao miyazaki // 3. orpheus tries to hold on to eurydice (c. 1791) - françois gérard // 4. omniscient reader's viewpoint - singshong // 5. gilgamesh a verse narrative - tr. herbert mason // 6. omniscient reader's viewpoint - singshong // 7. on the other side of grief with ocean vuong - aaron schwartz // 8. time travel told in five parts - judas h. // 9. omniscient reader's viewpoint - blackbox art // 10. housewife, the vanishing princess - jenny diski // 11. poem in pieces, a log; a history of too much - adrianne kalfopoulou // 12. the butterfly's burden; cadence chooses me - mahmoud darwish // 13. metamorphoses - ovid
image ids under the cut:
1. A quote by C.S. Lewis. I look up at the night sky. Is there anything more certain than that in all those vast times and spaces, if I were allowed to search them, I should nowhere find her face, her voice, her touch? She died. She is dead. Is the word so difficult to learn?
2. Dialogue from the Spirited Away screenplay. Haku says: But I can't go any farther. Just go back the way you came, you'll be fine. But you have to promise not to look back, not until you've passed through the tunnel.
3. A painting by François Gérard. Orpheus tries to hold on to Eurydice as she lies prone in his arms. Orpheus has a desperate expression on his face.
4. An extract from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint. A tale of this new world continued to flow on. But then, just as the subway's doors closed, Han Sooyoung looked behind her with a slightly unsure, hard-to-read face of someone that left something behind. Even Yoo Joonghyuk looked back, too. The only person who didn't was Kim Dokja.
5. An extract from The Epic of Gilgamesh. If you are Gilgamesh and did those things, why / Are you so emaciated and your face half-crazed? / I have grieved! Is it so impossible / To believe? he pleaded. / My friend who went through everything with me / Is dead! / No one grieves that much, she said. / Your friend is gone. Forget him. / No one remembers him. He is dead. / Enkidu. Enkidu. Gilgamesh called out: / Help me. They do not know you / As I know you.
6. An extract from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint. None of them could understand. They couldn't understand that there was someone in this world who could never live in the present.
7. A quote by Aaron Schwartz. In a way, grief is a marker of time. There was this and then there wasn't this, but you're still here,
8. A stanza by Judas H. so in the dream you find a way to go back / back to the days of sunshine on her not-yet grey hair / back to the hummingbird that came / when she called / back to when she still had a voice / to call them at all / time travel and grief are really not so different / it is all about looking back
9. Official art of Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint by Blackbox. Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyung turn to look back at the viewer. Kim Dokja in the background walks ahead without looking back.
10. A quote by Jenny Diski: People don't understand about repetition, do they? How it is at the heart (thump, thump, thump) of obsession; at the erotic centre (drip, drip drip) of desire. You do, of course. Repetition is insatiability spelt sideways.
11. A quote by Adrianne Kalfopoulou. Grief will keep you reaching back / for what is not there
12. Poetry by Mahmoud Darwish. I am still here / but you won't return as you were when I left you / you won't return, and I won't return
13. A quote from Ovid's Metamorphoses. Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?
#[through gritted teeth] i'm normal i'm soooo normal about looking back as a metaphor for grief#web weaving#orv#omniscient reader's viewpoint#yoohankim#words#quotes#webweaving#web weave#poetry#spilled ink#spilled poetry#spilled thoughts#literature#orpheus#eurydice#academia aesthetic#grief#grief cw#gabby speaks#orv spoilers
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Harwin Strong X Fem!Reader
Summary: Your nervous about a certain wedding night tradition - Harwin senses it, and takes matters into his own hand's by sneaking you both away unnoticed. (aka. The Bonus Chapter That Was Promised (aka. wedding night sex w/ Harwin)).
(VERY DEINFELTY a continuation of This Part of the series linked below. The author HIGHLY recommends reading that first if you haven't already.)
Warnings: 18+ MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI, NSFW. Sexual themes/Smut (Smidge of biting. Oral + fingering - receiving. Unprotected sex. Penetrative sex. Creampie. Reader + Harwin are both switches.) Reader is fem bodied + called wife (it's Harwin's favorite nickname) + wears a dress. ✨repeated phrases ✨.
Listening to: 'Talk' by Hozier - "I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around - and I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice."
Series Masterlist || AO3 Link || Masterlist || Ko-Fi
Your wedding feast was going quite well.
The hall was filled with people, one’s who’d travelled with you from your home, Harwin’s family, and the rest were from the Red Keep - the royal family included. Everyone was happy. Looking out toward the crowd, you were grateful the room was so big - so many people wouldn’t have fit anywhere in your father’s house, and certainly no table big enough to sit everyone you were currently sharing with.
Rhaenyra was one you sat with, and she kept sending you bittersweet smiles from her place beside you. Some unspoken sorrow about how your girlhood had really gone even if you had already grown out of it, and how she knew her time too was getting closer - something you knew she feared, but you yourself didn’t have too big of a problem with. Certainly not now that you’d met Harwin.
The one thing you did have to admit to fearing - the one thing that you dreaded most because there was never any way to avoid it - was The Bedding. Oh how you loathed it. All your life you’d been taught to fight off anyone who dared touch you in a way inappropriate, and yet here you were mentally preparing for a small hoard of men to do just that. It made you want to cling to your cup of wine like a lifeline - and even then you only allowed yourself a few small sips in between whatever food you managed to stomach.
Then, just like he did hours before at your wedding ceremony, Harwin roused you from your nerves and proved to be a helping hand.
“You know, if we leave now we won’t be carried out later. They probably won’t even notice we’ve slipped away.” Harwin whispered. He was lent right into your personal space, but when you faced him he was looking out toward the crowd. “It certainly would save both our modesty, don’t you think?”
For a moment all you could feel was the warmth of his finger as it hooked around your own under the table, and how he was so close that you could feel his stray curls tickling your forehead. The music and merrymaking faded away, and it was like there was no one else around except you and him. Harwin finally turned to you, wondering why you hadn’t said anything, and when he looked into your eyes you saw sincerity.
If someone ten years from now asked you when you fell in love with your husband, right then would’ve been a good place to start.
“Yes,” you whispered, watching as his eyes darted down to watch your mouth, “Please. Let’s go.”
Harwin smiled, and you found yourself quite hypnotized as you watched this force of a man escort you both out of the hall without so much as anyone saying your names. From when he stood to push your chair out from the table and shield other’s view of you with his body, to skirting around the walls and out the door - he managed it all with a practiced ease while you looked upon him with lovestruck eyes.
You had no idea how he knew what you needed and when, but he did. For that you could genuinely say you loved him already.
Reaching the door, he cast one last look across the room. He sent a smile toward the head table - yours - and you saw Viserys tilt his cup before raising it to his lips, a quiet blessing from the father of the realm. With that you went to the hallway, and started making your way to the room you were to spend the night in.
Harwin led you into your bedroom, and shut the door behind him, pushing the deadbolt into place.
“Now no one can come chasing after us.” he said, smirking as he started to unbutton his tunic. You honed in on the action, and took a step back - but again without a word he knew what your actions were saying. “Don’t fret, I’m not starting anything, this thing is uncomfortable. I suggest you do the same. For one, your hair - it looks lovely, but I believe you’d be more comfortable with it all undone.”
You could physically feel your shoulders slump at his reassurance, and nodded along to his words - indeed there were a few braids that were done a little too tight, most of them actually, and just the idea of having them out was already making your knees weak. You shrugged your cloak off your shoulders, and draped it over one of the couches, then started pulling at the pins in your hair as you moved to a seat by the fire going in the room’s hearth.
You mindlessly pulled at your hair. Soon it was half down, and all that was left was those awful tight braids. Harwin rustled behind you, and soon he sat across from you to pull at the laces of his boots. You were reaching behind your head, starting to get frustrated at yourself for being unable to decipher how it all worked.
Huffing, your arms flopped down into your lap. You caught Harwin’s head raising as he dropped his other boot onto the floor. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow as he sat back in his seat. His arms were across the arms of his chair, and it made the fabric of the small clothes across his chest stretch.
“I can’t find where this stupid braid starts so I can get it down.” you mumbled, casting your eyes away and into the fire. You heard him let out a breathy laugh.
“Let me help you.” Your eyes flicked over to him - checking if he was serious, and if the way he was looking at you was anything to go by, he was quite serious - before they settled back to the fire as you nodded.
Harwin stood, rounding your chair so he was behind you, and gently gathered your hair behind your shoulders. Slowly he started silently working on your hair, softly tugging here and there. You felt a braid come loose, and he started pulling it apart. The calluses on his fingers sometimes caught. Really, the whole thing was lulling you to sleep. Your eyes slowly closed, and all you could feel was the warmth of the fire on the soles of your shoes, and Harwin’s fingers in your hair.
A few minutes must have passed before your hair was being pushed over your shoulders again, signally that Harwin was done. Your eyes stayed closed, Harwin’s hands moved to your shoulders and down your arms. Soon after you could feel his breath on the part of your neck left exposed. His lips laid a soft kiss on your spine, so soft it made a shiver go right up into your skull and down into your hips.
“Is there anything else I can do for my dear wife?” he asked, lips moving on your skin as he spoke. Your head rolled slightly to the side, your eyes remaining closed. Harwin’s lips moved from your back, and his nose pressed into your cheek as he moved his featherlight kisses to your jaw.
“I doubt I can untie my shoes with this corset on.” you said quietly, eyes fluttering open as he pulled away enough to look at you.
“Let me help you.”
Then he was before you, kneeling as he lifted your skirts enough to expose your shoes and untie your laces just as easily as he’d done his own. Before long he was finished and your boots sat thrown to the side just like his.
“You’ve asked two things of me so far, would you honor me and repay the favor now by helping your husband, before I ask what else you need?” Harwin said. With the way he looked, hair free of its tie, face lit warmly by the fire, and on his knees with your foot on his hip - he could ask you just about anything and you’d do it in a heartbeat. And the heat in his eyes, how he looked at you - you wanted him to ask something of you just to distract you from the warmth blooming between your legs.
“I need to know what my wife tastes like.” he said, eyes locked on yours as he raised your leg up over your shoulder, kissing your ankle as it passed his lips. Your chest rose and fell in a deep breath. If there was any time to be bold, it was now.
“Let me help you.” you whispered, spreading your other leg to make room. To give him permission to come closer. From the way his smile broadened, and the kiss he gave your calf - one much more purposeful than the ones that came before - you were right in being bold.
“My wife,” he sighed, pushing himself forward. Before he could go where you thought he was going, he raised on his knees, “But before that, I need to kiss you properly. The first one we shared as husband and wife was hardly one worthy of you.”
Your leg fell from his shoulder, but his hand stayed under your dress and on your bare thigh as his other hand came up to hold your neck much like he had earlier. When he kissed you, it was nothing like earlier. His mouth moved on yours with a purpose, tilting your head back and kissing you so deeply you saw stars. He coaxed your mouth open and swiped his tongue across yours. You found he still tasted like the wine, honey, and black pepper from dinner. It made you grab his shoulder, nails biting into the skin under his shirt.
“That,” he said, pulling away to speak, although you felt you both were lulled into quite a daze from the kiss just shared, “Is a kiss deserving of my wife.”
Harwin’s admission - or declaration - made you glad you were already sitting down. He seemed determined to make you swoon into his arms, and the knight before you was doing a good job of it. He barely pulled away before you followed his lips in search of another breath-taking kiss.
“Ah,” he said, pulling away from the reach of your lips with a grin, “No, now I want what I asked for.”
Harwin had been at it for what felt like ages. Long, blissful, ages.
You’d been reduced to a sticky, sweaty, panting mess, with a hand clutching the arm of your chair while the other held onto Harwin’s hair so hard you were surprised he hadn’t told you to stop. Instead, when you pulled harder, he only moaned, sending ripples of pleasure right onto the most sensitive spot between your legs. He had pulled you to the edge of your seat, and hiked your dress up around your stomach as his hands held your hips down.
There was a warmth bubbling up in your lower stomach, one aided by Harwin’s lips on your cunt and your rocking your hips into his nose. It was one you were sure you’d had a half dozen times already tonight, but who were you to keep count when it felt so good. A dozen, half dozen, half of that again - it didn’t matter, what did matter was how good it felt when one of Harwin’s hands finally moved from your hip to give you what you didn’t even realize you needed. His lips moved to your clit, and a finger slid up to your folds. He inserted a thick digit in, and that along with the sucking on your bud pushed you over the edge again. Thighs clamped around his ears, and your hand tightened in his hair - again.
“H-harwin,” you stuttered between breaths. It was enough to have him finally pulling away, and leaning up to face you again. Now he was close, you could see the flush on his cheeks, and hear how hard he was panting too. Most notable was the mess all over his beard. “You’re all wet.” you said, a little mindless with your words as your eyes were stuck admiring his face.
“I think we both know the reason behind that sweetheart, and it certainly isn’t the only place on me that’s soaked right now.” he finished, mumbling into your lips as he hunched over you for another kiss. You couldn’t escape the taste of you on his lips, something he craved so badly it’d almost brought you to tears. It was bitter, salty, but you weren’t the one who had to taste it. If Harwin liked it, who were you to stop him?
He leant forward and kissed you again, not shying away from making sure you tasted everything on his tongue. You moaned into his mouth, and as repayment he ground his hips into yours - making you moan again from the way his evident bulge rubbed against your most sensitive areas. Not to mention the fabric of his small clothes didn’t feel any less wet than you, and you were bare. The idea behind it made your head spin.
“Harwin, I need you.” you whined, arching into his chest as he rutted into you again. His arm snaked around your waist to hold you flush to him.
“My wife needs her husband. Hold onto me.” he hummed, collecting you into his arms, making sure your arms and legs had wrapped around him nicely, before standing. “Let me help you.”
Harwin then walked you both over to the bed, all the while prying at your dress until it fell loose around your shoulders and stomach. Once he set you down on the bed, your dress was pulled away in an instant. His clothes were soon to follow, although with much less grace. He was on you after that, laying you back and pinning you down with his weight and heat. His mouth was all over your neck and around your necklace, it seemed like he was stuck in a cycle of wanting to kiss every inch of you. Your hand wove into his hair while the other moved to his lower back, urging him to press against you harder as he moved his hips into yours.
“Please Harwin, you’re teasing me,” you said, aggressively rutting your hips up into his. You could feel him, how hot and heavy his cock was, how wet he was already - he had to have been driving you man with lust on purpose, there was no other explanation.
“Yes, I have to admit I’m doing it on purpose,” you knew it, “I’m building my resolve. If I enter you now I won’t last.” His admission made you still, and he pulled back to look at you. Your hands remained on him, the fingers of your one hand twirling around his curls. “What?”
“You’re that worked up?” You asked. He nodded. “Over me?” he nodded again.
You felt something shift inside you. An overpowering feeling that comes with the realization that you, a lady from a small house in the Riverlands, has such a powerful hold over the strongest knight in the Seven Kingdoms. It lit a fire inside you.
Your hands moved to Harwin’s shoulders, and you soon found your positions switched. He laid below you, curls framing his head like a halo as you sat pretty across his adonis belt.
“Well, I could get used to this view.” Harwin said, hands sliding up your thighs to your hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there.
“You’d better,” you said, deciding to play the bold card for the second time. You leant down until your nose brushed his, and your nipples grazed the hair on his chest. “It’s what happens when you make your wife wait too long. And yourself. So let me help you.”
Working your hips back and forth, you rubbed your wetness all over his cock before reaching down and lining yourself up. Slowly you sunk down and let him inside you. His finger was nothing compared to this, the stretch was so much more - but the amount of times he’d made you release in his mouth had you wet enough that it didn't matter. The burn was dull, duller than you’d been prepared for, and when he finally popped all the way in you felt your eyes flutter closed at how pleasantly full you were.
Harwin’s hands squeezing your hips had your eyes opening again. Seven Heavens, if that was what he’d look like every time you let him into your warm heat, you never wanted him to leave. His forehead glistened, and his skin glowed from the flickering candle flames. Chest rising and falling with breaths that caught in his throat. You leant back on your hands, feeling his thick thighs tensed and hard under your palms.
“I’m not going to last,” he said, in truth you weren’t either, feeling him so completely was doing a lot to get you close to climax again, so that worked out well, “If you move it’s going to be all over for me.”
“I’m close too,” you replied, slowly rocking your hips down into his.
Harwin reached forward, pushing himself off the bed to sit you in his lap as his hands took control and lifted you on and off his cock. You couldn’t help the moans that came from your open mouth as he took back control, grunting into your neck in turn. Idly, for a moment your mind wandered to how nice it was that he was finding the same pleasure that you were in the exact same way. One particularly strong thrust had your arms moving around his shoulders, and at the same time one of Harwin’s hands moved between you to your clit.
“I need to feel you come around me, I know you can,” he said, lips moving from just below your ear as he spoke into your skin, “I’ve imagined it once tonight, let me feel you for real this time.”
That’s what did it. Imagining him thinking about you this way - this borderline behemoth of a man having been on his knees earlier as you came on his mouth, imagining it around his cock and coming untouched. You couldn’t help the way your head tilted back as you clenched around him, eyes going fuzzy as your ears seemed to dull.
“Gods, yes.” Harwin hissed, holding you down on him as his release followed yours.
He held you like that until both your beating hearts settled, and the ringing in your ears stopped. Once calmed, he laid back down onto the pillows, pulling you down to his chest, and kissed your forehead before bringing one of your hands off his shoulder so he could kiss your palm too.
“Thank you.” You shifted back slightly, enough so you could look at him and he could clearly see your confused expression. “You said you’d take care of me, you did. Thank you.” he explained, leaning down to kiss your lips again once your face softened again. This kiss was much more like your very first, softer, slower. Full of love that was too new to say out loud.
It was only broken by a grumble from your stomach.
“I worked you that hard?” Harwin laughed as you broke the kiss. His face truly softened to one of care as he looked across at you from the pillow. “You didn’t eat much during dinner.”
“No, I wasn’t hungry then,” you mumbled, starting to sit up, “I am now.” You barely finished speaking before his hand was on your shoulder to push you back into bed. His eyes pinned you where you were as he instead moved to get out of bed.
“Stay there.” he smiled, leaning down as if to kiss you again, “Let me help you.”
#harwin strong x reader#harwin strong x fem reader#harwin x reader#ser harwin x reader#hotd x reader#hotd smut#harwin strong smut
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july fanfic recommendations!
i read an obscene amount of fanfic last month with some that i must share with others, hence this post. i still over >100 fics to read so maybe this will be a monthly series? we'll see.
some fics are rated e!
sakuatsu
rotten work & other things worth doing t. 3k. atsumu and sakusa clean atsumu's bathroom together. that's it, that's the fic. lots of hurt/comfort and love and affection <3
The Sakusa Complaint Jar t. 3.6k. hilarious take on the swear jar, especially as atsumu learns he's more down bad for sakusa than he thought.
Appease and Assuage t. 5.1k. sakusa has a bad day and atsumu is there for him. very soft and raw with sakusa feeling off-kilter, and atsumu knows exactly how to help him.
come, morning light g. 5.2k. sakusa gets sick and tries to push atsumu away but eventually lets him in. very soft and domestic.
Here Is Your Verse m. 15.52. 2/2. atsumu ends his fwb relationship with sakusa because he caught feelings. they end up reconciling in the end.
when you hear hoofbeats t. 42.4k. 14/14. university au slowburn where sakusa has eds and he gets into a relationship with atsumu. be aware of the chapter warnings because it gets heavy but has a happy ending!
Stockholm Syndrome Isn't Real e. 50.2k 8/8. side sunaosa(komo). au where atsumu is a pro athlete but osamu is secretly a hacker and atsumu is kidnapped in his place. love the action, tension, and everything about this.
sunaosa
slip of the pen t. 6k. suna channels all his pining into award-winning books and osamu has never read any of them. the pining is top-tier in this.
moonsick m. 7.8k. fwb to lovers in suna's pov. is it really a sunaosa fic without one of them being emotionally constipated?
in the mood for love m. 8.3k. friends to exes to friends to lovers pipeline. i love the prose and osamu's thoughtful narration.
Litany in Which Certain Words Are Said t. 10.9k. 5 times osamu says "i love you" and 1 time suna says it back. oohh the yearning in this is top-tier!
a type of hunger m. 9.1k. i love the exploration of suna's hunger in this as an athlete and feeling like he's falling behind. good thing osamu is there for him <3
An Inconvenient Espionage e. 26.6k. 5/5. side sakuatsu. spy au, assholes to lovers. good action, good spy work, good tension 👀
somewhere to lay the flowers t. 25.6k. i've read a healthy amount of bastigod's works and trans suna has me in a chokehold. i also love magical realism and the mythology in this was woven wonderfully. suna's daughter is also a delight!
iwaoi
stumble into the sun e. 3.6k words of iwaizumi discovering that oikawa has a praise kink. it's also very soft and lovely.
Press '1' to Get a Call From Your Drunk Best Friend t. 5.4k. a drunk iwaizumi spills about his love and appreciation for oikawa. it's hilarious and fluffy and one of my favorites <3
HIPS DON'T LIE e. 8.1k. iwaizumi overhears girls talk about how good oikawa is in bed and is given a live demonstration from the man, himself.
i wanna ruin our friendship t. 18/18. oikawa comes to terms that he's in love with his best friend. features heavy themes, read the chapter warnings before proceeding. there's a happy ending!
bokuaka
Tell Me, Eurydice (How Could I Not?) t. 6.3k. lovely prose from akaashi's perspective about bokuto becoming captain and the idea of akaashi being his vice captain.
hoot if you've heard this one before t. 5.2k. bokuto and akaashi lose contact and find each other in university at a cafe that akaashi owns. lovely reconciliation fic and relationship recovery.
papers (the special, laminated ones) t. 5.3k. bokuto's parents have a tradition of laminating all his special papers and he isn't allowed to get them until "he's ready." i loved how sweet and fluffy this was, especially with his relationship with akaashi <3
Spaces aren’t Voids 7.2k. bokuto had every intention to propose until he lost the ring. a very fun and fluffy fic of a marriage proposal that doesn't quite go through but things go well in the end.
To Have and to Rail e. 12.4k. this is more humor than smut about akaashi's scientific exploration to match bokuto's stamina in bed. it doesn't go as well as he hopes (of course. good luck, akaashi)
onigiri miya: brand ambassadors (applications closed) g. 4k. bokuto is kinda slightly jealous of how close akaashi is to osamu because he's obsessed with onigiri miya. hinata feels the same way with kageyama. so what do they do? become brand ambassadors for osamu. absolutely hilarious and fluffy!
Kiss Me (Like You Wanna Be Loved) e. 56.6k. 27/27. oh the pipeline of strangers to roommates to fwb to lovers, i love it so. equal parts hurt/comfort, fluff, with the perfect amount of nsfw.
kagehina
soft serve t. 9.6k. hinata and kageyama drive an ice cream truck to fundraise money for karasuno's volleyball club. that's it, that's the fic.
Meme of the Day g. 4k. kageyama accidentally turns hinata into a meme. very fluffy and cute!
miscellaneous
yachi hitoka stop being so relatable challenge t. 4.1k. i loved this exploration of yachi being known and getting closer with the karasuno boys. she's such a precious cinnamon roll <3
north is everywhere. t. 12.1k. an exploration of kiyoko's development through high school, from being a manager out of obligation to continuing out of choice. also ace rep!
summer rolling down a cheek gen. 13.2k. a beautiful character study of kenma after the spring tournament as he thinks about the future and what comes next. beautiful prose and introspection.
#text#fanfic recs#haikyuu fanfic recs#haikyuu fanfic#karasuno#sakuatsu#sunaosa#iwaoi#kagehina#bokuaka#sakusa kiyoomi#miya atsumu#suna rintarou#miya osamu#kageyama tobio#hinata shoyo#iwaizumi hajime#oikawa tooru#bokuto koutarou#akaashi keiji#kozume kenma#monthly fanfic recs
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hii can i have sfw relationship headcanons with jotaro kujo? thank you in advance and have a nice day!
Jotaro Kujo x Reader
sfw Headcanons
Jotaro is a pretty picky person when it comes to relationships. He is very closed off and hard to get to open up.
So if he picks you to be his partner it’s because he truly loves and cares for you.
He’s not that fond of PDA but whenever he can get you alone he’s very affectionate.
He’ll hug you from behind while resting his head on your shoulder. Sometimes he’ll even kiss you softly on your neck.
When you guys are cuddling he loves to be big spoon. He likes the feeling of him keeping you safe!
While you guys are out together (shopping, on a date, etc..) he won’t let you out of his sight. He just doesn’t want anything to happen to you.
He’s very protective of you. If he sees someone be even a little rude/flirty towards you he’ll immediately take action.
Something Jotaro loves about you is that you treat him softer than others, you were like this even before you guys started dating. People see Jotaro as this cold, strong guy but you always saw that his soft side was something you’d have to really get to know him to be able to see.
When he goes on his long adventures he makes sure to call and update you on everything that happens. If there isn’t a place to call he’ll write you these cute letters
The letters usually arrive with some kind of gift, something like flowers, jewelry, or anything that reminded him of you.
When he gets home he’ll never leave your side. You guys would stay at home together all day doing stuff like watching movies, cooking together, going on dates, and cuddling!
Thank you for requesting and reading!!
Yours truly,
Eurydice~
#jojo's bizarre adventure#jotaro kujo#jojo x reader#jjba jotaro#jjba#jjba x reader#jotaro x reader#star platinum#x reader#headcanon#jojo headcanons#jotaro headcanons#jjba headcanons#sfw little post#sfw headcanons#x reader headcanons#fluff#jjba fluff
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Bedtime Stories For a Demon: The Day The World Disappeared, Part IV (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)
Word Count: ~ 5.2k
Rook is trapped in the Fade. Spite is determined to get her out. But the truth of the prison is slowly unravelling itself.
Part I
Part II
Part III
Madeleina Mercar can’t sleep.
And this is quite unusual, because for the last few nights – really, ever since she can remember being at home, she has simply woken up to the next day. Every night was a dreamless slumber, shuffling her between moonlight to sunlight with little fanfare. Not so much as a violent twitch of her body while her mind convinces it she’s falling off a ledge.
Since Spite’s visit earlier, something hasn’t felt right. There’s not one thing she can really point a finger at. It was more of an ill-defined uneasiness that started bleeding into her interactions with her parents.
Later in the afternoon, she went to help her mother with the shop as she always did. It was only today that she realized that there were never any customers. Eurydice baked the bread and croissants and tartes every morning and arranged them neatly onto silver display trays. Each day, they went un-eaten, and Madeleina had no idea what happened to the excess, because she certainly never saw her mother carting in boxes of those leftover pastries into their home.
When she asked her mother about it as she was sweeping the floors (that never seemed to have any dust on them), Eurydice had simply returned a blank stare and asked her what she would like for dinner.
Madeleina had blinked, confused at the sudden shift in subject.
“Um …” she began, and really thought hard about it. Her face scrunched in concentration.
What had she eaten lately?
She remembered … well, she only remembered her favourite meal. Dolmades and vegetables with Tzatziki on the side. The same thing, every night.
“I want spiced lamb stew” she answered a few moments later. Madeleina didn’t even remember what her mother’s lamb stew tasted like but certainly wanted the opportunity to.
Her mother had nodded, airy and light, as if she hadn’t even heard, then went back to fussing over the displays that would certainly go unnappreciated.
Madeleina doesn’t question it until she’s sitting at the dinner table, and she doesn’t smell spiced lamb stew – she smells Dolmades. Sure enough, the stuffed grape leaves appear in front of her, with a side of grilled carrots and eggplants, and Tzatziki dip. As they had the night before. It was as if the conversation in the bakery earlier hadn’t happened at all. Since her mother didn’t acknowledge it, Madeleina didn’t either. She wordlessly ate her Dolma and ignored the sensation of the food turning to ash in her mouth.
Later that night, her father told her a story, before he went off to work for the evening. The same story, every night. Always The Sleeping Princess. And after Spite had tried to retell it in his own disjointed way, evoking all those strange memories as he did, she couldn’t help but notice how stilted her father’s delivery was tonight.
Almost as if he was reading from a script he couldn’t deviate from. A character in one of his own stories.
Had it always seemed that way and she just hadn’t noticed? Or was he becoming … different?
She desperately wanted to say something but her lips wouldn’t make the words. Just like at dinner. Would it even matter if she did, or would he brush her off like her mother had?
Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort, Madeleina listened and nodded at the appropriate times while he spoke, as the figures of the Princess, the King, the Demon, and the Hero danced behind her eyes, brought to life by her over-active imagination.
Madeleina’s eyes fly open as a memory starts to take shape in the back of her mind.
A memory of stories brought to life by magic. Her magic. In front of an ornate hearth, in the company of a man who’s face she still cannot see. A man whose name is as familiar as breathing, and yet entirely foreign as well. The phantom smell of coffee and chocolate and cinnamon lingers in the air, even now. She hasn’t been able to stop smelling it since Spite left. Wherever they are, it’s warm. Safe. Comforting. A private little haven for the two of them, forged first in blood and comradery, then molded into something tender and sweet with time and trust.
Lucanis.
Home.
Madeleina shakes her head.
No, this was her home.
A sleepy little village tucked safely between a forest of great Sycamores and the Hundred Pillars. A bakery that she tends with her mother, while her father plays at the tavern down the street every night.
A bakery without any customers, she reminds herself.
Madeleina tries to blink the thought away, but Spite’s words keep nagging in the back of her mind like a small dog yipping and snapping at her heels.
The young mage takes a slow, deliberate, inhale and closes her eyes, trying to focus harder on that memory.
She needs to figure this out. If there’s nothing to be worried about and she can go back to her regular, day-to-day, mundane life.
A day that repeats like turning wheel, a snake eating its tail.
Madeleina pushes the thought to the back of her mind, and with some reluctant effort, she’s back in that elusive memory.
Madeleina sees the stone hearth again. She can feel the hard, wooden chair beneath her. The warmth of the fire spreading like a wave across her body. As before, she tastes something sweet and familiar on her tongue - cinnamon and dough. He’s sitting across from her, partially shrouded in the dark. His voice is muffled, as if he were speaking under water.
Madeleina shuts her eyes tightly tries to focus harder. Spite’s words come streaming into her consciousness, guiding her down the turbulent river of her thoughts.
You show him. Wonders in front. Of his eyes. Stories brought to life. With magic. He measures nights. By your tales. Days. Waiting for the next
When she remembers Spite’s words, something strange happens.
She opens her eyes to find her chest glowing, as if someone set her heart alight with blue flame. It flickers weakly in the dark, almost like a beacon. There’s the sensation of being tugged towards some unknowable, far-off direction she couldn’t pinpoint. It’s stronger now than it was before. She’s almost afraid she’ll fly out of her own window, trying to find whoever is pulling at her heartstrings. Acting on instinct alone, Madeleina places a hand over her chest, inhales deeply once more, and concentrates on the strange sensation in her chest.
The scene bleeds into her mind’s eye again, a bit sharper now than it was before the sudden interruption.
The fire feels warmer, a balm to her sore joints and muscles. The desserts on the table smell fresher, sweeter than they did before. The leather of her father’s journal in her left hand feels rough, and weathered with time that shouldn’t yet have come to pass.
Her free hand flourishes across her vision, and right in front of her eyes the castle from The Sleeping Princess blinks into existence in sharp, striking detail.
Stories brought to life with magic. Just as Spite had said.
“It’s incredible, Rook” The man across from her breathes.
His voice is low, soft and gentle. Each word a velvet-soft petal falling upon waiting ears. The sound practically wraps around her like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s morning. She could live in that feeling.
Madeleina blinks in the memory.
His face his clearer now, coming into clear focus. Rimmed in the contrasting warm orange glow of the fire and eerie blue light of her magic, Madeleina drinks his features in like a madwoman dying of thirst, and he an oasis in the sand.
His eyes draw her in first. They’re big, and the most beautiful shade of earthen-rich brown she’s ever seen. She could fall into them for an eternity and be content to drown in their warmth. His black hair is styled into a mullet and feathered at the sides – almost like the wispy wings of a bird. His beard frames a strong, square jaw. His features are accentuated by soft lips, and an aquiline nose.
Breathtakingly, devastatingly, handsome. Words are inadequate, and so her body settles for a releasing a soft breath she didn’t know she was holding.
She continues moving through the motions of the story, bringing every figure and every scene to life with a wave of her hands, like she was the director of a theatre production.
“Well, go on” He motions to her eventually, with an expectant look flickering in those perfect brown eyes. At some point, the illusion she had been maintaining disappeared into the ether. She was too busy studying him like an art piece from one of the old master’s to have noticed. Lucanis is resting on his forearms now, practically at the edge of his seat.
Lucanis. Waits for what happens next.
He waits for you.
Only you.
Madeleina grins widely, pleased by his reaction. “Impatient, are we?”
He smirks, and she��s undone at the sight. “Spite wants to know how it ends”
She raises an eyebrow and folds her arms over her chest, “Oh? And you’re not the least bit curious?”
Lucanis’ lips quirk into a little smile, and her heart melts into her stomach. “I might be” he adds, as he takes a sip of his coffee.
That same melted heart is somehow solid enough to able to thrum erratically in her chest, flitting about like a crazed hummingbird trapped in a cage. A faint smile works its way onto her lips but she’s afraid the quickened rise and fall of her chest will give her away. So, she does the only thing she can think of and takes a sip of her own coffee. She’s not really thirsty, but the cup is large enough to hide the blush spreading across her face. The coffee is a bit lukewarm by now, clearly forgotten over the course of the story the two were enraptured in.
Satisfied that blush is gone and the pounding in her chest has settled, she sets the coffee aside and wrings out her hands.
“Sorry, I was feeling a bit parched there. On with the story”
A lie, a terrible lie. But a needed one.
As her free hand flourishes the figures into being once more, the memory cuts off abruptly. She opens her eyes and grips the fabric of her shirt through the thick blanket.
The warmth of the fire dissipates slowly, receding like a tide and although she’s under the covers, Madeleina feels cold. There’s no smell of coffee or cinnamon anymore. Lucanis is gone, and in the wake of his memory, a horrible realization settles in.
A piece of her heart is living outside of her body, somewhere far beyond her reach.
And she has no idea how to get to him.
“Lucanis”
She whispers his name like a prayer in the dead of night and hopes that wherever he is, he’s listening for her.
~*~
Lucanis Dellamorte has been sleeping more than usual these last few weeks, which was quite paradoxical because he wants to spend every waking moment making sure Rook’s rescue plan goes perfectly. He’s convinced he’s driven even the patient, kind-hearted Professor mad with his meticulous planning.
Unfortunately, it’s easier for Spite to traverse the raw Fade and keep an eye on Madeleina while he’s asleep. So, Lucanis acquiesces and lets himself drift into a dreamless slumber as Spite monitors the situation.
Once they told the group of the danger and time was running out, everyone was firing on all cylinders. It was a cacophony of organized chaos in the Lighthouse until the Veilguard was geared up and ready to head to Arlathan Forest through the Vir’Evas.
The entire trip through the Tevinter countryside to rescue Rook has him so on edge he’s lucky to get a few uninterrupted hours, much to Spite’s annoyance. He puts on a calm demeanour for the group, but each day that passes, given what he knows is happening inside that prison, Lucanis grows more agitated. Spite can feel it too. The demon’s … fear, for lack of a better world, is palpable under his skin, rolling across his body like a passing thunderstorm.
If the other members of the Veilguard have noticed, they have the good graces not to say anything.
The group is speeding along verdant hills in a large Dalish Aravel with Strife, Irelin, a few Veil Jumper mages, a sizeable quantity of Lyrium, and a few Resonance Amplifiers.
Bellara and Irelin are holed away in their own little corner, still furiously studying the Resonance Amplifiers and coming up with all sorts of far-fetched theories on how to … reverse their something, so they’ll weaken the veil instead of strengthening it. He may have spent a good portion of his career hunting mages, and he did know his way around a sordid variety of dangerous magic, but the finer points of magical theory are lost on him. Their chattering, as a result, filters in through one ear and out the other. Unfortunately, the amount of magic they’re using to try and get them to work is making the backs of his eyeballs itch something furious and is a lot harder to ignore than talking. He tries to blink the sensation away to no avail, so he settles for getting up and moving closer to Davrin and Assan’s corner of the Aravel.
The Griffon squawks excitedly at his approach. Lucanis gives him a quick smile and ruffles his head. Davrin is still working away at his wood carving. A wooden chess piece, Lucanis has noticed.
A little Rook.
The sight of has his heart squeezing in his chest.
He and the Grey Warden have settled into an easy friendship, one brokered by Rook, of course. She had that effect on people – was able to make them see past petty differences. Madeleina eased tension just by existing. Like a little sun, catching everything in her orbit and bathing it in her light.
Although he still thinks Davrin all too pretentious and self-righteous, he does have one endearing quality that Lucanis has come to appreciate. He can tell when is the time for words, and when is the time for silence. And Davrin is more than content to let Lucanis sit beside him in companionable silence as he continues carving his wooden figurines.
Assan stands on his hind legs next to him and watches the Tevene countryside roll past them.
He wiggles his hind legs and looks into the air, then to Davrin expectantly. His right ear flops as the Griffon tilts his head, pleading.
Davrin smiles and gives him a quick nod towards the air above them, “Just don’t go too far, boy. Stay where I can see you”
The Griffon needs no more encouragement, and a moment later, he’s leapt into the air and flying circles overhead, squawking delightfully.
Lucanis watches the young Griffon joyfully, freely flying through the air. With Spite’s wings, he could be up there too. But the absence of Rook is like a stone in his chest, keeping him and Spite grounded.
“Incredible, isn’t he?” Davrin remarks offhandedly, while he carves out dainty triangular designs on the side of the Rook tower.
Lucanis didn’t realize he was still staring up at Assan, basking in the sun, and gliding on an air current just to the west of the Aravel.
He makes a noncommittal hum of agreement.
“A little young to have seen so much, though” The assassin remarks, after another few moments of silence, recalling the fight with the Gloom Howler in the Cauldron. Remembered Assan's squeals of terror as the Gloom Howler had him in its claws, about to be blighted with Arch Demon blood.
Davrin’s lips quirk, “Not unlike a certain illustrious leader of ours”
Lucanis hadn’t given much thought to Rook’s age. It was just another thing in a growing list about her he thought he’d have time to ask about. Her age, her birthday, bothering Neve about what kind of jewelry she likes (or if she even likes jewelry), her favourite flowers, more of her favourite food and drink than he’d already gleaned from their time together. He wanted to know it all. To know her in her entirety.
But he didn’t ask those questions. Not her age or her birthday or her favourite flowers or her taste in jewelry. She was definitely younger than him by a good margin, but the gap between them could span as large as a decade, for all he knew. Madeleina certainly had the recklessness of youth. That he’d seen in spades, because she was constantly hovering at the edge of death’s door and he was constantly pulling her back by the scruff of her neck. But she also possessed a wisdom well beyond her years, and he never once factored her age in as a detriment to her ability to lead the team, although she might disagree.
“I expect in these times, that’s become more and more common. Growing up faster than one’s years.” Davrin murmurs, nicking some decorative dots on the tower’s side with the tip of his blade. “I don’t envy the decisions Rook’s been forced to make. I’ve a good five or six years on her and I don’t know that I would’ve fared any better even with that experience on my side”
Lucanis didn’t quite know what to say, so he let Davrin continue talking.
“All this to say,” The Warden shoulders him gently, “Try not to worry so much about Rook. If there’s anything I can say with confidence, it’s that she’s not going to let anything keep her down. Including some weird, nightmare-inducing Fade prison that’s trying to siphon her memories and – “Davrin stops abruptly when he sees the frown spreading on Lucanis’ face, “… I’ll just be quiet now. You get the picture. She’s tough, don’t worry”
He looks down at his wood carving and continues working at it, glancing up at the sky every once in a while, to make sure he can still see Assan.
Lucanis sighs and closes his eyes. He tries to focus on things he can hear and smell to keep his thoughts from winding him up like a children’s toy. The rustling of the leaves on the wind, the smell of pine and oak, the sound of Halla hoofbeats beating against the ground and low grunts of effort as they pull the aravel through the woods.
Try as he might to distract himself with this world, his mind continues to cycle back to Madeleina in the Fade. The very idea that the Fade prison could cause her to forget about him, forget about all their time together, as absurdly terrifying. It makes his skin crawl, and Spite rattle angrily in the back of his mind.
He’s mid-way through thinking about how he’s going to wring Solas’ neck the next time he sees him (and he isn’t entirely certain the thought only came from him), when Lucanis feels a pinch in his chest. Like someone was plucking a thread attached to his heart. He closes his eyes and reaches for Spite through their shared connection, much easier now with the newfound alliance.
Spite. What’s happening?
The demon bristles behind his eyelids.
Calling. To us. Through the Fade.
Is she in danger? He asks quickly. Lucanis can hear his heart pounding in his ears as he waits for the Demon’s response.
Don’t. Know. Spite replies after a thoughtful moment. Go. To sleep. I will. See.
Lucanis blinks as a hand waves in front of his face.
“Lucanis?” Davrin snaps his fingers for good measure, “Hey, Lucanis. You alright?”
He shakes his head and waves off Davrin’s concern, “I’m fine – it’s just… Spite and I sense something off with Rook.”
Davrin frowns, his brown eyes alight with concern. He sets his blade and wood carving down, before leaning closer to Lucanis, “What’s going on with her?”
“I don't now. Spite needs me to go to sleep so he can investigate”
He ignores the knot of anxiety forming in his stomach and tries to settle into his spot on the wooden floor of the aravel. It’s not the most comfortable place to fall asleep, but with about a year of sleep deprivation to catch up on, the bumpy ride on dirt paths hardly poses an insurmountable obstacle.
He turns to Davrin, “Watch my back?”
Davrin grins, “Do you even have to ask?”
The Warden claps him gently on the shoulder before quietly returning to his whittling, “Just make sure our friend’s alright. I promise not to let trouble disturb your beauty sleep”. Davrin huffs, “Maker knows you need it”
Lucanis rolls his eyes. As much as he wants to quip back, the feeling that Rook is in danger in the Fade has him desperate to let sleep take him as soon as possible and reigns in the impulse. The assassin draws his legs in to his body and rests his head in his arms, before closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.
Assan squawking overhead as he flies in circles, the wind whipping the trees and the sound of soft hooves beating on gravel soon fade away into a dreamless slumber.
Wait for me, Madeleina.
~*~
Spite Dellamorte hates the Fade Prison with an intense, all-consuming passion, even though he is Spite and not Passion. He doesn’t completely understand how that works. There’s still a lot of things about existing in the material world that are confusing to him. Sometimes, he doesn’t know how much of him is him, and how much of him is Lucanis. The edges between the two have blurred significantly since they made a new alliance. So much so, that his human host seems to have put new emotions in front of him to grapple with that weren’t there before. More things that aren’t him, on top of the memories from Rook’s journal that also are not him.
Regardless, Spite was determined to answer her plea for help.
The young Demon flies circles around her home inside the Fade prison. The journal’s essence flickers in and out, just a little weaker than before. Then, an emotion he’s felt from Lucanis bleeds into him, one they both know all too well from their time in the real Ossuary – fear. Fear that it won’t be strong enough to get him out. That he could be trapped in here, with her, unable to open the door that frees her.
He has to be the one that opens the door.
Spite ignores the thought as much as he can, and lands softly on her windowsill. He peers into her bedroom, expecting her to be doing something mundane, like she was before. Instead, he finds Rook sitting on the corner of her bed, with her head buried in her arms and knees pressed close to her chest. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly. He can hear soft, muffled sobs escaping from the narrow space between her face and her arms.
Spite is Spite, he is not comfort or compassion. But Lucanis’ nature has once again, made him feel things he’s not supposed to be feeling. He doesn’t want to see Rook crying. He hates the sight of it, actually.
Spite taps on the glass several times, harder than he normally would, to make sure she hears him above the sound of her soft sobs.
Rook looks up at him, her green eyes bathed in a sea of red. Her face is puffy and tear streaked. She looks awful. Rook shouldn’t look awful. He doesn’t like that she looks awful.
Smells like. Salt and Lavender. Not right.
He taps the window again.
Rook wipes the tears from her face with her arm and slowly walks to the window sill, before unhooking the latch.
Spite ruffles his feathers and flits to perch on the back of her chair, as he did before. Madeleina closes the window and sits back down on her bed slowly, sniffling the entire time.
“Rook” He croaks, tilting his head. “Why. Are you crying.?”
Rook inhales sharply and closes her eyes before exhaling. “S-Spite …” she whimpers his name, and he hates how that sounds.
She draws her knees in close again and frowns deeply. “W-why do I keep seeing Minrathous burning? P-people being h-hung in the s-street” she takes a shaky breath between words. "E-every time... I look ... in the m-mirror - I s-see it ..."
Rook has a distant look in her eyes, like she’s staring through him at not at him.
“A v-voice in my head … it’s … it says … it’s my fault” She cries softly, and wipes her nose with her sleeve again, “He s-says I l-let them take the city … t-the dragon…”
Rook grips her head and shuts her eyes tight, and then takes a ragged breath. “It won’t stop! It won’t stop…” She raises her head and looks at him with pleading eyes, “Spite, how do I make it stop?” Her face crumples as more tears threaten to spill from her eyes, “S-Spite … help me… it w-won’t stop … my head…”
Spite tilts his head and thinks.
She’s starting to remember things, but not the right things. He’s rightly quite confused. Solas’ prison so far has been showing her what she wants to see - her parents, her childhood home - familiar things that would presumably function to keep her from wanting to leave. Why would it be showing her a blighted Minrathous? What purpose would that serve?
He remembers the day they found her in the music room, days after she’d returned from visiting Neve in Minrathous.
Smells like … cheese and salt. He had thought, as Lucanis brought her a cup of cioccolata calda to share.
They sat beside her, and she quickly wiped her hands of the remnants of the cheese wedge she’d been eating and moved over. He remembers Lucanis’ fretting over her mental state very well. Locked in their pantry, he thought of little else.
Knowing Treviso was safe brought him little relief every time he watched her go into the infirmary to talk with Varric’s ghost because she couldn’t cope with his death. When she stopped coming to dinner, he started drinking more coffee and staying awake even longer worrying over her. Pacing back and forth, paralyzed with inaction, with uncertainty on how to help her.
It turns out he was severely overthinking the problem.
All he had to do was tell her a story.
Maybe Spite had to do the same, like the first time he came. She was only remembering the bad that came from that decision. It figures the Dread Wolf’s prison wouldn’t want her to remember the good she did during that time.
“This place. Doesn’t want you. To know what. You saved.” Spite begins, “Minrathous fell. But Treviso. Lived to see. Another day. Because of you.”
Rook releases the name on a soft breath, “T-Treviso?” Her brows furrow in confusion, “I … I’ve n-never left Tevinter…”
Spite preens and plucks at a loose feather as she speaks.
“Saved Lucanis’. Home.” He squawks, “He trusted you. Above all others. And you saved him. There when he. Needed you most. And he will. Never forget.”
Rook’s eyes flash with recognition at the name, “Lucanis – tell me about Lucanis. P-please, Spite. I think… I think I remembered him last night – his face, his voice … but it’s gone again”
If Spite looked like Lucanis, he was sure his face would split in a satisfied grin.
He was going to break apart the Dread Wolf’s prison, memory by memory. He would open the door for her and pull her out.
“He came. To you. In the music room. After the Dragon. Took Minrathous”
She closes her eyes, as if trying to picture the scene herself. He can see her eyes flicker back and forth behind closed eyelids.
“He wants. To help you. Like you. Helped him. With Treviso. With Caterina’s funeral.” Spite says, “He helps. Only way he knows how. With a story.”
Rook’s fingers grip the edge of her bed tightly, and her lips press into a hard line, deep in concentration.
“I smell something warm… chocolate?” Her nose wrinkles. “Warm chocolate… like before…”
���Cioccolata. Calda.” Spite corrects her gently, although his own pronunciation of the word is a bit clumsy, “He knows. You love it. He makes it. When he knows. You’re in need.”
Her lips part in a sigh, as if she’s taking a sip in her jumbled memories.
“T-tell me more… please …” Rook whispers, biting her lower lip, “I want to remember him”
“He tells you. The story of how. He became the Demon of Vyrantium. The Wigmaker. And his. House of Horrors. Of blood magic and demons. And freeing slaves.” Spite recites the memory as he had seen it through Lucanis’ eyes. “A story. For a story. He always. Wants to help.”
A small smile creeps at the edges of her lips, “I remember him… I remember him telling me about a terrible pickup line Illario used on a guard”, Spite tilts his head as she giggles, “I couldn’t believe it actually worked, you know”
Rook wipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye, before opening them both. Her green eyes crinkled at the corners as she erupted in a warm smile. Like they did when she would tell them stories.
She swings her legs off the edge of the bed and comes to stand in front of the little Demon.
“He’s important to me… isn’t he? You both are” She whispers quietly. Rook touches her chest, and a faint blue glow erupts from where her heart should be. His chest is alight with its twin flame.
Spite merely nods and flutters his tailfeathers in response.
“He waits. For you. Only you.”
“You said that before” Rook nods and looks around her room, “You also said this place isn’t my home”
Spite nods wordlessly.
“Then what is it exactly? Why… why am I here?”
“A prison. Made by the Dread Wolf. To keep you in. Away from. His plans.” Spite nearly hisses the words out, rage bubbling in his chest. He puffs up into an angry little ball as a result. “A prison. To make you forget. Forget us. Lucanis.”
Rook grips her chest through her shirt and frowns. “The memories they … they come and then… then the day repeats and I forget ... I think…” She releases a shaky breath, “I think I’m living the same day again. And again. And again.”
If Spite could scowl, he would be scowling harder than he ever had in his entire existence.
“Spite” Rook leans in closer, so close he can feel her breath on his feathers. Her eyes are wide with panic now, “Spite… help me… I don’t – I don’t want to forget but each day I think I’m losing more of myself- “
She turns abruptly when the door opens, and Spite is startled enough to let out a surprised squawk. He flies out the window quickly before he can be spotted, leaving Rook to deal with the intruder. Spite hovers outside her window for just a moment, and sees a tall woman pull her into a tight embrace.
The woman, who resembles an older Rook with straighter hair and brown eyes, seems to be looking straight at him. The eyes are soulless and empty. Yet somehow, there is a warning lurking beneath that hollow gaze. She grips Rook tightly, as if to signal to him she will not the girl go.
The sight of it chills Spite to his core.
The Demon calls on whatever essence of the journal is left and propels himself out of the Fade with dizzying speed.
Each day I think I’m losing more of myself -.
He would not let that happen.
If she loses herself to this prison, he will find every scattered piece in the Fade and put her back together himself.
The Dread Wolf will not win.
Demons do not fear Gods.
-----------------------------------
Wooooo okay, well that took a lot longer than I thought. Once again big thank you to @teawithshakespeare (honestly my honourary co-author at this point for how much time I spend rambling in their DM's about this story), and @juneiper-art and @thewardenisonthecase as well for letting me bounce ideas for this chapter off them. I appreciate u guys.
Also, the Fade prison is doing weird things now! It's changing and reacting! Freaky stuff. But then again, the Fade's a freaky place.
I'll give bonus points to whoever can guess which movie I'm sort of loosely basing this off of haha.
I think this part of the fic is coming to an end in maybe another chapter or two.... I really just wanna write the Rookanis reunion :')
Anyway,
As always, thanks for reading! Appreciate all the love and support for this fic <3 MUAH!! See you next time!
-Rookie
#lucanis dellamorte#spite dellamorte#rook#lucanis x rook#lucanis x mercar#rookanis#fanfic#rook mercar#oc: madeleina mercar#dragon age veilguard#datv#dragon age#rookie writes#fic: bedtime stories for a demon
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The choiceless hope in grief
Summary: Leo Valdez has lived and died for the gods. Their war has shaped his life since he was a baby. With Gaia defeated, he sort of hopes he can finally rest. He has friends and some semblance of home to return to for the first time since he was eight years old. Just this once, he allows himself to hope the good things might stick.
But the gods aren’t done with them just yet, by the time Leo finds his way back, Jason is gone.
This time, Leo decides he’s done just taking the Fates’ bullshit lying down. If getting his best friend back means striking a deal with the gods and venturing into the Underworld… well, it’s probably not even the most reckless thing he’s ever done.
The caveat of said deal? He has to trust Jason will follow him, or his self-doubt will doom them both.
And after the life he’s lived, Leo is so intricately familiar with self-doubt that he could probably trademark the word.
Or: The only possible way for Orpheus to succeed is if he learns to think of himself as a person worth loving.
Word Count for chapter 1: ~5k
Rating: Teen and Up
So! *claps hands together* I’ve been threatening you guys with my Orpheus Eurydice valgrace fic for a while! Technically I wanted to wait to post this until I’m completely done writing the fic, and I mostly intend to stick to that! I’m only posting this now because I have a minor surgery tomorrow and I’d rather be anxious about fic related things than about the surgery in question. So, take this chapter as a preview of sorts, more to come soon-ish but probably not immediately!
A couple of important notes before we start:
-TW for suicidal ideation. It’s less Leo actually wanting to die and more his canon behavior of “I’m doing something extremely reckless that might succeed but if it doesn’t, my death is an acceptable consequence”, paired with general grief related self-loathing, but if you think you’re not in the right headspace to read about that, come back when you are or at least tread carefully. This fic pics up at the end of The Burning Maze, so especially the beginning is pretty heavy on the grief stuff.
-Since ToA is vaguely canon to this fic, Leo and Calypso are technically dating in the beginning, but they don’t really interact positively as a couple (honestly they don’t interact that much in general) and break up pretty early on. Just be aware in advance that they’re still together for a little bit.
-Fic title is from Talk by Hozier which is maybe a painfully obvious pick but it was too perfect for me not to use it.
Chapter 1: Leo and Piper have an extended sleepover
It wasn’t a discussion between Leo and Piper whether or not to go to Jason’s funeral. They came to the decision that they wouldn’t silently—or as silently as one could come to an agreement when all parties involved were sobbing.
Maybe it should have been a discussion. There was a part of Leo that worried he’d regret this later—his refusal to take this chance to say goodbye and let himself grieve.
But Leo remembered his mother’s funeral. Remembered the way his aunt Rosa had looked at him like she knew his mother’s death had been his fault. Leo couldn’t stand the thought of people looking at him like that again.
He also didn’t remember his mother’s funeral bringing him any sense of closure or comfort. He’d stood at her grave, afterwards, just as desperate and afraid and utterly inconsolable as he’d been before the funeral, except it had suddenly felt sickeningly final. The wound it had torn in his soul had kept bleeding for years, and the scars would stay forever. He didn’t need any of Apollo’s shitty oracles to know Jason’s death would be exactly the same.
At this point, Leo was pretty sure his sanity was being held together by a combination of jokes and a truly questionable amount of duct tape.
Beyond all that, though, Camp Jupiter was a battlefield right now. It would continue to be a battlefield for the foreseeable future.
Leo wasn’t a coward. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go back and help. But one of his best friends was already in a box, and there was no way in hell he’d risk the other.
With how tightly Piper was clinging to him, maybe she was thinking the same thing.
For all his big talk about dragon escorts, Festus did most of the actual escorting on his own, occasionally torching what Leo hoped were monsters and not random public monuments. Leo, for his part, spent most of the journey crammed into the backseat of the car next to Piper, sandwiched between her and a bunch of moving boxes that seemed determined to flatten him into a Leo-shaped pancake whenever they took a sharp turn.
He’d spent so long thinking about seeing her and Jason again.
He’d talked Calypso’s ear off about them the whole journey, to the point where it had clearly started to annoy her. He’d thought about various ridiculous entrances he could make, and the fact that he’d probably get yelled at, but he’d also thought about sitting together by the campfire, sharing nachos. He’d thought about Jason hugging him so fiercely that he couldn’t breathe, and Piper cussing him out while she held him, making him promise never to do anything that reckless again.
Now Piper was actually holding him, and Leo couldn’t feel anything. There was a numbness in his chest. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to ever feel happiness again. Hell, even if he did, what was the fucking point? Every time anything even remotely good happened in his life, it got ripped away from him again.
They didn’t talk a whole lot for most of the drive. They cried until it felt like they couldn’t anymore, clinging to each other like desperate children.
Even if they’d wanted to talk about what had happened, Piper’s dad was right there, and despite the Mist usually working overtime for them, having him overhear seemed like a gamble. Or, well, maybe that was what Leo told himself. Maybe he just wasn't sure he was ready to hear it all. He still felt like he couldn’t think. He was overwhelmed to hell and couldn’t stop fidgeting.
Several hours into the trip, his stomach started grumbling. Piper dug through the bag at her feet and offered him one of her PB&J sandwiches, but Leo couldn’t eat. He hadn’t skipped a meal in forever—he’d been homeless and unsure when he’d even get access to the next meal enough times that it had been all but tattooed into his skull that he couldn’t afford to—but he couldn’t even think about eating without feeling sick. He thought about Jason. He thought about the state he’d left Camp Jupiter in and the fact that they hadn’t even been able to give the dead their proper funeral rites.
Had Leo’s help made any difference at all? Had anything he’d done in his life changed things even slightly?
Leo knew the Fates had intended for it to be fire that fell—for him to burn in a bright, hot blaze and turn himself to charcoal. But he’d refused to stay dead like a good little pawn, and now Jason was gone, and it was all his fault.
He wasn’t sure how Piper could even look at him right now, but he was beyond grateful that she was holding onto him as tightly as she did. It was the only reason he didn’t fall to pieces completely. The cog at the heart of Leo’s machine had broken in a way that made it utterly beyond repair, and now it felt like a matter of time before the whole thing came apart. Piper holding him was the only reason his remaining pieces were still functioning.
It should have been impossible for Leo to fall asleep under these circumstances, but he’d been traveling for hours and fighting before then and he’d cried out his remaining energy, so eventually, the world started to fade around him, reduced to just the sound of Piper’s breaths, until finally, those went, too.
~~~~
It would have been kinder, maybe, if Leo had dreamed up some shitty visions promising violent death and/or the end of the world. That would have been business as usual.
Instead, he dreamed of his time on the Argo II—of one of those early nights when the different groups were still getting to know each other, having a brief moment to breathe between their ridiculous tasks and saving the world.
It had seemed reasonable to catch each other up on what had happened on their end. Percy, Hazel and Frank had talked about rescuing Thanatos, and Piper, Jason and Leo had told them what had happened with Hera in turn.
This would have been a boring intel conversation at best, seeing as Leo had been there for all of their part, but they’d grabbed snacks and sat on cushions on the floor and made it a whole bonding activity. Jason had been wedged between Piper and Leo, and they’d taken turns storytelling.
And Jason had bragged. So much. But he hadn’t even had the decency to brag about himself like a normal human being. Instead, he’d talked about how capable Piper and Leo had been, somehow managing to make Leo sound like the coolest person he’d ever met. Which was ridiculous, considering he’d met everyone else on their team.
And sure, Leo made it sound like he thought he was amazing all the time, but he was exaggerating, which everyone, himself included, knew.
Jason didn’t seem to have gotten the memo, though. He had one arm wrapped around Leo the whole evening, and he got all starry-eyed when he talked.
“Leo took on three Cyclopes by himself. Three!”
“Dude, stop!” Leo had laughed, shaking his head. “I know I’m incredible and you’re blessed to be friends with me and stuff, but you weren’t even conscious for that part.”
“Still happened, though.” Jason had beamed at him. “You’re amazing, dude. I would have died about fifteen times on that mission if it hadn’t been for you. You guys should’ve seen him.”
It would have been easier if Leo had thought Jason was just trying to talk him up to the others to make them more willing to trust him after how badly he’d messed up in New Rome, but Jason wasn’t the type. He’d looked like he honestly believed every single word he was saying.
So, of course, Leo had refused to seriously deal with any of the things that made him feel.
“Sorry, Pipes, but I’m pretty sure your boyfriend is in love with me. It’s the fire powers, I’m afraid. I’m just too hot to resist,” Leo had joked instead, and Piper had untangled herself from Jason’s other side to throw Doritos at Leo, and everything had been right in the universe.
~~~~
Waking up from that, blearily blinking himself awake in the car full of moving boxes and remembering… that was a worse punch in the gut than waking up from most nightmares had been. And Leo should know. He’d had so many of those over the years that he was basically a certified nightmare expert at this point.
Leo wanted to go back in time and spend forever in that one evening, living it over and over and over again until the Fates or a temporal paradox or something eventually killed him. He wanted to hold on to what they’d been back then—the three of them together and happy and whole,back before they’d realized what the prophecy really meant.
He wanted to stay wrapped in Jason’s arm and hear him laugh at whatever stupid joke Leo came up with while he and Piper threw snacks at each other like ten year olds. He wanted to believe he could actually be the person Jason was bragging about—this invincible hero that could do just about anything and saved people’s lives.
But Leo had never been that hero. Even his sacrifice had been the selfish decision of a coward who wasn’t ready to die just yet. Jason had been their Superman. The guy who could fly and threw lightning and saved people from falling to their deaths. Jason had been the hero. And ultimately, that had been what killed him.
Leo wasn’t exactly sure what he planned to do once they got to Oklahoma. He should have been heading back to the Waystation, to give Calypso the normal life he’d promised. But he wasn’t thinking about Calypso, or the Waystation, and the thought of a normal life had gone out of the window the second he’d seen the coffin. Besides, the Waystation would mean people asking questions, wanting to know about his mission and asking him to talk about his feelings, and he didn’t want that.
The only thing Leo really wanted to do right now was not think.
By the time they got to the house, it was so late that cross-country dragon flight seemed inadvisable for visibility reasons alone, so Leo agreed to stay the night. Festus nuzzled him for a bit, got a fuel snack from the canister Leo had brought and then folded down into his million pound suitcase form for the night.
It took a little under two hours to carry all the boxes inside, which was an annoying amount of time to be carrying boxes but seemed like an absurdly short amount to move the contents of an entire life.
They spent some time in search of the necessities that needed to be unpacked, but the house was still furnished and also had running water and electricity as of a few days ago, so it wasn’t that bad.
While Piper went in search of some ancient camping gear so Leo wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor—this seemed silly to him, the floor was far from the worst place he’d ever slept—Leo asked Piper’s dad if he could help with dinner.
Tristan looked relieved at his offer, actually. He’d been staring at the assorted vegetables with a slightly lost expression, trying to hack at one of the zucchinis with a butter knife. It seemed like he was trying to remember how cooking worked and had just discovered he had absolutely no idea.
Considering how long he’d been an insanely rich guy with a personal cook, Leo guessed that actually might have been a pretty accurate read on the situation.
“You might want to try a sharper knife,” Leo suggested, which made Piper’s dad look absolutely mortified. “Try not to chop off any of your fingers, though. I think Piper’s been traumatized enough for one week.”
The words were out of his mouth before Leo could think to stop them. Tristan didn’t laugh, but at least it didn’t seem like he’d be tossing Leo out of the house over this. Maybe he realized people sometimes said stupid shit when they were grieving. Maybe Piper had just warned him in advance that Leo was like this sometimes.
Tristan just went to find a different knife, which would have maybe been concerning if he hadn’t gone back to hacking at the vegetables a moment later.
“Well, at least this one is actually cutting through the zucchinis. That’s already an improvement.”
“Yeah, I’m basically a cooking expert,” Leo said with a grin, only half-joking. He went to peel and chop up the carrots, and was done with those and about half the mushrooms by the time the poor zucchini had been hacked to bits.
“You and Piper went to school together, right?” Tristan asked after a while of them quietly chopping vegetables for the casserole, trying to make sense of things with information he didn’t have and that, judging from past evidence, probably would have made his skull crack. “You and her and Jason.”
“Yeah. We went to Wilderness school together.” Leo winced, trying not to think too hard of Jason while also trying to remember the lies they’d already told Piper’s dad. At this rate, he was pretty worried his own skull would crack, too. “Then all three of us switched to a different school. Then I was gone for a while.”
Tristan nodded like this made perfect sense, though he mostly seemed lost in thought. That was a little rude, in Leo’s opinion. If he went through all that effort to remember their elaborate setup of lies, the least Piper’s dad could do was appreciate it!
“I’m glad you’re here now, with everything that’s happened. Piper was really upset when you left,” Tristan said, still with that faraway look in his eyes. “The last few months were hard for her. Between the move and the breakup, she really could have used a friend.”
Leo promptly lost all rights to make fun of Piper’s dad and his vegetable chopping skills because at the word ‘breakup’, the knife slipped and he nearly sliced off two of his fingers.
“Fuck! Ow!” he said eloquently, trying to avoid bleeding all over the cutting board in his attempt to get to the sink. “Jason and Piper broke up?”
The question sounded absurd even to his own ears. Why would Jason and Piper break up? They’d been happy together.
Surely, Piper’s dad had to be talking about something else.
To Leo’s shock, Tristan nodded.
“A while ago, yes,” he said, but he didn’t go into details—possibly because Leo was bleeding all over the sink. “We should bandage that. Do you think you need stitches?”
“No, the cuts aren’t that deep,” Leo decided, turning on the faucet and holding his bleeding hand under the stream of cold water. Maybe he should have been more concerned about the injury, but his mind was still whirring at the thought of his best friends breaking up. Unfortunately, the cold water stung like hell. He hissed with pain. “Sorry for making your kitchen look like a crime scene right after moving in. Usually, I at least have the decency to wait a day or two.”
Because the house was a small, cozy place and Leo had not had the decency to curse quietly, Piper appeared in the doorway a moment later, an alarmed expression on her face.
“What happened?”
“I’ve been bested by a stupid potato,” Leo cursed, holding up his bleeding hand and wiggling his fingers for emphasis. He figured out immediately that this was a mistake. “Ow.”
“Stop that, dumbass!” Piper cursed, moving to stand beside him. “Sink was the right call, but you need to use soap or the cuts could get infected. Dad, any chance we have gauze lying around somewhere?”
Tristan didn’t seem to question why his daughter had immediately jumped into emergency medical treatment mode. He just abandoned the cutting board and headed for the front door.
“Not exactly sure what box our regular medical supplies are in, but I’ll get the first aid kit from the car. I’ll be right back.”
“Do we have to do the soap?” Leo whined, because fuck, that stung, but Piper nodded with a scary expression on her face, so he complied. “How do you even know this stuff? Are we sure you’re not secretly an Apollo kid?”
“I know this stuff because I’m friends with a bunch of morons who have zero sense of self-preservation,” Piper cursed, gritting her teeth. “You shouldn’t be around knives when you’re this distracted.”
“I can usually cook just fine when I’m distracted. Your dad was the one who told me you and Jason broke up in the middle of this stupid potato,” Leo said defensively. “Is that the Mist messing with him?”
That was the only explanation his mind had supplied so far that made any sense to him.
Piper shook her head. “We really did break up. That was a few months ago.”
Leo felt his jaw hit the floor.
“What the hell happened? You were together for ages. I thought- you always seemed so happy.”
“I know, but-” Piper broke off abruptly when her dad came back inside with the first aid kit. Demigod stuff, then?
Leo’s mind was racing. The breakup was a completely stupid thing to focus on, considering everything that had happened in the last few days. He knew that.
But it was easier to try and make sense of this than it was to try and make sense of the fact that Jason was gone and he’d never get to see him again.
“Is it alright if we do this somewhere else?” Piper asked her dad, taking the first aid kit from him.
“Of course. It might be easier to patch him up when you’re both sitting down, anyway.” He turned towards Leo. “Thank you for your help, but I think I can take it from here.”
Leo sent a silent prayer to whichever deity was responsible for protecting vegetables—Demeter, probably?—and gave what he hoped was an encouraging thumbs up with his uninjured hand before he followed Piper into the hallway to presumably be reprimanded some more.
~~~~ They ended up sitting on an old bed that looked like it had lived a long, miserable life and was excited for retirement, but the wooden frame thankfully didn’t break down under the weight of the new mattress or the additional weight of them sitting on said mattress. Piper explained that this had been her dad’s room when he’d lived here as a child, and that it would probably become her room now. Then she went very quiet and focused on bandaging his hand, clearly avoiding looking at him.
“It wasn’t because of me, was it?” Leo asked. The thought made him feel ill. “Please tell me it wasn’t something like, I don’t know, you two being unable to stand being around each other after what happened to me. I think I’d actually have to blow myself up again if it was.”
He tried to make it sound like a joke, but it didn’t feel like one at all. The thought that he'd managed to ruin his best friends’ relationship on top of everything else made it hard to breathe.
When Piper shook her head, it felt like a whole boulder was lifted off his shoulders.
“I actually think we would have broken up sooner if you hadn’t gone missing. We leaned on each other a lot after you disappeared. It wasn’t until we realized we wouldn’t find you and things started to settle down a little that I had time to think. And when I did…” Her voice went very quiet, and she still didn’t look up at him. “I realized I wasn’t happy in the relationship. I don’t think I ever was.”
“How did I not know that?” Leo wondered quietly. “I just… you two seemed happy to me. What kind of garbage best friend am I?”
Piper shook her head. “It isn’t your fault. I was telling myself I was happy for a long time. It’s almost- sometimes I wonder if I was charmspeaking myself. That maybe I kept saying I was in love with Jason until I convinced myself I actually was. And with Hera and my mom setting it up… I love-” her voice caught in her throat, and Leo felt like maybe he needed to throw up, “-loved Jason, but not like that.”
“Pipes, I’m really sorry.” Leo squeezed her shoulder. “That sounds like it was super hard for both of you.” Leo felt awful about the fact that he hadn’t even been around to comfort either of them, but it wasn’t like he could fix it now. It was just another item on Leo’s unending list of epic screwups he’d never be able to make up for.
“Jason was… well, he took it exactly like I expected him to. He was surprised, but he didn’t get angry or anything. He mostly seemed okay. Part of me wonders if maybe…” But whatever Piper had been thinking about, she seemed to decide it wasn’t important. “It was hard to get a proper read on him, and as nice as he was about it, things were still super awkward after. I'm terrified he died thinking I didn’t care about him.”
And then she was tearing up again, and Leo thought he would shatter if she cried.
“He knew you cared,” he said as earnestly as he could manage, pulling Piper to his chest again. “You love way too annoyingly for him not to have known. Hell, even I know you love me, and we both know I’m a fucking nightmare when it comes to this stuff.”
“I missed you so much,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his back like it was the easiest thing in the world.
“Oh, I’m about to make you regret saying that,” Leo said, forcing himself to smile. “I’ll bring it up each and every time you say you find something I do annoying.”
“You’re annoying as hell, but you’re still my best friend.” He could feel her tears dripping onto his shoulder, and he knew that would make him start up again too. “I don’t know how I’d do this without you.”
And well, passing away from dehydration after crying too much would be a really lame way to die the second time, but everything was just too much right now, so if that was how he went, Leo wasn’t sure anyone could blame him.
~~~~
For the next couple of weeks, Leo stayed.
Helping Piper and her dad unpack was the perfect way to keep himself occupied and not have to think. Usually, a mundane task like this probably would have driven Leo nuts. But right now, it was a bit of a godsend—if not literally, at least figuratively. Being productive was always so much easier when it was done in order to avoid something you wanted to do even less. There was a reason his spaces in the foster homes had only ever been tidy when he had exams coming up.
He helped cook, too, and Piper’s dad became increasingly less garbage at it the longer this went on—like muscle memory was finally kicking in after years of disuse.
It was mostly good—listening to Piper reminisce about trips she’d taken with her dad and where she’d gotten the weird variety of items she kept in her room. When they weren’t unpacking, Leo and Piper played video games or watched movies or explored the area. Twice, during the night, they took Festus on a little flight to a nearby fast food place. Finding a parking spot was a bit of a nightmare, unfortunately. Leo would submit a complaint about their inability to accommodate celestial bronze dragons the first chance he got.
The first time they tried hiking—Leo didn’t even like hiking, he’d spent enough time outside for several lifetimes, why did he do this to himself—they got hopelessly lost in the woods, and of course, due to demigod bullshit, neither of them had brought a phone, so Google Maps wasn’t an option. It was probably for the better. The last thing that situation needed on top of them being lost was a monster attack.
They were already jokingly planning out their new life in the woods when, thankfully, a girl their age came to their rescue.
“A human being! Thank the gods. The squirrels weren’t talking to us,” Leo greeted her, which had Piper shout “Please ignore Leo!” loudly from the branches of the tree she’d been climbing.
The girl lifted her head, spotted Piper and promptly burst out laughing.
“What in the world are you doing up there?”
“Trying to get a better vantage point,” Piper sighed, making her way back down the tree. “We’re hopelessly lost.”
“Well, nice to meet you, hopelessly lost. I’m Shel,” the girl said, still grinning. Leo decided immediately that he liked her.
Piper had almost made it back down when she somehow missed a branch and fell the rest of the way. In comedic movie fashion, Shel moved before Leo had the chance to and caught her mid-tumble. “That was a bit of a dramatic way to get my attention, but you’re cute, so I’ll allow it.”
“Oh yeah, Piper’s got a bit of a thing with falling for people that way,” Leo commented, and Piper gave him her most murderous look while she got back on her feet.
“You guys need help getting back?”
“Please, yes,” Piper said immediately. “It turns out we’re both garbage with maps.”
“Maybe you just need a tour guide next time,” Shel suggested, winking at Piper, whose face turned scarlet. Leo wasn’t even mad about being the third wheel for once. He’d give her so much shit about this later.
And he did. And then Piper properly came out to him—no label or anything, mostly as extremely confused but sure she liked girls, which also made a few additional pieces click into place regarding her breakup with Jason. She ended her anxiety-riddled explanation by thanking Leo for being so normal and annoying about all this.
Which was how Leo realized he’d apparently never told Piper he was bi.
Or maybe he had, and it had gotten lost along with their other memories of Wilderness. Stupid memory-stealing babysitters.
Well, at least they got to hug about it now.
~~~~
It was strange how normal some days felt when nothing would ever truly be normal again. When in every moment Leo and Piper spent together, the gaping hole that had been ripped into their trio was so blatantly obvious.
The benefit and problem of this friendship was that Leo and Piper were both experts at not talking about things they were struggling with.
This wasn’t exactly news. From what little Leo did remember of Wilderness School, they’d spent months not talking about his mom, or about the fact that Piper’s dad kept canceling their weekend plans. They’d both known there were things left unsaid, but as long as they’d been able to cheer each other up, that hadn’t really mattered. It made sense, honestly. Put two people who hadn’t had a shoulder to cry on for ages in a room together and see what happens!
Right now, this meant they were expertly ignoring the box of belongings Piper had picked up from Jason’s school. It had been pushed so far under the bed during that first night that it was no longer visible, and neither of them made any effort to move it out of its new home since. They ignored the topic of Jason, period, until it inevitably hit them in the face again.
It was mostly dumb shit that set them off. Piper automatically reaching for vanilla ice cream at the grocery store because it was Jason’s favorite—seriously, who in their right mind even liked vanilla ice cream?
Sometimes, Leo would make a joke and burst into tears instead of laughing because he knew it would have cracked Jason up. They found old photos unpacking. One time, Piper’s dad suggested they make tacos and they started simultaneously bawling their eyes out.
Leo had spent a long time exactly like this—pretending everything was normal and okay when it wasn’t either of those things until he inevitably broke down. Then he’d started to actually feel sort of okay whenever he was with Jason and Piper. Now, he was sure he would spend the rest of his life pretending.
His appetite was too used to being stuck in survival mode for him to bow to nausea for long, so he went back to eating properly after a few days. He still cried himself to sleep most nights. He kept dreaming about Jason. The memories wrapped themselves around him like a safety blanket that he knew would get ripped away again in the morning. He always woke up feeling empty. Sometimes, he wished he could just go to sleep and never wake up again.
But other than that, it was mostly good.
Then demigod communications went back up, and everything went to hell.
———
Chapter notes:
Fun fact! I originally planned for this chapter (as well as the next few chapters) to just be backstory in my head and for me to maybe do a flashback or two. Unfortunately for me, Piper McLean waltzed into the room and refused to leave.
I do actually think the fic works better this way, but it will take a second to get to the plot! Hopefully you’ll enjoy the whole journey :)
I may not be able to have Leo and Piper go to Jason’s funeral without seriously messing with the plot of Tyrant’s Tomb, but I could at least pick the most evil reason possible for them not to go!
Side note: I sort of forgot that Hedge and Mellie were supposed to be here according to TBM, but by the time I remembered I already had this chapter written out and, as someone who cannot be bothered to figure out how to write them, I decided to just leave it. ToA is vaguely canon to this universe, but only for the most part. Some details are inaccurate, and I think that’s okay.
Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs super, super appreciated as always!!
List of people that at some point asked to be tagged when I post this: @poppitron360 @ginnyluna @keefessketchbook (feel free to comment if you want to get taken off or be put on the tag list for future chapters!)
#tchig#valgrace#leo valdez#jason grace#piper McLean#lost trio#hoo#heroes of olympus#ToA#trials of Apollo#the burning maze#leo x jason#jason x leo#pjo fanfic#HoO fanfic#my writing#Leo pjo#piper pjo#Jason pjo#Leo Valdez angst#long post
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The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
Or: Does Morpheus really have commitment issues?
[Bear with me, I’ll get to this panel 🤣]
I’ve read many times that Morpheus supposedly has commitment issues, and it always has me scratching my head a bit…
I personally rather think he is desperate to commit. He so badly craves a serious relationship that he is prone to rush into it and build it on wonky foundations, but he has certainly no commitment issues as we would commonly understand them.
Is it in his nature though to be truly seen and understood when he is [a] Dream? And can dreams ever last? These are the much more interesting questions in my view. Let’s have a look at the romantic relationships we know of…
Killalla: Walked out on him. That wasn’t his lack of commitment. If anything, he came on a bit strong while she was still assessing her feelings for him.
Alianora: He fully committed to her despite basically being bullied into it by Desire. And they were happy for “a goodly while”. For those in doubt: “Goodly” doesn’t mean “a bit”. It means “great, large, long.” And the fact that Alianora couldn’t go back to her own plane because she had stayed in the Dreaming too long corroborates that they were together for a long time. Probably longer than any human relationship ever lasts, because I doubt “a long time” means “a couple of years” for someone who is 12 billion years old.
And now I’ll sandwich the relationship we hardly know anything about between some random (?) panels to also make a point why I think it might sit here in the timeline…
Titania: Who knows. Sounded like an affair, and as if they both had no intention of committing. He was clearly very fond of her though, and I can never shake the feeling that we should look a bit deeper into AMND and find the parallels between Auberon, Titania (not hard, and they are pretty much pictured as estranged) and Bottom. There are many ways to get confused with a jackass, you know? 🤣 Plus, Bottom is the one who gets to play Pyramus in “Pyramus and Thisbe”. That’s the ultimate blueprint for “Romeo and Juliet”: Ill-fated love of catastrophic proportions, people are dead by the end of it. That’s why I often wondered if the affair with Titania was actually pre-Nada, and the inspiration for Shakespeare wasn’t random (it wasn’t random for The Tempest either). I mean, it wasn’t random anyway because it was a parting gift, but I also don’t think it was entirely random with regard to their relationship. Wild head-canon of course, but maybe not that wild (he also says that Wendel’s Mound was already a theatre before humans walked the earth, so there’s that)? And even if he wasn’t committed (we quite frankly don’t know if he intended to but she didn’t or couldn’t), she and the Fae meant enough to him to give them a play as a parting gift.
Nada: Killed herself after one night, but that wasn’t down to lack of commitment on his part. Again: If anything, he came on far too strong, wanted to be with her and was far too pushy about it.
Calliope: We don’t know how long they were together before they had Orpheus. Could have been a while, could have been only a shortish time. But even if we assumed they had him fairly quickly—they were still together when Orpheus, who was mortal, got married to Eurydice, so even if he got married young, we’re still talking something in the realm of +/- 20 years, and that’s the absolute low-ball-estimate. And while they had started to drift apart (considering what we know from Calliope), they were still on good terms and had no intention of splitting up until the whole Orpheus drama caused a rift they couldn’t mend. Again: That’s not someone who has commitment issues. It’s a relationship breaking down over hurt, stubbornness and grief.
Thessaly: Again, she was the one who left him and caused his dramatic interlude in the rain. Were they ill suited? Yes. Did she feel neglected and went into a strop over it? Yes. Did he not get that she felt neglected? Also yes, but that’s not lack of commitment. That’s his not getting that people aren’t mind readers (must be hard if you’re probably one yourself 🤣) and, by and large, need assurances of love. He doesn’t get that these women don’t understand they have his love; he can’t grasp that line of thinking because it is all so clear to him when he loves someone: They have him, what’s the issue? Is that a not so great way of (not) communicating when you’re having a relationship to someone? Absolutely. Is it a commitment issue though? Absolutely not.
I think Morpheus doesn’t really have commitment issues in romantic relationships—wouldn’t that almost be antithetical to his nature? Rules and responsibilities. Yeah, about that one…
What I do think is that he struggles with the mortifying ordeal of being (not) known by his lovers. Because how could he? He is Dream. That is his problem. Dreams cannot be fully known or understood. He is very eloquent but at the same time a very… confusing communicator. I don’t want to say “bad”, because I feel that’s not getting to the bottom of it. Again, it is the nature of dreams to be confusing and strange, open to (mis)interpretation, hard to grasp and understand. And they also stop being dreams once they become real. All of that is true and hence makes relationships both hard for him and those involved. Is he truly not willing to commit though?
I still find that hard to believe…
#the sandman#sandman#dream of the endless#morpheus#sandman meta#calliope sandman#nada sandman#Alianora sandman#Thessaly#Titania sandman#Killalla of the glow#sandman bookclub#a midsummer night's dream#alianora#calliope#auberon sandman#queue#william shakespeare
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Orpheus and Eurydice
Natasha RomanoffxReader // Fluff
*Images are not mine, credit to its creators and sources
Summary: You recount the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice with your girlfriend.
Trigger Warning: Greek mythology?
*No pronouns were used for the reader
Word Count: 1,242
A/N: Listen, I’m actually pretty proud of this one, but would still like some feedback! I was originally gonna make this longer and with some angst, but then I liked it as it is, so. Hope y’all enjoy!
Links to the myth’s Summary and Analysis that I used.
Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist | Recced Fics Masterlist
“Do you like Greek mythology?”
The question had been a simple one and yet, it had made Natasha’s brow furrow in curiosity. You were sitting across from her on the couch, having been completely engrossed in a book, whose title she could not read by the way you were nursing it, up until you asked that question. She raised her gaze from her computer screen, emerald green eyes staring into the pensive ones that stared back.
“I learned some of the myths and read some of the literature, like The Iliad,” Natasha replied. The Red Room was a lot of things. Aside from turning young, vulnerable girls into weapons and masters of espionage, they expected them to be prim and educated. She learned quite a bit about every conceivable topic, a Jack-Of-All-Trades, master of none.
“But do you like it?” you pressed, marking the page you left off in before shifting your position to fully look at her. There was a soft twinkle in your eye, one that held a sense of wonder and curiosity. It caused Natasha to smile ever so gently as she pondered your question. “I never really thought about it. It’s certainly interesting, and I did like reading the Iliad,” Natasha replied truthfully, setting her laptop aside so as to give you all her attention.
“Did you ever read about Orpheus and Eurydice?” you ask with a cute tilt of your head as you chew on the inside of your lip.
“Orpheus was a musician, said to be the son of Apollo and of Calliope. Eurydice was a beautiful wood nymph that heard him play during one of his gatherings,” Natasha began recounting what she remembered of the myth, “They fell madly in love with one another, and they got married.”
“And shortly after the marriage, a shepherd that wanted Eurydice for himself chased after them. She stepped on a snake’s nest as they ran away and got bit. She dies and he’s overcome with grief,” you continued the tale as you stand up from your side of the couch, looking to close the large gap between the both of you, your book now long forgotten, “all he ever did after her death was mourn her until he decides to go look for her in the Underworld.”
Natasha watches as you saunter on to her side, laying down beside her and offering to hold her hand, your open palm faced up at her, your finger flexing oh so slightly. She accepts it graciously, the length of your forearms fitting snugly beside each other as they often do. You were staring down at your intertwined fingers with a soft smile, your free hand falling on top of hers before running your fingers up and down her exposed forearm.
Your touch was gentle and soothing, providing Natasha with a sense of warmth, the kind that had been denied to her for so long. A trail of goosebumps follows your touch on her skin, and you smile all the more. This was only achieved after years of breaking down tall, emotional walls that had never allowed her to be so vulnerable. She is very aware of the effect you have on her and she loves every single bit of it.
“Orpheus reached the king of the Underworld, and he sang a song so beautiful and so heartbreaking that Hades cried. He let Orpheus try to save Eurydice, telling him that if she followed him until they both reached the exit to the Underworld without him looking back, she could return to the living world. If he did turn to look at her before that, she would have to return to the Underworld,” Natasha continued the myth as you continued to draw arbitrary patterns along the top of her skin.
“He reached the other side, and, in his excitement, he turned to look at her, but she hadn’t seen the light of the living world yet, and she’s forced back into the Underworld. He tried to go back, but the gods wouldn’t let him, and he loses her for a second time. All the songs he sang were sad and bitter and he never wanted to be in the company of another woman after that,” you finish the story, resting your head upon her shoulder. It was around now that Natasha realized that the lines you drew on her skin were, in fact, words. Three of them, to be exact. Ones that were rarely ever spoken aloud. Those three words were more often than not showcased instead of said, only being reserved for the most vulnerable and intimate of moments.
“A tragic Greek myth,” Natasha comments as she herself laid her head against yours.
“The part of the story that people leave out is that Orpheus is later killed by a group of women who resented him and he’s able to reunite with Eurydice in the Underworld in the end,” you added, never relenting on writing those three familiar words upon her skin, “it’s my favorite of the Greek myths.”
“Why is that one your favorite?” Natasha asked pensively, her head lifting off yours to admire your features. You adjusted yourself slightly, your gaze meeting hers. She stared at your wide, innocent eyes, watching as you gave her the smallest of smiles. There’s a flutter in Natasha’s chest with the way you looked at her.
“They loved each other so much. Orpheus went to the Underworld just to get her back. Hades cried hearing Orpheus’ song about her. And, you know, they still find each other in the end. It’s a tragedy, yes, and it's a story about death and grief and the pitfalls of devotion, but it’s still a story about true love,” you respond thoughtfully, your gaze having settled back on your connected hands. You had always been regarded as a hopeless romantic, making your love for this particular myth all the more ironic.
Natasha hums thoughtfully at your response. “What are your thoughts on Romeo and Juliet, then?” she asks with a teasing air to her. The question would sound dismissive to anyone else, but you let out a soft laugh. Years of knowing the woman beside you meant that you knew this was her way of showing she was listening to you. There was never any malice in her words, especially when you are speaking about a topic you enjoy.
“I prefer The Merchant of Venice. Othello, if we want to talk tragedies,” you respond with a teasing smile, eyes staring up at her with a similar, mischievous glint. Natasha smiles down at you, the ones that reach the corners of her eyes and that intoxicate you with warmth and love.
Then your expression changed. The corners of your eyes softened, and she got lost in the lovely hue of your eyes that simply held the warm feeling of complete and utter adoration. The smile on your lips was no longer teasing, but held a loving look that could hold the stars and the moon in place.
“I would travel a thousand years to the Underworld for you,” you say quietly at her, eyes never straying from hers. Your tone was sweet and soft, and Natasha had no doubts that you meant what you said. Her gaze softens around the corners of her eyes as her heart swells with emotion.
“And I would follow you ‘till the ends of the earth if it means getting back to you.”
#marvel#marvel fanfic#avengers#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha x reader#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff fic
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Noa & Mae = Orpheus & Eurydice AND Romeo & Juliet
So, something occurred to me after rewatching Disney's Hercules for like the millionth time (weird stretch, I know, lol). I remembered this post talking about how Mae and Noa's personalities are similar to Hercules and Megara. And then I remembered these two posts from @bookishdaze:
The Woman in the Hazmat Suit
Noa & Mae as Romeo and Juliet
She pointed out how Korina (the woman) may be a leader of the underground bunker, and how her name is from Kore, and we all know what other name the former is also derived? Persephone; the Goddess of Spring and what else? Queen of the Underworld! It's interesting to think about, and I'm really curious about what Wes Ball and team are going to do with this character in the next movie, but I digress.
Which also got me to thinking about the possible story inspirations for the next two movies in Noa's trilogy: the second movie might be a loose retelling of Orpheus and Eurydice, and the third might be Romeo & Juliet (or it could be the other way around, too).
First, the myth/legend of Orpheus and Eurydice.
Orpheus was a demigod and a musician whose beautiful songs were loved by anyone who heard them, mostly by women. However, the only woman he loved was a human named Eurydice. Depending on which version it is, their wedding blessing wasn't entirely finished on the day of their marriage, which was to be ordained by Hymen, the god of marriage ceremonies. This is perceived as an omen of ill faith from the two lovers. Again, depending on which version it is, Eurydice is enjoying some time to herself, or with the Nymphs in a field; but a snake bites her ankle and she dies from its venom.
Overwhelmed with grief by the death of his wife, Orpheus decides to venture to the Underworld to bring her soul back. Since Orpheus is a demigod, it's easy for him to travel down to the realm of Hades to search for his wife. His songs tame Cerberus, the three-headed guard dog of the Underworld, and the creatures hidden in the shadows. When he comes upon the thrones of the king and queen of the Underworld, Orpheus pleads his case of returning Eurydice's soul to her body by singing a song so moving; that it even warmed the hearts of the immortal rulers. Hades and Persephone agree to let him take Eurydice back to the world above, on the condition that Orpheus does not turn around to look at her until they are both in the sunlight.
Orpheus has second thoughts about the gods tricking him that Eurydice is not behind him as they walk. Just before they reach the entrance to the world above, he turns around and manages to see his wife before she is taken back into the shadows of the Underworld. Realizing his mistake, Orpheus begs to try again, but he cannot. Once again, depending on the version, no one enters the Underworld twice while still alive.
Now the ending for Orpheus's story varies, whether he dies of a broken heart or is killed by a creature; however, in one version the Muses take his lyre and send it into the heavens becoming one of the star constellations.
Second, William Shakespeare's play of Romeo & Juliet.
The play that everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, had to read in their freshmen/1st year of high/secondary school. So, a quick recap: Two young teenagers from sparring houses in Verona, Italy, they meet up at an event hosted by the other's family, decide they are in love (after three days of knowing each other) and marry in secret. However, someone from both houses end up dead; Mercutio (Montague) and Tybalt (Capulet), the latter kills the former and Romeo kills Tybalt out of grief and revenge for his friend. Friar Lawrence advises Romeo to visit Juliet before he is sent into exile. After spending the night with her, Romeo leaves. Juliet is grief stricken by the fact that Romeo is in exile, and she has no choice but to marry the man who was chosen to marry her, Paris. Friar Lawrence, once again offers advice but to Juliet this time, to take a sleeping potion that makes her seem like she’s dead.
Once Juliet awakes from the sleeping draught, she finds that Romeo has poisoned himself due to misinformation about her death. Friar Lawrence urges Juliet to come with him to a convent to be safe. However, she does not, choosing instead to stay with Romeo and since her love drank all of the poison, she takes his dagger and stabs herself in the heart. By the influence of the Prince, the two grieving families put aside their differences in memory of their only respective children.
Third, Noa and Mae, and how the previously mentioned stories could work for them.
For the second film, while Noa isn't a musician per se, he does show the abilities of an engineer (fixing a fish rack, and the cattle prod). HOWEVER, he does have to sing to Eagle Sun to get the bird to come to him. My head canon is that maybe Noa works on various different inventions while he's training to be the next Master of Birds. If Mae returns to the Eagle Clan, and sees Noa's inventions for herself, she would probably have mixed emotions at the fact of seeing an evolved ape even creating something from the remains of human technology.
Remember: Noa's and overall evolved ape intelligence TERRIFY her.
However, I think the more she spends time with the Eagle Clan apes, the more she realizes apes and humans can probably co-exist with each other.
My head canon for Mae is that it was her entire family and friends as the team that was sent out on the mission in KOTPOTA, and after Proximus Caesar's apes killed everyone, she barely escaped with her life as she says to Noa. And she had to survive alone in the wilderness before coming across Noa and the Eagle Clan village. Like Noa, she is also just a scared little kid trying to understand everything that had happened in the 200-300 years of a post-apocalyptic world. And now, she literally had/has no where else to go, no home to return to (since we all agree on that one head canon she's one of the few humans immune to whatever remains of the Simian virus), until she spends more time with Eagle Clan.
For whatever reason, Mae has to go back to the underground bunker, or maybe she's kidnapped by another human group from a different bunker; but I'm going with the former for this take. Noa can't take the fact that she has to return to the humans, seeing how humans and apes can live together, and he sets out with Anaya and Soona to get Mae back. When the trio arrive at the human bunker (the one from the end of Kingdom), Noa must plead his case to Korina to get Mae to return to Eagle Clan. That her living amongst apes is proof that both species can co-exist. Maybe even offering one of his inventions and/or an eagle egg, to the human leader as a sign of peace and hope for a future.
After Korina hears Noa's case, she agrees to let Mae return to Eagle Clan; now I imagine that instead of the sadder ending of Orpheus and Eurydice, it's the ending of the Hades and Persephone myth instead, the human leader offers only one condition to Noa: that Mae returns to the bunker when the last leaf falls and the first snows begin. Unlike apes, humans cannot survive the harsh winter weather. Both Noa and Mae agree to this term, and they continue living in the Eagle Clan village until the fall/winter. On the other hand though, I do see this working the other way around: that Noa is the one who is captured, and Mae is the one to plead her case to Korina.
And finally, the third movie. The story line we all want to see!
When Mae returns for the winter, let's assume it's been a couple of years or so by now, there is tension amongst the humans in the underground bunker. Half of them don't like this arrangement of a human living amongst the apes in the above world. The Tybalt & Paris equivalents (gonna call them Bunker!Tybalt & Bunker!Paris) in the third movie are feeling reservations about the arrangement, confessing their concerns to Korina when Mae returns. Korina (also being The Prince equilavent for the third movie) tries reassuring them that Mae staying with Noa and the apes is a test to see if the two species can live and work together. But Bunker!Tybalt and Bunker!Paris are not having it, and they arrange for a duel with Noa until Anaya (since we all agree that he's the Mercutio equivalent, poor thing) steps in for his childhood best friend.
Aaaaaaand we all know what happens next! However, let's imagine Bunker!Paris somehow leaves the scene.
Noa, enraged with grief for his best friend, kills Bunker!Tybalt but soon realizes he made a huge mistake and he decides to step down as leader and exile himself from the Eagle Clan. Because a good leader doesn't kill in revenge, no matter the reason. Meanwhile, when Mae hears the news of Bunker!Tybalt, she blames herself for the whole outcome. Korina makes the decision for Mae to stay in the bunker, for a possible upcoming war with the apes and to keep her safe. Mae doesn't want any more bloodshed, and she confides her concerns with the Nurse equivalent (again, gonna call them Bunker!Nurse; or maybe it'll be Dar as the Nurse Equivalent as well, but I digress). Bunker!Nurse feels empathy for Mae, but agrees with Korina about staying in the bunker. That Mae's skills and intelligence are needed for an upcoming war.
Mae doesn't want a war though, she soon realizes that the apes and Noa are her family as well. She sneaks out of the bunker in the cover of night and tries to find Noa.
Not entirely the same, but I do imagine a scene similar to The Lion King 2 (again, another Romeo & Juliet retelling; although, it would be hilarious if Noa & Mae broke out into song, but that's my crazy take heeheehee); when Mae and Noa reunite, away from everything and everyone trying to keep the two species apart.
youtube
Noa tries to convince Mae to run away with him, and explore the remains of this post-apocalyptic world, hoping to find more apes and humans similar to the unlikely duo. And create a new village where the two species can co-exist. Mae doesn't buy it though, she confides in Noa about returning together to prevent an upcoming war between apes and humans.
Once they return, they see it has already happened, once again taking some inspiration from The Lion King 2 here.
Bloodshed and dead bodies from both sides of the battle field. The human girl and the male ape are horrified by the war.
They both enter the sidelines of the battlefield, the apes and humans pause briefly when the ape and human are in sight. Mae and Noa each take turns pleading their case, that humans and apes can live in peace and harmony if they work together. There cannot be anymore bloodshed between them. The test of Mae (and maybe a few other humans) living amongst the Eagle Clan works, and there can be a solution between the two species.
But wait, you dear reader ask, doesn't the Shakespeare play end tragically?
Yes, the OG play is a tragedy. However, like the aforementioned Lion King 2, there are other R&J retellings with a happier ending:
Gnomeo and Juliet
Warm Bodies
Interesting how the second one is also set in a post-apocalyptic world, albeit in the zombie horror subgenre xD.
Black Panther: Wakanda Forever
#greek mythology#orpheus and eurydice#romeo and juliet#william shakespeare#planet of the apes#kingdom of the planet of the apes#noa#mae#pota noa#pota mae#mae x noa#noa x mae#nomae#noamae#maenoa#otp: together strong#forbidden love#forbidden romance#star crossed lovers#planet of the apes theories#kotpota mae#kotpota noa#noa kotpota#mae kotpota#kotpota#romeo and juliet theory#orpheus and eurydice theory#unlikely friendships#forbidden friendship
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Flowers
Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader
Summary: You're living a perfectly content life on Geidi Prime with your husband. It's a shame your mind can't rest, sparked by glimpses of a life unknown. Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.
Word Count: 1.5k
TW: Dark!Feyd-Rautha, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, yandere!Feyd-Rautha, manipulation, gaslighting, like SO much gaslighting holy shit, descriptions of violence, abusive relationship, emotional abuse, isolation, tragedy, nonconsensual drug use, nonconsensual medical treatement, induced memory loss, amnesia, dubious consent, pregnancy, songfic, happy-but-not-really-happy ending, I know I said female!reader but there's virtually no pronoun usage or descriptive words in thisfor the reader besides titles so maybe GN!reader??
A/N: I'm blown away, almost 500 notes on His Kiss, the Riot? Holy shit, all of the thanks! Here it is, the final part! I'm ending it with the song that actually started this whole idea. Listening to Eva's interpretation of Eurydice singing Flowers gave me the most delicious, fucked-up bit of inspiration and this came out. I was clutching my own metaphorical pearls writing this cause damn, this gets dark. Like, way more than I thought I could write. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the end of this twisted tale. Thank you for reading! As always, I appreciate you taking the time to like, comment, and reblog.
Read Part One and Part Two
AO3
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.
Lily white and poppy red
I trembled when he laid me out
“You won’t feel a thing,” he said, “when you go down”
Nothing gonna wake you now
Drops of blood.
A wicked, black smile.
“You won’t feel a thing.”
You wake up with a gasp. Your doctor had warned you about dreams like this. They weren’t real, just an aftereffect of your accident.
The medical staff for House Harkonnen had been gracious enough to inform you of your predicament. When your family had recently hosted the Harkonnens, you quickly met and fell deeply in love with the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. Your love for each other was so intense that you had demanded to get married right away. Your father disapproved of the union, so he disowned you and banished you, demanding to never see you again.
On the journey back to Geidi Prime, a stray asteroid hit the ship and caused you to hit your head. Feyd had apparently worried for your life, which saddened you and warmed your heart. It was nice to know that someone truly cared for you. However, your mind wasn’t quite the same afterwards. Your life before Geidi Prime was completely unknown to you. Your memories were in a fragile state.
That was just a few months earlier. Unfortunately, your mind has not yet recovered your memories prior to the accident. You were diligently taking a specially brewed tea that would calm your mind so it wouldn’t fracture under the immense pressure to try and fix itself. When you asked how long it would take for you to recover, your heart cracked when they said that it may take the rest of your natural life.
While it broke your heart to hear of your father’s dismissal of your feelings, you believed that you were strong enough to carry on. Having no further ties to your home world made it better to settle in with your new family.
You are a Harkonnen now.
Now, your footsteps make the quietest of echoes as you traipse down the narrow corridor. Heads of nearby servants and slaves bow, and eyes snap to the floor as you pass by. You feel the barest of sympathies, for not being allowed the simplest of human connection with their na-Baronness. But it was paradise considering the consequences should anyone ever feel bold enough to try otherwise.
Your husband wouldn’t allow that.
Dreams are sweet, until they’re not
Men are kind, until they aren’t
Flowers bloom, until they rot and fall apart
“Can I not have a single friend on this planet?!”
You burst into your shared chambers, rage rushing through your veins. All you had wanted was to have lunch and tea with one of the few female palace advisors you had taken a liking to. Maybe share a laugh or a story. Make a connection outside of your new family. That was all ruined when Feyd barged in and gutted your companion, stomach-to-throat, while she sat in her chair.
You were sure that your shoes had trailed blood down the hallway, but your mind was focused elsewhere at the moment.
“What use would you have for friends? I am right here.” He closed in on you, grasping your arms and forcing you to look in his direction. “Am I not enough for you? Do I not give you everything you should ever desire?”
His hands tighten around your wrists, making you flinch. A stray tear falls from your eyes, guilt starts to overcome your anger.
“No, not at all, husband! You have given me everything I could have wished for and more,” You wrench your hands out of his grip and grasp his face. He showered you with gifts, never let you go hungry or thirsty and this is how you repay him? “I just… I didn’t think you would want to hear me talk about certain things. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”
“I know you don’t, my darling.”
You take a deep breath as you feel the tension in the room start to settle.
“Your mind is already fragile from the accident… I just want to keep you safe.”
Safe. That was the key here. He takes step back and retrieves a small dagger from his belt.
Feyd holds it up, showing you the weapon. “Did you know that your friend had a blade dipped in poison strapped onto her person?”
You can feel the blood rushing from your face. No. You didn’t know.
“I-I didn’t see a knife on her. She couldn’t have-“
“She did.”
He drops the blade and leans in closer to you, forehead aligning with yours. “There are people out there who seek to harm you, who seek to harm me through you. I can never let that happen.”
You nod furiously. You couldn’t believe that you had been so stupid.
Trust is unbelievably hard to come by in the Galactic Imperium. Your few months’ worth of memories can even attest to that. It seems that the only people you can truly rely on is family.
“I only want what’s best for you.”
You understand now.
Is anybody listening?
I open my mouth and nothing comes out
Another argument discussion had emerged from your telling of your latest dream. Your husband was convinced that you were entirely too exhausted to put any stock into what your subconscious was telling you, but you thought otherwise.
Fingers run through a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—
“I swear to you, it felt so real! It was almost like a memory, like something I-,” A firm hand is placed on your shoulder as you give a slight stumble. Feyd puts a hand on your back, leading you to the edge of your bed, setting you on the bench that was placed against the footboard.
“Please, have some of your morning tea, my darling. You look a bit peaked.” You accepted the cup he gave you, settling down and taking a few sips of the warm, spiced drink. Your mind instantly calms, anxieties evaporating from your body like puffs of smoke. Never mind the memories that you had just… Floating.
Your husband is now on one knee in front of you, arms encasing your body, as his hands cup your face. He brings your eyes to meet his, seemingly searching. For what? You do not know.
“What were you saying about this dream of yours?” A pause reverberates throughout the room as your head tilts in confusion.
“My…?” You stutter, mouth opening to complete a thought that was no longer entirely there. “I can’t quite remember. What were we talking about?”
Your husband gives a smirk, analyzing your face once more before placing his hand on the dark fabric covering your swollen belly.
“Nothing of import. It seems that my heir is set on scrambling your thoughts.”
There seemed to be nothing in this world that brought more joy to Feyd-Rautha’s face than the sight of you and his unborn child. He’s more protective of you now than ever, having guards always posted near you, having you wear a shield during all public appearances. Not to mention, he was damn near insatiable in private. His hands and mouth are practically dragged away from you and your growing stomach every morning.
You give a chuckle. “I’d heard about pregnancy brain before, but never knew it to be this taxing! Perhaps I’ll take a walk later if I’m feeling up to it.”
Feyd gives your cheek a soft pat before rising to his feet, “Rest, my darling. I shall check in on the both of you later.” His hand rests next to yours, giving your belly a quick rub before he walks towards the door.
Your head goes to set on your pillow, the warmth from the tea running through your body. You must be really tired, since you fall asleep so quickly.
Quick enough to not hear the deadbolt lock clicking from the outside once the door is closed.
Flowers, I remember field of flowers
Soft beneath my heels
Walking in the sun, I remember someone
Someone by my side, turned his face to mine
The dreams start to encroach your mind while you are awake. You continue to follow your doctor’s instructions: take your daily tea, rest often, don’t overexert your body or your mind. But, ever persistent, they push through, finding parallels with your daily life to latch onto.
A hand, gently enlaced with yours, guides you through a meadow—
You husband’s hands lead you to stand with him by his uncle’s side, preparing for another ceremony.
A laugh, familiar and warm—
A chilling cackle of laughter reaches you in your viewing box, watching your husband gleefully slay another adversary in the arena.
Bright, yellow sunlight caressing your face and neck—
The black sun of Geidi Prime pulses in your periphery as you wave to a crowd below, your husband standing stoically next to you.
A kiss, given freely—
Feyd ravishes you in your chambers, lips melding together with yours.
My darling—
My love—
My darling—
My darling—
My darling—
My darling—
My darling—
“Is everything alright, my darling?”
You blink, snapping back to the present. Pale, smooth skin and blue eyes, your husband extends his hand towards you. Safe. He gives you everything. You and your child will never struggle or suffer with him. You are safe with him. Aren’t you?
Blood splatters over a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—
You give a bright smile.
If you ever walk this way
Come and find me lying in the bed I made
#dune#dune 2#dune part 2#dune part two#feyd rautha#feyd rautha x reader#feyd x reader#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd rautha fanfic#feyd rautha fic#dune fanfiction#dune fic#feyd rautha harkonnen x reader#feyd x you#feyd rautha x oc#austin butler#austin butler fanfiction#inspired by hadestown#hadestown au#dune movie#dune 2024#dune part II#orpheus and eurydice#hades and persephone#feyd rautha fanfiction#jada writes sometimes#dead dove do not eat
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hello. I've a rather stupid question. I've only read the books once, as a kid, and I don't understand why people hate calpyso x leo. whys it so bad? why does everyone seems to hate it on here?
xxx,
eurydice
First of all, this is my first ever ask, I've made it mother :D Secondly, I'd gladly explain! Though please note that it really has been a good while since I've read the books too, so my memory is kinda foggy :] Warnings for: Slight mentions (but not too much) of rape, pedophilia and mental illness (oh boy this is a tough one)
So, I have made a post abt this before, but it was written in a fit of rage so not my proudest moment (but my most popular post, oops). Anyways, I feel that the hate towards Calypso x Leo is because of a few reasons. 1. It simply didn't get enough development to feel worth it imo. Similar to Jason x Piper, I felt like there wasn't enough there to warrant a canon ship. There is also the fact that personally, I thought that their dynamic was more of a familial or that of siblings, which made me uncomfortable. I would've much rather have them be friends. 2. The uncomfortable age gap. It feels very weird because while yes, Calypso was depicted as a teenager, she is thousands upon thousands of years old. The fact that she fell in love with a literal child is incredibly weird. It was weird enough with Percy, but at least they didn't end up dating. With Leo though, she did end up dating him and the age gap feels very odd. Its even weirder knowing she had a relationship with Odysseus, who by that point was a pretty old dude so she was probably very mature and an adult (though she doesn't act like it). 3. Calypso is kinda a rapist. In the Odyssey myth, she forces Odysseus (a married man) to sleep with her. I'm sorry, but I can't support any relationship involving a rapist unless its rapist x prison cell. It makes me uncomfortable because she could very well take advantage of Leo, a mentally ill teenager with self-esteem issues. 4. Her toxic treatment of Leo. Calypso was very pissed when Leo arrived on her island, rightfully so after what she had gone through, but even then her treatment of his was outright cruel, especially compared to that of Percy and Odysseus. She made him sleep outside, exposing him to the elements after he got flung through the air and ended up on her island, which must've caused some damage. Then after they started dating, I still felt uncomfortable reading about the two, because their dynamic just didn't work, and I don't recall her apologizing to him for her treatment of him. 5. Leo's arc was thrown away. I think the worst of all, is how this impacted Leo's character. He should've had an arc where he learnt to love himself, but because of Calypso he didn't. I think the moral was supposed to be: 'even if you're mentally ill or have problems, you still deserve love!' but it came over more as: 'ignore your issues and get all your love from someone else.' Isn't it more important for kids to learn about self-love? And as an extra: what could've been. I think that Leo shouldn't have gone back for Calypso, that that ship shouldn't have happened. I prefer him going back to Echo and them learning about self-love together as buddies (and maybe evolving into more than that). Echo was stuck in an abusive relationship with the Narcissist, so I think it would a good arc for them both. I also think that if you really wanted a romance, Jason x Leo would've been much better. We know that Rick can write good gay romances, we know that Piper turns out to be a lesbian, so why not make Jason and Leo gay? I think it would add much more to the tragedy of Jason's death, but that's for another post (and this one is getting too long already oops). In conclusion, I think Caleo is bad for many reasons, but especially because it didn't have enough time to develop and the dynamic was simply too creepy for me to get invested in. Sorry for the super long post- Have a lovely day :D
#pjo#percy jackon and the olympians#leo valdez#heroes of olympus#hoo#percy jackson#anti calypso#anti caleo#calypso#rick riordan#jason grace#leo x jason#odysseus#the odyssey
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Thinking about Vein-Liu Xiao-Lu Guang-Cheng Xiaoshi as a twisted version of the story of Orpheus & Eurydice
I think it's obvious enough why Vein is in that mix(what with the heavy underworld/hell imagery in his PV, and what his role seems to be), but I wanted to include Liu Xiao. If Vein is a Hades that would be offended rather than softened by the act of devotion and desperation(like, "no one gets out of the underworld!!how dare you!!"), Liu Xiao is a Persephone who would be amused rather than moved.
Coincidentally, the countdown posters really help with the vision. Cause y'know, Orpheus had to perform a song in order to get his chance in the first place, and in his poster, Lu Guang seems to be framed as a performer about to go on stage. In the audience: Vein(special seat?), and Liu Xiao(very helpfully, holding flowers!). Whether the tape represents Cheng Xiaoshi being kept out because of his photography(in context of the posters' theme), or Lu Guang being kept away from him, I think it also adds to it.
To add on about Liu Xiao's amusement:
...yeahhh. Especially taking into consideration how the content of the sonnets he's reading kind of fit Lu Guang-Cheng Xiaoshi, with poetry also being a form of expression, not unlike how Orpheus would've strummed and sung. I think, in light of the recent trailer, we can assume this is a representation of how he views shiguang's tragic situation: entertainment, fun, like a game
TL;DR: The story of Orpheus and Eurydice if Hades and Persephone were 'evil', and if Orpheus could only bring back Eurydice by being stuck in their tale of tragedy. Will the ending really change by closing night?
#yea i would grasp at straws to connect link click to greek mythology#yea i should probably brush up on my chinese mythology instead#link click#yingdu#vein#liu xiao#cheng xiaoshi#lu guang#shiguang#yingdu posters#sgdlr posting#it's raining baos#baked by the rain
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Talk Refined
main masterlist
Summary: Orpheus and Eurydice. A Blacksmith and a Warrior. A Lawyer and the Lady He Meets at a Bar. Two souls fated to find each other across lifetimes. Here are just a few of those stories.
Pairing: Ezra x f!Reader. Reader is able-bodied and takes many forms. Described as having hair that can be pinned back in one instance, generally open description in others.
This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge! My character was Ezra, and my prompt was "Talk" off of Wasteland, Baby!. This was such a fun challenge, thank you so much for organizing it, Gin!
Word Count: ~5.8K (I blew past drabble, I'm so sorry)
Rating: Explicit 18+ / brief fingering / brief handjob / unprotected piv / language / main character death / Minors DNI
A/N: This was so incredibly fun to write and I actually had a huge smile on my face when I finished it that I'm pretty sure is still there. I'm incredibly happy with how this turned out. I've never written for Ezra before, so this was a really interesting exercise in finding the voice of a character that I found quite challenging to get to the heart of. Ezra folks, I really hope I did your boy justice.
Notes on literary references and the source of Orpheus' speech (not written by me) included at the end.
I'm also kind of just launching this super hot off the press, so please forgive any typos you may find and definitely message me about them once you're done reading.
Massive thank you to @beskarandblasters for the beautiful cover art for this story! 💚 Go hit Kel up if you're looking for a lovely header for your work!
Dividers by @cafekitsune!
Part I: The Darkness of the Night
He’s called Orpheus in this lifetime. Blessed with his mother’s tongue.
No way of knowing he forever will be.
A twist of phrase. A glint in the eye.
A white patch at his hairline is the only mark of his father. As if licked there by the rays of Apollo’s creation.
And he is his mother’s boy, plucking at lyre strings and humming low, branches bending to his ambit as he harmonizes with the rush of Zephyrus’ wings through tall grasses.
But you are a rich distraction indeed.
A distraction perhaps of the West Wind’s own making, for the god has always been a soft touch.
The breeze toys with your chiton as you drift in and out of dreams.
Molding gossamer to your form.
A promise of something just for him.
Orpheus reaches to run his knuckles down your arm, awaiting your stirring before he takes fingers over your shoulder, up to cup your cheek.
You turn to press against the warmth of his hand. The pad of his thumb softly skimming your bottom lip.
It sends sparks racing across your skin.
He hums a laugh and fits closer to you, warmer now than the midday sun. You slant your eyes up at him, greeted with a smile before he bends to press a long kiss to your mouth.
His lyre is discarded in the grass now, wildflowers poking up through its strings.
The hand on your cheek moves to pull at his red linen handkerchief around your neck. Tied there in the morn to guard the late-hour transgressions of his lips from judgmental stares.
Again revealed to him now.
He tucks the cloth into his zoster before his fingers dip under the gauze of your robes, cupping one breast before his lips replace fabric.
“The dryads, my darling,” you whisper a warning into the heated hollow of his mouth.
“Fret not, my love,” he chides with a whisper.
And you whimper a wanton, insincere protest as his hand adjusts to move lower still, nimble fingers inching your hemline up until your thighs are bared to him.
“Surely such creatures would sympathize. Look favorably on newlywed dalliance.”
“For they understand pleasures such as these,” he murmurs as his fingers slip over your core.
"The nymphs haven’t our flesh," you gasp against his curls as he bends to nip at the lush of your breast.
"They have our desires."
"The nymphs know fertile things in ways we never shall, my darling Eurydice," ghosts hot against your skin.
"And surely they know what comes of something flush with want."
The press of his length against you causes your hips to tilt into his hand as your languid knees fall open.
"To deny that nature is to deny the nymphs themselves, little dove."
He tips his face to brush petal-soft lips against your frantic pulse as he shifts over you.
"For you see, they don’t care."
And the breach of him causes your back to arch, nails digging into the corded muscle of his arms.
You bend enough for your eyes to land on the grove of oak trees.
Unsure if begging forgiveness.
Or reveling in their jealousy.
But there are other eyes on you this day. Watching the deft way your husband wrings pleasure from your form.
The way he rolls you over on a bed of meadowsweet to press deeper still.
Holding your body to his as he pulls music from your throat.
Other eyes, indiscreet in their desire and relentless in their pursuit.
Other eyes that lead to your journey across the Styx.
Lead to Orpheus’ torment.
They say there are ways to speak with the dead.
But words will not pacify the poet when the possibility exists to feel you beneath him again.
A body that writhes under his own. Skin soft against the way his burns.
The way you welcome the thick weight of him.
All of him.
Into the warm clutch of your wet cunt.
And Orpheus, driven by his desire and blessed with his mother’s gift, marches boldly into the depths of grief.
“You powers divine of the subterranean kingdom, where all of mortal creation must one day sink to our doom, if you will give me permission to tell you the truth unvarnished by shifty pretenses…”
“I’d hoped to be able to bear my loss and confess that I tried.”
And the dance of his fingers over gut string pricks the ears of the damned as he gives verse to his flesh’s torment.
“In the name of these confines of fear, in the name of this vast abyss and your realm of infinite silence, I, Orpheus, implore you, unravel the web of my dear Eurydice’s early passing.”
A prayer for relief.
“This is the place that we all are bound for, our final dwelling, and yours is the longest reign that the human race must endure.”
Through vulpine teeth.
“Eurydice too, when her due of years has been ripely completed, shall own your sway. Till then, I beg you to let me enjoy her.”
And it moves the hound to cease its lashing.
Moves the one eternally punished to rest upon his stone.
Moves the dead of Winter to cave to the tender brush of Spring’s hand.
And you are called forth by a voice between what should be your ears.
And Orpheus begins to move.
Daring to hope for your sweet clutch again as your footsteps grow louder against stone.
As you take the form he knows, more corporeal with every footfall.
The tenderness in your ankle made manifest with flesh.
And his cock throbs with the thought of you.
His wife.
His muse.
But there’s a pause in the lilting cadence of your step.
Where you’ve stopped to grab for the fallen handkerchief that slipped from his belt.
And the panic flooding his breast moves him against all hope.
And he turns.
And you reach for him.
Before disappearing for the final time.
With forgiveness swimming in your eyes.
Part II: Pilgrim, Stranger, Wanderer
He’s called Doran in this lifetime.
A name you learn upon ducking into the blacksmith’s workshop with another man’s name on your lips.
“Callum!” You call, greeted instead by a shock of white hair where blonde should be.
Round brown eyes where you expected green.
“Apologies,” you offer, “I am looking for the smith.”
“Callum was called away to his family in the north country.”
His answering voice like honey just starting to crystalize.
“I’m called Doran,” he bends his head in customary greeting.
And you note the broad spread of his hand against his chest.
“I apprenticed under Callum, in what feels like a lifetime ago now, I admit.” He offers a small smirk. “He asked that I mind the forge in his absence.”
And you give him your name but not your full belief in this story.
“May I help you with something, dove?”
You straighten against the rake of his eyes. “My horse requires particular shoes. She is of a larger breed and nothing standard will suit.”
And you turn your back to him leading the way outside.
Doran whistles low at the sight of your mare, a sturdy Friesian glossed blue in the morning sun.
“She is a stunning creature,” he purrs, gently taking his fingers over her strong neck.
Pausing to thumb the iris stamped into the leather of her bridle.
“She’s no delicate thing,” you watch as he circles the horse. “Her grandsire was a draft who pulled the High King’s carriage.”
He fits one massive hoof between his knees, gently brushing away the feathers at her ankle before she starts fighting his touch.
He adjusts her gently, inspecting her irons before she protests in earnest.
“It’s apparent,” he says, quickly dropping the horse’s foot and jumping aside before she stamps and shakes her head, “that her blood runs hot.”
“She does not favor the touch of men,” you answer, soothing a hand over her hindquarters. “I should have forewarned you.”
“A fair lady is entitled to her opinions when she is that beautiful,” Doran gives her a wide berth.
And takes his eyes over you instead.
“You are the nobleman’s daughter.” He squints against the sun. “The warrior?”
“I am.”
“Now,” he pulls a rag from his pocket and rubs at his hands, “I know well the dangers of feminine beauty but a warrioress is altogether new to me. You are not riding into battle soon, I pray?”
“One in my position exists in a constant state of preparation. But there is no rumble of battle on the horizon.”
His smirk dimples one cheek now.
“I shall have the shoes for your láir within the week. And I shall pray you need not fly away before then, little dove.”
“May I make half the payment now for your services? This was the custom with the old smith.”
“The only payment for my services I can insist upon is merely the chance to sit in your presence a moment longer. Would a fair lady allow a humble blacksmith that much?”
And you see straight through him. Through to the tools on the wall.
But the broad set of his shoulders under ash-smudged linen. The way he moves, lithe and light on his feet as he dances between his stock of iron bars and his cache of hammers. The bright wideness of his eyes that betray sincerity or something of its kin.
A humble one no. But this one, perhaps.
You drop a pouch of coins onto his anvil. “Where?”
“Meet me here. In the morrow?”
And you tell him “maybe” in the moment as you climb into your saddle.
But you arrive on foot the next morning.
_____
You meet him three mornings in the week it takes him to forge your mare’s irons.
On the first day he tells you of his travels through Spain and France. Of scrambling up the masts of the ship that brought him to your shore.
On the third, he recites The Bard’s work with such nuance that you’re not entirely sure he isn’t the man himself.
On the fifth day he leads you out to the ruins of an old monastery, up a winding staircase until you’re forced to stand so close on the crumbling parapet that you can feel the heat of him at your back.
Your head spins from something other than the height.
On the seventh day he places four horseshoes, lovingly wrapped in burlap and bound with hemp cord, into the hand he has cradled in his own.
Warm and worn.
“Can I see you again?” He murmurs, barely a foot between you.
“Is that wise?”
“I have been mistaken for many things, little dove.” He brushes two knuckles over your cheekbone. “Nary a man has included wise among them.”
And you scoff but press into his touch all the same.
“Forgive me my boldness,” he takes his fingers under your chin, “but I must pose the question.”
“Your mare does not favor the touch of men.”
“But,” he purrs, “do you?”
And your lips form the word “goodnight” but you don’t dare move.
Your eyes flash with a want that does not go neglected.
“Must you take your leave?” He thumbs your bottom lip.
“I must.”
“But what of my payment,” he hums.
“As I recall you beseeched me pay with my time,” you tilt your head, reveling in the brush of warm breath against your skin, “I dare say I’ve tendered more than my share.”
“And yet I am in debt every time you take your presence from me,” he smirks. “There is something of you, little dove, that I fear has a hold on—”
You steal the words from his lips with your own.
And the unabashed delight dancing over his features when you part makes you kiss him again.
You fling your arm to rest the irons on the first surface you can find, desperate to wind your hands in his hair as his fit to your waist.
He urges your mouth open with the soft slip of his tongue. Humming when you let him inside.
“Little bird,” he pants when he tears his lips from you, forehead thumping hard against yours. “I confess if you stay past this moment I shall not be able to exercise any measure of restraint.”
“Is restraint what you desire?” You angle heavy-lidded eyes up at him.
“Not in the slightest,” he swallows hard, fist still gripping at your hair. “But you are a gentle lady with a good name, and I—”
“I want you, Doran,” you murmur. “This.”
And his head falls back on his shoulders with a tight, pained hiss.
“I confess I have given in to the fantasy of hearing that fall from this lush mouth many nights since first we met.”
And he expects heat to rise to your cheeks at his admission. But the hand that cradles your neck finds no such warmth.
“Do you know how it works?” He hums low, running his palm down your sleeve to lace thick fingers with yours. “Pleasure?” He brings your knuckles to his lips, eyes glinting in hearthlight.
And there is sincerity evident in his gaze.
For you are a gentle lady with a good name.
“Mmm, have you felt this?” He takes your hand, gliding it over the rough wool of his trousers.
To the hard line of his length underneath them.
Your breath skips.
You are no stranger to amusement of the flesh. But never before have you felt so—much.
“Feel me, birdie,” he hums, rolling his forehead against yours, “what you do to me. I fear there isn’t any blood left for the rest of me.” He kisses you again. “Only for you. This. Just for you.”
“Your bed, Doran,” you murmur against his mouth.
The hand over yours encircles your wrist and he leads you through to his chambers.
He pulls you tight to his body again, mouths locked as his hands roam your form, unable to settle upon what features his fingers must traverse first.
You push the braces from his shoulders and he helps you with the buttons of his shirt, your hands skating up the smooth expanse of tanned skin before tugging at your own shirttails.
Your lips find his neck as he unbuttons his trousers. You’ve already stepped out of yours.
“So eager, birdie,” he wraps you in his arms, and your skin burns with his touch. “Surely you’ve seen it with beasts, yes?” He salts your neck with kisses. “It’s quick with them, you see. It doesn’t have to be. Doesn’t have to—”
A moan cuts off his babbling from where you’ve taken him in hand.
“Although I may yet need to beg your forgiveness,” his hips buck into your hand, “my stamina may yet waiver, upon this first time.”
His tongue slips into your mouth again and finally he finds himself enough to back you up until your thighs meet his bed.
“It’s been so long. So long, birdie, since I have held a woman.” He leans you back with his body as your hands fly to his hair. “Longer still since I have held one as soft. Supple and pliant as you.” His lips map your collarbone, nose skimming the valley of your breasts as he takes one in hand.
“Never before is a long time indeed.”
He sucks at tender, pebbled skin, drawing an arch in your spine as he shifts to settle between your legs.
“I give you my word that I will indeed take my time with you but I offer a preemptive apology in the instance that I fail upon this first time.” His fingers slip down to toy with your folds, groaning against your ribs at the wetness that he finds there. “Perhaps we are no different than animals indeed.”
You hear only half of his babbling.
The static of anticipation under your skin crackles in your ears as your hips tip into his hand. His thumb slides over your clit and you cry out.
“You see, sometimes a man just needs to bury himself deep.”
He slings your legs over his hips and sits up on his knees, stroking his length with your borrowed wetness as your hands find his thighs.
There’s a dark edge to his voice now. Heavy-lidded eyes locked on the core of you.
“This need. It’s far stronger than I ever will be.”
“Now, Doran, I need—”
He doesn’t make you wait.
And he keeps his word in the moments it matters. Slowly rocking his hips to stretch you open on his cock before your body begs him deeper.
Large palms settle around your waist as he builds in pace, alternating slow with fast. Tenderness with force that drives the bedframe to knock against the wall. When his thumb winds circles against your clit you cry into the night as pleasure rips through you. Greedy lips crash against yours as his weight blankets your reeling form. Fevered moans in his chest thrum through you as he savors the way your walls pulse around him.
He buries his face against your neck and you feel the bite of his teeth as he snarls, drawing closer and closer to the edge.
He cants his hips just so at the last minute, pulling himself from your heat a moment before his seed streams hot over your thigh.
You soothe a hand over the nape of his neck as his hips spasm with the last of it, wide hand cradling your jaw and tipping your face to his.
Kisses softer now.
Grateful.
“You are a rare bird indeed,” he murmurs against your ear, lips ghosting over your neck.
He finds himself enough to rise from bed and kneel on the floor, searching for his handkerchief amongst the tangle of his clothes.
Yours peeks from the pocket of your trousers, red against brown wool, and you lazily twirl a corner of it around your finger and draw it out.
Doran catches it from your hand, gently cleaning your thigh of his spend before pressing a kiss there.
“I shall return this to you clean,” he holds it up briefly before craning to press a kiss to your lips. “Don’t trouble a hair on your head with moving, birdie,” he bids you before disappearing to the kitchen.
You trouble the hair on your head all the same as you pull the jostled pins from it, tousling it out of the style your nurse had so meticulously placed it in this morning.
Doran returns with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He fills them as you prop yourself up on your side and he settles on the floor. One arm slung up on the mattress.
Adoration in his eyes as he tips his glass against yours.
“You didn’t tell me this was not your first time. Although I do find it rather a pleasant surprise,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your waist with lust-hazed eyes.
“I could scarcely utter a word amidst your chatter,” you tease with a grin as you take another sip of your whiskey.
His smile dimples his cheek.
“Are you—”
For once he hesitates to speak.
“Are you promised to anyone?”
You catch his hand and bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his palm before he thumbs your cheekbone.
“None but myself. And my duty.”
He hums in acknowledgment.
You finger the white patch at his hairline, twirling a clinging curl.
“Angered a horse as a child and she made it known with her hooves,” he offers. “Frightened the color from that spot, I’m afraid.”
“There’s character in it. I’m quite fond.”
He turns in and rests his chin on the bed, hand back to trailing over your curves.
“Dove?”
And you frown at the nickname.
“I am nothing so delicate, Doran.”
“A shrike then, perhaps,” he smirks, knuckles ghosting over your stomach.
And something about it makes your heart preen.
“Has a man ever,” his fingers dip lower over your abdomen, “put his mouth on you?”
It sends a fresh jolt of pleasure racing up your spine. You turn onto your back without thought, basking in his touch as fingers trail over your mound.
“Right here?” The pads of his middle and ring fingers wind softly against your clit.
“No,” you gasp.
“Then may I have the pleasure of being the first?”
And he is the first in a way that has you wishing for him to be the last.
The only.
_____
Your handmaid was sympathetic to your cause, having been driven from her own house for true love. They share a small cottage on your father’s land now.
Your mother, though she did not know the intricacies of your continued dalliances with the blacksmith, knew the shift in your demeanor was a man’s doing. And she always was a soft touch for love.
Your father.
Was your mother’s concern.
And so your nurse covers your footsteps with a tickle in her throat that needs clearing.
Ushers you back into your chambers before morning light with a knowing smile.
“I always thought you would make a pass for the stable hand,” she confesses one day as she pours heated water over your hair. “The blacksmith is a surprise.”
“An unpleasant one?”
“Not in the slightest. He’s handsome.”
You can tell there is more to the sentiment.
“Yes, and?” You ask with a raised brow.
“Rakish.”
“Perhaps rakish is what I need,” as you rub water from your eyes.
“No lady with sense needs rakish, my darling girl,” she chides as she rubs soap at your scalp. “But a lady with sense should indulge in it from time to time.”
This draws a smile across your lips.
“He treats you well?”
“He treats me to pleasure the likes of which I have never known. If I offer this kingdom the breath in my breast every time I leave its gates, the least I may be permitted is the choice of a lover.”
And so she fixes you bitter tea every morning that you return from your rakish man.
_____
The pair of you take to late night meetings at the old groundskeeper’s shack on your parents’ land.
Where the splashing of the brook over rocks and the churn of the water wheel stifle the way he makes you cry out in pleasure.
And for one so verbose, he does excel at discretion. Raking ashes from the forge through the patch of white in his hair. Bending shadows around himself as he slips from town and into the forest at the edge of the estate.
The pair of you carry on for months. Until summer sun yields to the darkening blanket of fall.
A welcome change that lengthens your stolen hours.
“I’d wager that we were lovers in lives past,” he muses one night, lips pressing kisses against a scar on your shoulder. “You know me, little bird. The very depths of me.”
“Perhaps,” you roll over in a luxuriant stretch, “you are easy to know.”
“The Townsfolk would perhaps beg to differ, my darling.” He rests his hand on your cheek as you curl into him.
“Must you go in the morrow?” He asks softly.
“I’m afraid I must. For it is my duty. To ensure the safety—”
“—of the kingdom,” you both finish.
“In that case, I have made you a gift.” He reaches over your form down to the pocket of his cloak, and produces a small canvas pouch.
He sits up with you, pulling your back to his chest, arms around your middle as he watches you.
A small silver disk threaded on a chain falls into your palm. An iris stamped into the pendant.
“Doran, it’s beautiful. You made this?”
“It is perhaps more crude than a silversmith’s work,” he helps you fasten it around your neck, “but I wanted you to have something to remember my touch in the absence of it.”
You turn towards him such that he can see you in the firelight. Ash on your jaw from where you held him to your neck, perched atop his hips while he ground deep.
Silver pendant hanging just above the valley of your breasts.
“Beautiful,” he smiles, pressing a kiss against your lips, thumbing at the smudge on your chin. “I have always thought there to be something undeniably sensual in the furl of iris petals,” he rumbles, “how fitting for them to be your favorite.”
“Your imagination is swift, Doran.”
“You have not beheld what I have, dearheart,” he pulls you down against the bed linens once more.
Holding you against his heart.
And he is quiet for a long while, fingers running softly over your stomach, nose buried in your hair.
“What of my safety?” He asks.
A plea to keep you here.
“What shall I do?”
“I have no doubt you will find another iris that unfurls for you in the meanwhile,” you hum. Eyes slipping closed.
“There is only one, my love. I shall wait for your return.”
_____
A grand crowd lines the streets as you and the men of your battalion ride towards the village gates the next morning. Full of cheers and blessings.
And you offer the customary wave and nod.
But your heart hammers against chainmail.
Eyes darting through the crowd.
Willing a shock of white to appear.
And as you near the gates he greets you.
Warm brown eyes and a grin of pride. He rushes to push through the crowd as you approach on your mare, eyes never leaving each other.
You slip one foot from your stirrup and he jams one of his into it and stands, briefly.
Long enough to cup the base of your skull and lay a parting kiss against your lips.
You hurriedly pull your red handkerchief from behind your breastplate, pressing it into his palm as he drops away.
Crushing the cloth to his heart as you slip through the gates.
And it will yield the ire of your father and the warm, joyous tears of your mother.
But they matter not.
For you do not return home under your own power.
You return home under a shroud.
Your nurse slips into the night, treading your path with your necklace in hand.
“She was found with her hand over her heart. And this underneath it.”
And the blacksmith.
Wrought with grief.
Is never seen again.
Part III: The Helper. The Protector.
He’s called Ezra in this lifetime.
Brought to this bar by a group of associates keen on celebrating his win in federal court this afternoon.
And he knows it’s an excuse to drink on the firm’s dime.
He was an associate once too.
But they helped draft the brief that saved their client $44 million. A few drinks is a small thanks.
Ezra sticks to the corners, entertaining chatter only when approached. Kindly redirecting the advances of a first year who’s too young to realize flirting with a partner is career suicide.
He’s content tonight to sip his bourbon and observe.
“Okay, but I told you that Bismark case was horseshit and the judge was going to see that!” One associate who is two drinks too deep roars.
“That was so fucking risky, I still can’t believe you put so much weight on that,” another chides.
“Fucking WORKED though!” And the first man spreads his arms wide.
Knocking you into the sip of red wine you were about to take from your seat at the bar.
“Jesus, fuckin’—” you start before taking a deep breath and glancing down at the patch of deep burgundy beginning to spread on your white blouse.
Fuck.
“Boys, boys, this lovely lady didn’t consent to hearing your opinions on bullshit 4th Circuit rulings, okay?” Ezra appears, stretching an arm between you and the men. “Let’s be a little more careful, take it to a booth, yeah?”
“Miss, I apologize on their behalf,” he starts and you take another centering breath because you really are not here for some hotshot lawyer’s apologies. This is your spot, and they’re fucking with your Thursday night nightcap.
But the brown eyes you’re met with are wide and sincere.
And something at the very core of you thrums momentarily with something you can’t name.
“Please, allow me to replace your wine and cover your tab for the night.” He’s already calling the barman over before you can assure him that’s really not necessary because they’ve fucked up your night already and you just want to go home.
“Could you please arrange a fresh glass of wine for this lovely lady, place her tab on the card I gave you, and may I have a shot glass of white wine. I need the white wine as quickly as you can, please. Thanks very much.”
And you’re still staring at those brown eyes.
Bristling and dumbstruck at the same time.
“Ezra,” he holds out a hand in belated introduction, and you offer a firm shake and your name in exchange.
“Sorry, a shot glass of white wine?” You quip as the bartender places it in front of Ezra.
He slips a red pocket square from his jacket and dips a corner into the shot glass.
“Apologies, may I?”
And inexplicably you turn in towards him on your bar stool as he dabs at the stain on your shirt.
Just over your heart.
“White wine will keep the stain from setting,” he proffers.
You crane your neck to the side, trying to settle your focus on cut glass bottles and not the stranger tending to the fine layer of cotton just above your left breast.
He’s gentle though. Respectful in a way you perhaps didn’t anticipate.
He smells of hinoki wood and worn leather.
“Right as rain,” he announces and takes half a step back before offering you the handkerchief. “If you want to hold that there to blot some of the excess.”
“Um, yeah, thank you. Thanks,” you hold the cloth over your heart as the bartender returns with your fresh glass of wine.
Ezra settles on the barstool next to you.
“How…did you know that?”
“About the wine?” He swallows a sip of bourbon. “Must’ve read it at some point and it just stuck.”
“Seems you’re a good man to have around in a crisis then,” you smile and tip your glass in his direction. He gently touches the side of his against it, before tapping the heavy base against the bar and taking another sip.
Everything he does is briefly fascinating.
“I apologize again for these kids,” he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, producing a business card which he slides over to you face-down. “You should be all good with that,” he gestures at the handkerchief, “but I insist on you sending me the dry cleaning bill. If I’ve recalled incorrectly and it does stain, I will procure a replacement for you, you have my word.”
“That’s really not necessary,” you start and yet find yourself unable to stop, “and I’m not even sure it’s possible this is vintage—”
“Alexander McQueen, I know.”
You turn all the way towards him on your barstool now.
And his eyes glitter with your fascination as he runs his hand through the patch of white at his hairline.
“What are you reading,” he tips his head to the side as if to glimpse the cover of your book but he doesn’t break your gaze. Cheek dimpled with a half smile.
“Ovid. Metamorphoses.”
“For fun?” There’s a hint of surprise in his voice but it’s far from belittling.
“It’s…” you start before a smile splits your face, “yeah. For fun.”
And he echoes your grin.
“I re-read it for fun last year. I think the passage about Orpheus’ death is my favorite.”
“Fascinating,” you swallow a sip of your tempranillo. “Why that one?”
“Well, I believe it’s a commentary on both the unbridled rage of passion and a testament to the obstinate nature of true love.”
“Obstinate?” You incline your head incredulously. “That’s quite a choice.”
“And yet it holds true, does it not? Orpheus, arguably one of the most talented figures in Greek mythology,” and he’s gesturing broadly now, “able to enchant the very souls of feral beasts and move trees to bend their limbs just to be nearer his music.”
He jabs his finger into the bartop between you, “he moved Hades, both the realm and the deity himself, let’s not forget, correct?”
And you nod, amusement playing across your features.
“The earth and the underworld fell at his feet. And he shunned it all out of love for Eurydice.”
“And so what moral value do you place on obstinacy?” You ask.
“Obstinacy in love is the only way to experience it. To feel it so completely that you forsake everything else. Defy the world. For love. Fidelity to the wife that you betrayed by turning back.” Brown eyes are wide with his conviction.
He adds, “even Shakespeare said let it be virtuous to be obstinate.”
“Okay, in a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT context!” Your turn to erupt now, with arms thrown in the air where you’re met by his wide smile. “You cannot cherry pick that out of Coriolanus choosing to abandon his family out of sheer stubbornness, and frankly, contempt for his own people, to extol the virtues of love! Let it be virtuous to FORSAKE that love, is the whole point of that line.”
And this is the moment.
That Ezra falls in love.
And you’re not far behind.
Time slips from this point on. Patrons file in and out. More wine and whiskey is poured. Associates drunkenly clap him on the back as they make their way home, but none of it registers.
The world spins around the pair of you.
Until finally the bartender insists that he close his tab.
And you both step out onto a city street wet with the aftermath of a brief summer downpour.
“Thank you,” Ezra starts, “for the absolute pleasure of your company.”
He holds a tentative hand out, which you shake with a heartfelt “likewise.”
“Oh, your handkerchief,” you pull it from your pocket and hold it out to him.
“Keep it.” He smiles.
And you both spin on your heels. Proceeding in opposite directions.
But the warp and weft of the red cotton square that you keep rubbing between your fingers forces you to stop in your tracks.
You turn around.
And look back.
Meeting Ezra’s gaze from where he hasn’t moved a step.
He thumbs the corner of his lips, brown eyes locked on yours.
And you both move.
Urgent steps pulled by Fates’ string.
Colliding as you throw your arms around his neck and he locks you against him with biceps around your ribs.
Lips crashing together with the relief of a thousand lifetimes.
Lifetimes that you’ve known each other.
Lifetimes that you’ve lost each other.
And this lifetime. Having found each other again.
Taglist of folks who may be interested, as always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged, or if you'd like to be added!
@morallyinept @iamskyereads @tinytinymenace @for-a-longlongtime @legendary-pink-dot
@oliveksmoked @nerdieforpedro @julesonrecord
Subpart headings are the meaning of Ezra's name in that section.
Orpheus' monologue included herein in italics is quoted from David Raeburn's 2004 translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, published by Penguin Classics. The text of this translation just felt so Ezra that I had to include it in that form. If you'd like to hear it read by Hozier himself, head on over to his instagram circa summer 2020's Poetry Fridays for this and some other wonderful work.
This story references the version of Eurydice's death as precipitated by Aristaeus.
Láir means mare in Irish Gaelic.
"Let it be virtuous to be obstinate" is quoted from Coriolanus by William Shakespeare.
#prospect ezra#ezra prospect#ezra x reader#ezra x female reader#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal#hozier drabble challenge#ohforficsake#talk refined
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