#unable to wait another second before taking Eurydice in

[angeloddity]

"Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?"

— Ovid, Metamorphoses

"if i was orpheus i would simply not turn around" yes you would. if you were orpheus and you loved eurydice, you would. to love someone is to turn around. to love someone is to look at them. whichever version of the myth — he hears her stumble, he can't hear her at all, he thinks he's been tricked — he turns around because he loves her. that's why it's a tragedy. because he loves her enough to save her. because he loves her so much he can't save her. because he will always, always turn around. "if i was orpheus i would simply —" you wouldn't be orpheus. you wouldn't be brave enough to walk into the underworld and save the person you love. be serious

[yakultberry]

daffodils in winter (1); l.jh

✪ summary: in ancient times, only two lovers were able to sway hades into granting them a second chance at life together. even so, a single look back doomed their love story to inevitably remain a tragedy. but is fate truly set in stone or are we able to mold it with our own hands?  ✪ pairing: orpheus!jihoon x eurydice!reader  ✪ genre(s): angst, fluff, reincarnation au, modern greek mythology au, just,,,, a lot of pining ✪ word count: 3.2k words 

✪ a/n: surprise @custardheart​!! i’m your cwc secret santa! c: <33 i had so much fun trying to not to make it obvious that it was me HAHAH i even told you my dog’s nickname in case you had seen him before. i always love our conversations hahah it feels like we could just talk for hours and hours, especially since we have so much in common hehehe you are literally one of the sweetest people i know on cwc and i’m so glad to call you my friend!!

anyway, this took me so long and it’s not even complete 😔 i really wanted to try making a fic that caters to you and all the things you like reading so i just tried throwing it all in there LOL also peep the banner bc i tried to imitate your blog aesthetic too (which i LOVE by the way). since i didn’t want to leave you empty-handed or for you to think i forgot about you while i complete this fic, i decided to just release it in parts adkjsfals hopefully that’s ok!! 

merry christmas and happy new year, taylor!! I LOVE YOUUU 🥺💖

It was nearly 10pm but the night was as lively as ever with people bustling and weaving along like the small stream that flowed through the middle of the stone-paved walkway. They strolled down the worn path on which thousands of footsteps had passed before them, their breaths lingering in the December air as they laughed together and whispered soft wishes. The harsh bite of winter never deterred couples from coming  out to the walkway; in fact, many lovers used the cold as an excuse to clasp each other’s hands tighter, to press their warm bodies closer together. Even on the harshest nights, the walkway welcomed a handful of couples who would stay until the early hours of the morning. 

This could, in part, be attributed to the walkway itself, or rather what could be found on the walkway. Anyone who stepped along the trodden path would soon find the walkway’s source of life and warmth: a flower stand. Now there were many walkways with flower stands, some even host more than one stand, but none ever seen like this. Even in the middle of winter, the humble stand teemed as though it were early spring with its variety of soft pink tulips, vibrantly purple violas, dainty white snowdrops, and daffodils so yellow they nearly glowed. Each flower was in almost unnaturally pristine condition-- there was never one droopy petal or dried up leaf. Rumor stated that if you bought a bouquet for your significant other, your relationship would surely last a lifetime, outlasting the winters that you might endure. 

Jihoon, of course, knew that this was all a very elaborate marketing scheme to lure out crowds of hopeful couples. While he didn’t have a green thumb himself, he figured that technology must have advanced enough to allow for such beautiful flowers to exist despite the cold, but he wasn’t all too invested in finding out the how’s and what-for’s of the small stand. As long as it brought out the crowds, Jihoon couldn’t care less if the stand scammed naive romantics into throwing away their money for some flimsy symbol of everlasting love. What mattered to him was finding an audience, and he knew, without doubt, that he would find one here. He could already feel the lingering eyes of passersby as he arranged his amp and microphone, filling him with a bubbling anticipation that made his fingers itch for his guitar. 

Despite the tattered appearance of the case, the guitar within seemed to be lined with gold along its edges, gleaming fantastically under the light of a street lamp. Upon closer inspection however, it was apparent that the instrument was well-worn with its own array of scuffs and scratches along the neck and body from its many years of performance. The guitar fit into Jihoon’s hands as if it were molded to be held by him, and he smiled to himself as he strummed each string to check for tuning. Just like that, he felt home. 

“Do you always have to set up so close to me?” At the sound of your voice, Jihoon felt his grin widen, and he immediately looked up to make sure that you saw it in all its smug, cheeky glory. You stood to the side with a pair of stem clippers in hand, which he might have found intimidating had you not been holding a daffodil in the other. The endearing smile that itched at the corners of your lips didn’t do much to scare him either.

“This is where all the foot traffic is, so yes,” he mused teasingly. He then pointed to the flower in your hand. “I see you’re getting ready to shower me in flowers after my performance. People usually throw roses though, you know.”

“Okay, just don’t let it get of hand this time,” you said over your shoulder, already turning back to return to your flower stand. He didn’t dare look away, because on your third step back, you always twirled to face him for a moment to flash your unfaltering smile at him, which he mirrored.“The whole neighborhood must have thought you were having a concert with all the people that came out.” 

“That wasn’t my fault!” he called after you, but you had already returned to your post, greeting several new customers who looked at your bouquets with awe and wonder. 

As you began to gather flowers for a couple’s request, you could hear Jihoon finally open his set with a healing, energetic tune that had the small crowd clapping along to the beat. The first time he had come out to the walkway, it had shocked you how the first note he strummed had immediately taken a hold of you, how it had somehow melted your concentrated frown into a smile with ease. It had been the end of a long day and you were ready to close up shop when a boy had set up for a busking session nearby. Although he only brought one small amp, you felt each note resonate in your chest, and felt the music brush your skin as though it hung in the air like a mist. Suddenly, thoughts of your stressful day had dissipated, dissolved by the boy’s guitar and clear, pure voice. It was unlike anything you felt before.

And yet, it was so easy for you to give in to the enchanting sensation, falling into its embrace like you were reunited friends.  

Now you anticipated the way the melody gently tugged your lips into a smile and how your heart beat seemed to fall into rhythm with each chord. You knew you weren’t the only one so strongly moved by the music though. The customers you were currently tending to, a young couple new to the walkway, had immediately turned their heads towards Jihoon as he continued his set with another lighthearted tune about confessing and butterflies. Their sparkling eyes told you that you weren’t the only one moved by Jihoon’s music, and you couldn’t help but notice how they subconsciously reached for each other’s hands, fingers intertwining fondly. Much to your concern, a wistful sigh escapes your lips at the sight. Your eyebrows furrowed as you felt a dull ache blanket over your chest. 

You tried shaking your head to rid yourself of the feeling, rushing to finish wrapping up the flowers in brown paper and string. “Your bouquet is ready!” you said much louder than intended, snapping the couple from their daze. Both blinked in surprise at their clasped hands as if just realizing how close they’d gotten, and you bit back a giggle when they could no longer meet each other’s eyes. Much like many of your other customers on the nights that Jihoon busked, they immediately joined his audience after paying, unable to get enough of his sweet voice. You stared after them for a bit, feeling somewhat intrusive as they overcame their initial hesitance and held hands once more. And suddenly it was there again: this time it felt more restless like you were waiting, but for what, you didn’t know. 

It wasn’t the first time you felt this way.  In fact, every time it creeped up on you like this, it frightened you how it settled in the pit of your stomach so effortlessly as if it had made a home there, deep inside you. It made you feel like you had been waiting for tens of thousands of lifetimes. Like you had been waiting so long that you forgot what you were waiting for.

At this point, you weren’t sure if you wanted to remember. 

Throughout your life, the weight in your chest had made itself known only a handful of times, usually in quiet moments when the dark felt like it could swallow you up. It was the reason why you took refuge in the bright hustle and bustle of the walkway and why you lingered if only to be surrounded by your flowers. But now, it followed you even in the middle of a crowd, in the midst of the music. 

“Hi! Could I get some roses?” The voice of a new customer finally tugged your attention from the couple, allowing for the pressure in your chest to dissolve for the moment. 

 “Of course you can, sir,” you chirped, relieved for the distraction. “What color?  Would you like a bouquet?”

The customer, who stood alone, seemed to wiggle in thought. “Red, I guess! Don’t worry about wrapping them up! I’ll just take them as is, since I’ll be throwing them to that busker over there.” 

“Oh! Wow, he must have made a real fan out of you, sir.” 

At your statement, he let out a chuckle. “Oh, for sure. I wish he chose a warmer venue though.I guess that can’t be helped,” he said, giving you a meaningful nod, eyes gleaming as they always seemed to. You were taken aback by the sudden realization: You’ve met him before. 

“Right,” you replied absentmindedly, forcing yourself to focus on gathering the last of your customer’s order in an attempt to mask your bewilderment. You were positive that you had never seen this man’s face in your life, yet you were struck with the insistence that not only did you know him, but that he knew you too. He was there, somewhere in your memory. But the closer you tried to get, the further you seemed to step into a murky fog; was it a far away memory or was it just a dream? Chancing a glance at him only served to fluster you even further, especially with the way his smile made you feel as though he could sense your inner bewilderment. You cleared your throat and timidly returned his smile as you handed him his roses. “Anyway uh-- here is your order, sir! He’s about to play the last of his set, so you should probably get over there. Hopefully he likes them!”

“Oh, I’m sure he will love them,” the customer grinned, placing cash in place of the flowers. “Well, I’ll see you around!” 

And with a quick wink, he made his way to join Jihoon’s audience, and once more, you were left to deal with your thoughts on your own. What was it with the customers and launching you into emotional reveries tonight? You decided that that was a good excuse as any to close up shop for the night; you weren’t sure that you’d be able to handle another bout of deja vu or inexplicable longing. Plus you wanted to properly watch Jihoon’s last song, as you always did. You glanced over at him as you cleaned up,  but you were quick to avert your gaze when he suddenly met your eyes and offered you a wide grin. 

As much as you enjoyed his music, you couldn’t ignore how his appearance in your life coincided with these recurring feelings. It was perplexing how it seemed that with one strum of his guitar, he somehow brought you both comfort and simmering unease. But if you were being honest, you couldn’t say you hated it. You knew that if you asked him to set up  a little more upstream, your flower stand would undoubtedly become your haven once more. It was an easy fix. Simple. But even when his weekly busks frequented to every other day, you only found yourself clutching tighter to that moment of elation when he began a performance. 

When you stood there and listened to him play, you had a growing certainty that you would go through any length of suffering if it meant you could keep that moment. 

Jihoon was barely able to sing his last note when the crowd drowned him out with applause and, to his surprise, showered him in several roses from the stand. He caught one in his hand, eyes shining with laughter as he immediately searched for your face. Instead of finding you though, he caught sight of someone that wiped the smile from his lips. Before he could so much as curse under his breath, the man took hold of his microphone and addressed the audience.

“Bravo, bravo! Ladies and gentlemen, please give another round of applause for Woozi, Olympic Entertainment’s feature producer! Woo!” the man boomed a little too close to the mic. “Olympic Entertainment sincerely thanks you for all of your love and support from this past year. We hope that you can continue supporting us and listening to Woozi’s ballads in this upcoming year. Please be on the lookout for his new single that we will be releasing on New Year’s Day!”

As the crowd erupted into murmurs and whispers, the man turned to beam at Jihoon, who replied with a stare as cold as the wind. “Soonyoung, what are you doing here?”

“The boss wants you to stop screwing around and get back to the studio,” Soonyoung said with a shrug. 

“I’m not screwing around! You know damn well why I came out here--”

“Hey, those were his words not mine-- I’m just delivering them.” Jihoon tensed when he felt Soonyoung’s hand on his shoulder, having half a mind to shrug it off. He knew though, that Soonyoung had little choice when it came to the boss’ word, and neither did he. There was no use in taking out his frustrations on his friend, especially when the damage was already done. “You know that I would never have taken it that far if I didn’t have to.” 

Jihoon sighed, nodding. “I know. I’ll just see you tomorrow.”

The crowd gradually dispersed as Jihoon packed away all of his equipment, and suddenly, he felt the full force of winter without the warmth of the crowd shielding him. He hadn’t expected that it would be so cold. After his previous busk sessions, several people in the audience would stay a while longer and approach him, usually to make conversation about his music or to simply thank him for the performance. Now they kept their distance, looking his way discreetly while they whispered about who he really was like he couldn’t hear them. Jihoon scoffed and slammed his guitar case shut, numb fingers fumbling at the clasps.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t have to look up to know that it was you. 

“I’m fine,” he huffed out, jaw clenched. When you didn’t make any move to leave, he gave in and looked at you, a grave mistake on his part. At the sight of your sympathetic smile, he sat back down on the bench; there was no use struggling to put up a front when you seemed to see right through it anyway. You sat on the opposite end of the bench, facing him to show that you were there to listen. After all those times he came here, this was probably the closest you’d ever gotten to him, and yet Jihoon found himself wishing you had sat closer. “Well, I’ve been better.” 

“I’m sorry that I sold that guy those flowers. If I had known that he was going to do that, I--” 

“No, that was all on me,” Jihoon said quickly, unable to let you apologize any further when you were merely doing your job. “You probably think I just came here for some promotional stunt.”

“I mean I didn’t, but now that you mention it…” Without knowing it, Jihoon let out a chuckle at your teasing.  “Even if it was for promotions, I don’t think anyone here would mind. Plenty of people busk to promote themselves. I don’t think that makes their songs any less genuine.” 

He shook his head, the sigh that left his lips hanging in the air for a moment. “I mind. I love my job and everything, but I really needed a break from all that extra stuff. I came here because I knew it would just be about the music. No one had stopped to listen because it was my music or if it was a Woozi production or whatever. They only listened because they liked it. Now I won’t know if that’s actually the case.”

“I don’t see why they can’t enjoy your music while knowing who you are,” you said, eyebrows scrunched together, and Jihoon watched as you rested the side of your head against the back of the bench. Have your eyes always been this captivating? You dropped your voice to a stage whisper. “Is that your secret? Is your music magical only for those who don’t know your true identity?”

“Something like that. Isn’t my music a bit more impressive if I’m just a regular person and not a professional producer?” Jihoon laughed. “I mean, imagine if people knew the secret behind how you grow your flowers in the winter. Don’t you think they’d be less inclined to buy them?” 

You snorted. “I don’t have a secret, though?”

“Oh come on, you literally sell springtime flowers in the winter! You must get them imported or have some kind of fancy greenhouse.” 

“I literally can’t even rent a space to sell my flowers indoors. I can’t afford any of that! They’re just flowers that I’ve grown in my garden. I tell people how I grow my flowers all the time and it doesn’t change anything. It still means something to them,” you said insistently. And then, softer, “Just like how knowing you’re some big shot producer doesn’t change the fact that I’ve never heard music like yours before.” 

Jihoon swallowed, wanting more than ever to close the distance between the two of you. It was a gravity that he felt ever since his first performance, something he had originally attributed to the walkway and how perfect it was for his busks. As he sat here beside you though, the force seemed to tug at his chest almost painfully until it was aching. With his hands clenched, he tore his gaze away from you, unsure of what he was going to say next. His thoughts were fuzzy, like a static television screen going in and out of focus, and the only image he could make out was you. Or at least he hoped that it was you. 

“By the way, ballads? I’ve only ever heard you play happy songs.” 

“This was the only place I could play them,” Jihoon replied quietly. When his eyes met with yours, he was taken aback by how much he meant it; even if he tried to play these songs in the studio, he was certain that it wouldn’t be the same at all. Forcing a smile, he finally met your eyes again. “It was nice while it lasted.” 

“Wait, are you not… are you not going to come back anymore?” 

“I don’t think I should. There wouldn’t be any point, right? Since people know who I am now.” 

“Oh.” I still don’t know who you are. This time, you were the one to turn away from him, a small frown on your lips. A harsh wind came in then, ruthlessly rustling the bare branches of trees and lifting loose petals from the ground around your stand. They swirled in the air wildly for several moments before raining down on where you and Jihoon sat in silence. Seeing how he shivered, you took the scarf off your neck and wrapped it around his own. “Here take this.”

“W-what about you?” When he moved to return the item, you shook your head and smiled.

“I’m used to the cold.”

[therainbowwillow]

When Hell Freezes Over AU: Part 4! 

The whistle hasn’t blown for over a week now; Eurydice hasn’t worked. The temperatures have only dropped lower. Colder and colder until the rivers of the underworld had frozen over, all except the Phlegethon, where the shades spend all of their days conserving what little heat can be found at its banks.

Eurydice had joined the huddle as quickly as she could, staking down a spot as close to the river as possible. She’d brought with her everything she owned: the bottle given to her by the bartender, her thin bed sheets, and the scrap of paper with her name written on it.

She sits beside the fiery river, clutching her slip of paper. She knows its information is true now. The Lethe has frozen over, they say. It must have. Every day, she remembers a little more. First, her name, without her paper. His name. And losing him.

She wants to throw her shred of memory into the fire. Watch it burn. The paper’s edges are charred from past attempts, but she can’t bring herself to watch it turn to ash.

Of course he’d turned. She wishes she could blame him. Watch his name go up in flames. She wants to hate him. But would she have done anything differently? She had abandoned him, lost faith in his music. She’d broken her promises, he’d broken his. How could she accuse him of betrayal when she had left him first?

Why had she come here? Hadn’t she known the weather would never spare her, no matter where she ran? Her broken promises hadn’t brought her peace. The winds had caught up to her, even in death. For this, she has only herself to blame. He turned, but she gave him reason to distrust her.

A murmur goes up through the crowd: Persephone’s home. Early. Eurydice hears it. She does not remember how long it had been since the Queen of the Underworld had gone to the surface. It holds no meaning to Eurydice. Spring won’t be found down here, no matter how early Persephone arrives.

It’s the next rumor that catches her. “Hades is coming,” they say. She tightens her blankets around her shoulders, trains her eyes on the river. “He’s looking for someone.” She crumples her paper and tucks it into her pockets. “A girl. Eurydice.” Her hair stands on end. Her feet beg her to run. Flee, hide, pray she can stay out of sight. But there’s no dodging Hades’s watchful eye. 

Eurydice hears footsteps, slowly approaching her claim on the riverbank. She keeps her head down. If he spots her... “You.” She recognizes Hades’s gravelly voice. She feels a hand on her shoulder and doesn’t look up, forcing herself instead to hide her fear. 

“Get up.” She rises to her feet. “Let’s go,” he growls.

Eurydice follows Hades as he leads her away from the river bank, finally gathering the courage to speak up as they enter the heart of Hadestown. “Where are you sending me?” she asks, keeping her voice non-confrontational to mask her fright. There are worse places in Hadestown than the factories, if rumors are to be trusted. 

“Home,” he responds, bitterly.

“Lord Hades, I reside in the east district,” she reminds him. “This is the wrong direction.”

He makes a sound of acknowledgement but does not change his course. Anxiously, Eurydice continues to let him guide her. For all of her months in Hadestown, the city may as well be new to her. Its perfect grid of streets is a labyrinth, impossible to navigate. Every building looks the same as the last, every street is a copy of the next. If she loses him, she may as well give up any hope of getting back to anywhere recognizable. 

Finally, the path ahead begins to look familiar. The railroad. A woman beckons to them to hurry. Hades hastens his pace. They arrive at the train station, where Eurydice had arrived so long ago. Persephone stands waiting. “Eurydice.” The Queen of the Underworld pulls her into a tight embrace. “It’s been too long.”

“How long?” Eurydice asks, monotone. It’s colder here on the railroad track. Much colder. 

Persephone frees Eurydice from her hug and looks the young woman up and down. “What’d he tell you, hon?” she asks, noticing Eurydice’s anxiety.

Eurydice shrugs. “”Home. That’s all he said.” She doesn’t trust herself to say more, the lump in her throat only growing.

“Home,” Persephone repeats. “That’s it? Hades, don’t you think you could’ve been a little clearer?” She glares at her husband. “Home on the surface, Eurydice.”

She draws in a little breath. “Orpheus?”

Persephone sighs and chews at her lip. “Mm hm.”

“What is it?” she asks, alarmed. “Is he alright?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Hades, you’ll handle things down here?” He nods. Persephone steps onto the train, offering Eurydice a hand. “I’ll be back before you know it, lover,” she reminds her husband.

Eurydice takes a seat in the nearest booth, her legs trembling. “Persephone?”

“I’m sorry, hon. I would’ve explained more if I’d had the chance. I expected my husband to...” She snorts. “Okay, no, I didn’t.” Eurydice’s expression doesn’t change. Persephone gives something of a half laugh, to fill the silence. She goes on: “He loves you, that Orpheus. More than anything. I want you to know that. No matter what happens up there, he loves you.”

Eurydice swallows, forcing back her terror. “Why are you telling me this?”

“He misses you.”

Unable to contain herself any longer, she raises her voice. “Take me back. I don’t want to see him.” She carries on, unsure what spurs her outburst. “Winter is here. His song’s a failure.”

Persephone looks at her with an unreadable expression. 

“That song... it’s no failure.” It’s Hermes who speaks up from the far corner of the train car. 

“Not a failure?” Eurydice snaps, forgetting herself as a mortal, disposable to these eternal beings. One word to Hades and she’d face a punishment far worse than the factories. Still, she goes on, the slip of paper she’d long held on to quivering in her hand. “It’s colder than ever. Even Hadestown feels this winter. I don’t want to go back only to lose everything! He’s... he’s gone.” She crumples the paper in her hand and throws it to the ground.

Hermes retrieves it. “Do you know where you got this?” he inquires, gently. 

“I don’t care,” she snarls.

“Orpheus folded it up like a flower. Just some old newspaper. You threw the rest to the fire, a last bit of kindling for warmth. But you didn’t dare to burn it all.”

She wipes her eyes, under the guise of brushing away loose hairs. “I should have,” she mutters.

He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t. You won’t.” She knows it’s true, but she can’t bring herself to admit it. “He needs you, Eurydice.”

“What do you want?” she inquires, sharply.

“He laments losing you,” Hermes informs her. “You’ll see him again.”

“Under what terms?” Her voice blunt and devoid of emotion, expecting some new impossible fight. A goal she’ll never reach.

Hermes sighs. “That you end this winter.”

“Then we may as well turn around,” she says, the defeat apparent in her tone.

“No. Eurydice,” he tells her, “Orpheus is the cause of this winter.” 

She almost laughs. “How? He’s a miserable poet, missing his lover. Nothing more. Orpheus is no god.”

“When he sings, the world sings with him. The world feels with him. Listen.”

She falls silent. Over the sound of the wheels on their icy tracks, she hears a melody on the wind, sorrowful and heart-wrenching. It catches her breath in her chest. She turns away, hiding her tears. 

“The world sees no light as long as he sings. Will you try to reach him?” He presses the slip of paper into her hands.

“Teach me the song,” she requests. “The old song.”

...

Orpheus has long since lost track of time. He cannot remember her name, the name of the one he sings this elegy for. She is faceless as she is torn from his arms again and again and again. 

The world, he finds, tires of his mourning. They had found him, women, worshipers of Dionysus. First, they had asked him to stop, drunken pleads. Whether or not he had heard them, no one could say. Finally, they had brought their blades upon him, maddened and miserable by his endless lament. 

He had hardly felt the sting of their knives at his flesh. And who were they to stop him? Orpheus had sung twice as loud. The winds heard him and, driven by the power of his melody, his attackers had been frozen solid.

Others had approached him, their faces blank before his unseeing eyes, blinded by the snow. They too had met cruel fates, fallen like flies, effortless. He had taken no pleasure in their deaths, nor despair in the harm he’d brought.  

Only once had he felt anything at all. Not remorse, not joy. Recognition, perhaps. In some far-off world, he’d known this man, divinity flowing in his blood. Orpheus had seen ichor stain the snow gold when he had thrown the man backwards, preventing his approach. Unlike the mortals he had warded off, this man had woken from his daze and he had fled. Once, Orpheus had wished he hadn’t gone. By now, he’s nearly forgotten the encounter. 

His song simply washes away all concept of memory or hunger or cold. All he knows is his faceless lover, torn away from him. He holds her now, pleading to keep her. With each failed attempt, she seems more featureless. She stays in his arms for shorter and shorter seconds before she fades to dust once more. 

He has no name to call to her before she’s gone. It is a nightmare and just as he wakes, he’s thrown back to relive it all over again. Yet he longs for her. He longs to see her again, just for a second. So he sings. As long as his melody rings in the air, he hopes she will be there. Another second. Another minute. Another day. He sees her. Again and again and again.

(Wow, I actually really like how this turned out! Usually I’m kinda meh about the writing of these fic parts, it’s more about the plot than the shiny words, but I quite like how this reads!)

[nextwarden]

I want you to date me.

"I want you to date me," Blake Belladonna says, her eyes playful but her gaze steady despite the buzz that has taken them both.

"Pardon?", Yang replies, almost dropping her glass on the wooden floor, almost not caring for the hell Weiss and Pyrrha would put her through if she did.

"I want you to date me."

The voice is steady, assured, perhaps a little too assured, and so, so sultry. As beautifully dangerous as the flower that is her name. If the rest of the party had not already faded in the background, as literally as it did figuratively when their eyes met ages earlier now - they're on the east-side balcony on the second floor, alone, in the relative quiet of the night -, it would have now, as quickly as her heart is bombing into her chest. She realizes she's both struggling to breathe and not to breathe. Both trying to stay alive and live in this moment for all she can, and to let all concepts of time slip away and let it never end.

She glances around, trying to get a grip on what changed in this reality, trying to find the seams that will allow her to unravel the great conspiracy that had woven events to bring them to this exact moment. She waits for cameras to drop, a crew to burst out of the room and shout "Surprise! This is NTV and you've been Prank'd!", as they dance around her and circus music begins to play. She tries to find the faults and the cracks as the continents begin to drift apart, revealing brimstone and fire as the Devil laughs in her face, bursting her hopes with his painful fork. But none of that happens and then she feels the gaze steady on her, on her eyes, on her lips, on her freckles and her hands, on her. Her. Blake Belladonna is looking at her as she asks that, she's looking at her and despite all the bravado that she has draped herself in, there's something in the liquid gold of those orbs, something very akin to fragility, to hesitation, to openness. As if she'd start running the second Yang breathed in again, as if she'd start running and never stop, to the edge of the world and beyond, nevermind having to jump into the endless unknown. Nothing would ever be as scary as being in the face of this moment.

And Yang knows. Oh boy, does she know. The goosebumps on her arms can attest to that, the cold sweat dripping all along her spine can attest to that, the instantaneous expansion of her eyes can attest to that, the tightening of her grip on her glass, verging on destructive, can attest to that, the flush ruby of her skin can attest to that. Ruby. She somehow manages to spot the brunette somewhere in the corner of her eye, a red streak mingling into white. She doesn't see her face but she can see the knowing smile, the proud and playful grin that she would put on display to light the night if she could. She crashes back to the hard and cold ground, somehow more welcoming than anything the lush world has to offer, when Blake shifts her weight. She realizes her breath is still hitched, she's still frozen in place, eyes wide. And then she realizes the moment has stretched on slightly too long. In slow yet absolutely clear motion, like an action scene on a movie screen, the confidence slips. She sees the furrow of the brows deepen ever so slightly, the slight trembling of the lip, synchronous with that of the hand, the gilded sea somehow melts even more to give a misty shine to the window that gives view within, and Yang swears she can almost hear it crack. The sight before her is so mesmerizing - it's always mesmerizing, has been since they first laid eyes on each others - that she almost doesn't react, so still it is almost too late. She sees the blink, the movement of the lips, and the turn of the shoulders as the meaning of the sounds finally reach her muddled mind.

"S- sorry, this… this was a mistake."

It's the first catch of the breath, willed to be concealed but escaping in between words that finally wakes her up from this slumber she finds herself to have fallen. Her throat tightens, it's on fire. So is her hand as she catches the fleeing wrist, firm but ever so gentle, like one would use to keep a bird from flying away. She can feel the heat in her own palm and she's sure Blake can too, she sees her flinch. And for a beat she thinks the beautiful, wonderful being that stands before her, that just shattered her world by answering every and all prayers she's had since this pocket universe of theirs exploded into existence, is going to jerk her arm away in pain. But another beat passes and she doesn't move anything but her eyes, straight to Yang's, scared, scarred, but somehow, despite it all, hopeful. That's what break her too, that's what emboldens her too. The heat is there, blazing under her skin and on top of Blake's. Neither of them seem to mind.

"Sorry."

It's all she says as she lets go. All she can say. She means so much more; the breach of personal space, the knowledge that having been allowed such proximity does not entitle her to it, the fact that she's slow on the uptake, not having had the courage herself, and so much more. But her eyes tell another story, a story that she hopes Blake can read. She extends her hand again, not taking, this time, but offering. Their gazes are linked, unable to detach, unwilling. Finally, slowly, with a smile widening impossibly and a voice as steady as she can manage, with all the care and the tenderness she can muster, she too shatters Blake Belladonna's world.

"Yes."

She feels cool skin upon her palm, hesitant at first but determined then.

"Yes?"

She's unsure, Yang feels it as she feels the wind in her hair. The girl is unsure. Blake Belladonna, goddess among men - among women too -, she who can get the world to bend its knee weakly with a curl of her finger and a bat of her smokey eye, she who made a world only to break it and make it anew. She's unsure. And Yang can't get enough of it. It's not sadistic, it's not for the fun of it, she's not trying to make her doubt or crumble on herself. But knowing Blake can at a single word of hers, at a single gesture, seeing the open and real, raw hope, the emotion behind it all, she almost crumbles herself. If it was anyone else, any other soul on the planet, perhaps they would have under so much pressure, or perhaps they'd have made the brunette vanish into dust with a single, awkward wrong move. But she's not anyone, she's not just anyone, she's Yang Fucking Xiao Long, she's the girl the girl of her dreams just asked out despite all odds and all her fears. She's the Chosen One's Chosen One and that, that's worth an apocalypse.

"Yes," she repeats, unable to contain her smile, threatening to explode under the conflicting gravitas.

It gets even wider, if that's possible, brighter and toothier. It gets… everything. And Blake devours that everything. Their fingers interlace. A step is taken, hesitant. A second one, more assured. And finally the Pandorica opens again and then nothing happens. Nothing happens for a while. Nothing happens for so long, actually, that when Space seems to crash back aground them and Time starts to turn its gears again it's so overwhelming they almost fall. But they can't fall, 'cause they're already falling, they've been falling for so long now that they're not even sure when they started or if there's actually a bottom anymore. They're not even sure they're even falling. Is that what flying feels like? God, they'd make millions by just selling the recipe to Red Bull, Yang manages to think as their physical manifests separate long enough for them to look into each other's eyes. Blake keeps her arms tight around Yang's waist, Yang keeps their bodies pressed against each other, melting in the warmth. Only their faces are apart, eyes in eyes, soul in soul. That doesn't last long, though.

"Yes…", Blake repeats the word, breathy and marvelled.

The soft brush of her breath on Yang's lips falls on the scale as light as a feather, tipping it. Lilac eyes search golden ones, asking for a permission that has long been given, and flutter shut as their lips collide, magnetic. Surprisingly, this time, nothing changes. The world doesn't vanish, Yang's mind doesn't break, even Time only seems to seep into the background a little. It's the opposite, actually. Everything is here, now, right here, right now. It happens. Not all at once, just, now, and here. She's rubbing her mouth against Blake Belladonna's, and Blake Belladonna is rubbing her mouth back with her own mouth, Yang only thinks. Okay, maybe she lied, maybe her mind did break a little bit. But it's good, because it's happening, and it's happening here and now. They kiss, tenderly, unendingly, through breaths and giggles, through smile and salt, through past and present, exploring each other's hair and jaws and face and hips and backs and hands and hearts.

When it ends is actually when it begins. The party is all around their quiet little escape and they know they have to go back, they have to leave their own private limbo in order to return to the mortal world. It's a little bit scary, but they aren't really worried. The Underworld has already had its Orpheus and its Eurydice. It takes a while but they eventually do. It doesn't feel like going back, though, it feels like entering a new world, brighter and livelier. Yang is smiling as bright as the Sun, holding Blake's hand as she guides her to the crowd, and Blake is smiling back, more subdued but a Moon of her own. And when their bubble blows and the water rushes in, Yang almost expects them to lose their footing, to sink into the depths, but it's shallow and they waddle in the cool waves without a care in the world. It's the opposite, even. Perhaps the realization that Yang Xiao Long and Blake Belladonna love each other has emboldened Blake Belladonna and Yang Xiao Long, or perhaps, as their names seem to give away, Yang Xiao Long and Blake Belladonna have always been bold. Because the second they begin, it flows as naturally as if they had traced the river themselves.

"So, you two, huh?", Pyrrha and Sun, the surprisingly unlikely yet unchallenged winning team of the night's Interdorm Grand Beer Pong Cup stare at them as they enter the large room.

"Yep.", Yang smiles broadly, popping a cocky 'p'.

"Us," Blake nods, her arm loose on Yang's shoulder.

-----

It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere. (College AU - Part II)

Sunset (College AU - Part III)

Sun-kissed

[sourstars]

HELLO BABYDOLL !!! i am requesting the answer to atlas on your greek mythology question list ??? bc i feel like that’s a cool and underrated question

also i love you and i hope you’re having a good day. u mean so much to me !! stay hydrated <3

Atlas: favorite myth?

OH MY GOD WAIT I DIDN’T EVEN SEE THIS ONE??

okay okay wait bc it’s tied between three or four

Orpheus and Eurydice: a tragic love story of to two lovers doomed to be kept apart. they pull on your heart strings whether it be in the original myth form, or even the musical Hadestown.

one of the original versions is that a nymph named eurydice, daughter of apollo, had caught the eye of orpheus, who was considered one of or the greatest lyre player in the world. He had wooed her with song and thus married her, however, tragedy quickly began to take root. on her wedding day, eurydice was bitten by a viper, and died shortly after. overcome by grief, orpheus traveled his way to the Underworld to persuade the hades to return her. the king and queen of the underworld were moved by his song, as were the fates would were described as "unable to keep tears from their eyes", and under one condition, eurydice would be able to return to live again;

she was to follow behind him through a dark path, to eventually reach the light of the sun. but orpheus was told he should not turn to her until she was out into the light. due to this, orpheus' doubt of hades began to grow, and with both belief it was a trick and the inability to hear her voices or steps (she was a shade who would turn back into human once above), orpheus lost faith and turned, thus causing eurydice to fall back to the underworld once more.

The Apple of Discord: the great trojan war was not out of thin air. in fact, it began with an apple.

during the wedding of thetis and peleus, the goddess of discord, eris, was not invited. due to this, she felt offended and arrived the wedding regardless, tossing forth a single golden apple, saying to the fairest and it was claimed by all hera, athena, and aprhodite, igniting a disarray of beliefs among the three. turning to zeus, they asked for his opinion, and shocking all of them, he said a mortal man and the rightful heir prince of troy, paris, should choose.

and paris had grown up as a sheperd, unaware of his royal blood due being abandoned as baby by the oracle’s prophecy of him bringing forth his city's destruction. because of this, the goddesses each offered him a gift to sway his decision. hers offered wealth and power, athena offered wisdom and glory, and aphrodite offered him love from the most beautiful women in the world. he chose aphrodite instantly, handing her the apple, and in turn she began to offer council to paris, leading him back to troy and telling him of his royal blood, which caused the war in the future.

Eros and Psyche: it is another love story, yes, but with a happy ending.

in greek myths, love is held to a great regard, and so psyche was a very astonishing mortal girl. she was claimed to surpassed even aphrodite in beauty and it was so well traveled that it caused men from all over to visit her and to admire. of course, aphrodite was enraged and jealous, and decided to give the girl a punishment. her son, eros, who deals with matters of love and could make a mortal fall into love with a single arrow, was told to make her fall in with the most cruel and horrible being on the earth.

but eros could not, due to him falling for her himself once he laid his eye upon her. due to this, he could not carry out aphrodite's wishes and did not strike her, causing years to go by with psyche still unmarried. eventually, her parents decided it'd be best to ask the god apollo for advice, and the oracle said for her to dress in black, climb the highest mountain and remain until the winds picked her up to carry her off. and when it did in fact happen to her, eros begun the route pf climbing into bed with her into the dark, where she could not see his face, and he would lie beside her every night. psyche beloved to know he was not a monster, but a loving man and the possible husband she';d always seem looking for, but eventually, like orpheus, faith and trust could be crumbled within seconds.

after days and time passing with visiting and seeing her family, psyche’s sisters began to feed her whispers of eros being a beast, the horrible creature, and it overwhelmed the girl so much, that one night, when eros was asleep, she'd kill him if she checked his face and he was indeed a monster. if he was not, she'd go back to sleep. but a drop of the oil of her candle touched his face and he awoke, immediately vanishing off and telling her heartbrokenly love cannot live without trust, and due to her overbearing sadness, she reached out to aphrodite, who sent her off to carry out three impossible tasks, and psyche completed them with the help of the nature around her.

with aphrodite enraged once more, she intended to never let the girl go and the other olympians bore witness to this, sending hermes off to tell eros. eros was touched by her love for him so greatly that he returned and as a wedding fit, zeus allowed psyche a taste of ambrosia, the drink of the gods, and aphrodite was now sated with the truth that men would forget psyche and once again worship her instead.

Narcissus and Echo: another tragedy. at least we know why I love angst so much, right? but truly, this one breaks my heart

echo was a wood nymph, who was cursed by the queen of the gods, Hera, to never be able to speak properly, but instead only ever be able to repeat anyone's last words to her. one day, she saw a handsome young man on the mountains. narcissus was his name, and when her eyes fell upon him she fell in love. but due to her cursed state, she could not speak to him, instead following him from the shadows, silently, loving him greatly from a distance, and lying in wait for the right moment to appear. when narcissus eventually realized she was around, he asked, is anyone here? and echo replied here. the conversations could only go so far with repetition, and when narcissus beckoned her to come out and make love to him, she was revealed as a wood nymph and thus refused to give himself, saying he would rather die.

heartbroken, echo raced off and hid in a cave, losing her appetite and craving for food and water, and eventually she let herself starve until her body disappeared. but the story was not over. when the goddess of revenge, nemesis, had witnessed the treatment of soft echo, she made narcissus fall in love with himself, dooming him to remain at his own reflection and meet the same fate as echo had. and before he withered, he cried out farewell dear boy. beloved in vain, and echo's voice repeated his last words from the cave as he passed. to this day, echo still repeats phrases in caves or labyrinths.

also the myth of Sisyphus is wild too - the man escaped death two to three times and then was made to enterally push a rock up a mountain.

[hadestownmodern]

What you’re made for

Hey guys! So this is a Eurydice and Persephone moment, but it’s a little different. It was written, really, for one specific moment in the fic that really helps to establish the relationship they have, an I hope y’all know what it is when you stumble across that line!

In a addition this is literally the point where Eurydice’s second daughter is born, like... thats literally this fic, so just know that while we go into it!

-A

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go watch Melody?” Persephone coos, fingers gently tracing back Eurydice’s sweat soaked bangs that clung to her forehead. “I can take her crying for a little while, if you want Orpheus back.”

“No, no..” Eurydice whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut as she grasps at Persephone’s hand again. She leans back on the woman, who is walking her around the room, relying on her for almost all of her ability to stay standing. She is stalled in her words, biting hard on her lip as she grasps at the railing on the foot of the bed. Her breathing is heavy but short, as she holds it for minute long stretches of time. This wave passes, and she gasps out in relief. 

 “She needs one of her parents..and she can’t really have me right now. And Orpheus, I love him more than anything Seph, but he can’t watch me like this. It upsets him which upsets me and- you can get him right before it’s really time, okay?”

“Why don’t you sit down, baby.” Persephone suggests, voice gentle but not patronizing, as she coaxes Eurydice towards the end of the bed. Without taking any arguments, Persephone leans her back in the bed, still tightly holding onto the young girl’s hand. “The second one comes much faster, I really can go get him now so he doesn’t miss it..” This was not the first woman Persephone had seen in labor, considering the hundreds that had arrived at her childhood home for her mother’s assistance, but this was the first who meant so much to her. 

“Melody needs him, that’s where he needs to be. He takes care of that baby, I take care of this-” She goes silent as another contraction takes her, her fingers interlocking with Persephone’s as she grasps tightly, her grip draining the color from both their fingers. Neither complains.  A few moments later she releases her grip and relaxes into the scratchy sheets. “He’s got her, I’ve got this one. He can’t see the pain..”

“He’s always been so attune to that. When he was younger and I would- well, if I’d be upset- he’d know. He’d do anything he could to make me smile. He’s always been sweet like that…” Yet, she knew the boy, and that seeing this woman he loves more than anything in such agony.. He would take it to heart. And likely, blame himself. “You know what would have been less painful? A condom.”

“Oh shush, It’s worth it. I can’t wait for Melody to meet them..” Eurydice sighs in relief almost immediately before her body tenses up again, pulling Persephone’s arm around her as she tenses.

Persephone watches, as Eurydice gets worse and worse. The girl, with an incredible pain tolerance, is diminishing before her. Her entire little body is shaking violently under the little blanket. Her playful banter gone, the only sound coming from her varying between the chattering of her teeth, pitiful whimpers, and agonized, sobbing cries. 

She’s moved to sitting up in the bed leaning against Persephone as she sits between her legs. Eurydice leans her head back, to rest on Persephone’s shoulder as she sobs. Persephone’s eyes are trained on the monitors around her, keenly aware of what they all mean for the future of Eurydice and her baby, and how in a second they could change. She’s holding a cold towel around her neck, the other hand gently pressing into Eurydice’s lower back to relieve any pressure on her nerves that she can manage. It isn’t much, but she can remember the feeling of her own mother’s hands on her own body, easing her through the day Junie had been born six years prior. 

Eurydice is wordless as she sobs, her entire body weight resting on Persephone sitting behind her. She grasps at Persephone’s knee, her chest propelled forward as her body is wrecked by a unique combination of pain and fear. Her nails dig into her friend’s knee, but Persephone doesn’t complain as her own hands rest on the back of Eurydice’s, thumbs rubbing circles on the back of her palms. 

“I can’t do it” Eurydice chokes out, hands shaking so violently as she reaches for her own face, the other coming to rest on her chest, trying desperately to calm the panic, the fear, that overtook her. Fear of uncertainty and pain rip her from the moment at hand, distorting her mind in what she can only imagine is an attempt to help her survive. It’s like she is out of her own body, once again the little girl who was never quite enough. It is years of unresolved anxiety, pain, and trauma, mounting in her as her own body betrays her to the feeling of agony.  The pain of abandonment, of physical mistreatment, of losing her mother- it all seemed to both dull and amplify in this moment. “I can’t, it hurts too much. I can’t do it, mama, I can’t. Please, please don’t leave me.”

It slips out before Eurydice realizes, and in truth, she doesn’t even know that it does. Her language is beyond her, some primal part of her brain pushing her to just be. Just exist. Just survive.

Persephone inhales sharply, doing her best not to react. It’s not the time to mention the word, nor will it ever be. It’s been sent to the universe and that is where it will stay, disseminated between them in a moment that Persephone isn’t sure she’ll ever forget. 

It has to be nothing more than a slip of the tongue, she convinces herself, as she wraps her arms around Eurydice’s middle, kissing the top of her head. Instead of addressing it she threads a hand through Eurydice’s hair, pushing it from her eyes, wiping at her skin with a cool towel. “Shhh, baby, of course you can. Of course you can. It’s what you’re made for, baby.” 

She can hear it in her head, Demeter’s gentle voice promising her those same words before her own daughter was born. She can feel her gentle hands on her shoulders, pulling her hair off of her neck as she kissed her cheek. Demeter, who had nothing but faith in her that day and every day before and after. It’s what you’re made for. 

She can remember the fear, the way she begged her mother not to make her  look, the thought of seeing another baby born lifeless too much for her heart to handle. She couldn’t survive it again. She was used to it, the failure of her own body, taking the one thing she wanted more than anything over and over and over again. 

“I can’t mama, I can’t do it. Don’t make me look, I can’t.” She remembers pleading, sobbing into her hands until her mother, her mother with her gentle sweet hands pried her arms apart and laid her daughter there. She can remember her mother moving her hands to her daughter’s little frame, feeling her head bobbing on her chest. 

“She’s lookin’ for you, baby. Come on, open your eyes and look at your girl.” Demeter coaxes, her fingers running over Persephone’s head. “I told you, baby. You could do it.” She promises, kissing her temple her hand still behind the baby’s head as she holds her daughter and granddaughter both. “You’re made for this, Honeybee Baby.”

“I’ve got you. I’m right here, and i’m not going anywhere.” Persephone promises, kissing her temple again. “You aren’t alone, baby. You aren’t alone and I promise you. You can do this.” She’s pulling Eurydice’s hair into half a ponytail ontop of her head, fingers tracing her scalp. “You don’t really have a choice, now, do you?” She tries to joke, though she knows her playful friend is lost in this moment, something far more feral running her body. 

 She is acutely aware of the flurry of activity surrounding Eurydice, as various health care professionals trail in and out,  shifting at her and prodding her. Eurydice, with all her pride, is stronger than Persephone could imagine being, as doctors and nurses try to instruct her. 

Eurydice is entirely relying on Persephone to keep her upright, holding onto both of her hands to anchor her to the room, to remind her that she is physically present. Exhausted doesn’t begin to cover how she feels, the short but intense second labor having taken far more out of her than it had with Melody exactly two years prior. 

Persephone is acutely aware of the conversations around Eurydice, and the mumbling of interventions and other medically minded words flying over the girls head. “No.” Persephone speaks sharply, directed at some nearby nurses. “You aren’t giving up on her,” she snaps, before resting her head against Eurydice’s again.

Eurydice is wide eyed as she looks back at Persephone, tears a seemingly permanent fixture on her face. She nods a little, acknowledging the silent exchange between them, as Persephone whispers endless encouragement to her. 

There is a flurry of activity that they are lost in the second Eurydice relaxes into Persephone with a heavy, relieved sigh. There isn’t even time for her to acknowledge what has happened before her squirming baby is placed against her chest, her arms wrapping around her immediately. 

It’s a girl, another girl.  

Eurydice is still sobbing, though this time they have shifted in reason. Her finger runs over her face and head, holding her wriggling body against her. A girl. A sister for Melody, another daughter for Orpheus to love more than anything. She is much smaller than her sister had been, and looks nothing like her even in these first moments. What had been thick, dark hair on Melody were light, hazelnut wisps on her. Still, looking down at her, the fears Eurydice faced leading up to this moment are erased. Gone is the fear of being unable to love another like she did Melody, this tiny girl already reaching in and squeezing her heart in her tiny palms.  “Hi, baby girl, i’m your mama.” She whispers, her body completely relaxing into Persephone. 

She closes her eyes briefly as she relaxes her head onto Persephone’s shoulder, a relieved cry escaping her. “I did it.” Eurydice breathes out, as Persephone wraps her arms around her shoulders, her head resting ontop of hers. 

“You did it, baby.”

[dudeandduchess]

To the Ends of the Earth: Kyōjurō x F!S/O (Mythology AU)

Hey hey, bbys! This is the other fic I was talking about earlier. I based this one on Orpheus and Eurydice’s myth. I hope you guys like it as much as I liked writing it. Please tell me what you guys think, as every comment will help me improve my writing. Thank you so much!

Now, we’re going to go back to our regularly scheduled program: i.e. me writing your reqs. Ahaha.

***

Warnings: Manga Spoilers, Talk of Purgatory and the Afterlife, Angst with Happy Ending

She had no choice.

(Y/n)’s current predicament left her no choice but to go crawling back to her parents. It was either that, or she could say goodbye to her beloved husband forever.

Neither of the two choices tickled her fancy, but she knew what she had to do.

She had to get up and out of her pitiful state, wipe her tears away, and march right on to solve her own problem. Because the world surely wasn’t going to do it for her.

And Kyōjurō wasn’t there to pick her up as well. So, she had to do it by herself; whether she liked it or not.

With her head held high, and her face rid of her tears, (Y/n) set on for her course to the mountain that housed the power of the spirits of the dead— and her family’s home: Tateyama; more specifically, Oyama peak.

The journey was long, but it wasn’t arduous; not when she felt more and more energized the closer she got to her childhood home.

Snow immediately greeted her at the foot of the mountain, as she bypassed the old town and headed up the trail that everyone had deemed too dangerous to tread. Dangerous for mortals, maybe, but not for halflings like her.

The air was so thin near the peak, yet she wasn’t even out of breath as she trudged through the knee-deep snow in her Slayer uniform. She didn’t even feel cold, as the warmth that Kyōjurō’s haori provided her was enough to ward off any chill.

“Mother! Father!” She cried aloud at the seemingly empty peak. Her own voice carried over the silence, and echoed up to the other peaks. “I need your help.”

Silence answered her plea, which had her frowning and fighting off another wave of tears. She’d known that going to her parents for help had been a shot in the dark, as a part of her kept telling her before that renouncing her immortality to stay with Kyōjurō would disappoint them greatly.

Renouncing a goddess’ eternal life wasn’t unheard of, but it was a taboo within their social circles. To even walk amongst humans was a taboo that (Y/n) gladly took to; as it had led her to meeting the love of her life.

She got to keep most of her powers, which made her a very efficient demon slayer; so efficient, in fact, that she’d amassed quite the following within the Slayer Corps. Alas, as much as she wanted to teach everyone how to manifest a bow and arrow out of thin air, she couldn’t...

As no one had the same abilities as her.

She was different— always had been— but it was in Kyōjurō’s arms that she’d found the love and acceptance that she had been always been yearning for. She hadn’t found it with anyone else throughout her long life; just with him.

So she didn’t hesitate to give up her own immortality, if it meant that she could grow old and build a family with him...

But the Infinite Train mission had happened, and he had perished under an upper moon’s hand.

The last thing that she wanted was to admit defeat and ask her parents— more specifically, her father— for help, yet there she was: at the top of Tateyama’s second highest peak, and waiting for her old home’s invisible barriers to part and allow her entry.

The demigoddess didn’t know how long she’d stood there, but it was long enough for her tears to freeze and her feet to go numb in the snow.

“Please. Please, help me.” (Y/n) begged once more; even going as far as to get down on her knees and bow down in a dogeza.

More tears flowed freely from her eyes, only to instantly disappear the moment they fell on to the snowy ground.

“I’m begging you... mother, father. Please.”

It felt like an hour had passed for (Y/n), yet she stayed bowed down on the cold ground. Her heart felt so painful that she had taken to digging her nails into her palms, if only to divert her attention.

Yet she could still feel it; and the pain in her heart rendered her brain unable to dwell on anything but her own inner turmoil.

“Lift your head, (Y/n).” Instantly, the demigoddess’ head snapped up, as more and more tears flowed from her eyes. Sobs even threatened to break free from her lips, but she bit down on her bottom lip in an effort to keep them at bay.

Slowly, the ethereal woman sashayed down the stairs that led heavenward— up to the home she had been raised in, in the sky. It was palatial in its size and elegance, but a prison was still a prison— no matter how beautiful it was.

(Y/n) felt her mother’s familiar powers wash over her; cleaning the tear tracks from her cheeks and righting her fragile human body up into standing. She could only look on and take the other woman’s face to memory, as she wasn’t sure if it was going to be the last time that she ever saw her.

As it was, she hadn’t seen her parents ever since she married Kyōjurō— which was nearing three years at that point. And she realized that no matter how badly they had ended their last conversation, she still felt so much love and affection for both of them.

And it seemed that her mother felt the same, as she was immediately engulfed in the older goddess’ arms. Being the deity of snow, she was cold to the touch, but (Y/n) didn’t mind at all as she burrowed further against her mother.

“I’m so sorry for saying all of those hurtful things to you and father,” The young woman helplessly sobbed. “I didn’t mean any of them. I’m so sorry.”

“And both of us are sorry as well... for not seeing things from your perspective. But we understand now; and we accept your decision fully. We accept you and Kyōjurō fully...” Yukihime answered in her gentle tone; all while tears marred those flawlessly pale cheeks of hers.

At that, (Y/n) clung tighter to her mother and resisted the urge to succumb to another breakdown. She had already had so many of those in the days following Kyōjurō’s death; she didn’t want to have any more, as they were extremely taxing on already broken heart.

She explained what had happened, not sparing all of the grisly details— which had Yukihime gritting her teeth in anger. Had she been allowed to do so, she would have already rained down her wrath upon Kibutsuji Muzan, but full-fledged deities such as herself and her husband weren’t allowed to interfere with the happenings between humans and demons.

So her hands were tied. She could only hold her daughter closer and run her fingers through the young woman’s hair; like she had done when (Y/n) was a child.

“It’s a good thing your father isn’t here, because he would surely break the rules and smite that damned Kibutsuji,” Yukihime snarled the demon progenitor’s name, then added, “As if the humans needed more pests in their world. Nothing but the result of a paltry mortal trying to play as a god.”

With that, Yukihime whisked her daughter up the grand stairs that led up to their home; completely unmindful of the Yūrei that tried to grab at the tail ends of her kimono.

As the wife of the the keeper of purgatory’s keys, a lot of restless spirits tended to follow her around in the hopes that she would help them; but she couldn’t, as doing so would warrant great challenges.

And, whether mortals wanted to believe it or not, gods were vain and selfish. They only cared about themselves or those related to them. They did things that would benefit them greatly; not because they were kind enough to bestow blessings upon their hordes of supporters.

It was why (Y/n) didn’t fit in in the first place, as she genuinely cared about the mortals that revered her parents... and the few who praised her as well.

Once inside the palatial house, Yukihime immediately transported them to the sulfur baths and ordered her daughter to soak herself within the bath; with her clothes and all.

“It’s to keep your sweet, mortal scent from attracting more Yūrei,” The goddess had explained softly, as she silently recounted all of her trips to the underworld and mapped out which way was the easiest to take.

It took her a few minutes to do so, but once she was sure that her daughter would be taking the safest route, she said, “From here you have to go to Shōmyō falls. When you get there, climb up to the very top of the falls and jump down. You have enough of mine and your father’s blood in you for the gates of hell to recognize you...

But... when you get down to purgatory, be sure to take Kyōjurō and leave. Don’t look at anyone, don’t talk to anyone and— most importantly— don’t look back at Kyōjurō until you two have gotten up to the surface. A door will be there, and only those who bear the blood of the gods can enter. Be sure to not let go of your husband’s hand while walking through that doorway...”

Yukihime prattled on, giving her daughter advice on how to deal with any problems that should arise. And when all was said, she transported (Y/n) close to where Shōmyō Falls was.

***

The trek going to the lip of the waterfall was much more difficult than going up the mountain, as demons and spirits littered the area. She had to dispose of the handful of demons that she had come across, as she had sworn to do so when she became a Slayer.

It ate up more time than she wanted, but it was inevitable. But still, when she made it to the very tip of the waterfall, she closed her eyes and took one last step off of the ledge.

The wind rushed past her ears and whipped her hair every which way; and it made her want to scream, but she held herself from doing so, as making any unnecessary noise would attract the attention of more restless spirits than she could handle.

There was nothing but the whistling of the wind around her for a while— much longer than she had anticipated, which made her heart race in fear. Had she been a full-fledged goddess, she could survive the impact of the fall, but as a halfling... her chances of survival weren’t looking good.

But then, the cold air around her became suffocating; extremely hot and uncomfortable. So uncomfortable, in fact, that it made breathing such a difficult task.

The only silver lining was that with the heat came the slowing of her descent.

She finally opened her eyes when she felt herself practically floating down, and suppressed a gasp when she saw all of the reikon in purgatory.

All of them were wandering aimlessly— awaiting the arrival of their ancestors, so that they could be taken to the afterlife. While some... she couldn’t even begin to describe the sickening emotions wafting off of the others.

Those vengeful spirits were bound to become Yūrei; doomed to roam the earth in search of the justice or revenge that their soul craved.

(Y/n) felt sorry for them, and she wanted to help, but she kept looking around her as she drew closer and closer to the ground— searching for that head of fiery blond hair that she had come to love.

And it didn’t take long for her to spot him. He was standing off to the side, with his arms crossed— all while sporting a small smile on his face.

The moment her feet touched the warm ground, she took off in a sprint towards him— uncaring of all the souls that she had pushed out of her way. All that mattered to her was him.

She immediately wrapped her arms around him, as she roughly bit down on her bottom lip to keep herself from sobbing.

“(Y/n)?” Kyōjurō asked, clearly surprised as he wrapped his own arms around his wife. Then, that was when worry crashed over him like a tidal wave... “You’re not... you’re not dead, are you?”

“No,” She answered through her tears, as she shook her head. “I’m here to get you out. Come on.”

Kyōjurō wanted, more than anything, to go— but he was held back by his own morals. It would be highly unfair if he got to cheat death, per se; and that harped heavily on his conscience.

“Please, Kyō,” His wife pleaded desperately. “We don’t have much time.”

It might have been unfair of him to do so, but he still had unfinished business. And he still had to make good on all of the promises he’d uttered to (Y/n) when they got married, so the Hashira found himself nodding. “Okay. Let’s go.”

With that, (Y/n) took his right hand in hers, and dragged him towards the doors that her mother had told her about. She also made a point to always stay in front of Kyōjurō, and forced herself not to look at him over her shoulder.

“Why aren’t you looking at me, my love?” Kyōjurō asked softly, as he followed his wife up the seemingly endless steps that were carved into the sides of a spiraling ravine.

“I... I can’t; not until we get to the surface.”

“Who told you that?”

“My mother. I asked for her help... but my father wasn’t there.”

A bright smile tugged up at the Flame Hashira’s lips, as he readjusted his grip on (Y/n)’s hand and pulled her down a few steps— so that he could press a kiss against the back of her head.

The gesture warmed (Y/n)’s heart immensely, as a watery smile made its way onto her own lips. It had been merely a few days since he’d been gone, but she couldn’t deny that she’d immensely missed his kisses— and just him in general.

“You’ve made up with her; that’s amazing news, my love! Should I look forward to spending New Year at your parents’ home?” Kyōjurō stated with a teasing lilt to his tone, which had his wife giggling despite the new set of tears that fell from her eyes.

It seemed that she had cried more in the short time she’d been half mortal, compared to how much she’d cried in the few hundred years she’d been alive as a full-fledged goddess. But. She wasn’t complaining; as feeling so much was something so genuinely human that immortals could never understand.

It was something that she had, that all of the much more relevant deities could never take away from her. “Maybe. Let’s check how my father feels about it first.”

After that exchange, the couple made their way up the spiraling steps. (Y/n) stumbled a few times, but she was lucky enough as Kyōjurō caught her each and every time.

The Hashira had even taken to pushing her up the last few steps, with his hands cupping his wife’s firmly rounded behind.

Still, even as they emerged onto the surface— and Kyōjurō’s hands had snaked up to a much more appropriate spot on either side of (Y/n)’s hips— she still refused to look at him, just to be sure.

It wasn’t until they were a few meters away from the narrow cave opening that they had exited that Kyōjurō turned his wife around and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

He could feel his own tears streaming down his face, while small hands gripped the back of his uniform in tight fists.

And for the nth time that week, (Y/n) wailed so loudly that it was enough to grip her husband’s heart in a vise like grip. She sounded so anguished that the guilt of causing her that much pain gnawed at him.

“I’m so sorry for leaving you, my love. I’m so sorry.” He whispered softly, as his arms pulled her further against his chest.

It was only then that Kyōjurō realized the severity of his actions. In sacrificing himself, he had hurt the love of his life so much— and he swore, from that moment on, that he would be more careful.

Because he should have been the one saving (Y/n); not the other way around. That, and he never wanted to cause her pain ever again.

((If you liked my work, please consider buying me a ko-fi. Thank you so much! :D))

[qhostqizmo]

Run to her before she’s gone

Don’t let her go

- - - - - - - - - -

Her fingers entwined with his; palm clasped to palm, was a familiarity Amon knew would never grow old. It was an exhilaration that tingled nerves, burned bone, and made his legs feel gelatinous. He had come to know her hands. He could tell a stranger how she was feeling almost by touch alone; how the limpness was for bad days, how they were clammy and sweaty when she was nervous, or how she squeezed when she was especially giddy. There were moments when her thumb stroked the soft spot by his own; moments that felt like concealed magic between the pair of them. He could describe the softness of her touch like a painter; which corresponded with her heart, but would not spill her secrets unwisely.

What he would tell any soul that would listen however was that as tender as such hands were, it was their strength he admired the most. Essätha was resolute when she held on to something. He was the perfect example. He had been reluctant to be held; sharp and barbed as his retorts, but she had held on nevertheless. She held him together when he felt he had nothing else, and he would never have enough words of gratitude to tell her how much her kindness meant to him.

The warmth in her eyes that usually lifted him and left him soaring was fading before him though, following the waning smile of sadness. He wanted to cling to to the feeling of her hands though, that said a different story than her face. Her gaze said heartbroken where her fingertips said hope.

“You will write me back, won’t you?” Essie probed, an unexplained quietness to her tone.

The nobleman still felt numb. All he could think about was her hands, and how they fit against his own so nicely. What was he supposed to do when hers were no longer there to grasp? What was he to do with his fingers, if not to hold hers?

She waited patiently, and with a growing sorrow in her eyes. His tongue felt too heavy to speak; his throat too tightly constricted to produce words. How could he answer such a question? With glee? With ushered affirmation? How was he supposed to say a word when his voice felt lost?

Those digits he adored fidgeted nervously against his own. She plucked her fingers free of his, but not without effort. Not with how he still tried so desperately to hold on.

Don’t go.

The words just wouldn’t come out. Was this not the peak of love? To let the dove fly where she wanted? To not let her go if only to pray she came back?

I have so much I still want to say to you, just don’t go.

Essätha let out a shaky exhale, a quiet murmur escaping her as she pat his frozen-hands, “Take care of yourself, my lord Amon.”

She leaned in close. Her presence left Amon even more breathless; her beauty, the air around her somehow gentler, kinder, too real and soft. The fragrance of orchid and pomegranate on her skin was alluring; a sacred sin you just wanted to sink your teeth into. She had the most enchanting of eyes; that golden-brown glow that just made the world fall silent. He could hear his own heartbeat. He thought he could hear hers, too.

Her lips grazed his cheek delicately, and she pulled away.

It was at that moment he realized he didn’t know how to say goodbye. He didn’t want to let go.

A marble statue turned to life, he reached out for her hand, but it was too late. She had turned away. He went unnoticed.

His lungs were so cold. The air around him was suddenly frigid and less vibrant.

What happens next? The mechanics in his brain caught; the gears and wires fried. Watching her walk away, standing on the side of the road, afraid and hurting. Is this what was supposed to happen? Was he the Eurydice in this story, bound to call her back and damn both of their souls? Was he doing the right thing, letting her go?

Amon inhaled sharply for the first time, and his chest heaved. The world ahead looked like a tunnel he remembered from before. Lonely, broken, the walls falling down upon him. Where was the exit? What was he supposed to do now? Who was he going to be? He could turn back and go home to his comforts, and take back the mantle that was his place but it felt so unfulfilling. Lifeless. What came after all was lost? How did you find yourself again after everything he’d lost before, and now this.

What did the blind man do when he could finally see the first time in his life? Go back to the shadows? Accept that the colors were too bright, and make no attempt to extend a hand to greet them?

He could not see Essie anymore. It was not just from the liquid swimming unshed in his eyes, either. She was too far from him now. His heart was free. Maybe this is how his story was meant to end. To go back to the beginning of it all.

Turning his glazed over gaze down to his fingers, he stared at their empty spaces. He could still hear her whispers against his calluses. He could still feel her breath making his pulse race; the promises they’d make together, the way she reminded him that he knew how to be delicate. He could still feel the ghost of her touch where her fingers laced against his own.

Was it really over? If he never said the words, not even once, was it ever truly over? Would he ever be able to let go of the regret?

Licking his lips, Amon took a step forward. Then another; aware of how unsteady his limbs felt. He took another. Gravity pulled him forward, as though he was bound to collapse if he did not keep the momentum. A jagged toddle turned into a brisk walk, into a jog, into a full out sprint as he charged down the street. Head down, his boots charged before him, pounding the dirt so fast it was almost like he was flying.

People turned to stare at him as he bolted by, baffled. A younger man he clipped nearly stumbled and fell, letting out a string of curses as his billowing cloak whipped behind him. Amon’s ears were ringing though; the air whistling. He had to tell her. If nothing else, his heart could truly be at peace. The earth could swallow what remained of him then and he would know he’d done enough, because he’d done what he could. He could learn to die slowly, and solitary, but he needed to lay it all out to her first and be sure. He had to be sure.

There she was, standing beside a horse-drawn dray waiting to consult for passage out of his territory and out of his life. There she was, with her hand wrapped around the strap of her bag and the nervously twirling a lock of soft ebony between her fingers anxiously.

Gasping for oxygen, Amon nearly collided with a woman and child stepping out of a nearby building before him. He swerved; his entire body jolted, and he fumbled to skip around the pair. The lady, wide-eyed, clutched her toddler close in alarm as broke out into a run once more as he passed them, panting.

Essie dropped her bag on the back of the cart, and placed a foot up on a metal bar near the bottom to climb in.

“WAIT!”

She was part of the way hoisted up when her spine grew rigid, and she froze. Dropping her foot back to the ground, she turned to look back at him.

Oh Pelor, he could breathe.

Dragging in every bit of air he could, he pushed his burning legs harder; faster, hurling himself in what felt like the final mile of a long-drawn race. Essätha dropped her other foot from the bar to the ground and grew tense, as though expecting him to collide with her.

He did.

Unable to stop or slow his speed he skidded on his boots, stumbled, and grabbed her with arms out. There was only just enough seconds in his trip-and-tumble footing for him to turn, falling back into the wagon with a thud that made the horses jump and prance uneasily. Pain flared up in his hip where it struck the sturdy wood, but it was nothing compared to the agony in letting her just walk away.

Gasping raggedly, the nobleman embraced her tightly, wheezing, “Don’t go!”

Essätha sharply exhaled against his collarbone. “M’lord-”

“Please!”

“Amon-”

“Essätha I love you,” he groaned, squeezing her tightly to his chest. He felt whole. He felt whole.

Her stunned silence caused a creeping anxiety to crawl under his skin. The nobleman fought against its talons, scrapping at his vocal chords. He held her tightly a little longer to get his barrings; to let the sun melt away the ice on his soul, before he could let her go.

With shaky hands, he cupped her face. She was looking down at him, mouth agape.

“If you must leave; if my love is not enough or not what you wanted, I-” he swallowed down the lump in his throat- “I will understand. But I am begging you, if you feel anything for me; if only small, if uncertain but there, please. Please give me a chance, Essie, I swear I will do everything in my power to make you happy, to love you the right way if you will let me. If you’ll have me. Please.”

“I will give you everything I have,” he continued on, hastily, “Everything.”

The sorceress’ mouth still hung open. Her cheeks were warm beneath his palms; holding a dusky pink glow.

Amon pulled her face nearer, and pressed his lips to her forehead tenderly.

Something wet struck him on the cheek, trickling down his face.

When he pulled away, he could see the tears spilling over her features. His heartstrings felt pulled in every which way; tangled as he hastily; gingerly began to wipe the moisture from beneath her eyes.

“I thought…” her voice wobbled and breath hitched, “I- I’m sorry-”

A fissure appeared; sucking his heart into a void.

“- I d-didn’t think you wanted me. N-Not like… this.”

Clinging to faith, he asked with breathless confusion, “Like what?”

Essie’s lower lip wobbled. She reached for him; those sweet hands trembling as she stroked his beard, his sideburns, his cheeks and his nose. He felt consumed by her. Healed. Alive.

“I was leaving because… Because I- I thought it would be better than to see you… forget me.” She bit her lower lip. “Let go of me. Move on and… fall madly in love…”

“I am madly in love,” Amon defended gruffly, stubbornly pulling her closer until her forehead rested to his. “I am madly and fiercely in love with you.”

A smile rose up timidly on her lips. He could feel the stutter in his heartbeat, to see something so lovely so close.

“I am rather foolish,” she whispered with guilt.

“I should have told you sooner.”

“You were afraid?”

“Yes.”

Essie pressed her lips delicately against his; soft edges of flowerpetals whispering against his mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t show you how much I love you, to convince you of my hearts yearning. I’m… still new to the feeling.”

“You love me?” he mumbled in a cracked voice.

Her smile grew, and twinkled joy in her eyes. “I love you infinitely, m’lord Amon.”

Throwing doubt out, Amon pulled her closer once more to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her fingers, all the while, caressed his face. A touch he could never forget.

“I will help you navigate the feelings, if you will help guide me through mine,” he offered in a crooning, anticipating voice.

She smiled brightly, a quiet laugh escaping her. Her fingertips ran through his hair and lightly scraped his scalp.

“I would like that very much.”

Grinning like a fool, he brushed the hair out of Essie’s face. Relief and calm lowered his heartrate as she nestled closer, her nose rubbing against his own.

A quiet noise intruded on their intimate moment, as someone cleared their throat irritably.

“Would ye two decide if ye want on or off m’ah wagon? I’ve got places to be, and ye rallied up the horses ‘nough without your snoggin’.”

His face flushed as much as Essätha’s, Amon sheepishly helped her to stand up. His hip throbbed from striking the damn cart, making him since as he peeled himself off it. He reached for her hand one last time, nervously licking his lips as he met her eyes.

“Ready to go home?”

Essie reached around him. Worry gnawed at him.

Producing her bag, she slung it around her shoulder and took hold of his hand, squeezing his fingers in a familiar way as she gazed into his eyes.

“Lets.”

[whorphydice]

The stars too they tell of spring returning- Orphydice Hadestown Fix it Fic no-one asked for

Well y’all I’m BACK With content no-one wanted. This time, 10 pages of angst filled fix it fic. Woo. 

And of course theres a baby. Why not.

Shoutout to @bakedbeans-orpheus and @hollywoodx4 who have heard my angst for DAYS about this fic and this verse. Ily guys. @hollywoodx4 deserves a ton of the credit for putting the image of the “finale with this verse” in my head. This is for you two who deal with me. 

Here goes nothing on the angst train

It’s a sad song

“Will it be okay.. Will it live, Hades?” Stone faced and teary eyed, she is unwavering as she asks. Looking him dead in the face, unblinking. “Persephone did she ever-”

“I don’t know, girl.” He shakes his head, eyes blinking from paperwork to her face and for yet another time in the months they knew each other doubt scattered across his features. “Noone has ever been born in Hadestown.”

Feelings. Emotions. Something she thought she would forget in Hadestown. Yet suddenly a wave of something like grief and fierce unyielding love washed through her. “Can I send her up with Persephone, at the end of winter, can she take her to Orpheus-”

“I don’t know, Eurydice. I don’t know.” Not knowing was a weakness, one he did not like to show. Yet this girl, she deserved the truth. And that truth was unknown. “Take care of yourself, stay off the line. We’ll go from there.” 

It’s a sad tale

Fall came and so did Persephone, who could tell things were wrong in the air. They were going to try, he was going to wait. And when he greeted her off the train with his usual kiss and a tight squeeze of her hands, she expected the worst.

“Hades what is it, what’s wrong.” 

“It’s the girl. You.. you need to see her.” He said briefly, linking his arm with hers and walking her through the town. He needed her to see his improved conditions. Changes he made for her. For them 

The workers had time off and reasonable shifts. Camaraderie on the lines. Other work, rather than just the line and the wall. Things were improving in Hadestown. 

 Improving for all but one. 

Hades stopped them infront of a small building, with a single flight up stairs up the front. “Go up. She’ll be excited to see you.

It’s a tragedy.

“Oh, honey.” Her stomach dropped the second she busted into the apartment, her bag all but dropping to her feet.

Eurydice was there, of course. Sitting in the bed, back to the wall. And like a song bird, she sang. The softest voice singing a melody of love- the very melody that brought the world back into tune. 

“Spring came for us down here too- Her name’s Ophelia.” Eurydice said, no need for prompting. “She looks like him, don’t you think?” In truth, no. Persephone could see nothing but Eurydice in the baby, from Dark hair to her nose. “She’s sleepin’ but she’s got the prettiest hazel eyes.” She cooed, not even looking at the goddess.  “And you’re gonna take her to him, if you can.”

“I- what? How old is she, darlin, I couldn’t take this little baby from her mama.” Persephone kneeled at the bedside, running a hand over Eurydice’s short hair. 

“She has to go, He’ll love her. He’ll love her more than anything. And she deserves better than this. She deserves springtimes and ice cream and her father.” She finally snapped her head up, eyes ringed with puffy red skin. Tears. How many had she shed over this little girl.  “She’s two weeks old. Ashame, really. I thought I could wait until you got down here to have her. She has her own agenda, it seemed.”

Ophelia was spring time. This happy, smiley little girl who the workers loved. Who brought Eurydice’s singing to town. She would tell persephone later, about how they banded together for her. How they took over her work for her, and helped her when she was too weak to move. 

“I didn’t think she’d make it, Seph. I felt her moving and kicking in there and I was sure.. I was so sure” Her voice broke in her throat as more tears pooled in her eyes. “Living things don’t survive in Hadestown. But here she is. An anomaly I guess.”

Anomaly. Just like her mother. And her father. 

“He’s going to love her.”

“And you don’t?” It wasn’t a question. It was just a fact. She could love her enough, Persephone believed that.

“I love her too much to keep her from him.”

It’s a sad song

“She can go, can’t she?”

“Ophelia? Yes. Most likely.” It was an unforeseen situation. But he owned everything in hadestown- and Ophelia he did not.  He sighed and looked away from her, unable to face the disappointment. “Eurydice, no. Not yet. I’m trying. I’m looking for a loophole. I can’t stomach it.”

She cut him off with a kiss, and a gentle hand on his cheek. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He wasn’t a monster, he wanted to scream to the world. To Eurydice. To Orpheus, who saved his marriage and ended his own. 

She’s coming, poet. Give her time.

But we sing it, anyway.

The only sound at that train station were sobs. Hopeless, never ending sobs from a young woman on her knees, too weak to stand. 

“Tell her how much I love her.” She begged Persephone, as the only thing she had left to go on for was taken from her. “And him. Tell him I love him and I forgive him and that she is the most important thing to me.” It was barely coherent as it stumbled out of her mouth through gasping sobs. 

She was shaking the last time she kissed her daughter’s head, prying the baby’s fingers from around the strap of her overalls. “I love you more than spring, sunshine.” Eurydice swore, letting out another gasping sob as Ophelia reached for her, little lip quaking. She was an empathetic baby, much like her dad. She felt everything her mother did. “Give your daddy a kiss for me, yeah?” 

The train whistle blew impatiently as Persephone looked between Eurydice and the train, Ophelia becoming fussy in her arms. 

“Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?” The heartbreak ripped through everyone in the vicinity, and Persephone couldn’t help but doubt if this was the best thing for everyone involved. Eurydice, especially. 

“Please, take her. Take her.” Eurydice whimpered, wiping at her eyes. “Take her and tell her how much I will always love her.” It was harder than selling her soul and leaving Orpheus.  It was harder than anything she had ever done and would ever do again. 

Persephone offered the most sympathetic smile she could as she boarded the train, the baby in her arms whimpering loudly. “I know, honey, I know.”

Hermes locked eyes with her the second she boarded, and something caught in his throat as she locked eyes with him. “Yeah brother, it’s what you think.”

As she took the seat by the window, Ophelia banged her tiny fists against the glass. “Ma?” She asked softly, before breaking out into crocodile tears. “Ma.”

“I know darlin, your mama wants you too.”

The sight of Eurydice on her knees sobbing as the train pulled away, workers gathering to help her up, is one that will haunt Persephone forever.

The sound of screams as Eurydice said goodbye to her daughter, knowing she would never see her again, will stay with Persephone every day of her life. 

On a sunny day there was a railroad car and a lady stepping off a train

Noone was ready that day, when Persephone’s train rolled up. Dozens of people flocked to see her, to give thanks. But when the door opened, the world stood still. The crowd went silent. 

Silence, as Persephone approached the boy. The boy who hadn’t sang in months. Who’s permanent smile was replaced with something like indifference. 

“Lady Persephone, I didn’t know you had a-”

“Shh, Poet.” And in a moment, the world shifted again. The crowd remained silent, with eyes only on the poet and green clad woman in the center. Without finishing her though, she deposited the whimpering baby in his arms, pressing a hand to his face. 

“Her name is Ophelia, and her mama forgives you.” 

If he hadn’t held something so precious, he would have collapsed. He vaguely remembers his heart racing and the feeling like someone was holding him under water. 

“I...she..Eurydice?” He squeaked, arms shaking as he finally looked at the baby. Dark hair, chubby little cheeks, the sweetest little face. If Eurydice was the world in his arms, Ophelia was the universe. 

“Not yet, poet. He’s tryin’” She assured, pulling her hand from his face. “She’s a fighter, that one. She’ll come home to you.”

She couldn’t tell him, that Eurydice made her peace with never seeing her daughter again. 

Every body looked, and everybody saw that spring had come again

Orpheus sang for the first time that night. The six month old wrapped against his chest in one of Persephone’s summer scarves. He picked up a guitar and sang of love. Love for a girl far away, and love for a much smaller girl nestled safely in the crook of his arm. 

Orpheus loved easily, and Ophelia was easy to love. It took effort, to learn how to care for a baby so quickly. But with lessons from Persephone, he was doing his best. And that was what he owed Ophelia and Eurydice both. 

That first night, when he held her in his arms and paced infront of the window, a sky full of stars the only source of light. 

In his free hand was a picture, the only one he had, the only one of value. 

“Her name is Eurydice, and she loves you endlessly. And I promise, I’m not gonna fail you, i’m not gonna let you down, like I did her.”

With a love song

“She hasn’t spoken in months.” Hades told her, the second she came home that winter. “I don’t know if she has a voice anymore.”

Her singing was missed in the mines. Her joy that Ophelia brought the workers. The hope she inspired. Without Ophelia Eurydice gave up.

Eurydice had no reason to hold on to herself anymore, as far as she was concerned. 

“How is the boy? And Ophelia?” He inquired, linking arms with her yet again, as he had done a year prior. 

What he wasn’t expecting were the sounds of sobs, held back in her throat.

“He’s trying so hard, Hades. But she wasn’t ready to leave Eurydice. He’s trying so hard but winter’s coming- they aren’t going to survive a winter like this.” It was horribly poetic. Eurydice sending her daughter for a better life, only to be reunited a year later in death. 

“DO we tell her?” 

“There’s nothing she can do.”

With a love song

Hades was enraged, to say the least. 

Somewhere between a desk destroyed and papers tossed into a furnace, he found himself on the ground, palms in his eyes.

Orpheus saved the world. Brought his love back to him. And he couldn’t even do the same for him. 

It had been months since Persephone returned. Over half a year since Eurydice gave up her daughter, hope, and the will to fight. 

Days since Hermes sent the message. Orpheus was dying. He’d need a ticket. 

Somewhere between papers in the furnace and getting off of the ground, he had her called in. 

He called the girl to his destroyed office, where flames ate the papers she signed many months ago.

“You’re free to leave.”

She didn’t speak, simply looked up. And for the first time since ophelia was taken topside, he saw something in the girl spark. 

“The contract..it’s burned. Gone. Invalidated, actually. Ophelia wasn’t on the contract. She’s an extenuating circumstance. You’re free to go, if you want.” He paused. “But you need to know something.”

She knew it was too good to be true, and the way she shook in her spot revealed that. “Know what?” Her throat screamed, it was like razors sliding over the delicate folds controlling her voice. 

“The boy. He isn’t doing well. Neither is Ophelia, i’m afraid. You can go be with them, be a source of comfort if you wish. Or you can wait here, for them to arrive on the train.”

Eurydice can’t remember feeling pain when her knees met the marble, and the blood drained from her skin. “They’re dying?” She croaked out, hand grasping over her heart. 

“They’re...unwell. The weather is cruel to them. And Ophelia is just so young.. The odds are not favoring them.” There was no use in lying to her. Not now. 

“But they could make it?” She asked quietly, hope in her heart for the last time.

“They could. Should I send for a train?” It was a peace offering. A train and freedom, to get home. 

Eurydice nodded, scrambling to her feet frantically. “Mr. Hades.. Thank you. Thank you so much. For everything.” She was practically out the door when he spoke again. 

“Get to the station. And Eurydice?” She turned to face the man speaking. “Since your contact was invalid, here is back pay for all the months you worked on my line. You’re going to need it.”

With a love song

The train ride was longer than she remembered. Alone on a train out of hell gives one a lot of time to wallow. 

She thought of Orpheus, with his million watt smile and gift for words.

She thought of Ophelia, who wouldn’t know who she was.

She thought of how she would lose them both, but was acting as the comfort Orpheus deserved.

She thought of him. 

With a tale of love from long ago

The train station was empty, as one would expect for winter. 

Empty except for a man in a silver suit, with a blanket over his arm and a solemn smile on his face. 

“Girl, come on lets get out of the cold.”

He half carried her home. Months of abuse of her own body- not caring for it, not eating, not sleeping- made standing hard and walking near impossible. She leaned heavily on him for support, the winter storm around them making things somehow worse.

She decided now, to voice her fear. “How bad is it, Hermes?”

When he remained steadfast and silent, she knew better than to press on. “He’ll be happy to see you.”

He brought her home. To the house she didn’t expect Orpheus to have. He unlocked the door for her, kissing her temple before stepping away. 

“He waited for you. For this moment.”

It’s a sad song.

She limped through the house, a draft from somewhere chilling to her bones. She caught a glimpse of her reflection- she looked more like bones and paper skin than herself nowadays. Eurydice wondered to herself, what Orpheus would think, when she heard the wheezy breathing in the back room.

With apprehension, she approached the door, swallowing to lubricate her brittle throat before trying. “Orpheus?” She called out, before she limped into the room and locked eyes with him.

But we keep singing even so.

“Eurydice?” The frame under the blankets whispered out, before the sound of crying filled the room. “Eurydice...god no...I’m so sorry Eurydice.” Orpheus was lanky before. But now? Now he was broken. Thin face, lost shine in his eyes. If she hadn’t known to look for it, she never would have seen the impossibly little bundle of blankets on his chest, far too small to house the fifteen month old baby she imagined in her dreams. 

“Orpheus, it’s me… why...why are you sorry?” Eurydice climbed into the bed, taking his face in her hands frantically. 

“You’re here. That means I’m dead doesn’t it? I failed you again. I took her to protect her, you wanted me to protect her, and I failed. I failed and i’m dead and she must be dead and-”

She grabbed his hand, and placed his palm against the center of his chest. “Orpheus, honey, i’m here. I’m alive and i’m here. He let me go- it’s not important right now. What matters is i’m right here, and you’re alive.” 

Unable to wait anymore she leaned down to kiss him, the contact of his lips igniting a fire in her that had long since gone out. “I’m here, and you aren’t leaving me. I just got back, you don’t get to go yet.” Eurydice pulled his upper body into her lap, and stroked his hair, draping Hermes’ blanket over him. “We’re going to be okay.”

It’s an old song

He cried into her thigh, words of love and endless apology. Of hopeful future and the life they would share. Before long she was beside him, head on his chest listening to the steady, albeit weak heart beat.

Alive. Alive. Alive. 

They could have forever, now, so long as they made it through this winter. She was sure of it. 

Her sweet, sweet husband. And their daughter. Ophelia. 

“I know she won’t remember but Orpheus can I-” He was too far sleeping, his arms wound around her so she couldn’t disappear. 

She decided for herself, to take the little blanket wrapped bundle from his chest.

And we’re gonna sing it again and again

It was like her heart restarted in that moment, when this tiny, whimpering little girl looked at her. The whimpering, she knew, was a sign of obvious pain in her daughter, and she knew then that she’d go to hadestown and back to end her pain for her.

For a moment it felt like forever and yet no time at all had passed since she held her. She wasn’t terribly bigger, which was concerning enough. 

It was like the world fell back into tune for Eurydice alone, when she got to look at this baby she would fight the world for. “Hey sunshine, I know you don’t know who I am, but i love you more than springtime.” She cooed, holding her against her chest. Ophelia’s fingers curled around the strap of her shirt, like they had so many times when she was a new infant still. Muscle memory, she supposed. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything in there to feed you this time. I’m sorry i’m not-” Hours topside and she already felt this rush of failure. Her baby, asking for something she couldn't give anymore. 

It was a moment she’ll never forget of course, when Ophelia relaxed with her head against her heart. When her baby stopped her whimpering because she had her mother. 

When her daughter, with what little strength she had, smiled at her and just breathes out “mama” into her skin. 

Of course, Orpheus would never let her forget.

It’s a long journey out of hadestown and it’s a long journey out of the dark. Eurydice knew though, in those moments, that they could make any journey together. The three of them. 

[mfingenius]

Roommate AU

“Oh, you’re here!”

The only thing Laurent can think when he looks at the man is big. He has dark skin, dark, curly hair, and big brown eyes. Puppy eyes. He’s taller than Laurent – a lot taller than Laurent – and easily three times as wide. He’s a giant.

“I’m Damen,” He holds out his hand and smiles. He has a dimple. “Auguste told me about you.”

Right. Right.

“Laurent,” Laurent shakes Damen’s hand, feeling his face heat. Fuck. “I, uh.”

Damen doesn’t seem to notice Laurent’s nervousness, and he smiles widely.

“Do you need help unpacking?” He asks excitedly. “I can help you carry boxes. I'm, uh, strong.”

From anyone else, it would’ve sounded like a brag, but Damen says it almost shily. It’s infuriating.

Laurent has to stop himself from reaching out to touch Damen’s muscles as he says, “Yes, you are.” Damen looks at him weirdly, and Laurent turns red. “I mean, yes, I do. Need help. Unpacking. Thank you for offering.”

“Of course,” Damen says, and, together, they carry up the rest of Laurent’s boxes.

He seems unable to look away from the way Damen moves while he grabs the boxes and walks up the stairs, and nearly stumbles over his own feet because of how distracted he is.

“Water?” Damen offers, once they’re done. Laurent nods, and Damen walks towards the kitchen.

“This is a very nice apartment.” Laurent says, looking around. He’d never seen the apartment before; he’d lived with Auguste, before, and thought that he’d stay there through University, too; that plan had quickly changed when Auguste’s girlfriend had moved in with him. Laurent doesn’t want to ever have to listen to his brother having sex again. “Why aren’t you charging me more for it?”

“Oh,” Damen says, from where he’s taking the jug of water out of the fridge. “Well, uh, my family is rich. And I own the place, so it’s not like I need the money. When Auguste asked I told him you could live here rent-free, but he said you wouldn’t like that.”

Laurent hums. Auguste was right, of course. If someone had offered to let him live with them rent-free, Laurent would’ve thought they wanted something in return, most likely sex, and he would’ve gone looking for another place.

“I’m not rich,” Laurent says. “But I could pay more. If you wanted.”

It’s a lie. Their parents died when Laurent was four and Auguste was ten. Somehow, in the eight years that their uncle had the total control of their family fortune, he’d either transferred or spent it. What little had been left, Auguste had spent in the apartment he’d bought the second he was eighteen and on the lawyer that helped him acquire Laurent’s custody.

As it is, he’s going to be having a hard time paying Damen rent – which is pathetic, really, because it’s ridiculously cheap for the apartment that it is – but he says it because he doesn’t want Damen to think he needs to do Laurent favors just because Auguste and him are friends.

“No, it’s alright.” Damen shakes his head. He offers Laurent a glass of water, and Laurent takes it, drinking slowly. He hears the unmistakable sound of paws against the wood floor, and he feels excitement swell in his chest before he even sees what he knows is coming. “Oh, no, wait-”

It seems that even knowing what’s coming doesn’t save him from the absolutely huge dog that jumps at him and takes him down without so much as a bark. It places its big paws on Laurent’s chest once he’s on the floor, and then begins licking his face. Laurent is in heaven.

“No, Eurydice!” Damen says, but Laurent can’t see him because of the 120 kilograms of fluff on top of him. “I am so sorry, she is not usually like this-”

“It’s alright,” Laurent says, silly smile on his face. The dog stops licking him and merely lets herself drop on top of Laurent, panting happily. Laurent can’t breathe. “She’s gorgeous.”

A moment later, Damen has gotten Eurydice off him and is helping him off the floor with a sheepish smile.

“Are you alright?” Damen asks, placing his hand on the back of Laurent’s neck and checking him over. Laurent’s cheeks, previously flushed from happiness, now darken because of the touch on his neck. “Does anything hurt?”

“No,” Laurent says. Eurydice is lying on the floor with her head between her paws, looking chastised, and Laurent pouts in return and pets her head. “She’s amazing.”

“She is,” Damen says, looking fond. “She’s also a devil when she wants to be, but even then, I love her.”

Laurent grins. He's never had a dog because Auguste is allergic, but he loves animals in general, especially the big ones. He thinks living with Damen is going to be a lot better than he expected.

*

Laurent had thought that he’d spend his time at Damen’s cooped up in his room, avoiding all and any human interaction. He was wrong.

They have dinner together every day, the same as breakfast before Laurent leaves for University and Damen leaves for work. He works in his father’s company, and though Laurent isn’t entirely sure what he does, he thinks it has to be something physical, because he’s seen Damen’s friends and they’re all ridiculously big and strong.

They even begin taking care of Eurydice together. Damen jogs with her in the mornings, Laurent walks with her at nights. Damen quizzes Laurent when he’s studying, and Laurent returns all of Jokaste’s - Damen’s ex girlfriend, who fucked his brother while they were still dating and is now living with him – things to her when Damen says he doesn’t want to see her.

It isn’t until they’ve been living together for six months that someone points it out to him.

“You’re dating.” It’s Auguste, of course. “That is literally a relationship.”

“It’s not,” Laurent argues, as he’s cooking dinner. They trade turns, and even though Damen is a much better cook than Laurent is, Damen eats his food without complain. “We’re friends.”

“Friends don’t go on dates once a week.” Auguste says.

Laurent rolls his eyes. Just because they have a restaurant night in which they go out

every week, it doesn’t mean they’re dates. “They’re not dates.” He tells his brother.

Eurydice barks happily, meaning that Damen is home. A second later, Laurent hears the door shut.

“I’ve got to go,” He says.

“Fine,” Auguste says. “But you’re dating. You have a boyfriend. I thought you should know.”

Laurent rolls his eyes and hangs up the phone.

“Was that Auguste?” Damen asks. He kisses Laurent’s cheek – he does that, he’s a touchy person, it doesn’t mean anything – and offers a bouquet of flowers. He knows Laurent likes sunflowers, it doesn’t mean anything either.

“Thank you,” Laurent says, cheeks heating. He puts the flowers on the counter – he’ll find a vase for them when he finishes cooking – and stirs the pan. “Yes. He’s... dumb.”

Damen laughs and leans against the counter.

“Auguste is dumb?” he asks with raised eyebrows.

“He’s being dumb.” Laurent corrects. “He thinks we’re dating.” Damen frowns. “We aren’t?”

“We are?” Laurent asks. He’s had a crush on Damen for months now, but he didn’t think he could ever be attracted to him. Damen is – Damen. And Laurent’s just... himself.

“Well, yeah.” Damen says, bewildered. “We literally go on dates weekly. I just brought you flowers!”

Laurent looks down at the flowers.

“Oh.” he says. “I thought - I thought you were just being nice.”

Damen looks uncertain. “Fuck, I'm sorry, I should’ve been clearer – if you don’t want to, we can-”

“No!” Laurent says quickly. “I mean, I want to. I do. Want to. Date you.” Damen’s entire face brightens. “You do?”

“Yes,” Laurent’s cheeks are burning. “Yes, I do.”

“Good,” Damen says. He looks away, chewing on his lower lip. “Can I kiss you?” Laurent nods.

It’s the best – and admittedly, the first – kiss he’s ever shared.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Send me a Request :D

If you enjoyed this, please consider buying me a kofi <3

Masterlist: [1] [2]

Commissions

[bravadoseries]

tell us about your braudrey wasteland baby analysis

this ended up being long and angsty i am sorry . if u want i can analyze songs from his other album in a happier way to even it out lol

“nfwmb”: 

“when i first saw you / the end was soon” - audrey and bruce met on the helicarrier and i think when they fought in new york they both knew they might not come out of it.  audrey was inexperienced and way out of her depth, bruce was really against turning back into the hulk again.  

“Give your heart and soul to charity / ‘Cause the rest of you, the best of you / Honey, belongs to me” - they both give parts of themselves away for the greater good and feel most human with each other

“Nothing fucks with my baby / Nothing can get a look in on my baby / Nothing fucks with my baby / Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing” - when hozier wrote this song everyone thought it was about how nothing fucks with his baby because he protects her but he said actually nobody fucks with her because she’s extraordinarily powerful and scary.  i think both of these apply to braudrey—nobody fucks with bruce because audrey protects him, and nobody fucks with the hulk because he’s giant and terrifying 

“moment’s silence (common tongue)” 

“When stunted hand earns place with man by mere monstrosity / Alarms are struck and shore is shook by sheer atrocity / A cure I know that soothes the soul, does so impossibly” - this is related to an upcoming ~chapter~ lol but basically audrey and bruce go on a retreat upstate that’s supposed to give him the opportunity to hulk out and like scare some squirrels in the woods but while they’re there, audrey and the hulk become good friends ? and so that’s why she’s able to reason with bruce when he turns

“almost (sweet music)” 

i would place this one as post aou when audrey thinks bruce is dead.  

“i’m almost me again, she’s almost you” - after a bit, she starts dating again but she’s still very much grieving and hung up on him 

“i wouldn’t know where to start / sweet music playin’ in the dark / be still my foolish heart / don’t ruin this on me” - audrey becomes good friends with wanda and pietro after age of ultron and they haven’t been around long but they ask her to talk about it because she sits in her room playing the same song every day and crying and they’re like … ?

“I got some colour back, she thinks so, too / I laugh like me again, she laughs like you” - i think this is just audrey letting herself be close to people again. it’s not the same but it’s not so lonely

“movement”

“I still watch you when you're groovin’” so this song i think is about like someone dancing and being really seductive and sexy but this reminds me of bruce watching audrey dancing really terribly w tony at every avengers function.  audrey literally cannot dance for shit and it’s endearing to bruce 

“When you move / I can recall somethin' that's gone from me / When you move / Honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free” - i think bruce gets kind of fixated on watching audrey spar and fight; like partially because it’s hot but also because he sees her as very powerful and finds it magnetizing 

“no plan” 

i’m gonna go ahead and place this as ragnarok/infinity war 

“for starts / what a waste to say the heart could feel apart / or feel complete, baby” - audrey and bruce reunite on sakaar and it’s a very emotional scene; it’s a waste to say the heart could feel apart because she knows she’s not less without him but there’s this understanding, this thing that’s been off that’s finally righted when they’re back together

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand / That's how I know now that you understand” - this applies to a very specific moment in ragnarok before they go to fight hela where audrey puts her hand over bruce’s and he looks at her and she’s unable to tell him that if they die right now she loves him but he knows anyway

“There's no plan / There's no race to be run / The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun / There's no plan / There's no kingdom to come / I’ll be your man if you got love to get done / Sit in and watch the sunlight fade / Honey, enjoy, it's gettin' late / There's no plan / There's no hand on the rein / As Mack explained, there will be darkness again” - so this is all very apocalyptic and not to flex but i was at a concert and hozier talked about this line and how the whole song was written about the doomsday clock and a time when it was closer to zero than ever; it’s a song about throwing caution into the wind at the end of the world and i think that’s fitting.  there’s a period where audrey realizes that they’re not gonna beat thanos, and that the snap is gonna happen, and she takes a breath and notices everything around her and just thinks about how she’s lucky to have had it at all.  

“nobody”

“You know when it's twelve o'clock in Soho, baby / It's gin o'clock where I'll wake up, I don't know / And I think about you though everywhere I go / And I've done everything and I've been everywhere, you know” - this just reminds me of when audrey is away on missions and bruce is still at the base; she’s been everywhere in the world because she’s been alive for so long and she’s been around for a lot; the one thing she’s most grateful for her lifetime to have coincided with though is bruce 

 “i’ve had no love like your love / from nobody” - this is just them lol they understand each other on another level

“I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint / I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave” - this is audrey 2 bruce … she would be appalled if he ever tried to get rid of the hulk for good; i think that it’s such a significant part of how they see and understand each other 

“If I had the choice between hearing either noise: The excitement of a thousand or the soothing of your voice / At first chance, I'd take the bed warmed by the body” - they just choose each other.  they choose to be with each other.  this reminds me of the “give your heart and soul to charity” line in nfwmb because it’s like if they had to be heroes without each other they wouldn’t be happy 

“as it was” 

there’s a conversation bruce and audrey have at the safehouse in age of ultron where bruce is saying he doesn’t feel the same since wanda fucked with his head bc of the vision he had, and he’s worried abt whether or not audrey can continue to care for him when the chaos the hulk created wasn’t for any good or if she’s changed her mind and she has to assure him that she hasn’t; there are a lot of lines from this song that remind me of that

-“whatever’s here that’s left of me / is yours just as it was”

-“Just as it was, baby / Before the otherness came / And I knew its name / The drug, the dark, / The light, the flame” 

-“its holds had the fight of my baby / and the lights were s bright as my baby / but your love was unmoved”

-“the sights were as stark as my baby / and the cold cut as sharp as my baby / and the nights were as dark as my baby / half as beautiful, too” (unrelated sidenote but this line gives me chills always)

then the second verse of this reminds me of audrey and bruce in ragnarok: 

“Tell me if somehow Some of it remains How long you would wait for me How long I've been away The shape that I'm in now Your shape in the doorway Make your good love known to me Or just tell me about your day”

“shrike” 

so audrey has a really really hard time saying i love you after bruce leaves at the end of aou, to anyone—she says it to steve maybe once, but she can’t say it besides that one time, and it’s part of why she’s so torn up about peggy dying because she didn’t tell her she loved her enough in the months leading up to her death.  

but also, when bruce comes back, audrey still can’t muster up the ability to say them out loud, and so at the end of infinity war, she’s left without telling any of the people she loves that she loves them.  when she comes back in endgame, she’s able to overcome that to tell them.  this song reminds me of that 

“I couldn't utter my love when it counted / Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now” - this is when she comes back

“The words hung above / But never would form / Like a cry at the final breath that is drawn / Remember me love when I'm reborn / As the shrike to your sharp / And glorious thorn” - this is both; she couldn’t say it, but she’s “reborn” during endgame and she realizes that the worst has already happened countless times; there’s nothing else to be afraid of that she hasn’t survived

“Then when I met you, my virtues uncounted / All of my goodness is going with you now” - this is just audrey when bruce leaves

“talk” 

ok this entire song is just both audrey and bruce when they like each other but don’t wanna say anything about it.  

I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus When her body was found Hey yeah I'd be the choiceless hope in grief That drove him underground Hey yeah I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee That made him turn around Hey yeah And I'd be the immediate forgiveness In Eurydice Imagine being loved by me

I won't deny I've got in my mind now (Hey, yeah) All the things I would do So I try to talk refined For fear that you find out (Hey, yeah) How I'm imagining you

I'd be the last shred of truth In the lost myth of true love Hey yeah I'd be the sweet feeling of release Mankind now dreams of Hey yeah That's found in the last witness before the wave hits Marvelling at God Hey yeah Before he feels alone one final time And marries the sea Imagine being loved by me

“dinner & diatribes” 

i think…..this doesn’t match up exactly but the new year’s eve chapter…..Yeah

“Let there be damage ensued and tabloid news / And that kind of love / That's the kinda love / I’ve been dreaming of”

“would that i” 

okay buckle up this one is a lot

“True that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me / That the sound of the saw must be known by the tree / Must be felled for to fight the cold / I fretted fire but that was long ago” ok this i think is bruce’s perspective; love in withdrawal was the weeping of me = the isolation he put himself in following becoming the hulk was a very bad spot for him even though it was safest.  the sound of the saw must be known by the tree = gotta risk it for the biscuit! must be felled for to fight the cold / i fretted fire but that was long ago = i used to be afraid but now i’m not; it’s worth the risk 

“Oh, but you're good to me / Oh, you're good to me / Oh, but you're good to me, baby” bruce is just continually confused and surprised by the fact that audrey isn’t scared of him 

“With each love I cut loose I was never the same / Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame / I was fixed on your hand of gold / Laying waste to my loving long ago” 

-with each love i cut loose i was never the same = bruce has cut off everyone he’s been close to since the hulk happened and he’s not the same when he’s alone; he thinks he can make it by himself and he probably can but he doesn’t have to

-i was fixed on your hand of gold / laying waste to my loving long ago = this is actually nice bc the gold imagery specifically matches up with what audrey’s powers are, and so there’s that connection to be made 

“And it's not tonight / Where I'm set alight / And I blink in sight / Your blinding light” this also just matches up really nicely w audrey’s powers lol

“sunlight” 

“I had been lost to you, sunlight / And flew like a moth to you, sunlight / Oh your love is sunlight” i think this would be bruce after age of ultron ? he’s been lost to audrey, but when he sees her he gravitates back toward her immediately; he sees her love as sunlight

“the tale is the same / told before and told again /  soul that's born in cold and rain / knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight” - bruce is the soul that’s born in cold and rain and audrey is sunlight

“Each day you rise with me / Know that I would gladly be / The Icarus to your certainty” - i think he’s just devoted to her 

“wasteland, baby” 

okay going line by line for this one lol buckle up!

“All the fear and fire of the end of the world / Happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl” - when they’re fighting thanos audrey is actually reminded of bruce; how losing him felt like the world ending, now it’s for real

“Happens great, happens sweet / Happily, I'm unfazed here, too” - when audrey goes at the end of infinity war, she goes smiling 

“Wasteland, baby / I’m in love, I'm in love with you” - they just love each other

“All the things yet to come are the things that have passed / Like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass / Like the bonfire that burns / That all words in the fight fell to” - everything that has happened has led them to this moment; loki, ultron, hydra, etc. without that they wouldn’t have each other, but they also probably wouldn’t be dealing with this mess.  it’s not good or bad, it’s just the way things went.  

“Wasteland, baby / I’m in love, I'm in love with you”

“And I love too, that love soon might end / Be known in its aching / Shown in the shaking / Lately of my wasteland, baby” - they know it’s over before it’s over; they can tell what’s going to happen before it happens, and they’re just paralyzed in that moment 

“Be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking / Though quaking, though crazy / That's just wasteland, baby” - when audrey goes bruce pleads with her to stay

“And that day that we'll watch the death of the sun / To the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on / And you'll gaze unafraid as they sob from the city roofs” - in the years after the snap, bruce has the most vivid dream almost every night where audrey’s . like . ghost comes to him and takes him to the top of a hill and they watch the world end around them.  it’s terrible and every time he wakes up he misses it.  

“When the stench of the sea and the absence of green” - ok lol this just reminds me of how the hulk wouldn’t come fight at the end of infinity war 

“Are the death of all things that are seen and unseen / Are an end but the start of all things that are left to do” - the world ends; half of everything is dead; but they’re still left.  bruce and steve and everyone have to go on living still.  

“Wasteland, baby / I'm in love, I'm in love with you / (That's it)” - this abruptness just reminds me a lot of the snap; that’s it.  there’s no going back.  

[sprnklersplashes]

i’m coming, wait for me

5B canon divergence- It seems that Hades, like Rumpelstilskin, has an affection for deals, and he offers Emma one; lead Killian out of the Underworld. No looking back, no checking behind her, no laying eyes on him no matter what she hears. But the path back home is fraught with dangers and tricks of the mind-can Emma really trust herself to save him when others stronger than her have failed.

“The rules are simple,” Hades had said to Emma. All she has to do is lead Killian out of the Underworld and back to Storybrooke. and there’s only one catch; she doesn’t look back, no matter what. No matter what she hears or feels, no matter what she thinks or fears, she doesn’t look back at him. There’s two potential winners here; Emma and Hades. If she wins, she gets him back for the rest of their mortal lives. If she fails, if she looks back and lets Hades win, Killian’s his, forever this time. No second chances, no trying again, no way back in. Hades promised that the portal to the Underworld will close behind her. He told her that portal shouldn’t exist, created by the gods millennia ago when they started getting egotistical. There should only be one way to the Underworld, and when she’s finished there will be again.

She hugs her family tightly before they leave through the clock in the graveyard, clinging tightly to her father’s shoulders the way she would have done a million times as a little girl if she could have. She lets her mother wipe her tears and kiss her forehead, lets her whisper an assurance that it will all be okay, that she’ll see her again with Killian by her side. She gives Belle a quick hug, letting herself melt into the girl’s embrace for mere seconds as she wishes her good luck before she moves to hug Killian. She hugs her son close to her chest, telling him she loves him. Henry nods against her and reminds her that she’s a hero, and that heroes always win. She nods, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She loves him, loves his faith and rigid belief in hope and goodness, but she doesn’t know if she believes it. For two years she’s seen good people dying and villains winning, both of a fairy tale variety and from the real world. Still, she tells him she knows and thanks him and promises to see him at home. As they go through the portal together, Emma’s vision blurs as tears burn her eyes.

“Hey,” Killian whispers in her ear, wrapping his arm around her waist. “It’s still open. You can go with them if you want. An easier journey, at least.”

“No,” she says firmly, shaking her head. She turns around to look at him, brushing her knuckles against his cheekbone. “I came down here to save you and that’s what I’m doing.” He smiles at her breathlessly, pulling him closer to her.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I know it’s a bit redundant but thank you.” She shakes her head wordlessly at him and pulls him in to a kiss, letting a tear slip from her eye and mingle in between their lips.

“Hey,” a reluctant voice says from behind them. They break apart gently, her hands still on his chest, and see Milah looking at them with wide, sad blue eyes, holding Marian’s hand tightly as the other woman rubs her back. Marian still looks as lovely as the day Emma met her in the Enchanted Forest, and it’s no wonder Milah fell in love with her so quickly down here. And the more Emma gets to know Milah, sees her fire and her passion, her bravery and her sadness, she understands more and more why Marian loves her in return. “It’s time.”

They meet Hades in his chamber, Emma feeling dwarfed by the seemingly endless ceiling, icy water dripping from it onto her head, running down her hair.

“Here’s the deal. You go through there,” Hades explains to her, gesturing to an opening in the rock wall, a long stretch of black nothingness that makes Emma’s hands tremble. “You walk. You keep walking and you keep to the path until you find yourselves in Storybrooke again. And if-or when-you turn around, you fail. If you see so much as a fraction of him, even the tip of his finger, he’s mine. Forever. And you don’t see him again until your time comes-agreed?” He holds out his hand, a wicked grin on his face that reminds her of Rumpelstiltskin and his own affection for deals.

“Agreed,” she says, shaking his cold hand. Despite her racing heart, she doesn’t stop looking at Hades, smirking slightly when he turns away from her. She hopes one day it’s known that when Emma Swan and the God of Death locked eyes, he looked away first.

“Emma,” Milah says urgently, pulling on her hand, pulling her away from Hades and moving her head to meet her towards her worried gaze. “Be careful.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” she replies.

“No, I do,” she says. “Emma, that tunnel is still Hades’ realm. He can manipulate everything while you’re in there. Make you hear things, feel things that aren’t really there.” She takes in a shuddering breath. “Or make you unable to hear things that are there.”

“To hear him,” she says, her eyes moving over to Killian.

“Exactly,” she says. “So no matter what you hear or don’t hear, trust yourself more than anything else.”

“You think I can trust myself?” she asks, her voice shaking.

“Of course,” she replies with a small smile. “I don’t know a more resourceful, intelligent woman.” Milah’s cheeks turn pink as she looks over to Marian. “Well, maybe one.” Emma chuckles. It’s short lived and hollow, but it’s nice to have some relief before she goes.

When Killian hugs Milah goodbye, she sees the centuries on him disappear, and for a minute he’s the same twenty something new pirate he was before his dark path. In all honesty, it does hurt her heart more than she will ever admit, that she might not be the one to bring him back to that point, no matter how many new memories they make, but seeing him like that, the glow on his face as he hugs Milah and hands her over to Marian still makes her smile.

“Are you ready?” she asks, looking up at him. He offers a shaky smile, but it’s no comfort at this point. There won’t be any comfort until they’re on the other side of that tunnel and holding each other again.

“Lead the way, Swan,” he tells her. “I’m right behind you. Always.”

Always, she thinks. As she steps into the tunnel, she hopes that’s true.

The light disappears as soon as she steps inside. The blackness stretches out in front of her and there’s no way of telling if it goes on for meters or miles, if it ever ends at all. Just looking at the centre of the long dark path makes her dizzy. The cold winds cut through her jacket and sweater and jeans, nipping at her skin, making little goose bumps sprout up. She pulls her hair back to stop the wind tearing through at and knotting it, but that only lets it get at her neck. All over her body, it feels as though tiny, smaller-than-small soldiers are pricking at her with minute swords.

“Let’s do this,” she announces, her breath coming out in white vapour, stark against the blackness before her. Behind her, there’s nothing, no breath on the back of her neck, no words of agreement. Or maybe there is but she didn’t hear it.

She starts walking, wobbling on the uneven ground. She reaches out to her right and finds a stone wall, as cold as Hades himself had felt when she shook her hand, rife with jagged edges and small sharp stones running down it, beginning to tear skin off her hand, slowly at first, but it build up and up until she feels blood beginning to trickle down her palms and into her sleeve. Still, she won’t take her hand off this wall.

In the silence, she hears her footsteps echoing on the ground, the sound bouncing off the walls and she assumes the ceiling, creating the overlap of dozens of sounds, building up to a drumbeat of her steady walking. One foot, the another. Then one, then the other. One then the other. One then the other. One the other. She tells herself that the lack of noise behind her doesn’t matter, only what’s ahead matters. Home, true love, happiness and safety, waking up in his arms and him kissing her a million times a day. That’s what matters.

“Emma!” he calls behind her, his voice so high and frantic it cuts through her soul. “Emma!” On instinct, she turns her head just a fraction, but claps her hand over her eyes, forcing herself to remember Milah’s words. For all she knows, this is just a trick of Hades’, and he’s right there behind her. He needs to be.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers before continuing. One foot in front of the other, building up a steady rhythm, mirroring the beat of her heart-the beat of his heart, when they get there at least.

She keeps walking-for how long she doesn’t know. It could be minutes, hours, maybe even days. She can’t feel anything other than fatigue and anxiety, and she can’t even remember when she stepped into the tunnel. It might as well be that she’s been here her whole life.

A shadow makes her stop in her tracks- an outline etched in blue of a woman with a hood over her face, the lower half of her body lost in mist, long hair peeking out from her hood. She glares at Emma with piercing white eyes.

“Who are you?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. “Who are you to think you can save him?”

“Emma Swan,” she replies, licking her dry lips. “The Saviour.” The woman chuckles, bitter and humourless. “Who are you to say I can’t.”

“I was called Eurydice,” she explains. “I tried. We tried to escape. And he failed me. Orpheus was the son of a god. You’re the daughter of a shepherd and a failed Queen.” The shadow sneers at her. “What makes you think you’ll succeed where he failed?”

“I…” her weak voice trails off. What’s a would have been princess to the son of a god? But she tries anyway, not using her words, but the words of the people who love her. “I defeated the Wicked Witch of the West. I defeated Peter Pan. I broke the Dark Curse. I am the Saviour. That’s what I have that he doesn’t.”

“A Saviour,” she scoffs. “Let’s see you save him.” She peers behind Emma and snickers behind her hood. Emma focusses all her attention beyond Eurydice until she fades away, back to wherever she came from, if she was ever really here.

One foot in front of the other. One in front of the other. One in front of the other. Even with the sound of footsteps of someone looming to her right, the echoes of cruel giggles following along her left, the feeling of a hundred thousand eyes on her, she refuses to stop or even slow down.

Behind her, she hears an unmistakable cry of pain, identical to the one that Killian let out when she pierced his gut with Excalibur, and she halts dead in her tracks, her blood turning to ice.

“Killian?” she whispers pleadingly. She clenches her jaw, forcing the muscles in her neck to remain still, her face to stay forwards. “Killian?” All she hears in reply is a feeble grunt, the sound of someone’s life draining from them.

She closes her eyes as tightly as she can, her hand still on the wall after all this time. She pushes herself forward, one shaky step after the next. As she goes, she feels the ground beginning to get less and less solid, her feet sinking into what feels like marshlands, mud slipping into her boots. She dares crack open her eyes and finds there is light now, dim and barely there, just enough to let her see the vast grey lake that stands just before her.

How long can she hold her breath?

She wades into the water; it feels thin and cold against her body and soon comes up to waist and more until she’s paddling through it, Killian hopefully behind her until there’s nowhere else to go, just a stone wall that goes on forever. She cranes her neck to look at it, but unlike the wall that cut her hand a dozen times, this is completely smooth with no way to climb it.

Maybe she’s not meant to go up.

“Follow my lead,” she says aloud, hopefully to him. She takes in as much air as she can and dives underneath the water. Her ears ring as she submerges herself in the murky lake; in front of her all she can see is grey, and the water stings her eyes so badly she closes them. She blindly propels herself forwards with her weary limbs, her arms reaching out and touching nothing as she half swims half paddles her way to wherever she’s meant to be going, wading through an endless stream of the water. Her lungs begin to ache, then the ache turns to a burn as she goes longer and longer without breathing. With no end in sight, she keeps going, even as her throat becomes tighter and tighter, her head spinning and throbbing.

Soon, instinct wins out over logic and her mouth opens of its own accord, her brain too tired to stop it. She gags as the water rushes down and burns her throat, trying to spit it out only to be met with more. She feels her arms flailing before she tries to get them under control and dares to open her eyes just to see how far she has left to go, if she can see anything at all.

To her surprise, she doesn’t see a dark expanse of grey nothingness in front of her-just a few feet ahead, there’s a light, distorted and blurred, but it’s there. She swims towards it, her head throbbing as it gets more and more intense. Still, she keeps going, closing her eyes as her lungs scream with a burning ache that spreads up her throat. She keeps pushing until she feels something solid underneath her hand. She claws at it, feeling what must be mud underneath her fingernails, pulling again and again until she can fit through the narrow opening, damp mud slithering against her chest and torso as she uses her arms to keep pulling herself forwards. It’s so dark inside, Emma doesn’t even know if she has her eyes closed or not.

Finally, her head breaks through and she feels cold air on her face, hears the sweet sound of leaves rustling in an evening breeze, even as her legs float weightlessly beneath her. She opens her eyes and nearly cries at the sight; she’s in the lake. Not the lake in the Underworld, but the one in Storybrooke which she used to first get into the Underworld. She spends a few seconds just filling her lungs with air; even the air feels different here. Cleaner. Alive.

She grabs the bank and pulls herself up, staggering to her feet. She looks down at her hand and finds it almost completely torn to shreds and covered in blood. Funny, she thinks. She had barely noticed it in the tunnel. She wipes it on her jeans, wincing slightly, making a note to fix it when she gets home. She’ll have to fix it the old fashioned way, she’s pretty sure she can’t even conjure up a paper bag right now.

But there’s one thing she needs to know before she goes anywhere.

“Killian?” she asks quietly, so quiet she can barely hear herself. She clears her dry throat and tries again. “Killian?”

There’s only one second of silence but she feels like it’s dragged out forever.

“I’m here,” he replies. His arms come from behind and wrap around her. “I’m here, Emma.”  She turns around to see his blue eyes, his stubble, his dark hair, his pointed ears, everything. She buries her body in his; his solid, real body. His heart beats under her hand, slightly erratic and wild, but it’s there, and for now that’s all that matters. They’re far from out of the woods, and they might not be for month, there’s conversations to be had and healing to be done and forgiveness and trust to be earned and re-earned, but they’ll deal with all of that later. For now, all they have time for is holding each other, next to the sealed-off portal to the Underworld, a place they will hopefully not have to see again for a long, long time.

[hadestownmodern]

Baseball

Yes, hello. I’m so sorry. I’m disowning myself now.

The doc for this fic is titled “Get it, Eurydice. Home run” and that’s all you need to know.

(thanks for reading every single damn revision to this doc and supporting my wildin’ @dilforpheus you’re the true MVP)

-D ----------------

“I got you a present.” Eurydice’s eyes are glimmering with something that hits Orpheus’s heart head-on. It’s a shimmer that matches the curve of her lips, sly and inviting. 

“Wh-what is it? Why did you get me a present? It’s not my birthday,”

“Just.” She plops a paper grocery bag on the table, and at first he wonders when she’d had time to go to the store without him. He pulls the bag toward him by its handles and pauses; she’s taken the time to draw little white circles-baseballs-all over it. “Open it.” 

The draw of her voice-soft and deep, quiet and enticing, is enough to stop his questioning; Eurydice has sat herself on the corner of the counter, legs open and dangling over the edge. She tilts her head, watching him pull the white linen from the bag and unfurl it. His mouth opens slightly-confusion, she can tell by the way his fingers rub the fabric, his eyes wandering along it before meeting hers. 

“There’s more-open the rest.” She implores, leaning forward and resting on one hand. 

Orpheus nods, still lingering in a state of bewilderment, and pulls another white garment from the bag. That unfolding doesn’t help much either-Eurydice shakes her head as she watches him hold the baseball jersey up, examining it with careful consideration before deciding to crack the code herself. 

“Persephone was showing me pictures from when you did little league-she said you liked it back then. I figured it’d be fun to try your hand at it again.”

She hops from the counter and runs to the drawer of the little desk that sits in the corner of their living space, rifling through papers until she grins wildly. She crosses the distance back to him with the wind on her feet, practically skipping before putting the paper in his hand, running her arm along his bicep. 

“I’m on a team?”

“You’re on a team!” She repeats his words with bubbling excitement, kissing his shoulder. “Once or twice a week, depending on if there’s a game. Nothing serious, just fun! You’re always taking so much on for us, this is something just for you.” Eurydice watches on in adoration as he reads the paper again, lips moving along to the words he’s reading. One corner of his mouth turns up but the smile resides mostly in his eyes, light in color and shining in exuberance as he scoops her into a hug, lifting her feet from the ground.

“Thank you, ‘Rydice-this is so cool!”

“Go try it on!” Eurydice insists, slipping from his arms to push her husband to the bathroom. Her mouth drops when he comes out, long legs adjusting to walking in pants fit right around them. She is speechless as he brushes his hands down his shirt. 

“Do you think this fits right?” He asks, turning his legs and looking down at them curiously. Eurydice can hear his voice, but is unable to make out the words as her eyes fixate on the shape of his legs in the tighter-fitting pants. It isn’t until Orpheus turns around that Eurydice jumps from the counter, crossing her arms and looking him up and down with wide eyes and a smirk on her lips. 

“I don’t know,” she replies, shrugging her shoulders. “Turn around again?” 

He obliges, oblivious to the way she tilts her head, bites her bottom lip. 

He likes to wear his pants looser-with suspenders holding them up around his thinner waist. These pants hug his long legs, lift his butt and define its shape. And although she finds herself missing the shape of his suspenders over his shoulders-the easy pull they give her-she comes to the swift conclusion that she’ll manage without them. 

She doesn’t realize that Orpheus is talking until she looks up momentarily to see him staring back at her, turning his legs again. 

“So?” He asks, bouncing from one foot to the other. Eurydice takes a breath, nods and brings her hands boldly to his butt, drawing the distance between them closed with a powerful sort of haste. 

“They’re perfect.” 

Eurydice cranes her neck to reach the space just on the corner of his jaw, letting out a sigh before kissing it lightly. She uses her hands to keep him close to her, squeezing, unused to the feeling of tight fitting linen-unguarding-showing him off. 

She paints the canvas of his stubble with a line of breathy kisses, feels his hands on her back, holding her. Her tongue brushes along the space between his lips, and a soft whimper leaves his body. She smiles, pushing herself against him until his back hits the counter, small hands working fervently to untuck his shirt. 

“Why the fuck do you have to wear a belt?” It’s more of a curse to herself as she struggles to get her hands underneath his shirt, a gasp of a sentence as Orpheus takes the opportunity of her fumbling to bring his attention to her neck, the skin that makes her shiver whenever she feels his feather-light kisses. His hands find their space right at her lower back, where he can feel the weakness in her knees as she moves forward on her toes, tilting her head in a silent plea for him to continue. She’s found her way under his shirt, made her way about running her small hands along memorized territory with the well-practiced brush of her nails. Orpheus’s involuntary squeak is enough for Eurydice to begin working on his belt; she’s not used to this. Usually, there are only suspenders; those which she can pull demandingly, satisfyingly. This new state of fashion causes frustration. Eurydice nearly buckles under Orpheus’s wandering hands, losing concentration fast. Just as the belt comes apart with a satisfying tug of leather through linen a tiny, innocent whimper comes from the other room.

“Damnit,” she whispers against his lips as she regrettably lets him go, runs a hand through her hair as she runs to retrieve their crying baby. 

…

The first game goes about as well as it could with a grouping of adults with little to no skill; Orpheus’s team is comprised of a few men from the bar, a bassist from the band, and a couple of business men from downtown looking for a way to let off steam. They were all little leaguers, most of which played more games than Orpheus ever would. He was happy, though, chatting animatedly with his team. He does more socializing than playing, although there were moments where he’d find his sense of rapid, consuming focus. 

Orpheus is good at catching the ball-that much can be said. His hand-eye coordination, well practiced from years of guitar playing, has come in handy although the skills themselves are quite different. Other than that achievement, however, there is not much else going for him. He is clumsy and stumbling when running to get the ball, awkward and fumbling when attempting to bat. Eurydice is proud of him nevertheless, her overwhelming attraction to his uniform and his soft, boyish smile completely blinding her to his lack of skill.

When the first game is over, Eurydice hauls herself over to where the teams are high-fiving, waits impatiently for him at the gate with Melody in tow. He kisses Eurydice with his hand on the small of her back, and Melody reaches her chubby hands up to him. He takes her, greets her with his sing-song voice and glimmering eyes, holds her face up to his and squishes her cheeks as he covers them in kisses. 

“So?” He widens his eyes slightly in question, lifting his shoulders and looking out at the baseball diamond. He waits anxiously for her opinion, his wife, as she looks over his sweaty complexion. He takes his hat off, runs his fingers through his hair and tousles it so that it falls in all directions. 

“So,” Eurydice responds, biting her lip and holding her hands out for their daughter. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He gives Melody back to her, confused as he watches her walk away again. Eurydice finds her way to Persephone, who is sitting contentedly on a bench, watching Junie play on the playground. She waves as Eurydice approaches, pats the space next to her on the bench. 

“Where’s the baseball superstar?” She teases, clapping affectionately at Junie as she twirls around in the grass. Eurydice bites her lower lip, rocking back and forth on her heels. 

“I was hoping you could do me a favor…”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Just. I have to pee and I don’t want to take her into this bathroom-can you watch her a sec?”

Persephone does not believe her younger counterpart for a second, but nods her head and holds out her hands anyway. Challenging, she looks at Eurydice through lowered eyelids. 

“You have five minutes.”

“Five??”

“Five.” She is firm as Junie scrambles over to her on her little legs, leans forward and kisses Melody’s head affectionately. Eurydice pouts-only slight;y-but just enough for Persephone to catch. “Pout at me and you don’t get anything.”

“Fine.” Eurydice turns on her heel and makes her way back to the gate, walking as fast as she believes can be considered normal. The sight she sees there has her rolling her eyes again, slowing her pace slightly as she throws her arms into the sky.

“Are you kidding me, Orpheus?” He husband turns to wave at her, the grin on his face endearing and innocent. He has a snowcone in his hand-a rainbow one, to be exact-and he holds it out to her excitedly.

“Look what they gave us!” Eurydice is able to make herself seem much taller in stature when she’s upset; she crosses her arms over her chest before gesturing wildly to his snowcone, then looking up at him with disappointment.

“Do you think this is the time for a snowcone? I asked you to wait here, took our daughter away, and you really thought it’d be the best time for some fucking flavored ice.”

“I...what?” 

Eurydice groans, takes two wide steps to close the distance between them. She lifts herself up on her toes, using his shoulders as support as she whispers in his ear.

“I don’t give a damn about your snowcone. Come on, we have four minutes.” Boldly, Eurydice knocks the snowcone from Orpheus’s hand and pulls him, the stark comparison of such a small girl pulling this lanky, beanpole of a man behind her humorous if not for the look of undisturbed focus behind her dark eyes. She brings him to the first spot she can find, instructs him to duck his head down before pulling his arm hard, his body bumping into hers clumsily.

“Sorry,” he squeaks, breathless as her hands have already found the hem of his pants. 

“Don’t apologize,” Eurydice hisses, taking hold of his hands and pressing them hard on her waist. “Just fuck me.” 

Orpheus feels his head begin to spin, the breath knocked out of his body by Eurydice’s fingers dropping under the waistband of his underwear. She moves hastily, clumsily, knowing the time limit as a challenge. She grins at his inability to control himself, his knees buckling and his soft tenor calling her name. He’s in just enough of a cognizant state to attempt a reciprocation, thankful for the ease of access her leggings allow. She sighs, tipping her head back; his name on her lips, attempting to be quiet and discreet, is a sound sweeter to his ears than any of the music he has played, and Orpheus can’t help his own sweet, lopsided smile.

There is a ringing that joins them, then, and Eurydice grabs hold of Orpheus’s cheeks as he begins to pull away from her.

“Fuck it,” she implores, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Let it ring.”

They do; Eurydice turns her attention to him fully, a sequence of unbuttoning and kissing bare skin in a trail down his chest. The ringing stops momentarily, then starts back up again at full volume, just as her lips have come to his hips. She looks up at him, letting out a deeply frustrated sigh before holding up a finger to her lips. 

“Yes, Seph?”

Eurydice can barely hear anything save the sound of her whimpering baby; it’s her mama cry, she knows it by the way the tears cause a slight hiccup in her voice. Shit, she swears as she picks herself up from the ground, biting hard on her lip.

“I’ll be there soon,” it’s all she can manage to say before she hangs the phone up, pulls up her leggings, and smooths her hair back down again. 

…

They’re sitting in the sun on the night of his fourth game-the team is coming along fantastically, gaining confidence in their abilities and actually racking up some points on the scoreboard. It’s an exciting ritual, attending baseball games once a week, but Eurydice has let herself become fully committed to being as supportive as possible, and that means the outward groan from Persephone when she, Junie, and Hades meet her at the apartment to go to the game.

“You really have to be like this…” It’s half question, half statement. Persephone very outwardly rolls her eyes, looking Eurydice up and down. She’s dressed in Orpheus’s second jersey, one that fits slightly loose and falls to her mid-thigh. She’s paired it with high socks and white sneakers, leaving a fair expanse of her legs exposed. Eurydice grins, turns and looks over her shoulder to see Persephone shake her head, a bemused smile lighting her teasing features. Orpheus’s name is on the back of her jersey, and Eurydice shrugs her shoulders before holding up a finger.

“Mock me all you want, but you won’t be saying anything once you see the baby.” Eurydice turns and moves to the nursery, the sight of her tiny body in the dress-like jersey sauntering around the apartment a sight that has Persephone chuckling to herself. Eurydice emerges with Melody on her hip, cooing as the tiny, chunky baby blinks her sleepy eyes at her mother. She’s in a big red tutu with a matching bow, large on her tiny head of poofy brown hair. Her legs are covered by leg warmers with big baseballs on them, white socks that are a mock-up of Eurydice’s sneakers. Eurydice holds her out to Persephone while covering her with tiny kisses on her chubby cheeks; gesturing to the onesie that reads Daddy’s #1 fan.

“You do know that this is an adult league, right? It’s essentially hometown recreation for bored adults with nothing to do, not for wives who want to lust over their husbands from the stands. Their husbands who-arguably-can’t actually play baseball for shit.”

“He’s getting better!” Eurydice argues, face reddening as she brings Melody back to her chest. 

“Eurydice, seriously….I’m allowed to say it because I raised him, that boy doesn’t have an athletic bone in his body.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree, then.” The younger woman smirks, grabbing her keys from the counter and ushering her family from the apartment, pointedly speaking to her young daughter in a soft, sing-song voice. “Right, Mel? Seph doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Your daddy’s perfectly athletic.” 

“Junie, go see daddy for a minute,” Persephone urges, waiting for her own daughter to skip ahead before tossing a round foil packet at her younger counterpart. Eurydice ducks before the condom can hit her, laughing. 

……

They find a seat in the first row of the stands-not a challenging feat, considering the nature of a recreational adult league playing in the park in the time between toddler little league and preteen boys competing for college-scouting clout. Eurydice scans the mass of players until she sees him; her husband, dressed in the white jersey and pants that fit him just right, leans over the dugout. He smiles at another player’s joke as he bends down to fix his shoes, running a hand through his already sweaty hair. Eurydice finds herself grinning wildly, unable to look away, lost in the way Orpheus’s lanky body seems to move so fluidly.

Persephone, on the other hand, laughs at her son. Orpheus can barely tie his own shoes, fumbling with the laces for a moment before swiftly finishing the job. He follows the team in their warm-up jog and it takes everything within her as the woman who raised him to suppress her laughter as he jogs by, waving and smiling at them. His run is less than graceful, a sort of stumbling movement resembling the last gazelle in a herd who is more than likely to be picked off by the beast chasing them. But he is happy, almost confident in these movements. From beside her, Eurydice cheers loudly, clearly love-blind to her husband’s own awkward stumbling.

She finds it endearing, Eurydice, as her eyes follow her lankily built man. He talks animatedly to the man running beside him, and as he passes their seat he slows down, running a hand along the wired fence as his eyes widen. 

“You can do it, daddy!” Eurydice holds Melody on her leg, which she’s propped up on the bleacher in front of her as a stool. His jersey slides up her thigh just enough to expose most of her skin. A short pair of spandex is her only cover, and even then Persephone had taunted her; are you even wearing pants right now?  Orpheus smiles as he passes them, waving excitedly at Melody. Then his eyes widen and his face grows red. He turns his head long after he’s run by them, looking at Eurydice with the unhidden drop of his jaw, without words. She waves again, with a grin craftily hiding its mischief to the unaware crowd. Persephone, however, sees right through the young mom’s game. She puts her hand on her shoulder, guides her back to her seat.

“So, I had a question,” Eurydice holds Melody close to her chest as they wait for the game to begin, opening her shirt in response to her slight whimpering and waiting patiently for her to latch on.

“What?” 

“Can you watch Melody for a little bit after the game? I have some errands to run, and,”

“Don’t even,” Persephone looks at Eurydice underneath narrowed eyes, shaking her head slightly. “Do you think I was born yesterday? You want me to watch your baby-your very attached to your hip baby-so you can go off and be a dirty milf. How do you know I don’t have plans later?” 

“Because Hades has a meeting tonight downtown-I do pay attention, you know. Also, how the fuck do you know that’s what I’m trying to do? Maybe I just need a minute to get the house clean.”

Persephone laughs, a full and very loud chuckle.

“Eurydice, come on. You’re not even wearing a bra!” 

 From her place on the bleachers Junie instinctively turns to her mother, then to Eurydice, looking at her with wide, curious eyes. Her long ringlet curls bounce as she tilts her head slightly, hops between her feet in antsiness. 

“Mama, what’s a milf? Why is ‘Rydice dirty?” 

“Don’t listen to your mom, Junie-she and Eurydice shouldn’t be allowed to sit next to each other anymore.” Hades shoots them both a pointed look, gesturing with his eyes between them and the highly intelligent four year old who worships the ground they walk on. Both stifle a round of guilty giggles before Persephone ushers her daughter to Hades-I brought your coloring-and sits back down next to Eurydice.

“It’s easier for Melody if I don’t wear a bra”

“Yeah, and it’s easier for you to be trashy.”

“I’m not watching her.”

“Please, Seph. I didn’t come here full tits out for nothing.” 

“Nope. Not doing it.” Persephone crosses her arms over her chest indignantly, unmoving in her stance. The game begins, and Orpheus’s team is up to bat first. He stands waiting for his turn. The man next to him, who is slated to bat before him, picks a bat from the grass and begins his practice swings. Orpheus, watching carefully, walks over to the bin of bats and chooses one for himself, stepping a safe distance away before beginning to swing.

He’s not the most graceful; Persephone snorts as she watches him fumble with his grip, turn the opposite leg out. His shoulders are both tense and far too loose-at one moment, it seems as though he may have actually got the hang of the posture. But the moment Orpheus moves, any semblance of grace he’d had is thrown out the window. When it is his turn he stands behind the plate, shuffling his feet on the sand and looking up with careful concentration at the pitcher. His helmet seems to dwarf his head although he is the rightful size to wear it. His lips part slightly, his tongue touching the roof of his mouth as he waits for the ball. 

He hears it hit the catcher’s glove before he can even react. Strike. Orpheus takes a breath, fidgets and sets himself up again, wiggling his body. 

“I bet he doesn’t hit.”

“Seph!” Eurydice hisses just as Orpheus swings far too late, overestimating the strength needed and stumbling forward two steps. Persephone merely shrugs, points back to the diamond. Orpheus has caught her eye, is smiling at her from his place up at bat. He mouths a soft i love you, and that’s when he strikes out.

Eurydice claps for him anyway, watching as he walks, seemingly unbothered, back to the dugout. He still has an innocent sort of smile on as his wife turns to Persephone, who wears a tongue-in-cheek expression as she taps her own white Louboutin sneakers against the bleachers. 

“I bet he doesn’t hit it once.”

“He will! He can-he’s getting so much better than that first game.”

“You want to make me an offer, then?” Persephone raises an eyebrow, eyes sparking with the mere idea of a bet. Eurydice sits up in her seat, shifting Melody’s weight so she can burp her, leaving the three buttons of Orpheus’s jersey undone as they had been unashamedly. 

“An offer?”

“Yeah-a bet. If he hits the ball once, I’ll watch Melody for you.”

“You sure you want it that easy?” Eurydice speaks confidently for her husband, although her confidence is slightly shattered when she looks over to find him on the infield with the same slightly open-mouthed gaze he uses when humming a new tune. With Persephone’s eyes on her, and his enthusiastic wave when he sees her staring, she straightens her posture

“One time,” Persephone repeats, looking on at the game in progress. “That’s all you need for me to watch her.”.

“Fine. It’s a bet.” Eurydice nods in agreement before turning her attention back to the game, keeping a silent pseudo-prayer in her heart. Just one time, Orpheus, that’s all you need.

…

The game is nearly over, and Eurydice is not even close to victory in this bet. She stands now, right in front of the fence, a raucous voice cheering Orpheus on. Persephone sits behind her, bored with the game but bemused by her own heckling.

“He won’t hit it, and neither will you!” She teases while braiding Junie’s long, untamed curls into neat french plaits.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Have you seen your husband?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking you to take my daughter!” 

“It’s the eighth inning, Eurydice, it’s not happening and it’s probably better that way!”

“Shut up, Seph, let me have this!” Eurydice whirls her attention back to the fence, where Orpheus is up to bat once more. He looks up at her spot at the fence, smiles his boyish, consuming sort of smile before focusing on the task at hand. The first ball makes it straight into the glove without so much as a hit. Orpheus winces.

“It’s ok, babe, you can do it!” Eurydice cheers, the only voice within the vicinity of the park with such an ample amount of unstrained volume. Her husband straightens himself up, nods and refocuses, the hint of a smile peeking through the visage of concentration. As soon as the ball hits Orpheus’s bat with a smack-as he jolts and runs to first base excitedly. Eurydice jumps too, cheering and dancing with Melody, giving a wildly grinning Orpheus a thumbs up before wheeling around to stare deftly, with a fair amount of cheek, at Persephone.

“I’ll make sure she’s fed before we go, then.” She can feel the surge of confidence course through her body, the way her husband running the bases fills her with instant anticipation and an overridingly pompous sort of posture. There’s one more inning to go-one agonizing inning. Orpheus does not hit the ball again, but it doesn’t matter. Eurydice does not sit-can’t bring herself to sit. Instead, she paces aimlessly in front of the fence-up and down the bleachers-singing quietly to Melody. 

Mama won the bet-mama won the bet-you get to stay with Seph-y-’cause mama won the bet! Over and over she sings this verse, a tune that has Persephone groaning in annoyance and rolling her eyes endearingly. The young mother, in her husband’s jersey and knee-high socks, bounces around with her baby until the end of the game. And then, with a smirk on her face, Eurydice reaches her hand out to Persephone.

“Good game,” she mocks before covering Melody in kisses, touching their foreheads together before handing her to Persephone. “I’ll come and get you soon, sweet girl.” She promises as she runs to meet Orpheus at the gate.

He’s blindsided as Eurydice runs to him, dodges the crowd of players leaving the dugout and jumps eagerly into his arms. She wraps her legs around his waist, nearly knocking him over. He laughs and holds her there as she holds the back of his neck with gentle hands, pushes her lips against his fervently and needily, sighing at the contact. 

“Where’s the fry?” He asks, and Eurydice can only let out a breathless sort of laughter as she holds him tighter, resting her head on his chest as she thinks about the bet she’d just won.

“Seph has her. She’s going to watch her for a little while.” 

Orpheus, typically oblivious, can easily decipher Eurydice’s intent as she unwravels herself from his arms only to press herself against him, her hands on his chest, busy with dusting his bicep with slow, careful kisses. He finds himself nervously clamoring for her hand, backing up.

“We’re in public, ‘Rydice.”

“Ok, so let’s go somewhere private.” 

She grins wickedly, with the corner of her lip but mostly with her wild eyes, dark and searching. Eurydice pulls his hand, feels him follow behind her as she ducks into the corner of the dugout.

“Here?” Orpheus squeaks, looking around cautiously. Eurydice doesn’t seem to care-she’s already put her hands back on him, tossing his baseball cap to the floor and running her fingers through his hair, then down his cheeks. Her lips find his jawline, her hands to his belt. She loops her thumbs through it and pulls his body flush to hers, where a groan of satisfaction escapes him as he dips his head to her chest and his hands to her exposed thighs, Where she’s left three buttons undone on this jersey she’s been crafty-purposeful. Orpheus takes his time here, nuzzling himself into the space of her neck with both lips and tongue. He feels her breath hitch as he sucks on the skin underneath her collarbone, leaves a trail of this reddened skin down to her exposed breasts and lets his fingers find their way to the hem of her tiny spandex shorts.

Eurydice makes quick work of his belt this time, hasty and newly skilled, tossing it to the sand as her eager hands move back to the defined shape of his butt. She moves her lower body against him skillfully, smiling in satisfaction at his soft, cracking, contented sighs. Eurydice leans up, words on the tip of her tongue just waiting to be whispered, when she makes out the tiny figure standing silently at the entrance of the dugout.

“‘’Rydice? Ophie?” 

“Bug!” Eurydice pulls back from Orpheus swiftly, both hands pulling her shirt closed as Orpheus clamors for a moment of composure. “What do you need, sweetheart? Where’s your mama?”

“Mama asked me to come and ask where baby’s blanket is.”

“Oh…” Eurydice pauses for a moment before shaking her head, sighing. “Tell your mama it’s in the big pocket of her bag.”

Junie nods, still standing in the doorway, looking between Orpheus and Eurydice in curiosity. She walks slowly up to Eurydice, stands on her toes with one hand out, and touches the space of her neck that she can see. It’s riddled with red marks, in an uneven trail that has Junie staring with her eyes scrunched. 

“‘Rydice, do you have chicken pox?”

Orpheus sputters. Eurydice’s hand flies to her neck, attempting to cover a large enough expanse of the skin there to erase whatever the tiny girl in her cream-colored romper and long french braids has already seen.

“No, honey, I don’t have chicken pox.” 

“Are you hurt?”

Eurydice shakes her head, unable to help the smile over the very blatant, unfiltered curiosity. Orpheus is still at a loss for words, busing himself with finding his belt and keeping his eyes as far away from Junie as possible. Eurydice is about to do the same when she hears a familiar voice calling for the girl, switching between her name and her nickname.

“There you are, honeybee. Did you get the,” Persephone stops in her tracks and takes in the scene before her; Orpheus has frozen in the middle of tucking his shirt back in, looking down at the ground sheepishly. His wife has one hand on her neck, the other moving to give her a cautious sort of wave and a nod. There is a moment of silence, suspended in the air of the older of the women deciphering what has happened. She then grabs Junie’s hand and looks between the guilty parties teasingly, rolling her eyes.

“The dugout? Really? Are we in high school?” 

“Oh come on, Seph,”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of me taking my poor four year old daughter home from this teen-whose-parents-are-home makeout session.”

“Hey, I still won the bet!”

“Use a condom, please. Melody’s cute but you do not need another one right now.”

Persephone is about to turn on her heels when her head dips, her eyes narrowing at the haphazard conglomeration of redness along her neck. She lets a sly smile take over, placing her hand on Eurydice’s shoulder lovingly, yet pointedly.

“Lipstick and concealer,” She gestures to Eurydice’s neck with an all-knowing gaze. “Y,know, before you show up in my class tomorrow looking like he tried to take your whole neck right off.”

Eurydice nods, bites her lip and lets herself be playfully scolded as Persephone gathers Junie’s hand in hers, taking one last glance at the young couple, now back in each other’s arms, to signify that the conversation is over.

“Oh, also? You’re paying for Junie’s therapy.”