#he's not grown but he's had adulthood thrust upon him and his childhood taken from him so he's just trying to survive by being an adult | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hollywoodx4 · 4 years

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“I’d like to Dedicate this Song...”

(I can’t get this to post in the tags, so...love that for me...)

Anyway, this is probably going to turn into a little baby series because I have no control over my life and I fucking love Orphydice with my whole soul

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Orpheus knows he is in love with Eurydice before he can say his own name to her; he knows when she chuckles at him, leans back in her chair when the thought of marriage slips from his lips too soon. He’s lost himself to her but she stays, laughs and holds his hand as they dance around the bar together. She stays after most of the crowd has gone home for the night, when he sits next to her at the bar and she animatedly chats with Persephone, lights up the room and charms them all. She’s guarded, a bit reserved in the way that she evades questions with a smile and a brush of the topic to something else. The edges of her personality are tough; she searches the room as if it’s second nature, hesitates to get close to him and then pulls him in herself. But she is perfect-her hand in his, his name through slightly parted lips, the laughter he hangs on to with hitched breathing. When everyone else leaves, he takes her home. Orpheus knows he’s in love with her when she stands in his doorway, taking in his chaotic array of knick knacks and half-written songs splayed along every spare surface, and nods her head. While he puts the fire on she wanders, brushing her fingertips along art and books and the instruments he’d been able to get a hold of, some well-worn and deteriorating. Eurydice grins, tilts her head slightly and makes her way to the fire.

“There are a lot of stories in here,” she says, wrapping herself in one of the haphazardly knit blankets she’d found lying across an old wooden chair. Her voice is soft, careful. Eurydice’s eyes glow with the light of the fire within them and oh, Orpheus feels his heart pull toward her. Oh, it doubles in size as she watches him, sits on his old rickety loveseat and pats the space next to her.

“Tell me one.”

Orpheus knows he’s in love with Eurydice when she falls asleep on his shoulder, the fire burnt down to just soft embers. He doesn’t move to prod it, barely even notices. All he can see is the soft rise and fall of her chest, the hair in her face that he brushes away so that he can kiss her. All he can see is Eurydice and the music starts playing in his heart, consuming him. He doesn’t poke the fire. He doesn’t move from the couch. He shifts his long legs to stretch them, keeps an arm around her, and closes his eyes. He lets himself drown in the feeling of her. He knows that he’s in love.

They begin their first full day together walking through town, Orpheus saying his good mornings and humming softly-to himself, to her-to his own melody. Eurydice walks along with him, watching him wave and chat with every face that passes. They all know him, smile at him and answer the questions he asks of their families, their daily lives. He is a gentle force of nature-an inkling of sun coming out through the clouds. He carries his guitar on his back and it acts as a piece of art, an extra appendage he’d had all along. He’s wearing clothes he’s thrown on in some disarray having to do with the scattered pattern of his thoughts; big jacket, worn dress pants a size too big for his lithe limbs, a bandana tied around his neck in a practiced sort of fashion. An art piece, Eurydice decides, brandished with the layer of a boyish smile that never leaves his lips. She stays close to him, one arm looped through his, and acknowledges the embrace of the town as he gives her introduction. Eurydice doesn’t say as much as she had in the bar-feels herself treading on dangerous territory as she lets herself walk along with him, spend the day with him after a night of talking and laying next to each other. It’s a physical closeness that feels far more emotional than she’s used to-far more emotional than she’d like to fall into. It’s easy with him, comfortable, and Eurydice finds very quickly that maybe she’d like to fall into this place where everyone has a story and Orpheus is the trusted keeper of them all.

It’s when they find Persephone that she feels natural, when she feels alive. The older woman greets them with a grin, hugs him and then turns to her, enveloping her with so much cheer that Eurydice’s heart races with second-hand excitement.

“It’s good to see you back so soon, chickadee.”

“You too, Lady Persephone.” And looking between the people in the bar, the people he calls his family, Eurydice is thankful for Orpheus and his crazy pick-up line, his awkward dancing at the bar, this place where everyone knows his name and his apartment is full of knick-knacks that hold meaning and memories. For the first time in her life, Eurydice is thankful that she stayed.

They walk up a small hill, the scent of newly sprouting grass carrying them to the shade underneath a tree. She spreads a threadbare blanket and sits, watches as he lays down the old suit jacket he’d thrown on in the morning and loops the guitar from its place around his neck. She carries a small wicker basket, one that had been thrust upon her the second Lady Persephone had seen her. Eurydice hadn’t been allowed to wonder, or to turn the gift away.

“Enjoy the sun,” Persephone had insisted, placing her hands over Eurydice’s on the basket. “Enjoy each other’s company. Consider it a gift, and take it.”

Eurydice grins as his eyes find their way to her, lingering as his hands shift at the bandana around his neck.

“Well?” There’s a shimmer in her eyes and a lift to her cheeks. Eurydice holds out a hand, confident-radiant from the warmth in the air and the gentle manner of his smile. “Are you going to sit with me or did I walk all the way up this hill for nothing?”

He chuckles, shuffles from foot to foot before reaching his hand to her outstretched one. She pulls him down, one hand holding his and the other on his cheek, and closes the distance between him with haste as she kisses him. It’s like taking in sunshine the way her small hand on his cheeks continues to pull him closer, and Orpheus can feel her inhale deeply, her lips curving into a smile against his. She doesn’t say anything-doesn’t have to-when she pulls herself away from him. Orpheus presses his forehead against hers, head spinning from the newness of it all-the love for the girl who still holds one hand in his, dragging the wicker basket between the, and looking up at him with her big brown eyes.

Her eyes-the ones that had held so much in them when he’d stumbled into the bar last night. The eyes that danced and teased when he struggled to filter through the first words he’d say to her. He can still read the pain he’d seen when she’d sat at an empty table, run her fingers through the flame of a candle with a passive stare. The pain that had crossed her flame-drenched features as they’d laid under his old blanket the night before, swapping stories she hadn’t intended to tell. The pain-barely there, is covered by the shock of uncovering a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine.

They pass the bottle between themselves, drinking straight from its glass mouth between rows of soft kisses. The air is clear and new, the sun warm, radiant as it bathes Eurydice in its golden glow. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair tousled by nature and his hands, and he brushes it from her cheeks and kisses the tip of her ear. Orpheus drinks in her presence as she keeps one hand on his thigh-his arm-his cheek-his hair. Her touch is as light as a whisper, gentle and wanting and hesitant all at once. He pulls his guitar onto his lap and plucks a few notes-notes that turn into progressions of chords that come easily. She tips her head back, closes her eyes and lets a hum of approval grace the air.

“Changing your song?” She asks, taking in a breath and tapping his new beat along his thigh, one hand behind her head.

“Trying something new-something that came to me last night.”

“I like it.”

“And I like you.” She turns to face him, opening her eyes to find him looking down at her. There’s a soft heat in her chest, an aching that stirs a redness to her cheeks and has her shaking her head at his boyish smile, the open manner of his words. She can’t help but believe him, believe that this man with long limbs and a guitar, whose voice cracked with pride and toasted Persephone with words so genuine and powerful that an entire bar of inhabitants had stopped to tie themselves to them. Orpheus was a man who had taken her home and told her stories about the painted rocks on his windowsill, about being a wayward child and finding a family, about having a passion in music that he’d fostered and nurtured from childhood, in the stammering years where his mother chose not to nurture him. And she’d given to him, Eurydice. In front of the fire, with his arm around her and her head on his shoulder, she’d told him bits of her story that she’d kept hidden away-about a father who couldn’t love, a mother who’d been damaged beyond repair. She’d told him about running away-hiding and fearing and becoming sneaky and deceitful to cover the shadow of fear that had grown into a fully encompassing monster as she’d neared adulthood. There was more to tell-always more-but the things she had uncovered, said willingly and in a comfort she hadn’t remembered feeling in her life-Eurydice feels a change. A new start. Her heart stirs in her chest as she looks at him, shakes her head again and pushes down the shadow thoughts, lets the power of his eyes on hers push her forward, push her hands to his cheeks again.

“I like you too,” And then, craving the sound of his humming, Eurydice lays back on the blanket and lets her eyes stay on him. “Play it again.”

“It’s for you,” He says as he begins, with flushed cheeks and another sip of wine. “This song is for you.”

#hadestown #Orphydice #is it because the title is a direct reference to Reeve Carney being the cutest most hopeless of boys?#because if it is I don't give a fuck I absolutely adore him

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yarti · 5 years

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[ Gili - He and I ]

Story Below:

It has been a good while since my last entry. I suppose in the stillness of this night, I might find time to fill a few pages. Fanar has been with me for many a month now. Near every day and night since that first. We have been quite busy, he and I. His mere presence eases the mind and body. My life had became a cold room in a harsh winter. It's fireplace barren with no firewood in sight. Then he, a mountain of tinder and a sure spark. Though, at times I do wish I was at home with my Father. He suffered as much as I, perhaps more. It pains me to know the state he is in and know that I can do nothing. I know not if I should have defied him to stay by his side or took my freedom as he wanted. It is a difficult thing. I have taken some steps to brighten his days, though unlikely to succeed. A letter penned in no haste, addressed to my sister far off in Auridon, The Isles. I have little hope that such a letter could reach her, but I have tried. Each week, I hand a duplicate to the courier, making changes as necessary. Father would like to see her again. He rarely spoke of her, but I know. I doubt the sight of the mother could worsen his situation, but perhaps even that could help.

Fanar has been a wellspring of new sights and experiences. Places, things, and pass-times of which I could have never dreamed. From the keep, we slowly weaved Southward, along the border of Cyrodiil, through the mountains and Westward into the woods of Falkreath. Along the way, Fanar would find work for us. Each job was, for me, a chance to learn. For him, betterment of the world. An important thing to him. And to both of us, another excuse to grow closer. With each passing month, my hair grew longer. I took it as one way of keeping track of the passing of time, as I was somewhat preoccupied. By the time I took note of it again, it had grown from just above my shoulders, to below them in the back. I toyed with different hairstyles before settling on an interesting one. Balled up on the left and right side. Like how I would wear it when I was a child. These times were like a newfound childhood, so I found it fitting in a way. Speaking of work, I still feel that I could be more useful. I had yet to really join him in the violence of it all. I had warmed myself up to the idea of it, that it would be a necessity if I were to follow him, but it had not yet happened. I would aid him by magic, but he is more than capable of taking care of things on his own most of the time. He seems so calculated, sure of victory, yet quiet and reflective, perhaps even regretful when the deed is done. It permeates even to his casual demeanor. He is smooth talking, wise, but fraught with bouts of silence. It gives him a sort of intrigue. I still strive to be like him, to do as he does. Though I fear I still talk far too much.

We lay awake in a tent one night, our words heard only in a whisper, discussing plans for the week. He wanted me to see Haafingar and The Reach, to show me around Solitude, something of a second home to him, or was it third? Then he sought to make way to Whiterun, "briefly", with our journey ending in Helsmyrr, to meet Fannah before returning me to the keep. I thought us to stop by Whiterun as we first made our way down the mountains and wondered why he had veered so far from that path, but it seemed he had this intended route in mind all along. At last our voices did hush as the sound of far of crickets carried us to sleep. In the following days, tragedy struck. I had noticed Fanar fiddling with something in his pocket at times. I grew more curious by the day, and as is my nature, rather than ask, I casually took a peek by magic. Not a key, nor anything living or my detection would have worked. Enchanted, though lightly. Curious indeed. Something that he would clutch at times, lost in thought. Metal I believed, as at times it would jingle as he hoisted himself over logs and such. At one point, it nearly escaped his pocket. I arched my head around him, trying my hardest to peer into the depths of that pocket, only to have a branch thrust into Fanar's hat. My hat. It ripped a sizable hole in the front. I had grown ever so attached to that hat. As luck would have it, I still carried a bit of cloth cut from my jacket as I made adjustments some weeks ago. This cloth, green and white and checkered in full, made for a fine cap once tied in the back. Fanar seemed to agree. Rather than pay a tailor to repair it, he assured me that his Mother would take care of it. That is when the thought occurred to me, of this path of ours. I already knew how he felt and the feeling was beyond mutual. But this? He carried something metal in his pocket, a precious thing, it seemed that he was taking me home to meet his parents, and then to his sister, a priestess of Mara. This was his way of going about it, I supposed, and I would not ruin his surprise. It made me smile at the time, and the thought of our future together grew to be a consuming and common thought.

Markarth and Morthal came and went without real incident. If I had to choose one, the choice would be obvious. Markarth. A lovely fortress of brass and stone. I look forward to the next visit honestly. Morthal on the other hand, that dreadful swamp. I had little to say about it and was quite glad to spend only one night there. In little time, we arrived in Solitude. Fanar received quite the warm welcome. One could tell that he had spent considerable time there, in his youth and adulthood. He knew all of the sights by heart, every shop, every person by name, and they him. He was treated as nobility or a town hero, and I suppose in some ways he was one or the other to most of these people. We spent far more time here than in any of the previous towns. There was so much more to do and see. We would work, visit shops, visit old friends. These acquaintances would share tales of past meetings with the family. All of those stories brought to mind the ones that I had heard of them before our actual meetings. They were not important people by any means, but their deeds and the way they carry themselves transcended all of that. I would want to be that way. For us to be that way.

I found myself drawn to the clothing stores, their wares a fair bit below what I was used to, but impressive all the same. Subconsciously, I suppose I was searching for a fitting dress. For that certain occasion. I would walk down to the shops every morning after breakfast, just on the off chance that something would catch my eye. On what would become our final day in town, I ran down to the shops as usual, while Fanar readied himself to tend to some minor work in town. I again found nothing of true interest and returned to our room, content to pen an updated letter to pass the time. That evening, he returned to the inn distraught and we had a long talk. Of the day and days to come, of us and where our path leads. Everything that I had already known. There is little more to say of it now, though that may change soon. That night we went to the temple and replaced the amulet he had so long carried and so thoughtfully given away. I carry it now, proudly and with some glee.

The next day, I handed an updated letter to the courier. The thirteenth. In return, there was another letter of work for Fanar. A thing most urgent. A vampire attack, people had been disappearing in neighboring villas. A local militia managed to catch it in the act and had driven it up a nearby mountaintop but dared not attempt to finish it off. On such short notice, but he decided to see to it and I to accompany him this time. Neither of us were dressed appropriately for such a place, but we both have our share of cold tolerance. We traveled Westward for much of the next day, then began our ascent just before sunset, leaving a camp at the foot of the mountain trail to accommodate us on our return trip. I tugged down on my cap and held him close to share what warmth we had throughout our climb. Wind whipped at us and howled in our ear, at times sounding like a voice, though I could not make sense of it. A fine sharp dust covered our feet, kicked high and low by our motions. Clinging to the fabrics just as firmly as I to him. At the summit we slowed ourselves and observed. Fanar's eyes darted from shadow to shadow, pillar to wall. The wind calmed, leaving an eerie silence about the peak. The scent of decay came to us in the final draft. We had arrived. Immediately ahead of us we saw a body or what remained of one, the snow still caked in blood. Blood makes me uneasy. I had seen more than my fair share during the revolt. We crept to the body, Fanar kneeling to examine it. "Fresh" he whispered, being sure to look up from his task every few moments just to be safe. I looked away from it as much as I could, until Fanar extended a finger. "The blood on the snow, why would a vampire leave that?" His eyes found something glittering beneath the mess, bits of metal perhaps. He gave it some thought then brushed it aside. "And the meat on the bones, this doesn't look like an animal attack either." He stood, peering down at the mess in the snow and I circled around him, leaning against his back to ease my nerves. As I sighed, he turned and comforted me. Above us, a gentle snow began to fall. "Do you want to wait here?" he whispered, looking deep into my eyes before letting them return to their scouting duties. I contemplated. Looking to the bloodied remains and then to him. A lump formed in my stomach, a chill but not from the cold. He was not afraid. Afraid for me perhaps, but he was not afraid. He had a plan. I drove down my fears, forced a smile cross my cheeks and peered up at him. His serious expression warped to one of surprise, I suppose in my attempt to mask my true emotions I may have overdone it. Our eyes remained locked for but a moment longer, then I lunged forward, planting a small kiss upon his lips. He grunted in surprise then settled himself.

"I'll go around and up" I muttered, stepping away from him. He flashed a quick smile then readied himself, axe in hand. Slowly, each foot lightly coming to rest atop the next step before him. I scuffed through the snow, head tilted skyward, attention drawn to the structure overhead. It fed into the top of the plateau, just from the side. The perfect angle for a better view, or an ambush. The returning wind shrieked from the cliffs below as I stationed myself atop the highest rocks. My hands found new warmth, a warped red glow about them as the weight beneath my feet fell away. A silent flight, one that is rarely a calming experience. I have been able to do it since I was a small child, though it used to make me sick at my stomach. It is disorienting and at times hard to control. I found that it works best when one treats it as a dance. Moving my arms and legs as though I were elegantly swimming through the air, rather than walking or randomly flailing about. With every few meters of height, I would twist or turn myself, a twirl. Before long, I had gained enough height to step onto the ledge. I shook the red from my hands, scanning the far side to see how Fanar had fared thus far. He had just crossed the final step, his head held steady as he searched. Seemingly clear, he took a few more steps, coming before a stone wall. I matched his pace, making my way across this bridge and onto the platform proper. I came to notice a sound, a hiss. It started low but had swelled to far more than some random oddity on the wind. Fanar took note of it shortly afterwards, turning to face me. Then, we both saw it.

A figure stood before us in the shadows, clad in a Dwemer cuirass. Red eyes aglow. That low hiss emanated from it's twisted lips as it stared intently across the way at Fanar. Without warning it lifted off, levitating toward him. It had an odd look about it. It's entire form shimmered most oddly. I thought what best to do in the situation, settling on an endurance spell for Fanar. I held aloft both hands, vibrant green tendrils begat a cube within a cube, far and fast they traveled, lending themselves to him. Fanar had a certain look to his face, more of confusion than fear or anger. His silver axe soared upwards, catching the last vestiges of sunlight, shining like a star above them before coming down.

It snarled as the axe shattered through the chest plate, a hole visible even at this distance. Fanar lifted his brow, as though he thought it would be over then and there, yet it were not. Not the intended strike perhaps. It's fingertips grew alight, arching red and black magics across the way. Fanar took it, gasping as it drained him. My spell did little to stop it and dissipated no sooner than had it taken effect. He looked to me between blows, his expression as stern and sure as ever. As their fight carried them further and further from me, I began to cross the platform as well, replenishing my spells as they fell. They neared the edge, giving Fanar some pause. He held his axe aloft to block as he peered behind and below, off the sheer cliff. Our foe howled, backhanding the axe, sending it skyward. I looked to the axe, lodged in snow, glints of blackened blood still clinging to it's edge.

With no weapon, Fanar readied fire into both hands and set about searing the monster, attempting to gain ground but growing closer and closer to the edge. With glowing palms, I reach for the axe, across yards it soared, at last coming to my aid. I peered at the thing, focusing at a point on it's back, and hurled the axe by magic. It struck true, sparking as it dug deep into the cuirass, undoubtedly hitting flesh beneath. Without hesitation Fanar's hands ignited tenfold. He returned a howl of his own, driving the fiend back with a churning wall of flame. He pushed it against the far wall, his heat devouring the surrounding ice and powder. I bolstered him as best I could, with what little I had to offer. It lay against that wall, writhing and near death, the axe being forced further into it's back with each attempt to escape. From there, I could see it's face at last. It's skin tough and loose fitting. Something on it's forehead, a wound or mark where Fanar had not struck it. Skin flowed like water beneath the fire, an unnatural sight. Then came a sound, metallic and pounding. From this wound sprung a Dwemer rod, taking half of the fiend's face with it. The illusion of flesh fell away, leaving a faceless dismembered monstrosity peering up at us. Mechanical whirring and chimes replacing hiss and scream. It struggled for moments more then all went silent. With it's death, a sharp wind crossed our faces. On it, words carried some distance. I could not make them out, but Fanar's long ears seemed to have caught them. His eyes widened, yet he kept focused, seeing fit to burn the remains until little was left but a heap of metal. I knew not what to say. "That was no vampire", Fanar finally gasped. He mumbled to himself, thoughts seemingly racing. He took a piece of that steaming brass into his hands and walked back to the steps, having a seat as he fiddled with it.

His axe lifted from the ruined form at my call, gracefully hovering behind me as I too returned to the steps and took seat beside him. His hands disappeared into his pockets, at last producing his pipe. He brought it to his lips, loaded it with elves ear and set it alight with the flick of a finger, again bringing his attention to the bit of metal now in his lap. He pondered long and deep. Sunset became nightfall and the the peak grew colder by the moment. At last we stood, he and I, the bit of metal finding a place in his pockets. We began our descent, a fair bit more quick-footed than the climb. Along the way, he mumbled to himself, of his grandfather and of his thoughts and fears. Fears, an odd thing for me to associate with him, the one I hold as so fearless. After the ordeal, this still night was certainly welcome.

#skyrim #writing #story #gili #fanar #elder scrolls #waifu #husbando #dunmer #nord #snakestone_familly #romance #adventure #outdoors #combat #magic #vampire

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