#| your sorrowful fate forged by the gods.

[spiritmaiden]

@senseofjustice asked: “Why was the dog the leader?”

"Well, out of the three of us, he seemed very eager to take charge on this! So, why not?"

There was a light skip to her steps as she spun on her heels to face the bewildered Link. Her usual teasing lilt intertwined with her words, and despite the amusement that shone in her gaze, even Zelda was at a loss for this odd encounter. It was hard to determine whether the dog understood their current predicament. Nevertheless, she bluffed as well as she could to hide her confusion. "Don't tell me, you're jealous of the little guy taking your spotlight!"

Sweet giggles rang out as Zelda turned her attention back to where the dog had led them. A town hidden in the dense forest of Hyrule.

They had been traversing through the fields of Eastern Hyrule in search of any clues for a way to return to her time, back home. Thus far, they haven't had much luck with their searchings. And the day was growing shorter and shorter, as the sun dipped into the horizon she saw a hint of the moon's beaming smile. But despite being dreadfully lost in time, wonderment still followed her footsteps, and anxiety has yet to sink its claws into her. Perhaps it was because of the tentative hope Zelda clung to when this era's hero offered his help to her. She wasn't sure of the reason, but she didn't want to dwell on it too long.

"Something tells me that we're not gonna find the gate of time in this village of... er, Kasuto. But, it doesn't hurt to give it a try, right?"

Plus, it might be best to seek shelter before the darkness of the night completely blanketed Hyrule.

#senseofjustice #| answered. #| ic. #| your sorrowful fate forged by the gods. #( #FORGIVE MY WRITING DSJKLABADKJ #tfw a dog is a call to link's next adventure to helping one lost time traveler ajdslkbdka #)

[kanonavi]

2023 XVX Fic Recs!

Hi, all, I hope you're having a lovely holiday season! Around the beginning of this year, just for fun, I decided that I would record all of the fanfics that I read this year, and during the summer I had the idea to take some of the best fics I read in 2023 and compile them at the end of the year into a rec list. Since xiaoven was the ship I read the most fics for, I've decided to just do a rec list for them this year, but maybe in the future I'll branch out more!

As with any rec list, please take note of the ratings and the tags for any given fic! Just because something suited my taste doesn't necessarily mean it will suit yours, please take care of yourselves. Now, here are 10* fics that I read this year and think that other xiaoven fans should read too! (Also uh. Sorry for how much I'm about to talk in the reviews lol)

*Keep an eye out for a few bonuses that I've peppered in ;)

~

We Creatures of Fate, by Wackachu

[Ongoing, Teen, 57.9k, 7/?]

Xiao is a weapon forged from red, carved from the hearts of weeping souls and etched into the memories of grieving mothers. While free under the care of a new God, he finds salvation, yet feels as trapped as the day the chains first clamped down onto his wrists. Venti is a God, one born from the wishes of others as opposed to his own. After losing his loved ones, he can't help but feel lost, high on a throne all alone, built upon all things he despised. The two find each other by chance, yet the rest can only be described as fate. ---------- A telling of Xiao and Venti's story with a hefty load of lore

If there is any fic on this list that should be read, it’s this one. I am an absolute sucker for speculative lore when it comes to Genshin, and the picture that the author has assembled of Archon War-era Liyue is absolutely masterful. Within the threads of that beautiful tapestry, they’ve also been interweaving Xiao and Venti’s developing relationship all the way from when they were a newly-freed Adeptus and young Archon respectively. They have a long journey ahead of them (the burn is slow, folks), and I think that said journey is an absolute must-read.

~

Extra Recs: Wackachu has also written two other xiaoven one-shots, which I highly recommend for more bite-size pieces of their excellent taste!

~

the holy light of your single lantern, by boxofcrows (@miralia)

[Complete, Teen, 34k, 6/6]

“Long divided by river and sea, For years we two have failed to meet – And suddenly to find you seems like a dream.” Thousands of years of silence, broken by a single visit.

This fic wrapped up recently, so it’s a great time to go and show it some love! One of my biggest sorrows is that xiaoven is rather lacking in really good canon universe fics compared to other Genshin ships, but this fic managed to fill that hole in my heart. The author does a fantastic job of capturing the way that Xiao and Venti’s conflicting natures and ideals can cause friction between them, all while maintaining the undeniable magnetism that they feel towards each other.

~

Relax In My Arms, by alphaparrot (@aparrotandaqrow)

[Queerplatonic XiaoVen, General Audiences, 5.9k, One-Shot]

As Lantern Rite arrives, Xiao is found exhausted and spent by Qiqi of Bubu Pharmacy, who brings him back to Liyue. Upon awaking, Xiao quickly makes his exit and returns to Wangshu Inn, where Venti is waiting for him on the balcony. Xiao isn't in the mood to party, but maybe a chill hang-out would help him relax. Venti knows just the thing to help Xiao relax and recuperate, and as they both get comfortable, they begin to reflect....

Author's Original Promo Post!

Queerplatonic xiaoven was a flavor of their relationship that I hadn’t tried before this fic, but it really sold me on it. What I’ve always loved about xiaoven so much is the inherent intimacy that can be achieved between them once all of the emotional barriers between them have been stripped away, and I think that those ideas are explored very beautifully here. Xiao and Venti trust and love each other so deeply here, and it shows in every word and touch that they exchange, and I think that it’s a must-read for anyone whose brain chemistry was altered by the ‘Endless Suffering’ trailer (so basically, every xiaoven fan ever lol)

~

i can not save us (but you can), by anemowisp (@sillygirl19)

[Teen, 19.4k, One-Shot]

two boys figure out what the hell they're doing

In the midst of one of the most turbulent times in my life, one particular line in this fic really hit me where it hurt, and it’s one of the few times that I’ve actually cried reading a fic. In my xiaoven-enjoying friend groups, we sometimes call Xiao and Venti old men with teenager problems, which means they don't always work when turned into actual teenagers/young adults with those problems, but I think this fic pulls it off really well.

~

what queer sins stain thy soul, by Anonymous (@sincerelyandyourstruly)

[Mature, 3.2k, One-Shot]

In which Xiao, long-established asexual, learns that identity is not as stable as he’d like to believe.

As an ace person myself, I feel it’s so rare to find a really good asexual character study where the asexuality is actually one of the central focuses of the intimacy taking place (if anyone has any recs of that variety please hit me up!), but I think that this fic pulled that off really well. It also delves into that particular vibe of when one’s identity might be shifting, which can be a really scary thing, but Xiao in this fic is lucky enough to have someone he loves and trusts to support him as he explores his new desires, which was really comforting to read about.

~

Where Words Fail, by kavvueh (@kavvueh)

[Complete, Teen, 34k, 12/12]

Author's Original Promo Post!

"You're Barbatos," Xiao repeats breathlessly. The young man in front of him nods. "Yep." "But..." Xiao cuts himself off and tries again. "You're the God of songs and poetry." The Anemo Archon nods his head sagely. "More or less." Xiao fixes Lord Barbatos with the most incredulous look he can manage. "... You're failing Music Theory."

As someone who was also suffering through music theory alongside Venti as this fic was publishing, all of the attention to detail in the musical aspects of this fic absolutely tickled me. But all of that was merely a foundation for a lovely story about a pair of souls finding their partner in a new life. The musical connection that xiaoven have is one of the essential tenets of the ship, and this fic did a beautiful job of using that idea to its fullest potential.

~

Extra Rec: kavvueh has recently started publishing a new xiaoven fic with a similar setting, so if you enjoy these kinds of fluffy modern aus, give that one some love as well!

~

The Stars in Teyvat are a Lie, and So Is the Sky, by yueyunn

[Complete, Teen, 148.2k, 13/13]

There were several issues that Xiao immediately took with Ningguang’s proposition for him to produce for Barbatos: his other artists had upcoming comebacks and year-end stages that required his attention, he was overworked enough as it were already, and Ningguang was not exactly someone he was looking to do any favors for. While her persistence to overlook all this was one matter, nothing aggravated him more than Ningguang completely ignoring the obstinate fact that he. doesn’t. work. with. idols.

Perhaps I was a bit like Xiao in this fic at the beginning of this year, because I approached the two idol/celebrity aus on my to-read list with open skepticism, and then ended up absolutely adoring them both. What I loved about this fic the most was how much care was put into actually translating the character’s canon backstories into the modern idol au setting. The author clearly has so much love for the characters, and it really shows through in the way that everyone has their chance to shine, even the side characters. This fic also updated recently with 15k words of extras, so it’s a great time to visit or revisit it!

~

Extra Rec: gold rush, by underthethousandstars was the other idol/celebrity au I read this year and really enjoyed, so if those aus are up your alley, I highly recommend it!

~

low-key (no pressure!), by windrise (Twitter - @/wyndrise)

[Ongoing, Teen, 75.7k, 11/?]

Following his friend’s questionable suggestion, Venti partners with Xiao—the resident grouch of his early morning stats class—for his music project.

If you want to sit down with a fic that will give you the warm fuzzies, this is definitely the one to pick. As alluded to previously, I don’t really go for modern aus as much, but this fic absolutely blew my expectations out of the water. I was getting the ‘squee’s as I read about Xiao and Venti growing closer over the course of working on Venti’s project, as the author has an excellent grasp of the deep inner kindness that the two of them hold, and how that kindness would naturally draw them together.

~

bouquet of lies, by underthethousandstars (Twitter - @/zhongliorder)

[Complete, Mature, 85.9k, 12/12]

In a world where humans can use elemental magic, Xiao uses his to move through the shadows becoming Liyue’s phantom killer. Known to the public as Alatus, he is their most notorious assassin. One day Xiao secures his biggest job yet: kill the Crown Prince of Mondstadt, Venti. Harbouring no love towards any royal family Xiao pulls off his mission with success. Or so he thought.

This fic falls solidly on the darker end of xiaoven stories (the ‘Dark Fantasy’ tag is there for a reason!), so if you happen to like your ships with an enemies to lovers flare, this is definitely one to check out. This is one of those stories that really managed to pull me into the world of assassins and political intrigue that the author has crafted, and on top of that it puts a fun spin on exploring Xiao and Venti’s individual guilt and the way that it affects them as people. The first fic in the series is finished, but the second installment is currently in progress, so I highly recommend checking that one out as well!

~

every morning in the dark, by magicites (Twitter - @/bribird_wings)

[Complete, Mature, 77.1k, 34/34]

Stuck in a time loop where he succumbs to his karmic debt, Xiao struggles to see the point in moving forward. Venti struggles to save him.

While by far the heaviest of any of the fics I’ve recommended so far (mind the warnings and the tags!!), if you can stomach the subject matter, this is one of those fics that I would refer to as XiaoVen Essential Reading. The author has a pitch-perfect grasp of what makes xiaoven, qualities which are pushed to their limits as the two of them struggle to break free of the loop that they’re trapped in. I took severe emotional damage while reading it, but my only regret was that I hadn’t read it sooner. It’s definitely A Lot, but it’s so, so worth it for anyone who really enjoys this pairing.

~

And with that, we reach the end of the list! If you've made it this far, thank you so much, and I hope I've given you some fics to add to your to-read list for the coming year! I tried to incorporate some newer fics with some classics, so hopefully there's something here you haven't heard from before.

With that said, I'll hopefully be back next year with some more xiaoven or other Genshin fic recs! <3

#genshin impact #xiaoven #venti #xiao #venti genshin impact #xiao genshin impact #fic recs #fic rec list #hey listen! #Maybe I should make my own rec tag so I stop losing fics I reblog but uhhhh tired :) #I technically cheated with bouquet of lies because I only read the sequel this year #But I feel like it made more sense to rec the first fic in the series instead of the second #Also if anyone I tagged in this doesn't want to be please just let me know and I'll remove you #I don't want to offend anyone's privacy

[codename-adler]

You mean like a sudden rainstorm forces them together beneath the canopy? They look into each other’s eyes… and realize they were made for each other?

He saw it in a Richard Curtis film.

Ineffable husbands have been there, done that. Twice, actually.

And we all know by now, or at least assume, that these are the two moments sealing Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s fates, and their love for each other. That was the parallel, the metaphorical wings as canopies and Heavenly rains as God’s Ineffable Plan nudging them towards each other. So. Been there, done that. First part, Crowley’s vision of what love looks like, is completed.

Aziraphale’s, though… Not yet!

Well, not fully. Aziraphale did the ball, Ineffable Husbands did a dance, but what did Aziraphale say next, about his version of human love, according to his understanding of Jane Austen?

People would gather and do some formal dancing, and then realize they had misunderstood each other and were actually deeply in love.

We also all know by now that s2 is nothing but a big Pride & Prejudice scheme buried under many, many layers of religious trauma allegories, Queen lyrics and biblical icons. It’s still up in the air who the demon and the angel are actually modelling after; who’s Elizabeth Bennet, and who’s Mr. Darcy? Each could be both, I believe. As for myself, I’m leaning more towards Crowley as Darcy (and Pride) and Aziraphale as Lizzy (and Prejudice). Crowley has actually confessed his love and his desire to spend his eternal life with Aziraphale, in a very angsty and last-ditch-effort to keep his Angel by his side and to convince him of his true, honest feelings and intentions; just like Darcy did. Aziraphale, just like Lizzy, has rejected him in the most painful way, without confessing nor admitting any of his thoughts to Crowley, and I believe not even to himself. And he left Crowley alone and empty-handed, à la Miss Bennet.

But it’s not over yet! That’s the beauty of it! The final climax has yet to come! P&P doesn’t end at the rejection and separation scene!

Aziraphale’s vision of love, his love language if you will, has not been fulfilled, and nor has he grown enough to access it. Crowley has. He’s shed his pride and bared himself and his heart to Aziraphale, the final step for him to be the person the angel wishes to love and be loved by. Has Aziraphale gotten rid of his many and unbecoming prejudices? Have the Ineffable Husbands resolved every bit and word of miscommunication that transpired between them? No. No, they have not. A true, long-lasting, loving, stable and equal pairing cannot survive with only one of its half having matured and sacrificed. It cannot survive without proper understanding of one another.

The Austen love scheme is not complete. As it was intended.

Yes, there is Metatron the diabolical (is he really though? Just thinking thoughts here…), there are Extreme Sanctions and Book-of-Life-erasure-level threats, there is the case of Maggie and Nina’s humanity vs character-ness, there’s the Second Coming, and yaddi yaddi yaddi. But that’s all background stuff, isn’t? Those are just totally normal and common tropes you put your pairing through, right?

So what to expect for s3, what to hold onto so as not to drown our sorrows and despair into Coffee Theories? A formal dance. A "proper apology," as one could say, from one particularly wrong, prejudiced but cherished angel. A whole lot of honest communication and the truest of feelings. A deep bond of love, fully formed, safe, and strong as Hellfire and Holy Water. Forged through adversity, Heaven & Hell, Armageddidn’t, misplaced pride and unfounded prejudices.

It ain’t over til Neil Gaiman says it’s over.

It ain’t over til Michael Sheen says it’s over.

It ain’t over til David Tennant says it’s over.

It ain’t over til Jane Austen says it’s over.

Oh, Aziraphale dear, won’t you do the little dance?

#that fourth s2 rewatch is festering up the place in here wahoo! #this piece of thought is probably old news and rotten but have it anyway #good god good omens #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorce #aziracrow #go2 #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #neil gaiman #michael sheen #david tennant #david tennant and michael sheen #terry pratchett #maggie and nina #coffee theory #metatron #good omens theory #ineffable fandom

[sherliam-hualian]

Final results

So, I went and used my imagination and got 2 Sherliam stories and 1 Hualian 'cuz why not. The only thing I need to do is pick the best one of these three, so again, I ask for your help. Oh right, on a side note, Sherlock's name was changed to Samuel, and Xie Lian and Hua Cheng were changed to Xinquan and San Lang respectively.

Story One

Once upon a time, two souls met their fateful end. William and Samuel, they were called—or so the legends say. Some say they leapt from the bridge's edge, their bodies swallowed by the dark embrace of the river below. Others claim they got pushed into the Thames, around the time of 1885.

But it's not the manner of their death that sends shivers down the spine. It's what they do in the hours of the night. They say William's spirit, restless and vengeful, seeks out the bodies of evil men, who use their power for a bad cause, killing, for example. Some say they've seen him, drifting through the halls of large estates, his eyes burning red as he whispers curses to those who dare to cross his path.

And Samuel, they say, walks the streets with purposeful intent, his ghostly presence a silent guardian for those walking down the streets of London. They say he appears when least expected, his ghostly form a reminder that even in death, love has no bounds.

So beware, of the bridge that spans the Thames and the shadows that lurk in the corners of the night. For you never know when you might catch a glimpse of William and Samuel, the restless ghosts who haunt the hearts of men with a vengeance born of their love.

Story Two

It was a moonless night in 1885 when William and Samuel, as the old tales tell, stood upon London Bridge, their hearts heavy with the weight of untold secrets. Some say they were star-crossed lovers, torn apart by the cruel whims of society, while others whisper of a bond forged in the fires of rivalry and hatred.

They say William and Samuel made a silent pact, a final act of defiance against a place that had failed to understand them. Hand in hand, they stepped off the edge of the bridge, their bodies plunging into the Thames below. William’s brother, Albert, ordered a search party, without luck, as their bodies were never recovered.

But their spirits, they did not find peace in death. They lingered still, their souls bound to the mortal realm by the bonds of unfinished business.

Some say William's restless spirit seeks out the bodies of evil men, who use their power like a weapon, for a bad cause, killing, for example. They say he haunts the large estates and mansions of the aristocrats, his eyes burning red as he whispers curse of vengeance to those who dare to cross his path.

And Samuel, they say, walks the streets of London with purposeful intent, his ghostly presence a silent guardian for those who seek justice. They say he appears when least expected, his ghostly form a reminder that even in death, the power of love knows no bounds.

Story Three (Hualian version)

Once upon a time, in a land where gods and spirits walked among mortals, there lived two souls whose love defied life and death. Xinquan and San Lang, they were known, a fallen god and a vengeful spirit, their bond forged in the fires of destiny.

Legend has it that Xinquan, a revered deity, had been cast down from the heavens, his divine powers stripped away by the hand of fate. San Lang, a ghost hidden in shadows and sorrow, haunted the mortal realm with longing and regret.

Their paths crossed in the depths of an ancient temple, where Xinquan, encountered the vengeful spirit of San Lang. Bound by fate, they went on a journey that would challenge the very foundation of existence.

But fate is unpredictable. It is said that Xinquan and San Lang, burdened by the weight of their forbidden love, made a vow, a pact sealed in the middle of the night.

Hand in hand, they walked the path of no return.

However their souls still lingered, their ethereal presence an oath made of the  power of love.

Some say Xinquan's gentle spirit wanders the ancient temples, his presence a comfort to those who seek solace. They say he appears when the moon is full, his celestial form a beacon of hope.

And San Lang, they say, roams the forgotten corners of the mortal realm, his ghostly form a guardian to those who defy the fate. They say he walks the earth with purposeful intent, his eyes burning red as he watches over the ones he loves from afar.

Listen to these words, and remember the tale of Xinquan and San Lang, the lovers whose spirits still linger in the corners of the world, their love eternal and solid, which flows through the heart of time.

#this is actually so long holy fuck #yo my teacher better gives me full marks bro #william moriarty #Do these look too much like the original storylines?? #For fucks sake I don't know how to write #moriarty the patriot #yukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty #sherliam #sherlock holmes #moriarty #albert james moriarty #ynm sherlock #hualian #san lang #xie lian #tian guan ci fu #tgcf #heaven official's blessing

[wheelchair-wizard]

NightCafe Ai.

Irish Celtic Mythology.

VOL 7. Oillipheist the Irish Dragon Serpent.

The Oilliphéist: Guardian of the Murky Waters

In the heart of Ireland, where the veil between the mortal realm and the Otherworld grew thin, there existed a place both feared and revered—the shores of Lough Neagh. Its waters, like darkened mirrors, held secrets older than memory itself. And at the heart of those depths slumbered a creature of legend—the Oilliphéist.

The Origins of the Oilliphéist:

The druids whispered that the Oilliphéist was born from the primordial chaos, a serpent forged in the forge of forgotten gods. Its scales shimmered like midnight stars, each one etched with symbols of forgotten languages. Its eyes—two fiery orbs—held the knowledge of ages, and its breath carried the scent of distant lands.

The Curse of the Oilliphéist:

The villagers knew better than to venture too close to Lough Neagh. For the Oilliphéist demanded tribute—an offering of livestock, precious gems, or even a maiden’s hand. Those who dared defy it faced dire consequences. Their homes flooded, their crops withered, and their cattle vanished beneath the murky waves.

Generations passed, and the Oilliphéist’s wrath remained unyielding. Its coils, longer than the tallest oaks, circled the lake, binding it to its watery domain. The villagers whispered prayers to the old gods, seeking protection from the serpent’s malevolence.

Cian, the Brave Warrior:

But fate weaves strange patterns, and one day, a young warrior named Cian emerged from the mist. His sword, forged from the heart of a fallen star, gleamed with otherworldly light. Cian had heard the tales—the Oilliphéist’s curse, its insatiable hunger for tribute, and the sorrow it wrought upon the land.

Determined to free his people, Cian set forth. The water stirred as he approached, and the Oilliphéist’s eyes emerged—a pair of fiery orbs fixated on its challenger.

“Bold mortal,” hissed the serpent, its voice echoing across the water. “Why do you disturb my slumber?”

Cian stood firm. “Your reign of terror ends today,” he declared. “Release this land from your grip, or face my blade.”

The Battle Beneath the Waters:

The Oilliphéist laughed—a sound like distant thunder. “You think a mere sword can defeat me? I am older than the hills, older than the stars. I have seen empires rise and fall.”

But Cian was undeterred. He lunged, striking at the serpent’s scales. Yet each wound healed instantly, and the Oilliphéist coiled tighter, threatening to drag him under.

Desperate, Cian remembered an ancient incantation—a secret passed down from druid to druid. He chanted the words, invoking the power of the elements. The water churned, and the serpent writhed in agony.

“Enough!” roared the Oilliphéist. “I yield.”

The Oilliphéist’s Confession:

It uncoiled, revealing its true form—a creature of sorrow and longing. “Long have I guarded these waters,” it confessed. “A curse binds me here, and only a hero’s sacrifice can break it.”

Cian hesitated. “What sacrifice?”

“The heart of a true warrior,” whispered the serpent. “Plunge your sword into my breast, and the curse shall lift.”

Cian’s hand trembled as he drove the blade into the serpent’s chest. The waters surged, and the Oilliphéist dissolved into mist. The curse lifted, and Lough Neagh sparkled in the sunlight once more.

Legacy of the Oilliphéist:

Cian returned to the village, hailed as a hero. But he carried the memory of the Oilliphéist—the guardian of murky waters—forever etched in his soul. And so, the legend endured—a reminder that even monsters had stories, and sometimes, their fates were intertwined with our own.

And there, by the shores of Lough Neagh, the Oilliphéist’s tale lives on, whispered in the wind and reflected in the ripples of ancient waters.

Christy,

Male, Husband, Dad, Family man, Friendly, Easygoing.

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[lamemaster]

Melodies of Love (Part 2)

PART 1

Summary: It isn’t mortal flesh or blood that your sword pierces but the very soul of the one you once knew as your father. You deliver the final blow to Morgoth, the dark lord of Arda, the villain of all wrong in the world but also your father.

AN: thank you to all of you who commented such good things on the first part and gave me the courage to write another one. This has been a story I have wanted to write for the longest time ever. So, thanks a lot for reading! (P.S. These really awesome dividers by @saradika.)

You expected to feel a burst of relief or maybe joy for the betterment of Arda. Anything numbness, anger, exhaustion but not this…not a despair so profound that you find yourself gasping for air. It feels as if the tip of your sword had been thrust into you. As if your own move left you wounded. 

It isn’t mortal flesh or blood that your sword pierces but the very soul of the one you once knew as your father. You deliver the final blow to Morgoth, the dark lord of Arda, the villain of all wrong in the world but also your father. The one you came looking for this world that you belong to partially.

It is a glorious moment of the fall of all dark and all wrong. A moment of victory from the hands of a demi-god, from another world. Around you, people celebrate the victory. Men, Elves, Dwarves, Valar, Maiar are all ecstatic about the unmarring of their world.

But you cannot bring yourself to move an inch. Fear grips you. You are terrified of moving the sword that impales your father. What if you hurt him more…what if…your thoughts panic as you observe his dissipating form. No…no..no…

None had seen it. None but you. The final blow would not have landed. It wouldn’t have if your father did not allow it himself. The dark lord of Arda willed his demise. He let you kill him. “My child…my dearest, I thank you. Forg-” are the only words you hear as you see your father’s fleeting form.  

You collapse to your knees, tears streaming down your face, as conflicting emotions surge through your heart. The truth of your father's sacrifice dawns upon you with devastating clarity. He had allowed you to strike the final blow, not out of weakness or defeat, but as a deliberate act of love and redemption. He chose to sacrifice himself for the greater good of Arda, and for you, his child. 

Your father...you could have saved him...he was not lost yet, not until you killed him with your very hands. You did it.

Manwe, the Lord of Arda, searches for you amidst the vast battlefield, the entirety of Arda stretched out before him. He felt it the moment you struck his brother, a deep ache in his chest that left him breathless, as if he were a dying mortal.

Regret floods Manwe's heart as he realizes he should have taken the burden of Arda upon himself. He should have shouldered the responsibility as its ruler, rather than allowing you to face such a miserable fate. He laments his decision, yearning to undo the choices that have led to this moment.

10 days ago...

In the quiet sanctuary of Manwe's chamber, a solemn conversation unfolds between you and the Lord of Arda. The weight of the world hangs heavy in the air as you gather your resolve, ready to make a promise that will shape your destiny.

"Uncle Manwe," you begin, your voice steady but filled with unwavering determination. "I cannot bear to see you burdened with the duty of facing my father in battle. I offer myself in your stead. Let me be the one to confront Melkor and bring an end to his darkness."

Manwe's usually serene eyes flicker with unease as he gazes upon you. Love for both you and Melkor intertwines within him, creating a conflict that cannot be easily resolved. The thought of pitting kin against kin weighs heavily upon his heart, and he hesitates to accept your selfless offer.

"My dear child," Manwe replies, his voice tinged with sorrow. "The battle that lies ahead is of unimaginable magnitude. It is not a fight I wished upon anyone, especially not you. Melkor is my brother, and though his actions have caused immense pain, he too was once a part of our family."

You reach out, placing a comforting hand on Manwe's, understanding the depth of his love and the struggles that torment him. "I know the extent of your affection for him, Uncle and that is why I cannot let you be the one to do it. I also cannot stand idly by while his malevolence continues to sow chaos and suffering. I will face him, not merely as his child, but as a force for good. For the world that you and the rest have created"

Manwe's troubled expression softens as he absorbs your words. He comprehends the unwavering conviction burning within you, the desire to bring an end to the darkness that has tarnished your father's legacy. Yet, the pain lingers within him, knowing that he may be sending his own flesh and blood to confront their own parent in a battle of epic proportions.

"Child, I cannot deny your determination or the purity of your intentions," Manwe says, his voice tinged with sadness. "But know that this path you have chosen will not be easy. The clash between light and darkness, between love and strife, will test your resolve and demand sacrifices. And in the end, should you stand against your father, the weight of that decision will forever shape your soul." Not for the first time Manwe finds himself in awe of your resilience. Despite the unfiltered hatred and less-than-acceptable treatment, his people have treated you with, you remain steadfast for a cause you never expected to encounter. Nothing has managed to break the spirit of the child of Melkor and Aphrodite.

You meet Manwe's gaze, your eyes radiating a blend of determination and compassion. "I understand, Uncle. I have contemplated the consequences, and I am willing to face them. My purpose in this world extends beyond my lineage. I will fight not only for the sake of Arda but also for the love that still resides within my father. If there is hope even a fragment of it, then I will fight to get him back from his fall."

Manwe's eyes shimmer with unshed tears, his inner turmoil laid bare before you. He reaches out, enveloping your hand within his own, conveying both love and reluctance. "May the grace of Illuvatar guide your steps, my child. May your path be one of light and love, even in the face of the darkest shadows. I will support you, protect you, and pray for your triumph. But know that my heart aches for the pain you will endure."

With a solemn nod, you accept Manwe's support, knowing the tumult of your own fate. But fueled by love and determination, ready to face your father and the destiny that awaited you.

Your face remains covered by your hair that had once been tied into intricate braids now lay unbound. What jars Manwe is the ash color of your hair. Once darkest black, the color of Melkor’s hair that you got from him is now ash. 

Present

Manwe, the sorrowful witness to your anguish, approaches with a heaviness in his heart. His steps falter, his voice filled with remorse, as he pleads for your forgiveness. He yearns to bear your pain, to shoulder the burden that weighs upon your soul.

Kneeling beside you, Manwe gently brushes away the veil of hair concealing your face. His touch lingers upon your tear-stained cheek, a tender gesture of empathy and love. "Y/n," he whispers, his voice a gentle plea, but your distant gaze remains unyielding, lost in a void of despair.

The light that once danced within your eyes has dimmed, replaced by a haunting bleakness. Joy, life, and radiance have been consumed, leaving behind a desolate emptiness. Manwe's own tears mirror your pain, for he knows that he is to blame. If only he had acted with courage, your hands would have been spared this tragic fate.

In broken words, you confess the unbearable truth. "My father… I… I killed him," your voice quivers, laden with remorse. Manwe attempts to wrench the sword from your grasp, desperate to release you from the weight of your actions, but your grip remains unyielding, as if bound by an unseen force.

Frantically, you search for something, your mind ensnared in a labyrinth of torment. "Uncle, I didn't want to… I tried… he just… my sword," you murmur, your words fragmented, lost in a haze of despair. Manwe's pleas grow desperate as he calls your name, his voice filled with urgency and longing, but you remain unresponsive, trapped in the grips of a nightmarish trance.

Fear grips Manwe's heart as he seeks aid from Lorien or perhaps Namo, anyone who can offer solace and healing. He tries to infuse his own strength into your shattered spirit, but only emptiness echoes back at him, a void that consumes his efforts. Panic surges within him as he scans the surroundings, only to find you vanished, leaving behind a void of sorrow.

On a day when Middle-earth rejoices in an improbable triumph, Manwe, the Lord of Arda, crumbles beneath the weight of loss. His brother, his only memory of him, you, both lost to the ravages of fate. The celebration fades into insignificance as the depth of his grief consumes his very being, leaving him shattered and bereft.

In the depths of your heart, the grief remains, a heavy burden that seems insurmountable. The consequences of your actions, the weight of your choices, bear down upon you relentlessly. Sorrow, guilt, and remorse intertwine, weaving a tapestry of anguish that engulfs your soul.

Tears flow ceaselessly, tracing rivulets of sorrow upon your cheeks. Once steady hands now tremble under the weight of the sword that forever altered your destiny. The memory of your father's essence resisting the blade haunts your every waking moment, a haunting reminder of the irreversible act that shattered your world.

Within your grief, there lies a multitude of emotions. It is the loss of a flawed father, a complex figure who once held a place in your heart. It is the anguish of shattered hope, the realization that your desperate attempts to save him were in vain. It is a mourning so deep that it takes everything of you.

And so you wander every coast, every shore, every mountain, every plain looking for any sign of your father. The world lay forgotten. Such has always been the fate of heroes in your mother's world and it seems fate is what you carry from her world to Arda.

Glorfindel pushes past a merry crowd of men as he tries to find you. His heart beats faster than it ever did. He can feel it. A fading pain in his heart, a pain that belongs to you in a heart that belongs to you.

He needs to find you and hold you. And he will do everything to mend whatever broken pieces the final battle left. After all, Glorfindel was no stranger to the emptiness of a victory that cost everything.

The gleaming band on his finger is not just for times of joy but also for moments of despair and he would not abandon you. He catches a glimpse of Lord Manwe standing alone and he feels the urge to ask the Vala about you. He must know, right?

Lord Manwe always wished good for you and it was for him you fought your own father so he must know. Glrofindel reasons as he makes his way to the king of Arda.

The king of the world had to know of your whereabouts. He would surely tell Glorfindel about the half-Vala who smiles at dandelions blooming by a street or the otherworldly half-god who bears all the hatred with a humble smile.

He would ask about his beloved who does not require food to sustain themself but cook nonetheless for Glorfindel's sake. Some know them as Agape from a foreign land.

Manwe's form seems to receede farther away despite every step Glrofindel takes. His own heart hurts so sharply that he stumbles. Foreign hands try to support the golden lord but Glorfindel pushes them away.

They are not what he craves. He wants the one his heart hurts for he wants them so selfishly that nothing else holds significance.

#the silmarillion #tolkien elves #silmarillion #middle earth #angst #eru #greek mythology #anteros #Melkor's child #Melkor #Morgoth #Manwe #glorfindel x reader

[laeorinel]

FFXIV Write 2022 - Day 10

Prompt - Channel.

Really struggled with this one for some reason, but at least it's done.

A teeny tiny bit of backstory for my Xaela that I will probably revisit later at some point when I'm not on a time crunch and feeling better.

Set during Stormblood.

----

Samara breathed a sigh of relief as the deal was made. The Xaela would march to war against the Empire to help free Doma. The struggles of the day had been worth it, even if the logistics of her new title weighed heavy on her mind. She was tribeless and had been fighting on behalf of the Mol. While she may have claimed the title, who would respect a Khagan who was still seen as an exile? She was so lost in her thoughts that she failed to hear the footsteps behind her.

"Khagan, if I may have a moment of your time?" Spoke an elderly voice, calm but stern.

Ah, Temulun. Samara had wondered how long it would be before the elder Ugdan made an appearance. "I am tribeless, so to call me Khagan seems-"

"The Gods led you to victory, just as they led you home. Your right to that title is equal to any other child of the Steppe."

Samara huffs indignantly. "They did no such thing. That I stand here is in spite of them, not because of them. My skills and companions carried me this far." She knew what she was saying would be seen as sacrilegious by the Mol, but she really did not care. Those bridges had been burned a long time ago. She was here out of duty and little else.

"What do you want, Temulun? Have the God's told you to play messenger to me again?" Samara looked over to the older woman, her nerves frayed after the day's events.

The older woman sighed before moving to stand beside Samara, the elder looking her in the eyes. "I would have you understand why I made the choices I did."

Temulun looks to the setting Sun on the horizon as she speaks, "You know that myself and a few other Ugdans were visited with a vision from the Gods years ago. A vision of you standing amidst a sea of chaos and bloodshed, where Xaela and foreigners alike paid the ultimate price. Your armour, weapons and power were unfamiliar, equal parts awe-inspiring and terrifying. Unyielding, you faced your foes, shrouded in shadow as they were."

Samara raised a brow slightly as she listened. She had known of the visions but never the contents. The similarities to the battles she faced now were not lost on her. "The others saw this as an ill omen. That you would battle with an unknown foe and bring nought by strife and sorrow to the Steppe. They wished you killed. Put to the sword before the vision became a reality if only to spare our kin that fate."

Temulun turned to look Samara in the eyes again, fierce and unwavering. "I refused. I heard the whispers of the Old Gods and acted as a conduit for both Father Azim and Mother Nhamma to speak. Even now, I remember the words clearly." She closed her eyes, her voice taking on a strange intonation as though speaking with another voice.

The first was a deeper voice, commanding and firm. "A singular radiance. My fierce and blazing flame. Before such fury, even the darkest of shadows will burn away. Souls flicker and flock to her side, seeking succour and sanctuary. But even the strongest flame must be nurtured and kindled, lest it is extinguished before the night's end."

The second voice was melodic yet powerful and fierce. "A singular radiance. A beacon of Light, guiding those around her in the darkness. Forging a path ahead into the unknown. My unbroken, unyielding blade. She will endure everlasting hardships to stand as the final defence against oblivion. But even the strongest will falter if they stand alone."

Temulun sways lightly on her feet, gaze unfocused as she speaks. "To channel their voices is…taxing, but it made clear what I must do."

She almost sounded mournful as she spoke, "I had to let you go. You were to be a protector of all, not just the Steppe. You would have to walk a different path from us all. To live your life unburdened and unbridled by the demands of a tribe…it was the only choice."

At that moment, something broke in Samara, nearly two decades' worth of grievances and pain bubbling to the surface. "The hell it was! You could have taught me, prepared me, done absolutely anything to try and ease that burden, but no. You believed the God's told you to abandon me, and as is always the case with the Mol, you never thought to question!" Temulun, for her part, remained unmoving. Perhaps she had been expecting this outburst.

"And worse still, you got the other Tribe elders in on it, didn't you? No one would take me in for more than a few moons, treating me like I was cursed. In the end, it became easier to shun all contact with anyone and leave the Steppe behind. I did not need the help of God's or people. I could survive alone." Her throat felt raw as she finished speaking, and she felt something on her face. Tears? When had she started crying?

Quickly wiping a hand over her face, she muttered as an afterthought. "Tomorrow, I will be leaving the Steppe, and I have little intention of returning. Do with the title of Khagan as you will." She already began walking away from Temulun, not caring if there was any response.

"Samara. I will not beg your forgiveness. I know the God's decree and my decision have led you to endure many trials and suffering. I can only pray that one day a time will come when you can set down your blade, and the duty the God's have given you is at an end."

Samara sighs, glancing up towards the rising moon as she keeps walking. "We both know it never will be."

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxiv write 2022 #ffxiv fanfiction

[spiritmaiden23]

“Hmmm. I don’t want to say that it’s long gone now. We shouldn’t just give up so soon. There’s still hope yet. We just need a little teamwork to find it.” 

@wayward-sword​ / starter call / closed.

#waywardsword #| interactions. #| your sorrowful fate forged by the gods. #( #i swear i have our thread saved in the drafts!! i'll get to it soon enough! #)

[seraphea]

tag dump? tag dump. thank god i can remember my tags, i was able to back most of my profile up too. my only problem is the replies...........

△ || her. the divine spirit maiden enshrouded in white ; gold trickles down her fingertips

△ || him. o’ youth clad in green fate is cruel to you ; yet she waits for you

△ || protector. loyal and devoted agent of the goddess ; she wishes to thank you

△ || lord. the tenacious demon lord of the surface ; his ambition has no bounds

△ || friend. without you this legend would not have been possible ; your destiny played a large role

v ; your sorrowful fate forged by the gods v ; the winds of destiny calls to you v ; goddess made mortal

#△ || her. the divine spirit maiden enshrouded in white ; gold trickles down her fingertips #△ || him. o’ youth clad in green fate is cruel to you ; yet she waits for you #△ || protector. loyal and devoted agent of the goddess ; she wishes to thank you #△ || lord. the tenacious demon lord of the surface ; his ambition has no bounds #△ || friend. without you this legend would not have been possible ; your destiny played a large role #v ; your sorrowful fate forged by the gods #v ; the winds of destiny calls to you #v ; goddess made mortal #△ || land of light #likes.

[spiritmaiden]

Staaaaaaaares

@bravelink

#bravelink #it has been a million years since i used that tag my word #| ic. #| your sorrowful fate forged by the gods. #(THANKS TUNGLE FOR SAVING MY EXTRA ASS TAGS OMG) #(hiiiii kelsey hiiiiii)

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 21)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 20.1

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Bearing the child from a man who promised was sterile gave more anxiety as you lived in their world, knowing that Geralt will resent as the offspring was forged by a cursed spirit that held her own reasons and consequences. Your fate becoming more complicated as each day pass by with a dreading feeling that you surely have no idea about.

Warnings: The usual blasphemy. Lore about the Djinn. (I've made it up) Matka means 'mother'. Ingrith is an OC of mine so she ain't real in the witcher story. Hehehe. (Surprise! Guess Geralt knew Ingrith after all. HE LIED. LMAO. 😂😅🤣) Panicking reader. Pregnancy. 

Words: 5.4k

A/N: Is this a boring chapter? I dunno. But, it will provide everyone the lore they need for some of your questions to be answered. I forgot to actually edit this because I was too focused on ranking up in Free Fire. Hahahahah. 😂 Had to edit this a day before I actually publish it in Tumblr. (I usually take 2 days because everybody loves to disturb me in my house. Also I need to manually tag people in taglists, check my grammar and typos. Oof. It makes me squint my eyes too hard on the screen because of how small the letters can be) 

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB! I apologize for errors!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be. I only own my original characters in this fanfic. 

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

"Geralt of Rivia,"

Vicious and cunning as she may seem, her tone was utterly redolent. Familiar faces finally met in such a fate that not any fortune teller may assume would happen. Loved ones being involve in adversities that has been unflattering for the witcher who stood before the queen's long associate in the castle of Kaedwen, a victorious smirk warping her sharp-edge face that Geralt has not reciprocated. Twisted in a smile that tells she was hopeful over her plans being moved into the right places.

"---I knew you would come," Ingrith spoke as a matter of fact.

The witcher knew that this encounter was inevitable for the second time. Their previous meeting lingering inside his head---being the reason why he chose to live in the outskirts of Kaedwen which eventually made him tarry a bit over going to Kaer Morhen after receiving no answer from her. Receiving much of an answer he needed through Cuthbert, his neighbor who happened to heard rumors about 'her' whereabouts more than from the sorceress he'd decided to talk with.

He'd finally knew where Yennefer has been travelling when you've arrived, his search being an easy one as Geralt discovered her location after trying not to seek for the sorceress he has been looking for years---ending up knowing her area when he gave up finding the sorceress after a month or so.

"Where is she?" he beseech his avows, the scowl stern and never fading as he was eager to see you since the moment he step foot in the castle.

"Yen or your futile human? Oh, it wouldn't be that cursed princess you've butchered in Blaviken because she's already dead, Geralt."

The cunning sorceress tutted before him as they stood at the foot of the abandoned round tower, no guards being publicly seen because of the fact that they were too much of a milksop. Ingrith, Tybalt and Eanraig---the ones who had cabbalistic abilities were the only people who tries to take care of the prince. His own parents and siblings never giving bother about checking how he was doing despite of being harmless in daylight.

"---You've disappointed me---I knew you had a penchant for sorceresses or women whom you could consider as your kind---strong, discerning....and even whores paid to entertain you through your pitiful solitude,"

Ingrith went on with her vouching, leaning her head to the side with a knowing gaze inside her eyes; a forewarning that she was dismayed from his foolish decisions that she finds, continuously mocking his settlements, "---But, you've chosen a useless woman who could not defend herself even by telling the queen that she was not the thief who has stolen her precious necklace,"

The butcher barred his teeth, jutting his jaw forward as he felt his back turn tense and rigid from how he was turning furious as each second passes by with the sorceress he'd regretted to seek for help before---not knowing she would also be the person to afflict pain for his midget in the future.

"You've told the queen that she stole her jewelry when you know it wasn't her, not a canny persuasion made, Ingrith."

Her grin turned bigger, finding his anger satisfying and entertaining in her perspective. Ingrith could disguise as a devil and nobody would notice because of how wicked she'd been turning herself into; a wretch that Geralt have seen from her with the sacrilegious intentions living inside her mind.

"I've expected more from you than to choose and defend a mortal, Witcher."

"---I've remember the night we first met," she continued to ran her mouth, sardonic as she gladly hinted. Ingrith could see the blaze in his golden eyes, how he wanted to unsheathe his sword that was carried behind his back to show her his indignation for everything---from leaving her niece in the hands of her father who detested her due to deformity.

Hence, she has left young Yennefer with no guilt in her eyes despite knowing everything---leaving the past behind and acting like it never happened, taking the initiative to ignore her whereabouts and look the other way from how she grew into a strong woman.

"You were asking Yennefer of Vengerberg from me," she stepped a foot closer towards the witcher, making Geralt deeply breathe through his nose from his pique and lack of personal space that she was trying to bombard him with.

Ingrith couldn't help but let her grin fall when Geralt took a step back, steering clear from her suggestive gestures as he gave her a low hiss and rumble of his chest when he added words to complete her sentence, "---and you had other plans,"

"I've had better plans for us, Geralt."

"I do not wish to be involved by those treacherous plans of yours. You want power---you wanted to become stronger. Settling yourself in the castle to do what you want. Even planning to extirpate your own niece because she is more powerful than you,"

The sorceress scoffed to herself, exasperated from how he blocked her advances. His amber filled with fury as it has still not yet died down after going the deep end. Her trials involving on discouraging his faith for a mere mortal like you. Her ears felt like it was being rattled from the inside, triggering her pride and ego over being told that she was below of her niece in terms of strength and magic, "Yennefer of Vengerberg? She is not powerful as you may seem, Witcher."

"You've left her alone with people who do not care for her,"

"Sorceresses don't die easily than mortals. It's in her blood; our blood, Elven blood. You know this."

Geralt couldn't help but give her a snicker, the small curl of his lip raising in disbelief for her intentions over you and being involved in his god-forsaken life that he didn't want you to be a part with, "You want my mortal to die,---" he gruffly muttered, the words tasting bitter on the ends of his tongue for the idea of you dying in his arms.

"---I won't let that happen, not until I'm alive, Ingrith."

The witcher continued to brood like how people described him to be; his mood turning sour for not seeing you yet and not knowing what was happening to you as it kept his chest bothered and heavy. Ingrith's features warped into a twist, her nose scrunched from how distasteful she found his protection over your vulnerable, weakened self; how pathetic he was caring for a mortal that could die easily especially having the curse, you were more impuisant than any other woman in the continent because a curse had effects and consequences.

His safeguarding would be useless because of the inevitable juncture that would give him sorrow and Geralt had no idea what he was in when he was trying hard to shelter you out of harms way.

Ingrith crossed her arms, shaking her head at his determination, "She'll eventually die, witcher. It's her fate in the continent. Humans like her reach their demise with misery and regret because they're nugatory, serving no purpose but to be insignificant over us,"

The latter turned his back away from her, ending the discussion with his perseverance being unyielding, shaking his head for her estimated fortune telling that he believed was a lie; understanding that she was only saying it because you didn't belong to their world and you were at high risk over danger for the chaos living in the continent.

"She won't die nor will you have the opportunity of doing so,"

"Her existence would bring more despair; more sorrow for your fate. She's just a nuisance value of human kind!" Ingrith loudly exclaimed from behind, watching him courageously push the doors to the round tower where the cursed prince has been living. Disregarding her warnings like the wind passing through.

He heard her but didn't give any acknowledge over her words. Whether it was true or not, the witcher may never know unless the day that Ingrith has been foretelling has actually been damned after all.

The fairly large throne room was filled in luxury, themed in gold and red. Such color that simply tells how their bloodline lived around the hierarchy that they highly take care of. Blood and coins. It says all. Their ornaments and artifacts spent with coins seeming to be conceived in detail for their palace rather than for the people who deserved it better living in Kaedwen.

Queen Makeda tapped her fingers along the arms of her throne, her gaze sharp and pondering over Geralt and Tybalt who stood in the middle of the room. Both having an obvious lour; deepening when she started to give orders about what was to be expected over the hunt, any hints as to where the witch has been rumored to be last seen or any more information that must be shared before Geralt takes off.

"Tybalt shall be coming in search for the witch with the witcher,"

Prince Markith, he was the queen's younger son before Prince Althalos. A lot more younger than the cursed man, immature as the maids say so. He stood beside his seated mother, wearing a simple doublet over his black breeches. The fading freckles on his cheeks stretching when a giggle escaped his lips; an obvious space between his two front teeth shown as his laugh echoed around the throne room that has gotten Geralt to give a gander.

"Witch. Witcher. Witchest." the teenager playfully mumbled beneath his breath, finding amusement over the whole thing going on with his family especially seeing the white haired witcher all brooding and silent, subtly mocking his kind in the least offending way as possible.

The queen immediately given him a sharp warning of her gaze, cocking her head to the side and seeing her son continuously chuckling from his own joke, having his own world that he always manages to live in. Seeming to be like he had imaginary friends rather than real ones that his parents seclude him amongst children because Markith should be remained untouched from the filth that people had.

"Markith, that is not a proper attitude of a prince," she lowly scolded in the midst of talking, the child's interruption obviously irking her temper.

Markith raise a brow, the child's tone utterly sardonic as he spoke, "But, I'm not the crown prince. Brother is. But, if brother dies then---"

She cut him off with a brusque hiss, "He will not die from our hands! He will live and rule the future of Kaedwen,"

"Does this kingdom even have a future when it is ruled by your hands?"

Quietude filled the throne room after her son's sarcastic retort. The silence was frothing; bubbling from her expected aggravation over the younger prince's shameless answer. Much to her chagrin, she has never received an apology nor an explanation as to why Markith suddenly blurted it out in the open for Geralt to hear.

Upon hearing those words coming from a child, the witcher couldn't help but stood nonplussed. His expressions coming off as emotionless with his brooding charm jumping off the four corners of the room. In which has received a glower from the vampire who also stood beside him, his eyes seeming to be taking Geralt much more of his attention when they were both called to stay beside each other.

Queen Makeda raised a finger, ushering one knight to march his way up the numbered stairs under the lavish canopy where the king and queen's throne sits.

"Bartley, bring him back to his chambers," she roughly ordered, her teeth barred as she glared at Markith who was also feral for disregarding his opinions over their corrupted reigning throughout their kingdom. Bartley gave a courteous bow for the queen before walking to where her son stood, forcefully grabbing onto his shoulders as he gently pushed him around to leave.

"But, Mother---"

The queen never takes no for an answer. Hence, one loud yell was all the child has taken before being thrown out, his gaze lingering longer at the witcher whom he has heard tales about; having quite the eagerness to see if the tales were true to their words. Yet, his mother decided to lock him up in his room again for being curious and playing around.

"Now!"

Geralt stood completely still. The scowl never changing as he gave a heavy sigh, seeming like the world was carried on his burly, armored shoulders. His sour mood being the result of your prior, quick separation before he even walked to the throne room. Your pained words ringing inside his head for a thousand times like a plague that he had finally not been immune for.

He shouldn't have left you in that condition especially when you were physically injured. Geralt actually just proved to you how much of a witcher he was; cantankerous, blunt and emotionless even though you've had this strong faith for him that you believed being the opposite of it.

But, he just needed to fuck it up by leaving you without a word and also calling you pathetic in such ways.

The butcher continued eating his own heart out by staring at the queen with brooding eyes, waiting for the go signal for his hunt. He wanted to get this over with; planning to do his job right and find the witch, bring her in the castle to reverse the spell then off you go with him. Leaving all of these behind as a past that you would never forget or decide to forget forever if you wanted to.

Tybalt audibly scoffed for Geralt to give him his regard, taking the side-eye from the witcher as he publicly stated his cavils, "Why am I traveling with him now, yer' majesty? to be his guard? Hilarious!"

One familiar hum was heard; gruff and utterly sarcastic once Geralt began to frankly acknowledge. His hostility over the vampire obvious when he has opened his mouth, "I work better alone and away from blood sucking monsters." a feigned curl of his lips appearing to be a smile has been received towards the queen, her quick understanding seeing that it was a forced one that Geralt was trying hard to perceive over his altercations.

"---I'm a witcher. I slaughter beasts. Monsters of any kind."

In the spur of the moment, Geralt turned his head to let Tybalt see the mocking flicker inside his golden eyes.

Tybalt knew he was pertaining to his kind. Vampires. He couldn't help but clench his fists on his sides, his nostrils flared while the witcher was trying to get on his nerves---or he just basically hated the higher vampire to send his animosity by being forthright, "What ye' lookin at, Weccan?" he sneered back at Geralt with barred teeth while the white wolf had the end of his lip curled into a leer, irked by his smug pillorying in the presence of the queen like he didn't give a fuck.

He really didn't especially when he wanted to behead everyone in his way.

Geralt's presence was already making Tybalt's hackles rise without even trying to nettle his temper. The image of his newly bathed hair was already narking him without even seeing his face and the feeling was mutual for both enemies.

Tybalt began forming his own ridicules, seeing the witcher become the object of his scorn.

"Your skin is as pale as your tresses. I doubt you still have any amount of blood in ye'!"

"The joke's too old. I'll assume you've asked me if I do bleed." the white wolf was nonchalant as he quipped. Displaying to be quite blase from his attempts of hurling more anger out of him when he was too furious from the start to even begin with.

"---Witcher, do you bleed?"

Geralt couldn't help the most jaded expression he could ever muster upon hearing the most asked question, uttering out a grumble of his insouciant timbre of his voice that has gotten Tybalt bellowing from his remark.

"My blood's not tasty enough for you. Don't bother."

"This feckin' arse!"

They've both sent each other deep growls against their chests, a low rumbling sound that was bouncing off the castle walls that everyone who was inside the throne room could notice as they stood side by side, giving each other glares and their derisive taunting.

Queen Makeda had a finger supporting her head from falling. Her arm folded and leaning against her throne whilst sighing over their random twits. Foot tapping along the stoned floors as she gave them both her enervated attention.

Tybalt's fixated gaze has been cut short when he'd knelt on the ground with one knee, bowing his head to pay his respects for the queen---probably, seeking support over not letting him travel with the witcher who must have a difficult time finding the witch that couldn't be found at all; not wanting to share his time with Geralt because their personalities were clashing against each other like rusty, acidic metal, "---Your highness, If you're worried about him dying in the middle of saving yer' witch whom can lift Prince Althalos' curse, I can assure you, he will not die. Legend says witchers die from monsters they hunt. The witch obviously isn't---"

The queen has raised her palm to cease his comments, completely unimpressed by how privileged he was being when it was her decision whether he would let him go or not.

"I can see how you both despise each other," she plainly stated, sounding nasally like she was too disappointed by Tybalt's actions.

At the mere exclamation of that, both men spoke in the same time. Their antipathy colliding even with their words sounding exactly what they felt for one another.

"Hate him." Geralt and Tybalt both snarled with such rancor, glaring for one more time before partially giving their whole attention to the queen who sat before the throne.

They've seen her mouth turn into frown, turning a blind eye towards the higher vampire who was left sulking for his sudden hunt. His plans with his sorceress coming to a stop for the queen's orders, intending to guard all your whereabouts in the palace as Ingrith tries to formulate a scheme to have you suffer without raising their hands on you nor using magic that will eventually fail because you were protected by a djinn.

"Tybalt. Be with the witcher. I want you guarding him until he finds the witch. The witcher shan't go back empty handed."

Tybalt couldn't help but curse beneath his breath, subtly rolling his eyes as he stood on both feet, adjusting his fur coat resting along his shoulders, "Oh, feckin' bullocks." before shaking his head as he forced a nod and approval out of him to gesture at the queen of Kaedwen.

Geralt calmly tried his best to exhale in a relaxing demeanor, his facial features twisting in utmost pique from the idea that he would be spending five days with the vampire he had a fight with back in the marketplace.

"Fuck." he lowly snarled to himself, momentarily shutting his eyes to breathe in disappointment. His head cocked to the side. Geralt felt Tybalt grip onto his armored shoulder, giving him a shallow pat to state his indignation with the whole ordeal. He turned on his heels, marching out of the throne room to fetch and pack his belongings for the journey ahead, quickly jogging out of the throne room that was making him want to curse as every second passes by with the witcher.

Queen Makeda can't help the snicker on her face, a smile forming wrinkles on the apples of her cheeks as she stated her false promises.

"You have my word about your little woman, Witcher. We will not touch her again."

Though, Geralt knew deep inside that it was all just a lie.

You've been receiving lots of personal questions from the druid. One of his queries was about the idea of wholeheartedly accepting a child from Geralt which you explained an approval if it was given in the future---or if he was even capable of giving you one. You strongly believed he can't.

Though, in the back of your head, you couldn't help but think how your child would look like with his genetics. Will she or he have white hair too? you gotta' have a child with beautiful genes somehow. An echo of hopeful, deranged voices filled your thoughts, quickly disregarding the thought in the back of your crazed head whilst hearing Eanraig bombard another question of his that kept you aware of how zealous he sounded.

"Do you love Geralt?"

"Woah. Hold your horses, Eanraig."

Subtly swallowing the anxiety away from hearing such question, you've warily cleared your throat. Your mouth wincing from the pungent taste of your after-retch. The inconspicious nullify of the subject taken heed by the scholar when you've avoided his eyes.

In-denial of the truth. Eanraig thought silently to himself while he brought his hand down, away from patting your back, "You will be giving the witcher a miracle," he lightly convinced you and decided that particulars shall be provided for the mother of the miraculous child growing inside; delaying the details with the father that would surely bring him into a shock and red-light from the witcher himself because of how having a pickney in the midst of his life will only bring his descendant danger.

"---From the night of the full moon, between a man and woman who had nature take its course, a child shall be produced,"

Mentioning that in a hot second, you were quick enough to counter the lie you ought to believe in. Trusting Geralt and his words more than ever because he knew himself better than anyone else especially in 'that' department. Thorough objection was promptly written all over your shocked, disapproving expressions; brows furrowed in worry with lips turning ajar for such sensible responsibility being given to your head like a crown fitting for you.

Was Geralt lying and he actually just wanted to get you pregnant? If so, then he was certainly a wacko for even doing it---in your world he could be arrested for lying.

"Geralt's infertile! What are you even---?!?!" you couldn't finish your sentence as the responsibility for having your lechery take over you a few nights ago was worth enough to blame. How did Eanraig knew when it hasn't reached a month after a tangle of passionate desires with the witcher? did everyone knew about it but not you both? was it why you were being hated by Ingrith because she knew you were bearing Geralt's child?

A ton rounds of bulleted questions rang inside your head after one query hasn't been answered. One by one it was hopping like rabbits chasing a baited carrot because on the other side of your head, it knew answers for your disputes within yourself.

Panic and fear over an unborn child was beginning to take a toll as you grabbed onto your roots, frustratingly tugging on them while you listened to Geralt's old friend.

"Infertile or not. As long as the other is human who possesses no magic---or better yet, both humans who possesses no magic shall receive results beyond their expectations. I have never told Geralt about this because he will never believe me. A Witcher does not take that kind of news too well---might be even saying that he would take his child as a bait to be eaten by monsters than to bring them to this world,"

You've pursed your lips, finding how true it was to hear those words from the witcher knowing that you were pregnant by his child. Was this a hoax? a dream that God wanted you to never wake up from?

Being transported to their dimension; loving a mutated human you never expected to and eventually baring a child from him when he knew he could never bore a child at all. Was this your destiny for him? giving him miracles---a child that he certainly didn't expected and needed because accepting his child of surprise was already difficult for him to undertake.

"I can totally hear him saying that." you uttered completely defeated and benumbed from the breaking news that made you forget how upset you were by Geralt's prior actions.

"You are having his child, my dear. You're carrying his scion that has been forged by the Djinn." Eanraig started his elucidation about the serious topic at hand, educating you about the accelerated gestation that the Djinn's curse may come between. Earlier telling you about the expected development because you might be seeing changes over your body than how a normal woman will be expecting.

"---The process is faster. Three times hastier than a normal pregnancy---Though, never fear for the child not to be normal."

With sangfroid, the breath that you've been holding has been puffed out with your eyes drooping closed; letting the calmness sink in without having the panic rise through your head for a hundred times because of the thought that the child would turn out different in which she may suffer in the end.

Until Eanraig decided to continue his statements that has given you whiplash.

"---Because that child is beyond normal. She'll inherit the Djinn's powers because it is a part of Matka's three wishes."

"She?" you've managed to feebly and shakily mutter beneath your soft breath, feeling the coldness wrap around you for knowing more about the child that you were currently bearing---keeping you in a constant disorient that had you staring onto your twitching fingers laid upon your thighs.

"I'll assume that the Djinn you have gotten was a Matka. The cursed Djinn who lovers try to find in order to bore an heir if they cannot create their own offspring. Matka was created to give her own powers to a progeny that would inherit her abilities---believing that her existence will help the world from lessening the bedlam within the lore of monsters and humanity,"

"You're telling me I'm really pregnant with a girl? with...with Geralt's child? This child is also...owning such power that is making me hyperventilate right now?! Is it a vampire?! What if it eats my insides just like how Edward's baby did?!" your back was still utterly stiff from the nervousness that this news has given you, the mere fact of taking care of a powerful baby pouring ice buckets on your head---the dread hitting your core from the stupefaction and fear raising a child of your own.

Your modern references has given Eanraig a nonchalant stare from him, never knowing to laugh or smile over your panicky state.

"Is the witcher a vampire?" he hesitatingly spoke, his throat sounding dry before Eanraig cleared his throat when he'd lately realized.

"No."

"Then, it shall not have any vampire blood."

Skin felt tingling as your heart couldn't stop the beating so fast, throwing you into a swivet, "I'm not prepared to be a mother, Eanraig!"

You couldn't help but reach a hand to clasp around your tightening throat, further listening to Eanraig. His expositions making you want to give him a bark of laughter due to the disbelief over what reality that destiny started giving you when the Djinn happened.

"The continent has its own supernatural contingencies that nobody may ever explain---which has given you a child of yours with the witcher. Your kingdom knows no magic based on your reactions, correct?" the druid raised a brow and grabbed both of your shoulders, firmly letting you look into his grey eyes that continued inspiriting your devastated self.

You've tentatively shook your head to give an answer. The dread gripping your heart so tight that you started breathing heavily, your fingers suddenly grabbing onto your stomach because of the sudden memory that the castle guards have placed a kick to your gut. The worry for your unborn baby bringing you into utter distress for her condition.

A loud gasp left your lips, "Wait, I've been---I've been abused---hurt---what about my child, Eanraig? If---If Geralt knows about this now, he wouldn't want my child, would he?"

"I...may never know what he thinks, little woman. He hardly speaks. Only to you, the bard and his surprise child, I assume."

"Then, should I keep this from him?"

"I doubt his mutations can keep your pregnancy as a secret,"

Panicking more than ever, you've felt your eyes well up with warmth. Signalling tears threatening to come out of it as both of your palms were on either side of your head. Quiet whining were heard in the back of your throat for the future that was bound for you especially by being thrown on the face by a brick, the brick being fate moving mountains for the witcher and his ill-fate infertility---that has been surprisingly controlled by the power of magic; black magic.

"Then, what do I do?! I don't want to raise a child on my own when I'm not even prepared to be a mother?!" Eanraig heard the sobs from you and he'd quickly gathered all of the comfort he could give by patting you on the back, calming down that tough anxiety you have.

"Cease the tears," he continued to pat, "---It'll be bad for you and the child,"

"I have a witcher baby! What do I do?!" you ranted and raved, sniffing in the same time as your fingers spread across your chest, feeling it tighten a lot more because of this serious matter. Time stood still for you, imagining what Geralt would say or tell when he couldn't even accept your love; when he was still secretive over things he wasn't comfortable about telling.

Would he be fine to have a child with a woman who was in love with him when he doesn't even know his true feelings for you until now?

"I don't know how to tell, Geralt! I don't wanna let this child grow without a father---what if I leave this world all of a sudden without him? Eanraig, what if he dies out there right now and this child grows up without a father?"

You knew, he would refuse the child you were having because of how he had a long time accepting Cirilla. A child who has already been taken care of by another---what more for a baby that he certainly had no experience of having nor wished to have?

The druid welcomed all your rants over such an important and surprising incident that existed in the white wolf's life. Completely knowing for it to be an unexpected route in his path that Eanraig could never see for him. He gave one last comforting pat on your back, nodding to you as if he was trying to let his words seep inside your head---your apprehension that he solely hoped to be the maturity of your mind.

"Let fate decide what will happen. You'll eventually need to tell the father of your child---and the witcher will know about it soon,"

Little did you know, there was already a tiny beat of a heart that seem to be inaudible for a mortal; but not for a witcher who had sensitive hearing created to catch onto the tiniest rustle of leaves till the quietest thumps of every heart.

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means your blog can’t be tagged. Please check your settings, bb’s! Thank you.) @alyxkbrl​​ @himarisolace​​ @barkingbullfrog​​ @ayamenimthiriel​​ @hellodevilslittlesister​ @turkish276​​ @spookypeachx​ @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us​​ @nympeth​​ @amirahiddleston​​ @gabethelobster​​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @uncoolcloudyhead​​ @melaninstylezz​​ @psychosupernaturalhero​​ @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​ @marvelousell​​ @kingniazx​​ @angelias134​​ @tapismyforte​​ @chook007​​ @covid-donotenter​​ @deadlydemon​ @cheesecakeisapie​ @angelofthor​​ @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky​, @shesthelastjedi​, @a--1--1--3​, @gutfucks​, @raynosaurus-rex​, @britty443​, @suhke3​, @shadowclawstudio88​, @ruthoakenshield​, @just-a-sad-donut​, @gxrdenr0se, @singeramg​

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza​, @crazybutconfidentaf​

General taglist: @agniavateira​, @iloveyouyen​, @rahdaleigh​, @silverkitten547​, @henrythickcavill​, @kaatelyyynn​, @marvelousell​, @madelinelina​, @summersong69​, @raynosaurus-rex​, @fckdeusername​, @evansislife​

#muse: geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x you #geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt x female reader #geralt x you smut #geralt x ofc #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia fic #white wolf #butcher of blaviken #witcher au #henry cavill #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #wotn #Witcher of the night #seb-owns-these-tatas #jaskier #cirilla of cintra #geralt series #geralt of rivia fanfiction #witcher netflix

[badassindistress]

The Thylead (Session 9)

Lay down your weary head

I know the world has harmed you

Deceivers may have charmed you

But sweetness lies ahead

Now you have found my glade

No tragedy will befall you

Let my song enthral you

In the sun-dappled shade

 You can let all your burdens go

Now you are in my meadow

You can let all your sorrows fly

Now you are one of mine

I will take all your cares away

If you stay in my meadow

I'll love you for eternity

Now you are one of mine

Down at the forge and wishing to leave, the party discover that the elevator is not there anymore. Deianeira flies up the elevator shaft and hears sounds of a warparty preparing. In the forgeroom they find scrolls of Burning Hands, Scorching Ray and Shatter. Mania and Azelma talk to the Forgekeeper. She doesn’t wish to work for the Brutes, but she can protect herself and the Forge for a while. There’s traps they can activate to help. The pit leads down to the Underdark.

Kallis sends Deianeira down a corridor to see if she can find another way out. There’s a way that might lead to the collapsed shaft she remembers, but there’s creatures on the way. Kallis and Cleophe barricade the elevator door to win them more time. Iliana is delirious and wants to harvest parts from the Cerberus. Kallis says she will just to shut her up. (Iliana got 15 death dog teeth and claws, a cockatrice beak and 1 deathdog hide earlier. The teeth can be arrowheads, the beak a dagger) They short rest and Mania sings a nymph’s lullaby. They set up fire and lava traps around the forge and Forgekeeper. There’s sounds of attackers at the elevator, so they make a run for it. Kallis tries to find a way but gets lot and runs into a cave that starts screaming in her head. She runs out without it affecting her, reliably leads them in the correct direction but through a flock of Sturges. Kallis and Mania get bitten by vampiric zombie humming birds. Cleophe kills one, Kallis pulls one off her neck and lets Deianeira eat it. Iliana, swaying and delirious but very confident magic missiles the entire flock. They’ve made it to the end of the mineshaft, to the partially collapsed opening. Mania uses the Staff of Hands to get the earth to form hands and clear the way for her.

They walk out into daylight again, travelling quickly to a safe place to set up camp. They sleep in a large stone hand of a statue. Kallis sets Alarm around them and Cleophe takes the first watch. Mania and Phryne don’t have bedrolls, so Phryné shares with her sister and Mania sleeps on the ground. Cleophe spots a stimfay flying over and wakes Kallis. It looks like a genuine Amazonian hawk stimfay. Kallis hides Deianeira and covers her hair. The stimfay passes on by.

The next morning Cleophe heals Azelma from her sickness and they travel back to Estoria. Kallis tries to tell Phryné that what happened to Iliana was not her fault. She did everything she could, it’s not her fault that the gods are more powerful than her. Phryne starts bawling. She says she’ll repay Kallis for keeping her sister safe.  Kallis gives her the tooth of the death dog instead, because it’s important to have symbols of your accomplishments. Phryne apologises once more for the first impression she got from Kallis and asks her how she feel about sheep. Kallis says she’d be happy to learn about sheep, so Phryne says she may be invited to meetings later. Kallis has not just earned Phryné’s respect, but also her friendship. Phryné explains she feels like she should be able to protect Iliana. Iliana has always had clouds above her, while Phryne’s got the sunny days. She has to keep her safe and very few people seemed ready to share that responsibility. She loves her more than anything, would do anything for her. Kallis says it’s unfair, the Titans are so much stronger than them, it’s not their fault. Phryne asks if it’s not her fault if she doesn’t respond adequately to the challenges set by the gods, or titans, or fate?  Kallis tells her she killed a fucking Cerberus and she can be proud of that.

They all go to Volkan’s hall where Phryné tells Volkan she killed the Cerberus with his dagger. They tell him about the brutes overrunning the mines. Volkan says he can gather some people to scare them off. Azelma mentions the king’s circlet, Mania adds it would be a good present for a granddaughter who’s had a tough time.

Kallis and Volkan spend some time fixing the mithral sword while Azelma watches. Pythor and Anora fuss gratifyingly over Iliana, who spends the day in a blanket nest copying the spell scrolls. Cleophe summons Iris again, who when she poofed turned into a tattoo on her left arm. She’s bigger now, the size of her hand.

Cleophe and Azelma ask Kallis to come out with them to gather potion ingredients. They’re all pretty distracted and are not very successful. Kallis talks to Cleophe about Iris. She knew dragonlords who had those as familiars. Cleophe says she thinks they are meant to bring back the dragonlords. Azelma says that of course they are, they need to be better than the ones before because they clearly sucked. Kallis sarcastically thanks her and Azelma returns that she did get taken by a nymph. Cleophe moves them past that by saying she read about Kallis at the old dragonlords hall, which is when she started dreaming of Iris. Kallis agrees that they need to get that crown then. Cleophē thinks she doesn't need the Crown but Azelma and potentially Kallis do need it (the person with the crown can distribute spell abilities). Kallis tells Azelma that maybe she’s here to be a better dragonlord, Azelma says there’s no reason Kallis can’t improve. Kallis asks her how many sentient robots she’s built, Azelma replies “none yet”. Cleophe once more de-escalates by asking Kallis if she was hiding from her people. Kallis says she ways, because she doesn’t know ho they are anymore. Azelma says that is makes sense that sometimes you don’t want your past to be your present. They didn’t gather a lot of herbs this way, so Cleophe spends 150gp at the Angora to be able to make her potions.

Azelma follows Kallis to the Forge to tell her she didn’t mean to say that she in particular sucks. She doesn’t know what happened, but clearly Kallis is great, but it just didn’t go well and they need to do better this time. She asks Kallis what it was like, if it was like waking up form a dream and whether a lot changed, aside form the useless gods. Kallis replies that Estoria didn’t even exist yet. Azelma tells her she should write a book but Kallis says she’ll leave that to Mania. Azelma asks how they met and learns that Kallis killed a lion that was going to eat her. They agree that “nice” is the correct sentiment here. Perhaps the pelt is still at the Nekropolis.

Mania goes to buy weaver’s tools and Phryné follows her. She wants to apologise for the impression she had. Mania apologises for thinking Phryné was boring and praises Iliana for being very clever and interesting. They agree they have to keep Iliana safe and that they will teach her to weave. That night while she’s keeping watch over Iliana, Phryné starts making a birdsized backpack.

Azelma’s locket looks like it has bloodsplatters on it. Azelma, asleep, feels hot burning sensation at her throat, which quickly turns cold.She sees a composed, older elegant woman who looks like her. The woman says that shadows are a surprise, she would have expected storms as the proper heritage of the Lord of Storms. She says she is Azelma’s grandmother Elissa, Lutheria’s head priestess. She says she’s not quite sure what to do with Azelma, she was doing so well, almost escaped part of their power. Azelma asked if they killed her, Elissa replies they tried, she believes Lutheria was a bit hurt, she hid herself away, took herself somewhere she couldn’t be found. She had to hide her daughter, who was a disappointed. Azelma agrees her mother wasn’t open to anything, that she sucked. Elisa didn’t have time to teach her all she knew, that’s not a problem now. Elissa tells Azelma that she’s going to be wonderful and she’s going to teach her everything. She reaches into Azelma’s heart and she suddenly feels nothing but terror and impending doom. (Azelma learned Cause Fear). Elisa is going to try and find a way to communicate, she can’t just appear at will.

Iliana tries to sneak off but falls on her face, waking up Phryné. Kallis had set an Alarm outside her room, so she’s able to track Iliana when she casts Invisibility on herself. Ilinaa tries to persuade her to give her time to breath, Kallis leaves the sister’s alone now Iliana is no longer a flight risk. Phryné sees Iliana seems off and begs her to have hope. Iiana dismisses her invisibility and when she drops her blanket cape Phryné sees she’s holding a knife. Iliana wanted to deprive Lutheria of the fun of watching her get killed two more times, to just get it out of the way now. She tells Phryné it’s all just a joke or performance for Lutheria. Phryné says she’ll kill Lutheria, that they’ll stay together and do what it takes. Iliana can’t let her sister get hurt and Phryné feels the same. Iliana asks if Phryné never thought that the gods only needed Iliana to be here so Phryné would be. Phryné denies it, says maybe Fate isn’t everything. She doesn’t care, they can rewrite fate, if only Iliana can give them time. They go back inside together.

The next morning Kallistrate and Cleophe go to the temple. Kallis tells Aesop about strange stimfay, he has heard there is an Amazon participating int the great Games this year. He also speaks about the last voyage of the Ultros. Kallis may have been there, it was where most of the Dragonlords were lost. Aesop only knows what Adonis told him, he assumes it was all Adonis knew. It was an attack on Phraxis that did deal some damage to Sydon, but at great cost to mortals. The dragonlords dead and no one knew what happened to their dragons. He asks if Kallis knows, she has some memory flashes of a Great tower and something going wrong. She has no memories of dragons dying. Aesop thanks her, he was afraid the Titans had them.

Cleophe goes back to her quiet potion brewing, but her calm gets disturbed by Mania, who has spent some time thinking about how unfair it all is and wants to offer to write songs about Cleophe’s family members so they will be forever remembered. Cleophe says she’s tried, but talking about them never works. Mania starts weeping and hugging Cleophe because that’s the worst thing she’s ever heard. She says they’ll find her family, because they’re still here and they have the gods on their side. They talk about Mytros being Cleophe’s god and Mania’s search to find out what happened to the other titans who are lost to time. Cleophe offers that it’s not all bad, since Mania got Kallis back, but Mania says Kallis is different know, that she only sometimes feels like herself. Cleophe explains that war changes people. Mania shouldn’t try to change her, even if it seems that Kallis might not like herself either. They talk for a long time while the potion brews.

 And that’s all for this session of the Thylead!

 @aporeticelenchus @leomundstinyblog @m-siecle @pioup-pioup @somuchbetterthanthat @guineamaina

#thylead #session recap #dnd #mania's fun and flirty adventure #cw suicide #just in case #this one got heavy #a talia original #ft a nymph's lullaby

[ineffably-effable]

good omens fic recommendations

If you’re looking for coherent reviews you’ll be disappointed, but if you want a list of quality recommendations - with excerpts & some vague ramblings as to what the reader should be in the mood for - enjoy!

29 recommendations underneath the cut.

(17k) Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak by triedunture 

Crowley and Aziraphale learn to move in tandem.

Mood: beautiful slow burn, misunderstandings, heartache that would be solved if someone taught these besotted idiots to communicate.

Paradox: Crowley has never risen from his seat and gone to stand behind someone at a counter, never put his arms around their middle and pulled them tight against him. Has never apologized with a touch, with a closeness, with the thin line of his body. So why does it occur to him that he might do that now? Might press up against Aziraphale from behind and rest his forehead on Aziraphale’s nape and ask silently to be forgiven. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world when he knows, intimately knows that it’s not.

(51k) how deep the sand by Handful_of_Silence

After the Apocalypse, and with characteristic slowness, both Crowley and Aziraphale think there might be something they need to sit down and talk about.

And then Aziraphale disappears.

Mood: tragic twist of fate, separation, hurt/comfort, guilt & devotion.

He thinks about the picnic they’d have had. He’d have pulled the top down from the Bentley and let the wind tussle his hair, the weather of a glorious August now gone warming his skin. They would have chatted, sitting carefully on a tartan blanket, and they’d have made their own plans.

They might have even found the right time to talk properly. Honestly. About everything that’s been, about the possibilities that could be now that everything’s different.

About maybe not going back to London. Going back to their Jobs.

About leaving it all behind, together.

The words Crowley didn’t say are clogging up his throat.

(14k) Made Flesh by rfsmiley / @redfacesmiley

AU in which Crowley is two entities, and Aziraphale isn’t sure how he feels about either of them.

Mood: oblivious idiots, daemon!fic-if-you-squint, pining & tamed desire.

Eleven years pass, attended by another marked change; the creature cannot bear to be out of the same room as Aziraphale. The angel, isolated and frayed as he is by the fear of the coming war, has no problems with this development – he needs the company – although sometimes he looks into the yellow eyes and feels the spear of a nameless sorrow. If it comes to it, Heaven will win, of course; the certainty, however, is bitter. He tries not to think about what will happen to Crowley, or to this small being that runs at his heels as he moves, gripped by a contagious agitation.

(8k) Ad Astra by drawlight / @drawlight

Some things can only be said in the dark.

Mood: beautiful prose, longing, ruthless inner-voices & insecurities.

Aziraphale swallows. His eyes hold Crowley’s. Crowley stands very still, wretched. Terrified. Watching Aziraphale’s very wide eyes, the open of the mouth. There is a softness in Aziraphale’s look, in the swallow of his throat. It could be? (It might not be.) He wants to scream it; he wants to say nothing at all. Let me stay in this bit of maybe. Maybe is not no, maybe means perhaps, someday. Maybe means you might feel the same. (You might not.)

(13.3k) Alegría by drawlight / @drawlight

After the End That Wasn’t, Heaven and Hell are leaving them alone. Entirely alone. (This is a story with nothing of miracles.)

Mood: beautiful prose, longing, ruthless inner-voices & insecurities + domesticity

(Yes, I know the mood is almost the same as above, but honestly this is @drawlight, what were you expecting? Read it if you want a Crowley that will absolutely wreck you & leave you heart-broken.)

Aziraphale is a touch-strong man. He touches everything (Crowley knows, he always watches). Aziraphale loves and he likes to love through his skin. His fingers on a particularly fine leather binding, dipping into the embossed author, the tooled name of the title. His hands breaking apart a loaf of Italian sourdough, fingers coming away with residual flour. Dipping his hands into sacks of grain, rubbing a fine weave of silk through. He touches Crowley too, in his usual and gentle way. The touch on the arm to still Crowley’s whiplash self, to make a point during an argument. Aziraphale who thinks nothing of oh, my dear, you’ve got an eyelash just there, let me get it for you. Crowley has a good memory. He catalogs them all, cross-examines them. Six-thousand years of maybes and what-ifs and what was thats ? But Aziraphale is just as easy with his touches on glass bottles while pulling out his favorite vintages. He touches his favorite fountain pen far more often than he reaches for Crowley. No, in context, it means nothing. It’s just Aziraphale as usual. Don’t look too closely, it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t.

(13k) small infinities and all that by JustStandingHere / @billypotts

Crowley and Aziraphale are turned human. This is the aftermath.

Mood: slow burn, domesticity, best friends falling in love & all the beautiful awkwardness that entails.

And there it is, isn’t it? Something they’ve known for a long time, but haven’t named it. Have been too scared to name it. Something that speaks in their bones, in the space between them.

(12k) the deft, sweet gesture of your hand by deadgreeks / @mortuarybees

Crowley arrives injured at Aziraphale’s door. He takes care of him, reads him an awful lot of Mary Oliver, and knits elaborate metaphors for his insecurities (literally).

Mood: beautiful writing, mixed signals, feeling unworthy of the millenia-long object of your affections, unable to create gifts that are good enough for the people you love and being in love with a complete idiot.

Aziraphale has tended to the sick and injured during periods of plague and war many times throughout his long life, and he tries to adopt the same kind-but-impersonal detachment as he carefully washes Crowley. It is slightly harder, Crowley being the sole object of six thousand years of repressed desire, but he’s also Aziraphale’s closest friend, and a person besides, so he does him the courtesy of not ogling his bare legs or torso as he goes.

(9.3k) Slow by write_away / @theirdarkreturning

Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

Mood: Miscommunication, with a hefty side order of pining and the urge to yell at your screen in the vain hopes of getting through to these two idiots.

For Crowley - that was the demon’s name, and it’s best to memorize it quickly, before he changes it yet again - knew that the angel would love him if he just asked, and Aziraphale - the angel, though there’s no rush with him, there never really is - knew that the demon would take him in with open arms if he just asked. It’s just that neither of them were good at asking things of one another.

(14.7) Lead me to the banquet hall by obstinatrix, wishwellingtons

Crowley loves taking Aziraphale out to eat almost as much as Aziraphale loves eating, but it’s always a bit of a one-sided affair. Aziraphale has never understood why. Crowley planned on keeping it that way, but best laid plans…

Mood: wonderful footnotes, pining, creating a shrine to the object of your longing and then submitting to the mortifying ordeal of them finding it.

The thing about Aziraphale is quite simply this: Crowley can never have enough of him. God, Satan, everyone knows he’s tried. Crowley has spent centuries glutting himself on the sight of him only to be empty again days later, wondering whether it’s too soon to show his face in the bookshop. Aziraphale drifts from brasserie to bar in his quest to indulge in the best of human culinary expertise; Crowley follows after, because he knows Aziraphale will be there. It isn’t enough, but it’s something, and the only thing Crowley can ever expect.

(14.2k) all i need, darling, is a life in your shape       by deadgreeks / @mortuarybees

After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives.

Mood: domesticity with pining, chosen family, acts of love, boyfriend sweaters & idiots in love.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes indulgently, passing out the rest of the gifts and sneaking little glances at Crowley as he struggled with the box. He’d worked so hard on it, searched all the best yarn shops in London for the perfect skeins. He even had to sit on hold for hours with the manufacturer of the yarn he chose because he needed another skein from the same dye-lot, knowing that Crowley would want only the best, and he’d notice even a minor inconsistency in the coloring.

(27k) Long Is The Way, And Hard by Kate_Lear

A story of Crowley’s thoughts about Aziraphale, from the Beginning to the present day.

And also of temptation, and want, and whether - for a Fallen Angel - redemption is possible after all.

Mood: slow burn, denial, temptation, jealousy, lust to love, character growth.

Aziraphale hasn’t shared his bed with anyone. He can’t have done, because if he has then Crowley is going to hunt down that mortal – in this world or the next – and enact something creatively and comprehensively bloody upon them. Possibly involving methods from the Spanish Inquisition, that have scabbed over in Crowley’s memory and that he shies away from picking at.

(25.7k) your weekend lover by witching

Mood: miscommunication, mutual pining, ineffable idiots who are on the same page but reading a different damn book

It was purely physical, they had agreed on that from the beginning. Aziraphale couldn’t quite remember why he had agreed to that, but he suspected it had something to do with not ruining their friendship, or some such nonsense. At any rate, that was the deal. The new Arrangement. Purely physical.

(16k) I’ve Got You To Help Me Forgive by Kate Andrews (k8andrewz)

Pt1: Crowley deals, more or less, with the Fall. Also, Crowley has feelings. The angel doesn’t help with that. Also, sunny rocks are very nice.

Pt2: In which tea is made, a story is shared, and a leap of faith is taken.

Mood: Lust, first times, innocence, ineffable sex, memory wipes, Aziraphale showing initiative and being a bit of a bastard, overwhelmed Crowley, Gabriel is a total dick. Fair warning this isn’t PWP, it has loads of plot and feelings too and fantastic characterizations.

The air in Crowley’s lungs took leave of him all at once. Memories he hadn’t given a good look at in ages resurfaced. Memories he’d quite ably buried, thank you very much and he sat up abruptly, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. He set his sunglasses on the table, then pressed his face into his palms and gave it a good scrub. After a sidelong glance at Aziraphale who sat there patiently watching him, he asked, “What am I supposed to do with a question like that, hmm?”

(13.9k) The Lightness of You by Rend_Herring

God should not have built them with such discrepancy, made them need for love, and long for wholeness, then left them to their own devices.

Mood: When you want to mix up your pining & angst with a bit of humour, sex and a praise kink.

The jasmine vine actually tries brushing up against Aziraphale’s cheek and he blushes, says, “Oh, you,” all indulgent and sweet-like.  It leaves a fragrant white blossom behind his ear.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says sincerely, and Crowley glares openly at the traitors. “That’s very kind of you.” His smile really is a beacon of otherworldly radiance. An orchid blooms on the spot, the epiphyte whore.

(7.2k) summer and his pleasures by witching

absence makes the heart grow fonder, and crowley and aziraphale’s hearts were plenty fond to begin with. a story told through phone calls while they are separated for work-related reasons.

Mood: drunk dialing and dirty talk, idiots in love

Something clicked in Aziraphale’s mind, and he held back a curse word threatening on his tongue. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, he found himself just in that sweet spot of intoxication where he was cognizant enough to recognize that he was doing something he absolutely shouldn’t do, but not quite enough to stop himself. “I would, you know,” he said, full of newfound confidence. “I’d – if you were here, I’d make it… very much worth your while.”

(3.6k) Birds of a Feather by idiopathicsmile

Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals.

Mood: Jealousy, lashing out, withdrawal, oblivious idiots slowly learning how to use their words.

Is Crowley jealous of a musty old flat above a used book store? In the millennia he’s spent slowly twisting his own heart around Aziraphale’s little finger, it’s not the weirdest thing he’s been jealous of, to be honest.

(11k) A Touch Like Sunlight    by goodomensblog / @goodomensblog / @just-quintessentially-me

When Aziraphale is threatened by angels who seek justice for Aziraphale’s crimes against Heaven, Crowley comes up with a plan to keep him safe from harm.

Mood: PTSD from witnessing the attempted murder of your husband, it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you, self-sacrificing idiots & badass idiots protecting eachother.

“Right! Brunch!” Aziraphale says, bouncing up on his toes - as if they hadn’t just been discussing the murder of archangels. “Do you think they have crepes?”

(13.6k) These Things Were Here by MajorEnglishEsquire

Crowley, following times of overwhelming distress, resorted to the snake form as a means of finding comfort and solitude.

Mood: displays of affection, love shown through care-taking, using your ineffable boyfriend as a security blanket.

Nothing like it happened again for years. The pattern, however, was too recognizable to be mistaken when it did reoccur.

When commended for some catastrophe of which he was no part, Crowley became a completely disconsolate mess, but he still actually handled those occasions better than when he was, in fact, party to such disaster.

If he was blamed, but not actually at fault, Aziraphale may find him on the verge of discorporation due to alcohol poisoning, but at least he would say what was wrong. It was worse when he had an assignment he couldn’t breathe a word of. It was worse when he would smile bitterly and leave silently, haunted beyond expression.

(4.6k) let sleeping snakes lie by kythen / @kythen

The world doesn’t end. Crowley falls asleep. And Aziraphale stays by his side, waiting for him to wake up again.

Mood: acts of love, comfort, warmth, home

To some extent, he understands Crowley’s need for sleep. It had been an exhausting decade for the both of them, what with the end of the world business, and it had culminated spontaneously in them cutting off their ties with both Heaven and Hell rather dramatically, which were the only ties that either of them have ever had since the Beginning. Just as Crowley had sauntered from the ranks of Heaven to Hell, he had finally found his way out of Hell and into something that finally felt like freedom.

(6.4k) All The Dreams We Had by ImpishTubist / @impishtubist

This time will be different, Aziraphale thinks. This time, Crowley will remember.

Mood: amnesia, groundhog day - but centered on a single relationship - and with more angst

It takes a year for Crowley to fall for him again, a year until the air raid and the church and the books; a year before Aziraphale finds himself pressed up against a brick wall and exchanging desperate, burning kisses.

Crowley’s forgotten again by morning.

(70k) The Place You Need To Reach by Zetared / @zetablarian 

When Crowley is forcibly recalled to home office, Aziraphale conspires with a denounced saint and strikes a deal with the agents of Hell to get him back.

Mood: sacrifice, loss of self, trauma, love, tenderness and fantasy-novel-esque world & character building

“I have a journey to complete,” Aziraphale reminds the Adversary, primly. “May I begin?”

“In good time, Aziraphael. In good time. Tell me, do you recall the rules correctly?”

Aziraphale grits his teeth at the purposeful use of his forgotten name, but he doesn’t mention it. “Yes, of course. Using no miracles or ethereal influence of any kind, I must walk through the circles of Hell and complete an unknown task in each to earn passage to the next. I must not look behind me, where Crowley will walk. I may speak to Crowley, but he cannot speak back. I will not hear him or see him or feel even a hint of his presence. I will move forward, and, God willing, he will follow me.”

(1.9k) Kissing, Accidentally. by skybound2 / @skybound2

The one where Crowley gives in and kisses Aziraphale while he has him pinned against a wall.

Mood: hilarious footnotes, brilliant Crowley internal monologues and ineffable kissing against a wall.

No. No what actually happens is that when Crowley slams Aziraphale up against a wall in the middle of a hallway at a former-Satanic-hospital-turned-paintball-complex to express to him how very not nice he is, his hindbrain, forebrain and all other portions of his brain, decide that while denial has been a lovely place to reside for the previous six millennia, they are rather due a relocation at this point. And “Oh! Would you look at that! Here’s the oh-so-very soft mouth of an oh-so-very-beautiful angel right in front of us! And all we have to do to get there is to just…lean forward an inch. Less than an inch, in fact! How fantastic!”

(9.3k) Build Our Kingdom by Mackem 

Mood: : ineffable dates, promises kept

“Ready for lunch?” Crowley drops to his knees to start unbuckling the straps on the basket as though this is something they do all the time; as though he hasn’t just effortlessly catapulted Aziraphale back in time almost fifty years.

“You remembered,” Aziraphale breathes as wonder courses through him. He mentioned something once during an awkward moment, half a century ago, and now here kneels a demon atop a picnic blanket.

“Hmm?” Crowley barely shoots him a sidelong glance as he concentrates on opening the basket.

Aziraphale’s eyes do not move from him. “You remembered,” he repeats, no less stunned. “Crowley, you really didn’t have to.”

Crowley’s hands still. Eventually, his eyes still on the basket, he murmurs, “Well, we did The Ritz, didn’t we?”

(9k) On The Matter Of Touch by Somedrunkpirate

For two ineffable husbands, they don’t really touch each other much. Here is a story on why that might be.

Mood: touch-starved idiots in love, heart-breaking internal monologues, misunderstandings, miscommunication, protective idiots.

Crowley had decided long ago that curiosity should have been a sin, because it has been the one thing consistently tempting him in his existence. He’s done everything he can think of and more, just so see what it was all about. But this, with Aziraphale, feels more than just an experience he can add to his endless tally

(8.2k) dum memor ipse mei by NeverNooitNiet

There is something, Aziraphale thinks, that is inherently selfish— unangelic, even— about grief. But then of course, the same could be said about love.

Mood: identity angst, calling Aziraphale out on his bullshit

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous ,” Crowley snaps. “Of course I don’t— angel, do you have any idea just how much more straightforward my life would be if only I were able to hate you?”

(5.6k) bent to the very earth by Ark / @et-in-arkadia

Use me, please, Crowley had said, so Aziraphale takes him at his word.

Mood: tenderness & kisses & sex against a wall

Aziraphale kisses him back because that is what makes sense, kissing Crowley, why, the thought crosses his mind often enough—he just never had the sort of momentum that seems to fire up Crowley now. Crowley whose hands are shaking before they ball up as fists on Aziraphale’s lapels, Crowley who keeps kissing him and kissing him like otherwise he’ll drown.

(40k) Lit in the Darkness by ToEdenandBackAgain / @toedenandbackagain​

Mood: Aziraphale and Crowley sleeping together through the ages. Mutual pining.

Aziraphale, despite being nowhere hear as gangly as Crowley, is somehow still all arms and legs when he sleeps. Crowley takes an elbow to the face three times before he wedges the angel between the wall and his body with an angry growl, making sure to trap the flailing limbs tight beneath his own.

Works In progress

this gorgeous ineffable wives snippet by @mia-ugly

Mood: beautiful writing, emotional vulnerability, submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known,

“Whatever happens tomorrow -“ And something will happen, they won’t walk away from this. They’d never be allowed. “Darling, you should know -”

the bucket list

  by darcylindbergh / @forineffablereasons  / @watsonshoneybee​

If you’re going to go native, you might as well go all the way.

Mood: saying the absolutely wrong thing at the wrong time, reaching your breaking point, miscommunication and heart break.

“You know, we are the way we are,” Aziraphale said slowly, pressing it a little, brushing his wing up against Crowley’s, “but we can also change, Crowley. We have done, over the years. We’ve changed quite a lot, since we first met.”

#ineffable husbands #good omens fic #ineffable husbands fic #good omens fic recs #ineffable husband fic recs #this is basically a love letter to this wonderful fandom #good omens #good omens fic rec

[thebiasrekkers]

Amaryllis: The Past || JHS

For the @bangtanscenery​ - April Showers Bring May Flowers Project in celebration of the Spring Season!

Plot: The year is 1170 AD in the kingdom of Goryeo. Nestled in a quiet corner of their world, two people are drawn together and love blossoms in their hearts. However, as tensions begin to rise between their nations, they are unwillingly pulled into the conflict. Their determination to overcome all odds becomes the nail needed for Fate to hammer into their coffins.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: historical!au | period!au | soulmate!au | angst | romance | drama | tragedy

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Female OC (Bayaraa Ehri)

Warnings: Mild language, extreme angst, major character deaths

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 13.4K

AN: Guys, when I tell you that I wasn't ready for this to be as big of a monster as I thought it would be, I was not prepared. At all. Period. This is the first Period/Historical!AU I've written in a while and definitely a first for BTS. I've always been a sucker for reincarnation stories and so laying the groundwork for this made me really happy. This is a tragic love story, but I promise that it will be better in the second part I plan on releasing next month! Enjoy and remember that you are loved!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Goryeo Kingdom 1170 AD

The noise of the marketplace seemed to erupt in mixed sounds of pleasantries and laughter. There was a constant tone flitting in and out; the sound of laughter and of so many market vendors talking at once. They were all trying to get people to look at their wares, to purchase them and make new deals. Hoseok smiled as he strolled through the streets, dodging oncoming children squealing in delight as they ran past the adults. The silk fabric of his robs clung to his figure, his lute bouncing lightly across his back and his satchel hung from his side.

To others, he appeared as nothing more than a traveling minstrel. But the truth of the matter was that he came from an upstanding noble family that was directly connected to the royal bloodline in the Goryeo Kingdom. He didn't like to make a fuss about it and neither did his brothers. Their father was blessed to have seven sons and Hoseok was the third-born son, granting him a little bit more freedom than his two older brothers. He had less responsibilities.

Hence why he was strolling around in the general public in his incognito garbs, masquerading as a traveling performing artist and poet.

"Sir," called a vendor, attempting to garner Hoseok's attention, "you look like a man who believes in good fortune!"

Hoseok paused, craning his neck to look at the man who had a variety of items spread out over his table. Nothing seemed to stick out and he wondered what any of his items had to do with good fortune. Just as he was about to ask, the man reached behind the table and lifted up a small, lacquered box from underneath. The design was exquisite, boasting a unique hand-craftsmanship with the various floral patterns cut from Mother of Pearl shells. Hoseok raised his brows, curious to see what could be inside of such a lovely chest.

When the man opened the box, he revealed a flower forged in metal. It sat on a cushion of black satin, but the flower itself almost seemed to gleam in the afternoon sunlight. It's stem was long, the leaves taking on a soft shine as it curled around the base of the flower. At the top, the petals were long and spindly, resembling a spider lily.

No. It was a spider lily.

Some artisan actually forged a spider lily.

Hoseok's lips parted as he reached his hand toward the flower. "It's beautiful," he whispered. But just before his fingers could brush against the metallic leaves, the vendor quickly closed the lid of the box, causing a frown to form on Hoseok's face. "How much?"

The market vendor was unable to hide his amusement as he waggled a finger at him. "Now now, My Lord, I must insist that you listen to the good fortune that comes with purchasing this flower. The artist who made this said the explanation is a must to anyone who wishes to have this flower in their possession."

Sighing, Hoseok brushed some of his bangs out of his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. "Very well. Go ahead."

The vendor smiled, clapped his hands together rapidly, and then slowly opened the box to reveal the flower. "Do you know the legend behind the Spider Lily, My Lord?"

Smothering down his own amusement, Hoseok shook his head. Of course he knew the legend of the Spider Lily. It was a tale forged in sorrow about two lovers who neglected their duties to watch over the petals and leaves. The Gods punished them and they promised to find one another again in the Underworld. However, they were unable to do so, hence they could not be reunited in the next life when they were reincarnated.

"I find it hard to believe that you don't," teased the vendor, which caused Hoseok to cant his head slightly, "but let's just say that this flower isn't an ordinary spider lily. The one who forged this flower said that the tragedy still exists inside, just as the legend dictates. But unlike Manju and Saka, the one who holds this flower will be able to reunite with their loved one in the next life. Guaranteed."

Hoseok couldn't help the scoff that escaped his lips. "How can the artisan possibly guarantee something like that? Was it the Jade Emperor who forged this flower? Is he an ethereal being who is going to be able to follow my spirit into the Underworld and ensure that I do not drink from the Spring of Forgetfulness so that I can, in fact, remember the face of the one I love in my next life?"

The vendor appeared perturbed by the onslaught of questions being thrown at him. But he seemed to collect himself well enough to puff his chest out and cleared his throat loudly. "W-Well, I'm just relaying the words to you as the artisan wished. If you do not want to purchase this rare item, then I will simply put it away."

As the man moved to close the box, Hoseok reached out to place his hand over the vendor's. He hesitated and Hoseok smiled warmly at him. "I apologize. I did not mean to offend, Good Sir. I'm a skeptic by nature, I'm afraid, and I let my lips run away before I could catch them." Again, the vendor cleared his throat, but he seemed less offended than earlier. "Regardless of the artisan's intent, this flower truly is beautiful. The story behind the spider lily is a sad one, but looking at this, I can tell they created this from love."

He could practically feel the vendor beaming at him. "Would you like to purchase it, My Lord?"

Hoseok smiled, reaching into his coin purse, and pulled out three gold coins. "Will this be enough?"

The vendor gasped. "T-That's more than the artisan asked for!"

Grinning, he pulled out another coin to add to the three. "Then I insist that you give him two and you keep the other two for your troubles."

Taking the coins from him, the vendor wasted no time wrapping the lacquered box up in a silk cloth. The vendor hurriedly handed the wrapped item to Hoseok, beaming wildly at the amazing exchange he’d just made. Hoseok wasn’t sure why he seemed so happy since he didn’t regret handing off the gold.

He only hoped that the vendor was honest and didn’t keep all four coins for himself.

“Lad-I mean, L-Lord Ehri!” A young attendant ran with her skirts hiked up as far as she could manage as she tore through the busy market streets. “My Lord, please wait!”

Erhi evaded her attendant, doing her best to smother her feminine sounding laugh as she hurried through the crowd. She was dressed in her incognito outfit, a young male warrior specifically. It was mostly so she could maneuver without any people questioning her reason for being there as a foreigner. Her father, a noble and wealthy merchant from the Mongols, was currently on a business venture in Goryeo. While her older sisters were obediently at his side, learning the proper etiquette for business, Erhi was left to her own devices.

For better or worse, she was allowed to roam the city streets of the kingdom so long as her attendant was with her and she stayed out of trouble. Erhi agreed to her father’s demands, but only to his face. She was positive that her parents knew of her outlandish behavior that strayed far from the proper lady fashion, but because she was the youngest, she was able to get away with it to a degree.

Her father was a businessman, after all. If she wanted to do something, there had to be a give and take deal. She was allowed to learn swordsmanship as long as she studied sewing. She could ride a horse if she practiced dancing. And she could train with the merchant troupe’s regiment if she could brew a proper pot of tea and serve it just as eloquently.

In that aspect, Erhi liked to think she was better off than her sisters. But mostly because they, themselves, had no interest in the things men liked to do. Especially since both were already promised to suitors. Erhi was too gruff to appeal to any male in her father’s circles and she preferred it that way.

Hence the reason she was running through the streets of a foreign city like a child.

She did her best to dodge the innocent bystanders on the street, twirling on her heels to avoid colliding into them needlessly. However, she hadn’t anticipated a group of children squealing through the crowd simultaneously. Ehri jumped suddenly, fully clearing the children as they stopped to stare off at the tails of her robes fluttering behind her. Focused on their awestruck faces, she failed to pay attention to what was ahead of her.

And what was in front of her was an unsuspecting young man carrying something wrapped in silk in his arms. She only managed to catch a glimpse of his surprised face and the lute strapped to his back before their bodies collided against one another; hard. There was a distinct crunch sound that seemed to reverberate throughout her entire body as the wind was knocked from her lungs. Coughing out the dirt that managed to spray up from the ground and into her nose, she heard the man groaning from underneath her. 

Gasping, Erhi quickly scrambled off the man and saw his face screwed up in pain. She immediately reached out for him, her hands grasping at his shoulders to help him sit up. “I’m so sorry,” she said, dusting off his silk robes, “I should have been paying attention, Naeuri.”

The young man grunted, coughing as he attempted to straighten the front of his robe. “It's fine. No harm done.” He extended his arms and shook the sleeves of his garbs back and forth while smiling. “See?”

Erhi flushed, embarrassed she’d lost her sense of awareness for even a moment and caused an innocent bystander to be caught up in her mess. She got to her feet, helping him up to where he continued to pat off the dirt from his clothes. Just as she was about to ask if he was alright, the true shame in her actions began to set in. Because there, at their feet, was what remained of his lute. Even the silken cloth wrapped around his parcel came loose, tilting sadly to showcase that whatever was inside was damaged as well. 

Suddenly, her attendant burst through the crowd looking haggard and annoyed. When she finally flattened her skirts down, she met Erhi’s gaze and stopped short before her rant could even start. Erhi quickly shook her head back and forth, silently urging her to pretend that she didn’t know her. Her attendant sighed, approaching the both of them as though she were a curious civilian wanting to make sure the two of them were alright.

“You’re both not hurt, are you, My Lords?” 

Erhi inwardly sighed with relief, gesturing to the young man at her side. “I’m fine.” She turned to look at the stranger. “I believe I’ve damaged your belongings. Please allow me to make amends by paying you for what the items were worth.”

The man smiled, shaking his head as he waved his hands back and forth. “Oh no, that’s not necessary. Truly.” He peered at Ehri closely, causing her to flush slightly. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

She bowed, her hair falling to curtain her face. “Yes, thank you.”

Erhi watched the man pick up his broken lute and ruined parcel. But he seemed unaffected by it. This made the guilt fall heavier on her heart and just as she was about to insist that she be allowed to make amends, he stepped toward her. They were just inches away from each other, causing her to gasp slightly while taking a step backward. 

“Shall we have a cup of tea to commemorate this occasion?”

Blinking rapidly at him, the young man smiled almost mischievously at Ehri. Then he leaned forward, his lips just barely brushing up against the shell of her ear.

“I would offer to share a drink, but inviting a woman to indulge in alcohol in the middle of the day  would seem a bit presumptuous and rude, yes?”

If Ehri was flushing a soft pink earlier, she was a full blown shade of scarlet at that exact moment. Craning her neck to look at him, she felt her lips parting in both shock and outrage as he continued to preen at her. When had he been able to see through her disguise? How could he have discovered the truth in such a short amount of time.

The snap of a fan brought her out of her internal reverie and she hopped back a full two feet from him as he slowly moved the fan back and forth across his body. He wasn’t being smug about it. She could tell that he was genuinely amused. And this, alone, piqued her curiosity.

Frowning, she huffed before giving an overly dramatic flourish of her arm as she stepped to the side. “After you, Naeuri,” she said through clenched teeth, “I insist.”

The playful twinkle never left his eyes and he merely strolled past her, snapping the fan closed as he pointed toward the direction straight ahead. “Come. We have much to discuss.”

Ehri caught her attendant’s eye and they both sighed in defeat, their legs feeling much heavier than they had just a few minutes ago.

This was problematic.

“I see,” Hoseok said in mid-sip, “so you’re from Mongolia.” He nodded, watching the two women seated across from him shifting uncomfortably in front of him. “That’s very interesting!”

The woman frowned as she sipped her tea while her attendant nervously cradled the porcelain between her fingers. Hoseok did his best to keep from bursting into small fits of laughter, but it was a very trying task. Especially since the woman who collided into him seemed hellbent on trying to find every opportunity to escape from his sight. 

Like he’d let that happen.

“I must admit, you caught me by surprise.” He smiled as her brows furrowed. “To think a young woman could tear through the streets in such a fashion. Normally it’s young boys with that sort of amount of energy.”

The woman huffed, folding her arms across her chest in defiance. “Why is that so surprising? I heard the women of Goryeo have just as much freedom as the men do.”

He nodded, lifting the cup of tea to his face. “Yes, they do. Which is why they don’t have to disguise themselves as men as you have.” She scoffed, her eyes shifting to meet his own as they widened slightly. “Do Mongolian women not have such free reign?”

“That’s not--!”

Hoseok leaned forward, intrigued and unable to hide his own curiosity. He knew he probably looked like a starry-eyed little boy, but he couldn’t hold back his fascination. As a member of the royal household’s branch family, Hoseok had little chances to interact with other foreigners unless he snuck away from home in the same way this young woman did. In a sense, they were both having similar experiences but for very different reasons.

“I heard that Mongolian children are able to ride horses before they even learn how to walk! Is that true?” She just stared at him, blinking every so often, and he leaned back quickly as while shaking his head back and forth. “Oh my, I’ve been so rude! Please forgive me. I never even introduced myself.” Hoseok bowed his head slightly. “My name is Hoseok. And you?”

There was a small measure of silence that stretched between them before she lifted her own teacup to her lips. 

“Ehri.”

“Ah,” he said, leaning back a bit, “Ehri-ssi.”

Hoseok watched her sip from her cup. He took note of how delicate her hands appeared. As she set it down, he focused back on her face. Their eyes stayed trained on each other before Ehri shifted her gaze to his belongings that were beside him on the bench. 

“I was serious about repaying you for your things, Hoseok Naeuri.”

He laughed. “That’s not necessary. My lute has seen better days, of course, but I was already planning on buying a new one.”

She lofted a single brow. “And your other item?”

“Not to worry. Only the box was ruined, but not completely. The item inside is perfectly fine.”

He visibly saw her shoulders relax, as well as her attendant’s. 

“How did you know?”

Hoseok was about to indulge in one of the sweet rice cakes when he stopped, his hand hovering over the plate. “Hm? Know what?”

"That I wasn’t a man.”

Her tone was so flat that it caused him to sputter a chuckle unintentionally.

He picked up one of the soft rice cakes while shrugging one shoulder. “Well, it wasn’t hard considering you fell on top of me chest first.” Hoseok watched her nose crinkle up and he bit his lip, smothering a grin from breaking out over his features. “And the fact that your attendant is a woman and a terrible actress.”

Ehri’s attendant groaned in defeat while she, in turn, merely huffed her annoyance. Hoseok was amused with how expressive she was. It was charming in a way. Not many women, even in Goryeo, openly wore their feelings on their sleeves as she did. Even though she was traveling incognito with her attendant, she had no problem expressing her emotions freely. 

He found himself drawn to her level of freedom.

“How long will your family be in Goryeo?” he asked, biting into the rice cake and savoring the sweet red bean jam inside.

She picked up a rice cake, offering it to her attendant first. “Until my father’s business deals are finished.”

“Does it usually take a long time?”

“No, not usually,” Ehri said as she began pouring herself more tea, “but because it’s Goryeo, he tends to make time to stay and enjoy the scenery. I’m sure we will be here a month or so, at the very least.”

“I see.” Hoseok slapped his hands on the table and leaned forward, causing the two women to jump suddenly. “Then we should see each other again!”

“W-What?” Erhi balked, leaning backward as he continued to press his body almost completely across the table. “What do you mean?”

“It's not often you get to come to Goryeo, yes?” Hoseok watched her nod slowly, waiting for him to continue. “Then allow me to show you all the great things this country has to offer! In exchange, you have to share all the wonderful stories of your homeland.”

She seemed skeptical. “Just stories?”

Hoseok nodded excitedly. “Yes, until I am able to travel to Mongolia myself and then you’ll have to take care of me while I’m there.” He extended his hand out to her. “Do we have a deal?”

Ehri appeared to be considering his offer. There was nothing for her to lose. She only had things to gain and he, too, would obtain something as well.

Maybe he would be able to have a friend who didn’t care about his connection to the royal family.

Sighing, she reached across the table to clasp her hand in his. Ehri smiled and Hoseok felt his heart skip a full beat in his chest. “Deal.”

The days bled into weeks. Before Ehri even realized it, nearly a month had passed. With each passing day, Hoseok was true to his word. They agreed to meet near the edge of the capital city where the rolling hills, forests, and meadows were located. Her attendant rode beside them and they let their horses graze in the fields. 

Hoseok shared wondrous stories of Goryeo’s history, art, and architecture. Being a Mongol, all Ehri knew were wide open plains, valleys, mountains, rivers and deserts. There were very few forests in her homeland and the flowers were even fewer, so these stories fascinated her. Hoseok had an attendant, just as Ehri, but he rarely accompanied him as often as hers did. If he were part of some aristocratic family, she couldn’t imagine him being able to wander about without an escort at all times.

But maybe she was reading too much into it.

In time, she truly got to know the man named Hoseok. Neither of them revealed their family names, which was probably for the best. There was no guarantee that they would see each other after her family returned home to Mongolia. But the few things she did discover were like small treasures she kept to herself.

His favorite colors were silver, white and cobalt. From what she was able to glean, it had something to do with being able to gain a sense of individualism among his other brothers in their household. He rarely wore his hair down, preferring to have it pulled up in a high ponytail, though he could do nothing with the fringe that often fell across his forehead.

Hoseok had a seemingly bottomless sweet tooth; his preference for rice cakes filled with some kind of sweet jam. He loved foreign goods and would always take time to see any traveling street performances during festival times. Poetry and philosophy were his preferred subjects, but he did excel in mathematics and history. 

Her attendant started to doze off as she sat under the shade of a nearby dogwood tree. The white petals fluttered through the air from the soft breeze that flew through the field. A quiet melody emanated from Hoseok’s lute as he strummed his fingers over the strings. Ehri was nestled in a bed of flowers, her legs curled up to her chest as she listened to the music. She couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips while watching him. His eyes were closed and every so often, some of his dark hair would fly over the bridge of his nose as he played.

To Ehri, he was unnecessarily handsome.

“Are you tired, Agassi?”

Blinking rapidly, Ehri lifted her head up from her knees. When she did, she saw that Hoseok was extremely close to her. Her lips parted and she leaned back quickly, gasping a little as he blinked curiously at her. 

“W-What?” she stammered out, feeling the heat rushing up her neck and spreading over her cheeks. “What’s the matter?”

He was crouched down on the ground, his elbows resting on his knees. But he didn’t move any closer to her, to which she was secretly grateful. “I was asking if you were tired.”

“Oh,” Ehri murmured, brushing some of her hair out of her face, “I’m fine.”

She leaned her head back as he stood up and dusted off the backs of his robes. Once finished, he reached a hand out to her. Not wanting to appear frail, Ehri gathered herself up and also knocked some grass and leaves off her clothes. Hoseok smiled as he gestured for her to follow him. Glancing to where her attendant was now fully asleep with the horses nearby, she shook her head and followed behind Hoseok as they moved deeper into the forest. 

When they entered a nearby clearing, Ehri paused while Hoseok continued to walk ahead of her. The vision that was in front of her caused her to pull a slow intake of breath. The field was littered with spindly, vibrant red flowers that seemed to stretch for as far as the eye could see. There was a sense of melancholy that nearly overwhelmed Ehri as she stared at the flowers, but she couldn’t understand why she felt that way.

“Have you ever heard of the legend of the Spider Lily?”

Hoseok’s words cut through her reverie and she lifted her gaze to meet his own. He was standing in the middle of the flowers, imploring for her to come closer. Ehri took slow, measured steps toward him, unable to take her eyes away from the flowers as she approached. When she was within arms’ reach of him, her attention was ripped from the red field as she felt Hoseok’s hands gripping onto her wrists. With a jerk of his arms, she was pulled forward and nearly bumped into his body, to which she was stopped short; his hands now gripping her shoulders.

“N-Naeuri?” 

“The Spider Lily legend,” he repeated slowly, tilting his chin down to look at her, “have you heard of it?”

Ehri wasn’t sure what to say so all she did was shake her head. Even though Hoseok smiled, there was an intensity in his eyes that pulled at her curiosity. So focused on his face, she failed to realize that his hands moved from her shoulders and down to her hips. Again, she chose to wear her incognito robes, which meant that every touch was that much closer to her body than it would have been had she decided to don her proper feminine attire. 

Straining her ears, Ehri waited for him to continue and hoped she could hear him over the heavy thud of her own heartbeat. 

After looking down at her for what felt like an uncomfortable amount of time, Hoseok craned his neck to look at their surroundings. Ehri did the same. 

“There was once a pair of fae, Manju and Saka, who were given the responsibility of guarding the leaves and petals of the Spider Lily. If the petals blossomed to their fullest, the leaves would die. If the leaves flourished, the petals would wilt. For a time, they were diligent in their duties.” Something flickered in Hoseok’s eyes, but she couldn’t quite tell since she could only see part of his profile. “The affection they had for one another continued to grow, until they could no longer deny their feelings for each other. They decided to meet, forsaking their duties, and both the petals and leaves began to die. The Gods punished the lovers by placing a curse on them, stating that the flowers and leaves will never be able to meet again.”

Ehri lowered her gaze to the red blossoms, wanting to reach out and caress the petals but knowing that the leaves deserved attention as well. Upon closer inspection, she could see the leaves were so far below the flowers, melding with the grass at their feet and almost disappearing. The stem was long, keeping the petals and leaves as far apart from each other as was possible for the flower.

“To make matters worse, the curse extends beyond death.”

She turned to face Hoseok who was now looking back at her. “What do you mean?”

He furrowed his brows slightly. “The two of them promised they would reunite in the Underworld so when they were reborn, they would be able to find each other again. But they were never able to meet and, as such, they were unable to be together upon reincarnation.”

Something painful throbbed inside of Ehri’s chest, causing her to curl her hand into a fist against the fabric of her robes. “That’s...that’s so sad.”

“It is.” When Ehri met Hoseok’s gaze, she could see a hint of a smile on his face. “Well, if you believe in the concept of rebirth.”

“I do.” She sighed, moving her upper body away from him a bit. “I don’t believe that the gods are so cruel to give us a short amount of time to live only to allow us to experience one life. The souls of our ancestors live within us.”

For a moment, all Ehri could do was stare up at Hoseok with what she hoped was a look of absolute determination. He didn’t give anything away. Not a single thing.

Which was what made the kiss he pulled her into all the more surprising. Her hands immediately moved to press against his chest, intent on pushing him away; at least at first. But the warmth of his hands as he clasped at the nape of her neck and how hard his heart seemed to be beating against his chest, made her own initial anxieties melt away. He was nothing but a complete gentleman all that time, and in truth, it tugged at the softer side of her normally wild nature. The more Ehri got to know him, a being so full of buried melancholy, the more drawn to him she felt.

When had it happened? When did she feel her heart starting to gravitate toward him?

When had he?

Delicate nips pulled at her lips, causing Ehri to release a soft sigh from her lungs. It was like Hoseok was attempting to pull her soul straight from her and, if it were possible, she would have given it over willingly. Her body shifted a little more against him and she wasn’t sure how much more of his affections she could handle. 

It became more apparent when tears unknowingly leaked from her eyes.

Hoseok’s lips left her own and a part of Ehri mourned for his absence. She didn’t realize the moment she’d pressed herself fully against him, but it made it that much harder to breathe. Or was it because he’d successfully pulled all the air from her lungs, leaving her breathless and yearning for more?

“Do you have to go?” The strain in his voice was clear, needling into her heart as he began drying her tears from her face. “I don’t want you to go.”

Ehri bit her lower lip, unable to break his gaze. “I have to,” she whispered, “my family…”

Suddenly, Hoseok pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around her as he cradled the back of her head in a passionate embrace. Clouds slowly rolled in, covering the sun and momentarily shrouding them in desaturated light. Ehri felt his body trembling against her, which made her heart thud harder against her chest to the point that it hurt to breathe. 

“Promise you’ll write to me,” he said into her temple.

Reaching up, she curled her fingers into fists along his back, nodding her head emphatically. “I will.”

Hoseok held her tighter, causing her to sob slightly. “Promise you won’t forget me.”

Again, she nodded, unable to keep the tears from spilling. “I won’t.”

Slowly, he pulled back and captured her lips again. Ehri could feel her heart sing with the emotion that pushed from each of them. He held her like she was the greatest treasure he’d discovered. But they both knew that they would have to part. It would only be for a little while. Their worlds weren’t so far apart. They could see each other again.

That was their hope.

That was their dream.

“Hoseok-ah! What are you doing?”

He ignored the question tinged with outrage as he continued to pack his belongings. He took care to make sure one parcel, in particular, was stowed away where it could not be damaged. He didn’t need much. Whatever he did need, he could simply purchase along the way. 

His attendant stood quietly in the corner of his room, his own gear packed and slung across his shoulder. Hoseok knew he wouldn’t speak up. It wasn’t his place. He’d already been given his commands to accompany him and that was that.

“I asked you what you are doing, dammit!” He felt his brother, Yoongi, grip onto his shoulder and forcefully spin him around. “Where do you think you’re going?!”

“Mongolia.” He roughly shrugged Yoongi’s hand from him. “Could you please leave? I’m trying to finish packing.”

Yoongi jerked him around and slapped him across the face. The sting of the blow inflamed instantly and he didn’t even bother with covering his cheek with his palm to soothe the ache. Red veins spidered out toward Yoongi’s irises. That’s how Hoseok knew that his brother was angry with him for being so selfish. It was rare for him to be this selfish, but that meant it was more important for him to leave now more than ever. 

“Do you want to get yourself killed, huh?” Yoongi heaved an aggravated sound as he roughly tugged at some of his hair. “Our countries are about to go to war soon!”

“You think I don’t know that, Hyung-nim?! I do!” Hoseok’s vision shook as he tried to tether his anger. He knew he was failing. “I know that, which is why I have to go! Let me go, Hyung-nim!”

His brother’s face went red, then faded to a splotchy sort of peach color. Hoseok knew he’d successfully defused Yoongi’s anger, but it was far from over. If their parents found out, or even the rest of his brothers, Hoseok could guarantee that there would be no escape for him. He would be placed  under house arrest faster than his mind could even begin to process. 

Even so, he had to go. 

He had to find her. He needed to see her again.

The door to his room slid open slowly, revealing his oldest brother, Seokjin, on the other side. Dressed in his crimson and silver robes, he stepped across the threshold and slid the door quietly behind him. His hands were hidden inside the sleeves of his robe, but then he revealed a scroll from within. He held it out to Hoseok as Yoongi approached their older brother.

“Hyung-nim,” Yoongi said while eyeing the scroll, “what is the meaning of this?”

“It’s an official edict from His Majesty on our father’s behalf. Father has taken ill and will not be able to conduct his business trip.” Seokjin craned his neck to look at Hoseok. “This will allow you safe passage across the border.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened. “S-Seokjin Hyung-nim…”

A tender smile graced Seokjin’s full lips. “Father is aware of why you are so adamant on leaving. As are we all.” He lobbed the scroll to his younger brother. Hoseok’s hands trembled as he held the silk scroll in his hands. “We only ask that you return safely.”

Yoongi groaned as he tugged his hair harshly. Grumbling something under his breath, he strode past his brother and slid open the door. “I’ll get the others.”

By others, he meant the rest of their brothers.

“Why?” Hoseok’s eyes lingered on the parchment. “Why is Father allowing this?”

“Contrary to what we all may think, Father understands what it means to be in love.” Seokjin closed the distance between them, placing a hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. “He cares for our happiness more than anyone. Mother also agrees.”

Sucking in air through his teeth, Hoseok shut his eyes in a vain attempt to keep from shedding tears. Months had passed since Ehri left to return home, and the tensions between Goryeo and Mongolia seemed to escalate. There was talk of war in the coming months, if not sooner. While Ehri and Hoseok wrote to each other diligently in that time, it was clear that there was nothing they would be able to do once the conflict officially broke out. There was a good chance that this war would separate them permanently.

He wanted to see her before then. No, he had to.

“If you can convince her to come back with you, then you will be married immediately upon your return.” 

He quickly lifted his face to meet Seokjin’s. “W-What?”

His brother’s gentle smile remained. “Mother and Father have both agreed to this.”

Unable to contain his elation, Hoseok threw himself into Seokjin’s arms. He took comfort in his older brother’s embrace. He felt Seokjin laugh as he patted Hoseok on the head like they were still children and he’d skinned his hands on the stone ground. 

“Be safe, Little Brother.”

Ehri quickly began gathering what few things she could. Mostly practical things, but there were some odds and ends that she collected that would be needed to procure money for her travels. There was no barring her parents from her quarters, but she could at least keep her sisters out of the way as she hurried along. Her attendant was at her wit’s end keeping watch to make sure that no one attempted to stop Ehri from what she was doing. 

Pain exploded across Ehri’s chest and she immediately collapsed to her knees, clutching at her chest as another coughing fit burst forth. She did her best to smother the noise, but it was useless. Her attendant was at her side instantly, handing her a cup of water to drink. She could barely get a few sips in before watery mist sprayed from her mouth due to another coughing outburst. Ehri’s breathing was unsteady, but she tried to pull as much air into her lungs as she could in an attempt to suppress the cough.

“My Lady,” called her attendant as she slowly rubbed circles along her back, “please, you must rest. The physician said so himself.”

Angry tears leaked from her eyes and she swiped them from her face quickly. “There’s no time,” she muttered, “we must leave tonight.”

“Please, My Lady, this is madness.” Her attendant was all but begging, but Ehri was stubborn. “There is no need for such haste. Did Lord Hoseok not say that he would be arriving tomorrow morning? Why must we leave in the middle of the night?”

“Don’t be so foolish!” Ehri snapped, glaring at her faithful attendant. “Do you still not understand the gravity of the situation?”

But she couldn’t expect her to. It was outside of her attendant’s control and her duties. No. This was Ehri’s fight. She had to do it. Because her parents were determined to keep her from the man she so desperately longed for. She’d missed him for him for days - no, for months. And it felt like years mounting between them the longer they were apart. Hoseok said he was coming for her and she had to believe him. She did believe him.

The animosity between their nations be damned. What did that have to do with any of their feelings for each other? Her family told her that Hoseok was the enemy because he was from a soon-to-be enemy nation. But she could never see him as the enemy. Ehri never would. While some would have accused her of lacking filial piety, she also believed that she was living up to the expectations from which she was raised. Give and take. That was how the merchant world operated. There was no such thing as a free meal.

If Fate was going to shorten her time on this earth, then she had every right to obtain happiness to make up for it.

Her attendant sighed heavily, pulling out a thick fur throw and settling it on top of Ehri’s shoulders. A few more coughs escaped, but she appreciated the warmth. The colder season was beginning to settle in and it would only be a matter of time before it was fully upon them.

“Does Lord Hoseok know of your condition, My Lady?”

Ehri shook her head fiercely. “No.” She pointed at her attendant. “And I forbid you from revealing it to him as well.” Ehri sighed, placing a hand to her chest. “It will only cause him to worry.”

Gathering herself up, Ehri reached out for her satchel but her attendant beat her to it. “You’ll have a difficult time carrying that and maintaining your breath. Let me carry this for you, My Lady.” She watched her attendant flash a warm smile to her. “Until we are able to get on the horses at least.”

Ehri gave her a devious smirk. “Very well.”

Hoseok awoke to the first frost of the season already collecting on the grass around the tent. It didn’t take him long to bathe and get dressed, foregoing a proper breakfast. Instead, he nibbled on some cured meat and bread, washing it down with water. His caravan dismantled their camp within minutes and they resumed their journey, having crossed into Mongol territory through the checkpoint yesterday evening. His father’s edict had, in fact, made things easier. But he was worried when the messenger pigeon he’d sent ahead for Ehri had not yet returned.

Did something happen?

No, he thought while shaking his head, I can’t think like that. I’m sure she still has the bird with her. Hoseok felt his chest swelling with the large intake of air he pulled, unable to shake the smile from his face. I will be seeing her soon.

The caravan moved at an even pace. He was so excited to see his beloved. He could still remember what her face looked like when she smiled; like the darkest nights could never hope to douse her radiance. It seemed a little unfair, truth be told, that she could be so captivating. But Hoseok considered himself blessed to know that he could love someone like her; that she loved him in return.

As his horse trotted along, Hoseok reached into his bag and pulled out the refurbished lacquered box. His hand smoothed over the mother of pearl decorations and he lifted the clasp up to open the box. Inside was the beautifully forged spider lily he purchased at what felt like a lifetime ago. He hadn’t known it then, but this was going to be his wedding present to Ehri. But he didn’t want to wait until the wedding. He wanted to be able to give it to her as soon as he saw her. 

A cold wind suddenly blew through the troupe, causing his skin to pepper out in goosebumps. He replaced the box back into his bag, securing the knot on the silken scarf to keep it from falling out. The rest of the group murmured their sentiments in that it was, in fact, cold. Hoseok quickly instructed everyone to put on warmer clothes so that they didn’t get sick. They all complied without hesitation. 

“Naeuri!”

Hoseok turned in the direction where the voice came from. Confusion melted to joy as he saw Ehri urging her horse forward with thunderous gallops, her faithful attendant barely able to keep up. Pulling at the reigns, Hoseok broke away from the caravan and pushed his own mount into a speedy gallop so that he could meet her halfway. As she came into view, Hoseok noticed her cheeks were a bit flushed and he could see the cloudy puffs of air coming from both her and her horse. His smile fell a fraction as he saw her clutching at her chest. 

Was something wrong?

Closer and closer they reached each other, until he saw Ehri standing up from her saddle. Her attendant screamed as both she and Hoseok watched Ehri jump from her horse and into the air. Leaning back, he stared open-mouthed as she flew toward him. A rough grunt was all he could manage as she landed in his arms and his horse protested in annoyance at the sudden added weight. Both of them toppled off the steed in a flurry of legs and arms. Hoseok maneuvered his body so that he was the one to hit the ground first. Again, the wind was knocked from his lungs as Ehri fell on top of him.

For a moment, all they could do was laugh painfully together.

“You know,” Ehri breathed as she sat up to look down at him, her face flushed and full with a smile, “we should really and truly stop meeting like this, don’t you agree?”

He beamed up at her. “Yes, I most certainly do.”

Again, they laughed. Hoseok’s heart was so full he thought it would burst. But the happiness was doused the moment Ehri began coughing. It was a harsh sound, as though she were struggling to breathe. It was cold out and maybe she’d gotten a little too excited. His hand moved up to touch her forehead and he gasped at her burning temperature. 

“Agassi!” he cried out, moving so that he was now sitting up and cradling her to his chest. “What happened? You have a terrible fever!”

Her attendant was at her side, looking flustered and on the verge of tears. “My Lady refuses to listen, that’s what.”

Quickly, she retrieved a folded up piece of paper from her garments and held it to Ehri’s lips. From what Hoseok could gather from the smell, it was some sort of medicine. The powder slid into Ehri’s mouth and she watched her cover her mouth to prevent from coughing it out on impulse. Her attendant pulled out a small canteen and held it to her lips, washing the powder down with water.

Hoseok turned his attention to Ehri’s attendant. “What is going on? I demand an answer!”

Ehri slapped her attendant the moment she opened her mouth to speak. The blow shocked the girl more than it hurt. This must have been the first time she’d ever been struck by Ehri in the entire time they’d been together. It was evident in both of their expressions. The attendant bit her lower lip as tears brimmed her eyes, but she eventually averted her gaze and remained quiet at their sides. 

“Ehri Agassi,” he murmured as she shifted her eyes to look up at him, “why did you--?”

“It’s just a minor affliction,” she said, her voice weak from coughing, “it will pass in time.”

His brows furrowed, but he nodded. Hoseok stood up, hefting Ehri into his arms. Her attendant followed suit as some members of his caravan collected their horses. There was a carriage in their group, to which he was now thankful for. His brothers, Namjoon and Jimin, insisted that he take it with him, regardless of how many times he explained to them that Ehri was a seasoned rider. He could remember the playful expressions on their faces as they explained that she was his bride-to-be and their future in-law. There was no sense in her not to indulge in comfort with this bitter weather coming in.

Hoseok settled her into the carriage, immediately wrapping her up with thick blankets and furs. If it was just a fever, then all she would need to do was sweat it out. She would be back to her old self in no time. Hell, before they returned to Goryeo. 

He was sure of it.

Hours seemed like days. Days moved like weeks.

Ehri felt herself falling in and out of consciousness so many times due to her fever. There were moments where she felt the world blurring around her. Other times, it appeared so clear, sharp and bright; so much so that she had to often squint to see. She hated being cramped in the carriage, but Ehri knew her body well enough to not push for wanting to ride like everyone else did. If she tried, she was almost certain that her condition would worsen.

It would be another week before they reached Goryeo.

I just have to hold on until then, she thought, the last dregs of sleep lifting from her eyes, just a little longer.

Part of Ehri felt terrible for keeping such a big secret from Hoseok. But revealing the truth would only hurt him. He would find a way to blame himself and she didn’t want that. It was simply the tiles that Life felt fit to deal to her. Before leaving her home, Ehri prayed to her ancestors and burned a small offering to the gods. She didn’t ask for much. Only a little more time than what was allotted to her.

She wouldn’t be greedy.

Two days later, she felt a little better. Ehri slid open the small window of the carriage so she could peer out at the world around them. The rolling hills and valleys of her home almost seemed to be bidding her farewell as the leaves browned and fell from the smattering of trees that existed. The hazy clouds sat along the mountain peaks, promising the onset of snow to come. The grass along the plains, once lush and green, were now beige. She would not see them return to their true green hues.

She took her medicine obediently and when they made camp, she apologized to her attendant for striking her. Her friend cried while holding her hands as Ehri lay in bed, too weak to laugh at how terrible her attendant’s face looked from all the crying she’d subjected herself to. After a refreshing bath and warm meal, she felt a little bit better. Hoseok periodically checked on her and was a gentleman in giving her her space. When she had the energy, he took her by the hand and led her throughout the camp to introduce her to the others. They were friends and loyal servants to Hoseok and his family. 

Ehri received warm greetings and welcomes, filling her heart with happiness she couldn’t begin to describe. These weren’t her people. They were Goryeons and lived a life far apart from her own. She should have been seen as the enemy in their eyes. They had every right to hate her for the potential cause of their country’s upheaval from her own people. But there was nothing of the sort in their eyes or their mannerisms toward her. 

Their vibrant laughter, rich stories, and warm smiles were a comfort to her. As she sat curled up by the campfire with the others, they all were entranced with Hoseok’s lute playing. He eased their worries for what would happen to their nation through his songs of encouragement, rekindling what hope may have burned out inside of each of them. As they often said, it was always darkest before dawn.

This, too, would pass.

The warmth of the fire, the lute’s melody, and her own fever lulled her to sleep. When she came to, she was back in her tent and wrapped in a number of blankets. A cold, damp cloth was pressed to her forehead. Ehri blinked a few times to clear the blurriness from her vision and she saw Hoseok keeping vigil at her side. Their eyes met and the worry creases on his brows started to disappear. He tried to smile, but she knew he was having a hard time.

“I’m sorry, Hoseok Naeuri,” she murmured as she watched him preparing her medicine, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He shook his head. “No, you need to rest. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. Especially with it getting colder.” Hoseok used a clean, dry cloth to wipe at the sweat around her cheeks and neck. 

Ehri tried to suppress a cough, but failed to keep a few of them from coming out. “How long until we reach Goryeo.”

“We’ll dismantle camp tomorrow and ride out at first light. If we keep a steady pace, we’ll arrive in a few days.” Removing the cloth from her forehead, he dipped it into a brass basin and wrung the water out. “And then we can get a proper physician to look at you.”

She pouted. “I’m fine,” she insisted, “I don’t get sick often so this is just how my body is reacting to it.”

“Even so, I want to be sure.” Hoseok placed the cloth back on her forehead. “Besides, in Goryeo we’ll have better access to medicine than the peddlers we’ve encountered on the journey.” He leaned down and placed a soft kiss to her cheek. “Now sleep.”

Nodding, she sighed and was about to close her eyes when she noticed a box on the table. Ehri blinked, rubbed at her eyes, and then looked again to make sure she wasn’t seeing anything. There wasn’t such a decorative box on her table when she’d left the tent earlier. Hoseok seemed to gauge that she was looking elsewhere, following her line of sight. He gave a gentle laugh.

“Oh, that?” He stood from the small stool situated at her bedside and retrieved the box from the table. After he sat back down, he opened it and showed her the metallic spider lily inside. “Do you like it?”

Her lips parted, but she lacked the proper words to describe its beauty. Instead, she nodded.

“I’m glad.” He closed the box. “It was supposed to be your wedding present, but I figured this would help lift your spirits some.”

Ehri sighed a little, her brows furrowing. “But didn’t you say that the legend of the Spider Lily is a sad story?” She pouted again. “Why would you give me such a thing as a wedding present?”

Hoseok seemed to take amusement in her childish questioning and reached out to pet her head. “I bought this from an artisan who claimed that this flower is different from the actual spider lily.”

She was curious. “Different how?”

Again, Hoseok opened the box to show her the lovely flower. “He said that anyone who possesses this flower is guaranteed to be reunited with their love in the next life. It will not come to pass like in the tale of Manju and Saka.”

“How can he guarantee that?”

“I asked the same thing,” Hoseok said while laughing. He closed the box. “But we will just have to see when we are reborn again, hm?” He stroked her cheek with his fingers. “I want to love you again in our next life, Ehri-ah.”

The informal way of speaking to her caused her cheeks to flush. There was so much love in his words that she couldn’t help but feel the urge to cry. She didn’t know just how much time she had left to love this man, and it was even more cruel to keep that knowledge from him. But she wanted to prevent him from suffering needlessly. There was no sense in imparting such pain to him and so she would keep it bottled up inside of herself for as long as she could.

Until life saw it fit to escort her to the Underworld.

Ehri’s condition worsened as the days bled on. 

Hoseok did his best to keep himself calm, but there was a horrifying truth that he couldn’t shake from his mind, even though he desperately wanted to. He spied her attendant leaving Ehri’s tent on the night before they would arrive in Goryeo all but bawling her eyes out. He made sure to keep himself hidden and while there was a part of him that wanted to force her to tell him what was going on, he also wanted to respect Ehri’s wishes. 

Maybe he was thinking too much. Once they arrived in Goryeo, he would seek his father’s help in obtaining the best physicians to see to her care. They had skilled doctors in their country who were advancing their medical studies day after day.

Surely someone would have the remedy to heal Ehri’s ailment.

Hoseok wanted to ride in the carriage with Ehri until they were in Goryeo, but she insisted that she be alone. She didn’t want to bother him with all of her coughing and wheezing which, in turn, would only make him worry further. She wasn’t wrong, but the notion didn’t make him happy. Her attendant rode with her in the carriage, making sure she was hydrated and taking her medicine in a timely fashion.

After they crossed the border and cleared the checkpoint, Hoseok informed the others that he would ride ahead to his family’s estate. He needed to make sure everything was prepared for Ehri’s arrival and that doctors were already there to administer to her medically.

He practically burst through the main gate of his family’s estate, sliding off his horse and running for the main house. Slinging the door open roughly, he thundered through the halls - having not bothered to take off his shoes. 

“Father! Mother!” he yelled, opening every door he could see to determine the whereabouts of his family. 

Laughter was heard out in the garden and he ran through one of the side entrances to get there as quickly as possible. When he arrived at the gardens, looking quite haggard, his brothers stopped their archery competition as their parents peered up at him from their chairs. His youngest brother, Jungkook, dropped his bow and quiver, immediately racing to his side.

“Hyung-nim, what’s the matter?” he asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

His other younger brothers, Jimin and Taehyung, were also making their way toward him. 

“You look like the Grim Reapers have been chasing you,” teased Taehyung as he peered over Hoseok’s shoulders, “in that much of a rush to introduce us to your bride-to-be?”

Hoseok ignored his little brother, his eyes meeting both of his older brother’s and his twin, Namjoon. They instantly could ascertain the desperation in his eyes. 

“What is it, Hoseok-ah?” their father asked, rising from his chair and crossing over to him. “Is everything alright?”

Reaching out with his hands, he clung shamelessly onto the sleeves of his father’s robes. “Father, please! Call a doctor, the best doctor we can afford and get our hands on!” His father frowned and Hoseok wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep himself together. “It’s Ehri! She’s sick and needs a physician immediately!”

Nodding, his father pointed to one of the servants to go fetch a physician from town immediately. After the servant left, Hoseok’s legs gave way beneath him and he collapsed to the ground. His mother and brothers were all at his side, lifting him back up onto his feet and ushering him to his room. He hadn’t realized how tired he was and while the adrenaline continued to pump through him, they urged him to close his eyes for just a little bit, all of them promising to wake him up the moment the caravan returned.

The fatigue and stress of the journey mixed together with Hoseok’s anxiety over Ehri. As he fell into his bed, he couldn’t fight against the urge of sleep overtaking him. Within seconds, the world faded out around him.

Hoseok’s family was delightful.

Even as she was placed in her own quarters and fussed over by doctors, they treated her like she was already a member of the family. Jungkook painted wonderful pictures of flowers and landscapes that he promised to have properly framed into a folding screen for her room. Taehyung told fascinating stories of adventurers going off to slay dragons. Jimin brewed some of the best tea she’d ever tasted in her life. The younger brothers all listened with rapt attention to the folk legends of her own homeland, particularly of warriors who fought valiantly against the gods to protect their people and ensure their power of choice and freewill was not taken from them.

Namjoon was quiet, often reading philosophical texts and poems from his and Hoseok’s collections. They were twin brothers and while they looked nothing alike, she could tell they both had similarly soft and intellectual natures. He was a bit more clumsy than Hoseok, as well as the rest of his brothers, but he more than made up for it with his charm and wit.

Yoongi, the second older brother, always seemed to sport a dour expression. At first, she believed that he didn’t like her for reasons she couldn’t quite understand. He clearly had no issue with her being a Mongol, but there was something barbarous in his words every time he spoke with her. It wasn’t until a few days after her arrival that it became clear that that was simply how he showed his affection to others. If he was worried, he fussed. If he was happy, he called someone foolish for being kind. If Hoseok wasn’t attending to her needs, Yoongi was always there to change out the damp cloths and wipe the sweat from her skin.

Seokjin was charming and kind, always gentle and sneaking in delicious sweets and snacks for her when she felt a little better. He kept a stern vigil on physicians who were overseeing her care in Hoseok’s absence. Truth be told, it was often Seokjin who chased her beloved Hoseok away since seeing her in that state only frayed his nerves even more.

Especially when the truth of her illness was finally revealed.

Many doctors examined her. They all came to the same conclusion. 

It was a disease of the lungs, one that they could not cure. While the physicians in her own country told her the same thing, part of Ehri hoped that Goryeo would have the answer where Mongolia did not. There was always the chance and it was that chance that Ehri clung on to so desperately. 

But like she expected, there was nothing they could do.

The only thing that could be done for her was to make her as comfortable as possible until the very end. Hoseok was a mess, raging at the doctors and threatening to have them killed for their laziness. But they were doing the best they could. Ehri could see that and so she knew Hoseok could see that as well. There was nothing that could be done. Only a miracle could pull Ehri out of this infestation attacking her lungs and she wasn’t a big believer of such things.

When she was well enough to move around, Ehri and Hoseok were married. It was a modest affair in his family home. Her only regret was that her own family couldn’t be part of the festivities. After a night of celebration, Ehri and Hoseok turned in for the night and slept. It was all she could manage since she lacked the strength in her body to give up her innocence, her first night, to her husband. But Hoseok was understanding and kind, merely holding her close to his body as she attempted to fight off a night of fitful, fever-induced dreams.

Like their nations’ leaders predicted, war began to spread throughout Goryeo and Mongolia. The conflict bled across borders and into each country, both nations hoping that the other would give up their stance on their respective worlds and surrender. Neither country would surrender to the other and the commoners, the people, were caught in the crossfire. Her family wrote to her, imploring her to come home but she couldn’t bring herself to even reassure them that she was fine. What energy she had, she spent it writing and it wasn’t to her family.

She was a person of Goryeo now.

Ehri felt it harder to maintain her energy with each passing day. When she finally started coughing up blood was when she knew her time in the world was drawing to a close. Her attendant was present at the time, spying the blood stain on her lips and the silk handkerchief. Ehri made her swear not to tell anyone, making sure her friend cleaned her face of the tears before going to fetch her tonic. 

Winter was not kind to Ehri’s lungs and she wasn’t allowed to see the snow falling outside. This saddened her far more than she expected since the snow reminded her of home. But Ehri also knew that the minute she inhaled the cold, it would spread like needles into her lungs. Regardless of the inevitable, she still had to take care of herself.

As she diligently took her medicine and rested, Ehri could smell the air changing from inside the estate. Spring would soon be upon them. She would be able to see the flowers blooming again. The pollen would, no doubt, be terrible for her lungs. But she didn’t care. She was denied her snow, the least she could do was indulge in the rebirth of the land.

Ehri exited her room as quietly as possible, leaving her attendant asleep at the table while she was sewing. She would get an earful later, but it would be worth it to see the lovely dogwood and cherry trees in full bloom in the courtyard. She wrapped an extra layer of clothing around her body to keep the cold at bay, stumbling out onto the back verandah.

Her lips parted in awe at the blossoms swaying back and forth on their branches. The delicate pink and white petals flew and danced in the air as they broke free from their constraints. The sky was a pastel blue and there were no clouds to be seen. The sight caused tears to form in Ehri’s eyes and she quickly covered her mouth to keep from sobbing out loud.

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered to herself. 

“Pu-in,” called Hoseok, startling her. She noted the serious look on his face and immediately lowered her head in shame. She’d been caught in the act. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I’ve slept enough.” Reaching out to grasp his arm, she looped her own through his. “I wanted to enjoy the day with you, Seobang-nim.” 

Ehri giggled and she noted the slight tint of pink on Hoseok’s cheeks. They’d been officially husband and wife for several months and he still seemed so shy about it. Which was fine with her. It made it so much easier to tease him.

Clearing his throat loudly, he turned his face away from her to hide his shyness. “Yes, well...you should have had your attendant come fetch me then.”

She leaned in closer, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “It’s more fun this way.”

Hoseok sighed in defeat, carefully ushering her down the steps from the verandah and into the courtyard. Ehri knew he could never stay upset with her for very long. While she tried not to have her way all the time, she was still stubborn about certain things. Refusing to be bed-ridden was one of those instances, regardless of how tired her body felt and how much it protested against her.

They crossed the courtyard, making their way toward the large dogwood tree. From there, he fanned out the tail end of his robe so that Ehri could sit on it and not get her clothes dirty. She laughed gently, feeling another flush rush up her neck and spread over her cheeks. Truly, she was the luckiest woman alive to have such a caring husband who loved and spoiled her. 

Settling herself comfortably, Ehri laid her head on Hoseok’s shoulder. He shifted a little, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her close. Gasping, she couldn’t help the shy smile that flitted over her face. When she took a breath, she could smell his scent that was so unique to him; like the forest after a rainstorm. It mixed in with all the different fragrances of Spring that seemed to dance around them. Taking her hand in his, he laced his fingers through hers and they sat quietly together as a soft breeze tickled along Ehri’s skin.

“Seobang-nim?”

Hoseok hummed. “Yes, what is it, Pu-in?”

She smiled, closing her eyes. “Thank you.”

She felt him shift and she knew, even without looking at him, that Hoseok was looking at her. “For what?”

“Everything.” Ehri gripped his fingers a little tighter around his. “Thank you for everything.”

Hoseok moved, causing Ehri to lift her head up so she had to look at him. While one hand held hers, his other rested along her neck. “Pu-in…”

“I love you,” she whispered to him, leaning forward to press her lips against his.

Nothing else needed to be said. All of the beautiful moments she’d come to cherish weren’t meaningless. They were precious memories she would carry with her into the afterlife. She would never let them go. And when she was reborn, Ehri simply had one wish and she hoped that the gods would be kind enough to grant it. 

If I’m reborn, please let me love this man again. Let me love him longer in my next life. Please…

And in the darkness, Ehri felt the world fall to a raw tilt. It was like the earth opened up beneath her and began swallowing her whole. Her body felt heavy, weighted down by gravity. But she smiled against Hoseok’s lips. It was dark but she could still see his face, clear as if she were looking at him. She memorized all of his features in that moment, clinging onto them and engraving them into her heart. No, her soul.

Soon, her heartbeat stilled. All that was left was silence.

Hoseok watched as the flames devoured the elegant pine box Ehri was placed in. The funeral pyre was adorned with various flowers that his mother and sister-in-laws arranged themselves. Ehri’s family was allowed to cross the border so they could be present for her funeral services. Voices cried out as the fire grew in volume, the smoke billowing up to stain the skies in a black fog. Resting on top of the box was the metallic spider lily he’d given Ehri as a wedding present. He wasn’t sure if it was through the waves of heat or his own tears, but the flower almost seemed to take on an ethereal glow. 

No, his eyes were surely playing tricks on him.

Spring had barely begun. It was a time of rebirth and renewal. It was supposed to be a time of healing. 

Instead, something precious had been taken from him. Hoseok wasn’t sure how to even begin processing that.

He remained alone in the yard long after Ehri’s pyre extinguished itself. Her ashes were gathered in a ceramic urn and a memorial tablet was carved from the branch of the cherry trees she loved so much. It was stained and polished, inked and then placed in a small cabinet that was designated just for her. Hoseok burned a stick of incense for her every morning and every night. When he wasn’t attending to his duties around the home or tutoring other young students, he was at the temple to offer up prayers and bows almost a thousand times.

He returned home with swollen legs and sore arms every night.

For a time, he begged his family to leave Ehri’s room alone. In time, he would come to move on from her untimely demise. But until then, he wanted to be able to take comfort in her presence even in her absence. When he did enter her chambers, he could see the unfinished needlepoint of the crane by her easel. There were times when she dabbled in watercolors, thanks to Jungkook’s teaching, and she was getting better and better as days went on. 

Before her illness took a turn for the worse.

The room had her smell, albeit a bit faint, but it was still there. Hoseok took what little comfort he could from it. His hand traced over the small vanity where she attempted to apply makeup. Hoseok smiled sadly at the container of rouge that was barely touched because Ehri wasn’t healthy enough to apply the makeup on herself. His fingers curled into the small handle of the vanity’s drawer, pulling it out slowly. Inside was her hairbrush, embossed with vines made of silver and a few pearls. It was a gift from his mother at the behest that she be allowed to attend to Ehri’s hair from time to time. Of course, his beloved wife relented to the request gladly.

Just as he was about to close the drawer, he noticed a folded piece of paper under the hairbrush. Curious, he removed the paper and unfolded it. The handwriting was clearly Ehri’s and this brought a touch of comfort to him. However, as he read the words, Hoseok couldn’t stop his hands from trembling as tears seeped from his eyes.

My Dearest Hoseok,

I pray that you never find this letter. I am merely writing it for my own peace of mind. I am leaving it in a place I hope you never find and that I will have the courage to destroy it before you stumble upon it. But there is a good chance that I will not be well enough to do so. In fact, the fevers that wrack my body will most likely make me forget that I’ve even done this in the first place. But that’s alright.

I know that my time in this world grows short and it pains me to see you agonizing over my condition. I don’t want you to dwell on the past. This was something out of our control and there is nothing we could have done to prevent this. I am so fortunate to have been able to spend these last moments by your side.

Your family, your people, are my family and my people. You looked upon me not as a Mongol, an enemy, but as someone to be loved and cherished. Someone to be brought into the fold and welcomed with open arms. I do not know what the state of the world will be when you come to find this, but I hope things have calmed down. I hope that peace has returned to our people.

Mongolia. I have missed it. I have missed the snowy peaks and the fresh white powder of the landscape. I have always wanted to show you this place. The place where I was “born” - when I was a wild girl indulging in wild adventures long ago. I wish I could have shown you the country before everything fell to turmoil; before this illness threatened to claim me and drag me into the Underworld. I had so many stories I wished to share with you of my homeland.

Though, in truth, I can hardly remember it now. It’s been so long and the fevers make it difficult to focus.

I do not know if you will ever come to Mongolia on your own. But if you do, I hope the stories and traditions will bring you comfort in my absence. When you miss me. I will miss you terribly when I’m gone.

I want you to please know and understand that being with you, loving you, was the greatest gift I could ever receive in this life. Though our time was short, it was filled with wonderful things that I’m sure not many people get to experience. It was a full and lasting love; one that I am so happy to have received from you.

With this, I say farewell to you. I hope you will never read this. I pray you will never see this. But if you do, that is okay. I have made my peace with it and with the life that I was given, short as it was.

My only regret is that I was unable to express my love for you to the fullest degree that I could. I am sorry I could not show you my heart in the way that I wished. I am sorry that I could not love you more. Forgive me for being unable to tell you, Hoseok, how much you mean to me.

I will cherish the memories we have created. I will hold them close to me as I return to the Underworld. Please be well. Please be happy.

Most of all ... please forget me.

I don’t want you to be in pain after I’m gone. Because I believe in the legend of the Spider Lily. I believe in the legend that was forged in that flower you gave me. I believe that we will see each other again.

And I promise you, in our next life, I will love you even more than I did in this one.

Farewell, my Dearest Hoseok. My greatest love.

Until we meet again.

~ Bayaraa Ehri

It was the last thing Ehri left for him; a final parting gift. Clutching the letter to his chest, he heaved silent sobs as his tears fell to the floor. He crashed to his knees, hugging his body as he bent over and continued to wail in silence, his shoulders trembling with the heaviness of his cries. Everything hurt, especially breathing. And when he could no longer keep himself together, he passed out on the floor - clinging to his wife’s letter tightly to his chest.

The rain fell in heavy waves outside. Hoseok sat out on the back verandah, his head resting along the wooden pillar of his home. Spring rain gave birth to new life. Crops would be rejuvenated and grain could be harvested. Animals were being born to give the next generation a chance at survival. Festivals would be on the horizon once the rain stopped. There was always a rainbow on the other side when the sun returned.

He could take no comfort in any of it.

Not a day went by that Hoseok didn’t read the letter his wife left behind. It was the last thing he could hold on to of hers. The last chance at clinging to the memory that was her; the free-spirited woman he came to know and love with every fiber of his being. Could the Fates have been more cruel to have allowed him to stumble across her parting words? Why hadn’t she burned it up or destroyed it herself? What even possessed her to write such a thing, to leave a lasting dagger in his chest?

“You’re so mean, Pu-in.” A sad smile crossed his face as he listened to the rain beat down around him. “I thought you loved me. How could you do something so mean?”

Hoseok rarely ate and hardly slept. When he did, he was unable to keep food down. When he slept, it was full of nightmares of him losing Ehri over and over again; unable to prevent her from being swept away by darkness. He often woke up screaming, covered in sweat, and his brothers were at his side in their own attempts to comfort him. His parents tried to get him to take the medicine the physicians left, but everything tasted like ash in his mouth.

He could barely get three spoonfuls in before promptly vomiting it back up.

It didn’t take long for him to get sick. His grief was an ailment all by itself and his refusal to nourish himself only expedited his illness. While he felt guilty for the anguish he was causing his family, Hoseok couldn’t find a way to heal his broken heart. 

He cried himself to sleep. It was the only way he could.

As the days shifted to weeks, Hoseok’s entire physical appearance changed. Because of his lack of eating and sleeping, he appeared gaunt and sickly. He lost weight and looked like he had one foot in the grave already. What energy he did muster, it was to read Ehri’s last letter.

She told him to be happy. She told him to live. 

Worst of all? She told him to forget her.

How could she be so heartless? Didn’t she understand how much he loved her? How much her existence meant to him? Asking Hoseok to erase her from his mind, his heart, was just too much for him to handle.

Did she say that so they would be guaranteed a chance to meet again in the next life?

If so, then he didn’t want to continue living in this world without her. Wouldn’t it have been better to leave so they could meet quickly? What was time when one was no longer alive to determine its existence? To be able to ascertain the creeping ebb and flow of the passing seasons?

Rolling over onto his side, he clutched the letter in his hands as his tears soaked into his silk pillow. “No,” he whispered, his voice barely recognizable, “I don’t want to be here to see it alone. I don’t want to see it march on without you here with me.”

He shut his eyes, curling his body into a ball as tightly as he could. The rain fell softly outside and he could hear it from his window. It was nature’s last attempt at calming the raging storm in Hoseok’s heart. His final farewell to a world that he no longer wished to be part of.

The world cried with him.

And in that last moment, Hoseok felt what remained of his spirit slowly lifting away. His vision blurred until there was nothing but a pinprick of light. Seconds later, it, too, disappeared. The guilt and regret that weighed on his heart smothered it out, leaving him alone.

The spring rain fell harder in response to Hoseok’s departure, leaving only his shell behind. The two lovers were now gone, their spirits returning to the ether. They were separated now, thanks to a cruel twist of Fate. But the spider lilies would not forget their sorrow. They would remember; their tears forever soaked into their petals and leaves. A promise to be reunited forged in iron and melted in fire once more.

The Heavens would mourn their passing for now.

Until they were able to meet again.

AN: So for those of you curious, I figured I would give you a little breakdown on honorifics used in Classical/Period Korea. Naeuri - A term used for men who were not peasants, servants, or slaves. Agassi - A term used for unmarried women who were not peasants, servants, or slaves. Hyung-nim - A term used by younger brothers in reference to their older brothers. Pu-in - A term used by men when speaking to their wives. Seobang-nim - A term used by women when speaking to their husbands.

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[theholycovenantrpg]

In the beginning was DMITRI, a HORSEMAN loyal to the cause of the HORSEMEN. He is said to be IMMORTAL and uses HE/THEY pronouns. In this New Testament he serves as the HORSEMAN OF CONQUEST. Blessed be their name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

It is said that there can be no measure of suffering on earth without an equal measure of joy to swallow it, and it is from this longing for luminance and light that the Horseman of Conquest came to be. Where their kindred were plucked from hideous, crooked stars, they were forged to offset the destruction they would harrow. They would overcome it. Carved from a golden tear which had rolled down God’s cheek, they are the only of their kind to be pulled from a moment of euphoria; their birth was wrought from something beyond reproach. Brought forth by the fondness their creator bore His mortal descendants, they are comprised of all of His love—and all of His fear. Yet, they have never felt compelled to harness onslaught, as War might, nor to gouge out the world, as Famine would; they are sumptuous victory, golden mastery, the luxurious triumph over woe. Capable of curing sickness and rehabilitating wounds, Conquest brings solace where else there is only sorrow; he ravens on the pestilence his own kin unleash. A glow of magnificent gold clings to his body and, as if sheep to the shepherd’s crook, all creatures flock to hear him speak. Since emerging on the earth, Conquest has amassed a throng of admirers, yet one seems to forget that he, too, was cut for calamity. It is to them that the people typically turn when settling a contract: princely and amenable, one gladly smites themselves on their sword. He straddles above a horse pulled from the empty bowels of Purgatory: a creature so white it seems to have been cut from marble, its ribcage is encased in veins of solid gold. The steed’s mane appears to be made of pure sunlight, which looks at a distance like a crown—not unlike its rider.

THE HISTORY.

When God was at last finished with Creation, He held a knife in His hand. A sculpting knife, yes, a carving knife—but a knife all the same. Veiled in darkness, He stepped into sunlight, spinning the tool between His fingers, and then He slipped it into a disembodied pocket, disappearing as if it had never been. At last, He was finished slicing at the clay. At last, He was satisfied with what He had wrought. A glorious scene shifted on the earth below Him: a forest of radiant green sprouted from every mouth of the earth, golden fruit ripening on branches, and waterfalls spilled down cliff-sides, the night’s dark blanket pulling itself lazily over the horizon. And, at its centre, God’s first children. Adam, and his wife Eve. Though there was much beauty in all that God had coaxed into existence, it was them that He loved the most dearly. It was His children, as finite as sand on the shoreline, that He held most gently in His palm, rolling them over as if they might splinter at his touch. For them, He was willing to cut away slices of Himself, to forge magnificent structures from His own hammered rib, and that is precisely what He did, sculpting a kingdom from the ground up. He plucked them from the earth and took them in His palm, placing them in the palace He’d brought forth—not by His knife, this time, but by the delicate kneading of His hands—and He kept them there, locked away like a secret. Though He only watched over them like an expatriate ruler, God wouldn’t be parted from them. He began to weep; a tear rolled down his cheek and, when it reached the curve of his jaw, it annealed into gold.

God ran His finger along the trail, and when He looked deeply into the alloy, He saw the gaping capacity of His love. More importantly, He glimpsed the creatures that had earned it. His beloved mortals, shaped in His image: as they gormandised themselves on slices of knowledge and carvings of curiosity, God doted upon them at a distance. They will always have my love, He thought, as he watched them wander in the sacred garden, and I will always have theirs; I can bear nothing less. Though the threat of betrayal was a notion that eluded Him, God agonised over the possibility of them being stolen from him. He picked up the knife again, and He began to cut. From the pool of divinity sprouted something infinitely more sacred and impossibly more beautiful: the final Horseman, Conquest, swathed in the universe’s luxurious sunlight. What grew from the morsel of His devotion was much more magnificent, far more worthy of indulgence, than the Creator had ever really intended—indeed, they almost made Him foolish. And yet, He should have expected nothing less, no? Conquest was carved from pure, indomitable love. God took the child in His palm and, for a moment, He considered keeping them there—but He would not. Conquest had been created for something else. Hand-in-hand, He guided His design around the opalescent clouds of Heaven, sating them on gobbets of divinity and slivers of destruction. When God was finished, they could have no doubt in their mind that they had been forged for great, visionary brilliance. Finally pleased with His handiwork, God retrieved the knife once more and, feeling the weight of it in His palm, cut the final slice. He guided Conquest through the gap.

When he landed in Purgatory, however, Conquest saw nothing; he recognised no-one. He was entirely alone. Empty caverns yawned themselves open and the dales within felt hollow as bone; their only burgess was a strange orchid smoke which swept in its mouth. That ethereal shimmer he had once made a home of was nowhere to be found in the middling realm, and though Conquest clung to his brethren in a split second of recognition, he arrived in Purgatory without fellowship, without God, and was completely and utterly alone. Once, they might have eaten the sun raw, taking the stars in their jaw and chewing until they faded into gristle—but here there was nothing to satisfy them, there was nothing to fill them; their chest gouged itself, and Conquest felt like little more than brittle bone. After all, when you have gorged yourself on immortality, honey pooling at the back of your throat, what are bones; what is cartilage and pulp? Yet, for all his ravening, that fond halo of gold still clung to him; even as he wandered down lonely ravines and lost himself in forgotten caverns, a host of unanswered promises his only companions, Conquest shone. Indeed, it wasn’t until they emerged from the hollows, half-starved, that they finally stumbled upon a vestige of life: a duchy of spectres, who might have been mortals once, bowed at his glow. Their gravelly, coarse voices composed reverent songs for him, falling at his feet—and yet, the Horseman of Conquest was not worshipped, as God had predicted, but loved. For a moment, the pledge of ruination ebbed from his view. For centuries, aeons, eternities, he was their shiny prophet and beloved prince, and when that phosphorescent slice appeared once more, the purgatorial kingdoms of his kin pulled together as one, he paused. Yet where the Horsemen went, they too were condemned to follow.

As Conquest emerged from the split, he almost felt himself recoiling backward, as if he might slip again into Purgatory’s dusky depths. The New World was so bright and garish; the earth was so full of colour—certainly, the sight of it struck him, but still he stood fast. Everything he saw was what he’d unknowingly sacrificed in stepping through God’s tear, and he embraced it. As if feeding on the great light around them, their glow of gold only grew brighter; more sheer. They felt, in an insoluble way, strangely reborn. As if a crucial fragment had returned itself to them. When War bowled violently forwards, binding bloodshed like unshakeable chains around their wrists, the rest of their kind could only follow, for what else was there? Their purpose had been stolen from them; they were required to carve out another. Conquest was more than happy to tug behind them, yet the further they travelled the further their appetite widened; the more they hankered to dig their fingers into the earth and know it, the more they yearned to learn the name of every face concealing a soul. He felt himself curiously returned to that first plant of his creation. Certainly, he made himself into something far more than a mere killer for hire: as he passed through waves of admirers, seas of lovers, he became a healer, a gladiator, a mouthpiece to which all turned to listen; as if sheep to the shepherd’s crook, humankind embraced him eagerly. Crafted from God’s love, the mortals seemed resolved to return it to them tenfold. For as many people that loved him, however, there were just as many who forgot he, too, was a vessel of ancient power to be feared: though he shone brighter than the stars, moon, and sun, something hollow lingers in his chest, never far from infection. Like broken bone. But rebirth is a form of triumph, no? It is victory, conquest. The kingdom splayed before them seems to be contrived in their image, hungering hands reaching out to grasp them, yet something rotten threatens to scatter in their chest. Is one truly a Horseman once they renege on their promise of devastation?

THE CONNECTIONS.

NERISSA, RYUK & VIKTORIA: Fellowship. Though they are each as different as Heaven and Hell, it is impossible to part them. The same ghost of grief lingers between their ribs, a sorrow-stricken cord of God’s creation ensnaring them into belonging; such, they had learned long ago, was their fate. They bleed into each other. Dmitri, though, is not like the others—each Horseman is as ravenous as the next, but Dmitri hasn’t hungered in a long time; instead, he yearns. Nevertheless, even as he addresses a drove of listeners, a glorious halo of gold settling itself like a crown above his brow, his companions always remain within his periphery. Even as they press their triumphant palms to bruises and wounds, the flesh stitching itself back together, they are their familiars, their shadows, and they never wander far from their view. Where one Horseman walks, all Horsemen walk. And yet, Dmitri feels the bonds loosening at his wrists; he feels himself wandering freely, tunnelling his hands into the earth, going where no Horseman can follow. What, then, would occur if their fellowship dissolved? Embraced so fully by humankind, he begins to ruminate whether he was truly carved from calamity, or whether he is something else entirely. War is composed of murderous rage, while Ryuk communes with the shadows, yet there is something in Viktoria which Dmitri would lament most severely to leave behind. One the architect, the other the mediator, they are two woe-written souls that naturally lean into each other. Yet, he admires them all with equal regard. For now, he is satisfied with his place among them. Tearing themself from their kin is not something they should ever like to do, but one surely wonders: how does an angel find themselves in the company of monsters?

ABADDON: Flicker. Whispers had reached him long before she had. There is something awfully melancholy in this creature, something terribly tragic, and it whets his fascination—it had done so since the first whisper, and when their eyes had fallen upon each other in those dusky dungeons, something bright had sparked. Whether such an event should be accredited to the flames that flickered along the walls of her Black Cells, carving out shadows were else there was only the yawn of darkness, or whether it should else be recognised as a symbol of their connection—well, Dmitri couldn’t possibly say. He hasn’t unearthed enough of her yet. Since their first encounter, Abaddon’s dungeons have proved purposeful, their exploits typically guided by the ravening appetite of Nerissa and their architect’s steady hand; yet, as far as their deeds go, as far as the necessity lies, Dmitri often finds that his visits have none at all. He seeks out the calming mien which falls strangely above her, draping over her shoulders like a soft shawl. It is a summon that they cannot ignore. They must answer it. God had taught them to lean into their emotions, once, and thus he behaves accordingly—though Dmitri finds himself enamoured by her influence, Abaddon seems to shy away, merely dancing beneath his gaze rather than embracing it. He supposes that is her right. Nevertheless, they often find themself thinking: have they not earned a slice of peace?

JUDAS: Debtor. It is a sour taste, to be indebted to one so false; to feel the burden of a debt to one so purposefully dishonest. And yet, here he is, like prey caught in a trap, his neck placed hopelessly beneath Judas’s sword. Dmitri knows nothing of schemes, nothing of fraudulence or contrived designs, yet he knows well that he has been ensnared within a dark web—he knows just how it feels to be held captive, and that is precisely what he is. Judas’s captive. Their happening upon each other was what might have been a chance occurrence, though Dmitri knows it was anything but: one moment, they had been cutting down Heretics as effortlessly as breathing, and then they were swept under a sea of them—it was then that Judas had cut the assailant down. They owe him. And yet, Judas does not strike the venomed fang; he asks for nothing. Each time that they negotiate a new contract, Dmitri expects the demon to haggle, to strike a more lenient price, and yet—he does not. What, they think, is he waiting for? What does he want? But he says nothing. In fact, neither of them speak a word on the topic. Something in his chest, however, flips over in warning. Judas must be searching for something, must be hoping to reach into their ribs and coax out a prize of some sort, but what? Only time, they suppose, can tell.

EPHEMERA: Revelry. They are exactly alike, and yet they are also poles apart. Such is their dance. The creature presented before him is strange, he admits, and has become a mystery he hopes to unpick at the seams; something more must linger behind her fractured gaze, he’s convinced of it. The moments that they come together are full of permeable tension, the vibrations of revelry bouncing between one body and another: there is such violence in their interactions, and yet there is an indomitable recognition concealed between their half-glances; they share the intimacy of sincerity. One ought to feel honoured that such a dissatisfied creature as Ephemera might deign to offer a morsel of her attention to them, yet Dmitri refuses to bow his neck in falsified reverence. Indeed, they have committed to the opposite, circling above like a hawk—like an animal which has caught the rotting scent of offal, swooping down. As they circle around each other, they are beasts that sniff, bark, and bite. Theirs is a curiosity born from monsters. After all, how does such a stoic creature come to express interest in a prophet? And how, too, does the prince-like figure of the Holy Land, as admired as he is flocked toward, come to find himself ensnared by the curiously cold moments, the invincible icy gaze of a being such as Ephemera? In the wariness, however, an affinity has stemmed between them. Does not a predator first size up its prey before choosing to pounce?

Dmitri is portrayed by Kim Woo-bin and was written by CAS. He is currently TAKEN by EMS.

#literate rp #lsrpg #original rp #new rp #nb #h #dmitri #c #cnb

[spiritmaiden23]

“Oh no! Wait! Stooop, stoooooop! You’re about to make a huge mistake if you take even one sip of my soup. I get that you’re feeling thirsty and that anything liquid looks good but, trust me, you don’t want to drink that. It’s pretty gross and hard to stomach.”

“By the goddesses, in fact, you should count yourself lucky that you don’t have to take that... that... phoney soup! C’mon, I’ll help you find some water. There’s tons of rivers and lakes down here, I’m sure we’ll find something!” 

#| open. #| your sorrowful fate forged by the gods. #ic. #( #a fun headcanon i talked about long time ago #is that during her journey in purifying her body. not only did she have to fast but take this bitter drink that helps with the purification #process. aside from water she couldn't take a bite of anything mortals will eat to better connect with her divine side. she was upset #and does take the soup thingy like a champ but god she hates it #give her something sweet pwease *plead* #anyway a small thing set during her journey! it seems like a fun first meeting #gently sets this down here as i avoid writing anything #.... gotta admit. i love writing sky's dialogue ;v; #)