#which led me into songs about Orpheus for some reason

[sensitiveheartless]

“Don’t stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos”

(Lyric from Orpheus by Sara Bareilles)

[capybaraonabicycle]

1, 17 and 23 for the music asks? Let's see if they're actually hard

Hey, thank you so much for the ask! This has led me down a very lovely path this morning before passing out

A song you like with a color in the title

This made me realise I know a lot of great songs with colours, so there will be an 'honourable mentions' to follow. But I am going with Lila Wolken by MARTERIA for nostalgic reasons.

No idea whether you know it, it was super big in Germany in the... 2010's I think? It's about purple haze (weed) - which I didn't know until today - but also about partying with friends and staying up all night in the city. It has very nice feelings associated with it of Berlin in a summer night and being young and not knowing what you want from life and how close that is to what you'll get. A little bit nostalgic, a little bit tired, a little bit sad, a little bit hopeful, a little bit aware of just being a party song in the end. I loved singing it with my sister and cousin back when it was popular. Have a listen! (the video is a bit nsfw, you can definitely find a version without images on yt though)

Honourable mentions (in no particular order) :

Purple Hearts (Jeremy Messersmith)

Green (Cavetown)

Yellow (Coldplay Jodie Whittaker)

Lavender's Blue (folk song)

17: A song that you would sing a duet with on karaoke

I love musicals so there are many options. I'd sing any Hadestown duet that would seem more or less doable. For example Promises as either Orpheus or Euridice, I don't particularly care which one.

But if I thought I could pull it off, I would actually go for the dw parody of You and me but mostly me from Book of Mormon. It is one of my favourite videos on yt and has only a little over a hundred views. Here, I would really want to be 13 though rather than Chibnall.

23: A song that you think everybody should listen to

There are many political songs that come to mind for their message but I don't want to go down that route. So we will go with Muusika by Pärt Uusberg as performed at Laulupidu 2014.

I think everybody should be aware of laulupidu itself because it is an extremely impressive choir festival. You have between 20k and 30k (I think) singers and a band on stage for the performances, they last at least a day and for the big songs the audience sings along, too. The event is auditioned and rehearsed for over the course of a year and then you have 4 years to plan the next set. It's also all in Estonian. It's a lot of fun and there is also a historical importance linked to the Singing Revolution of the Baltics and similar events in Latvia and Lithuania. Definitely an interesting Wikipedia deep dive I would say if you're up for it <3

As comes with the genre, the general ambience and most songs are very patriotic. That doesn't sit completely well with me even though I understand the reasons. It's probably why songs like Muusika are my favourites. Muusika is not about love for your country but about love for music and the question where music might have originated. It's a little spiritual and magical and with very pretty images. I translated it once for a seminar so could probably do that for you too, if you like. The song is just very musically pleasing without understanding the lyrics as well, though. Uusberg reminds me a little of Pärt and Gjeilo in his style, it's very pretty in its simplicity somehow and a little floaty. There are some other songs of his I also greatly enjoy, if you want more suggestions

The following is the recording I would recommend watching. The video is very long though because it's a whole day of the festival. So, the song in question is at 4:59:13. After it finishes, the composer is called to the stage and everybody is shouting for a repeat performance (korrata). Unfortunately, the one he conducts then is cut short. But I encourage you to watch him a little, too, because it's a joy to see a composer getting to conduct their song on such a stage

If you'd rather just listen to the song without the festival, here is a video that only shows that one song with a regular choir:

[savrenim]

SORRY WHAT IS LESBIANISM HADESTOWN IN SPACE IM IN LOVE WOTH IT AREADY

Batteries low. Only enough air in the filters for one person to survive the rest of the winter.

“Orpheus,” she cries out, but Orpheus does not wake.

It is both the easiest and the hardest choice she’s ever made. Orpheus my heart is yours. She leaves. Not even in the dead of night, Orpheus is so deep under that they haven’t seen each other in a week. Hermes lets her out at the last stop without comment. Always was and will be. She’s heard enough about Hades from rumors amongst the workers, whispers, the last station, the one before hell, where you can get on if you have a ticket. Hermes sings it sometimes. Descend into whatever’s there, because that’s the one station that hasn’t been picked clean. And she’s not defenseless, she knows some of Orpheus’s songs. Enough to escape. It’s my gut I can’t ignore. Eurydice is good at casual seduction, good at getting people to let her in, and all she needs is to be let into Hadestown, and then she’ll fucking take what she needs. She’ll take it and she’ll run, she’s good at running, the best.

Orpheus, we’re hungry.

Especially now that she has someone to run back to.

“Wait for me,” she whispers.

And then she leaves to rob a god.

__________________________________________________________

so lesbian hadestown in space, which is actually titled 'the wind, the wind, the wind', is a present to one of my friends that is at this point.... literally more than two years late? I think literally two years late, close to two and a half now. there is also literally just one scene left for me to write and then one last round of editing to do and then it will be ready for me to send to my friend with the "happy belated two years plus late I guess this is now an anniversary gift?" (E if you're reading this aaah sorry I'm ridiculous but also soon to be happy two years late present). BUT. lesbian hadestown in space happened in the following manner: -> me, listening to hadestown: okay oh gods this is great but what part would I sing. as a soprano. ......Orpheus, maybe? is Orpheus the highest part in this show? -> me, pulling up the lyric ____/   And I know how it was because ____/   He was like me ____/   A man in love with a woman okay so side-rant one of the reasons I loved hadestown so much besides I'm a sucker for literally anything with counterpoint singing or harmonies and also really good lighting in musicals, is because!! hadestown is a masterpiece!!!! that is directly about climate change!! and unionization!!! with the really strong thesis of "the only way we can fight climate change effectively is via unionization!" (and all sorts of fun sub-themes about art mattering but how much does art alone matter without collective action to back it up) and just, like. absolute top-notch did not have to go as hard as it did but damn does it go hard, if you haven't listened to Hadestown defs do, much like Hamilton and gods can't believe I'm bringing up Hamilton but I'm doing it for the sole reason of saying, literally everything said on the stage is in the cast album, it's a fully sung show, so at least you can get the full storyline via the cast album on youtube

BUT ANYWAYS the thought of 'what would happen if you re-cast Orpheus as a woman' led me to the realization of 'really, not too much, until you got to the lyrics 'And I know how it was because / He was like me / A man in love with a woman' that you'd want to change it a bit, I never quite settled on what I was happiest with, maybe 'Someone in love with a woman', but then suddenly you have added to the massive unionization theme and climate change theme in the most emotionally raw and evocative moment of the show, when Orpheus is trying to reach Hades and remind him of his humanity through the shared experience of just. simple, unadorned love. what if that was a lesbian not knowing whether or not she would be acknowledged or rejected in trembling voice trying to offer 'look at my love, when you strip it down to its core, it's not that different from yours.' -> me: gives that above speech to E -> E: you need to write this fic -> me: ........okay but come on that's not enough to write a fic around, like, that one simple change. I'd need to make at least one other significant change for it to work as enough to write a fic around esp given that my main fic style is 'just retell the canon but, like, with this particular shift' and I'd want more than just the shift to be a single genderbend. -> me: like putting it in space -> me: like there are so many fun sci-fi things you can do with it. Hadestown you can't go back from it, because it's the station on a stable interior orbit of a (Kerr) black hole's event horizon, you know actually you can keep the whole 'mining town' bit given that the majority of heavy elements in the universe are forged either in neutron star mergers or the accretion disks of black holes, -> me: [20 minutes later] and so yeah that's the r-process and why it's not enough to account for all the heavy elements in the universe and while neutron star mergers are a candidate this is three years ago so LIGO hasn't observed them yet and the other explanation is black hole accretion disks. and THAT'S why Hadestown is still a mining town. also event horizon being the 'once you go you can't come back' bit is really clever and I'm in love with my own cleverness here. -> me: also if you do some sort of fun post-post-apocalypse setting where the majority of the people have lost understanding of technology you could make Orpheus and her song literally be that she's trained in the lost art of hacking and coding -> me: and you can make Eurydice a grifter. that feels like the Vibe. Eurydice cool space grifter. -> E: I have patiently listed to you infodump about black holes because I am a genuinely a great and deeply appreciated friend. also I'm in love with sci-fi grifter Eurydice, you now need to write this fic -> me: given how much I'm in love with black holes I think I'm writing this fic -> me: but you're right grifter Eurydice is great, I will extra special write it as a present for you

and now for the better part of three years I've been writing this fic, anyways, fingers crossed really soon like in the next few weeks really soon lesbian hadestown in space is going to happen, I've been saying that for nearly three years but It Will Happen Eventually

[vikingqueer]

music recommendations because i have some thoughts™

i don't wanna be that person who's like "my music taste is so weird lol" but i find that very often most of my friends don't really care for the music i like so i thought i'd just make a long ass post about it on tumblr instead. Fair warning, I'm very passionate about MIKA and The Mechanisms and so this very quickly got VERY long because it is part of my ongoing campaign to convince people to listen to mika and the mechs.

1) MIKA in general, but especially My Name Is Michael Holbrook (2019) and No Place In Heaven (2015) (especially the Deluxe version!!)

MIKA is a kind of British singer (half Lebanese, grew up in France blabla), and you probably know him for Grace Kelly and Relax, Take It Easy from his first album Life In Cartoon Motion from 2007. He writes a lot of FUN music, interspersed with the occasional slightly sadder song, especially when looking at an album like No Place In Heaven, which contains a lot of songs with gay themes, resulting in some songs that are just a little bit ouch. He's originally classically trained and has a frankly RIDICULOUS range and idk he just writes very good pop music. Also I have so much respect for that time he talked about how a lot of pop is very fake, with like expensive cars and stilettos and mini skirts in the snow and said "Because I walk down the street, and I don't see any of that. I see fat women and gay men. I don't know... That's real". He's written 5 albums; My Name Is Michael Holbrook (2019), No Place In Heaven (2015), The Origin Of Love (2012), The Boy Who Knew Too Much (2009), and Life In Cartoon Motion (2007).

For starters, I recommend listening to Last Party, Origin Of Love, Grace Kelly, Blame It On The Girls, Blue, Happy Ending, Pick Up Off The Floor, Last Party, Underwater, Tomorrow and Tiny Love (yes this is a long list but i REALLY love MIKA). If you want a slightly broader palette that's not just my favourites, I recommend the Mika starter pack on spotify.

2) The Mechanisms. I warn you. I am making this a thing. I have been obsessed with the mechs since last march.

Boy, where to start? The Mechanisms were a British 9 member space pirate story-telling cabaret that "died" in January 2020. They rewrite songs to fit retellings of various stories. I don't even know what genre I'd describe them as, but probably folk but steam-punk?? Their 4 "main" albums are concept albums, and I honestly just recommend listening to the from beginning to end in chronological order. A good way to get into the mechs is also to listen to UDAD and then watching the live show on youtube or alternately try giving Death To The Mechanisms a listen, to get good quality live show audio of TBI and various other stuff. Also, it was streamed on YouTube and someone combined the footage with the album audio and it rocks. Really, I think the mechs' best selling points are honestly just their concept albums:

Once Upon a Time (In Space) Their first album from 2012. I'd say this is the most "easily digestible" for the general public, since it's a retelling of various fairytales. So, what if Old King Cole was in fact not merry, but rather a cold-blooded dictator, intent on colonising as much of the galaxy as possible. What if Snow White was a general, looking to avenge what King Cole did to her sister, Rose. What if Cinderella was to be wedded to Rose the day that King Cole attacked in order to kidnap Rose? But y'know, In Space and also like every other mechs album it's a beautiful tragedy. Fave songs are Old King Cole, Pump Shanty, and No Happy Ending.

Ulysses Dies at Dawn You guessed it, it's a story about Odysseus, or Ulysses because I guess Ulysses is easier to rhyme or fit in the meter or something, idk. Ulysses is a war hero of unknown gender who is said to keep something that could take down the corrupt Olympians, meanest families in the City, in a vault to which only they know the passcode. Oedipus, Heracles, Orpheus, and Ariadne have been hired by Hades, who happens to be The Mechs' quartermaster Ashes O'Reilly, to get into Ulysses' vault. I didn't care much for udad at first, but honestly it's got some real bangers and the story is really good. UDAD weirdly stands out as the only of the concept albums to not feature any gay relationships, per se. Fave songs are Riddle of the Sphinx, Favoured Son, and Underworld Blues.

High Noon over Camelot This is my favourite mehcs album. So basically, this is Arthurian legend, but it's a space western and Jonny D'Ville does a bad southern accent. This is the story of the cowboy lovers Arther, Lancelot, and Guinevere searching for the Galfridian Restricted Acces Interface Login, or GRAIL, in order to stop their world from falling into the sun. Meanwhile, Mordred and Gawaine are ruling Camelot, and Mordred has convinced Gawaine to try to establish peace with the Saxons by whom Mordred was raised, but Gawaine hates viciously. If you love getting your heart broken and songs by a fucking off the rails batshit preacher I HIGHLY recommend hnoc. Fave songs are Gunfight at the Dolorous Guard, Blood and Whiskey, and Once and Future King. Honorary mention for Hellfire because it awakens something animalistic in me.

The Bifrost Incident TBI is the frankly only good adaptation of norse mythology I've ever known of, and I say that as Dane who was literally forced to learn things about norse mythology in school because it's my heritage or whatever. I've been listening to TBI a lot lately because it's VERY good. It's definitely the most refined of the mechs' albums (because it's the newest) but also I just love a little bit of cosmic horror. 80 years ago, Odin, the All-Mother, ruler of Asgaard, launched a train through the wormhole Bifrost that would reduce the travel between Asgaard and Midgaard from 3 months to 3 days, but things didn't go quite as planned. Lyfrassir Edda of the New Midgaard Transport Police is trying to solve the case of why suddenly the train has arrived 80 years late; to figure out whether it was accident or maybe it was sabotaged by Loki, who was allegedly sentence to death her murder of Baldur, by the Midgaardian resistance led by Loki's wife Sigyn, or maybe by Thor, who was to take over after Odin, and who holds quite the grudge because he used to be a friend of Loki's. You might've heard the song Thor from this album, it's apparently quite popular. Fave songs are Loki, Ragnarok III: Strange Meeting, and Ragnarok V: End of The Line. Yet again an honorary mention: Red Signal because while Lovecraft was a bitch, his invocations are fucking RAW.

Basically, the Mechanisms do all of their performances in character as captain first mate Jonny D'Ville, quartermaster Ashes O'Reilly, pilot DrumBot Brian, master-at-arms Gunpowder Tim, science officer Raphaella la Cognizi, doctor Baron Marius Von Raum (neither a baron, nor a doctor), archivist Ivy Alexandria, engineer Nastya Rasputina, and The Toy Soldier, who is, as usual, present. You can find very obscure lore about the crew of the Aurora here, tidbits on Tales To Be Told and TTBT Vol. 2, such as One Eyed Jacks, The Ignominious Demise of Dr. Pilchard, Gunpowder Tim vs. The Moon Kaiser, Lucky Sevens, and Lost in the Cosmos.

If you feel like listening to a full 40-50 minute album to find out if you like a band is a bit much, I recommend listening to one of the mini stories Alice, Swan Song, or Frankenstein, which are about 12, 5 and 9:30 minutes respectively.

3) The Amazing Devil You know that guy who played Jaskier in the Witcher? I got into The Amazing Devil from spotify recommending them because I listened to the mechs, and apparently Joey Batey from The Amazing Devil is the same Joey Batey who was in the Witcher. Both him and Madeleine Hyland are VERY talented singers and songwriters and their second album The Horror and the Wild makes me go out into the forest and SCREAM. I listened to it on repeat for like a month straight. I guess they'd also be considered folk, but like. New Folk. Also yes, this is another British artist, I don't know why I'm like this. I've never really gotten that into their first album, Love Run, but King slaps. As I understand there's this whole lore about the Blue Furious Boy and Scarlet Scarlet, Joey and Madeleine respectively, but unlike the Mechanisms it's actually possible to find out things about the actual real people and harder to find the obscure lore? I'm open for people to please help me. Fave songs are The Horror and the Wild, Farewell Wanderlust, and That Unwanted Animal, which is literally a third of their second album, but again. I haven't really listened to Love Run that much, and I just LOVE the harmonies on THATW. (also im gay and dramatic leave me alone)

4) dodie I have so much love for this woman. Like many others, I first knew dodie as doddleoddle on youtube. I think I first stumbled across her in probably 2015, because I distinctly already knew her before she released her first EP Sick of Losing Soulmates in 2016. I think I watched probably every video she's ever made in the span of a few weeks. I just loved her quiet sound and was absolutely HOOKED. Also she's actually the reason I got into MIKA originally, so thanks for that. Dodie just realeased her first album Build A Problem (in addition to her three EP's; the one mentioned above, You, and Human) and it slaps. Yes dodie is also British Fave songs are probably Monster, Rainbow, and In The Middle.

5) Cladia Boleyn Unfortunately, Claudia Boleyn only has three singles and that's it. She's been making content on youtube for quite a while, and that's how I first discovered her. I don't know what genre her music is, but I like it. The songs are Celesta, George, and Mother Maiden Crone, of which the latter is my favourite. I'm not saying Claudia Boleyn invented women in 2017 when she released Mother Maiden Crone, but she did. Also you guessed it, Claudia Boleyn is British.

6) Hozier I'm not about to tell you about Hozier. You know who he is. Listen to Nina Cried Power, Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene, and Shrike. Also Hozier isn't stricly British in that he is definitely from A British Isle, but Ireland is not part of the UK. Give me a break.

7) Oh Land Oh Land IS DANISH. I like her early music best, because I'm not that into the electronic sound. I guess Oh Land is just you regular old pop, but with the occasional weird vibe? Oddly enough, I like her first album Fauna best. Unfortunately I haven't really listened to her newest album Family Tree much, but it seems good? Fave songs are Frostbite, Love You Better and Family Tree. I cried on the bus, first time I listened to the Danish version of Love You Better, Elsker Dig Mer because my mother tongue always just hits harder. Also Frostbite is Oh Land doing a duet with herself which is pretty cool.

8) Oysterband This is a live recommendation. I mean they're a decent folk band and all, but they're a fucking experience live. If you like folk and you ever get the opportunity to see Oysterband live, do it. Unfortunately, yes. They are British. Either way, they are incredible on a scene and I think they deserve a mention for that.

9) Ben Platt Honestly don't know much about this guy, but he's not British and he was in Dear Evan Hansen. He released an album in 2019, Sing To Me Instead, and I just think it's a good album, there isn't really not much more to it. Fave songs are Grow As We Go, Bad Habit, and In Case You Don't Live Forever.

and thats all for now. this has been a ramble. shout out to you if you actually read all of this, especially the mechs part.

[tempperi]

techno and tubbo?

or nah?

oh shit right.

Techno - Menoitios. some people will say ares because hes the god of blood, war, dogs, and farming and whatnot. others will say protesilaus because of the syndicate. personally, i say menoitios. reason being? menoitios was a titan and might have even been the god of rash action and violent rage. say, who was one of the people that blew up l'manberg after being so called "betrayed"?

technoblade. that in and of it's self was extremely rash considering there wasn't much planning going into it. techno is one to plan. always has been. this could be because of his anxiety or cc!techno's want to portray his character as meticulous. either way, c!techno was blinded by personal rage and vendetta against tommy and by extension l'manberg.

not to mention, menoitios' name essentially translates to "doomed might" after being derived from the greek words "menos" (might, power) and "oitis" (doom, ill-fated). this plays into the fact that techno is a powerhouse above it all has the strategy to back him. on top of this, hesoid, a famous greek poet, called menoitios "hybriste" which translates to "violent man, insolent man" or "a violent, overbearing person"

techno matches all of these. he is quite violent as that is literally one of his trademarks with the whole "blood for the blood god" and "the voices, phil. they crave violence." plus insolent is just "showing a rude and arrogant lack of respect". techno has literally only shown two people respect and even then he lowkey used ranboo for his silk touch hands. not cool man. sure you could say him giving tommy the axe of peace and saying he would have fought everyone for tommy and what not but i'd like to counteract that with he never fully told tommy the truth. not in pogtopia, not in the commune. which if you're gonna work with someone, you need to tell them the entire truth, i'm sorry. ANYWAY.

there's no real myth for menoitios aside from thr fact zeus lightning bolt'd him and killed him because of his hubris and there's no connection to techno on that one. thats a tommy thing im sorry.

Tubbo - Orpheus. ok this part im writing when im half awake so bare with me. the musical hadestown is well known at this point and by extension so is orpheus. to which you would know that the first/second song, wedding song, is essentially orpheus saying he can charm anything everything in order to get what they need to survive. which is true to orpheus himself! orpheus was able to charm any living thing with his music. and we all know tubbo is an extremely musical person.

fun fact: there are several proposed etymologies for the name orpheus. one of which: this (i'm not typing it out)

now, tubbo was confirmed to be an orphan a while ago. can't remember when but phil said they found him on the side of the road in a box. now even if that's retconned, tubbo is still an orphan considering, iirc, puffy adopted tubbo. plus the whole "to change allegiance/status" thing? y'know.... going from secretary of state to president? his status in l'manberg and more specifically, the world was changed. even if it was forced upon. also when tommy said "i've always called you my sidekick but really... i was your sidekick all along." that's changing status in a way.

now there are a couple myths with orpheus. the most well known being the one about eurydice and her death. ofc you know i'm saying tommy in the case of eurydice on this first one (platonically!!!) more specifically, the "fourth" death (prison kill). in the myth, orpheus finds eurydice's body after she fell into a pit of vipers and died. theoretically, if the dsmp had the security camera's mod, sam could have let tubbo see tommy's body in canon. but they dont so tubbo had to take sam's word for it, (even if he didn't believe him).

orpheus, consumed in sorrow, played songs that caused even the nymphs and gods to mourn before him. tubbo, consumed in denial or grief, began searching. searching for answers of who could have led to dream killing tommy. orpheus was then told to travel to the underworld to try and get eurydice back. tubbo went to techno's house to investigate knowing fully well techno would kill him if he logged on.

past that i cant make anymore connections but that's probably because i'm tired. if i think of any more i'll text you. but yeah

Philza - Hades

Techno - Menoitios

Tubbo - Orpheus

[primatechnosynthpop]

It's A Sad Webisode, But We Film It Anyway

(Aka, the things I write when I should be doing schoolwork...)

It was a cold, gray morning. The coldness was due mainly to the fact that Neil had left his bedroom window open the previous night, and the grayness was due to the fact that he hadn't cleaned the house in a while, leading to his walls being covered in a gray film of dust. Both those oversights were due in part to his natural aversion to housework, but also to the deep depression that was hanging over him lately, much like motes of dust. And that particular morning, his cold gray surroundings provided the perfect backdrop to his sullen morning routine.

It had been a whole week already. That was hard to believe. The sound of screams still rang in his ears sometimes when he closed his eyes, and he couldn't pass by that old house without shuddering (that much was already true beforehand, but now it was a deeper shudder, often accompanied by the prick of tears in his eyes). Worse still, he was hit with an overwhelming sadness every time his gaze landed on that urn… which happened often, because the urn was sitting right there on the kitchen table. He would have put it away somewhere where he didn't have to see it as often, but that would feel disrespectful. It was so weird to think that the little pile of dirt inside that urn had once been one of his best friends. It seemed like too small a container to fit someone so brave, so kind-hearted, so loyal. But there it was--all that was left of the true-blue American hero.

Neil heaved a weary sigh which turned into a yawn halfway through as he trudged into the kitchen. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes and pushed his bedraggled bangs out of his face, but his vision remained slightly blurry, so he took off his glasses and winced at the realization of how smudged they'd gotten. That wasn't even related to him being depressed about Kevin; he was just a mess that morning for no particular reason. But after wiping his glasses off on his pajama top and splashing some cold tap water on his face, he was all fired up for another day of wallowing in grief… just as soon as he had a nourishing bowl of stale cereal that just didn't taste as sweet these days.

As he was pouring his cereal into the bowl, though, something unusual fell out of the box--a little rectangle of shiny paper. Neil blinked, befuddled. His first thought was, did I just win a prize? He checked his cereal box for anything mentioning prizes or contests, but all he could find were nutrition fact charts. In fact, after tilting the box every which way, he finally found a line of text on the inside flap reading There are no fun prizes in here, just cereal. Eyebrows knitting together, Neil looked back at the scrap of paper tucked neatly amongst his cereal. Well, either the box was lying, or this piece of paper was something else altogether. Something like…

*

"It's a message from the studio!"

Neil's eyes were startlingly bright, and he had a grin to match. He was illuminated in the doorway by the rising sun behind him, which was just beginning to crest over the horizon. Did he usually get up and about so early in the morning? Moreover…

"They want us to make another webisode?" Ryan frowned as he examined the piece of paper Neil was shoving in his face. "Can we do that? I mean, you know, without…"

He trailed off, gaze dropping. Neil, naturally knowing exactly what he meant, sighed and scuffed his shoes against the porch. A moment of silence passed between them, during which they both thought of the missing member of their team. Making webisodes would be a lot different without Kevin, and probably not in a good way.

Then Neil suddenly brightened again. He stepped across the threshold into Ryan's house without an invitation--he didn't immediately object to it, so it was fine, probably--and shut the door behind him, not wanting anybody to listen in.

"Yeah, they want us to make a Greek mythology inspired webisode this time." He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and read out the note he'd received:

Dear New Kids on the Rock, sorry for your loss. We will be sending in a new team member to replace James sometime in the next month. In the meantime, you need to continue making movies if you want to keep getting paid. For your next webisode, we'd like you to make an adaptation of a Greek myth.

Sincerely, Plymouth Rock Studios.

"I see…" Ryan stroked his beard, eyebrows raising. "Perhaps we could adapt the myth of Erysichthon eating himself to death, or Lycurgus of Thrace being cursed with madness and mistaking his son for a plant, or…"

"No, no, don't you get it?" Neil interjected, shaking the paper furiously in Ryan's face. "This is our chance! We can do the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, and that way--"

Ryan realized what Neil was getting at just in time for them to exclaim it in unison:

"We can get Kevin back!!"

"You go fetch the filmmaking equipment," Ryan told Neil. "I'll open a portal to the underworld."

"Alright!" Neil enthused. "Be right back!"

He scampered off, grinning wider than he had all week--which wasn't a high bar to clear, because he hadn't smiled whatsoever all week, except for in the fleeting moments when he forgot what had happened to Kevin, only for that momentary forgetfulness to come crashing down and plunge him back into misery at the sight of the urn on the table. But that was all going to change now. Heck, he may as well just throw out that dusty old urn, because he wouldn't be needing it anymore after this mission.

*

Somewhere far below the aboveground realm of the living, in a dark field of ash that stretched forever, a soul wandered amidst countless others. He couldn't remember who he was when he was alive. He couldn't even remember his name. And worst of all, he couldn't see a thing. In fact, the only reason he knew he was in a dark field of ash was because all the other souls kept moaning about it.

Time here didn't flow the same way it did in the living world. He could have been there for an hour or for a century. It felt like the latter. But he had no way of checking, because even if there were any clocks around in this barren field, he wouldn't be able to see them. And he couldn't hear any ticking, so probably no clocks. But hey, on the plus side, no ticking meant no pipe bombs either. At the very least, he didn't have to worry about dying a second time.

And he was definitely dead. That was the one thing about himself that he was sure of. The one scrap of memory that lingered in his mind was the sensation of a tentacle piercing through him, severing his major arteries. Although he couldn't look down at himself to be sure, it didn't feel like this hole was still there when he patted himself. But he didn't have a pulse either, so… yeah. Definitely dead.

He'd like to say it wasn't so bad, really. He had all those other souls for company, right? But all of them were a drag to talk to. Most of them could only moan and groan, and those he encountered who could actually speak were too caught up in emotional turmoil to carry on much of a conversation with. So it was just an eternity of wandering blind and aimless through a desolate field of his fellow ghosts, then. Great.

*

"Geez, this place is giving me the creeps," Neil muttered, trying and failing to suppress a shiver as he surveyed the barren wasteland. "It's so… ghost-y."

Ryan flicked a clump of ash out of his hair with a disgruntled huff. "I'll say. Who would have thought the land of the dead would be so dull and gloomy?"

"Yeah, our webisode isn't going to turn out very visually appealing…" Neil shrugged. "Oh, well, I guess we can edit it in post."

They lapsed back into silence then, with the only sounds being the ash crunching under their shoes and the low moaning of the pale ghostly figures that weaved here and there around them. Then, after a little more walking, Neil stopped, struck with a realization that was accompanied by a pang of dismay.

"Wait. How do we know which of these guys--" He gestured at the countless ghosts milling around them, all featureless save for the vague outlines of indistinguishable faces-- "is Kevin?"

"Oh, yeah…" Ryan turned to look back the way they'd come. Keeping the portal between worlds open was expending a lot of his energy, so he hadn't been paying much attention to all the ghosts… "Maybe we even walked past him already and didn't notice."

"W-well, he'd recognize us, wouldn't he? I mean…" Neil shook his head, unwilling to even consider the possibility that they could encounter their friend and have him not know who they were. That was the kind of thing that happened in movies when people got brainwashed, and it usually led to some kind of big fight. He didn't think he'd be able to take Kevin in a fistfight.

Ryan prodded Neil to snap him out of his troubled thoughts. "Hey, maybe you could get his attention by playing a song."

"Oh, that's right!" Neil held up his trusty keytar, which he'd been carrying with him the whole time. "That is how the myth goes, isn't it? Let's see…"

He ran his fingers along the keys, playing a scale. A cold wind stirred in the previously stagnant air, blowing clouds of ash around--Ryan coughed and swatted the dust away from his face--but most of the ghosts didn't seem to notice, with only a couple of them slightly raising their heads before carrying on their aimless trudging. Still, Neil was encouraged. He kept playing, eventually branching away from scales and into the basic pop song chords.

According to the myth they were adapting, that was how it was supposed to go: someone goes down into the underworld, plays a song, finds the person they came for, and then they leave. At least that was the gist of it. Neil was too eager about this mission to bother poring through any dusty old tomes of mythology beforehand. He knew the basics, and that was the important part; everything else he could just make up as he went along.

Ryan nodded, satisfied with this development. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out the video camera that he'd also been carrying with him the whole time, and started filming Neil playing his song.

"You're doing great," he called in encouragement when Neil's playing faltered. "Keep it up, and we'll lure Kevin out in no time!"

"I don't know…" Neil sighed, shoulders slumping. Looking around, he still didn't see any ghosts that looked like they might have been Kevin. "If this is where everyone goes when they die, then there must be hundreds of souls here--maybe even thousands. Do you really think we'll find him?"

"I'm sure we will," Ryan replied, but only because he knew that was what Neil wanted to hear. Truth be told, he was pretty skeptical about the prospect of them actually finding Kevin. And even if they did, he just had a bad feeling about this whole mission… he couldn't shake the feeling that there was some important factor they were forgetting.

Neil could sense Ryan's thinly-concealed pessimism, and it put a damper on his spirits, which were already pretty damp to begin with. Still, he wasn't ready to give up just yet. If nothing else, they had to complete their webisode so they could get paid. And so he straightened up, looked into the video camera, and launched into a bona-fide performance.

*

After an indeterminable amount of time spent trudging aimlessly around the void, music rang out through the ash-crusted air.

It was a rhythmic keytar beat, reminiscent of 80's synth pop. Surprisingly catchy. The lost soul raised his head and turned to face the direction the sound was coming from, and although he couldn't see, an image flashed through his mind. The mental image vanished before he could pin down what it was, but it left him with a sense of inner warmth--a sharp contrast to the desolate cold of the field. The music was good, then. He should go toward it.

At as brisk a pace as he could manage while maneuvering around the countless other wandering souls, he followed the source of the sound. A palpable excitement began to thrum through him as he ran. Somehow, this felt like coming home.

As he grew nearer, a voice spoke over the music--not singing, but a whisper edged with what sounded like concern.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep that portal open. Maybe we should leave."

Panic spiked through the lost soul, not unlike the phantom sensation of the tentacle piercing his body. Another mental image flashed through his mind: two men turning their backs on him and walking away.

"N-no!" he cried. "Don't leave me here!"

As soon as he spoke up, the music stopped. Disoriented by the silence, the soul staggered to a halt. If he still had a beating heart, he was sure it would be pounding frantically, and if he had lungs he'd be panting to catch his breath. As it was, he just stood still, staring sightlessly ahead and praying that he hadn't just been abandoned.

Then another voice spoke, quiet and shaky as though with disbelief.

"…Kevin?"

*

Well, you sure wouldn't know it was Kevin just by looking at him. He looked no different from any of the other countless translucent gray figures wandering around the field. The only notable difference was in his behaviour. Unlike all the other souls, only a few of whom displayed the slightest interest in Neil's keytar performance, this one was standing stock-still and appeared to be staring right at them.

"Is that… me?" The soul's voice was low and distorted. It didn't sound exactly like Kevin. But it didn't sound like someone completely different either. "Am I Kevin?"

Neil and Ryan exchanged an anxious look. What were they supposed to say to a question like that? After a moment, Ryan cautiously stepped toward the ghostly figure.

"I don't know… are you?"

"You…" The soul shook his head, his transparent outline of a face twisting into a pained grimace. "I know you, don't I?"

Looking at him up closer, Ryan noticed one physical difference that set this apparition apart from the others. Where all the other souls had the pale outlines of eyes, this one did not. Pulse picking up in excitement, Ryan glanced over his shoulder at Neil and waved him over.

"I think it's him."

"Really?" Neil made his way over to the soul and tried to pat it on the arm, but his hand just phased through it. "How can you tell?"

"Its eyes are missing, see?" Ryan poked his fingers through the empty part of the soul's face where eyes would normally be. "Just like what happened to Kevin."

"Oh, yeah…" Neil shuddered at the memory, which he'd spent the past week trying to put out of his mind. "Well, if it is him, then we should get him a new pair of eyes. He'll need them if we're supposed to keep making webisodes."

Throughout this exchange, the soul took in the achingly familiar sound of those two voices. He knew them, he knew he did! A series of mental images flashed through his head in quick succession, each vanishing before he could properly take them in. He clutched his head and shook it with a growl of frustration.

Then that last word stuck in his head. Webisodes… Yes, that was a familiar term. Another image flashed through his mind, and this time it lingered just long enough for him to identify it: two men--no, three men, himself included--hunched over a laptop, watching a little progress bar labeled "uploading…" tick slowly forward. He remembered drumming his fingers against the arm of the couch they were sitting on, chewing his lip, anxiously awaiting their newly made video to finish uploading to a certain website…

"H-hey, guys," he said slowly, incorporeal body trembling with the weight of the question, "What's that website called again?"

Eyes widening, Neil immediately snapped to attention, and began instinctively rattling it off.

"Http://--"

And suddenly the lost soul remembered, with the force of a tidal wave crashing over him, who he was. The three of them shouted it out together, in perfect unison.

"Hollywoodeasttv.com!!"

"Kevin," Neil gasped, tears of joy welling up in his eyes, "It really is you!"

"Yeah," he replied in a shaky voice, breaking into a grin. "It's me."

He flung his arms around Neil and Ryan, and although his ghostly form just phased right through them, he could feel their warmth, and it made him feel warm and alive as well. They stayed like that for a moment, huddled in a tearful quasi-embrace, until Ryan gasped and pulled back.

"Guys, the portal is closing. We've gotta run!"

Neil grabbed at Kevin's wrist. When that obviously failed, he got another idea. "C'mon, Kev, follow the sound of my instrument. We're gonna get you out of here."

They took off at an urgent pace, heading back the way they came. Ryan walked in front; Neil walked close behind, playing an improvised melody on his keytar; and Kevin took up the lead, only occasionally stumbling over one of the other spirits before righting his course and hurrying to catch up. When they got to the portal, it was still most of the way open, with easily enough room for them all to walk through. On the other side of that portal was the familiar interior of their clubhouse. Just a few more steps, and…

Ryan suddenly stopped walking, causing Neil to bump into him. At the sudden pause of the sound of his friends' footsteps, Kevin stopped as well. Neil prodded Ryan in the back with a puzzled frown.

"Hey, why'd you stop? We're almost out, we just have to--"

"…But that's not how the story goes."

"What?"

"We're adapting the myth of Orpheus, aren't we? He doesn't get Eurydice out of the underworld," Ryan said. Although he kept his voice level, a sharp pang of remorse squeezed at his heart as he spoke. "If we don't adapt the myth correctly, the studio won't be happy."

"Oh…" Neil gulped. "You don't think they'd fire us, do you?"

"I don't know, but we probably wouldn't get paid."

"What are you guys talking about?" Kevin asked, putting his hands on his hips. From his position a few feet behind them, he couldn't hear all of what they were saying over the groaning of the other spirits, but judging by their tones of voice, it couldn't be good.

Neil, beset by guilt at the prospect of leaving his friend behind, tried to glance over his shoulder at Kevin, but Ryan grabbed his head and twisted it back in place. If Kevin saw Neil looking at him with those plaintive puppy-dog eyes, he'd know something was up.

"Oh, nothing," Ryan said way too quickly and loudly. "Just saying how great it's going to be, you know, when all three of us are back in the world of the living…" He leaned in to whisper to Neil. "Listen, I don't like this any more than you do, but we can't take him back with us."

"But we came all this way," Neil objected. "Can't we just turn the video camera off now and edit it in post?"

"Are you talking about the video we're making this week?" Kevin interjected, walking up closer so he could hear them better. "What's it about?"

"It's, um," Neil stammered, "it's a--an inspiring sports movie?"

"Well, it's a good thing you guys came to get me, then," Kevin replied cheerfully. He slung an arm over Neil's shoulders, or performed as close an approximation to such a gesture as he could when he was still incorporeal. "What've you got so far?"

"O-oh, yeah, um… hang on, I've got it somewhere…"

Ryan tugged on Neil's sleeve and motioned toward the portal, which was now gradually growing thinner. "We should go," he reminded him in an urgent hiss.

"…Right, yeah… um…" Biting his lip, Neil gave a shaky nod of acknowledgement in Kevin's general direction without turning to face him. He couldn't bear to look him in the eyes (or lack thereof) just then. "Well, it's been nice seeing you again, Kev."

"Wait, what? You guys aren't taking me with you?"

The confusion and distress in Kevin's voice brought tears to Neil's eyes. Ryan drew in a sharp breath and held his head upright, forcing himself to retain his composure despite the crushing feeling of guilt pressing down on him. They thought back to the way they'd lost Kevin in the first place: running away from the ghoul without stopping to look back, thinking only of preserving their own lives, not realizing Kevin wasn't with them until they'd made it halfway down the block away from the manor, and by then it was too late. If they had stopped and looked back then, and seen that they were inadvertently leaving their friend behind, would they have run back to save him? Well, probably not. That ghoul was pretty scary. But they had another chance to save him now, and… well, they'd be a couple of real jerks if they left him behind again, wouldn't they?

They exchanged a glance, and the agreement passed unspoken. So maybe we won't get paid by the studio this week, Neil thought. So what? It'll be worth it as long as we've got Kevin.

"Of course we're taking you with us," Ryan said, and this time he meant it. He turned to address Kevin as he made this declaration, and Neil concurrently turned to face him as well, no longer ashamed to look him in the weird transparent eyeless face. "We came all this way to get you, didn't we?"

But as soon as they laid eyes on Kevin, a magnetic force took hold of him and yanked him backward. He yelped in surprise and tried to tug himself free, but was powerless to resist the supernatural pull. That was the very important thing they had forgotten--the reason for Orpheus's mythological failure. You weren't supposed to stop and look back at the person you were taking out of the underworld.

Realizing what was happening, Neil sprung into quick-thinking mode. "Ryan, hand me the video camera!"

"Alright, but what are you going to--?"

Neil answered that question before Ryan could finish asking it. In a fluid, decisive motion, Neil reached into the camera and pulled out the long roll of film from within. The film was instantly ruined upon exposure to the ashen air, but that was the last thing on his mind at the moment. He hastily tied the film reel into a makeshift lasso and swung it forward with all his might. Kevin just barely managed to grab ahold of it.

But the forces of the underworld wouldn't loosen their hold on Kevin that easily. He continued to be pulled backward, and holding onto the film reel lasso caused Neil to get pulled along with him. Just before the force either dragged him away or forced him to let go of the film strip, Ryan grabbed Neil around the waist. Steadier on his feet now with his friend holding him in place, Neil began reeling Kevin back towards them.

With their combined efforts, the three of them managed to break free from the pull of the underworld. As soon as Neil had pulled Kevin in close enough that it looked like they'd be able to make it, Ryan released his grip on Neil and darted through the portal. A moment later, Neil slipped through it himself…

And then Kevin stumbled through, just milliseconds before the portal closed. In a reality-defying ripple, his flesh resolidified, ghastly blue-gray transforming into skin flushed with exertion, short messy dark hair, and the slightly rumpled clothes he'd been wearing when he died. He gasped, filling up his newly reformed lungs with fresh air.

Then his legs buckled with exhaustion after such an ordeal and he fell forward. Neil and Ryan were there to catch him before he hit the ground. Kevin sobbed at the sensation of their hands grabbing hold of him--no more phasing; he could feel them, solid and tangible. And they could feel him in just the same way. Driven by the sheer ecstasy of the moment, he lifted them off the ground--prompting a yelp of surprise from Neil--and swung them around in a clumsy circle before setting them back down.

"Oh, man," Kevin half-laughed, half-cried. "I missed you guys so much."

"Aw, gee, we missed you too," Neil replied, patting Kevin on the shoulder.

"Say, you won't be needing that urn anymore, will you?" Ryan asked. "Can I keep it?"

"Of course you can. In fact, I'll throw in an extra one, on the house."

With that declaration, he clutched his friends close to his chest and made a mental vow to never die again.

*

"So, how are the new eyes holding up?"

Kevin blinked and experimentally rolled his eyes up and down and from side to side. His vision was about as good as he remembered, and they were staying in their sockets securely, so…

"Pretty good," he said. "Thanks again, Ryan."

"Oh, it's no trouble. I'm just glad I was finally able to put some of the eyeballs I've been collecting to good use."

Neil wandered in just then, holding up a blank check. "Well, we didn't get paid by the studio," he announced with a sigh of resignation. He flipped the check over to show them the stern note scribbled on the back. "In fact, they're saying we'll rue the day we dared to defy their orders."

It was two days after their underworld rescue mission, and aside from the aforementioned threat from the studio, everything was going great. It was safe to say that the status quo had been effectively restored, and although the lack of payment was a drag, neither Neil or Ryan regretted their decision, at least not enough to go back on it. Having Kevin with them was worth more than one week's salary. And now that they were a trio again, they'd be able to make more movies in the future, unfettered by grief.

"Let me see that." Kevin walked over and took the paper out of Neil's hands. After giving the note a cursory glance, he crumpled it up with a dismissive scoff and tossed it over his shoulder. "Ah, who needs them?" he said, voicing what the others had just been thinking. "As long as we've got each other, we'll be fine."

And it was true: going forward, they all made more of a conscious effort to look out for each other, and through this newfound devotion, they persevered. After all, mortals were only allowed one free trip to the underworld. It was a good thing they didn't waste it.

[ochakourarakah]

long way down to the underground | chapter 1

Summary: It’s an old tale, except…Eurydice was already waist-deep in the Underworld when he met Orpheus.

Notes: Hawks x G/N Composer! Reader

Story: previous | next 

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This is the thirty-seventh (thirty-eighth? fortieth?) document you had to sign with your already cramping hand and you’re seriously considering tossing them all into a dumpster fire if fire wasn’t the reason you were in this mess to begin with.

The next few weeks after the accident (arson by some gang, apparently) are spent getting everything back on track.

You did not expect this much paperwork to come with it. 

Ugh.

You lean back and stretch in your chair, wincing at the audible pops your back made as you did, tearing your eyes away from your desktop screen.

With relocation still underway, you were instructed to work from home until further notice, corresponding through emails until a satellite office could be established.

It wasn’t really a problem; you lived alone and you had your own recording set-up if you wanted to work on a demo. Most of your work files were backed up on a cloud (thank God for modern tech, you probably just overreacted the day of the fire) and you still had basic instruments in case you wanted to arrange something.

You sigh. 

Okay, maybe your apartment was still on the small side (struggling musician and all) and what soundproofing you had didn’t block out everything (from construction machines across the street to neighbors fucking), but it was still your apartment. 

You had fridge magnets from the places you’ve been all over Japan. Framed and signed posters and album covers lined your walls. A bulletin board dedicated to photos, tickets, backstage passes and other paraphernalia from singers and other musicians you’ve worked with. 

Furnished just enough. Music is always playing, whether it was your own or someone else’s. Cluttered, cozy and lived in.  

It was home.

.

.

.

At home as you were, though, there were still insurance claims to receive, files to sift through, warranty policies to review and the last few weeks of work to salvage if not work on.

.

.

.

There was a whole orientation on this when you were first hired. 

Emergency Response and Recuperation. 

You should’ve known better. 

.

.

.

You glance at the to-do list you hastily wrote up in your planner, grimacing that the unmarked checkboxes still outnumbered the checked ones. 

.

.

.

Ugh.

You really should’ve known better. 

The clock on your phone screen told you that it was roughly half past five.

You groan again, getting off your office chair. 

A much-needed break was in order. 

You save whatever files were open on your laptop before shutting it down. 

And dinner too, if you could help it. 

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Another one of the perks your apartment had to offer was that the complex was within walking distance of Fukuoka’s shopping district, giving you a variety of places to eat.

You take your time on the streets, earphones in and music up as you make your way and map out your night. 

You’ll take your time with dinner, and finish the reimbursement form for your work laptop then call it a night. Tomorrow morning you’d follow up on Ishikawa from accounting and maybe add to the latest song you were writing, if inspiration allowed for it. Maybe get some groceries later this week, too.

Your eyes narrow at the crowd clogging up the sidewalk on the other side of the road. 

Rallentando.

Maybe there was a hero?

And it took you tiptoeing to see above someone’s head to catch a glimpse of crimson wings.

Oh.

He was on patrol. 

In your area. 

Even with your earphones on, you can still hear a few feminine squeals and childish cries, excited voices from people of all ages as they surround the Number Two Hero.

You glance at the scene a beat more before continuing your walking, shrugging off the idea of joining the fray. 

A tempo.

You may be grateful to Hawks for saving your life, but you were busy and hungry and not in the mood to wade through all the people for someone who wouldn’t even remember you. 

It was all in a day’s work, you recall telling yourself that day.

.

.

.

Did his job also entail calling you Songbird, though?

.

.

.

You stepped into the alley that led to your favorite izakayas in the district. It was thankfully empty, and from the restaurant’s windows, you can tell they weren’t as occupied either.

Your steps go from andante to moderato. 

Then there was a gust of wind and a shadow overhead. 

Caesura.

And then Hawks was right before you.

You manage to take off one of your earbuds in time to hear him say, “Hey, Songbird.”

You blink at him. “You remember me?”

“Of course, it’s only been a few weeks since you jumped out of a building and into my arms,” 

If you were flustered at that, you don’t show it. “Right,” You look around. Maybe he had to check out all the alleys before he could call it a day. 

The alley was still empty. 

He’ll be off in no time. 

You give him a smile. “Thanks again for that, by the way.”

He waves you off. “Don’t mention it,” 

For a moment, you just look at him. You’ve only seen his face in short glimpses, in passing billboards and magazine ads, maybe even the occasional skippable YouTube commercial. 

(Which you, admittedly, have opted to skip more often than not.)

And on the day of the fire, you maybe saw him up close for one, two minutes before he took you to the ground then sped off into the sky?

Now he seems more relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets. His wings were another story completely, though. 

They seem bigger, even if they were folded behind him. His feathers look plush and supple. 

If he noticed you staring, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he gives you a lazy grin. Almost cheeky. 

“You work for Hayashi Records, right?”

You snap your gaze back to his face and nod. “Yeah,”

Were you caught staring? Most definitely yes. 

But he’s probably used to the attention, anyways. 

“So what do you do?” he cocks his head to the side.

“I’m a composer,” You were about to add to the answer when you realize that he didn’t leave right away like you thought. 

He was still here. 

Why? The street looked pretty safe. 

“Do you do anything else?”

You don’t understand why he was still talking to you. 

Didn’t your acquaintance end as soon as the villain attack was over?

You nod anyways. “I’m a composer, but I’ve done just about everything, really.”

You busy yourself by unplugging your earphones and tucking them into your pocket with your phone.

Is he always like this? Did he always follow up on the people he saved?

When you look back up, you ask him, “Don’t you have other hero things to do?”

He only gives you that grin again. “I do, but I have some time to kill.” he gestures around him. “And besides, this place is the last area on my patrol.” 

“I see,” you say slowly. 

How the heck were you supposed to respond to that?

You clear your throat. “I’ve been working from home all day. Emergency Response and Recuperation and all that. A lot of paperwork,”

You’re rambling. 

“I got hungry and my head was starting to ache so I’m taking a break for dinner.” you nod over to the izakaya. “One of my favorite spots.”

Oh my god, kill me now. 

Hawks raises a brow. “You were going to dinner? Well so am I.”

Wait. 

Is he..?

“How about it?”

He is. 

Holy shit. 

You barely manage to follow behind him as he strides over to the izakaya. 

He even opens the door for you. 

“After you, Songbird.” 

You walk in the restaurant in a bit of a daze. 

Who were you, that you were about to share a meal with the Number Two Hero?

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It’s after you’ve settled into a private booth and ordered that Hawks spoke again. 

“So how long have you worked under Hayashi?”

“About two years,” you take a sip of your water. “That’s including my unpaid internships,”

Then you’re both silent. 

You swallow, and the air feels like a chord that was a microtone off. 

Not completely off key, but not right either. 

Just...off. Strange. 

A little jarring.

Hawks must’ve noticed that you were uncomfortable because he shifts in his seat. 

“Be honest, did I come on too strong?”

And here you thought you were the one overstepping your boundaries. 

You shake your head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m just surprised that you’d have dinner with a random person you rescued.” 

“I uhh,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I’m actually familiar with your work,”

“What?”

“I thought I recognized your name somewhere so I looked it up. You worked with Ayapeta on an album?”

He was a fan. 

Again, holy shit.

He looks up at you. It’s then that you realize his usual visor was on the table. “I’m gonna ask you again, am I coming on too strong?”

You shake your head. “I just never really had a fan approach me before,” 

You were far too used to the singers getting all the credit for the songs you wrote. 

It actually feels nice.

The waiter arrives with your orders and you give a small thanks, getting your bowl and chopsticks.

“Itadakimasu.” The two of you say in unison.

A due.

You smile at him before digging in.

Yes, the ramen you ordered was exactly what you needed.

You look across the table to see the yakitori skewer he was helping himself to. “Isn’t that cannibalism?” you ask after swallowing.

Hawks stops mid-bite. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m a hawk.”

You shrug. “Still a bird.” 

He chuckles. “What can I say, chicken’s pretty good.” 

You roll your eyes at him, and taking another good slurp from your ramen bowl.

Hawks adds, “I try to avoid chicken wings if I can help it, though. Can’t be too cannibalistic now can we?” 

After swallowing, you meet his eyes from across the table.

Amabile.

And this time, you chuckle along with him. 

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Hawks was a celebrity. You know this much. 

While you weren’t aware of any dating scandals or affairs on his end of the showbiz spectrum, you knew that he was considered an eligible bachelor by the press. 

So what was he doing here with you? 

The curiosity gnawed at you so insistently that, when the tab’s been paid and you’re out of the restaurant, you ask him, “Why’d you come along with me?”

He stops in his tracks. “Can’t I share a meal with someone who seemed nice?”

You purse your lips. “You barely even know me.”

Granted, even if you were a villain, you were pretty sure he could beat you in a fight anytime. 

The silent dissonance is back again.

You watch as he nods his head, just a little bit. “I feel like I’ve always known you.” 

You raise a brow. “Do you say that to everyone you hit on?”

“Nah,” He shakes his head. “Only for songbirds that fall into my arms.” He starts walking again. You follow suit as you roll your eyes, retort ready and then he speaks again.

“How about it, we go on one date?”

You furrow your brows. “Wasn’t this a date?”

He grins, shaking his head again. “Close, but no cigar.” he tucks his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sadly my favorite place burned down in the last Nomu incident.”

You nodded, remembering seeing it on the news the day it happened. You watched the carnage unfold from bay windows in your studio building, then you were told to evacuate to the lower floors before the fighting escalated any further. 

Maybe I didn’t have it so bad...

“But I know of another place I can take you.”

You smile at him. 

Then a phone rings. 

But it isn’t yours. 

You hear Hawks curse under his breath. “Hey listen Songbird, I’ll be busy the next few days and I bet you will be too with your Emergency Recuperation whatever,” he winces as his phone kept ringing. 

“But I’ll come find you when I’m free so we could set a date.”

You barely stutter out an affirmation when Hawks spreads out his wings. “I’ll see you soon, Songbird.” 

And then he was off. 

Leaving you staring up at the sky yet again. 

.

.

.

You walk home in a daze.

Did tonight really just happen? 

You shake your head. Maybe this was just a one-time thing. 

That seemed about right. 

You were just in the area. 

He’d probably forget when he rescues someone else. 

.

.

.

This doesn’t stop you from blushing all the way home, though.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。 °。  °。°。°。

All thoughts of Hawks are banished when you get back to work for the next few days. 

It was all probably just by chance. One of those once-in-a lifetime things that might as well happen to you because real life was weird that way. 

And real life was also taxing because Ishikawa hasn’t looked over your statements yet and you were missing a few more requirements for your insurance claim. 

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。 °。  °。°。°。

A few days later, you find yourself trudging home from the grocery store as planned.

You're carrying a whole tray of eggs in one hand while your other groceries sit tight in the reusable bag hanging off your other shoulder.

Even though the night is peaceful, you were still stressed.

You still had some forms to fill up and lost equipment to canvass for and a meeting with one of the bands and-

“Hey there, Songbird,”

-and you yelp at the voice, dropping the carton and spilling eggs all over the pavement. 

You look up at the sight of an equally shocked Winged Hero.

Oh. 

He didn’t just not forget about you. 

He came.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。°。 °。 °。  °。°。°。

A/N: in case the whole basis for this fic isn’t enough to go by, i’m also a musical nerd. i’ll try updating this weekly, as well. 

thanks for reading!

[mimymomo]

These Scars Tell Promises

Sequel! Sequel! Sequel! So, since I seem to be the Orphydice parent AU person in the Hadestown fandom, here’s the sequel to my first Orphydice story posted here. Also, no one beta-read this so...be prepared for some bad grammar.

“Okay, the first thing on our list is what Orpheus?” Eurydice asked, swinging hers and Miko’s entwined hands back and forth. An earlier competitive match of who could squeeze the other hand harder now at a standstill.

“Let me see,” Orpheus said, using one hand to fish in his pockets, the other holding their empty woven basket. After a few seconds, he draws out a crumpled piece of notebook paper. He placed the paper on his thigh and fruitlessly attempted to iron out some of its crinkles. He brought the list back to his face and began reading. “So, we need to buy clothes, a mat, a toothbrush, huh...I can’t read the rest.”

Eurydice gave Orpheus a look, “didn’t you write the list yourself?”

“Yes...”

Eurydice rolled her eyes and laughed at her husband’s endearing silliness. “It’s fine. We’ll just figure it out as we go along. Miko, you stay close to us, okay? It’s really busy here.”

The market is located in the middle of town. Years ago, when Eurydice had first arrived, the market barely existed- nothing more than one or two stalls selling half-decent goods at overblown prices. Desperate sellers trying to make a buck from desperate survivors. But, ever since the return of spring and the balance of seasons a few years prior, produce and trade had exploded, resulting in the market heavily expanding. Now stalls, tents, and pushcarts lined the streets and filled with not only fresh fruits and vegetables but livestock, clothes, jewelry, homemade goods, and everything under the sun. Sometimes, even live music would be played near the entrance. With a careful ear, the boisterous songs could be heard when walking through the maze of screaming business.

The family of three pushed their way through the crowd. They stopped at nearly every stall in an attempt to check some items off their list. With not much money to either of their names, the couple knew how to bargain down prices with owners- Eurydice with her seasoned haggling skills and Orpheus and his boyish charms, they were a force to be reckoned with (plus a reference to the Hadestown experience and be the reason for the return of spring usually got people to change their minds real quick. Orpheus hated using this tactic so it was only used for the direst of instances and when Orpheus wasn’t present).

Miko stood a few steps behind the two, whipping his head around to take in all the sights. He had been to the market before, usually staying close to the exits so he could beg for scraps or spare change. The one time he ventured further into the fray, he had gotten caught trying to steal some bread from a particular cruel vendor and got beaten as a punishment. Then, he met Euri. Miko was grateful for his new home with Euri and Orphe, away from the mean man and his wife. No more yelling and cursing, no more hits and slaps and painful bruises, no more running away in the middle of the night and begging on the streets. He was free.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw him. A chill went up up the young boy's spine. No, he couldn’t have been there, he never comes here. He always made Miko or his wife go, ‘too much work’ he would say. Yet, Miko could recognize that jacket anywhere- black and maroon flannel lined with a cream fleece interior. Miko felt his breathing hitch. He couldn’t catch a breath no matter how deeply he inhaled. The world was spinning, round and round and round. The noises of chattering townsfolk and hollering shop owners rang in his ears- it was too loud. He wanted it all to stop.

“Okay, I think that’s about everything,” Eurydice said, rearranging the contents in their basket. “Miko, are you okay?”

Miko glanced back up at Euri, wringing his fidgeting hands, “I, I thought I saw-” He turned back around, but the man was gone, no sight of that familiar red in the dense crowd. “I...I okay.”

“Are you sure? You’re shaking like a leaf?” she asked, a ribbon of concern lacing every word. Miko just shook his head, still partially out of it. Eurydice didn’t believe him but glanced over to her husband. She was new to this mom thing. She had no clue how to handle situations like this.

Orpheus shook his head. There was no need to push him, he’d open when he was ready. “Yeah, it’s kinda chilly out here, huh, Miko?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah, yeah it is.”

“I think Kimberly runs a hot apple cider stand just up that way.” Orpheus pointed in the direction back the way they came, “let’s go grab a cup, okay?” Miko nodded his head, and Orpheus smiled, running his hand over the boy’s dark hair and down the side of his face, “okay then.”

Eurydice grabbed Miko’s hand and squeezed it. Then they were off. Miko felt the uneasiness in his stomach begin to lighten, replaced with warm relief at only Euri’s strength, and Orphe’s hopeful air could give.

“There’s Kimberly’s stand,” Orpheus said. Kimerbely’s stand was nothing extravagant- three large pitchers, two see-through, the other sterling silver, were on top of a single table covered with a red tablecloth, covered by an awning. Lime green and orange juices filled the two clear pitchers, thin slices of oranges, and what looked to be lemons and limes were placed in the jars as well. That left the silver pitcher to be the one with the cinder. Stacks of wrapped cookies and fruit bars lined the right side of the table, and a small chalkboard with prices occupied the left. A sweet, fruity scent filled the air as they approached, drawing them in, their mouths watering. However, they didn’t seem to be the only people who craved a warm treat on a chilly afternoon. They were greeted to a line stretching back to the middle of the pathway, a good dozen people or so.

Once they reached a few feet from the stand, Eurydice dropped Miko’s hand to pull out money from her satchel. “Okay, let’s see, where exactly does this line start?” Eurydice searched while Orpheus stood on his toes to catch a peek at the price board, both their backs turned to Miko. With both of them distracted, they failed to stop what happened next.

Miko felt a harsh tug and the back of his hood, forcing him to backpedal. Before he could scream, a grimy hand slipped over his mouth. 

“Well, well, well.”

 Miko froze. ‘No, no, no, no,’ he repeated his mantra of pleads his head, slowly turning around and was met with his worst nightmare: his father.

He was wearing the flannel jacket, covered in various colored stains from years of inadequate care, and a dirty black cap, the one he always wore when going out. It pushed back his greasy brown locks while hiding his menacing blue eyes under the brim. He removed his hand, “so, this is where you ran off to.”

Miko slowly stepped back, but his father continued to loom over ahead, his large frame casting a dark shadow over Miko, blocking any light. “Me and the wife have been looking for you.” Miko hardly believed that- his father only cared about him when he was useful, which wasn’t very often in his eyes. And his wife was probably passed out at the table, buzzed out of her mind from all the “juice” she’s consumed. His “parents” weren’t the type to go and gather a search party at the prospect of his disappearance.

“It don’t matter now. You’re back. Come on we’re going home.”

Miko shook his head, “no.”

His father began to scowl, eyes as pointed as freshly sharpened daggers. “What the hell you just say to me?”

Miko felt his little remaining confidence began to waver like someone had begun chipping away pieces of his armor. But he stood his ground, “not going.”

Ablaze of fury lit inside his father's eyes. The monster had unleashed, and he wasn’t happy. He reached out with his filthy fingers and coiled them around Miko’s arm. And with a forceful tug, he drew the boy close. He bent down, face to face with Miko, the strong stench of booze stinging the little boy's nose. “I didn’t fucking ask you what you wanted. Get your ass in gear, and let’s move!”

…

The line was much shorter than they thought, the group the dozen or so individuals all left at the same time which, left Orpheus and Eurydice next.

“Hey, long time no see,” Kimberly said, her eyes and smile bright as usual. “Let me guess, two hot ciders?”

“Actually, make that three ciders please,” Orpheus corrected politely.

“Three?” Kimberly asked puzzled. She glanced at the couple, “are one of you planning on drinkin’ two cups?”

“No, it’s for…” Eurydice spun around to see the spot next to her was vacant. No blue sweatshirt, no dark curly hair, no small boy, no Miko. “Miko? Miko? Miko!” Eurydice turned to Orpheus, “where’s Miko?”

Orpheus’ eyes widened and he began to search for Miko as well, “I, I don’t know. He was just right here! Miko!”

“Miko? Miko!”

The couple felt themselves start to panic. Eurydice frantically spun in circles looking in every direction for the young boy whole Orpheus scanned above the crowd. But they both were coming up completely empty until Orpheus saw a familiar hoodie in the distance.

“There! I see him!”

“Well then let’s go!” The two took off, completely forgetting about Kimberly and their ciders. They had their boy to get back.

…

He was pulling too hard, Miko’s wrist on fire from his grip. His father led him in the direction of the exit opposite of where he, Eurydice, and Orpheus had entered. He bumped into people’s legs with his shoulders and stepped on other's toes. People scoffed and yelled, but his father didn’t even bat an eye. Miko yanked his arm as hard as he could, again and again, and again. But, it didn’t matter, the older man was way too strong.

Just as Miko began to embrace his fate, he heard his name being called in the far distance.

“Miko! Miko!”

“Hey, stop!”

Eurydice and Orpheus.

“The hell…” his father spit, forcefully maneuvering himself and Miko through the crowd and into a dark, shady alley. While trying to escape the view of onlookers, the hammered man tripped over a piece of debris, loosening his grip. Miko slipped away his wrist and turned to run. However, his plan was quickly thwarted by his father, who took ahold of his hood and jerked him back, cutting off his airway for a short second. Miko gasped and coughed, falling to his knees from the shock of being choked, even if it was just for a short period. His father took him by the hood again and brought the boy up in the air, the tips of his feet just barely touching the ground. “The hell stunt you tryin’ to pull boy?” he growled.

Miko struggled to breathe, the cotton fabric of his hoodie pushing against his throat. He was getting dizzy and light-headed. He wanted his Euri and Orphe.

“Miko!”

Miko, twisted his head to see Eurydice and Orpheus running in his direction. “Eu..ri,” he slurred, his voice still raspy and sore from the constant pulling of his hood.

His father addressed the young couple, “just who the hell are you people?”

“Give is our kid back,” Eurydice snarled, not bothering to dignify the man with a proper response to his question.

The man cackled, “your kid?” He sauntered over to the young woman, cockiness oozing through each footstep. “You sure as hell don’t look that whore I banged a few years back. Who left that, leech,” he spat as if poison on his tongue, “on my porch, claiming that was my kid. Forcing me to look after that ingrate. So, no girly, that ain’t your kid.”

Eurydice’s fingers balled into a tight fist, blood pounding in her ears. She knew she needed to keep her composure, but it was a losing battle. She took a deep breath closing her eyes, “well, I know damn well that we’d be better parents than you could ever dream of being. And that Miko would much rather come home with us.”

“That brat doesn’t know what he wants!”

“Yes, I do,” Miko said, running to stand between his father and Eurydice. “I want Euri and Orphe!” The man sent a quick slap to Miko’s face, the sound echoing in the deserted alley.

Eurydice felt something snap inside her, and without fully realizing it, she impulsively punched the man in front of her.

A brawl broke out between the two. The man may be twice her size, but Eurydice was quicker on her feet. She had been in plenty of fights in her life, mostly in bars or beds, and usually with men like Miko’s supposed father: sloppy drunk.

All of a sudden, Miko felt his body get scooped up and wrapped in a tight embrace. “Orphe!” he wailed, burrowing his head against Orpheus’ warm skin, violent sobs wracking his tiny body. Orpheus cradled the back of Miko’s head into the crook of his neck, wanting to shield the boy from the fighting in front of them. 

“Shh, shhh, I’ve got you, Miko,” Orpheus cooed, bobbing his body up and down in an attempt to soothe the frantic child, “we’re here. Everything is fine.”

Eurydice continued her assault on the older man, venting all her wrath through the sharp, snappy attacks of her fist. The sound of heavy punches and kicks hitting tough skin and pained grunts and moans sang throughout the alleyway.

“Fine,” the man yelled, pulling away from Eurydice, his lip busted and bleeding and nose unnaturally crooked. “If you want that little shit so badly, take him. He ain’t worth any of this!” He hurled venous insults at the family as he staggered away, the sight of his limping body disappearing in the sea of people.

Eurydice pulled herself to her feet, spitting a mix of blood and dirt from her mouth onto the grimy pavement. After adjusting her rumpled dress and with a quick swipe at her nose, she spun around to face Orpheus and Miko. Suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch, all the anger vanished from Eurydice’s eyes, replaced with a look of alarm. “Miko! Oh, honey, are you okay?” 

Miko timidly lifted his head from Orpheus’ shoulder and was greeted by an unholy sight. Eurydice was sporting a jagged cut on her forehead, puffy, and covered in muck. Her left eye was swollen shut. A dark mark that most certainly would bruise rested on her cheek. And blood pooled from her nose, dripping crimson droplets onto her now ripped dress.

    Miko’s face scrunched up in agony, his chin trembling, “Euri! Euri, I sorry! I sorry Euri! I so sorry!”

“Oh, Miko,” Eurydice cried, urgency bleeding through her words, as she sped over the boy. She placed her hands on Miko’s wet cheeks, gently avoiding the red welts of an imprinted hand. Orpheus gasped at how raw and bruised her knuckles were. But Eurydice paid no mind to her pain, completely centering her focus on the weeping child in her husband’s arms. “Miko. No, no, Miko, don’t apologize, this isn’t your fault.”

“No! Euri hurt! Euri hurt, and it’s all my fault!” Miko was hysterical, the dam holding back his tears had decimated. Soon his words were lost in a slurry of blubbering tears and slobbery sniffles.

“No, no, Miko, that’s not true. Right, Orpheus? Orpheus...” Eurydice trailed off taking a good look at her husband. 

His eyes were red and glassy from trying to hold back tears, his body oddly jerking. He looked so pained and lost, like a young child, like Miko.

Eurydice frowned, she didn’t realize how worried not only Miko would be, but Orpheus as well. She felt exhausted, her body aching. Silently, amidst her tears, she pulled the two boys into her arms, her fingers curling into the hair on the back of their heads. The boys quickly followed suit, Miko dipping his head into Eurydice’s neck, Orpheus wrapping his one empty arm around his wife’s back. They hugged and hugged tight until not an inch of space was left between them, the air unbelievably hot. The three stayed there in the alley weeping for who knows how long. Noises from the bustling market just a few steps away faded to nothing, static in the ears. The pungent smell of putrid produce and rotting meat wafted through the air around them, but none of them cared. They just held each other close, and listened to their muffled cries, mumbled apologies, pounding heartbeats, and shaky breaths.

Eurydice was the first to pull back, eyes shifting back and forth, from Miko to Orpheus, Orpheus to Miko. The young boy had stopped his stopping crying, heavy sobs, exchanged for soft hiccups.

“Miko, Miko, listen to me,” Eurydice said, her voice stern yet brimming with love. “You listening?” He nodded his head. “This was not your fault. None of it, absolutely none. You hear me?”

Miko shook his head, “but-”

“No buts,” Eurydice said fiercely, burning brown eyes locked with teal green. She needed him to hear her, understand what she was saying. She couldn’t let him continue to blame himself and living with undeserved guilt. “This, all of what happened here, wasn’t your fault. You are not in trouble for any of this.”

Miko sniffled once more, “but you got hurt…”

“I’ll be just fine,” Eurydice smiled, brushing dark locks out of Miko’s face. “Cuts and wounds heal and fade away. Some may become scars that stay, but even those, in turn, heal. And each scar tells a story, some pleasant, some painful.” She stares into shimmering teal irises. “And these scars I have here,” she points to the cut on her forehead and the scratches littering her face, “are tales of promises. Promises that I will always, always, protect you. From any harm or any danger. Okay?”

Eurydice didn’t know where these words were coming from, but she had a strong suspicion. After years together, her poet was rubbing off on her. All his constant promises of love and stability and a brighter future, his quiet affirmations on her darkest days that light was still there, and things would get better his loyalty and faith. Eurydice knew the power of true love and promises, and she wanted to share that with the other most important person in her life. She may have only known the boy for a little over a day, but she couldn’t imagine her life without him or Orpheus in it. When she fell, she fell hard fast. 

The young boy rubbed his nose, “okay, Euri.”

“Can you smile for me?” she asked, yet Miko continued to frown. “Ahh come on, can I get one smile please?” He gave her a weak, uneasy smile. “Nope, that won’t do. I need a real, big smile. I guess I’m just gonna have to...tickle you for it!” Eurydice wiggled her fingers on Miko’s tummy, causing him to laugh, a wide grin spilling over his lips.

“Euri!” Miko screamed through giggles.

Eurydice abandoned her assault, “there, perfect.” She leaned over a placed a quick kiss on his flushed cheek before turning to face Orpheus. “Lover, why are you crying? You and I both know I’ve been through much worse.”

Orpheus didn’t respond. Instead, he reached out to cup Eurydice’s cheek. Smeared blood stained his calloused hands, still sticky and faintly warm. Hazel eyes dimmed, fingertips running light circles over red bruises. He could’ve stopped this. He should’ve stopped this. What kind of husband just stands and watches his wife take on a man double her size? A bad one.

Eurydice, as if she could read his mind, shook her head, “you couldn’t have done anything, Lover.”

“I could’ve helped you,” he said lowly.

“You did. You protected Miko and kept him safe. That helped me more than any punch.”

Orpheus lifted her busted hands to his face, placing feathery kisses over each knuckle. His lips the best medicine she could ask for. Next, he moved to her cheeks, then her temples, and nose, careful not to apply too much pressure, and finally her lips.

“Yuck,” Miko gagged, sticking his tongue out and closing his eyes.

The two pulled away and glanced over at their boy. “Yuck? What do you mean ‘yuck’?” Eurydice asked, feigning offense. She began kissing all over Miko’s face, Orpheus joining in as well.

“Ahhh, no,” he shrieked, squirming in Orpheus’ arms.

With a final kiss, Eurydice backed away, “alright, you two, ready to head home?”

Orpheus sighed, “yes, please.”

Miko grinned, “home!”

The three made their way out of the darkened alley and back onto the main road. The sun was setting over the horizon; the sky tinted an array of oranges and purples. The once crowded street was now nearly desolate. Men and women, and others were busy wrapping up and shutting down their stalls.

“I guess the market is closing up,” Orpheus concluded as they continued their walk.

As they reached the entrance, Miko spoke up, "hey Orphe?”

“Yes, Miko?”

“Where’s the basket?”

Orpheus furrowed his brows. “What basket?” he asked, puzzled.

“You and Euri’s.”

Oh, their grocery basket! “Oh, that’s right…” Wait, where did they put it at?

Suddenly, Orpheus froze in his spot.

“Orpheus?” Eurydice asked, confusion plaguing her expression.

“Eurydice.”

“Yes?”

“We left the grocery basket in the alley…”

“...shit.”       

[marshmallow-phd]

The Sound of the Rain

Genre: GreekMythology!AU, Modern!AU, Orpheus!AU, Reincarnation!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

A/N: This random spark of creativity was inspired by this amazing moodboard made by @amaxing-daes. I hope you don’t mind! 

**

Day: 1,095,036

He wasn’t sure why he kept count anymore. It’s not like he was counting down to anything. Or up. Did an end really exist for a cursed immortal?

Three thousand years was a long time to walk the earth, to watch it change and evolve. Regular mortals would complain about wanting to go back to the “good old days”. Little did they know there was no such thing. Every decade and every century had its monstrosities that made the ones having to live through wish they could go to another time. It was one of the few things that never changed.

Yixing’s fingers danced across the piano, softly pressing on the keys and letting the notes piece themselves together however they saw fit. He hardly ever thought about arrangements anymore. Reflections would simply formulate in his head and then he’d let the magic flow through to whichever instrument he’d picked up at the time. Sometimes it would be about things that made him angry, sometimes nature itself would be enough to spark his creativity. In the present moment, his most frequent inspiration was plaguing his mind.

Even after all these years, his wife – the one taken from him too soon, the one who he almost had back in his arms if he hadn’t been such a failure – still haunted his dreams. He could say that some of his most beautiful pieces were created because of her, but all the awards and recognition in the world couldn’t replace the hole in his heart.

“Wow, Lay, could you get more depressing?”

Yixing smirked to himself. Lay. It was his latest pseudonym. In retrospect, maybe it was a little silly, but at the time he thought it fit right in with the other music producers in this modern age. One of his frequent collaborators went by “Loey” after all.

Now interrupted, Yixing stopped playing and turned off the recorder that was resting on top of the piano before turning around to face his partner. “Not everything needs to be a dance number, Han.”

“But you’re good at those.” Han motioned back with his head. “Come on. That popstar is here and she wants to listen to the demo.”

“Okay.” Standing up from the bench, Yixing pocketed the recorder and followed Han out of the practice room towards the studio. He frowned once they entered the small workspace.

Shia, the latest sensation exploding on the world pop scene, was sitting in Yixing’s chair, sporting the most sour look on her face. Perhaps she thought she was above this listening schedule. Or maybe she got into an argument with her boyfriend. Whatever the reason for her attitude was, Yixing really wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.

Let’s just get this over with.

Sitting down in one of the less comfy chairs, Yixing introduced himself, shook hands with the managers and other producers for Shia’s album and turned to the soundboard to start the song.

If Yixing had to rate this song, he’d only give it a seven. He was always harsh on his own music, but this one just came out a little… well, he didn’t know how to describe it. He was still proud of it – he was with a majority of his creations – he just felt a little lackluster about music in general lately. Over the centuries, it’d been the one thing that kept him going after losing his wife. Maybe it was the way music had changed that was making him lose interest. Or maybe it was just himself that was changing. The will to keep going was certainly starting to fade.

Somewhere around the first bridge, Yixing’s confidence grew, just a miniscule amount, but he knew this song was good. The kind that would make everyone cheer and get up to start dancing The managers and producers were bobbing their heads, listening intensely as the song headed into the chorus. Yixing himself sang the demo since no one else seemed to be able to pick up on the rhythm.

When the song ended, everyone turned to Shia to take in her reaction. The pursed lips never relaxed and she never uncrossed her arms throughout the approximate three and a half minutes.

“I don’t like it,” she finally stated after a minute or so of silence.

Her manager sighed, looking as frustrated as Yixing was beginning to feel. “And why’s that?”

“This isn’t the music that I signed up for,” Shia snapped. “I don’t want to sound like everyone else.”

“This doesn’t sound like everyone else,” Han argued. “A song by Lay is always one of a kind. This will put you on the charts where you belong. You said you wanted to make it to the Grammy’s-”

Shia scoffed. “Do you really think this song about how great life is and how much fun you can have is going to get me to the Grammy’s? I want a song with meaning. I have plenty of dance tracks to release as singles. Do I look like I want to be the next Britney Spears?”

Yes. Yixing held his tongue. He’d seen her interviews and her music videos. As judgmental as it could sound, she did, indeed, seem to be going down the dancing popstar route. He’d never seen her pick up a guitar and strum out a heartbreaking ballad with lyrics so deep they took the listener to another time in their life. She never talked about music like it was her life and soul. If that was the kind of artist she wanted to be, then why did she sell out?

Suddenly feeling a little hypocritical, Yixing stood up and walked out of the room.

“Lay, wait!” Han stopped him just before he could escape out the front doors. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Han sighed. “Don’t take that punk’s word to heart. It’s a good song. Plenty of other artists will want to take it.”

Yixing shook his head. “At this point, I don’t really care. I’m getting too old for this.”

Han chuckled. “If it were anyone else, then I would argue that statement. But since it’s you….”

That made Yixing laugh. Yes, Han knew… maybe not the entire story, but he knew most of Yixing’s history. And it was a complete accident how he found out.

For over three thousand years, he’d been able to keep his own secret. But one night when Han was over, Yixing had a little too much to drink and started blurting out everything. Han didn’t believe him at first, but then out came the portraits and pictures and hundreds of diaries that Yixing had kept over the years. He felt a little lighter now, having someone to share his secret with. While Han had made comments here and there that almost gave him away, everyone pretty much took them as jokes or metaphors, keeping him safe from any odd experiments scientists might want to put him through. It wasn’t science that made him what he was, so he doubted they would find anything out anyway.

“I just need some air.” Yixing slipped out from under Han’s hand and pushed through the glass door that led to the sidewalk outside.

He didn’t know where he was headed, if he was going towards a certain something at all; he just knew he needed to be away from the studio for a while, let the others hash it out if she wanted it or not. There was nothing in him that really cared. Han was right; someone would take the song if she didn’t.

It was nice outside today. Most of the time, Yixing didn’t know what the weather was like. He nearly always dressed in the wrong kind of clothes: a t-shirt when it was freezing, a leather jacket when it was boiling hot. This time, however, he lucked out. The temperature wasn’t too bad, making him comfortable in the black shirt and matching jeans he was sporting. Blue was the only color in the sky, save for the blinding sun. No clouds covered up the beautiful wonder above him. But that work of nature’s art almost distracted him to a dangerous level.

Your head was down towards your phone when you passed him, nearly making him miss you as he was staring up at the sky. But enough was captured in the corner of his eye to make his heart jump in his chest. He knew that hair. He knew that jaw and shoulder and ear. He knew you.

Could it really be? Could he really have just stumbled upon a second chance?

Fighting through the crowd on the sidewalk, Yixing hurried to catch up with you. He needed to make sure that it was the same face.

Several feet ahead of him, you turned into a coffee shop. Okay, good. He could catch up to you there. But just as he approached the large window that made up a majority of the front wall, his heart sank.

You weren’t just stopping in to get a fresh cup of coffee and then going about your day. You were meeting someone. A particularly handsome someone who stood up and greeted you with a hug as soon as he spotted you. You were smiling and laughing, happy to be in his presence. Realizing that he had been ridiculous to follow you in the first place, Yixing turned around and headed back towards the studio.

The place was empty when he got back. It was quiet, which was exactly what he needed at the moment. No sample beats thumping in the speakers, no drum sets being pounded on, no pitch tuning being done. Just peace and quiet. And he even had his chair back, although a small amount of glitter was left behind.

Covering his face with his hands, Yixing leaned forward as he sat down and tried his best to keep his breathing normal. It had to be the same person. Not the exact same, but your new incarnation. Your face was the same, your smile, your gracefulness. There you were right in front of him. All this time he’d been alone, unable to numb the pain of losing you, no matter who he smiled at or let sleep on the other side of the bed with him at night. None had come close to you. But now it was almost worse. Did he try to insert himself into your unsuspecting life? Or did he let you go on blissfully unaware of his existence?

“Lay, you okay?”

Lifting his head, Yixing looked at Han, thankful that he was alone in finding him.

Han’s jaw dropped. “Man, are you alright?”

It was then that Yixing realized he’d been crying. The tears that rolled down his cheeks were small and few in number, but still very much present. Han sat down in the office chair across him, rolling a little closer.

“I saw her,” Yixing whispered.

“Saw who? Shia?”

“No,” Yixing sniffed back the new set of tears that were threatening to spill over. “My wife.”

Han’s jaw dropped. “Y-your wife? But I thought she, you know, died. Like… a long time ago?”

Leaning back in the chair, Yixing sighed. “She did. I think this might be her recent incarnation.”

“Wow.” Han ran a hand through his hair, blowing air between his lips in astonishment. He suddenly jumped forward in his seat, startling Yixing. “So, reincarnation is real, too? Like, it's kind of all true?”

“All might be a bit of an overstatement, but yes. I’ve met a few people along the years that have been reborn.” Yixing frowned, remembering the few run-ins he had, mostly with people he had known when he was still mortal. There had been a mixture of fear and excitement when he’d approached them. Would they remember him? Would they know he had been alive all this time? The answer to both had turned out to be no. To this day, Yixing didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“So, did you talk to her?”

Yixing shook his head. “No. She, uh, she was meeting someone. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Something hard and plastic connected with Yixing’s face, shocking him and stinging at his skin. It was a pair of headphones that Han had snatched up from the soundboard and thrown at him. “What was that for?”

“Because apparently being alive for several millennia made you dumber rather than smarter,” Han snapped. “This could be your chance to be with her again. Maybe that one goddess, Penelope-”

“Persephone.”

Han rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Maybe this is her way of saying ‘hey, you’ve been punished enough, here’s a treat’.”

“I hardly doubt that.” With a heavy sigh, Yixing ran a hand down his face. He looked up at his friend, his one confidante. “You really think I should try and find her again?” Han nodded, a sympathetic smile on his face. Yixing cringed. “But she was meeting a guy….”

Han took Yixing’s hand and shook it twice. “Hi, welcome to the twenty-first century where girls have guy friends.” Yixing yanked his hand back, irritated. “Also, it could have been a cousin she hadn't seen in a long time. Or,” Han held his hands up, palms out, in a very sarcastic manner, “even if it was a boyfriend, I doubt he could hold up to the chiseled, dimpled, world’s greatest music producer, Lay.”

There was no other response Yixing could muster other than to laugh, embarrassed by the hype his friend was giving him. While he still didn’t have the full confidence to go up against another guy if you were already in a relationship, he still wanted to get to know the you in this time period, even if he had to settle with simple friendship.

“Okay,” Yixing nodded. “I guess there’s only one thing left for me to do.” He stared down Han with determination. “I’ve got to find her again.”

Day: 1,095,043

It’d been a week already and he couldn’t find you. Not that he thought he would find you the moment he walked outside and headed in the same direction he had the first time, but it was becoming a little discouraging, not seeing you again.

For the third day in a row, he sat in that coffee shop, the one place he’d seen you, and waited. From his years of observing people, he could guess that you came here often if you chose to meet someone within these walls. He just hoped that he wasn’t wasting his time. He’d given up too easily last week. Where he should have come up with some excuse to talk to you, introduced himself and gotten at least your new name, he froze, turning around and deciding that you were better off in this new life without even giving himself a chance. While he was ashamed of how he’d failed you, he wasn’t a bad person.

As he stared out the window, watching the people pass by in groups or by themselves, he listened to the soft sprinkle of rain hitting against the glass. It was a little gloomier today, bring his hope down a few pegs. He didn’t really like the rain, but the pitter-patter sound the droplets had inspired a few songs, so he couldn’t hate it completely.

Just when he was thinking over possibly heading out into the cold weather, his miracle arrived.

You were on the other side of the street, walking towards the crosswalk that would bring you straight to the shop. But you were crying. Not loud, shoulder-shaking sobs. Instead, it was the kind that was more subtle. The kind that reddened the eyes and stuffed up the nose, but made no sound. Yixing wouldn’t have even been able to decipher your state if you hadn’t been hugging yourself so tightly, wiping your eyes with your sleeve every few seconds or so.

When you came to the crosswalk, you were so wrapped up in whatever was making you hurt that you weren’t paying attention to the glowing orange man that had stopped blinking, warning pedestrians that it wasn’t safe to walk. Not even thinking, Yixing jumped up out of his seat and ran outside. Shoving people aside left and right, he made it to the sidewalk, not slowing down as he raced to push you out of the way of oncoming traffic. He finally stopped once your feet were safely back on the pale concrete, his arms cradling you to his chest. Stepping back, he frantically held your face, searching for any sign that you were hurt in the rescue.

“Are you okay?” he said breathlessly.

You nodded shakily. “Th-thank you. I, um, I really should have been better attention. I just-”

Yixing shushed you. “That’s okay. Let’s get you out of the cold and something to drink.”

Not answering, you let him lead you back to the coffee shop. Inside, he sat you down at the table he’d been occupying by the window for the last several hours before going up to the counter and ordering a simple hot chocolate. The wind outside was biting and unforgiving and your thin cardigan was hardly enough to shield you from it’s wrath. You needed to warm up and hopefully the steaming drink would do the trick.

“Thank you,” you whispered as he set the cup down in front of you before taking his seat again. You didn’t touch the drink and you kept your head down, most likely to hide the fact that you’d been crying – which he already knew.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You were lying, but he didn’t call you out on it. “Thank you, again. For that. I feel like an idiot for just walking out there in the middle of traffic.”

“Maybe something was distracting you?” he offered. He hoped you would open up to him even though, to you, he was complete stranger.

Your answer was accompanied by a shrug. “Something like that, yeah.” Finally you took a sip of the drink, shivering as the soothing liquid hit your system.

It was silence for a few minutes. Many sentences started themselves in Yixing’s head, but he couldn’t bring himself to release any of them.

“I just get like that sometimes,” you suddenly confessed, making Yixing perk up.

“Get like that?” he echoed.

“Yeah.” You played with the cozy that saved your hand from the hot plastic, not meeting his eye. “I don’t know why, I just get really… sad, I guess? Usually, I just sit on my couch and listen to depressing music, but something today told me to go for a walk. I guess I was trying concentrate on not crying that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.” Your cheeks rose up as you gave him a shy smile. “Kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“No, no!” Yixing protested. “I don’t think that’s weird at all. Emotions make us human, right?”

“That is true.” Holding out your hand, you introduced yourself. “I’m (y/n).”

Yixing fought to contain his elation as he took your hand, still a little cold but much better than it was before, and said, “I’m… Lay.” He thought it best to keep the facade of his current identity for now. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Lay?” Your eyebrows furrowed. Scepticism was painted all over your face, but you went with it. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Fighting the urge to bring your hand to his lips, like he did all those years ago, Yixing let your fingers slip away from his. “So, what do you do?” he asked.

“I’m a school teacher.” Your entire face brightened up, making it even more beautiful than it already was. “First graders.”

Of course. It fit all too well. “You look like you’d make a great teacher.”

“Thank you. What about you?” you asked after taking another sip of your drink. “What do you do?”

“I’m a music producer,” he replied proudly.

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

Laughing, Yixing started to go into more of what he did, but then his phone rang, making him frown. It was Han. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.” At your nod of understanding, he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, buddy, any luck?”

Yixing cleared. “Actually, yes. Did you need something?”

“Wow. That’s actually surprising. I figured you would be SOL with the luck you’ve had.”

He’d let that slide… for now.

“But, right now, Shia’s on her way. They want to hear the song again and they want you there. Got to come back to the studio. Sorry, man.”

Of course this would happen now. “Alright. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Hanging up, he looked at you apologetically. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“No, that’s fine,” you insisted, waving your hand at him.

Taking a deep breath, Yixing knew he had to take this chance while it was in front of him. “Do you think… I could see you again?”

Your eyes grew wide and a pink dust appeared on your cheeks. “Um, yeah. I would like that.”

As quick as his fingers could go, he opened a new contact in his phone and handed it over to you. There was no protest as you gave him your number.

“This might seem weird, but I’m glad to have met you, Lay,” you confessed.

His heart swelled in his chest. How could things be going so well for him? “I’m glad to have met you, too.”

Leaving you there in that cafe was hard, but he had to maintain his regular life. Besides, now he had a way to see you again. Walking away from you right now was only for a moment, it was not forever. Not this time.

Day: 1,095,077

For over a month now, Yixing had been able to see you off and on, meeting you at the cafe or grabbing a small dinner. The more he got to know the current you, the more he was convinced that you really were the reincarnation of his wife. The subtle mannerisms, the way you talked, every little feature in your face, it was all the same. And he was falling in love with you all over again. Some things were different, obviously, as your life experiences were different this time around, but he still felt strongly towards you and wanted to be with you.

He found himself skipping out on sessions with Han to go meet you. The melodies leaving his his fingers, whether being created on the soundboard or the instruments in front of him, were happier, livelier than they had been in the past. It was like he’d spent so long in the dark, cold winter, but the frost was finally melting away to spring.

Everything was in perfect order for when you would arrive. This was the first time you were going to come to the studio and Yixing wanted you to be impressed, not disgusted by the food wrappers and empty coffee cups lying around. Though the definition of your relationship was still just as friends, he could feel it growing into more. He hoped that tonight would help things move to the next step.

“Lay?” your soft voice came out as a whisper as you gently knocked on the doorframe.

He beamed at you, running up to you and guiding you in. “You made it. How was school?”

“It was good. The kids say hi.”

Yixing had gone once to the school to bring you back the cardigan you’d left at the restaurant the night before. The children had rushed at him, curious of the man who was bringing their teacher a piece of clothing. He’d stayed and played with them for an hour or so before you finally had to shoo him away to get back to their lessons.

“Tell them I’ll come see them again soon,” Yixing grinned.

You rolled your eyes. “You are going to get me in trouble.”

Patting the seat next to him, Yixing urged you to come to the recording equipment. He had something he wanted you to hear. “Are you ready?” You nodded eagerly. Yixing pressed the button to start the new song.

It was a slow ballad, but not a sad one. Hope and love filled every lyric, connected every note. He wished for you to understand it was all for you. The only thought he had while creating the song was of you, your face and your smile. Your laugh was the foundation for the rhythm, giving it a unique pattern.

As the song faded out, Yixing’s recorded voice giving way to the last few notes, you turned to him, glossy eyed and smiling brighter than the sun.

“That was beautiful,” you sighed. You reached out to him and grasped his hand. “You are so talented.” Realizing what you were doing, you took your hand back, embarrassed. “I mean, of course you are,” you laughed. “Mr. Music Producer.”

Shyness spilling over his whole body, Yixing pressed both of his hands into his head, leaning back in his chair while chuckling. You loved his song. The message might not have gone completely through, but you loved it. That was enough.

The two of you stayed in the studio for a few more hours, just talking while Yixing showed you how he composed songs on this modern technology. You listened attentively, taking in everything that he was saying, even playing with some of the knobs to create your own transitions.

Before he knew it, it was getting late and time to leave the studio as the sun was leaving the sky. He walked you out, but he didn’t want to leave you just yet.

“Are you hungry?”

You nodded eagerly. “I am, actually.”

Yixing scratched the back of his head nervously. “Can I make you dinner?”

“You cook, too?” You scoffed, looking out onto the street. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Laughing, Yixing didn’t answer, just taking your hand and leading you to his car. His apartment wasn’t too far away, making it there in five minutes or so. Almost as soon as you walked in through the door, you started looking around, taking in the record collection and small pictures that Yixing had taken in his travels over the world. Not that you knew the older ones were taken by him.

He let you wander around while he got to work in the kitchen, sauteing vegetables and marinating the meat. The smells of the cooking food filled the air until he could hear your stomach growling from his spot in front of the stove. He giggled at the sound, but he didn’t say anything, just allowing you to continue walking around.

Just when he started plating the finished product, the vibration of strummed guitar strings hummed through the air. Walking over to the entry way that led to the living room, Yixing’s lips split into a smile when he saw you sitting on his couch, playing the acoustic guitar that usually sat in the corner, only there when he was inspired at two in the morning.

At first, the notes you played were random, nothing recognizable. But then, slowly, the notes changed into a melody he hadn’t heard in a very long time.

Tears formed in his eyes as he listened to you play the first song he ever wrote you on the lyre. It had been a gift, one that he hoped to win your heart over with. The plan had worked, the two of you very much in love and married within the month. He played it for you whenever you asked, typically on the nights before he had to leave you. After your death, he vowed to never play the song ever again. The only time he broke that promise was in front of the god of the underworld as he begged to take you back with him.

When you saw Yixing, you stopped playing, mumbling an apology.

“That was a very beautiful song,” Yixing said as he willed the water in his eyes to stay put. “Where did you hear it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s kind of been in my head for as long as I can remember.”

The first step Yixing took towards you was hesitant, knowing that the action he wanted to take would either make or break the two of you. But after another step, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Grasping your jaw with his hands, he captured your lips in his, leaning you back on the couch as you moved the guitar out of the way. You reciprocated the kiss, gripping his shirt in your hands. Yixing let go of your face to move his hands to your waist, lifting you up from the couch. In response, you wrapped your legs around his torso and he carried you to the bedroom, the dinner he’d made completely forgotten.

Day: 1,095,078

The warmth given off by you helped Yixing sleep better than he had in over three millennia. He held you close, memorizing every curve and the very scent of your skin. You were still fast asleep next to him, your breath the only sound echoing off the walls. Kissing your bare shoulder, Yixing slipped out of the bed and headed into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the smirk when he spotted the spoiled dinner.

Once that mess was cleaned up, he started on breakfast. This time he would make sure that you actually ate something.

Humming to himself, Yixing carried two plates of fresh, hot food back into his bedroom. But you were no longer sleeping peacefully, entangled in his sheets as you clung to his pillow. You were now wide awake, dressed and holding a small portrait in your hands as you sat on the edge of the bed.

Crap.

He’d forgotten about that piece he’d kept with him all these years, laying out on top of the dresser.

It was a piece of cloth, old and fraying on the edges, with your portrait painted delicately on the fibers. To preserve it, he kept it pressed under glass in a frame. He’d had it made soon after your death so he could carry it with him everywhere. Only by a miracle had it stayed in such good condition. The details in the painting were enough for anyone to see the connection between you and the subject.

“What is this?” you asked in a shaky voice. “Why does this look like me?”

Putting the plates down, Yixing approached you cautiously. “I can explain-”

“This is old,” you held up the frame, your grip so tight that your knuckles were pale. “Have you been stalking me?”

“No!” He threw himself at your feet, taking your arms in hands so he could feel more grounded as everything was crumbling around him. This what not how he wanted you to find out. He knew someday he would have to tell you, but he wanted to do it on his own terms, in a way that you would understand. “Please, listen to me. I can explain.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, shaking your head. When you finally opened your eyes again, you sighed. “Who are you?”

Taking the frame from you, he stood up and sat next to you on the bed. “Most of what I’ve told you is true, but- My name isn’t Lay. It’s Yixing. And I’m over three-thousand years old.”

“What?” You jumped up, putting space between you two. “That’s what you’re going with? Are you insane?”

“Please,” Yixing begged. “I’m trying to explain this the best I can. I truly am that old. I was cursed after I tried to save my wife.”

You frowned. “Y-your wife?”

“Yes.” Yixing stood to his feet, but when he stepped towards you, you shrank back. “She was the love of my live and I lost her. Twice. But then I got another chance. I met you.”

“So… you think I’m her?” you scoffed. “That’s the only reason you’ve been seeing me?”

“Some people are reincarnated,” Yixing explained. “It’s still you-”

“No!”

The sudden charge in your shout had Yixing taken aback.

“I’m not her,” you insisted through clenched teeth.

“But the song-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” You stormed out of the bedroom, grabbing your purse as Yixing hurried after you.

“Wait! Please!”

You slammed the door in his face, ignoring every plea he called out after you.

Shuffling back to the bedroom, Yixing picked up the frame, sliding down to the floor. The tears flowed more freely than ever as he clutched the portrait to his chest. Just when he had you back in his arms, he lost you once again.

Day: 1,095,094

Over two weeks had gone by since you stormed out of Yixing’s apartment. You wouldn’t answer his phone calls and Yixing was losing all hope of ever seeing you again. He couldn’t make you understand; all he could do was hope that you would think about what he said and maybe give him another chance to properly explain things.

With his head resting on his arm as he stared at nothing, the song he’d written for you echoed through the speakers in the studio. He couldn’t stop listening to it, wallowing in his self-pity, hoping someday he’d just go back to being numb, like how he was before he met you.

“This is a beautiful song.”

Jumping at the sound of another voice, Yixing turned around to find Shia standing a few feet away. Gone was the sour, put-out look that had been on her face the last three times he’d seen her. Now her features were softer, a sentimental smile on her lips. She wasn’t looking at him, eyes trained on the soundboard, like she was really taking in the theme and meaning of the lyrics.

Yixing turned off the speakers, turning his back to her. “Thank you,” he said sternly.

Shia walked forward, leaning her palms against the table. “That’s the kind of song I’d like to sing.”

“No,” Yixing shook his head.

“What do you mean no?” She straightened up, crossing her arms. “Did you already write it for another artist?”

Turning off the rest of the equipment, Yixing got out of his chair and slipped his arms into his black bomber. He needed to get out of here. “No. This one’s not for sale.”

Her jaw dropped, offended. “What do you mean it’s not for sale?”

“Exactly that.” What was so hard to understand that he wasn’t giving this song to anyone?

“Don’t you want people to hear this song?” she fought back. “I’d even have it as the lead single-”

“It’s not for you!”

Yixing never got angry like this. He wasn’t a yeller, a screamer, but he just wanted her to go away and stop nagging him about the song.

“Lay?”

He froze, eyes widening and throat going dry. That was just his mind tricking him in this moment, right? His hope manifesting into delusions to ease the pain?

But when he turned towards the door, it was really you standing there, shifting from foot to foot, and looking like you were about to run out of there at any point given the slightest reason to.

“(y/n)?” he gasped.

You licked your lips. “Hi.”

Shia looked back and forth between the two of you, getting a sense that she should probably leave. Without a word of goodbye, she slipped out, giving you the room.

Neither of you spoke for the longest time. Yixing had so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to drive you away again. You came to see him, so he would let you go at your own pace.

“Han came to the school,” you explained, breaking the silence. Yixing didn’t respond, just letting you continue. “He, um, he said that you’d been going through a hard time lately.”

Yixing sighed. “Please, don’t feel responsible. It’s completely understandable. The truth was dumped on y-”

“Han told me the same thing.” You shook your head, still trying to process it all. “He said that he saw the pictures of you, throughout the years. That you were really telling the truth about being alive all this time.” You took a step towards him, finally meeting his eye. “But I want to hear the rest from you.”

Testing the waters, Yixing filled in more of the space between you, even risking taking your hand in his. When you didn’t pull away, he smiled, the corner of his mouth just barely tipping up. “I told you about my wife. She died after falling ill. I wasn’t there when she passed, having left earlier in the month on business. When I came back, it was too late. But I needed her. So I went after her. I traveled to the underworld to make a deal with the god who ruled there.”

“How did you… get there?” you asked cautiously, the strain between your eyebrows giving away how hard you were working to make sense of what he was telling you.

He couldn’t help but reach out and trace the outline of your cheekbone. You were listening, taking in what he was saying without running away. “I went through several trials, met with many religious leaders. I finally found the entrance. It’s the kind of place that could only be found if the gods deem it so. I met with the ruler of the underworld and made him a deal: I could take my wife back with me to the world of the living, but I had to have faith. I had to walk back up to the surface without looking back until I crossed the threshold. Just before I reached the sunlight, though, I panicked. I wondered if I had been tricked. So, I turned around and she was there. But I’d broken the deal and she faded away just when I’d gotten her back.”

Water was pooling on the bottom lids of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you took in his story. But it wasn’t over yet.

“I lost all will to live,” he admitted. “I didn’t eat, I didn’t leave my bed. I just wanted to be with her again and that was the only way left for me after the trial. But death never came for me. I was now cursed to live forever, never allowed to see my love again because I couldn’t have faith.” Letting go of your hand, he cupped your jaw. “When I saw you walking down the street, I thought I was given a second chance. My love back on the earth with me again. Getting to know you, this you, has been the real blessing. Even if you decide to walk away, I will be forever grateful.”

When he was finished, you reached up, capturing his wrist in your hand. He thought, for a moment, that you were going to push him away again. But you didn’t.

“I don’t know if I’m actually her,” you whispered. Meeting his eyes, there was a glow in your own gaze that was making his heart speed up. “But… I can’t walk away, not now. It feels too right, being here with you. I would hope that you see me in front of you, and not her.”

“It’s you,” he confirmed. “It’s you.” He pulled you in, kissing you deeply. It felt so good to have you in his arms again, to have you believe him and receptive of his love for you. It was all true. Now he didn’t care if you really were his wife’s incarnation, not anymore. You were the one he wanted now, the one he would be thankful to have for the rest of his days, no matter how many were in his future.

Day: 1,095,103

Although the last time he left you alone sleeping in his bed ended in disaster, he still slowly slipped out from under the covers, knowing it’d be fine this time around. As quietly as he could, he slid the glass door that led out to his balcony open. He stepped out into the cool morning air and leaned up against the railing.

Life had settled in the last few weeks. You were still adjusting to certain things, like calling him Yixing rather than Lay and having him reference something that happened decades ago like it happened last week. But he’d never been happier in his immortal life.

“It’s nice to see you smiling like that.”

Yixing jumped, letting out a strangled noise in surprise. Why were you always sneaking up on him like that?

But it wasn’t you that had joined him on the balcony. In fact, it was someone he never thought he would ever see again. She probably had much better things to do than pay him a visit.

“Persephone?”

“Hello, Yixing,” the goddess greeted from the iron seat with a dazzling smile.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he adjusted his stance, leaning his back on the metal barrier.

“I thought I would catch up,” she said cryptically.

Yixing raised an eyebrow. “A bit late for that, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. She definitely didn’t look like the goddess that painters had depicted in their artworks over the centuries. A red pantsuit and short haircut helped her blend right in if she happened to be walking down the street. That softness that Yixing had seen so long ago was still present, so apparently not too much had changed. “Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “I am. Are you here to tell me you had a hand in that?”

Persephone smiled coily. “Maybe.” Releasing a sigh, she crossed her legs, letting her hands rest in her lap. “I thought it was time to give you a life again.”

“So, my punishment is over for now?” Yixing knew, even though he was living joyfully now, that eighty years down the line, he’d have to go back to his lonely existence. But he’d pushed that thought aside each time it came out. He would love you now and forever, each day was gift, the future could wait.

“It wasn’t ever meant to be a punishment,” Persephone insisted. “I knew how much you loved your wife. I wanted to give you a second chance at that love.”

“So why didn’t you just have us reborn together?” he questioned harshly.

“Because you needed to remember your past choices, so you wouldn’t make them again.”

Again? But-

Ah. Yes. He loved his wife, he did with his whole heart. But he let his passion for music get in the way, leaving her behind as he went to play concert halls and chase after the admiration of the audience when he finished a piece. The fact that he didn’t get enough time with his wife wasn’t just because she died so young, but because he was away so often. He wouldn’t do that again. Already, he was putting off studio sessions and canceling meetings to spend time with you. Maybe he really had learned from his past mistakes without even realizing it.

“Is it really her?” he asked. It was a question that didn’t really need voicing, but it slipped out anyway. No matter what the answer, he would walk back into that bedroom and hold you tightly.

But Persephone nodded. “Yes, it is. I held onto her until I thought the time was right. Most memories are erased when a person is reborn, but I left traces of you in her, despite my husband’s protests, to help bring her to you. Remember how she said she would get sad sometimes without any reason?”

Yixing gave off a short laugh. It was a faint memory of him that took you to the streets that day, allowing him to see you again. It made all those years of wandering alone worth it, absolutely.

“Yixing?”

You stepped out on to the balcony, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and yawning. Persephone was gone, leaving the two of you alone. Opening his arms for you, Yixing pulled you in close to his chest, staring out at city skyline. He could feel your heartbeat, the steady rhythm reminding him of the rain pattering against the window on days where he felt especially lonely. He’d thought about how much he disliked the rain that day he pulled you out of the street. Now it was his favorite sound in the whole world. A sound that used to pull him down was now making him fly.

Day: 1,095,472

“Yixing! Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming! Just one more minute!”

Instead of finishing up, however, Yixing just found himself smiling at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The two of you were supposed to have left already for the party celebrating Shia’s newest album.

After much persuasion by you, Yixing had finally relented in letting Shia release the song he’d written for you. Now there were talks of songwriting awards galore with how successful the single had become. Yixing didn’t think he’d be able to attend the awards, needing to keep his identity as lowkey as possible, but the thought of it was elating enough.

You peeked into the bathroom, looking as amazing as ever. “Yixing, the fact that we’re waiting on you and not me is a great way to break the stereotype, but we’re seriously going to miss the launch!”

“I’ll be right there,” he promised, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“Okay,” you sighed, stealing your own kiss from his lips before disappearing back to the living room of your shared apartment.

Fixing his hair one last time, Yixing gave himself a last onceover to make sure he looked the part of main producer. But then he spotted something that didn’t belong. Hidden among his styled black hair was a single strand of gray. Plucking it from its place, he held it up close to examine it. There it was, a gray, aged hair. Never had he ever seen one of those from his own head. Did this mean-

It wasn’t ever meant to be a punishment. I knew how much you loved your wife. I wanted to give you a second chance at that love.

Did this mean he was no longer immortal? Would he now be allowed to age and grow old with you? Only time would give way to the truth, but the hope growing in his heart was like a wildfire, raging out of control.

Out in the living room, he pulled you into a hug.

“Is everything okay?” you asked when you pulled back.

Yixing nodded eagerly. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Come on, let’s go.” He took your hand and led you out the front door, to head to the party and to the rest of your lives. Together.

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien Drabbles: Nachtmusik Chapter Two

A Little Night Music (Eine Kleine Nachtmusik) Chapter Two: (Don’t) Let Me Go

Adrien sighed as he sat on Luka’s bed, quietly strumming the acoustic guitar arrangement of This is Gospel by Panic! At the Disco that Luka had shown him several weeks before. He got to “the fear, the fear of” and stopped, his mind going blank at “falling apart”.

Luka looked up from where he sat at his desk working on his term paper: a comparative analysis of Maxim Gorky’s play The Lower Depths, the 1936 French film version of the same name by Jean Renoir, and the 1957 Japanese film version, Donzoko, directed by Kurosawa Akira.

“You okay, Angel?”

“Sorry.” Adrien conjured up a brittle imitation of a smile. “Just got lost in my own head for a second there.” He looked back down at his fingers, not really seeing them. “Um…Sorry. Where’s F again?” He smiled sheepishly, falling back on the now three-month-old inside joke in an attempt to cover up how raw he was feeling.

Luka got up and gently positioned Adrien’s hand.

The contact was brief but just enough to ground Adrien with its warmth and certainty when Adrien felt numb and lost.

“Thanks,” Adrien whispered, starting the song over.

Luka stood looking down at Adrien, studying him for a minute, as he played distractedly. “…Do you want to talk about it?”

Adrien’s fingers tripped over one another. “W-What? Sorry. What do you mean?”

Luka frowned as Adrien played dumb. “Sorry to pry,” Luka led in. “You just seem…off. Sad…. In pain. I was wondering if you wanted to talk about the reason behind that. You don’t have to, but I’m here if you want to.”

Adrien shook his head. “No. It’s nothing. I’m just being a little overly sensitive. It’s not a big deal.” He looked back down at the guitar, his vision swimming. “Uh…sorry. Where was F again?”

Luka took Adrien’s hand and moved it back into place.

Adrien felt like he could breathe again.

“I just want you to know that I’m always here, Perfect Fifth. You don’t ever have to do anything with that knowledge if you don’t want to. I just want you to have it on hand in case you do want someone to lend an ear.”

Adrien nodded, skipping ahead to the second verse. “Thank you, Orpheus.”

“Any time,” Luka stressed, giving Adrien’s hair a ruffle before going back to his desk to resume work on his paper.

Adrien gave up on This is Gospel and tried his hand at a few melodies from The Legend of Zelda series as well as the Mario franchise. They all blurred into one another. The notes were like paint running together to create an unflattering, musical muddy-brown color.

Adrien stopped playing and just stared down at the frets, mentally counting them over and over again in an attempt to ground his mind. He kept losing track around seven.

The bed shifted as Luka sat down beside him.

Adrien’s gaze jerked up. “S-Sorry. Am I bothering you?”

Luka shook his head. “Never, P5. You just look like you need someone to sit with you, even if you don’t want to talk.”

Guilt hit Adrien like a breaking wave battering the base of a craggy cliff. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m sorry. I know you’re working on your paper. If I’m distracting you, I should just go ho—”

Adrien’s voice broke on the word, a stabbing pain exploding in his chest.

Luka frowned, eyes searching Adrien’s. “You don’t have to go anywhere. I’m almost done with the paper, and the deadline isn’t for another week. I have time for you.”

“Unlike some people in your life,” Luka thought begrudgingly.

Luka sighed, muttering. “What did he do or say to you this time? Or was it Ladybug?”

It never ceased to amaze Luka all the varied ways in which those two could emotionally and mentally wear Adrien down.

Adrien flinched, pointedly looking away. “She didn’t…I don’t…My father wasn’t…”

Both of them, then. No wonder Adrien was such a mess.

“Shhh,” Luka comforted, resting a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it. I was just…I’m sorry. I’ll keep the sarcastic commentary in my head.”

He gave Adrien’s back a pat and then let his hand slide off of Adrien’s arm.

The arm felt the poorer and colder for it.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Luka broke into Adrien’s thought-maelstrom once more. “Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?”

Adrien smiled plastically, trying to project an air of levity. “Could you show me where F is again?”

Luka’s brow furrowed.

Usually, Adrien only put that joke into play twice of an evening. They were over their limit.

Still. Luka dutifully took Adrien’s trembling hand…and froze. He let go.

Adrien’s face spasmed in momentary panic until Luka changed the angle of his wrist to thread his fingers through Adrien’s.

Adrien’s heart fluttered, relief flooding over him at the touch.

Luka squeezed gently, whispering, “I finally got the joke. I’m ashamed it took me three months. I’m sorry.”

“W-What?” Adrien studied Luka’s expression nervously.

Luka looked up, meeting Adrien’s gaze with a sad look. “I always wondered why you asked about the finger placement for F. Every time, I just went with it, kind of accepting that it was one of our things…but it was never about the note. It never had anything to do with finding the note…and I knew that. I knew you didn’t need me to show you, but what I didn’t realize was…”

Adrien’s eyes widened, and he tried to pull back his hand.

Luka held fast, giving Adrien a heartbreaking smile. “…in order to show you the note, I had to take your hand. The thing you wanted was the contact. You ask about F when you want someone to touch you.”

Adrien’s face flushed in shame at being found out. “Sorry. I—”

“—Adrien,” Luka cut him off. “You can ask for whatever you need at any time.”

It was obvious that Adrien still didn’t believe him, even after three months of trying to drill the concept into Adrien’s head.

“I don’t mind,” Luka stressed. “I don’t. I want to give you whatever you need. I want you to need me. I want to help however you need me to help.”

Adrien shook his head slowly. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand to accept my affection….” Luka pursed his lips, debating before diving in head first. “May I hold you?”

Adrien gave a start. “I—What?”

“May I hold you?” Luka repeated.

Tentatively, Adrien nodded.

Luka gently took the guitar and set it aside. He scooted to the top of the bed and carefully pulled Adrien down into his arms on top of him.

Adrien stiffened at first.

“Is this okay?” Luka wondered, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, questioning whether he’d gone too far.

“Mn,” Adrien hummed contentedly, relaxing as he stopped fighting the warmth and comfort and relief welling up inside himself and just sank into Luka’s protective hold.

He stopped worrying about being needy and overstepping boundaries and taking advantage of Luka’s kind, giving nature and just let himself melt into solidity, security, and the smell of pine.

Luka slowly began to run his hand up and down Adrien’s back.

The trials of the day and Adrien’s other relationships sloughed off as he buried his face in Luka’s neck.

Encouraged by the positive reaction, Luka began to massage Adrien’s scalp gently, eliciting a rumbly purr.

Luka chuckled, making sure to get really well behind Adrien’s ears.

The purr only got stronger until, twenty minutes later, Adrien drifted off to sleep.

Rationalizing that a cat nap never hurt anyone, Luka joined him.

[miko-and-companyau]

These Scars Tell Promises

Reposted from main blog as well.

...

“Okay, the first thing on our list is what Orpheus?” Eurydice asked, swinging hers and Miko’s entwined hands back and forth. An earlier competitive match of who could squeeze the other hand harder now at a standstill.

“Let me see,” Orpheus said, using one hand to fish in his pockets, the other holding their empty woven basket. After a few seconds, he draws out a crumpled piece of notebook paper. He placed the paper on his thigh and fruitlessly attempted to iron out some of its crinkles. He brought the list back to his face and began reading. “So, we need to buy clothes, a mat, a toothbrush, huh…I can’t read the rest.”

Eurydice gave Orpheus a look, “didn’t you write the list yourself?”

“Yes…”

Eurydice rolled her eyes and laughed at her husband’s endearing silliness. “It’s fine. We’ll just figure it out as we go along. Miko, you stay close to us, okay? It’s really busy here.”

The market is located in the middle of town. Years ago, when Eurydice had first arrived, the market barely existed- nothing more than one or two stalls selling half-decent goods at overblown prices. Desperate sellers trying to make a buck from desperate survivors. But, ever since the return of spring and the balance of seasons a few years prior, produce and trade had exploded, resulting in the market heavily expanding. Now stalls, tents, and pushcarts lined the streets and filled with not only fresh fruits and vegetables but livestock, clothes, jewelry, homemade goods, and everything under the sun. Sometimes, even live music would be played near the entrance. With a careful ear, the boisterous songs could be heard when walking through the maze of screaming business.

The family of three pushed their way through the crowd. They stopped at nearly every stall in an attempt to check some items off their list. With not much money to either of their names, the couple knew how to bargain down prices with owners- Eurydice with her seasoned haggling skills and Orpheus and his boyish charms, they were a force to be reckoned with (plus a reference to the Hadestown experience and be the reason for the return of spring usually got people to change their minds real quick. Orpheus hated using this tactic so it was only used for the direst of instances and when Orpheus wasn’t present).

Miko stood a few steps behind the two, whipping his head around to take in all the sights. He had been to the market before, usually staying close to the exits so he could beg for scraps or spare change. The one time he ventured further into the fray, he had gotten caught trying to steal some bread from a particular cruel vendor and got beaten as a punishment. Then, he met Euri. Miko was grateful for his new home with Euri and Orphe, away from the mean man and his wife. No more yelling and cursing, no more hits and slaps and painful bruises, no more running away in the middle of the night and begging on the streets. He was free.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw him. A chill went up up the young boy’s spine. No, he couldn’t have been there, he never comes here. He always made Miko or his wife go, ‘too much work’ he would say. Yet, Miko could recognize that jacket anywhere- black and maroon flannel lined with a cream fleece interior. Miko felt his breathing hitch. He couldn’t catch a breath no matter how deeply he inhaled. The world was spinning, round and round and round. The noises of chattering townsfolk and hollering shop owners rang in his ears- it was too loud. He wanted it all to stop.

“Okay, I think that’s about everything,” Eurydice said, rearranging the contents in their basket. “Miko, are you okay?”

Miko glanced back up at Euri, wringing his fidgeting hands, “I, I thought I saw-” He turned back around, but the man was gone, no sight of that familiar red in the dense crowd. “I…I okay.”

“Are you sure? You’re shaking like a leaf?” she asked, a ribbon of concern lacing every word. Miko just shook his head, still partially out of it. Eurydice didn’t believe him but glanced over to her husband. She was new to this mom thing. She had no clue how to handle situations like this.

Orpheus shook his head. There was no need to push him, he’d open when he was ready. “Yeah, it’s kinda chilly out here, huh, Miko?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah, yeah it is.”

“I think Kimberly runs a hot apple cider stand just up that way.” Orpheus pointed in the direction back the way they came, “let’s go grab a cup, okay?” Miko nodded his head, and Orpheus smiled, running his hand over the boy’s dark hair and down the side of his face, “okay then.”

Eurydice grabbed Miko’s hand and squeezed it. Then they were off. Miko felt the uneasiness in his stomach begin to lighten, replaced with warm relief at only Euri’s strength, and Orphe’s hopeful air could give.

“There’s Kimberly’s stand,” Orpheus said. Kimerbely’s stand was nothing extravagant- three large pitchers, two see-through, the other sterling silver, were on top of a single table covered with a red tablecloth, covered by an awning. Lime green and orange juices filled the two clear pitchers, thin slices of oranges, and what looked to be lemons and limes were placed in the jars as well. That left the silver pitcher to be the one with the cinder. Stacks of wrapped cookies and fruit bars lined the right side of the table, and a small chalkboard with prices occupied the left. A sweet, fruity scent filled the air as they approached, drawing them in, their mouths watering. However, they didn’t seem to be the only people who craved a warm treat on a chilly afternoon. They were greeted to a line stretching back to the middle of the pathway, a good dozen people or so.

Once they reached a few feet from the stand, Eurydice dropped Miko’s hand to pull out money from her satchel. “Okay, let’s see, where exactly does this line start?” Eurydice searched while Orpheus stood on his toes to catch a peek at the price board, both their backs turned to Miko. With both of them distracted, they failed to stop what happened next.

Miko felt a harsh tug and the back of his hood, forcing him to backpedal. Before he could scream, a grimy hand slipped over his mouth. 

“Well, well, well.”

 Miko froze. No, no, no, no, he repeated his mantra of pleads his head, slowly turning around and was met with his worst nightmare: his father.

He was wearing the flannel jacket, covered in various colored stains from years of inadequate care, and a dirty black cap, the one he always wore when going out. It pushed back his greasy brown locks while hiding his menacing blue eyes under the brim. He removed his hand, “so, this is where you ran off to.”

Miko slowly stepped back, but his father continued to loom over ahead, his large frame casting a dark shadow over Miko, blocking any light. “Me and the wife have been looking for you.” Miko hardly believed that- his father only cared about him when he was useful, which wasn’t very often in his eyes. And his wife was probably passed out at the table, buzzed out of her mind from all the “juice” she’s consumed. His “parents” weren’t the type to go and gather a search party at the prospect of his disappearance.

“It don’t matter now. You’re back. Come on we’re going home.”

Miko shook his head, “no.”

His father began to scowl, eyes as pointed as freshly sharpened daggers. “What the hell you just say to me?”

Miko felt his little remaining confidence began to waver like someone had begun chipping away pieces of his armor. But he stood his ground, “not going.”

Ablaze of fury lit inside his father’s eyes. The monster had unleashed, and he wasn’t happy. He reached out with his filthy fingers and coiled them around Miko’s arm. And with a forceful tug, he drew the boy close. He bent down, face to face with Miko, the strong stench of booze stinging the little boy’s nose. “I didn’t fucking ask you what you wanted. Get your ass in gear, and let’s move!”

…

The line was much shorter than they thought, the group the dozen or so individuals all left at the same time which, left Orpheus and Eurydice next.

“Hey, long time no see,” Kimberly said, her eyes and smile bright as usual. “Let me guess, two hot ciders?”

“Actually, make that three ciders please,” Orpheus corrected politely.

“Three?” Kimberly asked puzzled. She glanced at the couple, “are one of you planning on drinkin’ two cups?”

“No, it’s for…” Eurydice spun around to see the spot next to her was vacant. No blue sweatshirt, no dark curly hair, no small boy, no Miko. “Miko? Miko? Miko!” Eurydice turned to Orpheus, “where’s Miko?”

Orpheus’ eyes widened and he began to search for Miko as well, “I, I don’t know. He was just right here! Miko!”

“Miko? Miko!”

The couple felt themselves start to panic. Eurydice frantically spun in circles looking in every direction for the young boy whole Orpheus scanned above the crowd. But they both were coming up completely empty until Orpheus saw a familiar hoodie in the distance.

“There! I see him!”

“Well then let’s go!” The two took off, completely forgetting about Kimberly and their ciders. They had their boy to get back.

…

He was pulling too hard, Miko’s wrist on fire from his grip. His father led him in the direction of the exit opposite of where he, Eurydice, and Orpheus had entered. He bumped into people’s legs with his shoulders and stepped on other’s toes. People scoffed and yelled, but his father didn’t even bat an eye. Miko yanked his arm as hard as he could, again and again, and again. But, it didn’t matter, the older man was way too strong.

Just as Miko began to embrace his fate, he heard his name being called in the far distance.

“Miko! Miko!”

“Hey, stop!”

Eurydice and Orpheus.

“The hell…” his father spit, forcefully maneuvering himself and Miko through the crowd and into a dark, shady alley. While trying to escape the view of onlookers, the hammered man tripped over a piece of debris, loosening his grip. Miko slipped away his wrist and turned to run. However, his plan was quickly thwarted by his father, who took ahold of his hood and jerked him back, cutting off his airway for a short second. Miko gasped and coughed, falling to his knees from the shock of being choked, even if it was just for a short period. His father took him by the hood again and brought the boy up in the air, the tips of his feet just barely touching the ground. “The hell stunt you tryin’ to pull boy?” he growled.

Miko struggled to breathe, the cotton fabric of his hoodie pushing against his throat. He was getting dizzy and light-headed. He wanted his Euri and Orphe.

“Miko!”

Miko, twisted his head to see Eurydice and Orpheus running in his direction. “Eu..ri,” he slurred, his voice still raspy and sore from the constant pulling of his hood.

His father addressed the young couple, “just who the hell are you people?”

“Give is our kid back,” Eurydice snarled, not bothering to dignify the man with a proper response to his question.

The man cackled, “your kid?” He sauntered over to the young woman, cockiness oozing through each footstep. “You sure as hell don’t look that whore I banged a few years back. Who left that, leech,” he spat as if poison on his tongue, “on my porch, claiming that was my kid. Forcing me to look after that ingrate. So, no girly, that ain’t your kid.”

Eurydice’s fingers balled into a tight fist, blood pounding in her ears. She knew she needed to keep her composure, but it was a losing battle. She took a deep breath closing her eyes, “well, I know damn well that we’d be better parents than you could ever dream of being. And that Miko would much rather come home with us.”

“That brat doesn’t know what he wants!”

“Yes, I do,” Miko said, running to stand between his father and Eurydice. “I want Euri and Orphe!” The man sent a quick slap to Miko’s face, the sound echoing in the deserted alley.

Eurydice felt something snap inside her, and without fully realizing it, she impulsively punched the man in front of her.

A brawl broke out between the two. The man may be twice her size, but Eurydice was quicker on her feet. She had been in plenty of fights in her life, mostly in bars or beds, and usually with men like Miko’s supposed father: sloppy drunk.

All of a sudden, Miko felt his body get scooped up and wrapped in a tight embrace. “Orphe!” he wailed, burrowing his head against Orpheus’ warm skin, violent sobs wracking his tiny body. Orpheus cradled the back of Miko’s head into the crook of his neck, wanting to shield the boy from the fighting in front of them. 

“Shh, shhh, I’ve got you, Miko,” Orpheus cooed, bobbing his body up and down in an attempt to soothe the frantic child, “we’re here. Everything is fine.”

Eurydice continued her assault on the older man, venting all her wrath through the sharp, snappy attacks of her fist. The sound of heavy punches and kicks hitting tough skin and pained grunts and moans sang throughout the alleyway.

“Fine,” the man yelled, pulling away from Eurydice, his lip busted and bleeding and nose unnaturally crooked. “If you want that little shit so badly, take him. He ain’t worth any of this!” He hurled venous insults at the family as he staggered away, the sight of his limping body disappearing in the sea of people.

Eurydice pulled herself to her feet, spitting a mix of blood and dirt from her mouth onto the grimy pavement. After adjusting her rumpled dress and with a quick swipe at her nose, she spun around to face Orpheus and Miko. Suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch, all the anger vanished from Eurydice’s eyes, replaced with a look of alarm. “Miko! Oh, honey, are you okay?” 

Miko timidly lifted his head from Orpheus’ shoulder and was greeted by an unholy sight. Eurydice was sporting a jagged cut on her forehead, puffy, and covered in muck. Her left eye was swollen shut. A dark mark that most certainly would bruise rested on her cheek. And blood pooled from her nose, dripping crimson droplets onto her now ripped dress.

Miko’s face scrunched up in agony, his chin trembling, “Euri! Euri, I sorry! I sorry Euri! I so sorry!”

“Oh, Miko,” Eurydice cried, urgency bleeding through her words, as she sped over the boy. She placed her hands on Miko’s wet cheeks, gently avoiding the red welts of an imprinted hand. Orpheus gasped at how raw and bruised her knuckles were. But Eurydice paid no mind to her pain, completely centering her focus on the weeping child in her husband’s arms. “Miko. No, no, Miko, don’t apologize, this isn’t your fault.”

“No! Euri hurt! Euri hurt, and it’s all my fault!” Miko was hysterical, the dam holding back his tears had decimated. Soon his words were lost in a slurry of blubbering tears and slobbery sniffles.

“No, no, Miko, that’s not true. Right, Orpheus? Orpheus…” Eurydice trailed off taking a good look at her husband. 

His eyes were red and glassy from trying to hold back tears, his body oddly jerking. He looked so pained and lost, like a young child, like Miko.

Eurydice frowned, she didn’t realize how worried not only Miko would be, but Orpheus as well. She felt exhausted, her body aching. Silently, amidst her tears, she pulled the two boys into her arms, her fingers curling into the hair on the back of their heads. The boys quickly followed suit, Miko dipping his head into Eurydice’s neck, Orpheus wrapping his one empty arm around his wife’s back. They hugged and hugged tight until not an inch of space was left between them, the air unbelievably hot. The three stayed there in the alley weeping for who knows how long. Noises from the bustling market just a few steps away faded to nothing, static in the ears. The pungent smell of putrid produce and rotting meat wafted through the air around them, but none of them cared. They just held each other close, and listened to their muffled cries, mumbled apologies, pounding heartbeats, and shaky breaths.

Eurydice was the first to pull back, eyes shifting back and forth, from Miko to Orpheus, Orpheus to Miko. The young boy had stopped his stopping crying, heavy sobs, exchanged for soft hiccups.

“Miko, Miko, listen to me,” Eurydice said, her voice stern yet brimming with love. “You listening?” He nodded his head. “This was not your fault. None of it, absolutely none. You hear me?”

Miko shook his head, “but-”

“No buts,” Eurydice said fiercely, burning brown eyes locked with teal green. She needed him to hear her, understand what she was saying. She couldn’t let him continue to blame himself and living with undeserved guilt. “This, all of what happened here, wasn’t your fault. You are not in trouble for any of this.”

Miko sniffled once more, “but you got hurt…”

“I’ll be just fine,” Eurydice smiled, brushing dark locks out of Miko’s face. “Cuts and wounds heal and fade away. Some may become scars that stay, but even those, in turn, heal. And each scar tells a story, some pleasant, some painful.” She stares into shimmering teal irises. “And these scars I have here,” she points to the cut on her forehead and the scratches littering her face, “are tales of promises. Promises that I will always, always, protect you. From any harm or any danger. Okay?”

Eurydice didn’t know where these words were coming from, but she had a strong suspicion. After years together, her poet was rubbing off on her. All his constant promises of love and stability and a brighter future, his quiet affirmations on her darkest days that light was still there, and things would get better his loyalty and faith. Eurydice knew the power of true love and promises, and she wanted to share that with the other most important person in her life. She may have only known the boy for a little over a day, but she couldn’t imagine her life without him or Orpheus in it. When she fell, she fell hard fast. 

The young boy rubbed his nose, “okay, Euri.”

“Can you smile for me?” she asked, yet Miko continued to frown. “Ahh come on, can I get one smile please?” He gave her a weak, uneasy smile. “Nope, that won’t do. I need a real, big smile. I guess I’m just gonna have to…tickle you for it!” Eurydice wiggled her fingers on Miko’s tummy, causing him to laugh, a wide grin spilling over his lips.

“Euri!” Miko screamed through giggles.

Eurydice abandoned her assault, “there, perfect.” She leaned over a placed a quick kiss on his flushed cheek before turning to face Orpheus. “Lover, why are you crying? You and I both know I’ve been through much worse.”

Orpheus didn’t respond. Instead, he reached out to cup Eurydice’s cheek. Smeared blood stained his calloused hands, still sticky and faintly warm. Hazel eyes dimmed, fingertips running light circles over red bruises. He could’ve stopped this. He should’ve stopped this. What kind of husband just stands and watches his wife take on a man double her size? A bad one.

Eurydice, as if she could read his mind, shook her head, “you couldn’t have done anything, Lover.”

“I could’ve helped you,” he said lowly.

“You did. You protected Miko and kept him safe. That helped me more than any punch.”

Orpheus lifted her busted hands to his face, placing feathery kisses over each knuckle. His lips the best medicine she could ask for. Next, he moved to her cheeks, then her temples, and nose, careful not to apply too much pressure, and finally her lips.

“Yuck,” Miko gagged, sticking his tongue out and closing his eyes.

The two pulled away and glanced over at their boy. “Yuck? What do you mean ‘yuck’?” Eurydice asked, feigning offense. She began kissing all over Miko’s face, Orpheus joining in as well.

“Ahhh, no,” he shrieked, squirming in Orpheus’ arms.

With a final kiss, Eurydice backed away, “alright, you two, ready to head home?”

Orpheus sighed, “yes, please.”

Miko grinned, “home!”

The three made their way out of the darkened alley and back onto the main road. The sun was setting over the horizon; the sky tinted an array of oranges and purples. The once crowded street was now nearly desolate. Men and women, and others were busy wrapping up and shutting down their stalls.

“I guess the market is closing up,” Orpheus concluded as they continued their walk.

As they reached the entrance, Miko spoke up, “hey Orphe?”

“Yes, Miko?”

“Where’s the basket?”

Orpheus furrowed his brows. “What basket?” he asked, puzzled.

“You and Euri’s.”

Oh, their grocery basket! “Oh, that’s right…” Wait, where did they put it at?

Suddenly, Orpheus froze in his spot.

“Orpheus?” Eurydice asked, confusion plaguing her expression.

“Eurydice.”

“Yes?”

“We left the grocery basket in the alley…”

“…shit.” 

[her-culture]

My Top 10 Books of All Time, and Why You Need to Read Them

In my first article for Her Culture, I thought it would be fitting to write about books that have changed my life and shaped my world views in one way or another. My mom was a journalism major, so I guess I could say I got my love of reading from her. She used to read to me every night as a kid and imparted the importance of good literature to me. As a sociology major currently, these were very formative books in my adolescence that not only challenged certain misconceptions about the world, but allowed me to think in a more macroscopic way by reading different perspectives and experiences as well. I put my favorite quote from each book, if it had one, underneath each title—hopefully those will be enough to give you the general gist of each book. These aren’t listed in any particular order, but they are all relatively equally important to me, and it was incredibly hard to narrow it down (stay tuned for honorable mentions at the end):

The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

When I think of this book, I have so many fond and nostalgic memories of adolescence. Even though it was not too long ago, I think this book was really my turning point to begin truly questioning the social facts that govern our society. Although the novel is relatively short, the story holds a much-needed allegory for some of the major plights of Western society: elitism, greed, class, consumerism, etc. I would call this book a buffet of sorts; I say this to mean you can take a plethora of different meanings from Fitzgerald’s relatively straightforward tale. Moreover, I recently learned that Fitzgerald was an Irish immigrant, so the concept of Gatsby’s relentless pursuit to be from East Egg is similar to his own trials and tribulations of fitting into American society—and invariably, not being able to in the end. I really love the imagery and the language in this book as well; essentially, Fitzgerald paints an exquisite portrait of the problem of the consumerist God we worship in America. My favorite imagery in the book is probably the eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckelburg; that’s one of my favorite images ever in literature, actually.

Mrs. Dalloway – Virginia Woolf

“Fear no more the heat of the sun”

This book reminds me of the conversations I’d have with my best friend in high school every day after AP Literature. We’d get coffee and drive around and talk about the various existential topics the book discusses. The book takes place over the course of 24 hours, it essentially covers a middle-aged woman’s retrospective meditation of her life and past decisions as she prepares to throw a party. Although it seems like a simple plot, it delves into ideas about purpose, free will, and even the profound effect strangers can have on your life. I loved the interpolation of other people’s narratives into the story as well; it made the story richer than just Mrs. Dalloway’s narration. Furthermore, I like the stream of consciousness style that you don’t see in many critically acclaimed works, but it makes it feel all the more intimate. Not only do you feel for Mrs. Dalloway, Septimus, and others, but the power of this style of writing makes it seem like you are in that character’s predicament. It reminds me not only of the fragility of life itself, but of the gravity of what you would consider menial everyday interactions can have—the butterfly effect.

Song of Solomon – Toni Morrison

“If you surrendered to the air, you could ride it.”

My mother is specifically to thank for reading this book. She suggested it to me the summer before senior year, and since summer had always been my prime reading time in high school, I read it. Toni Morrison is one of the best writers of the century, without a doubt, and this book is all the proof you need to believe this claim. She created an intricate masterpiece, intertwining various double-entendres—especially with the names of characters, time periods, storylines, and more. Her language is vivid, and every word is meaningful; she has no fillers. Every aspect of the story adds to the jigsaw puzzle that is solved at the end of the book. I’d hate to give any of the plot away, but one of the characters is named Guitar because he’s instrumental to the development of the protagonist, but that’s just one example of her mastery. It explores race, ancestry, colorism, and the power of self as well. This is one of my top favorites of all time, and if I were to order them, this one would without a doubt be close to the top.  

Flowers for Algernon – Daniel Keys

“I don’t know what’s worse: to not know what you are and be happy, or to become what you’ve always wanted to be, and feel alone.”

When I first read this book, I was relatively young, but it still had a profound impact. I think it challenged me to think about the power of sentience and that it’s one of the many things we take for granted. It reminds me a bit of some themes in Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men (an honorable mention), but in my opinion, it’s less cliché in a way. Although it’s technically supposed to be a young adult novel, I would say it has a lot of adult themes, so it was a good stepping stone into adult tragedy. Charly’s connection to Algernon is one of the most poignant relationships in literature, and I do feel like this book gets overlooked frequently when we discuss the greats. On another note, it also caused me to evaluate the power of interactions and relationships with others, as humans are innately relational; this book does a fantastic job of capturing that aspect of life.

Jazzy Miz Mozetta – Brenda C. Roberts

“Okay, young cats, let the beat hit your feet.”

This is the only children’s book in my top 10, but for a good reason. This is another book my mother introduced, but way earlier than the others she suggested, as she would read it to me at night. She’d read it probably 3-5 times a week because this was one of my favorite ones. When I see this book, I have so many fond memories of my mother tucking me in with my matching pajamas and warm milk at night. To this day, I appreciate this book as one of the most incredible children’s books of all time. Roberts’ incredible vision of music, color, and sound made me proud to be black at such a young age, in a world that doesn’t want you to feel comfortable in your own skin. Moreover, you don’t see many children’s books with black protagonists, and this was such a fantastic representation. Especially because I also love music, she did such a good job of creating that through the illustrations. It emphasizes community, music, and living life to the fullest.  

Tuck Everlasting – Natalie Babbitt

“Don't be afraid of death; be afraid of an unlived life. You don't have to live forever, you just have to live.”

Tuck Everlasting was one of the first books that really caused me to examine mortality in a secular sense. I went to church school once a week as a kid, and that was the only space where we discussed life and death in that way, so this was an important introduction to the concept of death altogether, in a sense. We’ve all heard about the fountain of youth at one point or another in our lives, and this novel explores that idea essentially. I also really like the tension between immortality and a normal life, somewhat reminiscent of the Greek myth of Eurydice when Orpheus goes back to the Underworld to retrieve her. This is another book connected to my mother actually, who read it at the same time as me so I would have someone to discuss my reading with and bounce off my ideas. I think this is part of the reason this book resonated so deeply with me; I had an adult to converse complex topics of mortality with.  

The Virgin Suicides

“It didn't matter in the end how old they had been, or that they were girls, but only that we had loved them, and that they hadn't heard us calling, still do not hear us, up here in the tree house, with our thinning hair and soft bellies, calling them out of those rooms where they went to be alone for all time, alone in suicide, which is deeper than death, and where we will never find the pieces to put them back together.”

The above quote is relatively long compared to the rest, but it’s one of my favorite passages in literature. I love the effervescent, ethereal nature of this book. I almost feel nostalgic reading it, although I didn’t grow up in the 70s, but there’s somewhat of a vintage quality to it. These aspects are kind of similar to Lois Lowry’s book A Summer to Die. If you can get past the gruesome, macabre aspect of the actual storyline—young girls committing suicide—you can bask in Eugenides’ masterpiece. His syntax is honestly unmatched, as well as his symbolism. In my opinion, this is a much better version of the popular young adult novel 13 Reasons Why, as it goes into detail about what led to the suicides and you get a look inside the minds of the girls, but from an outsider perspective (as young boys are the narrators of the novel, along with an occasional third person narrator). As a male, Eugenides encapsulates not only youth but the experience of adolescence as a girl as well. The writing is just beautiful, and that’s all I can say about it. The interesting part is that although I guess this would be categorized as a tragedy and certainly has a melancholy tinge to it, you don’t finish the book feeling sad necessarily. I was unsettled, but I still wouldn’t consider it a tragedy per se. Eugenides’ genre-defying classic is one that needs to be acknowledged as the phenomenal work that it is. To this day, I don’t know if I’ve read a book like this one, in the best way possible.

Slaughterhouse-Five – Kurt Vonnegut

“Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.”

The way this book was introduced to me was as a book “about World War II and aliens,” and that is basically the most accurate summary I’ve ever read. It’s hard to say exactly what the premise of this book is because it really is about a wide array of topics, but it’s all connected, and it makes sense when you read it. It had a huge impact on me because I’ve never read a book as non-traditional as this one. I appreciate Vonnegut because he doesn’t subscribe to anyone’s rules—another genre-bender, one could say. It would be diminishing to this work to say that it’s about existentialism, but it is in a sense. The Tralfamadorians (the aliens in the novel), teach Billy how to look at his life macroscopically, and also about the deceptive nature of time. In Vonnegut’s words, “so it goes.”

Tess of the d’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy

“Beauty lay not in the thing, but in what the thing symbolized.”

I can’t lie, I wasn’t the biggest fan of this book when I started it because I wasn’t sure where it was going. It has a Pride and Prejudice nature to it at the beginning before you delve into the plot that makes it seem sort of outdated, and although it is a timepiece technically, the actual message of the novel is timeless. There’s a lot more than meets the surface in this novel, and the imagery is also incredible. Hardy’s message is essentially about “crass casualty and dicing time” which is basically the notion that random things happen to us at random times and there’s nothing we can do about it. This also counters the notion of free will which is an interesting stance especially for the time this book was written. In fact, when this book was first published it was banned because of the depiction of rape and of secularism as well. At the time it was written (The Scarlet Letter era), the woman was the party at fault if she was raped, so it was met with generally negative feedback at first. Once I finished the book, I was a huge fan just because Hardy went against all norms to write such a tale. I specifically like the idea that Tess essentially saves herself in every scenario in the novel; Hardy knew even in 1891 that she didn’t need a man to save her.

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao – Junot Díaz

“Each morning, before Jackie started her studies, she wrote on a clean piece of paper: Tarde venientibus ossa. To the latecomers are left the bones.”

This book needs to be regarded as one of the best ones of our generation, as well as Junot Díaz as an author. Not only is this book timely, but it is also timeless. I really liked the integration of the actual history of the Dominican Republic into the novel, and also the acknowledgment of the intersection of race, language, history, and culture as the book is written in Spanglish. We don’t read many books in school or any books that garner any major media attention about Afro-Latino comic book nerds and their histories, so it’s important for a number of reasons. Díaz takes us on a long, vibrant journey through many genres, full of culture, and unrefined.

These are my top 10 books, at least as of right now, as the more books I read, the more the list changes. However, many of these will always remain at the top as classics to me. These are all must-reads not just because of how significant they were to me, but because of their respective contributions to literature. Outside of the fact that a few of them aren’t even categorizable into a genre, these books were truly eye-opening and formative for me. If you like to conceptualize the world and read about various topics from free will to mortality, I would highly consider reading at least a few of these, if not all.

Separately, I would like to think of this list as an ode to my childhood, and even more to my mother. She gave me this passion and this insatiable love of literature, so I truly thank her for taking the time to read to me, with me, and even for her suggestions. I can’t thank her enough.

[theamityelf]

A Few Thoughts on Eurydice

One line that always stands out to me in “Chant” is Eurydice’s line “Everything I’ve saved is gone”. The first time I listened to it, I assumed that it was referring to her financial savings prior to wedding Orpheus, like this marriage was burning through her entire bank account.

But upon repeated listenings, I started to see it differently. First of all, I think that the song “Chant” takes place over years. Like, one set of verses is one winter, then the next set of verses is another winter, possibly that of the following year but not necessarily; unless some aspect of the staging makes that clear, I’m led to believe it’s kept vague. Still, it’s easiest to assume that it’s the winter of the following year just to retain the newness of Orpheus and Eurydice’s marriage.

Which means there was a springtime and a summertime in between each winter. So it’s more than likely that “everything I’ve saved” refers to the food that Eurydice set aside while they were in prosperous times. All of the food that she stored up when Persephone was there is gone now.

And the line in Livin It Up On Top, “If no one takes too much there will always be enough”, leads me to believe that she would be looked at differently if she was taking extra food, so either she was choosing to cut into her own supply and go without, or she had to explain to everyone that she was trying to store up food for hard times. Either way, she was alone in this.

And in the same verse as the line “Everything I’ve saved is gone”, it is made clear that she feels that alone-ness with the line “While my lover sings his song”. Her previous verse had started with “Lover, while you sing your song,” indicating that she was talking to him. Now, she’s only talking about him, meaning either that he was not listening in the past or that she feels like he wasn’t listening. The result is the same; despite her marriage, Eurydice feels alone in a terrifying world trying to support her husband while he’s strumming and humming for strangers without even asking for pay.

But that’s not news, right? We already knew that Eurydice was the only one keeping the two of them alive.

Okay. Here’s another line that stands out to me, mainly because it’s a change from the concept album and I had gotten used to the concept album:

In “Hey Little Songbird”, instead of “Wasn’t it always the two of us?”, Eurydice sings “Wasn’t it gonna be the two of us?”. This is weird, because the concept album doesn’t contain the time-elapse song “Chant”, whereas this album does. Eurydice has reason to say “always”; they’ve been married for at least two years. But she says “gonna be”, like their marriage never even got started, or not properly. So it’s not just that she is getting more and more disillusioned over the years; she has been waiting for things to get better and they haven’t, and she’s starving, and she’s cold.

[wavesmp3]

⭐!

director’s commentary asks !

hehe thanks for asking amal, i think i’ll chose my most current piece eurydice 

so this piece i got the idea for maybe like two or three weeks ago. as the title suggests, it’s a retelling of the greek myth about orpheus and eurydice which is basically like orpheus and eurydice are in love, eurydice dies, hades lets eurydice leave from the underworld but she has to walk behind orpheus so that orpheus has no way of knowing whether she’s there or not and orpheus can’t look back, which at the very end he does look back and eurydice gets sent back to the underworld. 

before even thinking about this fic, i had wanted to write something based off “mr. hollywood” by joji because i absolutely adore that song and it’s just one of those songs that make me want to write something yknow? and then i think i saw a gifset from the movie portrait of a lady on fire and the myth is a theme in that movie as well. which led to me realizing that “mr. hollywood” and the greek myth surprisingly work really well together. and then also before writing this piece, i watched the musical “hadestown” which is about the orpheus and eurydice as well. SO what i’m trying to say is that i had a lot of sources of inspiration while writing this fic lol. and then the piece just also happened to fit into one of the prompts for carat writer’s club fall fic fest so i decided to add a couple more steampunk elements to my retelling of the myth to make it work better for the event. and some of the steampunk elements were inspired by @/lxveille’s fic “seventh albatross” like the rain scene. 

and more on the rain scene in eurydice.... so one of the parts that got cut from the rain scene was the rain song. which the whole premise of the rain song, was that mc had this song that they would sing whenever it rained, so in the underworld when it starts to rain minghao suggests mc sing the rain song and that would be the cut to the rain flashback. but the funny part about all this is that the rain song i was gonna use is from barney LOL the song goes “oh mr sun, sun, mr golden sun please shine down on me” and i genuinely intended on putting a barney song in my fic for a quite a while.

another part of this fic is the different regions (?) in this world, so from best to worst quality of life it goes: center circle>ironport>the plains>and the wallows. (which full disclosure, i named the wallows region after the band: the wallows). but this little aspect of the fic only came around when i had like two scenes left to write, which i feel is very on brand of me, to make a world that was supposed to be simple more complicated at the last minute for absolutely no reason. but i just like how mc’s dream on earth is to get to center circle, but when minghao brings it up during the walk, mc says “i stopped caring about that the day i met you” i’m just proud of how that part came together.

also i feel obligated to mention the ending of this fic, i don’t really have anything to say about it except that i just love how i ended it so much. every time i read that last line my head implodes a little

[throwinggrapesoffthebalcony]

SSHS preface

This is a special preface. If only because it’s about a place that’s special to me. It was my life playing out at the edge of a descending civilization slipping off into the sea. Venice is not only a beautiful place with it’s panoramic views, majestic views of the ocean and promontories dwindling north along the Pacific coast. And if other prefaces were about life at the time, I spend more time exploring technique and methods in this one. I hate that terminology and prefer craft. Writing is an artistic endeavor first and foremost and a way to make a living second, if one can be made, and sometimes, most of the time, it can’t be; especially when you defy their conventions. We know by now that spirt cooked individuals are granted the highest quality life in these industries. But when it comes to writing, politics aside, you have a choice, to wait for it, or to create a routine that allows you to write when ever you feel like it. Venice is a special place energetically, and I’ve never experienced writing like I’ve experienced writing there, not anywhere. I knew it was special the first time I stepped foot there. And I’ve tread many shoes down along that strange place since then. There are very few establishments that exist there that existed when I first started trying to womanize my way around. I never minded woman older than myself, and now that I think about it, most woman that I’ve fallen for have either been younger or older, and rarely the same age as myself. I was always writing there, and at first it was whimsy. At times, it was laughable when losing myself to the spirit of the place, writing lyrics on whatever I could get my hands on and then on walls and then on skin. Hand me your lipstick darling. Like a crazy exaggerated scene in a movie, only it wasn’t a movie. And as the years went on I found my favorite spots and created a routine of it. Mondays for many years was my for sure time to go to happy hour and write a song, and more often than not, many songs depending on the mood. There’s always a sweet spot during the course of the evening of course, when you’ve had just enough to drink, when all the cogs are nice and lubricated, and then when it starts to get sloppy, not only the thoughts, but also the handwriting. In the morning I see, that after a certain point, not trace of decent form exists. Some pages are artwork in their own right. But anyway, if you create a schedule out of it, you can always write on purpose. And when you lose routine or one of the places where routine takes place, you can feel lost for a little while.  

Wabi Sabi was one of those places that I loved and lost. Happy hour was magical. A warm sunny window and the wine served was always a class above typical happy hour wine, never screw top, and it’s always nice not to have to pay full price when you’re loved somewhere. Unfortunately, Wabi recently burned down. All the speculations have remained in the air, they’ll stay there. My inclination was that it might have been a disgruntled employee. They had recently gotten rid of many of the regular employees and replaced them with a new young hip set. That was the end for me, even before the fire took place. I love hearing, ‘I don’t give a fuck who you are! If you have three glasses of wine you pay for three glasses of wine. You’re not famous. I don’t recognize you.’ You can imagine, I began going less frequently, and regular price was a high price. The place though that I’ve loved consistently through the years is Hama sushi. It was there from the very start, preceding my arrival there, but that I didn’t start frequenting until some woman I met at James Beach took me there. I never stopped going back. All the wasted hours, what a shame. Mediocre wine and thousands of songs later, I’m still alive.

And much of writing is not only about the process, but the tools used in the process. There are many times when the medium fails the vision that you’re dying to express. And other moments when a particular medium allows you to disappear into it. I was for some time toying with the idea of teaching an outdoor writing class somewhere along the coast; that’s how much the place inspires at times. This seminar, this symposium under the sun. Yes, even I feel altruistic sometimes. But I don’t believe now that a universal love of the craft will come back around in my lifetime. When I started writing, reading was a much more important form of entertainment than it is today. There were no streaming services and thousands of book stores and there were a bunch of much steadier eyes coursing around. But back to which medium one should choose to use. And we’ll stick to the more practical methods, even while there are some who still write with a quill. I’ll stick to the pen, the typewriter, and the laptop, however. And the primary reason why one shouldn’t limit themselves to only one medium, is because, with each you can expect a different result. For example, a song composed on a piano, goes somewhere, while the same thought on an electric guitar might go somewhere very different; so the variation of medium, leads to the variation of the work itself. Are you following me? I hope not, it’s about to get deep. I’ll speak about some of the advantages of each medium now, and also about their pitfalls. The most fluid I’ve ever felt was with a pen. And just to mention, not all pens are created equal. And everyone must look for their favorite laptop or pen or writing pad. It was after working a lunch shift at Olives In D.C. when I stopped at a pen and stationary store not far away. I held and tested the different pens on the testing pads that they had placed out on the counters. Everyone’s anatomy is different, so some wouldn’t have felt like they’d picked up the perfect pen, like I did that afternoon; a Dupont fidelio. The pen feels like freedom when it’s weighted perfectly in your hand. But then, with every moment of pleasure, there are the consequences. Taking a break from my little grey apple laptop I was filling moleskins like it was nothing at all, going though once ink cartridge after another like magazines of bullets. Pads became heavy with content. Napkins were quickly sprawled into smithereens, with that perfect archaic instrument in my hand. And there’s no better feeling than at the craft you love with the juices flowing and some spectacular future yet to see. Then one evening you look at the stacks of material and you think, now what? And that’s when you begin to learn, that transcribing all of the euphoric feelings onto a computer is a gargantuan fucking chore. I mean something no one in their right mind would ever look forward to, no matter how masochistic. Hours and hours when you can’t work on new material because you’re doing that. And it costs you time going out with your friends. “No, I can’t tonight. I’m transcribing all my shit.” And then after some years when the roller ball has so easily outpaced the fingers typing, much of it becomes piles of yellowing dusty paper, pulp, with fading ink that will never see light. Entire novels I’ve written, that I think about once in a while, laden with the sense of that dreaded chore on them. Procrastination takes hold and I leave them there. And it makes it easy when some new narrative is sprawling itself out in your head. And even at this moment as I’m transcribing this preface from one of my ragged moleskine notebooks, I feel like it’s time ill spent. Not all is lost though with transcribing, it’s never a complete redundancy, or duplicate, as there are always productive considerations being made, and new material being propagated, and then sometimes a departure from the material in surprising ways. Transcribing is never perfect.

Then there’s the typewriter, which is another sort of novelty, when you want to feel like a classic writer. Most of the sense of writing on a typewriter is romanticism, especially if it’s not electric. I know that far off in the past, people wrote long works on them, and I’ve written thousands of pages on them, but they’re not as natural as the pen and definitely not as convenient as a laptop. If you’re going to add a typewriter to your regiment, I would recommend an electric one. Others, even one’s that have an esteemed reputation, if not electric can wear you out. And if you’re used to modern technology they can feel impossible. Once you become accustomed to least resistance it’s difficult to go back to the cobblestone. 

The laptop is the most wonderful instrument for conveying anything that you might want to express. I learned how to type in Jr. High School on a typewriter, so that was never a problem. Take the time to lean to type, and do not get in the habit of pecking at the keys. I can type at times and the laptop feels almost removed from my hands and thinking. The laptop that I wrote SSHS on was a silver Airbook, the best I had, and I say this from a writer’s perspective; so save the animosity. I think they were using LED screens at the time and when crunched over it in the blazing sun the type was crisp and clear. The screen had a greenish cast to it and it felt like it was still an instrument for writers. As the technology has progressed I think the screens have become higher resolution and geared more towards multimedia than for reading text. Now, to watch a movie on, I’m sure is far superior. But even while a laptop prevents having to transcribe a piece which allows you to get right into editing, it of all the other mediums, has the worst, most grotesque pitfall. Does anyone know what that is? Anyone? Of course, invasion of privacy. Of all the evils on this earth, it can eat at you worse than any other. I put it up there with child sex trafficking. Pornographers make a more honest living. And I think I touched on this subject a bit in SSHS when mentioning Orpheus, which was a piece I was working on at the time concerning this issue. And even as I transcribe this piece, I understand that a set of very demented eyes will gaze over it, will graze over it, before I’m finished and have published it on Tumblr. And yes, it takes a wealthy person to surveil someone like that. It also takes a very sick mind. It’s the only reason I continue to use pen and paper so often, despite this molasses of transcribing that it puts me in. It allows me to keep my material private for a little longer.

And I mentioned a horrible word, that I think is the basis for the best advice that I can possibly give to young writers. That is the filthy word, edit. I can make a hundred passes on a novel and not feel like It’s done. I’ve gotten used to moving through material again and again and again. If you don’t get used to that part of the process, then you’ll never excel in the process. That’s where most of the hours are spent, especially when it comes to novels. And while I write most of my lyrics lubricated and slap them up onto my Tumblr without thinking about polishing them, lyrics require just as much attention, when you’re wanting to create something that’s considered world class. I know I can mutter just about anything and it’s already world class, but even I have methods to polishing a song when I’m in the mood to do so. My advice with lyrics is to proliferate, to branch out by looking at each line separately from the next. Off to the side on another piece of paper, explain what the line means, trying it in different ways. Many times you’ll end up with something better. Many times you’ll end up with another song; which is why I recommend using another pad for this. In the margins you’ll quickly run out of room. Years ago I’d do it as an exercise, but now without even thinking about it. I don’t want to give away all my techniques before my supposed symposium. But that may help some of you along with becoming a better songwriter. And don’t ever try to become a professional songwriter; which is simply code for connected. I can at any moment, scribble something out that most professional songwriters could never tough. And the reason I’m telling you this. Is because keeping yourself an artist will allow you to create a lot more beauty, than someone in the confines of such a hilarious title. Songwriting is you, your experiences and nature. So there’s some advice, even while I have very little interest in anyone else becoming a better songwriter. And much of the time any writing advice is futile. Everyone is very different and has to find their own path. The years disappear and you’re either meant to do something or not. I think, pure survival has become much more important in these times anyway. The world provides much less room for artistic endeavors than it once did. But you must, if you want to write, find stability in living. Because stability in life is inseparable from stability in the writing process. You have to find space for the hours. That was so much easier then. Your hours are now hoarded in off shore bank accounts. And something else that must be mentioned, is that those hours always come at a sacrifice to your own personal life. Which is never more evident than when all the hours haven’t provided a livelihood. But then that other aspect has to be mentioned, that it’s never about the writing or the quality of the writing. But I was told that the internet provides the opportunity for me to sell myself now. Perhaps that’s true. How does one sell themselves?

SSHS had an emotional start and turned into a stream of consciousness and split and went where it wanted to. It was an evening I got my feeling hurt and walked to the coast trying to shake myself from the distress that it caused me. It was one of those occasions tumultuous enough to cause a sort of cognitive vertigo as you’re moving through the scape. Which brings me to metaphysics. This is the frightening part. When we lose control to the traditional classical ways of thinking and reasoning. The suspension of conscious thinking, should be on every writers list of methods. Playing with these methods, you must be warned, however, is like playing with fire. So if you don’t know what you’re doing in the metaphysical world, maybe avoid it. I don’t want to go into quantum theory, and will try to explain this in layman’s terms. It’s doing something while not thinking about it, and even when resulting in failure, it will allow you more control when writing in the clear awake state. And the wonderful thing about trying something unorthodox, is that you can always return, if you’re lucky, to the conscious world. And one thing from the past that tells me that that energy in Venice has always existed, is Morrison, who I believe tapped into the same energy that I’ve experienced there. I know the feeling. And it’s truly rubbed me the wrong way when I’ve heard professional musicians denigrate Morrison with such garbage slander. No, what he did was possible. And I know it’s just their burnt egos speaking, but they should have respect for those more in tune with nature’s energies. Classical training pales to the magical path between a man and the universe, uninterrupted by man. And you not only have to find that continuous lightning strike, but be the kind of vessel that can handle it, and not be obliterated. So when they say, Morrison couldn’t have possibly written three albums of material in Venice in one summer. My answer to that is. “The hell he didn’t!” In Venice on a rooftop, three albums in one summer, no problem. What seems impossible for one person might be a cakewalk for another. That’s the hard pill to swallow. It wasn’t magic, it was talent. And is that energy dangerous? You better believe it is. Imagine the sails of a sailboat in gale force winds. Many people seek that kind of power for wicked reasons and never find it. And I’m glad they don’t. If they think getting their spirits cooked is a revelation, they wouldn’t be able to handle it. And I have to mention before I forget, that Los Angeles is probably the very worst possible place for anyone emotionally unstable. If one is unaware of those natural forces, and what’s causing their mood and temperament to swing so violently, they could easily be ripped to shreds. Psychologists, infrequently take that into consideration, I think mainly due to the lack of consilience; not that it’s a field that’s understood. And right now, psychological problems are plaguing our youth more than ever. I used to be more disturbed by the social engineering schemes going on. But now the tools they were utilizing to implement those schemes are washing over their attempts and everything else for that matter, having become an even more destructive force on humanity. They’re going to have to let go, if they want even any of their own children or grandchildren to survive this nihilism. Technology’s like heroine, it doesn’t discriminate. Or maybe they already know that and now they’re consciously or subconsciously trying to destroy everything. If they were unable to manipulate everyone into their freakish utopian dream, than to hell with it all. In that case, their hands must be pried from the levers.

But getting back to the beauty of Venice and the wonderful fact that it’s extremely hot as far as energy thermals are concerned. With Morrison, it wasn’t the acid. But it is like an acid trip in a way. And one last comment for the professional musician who will never know what it’s like. “It’s possible, but not for you. Something you should really know. I’ve got resentments of my own.”

-Alan Augustine

[iamdonewithyourshittokclass]

When God forgets to welcome me when I die, just know I blame you.

     Today has been a calamity of things, most without reason and few with productivity. To liken my tasks with that of Hercules would be overly dramatic- I think I’m at the underwhelming level of Orpheus right now. Guy managed to make his way to the underworld with song alone, yet couldn’t get his wife back to the surface without messing it up. That’s me. I am the Orpheus of existence in general and tok. Today is a Saturday, yet I managed to go to my church and leave with a briefcase that I am tempted to use to slander the very name of God. That says to me that today was interesting enough to archive.      1) My day started out with a trip to the hospital. I asked the women behind the counter of the sign in desk if she liked her job, and what life decisions led her to this moment. She responded in saying yes, her work was quite enjoyable, and that she didn’t have the will to make it completely through med school. I lauded her in her ability to put with with dying old people on a daily basis, and then Mother promptly reminded me to shut up.      2) I talked to the doctor giving me my ultrasound about why looking at organs within a still living animal is more unsettling than looking at the ones of an animal you just killed. She disagreed with me, because, “when the organs are outside of the body, you have to deal with the blood.” I started a debate with her about whether or not a person could walk while holding their intestines (A clear reference to English), but then Mother promptly reminded me that, eventually, I would be in college and that if I wanted financial support, I would for the love of Christ stop talking.      3) We went to a church yard sale, in which I found the drug dealing briefcase. Mother didn’t want to let me buy it, but a leather briefcase is like a paranoid thought of a supernatural stalker out for your viscera- once it enters your mind, the thought of it will never leave until you die or pass out from sleep deprivation. To save myself of both possible outcomes, I bought the drug case.      4) Some how I managed to not finish any homework but PreCalc’s, which honestly should not count as homework, because it’s the only instruction given that is concise and well reasoned. The homework manages to teach better than the waste of a paycheck that stands by the board, reflecting her own internal failures every second she speaks. Cornell my ass.      5) Now, I have a page open for a philosophy essay. Will it ever get written? Will I ever start my TOK annotations? Will homework ever stop hurting me more than the travesty of Kraus in a classroom, which breaks all known laws of the universe, because of how much it shouldn’t be possible. I don’t know. It’s 9:19 and tomorrow is Mother’s Day, the day it all goes to shit. We’ll see how it goes. If nothing happens worthy of being recorded in the future, I will retell a story of my childhood. If that doesn’t strike fear into your heart, it will eventually. May everything that happens to you be something you deserve.