#orphydice

[dommedyaoi]

I yapped to my mom abt Hadestown and I talked so fast that when I said Euridce (which is called Euridke in german) my mom understood Rüdiger (or Ruediger if you will) and now this is a running gag. Orpheus and Rüdiger.

[prose-n-scripts]

so, I have this mental illness,

[the-lemonaide]

everyone writes poetry

about orpheus and eurydice

they say ‘it gets old’

but when worse comes to worse

don’t we all turn back to what we know?

[sxnyarostova]

sometimes i mourn the fact that saying "london hadestown" no longer refers exclusively to the national theatre production. londonpheus + lowkey freaky all i've ever known you will always be loved by me

[fishinabirdcage]

I just finished re-watching Hadestown, and didn't even make it past Wait for Me (Reprise) before the waterworks opened WHY CAN'T EVERYTHING JUST TURN OUT THIS TIME

[gaydrunkspacepirate]

A bit of my own Hadestown lyrics

O Hades, king of shadow

O Hades, king of shade

Sitting all alone on the inkblack throne

That your workers of darkness made

Let your fears and your phobes,

About the daughter of grain and farm

Who is your long gone wife

Wither away your charm

Cause instead of hoping,

Loving and spiting

You build a wall around your hart

And give up without a fight

But if you love the summer

Just as you love your wife

She will love back the winter

And finally love her life

You wouldn't need your reaping scythe

Your sword, shield and knife

Cause you would rule together

Both the up and down

Of your beautiful metropolis 

Named Hadestown

[thekadster]

farewell / good riddance

Fandom: Hadestown

Word Count: 791

Content Warnings: None!

Author's Notes: A short little thing inspired by one of the versions of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth, in which Orpheus is killed by maenads—and how that would translate to the world of Hadestown.

Summary:

"That’s why I was so confused—not that he was waiting on a train, but that he was doing so at this exact moment. At this time of year and at this time of day, the only train that was coming was headed for... well, I think you can imagine." Months after Orpheus returns from Hadestown, a busker spots him at a train station. There's only one place the poet could be headed to.

also read it on ao3!

Many people often pass through this train station. I can recognize some of them from my usual spot by the tracks—a mother and her two children, a student who’s always in a rush, an old man sitting on the same bench with a newspaper—but most are strangers. Most pay little mind to me, but I keep on singing and strumming my guitar next to its open case—the same thing I’ve done every day for the past year, even on a cold winter’s afternoon such as this.

Today, I just so happened to see him.

I nearly stumbled on a lyric at the sight of him; I glanced back at him, just to be sure. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was truly him—the poet. Everyone was well aware of what happened to him—the tale of the only man who stepped into Hadestown and walked back out alive.

That’s why I was so confused—not that he was waiting on a train, but that he was doing so at this exact moment. At this time of year and at this time of day, the only train that was coming was headed for... well, I think you can imagine.

I couldn’t bear to sing after that, and instead switched to a finger-plucked instrumental. Even as my digits danced along the frets, my mind couldn’t rid itself of that Orpheus boy. Ever since he made an audience with Mr. Hades and Lady Persephone, word of him quickly spread. The seasons had gotten the slightest bit kinder. Whatever he did, it worked, however humble its beginnings. He could still do so much, write some other sonnet that would soothe the sun’s heat or calm the biting blizzards. All things considered, the kid had the power to save the world.

So, why was he here?

He currently stood at the platform’s edge, one soul among dozens of weary souls. Was he going to see her? Did he have any other connections on the inside? Was he planning on confronting Mr. Hades again? Surely, he’d return like before… right?

I finished my song and he was still standing there, back half-turned to me. I almost reached out; I could hardly compare my musicality to him, but I at least know what it’s like to lose a lover, to lose someone you’d die for. Part of me wanted to weave through the crowd, ask him what he was doing here, ask him how he was.

Instead, I stood still. The wind whipped through the station as the train pulled in. I watched as the doors opened with a hiss, and passengers piled in. A mass grave. Every question that I might have had died in my throat as the squealing metal snake slithered its way underground.

The station had emptied out by then. Some stragglers remained, waiting for the next train to come—headed off to someplace colder but undoubtedly more forgiving than the electric city.

It was only during the last days of snow that I would find out why he was at the station that day. Months after he returned from Hadestown, a gang of maenads set their sights on him. Some say it was jealousy; he refused to sing them a song, to adore them like how he’d adored dear Eurydice. They left him bloody, bruised, and somehow with even less than what he already had. That was the moment he broke, when he traded in his lyre for a one-way ticket.

I didn’t sleep much, the night I found that out. What did this mean for the rest of us, then? Someone like him comes only once in a thousand years. Would we simply wait for another Orpheus? Is there another muse’s child somewhere, waiting to sing the world back into tune? How many more years would pass until the gods sing their old song again?

These questions aren’t the only thing that have been plaguing my mind, however. There’s one detail I heard that, if true, troubles my soul even more. On the day Orpheus left, those who saw him claimed that he greeted them on the street as always. The shine in his eyes had gone, his face worn and weary, but he smiled brighter than ever. He exchanged pleasantries, told them to take care. No one asked where he was headed; they hadn’t expected him to return to the Underworld. I can only hope that, even now in death, he and his love are reunited. Toiling endlessly under the earth, yes, but at least shoulder-to-shoulder in their laboring. Perhaps that’s why he looked so happy.

I need to ask Lady Persephone about him, once she returns. I’ve no doubt she has a lot on her mind.

[thepoetssongbird]

"if yapping about hadestown and orphydice was your power what would you be without it"

NOT me.