#have been obsessed with the tragedy of orpheus

[robinsdearest]

What some circumstance stole

Jason Todd x Reader

(idea brought to you by "Orpheus" by Vincent Lima)

What does a human do at the feet of a god?

As a child, he had spat at the withered man’s feet. Granted, Jason was eight when he first met Hades. 

The throne room was small, no bigger than the apartment he shared with his mother. The throne seemed so large in comparison, almost as if it weren’t made to be there. There were cracked and crumbling columns on either side of it, and two more barely standing behind him. Jason felt a little claustrophobic- there was more breathing room in an alleyway. 

So many questions had run through his head, but he knew where we was. He remembered counting a few sets of ribs just that morning; he didn’t remember the last time he had eaten something, or the last time he had seen his mother. 

Jason was a smart kid. But just a kid: he didn’t understand why he had died but she hadn’t. 

A swirling mist descended from the ceiling, materializing into the form of a body on the throne. The form seemed much larger than the average human. 

“Kneel before the King of the Underworld.” A voice boomed from seemingly all directions, but Jason stood tall. He was a thief and a street rat. His mother was a drug addict and had not rightfully taught him manners. He would not be bullied. 

The being stared at Jason, and Jason stared right back. More smoke drifted around the body, a man fully emerging from the shadows of it. He had appeared much older than Jason, nearly ninety years old. He had red eyes that gleamed like the rubies Jason had read about in books from the dumpsters. 

The man, or the King as he called himself, would not budge. He was probably waiting for Jason’s compliance. 

The King would have anything but compliance. 

“Send me back.” Jason demanded. 

“You starved, boy.” His voice croaked and creaked with age, and it grated against Jason’s sensitive ears. “A promised soul does not get sent back.”

Jason scoffed. “I could have lasted another day or two. I would have gotten something from the old lady across the hall.”

The old man tutted, standing to his full height. Jason had seen the Batmobile a few days ago in the alley, and this thing was definitely larger than that. As the man moved, the scent of decay and death rushed through Jason’s small nose. It smelled better than his mother’s apartment, he knew for sure. 

“Do you know who I am?”

Jason crossed his arms. All those other adults in the slums of Gotham had tried to get Jason to answers questions like that, tried to make him look stupid. He never answered them, and he wasn’t about to answer this guy. It didn’t matter though, because the man seemed more amused than anything.

“My name is Hades: Ruler of the Dead, eldest son of Kronus, the Rich One, the King-“

“I don’t care.” Jason interrupted in utter defiance. “It doesn’t matter who you are.”

Hades chuckled to himself and murmured a few words too low for Jason’s ears to hear. Rather, he heard a hissing noise from behind him. He turned in circles to try and find the source, but the marble floor was only filled with smoke, dense and gray. The noise grew louder as Hades walked closer to him. Jason would always stand his ground. He would always fight if given the chance. 

“Answer my riddle, boy.”

“Jason.” He corrected, indignant until the very end. 

“Jason.” The old man parroted and then smiled. A grotesque thing: a gummy mouth with few yellow teeth. “Some will hide, others will cheat. I can be of pride, or I can be of defeat. What am I?” 

The hissing noise seemed to creep along his spine, a slick bug crawling along his skin. Jason tried to swat at it while Hades loomed over him, watching with his ruby eyes. Jason refused to cower, refused to give in. 

“You’re Death.” Jason announced with a deep-seated courage. He was Jason Todd, and he would not be afraid. 

Hades smiled again, the yellow of his teeth becoming more prominent while hair fell from his scalp. “That I am.” 

More smoke descended from the ceiling, wispy and thin, this time only surrounding Jason. An icy cold washed over his body, threading through the skin between his fingers, like someone holding his hand in a winter night. The hissing and the bug disappeared, and the smoke blurred his vision until he only saw Hades before him. 

“I will see you again soon, Jason.” Hades’ voice boomed, a thunder clap and a lightning crash, and Jason was swallowed by the mist. 

____________________________________

What would a human do at the feet of a god for the second time?

As a teenager, he folded into himself and waited to wake up. Jason was fifteen; his sixteenth birthday wouldn’t have been too far away from this second death. He knew he was still a kid- the Joker had told him plenty of times behind a crowbar. 

He was still seated upright against a wall, arm slung over his eyes. He brought his knees to his chest, cradling his body while the shaking of his bones subsided. 

The throne room was bigger somehow, shaped like a crumbling warehouse with onyx columns and ivy plants stretched thin across the walls. The old man sitting on the throne was smaller now, as if more of his muscle mass had deteriorated. He was now more bones than body. Jason recalled the many names the man gave himself, the riddle he answered as an eight-year-old. It didn’t matter where he was, who he was with. Bruce was going to get him from here. 

Right? 

“Do you remember me, boy?” The man asked. 

“Jason.” He corrected in a small voice he failed to recognize as his own. His eight-year-old self had more courage than his present self. He had no more courage left to give. 

“I have no riddles for you this time, Jason.” 

Jason nodded his head. His bones ached, his entire body still thrumming with aftershock. His throat was sore from screaming, asking for forgiveness he might not have deserved. Tears stung at his eyes as he tried to blink them away. He hadn’t cried once during his time in that warehouse. Now, sitting on the cold marble floor of the Underworld, Jason was more embarrassed than anything with a sickening realization. 

Bruce wasn’t coming at all. Bruce never made it to the warehouse in the twelve hours the Joker had held him. Some detective, that bat. He didn’t care about Jason, just as his mother hadn’t cared. He was a thief and a street rat; he didn’t deserve that kindness, that love. 

Jason let out a long sigh. He knocked his head back against the wall to stare above him. There wasn’t a ceiling, but a silent, star-filled sky resting above his head. The columns disappeared into the inky night, fading away into the blackness such as death does. 

By this time, he remembered the story of the Greek Gods from Diana, remembered where dead souls wander to. 

He had broken each of the bones in his right arm, his collarbone, and his shoulder blade in a fall during a mission. The fourth time Jason was caught trying to sneak out of the mansion while Bruce was on patrol, Alfred had called in red, white, and lasso reinforcements. Diana had sat with him for the next few weeks describing the stories and history of Greek Mythology. She brought her sidekick, a small aspiring hero created in the same way Diana was created: formed of beach clay and brought to life by Zeus. Hippolyta had wanted a child, and so Diana also wished the same. You were small and frail, but you looked at Diana like she had hung the moon, and you looked at Jason like he had drawn the stars. 

Diana told the two of you that the gods were in fact real. She emphasized the importance of the gods and their jobs, how they interacted with mortals, how they dealt with them. She told the stories of the Harpies and the Fates, the trials of the demigods, and even the bards of the Argonauts, led by his namesake and the descendent of Hermes, Jason. 

You had hated the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. A death no one prepared for and how Orpheus failed his test; the gods playing with the lives of mortals they didn’t care about. 

“It’s not fair that for all their love they still failed at the end. I thought stories were meant to have happy endings?”

Jason had huffed out a breath. “Not everyone gets a happy ending.” You chucked a water bottle at his head in response. 

Diana had a soft look on her face as she patted your head. “To love is to look, young ones. Orpheus loved Eurydice so much he lost her. It is not a happy ending, but a warning to those who would follow in the footsteps that Orpheus made. He was never going to win.”

Diana refused to tell him if the tales of heroes and demigods were true. 

Jason blinked, the star-studded ceiling coming back into focus. He rubbed the tears away from his face with the back of his hand. The room smelt of jasmine and siena-colored earth, much more comforting than last time. 

He forced himself to stand. He’d just get this over with, go shake Hades’ hand and accept his death or whatever the god wanted. He was tired. Too tired.

Hades still sat on his throne, a solid black seat that reached into the mist above. Two hellhounds sat on either side of the god, both watching Jason’s every movement. Hades held out a hand, beckoning Jason to come forward. Black mist poured out from behind the throne, the smell of it overwhelming with rotting fruit. 

Jason took a single step before halting. A green mist, viscous and murky, sprouted from beneath his feet, the smell of briny water pouring with it. He spun in a circle, his mind racing. Was this one of Hades’ tricks? He didn’t want to play any of the god’s games. His head whipped towards Hades, whose face mirrored his own confusion. Jason tried to take another step but couldn’t. He could feel something along his back: not a bug but a tether, some type of chain attached to the middle of his spine that stopped him from moving forward. 

The green mist quickly clouded his vision, climbing up his body and painting everything in an emerald hue. Jason watched as Hades stood from his throne and thrust a hand forward. The black mist and the hellhounds raced forward in a feeble attempt to grab Jason. He was too far away from the throne for it to matter. A warm breeze swept against the scruff of his neck, the feeling of someone calling his name, calling him back. 

Something had grabbed on to the chain and yanked. His body folded in on itself, the tether to his spine wrenching him backward. Jason went flying through the air, pulled sideways and up and down, and Hades could do nothing but watch as his prize was taken from him. 

Bruce hadn’t come to save him then. But something else had snatched Jason from the hands of Death, and Death would neither forgive nor forget. 

____________________________________

What would a human do at the feet of a god for the third time?

As an adult, he would beg, if need be. He was now twenty-six. Matured, stronger, wiser than the previous times standing before the lone throne of the empty room. 

The room was larger than he remembered, deeper and more menacing. The onyx columns surrounding him were twice as thick as he was now. The ceiling was still a starry night sky, the throne still thrusted itself upward, not breaking the inky picture. And instead of an old man sitting on the throne, Death appeared to him as a ghastly skeleton clothed in tattered robes. 

“You come before me now, Jason? After years apart, you wish to stand here of your own free will?” Hades clicked his tongue, or whatever the skeleton kept in his mouth. “That’s not like you at all.” 

Jason had escaped Hades twice before. He would do whatever Hades asked of him this time. 

Jason shook his head. “I’m not here for my soul.” 

“Whose soul would you like to bargain for then?”

Jason didn’t hesitate before saying your name. The second it left his lips, the King of the Underworld smiled. A genuine smile, as if your name was funny to him. As if this moment was going to be amusing. Nothing about losing you from the Land of the Living was amusing. Nothing. This third time, it wasn’t his soul that needed saving. It was yours. 

Yours: child to Diana, fellow hero, fellow friend. And you were so much more than that. Brilliant, beautiful, steadfast, passionate, selfless, and helpful. Sunlight personified. A friend to all and stranger to none. Taken, stolen from this life as if you weren’t the most important in Jason’s. 

He didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to you, he didn’t get the chance to tell you how much you truly meant to him. 

You had been friends since you were pulled into his room with Diana. Diana and Bruce’s friendship meant the two of you would always be seen together, but it was more than that. 

You were the calm to Jason’s storm, you mellowed him out in ways he never dreamed anyone could. The two of you worked seamlessly together on missions, where he failed you succeeded, the perfect dynamic duo. 

Dick had joked several times how in a room full of people, you would only smile at Jason.  

Jason would tell you that he was sorry more than was needed, he would fix this. You were coming home, sweet home, and he swore home had never been so sweet before you. 

He had begged Diana for a traditional obol, an Ancient Greek silver coin used as payment to cross into the Underworld. You were already buried with one, but Jason needed his own. He needed to bribe the ferryman, yet Diana had told Jason it wasn’t worth it. 

“You do not play games with Fate, and you most certainly do not play games with a god.” She had said. 

She refused to hand it to him. He wanted to yell, to scream at Diana for not wanting to do anything to get her child back. Maybe she knew better than to fight this way; maybe she knew better than to play games with your soul. 

It was a good thing he used to be a thief and a street rat. You’d probably never forgive him for this, but he had to try. He stole the obol the day of your funeral. He wouldn’t attend something he could make right. He would bring you back. 

“A mission gone wrong,” every other hero seemed to call it. Everyone except for Jason. 

He felt the weight on his shoulders, forced to carry the burden of your death, a mirror image of Atlas holding the world and the heavens. A story made real. Bruce and Diana told him it wasn’t his fault, but Jason couldn’t shake the guilt.

If only he had been stronger, faster, more proactive rather than reactive. If he weren’t a loose cannon and had been more reliant on waiting, more patient. If you hadn’t taken that shot that would have been placed directly over his heart. If only you weren’t something some unfortunate circumstance stole. 

You had told Jason for years how important he was, how his life, his soul, had purpose and meaning. You showed Jason all the kindness and love he didn’t think he deserved. The look of hope in your eyes as you tried to convince him. He had just started to believe you. 

In those final moments, you acted as if his life were more important than yours. You wasted your last breaths telling Jason that you were in love with him, always had been. It wasn’t fair you didn’t last long enough to hear him tell you the same. 

And Jason would soon rectify that mistake. 

“What do you wish to bargain?” Hades’ smile seemed to grow more menacing, as if he was expecting Jason to offer his own soul as a trade. 

You had hated the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. The dedication of his love, the hubris of believing he had won, the failure of his one goal. The loss of trust that Eurydice was behind him. The panic that ensued- what if it were a lie? Is it true ‘to love is to look’?

Would he make the same mistake for you? He’d like to believe not. There was no doubt that Orpheus loved Eurydice; he loved her so much he lost her. But Jason hadn’t been given the time to show you that same love. He lost you before he could love you.

Grief was a terrible, funny thing. 

“I request Orpheus’ trial.”

The smile instantly vanished from the god’s face. The withering sack of bones pointed a finger at Jason, no muscles or tendons, just a sapphire ring that sucked in the surrounding light. 

“Fool.” The slithering voice was both booming and soft, old and young, singular and many voices at once. A god who had lived for thousands of millennia. Was Death itself. Jason might have forgotten that fact until now. “It is not a trial but a blessing. Do you believe that you, a mortal, could bear the weight of a god’s blessing that so few demigod’s have managed to achieve- winning against me?” 

“Well, maybe being a demigod was their downfall to begin with.” 

The hissing air might have been a laugh, it could have been a chastisement. 

The two stared at one another for what felt like eons. A flash of the memory of eight-year-old Jason also staring down the god. Jason’s resolve was concrete, he would not back down, he would not be afraid. You were taken from him too soon, too early. He would fight for you. He would do anything for you. 

The resolve must have shown in his face. Hades rapped his fingers against the arm of the throne, contemplating, thinking. Jason wouldn’t put it past the god to be scheming. 

“I shall grant you the trial of Orpheus. Make it to the Land of the Living without looking, and I shall restore to you what was taken. You have my word that no harm will come to your loved one while you walk the path. This oath I swear.” Hades smiled at Jason again, this one not as genuine. Ruby eyes sunken into a gray and brown skull, rotting teeth coated in grime and misery. Gold flecks could be seen between the gaps, as if the creature couldn’t help but dine in the assumption of his wealth. 

No questions, no more bargaining, and no other promises. And so Jason turned and began walking. 

It was easy, at first. He knew that you were there. He knew there was no other option.

He trusted that you were there, but he still pleaded with any deity that would listen just in case.

What had Diana told him years ago? Orpheus was never meant to win? He wouldn’t allow history to repeat itself. Diana was wrong. To love you was to save you, to fight his urge to look. He would not look.

But, he had to make sure; Jason shouted your name. His voice bounced off the walls- the only answer was the echo of his voice. He hoped that you could hear him. Jason shouted your name again. He hoped that you would just say something to ease his racing heart. Yet he was met with silence. 

He trusted that you were there, but you never responded. He could trust that you were there.

Right? 

What if it were a lie? What if your soul couldn’t be fought for? What if the trial was to look, to follow Orpheus’ footsteps? What if Hades had tricked him and you were- no. Jason remembered the story Diana had told him. Hades had sworn an oath that no harm would come to Eurydice. It was Orpheus’ fault for not staying the course. Jason would do it. He would stay the course and not look back for you. 

If only you would respond to him. 

Why weren’t you responding to him? 

Could you not speak? Had Hades done something to you? Had the god hurt you- tortured you? Jason remembered his own torture all those years ago, and his blood ran cold. 

The panic was rising faster, harder, more incessant now. Jason finally understood Orpheus. He finally understood the hopelessness of not knowing, of needing to ensure your presence. Just to be sure. 

To love you was to look. He could ruin his resolve to be sure. 

No. 

It felt like days, weeks, as he walked forward. His resolve was concrete. He had spat at the feet of a god and had escaped Death before. He could do this for you. 

Sunlight peaked out from the mouth opening. He heard rocks falling as if someone had tripped. He gritted his teeth. 

Jason kept walking. 

Jason stood on the green grass, the proof of the Land of the Living. The sun was beautiful- it was setting, your favorite time of day. He knew you would be thrilled to see it. But Jason would not turn. Both of you needed to be out of the Underworld for this to work. He took a few more steps, distancing himself from the cave, and he would wait for you to stand next to him. He had to take every precaution. 

So Jason waited. Tears coated his cheeks as a soft wind twirled around him. He pictured the life he would give you, how he would love you every day for the rest of his life. His vows to protect you would never be broken. He needed this torment to be over, he needed to hold you, to kiss you, to give you the time to be loved by him. 

A hand softly brushed across his neck. The light breeze brought your smell to his nose- perfect and alive and- Jason had never been happier. He would tell you every day how happy he was. He would buy you anything, say anything, do anything- 

He finally- finally- turned around to see your face, tears blocking most of his vision. 

But you were not there. 

Jason’s head swiveled from the Land of the Living to the cave to the Underworld. There were only his footprints. He had waited. He did not look back once. He had done what was asked and now-

Howling laughter echoed from the cave to the Underworld. As if a hundred crows were cackling at him and his failure. A black mist crawled along the cave floor. It inched past the mouth and into the grass. Where the smoke touched, grass died and a trail of brown made its way towards Jason. As the mist gathered in mass across the walls of the cave and onto the ceiling, two glowing red eyes could be seen. Jason could just barely make out the silhouette outline of the death god. 

“Liar!” Jason bellowed. He reached for a gun holster that was not there. “You swore an oath!” He would tear Hades to pieces- no matter if he were a god, this creature would be mauled by his bare hands. 

“You thought you were clever all those years ago. Escaping the death that was rightfully mine to take. Now, I will keep the soul you thought was rightfully yours. Forever now promised to me.” Hades taunted. 

Jason raced forward to the cave. The mist receded with each of his thundering steps. Hades was mocking him. Hades had tricked Jason just as he thought the bird had done so many years ago. 

“A walk from the depths of a world down below, in which you failed. You escaped me years ago, boy. Even if you had looked, you would have failed.” A yellow smile broke through the smoke, the red eyes glinting in the setting sun. “Give Diana and Bruce my blessings.” Then Hades disappeared. Jason pushed himself harder, ran faster. 

Your silhouette could be seen through the mist, your hand reaching out to Jason’s as he dove for you. He would grab you and take you far away and- 

Jason slammed into a wall of rock as the cave was sealed before him. He pounded his fists, screaming until his voice gave out. 

Jason bloodied his hands as he continued to hammer on the rock, praying to his strength that he would break through. It wasn’t fair- Jason knew the gods did not play fair, but they had rules. A god would not break their oaths by committing perjury. Hades believed he had righted a wrong done on to him all those years ago when Jason was brought back to life from the Lazarus Pit. Your soul for his was not a fair trade.

You were kind, and good, and everything Jason wasn’t. You had loved him for years, mourned him during his death, and welcomed him after his rebirth. You brought the sun and the moon and the stars to him, how your love for him was sacred and needed to be explored. You accepted all of him and made him a better human. The mere human that he was. 

Jason slid to his knees before the rock, blood pooling as his aching fists rested on the grass. His lungs were on fire, his breaths coming in short spurts. The air smelt of burnt sugar, like nitroglycerin waiting to explode. His head emptied out all thoughts besides you. His blood was mixed with electricity, the adrenaline- the anger- still pumping through his system. 

He was a human, not a demigod. 

Jason no longer cared what a human would do at the feet of a god. 

Jason had escaped Death twice before. He had completed Orpheus’ trial, had walked the entire route from the Land of the Dead to the Living without looking back. To love was not to look, but to fight. He fought for you, he would always fight for you. He was just a human, but he would do anything to get you back. His resolve was concrete. But now? His resolve was steel. 

That anger pumped harder. Jason was wrath, he was fury. 

What will a god do at the feet of wrath and fury?

[yaekiss]

#Mailroom Open!　──　hey my darling <3 letter delivery for kaeya and i’d love to have a yandere w/nsfw reply back! any petnames are good with me, i promise <3 letter below the pink!

“To my dearest, Kaeya,

It’s almost shameful how you have me wrapped around my finger. There’s only so much a man can do when you fill my mind, and even in work, I can’t help but imagine what you’d be doing, how you’d let me shower you with all the affection such a jewel like yourself deserves. A day spent without you feels sacrilegious nowadays with how you’ve carved your place into it.

How are you faring back in Mondstadt? It must be a chore with so little to do without me there with you, but I know the wine will always be sweet and the flowers always in their lively beauty (though it can’t compare to yours, I’m sure.) I hope you’ve kept an eye on Diluc: you know how he works himself, so have him take it easy every now and then. He runs the tavern you love so much, after all.

I can’t see you soon enough. May the gods bless me so that I can be back home sooner than I know.

— Your love”

( in a box containing the letter, there’s a bottle of regional wine intricately wrapped with a gold bow, alongside a bouquet and a lace choker. you know i had to do it <3 )

꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Subby! Kaeya, no gendered terms for reader, Kaeya calls you "my heart", mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood, unhealthy and obsessive relationship from Kaeya, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: Phew! He sure replied fast, it's almost as if he knew you were sending a letter to him! :3c Anyways, I wonder what he replied with? ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

In return, Kaeya sends back a box as well, no bigger than the envelope stuck to the top of it. The deep royal blue envelope’s material is glossy and pearlescent, holding it under the moonlight produces a faint shimmer, one that reminds you of his eye.

Upon opening the letter, your senses are greeted by the waft of Kaeya’s perfume, the same one you gifted to him months back when you returned to Mondstadt from yet another arduous work trip. Eyes scanning over the contents of his reply, the words are written in outstanding but legible cursive, impressive penmanship (tsk, always a showoff). His love letter reads:

“Addressed to my one and only,

Much thanks for the presents, my heart. You truly know my tastes, the wine was magnificent and went down smooth, almost impeccable. The only thing that could improve it was if you were there as well. I do so dreadfully miss you too, I find myself sighing whenever I reach out for your hand only to remember you’re away in Fontaine for work. Are you sure I can’t convince you to leave your job? I could take care of you, you’d never find yourself needing anything, other than me, of course.

I digress. Back to the subject at hand, Mondstadt is, well, the same as always. Nothing much to report about. My days are immensely duller without you around, obviously. Diluc’s still not much fun to be around but I suppose he’s been well, so no need for you to… (There’s some words scribbled out here with a squiggly doodled arrow pointing to it, saying “Ignore this! :)”) fret over him at all.

It’s just that… I can’t bear to be away from you, my heart. You say I have you wrapped around my finger but it seems to be the opposite. Since you entered my life, it was as if you were Orpheus: coming to rescue me, but unlike the tragedy, I won’t lose you, and you won’t lose me. Not even the gods above could keep me from you. Not one moment does my mind stray from the thought of you and how I need you close by and the way I can’t bear to… (The words are scribbled out again, this time it’s messier, shaky lines uncharacteristic of his usual neat strokes. Another squiggly arrow points to the dark mass of ink, saying “Ignore this too! :)”)

All I want to say is, we are much closer than you might think, my heart. I’ll keep this short, I’d hate for you to bore of me.

Counting down the days till we truly meet again,

- Kaeya Alberich -

P.S. I have a picture in the box reserved for your eyes only, enjoy ♡”

Removing the lid of the box, a vial on a gold chain catches your eye, it glistens, almost as if beckoning you to wear it immediately. Its contents are a deep red and swishing it around reveals how it clings to the sides of the bottle. Not wine then. There’s a tag hanging from a ribbon tied around the clasp, in Kaeya’s signature handwriting it reads, “So I’ll always be around my heart.” Flipping it around, there’s 2 reddish-brown thumbprints on the back, stamped so that it looks like a heart. 

After putting the accessory on, you move on to pull out a smooth card stock from the bottom of the box. How scandalous. The cavalry captain is shown, knees tucked under him on the bed as he’s clad in lacy white lingerie, hands on the sheets in front of him as his arms push his tits up to accentuate them. A white garter belt wraps around his thigh and fuck, the tip of his cock is peeking out of the sheer ivory fabric, precum already drooling from his slit. The bouquet you gifted him is in the shot as well but what really draws your attention are the dribbles of wine cascading from down his lips to his chest, staining some of the white lace a deep crimson. To top it all off, he’s wearing the lace choker you sent him, how obedient!

However, the more you look at the photograph, the more off putting the atmosphere becomes. The background looks suspiciously like the rooms of the hotel you’re currently staying at. The lighting is the same hue. The furniture matches up too. Everything is strikingly similar, right down to the carpeting. Squinting, you can just about make out the room number on the keys captured in the shot.

It’s the room next door.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[vxsellie]

hello all 🤗 ive been overthinking & listening to hozier (literally me in a nutshell) and so i'm gonna be doing a deep dive on the song talk because it's eating away at me

the thing is, all of hozier's songs can be interpreted differently & thats what people love about them. they can be morphed and personalized depending on who's listening. so i can't say that my thoughts are 100% correct, bc they aren't. it's my personal opinion, so pls bear that in mind

anyway!

the song opens with him explaining the greek myth of orpheus and eurydice — where a man goes into the underworld to bring back his dead wife, trekking all the way down & making a deal w hades, only to lose her a second time by breaking said deal

lots of people focus purely on this verse when they talk abt the song, but i don't think that this is what's important.

like, yes, the way her perceives the controversial myth is interesting blah blah blah, but let's dive into WHY he's talking about it maybe? why he literally retold the story when he usually just briefly mentions myths, expecting us to already know every single greek myth in existence (love him for that even tho it drives me insane when i have to do extensive research just to listen to his music)

see, he myth is only mentioned once throughout the entire song, and it doesn't center on what most people do when the story is brought up. hozier doesn't debate on why orpheus turned around, how eurydice died, what pact he made with hades, etc etc. he simply tells the story for context & focuses on what's most important / why the myth exists in the first place — their love.

not only does he focus on the real, rawness that comes with being in love, but he makes this the entire point of the song. and how he does this, well, that's the real kicker 🥳🥳

he. makes. love. the. narrator.

like WHAT??? he makes LOVE the narrator???

he fucking tells the myth in the perspective of love itself, calling himself (aka the narrator) the voice that brought orpheus to madness when finding his wife's corpse & the grief that drove him into the underworld & the all-consuming devotee that made him break the pact w hades & the reason eurydice forgave him in an instant even though he lost her only chance at life again. LOVE is telling this story and i cannot be convinced otherwise

following this verse of orpheus & eurydice's tale, he says "imagine being loved by me"

he's literally telling you to picture being loved by love itself.

the song goes on to list more examples of where love exists — mankind's obsession with death and sex, needing the "sweet feeling of release" in both of these things despite them seeming to be complete opposites to the naked eye.

and! this further pushes the ideals that love can be brutal and raw (death) whilst simultaneously being sweet and intimate (sex).

also "i'd be the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love" is basically saying that genuine love is rarely found anymore, nigh impossible in its manmade divinity. he says that the thing keeping that one last thread from breaking — which would cause love to be completely lost to the world — is love itself. HIM.

and then he goes on to repeat that line after each example he gives. "imagine being loved by me", saying that despite the pain and grief and awful truth that comes with loving someone, everyone craves it in spite of the inevitable & will forever search for something as genuine as the love that orpheus and eurydice had. even though it's a tragedy, it's what we all want, right?

in conclusion, idk if i want to strangle or kiss andrew for creating this song

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Welcome (*・∀・*)ノ

My name is Yomogi- this is my tumblr for all of my ao3 writings. Rn I'm obsessed with Twisted Wonderland, but I'd like to write for fandoms like Genshin Impact, hypmic, etc. Lots of angst (*・∀-)ｂ

My special interests are in Art History and Literature so I take a lot of inspiration from that ♡

Currently not taking requests perse, but I'm willing to take any commentary or ideas to incorporate into my writing! Commentary always appreciated. I love hearing people's thoughts :)

☆ They/Them ; Queer ; Autistic ☆

Jap 日本語 / Eng OK!

よろしくお願いしゃーす～(っ´▽｀)っ

——————————————————

AO3 Account is Here.

✦·.⋆ Masterlist ⋆.·✦

Twisted Wonderland:

All GN MC!!!

Beloved Thy Name

Sequel (Beloved Gift) (AO3 Link)

Pairing: Lilia x Dullahan MC

Genre: Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending, Oneshot

Summary: Triumphing over your siblings on the human farm situated in the far corners of Briar Valley, you are implanted with the essence of the Tree of Eternity, gaining unmatched abilities in regeneration. When your Warden finds that the experiment is a success, you are promptly sold to the fae army as a weapon of destruction‒ a position you answer to with animal violence, much to the content of your handlers and the fae army, who name you Dullahan, after the myth of the headless reaper. When you come across the infamous Lord Lilia, great commander of the Fae army‒ he takes you under his wing, gifting you morsels of peace even with death on the horizon. You are simply taken with the sweet songs and sugary words which fall from his mouth‒ echoing them in the heart in your chest that did not feel like yours.

MC based off of Dullahan myth (Celtic headless omen of death)

AO3 LINK

Spolia

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 (COMPLETE)

Pairing: Malleus x Light Fae MC ; Parental Mozus Trein x MC

Genre: Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending, Slow Burn

Summary: You wondered why you ever got accepted into NRC but never bothered to look back when the infamous black carriage whisked you away from a place you could never call home. Having been handed an opportunity of freedom, of solitude, of hope- how come you're paralyzed with fear rather than excitement? Your sunny plein air sessions and nightly walks contemplating this has attracted a certain dragon fae with an affinity for your nimble gargoyle sketches and magnificent paintings

MC based off of changelings

AO3 LINK

Pygmalion

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 (COMPLETE)

Pairing: Rook x Pygmalion MC ; Platonic Idia x MC ; Platonic Ortho x MC

Genre: Angst with Happy Ending, Slight Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn

Summary: You were frequently told that your career as a renowned sculptor did not match your dull and less than colorful personality. With your cybernetic hands, you carve the lives and deaths of those long gone‒ producing pieces which have been held in both technical and emotional high regard, dubbing you with the title “Pygm.AI.lion” despite your human heart and brain. When you accidentally still the usually flamboyant archer into silence after he comes across you working in your atelier‒ you find that you’ve become a victim to one of his ceaseless stalkings. Though, you’ve been prey long enough to know how hunt the huntsman himself.

MC based off of Pygmalion myth

AO3 LINK

Lasting Spring

Pairing: Vil x Orpheus MC

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Childhood best friends, pining, angst with happy ending

Summary: Great expectations are placed on you, coming from a line of extraordinary poets, bards, and musicians. You fulfill these expectations with ease‒ the lightness of your voice illuminating any room with divine merriment through a swift dance of your fingers on your lyre. Your fame is equally matched with the curse swimming through your family’s blood‒ one which announces death and tragedy to your lovers, unless they are your true love‒ your soulmate. However there is no assurance that soulmates truly exist, only the madness that comes as an endless thirst for it. So you extinguish that thirst, settling for quick, messy flings‒ much to the dismay of your childhood friend, Vil Scoenheit. You lament your own tragedy through woeful verses, masked in the sweltering felicity of your music. Vil always trails that sorrow back to you, wishing to embrace you in his warmth to take it away, even for a moment. But the members of your family who had found love unobstructed by the gods were great lovers to heroes, kings, queens, and warriors‒ who was he, seen by most as a villain, to taint that possibility for you?

MC based off of Orpheus myth

AO3 LINK

Ineffable Bloom

Pairing: Azul Ashengrotto x Siren Mute MC

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Maternal angst/Mother wound, childhood friends to lovers, angst with happy ending

Summary: Despite your status as siren, there are not many words that reach those around you anymore, voice now muted and marred from the surgeries you have endured to remove the carnations that once suffocated your throat. But you don't mind it, serving quietly as the gardener of Night Raven College, making do with a notepad and pen when necessary. You are pleased to find your childhood friend, Azul, now attends the school, who spontaneously hires you for the flower arrangements he decides to decorate in his lounge with. There's little hope you bear with the silent poetry you weave with each meticulously placed flower, only an ache which tumbles over you like the ceaseless seas. However, Azul is not deaf to this song you have sealed in your bouquets, having cherished the morsels of sweetness in your childhoods where you shared the silent language of each flower.

MC based off of siren

AO3 LINK

Merciful Crusade

Pairing: Jamil x Shikigami MC

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, angst, healing, slight enemies to lovers

Summary: The life of a shikigami, or a ceremonial servant spirit was a threadbare one. The small world you scarcely lived consisted of hard, earth‒packed walls framed tightly against a small cedar cell, illuminated only by the lonely starlight during your sleepless nights. Despite your human body, you’re almost certain you’ve never felt the blood move and warm your body in such a way that would indicate that there had ever been a human heart‒ having spent too much time gilded with a hardened iron face to even feel it if it had been there. Jamil‒ who untethers you from the spell that binds you to your onmiyoji master‒ becomes a peculiar mirror in your new life that reflects your choked breaths and measured footsteps. It never bothered you when your own body smothered what was left of your vitality‒ but when you watch Jamil from a distance, knowing the way he classifies each movement, the strangle of his muscles‒ something inside you aches. You don’t know why.

MC based off of Shikigami

AO3 LINK

Honey Lemon Crescendo

Pairing: Trey Clover x Vampire MC

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, angst, healing, friends to lovers

Summary: The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you.  The days you pray for the abolishment of your abhorrent form are rare in the centuries you have lived since your family's death, and your turning. Sharpened claws and teeth, the hellfire of your gaze are concealed for your own convenience, you tell yourself, especially as you enroll into NRC. The tonic of human affairs rarely interested you, yet when you find the truly curious case of Trey Clover, someone who is made only of that plain sort, you cannot help but to promise yourself one conversation, some several hours of the thousand thousand you have lived to taste what it is like to be treated, and be human again. But you're a fool, and a hypocrite‒ you find yourself breaking that promise over, and over, and over. Your fragile resolve frays at every sunbeam smile, every ringing laughter of his. 

MC Based off of Vampires

AO3 Link

Orchid Child, Dandelion Child

Pairing: Riddle Rosehearts & Sibling MC (not a romantic pairing)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, sibling healing

Summary: This is going to take after Riddle’s overblot, and short and sweet. The term orchid child/dandelion child refer to children who may have very specific/different needs for their development, and those who need less accommodations or specific requirements for their development, respectively. They may grow up in the same environment but everyone’s needs are different, one child may have different coping mechanisms than the other. MC is heavily implied to have dyslexia, ADHD/Autism, and OCD (the latter two of which are often comorbid)

AO3 Link

[brewsterispunkk]

diamonds and stones: prologue

pairing: clyde logan x reader

summary: the beginning of it all

warnings: brief mentions of domestic violence

a/n: im dedicating this one to @acrossthesestars :) they offered so much encouragement and support the first time i tried to get this fic off the ground 2 years ago. after some reworking and new inspiration, im trying again !

series masterlist

prologue:

You had been obsessed with Greek mythology when you were young. 

Maybe it was the timelessness of it all, the beauty, love, tragedy. The might of the gods like Zues and Poesidon, the fierceness of Athena’s wit, the firm unforgiving curve of Hera’s brow. The constellations in the deep, inky sky called out to you.

You learned to read them, pick them out in each season. Orion and his bow, Sirius, wagging his tail at you from millions of lightyears away. You liked to talk to them sometimes, when it got tough at home. When the yelling came to be too much. You’d hole up in some corner with a book reading, or you’d look out your window and wonder. Speak to the dark and wonder if maybe they could hear you.

They had endured tragedy too, after all. And though a stepfather that hit you wasn’t a nine-headed beast or a minotaur, it might as well have been. You wondered what it would be like to walk among them; in the time of the Gods. To witness Persephone tumbling forth to the underworld as the world opened up from under her, to see Hera’s rage and wrath and pain firsthand, to feel Poseidon's breeze as Aphrodite was born of the sea-foam. 

You loved them; the myths. And the fiction that followed them, books inspired by stories thought up millennia ago.

But one goddess always confused you. You always avoided her stories; the fiery goddess of warmth, of belonging. It hurt too much. The deity that controlled the two most powerful things that you could never touch; fire--the piercing, blazing, sting of it all. Beautiful to look at and just out of reach. Enchanting candles and bonfires you could never touch, lest you become another Icarus, and melt away from the heat of it. Fire, the thing only the gods could touch. And the other: Home.

Home, the word felt foreign on your tongue, bitter.

The goddess of belonging, the deity of home. Hestia smiled at you from every page she appeared on, lips curving into a wicked smirk, holding something over your head you knew you could never achieve. Never possess, never grasp. 

 It was said that Aphrodite was the goddess of love, that you knew. But it was something you didn’t believe; to you, Aphrodite was the goddess of passion. Of deep, rushing urges, flighty decisions. She was the goddess your mother's tumultuous relationship was born of. And though what she and your stepfather had was piercing and painful, there was no love to be found there. That you were sure of.

No, in your mind Hestia was the goddess of true love, not just the shallow illusion of it. Warmth, stability, belonging: these were all characteristics of love itself. Something you’d never known.

Your mother loved you; That much you knew to be true, but it was a tragic type of love. The type the poets and romantics wrote about. Your mother was Ophelia, sinking into the deep. She was Juliet with a dagger piercing her heart. She was Cordelia, dying of a heart broken by betrayal. A love from Aphrodite had made her like this. She had been all but ruined by your father, as you saw it. She loved you, fiercely, but as though she was trying to provide enough for a mother and a father.

She tore herself apart trying to conceal what was truly happening from you; the bruises, the broken glass, the old jeep missing from the drive-way. And when he did take it out on you, she tore herself apart trying to put you back together. And that was tragic. More tragic than the fates of Orpheus and Eurydice. More tragic than the birth of Dionysus. More than Echo’s love for Narcissus. 

And so the goddess of the hearth and home taunted you.

Appalachia was a beautiful place to grow up, but for a little girl living in her own head, it could get lonely too. The mountains and foothills of the blue ridges lived in your soul; That much you knew. They spoke to you, told you stories, kept you company where there was none.

Your family had made home here for generations. You were as much a part of the land as it was a part of you. Like the West Virginia license plate said, you grew up the same way: “Wild and Wonderful.” Barefoot and wild, a true daughter of the mountains.

Where there wasn’t a father, there were the wildflowers. When your mother would shut down, go quiet and for once stop pretending that everything was alright, there was the oak tree with a tire swing. Through the fights and the screaming and the slamming, there was always this. The land. The grass beneath your feet, the wind in your hair, and the mountains above your eyes. And when it was too hot to be outside, your books were always there to welcome you back to the fold; to provide escape. 

So, though your life wasn’t perfect by any means, you’d always remember your Gramma’s words. She lived miles away--to the east, in Boone County, a place you’d visited only as an infant--but she made the hours-long journey whenever your mother needed her, which was often. When she’d catch you sulking about something trivial, like a lost card game or not being allowed to have sweets before supper, she’d arch an eyebrow at you, hand on her hip and say:

“Watch your spite. Whatever attitude you put out into this world is what you gon’ get back.” 

This, you’d think. I can be content with this. And the West Virginia wind was always there to answer you with its gentle swaying, older than the trees.

-

The first thing your mind registered on the day that you ran was the cold hand on your shoulder as you bolted awake, gasping.

It was still dark outside, the sun hadn’t even begun to peek over the horizon beyond the trailer that you’d only called home for a few weeks now. Your room was bathed in darkness, and your eyes adjusted, only being able to make out the rough shapes of the objects in your room. 

You opened your mouth to scream, too scared to look beside you at who had grabbed you. You’d heard some girls in your class talking about a girl getting kidnapped only two weeks ago one county over. When her hand closed over your mouth to stop you, you visibly relaxed. You could smell the lemon perfume still splashed across her wrist, faint after what must have been a long shift at the diner. Mommy.

“Shh, shh,” She soothed, her other hand stroking your pajama-clad back, “it’s me, sweetie, it’s mama. It’s just me.”

Your little fists rubbed your eyes groggily, taking in your surroundings. You brushed your crazy bed head away from your eyes. It was dark, and the digital mermaid clock on your nightstand read 3:32 am. At the foot of your bed, there were two suitcases; ones you’d only seen when Kieth, your mom’s boyfriend, had gone away for work trips. You’d looked forward to those times; It was when the house was calmest, when you were allowed to have the windows open (Kieth didn’t like it when you’d leave the windows open; it meant people could “see too much”). Your mom would put on her old Fleetwood Mac records and tell you stories about your daddy--How they met and how they found out they were pregnant with you. 

You weren’t allowed to talk about your daddy when Kieth was home. He didn’t like it and he’d get that mean look on his face.The kind that made your mom freeze. You were scared of Kieth. Which was why you didn’t know what his suitcase was doing here instead of tucked away where it belonged. He’d be angry about that, and everyone knew what happened when he got angry.

Your mom smoothed your hair behind your ears, whispering with careful purpose, “Time to get up, sweetie. It’s time to go.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. Go? Go where? It was still nighttime, as far as your seven-year-old brain could tell, and you were tired. 

Swallowing a yawn you began, “Mommy--”

“Shh!” She whisper-yelled, hand coming over your mouth once again. In her eyes was a look you’d never seen before. Your mom was scared. Your eyes widened, not fully understanding what was going on, but understanding that something was going on, and whatever it was, it was bad. She inhaled through her nose and through her mouth, slowly lowering her hand.

“I’m gonna explain the best I can, sweetie, but you’re gonna have to be real, real quiet, ok? We gotta hurry.”

You frantically nodded, eyes drawn together in what could’ve only looked like complete terror. 

“You and I are leavin’, lovebug. I got all we need here,” she patted the suitcase, “and in the car. We’re goin’.” She explained, looking over her shoulder at the cracked door. You could hear Kieth’s loud snoring from the other room.

“Like on vacation?” You asked in a tiny voice, confused. You’d never been on vacation before; Not a real one anyway. Only weekend trips to Atlantic City with your cousins every now and then. Your mom closed her eyes for a moment before shaking her head.

“No. Not like vacation,” she sighed, reaching up to grab your cheek. “I’m sorry honey, really I am. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize we have to go. But we do.”

You wouldn’t know what she was referring to until years later, not really grasping what she was saying in a half-awake, eight-year-old brain. Years later, you’d realize she was referring to Kieth: how sorry she was that it had taken this long for her to leave him. Still, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you nodded at her. You hadn’t realized she was crying until she reached up to wipe under her eyes, sniffling. 

She hugged you then, tight. Tighter than you think she’d ever held you before. In that moment, you’d thought that it was more for her than you. You hugged her back. 

She sighed, “c’mon, baby. Get your shoes on.”

“Where are we gonna go, mama?” 

“Gramma’s, honey. She’s got a room all ready for us.” By now she was busying herself with getting your pink tennis shoes on your feet. Standing up, you let her pull your sweatshirt over your arms. 

She looked younger like this, you thought. Like a Princess, here in the moonlight under the cover of nighttime. Here the darkness hid the dark circles and worry lines that made her look older than she actually was. She grabbed your hands.

“Okay, now we’ve gotta walk really quietly, honey. You’re gonna have to put your feet where mine were, do you think you can do that?”

You nodded, peeking around the door, half expecting Kieth to be standing there, hand raised. You silently thanked whatever god was out there that Kieth had never let you get a dog—you didn’t know if you’d have been able to take it with you. 

With careful, slow steps you creeped down the dark hallway, dodging the floorboards you knew to be creaky. 

After ten minutes of careful precision—well, as much precision as a half-asleep ten-year-old can have—you made it to the old pick-up that had belonged to your father. The gravel crunching beneath her feet, your mother lifted you up into the back seat. After jumping into the front seat herself, she took a deep shuddering breath before slowly turning the ignition, eyes squeezed shut. The gear moved into drive, and head leaned against the window, you slept soundly, without fear, for the first time in years. 

By the time you woke up, it was almost five o’clock. The sun was slowly beginning to show its rays, the sky fading from a deep indigo into a light yellow. You looked out the windows at the mountains, thankful that at least one thing felt familiar. The blue ridges always did. 

Your mother turned back, smiling at you. A real smile. It made your heart stutter a bit. 

Maybe Hestia hasn’t abandoned me, you thought, thinking back to the days when you’d curse the name of the goddess of fire. Back when you actually believed in the goddess of fire. 

“Well look who decided to wake up,” your mother smiled, her eyes crinkling. You stifled a yawn, stretching. 

“What’s going on?” You asked apprehensively. “Why did we just leave like that? Mama, when we get back he’s gonna be—“

“We aren’t going back.” 

You blanked. Not going back? What? The amount of times you’d wished for this exact scenario were too many to count. You should be happy. But what would you do? Would you live with grandma? Where were your things? You only packed one suitcase and your friend Emma had borrowed your Mulan TShirt—oh and school! Where would you go to school—

Your mother said your name. Your eyes snapped to hers in the rear view.

“It’s gonna be okay. I've got a plan, we’ll be fine.”

She paused and you turned to look at the trees passing by. She sighed before speaking again, “okay?”

“Okay.” 

“Good. Oh look!” She gasped, pointing to her right, at a bright green sign. 

Now Entering Boone County

“We’re here!” She sighed. “I haven’t been back here since your daddy…” She trailed off, but you knew what she meant. She hadn’t been back here since your daddy had died. Keith wouldn’t let her. 

Gazing out of the window at the moving trees, you only thought of what lie ahead. You’d moved enough times in your life, first for your dad’s military postings, and then because Kieth never liked to stay in one place for too long. This wasn’t new, but something about it felt that way. You’d like to stay in one place for a while after this one, you thought. As you watched the hills and farms and houses, the sun began to rise, coloring it all gold. You could get used to this. 

As you entered the town, you felt it in your chest: this was going to be home. You were sure of it. 

[daydreamer-in-reverie]

Can we like, take a minute and talk about the difference between Wait For Me and Wait For Me (Reprise) because wow.

I haven’t had the chance to watch Hadestown yet aside from snippets on TikTok but I have been obsessively listening to the original cast recording for the past few days and after every listen, I always go back to comparing Wait For Me’s non-reprise to the reprise and how it goes from a song of desperation to a song of hope and then back again.

When Orpheus sings Wait For Me, we hear him seized with despair and desperation to get Eurydice back. In this part of the musical, it’s Orpheus who was left behind, not Eurydice. It is Eurydice who failed him all because she refused to wait for him to finish his song and him singing Wait for me. I’m coming for you is the sound of Orpheus telling Eurydice that because she cannot go to him, he will go to her. We hear Hermes telling Orpheus how to get to Hadestown, and the Fates’ questioning who Orpheus is and their questions get silenced his song. The original version of Wait For Me is absent of the chorus of voices we hear in the reprise. We don’t hear the whole company singing with Orpheus the way we hear them singing with Eurydice. Orpheus is entirely alone on his journey to the Underworld and in his loneliness, we hear his desperation to get to Eurydice and this is evidenced by the slowness of the melody. The hopeless yearning in his voice asking Eurydice to please wait for him. And then we start to hear the chorus sing along with him. Wait for me, Eurydice. I’m coming for you. He’s no longer alone in this journey. Armed with his song, he begins to fill with hope as the rocks and stones begin to echo his song. He’s filled with hope now that he’ll get to Eurydice, that Eurydice is waiting for him. As the melody begins to crescendo, his hope reaches a fever pitch before it comes crashing down and we’re left with the intermission.

In the reprise of Wait For Me, we hear Eurydice’s hope and trust that Orpheus will wait for her and we hear Orpheus’ own hope. We hear the members of the ensemble sing for them, filled with the same amount of hope that Eurydice and Orpheus are filled with. If they can get out, so can the rest of Hadestown. The melody picks up and everyone is hopeful that they will succeed. Now it is Eurydice telling Orpheus to wait for her. Don’t leave me behind. I’m coming with you. Even the small snippet of Hades and Persephone’s conversation is filled with hope. Hope that they, too, will try again and get better next fall. This is no longer a song of despair and desperation but of hope above all else.

Except this time, it is not Eurydice who fails Orpheus. It is Orpheus who fails her. We hear the Chorus and the Fates telling Orpheus to show the way, urging him to go on. We hear Eurydice trying desperately to let Orpheus know that she’s coming for him, he doesn’t need to turn around. She’s trying to tell him here is where my feet fall, the rocks and stones are echoing their song, reassuring him that Eurydice is right behind him. But Orpheus doesn’t hear her. He can’t hear her. But he sings his song of love because he’s hoping, still, that she’s right behind him. And then the Doubt Comes In and as he sings his song a final time, he turns. His song, his love for Eurydice, is what made him turn around and it is this same love that dooms them both.

Wait For Me goes from desperation to hope then back again to despair when we get to Doubt Comes In. It is so beautiful and the emotional gut-punch of the story is made even more clear and effective because tragedies like the story of Orpheus and Eurydice are made worse by the feeling of hope. The most devastating tragedies in literature have always utilized the meaning of almost—of failed success—and no tragedy uses this more effectively than Eurydice and Orpheus. In Hadestown, the tragedy of almost is embodied by Wait For Me. I’m almost there. Wait for me. I’m coming with you. The song is so tragic precisely because it is filled with such hope.

I really wish they release a proshot filmed version of Hadestown like they did Hamilton because this is quickly becoming one of my favorite musicals of all time and I haven’t even had the chance to watch it.

[thevampiremarie]

So instead of asking you like what chapter your most excited to write for treehouse (just to avoid potential spoilers), I was wondering what current chapter that you have outlined are you most excited to see our reaction?

It could just be the chapter number or mayhaps a small summary with big details blurred out.

Treehouse is seriously one of my new obsessions, I love it so much. You are doing such an amazing job with it.

Hi anon!!! Thank you the ask and thank you for enjoying the series 🫶🫶🫶

100% without question the gender reveal + baby name chapter. I hope y’all are going to be as giddy and excited as I am (and I know the gender and picked the name!!!). It’s chapter 36 in my outline.

As much as treehouse is a silly story with lots of smut and the unplanned pregnancy trope is also sort of silly, the baby and their name has TONS of meaning for Morpheus and Reader. Like. Grief/forgiveness/hope for the future/remembrance/honoring the past without letting it drown you/love love love so much love/growth/a reason to fucking live.

I get really emotional when I think about it. Morpheus is such a heartbreakingly tragic figure and somehow this silly story has ended up becoming this beast that is taking all of his tragedies and creating a new story for him that won’t end in tragedy while still honoring all of the shit he’s been through.

(This is where I start rambling.)

Dying is not something that makes sense to gods, even though they know it happens. It doesn’t happen to them. We watch Morpheus’s inability to mourn and forgive himself and accept endings twist him up inside until he dies in canon. But to mortals, who die all the time, the very nature of our existence forces us to be really good at reconciling with endings. We’re transient beings. Endings and beginnings are what we do.

Who better to help Morpheus understand how to let things go and how to grieve and go on and *be happy* than a human, and the mortal child she’s giving him?

This is kind of a spoiler but I don’t mind sharing it. Even though we will only actually interact with Orpheus once in the whole story, his presence will very much be felt. Orpheus is, after all, now part of Reader’s family as the older brother of her child.

Why shouldn’t his memory be honored? Why shouldn’t she tell her child about Orpheus? To her, Orpheus isn’t gone forever in an alien place that can never be reached. He’s *family*. He’s waiting just on the other side.

Many cultures have this belief that our loved ones are still with us in death, that we’re still bound together by love and memory that endured through death. I am reminded of the Mexican holiday Dia de Los Muertos and the Chinese Tomb Sweeping Day festival. Every year in the spring, my family travels to where our deceased family members are buried to clean their graves and set out offerings to them. The view of death being alienation/destruction/a permanent parting (which I see Morpheus as having) is not one held by all people, and not even necessarily the most “true” or best way to look at death.

Death begets life. Life begets death. In this little baby, multiple past deaths are given new life. Tragedy -> happiness. Orpheus will be remembered through the eyes of a child who adores their older brother. Though Orpheus’s memory gives Dream pain, the new baby loves their older brother and gives Morpheus a way to view his oldest son’s story as more than simply his failings as a father.

[greenchrysanthemum20]

Permanent Changes to Brain Chemistry (Or, This isn't the Genre you Think it is)

Hmmm, been thinking about Coffee Theory lately, and also the new wave of Aziraphale had a plan and was trying to communicate in Secret Code to Crowley but Crowley didn't get the part where it was in fact a code..... I have to wonder as someone who has been around the fandom block once or twice, I think both of these theories come from the same place: The Sherlock Hiatus. Yes, folks, we are in the new rendition of The Hiatus™. It feels weird to call it that, as Good Omens is not a show that regularly airs but that fact that we will be in a drought of Canon from August 2023 to 2026 at probably the soonest means that we are in fact in A Hiatus Season. Well, what the fuck does Sherlock have to do with Good Omens ??

I'm glad you asked! My New Thought of the week is that the Sherlock Hiatus permanently changed the brain chemistry on this website, or at least of fans of a certain stripe. Sherlock was a show that I obsessed over (rather late to the game, in 2017), and so did many others. With the cliffhanger of Sherlock's jump at the end of season 2, there was nothing for fans to do but theorize and theorize and theorize.

Sherlock was also a show that actively hated its queer legacy, and by extension, its fandom (looking at you, Steven Moffat). This is getting long so my point is, I think the off-beat super complex theories about GO and the final fifteen come from a place of being actively cat-fished by Sherlock, years ago. I mean, Sherlock S3E1 basically took all of fans' theories, tore them to shreds, spit on them, lit them on fire, and then presented it's own, Even More Crackpot theory as to how Sherlock survived??? The whiplash, maaaan.

So fans, having gone through All Of That, with Sherlock, have now come to almost expect mysteries in fannish shows to be overly complicated. And just, that isn't how Good Omens works?? Like, Neil and the rest of the cast and crew Do Love the fandom, and want to tell a story that is Doing Right by the fans. (Dottie and Sadie in Neil's asks are hard not to swing as the products of a good natured uncle winking and thumbing his nose at you). And second, I think these elaborate theories mistake the final fifteen as being part of a mystery show when in reality the final fifteen are part of a tragedy. Aziraphale is Hamlet. He is a tragic hero. We are to root for him, despite his flaws, or even because of them. It is because of Aziraphale's altruism that he makes the choices that he does. Altruism is Aziraphale's Hamartia, his tragic flaw.

He may be being played by Metatron, but because of who he is as a character, as a guardian and protector, Aziraphale cannot walk away from the chance to protect the earth and make things better in heaven without sacrificing a large part of his values and Who He Is. Metatron knows that Aziraphale is altruistic, as a constant, but that that altruism can be twisted and led astray.

In a tragedy, there is a point called Peripeteia, which means the point in which the tragic hero's flaw condemns them to a certain course of action. This is what we see Aziraphale go through in the final fifteen.

He is offered a choice, and he makes a choice, and in the end, it isn't a choice. Looking at GO through the lens of a tragedy, all of those statement can coexist, and they each have equal weight.

Crowley, on the other hand, is Orpheus. Don't look back. You are leaving, you are on your way out the door, you can sense her presence behind you. Don't look back. The cavern grows darker, the threat looms larger, you talk into the echoes, and every time you hear her reply, you cannot tell how far away she is from you. Don't look back.

You look back. You kiss him, furiously, in a bookshop. You have looked. She is taken from you. Crowley knew that that kiss was never going to have worked. But he needed to kiss Aziraphale anyway. He never could have told Aziraphale before the Metatron showed up that he loved him. (Can one blame Orpheus, for being a plaything to the muses?) (Can one escape a Hell that doesn't send Strongly Worded letters?)

You have to look. You have to love her. You have to let her know you love her, even as you cannot have her.

Obviously, Good Omens as a whole isn't a tragedy, but the final fifteen of Season 2 are one, and I think we have a lot to learn from treating them as such.

[hermitknut]

This has been more or less copied over from whatsapp, so hopefully it's still clear, but I've been thinking a lot about a Certain Musician and what he might write next.

I've also been obsessed with Hadestown...

[small caveat: I've recently read Till Human Voices Wake Us, and of course the Orpheus myth actually turns up there, but I'm electing to ignore it entirely here because I came up with this before I read that so]

OKAY SO. Post-Jubilee, retirement house. Fitzroy has been Writing, but unlike with the erotica this one he's been keeping to himself. It's been, like four months, and he's been absolutely Obsessed with this project but no one knows quite what it is. Some of the RC are around, everyone knows he's writing, but he's gotten all squirrely about it.

They've got some RC and some of Kip's family over for dinner one night, and it's desert. Fitzroy presents a particular desert to Vinyë, and says half-jokingly that's it's by way of a bribe - he's written something new (cue everyone else immediately tuning in to listen), and it's not just for harp and voice - he's reached a stage where he needs to hear it played, and Vinyë knows a lot of instrumentalists…

After some intriguing discussion, she says she'd be delighted to round up some musicians to play if he'll give her a list of what he needs; Kip gets roped in to help copy the music out in the meantime, and a run-through is going to happen at the house with the aid of a big wall of silence and someone to bring a piano XD

Over the next few weeks before the run through, Fitzroy keeps things fairly quiet still; but at some point someone asks him if he'll say anything about it, and he says it's like an opera but not in opera style; it's a sung play (musical to us, but I don't think I've seen them discussed in the canon and I'm not counting Ysthar haha)

when nudged a little more he also says that it's a tragedy

"Everything that happened… everything has ended well for us. But it so nearly didn't. And I think I… I needed to write��that."

What he's written is Hadestown (allowing for some tweaks to make it fit the worldbuilding, ofc, but there's not that much to change), and it's breathtaking

Just, the idea of Fitzroy writing Hadestown is so delicious to me, because everyone's having these conversations about which character is him and which is Kip and what it means - and really all the characters are Fitzroy, at different stages and in different states, ways he wishes to be and ways he's afraid of being…

Of course it makes a huge splash - he occasionally appears, randomly, to take the part of Hermes (which he sung at the first run-through) in productions, and sgdhsgsfs

It's sung-through, Hadestown, which feels appropriate, and most of it is in couplets or other simple rhyming patterns, which also feels right for Fitzroy. I also like the idea of him writing something with multiple instruments/voices post-retirement because part of healing for him might be writing from the fullness of his experience - from Artorin Damara's life as well as Fitzroy's.

I've been hodging the deities/mythology involved by having it, in-universe, be purely Fitzroy's invention but riffing on common motifs in different parts of Zunidh mythology, so there are still some cultural touchpoints.

[avelera]

Having a Neil Gaiman moment over here when I realized you saw my tags. Like, “Oh this author I adore that who I know reads their tags might notice, but oh well!” And then just doing a tag ramble because that’s what one does on tumblr, and then. WELP. The mortifying ordeal of your tags being known. 🤣

Anyways!! I would love anything you’re willing to do for Calliope’s perspective. You’ve done one of my favorite characterizations of her that I’ve seen and it’s arresting in the best way. I want to know more of her in this world, Pre-Madoc, and see what she thinks after everything is said and done and if this human truly IS the match of her ex husband. It’s just so fascinating to think about her perspective of their relationship as an outsider with intimate knowledge of Dream and what it means for where Hob and Dream are at!

Friend-o I religiously read my tags you don't understand like how much I'm obsessed with seeing every little thought people might have about my work! (LOL, meanwhile I too live in terror of one my critiques of Mr Gaiman's work from a literary angle one day making it back to him, eep!)

I will say, without diving into prose for it, that Giving Sanctuary Calliope being Pre-Madoc was very central to planning out her character.

I wanted her to be even more strident and powerful than we see her in canon. There's... hmm... something of a theme that plays into with Giving Sanctuary, that's based on my own lived experience, that sometimes it can take quite a while for powerful, confident people to recognize and admit that something traumatic has happened to them and that it has changed them? And there are scars left behind the first time something really bad happens to a person who had previously thought themselves untouchable? So this is not to say that Calliope was in any way weakened by her time with Madoc, but she might have been changed by it, and at least when we see her in the immediate aftermath, she's more quiet and reserved than she might have been before he captured her, before she's had any time to heal and go back to her old self (insofar as anyone can).

I think to express this is not to diminish the experience of the victim, but to rather acknowledge the violence of the hurt? Calliope was more strident and self-assured, more powerful in the way she took up space before she was captured.

Dream before Orpheus died was happier and it did make him shrink into himself and harden towards the world and become icy and cruel and callous towards the suffering of others when his son died and his wife left him and it felt like the whole world turned against him at once so he lashed back harder and shut Calliope from his kingdom. The whole fic begins because a moment's kindness and empathy from Hob awakens Dream to the realization that Lucienne is afraid of him, that him being party to "cursing" Hob with immortality when Hob hadn't done anything to him and indeed, showed him kindness when they spoke the first time, was monstrously cruel and unjustifiable. Dream as a powerful person took two thousand years to admit that a bad thing happened to him and he can't just use his power to wish it all away and Dream of 1,000 Cats Orpheus back to life! That there's no fixing this and he's been hurt and it changed him, deeply.

And finally, likewise, with Hob. Hob was at the top of the world in 1589! Even when he embarked upon having a family and trying to do it all "right" he did it from a place of hubris, as one who had never really been hurt before. It never occurred to him that his wife or children could die young, or hate him for his immortality, or that some other tragedy could befall them. He waited until he did everything "right" in terms of wealth and status and had a family and thought having waited and planned that long would somehow shield him from the random tragedy of chance, and it didn't. He is scarred by that tragedy, he has shrunk within himself, he is trying to claw his way back and he has faith that he will, someday, but that time is now lost, that suffering has now been felt, he has seen those depths of deprivation and he will never be the same. I headcanon that in canon, without Dream's help, this set Hob on a path to becoming the apathetic, self-centered monster in the 1700s who was so focused on regaining wealth and status after losing them so traumatically that he didn't give a fuck about entering the "shipping business" to do it! GS Hob has already diverged from that path, just by having Dream's kindness and mercy stop his descent into becoming more like Dream over the next century of self-defensive cruelty.

... None of which was your question about Calliope BUT! At the risk of this getting even more insanely long, I will say this:

For Calliope, the most humiliating part of her separation from Dream was Dream becoming a monster. It already took a great deal of courage for her to flout her entire family to marry him in the first place, I can't even imagine having my wedding boycotted by my family? So for him to be so cruel to Orpheus, for Orpheus to then die, and for Dream to just shut himself off from the world and become this icy monster who doesn't give a fuck about anyone and barred his own wife from his realm? That was humiliating for Calliope. It made her feel like maybe she was an idiot, maybe her family was right all along!

The hope she sees in Hob is for him to make Dream a good person again, the person he was when he was in love with her. The person she felt was worthy of her hand in marriage. She recognizes with age and experience that the bitterness began to brew between her and Dream because she couldn't give him the sort of 24/7 clingy affection he craved because how lonely he was being Dream of the Endless, he wanted a personal life so badly and so when she wanted to go create, he grew increasingly bitter about it, because the thing that brought them together (creating) was now driving them apart (Dream just wants to cuddle when she wants to make art together!). She sees in Hob, who has been in love with Dream for 300 years, who is human, who is good for him, who makes him smile, and who *can be* that personal life to Dream, joyfully!, that Calliope saw as her second priority after being a Muse, and she has hope. Not just for Dream, but for herself, that maybe she just wasn't quite the right person for Dream, this famous ex husband of hers. And if Hob works out, Dream will become kind again, and she'll be able to point to him to her family and say, "See, I wasn't the right person, but we were happy for a time, and now he IS with the right person and just look at him. Look at how kind and wonderful and full of joy he is, the Lord of the Dreaming. That is the man I married. That was the person who was worthy of me. And you were wrong to say I was a fool for marrying that person, because he is worthy of love."

[melit0n]

Hi bb I saw you also reblogged the ask game! (I am currently going through the one you sent me.) I would like to suggest Form Follows Function by Michl! 💛

Took me over a month (how many months has it been??) to get to this but I did!!

IMMEDIATELY Would You Believe Me is such a banger. The yearning is fr yearning in this one. The line, “If there is a God I hope She gives me to you.” is such a lovely one. The “to you,” repeated after it, followed by that absolutely scrumptious bass line, just adds to it. Gives the vibes of ‘if there is something holy up there, and if She can hear me, I pray She makes me yours and only yours, for what is living without your love?’ UGH.

The chorus of Promise hello?? Obsessed with “I know that the world could all fall apart, and if it all does: I'll fall, I'll fall, I'll fall, I'll fall, I'll fall where you are.” This is really a ‘I yearn for the love the poets speak of with you. Or maybe just the love people have.’ album, huh? The synths are super funky too. That goes for like, the whole album!

Deserve You got me point blank, I’m not gonna lie.

y really reminds me of doomed love: the type you always see in tragedies. Orpheus and Eurydice, Cupid and Psyche, etc. There’s a couple of other lines that I like, but “Glue and thread, never seem to hold for too long.”, mainly because I heard ‘for too long’ as ‘fortune’, which reminded me of the red string of fate. The last lines, “I break apart, still here you are.” are really comforting as well, even if they end with a series of why’s that don’t really get answered.

The piano is nice in Por fin…I’m ready, but the title is what really stuck out to me. 'Finally…I’m ready.' Followed by beautiful synths and calm piano just reminds me of a warm memory, warped by time. It’s an open ended question, and you can’t see what once was as clear as you want to, but the sun is golden and her hands are still soft, and that’s all that matters.

I won’t fail u is so soft as well oh my God 🥺🥺

Overall, a good album! Deserve You went immediately into my main playlist lol. Went to Yearn city with that one (everyone knew my name) fr

[valhargreeves]

Hello, I just realized I never done this so here we go.

I used to go by Val, but in the sandman fandom I created new account under the name Noah! Same thing same thing.

Currently I'm obsessed with Morpheus from the sandman, he's also my wife and I have a son named The Corinthian.

I ship many things especially Corintheus and mostly many things involving Morpheus. Lately I ship Morpheus with Danny as well because I can😃😎. I'm intrigued by the tragedy that happened to Orpheus and Dream, so that's been the favorite thing I like to draw.

My main genre is usually angst but sometimes I'm leaning towards comedy as bad as dad jokes. Sometimes you can't help but wanting to see someone as regal as Dream of The Endless doing or saying the most unhinged shite but maybe that's just me. 🤷‍♂️

Anyway have fun and enjoy my blog everynyan!!!😸😸😸

[theprinceandthewitch]

Okay, time to jump back into the pits of IDV lore...

Character Introduction:

Alice DeRoss had a fulfilling childhood and a happy family. Enlightened and gentle parents, kind and reliable playmates shaped her optimistic and cheerful personality.

However, a tragic accident at the age of six changed everything, the family fell overnight, she was also known as the daughter of misfortune, suffered from hysteria and was sent to the orphanage.

She experienced both mental and physical torture in the orphanage until she was secretly adopted by a medical professor as an experimental subject and brought to Melbourne when she was 14 years old.

With prolonged medication and physical therapy, she gradually regained consciousness, however, it is perhaps more cruel to live soberly in hell than to live unaware in human world.

Luckily, the voice that existed in her memory kept saving her back to the brink of collapse repeatedly. Finally, all this changed her, but did not destroy her.

At the age of 21, Alice escaped back to England and became a social journalist in anonymity, looking for the truth about the tragedy and the disappearance of her playmates.

As an adult, Alice is elegant and intelligent, tough and brave personality, good at observation and disguise, as well as having excellent oratorical talent and analytical ability, unforgettable, able to sharply capture the emotions of others, however, because of pathological reasons, and drug testing at an early age, her sense of fear to be significantly weaker than normal, but also have more than normal endurance.

But even if she overcame the nightmare of the past, but it does not remove it. When alone, Alice de Rose[sic] has a serious cleanliness and obsessive-compulsive disorder, always wears gloves and hates sharp sounds.[3]

----

Oh okay, so Orpheus was basically her guiding light during the time she was being used as a lab rat.... guiding her out of the Underworld, so to speak...

OKAY.

----

A Crumpled Medical Report (2024):

(The back of the paper is covered in sawdust, while the front bears fragmented information written in somewhat juvenile handwriting.) Greetings. It seems I was correct—you found my message. Someone left a pen here—I've hidden it in the crevice between the second window and the iron bars. Perhaps they hoped you'd write something down, as I have. ... Greetings. Yes, I've found them. I'll write down what I remember, then return them to their place. The nurses wouldn't want any extra things lying about the room now, would they? ... I seem to have forgotten something... What a good start—at least I remember that I forgot something. ... They had my favorite chestnut cake this morning. ... No, wasn't breakfast raspberry cake? ... Who are you? ... Someone changed my medication. It must've been the one who left the pen. ... Who are you? ... If you're reading this, then you've guessed correctly... ... Who are you? ... I've discovered Dr. Bourbon's secret. ... Who are you? ... Remember, you've already forgotten "who I am..." ... Who are you? ... That key is in Dr.Bourbon's drawer. ... Who are you? ... They seem to have noticed the issue with the medication, but no matter, we can strike tonight. ... Welcome back, my bravest Nightingale.

----

I'M....

ORPHEUS HELPED HER ESCAPE FROM THE SCIENTISTS?

----

Also, my sleep deprived ass thought this letter was talking about a future event, but it's actually talking about Alice's time at the orphanage.

December 23rd, 1894 Myles (迈尔西) Orphanage

Dear Mr. ▇▇▇,

We’re terribly sorry to inform you that we were unable to approve your request of adoption regarding Alice. However, please believe us when we say that this has nothing to do with adoption fees; instead, it is about ethical considerations - we believe that members of her family, relatives by blood, would be a better fit (I hope you understand what I mean).

Despite this, you may still visit her as a friend, but we would not suggest doing so at the moment. Her current condition is worrisome. Since her arrival, her mental state has been on the border between consciousness and insanity. Any slight irritation will cause her to continuously scream shrilly, and scratching became her only form of communication with others. Even when she is in her more conscious state, she refuses to interact with others, but she can at least act independently. Therefore, we were forced to arrange a room alone. Now, this may sound immoral, but it can guarantee that she will not put anyone in harm’s way - especially, herself. To be frank, when compared to the other children, she already receives extremely special treatment. However, the doting and care the workers provide (Oh, goodness, they all love little Alice so much), and separately assigned room arrangements both require tremendous sums of money (For all I know, there’s been a number of people who have told me in secret that Alice belongs in an asylum and not an orphanage). Of course, “Benevolence treats all people equally” is our orphanage’s goal: we will do our best to ensure her living conditions here, within our current economic situation.

Perhaps, after a while, when her condition is stable, we will contact you for a visit. But, in the meantime, please wait patiently and have faith in us to protect every child that is sent here. We truly hope Alice is able to swiftly recover, and receive - as well as, be able to - enjoy her happy life.

Sincerely,

The Head of Myles (迈尔西) Orphanage

(The word “LIAR” is scrawled onto the letter, in large, capital red letters.)

---

The person who wrote this letter is heavily implied to be Orpheus...

Before everyone gets all up in arms: Orpheus is three years older than Alice... he's not some grown man, lmao

[cottoncandysprite]

You just saw Hadestown? Wanna talk about it? I saw a tour production of it back in November and I still haven’t recovered from how amazing it is and still have a ton to say lol. The parallel of Hades and Persephone and Orpheus and Eurydice, the tragedy, Orpheus representing Hope and Perseverance, love and loss… the way they end at the beginning… 😭 literally everything. Fave musicals of all time. (Also a proud defender of the original recording and the broadway version as both do some things better.)

Omg its been my fav musical since i heard the OBC recording in 2019, I havent gotten too deep into the older versions but i find the differences ive seen and the stories ive heard about how it started out super fascinating!!!! After getting used to animatics, bootlegs of the london version, and my CD of the cast recording, I convinced my mom to get me tickets for the tour for Christmas and now we're both obsessed lol

The parallels are so heartbreaking, the writing is amazing, i just can't stop thinking about it fr

In case you were wondering btw, my fav songs are Wedding Song and Chant (my mom's are Wait For Me and Flowers)

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

From Eden

Eden was never a symbol of perfection

Aphrodite was never a symbol of love

Love to the Greeks meant madness, meant that someone had fallen too far

(I never loved you

I thought I did

You told me I did)

But love is not Cupid’s arrow forcing you to fall

It is not gravity, pulling inescapable force

A black hole, sucking away at what makes you who you are

Love is choice

It means something

To the Enlightenment thinkers, gravity was all-powerful

The gravity of love destroyed me

You are not a superhero, seeking to save the day-

If you want to be a hero,

I name you Hercules, killer of families

I name you Adam, the first misogynist

I name you Orpheus, obsessed and unable to not look back

I name you Jason, betrayer of wives

I name you Hamlet, mocker of weakness

I name you David, widower of lovers

I name you tragedy

You will not destroy me

I am not tragedy

I am more than the damsel to your savior,

more than prologue to your redemption,

more than aftermath to your tragedy

(I should not have to save you

I cannot save you

I do not want to save you)

I am Eve, Jocasta, Eurydice, Ophelia, Andromeda, Bathsheba

I am Lilith, Echidna, Medea, Angrboda, Nut, Nyx, Loki

(I am the mother of monsters)

I am every wife wronged

Every lover betrayed

Every boyfriend raped

Every partner abused

Do not name me damsel- you have no right

I will name myself monster

I will become monster

Eden will fall and I will rejoice

I will not get thee to a nunnery

I will sire monsters to rule in my place, rage to burn the system down

I will turn myself into a bullet, into a weapon

You were supposed to be Heaven

You devoured me and spat me out into Hell

You call this anger, an overreaction

They say that you do not deserve this

(I did not deserve your abuse, your poison

I did not deserve a bullet when I kissed you

I did not deserve betrayal when I loved you)

This was not an overreaction

If I’d stayed with you I would have died

Maybe not today, but tomorrow

I would have been Ophelia, exiting before Act V

I would have been Eurydice, stuck in Hades for eternity while you escape

I would have been Medea, my husband a traitor and my children dead

I would have been every virgin sacrificed to their partner’s “needs”

I would have been victim, damsel, leaving forgotten in order to give you your happy ending

This is my battle cry

(I have spent too long your victim

I cannot be your punching bag anymore

I cannot be your fanatic, your damsel, your cult of one)

(Tell me, darling, how this is love

It’s not

You can’t tell me otherwise)

Keep your Eden, your Aphrodite,

Your gravity, your cult, and your Palace

Keep your crown

(I loved you

You lost me-

Goodbye.)

[tleeaves]

[enter FOOL wearing sunglasses as a Stayin' Alive remix plays on loop]

First and foremost, you must remember that I know nothing about anything--never have and never will. The second thing you must know about me is that I am obsessed with time loops and anything time-and-space related (not just Dr. Who specific, chill, whovians), which includes the multiverse and layers of reality. Various timelines existing at once and so on. It's been done over and over again, and I can't get tired of all the interpretations and stories.

A truly satisfying story, in my humble fool's opinion, relies upon the use of seemingly innocuous pieces of the story recurring in such a way that they gain importance, gain a narrative weight, and start to predict patterns that can tell and add layers to unfolding events/character arcs. A watch is just a watch until you see how many times the reader's attention is brought to it, until we see it fixed, and later broken, for some reason or other. It's a piece of symbolism. In that same way, authors essentially "time loop" everything in a story to make consistent themes for characters to struggle against or within. Not many excellent examples are coming to my mind because I'm an old woman and it's bedtime, but here's some brief mediocre ones:

I would argue that The Shadowhunter Chronicles (TSC) is about time loops (without, of course, being about time loops) because of the cyclical nature of each "era's" narrative. Female Main Character, Two Male Love Interests (of various interest), curses real and imagined holding everyone back, over and over and over and over. Told and retold. This creates layer, which then creates significance when Clare varies the loop just a little bit.

Or, look at tragedies. I may have spoken about tragedies before (they're another personal favourite of mine), but what makes a tragedy, well, a tragedy? I argue that many are a tragedy because they are about time loops. The characters are stuck in a situation they are forced to play out to the end--and it will always have ended with the same bitterness, one way or another. The narrative is inescapable. Each time you open a book, it's going to happen the same. No matter how many times you tell the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, he will look back and she will be lost to the Underworld forever.

Now, this in mind, look at time loops themselves: they absolutely are all about grief. Whenever I have worked with time loops (god, I love them, I will always be trying to sneak one in somewhere), they are essentially an embodiment of grief. To me, grief has always been the replaying of something over again in your mind, playing it to death, trying to find how you got from Once Upon A Time to The End, how many other ways it could have gone, how many other endings you could have wound up with, why this one, playing it to death, trying to find out how you got from Once Upon A Time to The End, how many other ways it could have gone, how many other paths you could have taken instead, playing it to death, trying to find how you got from Once Upon A Time to The End, how many other ways it could have gone, whether you could have asked her to stay, whether you could beg, whether you could have punched him, if remembering to buy that carton of milk would have saved them from the accident, if a firmer step would have stopped you from falling and ruining a life forever, if you hadn't looked back--if somehow you trusted the god of the underworld--if you had only heard her voice, some confirmation she was there--if, if, if--

Grief is ugly. It's screaming, it's wailing, it's tear streaks, it's clawing at the dirt, it's reversing the clock, it's rereading old messages, it's listening to voicemails, it's rewatching recordings and movies, it's going back to the same place the murder happened trying to remember just one more clue to put your spirit at rest forever. It's a time loop. It's going back, driven by stubbornness, madness, desperation, the feeling that this time--this time--you can find something to do differently so the loop breaks.

All stories are about time loops, except time loops. Because time loops are about their inherent grief, regret, knowledge of a mistake requiring correction. Being stuck. Doing something over.

Staying alive.

Keeping someone else alive.

Keeping something, a memory, alive still in the only way you know how within your limited power.

All stories are about time loops, except time loops. Time loops are about grief.

Anyway, time to go rewatch all the Spider-Man movies that exist so I can live once again in a time-loop that spans universes as I try to also predict whether the next Spiderverse movie is going to break the loop.

[exeunt FOOL jingling merrily to something that has transformed into a Christmas carol]

all stories are about time loops, except for time loops, which are about grief