#eurydice!reader

[fxckingjo]

I. Road To Hell

Once upon a time… there was a railroad line...

The edge of the truck stop carried with it a sort of biting cold, like the dark night of winter had teeth. Ten miles from any town, straight down the middle of bitter Illinois. A place for the stragglers, the sinners, and the things with fangs prowling in the shadows.

You were a hunter by trade. By blood, you should've been a housewife, domesticated like a pet, nodding and polishing golf clubs for an absent husband, pretending to be happy with life as it was, unaware of what could be. Of course, that was all before. Before the big black dogs marched out of hell and turned your parents to shreds. Before you saw, and understood. 

Mom sold her soul for a baby. Dad sold his for the mortgage.

Neither knew, both died.

Funny, that.

Tragedy leaves a mark, the same way that evil does. The stain is one that can't be prayed or bleached out, and the only reasonable conclusion is fight or flight. You've got the scars to prove your choice came with terms. You've got memories to keep you just warm enough at night to believe in something, but to keep you sharp. Like a blade, an instrument in a solo choir. 

So, you find yourself smack inside of No-Man's-Land, buttfuck nowhere, Illinois, hunting a pair of vampires with a taste for dime store hookers and truckers hooked on benzos. People who won't be missed. People who disappear easily. Mini-skirt, thong underwear, bare legs in subzero weather, playing bait with a razor wire stuffed in your bra and several small knives lining in-seams and creases in fabric.

Nowhere diner. Nowhere girl. A hunger that can't be filled. A fate that can't be avoided. 

You are Eurydice.

Little do you know, Orpheus and his big black car are six miles away.

It was the road to hell...

Dean Winchester knew it well. He knew it from the meat hooks at the bottom of the flaming pit, to the iron cells holding strong to lost souls, to the back doors in Purgatory. 

And Purgatory was the whole reason he was here, anyhow. He told Sam he was out to get laid, but really he needed a second to breathe, and killing made him feel better. In some way, he wanted to know he was still his father's son. Capable and precise and ready to do the right thing. Two bloodsuckers? That he could take care of and still make time for a slice of pie at the diner off the highway they'd turned into hunting grounds. 

He pulled into the parking lot among the big rigs and transients a quarter to eleven o'clock. Middle of the night, not too close to dawn, distanced enough from dusk. Truckers snored in their cabs, and the empty cars belonged to the sparse diner patrons, spread out across the counters and linoleum table tops, islands brought together purely by coincidence. 

And then he saw Her.

Right away he clocked the hooker costume. She held herself too uncertainly, her skin unbruised, unblemished. Impervious to the cold, she took a drag off her cigarette, looking disinterested in being anywhere. There was an innocence about her too, that Dean couldn't shake. Those eyes of hers, wide and framed by long, graceful lashes. Legs for days like a gazelle. He was struck all at once with the realization she shouldn't be there.

That is, until he caught the anti-possession charm dangling from her heavy black combat boots, so small it barely caught the light enough to twinkle. The final piece fell into place the second their eyes locked.

"It's not safe here, after dark," he said, finding his voice as he spun his keys around his finger.

"Counting on it, Mister," she replied.

"Dean," he told her. "Name's Dean."

She put out her cigarette, snubbing the lit cherry under the tip of her shoe. For some reason, by some damned miracle, she gave him her name. 

& brother thus begins the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice.

[amoreva]

A SAD SONG

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pairing: luke castellan x daughter of apollo!reader

summary: in which the gods and goddesses were hungry for something new.

warnings: not proofread! tlt/tlo spoilers! major character, death, angst

a/n: inspired by @basicrese post!! i did use some hadestown lyrics/lines from the show, so credit to anaïs mitchell & Rachel chavkin.

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The seeds of doubt sprouted: grasping at his mind, tangling itself through his hope. The Fates whispered in his ears, step after step. It was cold and dark. He never felt more alone.

Where is she?

Where is she now?

Orpheus gripped his guitar tighter. Every step he made felt like he was getting further and further from the surface. He chastised himself at every turn.

Why would he let me win?

Why would he let her go?

Why am I to think that he wouldn’t deceive me just to make me leave alone?

Where is she?

Where is she now?

Eurydice’s words fell on deaf ears. She was desperate to let Orpheus know she was here. Right behind him. She’d always been. She kept staring at the back of his head. It brought immense comfort as they walked and walked out of the Underworld.

They were so close. Eurydice could taste the surface, until she saw the contours of his face and his warm eyes filled with affection. A soft gasp fell from her lips.

“It’s you.” Relief filled his heavy heart when Orpheus saw her. His love. What had he done?

“It’s me.” She committed his face to memory, the warmth of his gaze comforting her. “Orpheus—” Helplessly she reached out, hoping to embrace her love once more. Instead of the warmth she wanted, cold hands grasped her arms, dragging her back to the Underworld.

“Eurydice.” His voice cracked. Frozen, staring at the place where she was.

Thus ended the tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice. Hermes told tales to entertain Olympus, but the gods and goddesses were growing tired of the same old tales: the same old tragedies. They craved something new.

Hermes gave a small smile and shook his head to the stars. He gave them what they wanted as a new tale formed in his head. It was a sad tale, but he was going to tell it anyway, even if it involved his own son.

Luke Castellan was a hungry young boy. A runaway from everywhere he’d been. He was no stranger to the world. No stranger to the wind.

The daughter of Apollo was a poor girl, but she had a gift to give. She could make you see how the world could be. In spite of the way that it is.

Yet, the son of Hermes had seen how the world was. When he fell, he fell in spite of himself…

In love with the daughter of Apollo.

It was the height of spring when Luke and you fell in love. He was scorned and pitied after failing his quest. Feelings of abandonment, fury and betrayal simmered below his lighthearted jokes and his composed smiles. He learned he could only fend for himself. To hell with the rest.

Until he met you, your sole being made him feel alive and when he fell—he fell hard. He was enamored your bright smile and optimistic personality. You’d caress his hair gently while singing a small tune. He learned to lean on your shoulder when nightmares passed, hoping your light was enough to shine through the darkness that overtook his head, plagued his sleep.

It wasn’t enough.

You awoke to the sound of shuffling. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, Luke was sitting on the edge of his bunk. His shoulders tensed as he held his head in his hands. “Luke…?” Your voice hoarse.

He turned his head towards you. An apologetic smile graced his lips. “Hey…” His voice low, raspy from underuse. He stretched over to give you a kiss on the forehead, keeping you from sitting up.

“You okay?” Your arms wrapped around him. He melted, burying his head in your neck, hiding his turmoil.

“Mhm.” And for a night, your light clouded the promises the deep voice in his dreams offered. It was a temporary distraction, one that wouldn’t last long—one he couldn’t keep relying on.

You should’ve known. Blinded by your ignorance and his empty reassuring words of his health, Luke disappeared from camp. Hit with the reality, you did everything in your power to find him.

But, he did not want to be found. Not by you. He knew if he saw you again, your eyes, your smile—your light would melt his purpose, his mission, leaving him putty in your arms (he missed it.)

Your original camp songs disappeared from the nightly bonfires. Your light faded ever so slightly. Regret, worry and guilt simmering beneath your smiles.

You swore you’d catch glimpses of his curls or his broad frame when you were in the city. You were chasing a ghost—holding onto the love you had for him. The restless nights plagued you, but instead of Kronos’ words, music notes coaxed you to stay up and write.

The sheets of music hidden beneath your bunk. The song for your and Luke’s hearts only. You were holding onto something you should’ve let go.

But, like the tragedy tale of Orpheus and Eurydice you met once again, but not under joyous circumstances.

The Battle of Olympus was treacherous. You kept catching glimpse of Luke—but instead golden eyes replaced the ones filled with affection you used to know.

You saw how the world could be, no longer naive to the truth. Your siblings perished in the battle. Cabin Seven went from being the largest cabin to the third smallest in the span of—gods knew how long. In spite of it all, you saw the beauty after it ended.

A bright light flashed. Exhausted from fighting hellhounds, empousas, telkhines, etc, you trudged your body to the Hall of Gods. Bone collided with the marble floor.

After all these years, you saw your love. Without the golden eyes or scorned look in his face, albeit bleeding, it was him. Your eyes filled with relief and warmth when you saw him, finally.

A soft gasp fell from his lips. He expected hatred, frustration—but found nothing but affection from you.

“It’s you.” You whispered, cupping his face with your battle-worn hands.

Luke leaned in, knowing it was the last time he would feel your touch, your light, your love. He committed your face to memory, so that when he goes—he goes remembering your face forever.

“It’s me.” He reassured, turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand.

So many words were on the tip of your tongue, but they kept themselves from forming properly. All you could do was stare at Luke, at last, after so long. Tears blurred your vision. Luke reached up to caressed your cheeks. Remembering your face with his eyes wasn’t enough.

“My love.” His voice so soft, gentle like he was admiring your light again: getting lost in your songs, melting in your arms and loving like the Underworld was shining.

Luke knew you had a lot to say. Words laced with frustration, concern, confusion, but all meant to be said with love.

“Luke.” You whispered as if your heart wasn’t breaking into a million pieces. Communicating in a silent stare, he felt your words, taking them to heart.

You couldn’t leave him with that and so you hummed.

The familiar notes that plagued your nights emitted from your lips. Luke’s hand dropped form your face with a thud. He shut his eyes and smiled as he listened. And for a moment, just for a moment, it felt like you and him were back at Camp. His head in your lap as you caressed his hair. The sounds of the forest accompanying your singing.

His breath stilled. The cold hands of the Fates grabbed him after you said your goodbyes, but his dead body held your warmth, your light. He remembered your face long after he made it to River Styx.

And you?

You sang your private song again for the world to hear. To keep him alive and you were going to sing it again with your love so full for the runaway.

Thus ended the tragedy of the son of Hermes and the daughter of Apollo. The gods were throughly entertained asking to hear it again and again. Until, it was an old song and they craved something new.

Hermes shook his head up to the stars. Heart stricken with grief and sympathy. It was a sad tale. A tragedy. And he was going to tell it again. The gods and goddesses of Olympus knew how it ended, but they were going to listen again and again as if it might turn out this time.

See, the daughter of Apollo was a poor girl, but she had a gift to give. She could make you see how the world could be. In spite of the way it is.

And the son of Hermes was a hungry young boy. A runaway from everywhere he’d been. He was no stranger to the world. No stranger to the wind.

Yet, the son of Hermes had seen how the world was. When he fell, he fell in spite of himself…

In love with the daughter of Apollo.

It was the height of spring when Luke and you fell in love.

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[velvetwilde]

At the end of the day, Spencer fell in love with a ghost who will hunt him until his last breath.

[luguangs]

on looking back & repetition as metaphors for grief

1. a grief observed - c.s. lewis // 2. spirited away - dir. hayao miyazaki // 3. orpheus tries to hold on to eurydice (c. 1791) - françois gérard // 4. omniscient reader's viewpoint - singshong // 5. gilgamesh a verse narrative - tr. herbert mason // 6. omniscient reader's viewpoint - singshong // 7. on the other side of grief with ocean vuong - aaron schwartz // 8. time travel told in five parts - judas h. // 9. omniscient reader's viewpoint - blackbox art // 10. housewife, the vanishing princess - jenny diski // 11. poem in pieces, a log; a history of too much - adrianne kalfopoulou // 12. the butterfly's burden; cadence chooses me - mahmoud darwish // 13. metamorphoses - ovid

image ids under the cut:

1. A quote by C.S. Lewis. I look up at the night sky. Is there anything more certain than that in all those vast times and spaces, if I were allowed to search them, I should nowhere find her face, her voice, her touch? She died. She is dead. Is the word so difficult to learn?

2. Dialogue from the Spirited Away screenplay. Haku says: But I can't go any farther. Just go back the way you came, you'll be fine. But you have to promise not to look back, not until you've passed through the tunnel.

3. A painting by François Gérard. Orpheus tries to hold on to Eurydice as she lies prone in his arms. Orpheus has a desperate expression on his face.

4. An extract from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint. A tale of this new world continued to flow on. But then, just as the subway's doors closed, Han Sooyoung looked behind her with a slightly unsure, hard-to-read face of someone that left something behind. Even Yoo Joonghyuk looked back, too. The only person who didn't was Kim Dokja.

5. An extract from The Epic of Gilgamesh. If you are Gilgamesh and did those things, why / Are you so emaciated and your face half-crazed? / I have grieved! Is it so impossible / To believe? he pleaded. / My friend who went through everything with me / Is dead! / No one grieves that much, she said. / Your friend is gone. Forget him. / No one remembers him. He is dead. / Enkidu. Enkidu. Gilgamesh called out: / Help me. They do not know you / As I know you.

6. An extract from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint. None of them could understand. They couldn't understand that there was someone in this world who could never live in the present.

7. A quote by Aaron Schwartz. In a way, grief is a marker of time. There was this and then there wasn't this, but you're still here,

8. A stanza by Judas H. so in the dream you find a way to go back / back to the days of sunshine on her not-yet grey hair / back to the hummingbird that came / when she called / back to when she still had a voice / to call them at all / time travel and grief are really not so different / it is all about looking back

9. Official art of Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint by Blackbox. Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyung turn to look back at the viewer. Kim Dokja in the background walks ahead without looking back.

10. A quote by Jenny Diski: People don't understand about repetition, do they? How it is at the heart (thump, thump, thump) of obsession; at the erotic centre (drip, drip drip) of desire. You do, of course. Repetition is insatiability spelt sideways.

11. A quote by Adrianne Kalfopoulou. Grief will keep you reaching back / for what is not there

12. Poetry by Mahmoud Darwish. I am still here / but you won't return as you were when I left you / you won't return, and I won't return

13. A quote from Ovid's Metamorphoses. Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?

[jointherebellion215]

Flowers

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: You're living a perfectly content life on Geidi Prime with your husband. It's a shame your mind can't rest, sparked by glimpses of a life unknown. Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.

Word Count: 1.5k

TW: Dark!Feyd-Rautha, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, yandere!Feyd-Rautha, manipulation, gaslighting, like SO much gaslighting holy shit, descriptions of violence, abusive relationship, emotional abuse, isolation, tragedy, nonconsensual drug use, nonconsensual medical treatement, induced memory loss, amnesia, dubious consent, pregnancy, songfic, happy-but-not-really-happy ending, I know I said female!reader but there's virtually no pronoun usage or descriptive words in thisfor the reader besides titles so maybe GN!reader??

A/N: I'm blown away, almost 500 notes on His Kiss, the Riot? Holy shit, all of the thanks! Here it is, the final part! I'm ending it with the song that actually started this whole idea. Listening to Eva's interpretation of Eurydice singing Flowers gave me the most delicious, fucked-up bit of inspiration and this came out. I was clutching my own metaphorical pearls writing this cause damn, this gets dark. Like, way more than I thought I could write. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the end of this twisted tale. Thank you for reading! As always, I appreciate you taking the time to like, comment, and reblog.

Read Part One and Part Two

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.

Lily white and poppy red

I trembled when he laid me out

“You won’t feel a thing,” he said, “when you go down”

Nothing gonna wake you now

Drops of blood. 

A wicked, black smile.

“You won’t feel a thing.” 

You wake up with a gasp. Your doctor had warned you about dreams like this. They weren’t real, just an aftereffect of your accident.

The medical staff for House Harkonnen had been gracious enough to inform you of your predicament. When your family had recently hosted the Harkonnens, you quickly met and fell deeply in love with the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. Your love for each other was so intense that you had demanded to get married right away. Your father disapproved of the union, so he disowned you and banished you, demanding to never see you again.

On the journey back to Geidi Prime, a stray asteroid hit the ship and caused you to hit your head. Feyd had apparently worried for your life, which saddened you and warmed your heart. It was nice to know that someone truly cared for you. However, your mind wasn’t quite the same afterwards. Your life before Geidi Prime was completely unknown to you. Your memories were in a fragile state.

That was just a few months earlier. Unfortunately, your mind has not yet recovered your memories prior to the accident. You were diligently taking a specially brewed tea that would calm your mind so it wouldn’t fracture under the immense pressure to try and fix itself. When you asked how long it would take for you to recover, your heart cracked when they said that it may take the rest of your natural life.

While it broke your heart to hear of your father’s dismissal of your feelings, you believed that you were strong enough to carry on. Having no further ties to your home world made it better to settle in with your new family.

You are a Harkonnen now.

Now, your footsteps make the quietest of echoes as you traipse down the narrow corridor. Heads of nearby servants and slaves bow, and eyes snap to the floor as you pass by. You feel the barest of sympathies, for not being allowed the simplest of human connection with their na-Baronness. But it was paradise considering the consequences should anyone ever feel bold enough to try otherwise.

Your husband wouldn’t allow that.

Dreams are sweet, until they’re not

Men are kind, until they aren’t

Flowers bloom, until they rot and fall apart

“Can I not have a single friend on this planet?!”

You burst into your shared chambers, rage rushing through your veins. All you had wanted was to have lunch and tea with one of the few female palace advisors you had taken a liking to. Maybe share a laugh or a story. Make a connection outside of your new family. That was all ruined when Feyd barged in and gutted your companion, stomach-to-throat, while she sat in her chair.

You were sure that your shoes had trailed blood down the hallway, but your mind was focused elsewhere at the moment.

“What use would you have for friends? I am right here.” He closed in on you, grasping your arms and forcing you to look in his direction. “Am I not enough for you? Do I not give you everything you should ever desire?”

His hands tighten around your wrists, making you flinch. A stray tear falls from your eyes, guilt starts to overcome your anger.

“No, not at all, husband! You have given me everything I could have wished for and more,” You wrench your hands out of his grip and grasp his face. He showered you with gifts, never let you go hungry or thirsty and this is how you repay him? “I just… I didn’t think you would want to hear me talk about certain things. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“I know you don’t, my darling.”

You take a deep breath as you feel the tension in the room start to settle.

“Your mind is already fragile from the accident… I just want to keep you safe.”

Safe. That was the key here. He takes step back and retrieves a small dagger from his belt.

Feyd holds it up, showing you the weapon. “Did you know that your friend had a blade dipped in poison strapped onto her person?”

You can feel the blood rushing from your face. No. You didn’t know.

“I-I didn’t see a knife on her. She couldn’t have-“

“She did.”

He drops the blade and leans in closer to you, forehead aligning with yours. “There are people out there who seek to harm you, who seek to harm me through you. I can never let that happen.”

You nod furiously. You couldn’t believe that you had been so stupid. 

Trust is unbelievably hard to come by in the Galactic Imperium. Your few months’ worth of memories can even attest to that. It seems that the only people you can truly rely on is family.

“I only want what’s best for you.”

You understand now.

Is anybody listening?

I open my mouth and nothing comes out

Another argument discussion had emerged from your telling of your latest dream. Your husband was convinced that you were entirely too exhausted to put any stock into what your subconscious was telling you, but you thought otherwise.

Fingers run through a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—

“I swear to you, it felt so real! It was almost like a memory, like something I-,” A firm hand is placed on your shoulder as you give a slight stumble. Feyd puts a hand on your back, leading you to the edge of your bed, setting you on the bench that was placed against the footboard.

“Please, have some of your morning tea, my darling. You look a bit peaked.” You accepted the cup he gave you, settling down and taking a few sips of the warm, spiced drink. Your mind instantly calms, anxieties evaporating from your body like puffs of smoke. Never mind the memories that you had just… Floating.

Your husband is now on one knee in front of you, arms encasing your body, as his hands cup your face. He brings your eyes to meet his, seemingly searching. For what? You do not know.

“What were you saying about this dream of yours?” A pause reverberates throughout the room as your head tilts in confusion.

“My…?” You stutter, mouth opening to complete a thought that was no longer entirely there. “I can’t quite remember. What were we talking about?”

Your husband gives a smirk, analyzing your face once more before placing his hand on the dark fabric covering your swollen belly.

“Nothing of import. It seems that my heir is set on scrambling your thoughts.”

There seemed to be nothing in this world that brought more joy to Feyd-Rautha’s face than the sight of you and his unborn child. He’s more protective of you now than ever, having guards always posted near you, having you wear a shield during all public appearances. Not to mention, he was damn near insatiable in private. His hands and mouth are practically dragged away from you and your growing stomach every morning.

You give a chuckle. “I’d heard about pregnancy brain before, but never knew it to be this taxing! Perhaps I’ll take a walk later if I’m feeling up to it.”

Feyd gives your cheek a soft pat before rising to his feet, “Rest, my darling. I shall check in on the both of you later.” His hand rests next to yours, giving your belly a quick rub before he walks towards the door.

Your head goes to set on your pillow, the warmth from the tea running through your body. You must be really tired, since you fall asleep so quickly.

Quick enough to not hear the deadbolt lock clicking from the outside once the door is closed.

Flowers, I remember field of flowers

Soft beneath my heels

Walking in the sun, I remember someone

Someone by my side, turned his face to mine

The dreams start to encroach your mind while you are awake. You continue to follow your doctor’s instructions: take your daily tea, rest often, don’t overexert your body or your mind. But, ever persistent, they push through, finding parallels with your daily life to latch onto.

A hand, gently enlaced with yours, guides you through a meadow—

You husband’s hands lead you to stand with him by his uncle’s side, preparing for another ceremony.

A laugh, familiar and warm—

A chilling cackle of laughter reaches you in your viewing box, watching your husband gleefully slay another adversary in the arena.

Bright, yellow sunlight caressing your face and neck—

The black sun of Geidi Prime pulses in your periphery as you wave to a crowd below, your husband standing stoically next to you.

A kiss, given freely—

Feyd ravishes you in your chambers, lips melding together with yours.

My darling—

My love—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

“Is everything alright, my darling?”

You blink, snapping back to the present. Pale, smooth skin and blue eyes, your husband extends his hand towards you. Safe. He gives you everything. You and your child will never struggle or suffer with him. You are safe with him. Aren’t you?

Blood splatters over a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—

You give a bright smile.

If you ever walk this way

Come and find me lying in the bed I made

[diyasgarden]

i don’t remember off the top of my head who it was but a few weeks ago someone mentioned the idea of orpheus!art which feels like a very you-coded concept…. idk if you’ve ever listened to hadestown but donal finn’s version of wait for me is soooo orpheus!art to me… the desperation and yearning in his voice OOOUGGGH screaming crying throwing up

The way he increases volume as he sings, the developing rasp as the song goes on, the growing desperation!!! It all adds to this all-consuming sense of yearning for something he may not be able to reach, it is all so Art!

Orpheus! Art who is innately passionate and optimistic, always radiating with his own sense of charm.

Orpheus! Art who falls in love with you at first sight, not even a second thought. One look and he knows he’s gone.

Orpheus! Art who would do anything for you if he could. Only really wanting a peaceful life with you by his side. He may not have everything you need, but he will try.

Orpheus! Art who doesn’t think twice about going to find you once he realizes you’re gone. It’s not even a question in his mind. He loves you more than himself anyway.

Orpheus! Art who finds you. Who fights for you. Who does everything right that you can nearly taste a peaceful life with him again.

And Orpheus! Art who was so close. So very close. You can’t blame him tho, he loves you. Why wouldn’t he turn back?

[justgiulia]

Echoes of The Abyss

Orpheus!Dan Heng x Eurydice!gn reader

Summary: Dan Heng’s world shatters when you, his only solace, are lost to death. Desperate, he descends into the Abyss to bring you back.

Warnings: Major character death.

Author's notes: This is based off Orhpeus and Eurydice's myth. I hope you'll enjoy this <3

Dan Heng was a sensitive musician and poet who accompanied his verses with the sweet sound of the lyre. At his song, the beasts came out of their dens and became tame and the devastating forces of nature lost their fury. But Dan Heng did not boast: grateful, he thanked the Aeons.

When you had met Dan Heng for the first time, he was a mystery few dared to unravel. Yet, you were persistent, breaking through his carefully constructed walls with your genuine curiosity and unrelenting kindness. Where others saw a stoic enigma, you saw a man carrying the weight of his past in silence.

Over time, he began to let you in. You found solace in his presence, and he found peace in yours. He would read you fragments of ancient poems, his voice low and steady, and play melodies on his lyre that seemed to echo the sorrow etched in his soul.

Then came the day everything unraveled.

A mission gone awry, a poisoned blade and you were gone. Dan Heng had been there, holding you as your life slipped away, the light in your eyes dimming like a candle snuffed out by the wind.

"Stay with me"

He had begged, his voice breaking in a way it never had before.

He called you with all his strength, but you were dead.

The young man, as if mad, wandered aimlessly for days and days. He prayed in vain to the wild beasts to kill him. He sang his anguish to the trees, to the birds, but nothing could calm his pain.

The universe did not bargain with love.

And then, the rumors began—whispers of a place beyond the veil of death, where souls lingered, waiting for those brave or desperate enough to find them. The Path of the Abyss was treacherous, but If there was a chance to bring you back, he would take it.

The Abyss was vast. He walked for a long time and his singing moved the souls of the dead.

Dan Heng kept going, driven by the memory of your smile and the warmth you had brought into his life.

In the center of a dark hall was the throne on which sat the two Aeons Arbitrers, who determined the death and birth of common mortals: Lan and Qlipoth. Dan Heng addressed his invocation to Qlipoth.

"Oh sweet Aeon who from your face emanates the light of the universe" - he began - "have pity on my pain. Cruel fate has torn my beloved from life. I have tried to calm my despair, but in vain. Have pity on me. Hear me, I beg you, give me back Y/n or keep me here too. I would rather die than live without them".

The young man's invocation moved the Aeon to pity, who wept softly, looked for a moment at the other Aeon, and implored THEM in silence. Lan would never refuse THEM and THEY too, becoming tender, exclaimed: -

"You seek to defy the natural order," it intoned, its voice reverberating like the tolling of a bell. "To reclaim what has been taken is to invite suffering upon yourself."

"I don't care," Dan Heng said, his gaze unwavering. "I will do whatever it takes."

"Very well...your song, Dan Heng, has moved Qlipoth and me. I want to please you: Y/n will return with you to the earth. You yourself will lead them out of the Abyss. But be careful: you must neither look, touch nor speak to them until you have reached the light of the sun. If you turn around, you will lose them forever".

The poet, his face transfigured with happiness, bowed to the sovereign and headed towards the exit.

They walked for a long time, but Orpheus' thoughts were on his beloved who was following him. You walked behind him, your presence a fragile reassurance, but the silence between you was deafening. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of his fear pressing down on him. With his eyes fixed in front of him, he desperately struggled with the desire to turn and look at your face.

Suddenly a terrible doubt gripped his heart: were you following him or had Qilipoth deceived him?Were you truly there? Or was this a cruel illusion of the Abyss? And just as the sunlight began to filter through the darkness, he could no longer resist. He turned around.

You were standing before him and, with your hands, took off a veil that was covering you. You were more beautiful than ever, but your eyes were sad.

It was an instant. A thick, gray fog enveloped you and you disappeared into the depths forever. Form dissolved into the darkness, your voice a fading echo.

"Dan Heng... thank you for trying."

The young man's pain was terrible; he sobbed, he begged the infernal gods once more, he drew the most heartbreaking notes from his lyre. Lan did not take pity a second time and did not grant him grace again.

He emerged into the light alone, the weight of his failure crushing him. The stars above remained indifferent, their cold light a mockery of the warmth he had lost. He wandered for months through woods and grasslands. Little by little his deep despair found comfort in music, whose notes he traced on a tree bark, but the emptiness within him remained.

In the Xianzhou Luofu there is no singer who does not know that magical music.

[starlight-in-a-bottle]

Looking back as a love language. Is this anything?

[eurydicewalking]

"oh that plot twist was so obvious i guessed it immediately" "i guessed it in the first ten pages" "i saw it coming in the first epis--" i didn't. that plot twist could have been a train blaring its horn full blast and i still would have stepped straight onto the tracks. all you'd see is the most deer-in-headlights face a human has ever made right before it fucking obliterates me

[theofficialuriel]

girls (gender neutral) when yoohankim parallels Orpheus and Eurydice

[fxckingjo]

𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔗𝔥𝔲𝔰 𝔅𝔢𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔗𝔞𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣

When the love of Dean Winchester's life, his Eurydice, is taken by Crowley to keep the Winchesters from closing the gates of hell, Dean goes on a dangerous trek through the underworld to get her back. All it takes is one deal, with one simple rule:

Orpheus must ascend from the underworld without looking back, trusting that his Eurydice is following behind him.

But an Orpheus who does not look

Is an Orpheus who does not love her.

Mini-series coming soon! Part One Here

[bicycle4two]

she must know (that she is loved) || Jason Todd x F!Reader

Summary:

jason has to trust that she is following him

or

an orpheus and eurydice retelling

...

Read on AO3

...

Part 1

...

It’s a journey he never thought he’d find himself on but there are a lot of things Jason thought he’d never do and has done, albeit most of the time reluctantly, against his will, in his life. 

It’s something out of a fairytale, an age-old story that was made to teach people lessons, to inspire thought and discourse, and Jason thinks that no one is going to believe that this is something he’s doing–something that can be done, but if there’s something that Jason Todd knows how to do, it’s the impossible.

If he was able to come back, why can’t she?

At least he’s here to guide her.

(God, he hopes that he is guiding her, that she, like she’s done many times before, is following him.)

…

There are moments, multiple throughout his time of knowing her, when she will ask him to play for her, play something she can dance to–an easy request, as there’s nothing she can’t dance to–something that allows her to close her eyes, spread her arms, and glide, twirl, fly across the room, allows her to forget that for a moment, just this moment at least, that there’s a world outside their own.

Jason doesn’t think he’s that good a musician, he prefers the company of his books when he finds himself having downtime, but he plays, he plays for her because she asks him to, because if it’s within his power, he’d do it for her, always for her.

So he plays her a tune, mostly something from the top of his head, a melody that’s inspired by her, and he watches her dance, follows her fluid movements with his eyes.

He’s not that good a musician, he can’t flawlessly play without looking down at the keys from time to time, but it doesn’t matter, she doesn’t seem to notice when he misses a note, and Jason couldn't care less either because he simply cannot tear his gaze away from her. 

(Jason! Look at me!)

He just can’t.

…

He’s long grown accustomed to all things cold and dark, in some way he has found comfort in it as it has often played to his advantage when he’s out fighting crime or investigating, but now he yearns for the light, the feel the warmth of the sun on his skin. 

It was not often that he found himself outside the city for leisure but there was a time, not so long ago, that she convinced him to drive them to the outskirts, just until they saw some semblance of nature, of life undisturbed, and they laid together under the clear blue sky. She had danced for him then, too, the trees as her backdrop, the grass her stage, her carefree laughter as her song.

And him, her enamored audience. 

There’s no laughter here now. The ground is wet under the soles of his shoes, the damp crunch of gravel under his heavy footsteps creates the soundtrack of this journey. He expects the haunting echoes of wind to accompany it, maybe the clicks of bats like what he hears when he is down at the Batcave, but the air is still, quiet, making it quite obvious that he is alone.

No. 

Not alone. 

Of course not because she’s here, she’s just behind him.

She’s always just behind him.

(Look! Look at me!)

…

Trust.

She’s there.

He needs to trust that she’s there, behind him, following him, like always.

Trust that even without him turning back, she’s just there, quickening her steps to catch up to his long stride.

He should probably slow down though, he doesn’t want to get too ahead of her, doesn’t want her to trip just because he wants to get them out of here as soon as possible, get her to where it's safe, get her home.

He stops.

He waits, just in case, in case she’s lagged behind, in case she has fallen due to their haste–

Fallen? What if she’s hurt? What if she’s too far behind, unable to move, he needs to turn back, needs to make sure–

No. 

Trust. 

She’s following him. 

She always follows him.

She must.

(Right?)

…

He used to say that her gaze was like fire, not in the way that it burns, but in the way that it warms, brings comfort. In the way that fire can symbolize that you’re home, that you can take refuge here.

He always feels the warmth of her stare, feels it like a caress down his back, before he hears her approach. It’s a difficult thing to do, to sneak up on him, and although her steps are soft, quieter than even his own trained and calculated movements, her eyes give her away everytime.

It’s this warmth that he seeks now. 

Sometimes he thinks he can feel it, feel the prickle at the back of his neck.

But it’s not enough, it was never enough just to feel that she’s there, he needs to know, needs to clarify with his own eyes that she is just behind him–

(Jason!)

–But he can’t. He won’t look back.

So he has to depend on what little warmth he feels, ignores that actual chill in his bones.

Because fire, although strong and consuming, can also be distinguished.

…

Just a peak–a little glance over his shoulder–just to make sure, just to check.

It won’t count—it will.

He can’t. 

But–

He just has to know. 

He has to make sure.

He must–

(Look!)

–He must not.

…

She used to say that Jason had a talent for finding her, especially when she needed him the most–when she was late to class, when she needed to go to the washroom because she’d spilled sauce on her white skirt, when she’d taken the wrong turn looking for their favorite coffee shop, when some Rogue goon had picked her off the streets to use as a hostage. He’s always there at the nick of time, just when she’s starting to feel a little hopeless, he’s there to save her, to bring her back.

What she doesn't know is that she has a talent for finding him, too. 

When he’s lost in his thoughts, stuck in a spiral of dark memories, of what ifs and could have beens. She finds him, brings him back to the light, reminds him that he is good, that he has good in him, that things, no matter how bleak they seem in the moment, will always turn out alright in the end.

Even him. 

Especially him.

…

(Look at me!)

Don’t.

…

There was a time, under the blanket of the night sky, when she roused him from his sleep, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, fingers twisted into his nightshirt.

“Why are you with me?”

She asks, voice cracking like ice. 

And Jason, Jason is frozen because—

She must know why. 

She must know.

“Why?”

But sometimes, sometimes she needs reminding. 

“How is it that you see me?”

She asks, eyes closing, tears falling, Jason reaches for her then, thumbs wiping at her cheeks, soft, so soft, fragile.

He sees her, he’s always seen her. 

It’s hard to look away from her.

And she must know why. 

…

“You always see the best in me.”

“I just see you.”

…

Light! 

There’s light!

It’s still a ways away but Jason finally sees an end to this journey, the suffering, the anxiety.

In his excitement, he nearly turns back to her, almost looks back to tell her, assure her, celebrate with her, that they’re almost done, they’re almost home but—

But he stops. He stops himself because he can’t, he must not.

He needs to reach the light first, needs to lead them out of the darkness, so he hurries, because it’s there—they’re almost there!

At last—

He’s here!

He feels the warmth on his skin, his eyes squint from how bright it is, can’t imagine how long it’s been since he’s been in the light, and her—it’s been even longer for her but soon, soon they’ll be together, together in the light—

“Jason!”

It’s automatic—he turns, he turns to her because she calls for him, he’ll always answer her call—

And, there she is!

There she is in—

Darkness.

…

“Jason, look! Look at me!”

And it’s almost funny how she feels the need to say that, to call his attention to her, because Jason is looking, he’s always looking at her. She doesn’t realize, doesn’t yet know, how hard it is for him to look away.

...

a/n:

oh look, i did write a part 2

[forest-hashira]

'Til Death Do Us Part

hi everyone! this is my (first) entry for @kentopedia's "Love Through the Ages" collab/event! this is a retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, but with Gojo/Reader. if you want to know the full vibes for this, i listened to Moon Song and I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers on repeat while writing this.

read on ao3 here | wc: ~3.3k | cw: gn reader, satoru is a musician, major character death (reader), hurt no comfort, unhappy ending

Falling in love with you was easy. In fact, it was probably the easiest thing Satoru had ever done in his life; even easier than picking up the lyre as soon as he was strong enough to hold it; even easier than the singing lessons he’d outgrown the need for when he was still just a young boy; easier than charming every young woman he ever came across, leaving a long string of broken hearts in his wake.

But not you.

With you, he’d taken his time, had actually gotten to know you until it felt like he’d known you all his life; he knew your favorite season, what times you liked to take walks in the fields outside of town, even your favorite place to watch the sunset. He also knew that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Falling in love with you was easy, and even after you’d fallen in love with him, too, asking you to marry him felt terrifying. But you said yes, and all that terror had melted into elation. 

There was hardly any time at all between your engagement and your wedding, both of you eager to belong to each other forever, so in love it was almost painful. Though the wedding itself was small – and barely a month after Satoru proposed – it was the most joyful day in both of your lives. Being surrounded by the laughter of your loved ones, everyone dancing and enjoying good food and dancing had made you feel lighter than air, even long after the sun had set; for once, you weren’t even sad that you had missed watching it from your favorite spot.

Falling in love with you was easy. Loving you was easier. Losing you was the most painful thing Satoru had ever experienced.

It was only days after your wedding, after you had promised to be at one another’s side until the end, in the very field where you’d first told him you loved him, where you’d shared your first kiss. 

You had cried out from a sharp pain in your ankle, and when both of you looked to see what it was, you watched a large snake disappear into the flowers. In a panic, Satoru had ripped the fabric of his tunic, wrapping it tightly around the wound, silently, desperately praying that the poison would move slow enough for him to get you back to the town, where he could only hope someone would know how to cure snake bites. He couldn’t lose you, not like this, not so soon after he’d made you his.

When he’d gone to carry you – to pick you up and rush back to town with you in his arms – he had seen your skin was already an unnaturally pale, ashen color, a sheen of sweat over your whole body.

“No,” he’d whispered, shaking his head, as if that would magically give him more time to save you. “No, no no no.”

You’d only smiled at him, though your eyes were already starting to go a little unfocused. “It’s too late, my love.” Your hands had tangled in the front of his tunic, the soft blue fabric crumpling so easily between your fingers. “But this isn’t such a bad place to die, is it? I’m with you, and the flowers are blooming, and the sun is shining.” With every word, you’d had to lean more and more of your weight into him, your legs losing strength by the second.

“Let’s just sit together for a moment, my love, and enjoy the breeze. I don’t want to be scared when I go.”

The words had nearly shattered Satoru, but he had nodded, easing both of you down to lay amongst the flowers, cradling you close to himself the whole time. He’d stared down at you without blinking, unwilling to miss a single heartbeat of the time he had left with you; the fact that you had looked up at him, too, was both a blessing and a curse.

“Don’t go,” he’d pleaded, throat tight with the tears he was fighting back. “I don’t want you to go. I love you.”

“I know,” you’d whispered back. “I don’t want to go, either. I love you, Satoru, and I wish we had more time, but we don’t.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No,” you’d agreed, a bittersweet smile on your lips. “It’s not fair. But neither is life. And I’m happy to have spent as much of mine with you as I got to.”

Words had failed him then, and he’d leaned down to press one last kiss to your lips, knowing deep down that this would be his last chance. And he had been right; you’d managed to return his kiss for a moment, before going completely still in his arms.

Satoru had stayed in that field with you and wept for hours after the warmth left your body, only forcing himself to stand and take both of you back to town when it began to grow dark and a chill drifted in on the breeze you had been so eager to feel in your last moments.

And so, he had carried you home, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying, but his face otherwise blank, too numb to feel even grief at that moment. No one that saw him had tried to stop him, the sight of the typically lively musician so hollow, so quiet, had left everyone shaken.

The days after your death all blurred together; the only one that stuck out significantly from the others was the day of your funeral, because it was the only time he’d cleaned himself up and left the house, and even that was because Satoru knew he was expected to be there, the grieving husband to round out the picture of a Perfect Funeral. It had made him sick, and he’d excused himself as quickly as possible. 

He spent much of his time crying, or staring at the wall, or ceiling, replaying that last afternoon with you, obsessing over how he could have done things differently, how he could have saved you, even if he knew logically it was pointless; what was done could not be undone, especially not death. 

…Could it?

Once Satoru had the thought, he could not bring himself to abandon it, so he began instead to meticulously detail his plan. 

The days were already growing colder, which meant that Lady Persephone had returned to her husband’s realm of the Underworld; perhaps he would be able to use that to his advantage. 

Satoru had a purpose again, something to get him out of bed and moving; he had a goal to achieve, and no earthly force would stop him. He spent days polishing and tuning his instruments, and days longer composing and perfecting a song to play for the King and Queen of the Underworld; if he was going to convince the keepers of the dead to release one of their charges, everything needed to be perfect.

He was vaguely aware that a couple people – Suguru and Shoko, perhaps? Anything outside of his task was fuzzy at best – came to check on him occasionally, just as they had before he had manically begun to prepare to do the impossible. If they tried to talk him out of it, he can’t remember; even if they had tried, it wouldn’t have worked. His sole focus was on getting you back, and nothing would stand in his way.

By the time Satoru felt he had done everything he could to prepare for his journey, almost two weeks had passed since you’d died in his arms.

Your husband dressed warmly, both because he was unsure what to expect in the Underworld and because having your scarf wrapped around his neck gave him confidence that his plan would work; how could it not, when wearing the scarf wreathed him in your scent, as if you were already back with him again?

The sun was barely up when Satoru left your home, his lyre wrapped carefully in muslin and tucked into his bag. He knew the entrance to the Underworld was close enough to walk, but he didn’t know how long it would take him to get there, and he didn’t want to waste any time at all. Though he had left so early in the morning, there were still a few townspeople that saw him, asked him where he was going, but he ignored them all; conversation would only delay his journey, and he wouldn’t have that.

The musician made good time, all things considered, reaching the entrance to the Underworld about an hour past midday. He paused for a moment, took a deep breath to steel himself, then stepped forwards into the darkness.

He had no torch to light his way, but the path beneath his feet seemed to glow on its own, as if guiding him along; as if the Lord and Lady were expecting and didn’t want to be kept waiting because the foolish mortal lost his way. So, seeing no other option, he followed the soft, almost foggy glow as it led him deeper and deeper into the earth and – hopefully – to the throne room of Hades and Persephone. 

Time didn’t quite feel the same below the surface – it felt thicker, somehow, and heavier, catching on his clothes and sticking to his skin like honey – which meant he had no idea how long he’d been walking. The only thing that kept him from panicking was the faintest scent of pomegranates, coming from the same direction the path seemed to lead.

Eventually, Satoru did reach the throne room, though he couldn’t have recalled what it looked like later if his life depended on it. For as much as he looked around, the whole room could have been made of diamonds and liquid gold could have rained from the ceiling; none of that mattered to him, because it had nothing to do with you. His gaze went straight to the couple in their thrones, and he fought to keep his nerves under control; now was not the moment to get stage fright for the first time in his life. 

“Your Highness,” he said, bowing so low he felt the way his hair shifted to cooperate with gravity, the dusty purple of his undercut no longer hidden beneath the pale strands of his frosty hair, so white it practically glowed in the dusk of the throne room. 

“What brings you to my realm, mortal?” Hades asked, his expression impassive, though his eyes simmered with something dangerous. 

“I have come to play you a song,” Satoru answered simply, standing from his bow and removing his lyre from his bag, unwrapping the fabric from around it with great care. He adjusted his hold on the instrument until it sat nestled in his arms in the best position for him to play, then lifted his gaze back to the gods. “If it pleases my Lord and her Ladyship, of course.”

This was the one catch in his plan: if he was denied permission to play, he had no chance of returning home with you at his side.

“Oh, please?” Persephone turned to face her husband, a pleading expression on her face. “Let him play, my love. We never have mortal visitors, much less artists, and I want to hear what he’s prepared for us!”

The King of the Dead hesitated for a few moments, staring at his wife, but Satoru caught the way his smoldering eyes softened, the way the hard lines of his mouth eased, and the musician knew he would be allowed to play.

“My wife wishes to hear you play,” the god said, turning back to the man before him. “I hope you don’t disappoint her with your skills.”

With another, smaller bow, Satoru began to play, and soon thereafter began to sing. He sang about you: all the ways you loved him, and all the ways he loved you in return. He sang of his life before he met you: how he had played around, led people along and broken their hearts with his carelessness, simply because he was bored. He sang of your lives after you’d met: how you had brightened his mornings and sweetened his days and warmed his nights; how you had planned a future together you had never gotten to see. The harmonies from his lyre blended with the melodies of his voice, painting the image of you so vividly Satoru swore he could see your shape in front of him again.

It wasn’t until he finished his song that he realized he could see you there in front of him, though your form wavered around the edges, like you were a little less than solid. But you were there, and you were smiling, and he felt like falling to his knees and crawling to you right then and there; the only thing that stopped him was realizing that both Hades and Persephone were openly weeping.

He, Gojo Satoru, had brought gods to tears with his music, and with his love for you.

Emboldened by seeing your face again, Satoru spoke. “Please,” he begged, his voice eggshell-thin, cracking under the stress of his request. “Please don’t make me return home without my love. I cannot bear to make the journey alone again.”

At first he received only silence in response, and though he was not a patient man by nature, he forced himself to wait until he was spoken to, not wanting to risk upsetting the gods before him.

“Once a soul has entered the Underworld, it cannot be allowed to leave again,” Hades responded once he had composed himself, which felt like years after Satoru had made his plea. “I am very sorry.”

The musician felt his heart sink at the denial, and he began to consider begging to be allowed to stay, instead, if he couldn’t bring you back with him.

“Oh, please, my love,” Persephone cried, messily wiping the tears from her eyes as she gazed at her husband. “You let me go home again when my mother begged for my return. Why can’t you grant him this same mercy?”

“Because order must be maintained,” the Lord of the Underworld answered. “Rules must be followed, you know this. Your own return home has its own rules, after all.”

“Then give me rules I must abide by. I swear I will follow them as faithfully as possible.” Though he knew interrupting a conversation between gods could be dangerous, Satoru simply could not stop the words from tumbling from his lips.

“Please.” The goddess’s voice was petal-soft, a warm, hopefully breeze cutting through the chill of the Underworld. 

The silence was heavy, crushing the air out of every part of the room, suffocating the musician where he stood. Despite the pain, Satoru only had eyes for you, your warm gaze giving him the strength to push through, to wait for Hades’s answer before completely giving up hope.

“If I let you both return to the surface world,” the god’s voice, though low and rough, rang out clear. “You must follow one rule.”

“Only one?” It seemed too good to be true.

“It is a difficult one.”

“Anything,” Satoru rushed out. “I’ll do anything.”

“You will lead the two of you out of the Underworld, but until you both are on the surface again, out of my domain, you are not to turn around. I promise you will not be alone, that you will return with your love, but you must not turn around before you leave this place. If you turn around, you will have to leave here alone, and you will never be allowed to return until your own death.”

“If I’m not allowed to turn around, are we at least allowed to speak to each other?”

“Yes, you can converse on the journey. Now, take your lover and go. Once you leave the throne room you must keep your back turned at all times until you reach the surface.”

Bowing deeply, Satoru thanked the god profusely for several moments, then straightened and stepped forward, reaching out and taking your hands, helping you from where you sat on the floor of the throne room.

“Let’s go home,” you said, smiling so sweetly at him it made his teeth ache. He nodded eagerly in agreement, taking just a moment longer to take in your features before guiding you to the entrance of the throne room.

“Are you ready?” he asks, turning to you one last time as the two of you stand in the threshold. “I’m not sure how long the journey back is, and if you grow tired we can’t stop.”

“I’m ready when you are,” was your answer, giving his hand a light squeeze to show you meant the words. 

Satoru nodded back, once again pausing to admire your face, your smile, everything about you, before turning away, still holding your hand as he stepped out of the throne room and began the trek back to the surface, back home.

He was silent for a bit at first, feeling your hand in his enough to assure him you were there, but eventually both his nerves and his natural chattiness got the better of him. He said almost every thought that came to his mind, though he tried to make sure to ask as many questions as possible, eager to hear your answers, your sweet voice a soothing balm to his raw and frayed nerves. 

The journey felt shorter this time around, though whether that was because he was retracing his footsteps, or some other strange property of time in the Underworld, Satoru couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t going to complain about it, either, because not turning to look at you was proving much more difficult than he had thought when he was first given the rule.

When he finally saw the entrance to the surface, sunlight still visible on the horizon, a beaming grin broke out across his face. “We’re nearly there,” he told you. “See? We’ve nearly made it.” Unable to help himself, he picked up his pace, still pulling you along behind him. 

He didn’t notice your hand slipping from his own as he closed the last few paces to the entrance.

His joy was palpable as he practically leapt through the gates, back onto the surface, into the grass that waited for him as the sun began to set behind him.

“We did it!” Satoru cheered, spinning around to look at you. “Oh, my love, it feels so good to have you—” The sight of your sad smile had his gaze dropping to your feet.

You hadn’t yet crossed over the threshold.

And he had turned around and looked at you.

“No,” he begged, racing towards you, desperate for at least one last kiss, one last embrace, even if he could not keep you with him. “Please, my love, I’m so sorry.”

Before he could reach out and touch you, though, your shape had already begun to waver, rippling like the surface of a pool disturbed by the wind. You only shook your head, your smile never leaving your lips. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “I love you. I’ll see you again someday. Live well for me, okay?”

“I-I’ll try,” he choked out, tears thick in his voice even before they spilled from his eyes, though there was no stopping them as your form wavered more, then faded fully from sight.

He fell to his knees and wept, loud, heaving sobs, gripping handfuls of grass as he pressed his forehead to the ground, forced to mourn you a second time.

ok so this was baby's first sad ending/hurt no comfort so pls don't come for me if it was bad i'm so sorry idk how to do this i don't like sad endings but this is my favorite myth i couldn't bring myself to change the ending

tagging: @kentopedia @kentohours @mitsuristoleme

[morverenmaybewrites]

Imagine Eurydice!Jason Todd and Orpheus!Reader

Inspired by this wonderful post by @bloodtypemoss Can you just imagine Jason being trapped in the bowels of Arkham Asylum again, perhaps as an act of vengeance by Scarecrow? Can you imagine him with fear toxin pumping through his veins instead of the snake venom that killed Eurydice? And it is almost like death, being trapped in the place he had tried to escape for so long? Certainly, it's a form of hell. He can even pick out the stains on the floor where he had bled so long ago. Here, was where he woke up to find that the Joker had broken his leg, the bone sticking out of his flesh, and the pain pulsing in him like a heartbeat. Here, was where he had first broken and begged for the pain to stop, despite initially promising to himself that he would not give Joker the satisfaction. Here, was where the Joker had pressed a burning brand on his face, marking him forever. It is almost like death, and God does Jason wish it was the real thing.

Can you imagine the reader as unarmed as Orpheus, and yet equally as unafraid?

Perhaps, like Orpheus, they do not know what they will encounter, only that their beloved is waiting for them: at the point where the darkness ends, at the final step down those spiraling stairs, at the end of the world. And what greets them isn't the god and goddess of the underworld, there is no three-headed beast to bar their path. There is only a man, left alone in the dark, waiting to die. Fear is not as final as death, but when Jason looks up at you, his eyes glassy with memories you think that it is almost enough. This may be what kills him, if you do not pull him out.

And it is not his name, dripping from your lips like tears, that breaks through the haze nor your hands gently cupping his face. Instead, it is something old and silly and nameless: a lullaby you once heard from a woman in East End. You remember how you used to hum it to him, wordless, when he lay on your lap, sleepless with nightmares. And you wonder if Jason remembers it, too. Perhaps like Eurydice, whose memories trickle back to her as she rises from the underworld, your voice is what breaks him out of it. These thoughts filter through his mind like fragments, like raindrops collected in one's cupped palms. That his name is Jason Todd. That he did not die that night in Arkham Asylum. That he is loved. And this time, it is enough. But his eyes are still blinded with toxins, and his bones feel heavy with the weight of memory. Like Eurydice, he will need you to lead him out. But it is enough, it is more than enough. He rises. And he follows.

[aether-bun]

Happy Birthday!

To celebrate my birthday, here's a drabble of assorted Hades characters and how they'd be on your birthday! You are in a relationship with Zagreus in this one :)

Characters: Nyx, Orpheus, Eurydice, Zagreus, Thanatos, Hypnos, Dusa, Megaera, Achilles, Patroclus, Cerberus, Asterius, Sisyphus, Bouldy

Warnings: None! Good wholesome times all around ♡

You wake up to Zagreus kissing your face!!!!

I believe in Zagreus caring deeply for physical touch and quality time your honour. Once you warm him up to it, it's his heaven in Hell. He adores it.

He's very warm, but it's never really been a problem, given the consistently nice temperature of the House

"Good morning, [Y/N]. Happy birthday~" He cooes gently, his voice is smoother than the finest ambrosia and you revel in it, snuggling into his chest.

"What would you like to do today, my dear?"

"Mmh....Is sleep an option...?" Zagreus chuckles at your drowsy response, his chest rumbles pleasantly and you find a contagious smile growing on your face.

"Birthdays only happen once a year, darling...Come on. Eurydice made you some cake."

"She did?"

"Yes! When I told her it was your birthday this week, she jumped to the opportunity."

"Then I suppose I must get up?"

Zagreus kisses your head lightly, and you melt from the tender care

"I suppose you must, yes."

You wake up and get into some nicer robes, and walk out with Zagreus to see Nyx regard you.

"Happy birthday, child. As a token of this occasion, I managed to convince Hades to give everyone a moment off, to greet you." Nyx's voice almost sends you to sleep again, but you're much more awake now, and you feel too sheepishly happy to rest.

"Lady Nyx, you really didn't need to...!" Your voice is as incredulous as you feel. "But...Thank you."

"Of course. I believe Hypnos wanted a word, so perhaps you should see to him first."

You and Zagreus walk over to Hypnos, who is currently not sleeping, which shocks you both, though he looks about ready to knock out for the next week at the minimum.

"[Y/N]!! Happy birthday! Dusa and I made you a little something, here here!" He exclaims, all tiredness wiped from his aura entirely as he hands you a small box.

Gingerly, you take off the lid, and inside you are happy to find a new laurel, woven carefully with your favourite colours and plants. You find yourself beaming at the beautiful heartfelt gift, before giving Hypnos a tight squeeze.

"Thank you so much, Hypnos. The detail is incredible!" You say as you part, and Hypnos giggles with a mischevious grin. "It was mostly Dusa, to be perfectly honest, but I helped weave it, so getting the first hug of appreciation for it feels fair."

You laugh, before Sir Achilles approaches with a calm smile of his own, before placing a hand on your arm.

"Unfortunately, I don't have any gifts for you myself, but I do wish you a happy birthday nonetheless. Do spend today well, yes?"

"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best." You smile, remarking mentally that your cheeks are starting to hurt, but also that you don't find yourself minding.

Next stop is to Meg and Dusa, who are waiting in the lounge with Thanatos. When they see you approach, Dusa is the first to float to you. The snakes that make up her hair affectionately grasp onto your arm as you hold Dusa affectionately. "Happy birthday!" She skitters, almost purring in a strange, Dusa-like way.

Meg is next, though she holds her distance as per usual. She's smiling, and her whip is stowed. "I've gotta hand it to you, [Y/N], I don't usually tend to care for birthdays, never mind my own...but you got me a morning in the lounge. So...thanks for that."

It was a strange way to go about saying happy birthday, but for you, it was more than enough. You nodded. "I can't believe Nyx pulled it off. Surely there are some wretched shades out there being overworked now, no?"

Megaera simply shrugs, but the creeping grin on her face tells you she hopes it's the case.

Thanatos clears his throat, and you realise he's held something out to you. It was a bottle of nectar. You gasp, taking the weighted spherical bottle in awe.

Zagreus squints at it, still by your side, before suddenly looking at Thanatos. "I gave you this bottle of nectar yesterday!" He says, indignant. Thanatos smiles - a rarity on its' own - and simply dismisses the Prince.

"Regardless of where you got it from...Thank you, Than, this...this means a lot." You say, your voice still awestruck by the honey gold liquid you're holding.

Zagreus of course brings you plenty, but even so, its' beauty never ceased to amaze.

You visit Sisyphus, who gives you Pebble (one of Bouldy's brothers, who has a delicately punched smiley face on one side), then you visit Orpheus and Eurydice, who gives you a kiss on the cheek and some cake, then you meet with Patroclus, who takes your hand very hesitantly and prays for you, for your good luck this year. He says he'll see you at the house, and on your way back, you find Asterius.

Zagreus prepares for a fight, but Asterius is unarmed, and he quickly realises.

"Asterius? What are you doing here, without your axe?" He asks. Asterius chuffs.

"Your father gave us a small break this morning, small one. You said something about celebrating someone's birthday last we clashed blades, and so, naturally, I assumed it would be your lover's. Was I correct?"

Zagreus stows his blade and you nod a little. "That's right, Asterius sir." You clarify. "It's good to know he gave even you and Theseus a break, too."

Asterius snorts, though it's not one of amusement or malice, simply a noise. He rifles through a pouch he has, before handing you a weighty box. Inside is a handaxe, crafted by the minotaur.

"You have no weaponry when you wander out here, I've come to notice. This is for when we meet in the stadium. For if you need more than simply the blessings of the Olympians." The bass voice of the bull rumbles, and you hold the axe firmly with a grin. Zagreus chuckles next to you.

"I appreciate this, Asterius. Thank you. Send our regards to King Theseus?"

Asterius laughs.

"I don't think he'd take it well, but I wish you a good day despite."

Asterius leaves, and you and Zagreus are amusedly quick to do the same.

Eventually, after a day of exploration, you cuddle up to Cerberus and thank Nyx on your way through, before laying down with your Zagreus.

"Today was fantastic, dearest." You say. Zagreus holds you close, playing with your hair. "I'm glad. But there's still one present you've yet to receive, my dear~"

It's 1AM right now. Use your imagination.

[arcreactordreams]

Do you think you could write a piece inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice? I had TWST in mind for the fandom and our characters would be Orpheus (Rook) Eurydice (MC) and Hades (Idia, in this case actually a good friend of his just a victim of circumstance). Whether it's a tragedy or not is at your discretion.

YES, ABSOLUTELY.

apologies for taking so long with this request in the first place

"Redemption lies plainly in truth"

ROOK HUNT - Twisted Wonderland

Scenery: Inspired in a greek tragedy, the myth said Orpheus was the born son of the music, love and passion incarnated. Eurydice, his muse, his love, a whisper of spring that made the threads of his lyre get to work. Tho the fates had to interviene, a serpent bit Eurydice's ankle and so, it took her life and Orpheu's heart as well.

Warnings: No use of pronouns, gender neutral reader. Tragic. + Idia feels comfortable enough with rook to let him enter his room anytime ok?

A/N: I apologize for any speech mistakes, english is not my first language. I GOT POSESSED I SWEAR

His song started as a murmur.

Rook walked through the endless halls that characterized the Night Raven College, they were cold, lifeless and they ended up making the echoes of his voice even thinner in the distance, but not of his steps; his steps never made a sound, he was a hunter.

But his song didnt made sense, not anymore.

How would it if there was no one there to listen to it? Stolen silences, your laugh craved into his memory, but not his present. How unfair.

How dared the destiny make him long for the presence of someone who he couldnt touch nomore? how dared he to not let himself forget about how your fingertips felt in his hair when he was being caressed?.

His heart ached but longed at the same time. Love turned into grief, grief into desperation, desperation into hope, and then hope into delusion.

You weren't from this world, you didnt worked how people here did.

But you, you fell.

And the only one who could take him to the other side was his old friend: Idia Shroud.

“You're crazy” Idia muttered, his voice barely a crackle over the keyboard of his handheld console. “Do you know what it would cost me to move the rules of the Digital Underworld, there are bugs even I can't even fix!”

“And what is death but a bug in the system, non?" Rook replied, smiling with a sadness that even his French accent couldn't soften. ”You wouldn't do it for love?... Please” Rooks voice broke in the slightest once he pleaded for his friend's help in such a desperate manner he couldnt even comprehend in his grief.

Idia raised his eyes from the screen for a microsecond. He knew about love. He'd seen it in visual novels, in AI dialogues, in pixelated hearts that broke with a single wrong choice.

“I'll do what I can” he whispered ”But if you look back…" Idia couldnt even finish that phrase. Not when he was looking at Rook right into his eyes, Idia looked at the screen again.

The underworld didnt had fire, nor it was as it was portrayed in the books.

It was... Just like ignihyde, the souls that resided there, didnt wander, they waited.

Rook followed the scent. Your scent. Which he memorized by now, the smell of your skin, of the products you used in your skin and made you perfect. Unique. His

He found you, waiting. Your eyes closed.

He took his hat off, just like he always did whenever he met with you.

His hand took yours, and your eyes opened and softened at the sight of him. He didn't had to say a word.

One last song, please.

He started walking to the exit, he had to bring you back, he had to-.

Your wrist was secured in his hand, he didnt let you go, the feel of you calmed him. You were there, you werent going anywhere and he didnt had to look back... But then, he didnt felt your wrist.

His heart and feet stopped at the very same time. he tried to grasp your wrist tighter, ground himself without looking back. But he was holding nothing anymore.

he didnt felt your scent, he didnt hear your steps. His senses trying desperately to feel a glimpse of you without having to see you. He tried to call, but he couldnt find his voice.

And then he heard something falling behind him, his head inmediatly turned...

"NON-!" He maneaged to yell as he catched you turning into dust before him, he tried to grasp your body, to take you out... But it was useless.

Nonsense.

You disapeared like fog in a sunny day.

and he came back, with an unfinished song and a broken heart that weighted more than any other thing.

He sang to the mirrors since then. You came through one of them after all.

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