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catieconqueso · 9 months

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Of where we'd end up at the end of it...

An Apollo x Grace Oneshot (4k words) I wanted to explore the Veil a little further since its really only mentioned as this ominous thing that happens when a new Idol rises. So here's a not-so-quick one shot featuring Grace dealing with the effects of the Veil.

Usually I only post my writing on Ao3, but since there's no Stray Gods tag yet, posting this here instead. (Please be nice! I don't usually post my writing here!)

She’s still sitting on the couch, clutching a cup of iced coffee that’s more water than coffee, when the light switches on and bathes the apartment in soft golden light. “Grace?” Freddie’s standing in the doorway stuck somewhere halfway between the doorframe and shoving her keys into her back pocket as she stares at the only occupant of a room that should have been empty. “What the hell are you doing here?” Grace doesn’t answer, not at first, just stares blankly at Freddie as she flicks her wrist over and over to swirl the liquid in her coffee cup as if it were the only thing keeping her from floating away. And it was. “Didn’t know where to go,” she finally admits after a period of silence that has just begun to border on uncomfortable. “And I still had my keys, so I thought…” She trails off, the thumb of her free hand stroking along the golden sun hung around her middle finger.

“Gods, Grace,” Freddie exhales as she toes off her boots and climbs onto the couch beside her. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why didn’t you call?” She doesn’t need to ask who ‘we’ meant, not with the two dozen missed calls and texts left unseen on her phone—Freddie, Kaz and Brian, Oracle, even a voicemail from Persephone, who’d merely informed Grace that she’d go to the Underworld and kick her shade’s ass if she was lying in a ditch somewhere. And beneath all that had been a single text of garbled capital letters and punctuation that had begged her to please come home. That it was okay that she was mad at him, that he just wanted her to come home. “I…” She begins, throat aching and raw from hours spent choking down tears and screaming into whatever pillow was closest. “I…” She starts again, swallowing thickly over the lump of emotion that threatens to choke her, but the words won't come out no matter how hard she tries. Some Muse she was, unable to string together a couple sentences worth of an excuse so she could go back to wallowing in her self-pity alone. So instead, she hands Freddie the coffee cup. Grace tries to ignore the way her hands shake as she does so. She tries even more to forget the name written in looping ink that taunts her from between Freddie’s outstretched fingers. “Grace, what are you…oh.” For all her trying to hide it, Grace easily clocks the exact moment when Freddie’s confusion devolves into pity. And then into hesitant worry as she tucks the cup into the couch cushions beside her.

“The barista asked for my name,” Grace explains, thumb still working impatient circles into the gold ring on her finger. “And I said it was Calliope.”

It had been such a little thing, an off-handed moment that shouldn’t have meant anything— a slip of the tongue. And it's not like she didn’t know this was coming, not with all the gentle touches and easing into the newness of it all. But she’s starting to lose more bits of herself day by day. She’s taken to drinking tea in the morning instead of her usual overly sweet coffee, even though a month ago, the bitter taste of it made her want to puke. And that the sound of ocean waves has begun to remind her of a summer spent some time in the 18th century wrapped in the warmth of the sun while lying naked on a bed of sand. That the scent of the newly sprouted cherry blossoms lining the entrance of Olympus reminds her of Paris in springtime, even though she’s never even left the country. But most of all, it's that two days ago, she looked in the mirror and for a split second didn’t recognize the face looking back.

It’s how it works. We all went through it, kid. Persephone had told her that night over too many glasses of whiskey beneath the neon lights of the Underworld when Grace had taken to drowning out the feeling that she was a stranger in her own skin with whatever booze she’d been able to get her hands on. Didn’t Apollo warn you?

Of course, Apollo had warned her. He’d spent every waking minute preparing her for the moment when Calliope would come rushing in like the tide on mornings they’d gotten up early to watch the sunrise. Just gotta let it happen, Grace. I’ll be there waiting on the other side when it does. Stupid, sweet Apollo, who’d been nothing but achingly gentle when Grace wanted nothing more than to rage against the shit hand that fate had dealt her. Had soothed the storm that swirled inside her when all she could think about was ending the cycle just so the next Calliope didn’t have to watch helplessly as everything that made her Grace slipped away. “Oh, Grace,” Freddie breathes out as she settles a warm hand on her knee with a watery smile. “I…” Freddie swallows, testing her next words on her tongue before she lets them free in a rush of an exasperated sigh. Cause it's not like this is the first time Grace’s disappeared for a few days, only to reappear as though nothing were wrong, still riding on the tail end of a bender. “Does Apollo know?” Grace shrugs and sinks into the couch cushions as though they were swallowing her up, and she wishes they would. “We’re not exactly talking at the moment,” she admits with a pang of guilt she hasn’t felt since she was a kid and her mom caught her sneaking out to go to some concert with Freddie.

“Grace,” Freddie repeats, fingers stroking along the swath of bare, pale skin that peaks out from beneath the hole worn into denim over her kneecap. “I think you should…” “I know Fred,” she interrupts, again letting her thumb trace over the golden sun, “it…I said some real shitty things to him, not sure he wants to see me.”

He wanted her to come home so he could take care of her 'cause that’s all he did— he took care of her when all she wanted was someone to see her, to hear her. Had pacified the storm in her until it was nothing more than a breeze and had reduced her walls to rubble so that he could easily crawl inside. When he tried to clean up the broken pieces of the mirror, of her cracked and broken sanity, she’d thrown it back in his face. Called him a coward, had accused him of wanting Calliope and not her, that he’d stuck around to ensure that every last piece of her was replaced. And patient, kind Apollo had remained silent as he wiped the gore from her knuckles with gentle touches and soft presses of his lips to her bloodied skin. But they both had been too stubborn to apologize. He’d once warned her so long ago outside of the Underworld that Idols liked to hold grudges. And they’d both become so good at holding onto theirs like a lifeline in a swirling sea. So instead of speaking, of putting the weeks of fear and confusion into words, she grabbed her jacket and left with a half mumbled excuse that she needed air. Had spent the next two days splitting her time between the Underworld and the uncomfortable leather of the couch in Persephone’s office.

“Persephone kicked me out,” she explains when Freddie presses the cold beer bottle into her waiting hands. “Said I either had to deal with my shit or start paying for my drinks.” Grace pauses to take a comforting swig of alcohol and finds that the taste makes her teeth ache. Yet another thing Calliope’s taken from her. “And instead of going home, you decided to break into my apartment?” Freddie sips gingerly at her beer as she fixes Grace with a look that says she can see through the bullshit, excuses, and lies. “Said I still had the keys.” Grace folds in draws her knees up to her chest, and settles her chin on the rough fabric of her denim-covered knees. It's all she can do to shield herself from the words that tumble from her lips. “I’m losing myself, Freddie,” she admits, her words rough and ruined by the tears that track down her cheeks. “And I’m scared.” Freddie doesn’t answer, instead wraps her in a warm embrace until Grace stops shaking and her breaths are no longer heaving, choking sobs. And Grace is thankful that, for the first time in three days, she no longer has to pretend that everything is okay. That she can finally put into words the aching, raw feeling in her chest that she’s tried so hard to drown out with whiskey. They don’t talk, don’t need to. Not that she wants to. She’s had enough of talking, of rationalizing every little thing that’s been happening to her. For the first time in three days, Grace permits herself to feel anything other than the bitter numbness she’s masked her fear with. And she drowns herself in it. It's not until hours later that she resurfaces from her grief, warm and blanket wrapped amongst the sheets of a familiar bed.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs, voice roughed by lack of sleep and three days of worry. The same worry he wears in the swaths of purple beneath his eyes and the unruly stubble that creeps down his neck. “I…I…” His hand rubs the back of his head and musses the golden curls that have been reduced to snarled tangles where they hang limply over his ears. He’s nervous, she thinks, watching as he repeats the gesture before fisting his hands into the fabric of his pants. “It’s good to see you.” He leans forward to settle his hand on her bare leg, where it peeks from beneath the blankets, but she’s faster as she draws her legs back beneath them before she can feel the heat that radiates off him. She’s wearing nothing but her underwear and one of his t-shirts, which, all things considered, was a blessing because Grace was certain her clothing reeked of cigarettes, booze, and the Underworld. Apollo sighs in reply and lets his palm settle over the still-warm sheets where her legs once rested. For a moment, his eyes flutter closed like he’s a junkie, and the warmth of where she’d laid is enough to soothe his craving to touch her. But there’s an ocean between them now, more profound than the one that swells and ebbs outside the bedroom window where she’d once felt safe. And the thought of his too-large, too-warm hands on her makes Grace want to crawl out of her skin.

“How did I get here?” She sits up, greeted by their bedroom that still looks exactly as she’d left it three days ago. His shirt still haphazardly hangs across the dresser from when she’d ripped it from his shoulders and tossed it over hers, and her bra’s still tucked halfway out from beneath the chair he sits upon. Both tell her it's the first time either of them has set foot in this room since she stormed out. “Freddy called me.” Called Oracle, she thinks, cause even with her patient prodding, Apollo still balks at the idea of using the simple flip phone she bought him. She knew he’d been desperate to find her when he’d resorted to texting her himself. But that’s not enough to soothe the rage slowly creeping up to settle on her shoulders. “Gods, it… it's been three days. I thought maybe you…you’d…that…” Apollo’s voice cracks with the weight of his guilt as he looks at her with the kind of desperation that quiets her storm. Her already broken heart rents and breaks as the weight of his words settles heavily on her shoulders. He’s already failed her, Calliope, once before, again, and it would break him. Maybe it's the year spent in the company of the god of prophecies, but for a moment, she’s granted a prophecy of her own, a hazy vision of Apollo soaked in sunlight as he walks into the sea with no one around this time to save him. “Sorry,” is all she can manage to say as she sinks deeper into herself. “I meant to call.”

“Meant to call?” His visions gone golden as his anger wells up, raw and fierce. “Fuck, Grace” he growls, hands tearing through his hair, “I…I thought you were dead!” Her own anger crackles beneath her skin in response to his because all they do anymore is fight. He’s the god of the sun, golden flames lit by the festering rage between them, and she’s his muse, her passion, the kindling that he burns through. “Obviously, I’m not,” she shoots back. Suddenly the rooms too hot, too stifling, and the blankets a band of iron keeping her tethered to the bed, to him. She throws them off, throws off the crushing weight of the guilt that threatens to snap her already fragile shoulders. “Not sure why you were so worried.” “Cal…Grace,” he starts, stumbling over the name. He’s just as unsure of which face she wears as she is. Today, it's Grace, but she knows that that won’t always be true in the future. Eventually, Grace will ebb with the tide of the Veil until all that’s left is Calliope. He’s done it a hundred times before, acts like it's nothing, that she should surrender to it all without putting up a fight. But Grace? This is her first time, and she feels like she’s constantly drowning beneath the weight of the eidolon in her chest. And Apollo’s the lifeboat she can’t quite reach. “You need to talk to me,” he sighs, hands, at last, settling on her bare calves, and Grace finds the warmth of his skin is just a touch more soothing than revolting.

“Nothing to talk about,” she answers, hiding behind the mask of monosyllabic answers. “It's fine,” she adds though she knows it to be untrue. It’s become easier and cleaner to lie to him than to lean on the still-strong bond that’d formed between them, and Grace’s found that a lie was often the most straightforward answer. Cause she doesn’t want to look at him and see disappointment reflected back where once shone love and pride. He doesn’t buy it. He never buys it. Instead, Apollo wordlessly slips into the bed beside her, his too-warm body curling over hers as though he could shield her from it all. And she lets him, too worn down and exhausted to protest, when his arm settles around her waist and pulls her against the hard planes of his body. “Talk to me, Grace,” he whispers softly into the crown of her hair. “Please.” Her shoulders finally snap at the weight of his words, so tender and warm, and she begins to cry. It feels like all she’s done is cry. Like somehow she’s thrown a lifetime of emotion into the past week and has come out the end worn and raw, with only her tears left to show for it. Breaking down still feels foreign, even after a lifetime of grief condensed into the span of two years, and she folds into herself in the hope of quelling the bitter tears that track down her cheeks to pool in the cleft of her collarbones. “I don’t,” she sobs, sinking into his embrace, “I don’t know how.”

Apollo’s patient, kind as he holds her, the only sound breaking the silence between him are his soft mummers of comfort and her hiccoughing sobs. “Shh, I have you, darlin’,” he breathes softly into the skin where her neck meets her shoulders. “I have you,” he repeats, fingertips gentle as they curve over the swath of her belly from where it peeks from beneath her stolen shirt. “Don’t need to talk just yet.” She thinks of using her powers for a moment, that she might be able to put her thoughts into song than she can words. But she does need to talk. Needs to get out the words that hang heavy in her chest. “I’m scared,” she finally admits when her tears no longer strangle her words. “Apollo, I’m so scared.” Her admission is deafening, her heart pounding in her ears. She’s always been the strong one, the rock, Grace, who everyone can depend on to swoop in and save the day. Vulnerability doesn’t come easy to her, even in front of Apollo, who’s seen her stripped down to nothing so many times that she’s lost count. Apollo, who’s laid himself bare in kind, even though she’s only ever held him at arm's length when he asked her to do the same.

“Shh, Grace,” he repeats, arms tightening around her as if he could shield her from the Veil itself. “I know you’re scared, but you need to talk to me.” He shifts her gently, as though she’s made of glass, until they are face to face. It's then that she realizes he’s been crying too. “I…I called myself Calliope today,” Grace answers, suddenly ashamed that such a trivial thing’s caused an ocean sized rift between them. It's not like any of this came as a surprise. It's not like she’s had a year of Apollo’s patient tutoring to prepare her for the eventuality. But that didn’t make the fact that she was slowly slipping away any less jarring. He chuckles, though it's hollow, forced. “The first time’s always the worst.” They’re not quite touching anymore, the ocean that separates them swelling up between the gaps where their skin should be flushed and entwined. “You’ll get used to it.” But she doesn’t want to get used to it, doesn’t want to feel like a stranger in her own skin. The thought of hearing Freddie or Persephone, or Gods, even Apollo calling her Grace, and her no longer recognizing her own name made her want to puke. It made her feel like she was that last bit of pencil that hadn’t been erased yet. It was inevitable, but waiting for it to happen, Gods, that was the worst part. “How,” she challenges, her anger towards him, Calliope, and Fate itself flaring hot and scorching beneath her skin. “How do I get used to not being me?”

Apollo smiles, gentle, patient, and soft, as he brushes her dark hair from her cheek, the touch coming after what feels like a lifetime of waiting. “By letting me in, Grace,” he answers, shifting so his lips can whisper soft over her own. His hand is warm as he cups her chin and forces her to look him in the eye. And for the first time that night, she meets his cool gaze willingly. “By not doing this alone.” Grace melts into the touch, lets herself feel safe, lets the weight of the past three days slip away until she’s light as air. “I…what if you don’t love me when I’m her?” It feels strange to put it into words, the dark thought that lingers about the edges of her. It used to be a seed, tucked into the earth unseen, but it's festered, grown into vines that wrap around her wrists, ankles, and, worst of all, her heart.

She’s fed it with the doubt she pretends not to see in his eyes when they get into a fight. Feeds it with the knowledge that between him and Calliope is a lifetime of fighting and reconciliation. With the fear that no matter how hard they try, it still won’t work out in the end. That, like Calliope, she’ll be alone. “If it didn’t work before, why now? Why are we any different, Apollo?”

Apollo kisses her instead of speaking, drawing her beneath his weight with warm hands heavy on her waist. “Grace,” he murmurs, facial hair tickling her skin as he peppers kisses along the curve of her jaw. “You are kind,” he pauses to press his lips to each of her cheekbones, “and caring,” another kiss to the tip of her nose, “and braver than anyone I have ever met.” His lips are soft when they meet the skin of her forehead. “And for all her fire, Calliope could never burn away all of you.” He chuckles as he settles his full weight atop her, stunned when she lets him. “You’re too stubborn for that.” “That doesn’t mean anything,” she grumbles, too warm beneath him. Apollo, God of the Sun, burns hotter than a furnace as Grace relents and every bit of her sinks into him. “You said yourself, eventually, she’ll take over.” “And,” he answers, words muffled as he tucks his head into the crook of her shoulder, “I also said I’d be here the whole time.” His teeth are gentle where they nip at whatever bit of her bare neck he can reach. “And that this time it’d last, but you seem to have forgotten that detail.” “Apollo,” she warns when his hand slips down her side to trace the curve of her hip. “Grace,” he parrots with a smile just as dazzling as the golden rays of sunlight streaking through the curtains. “Do you want to know something?”

Grace groans and wiggles her hips until she finds a comfortable spot beneath him. Difficult considering all of Apollo’s muscled bulk dwarfed hers by about a mile. But If Apollo’s in one of his romantic moods, well, then she’d better be settled in for the long haul. “Not sure if I do,” she grouses. “Think you might want to hear this.” Apollo pauses to tangle his fingers in hers. But fuck, his hand fits perfectly over hers, impossibly warm and just a shade too large. “You know that Calliope and I always found each other, even after our eidolons passed to the next person,” he explains, thumb stroking over the matching sun rings they wore. “That even if she and I were worlds apart, our souls would always find each other again.”

“I’m not really sure what this has to do with me,” Grace interrupts, suddenly very much aware of the one-sidedness of their memories. Course, the slate would be evened out when the Veil lifted, but she still sometimes caught Apollo staring at her with an unfamiliar reverence that spoke to memories she had yet to unlock. Like the reason he always wanted to sketch her lying out naked when they’d awake in the morning after a night of making love. Or the story behind the song he’d sing softly into her hair as they dozed watching the sunset on the sand.

“Because you, Grace,” Apollo murmurs. “My sweet, kind, brave, stubborn Grace. You’re the only one who’s captured me wholly, body and soul. We won’t have to find each other because we will never be parted. Not even the Fates would be enough to take me from you.” “You’re only saying that because you’re the one who insisted we get married.” She rolls her eyes at this slip into melancholia that’s sweet enough to make her teeth ache. But her heart still swells until it's impossible full at the love that shines in his eyes as he tilts his head down to capture her lips in a tender kiss that leaves the pair of them gasping for air when they finally part. “Grace or Calliope, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be here for you, no matter what.” Apollo’s gone soft, less stoic in the years since she’s met him. She knows he hates the romantic streak she’s carved into him, but it doesn’t stop the grand declarations of love he likes to wax to her at least once a day. And the longer she spends with him, she finds she doesn’t hate them, not at all. “Til the last star burns out of the sky.” “But what if it doesn’t work out,” she asks, guilt and doubt still lingering in her thoughts. Despite his assurances, she suspects it’ll be a while until they finally subside. “What if it stays the same?” “Then we’ll work through it together,” Apollo answers as, at last, Grace relaxes beneath him. “And if you still don’t believe me, I promise you that I’ll be here the whole time.” Grace smiles in earnest for the first time in three days as she finally surrenders to the joy and love that radiates off him like rays of sunlight. “I’ll hold you to that.”

#stray gods #stray gods the roleplaying musical #stray gods apollo #stray gods grace #grace x apollo #fluff and angst #one shot #but its like super long #please be gentle with this one #don't usually post my writing on tumblr #stray gods persephone #stray gods freddie #stray gods calliope

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roguelov · 2 years

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Where Is She

Summary: One accident changes everything in your life, just how will you tell the people who mean the most to you? How will they react? And how could either of you move past this?

Word Count: ~7.4k

Reader: Fem

Warnings: Angst, hurt/no comfort, character death, and some minor fluff sprinkled throughout

“Okay, I got the list so I’ll be back soon.”

Keys in hand, you quickly pecked Calliope’s then Morpheus’s cheek.

“Are you sure you won’t need any assistance?” Morpheus asked.

You opened the front door of your - but now you would say ‘our’ - apartment. Smiling at them, you shook your head. “It’s just a few things, nothing too complicated. I’ll be right back and we can make a fantastic dinner.”

Morpheus nodded.

Calliope smiled, “Hurry back.”

“Will do.” You chirped.

If only you accepted their help, would that have changed anything? Maybe if you forgot the list or anything that made you double back, maybe if the store didn’t have all the ingredients so you quickly ran to another store, maybe if you got stuck behind a slow driver, maybe, maybe, maybe.

All you remember was approaching a four way stop, you reached over holding the bag of groceries hoping they dont spill over and -

Tires screeched.

Your head snapped over.

Headlight burned into your eyes.

And.

The radio continued to hum, broken and static, through the car’s speakers, but it was all drowned out by the high pitched ringing of the horn. You winced at the piercing sound. You fumbled out of your car, nearly toppling over onto the pavement. Swaying on your feet, you squinted and tried to wave off the thick smoke clogging the air.

A minor headache bloomed at your temple. Yet, that was the only pain you felt.

It was a miracle.

You slowly spun around, surveying the area. Your eyes instantly locked with the other car through the smoke. Pushing through the smoke, you stepped towards the other car. Your feet, however, tangled together causing your world to tip and slammed into the stranger’s passenger side window.

You didn’t even register the sting in your palms.

Looking inside, the man was slumped forwards onto the steering wheel. Blood seeped down, from what you had to assume, his forehead.

“I already called an ambulance!” Someone shouted.

You perked up, and turned around.

People, complete strangers, flooded into the street wanting to help before the professionals arrived. Two kind strangers made their way to you and the man unconscious in his car. You quickly stepped back, shaking your head and gestured to the man. “I’m fine, help him first.”

The two moved around you, rushing to the man’s aid. They tried opening the driver side door, but it was crumbled and they didn’t have the tools to pry it open. A few rushed to the passenger side, brushing by you, and tried any of the other doors.

“Hey! I don’t think she’s breathing!”

Did the man have a passenger I didn’t see?

Wait.

The shouting wasn’t from anyone in front of you.

Your eyebrows knitted together. You snapped your head, trying to locate the origin of the shouting. But, you couldn’t see anything through the heavy smoke. Walking through it, you spotted two other people. One of them smacked thier hands against the glass on the driver side door shouting, while the other squeezed through the passenger door, trying to free the unconscious driver.

The driver being you.

Your feet almost gave out. You stumbled backwards.

No, no, no -

Your heart bottomed into your stomach.

This - no, I -

“I got her!”

“The ambulance is here!”

Everyone’s voices silenced by the squealing of sirens as paramedics rounded the corner. They immediately leapt into action. One pair rushed to the man and the other pair to your mangled body littered in cuts and flecks of blood.

The good natured person - in your car, hands on your body trying to get you out - stared up at the paramedics with fear in their eyes. “She’s not breathing and -“

“Okay, thank you for all you’ve done,” the paramedic gently placed her hand on the stranger’s shoulder, “but, I need you to please move back.”

You shuffled forward, deer in headlights, as the paramedics removed your limp body from the car and carefully laid you on the asphalt. One took your pulse and confirmed what you already knew. “No pulse, starting compressions now.”

You watched completely transfixed in stunned horror as they began to pump on your chest willing your heart to move. Your hand landed on your own chest, feeling the faint rhythmic pressure.

“(Y/N).”

You whipped around, heart pounding. Ironically.

A woman in all black and the nicest, warmest, smile imaginable greeted you from a few feet beside you. You blinked, and looked around. No one acknowledged either of you. “Do you know who I am?” She asked, tilting her head sending her dark curls spilling.

Your eyes landed back on her, then to her silver necklace. It was obvious. The Reaper. A child of the Endless. Dream’s sister. Death. You vehemently shook your head. “No, no, I’m not ready, I -“

Her smile dropped into a solemn frown. “I’m really sorry, but it is your time.”

“I -I,” your throat constricted with the swell of emotions, “I don’t want to leave them.”

Death nodded. She heard every variation of this; the longing and regret of leaving loved ones. She simply wasn’t aware how close the pain of your death would impact her own loved ones.

“I know,” she stretched out her hand, “but we cannot change what has already happened. It is your time and you don't have to worry because I will be there every step of the way.”

You opened your mouth.

“No! No, no, no! Wake up!”

Both of your attentions turned. The man, the other driver, stood over his body yelling at the paramedics to bring him back.

Death smiled sorrowfully.

Yet, with her gaze on the man, you didn't think, you simply acted. You stepped once backwards. Then twice. Then you sprinted off.

Running from Death.

Death’s surprise quickly vanished to sorrow. Another soul doomed to walk endlessly, to helplessly watch humanity and never be seen. You weren’t the first and certainly not the last.Ghosts, lost spirits, roam all around. Souls who refused, souls who ran like yourself, and souls who simply loved too deeply.

She sighed. Maybe one day you’ll call. For now, she could not waver. Souls must be guided and the flow never stops.

You sprinted and fell, skidding across the pavement, but quickly scrambled back onto your feet racing around and unknowingly through people.

You ran to the only place you knew: home.

Sceneries blurred by.

Each step was miles long.

Colors whipped past, bleeding together.

Noise muffled.

Time appeared to bend.

One second you were rushing down a street with your crumbled car behind you. The next second you were at the front of your apartment complex breathless.

You whipped around, scanning the area as if to spot Death or something.

But, it was just you.

Good.

You flung open the door, and darted up the stairs skipping an abnormal amount of steps. Your apartment door appeared in sight. You extended your hand out and touched the knob, twisting and -

Laughter. Cheerful, sweet laughter.

Calliope’s laughter was airy and light like flutes or strings. While Morpheus’s deep, short chuckle was the resounding bass.

Such a beautiful accompaniment.

Your hand numbly fell from the knob.

How could you face them? How can you tell them? Tell them that you were gone, tell them you won’t be able to kiss them goodnight or hold them in your arms for hours on end? Tell them you love them with every breath of every day?

You rested your forehead against the door. Music drifted, mixing with their low muffled voices. They were eagerly waiting for you. And you failed them. “I’m sorry,” you murmured.

You couldn’t face them.

You slowly peeled back, tearing yourself apart in the process. Inch by inch, step by step, you backed away hoping for something to happen, but soon each step quickened. You flew down the steps and out your apartment building.

You ran.

Ran from this cursed reality you now live in.

Tears welled up. You forcibly wiped them away. Now running blind, you tripped and slammed into the ground into your hands and knees. Instantly, you curled into a ball in the middle of the sidewalk and screamed.

Why?

Why now?

Why was this the end?

Why when your life just began to feel absolutely perfect?

You screamed, with all your fury, until your throat was raw. Tears streaked down your cheeks dotting the concrete, only to disappear in seconds.

All the while, life continued.

People walked through you.

It was chilling.

Their warmth passed through you, breaking apart your body like wisps of fog only to be pulled back together. Legs kicked and stomped on you. Yet, you didn’t feel it. Just a faint memory, a desperate cling to life.

You scrambled back, on your hands and knees, into a narrow alleyway between buildings. You tucked your legs to your chest and buried your faces into your knees. Tears flowed freely as the painfully reality set in.

You were dead.

End of story.

And you had left two people you loved dearly with all of your heart and more, left them alone in your shared home, left them with thoughts and questions because you were a coward and didn’t want to see their broken expression or face the truth.

So, you hid.

Hiding like a child wishing for it all to be a cruel nightmare.

“Fuck,” you whispered through the constant onslaught of tears.

The more you thought of Morpheus and Calliope, old memories resurfaced. Sweet, happy memories. Memories to lessen the pain.

Or so you thought.

“(Y/N)?”

You poked your head from one of the endless bookshelves of the Dreaming’s royal library. Morpheus strolled down the aisle, looking left and right before his eyes landed on you. You smiled, “Hey.”

“You did not call for me.” He stated, with a hint of confusion.

“Matthew said you were lost in your research and studies,” you explained, then gestured to the stack of books in your arms, “so I decided to make myself useful.”

His eyes softened. “You needn’t do that.”

“But I want to.” You spun around, shuffling down the row of books. “I already asked Mervyn if he needed any help so I helped him repair a few broken bulbs throughout the castle - I swore we got lost at one point but Merv assured me we weren’t but I think he was lying - then we tended to the gardens for a bit.”

Morpheus folded his hands behind his back and followed after you. “You did?”

Your eyes skimmed over the various last names. “Oh yeah then he waved me off saying I’ve done enough so I visited Cain, Abel, and Goldie for some tea and cookies. They swore they didn’t need any help, despite this horrible thing growling in the basement -“ you shivered still hearing the bone chilling growls and scratching “- so then I ended up here and asked Lucienne if she needed anything. She needed some convincing at first though.”

His eyebrows shot up. You’ve done that much?

You shelved two books. “But she eventually caved and handed me a stack of books to reshelf, and here I am.”

His arms wrapped around your waist, his chest pressed into your back. As he always does. He latched to you, unable to stay away for extended periods - like minutes or mere seconds it seemed. His head drooped down and nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You relaxed into his touch. Laughing to yourself, you peered at him from the corner of your eyes, smiling at him. “Yes?”

“You are far too good,” he mumbled.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” You clutched the two remaining books to your chest. “More like this gives me an excuse to talk with everyone.”

“Oh? And what did you talk about, love?”

“This and that,” you joked.

He laughed once.

“And you.”

He perked his head up. “Me?”

Your eyes locked with his beautiful pale ones. “Yes, you.”

“Why?”

“Why not.” You twisted around in his arms, facing him. A sneaky smirk danced over your lips. “But, I did ask about Calliope too. Not as much juicy information on her unlike you.”

“As expected.” He chuckled. “But, if I may ask, what did you hear?”

“Sorry, my lips are sealed.”

He hummed, intrigued as a challenge laid before him. He bent down, his lips brushed over the shell of your ear. He whispered lowly. His voice always seemed as if dipped in rich dark chocolate. Bitter, decadent, enticing. “I believe I know of ways to make you talk.”

You bunched up the front of your tear soaked shirt. Heartache far exceeded any pains ever felt. You drowned in the salty ocean of tears, you choked on sobs that raked through your already broken body, you squeezed your eyes tightly wishing you could forgo your sight in this new world you now lived in.

A world without them.

Memories began to sour, as a cruel reminder for what you cannot do anymore. You couldn’t help the Dreaming and all of its residents, you couldn’t roam the library’s winding labrithan, you couldn’t sneak off with Morpheus, you couldn’t -

The pleasantly warm water lapped against the tub’s rim, occasionally spilling over by the tiniest movements. Sweet floral aroma hovered in the thick steamy air. Inhaling deeply, you sighed loudly. In the background, a speaker played shuffled music while rain softly tapped on a nearby window, sometimes in turn with the beat.

Your arms tightened around her.

Calliope, her hair slicked back, rested her head on your shoulder as she laid in your arms; her back pressed firmly into your bare chest. Her chest rose in sync with yours. Bubbles covered her modestly, and nearly reached up tickling both of your ears.

You dropped your head onto Calliope’s shoulder. You pressed a soft kiss on her damp hot skin. Your fingers tapped a steady beat on her hip. A faint hum rumbled in your throat as a few lyrics slipped through muffled into her neck.

Closing your eyes, you let your thoughts slip away.

Listening to the droplets of rain, listening the the love ballad, listening to Calliope’s even breathing, listening -

“Don’t stop.”

You raised your head with a confused expression. “What?”

Her head lolled to the side. Her nose brushed against yours. She smiled, “Do not stop singing, my love.”

You laughed once through your nose. “Singing? I don’t think you would call what I do singing.”

“Well, I do,” she lifted her hand out of the water cupping your face, “and it is the most beautiful sound in the world.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile grew on your face. “You are ridiculous.”

Her fingertips traced your jaw, drawing you close to peck your lips. “Will you please sing for me, my lovely muse?”

“For you? Always.” You smiled widely, dropping your head back onto her shoulder and began to hum along with the music again.

You slammed your fists on the hard concrete ground.

Again. And again. And again. Just so the ache in your hands may feel a fraction of the pain in your heart. Over and over you slammed your hand, and screamed as you did so. Why? Why was this your fate? Why put them in your path, in your life, only to be ripped away from them so soon?

Just why?

Back at your apartment, the immortal pair lounged in your living room. Classical music softly played, filling the quiet space. A space usually filled by your excited ramblings, or boisterous laughter, or your low hums and soft singing under your breath.

A space vacant - a void without you.

Calliope’s eyebrows furrowed. She glanced over to the window and winced. The sunlight streamed directly into her eyes. Lifting her hands, she blocked out its rays to see the sky painting in pinks and oranges, and not the pale blue like when you left.

It was late.

Where were you?

She looked away, her lips puckered in thought.

“What’s the problem, love?”

Calliope’s uneasy eyes jumped to Morpheus seeing a small frown of worry that matched her own. “I am simply wondering where (Y/N) is.”

Morpheus’s frown deepened. He didn’t wish to speak it out loud, but his thoughts were spiraling out of control as well. “As am I.”

Calliope waved it off, hoping for the best. “I assume there may have been some minor trouble along the way, nothing to fret about.”

Morpheus looked to the window, to the setting sun.

Hopeful or naive.

“Yes, I suppose you are right.”

Your head numbly rested against the rough, chipped brick facing. Your eyes looked up pitifully at the dark, starry night sky.

The sun left hours ago. You were blanketed in darkness; now a ghost blending into the monochromatic background. You closed your eyes, sniffling. The tears wouldn’t stop, they were utterly relentless. Your throat ached, and every swallow was a struggle.

Help.

Help me.

You curled your legs to your chest, hugging them impossibly close.

Someone. Anyone.

Morpheus and Calliope re-emerged in your thoughts. Their faces were bright and joyful, filled with love and life. Their melodic laughter sang sweetly in your ears. However, their laughter shifted to gasps, to choked sobs. Their faces twisted into gaunt haunting images of their beauty, their eyes bloodshot and watery, their cries and screams washed away how you wanted to remember them.

To think you will inflict this pain upon them.

Help.

You pressed the palms into your eyes, willing those heartbreaking images away. You instead turned to others, to friends, to -

Lucienne.

A dear, close friend.

Maybe?

Taking a deep breath, you imagined the Dreaming, imagined the vast royal library. You imagined the rustic colors of the wooden shelves and polish floors and how it trailed off without an end in sight; the spines of books, dipped in rich reds and emeralds greens, and how countless more are added each night; the specs of dust haloing in the sunlight streaming in through the tall thin windows.

Weightlessness tugged at your chest. It lifted you, guiding you. The library was so concrete in your mind’s eye.

Floating downward, you landed firmly on your feet. You opened your eyes to see walls of bookshelves surrounding you. You did it. You were here in the library. You cautiously peeked around the shelves. Thankfully, the royal librarian sat a few feet away at her desk with books and scrolls splayed about. Sensing eyes on her, her eyes flickered up over her round spectacles. She smiled softly and looked at you properly, “(Y/N), what can I do for you?”

Lucienne was someone you grew close, rather quickly, since starting your relationship with Morpheus. You both became a friend neither of you knew you needed until you found each other. You loved to help her, and in a way she had become your confidante when your own anxieties and fears tended to take hold of you. And in turn, she would vent any frustrations when dealing with the Dreaming and Morpheus.

You shuffled out, almost like a child approaching a parent after a terrifying cruel nightmare. “I … I don’t know where to go.”

Or what to do.

“Go?” Her face scrunched up. “Isn’t Lord Morpheus with you? Lady Calliope?”

You shook your head.

“Can I ask where they are?”

You fiddled with your hands. “Back in the Waking.” You still didn’t want to dwell on how they may react given your departure.

“Then why -“

“Lucienne!”

You flinched, your eyes bulged out of your skull.

It was Morpheus.

Without thinking, you darted off in a panic. Lucienne watched helplessly confused as you scuttled off as your love, and her Lord, approached. Lucienne shifted and adjusted her glasses as Morpheus stopped in front of her desk. “Yes, my lord?”

“Have you seen (Y/N)?” He asked, somewhat breathless.

Lucienne’s eyes never betrayed your position. And given your quick departure she decided to hold her tongue. “No.”

Morpheus frowned.

“Can I ask what this is about?”

“I’m not quite sure myself,” Morpheus mumbled. “She has not returned in hours and there is speculation that -“ he cleared his throat - “she simply has gone missing and Calliope and myself are worried.”

Lucienne nodded.

“If you see her please ask her to come find one of us.”

“Of course.”

Morpheus’s eyes swept over the room. Tucked behind a shelf, you watched as his eyes passed over you. He sighed then walked away. Once his footsteps and the swish of his coat finally receded, you shuffled out.

Lucienne glanced at you with new interest. “Care to explain?”

Sniffling, your throat constricted and your bottom lip started to tremble. Fuck. You cursed under your breath as your weakness and covered your face with your hands.

Lucienne was instantly on her feet and reached out to you. Her hand barely touched your back, but as quickly as she tried to console you, you jerked back. Her comforting touch was fire on your cold skin.

Her eyes widened.

Your eyes snapped over to see her shocked face. “I - I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, I should be apologizing. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You shook your head. “It’s not you.”

“Then what?”

You looked away again.

She huffed. “If you won’t speak to Lord Morpheus or Lady Calliope then speak to me like you always have. We are friends, are we not?”

You shut your eyes as a new wave of tears threatened to spill out. “We are,” you choked out. “That’s why I came.”

Lucienne. Matthew. Mervyn. Cain. Abel.

More loved ones you will never see again.

“Then talk to me,” she spoke softly.

Letting out a shakily exhale, you locked eyes with her. Your eyes were watery, bloodshot, and bags formed under your eyes. Traits she didn’t quite notice at first. “I … I fucked up, Lucienne.”

“How so?”

Say it.

“I’m dead.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m dead, Lucienne. Gone. A soul cast adrift.”

Her mind tried to comprehend what you told her. Honestly, she didn’t believe you. Or she wouldn’t. “H-How?”

You sighed, dropping your shoulders. “Car crash.”

Her analytical eyes scanned over you. Your eyes, filled with a well of sorrow, only spoke of the truth. Her eyes wandered up and -

There.

A flicker in your form.

Solid, steady, yet for an instant it shifted. It became translucent as the lighting streamed through you, like a mirage. Edges blurred. She could clearly read the spines of books behind you. Then it snapped back, solid once again. So, it was true. Her heart dropped out of her chest, she frowned. “Oh, (Y/N).”

You laughed once through the tears. “Who would have guessed this was how it was going to end?”

“Why did you not go?”

“How could I?” You asked, exasperated. “Leave you? Matthew and Merv? The Dreaming? But, how could I just leave Calliope and Morpheus? God, Lucienne, how can I even look them in the eyes? I can’t - I - I just can’t.”

Her eyes softened in realization. “And so you came to me hoping for a bit of advice.”

You glanced away, a bit ashamed. “… yeah.”

She reached out grabbing your hands. Your eyes trailed up connecting to her kind dark eyes. She squeezed your hands lightly. “Do not put it of any longer, tell them.”

“Luci-“

“It won’t be easy, I know, but it must be done. You saw and heard Lord Morpheus, he and Calliope are worried sick about you. You must. Just rip the bandage off.”

It was obvious. And inevitable. But, you simply needed the push of a friend, one to give you the courage to do so.

You nodded glumly. “Yeah, okay.”

She smiled, a weak one. “I’ll walk with you.”

“Lucienne?”

“Yes?”

You immediately yanked her into a suffocating hug. She was shocked at first, but quickly wrapped her arms around you. “Thank you for everything,” you mumbled, holding back the tears.

“You are most welcome,” she whispered as a swell of emotions bubbled inside.

“Don’t ever change and -“ you choked on your words “- and please tell everyone - Matthew, Merv, Cain and Abel, even sweet little Goldie - tell them I love them all dearly. And that I had so much fun with all of them.”

A tear spilled out of the librarian’s eye. “Of course.”

You pulled away. Lucienne sniffled and brushed away the loose tear. She adjusted her clothing, holding her head high. She would not crumble, at least not in front of you. “Shall we?”

You smiled kindly, instantly seeing through her facade. “Yeah.”

Side by side, you walked through the library towards one of the main entrances. Her hand clutched yours as she pushed open to the door to Morpheus’s throne room. Inside, there was only Calliope. She nervously paced the base of the regal stairs ascending to Morpheus’s grim throne.

Her head snapped at the sound of the doors. Relief instantly flooded her feature at the sight of you. She rushed over pulling you into a deathly grip.

Lucienne dropped, almost reluctantly, your hand and muttered her leave. Yet, her eyes lingered on you. You twisted your head in Calliope’s grasp catching them. You flashed another quick encouraging smile and mouthed, “I love you and thank you … goodbye.”

Her facade began to crack. Tears welled up, and she mouthed, “Goodbye.”

Calliope’s hands grabbed your shoulder, giving it a quick shake and shifting your full attention on her. Relief, confusion, and worry danced in her eyes. She gently brushed your face. “My love, where have you been? Morpheus and I have been searching everywhere for you.”

You leaned into her touch, savoring it. Your hand curled around her wrist refusing to let her go. “I know and I’m sorry.”

“What happened?”

You smiled sadly. “A lot.”

She frowned. “Talk to me.”

“Where’s Morpheus?” You wouldn’t say anything without him here. You couldn’t repeat it twice.

“I, uh, he is still searching the Dreaming, but I will call him -“

Without needing to, Morpheus appeared out of the shadows with wisps of sand fluttery to the ground. He stepped forth, grim and saddened. He mouth parted to tell Calliope of his failures, but he froze. His eyes widened. His swift footsteps echoed in the vast stone room. Calliope stepped back as he approached. He cupped your face, his eyes searched over you for any signs of why you disappeared. “Where -“

Something shifted. He almost reeled back from you.

Your hands wrapped around his wrists as tears welled up.

He knew.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumbled.

He shook his head. “No, this, I -“

You sniffled. “I am so sorry. He came out of nowhere and I thought I was - I thought I was -“

“Who came out of nowhere?” Calliope interrupted, confusion evident.

You and Morpheus looked at her. “Calliope,” he whispered sorrowfully.

You moved from Morpheus’s grasp and grabbed Calliope’s hands, drawing her close. You bent her head kissing her knuckles. Almost to assuage the oncoming pain. She muttered, “(Y/N), I don’t -“

Her eyes locked with your tear stained cheeks. And like Lucienne noted, your form changed. Wisps of smoke or fog flittered off your body. The light, the array of colors, from the massive stained glass windows shown through you instead of glowing across your skin. For a second, she saw the haunting pillars and archways, saw the endless shadows that bathed the edges of the throne room. As quickly as it happened, it was an eternity for her and your form soon solidified - a trick of what you truly were.

Your grip tightened, seeing the realization on her face.

She violently shook her head. “No, no, no this - this cannot be happening.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Oneiros, can you not do something?”

You both turned to Morpheus. His head barely shook, a minuscule movement but enough to get the point across. His eyes desperately fought back against the oncoming tears. “I cannot. It had already happened.”

“No, I will not accept that,” she cupped your face, looking at you, “there has to be something and we will find it.”

“Calliope,” Morpheus said.

“There are many ways to bring back the -“

“Calliope.”

She clamped her mouth shut.

You sniffled, burying your face into her hands. The bickering, the heartbreak, it was too much. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.”

“Oh please do not apologize, my love. This isn’t your fault,” Calliope cooed.

“I never wanted to hurt either of you.”

Morpheus said quietly. “You are not to blame.”

“And yet I carry it.”

He stepped behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist and rested his forehead on your shoulder, just as he did a hundred times before. “Please, do not carry such guilt,” he whispered, pleading.

Calliope stroked your cheek. She sniffled, “Did - did you - was it -“

“Did I feel anything?” You finished for her.

She nodded, biting her trembling lip.

“No, it happened so fast.”

Morpheus breathed out a sigh of relief. Calliope nodded, “Okay, okay, that’s good.”

“Can … can we not talk about this?” You asked.

Morpheus’s arms tightened. “We cannot -“

“Can we just have one last day together? We can just stay here in the Dreaming and do whatever.”

Just one more day, and this time I won’t run away.

“Anything, darling.” Morpheus answered.

“What do you want to do, my love?” Calliope tilted her head, still holding your face.

Tears now streamed down your face, unable to hold them back anymore. “God, I don’t know -“ Calliope brushed away the tears -“I don’t care, I just want to be with you two.”

She leaned in kissing your forehead. “How about Fiddler’s Green?”

You nodded, biting your quivering lip. “Yeah, that would be great.”

“Wow.” You breathed out, stepping into Fiddler’s Green for the first time.

Fingers glided across your lower back, drawing your attention. Calliope stood beside you, smiling brightly at you. “That was the same word I spoke when seeing such beauty.”

“Come.”

You both looked at Morpheus who held out a waiting hand. Quickly, you clasped Calliope’s hand then accepted Morpheus’s. Morpheus smiled softly, before leading the way into the forest.

With every step, the fauna bleed back. Branches curled away, grass parted creating a plain dirt path, and any bush or flower shrunk into the ground only to pop back up once you passed over. Your eyes were alight with awe, sparkling with childlike wonder. You peered over your shoulder, smiling giddily back at Calliope and she couldn’t help but match your enthusiasm. It was infectious.

You were infectious.

One smile, these immortals dissolved into a lovesap puddle. One bubble of laughter, their hearts fluttered in their ancient forever beating hearts. One tear, they crumbled like fine dust.

Up ahead, the fauna finally cleared. It was a small circular opening.

Stepping into it, you nearly stumbled forward, despite both Morphues and Calliope in your grasp. You immediately let them go and rushed into the center, taking it all in. Colorful flowers, with unreal combinations and various sizes, dotting along the edges. Colors that always shifted, almost iridescent in the light, and seemed to grow and shrink in the gentle breeze. Other surrounding plants were ferns, ferns the size of trees with massive leaves drooping over top of each other, casting a comforting shade and casting a soft yellow-green hue. And grass, the grass was as tall as sunflowers blocking any unwanted visitors.

All of it made you feel like an ant. An ant scurrying through the jungles of a stranger’s backyard.

It was amazing.

“Come, sit.”

You whipped around to see Calliope and Morpheus lounging on the grass. You scrambled over, and plopped down - no, sunk down. The grass in the middle of the oasis was woven together so finely, like a fluffy quilt found in a grandmother’s home. You sighed deeply and flopped onto your back. It was like cottons and clouds. It cradled you like a lover at night, or two in your case.

The two immortals shared a loving smile.

They slowly sunk down on either side of you.

Time whirled past.

You all caught up on your recent days, and anything new. It was relaxing, and the sun never seemed to set. It was a day meant to last forever.

Yet, even in the Dreaming, you grew tired.

The warmth in the shade, the comfort of Calliope and Morpheus beside you, it was perfect. You slowly closed your eyes, listening to Calliope talk of recently visiting Olympus and her sisters.

Calliope, sitting up, turned her head looking over at you and Morpheus. Her words died on her lips. Morpheus, laying beside you, threw her a confused look. She pointed at you. You with your lips parted as your chest fell and rose in even rhythms. Your head tilted towards Morpheus barely touching his shoulder, seeking out his presence.

Morpheus carefully sat up, staring down at you.

The pair shared a smile.

Oh, their sweet mortal.

Calliope brushed your cheek and whispered your name.

You inhaled sharply and stirred awake. You blinked your eyes, opening them then jumping between the pair. “Huh? I’m sorry I didn’t mean to doze off.” You yawned, “You were saying you spoke with Thalia -“

Calliope laughed once. “Do not worry about that. I will tell the story later.”

Morpheus intertwined his fingers with yours and kissed your knuckles. “If you are tired then you should have told us.”

You blushed slightly. “I didn’t think I was, but being here and being with the both of you is just so relaxing.”

“Come,” Morpheus slowly dragged you to your feet, “we have taken much of your time and you should be waking soon.”

You nodded.

On your feet, you stretched your back, reaching your arms high up. You rolled your neck, hearing the satisfying pop, then looked down and stopped.

A bud pushed out of the dirt. It rose and grew. The green bud unfurled revealing a bright sunny yellow. Oddly, when you moved your head, the yellow moved. It bleed into various shades of yellow, moving like liquid over the soft petals. The petals in the center wrapped tightly around each other, and slowly curled back towards the outer edges.

“It seems Fiddler’s Green has wished to welcome you.”

You tore your gaze from the mystifying yellow rose. Morpheus smiled at you. You pointed at your chest, “Me?”

He chuckled. “Yes, you.”

Morpheus bent down, snapping the stem. Standing up, he offered it out to you. You took the flower and inhaled the fragrant aroma. It smelled of a memory, like an early spring day after a rainstorm. You beamed, both to Morpheus then out to the secret cove. “Thank you, Fiddler.”

“Hold on,” Calliope said. She plucked the rose from your fingers and tilted your head. She gently placed the stem behind your ear smiling as she did so. “Better.”

You laughed, shaking your head. You grabbed both of their wrists and tugged on them. “Alright, let’s go, before I pass out again.”

You stepped into the hidden oasis, for the millionth time and the last. You instantly walked near the center and just fell back as you did a dozen times before.

The pair instantly fell beside you wrapping you in their arms, unwilling to let go. Shielding you from the approaching storm. You sighed, closing your eyes and drawing them closer.

“Are you sure this is all you want?” Morpheus asked.

“Yes,” you hummed without opening your eyes, “this is perfect.”

The pair shared a small, sorrowful smile.

Unable to stand the silence, Calliope said, “Do you remember that time when -“

Hours and hours passed.

You laughed wholeheartedly as the three of you revisited old memories. Your stomach ached from all the laughter. Tears of joy streamed down your face, and your cheeks hurt from smiling too much. And just for a moment you forgot the truth. It was just you, Morpheus, and Calliope.

As it should be, nothing else.

However, reality started to loom over you. It pressed on your chest, forcing all the air out of your lungs. It sunk its vicious claws into you, ripping at your flesh. It whispered in its high pitched, screeching voice, the unforgettable truth: you were dead, and you were still running.

You tried to block it out.

Longer. Just a bit longer.

Yet, it hissed and cackled, ‘Longer, you say? How much longer for the rotting corpse?’

Fuck.

“It’s time.” You stated swiftly, giving in.

Like that, the peace shattered.

You sat up - bolted up. You were only prolonging the inevitable, which was only causing yourself and others more pain.

Calliope stuttered out, “Wait, are - are you sure?”

“Yes.” You said now on your feet, as they still laid bewildered on the ground.

“We can stay longer,” Morpheus said, despite the truth. “I assure you, there is no harm -“

“I don’t want to hold off any longer.” You cut him off.

I don’t want to run from this, not again.

Morpheus nodded solemnly. “Of course.”

The pair got to their feet and looked to you, you who was guiding them forward, you with your head now held high. You would be their rock, their foundation, in these last moments.

“Can,” you swallowed, trying not to crack, “can I have a moment?”

They hesitated, but nodded. Morpheus and Calliope held each other’s hands and walked a few paces ahead.

You glanced once back at the shared slice of heaven. Memorizing everything, and all of the obscurities here. You smiled sadly. “Thank you for everything, no place can ever come close to your beauty. Goodbye, Fiddler’s Green.”

You almost turned around to leave, when a bud grew out of the ground. It blossomed into the same yellow rose, like your first encounter. You bent down and snatched up the practically liquid gold flower. Holding it to your chest, you wiped away a tear and whispered, “Thank you.”

You tucked the flower behind your ear and walked off. Behind you, the colors dulled, and plants drooped, almost decaying. Walking forward, Morpheus and Calliope reached their hands out for you. Their eyes filled with tears as they desperately put in a strong facade.

You smiled, as bright as the flower behind your ear. A painstakingly beautiful smile, one that shattered their hearts.

You took their hands. You kissed their knuckles and smiled up at them. “It’s okay, let’s go.”

Your eyes moved to Morpheus, begging for him to end this. To call his sister, to summon Death. “Can you …”

Your voice trailed off, unable to say it, but he understood perfectly.

Morpheus tore his gaze away. His grip tightened - an ironclad grip. With his free hand, sand fell from his palm circling around all three of you. It swirled and swirled until it completely covered you like millions of twinkling stars, then dropped suddenly like a curtain.

The end of a play, the end of your life.

You now all stood in the entrance of a stone circular room, cold and dark, with extravagant archways like his throne room, lit only by surrounding torches. Up ahead, seven mirrors, with golden frames, held an assortment of objects except for one which was missing an object.

Morpheus reluctantly dropped your hand and marched forward. While, you and Calliope lingered back in the shadow’s entrance. She clung to you, praying to her gods for another way; but, no one listened these days.

He grabbed a silver medallion, an ankh. He gripped it, white knuckling, then he took a long deep breath trying to calm himself. He cleared his throat, “Dear sister, I am in my gallery holding your sigil and I call upon you.”

He waited. And oddly hoped his sister would not answer.

But, Destiny wasn’t on his side today.

“Oh wow, Dream, I hardly ever hear from you, so what’s the special occasion?” A cheerful voice spoke.

“I think I have something,” his throat constricted as his words became thick with emotions, “someone you may have lost.”

“Lost? I don’t think I’ve -“

“Please, just come here.” His words were sharp and quick.

She paused, taken back by his tone, then muttered. “Okay.”

In seconds, the sound of wings fluttered, and Death appeared before her brother. Her eyes swept over him, his bloodshot eyes, his expression stoic as he kept his perfect posture; all of it to desperately keep his composure together. She frowned. “Dream -“

Footsteps approached.

She twisted around. A Greek muse, one she knew of well and wasn’t aware of her brother’s new flame in the old relationship. And in the muse’s arms? A recently departed, and fled, soul. Death peered back over to her brother. Her eyes softened and shoulders dropped, realizing the gravity of the situation. Your first encounter with her replayed in her head. “Oh, Dream.”

Yet, his eyes locked onto you.

She stepped towards him. “You know I cannot -“

“We are not asking for that,” Morpheus cut her off, harshly. Seeing her stunned reaction, he inhaled and exhaled slowly, mumbling an apology.

“I asked him to call you.” You interjected.

Death smiled sadly. “And I’m glad you did.”

Calliope, however, would not let you go. Without thinking, she stepped forward as if to protect you. You grabbed her shoulder, making her turn to look at you. Her eyes wide, and watery, so frightened.

“Hey,” you cupped her face. “It’s okay.”

She couldn’t retort. She didn’t have the energy to do so.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” She whispered, heartbroken.

You rubbed soothing circles on her cheeks. “My sweet Calliope never change. I want you to inspire everyone, okay? I want to hear magnificent songs and wild stories in the afterlife. I want to see a sea of creativity from the most beautiful woman in the universe.”

She leaned into your touch, desperately willing her tears back. “I … I will.”

You smiled, happy to hear her agreeing. You removed your flower and tucked it into her hair, tracing your fingers down your face and across her jaw. You leaned in and kissed her cheek. You lingered for a second.

Don’t make this harder on yourself.

Sighing quietly, you slowly pulled back. Your attention now shifted to Morpheus.

You reached out, touching his face and brushing back a strand of hair. “My dark king, Morpheus, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes on the ground.

You bent your head catching his gaze. “And I want you to keep dreams alive. Create such beautiful dreams, and haunting nightmares, so that humanity can thrive. I want to feel hope ripple throughout the universe.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, “You will.”

You smiled, “Good.”

You leaned forward, kissing his forehead. The same spot his curl kept brushing against. You closed your eyes for a second, squeezing them tightly to push back any tears.

Letting out a shaky exhale, you dropped your hands, stepping back. Morpheus walked backwards standing at Calliope’s side. You smiled at them. “You two take care of each other, okay?”

They nodded, muttering their broken responses.

Your smile faltered. “Please … please don’t shut each other out, or anyone. And if you do -“ you bit the inside of your cheek to prevent your own tears - “I will haunt you or send a fury of storms your way.”

Calliope smiled, barely reaching her eyes and nodded. Morpheus laughed once through his nose, despite his dear sister Despair’s presence now hanging in the room.

“Are you ready?” Death asked from behind you.

You looked at them, and tore your gaze away to Death. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Morpheus, frigid and tense, watched completely transfixed as you walked towards Death. Calliope reached over, clutching his hand, as tears prickled in her eyes. Death’s warm hands intertwined yours. You glanced once more over your shoulder. Seeing their distraught faces, your heart clenched. So, you threw them a lopsided smile, easing any worries.

The same smile you flashed when you first met them.

Black wings soon blocked your smile out of view.

Wings flapped in the confining space and -

You disappeared. Gone.

And so did their resolve.

Calliope wailed, dropping to her knees. Morpheus was dragged down with her. He wrapped her in her arms as he tried and tired and - He broke. His body racked as muffled sobs rumbled in his throat. He pulled Calliope closer as she buried herself in his chest. The only sounds were broken cries of two immoralities, and the distant sounds of Death’s wings carrying their hearts away.

And all that was left, the only sign left of you, was a crumbled yellow rose on the cold stone floor.

#the sandman #Morpheus #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x reader #dream x fem!reader #calliope #calliope x fem!reader #calliope x reader #morpheus x reader x calliope #the sandman imagine #angst #the sandman angst #sandman

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attheendoftheline · 1 year

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Guilt in its entirety

So I saw this towards the end of Working on a song and it completely tore out my heart, now you all must suffer with me. It is the original-original ending song.

It’s so- ow. It’s beautiful and absolutely devastating. There’s a certain angst that makes my angst hungry heart full.

Additionally this cut verse from If it’s true-

OW. He’s a poet at heart even with his pain. Also it’s yet another reference to his myth/canon(?) death of being torn apart… only here it’s more emotional and personal and wanting for it. Which hhhhhhgh it hurts so good.

Bonus-

Persephone is not his mom. But it also makes sense for her to have the part because having Calliope for one song doesn’t really make sense. Also don’t be embarrassed those are good- I like how the older drafts really have a lot more mention of the other gods? It sort of fleshes out the universe even if they’re not in final versions.

#hadestown #angst #hadestown broadway #orpheus hadestown #persephone hadestown #calliope #Greek myth #Greek mythology #anaïs mitchell #working on a song #lyric analysis #meta #Hadestown meta #eurydice hadestown #orpheus and eurydice #orphydice #guilt #character study

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d3klex · 5 months

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in calliope angst period

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beckiboos · 9 months

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Calliope- Right here's the plan. So while Brynjolf, Luci and Kai cause a distraction

Calliope- And Tally keeps watch

Calliope- I'm gonna steal Madesi's ring from his stall

Calliope- Plant the ring on Brand Shei

Calliope- Impress the gorgeous thief, then later we-

Taliesin- Then at some point he'll tell you the information we need to find ESBERN right?

Calliope- Ohhhhhh. Right. I forgot about him...

#skyrim #oc calliope #brynjolf #taliesin #lucien flavius #kaidan #she may have a runaway crush #she still very much falling for tally but she thinks she fucked up there #and taliesin won't admit it but he isnt too happy about this infatuation #but im here for the ANGST

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transprince · 10 months

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I cant be fucked to find the post i made to add this to it, so its seperate

I have decided homestuck wands function purely on if you[the person using it, at least] THINK its gonna do the thing. Rose fucked around [at the time conceptually] with horror terrors, so when she was able to modify knitting needles into wands, no SHIT they worked, why wouldn't they? Calliope's wand uh. Turning into a gun and needing to be loaded i think kinda just represents caliborn bein full on artillery, hence why it just. Changes back and forth? And then, my favoritest little dumbass, Eridan's stupid fuckin science wand. This dude wanted a magic wand SO bad, but because he couldnt get a grasp on actually BELIEVING in magic, he went ahead and did mental fucking backflips into left fucking field rationality, and it WORKED, making one of the most destructive weapons we see [i say this because it kicked sollux's ass, and it seems like. A very bad idea to fuck around with psionic blasts like that.]

Which also leads me to the thought product of Cronus, who used to be Wizard Fanboy #1, who PROBABLY had a wand strife specobus, and when the angels were feedin him prophecies, he could PROBABLY use it, but then got disillusioned an all, and it stopped working, so he had to go for standard grade fuckin firepower

#the cronus thing feels like a good angst source methinks.#also. if this seems more frazzled than usual its because it is. i am. tired.#homestuck #cronus ampora #eridan ampora #rose lalonde #calliope #uhhhhh #homestuck wands #<-?

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ghost-go-roasty-mctoasty · 9 months

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I cant stop thinking about the bmol experimenting with Sam and thanks to @trials-era-sam confirming our hc with Sam's addiction (thank you Jared!!) i just had to write this-

"Names Sam. All we need are names." Toni repeats, tapping her pen against her stupid little notebook.

Even if Sam wanted to, he can't give her want she wants. He doesn't really know that many hunters to begin with, let alone all the hunters in the whole of the united states. Who does she think he is?

She sighs dramatically and puts both her pen and book down on the old table next to her, uncrossing her legs and standing up, taking a few steps closer to Sam.

"Fine." She muttered, "we'll just move onto the next phase, since you're choosing to be difficult."

She starts fishing around in her blazer pocket, in search for something, and Sam can tell she found what she was looking for when a small smile pulls against her lips and she slowly withdraws her hand out, holding what looks to be a small vial?

Sam tilts his head to try and get a better look at it. Is it another drug to induce hallucinations? A truth serum? Who knows what they've invented over across the Atlantic.

Toni scoffs at the confusion displayed on Sam's face, and holds out the vial for him to see, holding it up triumphantly as if she won a race or something.

The first thing he notices is how red it is. He stares for a few more seconds until he realizes, and he can practically feel all the air leaving his lungs.

They've been keeping tabs on him for a good 12 years, they know pretty much everything about him. He doesn't know why this didn't occur to him sooner.

"No." He practically hisses at her, his mind flooding with the pain of detox already. Although he doubts he will ever make it out of here, and hes kind of already given up trying to escape. Whats the point? Dean is dead, Cas will be fine without him. Lucifer is out there roaming free, theres nothing for him anymore.

He's completely content with these british people keeping him here.

But eventually he'll have to detox, he always does.

He can feel his heart starting to pick up pace.

The first detox was bad enough, but he can start to feel the panic raising at the thought of having to live through that now, what horrors would haunt him in his...less than stable state.

He doesn't know what he'd do if he has to see Lucifer or the cage again.

What atrocities would his mind conjure up this time?

He finds his mind rushing back to all the less than pleasant experiences in his life. How it felt to have an archangel inside of him. He thinks that’s why he didn’t realize Gadreel was in him for so long. In comparison to the searing pain of the literal devil in his body, some run of the mill angel was like a tick. Hardly worth his attention.

Toni clearing her throat snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up at her again, and couldn't hide the fact that his hands were shaking.

"Sam," she began "you have made less than ideal choices in your life." A pointed glance towards him. "But, that doesn't mean you still can't be utilised. We as men of letters firmly believe in sufficiency, and your way of...terminating demons is much faster than any excorsim that we have on hand. Don't you think?"

Sam thinks that his heart is going to give out with how fast it is pumping. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears. The year of shame and regret with Ruby and all his mistakes crashing down on him.

"Please." He pleads, looking up at this awful woman through his wet hair. "You don't know what you're doing." He tries to reason with her, but with that glint in her eye, he knows shes not listening to a word he's saying.

"Cmon now Sammy, you can't tell me that you don't miss it." She exclaims, a soft undertone to her voice, as if shes trying to be understanding towards him. Sam scoffs.

And hangs his head in defeat.

They've burnt him, shot him, cut him up and probably broken a few ribs if his pain is any indication. He has no doubt that they will hesitate to do this to him too.

Hes just glad Dean won't be here to watch him turn into a monster again.

Everything Dean told him during that year comes rushing back as he clamps his mouth shut tight. He knows that this will happen to him with or without his consent, but he won't let it happen without a fight.

After all, she isn't Lucifer, he doesn't have to lay down and let her do whatever she wants to him. Hes allowed to fight back. And for Deans sake, he will try.

Toni notices Sams jaw muscles working, and sighs like a disapproving mother whose toddler just won't listen to her.

She roughly grabs Sams face and lifts his head up, making him look up at her.

And although his face is rock hard with determination, pure fear is flashing in his eyes.

He doesn't want to go back to that. To that feeling of desperately needing more and more.

Hes fought so hard against his addiction for so long now. Why is this happening? Chuck must think his life is a joke to do this to him.

But, he keeps his mouth closed tight as Toni tuts and pinches his nose closed, staring down at him patiently.

He hopes he's strong enough to let himself pass out before his mouth inevitably opens to let in air. At least then he could say he tried. But he knows the human body, he knows that when survival insticts kick in, he won't be able to fight it.

But he closes his eyes and tries to stay calm as toni pinches his nose tighter and grows more annoyed.

He starts to count.

Hes gotten to fifty seconds when his lungs really start to hurt.

67. His head has started to spin.

89. His teeth hurt from how hard he's clenching them.

92. He can feel the presence of the vial hanging above him like a carrot on a string. Patiently waiting for his mouth to open like they both know it will.

107. There are spots dancing behind his eyelids. He knows his body will betray him soon.

He lets out a silent prayer at second 115. Begging for someone to help him.

He wonders if Lucifer can hear him.

121. He gasps.

Before he can even suck in some precious air, the vial is being shoved in his mouth, and the metallic taste of blood on his tounge is the only thing his senses can focus on.

Its okay. Dont panic. He just has to spit it out like he did before. No biggie.

He ignores the way his body yearns for it. To swallow it. He ignores how his muscles are remembering how powerful they used to feel. He ignores how his throat is trying to gulp it down, actively working against the only rational part of Sam's brain.

The smell is overwhelming. The taste practically irresistible.

He doesnt have to swallow it. He doesn't have to let her win. He doesn't.

He goes to spit it out. Toni sees. She acts quicker than Sam can even realise.

She's pinching his nose again and roughly keeping her other hand over his mouth. Making sure that he can't possibly spit it out and cutting off all access to air.

Meaning he'll need to swallow it to be able to gasp for air.

He looks up at her with tears in his eyes. His head starting to spin again from lack of oxygen. He shakes his head softly, once again begging her not to do this to him, even though he knows this grovelling will get him nowhere.

She looks down at him with no emotion in her eyes. Even the smile on her face has faded. She just seems a bit bothered now. As if Sams resistance is just a small inconvenience to her.

He'll have to swallow soon. She knows it. They both know it.

Eventually Sam finds his throat working against him and swallowing down the sweet sweet blood.

As it goes down, he gasps out and Toni removes her hand. A satisfied smile on her face.

Sam, on the other hand though, couldn't be more disgusted with himself.

He would start crying if there was any liquid left in his body. He can already feel it. Feel the power thruming through his veins. He can feel his body yearning for more already, protesting that it wasnt enough.

He starts to shake. Silently sob. He cannot believe that this is happening to him again. That he has to go through this again, and all for what? Because some british people want to study him to see how he works and then do who knows what with him?

He starts sweating. Even that tiny amount enough to bring back a pretty severe addiction.

Toni sits back down looking smug. "How do you feel, Sam?"

He glares at her, although how effective it is with his shaking chin and dried tear streaks on his cheeks, he doesn't know.

"Alright." Toni nods at him and starts to make her way back up the stairs.

Sam starts to freak out, but refuses to show it. Not at least until she leaves the basement.

Theyre leaving him here. For how long? Are they going to make him go through detox now? Study his symptoms? Wait for him to start begging them for some more? Maybe, if Sams lucky enough, it wont be that bad, since it was only one small vial.

But he can already feel it. The way his head feels like it's getting squashed between two rocks, the way his stomach is rolling like he's about to vomit, the way his limbs are shaking quite violently.

Sam is never lucky. And this is going to hit him hard.

He hopes it doesnt get so bad that he starts begging for more blood. He'd never forgive himself if he fell that far.

He wishes Dean were still alive.

#alrighty #so #this was fun!#i missed writing <3 #lemme know if you want a continuation when dean finds sam ill write it if this gets one like #sam winchester #supernatural #spn fic #spn ficlet #supernatural fic #calliope hit me #bmol #toni #sam angst #angst #its 2am i didnt proofread this sorry #demon blood addict sam #holy sjit i did not realise how long this was #damn

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