#the red roses on the skull side are for mourning

[crvstybowlofcereal]

Tell me about your tattoos if you have them and or what tattoos you want

i have two tattoos, and i plan to get more!

i got the first one two days after my 18th birthday, i had been planning it forever. it's a memorial piece for my first dog Rocky. I got it on the outside of my thigh, very high up so most of it is covered when i wear shorts.

i covered up the bit with his face because i dont like to share it very much, im terrified of the idea of someone finding a picture of it and getting the exact same tattoo because that's my dog and he meant the world to me. i know its a bit of an irrational fear, and i dont worry about it with my other designs, but i try not to share it online fully, but heres a different picture of him!

the flowers underneath are red roses, lilies, and forget me nots, for their specific meanings

the next tattoo i got just a couple months ago for a 7 year friend-iversary

its based on several layers of inside jokes

my long-term tattoo goal is to fill out my leg like a sleeve made of individual tattoos. i also intend to design all of my own tattoos.

some other ones i have in mind for my next ones are - a ghost (i always draw sheet ghosts the same way) - the mystery machine from scooby doo - the irken invader symbol from invader zim - a swarm of bats (probably on my inner thigh) - moon phases - lavender (and amethyst?)

more context for things in the tags

[jaevie]

The Peace in Her Arms

Pairing: god!Jaehyun (koschei!Jaehyun) x priestess!reader

Genre: Dark romance, fantasy, slow burn, smut.

Word count: 30.1k

Summary: After winning the war against Death, Jaehyun, the Lord of Life, finds himself a lovely wife to enjoy peace, but is soon met with a violent rematch that forces him to send his wife away. Two years later, after carrying his victory with him on the way back home, he finds out that the mournings and havocs of conflict don’t even compare to the pain of his wife not taking him back.

Warnings: this fic contains detailed descriptions of sex (involving praise and breeding kinks), mentions of violence, as well as references to religions and divinities. 

N/A: Hi there! This plot was solemnly based on Deathless, by Catherynne M. Valente (highly recommend the book if you like the plot!) and the entire Russian mythology towards Koschei, the Deathless. Basically, Jaehyun will suffer a lot for his wife and will be on full husband material. 

© This fic is an original work by jaevie, 2023.

The night was starry as though the moon had kissed the darkest of dusks to light up the ceremony. The breeze was fresh and gentle enough not to blow out the uncountable candles decorating the garden in front of the manor. White tents were set for the guests to comfortably sit. Women wore their most elegant dresses, and men had that respectful look on their faces, one that unconsciously mixed with relief now that another war was over. Roses impregnated the atmosphere with their red warmth, attracting the tiniest bees and other adorable bugs, all invited to witness the Lord of Life getting married.

Both you and Jaehyun had considered a small and intimate ceremony, but the guest list was not going to be cut shorter. You were too known for your own good: you for being a popular priestess, with healing hands and a brain graced with mythical knowledge; and your soon to be husband for creating life and everything it owned.

“You look stunning,” Vasilisa whispered under her honest breath, looking at your image in the mirror. The servant had been your faithful confidant all the time you stood in Koschei’s manor. “White really suits you, m’Lady.”

You looked over your shoulder, face covered by a lace hood.

“We’ve talked about the m’Lady thing before, Val. That is not necessary,” you hummed, meeting a wicked grin.

“You’re too humble for your own good, m’Lady.”

You took a deep, cool breath, turning your face to the tall mirror in front of you. Vasilisa was right. You felt stunning, the white dress smoothly hugging your silhouette, outlining the shape of your waist and breasts. Even your thighs could be guessed under the silky fabric. The hood was part of an entire cape that touched the floor, with the delicate work of seamstresses on its length.

“Come, it’s time,” Vasilisa offered you her dainty hand as the other passed you a small bouquet of white lilies.

With a quickened heartbeat, you followed her down the manor, to the garden. Everyone awaited you. On the other hand, you only had eyes for the tall figure waiting for you on the other side, under the mesmerizing night sky.

While you were cladded in vibrant white, Jaehyun wore pitch black, with red details on his suit. The Lord of Life had a romantic and dark figure, with hair as dark as the eye holes of one’s skull, winter skin and long lashes that caught your attention the first time you landed your eyes on him. He had the appearance of a young man even though he had seen more years than everyone in that garden combined — a detail everyone forgot the second he smiled, sharp teeth adding charm to his face. A lonely dimple popped out too, adorably.

The man who breathed life into every little being, who saw it all, who tasted it all — that man was bare to his soul in front of you, surrendered to love. Tears glistened in his eyes while you walked down the pathway to the altar. “I couldn’t begin to tell you how breathtaking you are,” Jaehyun mouthed, tangling your arms.

You wiped his tears away and kissed his cheek. “So are you, my love.”

The High Priestess cleared her throat before initiating her speech. Not only she knew the secrets of the heart, but how to seal Jaehyun’s soul to yours with the blessing of all divinities. Not that Jaehyun actually needed permission from others: Koschei the Deathless created every little being, including other gods. But he respected you and your religion, and it was both polite and symbolic to follow the script.

“Time to make your vows,” the High Priestess breathed.

“A marriage is a very private thing,” Jaehyun started, his large eyes soft and frank. “I don’t intend on making my vows comprehensive and reasonable to others, just you. You, my light in the dark. My beautiful priestess. A husband is not a husband if he can’t be his wife’s best friend and her most ardent lover. If he can’t be at her feet, begging for her love, as I am now. As I will always be. I will feed you when you’re hungry. I’ll make the world go silent when you’re tired. Build a hole in the world just for you when you wish to escape, and wait until you’re comfortable enough to come out. Because a husband is not to confine, a husband is to free. My love for you desires nothing but to let you dare. Let you be. I am as cruel and demanding as a god can be, but for you, and only you, I will be your faithful husband.”

And like that, you were lost forever.

“You met me at the battlefields.” You still remembered how you had been that day: dress stained with blood and mud, face sweaty from the rush, two strands of oily hair escaping your ponytail. The agony screams were background music as you made the soldiers swallow potions and worked on bandages that smelled like mauve, aloe and rue. “I had always thought love itself was a battlefield in which women had no freedom at all. To me, marriage had never been for lovers, but for the heartless and the selfish. Today, I take those words back. I couldn’t be happier to be your dear wife, your confidant, your partner. I give myself to you in love and anger, in peace and chaos, in light and dark. I am yours, Koschei. Yours truly. And for you I keep fighting. And for you I put my weapons down.”

The both of you slid the thin silver rings on each other’s finger, looking at each other with overflowing adoration. Jaehyun’s hand cupped your jawline, his thumb rubbed your cheek and he smiled when your lips touched.

“I love you,” Jaehyun whispered. “Eagerly.”

You smiled, grabbing his chin with assertiveness and placing a loud kiss to his dimple. “I love you,” you repeated. “Restlessly.”

As husband and wife, you followed to the reception. You saw many familiar faces amongst the crowd: Taeyong the Lord of Word; the oldest of the old witches, Baba Yaga; the poor and terrifying Bauk, and the otherworldly Lord of Beauty, Ten. Jaehyun’s second in command, John the Knight, was there too, making good use of his politeness to charm the village girls.

Bliss and wonder filled the atmosphere. The guests ate and drank, relishing in food so colorful and luscious one could eat it with their eyes and be satiated. Traditional music was played by a local girl band you knew from your tavern adventures, and a collective delight was felt.

Jaehyun slid his hand under the table, intertwining his fingers with yours. Your gazes locked right with such fulfillment it made you chuckle out of joy.

It was what everyone deserved after the war. After Koschei, the Lord of Life, defeated Yuta, the Lord of Death.

Except peace was a very dangerous thing to believe in.

The candles were the first signal, suddenly blown out, even if there was no wind. Only the moon and the stars lit the tents now. A cold shiver ran down your spine.

Jaehyun tightened his grip on your hand. He looked away from your face into the deep darkness ahead of the manor, where the oak trees shook with the piercingly cold breeze.

The night got darker. The guests went silent. The world took a deep breath. And then, the shadows of Death came out to play, laughing like sharp icicles falling from the sky. They moved so fast you lost track of their localization. When you blinked an eye, one of them was by your side, right after Vasilisa.

You remember looking down to your shoes, stained in lively red blood, blood that didn’t belong to you, but to Vasilisa’s slaughtered throat. The sound of her body meeting the floor would haunt you until the last of your days.

You looked over at Jaehyun. A cruel stillness shielded him like armory, and you knew your husband was once again a general. He was not Jaehyun. He was Koschei. The Lord of Life, never scared, unbroken. Deathless.

His eyes were cold when he met yours.

Before you could stop it, Koschei had made one single command to John. John, who put you on the horse and rode you back to the mortal realms. John, whose chest you hurt with your fists, commanding that he rode you back to your husband. In vain, of course.

-

The war had ended.

Confident, the sun shone twice as bright between the orange clouds, like water mixing with streams of blood. The birds sang graceful melodies, children ran freely on the cobblestone streets, flowers bloomed in silent laughter, and mothers welcomed their daughters and sons for a warm afternoon that smelled like cakes and coffee. Everything felt alive with pleasure.

You looked over the street through sunglasses slipping down your nose, carefully watching the euphoria as the newspaper boy screamed with full lungs that THE WAR IS OVER! PEACE IS FINALLY HERE! THE WAR IS OVER!

Everything about that day… Everything reminded you of him. Jaehyun.

Forcing yourself to distract your mind, you turned on your heels to keep walking. It was a perfect day to lock up inside the coziness of your home, where nothing would disturb your heart. No news about life, no news about death.

At the corner of your street, you overheard a little girl praying with her fists together, so concentrated in her genuine words that perhaps she didn’t notice how loud she sounded.

“Dear Koschei, I thank you, loving Father, for this day. Thank you for putting an end to this horrible war,” she repeated like a mantra. Behind her back, the ruins of a school stood still, silent and absolute.

“Hey, girl,” you called curtly.

She opened her eyes, caramel and expecting.

You held her gaze. “What exactly are you doing?”

“I’m thanking the Lord of Life, our darling Papa Koschei, for winning the war,” she readily replied. “I know the war was fought by humans, but at the Holy Land of the Lords, Koschei fought for us, and we won, so I am grateful to him.”

The Holy Land of the Lords. The immortal realm. The details of that place remained in your every fiber. Every oak tree, every rook, every crystal river making rocks roll softly under their flows.

A bitter chuckle left your lips. “Is that what you believe in?”

“I know it!” The girl passionately replied, her lower lip nearly pouty. “I know Papa Koschei takes good care of us and would never ever let us die! He is the strongest god out there!”

Now that the girl so fiercely defended her Lord, you understood why you’d stopped in front of her in the first place. You still wanted to hear about him; still thrived on seeing people indulge into having faith in him, because Koschei the Deathless brought them hope.

What killed you inside was that he had not been as generous to you.

Jaehyun had given you up in the name of war.

The little girl was right. He wouldn’t let her die.

Even if it cost him his marriage.

Once you stepped into the small apartment you now called home, removing your red scarf, it wasn’t particularly hard to notice the old lady sitting by the kitchen table, her nose buried in the newspaper.

“The war is over,” Baba Yaga hummed. Her face was wrinkled by years and magic, her spine curved into itself, making her look shorter than average people. Still, her presence was loud and tragic, like a strident mischievous laugh in the depths of the world. Her cat eyes as young as a newborn’s. “Jaehyun won. Now he will come for you, to finally be your husband.”

“Koschei stopped being my husband the moment he sent me here,” your reply was blunt and definitive.

Baba Yaga rolled her eyes. “Two years later, you’re still the same stubborn, spoiled bride. Don’t you understand he did that to keep you safe?”

“The war was his as much as it was mine,” you retorted, all your emotional scars bleeding and flooding the old rug on the kitchen floor. “I was his wife.”

“You are human,” the oldest of the old witches corrected you, her lips hard in a thin line. “Too precious for Jaehyun to risk. He had sent you here, to the mortal realm, to keep you safe with me. Or do you think I spent the last two years happy that my obligation was to look after someone as rebellious as you?”

Her gaze pierced you like a needle that knew precisely where to stitch.

“Plus, he did send you letters,” she remembered.

Up to some point, you agreed with Baba Yaga’s reasoning: once the Lord of Death made his bloody rematch known at your wedding, both the immortal and mortal realms went into war. A war between Life and Death had a direct impact on the mortal realm: diseases that spread fast, countries that devastated others in the name of progress, genocides motivated by greed and power.

That was the way of the world.

Koschei had sent you back into the mortal realm, where the civil war took place, because even if humans battled and killed each other, you would be safer there, with Baba Yaga, the most powerful of witches, right by your side, keeping death away from you.

His letters, though, were burned after you read them. Jaehyun promised a lot, but delivered nothing. No empty words were going to make you feel like a wife.

Taking a deep breath, you looked over the window. Now, the sky was a deep violet, like the first flower to blossom after winter.

“Did you ever understand me, granny?” you asked, even if Baba Yaga hated being called that. “You were there. You listened to our vows. He promised to let me be, that I was going to have as much freedom as a woman could, and I promised to fight for him, because it was the wish of my heart. The first thing he did when Yuta was back was to send me back here. Koschei didn’t give me the tiniest chance to help, to be by his side when he needed me the most. He acted exactly like the husbands I always despised. Koschei confined me.”

Baba Yaga looked over at you with those firm, impossible to intimidate eyes, much similar to rocks, dark amethysts that saw through your spirit. You felt both acceptance and opposition, refuge and danger, understanding and disdain. That woman held the world in the palm of her calloused hands. She forgave no one.

“Dead wives can’t do anything, child. I respect your hate, and your pride, but stupidity has never made me pity anyone. Love is way more complex than you wish to comprehend.”

You were about to open your mouth to defend yourself when a knock was heard on the door.

Your heart jumped in your chest, as if it desired to climb up your throat and run out into the world. You exchanged a gaze with the old witch, registering how a smirk was formed in her almost non-existing lips.

“As I said, Papa Koschei is coming for you.”

A tall silhouette stood behind the door, seen through the blurred glass decoration. A shadow you could recognize amongst millions; one whose body you knew like a patriot knew the map of her country, like a gypsy intimately knew the meaning of each tarot card.

You could even feel his scent: amburana notes filling your nostrils with the many memories you kept buried in the deepest coffin of your reminiscence. The same perfume you so welcomed inside your lungs that fateful night, before the shadows came.

Jaehyun.

He had come personally to see you.

Breath got stuck in your throat. Your stomach trembled. You were going to vomit. You were going to panic. You were going to die.

Gathering every fragile piece of fiber, you breathed deeply before staring into Baga Yaga’s stone eyes again.

“Tell him there is nothing he can possibly do to ever make me want to see him again,” you determined before cowardly walking to your room, your legs melting like butter in a frying pan.

-

Death came to everyone. It wasn’t a secret, nor a surprise. It was simply the way of the world. Every creature, once born, had no choice but to perish. Some did it very quickly, while others had a long life before being embraced by the numbing hug of death.

There was only one creature that couldn’t die: Koschei, the Deathless, who hid his Death.

It was said that it was hidden inside a needle, which was in an egg, which was in a duck, which was in a black hound, which was in an iron chest, which was buried under an oak tree, in the distant immortal realm, in the island of Buyan.

Only someone who possessed Koschei’s hound could have him in their power.

You knew the legend. Everyone did. Life and Death fought endlessly, and their continuous conflict inflicted rivalries in the mortal realms just the same. Life had never been peaceful. You remembered it well.

You always knew you would grow up to become a priestess. It was in your blood: you learned from your grandmother how to make potions and to summon spiritual guides; your mother, in addition, was more than proud to teach you how to heal people through the sharpest use of herbs. You studied their methods and absorbed their knowledge eagerly, burying your tiny nose in books and devouring every little thing you could learn about magic.

Plants needed to be activated with mantras, candles needed to be lightened with intention, incense burning to keep the energy level, and your spirit needed to be taken care of. Your altar must be kept clean and holy, fed with prayers and meditation, as the holy images of saints watched for you.

You worshiped many saints: the Holy Lady of Apparition, Yemojá mother of the seas, Ọ̀ṣun mother of the river, Ọ̀ṣọ́ọ̀sì the king of the forests, and the Holy Sara Kali. It was as though they all knew you, tending to your knees like parents to a child.

You felt so comfortable when connecting with your spirituality there was nothing else you could choose as an occupation than being a priestess with a temple inherited from your ancestors. A temple in which people would step into, searching for healing — a temple so cozy and nice people would walk out feeling their feet in the clouds, their hearts lighter with the feather weight of hope.

Yes, that was what you wished for!

Except war got in the way. It was not in the temple that people needed your help, but in the battlefields. Instead of aiding people with spiritual problems — such as insomnia, haunting, chronic headaches, loneliness and such —, you were needed to nurse those after a battle. Men and women who screamed and bled, burned and cried, and closed their eyes right in front of you, never to open them again.

When you volunteered for war, you thought you were doing something noble, but as the bombs fell from the sky and families were forever destroyed… When young men witnessed their friends and lovers covered in blood and death, you wish that type of nobleness was never necessary in the first place.

Perhaps, if the Lord of Life and the Lord of Death stopped fighting… If they only could live at peace, others could too.

Not that you expected to ever find out. Few were the people sent to the immortal realm that returned to tell the story. It wasn’t usual for a human to face a Lord or Lady and make their wishes in person.

But you had your chance.

“You’re recruiting nurses for the immortal realm?” Your eyes widened as you grabbed the flier, looking over at the young boy who just had handed it to you.

“Not nurses. Priestesses,” he corrected. “As one, you’ll assist Koschei’s army personally.”

“But aren’t his soldiers immortal?” you voiced your ignorance.

“No. Only Koschei can’t be killed. His soldiers can. That’s why we need priests and priestesses, not nurses. To stitch them up.”

It wasn’t hard to make your decision. Your grandmother had passed away years ago, and your mother disappeared in the North, raising suspicions that she was caught by wicked witch hunters. You had no one.

You had nothing but the hope to stop that pointless war.

You grabbed an old, crumbly leather suitcase, and put your clothes and personal items there. The boy had not specified how the trip to the immortal realm was going to take place, but you still met him at the park two days later, under an oak tree, as he had told you to do.

“His death is hidden inside a needle, which is in an egg, which is in a duck, which is in a black hound, which is in an iron chest, which is buried under an oak tree…” you whispered to yourself, watching as the leaves danced the choreography of the wind.

The boy that recruited you showed up in a war truck and motioned for you to come inside. At the back, six people were already in, including a young man with a soft appearance, whose side you sat at.

The boy started driving, causing the truck to shake on the paving stones. “How can a boy drive?” You asked, not low enough to keep the question private.

“He’s not an ordinary boy,” the man by your side murmured politely. “That’s Jisung, the Lord of Choices.”

Your eyes widened. “A Lord? Have I just met a Lord?”

“You have,” the man chuckled, then offered his hand. “I’m Mark, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you shook his hand.

“First time being recruited?”

“Yes. What about you?”

“Third time.”

“But you’re so young!”

“Well, my mother served Koschei her entire life. She occasionally came to the mortal realm for some fun, that’s how she met my dad… And the rest is history.”

“So you know him?” you hummed. “Koschei?”

“I’ve seen him, yes. You’ll see him quite a lot on the battlefield, commanding the army.”

You wondered what Koschei’s army looked like. Poor souls that wandered the fields in shining armor, fighting against the lethal shadows of Death.

The truck continued to bounce: its sway had you drowning in your own thoughts. How would Koschei be? Was he an old wizard with a long white beard and protuberant bones, as the fairytales presumed? Or was he the handsome man that stole girls from villages to satisfy his needs? Was he capable of happiness, or after so many wars and losses, he was blind to anything else? Was he kind? Stern? Did he regret hiding his death? Was he lonely?

You didn’t know how much time had passed as you occupied yourself with your imagination, but you suddenly noticed the road was now smooth and the sky outside darker. In your heart, magic surrounded you.

You looked at Mark, searching for answers.

“It’s just like that. Magic,” he nodded, confirming that you were now in the immortal realm.

Mountains howled at the moonlight. Red birds cut the night. Witches rode the sky in their brooms. Flowers blossomed nonstop — roses, lilies, tulips, dahlias, buttercups, orchids, begonias —, filling the air with the richness of their perfume. Children were born. Women and men loved women and men. Dogs barked, cats purred, butterflies batted their colorful wings, rabbits hid from foxes. Sailors arrived wandering drunkenly at the harbor, and merchants came to inspect the ships. A circus had just arrived and planned their first night of intense presentations, with lion tamers, tightrope walkers and magicians. Food barracks were set to feed the city, as the steam of the cooking ascended to the vivid atmosphere. Everywhere you went, there was laughter and… And life.

“I thought I was coming for war…” you only managed to murmur.

“You are, don’t be mistaken. But this is the land of Koschei. Life has no boundaries, does it?”

The truck came to a stop and two of the people in the back jumped out. Then, the trip continued as you distanced from the city, diving into a road adorned by trees and silence.

“Koschei keeps the city safe. It is where citizens live,” Mark added.

“Does he live there too?”

“Oh, no. He lives in Buyan, the island.”

You let the answer sink in before making another question.

“Why did you volunteer again, Mark, if I may ask?”

He turned his face to the side, as though he didn’t want you to see the sparkle in his eye. “I’m coming for the woman I love.”

It nearly made you sigh, how honestly he said it. “That’s lovely. What’s her name?”

“Vasilisa. She is one of Koschei’s personal servants.”

You stood silent for a while. “Isn’t it hard, loving someone that lives in a different dimension? I mean, don’t you miss her?”

Mark grinned, looking down at the way his nervous hands played with each other. “We miss each other all the time, yes. But that’s love. And that’s life. We care about nothing else when we’re together, and respect each other when life gets rough.”

You had no idea how many hours it took for the truck to reach its final destination, but it felt like it would never end. The atmosphere got tight as though a hand wrapped around its throat, suffocating. Your sharp sensibility skills perceived the pain, the sadness, the fear that hung in the air like a portrait on a wall, impossible to ignore.

“We arrived,” the Lord of Choices announced.

You jumped out of the truck after Mark, taking an honest look around. The sky was gray and red, its colors mixed with the extension of the open field, smoke and dust contrasting with the artillery fire. Soldiers, men and women alike, slept and ate at a tent nearby, all wore in camouflage. You outlined the trenches and barriers ahead, as well as a line of covered bodies that had to be evacuated.

Your stomach stilled. You felt like a knot was being tightly tied in your guts.

It came to your knowledge that the Lord of Choices was speaking to you. “Come to the infirmary. Your work is immediately needed.”

You followed obediently, carrying your old suitcase. The infirmary was improvised in what seemed like a warehouse. Many hammocks were distributed in the length of the room, where priests and priestesses previously recruited transitioned from one to the other, as people grunted and cried, their sobs echoing through the walls.

Instinctively, you knew what to do. You had brought healing potions, as well as candles to evoke the power of your saints. Much to your luck, the infirmary was equipped with many herbs, more than you have seen your entire life. It made you feel confident that you were going to give your best and save as many souls as you could.

But as you first came to lock eyes with a man whose leg was cut off… When he held your hand so tight it could have been broken, begging for the Lord of Life to give him more time… When his aching eyes lost their shine, you sobbed, desperately wishing to go back to the mortal realm.

-

Jaehyun came for you every day, for an entire month, but you never opened the door for him. It was like playing a role in a theater: whenever he knocked on the door, your body shock circuited, your pride burned in deadly flames, and you locked yourself in your room, only daring to come out once he was long gone.

Every day, Jaehyun left small things on the kitchen table. Sometimes, it was a white lily. Other times, it was a peach, a firebird feather, a wild flower from the immortal realm.

You never touched his presents. You didn’t even allow yourself to stare at them for too long.

Sometimes, you could listen to his voice in the kitchen, as he freely spoke with Baba Yaga. Deep velvet dripping from his tongue, crowning the world with the grace of his tone.

You boiled with how violently your body desired to come out and join the conversation. Deep inside, all you wanted was to tell Baba Yaga to go for a walk and stay alone with Jaehyun in the humble apartment, so different from his manor, to face him properly, looking into those dark eyes, demanding that he begged for your forgiveness. But you were not only a coward, but thrived on the thought of revenge. Let him suffer. Why not? Whenever you thought about opening the door and letting him see you, talk to you, touch you, you remembered the woman that was sent to this world two years ago, still in her wedding dress, desperately crying, punching and kicking the door and the walls, screaming for Jaehyun to come take her back.

You remembered her sorrow, her despair, her loss, her desolation. And because you still carried that woman inside you, you decided to continue locked.

Unconsciously, you confined yourself.

Jaehyun was too respectful to force you to come out. He knew you well enough to tell any attempt to drag you to the kitchen would infuriate you. Plus, Baba Yaga had already updated him on your tantrums, the uncontrolled outbursts of extreme frustration and helplessness that took over you and made you seem like a little girl.

“So many women you could choose, and you decided you wanted the most stubborn one,” she grunted lowly.

Jaehyun almost smiled. “A rose without a thorn is the most boring thing. We both know that,” he concluded calmly. “I am aware that I caused her too much pain. I can imagine her suffering.”

“I’m afraid that’s a lie,” Baba Yaga retorted, catching Koschei’s confused gaze. “You’re a Lord, Jaehyun. Someone with power beyond reason, the visceral combination of everything that exists: the excess and the lack, creation and destruction, father and son. Nonetheless, you’re still a man. You had never been in a woman’s shoes. You might think you know women well enough, but that would be the first time you’re mistaken.”

She leaned over towards his face as they sat at the kitchen, having some tea. Her warm breath got to his face when she spoke. It smelled like the past.

“You have never witnessed such suffering. War and starvation, disaster and death, treachery and deceit. Only a fool would say you’re not an expert on those things. But suffering as a woman is an entire different thing. A suffering that makes you blind and numb. It takes your breath away, and plays with your silliness, and makes you feel inferior, forever imprinted with the mark of mediocrity and weakness. That suffering laughs at your face. I know you suffered too, my boy, but you were the one to make a choice. Your wife didn’t have that privilege. You turned her biggest fear into reality. To save her, I know. We all do. Still, she suffered. And to get her back, you’ll suffer twice as much.”

-

You had no rest. There was always way too much work to be done, so you hardly gave yourself the chance to fall asleep. Mark and you did a really good job together, though. He was taught a different kind of magic, but one that worked just as fine. You took shifts sometimes, covering each other when you needed a few minutes to eat and breathe.

It was Mark’s company that made those first days tolerable, as well as those you managed to save and heal. People in the immortal realm were built differently from humans, even if they, too, had a human appearance: their constitution was almost entirely soul, and the rest was body. When healing them, you dealt with their soul: by healing their essence, the small part that represented the matter recovered as well. Some of them, on the other hand… Some of them were too far into the darkness to have their souls saved.

“Sometimes I think this is a metaphor,” Mark admitted one day, with a painfully sleepy voice. “Only the death of the soul matters.”

“Go to sleep, Mark,” you instructed, putting a wet cloth on his forehead.

Oftenly, you and Mark listened to the noises in the battlefield, meaning a battle was taking place. The Death shadows stood away from the infirmary, but you could always tell when they were there: like sadness was closer, its lips whispering dangerous, hopeless words into your ear.

After one of those occasions, the Lord of Choices came back. “We suffered a severe attack. Many of the soldiers need your assistance, but can’t be moved. You ought to go to the battlefield.”

Your legs hurt all the way, but you resisted even when your lungs were filled with the aroma of death. Mark was right by your side — even if you had not known each other for long, he was already a dear friend to you, someone that gave you strength as you stepped into the open, deadly field, rushing to tend to those whose chest moved even the slightest bit, signaling that they were merely alive.

For the very first time, you didn’t feel the sobs climbing up your throat, because you simply had no time to surrender to the minimum sign of weakness.

War was a restless, wicked and cruel thing. Like an emptiness in the world, like a soul sucked out of one’s body never to return. Like someone that forgets how to laugh. Even time was uncertain, as the thickness of the dark sky almost didn’t shift when the sun rose. All that existed was the nonstop exercise to jump from soldier to soldier, stitching their wounds, removing body parts that were too damaged to be saved, and paying respects as you closed the eyes of the soulless.

Nine hours passed after you and Mark arrived when you two had the chance to climb up a timid hill to rest before going back to the infirmary. Mark offered himself to grab some water for you to drink on your way back. You stood back, watching the heavy sky.

Your mind was in a state foreign to you, one that played with the limits of tiredness and doubt. You often thought about going back to the mortal realm, swallowing guilty at the influence of your selfishness, but only a liar would say the battlefields and the work at the infirmary was never to be questioned. Still, as hard as it was, you held onto the expectations of your childhood with tooth and nail. “That’s a job for a priestess. A very good one,” you sighed, resting your back against the dirty grass.

As you stared into the tragic shades of the sky, your line of thinking wandered through the heavy clouds with possibilities of peace. As a child, you had witnessed a war that lasted five years, You remember how unfair you judged life to be back then. How it revolted you. As time went by, you seemed to get to the conclusion that the world was like that, and there was nothing you could possibly do to change it. Your role would be forever a healer’s. But now, as your exhaustion mixed with consciousness, you really wondered if the world had to be the way it was.

What if you could change it? What if you could make your voice heard, provoking the Lords and Ladies to change their minds? To actually embrace the idea of a different way of living, where men experienced less violence, where women were happy and not raped, where children had more smiles than sorrow?

Your right ear captured the sound of heavy boots standing close to you, and you got up completely startled, scared that a shadow was after you.

It was not a shadow. It was a man one head taller than you, whose composure immediately turned him in as someone of power. His brown eyes reflected brighter under the white thundering of the sky, and thick eyebrows gifted his face with the privilege of a deep expression. His hair was as dark as the clothing we wore: a velvet suit so rich in details he looked like a noble. A strand of hair fell like a comma onto his small and pale forehead. Even if he was human, he reminded you of a lonely hunting wolf.

“You scared me, sir,” you placed one hand to your chest. The tip of your fingers told you exactly how dirty you and your clothes were after those exhausting hours. Two oily strands of hair fell in front of your face, too rebellious to stay kept in your ponytail.

“I apologize,” the man leaned forward for a moment, respectfully. “I assume you’re one of the new priestesses?”

“Yes. I arrived last week.”

His eyes carefully examined you, his plump lips pressed to each other. There was something in those irises, a mystery hidden in the confines of time and space. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N. What is yours?”

“They call me Koschei, but I only tell my real name to those who are dear to me.”

You nearly choked on your own tongue, as your mouth was too dry to have saliva in it. “My Lord,” you grabbed the skirt of your dress to kneel, but he stopped you with a single move of his hand.

“That’s not necessary. If anyone should bend, it is me, as you might have given up many things to come here and save my army.”

His words surprised you as much as his face. Koschei was young in appearance, gentle voiced, and seemed like he was considerate. He was nothing like some books defined: a tall, thin, old man with a long beard and livid eyes, covered by a black cape, a creature so worn out by time and circumstance that he didn’t ever resemble the life he carried in his title.

“How many people have we lost today?” he then inquired.

“Around a hundred.”

You had the impression that the number physically hurt him, as Koschei hissed lowly. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” it was what he said, looking down at his hand. An open wound was closing, deathless. “But we had to let them get very close. It was the only way to get some advantage.”

“Do you think you’ll defeat the Lord of Death one more time?”

Koschei lifted his gaze to meet yours. “I don’t wish to defeat him. I only wish to end the war.”

Your eyebrows clenched. “By defeating Death, wouldn’t you end the war for all?” You fought not to call him lord again. “Wouldn’t it be better for people if you and Death stopped fighting?”

Your question nearly had him smiling at the corner of his lips. “Life without death would be unbearable. Things need to die, Y/N, so others can be born. I created Death before creating anything else. Even before Time. Yuta is my oldest brother. He is also my oldest enemy. Life and Death will never stop fighting.”

Yuta. The Lord of Death had a real name.

“Then, the mortal and immortal realms will always be fighting too,” you stated.

“Indeed. Think about a baby. It starts its way to death as soon as it is born.”

You breathed deeply, trying to make your next question as polite as you could. “Isn’t it unfair that people are destined to always be at conflict? Don’t you think it would be better for everyone if they could just have some peace?”

Koschei the Deathless scanned your eyes with admiration — so beautiful, alive and pure, he thought — and shook his head shortly.

“In loneliness, we act in the name of love. In war, we act in the name of survival. I love my brother dearly, so I can’t kill him. And he can’t kill me, because no one can,” he replied firmly. “Plus, I am not to blame alone. I created the mortal realm, and the human souls that thrive there. Your books only tell how the Lords influence human life, but never how you mortals influence us.” His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Humans start wars. They kill, deceive and make mischievous plans to conquer power and prestige, no matter how many have to perish for them to succeed.”

Koschei took one step closer. You merely registered the red lightning that cut the sky like the blade of a knife behind his back.

“But they also love and aid,” he continued. “They have passions, and a wild, fertile imagination. Art, music, food, traditions, religions, family, sex, redemption… Humans are so beautifully alive. As a loving father, I can only fight for them.”

“You’re the Lord that created everything. You could as well create a Lord or Lady of Peace,” you retorted, fighting not to stumble in front of his grandiosity. “Isn’t the pain enough reason to spare the ones you love?”

His eyes allured you like flames. “Pain and death are part of life too, priestess.”

The closer he got, the more you felt blood rushing in your veins, your heart so fast as though it had a race to win. Your body screamed that it was alive, that it wanted to seize eternity with possibilities, love, happiness and euphoria.

That was Koschei’s first effect on you.

“But you only know pain,” you boldly stated, determined to offer him a new point of view. “Even if you do witness the death of others, as I did here everyday since I arrived, you don’t know your own.”

The Lord of Life was so close by now that his shadow circled you like the wings of an angel.

“You do wish to change the world, don’t you?” he inquired.

“I am not opposed to contradictions, but I do believe a loving father would do anything to keep his children safe and happy,” you replied, holding the intensity of his gaze. “Happiness is as important to Life as Death.”

Koschei allowed your opinion to sink in. After a few seconds, that seemed to last longer, he offered you a gentle smile. “Join me for dinner, miss. I’ll be more than content to take a deeper dive into your thoughts.”

-

The failed visits Jaehyun paid to your apartment kept going for a few more days until Baba Yaga came to knock on your room’s door.

“Tell him I am not coming out,” you warned.

“It is not your husband who came this time,” she announced.

You lifted your chin from the bed.

“Who is it, then? One of his servants?”

Your heart ached at that. What had happened to Vasilisa remained a mystery to you. You could only guess she’d been buried with the rest of the wedding’s victims.

“Not one of his servants, definitely. Why don’t you come out and see?” It was Baba Yaga’s reply before her steps distanced from the door.

Driven by curiosity, you complied. It rained outside, the droplets making a calm melody at the ceiling, muffling the volume of your breath when you opened the door. One turn right at the end of the hall, and you were face to face with a thin man in red clothes, his heavy boots wet with rain, his eyes like blood.

The Lord of Death.

“What a nerve you have coming here after ruining my wedding,” you calmly observed. Even if you were in front of Koschei’s fatal enemy, the person who was guilty of slaughtering Vasilisa, you knew the rules of the world well enough to act otherwise. Yuta was dangerous, like a tiger to a rabbit. Killing was in his nature. Nothing you said and did was going to change that.

Yuta bent softly to you, causing the attentive Baba Yaga to snort.

“I wish I could apologize, m’Lady, but one can only be what faith reserved. I agree your wedding perhaps wasn’t the best choice, but I love a little family drama.”

“I almost didn’t notice,” you breathed, eyeing him carefully. “What do you want?”

“As you might have noticed, I lost the war. Your husband came out victorious, and some of our brothers and sisters gathered to put me on trial. I came to personally invite you to be one of the witnesses.”

“A witness against your war crimes?” you clenched an eyebrow.

“A witness against my crimes on your wedding,” Yuta specified. “Koschei sued me. Not for my war crimes — he knows I would never be punished for that. He sued me for ruining your ceremony, and what followed.”

Oh, you could so clearly see it. How mad Jaehyun had gotten, exactly? What was the size of his fury to be once again involved in war strategies, and not in a bed you kept warm, lustful, never ending?

A war he could forgive. But what happened at your wedding was a different story.

Your eyes nearly softened at the news, but you were quick to clear your throat and recompose yourself. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“And I suppose you’ll be taking me back to the immortal realm?”

Yuta’s eyes sparkled, cunning. “I would love to, m’Lady, but Koschei would never allow that. The old witch can help you with that.”

You turned to Baba Yaga with the speed of sunlight, your eyes tight and your tone accusing. “You could have taken me back! All this time!”

“Not a fight worth buying against your husband,” she simply replied. “Koschei’s trust is too dear to me to lose it.”

You hated it. How much power Jaehyun had. How everyone adored him. How little girls prayed to him and thanked him for his kindness. How he had left your wedding ring at the table the previous day: the same wedding ring you threw at the river, one year ago, in a tantrum so strong you got a fever and Baba Yaga made you soup for a whole week.

If you really intended on never seeing Jaehyun again, you would have turned to Yuta and declined. But your heart was bleeding to have justice made, and your poor emotional state considered that Jaehyun deserved the revenge of seeing the version of you that hated him. He deserved to suffer too, didn’t he?

You turned your face to the Lord of Death.

“I’ll be there.”

-

“If you can take me to the immortal realm, then you’re a Lady,” you risked as Baba Yaga made you jump inside a small carriage, one that already felt inadequate compared to the first few cars that ran the city’s streets.

“Lady of Nunnery,” she replied ironically.

“Don’t be so mean, granny,” you cooed, arranging your light blue gown that you so carefully chose for the trial, one with long sleeves and a tight skirt. “Aren’t you happy that you might return to your own life and catch up on whatever else you wish to do, instead of watching me?”

“I’m too old and wise to allow myself to have hope,” Baba Yaga concluded. With a small, mostly inaudible hiss of her lips, she commanded the two black horses to ride, and with that the carriage began to move.

The trip to the immortal realm was as smooth as the first time. In the blink of an eye, the pavement the sun shone brighter, music filled the air, and the food barracks set an abundant diversity of colors and smells, so much your mouth watered. Everything tasted better in the immortal realm.

Now that you were back, you realized how badly you had missed it. It felt like being home after the longest of journeys. Like coming back to the arms of a mother. You were too drawn in your thoughts to speak for the rest of the trip as the carriage took you to the Palace of Justice. You had only been there once, to accompany Koschei in the judgment of a failed attempt of robbery in Buyan, when a very talented robber tried breaking in to search for his death.

It was a marvelous construction, as palaces are. Everything was clean and immaculate, the marble on the walls, the tall windows and the solemn ambience of silence and wisdom. You and Baba Yaga handed the carriage to a young girl and walked inside calmly. She limped on one foot, so you kept yourself close to her, even if the old witch wouldn’t ever ask for help.

“You know what to do, right?” she spoke.

“Be honest and merciless,” you mocked.

“Be clever, girl. You have cried for this day to come, to be reunited with Koschei, and have some peace. Enjoy it now that you have the chance.”

You took a closer look at the surroundings, at the spotless carpet, the vivid and dramatic paintings, the employees… The life you wish you could have right there. “I don’t think it is that simple, granny,” you replied, as you came to face a tall door that was opened for both of you.

The courtroom was wide as everything in the immortal realm. That land belonged to Koschei, meaning it was a full expression of everything life could be: the chairs gracefully decorated with silver flowers, the ceiling made of glass in a garden of multiple colors, the judge bench imponent and high, where the gorgeous Lady of Justice sat. She looked like an angel, tall and firm, her white gown contrasting with the holy blackness of her skin.

As you walked in, familiar faces turned to look at you. You caught how Ten the Lord of Beauty offered you a friendly smile, and how Taeyong the Lord of Word tilted his head in respect. John the Knight was there too, with the same apologetic look he gave you the last time you met, as you ordained he brought you back. They were at your wedding, as well as other Lords and Ladies that had already found their seats. The Lord of Death was there too, clad in his deep red clothes and cunning gaze. Jaehyun had not arrived yet.

You and Baba Yaga made your way to the first row of seats, in front of the Lady of Justice. It instantly came to your mind how it was said that the Lord of Beauty was entirely enamored with her, and with one look you knew it was true. Ten had always been smitten for beautiful things, and the Lady of Justice was easily one of the most dazzling creatures you had ever put your eyes on. As Justice itself, she was severe and rigid, but also welcoming, strong, and undeniable.

Each person that walked inside the courtroom had your heart throbbing in your chest. Unconsciously, you waited for Jaehyun to arrive, and your body knew it, making you wish to pick at your nails, bounce your feet to the floor and look at your back, searching for him. Your body never failed to betray you. Both you and Jaehyun knew it well. The moment you felt your heart racing, your veins blooming, your head spinning with the force of a tornado, you knew he had arrived.

His effects on you never failed.

Your head started a war with your heart, as you forced yourself not to look over your shoulder. You sensed your husband approaching you with every step, until his silhouette stood right in front of your eyes. Without further choices, you lifted your gaze to meet his.

How absolutely cruel life was to you, giving you such a handsome, perfect man, and making him so irresistible your heart weighed twice its weight in your chest, nearly pulling you to stay on your knees and kiss his hands, his thighs, beg for him to let you in, to invade you, to love and fuck you, to utterly and gutturally ravish you, to take you home and make you his wife again and again.

But you refrained. You refrained even though your eyes tried their hardest to delight him with your weakness.

“Y/N, my wife,” Jaehyun said, his voice almost like a plea, eyes frankly in love, wanting and admiring.

“I can hardly be called that, Koschei.”

“Jaehyun,” he interfered, eyes tightened, as though you calling him Koschei physically stung. “That’s how I told you to call me.”

“Please, take your seat. Trial is about to start,” you calmly enunciated.

His austere reaction was successful in hiding precisely how much pain you brought him with your coldness, but you both knew two things: you loved Jaehyun, and Jaehyun loved you.

You were expecting he would find a seat somewhere else, but much to your surprise, the Lord of Life locked a meaningful gaze with Baba Yaga.

“An old lady has got no peace in this fucking world,” she complained, getting up for Koschei to sit down by your side.

You quickly grabbed her wrist. “Don’t go, gran-”

“Shut up, child. I don’t take orders from you,” she hissed like a fox, slipping from your touch and stonily finding herself another seat at the third row.

Jaehyun, then, sat by your side. Those excruciatingly dear amburana notes filled your lungs, and you had to clench your thighs to keep still. Thankfully, the Lady of Justice spoke next, opening the session.

“You haven’t replied to my letters,” Jaehyun murmured.

“You haven’t kept your vows,” you returned just as lowly. “You confined me.”

“For your own fucking good. Did you wish to be killed?”

“I wished to be with you.”

“It was too dangerous here. I thankfully had time to rebuild the city before you arrived, to spare you the chaos.”

So the city, the place he always did his best to keep safe, was attacked.

“You didn’t have to do that all by yourself.”

“I wouldn’t risk losing you, Y/N,” he looked over at you, discreetly at the corner of his eye. “You’re too loved by me.”

Everytime his mouth spoke of love, you shuddered.

“Yuta wouldn’t dare kill me,” you risked. Only a guess.

“You know nothing about Lords and Ladies,” Jaehyun nearly rubbed his face in frustration. “Yuta doesn’t have a trustworthy sense of morals, Y/N. If he had the chance to take your death with him, he would.”

“Wouldn’t you be capable of rescuing me?” Your question let him know that, time after time, as you had been away in the mortal realm, you had thought about the possibilities over and over. “To breathe life into me after I was gone?”

“For that, you’d have to be born again.”

“So be it.”

You immediately noticed how his hand, placed on his thigh, clenched into a fist.

“You think too little of my love for you,” Jaehyun growled. “If you were born again, you wouldn’t be as you are now. And as you are now is how I want you. Every day and every night. I can’t tolerate a world emptied of you, Y/N… I hav-”

“Koschei, the Lord of Life, will contribute as our first witness,” the Lady of Justice announced in a voice two volumes louder, breaking your conversation. Jaehyun smoothly got up, looking over at you dearly before he moved over to the front of the judge's bench.

“Can you tell us what happened that night?” the Lady of Justice asked.

“It was the night of my wedding. As you all know, I had never been married before, but fell in love with a priestess. She’s right there,” he pointed at you with pride in his eyes, and even a smile to his lips, making you want to shrink until you disappeared. He was so in love. Fuck, he still was so in love… “We had just won the war against Death, but Death then decided to strike back that same night, causing sixty of our guests to find a violent end on our dinner table. I had to send my wife to the mortal realm, for her own sake, and since that day we didn’t get to properly live as husband and wife. That’s why I sued Death. If he had had the decency of waiting, then perhaps my first wedding days would have been happier.”

You looked over at Yuta, and how his face was soft and calm, relaxed even, with a mocking grin to his lips, and you couldn’t help but feel the trial regarded the wrong subject. Yes, he should be addressed for what he did to your wedding. But shouldn’t he be addressed for way more crimes than that?

Without further thinking, you stood up. “Permission to speak, my Lady,” your voice politely asked.

The Lady of Justice complied with a nod.

“Permission granted, priestess. Please, come closer.”

You obeyed, readily standing by Jaehyun’s side. “I do believe the Lord of Death did us wrong by ruining our wedding, and as Koschei told you, I did suffer a lot, being sent to the mortal realm. I have belonged here since I first stepped into this realm, to aid during the war. Death’s revenge on my wedding will perhaps be something I will never entirely get over, but…” your eyes tightened a little, “but I believe we are addressing the wrong thing. My suffering was not individual. Many suffered from the effects of the war. Families were taken apart, destroyed, many kids never had the chance to grow up. My dear friend Vasilisa was murdered in front of my own eyes,” at that, you looked over at Yuta. “Life was assaulted and humiliated in several ways, and it would be selfish of me to stand here to defend myself against a single tragedy when so many lost their lives and hopes. Their souls.”

The entire room looked at you amusedly.

“So what you mean is that this trial should be against war itself?�� the Lady of Justice asked to clarify.

“I’m not sure a trial is going to entirely solve the issue,” you replied calmly. “I suggest that, instead, we discuss peace.”

You caught the way Jaehyun looked at you. How enamored he was. How he could have put you on a pedestal.

“Peace?” Ten the Lord of Beauty tasted the word in his tongue.

“Peace is at a state of mind, at its best,” Taeyong the Lord of Words hummed. His pure and big eyes stared into the air as if he was reading the word over and over.

“It could be a state of reality too,” you added. “Peace and war are opposites: as death exists to balance life, peace should exist to balance war. There’s where Koschei comes in,” you presented your idea smoothly. It wasn’t the first time you discussed such matters with Jaehyun. When he first invited you over to dinner, you had mentioned the idea. “As Lord of Life he can create someone to manage peace as he did to each of you.”

You and Jaehyun eyed each other. You couldn’t tell if he was more proud or challenged: he had never agreed on creating peace in the first place, but if you could bargain with him, that was your request.

“I think it is fair,” Justice agreed. “But it is my job to make sure we reach the final goal of this trial. Koschei, do you wish to continue with it?”

Jaehyun slowly averted his eyes from you to her. “Let’s do as my wife says,” he decided. “But I have a condition for the trial on Death to be canceled.”

“We are all ears, Life,” Yuta cooed.

“Let me rescue Vasilisa from the realms of Death and make her be born again,” Jaehyun breathed. “And Mark too.”

-

You could say you and Koschei were getting closer. After the first dinner in the manor, where he carefully listened to your ideas — to your surprise, without ever mocking you or lowering your reasoning —, it was frequent that the Lord of Life searched for you. Once together, you never stopped talking about diverse subjects. Sometimes, you even had the impression he consciously wanted your point of view and advice, like he treasured your way of thinking, so rich in complexity and imagination.

“It’s like the first day of spring,” Koschei explained while you took a walk at the manor’s garden a few weeks after your first encounter. War continued, but the battlefields were calmer: Death had a lot of work to do with a new local disease that was taking many lives away in the mortal realm. Even Mark had a moment to travel to Buyan and meet Vasilisa. “Not spring itself, but the first day, when the weather is warmer and the flowers stretch, blossoming…”

“What?” you asked with interest.

“Talking to you.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh, we humans just have smart ideas,” you humbled, unaware that you were reducing yourself because of your shyness. “The majority of us are very smart. We even have artists such as Frida Kahlo and Remedios Varo. Are you familiar with them?”

“I know everything my kids do, miss,” Koschei chuckled.

“So…” you bit your cheek,“did you know me before I arrived?”

“Not like that,” he admitted, his expression going slightly serious as he stopped to admire the white roses. Big and with rich, thick perfume. “I personally made the first men and women, and let them be, so I didn’t have the time to catch up on them individually, but I know what goes on. Humans are free to make their choices and populate the mortal realm, mate with whoever they want to. I’d say the Lady of Desire plays a huge role in that.”

“Never heard of her. What is she like?” you tilted your head, focusing on the big lilies that smelled like heaven. Life really flourished differently in Koschei’s land.

“Entirely convincing. Dangerous, even. Once in her presence, your head is easily messed up with,” his voice was like a song as you slipped down the garden, unable that, everywhere you went on the obsidian pathway, Koschei followed, attracted to your natural scent like a bee to a flower.

“She might be very alluring,” you commented. “I sometimes wonder if desire could be a law.”

“How so?”

“One could only have another if there was any desire,” you clarified. “It would certainly avoid women from getting raped.”

Koschei stopped in awe. “You can’t help but care about others, can you?”

“As you should,” your tone was light, but sincere. “Thinking the world is the way it is leaves no imagination for creation and improvement. I was kind of disappointed to know you’re a bit selfish.”

He swallowed. “Selfish?”

“Yes. You know, children pray for you. And still they mourn their families in war. The idea of an omnipresent, benevolent Lord isn’t exactly real.”

“That’s a version humans created of me. To have hope, perhaps. It is like saying that every woman was born to be a tender mother,” Koschei reasoned, and when he passed you by, his side brushed yours, leaving soft goosebumps under the fabric of your dress.

He smelled like the loveliest amburana tree.

“I am not immune to desire,” he continued, holding your gaze as though it was needed in such an exposure. “I can’t ignore the wishes of my heart, and by nature I am cruel, demanding, and utterly unforgiving. But I can also be gentle, loving, and nurturing. Just like life is, sometimes.”

If you said you were not attracted by the contradiction he held at the tip of his tongue, and at every fiber of his being, you would be shamelessly lying.

You stopped underneath a gazebo, near a black water fountain, where water was continuously spilled from the mouth of a hound. Symbolic. “Is it true that you had many lovers?” you felt bold in asking.

Koschei picked a deep red apple from the nearest tree, supporting his weight on the gazebo before replying. “I was a lover countless times,” he removed a knife from the pocket of his suit — the blade had delicate decorated eggs imprinted on it — and cut a slice out of the fruit. “And I have loved too, more than anyone.”

“Did you really steal girls from villages to make them yours?”

“That sounds like rape to me.”

“Did you?” you insisted.

“No,” Koschei handed you the apple slice. You easily accepted it. “I didn’t have to.”

With all his looks and conversation skills, you trusted he was speaking the truth. You bit down on the apple, enjoying the sugar on your tongue.

“By the way, the boys searched for me as well. And I loved them all,” Koschei added, and at that you chuckled, placing your hand on your lips. You still had food in your mouth.

Smoothly, Koschei grabbed your fist and put it down. “Don’t hide your smile,” he hummed with such chivalry and admiration you went silent, your pupils widening. “It is one of the most beautiful things in you.”

Sometimes, in the deepest secrets of the night, you wondered if Koschei the Deathless meant the way he looked at you. Could he really be interested in what you had to offer? Your ideas, your mind, your beauty? You liked yourself quite right, and saw yourself as pretty in your own way.

Lately, with the way Koschei gazed at you, so tenderly, so happy even, when you caught him looking, well… It felt like he was attracted to you.

Now he was just admitting that he found your smile to be beautiful.

Automatically, you looked away, unsure. Understanding, Koschei removed his hand and returned to cutting a slice for himself. “What about you, miss? Did you have many lovers?”

“A few,” you hummed, staring at the effortless moves of his hands. “I had a school sweetheart, but we didn’t last. After him, it was all fun.” You considered whether you shared extra information. “By the way, I have loved girls too.”

At your reveal, Koschei nearly cut his thumb.

As if to save you from further embarrassment, one of Koschei’s servants approached you, bending to him in respect before speaking. “My Lord, I’ve got news from the city.”

“Go ahead.”

“One of our priests was murdered by shadows. His girlfriend came all the way from the City to report the crime herself.”

That was how you lost Mark. That was how you met Vasilisa.

-

“Vasilisa and Mark will be born again,” Baba Yaga concluded after the trial was over, as you waited for the carriage. “Take them as apprentices. Teach them your magic.”

“For that to happen, I will have to stay in the immortal realm.”

“Wasn’t that your plan all along? Or do you wish to return?”

“Well, granny, we are waiting for the carriage to take us back.”

The old witch frowned. “I have never said that I was going to take you back! Papa Koschei’s orders were to bring you here. The carriage will take me back to my realm. You go back to Buyan, where you belong.”

You couldn’t say you were surprised, but the slightest stubborn hope of your heart wished you could punish Koschei for longer.

The boy came with the carriage and Baba Yaga was so eager to leave she nearly kicked him away.

“Cruel woman,” you teased.

“After spending so much time with you? Absolutely!” She jumped in, her hand on the door. “Be safe, child.”

And with that, Baba Yaga left. The last thing you registered was how the yellow and brown leaves danced with the cold wind as the night approached and her carriage disappeared into the blooming horizon.

“She is the Lady of Luck,” Koschei’s voice right behind your back startled you, making your shoulders jump. “I’m sorry, love. Didn’t intend on scaring you.”

“Don’t call me that,” you growled.

Noticing the goosebumps on your skin, Koschei immediately removed his coat and landed it on your shoulders. You felt instantly warmer. “What else is a poor husband to call his wife? No matter how hard I had it, my vows were made. You’re mine as much as I am yours.”

“You already know my opinion on the effectiveness of your vows.”

“Not even you kept them fully,” his tone wasn’t accusing, but it made you frown, offended. “You promised to let your weapons down for me.”

“I did!”

“Not freely.”

“You forced me, Koschei.”

“And you’re mad about it. I understand it,” he searched for your hand, and this time you couldn’t pull away. His slender fingers had always felt magical on yours: long digits compared to tiny ones. Jaehyun placed your hand on his chest, right where his deathless heart beat. “All I ask is for you to let me be who I wanted to, two years ago. Give me the chance to be your loving, faithful husband, and I’ll make it up to you. Every little punch on the wall, every scream of my name… I’ll make up to you, wife.”

You were still angry, fuming, and hurt. But as life’s contradictions itself, you were eager, desperate to love, and ready to make the Lord of Life fall to his knees in front of you, begging, crying, sobbing.

“Take me to Buyan.”

-

The loss of a close friend felt like a knife transpassing your heart. Not only you got deeply affected by the news, but surrendered to the strongest fever you ever had, so devastating Koschei insisted you were taken to Buyan, where he could keep a close eye on you.

You insisted Vasilisa joined you: the sweet girl was already like a little sister, so loyal she stood by your side all the time you were treated in the luxurious manor Koschei the Deathless resided in.

At least, you had someone to mourn with.

The doctors said the fever was closely related to the state of your soul: in the immortal realm, your soul commanded, and your body obeyed. You were so sad and broken at the loss of Mark, so young, lively and willing, that your body simply couldn’t take it.

Koschei constantly came to visit, sometimes staying by your bed when Vasilisa needed to rest or to tend to her own pain.

Three weeks after Mark’s passing, Life and Death came to an agreement and the war was over. You were already fully recovered, but still mourning, when the news came in like the sun at the beginning of a fresh morning. With it, you considered your options.

Going back to the mortal realm was your original plan. But did it make any sense? What awaited you on the other side? Your job as a priestess would certainly help people, but it wasn’t like you were going to be useless in the immortal realm. Souls there were way more sensitive, and perhaps the healing touch of your hand would bring them some comfort.

In the immortal realms, at least, you had Vasilisa.

And Koschei.

You couldn’t deny your heart had grown affectionate towards him. The Lord of Life was thrilling, alluring and simple, as a man should be. He listened carefully to your thoughts and took you seriously. He protected you. He shared the wonderfulness of his mind and creations, and you liked that, more and more, he took your opinions into consideration before making a move.

If love ever bloomed in you, then you wished it was for and with someone like him.

Obviously, your limited human brain went skeptical: Koschei, the Lord of Life, didn’t need you. With the end of the war, he would return to his own interests, and you were going to be dismissed, to carry on with your own matters too.

You grabbed your old, crumbly suitcase, and started putting your few belongings inside.

“Are you really making a decision before talking to him?” Vasilisa crossed her arms, her gaze piercing as she stood by the doorframe of your temporary room. You understood why Mark fell in love with her. She was one of a brave kind.

Koschei was going to know. But, you were sure, nothing would change. “I’ll talk to him at dinner.”

When night fell, you took your last chance to wander through the manor. It was twice as luxurious as the one described in school books, filled with colorful windows, flowers, paintings, plants, stairs, libraries, and secret rooms. Koschei lived there by himself, with a dozen servants that kept the place neat. You couldn’t help but imagine how lonely it must have been for him, living in such a huge place, without a family or a pet. Perhaps you could write him letters, to help him pass the time, now that peace was made.

You took your time admiring the paintings on the walls and facing the loving garden through the windows as the sky got darker with each second. Birds sang the softest melody; tree tops swayed with the warm wind coming from the South.

You were going to miss that place. But you have made your decision.

You wore a plain soft pink dress that squeezed your waist just right. You weren’t used to how expensive you looked in silk, but the options in the manor were just as elegant. Vasilisa insisted you wore a pair of garnet gem earrings, which made you feel the closest to a princess, but still you.

Usually, you and Koschei had dinner at his particular office, where the cozy atmosphere suited your conversations. And, as always, when you lifted your hand to knock on the door, just right before you did it, he opened it for you.

But this time, Koschei didn’t hide how marvelous you looked. “Holy shit,” he whispered under his breath, eyes traveling from your face to your cleavage to your waist.

You heard how hard your heartbeat was in your own ears.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Koschei nervously looked back into your eyes. “You look… You look so insanely beautiful I couldn’t hold back.”

Even if with burning cheeks, you managed to laugh it off. “That's very human of you, Koschei.”

There was a simple meal for you two, a stew so delicious it reminded you of your granny, and wine to swallow it down. You took a sip before gathering courage to introduce the subject you had to discuss.

“What are your plans now that war is over?”

“Keeping things alive,” he replied shortly. “Making sure the population is multiplied. I already contacted Desire.”

“It’s time you create the Lady of Consent.”

“I already have, miss.”

“Really?” You merely could hide your surprise.

“Really. One day you’ll meet her.”

You were expecting him to ask what you would do, but the question didn’t come, so spoke. “I was expecting to return to the mortal realm now that my work here is done.”

Koschei put the fork down and stared into your eyes as if you were speaking another language. Slowly, you could see his face was hiding its own expression. He didn’t want to seem offended. “Why do you say that? Aren’t you happy here?”

“On the c-contrary, I am!” you stuttered, realizing his question made you think harder about what you truly wanted. “But I guessed that, with the end of the war, the recruits were going to be sent back to their homes.”

Koschei leaned back on the chair. His eyes were still on yours, analyzing what seemed to be a secret enigma. “Have I failed in showing my affection for you so badly that you think of yourself as an ordinary recruit?”

Your jaw nearly dropped. “I mean, I am!” Your gaze faltered until you, finally, stared down at your lap, embarrassed.

Koschei nodded, carefully choosing his words.

“I don’t want you to go back.”

You looked back up. Such beautiful eyes he had.

“I want you to stay. Have been for a while now. I was going to ask you tonight.”

Your words escaped your mouth without a filter, and you sounded demanding, but also eager. “Then ask me.”

You almost gasped with how Koschei slowly stood up only to kneel in front of you, grabbing your anxious hands in his.

“Y/N, the time we spent together brought me much joy, and I believe I’ve made you happy too. It’d be a torture to watch you leave my realm, and twice a torture to watch you leave me,” he spoke every word out loud and honest. “I am not on my knees to beg only as Lord of Life. I am on my knees to beg as a man. Please, consider the possibility of staying.” Koschei brought your hand to his lips and planted a chaste kiss on your skin. The sincerity of his eyes reflected the flames on the fireplace. “Consider the possibility of being mine.”

He handed the power right into your hold, a decision for you to make.

You felt so wanted, so dear, so scandalously beautiful, and your heart for once relaxed, your blood warm on your veins, your lips itchy. “Koschei, I-“

“Call me Jaehyun. That’s my name.”

Your eyes sparkled.

Gently, your hand reached for his face, brushing his hair back before cupping his cheek. You didn’t say a word. All you did was lean over and press your lips to his.

-

The manor was very much like it had been committed to your memory, with the piercing difference that all the servants you once knew were dead.

The war, you started to notice, had been crueler than the previous. So many deaths, so many changes. Jaehyun himself had an older look on his face, even though a certain new joy was keeping it alight.

His eyes sparkled in content whenever he saw you at the manor, where you were expected since the day of your wedding. He had the servants prepare your favorite foods. Had gotten the most beautiful lilies to decorate your room — your, not his, not yours, as you insisted on sleeping alone. Even before your marriage, he had built you a temple at the manor, a broad and dark room with an altar for your saints, with all the materials you needed for your rituals and magic, and the temple was at your full disposal. You spent most of your time there, and quickly opened the temple to the public, so people could come in and be healed by your talented hands.

It brought you tremendous joy to help those souls, so much your days were filled with work. Which meant Jaehyun’s dinner invitations were politely refused. You kept a collected composure in front of him, even if it hurt as much as having a needle pushed inside your eyeball.

Deep inside, you were tremendously scared of your feelings. Both you and Jaehyun knew it.

The only further interaction you had was about how much progress he had with creating Peace. All the times you had asked, Jaehyun simply said he was working on it. Just like that, your conversations were over.

It was a rainy day outside when you started your day, making your prayers and opening the temple. Everything was made by your own hands, so no servants helped you around. Usually, a line was formed into the manor’s main hall, and you came to personally pick your patients and take them inside. That day, as thunder echoed in the sky, and violent rain hit the ceiling, you came to find out there was no one to attend.

“Oh, that’s sad,” you breathed, turning around to return to your refuge when you bumped into a very familiar chest.

The expression on Jaehyun’s face explained why the weather was so bad.

Eventually, when Koschei was not able to control his own emotions, the weather in Buyan could feel it. Sunny days meant a visceral happiness that made his face smiley; springy weather meant he was especially romantic, with his head on the clouds and his heart where his brain should be; and heavy rainy days meant he was frustrated and angry, sad and way too deep into his defense mechanism.

“Dear saints, you’re going to make it snow!” you brought your hand to your heart.

“You’re being mean to me. I am hurt,” Jaehyun admitted, his lower lip nearly jumping out in a pout. Cute.

“Not my problem,” you lifted your shoulders quickly, passing him by. Jaehyun started following you. “What are you doing?” you asked without turning around.

“I’m heading to my appointment.”

“I don’t think you are. I’m busy today.”

“Well, I am a soul too. I deserve healing,” Jaehyun retorted. “Even if my wife wishes to torture me forever in the name of revenge.”

His childish, spoiled tone almost made you laugh. You knew better than to make fun of him, though. Plus, you were not proud to make him suffer. You just preferred he got hurt than allowing yourself such pain again.

Sincerity was surely one of your biggest qualities. And a defect too, depending on the situation.

After a deep sigh, you agreed with a nod. “Fine.”

Jaehyun had not been in your temple since you started working there, simply because you really had been busy and because you didn’t give him the friendliest of looks whenever he came to check on you. So, when he first walked inside, his lovely jawline dropped a little.

Every priestess and priest had the freedom to decide what gods and saints they were going to worship. You had decorated your altar with their images and elements that somehow represented their power: two small and crossed wood hammers for Ṣàngó, a beautifully crafted bronze mirror for Ọ̀ṣun, a dark seashell for Yemọja and cowries for Èsù, the Lord of Discipline, Communication and Order. Candles burned for them all the time, as you closely committed to lighting up new ones when the old have blown out. Incense burned too, filling the air with the scent of black surinam cherries. Fresh flowers brightened up the dark altar with vivid colors. The atmosphere was dense but friendly, full of mystery between the cold stone walls.

There was a simple table with two chairs on each of its sides, reserved for the appointments. You signaled for Jaehyun to sit on one chair, taking the other in front of him.

“I think I’ve got a severe spiritual problem,” he announced, so dramatic it amused you.

You hummed in reply, lighting up a cinnamon incense with a lighter, moving it around Jaehyun’s sides before placing it in a set of small stones you kept on the table. Next, you grabbed the set of your favorite and most loyal gypsy cards. “I’ll check what the oracle tells me.”

Your hands worked on spreading fourteen cards so smoothly it felt as though you spent your entire life doing that.

Jaehyun observed quietly, noticing how your hand seemed empty without your wedding ring. He still wore his, not even taking it off when he slept.

You turned the cards around slowly, analyzing the entire context they were telling you. For the sake of suspense, it took a while for you to speak. “I don’t see anything spiritual. You’re probably too powerful for ghosts or any type of enemy to try something on you. But you do have a heartache.”

“How can I solve it?” His voice came out impatient.

You puckered your lips in thought before replying. Everything related to Jaehyun’s heart involved his feelings for you, and there was no way to speak about it without taking the entire context in consideration. “I see you might be frustrated because you’re being denied. Perhaps you’re not used to disappointment, but,” you pointed at the book card, “it is the perfect opportunity to use your repertory and learn.”

Jaehyun crossed his arms. You pretended not to notice his biceps slightly bulking within his shirt. “I am trying, but the more you deny me, the more I find it difficult to deal with what we have become,” he confessed. “I understand you’re upset, and I respect your opinion. You know that, if I had any safer options, I would have kept you by my side. But I did what I thought best to keep you safe and be with you later. I won the war. For you.”

You believed it: Jaehyun fighting battle after battle, motivated by the idea of being back with you… It was highly probable, and that you could respect. For that, your heart melted.

“I know. I know you’re being sincere as much as I know your love for me is real. I hope you understand I still have true feelings for you just as I did back then,” you mustered all of your maturity to evoke those words, resisting the urge to close your eyes and hide from the bleeding truth. “But I need to get over how powerless you made me feel.”

“I thought there was no space in love for power,” Jaehyun frowned.

“But you still had power over me, didn’t you?” your tone was a lot calmer now. That was not a confrontation, but simply a statement of how things went. “My main issue is that I could not choose. You interfered directly into my free will, and I will not tolerate that in marriage. If I am your wife, then let me have the same choices you do.”

His eyes analyzed you closely. “That would make you tremendously powerful.”

“I don’t seek to be powerful, I seek to be equal. Until I don’t have such a guarantee, I will continue to fight against the position of being your helpless wife.”

Your gazes burned in orange flames, heated by how he just got what you meant. Jaehyun always did.

“What do the cards recommend I do?” he asked.

You placed your finger on the mountain card. “Your journey might be long and rough, but you have to push yourself towards your goal.”

“So I should continue to be unconditionally faithful to my wife. Let her aspire to all the things she desires. Learn how to deal with my frustration alone, as I make sure she can trust me,” he perfectly wrapped up.

“Those are my conditions,” you nodded.

One second later, Jaehyun extended his hand over to you. “Deal.”

Accepting his hand in yours came naturally, the feeling of his skin extremely familiar, the little shivers of your touch making you squeeze his hand a little tighter than needed.

“Can I ask for something in return?”

“You can.”

“Have dinner with me.”

“If we openly discuss how you’re making progress with my request on peace, I might.”

Jaehyun nearly chuckled. “Have dinner with me everyday.”

“Will you update me everyday?”

“I will.”

“Deal,” you smiled.

At the sight, Jaehyun brought one hand to his face, flustered as he rubbed his cheeks. “You still have the most beautiful smile,” he praised. “Fuck, how I missed it while you were gone…”

You were going to tease him when a ray of sunshine walked through the window right on your deck of cards. It wasn’t raining anymore.

-

Jaehyun’s hand eagerly slid from your breasts up to your neck as you lied down on his bed. Hungrily, his eyes fed from the gorgeous shape of your body, the innocent white lace bra you wore alluring him into his deepest fantasies.

“You have the most beautiful breasts,” he grunted. “So round and firm and beautiful…”

“You speak like it’s the first time you see them,” you teased, your cheeks and the tip of your nose warm from arousal.

Ever since you decided to stay, Jaehyun loved on you passionately almost every day. He never allowed anything to go missing. By now, after intense weeks of love making, you had grown accustomed to his dedication, and how your body resembled a volcano every time he touched you.

“Not my fault you are so scandalously sublime,” Jaehyun bit his lip before pushing your bra aside, exposing your nipples. He dove in, warm tongue drawing slow circles around each, eventually brushing and biting the hard peaks. When he lifted his face, the cold air left shivers on the wet evidence of where his mouth had been. He easily got rid of your bra, freeing your round, perky breasts, so deliciously voluptuous and busty his mouth salivated. “Have I told you how I made women?”

“Not yet.” You rested your head on the pillow, admiring his bare chest. The defined muscles on his shoulders, arms, and abdomen turned his bareness so attractive to you your toes curled whenever he was naked.

“I created a woman before I created a man,” Jaehyun revealed, moving to pull your skirts down your legs. He kissed the big scar on your right knee, the one you were graced with after falling from a tree when you were only a little girl. “I knew I had to make something unique, intense, intelligent and breathtaking. It was how I wanted life to be at first. Understanding but full of rage, resting but full of ideas, lovely but with the highest ability to deprivation.”

You engaged in his words, sitting down to hover over him. The tips of your fingers caressed his chest in random moves until your hand moved along his trousers, where the volume of his erection was evident. You were turned on too, your white panties transparent where your pussy lips damped with scented juices. “So you made them alluring,” you guessed.

“So fucking tempting,” Jaehyun’s eyes darkened as he watched you. “With a heart to love, tits to bear milk, a womb to carry children…” as he spoke, his hands traveled on said parts, exploring you fervently. “Hips and ass… Those I made for my personal delight,” he admitted, making you smile playfully, shamelessly enjoying how his hands roamed up and down your cheeks.

“No wonder…” teasing, you pulled his pants down, now rubbing your clothed core on his bare dick.

Jaehyun grunted lowly. You loved your effect on him. You loved seeing Koschei going breathless for pussy, moaning heavily and clenching his eyes with pleasure and lust.

With one strategic move, Jaehyun snaked his arm on your waist and effortlessly turned you around. As he now hovered over you, the Lord of Life grabbed the side of your panties. “But my most favorite thing…” he continued, pulling the last piece of fabric that separated you down your legs. Fuck, you were so wet. So hotly soaked your juices stuck to the bottom of your panties in a crystal string, “is right here.”

Your cunt was perfect for him. Big puffy lips that glistened with arousal surrounding a clit swollen in expectation. Folds so inviting his cock ached at the mere sight. Your lips also hid a tiny little hole that felt so right and tight around his cock, as though Jaehyun had personally made it to fit his proportions.

You registered the famine in his eyes. And it made you tremble.

“You did so good,” you praised him, brushing his black hair rewardingly. Every person had preferences that made them weak at the knees. Jaehyun, you figured, liked being praised. “You did so fucking good giving us such beautiful cunts.”

“And clits,” he added, rubbing yours softly with the pad of his thumb. His eyes were on you all the time, swallowing the erotic sight. “The only human organ with the purpose to provide pleasure.”

One of your dainty hands slid down your body and separated your lips to help him have both a better access and view to your cunt.

At your every little action, Jaehyun fell harder for you.

“What did you intend by making it?” you fed the conversation with your curiosity.

He responded by giving a broad and firm lick to your clit, making you moan in sweet pleasure. You were lucky enough to see how his tongue moved on you, his plump lips wrapping around your clit and sucking.

“H-holy shit,” you cursed, back arching on the mattress where he had been fucking you out of your mind for the last three weeks.

Jaehyun smirked, slurping on your soaking folds. He took his time, alternating the long sucks with gentle licks, repeating them countless times until you were breathing fast, grabbing the sheets and getting flustered at the needy sound of your affected voice.

To him, you were perfect from head to toe. All the extension of your skin so soft and smooth, every mark and scar composing the excellence of your being. You even had the proportions he liked, curvy and fertile. By now, Jaehyun had had you in different positions that allowed him nearly pornographic sights, and he was crazy for each one of them. Now, especially, he liked how your face contorted in pleasure, and how your hand held on his nape as he devoured you.

“So beautiful, my lady…The most beautiful I’ve fucked.” His nose brushed your vulva, taking your scent in deep. The signs of your orgasm were pretty clear: your hands clenched into fists, your hole pulsating in vibrations, your ever sober eyes lusty, almost unable to focus…

He could easily make you cum like that, but Jaehyun decided he wanted to prolong the fun. He leaned over you, lips finding yours in a slow and sensual pace, shivering at the needy touch of your hands and nails on his back. You kissed back hungrily — a kiss broken by a wanton moan as you felt the tip of his cock rub your entrance.

“Say I can, my lady,” Jaehyun searched for consent.

You locked eyes with him, once more witnessing how the world resumed to only the both of you. “Jaehyun…” you breathed his name, just because you loved it. “My love… Take me.”

The room was filled with a melodic combination of moans — yours, high and sensual; his, guttural and relieved — as your bodies became one. Your walls wrapped around him, suffocating his girth and clenching so sweetly Jaehyun saw stars at the back of his skull when his eyes closed shut for only a moment, because not to look at you would be the most unforgiving of sins. His hips rolled in a way he got deeper inside you, testing the waters not to hurt you, his most precious being. Your nails carved crescent moons on his shoulders, your mind blurred with desire, barely registering the devoted kisses Jaehyun planed on your shoulderblades as he started a loving, thrusting pace between your legs.

“S-so full,” you sighed in approval. “My pussy is so full.”

“If I knew you’d feel this good, miss, I would have fucking stolen you,” he grunted in your ear, speeding up the pace. “Would have broken into your temple and made your gods witness my love for you… Would have fucked you until you became a saint yourself…”

As twisted as that sounded, you liked it. There was no judgment between the both of you. With lewd, obscene eyes on his, you smirked. “I bet they’re watching now. Why don’t you show them exactly how much you love me?”

Fuck. He did. So deep and fast your hand had to reach for the luxurious headboard to steady yourself against it. Instinctively, Jaehyun placed one hand on the back of your head so you wouldn’t hit it, pushing his girthy member in and out of you with such expertise your breasts bounced right at his face, your sweet pliable body giving in so beautifully Koschei the Deathless could crown you his queen. Seeking to make you feel good, he reached low, rubbing circles on your little clit as his abdomen tensed with the strength of his hips.

“I love how you handle me,” you moaned lewdly, liking how goosebumps raised in the skin of his arms.

“You’re so fertile,” he returned the praise, his breath fast and wanton. “So perfect to breed, my love… I wanna fill you up with my seed.”

You came with a loud cry, that to Jaehyun sounded like an angel singing, your cunt gushing with juices that mixed with his seed. He couldn’t hold it back once you so eagerly gave yourself to him, lost in bliss and cock, your tempting little body trembling into his hold, features so lovely the Lord of Life felt as though he knew nothing about beauty.

When the Lord of Life came inside you, you felt as though the entirety of the world belonged to your womb. Like you carried every possibility of creation in your belly, too fucked out to properly think, only able to smile as you took in the freckles on his face, the foxy shape of his eyes, and the expressiveness of his frowned eyebrows as you gave him one last squeeze.

You never forgot how genuinely happy those days and nights were, how your tender hands played with his hair as Jaehyun listened to your heartbeat.

Those weeks with you were the closest he felt to peace.

-

“I see some sort of spiritual obsession related to her past life,” you announced to the mother whose child waited outside the room. It was your last appointment of the day, and even though you were tired, you tried to be welcoming when breaking such news. “That’s why she’s been having frequent nightmares.”

The mother looked at you with confused blue eyes. “I don’t understand…”

“Some spirits continue to feel the anger they felt in life, after they made the passage through the realms of Death. They become slaves to their own emotions, and might haunt the living until they decide to heal their own pain. I detected a spirit that is angry with your daughter, and it is highly probable that it is giving her nightmares.”

“How do you know that?”

“A priestess never works alone. A spiritual friend told me.”

“A spiritual friend?”

“Yes. I work with souls that decided not to reincarnate, and instead watch over us, guiding our journey.”

“That’s unusual,” her tone was skeptical. You did not blame her.

“In the immortal realm, indeed, but quite common in the mortal realm, if you’d like to know. I bet on the low level of soul acknowledgment.”

“I thought the Lady of Reincarnation and Chances took care of that.”

“Her job is to keep the wheel, not to teach on how to solve spiritual problems, although I admit that would make the world a much more lovely place.”

“What should I do, then?”

“Give your daughter a rue and camomile bath,” you picked up a bit of said herbs and handed it over to her. “I see you’re still skeptical about my methods, but I recommend you come back with her tomorrow. I’ll make contact with one of my friends and open a ritual to weaken the obsession. You will be here at all times, with your daughter. She won’t feel any pain.”

The mother was still unsure, but considering when you opened the door for her to leave. Much to your surprise, Jaehyun was outside with the little girl, clad in black clothing, singing her a song as she clapped her hands.

“My Lord,” the mother respectfully bent.

“Please, that’s not necessary,” Koschei spoke, smiling. He had always loved children. “I was having fun with this smart one,” he hummed, letting the girl jump from his thigh and join her mother. “I hope to see you again soon.”

The mother nodded weakly, keeping her gaze low as she intertwined her daughter’s hand in hers. “Thank you, my Lady. My Lord,” she bowed once again before heading outside, carrying her daughter with her. The lovely girl waved you goodbye.

Jaehyun then turned to you. “What was the diagnosis?”

“Heavy spiritual obsession related to reincarnation.”

“Ouch,” he hissed. “Who will you be calling?”

“Granny Isobel,” you informed. Granny Isobel was one of your closest spiritual guides. Her image was of an ancient black woman, sitting on a low bench and smoking a pipe. Besides from knowing a bunch of complex magics to disassociate spiritual obsessions, her personality was the kindest, the most humble, and even angry spirits got calmer in her presence.

“I love Granny Isobel,” Jaehyun cooed.

He knew the majority of your spiritual guides. You had told him everything when you were still working during the war. Back then, it wasn’t rare to call your guides when you needed extra assistance. They were always working by your side, and sometimes through you. Each of them had unique personalities and skills. They were your spiritual family.

“And I love Gravedigger, and Mary of Roses, and our dear, clever Little Bee…” Jaehyun continued, making you chuckle.

“You’re so flattering.”

“I’m genuine,” he assured, keeping his hands behind his back in a way he looked like a gentleman. “I came to personally escort you to dinner.”

Anxious, you noticed.

“Let me finish my prayers and we can go.”

After you did as you said, you closed the temple’s door, accepting Jaehyun’s arm and letting him guide you through the familiar manor.

“I have dreamed of this day,” he admitted.

“You’ve dreamed about having dinner with me?”

“As your husband?” He tilted his head towards you. “Definitely.”

So had you. Countless times.

Soon, you arrived at the corridor that led to Jaehyun’s office, where you usually had dinner. To your surprise, Jaehyun turned left and not right, pulling you to his side. “We’re not having dinner at the office anymore,” he calmly explained, leading you to the door that anticipated the garden.

Your eyes shone at the splendid sight: the delicate round lights hanging above the table for two, the white lilies breathing perfume through the night, the modest table setting made just for the both of you. Nothing too luxurious, nothing too much. Just a simple dinner outside, to enjoy the stars and the fresh nightly air that caressed your heated cheeks.

“This is beautiful,” you hummed in approval, sitting on the chair Jaehyun pulled for you.

“That’s how I wanted our nights to be after our honeymoon,” he admitted, taking the seat in front of you. His wedding ring shone brighter under the lights. “I know we didn’t have one, but we can. Anytime, any day.”

He was so flirty, so true and so damn smitten you could have smashed his cheeks in your hands and kissed him hard.

“I’ll think about it,” you breathed, intentionally eyeing the table. The growl in your stomach was heard at the smell of freshly baked bread, butter, meat and vegetables.

Some small talk proceeded as you served the food and ate, enjoying the captivating, sweet atmosphere of your encounter, as bees landed on the lilies and cicadas sang in the distance. Life. Everything was so full of life, again.

“I’ve been thinking about your peace proposal,” Jaehyun broke it to you.

“What have you decided?”

“Not much, I admit. Creating a new Lord or Lady is a complex thing, even more in the dynamics we are used to. Peace should be about controlling violence, and we’re too used to how violence tastes.”

“I agree. It has to be someone above life and death.”

“See? Complex.”

“Achievable?”

“In a way, yes. I’m still considering the possibilities.”

“Wanna share?”

“You’ll know eventually. I don’t wish to scare you now.”

“Few things scare me, Koschei.”

The name made Jaehyun’s eyes clench. He hated being called Koschei when you knew his layers a lot deeper, intimately.

“Love, as much as you’re dear to me, I must remind you that you’re not familiar with the dangerous limits between life and death.”

You hummed almost inaudibly, munching on some bread. “I don’t disagree.”

“Good girl,” a smirk blossomed on his kissable lips, just for the sake of fun, and for the sake of fun, too, you decided to tease him back while slicing the bread.

“If I remember correctly, sweet boy, I was not the one who liked being praised,” you noted, eyes sparkling with devilry.”

The way Jaehyun’s hand stilled on the fork had you smiling widely. It was impossible resisting how amazing you felt that you had such an effect on him. The hard swallow of his throat didn’t go unnoticed.

“I suggest you stop teasing me if you have no intentions of ending up on my bed tonight,” his warning was a delectable, adorable mix of danger and fluster that only made you chuckle in amusement. Jaehyun hardened his gaze. “You would not be laughing if you knew how I’ve suffered for the past two years. My hand is nothing compared to your warmth.”

You shouldn’t like it so much when he openly expressed his needs like that, but you still did and there was nothing to do about that.

“Sounds like you think you suffered exclusively,” you analyzed.

“Not what I meant,” Jaehyun took a sip of wine. “But good to know I was not alone.”

Oh, if he only knew. If your lovely husband was aware of the battles you fought against your own body in his absence, with hands whose control didn’t seem to belong to your own mind…

“We both suffered enough, I guess,” you brought a bit of sobriety to the dialogue. You still needed reassurance.

Jaehyun acquiesced, stealing the bread you had just sliced.

“By the way,” he grinned, “Mark and Vasilisa will be reincarnated tomorrow. I’ll make sure to tell you where, so you’re the first to know.”

The news lit up your face, your heart calm and content. They deserved a second chance.

“Thank you, Jaehyun. That means a lot to me.”

Jaehyun. Not Koschei.

-

“Your death… Did you really hide it?”

Your question echoed in the room’s darkness, so silent Jaehyun was able to listen to your heartbeat, as his ear rested on your bare chest, your hand gently caressing his hair.

“Yes,” was his forthright answer. “I hid it inside a needle, which is in an egg, which is in a duck, which is in a black hound, which is in an iron chest, which is buried under an oak tree, in the island we are at now.”

The amburana scent made company to your many thoughts as you hummed, tilting your head to look into his eyes.

“Do you regret it? Making yourself Deathless?”

Jaehyun turned his head, now supporting his chin above your breasts. His hand started drawing random patterns on your left hip, like he was testing your softness at the tip of his fingers. The same fingers who just had explored every inch of you.

“I don’t. Deathless is what I am,” he murmured.

“Doesn’t it mean that you’re destined to watch people die time after time? It must be hard…”

“It is,” he agreed. “I admit I’ve been thinking more about it now that I have you.”

His confession felt like he was carved in your heart like bullets in the flesh, like stars in the clear sky. “Time is passing for you, but it’s stopped for me” Jaehyun caressed your cheek with the back of his hand. “One day, eventually, you’ll get old…”

“You don’t have to think about that now, love” you interfered, because you, yourself, did not want to face the truth.

“If I don’t, then there will come the day you’re gone, and I’ll be suddenly on my own again.” His eyes were filled with tenderness as he uttered every word. Gently, Jaehyun grabbed your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. “I’ll love you until you’re old and need my aid in walking…”

“Why are you saying those things?” you chuckled, wishing both to laugh and cry.

“Because I have to be ready to breathe Life into you after Death takes you away. I can have you reincarnated. Then, I’ll just have to patiently wait a few years until you’re grown enough to be courted.”

The intensity of what he was telling you made your heart skip a beat. What Jaehyun was proposing was living through the thorns of time and pain to be with you, keeping his love for you alive until your last days, and waiting until you were available for his love and care. It overwhelmed you so deeply your eyes watered, and you moved quickly to hide your face in the pillow.

“Don’t,” he chuckled, grabbing your chin lovingly.

“You’re making me cry!” you protested, closing your eyes.

“Silly girl,” Jaehyun sighed, replacing his hand with his lips in an attempt to ease you. “Allow yourself to feel. Love is a beautiful thing.”

“You’re promising me an eternity of love… What if I get so old and senile you won’t ever try going after me again? What if our love wears out?” You placed your insecurities in your mouth.

Jaehyun’s kiss turned into a sudden, slightly painful punishment bite in your lower lip. You opened your mouth to confront him, but he kissed you hard, passionately, hovering over you, his body pressing yours, his scent in your lungs, his hardness against your soaked folds… What he said next echoed in your bones like an earthquake, shaking your every fiber before you melted in his arms once again, like you were always going to. “If that day ever comes, then I’ll be truly dead.”

-

The mother returned with her daughter: their sessions kept you occupied for most of your time, as Granny Isobel demanded. Obsessions demanded more than simply communicating with a guide: you had to incorporate the spirits so they could use your body — it was nothing like a possession, as you were conscious at all moments, sharing your mind with the guides you were so devoted to.

After five sessions, Granny Isobel had it all solved, and the girl could go back home to sleep peacefully.

Jaehyun had asked the mother if he could observe the rituals, and with her approval, he stood inside the temple watching you work. It was truly amazing, how your entire face changed after Granny had arrived, and how you sounded like someone else as Granny smoked her pipe.

When the last session was over, Jaehyun approached her.

“Granny, is there anything else you need? A cup of coffee? Another smoking pipe?” he politely checked, bending to be on your eye level.

“Thank you, my child. I’ve had enough,” Granny replied with a gentle smile that made your eyes tiny under the straw hat. She always called others ‘child’, and Koschei the Deathless was not an exception. “I only wished to talk to you in private.”

“Sure, what is it you want to talk about?”

Speaking as another spirit was in your head was an arduous thing to explain. It felt as though someone else put the words in your brain so you could pronounce them. So, when Granny spoke, you wondered what she meant:

“You’ve been worrying your head over bad news, and I wanted to tell you to share the weight, child. Tell my girl about what’s making you lose your sleep.”

You stood there, in your body, without having a single idea of what Granny Isobel knew. Still, the immediate recognition in Jaehyun’s face told you that he did. “Alright, Granny,” he nodded. “Thank you for your advice..”

“Not at all, my child. You can call me anytime. Granny is always here to help her children.” In slow, trembling movements, Granny removed the hat from your head and placed it on Jaehyun’s. She took a last puff on her pipe and then allowed your head to be still, intertwining your hands and closing your eyes. After long breaths, you noticed the control over your fingers, the saliva in your mouth, your free toes touching the stone ground. Your eyes opened, taking in the worried face in front of you.

“What is it?” was your natural, obvious question.

Jaehyun breathed, removing the hat from his head. “I have to show you something.”

Twenty minutes later, you were on a horse as Jaehyun rode, his chest to your back, to the mortal realm. Magic once again made the passage smooth and almost imperceptible, but you swiftly sensed the difference.

Jaehyun took you to a foreign country with beautiful landscapes. He rode until you reached a bounteous city, where people excitedly talked and interacted over barracks of food, fabric, souvenirs and witchcraft. As you passed them by, Jaehyun held your hand, guiding you through the feverish crowd until you arrived at a square where a middle-aged man dressed in red made a speech so ardent spit escaped from his mouth. Even if the language sounded completely strange to your ears, you understood he was angry and greedy. People around you agreed with him — mostly men, shaking their heads in agreement.

At the middle of his speech, the man pointed to a table where a young boy, dressed as a soldier, waited for new recruits.

You squeezed Jaehyun’s hand, your saliva suddenly too hard to swallow. “Jae, they’re-”

“Preparing for war,” Jaehyun nodded somberly.

You stood back to witness how quickly a line was formed in front of the table, how eagerly men filled their information on paper, how young boys joined their fathers, and how children looked at the future soldiers with adoration widening their pupils. Some even pretended to be carrying guns and shooting around.

There was nothing you and Jaehyun could do about them, as free-will had always been something holy, even to the Lords and the Ladies. You looked around, your gaze ending up on Jaehyun’s grave face. The frown in his complexion turned his apprehension in.

“What now?” you asked.

“Let’s go back,” he decided. “I don’t want others listening.”

The ride back to Buyan seemed to go by slower than the other way around, or maybe it was just your heart’s anxiety. How long until the Lord of Death was knocking on the manor’s door? How long until he striked first, and murdered the servants? How long until he got to you?

You shook those sinister questions away for as long as you could, following Jaehyun inside the manor, up to his office, close to bouncing on your feet out of concern.

It was hard for Jaehyun to face you and speak, to finally share something both occult within his shadows and faithful to his nature. But you deserved to know. You deserved to understand.

Jaehyun circled the table, looking at the maps of the immortal realm before speaking.

“It starts by affecting me,” he confessed. “Whenever humans, made by my own doing, fight, I feel. I sense their despair, their anger, their urgency for revenge and destruction. It cuts me so deep as though a knife is carved in my chest, and the more I try to ignore it, the more I bleed,” as he spoke, both Jaehyun and Koschei the Deathless poured their truths to you. “My only power is to create and take care of life, and when war breaks, the need of survival forces me to act. Therefore, the war starts with me, Y/N. I strike first.”

You held his gaze, then took a step forward, and another one. “Have you started feeling anything already?” you demanded.

“Anger. Just a shot.”

“Do you think it will happen again? For real?”

His smile was sad. “It always does, Y/N.”

Shit.

You reached for Jaehyun’s hands, bringing them to your lips. At that moment, you thanked Granny Isobel for seeing through him, for encouraging him to tell you.

“You have to create Peace, Jae,” a severe seriousness was found in both your voice and eyes.

“It’s compl-”

“I know, but it has to be done. You must come up with something that eases your pain when humans fight. You’re not in control of their actions, but you’re in control of yours. If you strike first, the immortal realm is in danger.”

“It still won’t keep Yuta from striking if he has a chance,” he murmured, and you sensed some hesitation in his tone, as if Jaehyun feared your creative brain.

“Use something he is scared of. Something Yuta cherishes so much he will refuse to fight. Tell me,” you lowered your hands, “what does Death fear?”

The silence between you seemed to last hours before Jaehyun spoke again. You were so smart. Too smart for your own good.

“He fears having nothing to fight against. Death fears the lack of life.”

The knowledge left a bitter taste on your tongue. “So Yuta fears your death,” you concluded.

A small, harmless nod, confirmed your theory.

“You were right when you said peace should be above all things. By controlling my death, they will have power over me, and over Yuta.” Never before had you witnessed such a strong glare on Jaehyun’s eyes. Never before such sinister sincerity had clouded his lovely irises.

And even before he said it, you got it. You immediately understood what made the creation of peace so complicated.

“I’ll show you where I hid it, and then you’ll possess my death,” Jaehyun smiled confidently, brushing one hair strand behind your ear. “After it is done, you can be her. You can be the Lady of Peace.”

-

Breathlessly, his hands dug into the humid, cold earth as the night sky glowled with red lightning. The duck was still alive, moving inside the black hound, her long ears up inside the heavy iron chest.

It was Koschei, alone, at the beginning of times, hiding his death.

Because of his loneliness, he breathed life into a deadly brother. Because of life, he was always going to fight him. But Koschei himself could not be killed, as his death meant the end of every kind of life, the eternal termination of humanity itself. And so he dug.

-

The night was dark as if crafted by the solitude of an angel; the cicadas sang their monotony and it echoed through the endless Buyan trees. Jaehyun had you by the hand, confidently walking among the forest shadows, as moonlight only peeked through the few empty holes in the treetops.

“That was not what I asked for,” you breathed so hard it resembled an angry bull, your nostrils swollen. Becoming a Lady, someone with holy powers and immortality, was not on your list, and the mere idea that you would have Jaehyun’s death in your hands, to own him… It overwhelmed you in ways you couldn’t define as inviting or just fucking terrifying. “I can’t- Jaehyun, I can’t be a Lady-”

He laughed your refusal off, canine teeth sharp against his lower lip when he looked over his shoulder. “You’re perfect for the role, sweetheart. I would never hand my death to anyone else.”

It was his docility against your rage.

You finally arrived at a stream in which clear water musically flowed down small rocks, and a few stony, muddy steps took to an old oak tree, with branches so tortured by time and circumstance they were wry.

Rebel goosebumps assaulted your skin, delating the mystery hidden under the heavy, old earth.

“Let’s suppose Death strikes against you, and I have to keep you from fighting back. What if you fail? Will I have to…” The following words felt like a crime, so you did not pronounce them.

“Kill me?” Jaehyun dared, frowning playfully as he stood in front of you. “It won’t come to that, love.”

“How can you be so sure?” you demanded.

“Because of you. You’ll have the ability of peace: it will be anywhere with you. That’s what Ladies and Lords do. Baba Yaga, she controls luck: wherever she is, luck is with her. Why do you think I sent her to protect you? Plus,” your husband hummed, caressing your lower lip with his thumb, “the least thing that would make you is a helpless wife. You’ll be an equal.”

“I’ll be powerful,” you retorted. Jaehyun’s proposal amused and frightened you symmetrically. He was offering you more than just peace. Jaehyun was offering Himself, as the myth promised. You felt the need to remind him: “Only someone who possesses Koschei’s hound can have him in their power.”

As the oak tree top danced freely to the wind, moonlight slid in and reflected the tender, calm brown shade in his eyes.

“Only power can make us equal,” Jaehyun kissed your forehead, arms wrapping around you in a comforting hug. His chest to yours soothed your urge to protest, and you allowed yourself to focus on the simple task of breathing his scent in. “This will satisfy you more than you think, Y/N. And if you believe you’ll be ready to be my wife after that, I’ll be waiting in body and soul.”

Silenced by your own ignorance, you came face to face with the consequences of your desires, clutching to Jaehyun’s embrace not to fall. He trusted you like that, to be the one holding the only thing that could risk not only his life, but the life of everything that existed.

Gently, you parted from his arms, gazing both the sincerity and vulnerability in his eyes. Only power could make you equal.

A slow nod came from your face, and at that Jaehyun grinned. Then, he started digging up, hands dirty with mud, reaching lower and lower until his digits came across the iron chest. He opened it with a key he kept secret in his coat. Inside, you glimpsed a black hound with the longest ears, with eyes as brown as Koschei’s. You returned to the manor with the hound following you closely.

-

Everyone knew Koschei breathed life into the first humans, as he did to the first trees, mountains, seas, and the animals that inhabited the earth. On the other hand, even if the story was familiar, passed from generation to generation, from parents to children, no one had ever witnessed how it was done. How life was created.

Part of you rationally expected Jaehyun to take you to his office, where he spent restless nights scheming war strategies and daydreaming about possibilities. Much to your surprise, he took you to your bedroom. Not his bedroom, not yours, but the room that once belonged to the both of you. Where you made love for the first time. Where you felt the most loved, adored, worshiped.

Jaehyun closed the door and approached you slowly. The hound stood calmly by your side, blinking her eyes without a worry in the world. “She’s been trained to only obey her master,” the Lord of Life’s grave voice caressed the skin of your ear, making you notice exactly how close he stood. Daring and determined, his hands landed on your hips. “She will do anything you want.”

Inside the hound, a duck breathed. Inside the duck, there was an egg, and inside the egg, there was a needle. You could already feel it. The power. And once again, magic never failed to impress you, because it was nothing like you imagined. Everytime you pictured someone powerful, your imagination created images of virility and strength; crowns and servants; realms and governments. But what you now felt was a calm so intricate within your bones nothing could disturb it, a root tangled in the end of the world with its eyes closed in great superiority, as though all problems had a solution.

You felt complete, filled up, unbothered. Soothing.

Suddenly, the hound moved to rest on the armchair by the window, where the curtains swayed with the cool night breeze. You let her be. She was not going to run away from you.

“From this day on, you will always feel her,” Jaehyun murmured, unable to resist the urge to pull your hair from your neck and gently lean over, intoxicated by the ever lovely spring you brought to his lungs. “She’s yours to take care of now.”

You breathed solemnly, your body euphoric, the tip of your fingers numb in sweet expectation.

“How do you do it, Jaehyun?”

He knew exactly what you referred to.

Effortlessly, Jaehyun turned you to him with a swift move of his hands. You had been avoiding your proximity for so long, torturing yourself for weeks, too driven by your stubbornness, only to melt into his arms.

“With a kiss,” he answered, each word punctuated slowly and delicate against the skin of your neck. The sniff Jaehyun took made you tremble. He straightened himself, purposefully looking into your eyes. “But for you, my wife, and only for you, we can do it differently. I can breed life into you.”

You moaned. A low, barely there moan that betrayed you and your untrained instincts.

Fuck.

Quickly, you cleared your throat. “That’s a drastic change I have yet to consider,” you hurried yourself in explaining, looking away to the window in fear desire would take the lead and betray your reasoning.

Jaehyun took a deep breath.

“You’re still mad at me,” he concluded. The way he sounded disappointed made you frown.

“I haven’t, but now that you sound so frustrated, I might. What were you expecting, that I immediately accepted your proposal?” Your voice grew in anger the more you spoke. “Did you bring me here to fuck me and get it done?”

“No!” Jaehyun immediately defended himself, although there was guilt in his eyes. “It’s not like you’re putting in.”

You hummed in disdain.

Jaehyun protested. “I thought this was what you wanted!”

“Jaehyun, I am human! Whatever you thought I wanted is not such a sudden change that will make me live young and long like you gods do!” You could rub your temples, as a headache started growing. “Please, give me time to process things.”

You noticed how the thoughts ran through his head, and how quickly he accepted the idea of taking it easy on you, so when he offered you his arms, you stepped closer. Comforting, his embrace soothed your worries as quickly as a blow in a candle.

“I’m sorry, love. I genuinely thought it was what your heart desired.”

“It’s fine,” you rested your cheek on his chest, gaze crossing the hound’s. “I just need time.”

-

The hound followed you around like a magnet. Wherever you were, she followed religiously, her distant gaze always on what you were doing, as though she had fully understood who her true guardian would be. To say she was always around would imply in admitting the hound spent her time with you in the temple, hidden by the table not to call any attention as people were allowed in and you worked normally. Or so you liked to think, because sincerely, you couldn’t stop thinking about Jaehyun’s proposal.

Your mind was in a constant spiral towards whether you were going to accept it or not, and the consequences. It got to a point where you caught yourself staring into the hound’s eyes time and time again, losing the track of time and space.

A sudden knock on the door made your shoulders jump. You were not expecting anyone, but opened nonetheless.

“Granny!” You cheered at the sight of the old woman with the usual non-pleased look on her face.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” Baba Yaga walked in without further ceremony, her pointy nose crossing the door before the rest of her body did. She took a careful look around, smelling the room as if to analyze it. “I see you got your temple. Are you finally happy?”

“Yes,” you nodded, making the old witch glare at you.

“But not fully. Why haven’t you accepted Papa Koschei’s offer yet?”

You clenched an eyebrow at her. “Did he send you?”

“No, selfish girl,” she growled, circling the temple until she stopped near the altar. “I came because the luck of the world is about to change. For the first time, we can witness a plain state of peace. No more terrible wars. Wars, as you’re familiar, are unlucky things. You only had what to eat and where to shield because I was there, paying my endless doubt to Koschei, but the rest of the world didn’t have such a blessing. With you as Lady of Peace, I will have to work twice as hard, and I must prepare.”

“So you came to make sure I accept Jaehyun’s offer?”

“You have to,” Baba Yaga simply replied.

“It’s a lot to consider, granny…”

Her cat eyes could have cut you in two like a sharp knife. “Why demand power if you can’t take it, child?” she hissed. “You have the upper hand: you’re finally able to make a choice and bring peace to others. Why hesitate?”

You decided to be sincere. “I guess it’s because I never thought I was going to be the one in charge. The one providing peace. Jaehyun’s offer challenges me. If I accept it, everything will change, even my human nature.”

“It’s not that different, trust me.”

Penetrating, your eyes scanned her. “Have you been human?”

“Human, homeless, broken, abandoned,” Baba Yaga breathed, but her words did not hold any pain or misfortune. “It was a kiss from a young man who saved me.”

Jaehyun.

She kept talking: “You can still be surrounded by humans if you’d like. Eat their food, listen to their music, and help them. In fact, child, you’ll be more of use to humanity if you become something else than human. It has always been like that.”

“The audacity and the nerve of the gods,” playfully, you rolled your eyes. “That’s what I am truly scared of.”

“War is about to start and you’re making everyone lose their time, stupid girl,” Baba Yaga advised. “After everything Papa Koschei has done for you… He won the war, brought you back and offered you a new life, a life full of peace and riches, with endless flavors, and here you are, thinking about it!” she spat, about to open her mouth again, certainly to put you to shame, when the hound walked away from the table, making her eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, my! Is it…?”

You only nodded, petting the top of the hound’s head.

-

The smell of black coffee filled the kitchen in the first morning hours when the explosions shook the ground. Baba Yaga stared at the open window, taking in the details of the ceilings, the beautiful clear, bluest sky, and the absolutely lack of birds. If she closed her eyes, she would be able to see the shotguns and bayonets, the blood running from the uniforms, the broken men wandering the fields, walking towards their death.

Even if she wasn’t human anymore, Baba Yaga despised the inhumanity of war. Her old heart ached when she put her feet outside and saw children all dirty and starving, young mothers with babies in their laps considering selling their bodies for money, and crippled men who returned all fucked up, unsure of how to deal with the pain and the haunting memories. The old witch hated what Koschei had done to her, sending her to the mortal realm to witness the terrible things people did to each other, but her loyalty knew no limits, and so she stayed.

You came into the kitchen all startled. Having woken up with the grave noises outside, you jumped from the bed with a swollen face and your hair all messed up, eyes red from how much you had been silently crying in your room at night.

“Is it t-them? Are the soldiers coming?” you stuttered, taking a look at the same window Baba Yaga had been staring at for long minutes.

“Yes, but don’t you worry,” she responded as though war was nothing but a storm. Heavy and temporary. “They’re not getting to this street.”

You tilted your face to hers. “What do you mean, granny?”

It was so simple you would never believe it, how easily Baba Yaga managed Luck. It took one move of her wrinkled hand for the entire army to ignore there was a certain street, in which lived a young beautiful lady, with a very old woman. There were so many things you didn’t understand, things it was not the time for you to know, so Baba Yaga simply moved her hand and lifted her shoulders.

“Just a guess.”

-

If war was coming, you kept a careful note to watch over Jaehyun.

You did not quite understand how his emotions shifted, but the first sign was as clear as water: his company was as pleasant as ever, but Jaehyun often looked at a specific, invisible spot on the wall and disappeared into his own thoughts, hands clenched into fists on the table. He looked so distant even after he assured you everything was fine, because he didn’t want to influence your decision by showing you how he had already started being affected. Still, you thought it was a bad moment to tell him you had finally made your decision.

You came across the second sign one night, as you and the hound stopped at a very unusual sight: Jaehyun, sat at the stairs to your shared bedroom, sobbing lowly.

“What’s wrong, Jae?” you sat in front of him, your tone worried and assisting as you patted his shaking shoulders.

He lifted his expressive eyes, and by the surprise in them, he had not heard you approaching. “I suddenly felt emotional.”

“What a terrible liar,” you gently wiped his tears with your thumbs. “Is it the war? Has it started?”

He nodded. “I can feel the loss. Mothers crying all day, girls and boys losing their childhood, lovers that won’t ever return...”

Your gaze lowered in time to capture your hand intertwining with his. Slowly, you brought it to your mouth, placing a kiss at the back of it. It amazed him, how you weren’t Lady of Peace, but managed to calm his mind and heart effortlessly with a single touch.

When you spoke again, your tone was definitive. “I’ve made my decision.”

Jaehyun swallowed, suddenly nervous by the determination in your voice. Mercifully, you didn’t wait for him to ask what your decision was, pronouncing every word clearly. “I accept your proposal.”

The only times you had watched Jaehyun’s face light up with such delight was when he asked for your hand in marriage and when he saw you in your impeccable wedding dress. As if in slow motion, his eyes squinted slightly, his cheeks raised, and the soft wrinkles at the corners of his eyes matched the sweet smile blooming in his lips. And just like that, looking very similar to a boy in front of a candy factory, he hugged you.

“Thank you!” Jaehyun poured his gratitude in his voice, pulling you to him with his arms around your neck. “Thank you, my love, for making my life better! For being you, my lovely wife…” He cried and reached for your face, kissing your forehead, then the space between your eyebrows, your nose — oh, he loved your nose —, your cheeks, your chin, and all the way up to your forehead again.

You smiled, amused by another side of the man that created the entirety of the world. It stopped your breath, how much of a loved child he became when he was happy.

“I’ll prepare everything slowly, so you don’t need to hurry,” Jaehyun pulled away, but continued to cup your face, so holy to him. “We can do it tomorrow, in a week or whenever you want. One kiss and it will be done.”

You squeezed your eyes, trying not to smirk. “I beg your pardon, husband, but you promised me way more than a kiss.”

Your words had an instant effect. Jaehyun was not like a boy anymore, as his eyes widened with clouds of lust.

“Would you like that?” he searched for consent. “Being bred?”

“Yes.”

“Have me fill you up, make you drip with my seed, make you my Lady?”

A shiver ran down your belly, warm where it landed. Your pride, which took you two years to build, was nothing compared to the absolute bliss of being once again desired by him, the man you freely gave your heart to. Your pride could never top the realization that Jaehyun, in the solemn act of gifting you his death, trusted you entirely, and you were going to assure, love and care for him. At that moment, even if you tried gathering every little attempt to resist him, it was going to be in vain, because pride was nothing compared to love.

“Yes, my love” you grinned adorably before pressing a peck to his lips, breathing in the manly scent of amburana. “Now.”

As quick and determined as your request, Jaehyun grabbed your hand and took you inside the room. You didn’t have the time to register the orange intensity of the flames in the fireplace, the flowers on the bedside tables — small details Jaehyun arranged last minute, with a breath in the world, to set up the mood. The only thing you could focus on was his desireful eyes after he pushed you flush to him, making you lightheaded with arousal.

Your chests heaved in unison while his hands slid to the strings of your dress. Skilled, long hands that had your thighs clenching in sweet anticipation. The sensation of your breasts inside the loosened fabric nearly made you squirm. To help, you untangled yourself from the sleeves and moved your hips to pull the skirt down to your feet, along with your undies, standing beautifully naked in front of your husband, your heart skipping several beats as he eyed you with so much need it made him look drunk, as if he was consuming you.

The force in which your lips smashed could not be described.

Only now, with his velvety lips on yours, you understood how badly you had missed Jaehyun. How flavorless life had been when he was not around, how incomplete the days were without his love and his arms to hold you.

He lifted you up, allowing you to snake your legs around his waist, while your tongues danced sensually, moans colliding in the lovely mess of lips and saliva. Then, he placed you on the mattress, taking a look at your body in a way it felt like he was committing your image to his memory for eternity.

“You have no idea how I’ve missed you,” he growled, with a line of crystal water flooding his eyes, before burying his face in your chest, kissing your voluminous breasts.

Eagerly, your hands removed his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, touching every inch of skin exposed. “I’ve missed you just the same,” you confessed, cheeks flushing with pleasure at the long sucks of his mouth on your nipples.

Driven by need, Jaehyun proceeded to take off his pants himself while his mouth continued its worship on your tits. The flex of his muscles was divine to you, his broad shoulders perfect for the delicacy of your hands, his hips tailor-made to fit between the warmth of your legs. There was no way you could resist how your gaze fixated on his lower body, heated by what you saw.

“You’re so huge…” You had almost forgotten, the praise making your husband bite his lower lip.

“You can take it. Gotta make sure you’re wet and ready, wife” Jaehyun kissed your jawline, now using his hands to explore your skin. He was a slave to your perfectly crafted body, its godly curves, divine folds, small and strategically located moles he knew by heart. For your body alone he would be on his knees begging, lips devoted to every inch of your skin, and the lovely way you responded to him driving him all kinds of insane.

“I want to take it slow,” he swiftly spread your thighs. The visceral grunt that left his lips at the sight of your soaked entrance reverberated on your bones.

“We have time,” you grinned, lowering your hand to your folds and running two digits against the warm, velvety juices, only to smear them on Jaehyun’s lower lip. “We have all night to make a baby.”

With a growl, Jaehyun’s hands were on the back of your knees, keeping your thighs separated, which meant you were fully spread and exposed for him. He leaned towards your cunt, readily using his wet and hot tongue on you. You moaned his name like both a curse and a prayer.

“Missed this beautiful pussy so much,” he whispered. “My gorgeous girl, my lovely priestess… I’m going to ruin you.”

Shit. You had never been so turned on, dripping right at his tongue. Jaehyun ate you out so well, tongue circling your clit, alternating long and broad licks with quicker ones.

“You’re such a dream,” you complimented breathly, back arching at the slurp on your swollen clit. “I love you so much, Jaehyun. Gonna breed me good, pump me full of c-“ a high-pitched moan cut you off when he sucked on your clit, the heated, sinful sensations between your legs so good you squirted a little.

“Holy shit,” he cursed, only more determined to make you cum in his mouth. “That’s it, baby. Let go.” It didn’t surprise you that his slender finger slid inside you so easily, considering how wet you were. Jaehyun expertly combined the long suction of his mouth with sharp pumps of his fingers, massaging a sensitive spot inside you that made your thighs shake. You came hard and long, closing your eyes shut as your sweet body convulsed.

When you opened your eyes, you noticed the bed was wet, and Jaehyun’s chin dripped with crystal squirt.

You had to touch him.

In no time, you were on your knees with your hands wrapped around his cock, pumping him tortuously firm and slow. Your heart fluttered, because Jaehyun looked at you as if you had personally put the stars in the sky, when you both knew who blew the glow in them in the first place. The way he looked at you… It was just healing, making you feel like the most alluring woman in the world.

“Please,” he begged, balls tense with how much cum he had for you. Your dainty hands on him had always been too much for his sanity to take. “Please, let me in.”

Mercifully, you aligned his cock with your entrance and swiftly took all of his girth at once. The burning stretch, after so long, pulled a pornographic moan out of your throat, one that mixed with the grave groan Jaehyun let out. Your eyes locked with pleasure before you lifted your hips and sank down on him again, aware of how tight your walls gripped his length, like a vice.

“I love you,” Jaehyun threw his head back with a hiss, exposing his neck for your lips. As you kissed him there, his calloused hands grabbed your hips in adoration, helping the firm pace you set. “I love you madly, my dear, my wife- so pretty bouncing on my cock, ready to be filled.”

You thrived on the praise, speeding your hips and drinking from the bliss on his face. “I’m yours, Jae,” your foreheads touched, lips brushing in passion. “I’m yours, my husband.”

Jaehyun was easily the luckiest man alive, graced with such words combined to the tightness of your heavenly walls. The image of you on top of him, calling him husband, the scent of your arousal soaking the bed, your lovely breasts bouncing, the spasms of your cunt nearly milking him dry… It was all driving him crazy to breed you full and not let any drip of cum escape.

Impulsively, he rolled your bodies on the bed and lifted your hips before he was pounding you hard and fast, your calves resting above his shoulders as he reached deep inside, repeatedly hitting your cervix. You took the chance to admire him, aroused by how his muscles clenched, black hair falling onto his forehead, his beautiful face contorted in the pleasure of taking you to himself. The position also allowed a constant friction against your clit, and you could already feel another orgasm lurking.

“You’ll be mine forever,” Jaehyun grinned with delight, keeping your legs against his chest as his hips met yours. Differently from all the times you had sex before, you sensed he was deeper this time, as though his own cells mixed with yours, as if you shared the same blood… Like he was making you fertile, full of life. “My Lady of Peace, above everything, above everyone. Mine to love, mine to rule me..”

You nodded, absolutely in love with how it sounded. You were so lucky, so damn lucky it was hard to believe. A needy moan escaped your mouth right into his when his cock reached all the right places. You tensed, closing your eyes as the pleasure grew beyond measure.

“Eyes on me,” Jaehyun commanded, and you obeyed, taking every thrust as your body rocked underneath his. “I want you to look at me when I breed life into you.”

It felt so desperately good, so out of any world and realm, that you sank your nails in the skin of his shoulders, a victim of how your pussy clenched and pulsated around his cock until you were cumming hard, trembling, holding his gaze as yours faltered, full of ecstasy and pleasure.

The alluring sight of your orgasm edged Jaehyun on, and you thanked that your eyes were open, blessed with the image of your husband cumming inside you: with pupils so blown out his irises were almost black, a furrow in his lovely brows, and a moan so deep in his throat your own orgasm lasted a little longer, squirting juices mixing with thick, pearly seed that coated your cunt.

You remained tied with each other, your forehead on his shoulder and one of his arms supporting your weight, until your breaths calmed down and the aftershocks smoothened. There was nothing but happiness in your eyes, nothing but fulfillment as you laughed, high on love. Buried in your warmth, Jaehyun took his time feeling you, caressing your face with the back of his hand with shooting stars in his eyes. He had waited so long for the day where he could be with you like that, silent on a bed, just taking in every detail of your face — and now, not only you were where he’d dreamed of, but you were his Lady: someone who possessed his death as much as his life, someone that belonged to eternity as every other Lord and Lady he had created.

No words were needed. You just had to enjoy every second, allowing yourselves to be allured, to surrender to the love you were promised to. And to give into the peace that started flourishing in your chest like a white lily.

-

It was past noon when your eyes opened. Your body woke up slowly, muscles growing aware of small aches left by love making, that unconsciously spread your lips in a blooming smile. Stretching on the mattress, you got aware of the toned arms on your waist, and the heavy breath on your neck.

Much to your delight, the face you landed your eyes on belonged to the only person you ever wished to share your mornings with. Jaehyun slept peacefully, with a glimpse of satisfaction on his undisturbed complexion. It made you smile, how happy he seemed, how gentle and warm his aura was while you caressed his face, brushing his hair back.

Shortly after, he opened his eyes, immediately surrendering to a wide smile. “Am I dreaming?” your husband hummed in a sleepy tone.

“Not this time,” you nested yourself in his bare chest. “I’m right here.”

“Yes,” he cheered lowly and secured the grip of his arms around you. “Did my wife sleep well?”

“Perfectly. What about my husband?”

“Better than the Lord of Sleep himself.”

You chuckled together, Jaehyun’s dimples showing up in a sweet display. “Does it mean you feel better?”

“I feel…” Jaehyun chose the right words, “I feel comfortably peaceful.”

You felt it too. A state of calm, quiet and amity: a delicate reflex of the purest easiness.

“So no loss, no rage, no need to strike first?” you asked to make sure.

Jaehyun shook his head. Calm flooded his eyes — you wondered if it had anything to do with you. As if he could read your mind, he grinned, running his hand through your hair. “Even your aura is different now. Clearer. You’ve got a power that belongs to you only, and you’ll learn how to use it. So far, though, you’re doing amazing.”

“I think I have to try with someone else. You’re too smitten not to be influenced by me,” you teased, instantly rewarded with a slap on your ass cheek.

“I’m sure Yuta or Baba Yaga will offer you a much greater challenge.”

Indeed. Tougher minds for you to easy, but you were confident you would manage.

Your side sank slightly on the mattress when Jaehyun reached for the bedside table, where his coat had landed. You watched his hand slip inside the pocket and return with a familiar silver wedding ring on his palm. “Can I put it back?” Jaehyun carefully asked, his tender and big eyes asking for the sweetest of permissions.

A genuine smile blossomed on your lips. You softly lifted your hand, keeping it in place for him to put the ring back on. The metal was warm as though Jaehyun had been wearing it for you. As if his love guarded the ring with flames.

-

My name is Baba Yaga and this story belongs to me, so I will tell it.

Lucky times, those were, when at the dawn of war, men pulled their bayonets down and went back home, to the arms of their parents and loved ones. Graceful days, with once compromised by rage politicians calmly negotiating with their deadly enemies — men, usually so built up in the narrative of rage, became reasonable and easier to deal with. Fewer people died. The world was a tranquil, welcoming place.

They said it was because of a Lady, crafted in serenity, whose kiss soothed the heart of humans and gods. A woman dressed in white, crowned with sunlight, her hair free and wild with the wind, her eyes alluring, and a smile so contagious it reminded people of their own joy. Peace was nothing but a great state of self satisfaction, and the Lady understood it well, working peace with her fingers as spiders weaved webs.

The Lady of Peace had a black hound, people said. They also said that she had Koschei the Deathless eating right from her hand, like a dog. That he stood in front of her on his knees, black hair like a rook's wings on his face, as the Lady of Peace went through her maps, always aware of where she needed to strike first. That Koschei, the Lord of Life, stood as a servant at her disposal, his shadows submitting to her holy light. She had a sharp eye, a sharper mind, and a fatal way to slide into people’s bloodstream with the calmest of touches.

Obviously, the ones who thrived on violent games were against her existence, but the Lady of Peace was not an ordinary opponent: every attempt to fight her was met with sweet carelessness, and soon enough those who tried taking her down moved on with their lives as though they had not been angry in the first place.

“I have never been so bored,” confessed Death once, when I invited him over for tea. “Can’t even do my job properly.”

“Hush,” I spat. “You still have the accidented, the sick and the old. Good thing that ambitious woman let you have them too.”

“Love makes a fool of us all.”

“It does,” I agreed, “but it also brings out the best of us.”

Never before have I had so much work to get done. Luck and peace walked hand in hand, like sisters. If I had to be completely honest, seeing people happy pleased me, so much so that I did not complain about the workload. Perhaps I was more peaceful myself.

Until that day, of course. The day the black hound was stolen.

-

“Magic doesn’t happen when you light a candle simply,” you explained as the attentive eyes of Mark and Vasilisa watched. “You have to activate the flame, using your words and intentions. The spiritual guides are always by your side to help, but you have to do your part and be specific about what you want.”

You had taken Baba Yaga’s advice and accepted both children as your apprentices. Six years had passed from the day you were crowned Lady of Peace, which gave the reincarnated souls — that were so dear to you — time to grow and be able to understand a few principles of magic. What you did was a serious job, and thankfully they were pretty much interested in everything you had to say.

“Can I try?” Mark politely lifted his hand.

With a short nod, you complied. “Sure.”

The little boy gathered his hands in front of his face, palms against each other, and closed his eyes. “Please, Granny Isobel, let us have a good harvest of watermelons so I can eat them everyday for breakfast.”

You had to retain the chuckle on your lips, instead keeping a serious expression.

“Good! Anything else you want, Mark?”

He opened his eyes. “Pudding for dessert.”

“Anything besides food, perhaps?”

“Oh, intelligence. And health.”

“Go ahead, ask granny. What about you, Val?”

Vasilisa hummed, placing the tip of her finger against her lips. “I just wish to grow up and become an independent, strong woman.”

Your heart fluttered. “That’s a very reasonable wish. Go on, make your wish.”

Both children stood in front of white candles, one for each, and made their prayers. Through the silence in the temple, you sensed two different presences: the black hound, always so close if felt as though she was part of you, and your husband, by the door.

“Papa Koschei!” Both Mark and Vasilisa yelled joyously, running to Jaehyun. As if the children weighted nothing, he picked them up on his sides.

God, he was going to make such a lovely father.

“I came in to check how your classes are going. Are you learning a lot?”

“Yes!” Vasilisa replied. “We’re learning to activate candles!”

“And earlier this week, miss Y/N taught us how to summon the light spirits!” Mark added.

“Wow, that’s huge!” Jaehyun praised, brown eyes glowing with content. “I bet you have an amazing teacher.”

“We do!” The kids hummed in unison before they were put down on the ground. Your husband approached you, placing a kiss on your lips. You kissed him back, a grin blooming where your mouths touched.

“Kids, you’re free to go,” you cooed without looking away.

“Any homework, miss?” Mark asked.

“Activate your candles and talk to your spiritual guides. Then tell me what you felt when you did it,” you instructed.

“Got it! Goodbye, miss! Goodbye, Papa Koschei!”

Soon, you and Jaehyun were alone in the temple. “Did I ever tell you…” he started, forming a trail of kisses from your hand to your arm, “that you look absolutely attractive when teaching?”

“In the past year I might have heard that enough to use it as a weapon,” you shamelessly admitted, palming his chest with the hand that was free. Slowly, said hand started slipping lower.

Jaehyun’s breath got caught in his throat, and he had to remind himself to inhale when your hand reached the volume between his legs.

“Your dick seems tight inside your pants,” you noted with a soft whisper. “Poor boy… Do you want relief?”

His fists clenched around the fabric of your skirt. “That’s the only thing in my mind.”

You smiled peacefully. “Just as I thought.”

Minutes later, you were on your knees with one of your hands at the base of his cock, while your mouth sucked him nice and long, as if in a display of how much of him you could swallow. Jaehyun held onto the table, moving his hips only slightly, his pupils wide at the perfect sight of your mouth taking him whole, lush lips brushing the entirety of his length.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect taking my dick like that,” he groaned, lost in your velvet tongue while trying his best to control his hips from going further. “Let me finish inside you, wife.”

That was a request you never felt like saying no, readily sitting at the edge of the table and removing your — ruined — panties. Jaehyun didn’t take long to spread your legs and bury himself in you, his moan making you tremble in awe as his fingers sank in the meat of your thighs.

You loved that position, how destined your bodies were in each deeper encounter, how Jaehyun’s breath caressed your throat, how his black hair lifted a little after you had brushed it back, a demanding hand on his nape as you kissed him hard, so hard your teeth hurt. It was the only type of violence and excitement you allowed yourself: being fucked with love and care, being filled up with seed that ran from your thighs to the floor, taking your husband’s every facade, whether he was Jaehyun or Koschei the Deathless.

You held the moment of your chests pressed together like it was made of glass, offering your husband an open smile after you were done.

He placed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, still inside you even when the aftershocks had passed. It was Jaehyun’s favorite place to be. “Look at us, sinning in your temple,” he chuckled.

“I don’t believe in sins,” you retorted sweetly. “I believe in love.” It was not the first time Jaehyun heard you say those words, and he loved the sound of them a little more every time you pronounced them.

“Are you ready for dinner tonight?” he asked.

“To face all the Lords and Ladies you created when bored?” you teased like a cat. “To listen to their complaints on how dull their routines are now that I reign? To once again patiently listen to their proposal of creating a Lord of War?”

“Life is full of contradictions, wife,” Jaehyun cooed, studying your gaze. “My brothers and sisters seek nothing but to be faithful to their nature.”

“As I will be to mine, brother,” you made sure to add, clenching your muscles. Almost instantly, his girth hardened again.

This time, when he looked at you, Jaehyun’s eyes were frank, like life on a deathbed. “Do you understand, right, love? You are smart enough…” he breathed, rubbing his cheek softly against yours, the firmness of his hand on your jawline. “Nothing will ever be permanent. Life has always been about conflict. And you’re part of it now.”

You understood. It just didn’t mean that you agreed with it.

-

I’ll tell you just how it happened.

The Lord of Life and the Lady of Peace threw a dinner party to welcome all the Lords and Ladies, including me. I joined them at the main table, right next to the Lady, and I was proud at how much she had evolved, although I did not say a word. It has always been hard for me to display affection. I did not yet know words of affirmation tasted good on my tongue.

I anticipated something was going to happen, because of the look on Koschei’s face. Life was never permanent, it was never a thin line, and he knew it. But did his wife know? Did she understand after years used to power, after years maintaining the peace?

The hound was stolen during dinner by the Lord of Inconvenience, who fooled the animal with sweet gestures, as Jungwoo himself looked innocent and harmless, causing Papa Koschei’s death to fall into the embrace of a young Lord that only wished to mess up with order.

And once again, with Koschei’s death in the power of such a trickster, the immortal realms face the possibility of war. Not because people were fighting, not because soldiers were being recruited in the front lines at the mortal realms, but because life was a treacherous thing.

The Lady of Peace stood taller than everyone when John the Knight announced the robbery. She had something new with her. Something small, that I sensed too, because I loved her.

-

“I beg you, wife. Let it be,” Jaehyun whispered.

“Get off your knees.” You felt old, perhaps as old as Baba Yaga. A part of you was stolen, violently taken away from you. You loved the hound. You loved Jaehyun’s death as much as you loved his life, and it was your obligation to take care of both.

Jaehyun continued where he was. “Don’t chase the hound,” he insisted. “Don’t try solving things. Don’t bleed for my death. Jungwoo will keep it safe, I know he will. But war may come, and when it does I will build a shelter for you. I will keep you safe and sound. You will never go hungry. You will not suffer. You will not die. Let it be.”

“I refuse,” you replied hoarsely. Now, you had a choice.

“No one can refuse inconvenience.”

“I’ll face it with peace.”

“I wish you meant what you said,” Jaehyun held your gaze, like a needle piercing your heart. “But we both know you’re not peaceful now, wife.” His eyes were soft and welcoming; yours, dark and imperial. “I know,” Jaehyun murmured, romantic eyes slowly sliding from your face to your belly. “I know there is life inside you.”

You could have looked away, but you did not. Of course he knew. The Lord of Life would always be aware of his creations, even more if his child, flesh and bone, grew inside your womb.

“Get off your knees,” you repeated. “I am not a saint for you to kneel.”

As much as you were a saint to him, this time Jaehyun obeyed. He stood way taller than you, his shadow like a cape. At a blink of an eye, you were inside his embrace, inside his destiny, inside his deathless faith. “I love you, Y/N.” A confession so true, a love so genuine, a father speaking to the woman who bore his child. “I love you and I don’t mind where my death is as long as I have you.”

You chuckled dryly and without a drop of humor, ignoring the knot in your throat. “If anyone else but you had my death, would you be in peace?” You asked the most honest, the bloodiest question you were able to muster.

Jaehyun did not think twice before replying. “No.”

You nodded. Now he understood: it didn’t matter what Jaehyun thought Jungwoo would or wouldn’t do with his death. You wouldn’t rest until you had the hound back, because it was the only way to ensure the life of the man that you loved. The man that was, too, the father of your child. And a child deserved to have a full, complete family.

“I love you, Jaehyun,” you closed your eyes, two sister tears running down your cheeks, “and I will get your death back.”

You commanded the servants to prepare your horses. The trip to the realm of Jungwoo would take nearly a whole day, and you had no time to waste.

“Are you sure it’s a good time to ride, my love?” your husband hesitated.

“I am pregnant, not ill,” you spat. Those were exactly the words your grandmother said to the pregnant ladies who walked inside your childhood home, afraid anything they tried would result in losing their babies. You looked over at Jaehyun’s face, and the surprise in it made you quickly apologize. “I didn’t mean to sound that rough.”

“You’re right, though. I am just unused to your rage.”

“So am I,” you admitted. It felt as though something was horribly wrong with you, like a party dress destined for a fox. “When we arrive, let me speak. Don’t interrupt me.”

Jaehyun clenched an eyebrow at you.

“That’s new, isn’t it? Taking my orders,” you simply commented.

“I promised to do so years ago,” Jaehyun spoke just as ordinarily. “A husband is not to confine. A husband is to free. That’s what I said when we got married.”

You gazed at him stunningly, your chest warm where your heart beat.

“I am giving you choices, my Lady,” he continued. “Both because I love and believe you. And also because I am a fool, but I still have my judgment and priorities. Whatever your plan is, all I ask is for you to be careful. If you’re not, I will be. I would already burn the world down for you alone, but now you’re carrying my child. I’ll be as violent as I should.”

Even the conflict between the two of you tasted sweet now.

Jaehyun gave you his hand for you to jump on your horse. You traveled side by side, only stopping for water and a bit of shadow under an apple tree.

Jungwoo’s land was different from everything you had seen so far, filled with a huge diversity of expressions: museums, open antique fairs, circuses and amusement parks; theaters, brothels and taverns so full they seemed like anthills. Every inch of the floor was covered with wine, spit, piss and cum. Not even the weather could decide, as the hottest sun fought against windy storms, causing an enormous rainbow to light up the sky.

The Lord of Inconvenience was already waiting for your arrival, sitting on a throne in his manor, so loud and disorganized as his realm itself, with several crooked paintings on the walls, and a mix of patterns and colors that was too much for the eye. The hound sat by his side, her ears turning to the door when you were announced.

She ran to you immediately, long ears up, her tails wiggling and her wet, cold snout smelling your tummy.

“Brother, sister!” Jungwoo clapped excitedly. Whoever put their eyes on him would never say he was responsible for the trickiest of tricks: the lovely innocence on his face combined to his excellent manners could easily deceive anyone. “You’re twenty minutes late!” he whined.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Jaehyun politely stated, making Jungwoo laugh.

“I guess you’re here for your death,” he hummed, indicating the hound with his chin. “Well, there she is. She’s yours.”

You lifted your face, your white cape falling down your shoulders.

“The hound is here indeed, but the rest isn’t,” you observed. The duck, the egg and the needle were missing. You had spent too much time with the hound to know every inch of her.

Jungwoo’s eyes glimmered with adrenaline.

“I genuinely expected to fool you,” he pouted again. “Don’t take it personally, sister. It’s my nature.”

Years ago, you would have blamed him. But now, all you could do was to accept that life had its own ways of expression. Jaehyun had quite an imagination, and you loved him whole: the good and the bad creations equally.

“I can forgive you if you show me where the rest is,” you calmly argumented.

Jungwoo tapped his lower lip with his finger in thought, considering.

“But that would end the fun, wouldn’t it?” he relaxed back on his throne, patting the pad of his bare feet against the ground. “Ah, whatever, you might find out soon!” he leaned over again, putting his hand secretly at the side of his mouth. “It is with Yuta.”

“Yuta?” Jaehyun repeated.

You sensed the Lord of Death as he walked the manor’s hall, his straightforward presence spreading over the room like fire in the forest.

It made sense. Only Death would know how to separate the hound from the rest.

“I told you she was going to know, brother,” he said to Jungwoo. “Now, you owe me some of your citizens.”

Jungwoo rolled his eyes.

Gods.

“What do you want with Jaehyun’s death?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

“War,” Yuta was as sincere as he could be. “You had your fair share of peace, and it was dull. Now it is time for some fun.”

“Fun?” you frowned. “Do you still think like that? I see you’re still selfish.”

“Oh, but I am not,” Yuta retorted. “I embrace the ones in pain. I serve glory for young women and men who are nothing, and die defending their countries. I provide a long, endless sleep for the ones who decide life isn’t worth it. I am not the bad guy, Y/N. In fact, we are pretty equal sometimes.”

You did not disagree.

Silence was made before Yuta spoke again. “I have a proposal for you, my Lady. Let’s share the world. Pick up the countries you want and make them peaceful before Life and I carve war their way, then restore the ones we have just ravished.”

“It is fair, sister,” Jungwoo agreed, even if his opinion was not required.

You only glared at them, looking less like a peacemaker and more like a pregnant woman with boiling hormones.

“Come on, that will even please your husband,” Yuta argumented. “Admit it, brother. You miss a good fight, don’t you?”

The sound of Jaehyun’s throat swallowing was like a low agreement.

“War is in my nature too,” Jaehyun admitted, turning his gaze to you, “but I am more than the Lord of Life now. I am her husband.”

I am as cruel and demanding as a god can be, but for you, and only you, I will be your faithful husband.

Both the Lords breathed in frustration. There was little your magic could do now, as nature was superior to influence, instincts spoke louder than wishing. You tried analyzing the options coldly: at every diplomatic suggestion your mind came with, there was a counterpoint.

You could not protect the world only. Now, you had to protect your child too.

“What if I tell you I can’t accept your offer?” you asked, chin firmly up. “What if I tell you to return Koschei’s death to me, and accept the way life is now? That I won’t surrender to tricks and violence?”

“Then,” Yuta breathed, “I will tell you that there are two lovely apprentices playing in the garden in Buyan. Two lovely old souls, trapped in children’s bodies, that I will love to bring to my realm.”

Oh, to be vulnerable.

It hurt so fucking much.

“If we share the world, I want Jaehyun’s death back,” you offered. The sacrifice of many instead of the sacrifice of the few you held dear in your heart.

It was the way of the world.

“Let’s share it. You’ll have the hen, and I will have the egg with the needle in it.”

“I want his death back entirely,” you made yourself clearer now.

Yuta blinked, impervious.

Jaehyun stepped forward. “Brother, my death is mine to give.”

“It is death, and death belongs to me.”

“As your life belongs to me,” Jaehyun hardened his tone. “We will fight again as you’d like, but my death shall not submit to you. I am deathless.”

Yuta, impatient, quick, and sudden, made his final requirement known: “I will give it back to you only if we can fight. Let’s start today.”

You boiled like water in a pan.

When you walked out of Jungwoo’s manor, you and Jaehyun looked at each other knowing a blank space was approaching, one that too quickly assaulted your way back home. The shadows of Death chased you to Buyan. Thankfully, you came back safe. Thankfully, Mark, Vasilisa were all alive when you did. Baba Yaga was already there.

-

“What will you call her?” the Lady of Luck asked.

“Who?” you breathed, with battlefield dust on your face. You were at the manor after a long battle that left you covered in smoke, and with slight cuts on your knuckles. Since it was Jaehyun’s turn to command the army, he stood to realign the strategy, and you came back to rest before you were needed again.

“Your daughter.”

Buyan’s night sky shone in brutal shades of red and gray, as it did when you first arrived. All wars had the same color, hysterical, uncontrollable and passionate. That did not change.

“How do you know it is a girl?”

“Papa Koschei has been lucky. He had always wanted a little girl.”

“It feels so wrong… Thinking about a baby name in the middle of the war.”

“Maybe you need some help sharing your attention between battling and being pregnant,” the old woman cooed. “Even Jaehyun is thinking more about your child than about war strategies.”

“That’s why we are losing,” you concluded, petting the hound’s head gently. Ever since you returned, she did not leave your side for a moment, twice as a protector now that you were pregnant. You even gave her a name. Ravan.

“Wars are not for winning or losing, child. They are for surviving.”

Whatever wars served for, Jaehyun and you were losing. The hiatus carved by your peace was now dirty with the blood Death was so thirsty for, and for the first time Yuta did not battle alone. Inconvenience, Revenge, Justice… They all faced Life with their teeth and nails, claiming the realms with the intemperance of the world’s setting. With Baba Yaga on your side, you were luckier, but luckier did not mean invincible. Mostly, it meant alive.

“Will it always be like that, granny?” you asked lowly. So low Baba Yaga almost didn’t hear you.

“It will.”

Your eyes weighed like a dozen ships when you closed them. Your mouth was so dry it hurt when you spoke. “I think… I think I am getting used to it.”

Naturally, you adapted, discovering how peace fit best in war. How the puzzles came together. You could not keep the soldiers from battling, and much less negotiate with the Lords — your husband included — that thrived as blood flooded the earth. But with you on the battlefields, death and despair felt easier. You soothed the helpless souls, numbing their minds, anesthetizing their bodies and closing their eyes as the limbs of Death cradled their destinies.

It was your fighting style. Meanwhile, the others used real weapons, they aimed and shot straight, in the endless battle between Life and Death.

“Your priorities are changing,” Baba Yaga noted cleverly. “I was young and revolutionary once. Then, I had kids. Then, I got old. Aging makes you smarter, child. You learn that you can not control everything.”

“Oh, there are many things I can’t control,” you chuckled bitterly, placing a hand on your belly. Your child had just started kicking, her moves excited and strong, filled with vitality. “I pity men, granny. I pity women. I mostly pity the children. All I wish is to offer them a little calmness.”

“No one blames you for that. Not even Death.” Baba Yaga got up and, at the rarest of occurrences, placed a motherly kiss on your forehead. “You fought bravely. Now it is your time to flow with the world’s contradictions. Help those you can, but feel more for you and less for others. She needs you, m’Lady.”

You took a breath so long your lungs wouldn’t fit it in, letting it go as if you were also allowing your shoulders to carry no weight at all.

When Baba Yaga turned to leave the room, you hummed. “Nina. We will call her Nina.”

-

“My opinion on war, my child?” Granny Isobel pulled the pipe away from her mouth. “That’s no good thing. No good thing,” she shook her head, face hidden by the quality of the thick, undeniable smoke. “But God, our Good Lord, allowed it. I am not saying that it is acceptable because God made it, but… But people like me can only help in a few ways. I welcome the hurt spirits. Sometimes they still feel the bullet in their eye, the lack of a leg or a thumb, and wonder where their friends are. I think it is no good, child. But there is nothing I can do, because my power is of another kind.”

-

When Jaehyun arrived at the manor, his armor was covered in black blood, his face dirty with dust, his knuckles raw from punching. By the marks of war he carried, and with how often you fought together, you guessed every punch, hit, cut and blow thrown his way, that he defended with his sword. He looked paler under all the mud, a deep tiredness imprinted in his features with the black holes under his eyes.

Without a word, you took him to your room, where you helped him out of the armor. The bathtub had water so hot in it the steam drew random curls in the air, but you did not complain, silently pressed to each other, praying for some magic that would remove the tiredness off of you.

The war was going badly. But when was it not?

“You’re doing so good, my love,” your husband managed to murmur, caressing your round belly with the same hands he used to strangle the shadows. “Bearing our child so well…”

“Just like she’s bearing me.” You rested the back of your head on his shoulder. “I think I get it now. Life is at its highest when it is the closest to death. You like the war, for it is where you feel more like yourself.”

Jaehyun could never lie to you. “I do. Don’t you now, too, just a little?”

You shook your head with a tired grin. “I feel needed. Necessary. I still prefer the calm and the quiet, though. I will fight for peace when my time comes again.”

“I will be right by your side when you do” he hummed in your ear, accepting and open. “I hope it takes a few years, though.”

“Inconvenience is a tough, irritating thing. We can’t have any hope.”

Jaehyun tasted the words in his mouth. His hands roamed on your stomach, down your navel. “What if we could?” He sounded like a new idea flourishing.

“It’s too early to give her an occupation,” you protested reasonably, reaching up to caress his face. “Let her choose, when she’s grown enough: Lady of Hope, of Faith, of Nothing… First, Nina will only be our baby.”

He agreed with a kiss on your shoulder. Taking her part into the conversation, Nina kicked right where his hand was.

“Ouch,” Jaehyun chuckled, enamored as he was whenever his daughter interacted with him, making her presence as loud as her will. “I already agreed with mama, you don’t have to kick me that hard…”

Savoring the moment, you nested closer to him. Through the window, the gust of wind carried the red aroma of blood and rain. “Jae, what did you do with your death?”

Already expecting your question, Jaehyun smiled. “I’ll show you where I hid it.”

-

I made this for you, wife. It is yours to run away whenever you want. I created this land from scratch. The Realm of Peace, where we can reside. Since I know you like company, I allowed others to come inside: children, florists, teachers, the butcher and his wife, and the servants — which we know are not servants only, but souls as complete as ours. You and I are the only ones who can allow them inside, but the final word is yours to give.

Open your eyes, look at it.

Do you like it, wife? The greenest sunflower fields, the deepest, shadowy forests that smell like oak and ambunara trees, the clouds dancing in the sky… What about the village? I made it just for you, colorful and thriving up the cobblestone streets, with temples, churches, libraries, bars and a playground for the children. It is safe and hidden, as you can see.

I keep my death here too, but it is not born yet. You understand, right, wife? Where I hid it.

You’re carrying her on your belly. Nina is my death now, because in both you and her, I feel the most alive.

I remain deathless because my death can only be reached here, and you’re the one with the key. A knife in my chest won’t kill me anywhere else. We are only vulnerable here, wife, where you crafted your peace, your nature.

I created your death, and Nina’s, and I hid them too. Here. Where no one else can reach us. Where even the cobblestones breathe peacefully.

[hungergamesheadcanons]

Because I'm weak and anyone who follows me must suffer my immediate train of thought:

Behold some kpop artists that remind me of Hunger Games characters.

Katniss is a difficult one. I flitted between a couple of different artists, but ended up settling on Dreamcatcher. A lot of their songs are powerful, which shows the impact she has on people, but they also have some beautiful ballads which remind me of her softer side.

Songs that remind me of Katniss: Scream (Quarter Quell), You and I (relationship realisation), Polaris (singing for Rue)

Rosé from BLACKPINK has some solo songs, although anyone who listens to them is very aware of that. A lot of her songs really remind me of Peeta though, especially because she has an undeniably softer tone but still carries a lot of power, like how Peeta is physically weaker than Katniss but is incredibly skilled with his words and pinpointing weak spots in the Capitol's front. Special mention of Somi's Fast Forward though BC accurate.

Songs that remind me of Peeta: Hard To Love (hijacking), On The Ground (post first games), Gone (Peeta realising the first love was an act (even though Katniss wasn't sure herself))

Ok for Finnick we've got two, and that's because his personality in and out of the Capitol are two sides of a coin. In the Capitol, it would be a crime if I didn't say Taemin. Soft, sensual and sexy, Taemin's music makes me think that if Finnick had at any point sang, he would have been turned into a performer like Taemin. Outside of the Capitol though, I lean towards Red Velvet. The mix of upbeat pop that shows how fun and silly he can be, to slower more r&b songs, to emotional ballads, really just encompasses the main facets of his personality.

Songs that remind me of Finnick - Taemin: Guilty started this whole post, and I have to throw Slave and Thirsty in here too.

Songs that remind me of Finnick - Red Velvet: One Of These Nights (Annie in Capitol), Rose Scent Breeze (filming reveal propo), Red Flavor (can't pinpoint it but I can see him vibing to this idk)

I don't really think Johanna would listen to much music, but I will shoehorn her into liking kpop because this is my world now Suzanne (and Finnick survived). So Johanna I would say probably listens to Jessi? Jessi's music gives off bad bitch vibes and she's sometimes criticised for her attitude etc etc, so I think Johanna would resonate with that. Also, confidence is sexy y'all.

Songs that remind me of Johanna: Nunu Nana (idk just vibes man), What Kind Of X (interview), ZOOM (feels like she mocks Finnick with this song but jokes on her he vibes to it too)

I wanna say Twice, because I think it'd be really funny, but I'm gonna go with Lee Hi. She has a lot of easy listening music that wouldn't bungle his brain when he's drunk out of his skull, and also some jazzy tones that I think he'd appreciate.

Songs that remind me of Haymitch: Special (mourning his family), Am I Strange? (realising he's incredibly fucked up but also realising so is every other Victor), Scarecrow (joining the revolution and being hopeful for the first time in a while)

Twice, unironically this time. Young Prim in particular is so happy and hopeful, and I think that slightly-older-revolution Prim would hold onto those cheerful songs like a lifeline in the darkness of 13.

Songs that remind me of Prim: Cheer Up (when Katniss comes back alive), Dance The Night Away (vibing at Finnick's wedding), What Is Love? (Pure vibes again idk)

[rriavian]

Cursed (1111 words) by Korzhel Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Corinthian/Dream of the Endless, The Corinthian/Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless & Matthew the Raven, Dream of the Endless & Lucien | Lucienne Characters: Dream of the Endless, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Matthew the Raven, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), The Corinthian (Sandman) Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 01, so the Corinthian is a skull right now, which sucks for him tbh, Grief/Mourning, Love vs Duty, and what it means when duty has to win, Friendship, between Dream & his ravens, Matthew can't give hugs but he doesn't let that stop him, Prompt Fic, Corintheus Week 2023, Angst, with a side of comfort courtesy of a raven, love doesn't stop Dream turning his nightmare into a pile of sand, introspective, Character Study, of a sort Summary: Dream unmade the Corinthian at the convention. He'd known it was inevitable. Now there are flowers growing in the Dreaming, roses red and black, thorns alongside fields of hyacinth. Corintheus week ficlet for the prompt: justified ‘all I did was fall in love’:

[fagcrisis]

jacket update 2022

(possibly the second this yr. i cant remember)

details and closeups under the cut, glow in the dark letters in the rb

some of this miiight be repetetitive bc i cant find any of my prev jacket updates lol

left side:

GOT A DISCO ELYSIUM PATCH BABES. i unfortunately completely forgot the etsy of the artist i got it from but if i find it ill add the link. also finally got a system of a down patch and my mechanisms patch has moved once again (yes i got that at dttm yes you should be jealous)

now this bit im not the proudest of bc lowkey i have not seen the x files and aside from against me! i dont really listen to any of these bands anymore but i dont yet have any new patches to fill the space so. theyre staying for now. also i resewed everything with red thread for funsies. the against me one is handmade and its falling the fuck apart

from top to bottom the pins are for the following protests: free szfe (i know its been 2 yrs. im mourning), the abortion march and budapest pride. nicholas continues to be my son who i took in the divorce, although i had to replace his string. below him is a dead kennedys patch some guy gave me at a gig thanks bro

right side:

a friend gifted me an mcr patch, much preciated babe, i finally have something on my right shoulder lol. the skull patch i got bc it says skull no bones and thats very funny to me 💗 my take it easy pride patch got some friends in the form of some mcr pins and an alestorm pin i found on the ground of the pit

i have 2 pins from maki yamazaki, the gear logo one and the exhumed and unplugged one but thats so fucking dark u cant really read it. i love maki but its kind of a shit pin. the @/wizardisananimal pin i got from @vakarcs thanks babe mwah and the frog was made by me when i didnt know how to embroider yet

another green day patch from when they were the only band you could get merch for. the ones below the biohazard symbol and the rose are from a local artist i got them at szia. the guns n roses one is to honor my mum i dont actually like them and the ghost one was a miraculous find

miscellancous:

i got spikes baby!! the big ones were a gift from my friend petra, the small ones were a fortune at rockpince. seriously. how much can you ask for a handful of metal

updated the sleeves as well! the cat is bc i tore a hole in it and that was the only patch my grandma had on hand, but i kinda vibe w it!! the pompoms are from another project and i didnt wanna throw them out, they usually fall behind the folded up sleeve so theyre my cute little secret

[bitchfitch]

I'm choosing Arlo as my subject for the first no grounding just vibes painting and so far the symbolic Items I've come up with for him are

Dead birds (freedom), specifically crows (adaption), sparrows (joy), robins (hope, change), mocking birds (family) all of which will be some level of bleached out

living birds, Cardinals (loyalty, love), Ravens (death), Peacocks (vanity) also bleached

Black dog(Conall (good boy)), goat skull, flower crown noose combo, opium poppy, roses, tulips, primrose.

shattered horse, bull, dear, and mule unicorn skulls (his brothers) dead spiders and cob webs (his mother) living butterfly (his sister)

Flowers, Barberry (anger), mournful widow (loss), sea lavender (i miss you),wisteria (clinging love), violet (fraternal love) colts foot (maternal love), red tulip (desire), red roses (romantic love), orange blossom (eternal love), fox glove (magic), opium poppy (Loyalty), royal bluebell (trust), grey spider flower (faith), Evening Primrose (light in the dark).

I think he's going to be sat in a space that's a ocean on first glance and a hill with rippling grass on the second. the dog is laying beside him it's head resting on the goat skull, the rest of the skulls in front of him, the dead birds and flowers are hanging down into frame from spider silk, the living birds pecking at them or sitting on the other side of Arlo. his hair is messy but intricatly braided. The closer to him elements are the lighter they are. He's looking at camera. his expression pained and slightly snarling so that you can see his broken glass teath. I'm undecided if he's dressed or if this is an artistic nudity situation.

[ao3feed-corintheus]

Cursed

Cursed by Korzhel Dream unmade the Corinthian at the convention. He'd known it was inevitable. Now there are flowers growing in the Dreaming, roses red and black, thorns alongside fields of hyacinth. Corintheus week ficlet for the prompt: justified ‘all I did was fall in love’: Words: 1111, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English Fandoms: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Dream of the Endless, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Matthew the Raven, Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), The Corinthian (Sandman) Relationships: The Corinthian/Dream of the Endless, The Corinthian/Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless & Matthew the Raven, Dream of the Endless & Lucien | Lucienne Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 01, so the Corinthian is a skull right now, which sucks for him tbh, Grief/Mourning, Love vs Duty, and what it means when duty has to win, Friendship, between Dream & his ravens, Matthew can't give hugs but he doesn't let that stop him, Prompt Fic, Corintheus Week 2023, Angst, with a side of comfort courtesy of a raven, love doesn't stop Dream turning his nightmare into a pile of sand, introspective, Character Study, of a sort

[elias-code]

That's My Job - Glatt x gn!reader

~ Ask Link ~

Characters: Glatt x gn!reader, Fundy, mentioning Quackity

Summary: You haven't been back to Manburg since Schlatt died. Now that Techno's destroyed every trace of it, you've returned with Fundy to drink and mourn. Fundy leaves you to your devices and Glatt ends up waking you up, taking care of you, and confessing...

Warnings: lots of cursing, heavy drinking, death, mourning

------ sorry it's so angsty lmao I just love torturing myself :) ------

Ever since Schlatt suffered his massive heart attack at the end of his presidential term, you’ve been wandering the SMP. You’d gotten close to him during his campaign trail, eventually helping him do paperwork, or rather, you did it all for him. You hadn’t been back to Manburg since his death, but now that it was gone, completely gone, you decided it was time to return.

It was a crater. Nothing was left. The office building was gone, the festival grounds were gone, and even the presidential podium was gone. Now, glass covered the crater, giving you the full view of what you had been most afraid of. It made you sick to look at it, bringing up memories from the election.

The worst part of it was that he was gone. Everything in Manburg that reminded you of him was gone, even his friends were gone. The group split shortly after he died, giving up on the decimated country. He was the only thing keeping them together. For better or for worse.

“Hey, Fundy,” You said, stuffing your hands in your pockets. He'd offered to come with you, knowing just how hard it was to be back there.

"Hey, it's nice to see you again," He carried a bottle in his hand and offered it to you. He'd already popped it open and taken a sip of it. "It's a bit strong, but you might need it."

"Thanks," You took it readily, not bothering to read the label before you took a swig. The liquid hit your tongue and burned as it went down. You coughed, spitting the remaining drink on the ground, "What the hell is this stuff?!"

Fundy was practically on the ground laughing. Your tongue and throat still burned from the alcohol and you rotated the bottle to read the label.

Fundy™ Vodka, (98% alcohol)

"Are you trying to kill me Fundy? This shit is ninety-eight percent alcohol?! How did you manage that?" he continued laughing at you as your face burned from embarrassment.

"It's a trade secret," he chuckled, "The people in Las Nevadas really love it," he shrugged.

"How are they all not dead?"

"Don't ask me," He said, "I'm just their dealer. Quackity buys in bulk."

For a moment, it was as if Schlatt never died. You laughed with Fundy for a bit, drank, and reminisced. It was like old times, the hay day, but every time you looked around, you were painfully reminded of the past.

"Hey, I wanted to show you something." Fundy stood, offering you a hand. You were both buzzed already. Each sip of the vodka went down like two shots and you'd gotten a decent way down the bottle by now.

"I'm happy to stay anywhere other than here," You took his hand and gestured around at the crater, "This place sucks." You swallowed a lump in your throat and followed Fundy off the path.

You looked down as you walked. You didn't want to be reminded of him any more than you had to. The people here were moving on from it all already. To be fair, it had been a while, but you'd been closer to him than anyone else, even closer than Quackity.

"Here," He stopped and pointed at the clump stones in front of him. He sat down on the bench as he had done many times before, letting you inspect your surroundings.

"What is this?"

"It's a shrine thing I made," He said sadly, "A long time ago. I haven't been here in a long time, so I refreshed the flowers a bit for you."

The cobblestones were unmarked, put in a rough pile surrounded by oxeye daisies and dandelions. To any passer-by, it was just a pile of rocks. To you and Fundy, it was Schlatt's grave.

Of course, he wasn't buried there. He'd been buried in a nice grave surrounded by gold and diamonds, but it had been griefed so many times that it wasn't worth visiting anymore. Instead of being reminded of him, you were reminded of how many people hated him. Here, it was much quieter.

"Thoughts?" Fundy asked, passing you the bottle as you sat with him.

"It's not bad," You took a swig, used to the taste by now, "I can't help but think that it's painfully accurate that we're getting drunk at his grave."

Fundy laughed briefly, eventually letting the blanket of silence fall over you. The lump in your throat rose once more and you swallowed it with another sip. This must be what he felt like at the end. Drinking to forget, shoving his problems down as far as he could with each drink until, one day, his heart couldn't take it anymore.

"You ok?" Fundy asked, concerned.

"Huh? Yeah," You stared blankly at the stone pile, "Just thinking."

"You're crying," He said.

You touched your cheek and found it wet with tears. You hadn't cried since the day he died, the day you left.

"Do you..." He sighed, "Want some time alone?"

You hesitated. "Yeah," you croaked, "as long as I get to keep the alcohol,"

"Just don't drink it all," He touched your head and walked off.

-

"Hey. Hey. Get up," You felt a finger poke your temple and you jerked awake to Schlatt's voice.

"Finally," He sighed, "What do you think you're doing on my property?"

Through your hazy vision, you saw him.

"Schlatt?" You reached your hand out towards him, but you felt nothing.

"Yeah, yeah," He moved out of your reach, "Hands off, kid."

You rubbed your eyes and squinted, there's no fuckin' way...

"What the hell?" You spat, "Is this a fever dream or some shit?"

In front of you was Schlatt, or a paler blue version of him. He was holding the bottle of vodka, reading the label.

"Oh so Fundy's got a damn business now, does he?"

"Whoa whoa whoa," You ignored him, "Schlatt?! You're alive??"

"Calm down," He rolled his eyes at you, "haven't you ever seen a ghost before?"

He tossed the bottle back to you but you fumbled it and it shattered on the ground.

"Shit!" The bottle broke into sharp, jagged pieces. No vodka came out of the bottle, it was empty.

"You're still a terrible catch, good to know," He sat beside you, walking through the glass. You realised with a start, He's translucent...

You woke up fully, putting your hands on your face and shaking your head. Your brain rattled around in your skull, giving you a painful migraine. The bottle was empty... how much did I drink? Your memory from the past few hours was more or less blank, only the occasional flash of sunset or Fundy was left.

"You're drunk as fuck, you know that?" He said, sitting judgingly.

"What?" I must be if he's here, "Are you even real?"

"Yeah," He sounded offended, "Look at me! What do you mean am I real?"

You laughed, now convinced you were out of your mind. "How was I supposed to know?"

He furrowed his eyebrows at you, evaluating your mental state. "That stuff will kill you." He said, genuinely concerned.

"Oh, and you'd know all about that, Schlatt," You spat, "As if I hadn't warned you a thousand times,"

He leaned back, "Says the person who left the country the moment I died,"

This sent you over the edge and you started sobbing. You put your hands to your face, practically screaming into them. You refused to deal with these emotions for so long, and in some cruel twist of fate, you'd become the thing you hated the most. You'd done the thing you warned Schlatt about countless times. It finally came back to bite you in the ass.

"Sorry, I-" He started, putting his hand on your back. He didn't know what to say, he wasn't the best at comfort, "I've missed you,"

Your sobbing calmed down slightly, downgrading to crying. The tears stung your eyes and your throat burned, partly from the drink, partly from the stress you were releasing.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up," He said, standing to lead you down the path. You followed, stumbling slightly as the drink caught up to your balance. Just before you fell, he caught you and slung your arm around his shoulder, practically carrying you.

"Man, I was hoping you'd be in better shape the first time I saw you."

"What do you mean?" You mumbled, leaning on him heavily.

"I mean I haven't seen you in so long," He bit his lip, "I was starting to think you'd never come back. Then I saw you with Fundy, drunk as a skunk, sleeping on my bench. Not what I'd say was a good first impression. In such a long time, I mean."

"Yeah, but you're... dead."

"So? What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you died. You had a fucking heart attack, alright? We mourned for you, I mourned for you. I ran away because I couldn't bear to look at them. Those people who said they were your friends. They took different sides. They gave up on you. In a way, I guess I did too, just because I had to."

He grits his teeth but kept walking. "I was just as disappointed in them as you, kid."

You'd reached the end of the path. He looked around quickly and opened the door. You recognized it as Fundy's house. It was vacant, Fundy was nowhere in sight. Schlatt laid you down on his bed, leaving to get a washcloth and a glass of water.

"Sit up," He said, pushing the glass into your hand.

You grabbed it readily and took a swig, dehydrated from the tears you'd shed. As you drank, he put the damp washcloth to your forehead and neck, trying his best to sober you up a bit.

"You're on fire." He said, frowning at you. "Your face is all red. How much of that stuff did you drink?"

"The whole bottle," You muttered.

"And you're still alive?" He laughed.

"I'd ask Quackity the same thing,"

"What does this have to do with Quackity?"

"Fundy's selling it to Las Nevadas, I guess." You shrugged and he haphazardly dropped the washcloth in Fundy's cauldron.

"What?"

"Las Nevadas," You laid back down, "Quackity has a city now. Leaned into the whole gambling thing."

"Jesus, I missed a lot, haven't I?" He laid next to you, the sheets didn't move.

"I guess so." You turned to look at him. His suit was torn like he hadn't changed it since the day he died. His beard was barely shaped, his hair a mess, and his horns were as sharp as ever. He was exactly the same as he looked that day. Dishevelled and broken down.

"I mean it, I missed you." He said, "It's not like I had any paperwork to watch you do, but I wish I had."

"You watched me do that?"

"Yeah, I had to make sure you weren't stealing it or something," He excused.

You chuckled, "You never kept track of that shit, there was no way you would have known."

"Alright fine, you want me to admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"You make this... face when you work. When you're really focusing on something... It's hard to look away."

Your heart skipped. The ghost of Schlatt confessed to having a crush on you? No one would believe this, especially since you barely believed it yourself. You burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it.

"What?!" He snapped.

You kept laughing as your head throbbed, the headache coming out in full force now, "You had a crush on me?"

He scowled, "No." He sat up and tapped his foot on the ground, "I have a crush on you."

Huh? "Even though I've been gone for months?"

"Yeah," He said, "It's not like you forget someone like that."

He sounded sad, distant almost. Like you were the ghost.

"Hey," You shuffled over to him, putting a hand on his leg, "It's super cheesy, but," You sighed, god I sound like a child, "I like you, too."

His face flushed, as much as a dead person's face could flush. "Little old dead Schlatt?"

"Yeah, why not?" You sighed, "It's been so long since I've seen you, but... I mean, why do you think I left?"

"I don't know. I thought about that a lot while you were gone."

"I left because I cared about you. It was too hard to see you in everything around me. I left to get my mind off of you because every waking moment of every goddamn day was spent thinking about you," He looked at you, poorly holding his poker face, "I only came back because everything was gone. There was nothing to come back to. Or so I thought."

"Yeah, Technoblade did that." He jeered, "Twice."

"This isn't about him," You put your head on his shoulder, "If I'd have known you were still here... I would have stayed."

"To be fair, I was stuck in... hell... for a while until I finally figured out how to get back up here," He said, "By the time I'd come back... You were long gone. Months had passed."

"It was selfish for me to leave. I'm sorry."

"No, it was shitty of me to be mad you didn't stay. You told me so many times to put down the damn bottle and yet, you stayed by my side until the end. I let you down."

"I guess we both have things to be sorry for, then." You said.

You sat in silence for a while, coming to terms with what you'd both just said. It wasn't in either of your characters to say anything like this. There were some serious feelings passing back and forth between the two of you, and nothing to prepare you for them.

"Fuck I'm gonna puke," You said.

He pulled back, "Don't do it on me, sicko, Jesus!"

You laughed, "I'm fuckin joking, relax,"

"Just..." He leaned back and grabbed a blanket to swaddle you in it, "No more drinking, no more feelings for tonight. You need to sleep, and I've got all the time in the world to watch over you."

"It sounds creepy when you put it that way," you pouted.

"I'm not gonna-" He rolled his eyes and tucked you in, "Just let me know if you need anything. We don't really need sleep with the 'eternal slumber' bullshit, ya know?"

---

I don't know how to end this lmao, I hope you enjoyyyyyyed :3

[queenaryastark]

Elia Martell: Quote Masterlist

In preparation for Elia Week 2021, I compiled all of the times Elia is mentioned in ASOIAF and TWOIAF. It’s not surprising, but it is very troubling how little we get of her actual personality and characterization. There’s clearly an overemphasis on her rape and murder, the quest for vengeance on her brother’s side, and how she compared to other women. We get one flashback/vision of her after Aegon’s birth discussion song and prophecy with Rhaegar which is the only time she actually speaks. Oberyn’s courtship tour story gives hints at her characterization, while Barristan, who wouldn’t have known her well, gives us details like: good, delicate health, kind, clever, and sweet wit. It’s pretty vague, but unfortunately that’s all GRRM gave us. 

Anyway, the quotes are under the cut:

Her Murder

Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar's heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. -- Dany I, AGOT ----- The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children.  -- Dany I, AGOT ----- Some said it had been Gregor who'd dashed the skull of the infant prince Aegon Targaryen against a wall, and whispered that afterward he had raped the mother, the Dornish princess Elia, before putting her to the sword. -- Eddard VII, AGOT ----- Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty's laurel in Lyanna's lap. -- Eddard XV, AGOT ----- In Dorne, the Martells still brood on the murder of Princess Elia and her babes. -- Eddard XV, AGOT ------ The prince is a sentimental man, and he still mourns his sister Elia and her sweet babe. "My father once told me that a lord never lets sentiment get in the way of ambition . . . and it happens we have an empty seat on the small council, now that Lord Janos has taken the black." "A council seat is not to be despised," Varys admitted, "yet will it be enough to make a proud man forget his sister's murder?" "Why forget?" Tyrion smiled. "I've promised to deliver his sister's killers, alive or dead, as he prefers. After the war is done, to be sure." Varys gave him a shrewd look. "My little birds tell me that Princess Elia cried a . . . certain name . . . when they came for her." -- Tyrion IV, AGOT ----- "Prince Doran comes at my son's invitation," Lord Tywin said calmly, "not only to join in our celebration, but to claim his seat on this council, and the justice Robert denied him for the murder of his sister Elia and her children." -- Tyrion III, ASOS ---- I did not come for some mummer's show of an inquiry. I came for justice for Elia and her children, and I will have it. Starting with this lummox Gregor Clegane . . . but not, I think, ending there. Before he dies, the Enormity That Rides will tell me whence came his orders, please assure your lord father of that. -- Tyrion V, ASOS -------- "It is justice. It was Ser Amory who brought me the girl's body, if you must know. He found her hiding under her father's bed, as if she believed Rhaegar could still protect her. Princess Elia and the babe were in the nursery a floor below." -- Tyrion VI, ASOS ----- "I grant you, it was done too brutally. Elia need not have been harmed at all, that was sheer folly. By herself she was nothing." "Then why did the Mountain kill her?" "Because I did not tell him to spare her. I doubt I mentioned her at all. I had more pressing concerns. Ned Stark's van was rushing south from the Trident, and I feared it might come to swords between us. And it was in Aerys to murder Jaime, with no more cause than spite. That was the thing I feared most. That, and what Jaime himself might do." He closed a fist. "Nor did I yet grasp what I had in Gregor Clegane, only that he was huge and terrible in battle. The rape . . . even you will not accuse me of giving that command, I would hope. Ser Amory was almost as bestial with Rhaenys. I asked him afterward why it had required half a hundred thrusts to kill a girl of . . . two? Three? He said she'd kicked him and would not stop screaming. If Lorch had half the wits the gods gave a turnip, he would have calmed her with a few sweet words and used a soft silk pillow." His mouth twisted in distaste. "The blood was in him." -- Tyrion VI, ASOS ------ Justice is in short supply this side of the mountains. There has been none for Elia, Aegon, or Rhaenys. Why should there be any for you? Perhaps Joffrey's real killer was eaten by a bear. That seems to happen quite often in King's Landing. -- Tyrion IX, ASOS -------- "I am not lying. Ser Amory dragged Princess Rhaenys out from under her father's bed and stabbed her to death. He had some men-at-arms with him, but I do not know their names." He leaned forward. "It was Ser Gregor Clegane who smashed Prince Aegon's head against a wall and raped your sister Elia with his blood and brains still on his hands." -- Tyrion IX, ASOS --------- "The gout I cannot help," she said, "but my father had no use for grief. Vengeance was more to his taste. Is it true that Gregor Clegane admitted slaying Elia and her children?" "He roared out his guilt for all the court to hear," the prince admitted. "Lord Tywin has promised us his head." -- Hotah, AFFC --------- "My sister Elia had a little girl as well. Her name was Rhaenys. She was a princess too." The prince sighed. "Those who would plunge a knife into Princess Myrcella do not bear her any malice, no more than Ser Amory Lorch did when he killed Rhaenys, if indeed he did. They seek only to force my hand. For if Myrcella should be slain in Dorne whilst under my protection, who would believe my denials?" -- Arys, AFFC --------

Oberyn VS Gregor Clegane

The Dornishman slid sideways. "I am Oberyn Martell, a prince of Dorne," he said, as the Mountain turned to keep him in sight. "Princess Elia was my sister." "Who?" asked Gregor Clegane. Oberyn's long spear jabbed, but Ser Gregor took the point on his shield, shoved it aside, and bulled back at the prince, his great sword flashing. The Dornishman spun away untouched. The spear darted forward. Clegane slashed at it, Martell snapped it back, then thrust again. Metal screamed on metal as the spearhead slid off the Mountain's chest, slicing through the surcoat and leaving a long bright scratch on the steel beneath. "Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne," the Red Viper hissed. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children." Ser Gregor grunted. He made a ponderous charge to hack at the Dornishman's head. Prince Oberyn avoided him easily. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children." ------- But the Red Viper of Dorne was back on his feet, his long spear in hand. "Elia," he called at Ser Gregor. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children. Now say her name." The Mountain whirled. Helm, shield, sword, surcoat; he was spattered with gore from head to heels. "You talk too much," he grumbled. "You make my head hurt." "I will hear you say it. She was Elia of Dorne." The Mountain snorted contemptuously, and came on . . . and in that moment, the sun broke through the low clouds that had hidden the sky since dawn. -------- Prince Oberyn tilted his dinted metal shield. A shaft of sunlight blazed blindingly off polished gold and copper, into the narrow slit of his foe's helm. Clegane lifted his own shield against the glare. Prince Oberyn's spear flashed like lightning and found the gap in the heavy plate, the joint under the arm. The point punched through mail and boiled leather. Gregor gave a choked grunt as the Dornishman twisted his spear and yanked it free."Elia. Say it! Elia of Dorne!" He was circling, spear poised for another thrust. "Say it!" Tyrion had his own prayer. Fall down and die, was how it went. Damn you, fall down and die! The blood trickling from the Mountain's armpit was his own now, and he must be bleeding even more heavily inside the breastplate. When he tried to take a step, one knee buckled. Tyrion thought he was going down. Prince Oberyn had circled behind him. "ELIA OF DORNE!" he shouted. Ser Gregor started to turn, but too slow and too late. The spearhead went through the back of the knee this time, through the layers of chain and leather between the plates on thigh and calf. The Mountain reeled, swayed, then collapsed face first on the ground. His huge sword went flying from his hand. Slowly, ponderously, he rolled onto his back. The Dornishman flung away his ruined shield, grasped the spear in both hands, and sauntered away. Behind him the Mountain let out a groan, and pushed himself onto an elbow. Oberyn whirled cat-quick, and ran at his fallen foe. "EEEEELLLLLLIIIIIAAAAA!" he screamed, as he drove the spear down with the whole weight of his body behind it. The crack of the ashwood shaft snapping was almost as sweet a sound as Cersei's wail of fury, and for an instant Prince Oberyn had wings. The snake has vaulted over the Mountain. Four feet of broken spear jutted from Clegane's belly as Prince Oberyn rolled, rose, and dusted himself off. He tossed aside the splintered spear and claimed his foe's greatsword. "If you die before you say her name, ser, I will hunt you through all seven hells," he promised. ------ Clegane's hand shot up and grabbed the Dornishman behind the knee. The Red Viper brought down the greatsword in a wild slash, but he was off-balance, and the edge did no more than put another dent in the Mountain's vambrace. Then the sword was forgotten as Gregor's hand tightened and twisted, yanking the Dornishman down on top of him. They wrestled in the dust and blood, the broken spear wobbling back and forth. Tyrion saw with horror that the Mountain had wrapped one huge arm around the prince, drawing him tight against his chest, like a lover. "Elia of Dorne," they all heard Ser Gregor say, when they were close enough to kiss. His deep voice boomed within the helm. "I killed her screaming whelp." He thrust his free hand into Oberyn's unprotected face, pushing steel fingers into his eyes. "Then I raped her." Clegane slammed his fist into the Dornishman's mouth, making splinters of his teeth. "Then I smashed her fucking head in. Like this." As he drew back his huge fist, the blood on his gauntlet seemed to smoke in the cold dawn air. There was a sickening crunch. Ellaria Sand wailed in terror, and Tyrion's breakfast came boiling back up. He found himself on his knees retching bacon and sausage and applecakes, and that double helping of fried eggs cooked up with onions and fiery Dornish peppers.-- Tyrion, X

General

Viserys, was her first thought the next time she paused, but a second glance told her otherwise. The man had her brother's hair, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than lilac. "Aegon," he said to a woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. "What better name for a king?"

"Will you make a song for him?" the woman asked.

"He has a song," the man replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany's, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door. "There must be one more," he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say. "The dragon has three heads." He went to the window seat, picked up a harp, and ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. Sweet sadness filled the room as man and wife and babe faded like the morning mist, only the music lingering behind to speed her on her way. -- Daenerys IV, ACOK

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She nodded. "There was a woman in a bed with a babe at her breast. My brother said the babe was the prince that was promised and told her to name him Aegon."

"Prince Aegon was Rhaegar's heir by Elia of Dorne," Ser Jorah said. "But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall." -- Daenerys V, ACOK

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No doubt he was waiting for Prince Viserys to mature, or perhaps for Rhaegar's wife to die in childbed. Elia of Dorne was never the healthiest of women. -- Jaime II, ASOS

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 The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Dornishmen coming up the kingsroad. -- Jaime V, ASOS

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When the word reached court, Aerys packed the queen off to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys. Princess Elia would have gone as well, but he forbade it. Somehow he had gotten it in his head that Prince Lewyn must have betrayed Rhaegar on the Trident, but he thought he could keep Dorne loyal so long as he kept Elia and Aegon by his side. -- Jaime V, ASOS

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"It was when I visited Casterly Rock with my mother, her consort, and my sister Elia. I was, oh, fourteen, fifteen, thereabouts, Elia a year older. Your brother and sister were eight or nine, as I recall, and you had just been born." -- Tyrion V, ASOS

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The cell they gave me had a featherbed to sleep in and Myrish carpets on the floor, but it was dark and windowless, much like a dungeon when you come down to it, as I told Elia at the time. Your skies were too grey, your wines too sweet, your women too chaste, your food too bland . . . and you yourself were the greatest disappointment of all." -- Tyrion V, ASOS

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"Cersei promised Elia to show you to us. The day before we were to sail, whilst my mother and your father were closeted together, she and Jaime took us down to your nursery. Your wet nurse tried to send us off, but your sister was having none of that. 'He's mine,' she said, 'and you're just a milk cow, you can't tell me what to do. Be quiet or I'll have my father cut your tongue out. A cow doesn't need a tongue, only udders.'"

"Her Grace learned charm at an early age," said Tyrion, amused by the notion of his sister claiming him as hers. "She's never been in any rush to claim me since, the gods know.

"Cersei even undid your swaddling clothes to give us a better look," the Dornish prince continued. "You did have one evil eye, and some black fuzz on your scalp. Perhaps your head was larger than most . . . but there was no tail, no beard, neither teeth nor claws, and nothing between your legs but a tiny pink cock. After all the wonderful whispers, Lord Tywin's Doom turned out to be just a hideous red infant with stunted legs. Elia even made the noise that young girls make at the sight of infants, I'm sure you've heard it. The same noise they make over cute kittens and playful puppies. I believe she wanted to nurse you herself, ugly as you were. When I commented that you seemed a poor sort of monster, your sister said, 'He killed my mother,' and twisted your little cock so hard I thought she was like to pull it off. You shrieked, but it was only when your brother Jaime said, 'Leave him be, you're hurting him,' that Cersei let go of you. 'It doesn't matter,' she told us. 'Everyone says he's like to die soon. He shouldn't even have lived this long.'" -- Tyrion V, ASOS

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"As children Elia and I were inseparable, much like your own brother and sister." -- Tyrion V, ASOS

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"But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!" said Dany. "Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?"

"It is not for such as me to say what might have been in your brother's heart, Your Grace. The Princess Elia was a good and gracious lady, though her health was ever delicate."

"It is not for such as me to say what might have been in your brother's heart, Your Grace. The Princess Elia was a good and gracious lady, though her health was ever delicate."

Dany pulled the lion pelt tighter about her shoulders. "Viserys said once that it was my fault, for being born too late." She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He beat her cruelly for that insolence. "If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl." -- Daenerys, ASOS

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"Aye. I will." Ulmer, stooped and grey-bearded and loose of skin and limb, stepped to the mark and pulled an arrow from the quiver at his waist. In his youth he had been an outlaw, a member of the infamous Kingswood Brotherhood. He claimed he'd once put an arrow through the hand of the White Bull of the Kingsguard to steal a kiss from the lips of a Dornish princess. He had stolen her jewels too, and a chest of golden dragons, but it was the kiss he liked to boast of in his cups. -- Samwell II, ASOS

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"Do you recall the tale I told you of our first meeting, Imp?" Prince Oberyn asked, as the Bastard of Godsgrace knelt before him to fasten his greaves. "It was not for your tail alone that my sister and I came to Casterly Rock. We were on a quest of sorts. A quest that took us to Starfall, the Arbor, Oldtown, the Shield Islands, Crakehall, and finally Casterly Rock . . . but our true destination was marriage. Doran was betrothed to Lady Mellario of Norvos, so he had been left behind as castellan of Sunspear. My sister and I were yet unpromised.

"Elia found it all exciting. She was of that age, and her delicate health had never permitted her much travel. I preferred to amuse myself by mocking my sister's suitors. There was Little Lord Lazyeye, Squire Squishlips, one I named the Whale That Walks, that sort of thing. The only one who was even halfway presentable was young Baelor Hightower. A pretty lad, and my sister was half in love with him until he had the misfortune to fart once in our presence. I promptly named him Baelor Breakwind, and after that Elia couldn't look at him without laughing. I was a monstrous young fellow, someone should have sliced out my vile tongue."

Yes, Tyrion agreed silently. Baelor Hightower was no longer young, but he remained Lord Leyton's heir; wealthy, handsome, and a knight of splendid repute. Baelor Brightsmile, they called him now. Had Elia wed him in place of Rhaegar Targaryen, she might be in Oldtown with her children growing tall around her. He wondered how many lives had been snuffed out by that fart.

"Lannisport was the end of our voyage," Prince Oberyn went on, as Ser Arron Qorgyle helped him into a padded leather tunic and began lacing it up the back. "Were you aware that our mothers knew each other of old?"

"They had been at court together as girls, I seem to recall. Companions to Princess Rhaella?"

"Just so. It was my belief that the mothers had cooked up this plot between them. Squire Squishlips and his ilk and the various pimply young maidens who'd been paraded before me were the almonds before the feast, meant only to whet our appetites. The main course was to be served at Casterly Rock."

"Cersei and Jaime."

"Such a clever dwarf. Elia and I were older, to be sure. Your brother and sister could not have been more than eight or nine. Still, a difference of five or six years is little enough. And there was an empty cabin on our ship, a very nice cabin, such as might be kept for a person of high birth. As if it were intended that we take someone back to Sunspear. A young page, perhaps. Or a companion for Elia. Your lady mother meant to betroth Jaime to my sister, or Cersei to me. Perhaps both."

"Perhaps," said Tyrion, "but my father—"

"—ruled the Seven Kingdoms, but was ruled at home by his lady wife, or so my mother always said." Prince Oberyn raised his arms, so Lord Dagos Manwoody and the Bastard of Godsgrace could slip a chainmail byrnie down over his head. "At Oldtown we learned of your mother's death, and the monstrous child she had borne. We might have turned back there, but my mother chose to sail on. I told you of the welcome we found at Casterly Rock.

"What I did not tell you was that my mother waited as long as was decent, and then broached your father about our purpose. Years later, on her deathbed, she told me that Lord Tywin had refused us brusquely. His daughter was meant for Prince Rhaegar, he informed her. And when she asked for Jaime, to espouse Elia, he offered her you instead."

"Which offer she took for an outrage."

"It was. Even you can see that, surely?"

"Oh, surely." It all goes back and back, Tyrion thought, to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance on in our steads. "Well, Prince Rhaegar married Elia of Dorne, not Cersei Lannister of Casterly Rock. So it would seem your mother won that tilt."

"She thought so," Prince Oberyn agreed, "but your father is not a man to forget such slights. He taught that lesson to Lord and Lady Tarbeck once, and to the Reynes of Castamere. And at King's Landing, he taught it to my sister. My helm, Dagos." Manwoody handed it to him; a high golden helm with a copper disk mounted on the brow, the sun of Dorne. The visor had been removed, Tyrion saw. "Elia and her children have waited long for justice." Prince Oberyn pulled on soft red leather gloves, and took up his spear again. "But this day they shall have it." -- Tyrion X, ASOS

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"Was she a fair maid?"

"She was," said Meera, hopping over a stone, "but there were others fairer still. One was the wife of the dragon prince, who'd brought a dozen lady companions to attend her. The knights all begged them for favors to tie about their lances." -- Bran II, ASOS

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"I was the oldest," the prince said, "and yet I am the last. After Mors and Olyvar died in their cradles, I gave up hope of brothers. I was nine when Elia came, a squire in service at Salt Shore. When the raven arrived with word that my mother had been brought to bed a month too soon, I was old enough to understand that meant the child would not live. Even when Lord Gargalen told me that I had a sister, I assured him that she must shortly die. Yet she lived, by the Mother's mercy. And a year later Oberyn arrived, squalling and kicking. I was a man grown when they were playing in these pools. Yet here I sit, and they are gone." -- Hotah I, AFFC

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"Tyene. Obara is too loud. Tyene is so sweet and gentle that no man will suspect her. Obara would make Oldtown our father's funeral pyre, but I am not so greedy. Four lives will suffice for me. Lord Tywin's golden twins, as payment for Elia's children. The old lion, for Elia herself. And last of all the little king, for my father -- Hotah I, AFFC

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"He went beyond anything I asked of him. 'Take the measure of this boy king and his council, and make note of their strengths and weaknesses,' I told him, on the terrace. We were eating oranges. 'Find us friends, if there are any to be found. Learn what you can of Elia's end, but see that you do not provoke Lord Tywin unduly,' those were my words to him. Oberyn laughed, and said, 'When have I provoked any man . . . unduly? You would do better to warn the Lannisters against provoking me.' He wanted justice for Elia, but he would not wait—"

"He waited ten-and-seven years," the Lady Nym broke in. "Were it you they'd killed, my father would have led his banners north before your corpse was cold. Were it you, the spears would be falling thick as rain upon the marches now." -- Hotah I, AFFC

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"And what is it I want, ser?"

"The Sand Snakes freed. Vengeance for Oberyn and Elia. Do I know the song? You want a little taste of lion blood."

That, and my birthright. I want Sunspear, and my father's seat. I want Dorne. "I want justice." -- Arianne I, AFFC

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"With me?" That is so like him. "For Lord Tywin and the Lannisters you always had the forbearance of Baelor the Blessed, but for your own blood, none."

"You mistake patience for forbearance. I have worked at the downfall of Tywin Lannister since the day they told me of Elia and her children. It was my hope to strip him of all that he held most dear before I killed him, but it would seem his dwarf son has robbed me of that pleasure. I take some small solace in knowing that he died a cruel death at the hands of the monster that he himself begot. Be that as it may. Lord Tywin is howling down in hell . . . where thousands more will soon be joining him, if your folly turns to war." Her father grimaced, as if the very word were painful to him. "Is that what you want?"

The princess refused to be cowed. "I want my cousins freed. I want my uncle avenged. I want my rights." -- Arianne II, AFFC

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Black cats brought ill luck, as Rhaegar's little girl had discovered in this very castle. She would have been my daughter, if the Mad King had not played his cruel jape on Father. It had to have been the madness that led Aerys to refuse Lord Tywin's daughter and take his son instead, whilst marrying his own son to a feeble Dornish princess with black eyes and a flat chest. -- Cersei V, AFFC

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"Her duty." The word felt cold upon her tongue. "You saw my brother Rhaegar wed. Tell me, did he wed for love or duty?"

The old knight hesitated. "Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her."

Fond, thought Dany. The word spoke volumes. I could become fond of Hizdahr zo Loraq, in time. Perhaps. -- Daenerys IV, ADWD

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The lad flushed. "That was not me. I told you. That was some tanner's son from Pisswater Bend whose mother died birthing him. His father sold him to Lord Varys for a jug of Arbor gold. He had other sons but had never tasted Arbor gold. Varys gave the Pisswater boy to my lady mother and carried me away." -- Tyrion VI, ADWD

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Seventeen years had come and gone since the Battle of the Bells, yet the sound of bells ringing still tied a knot in his guts. Others might claim that the realm was lost when Prince Rhaegar fell to Robert's warhammer on the Trident, but the Battle of the Trident would never have been fought if the griffin had only slain the stag there in Stoney Sept. The bells tolled for all of us that day. For Aerys and his queen, for Elia of Dorne and her little daughter, for every true man and honest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. And for my silver prince.

"The plan was to reveal Prince Aegon only when we reached Queen Daenerys," Lemore was saying. -- JonCon I, ADWD

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That time was done, though. "No man could have asked for a worthier son," Griff said, "but the lad is not of my blood, and his name is not Griff. My lords, I give you Aegon Targaryen, firstborn son of Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone, by Princess Elia of Dorne … soon, with your help, to be Aegon, the Sixth of His Name, King of Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."-- JonCon I, ADWD

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Prince Doran frowned. "That is so, Ser Balon, but the Lady Nym is right. If ever a man deserved to die screaming, it was Gregor Clegane. He butchered my good sister, smashed her babe's head against a wall. I only pray that now he is burning in some hell, and that Elia and her children are at peace. This is the justice that Dorne has hungered for. I am glad that I lived long enough to taste it. At long last the Lannisters have proved the truth of their boast and paid this old blood debt." -- Hotah, ADWD

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"A start?" said Ellaria Sand, incredulous. "Gods forbid. I would it were a finish. Tywin Lannister is dead. So are Robert Baratheon, Amory Lorch, and now Gregor Clegane, all those who had a hand in murdering Elia and her children. Even Joffrey, who was not yet born when Elia died. I saw the boy perish with mine own eyes, clawing at his throat as he tried to draw a breath. Who else is there to kill? Do Myrcella and Tommen need to die so the shades of Rhaenys and Aegon can be at rest? Where does it end?"-- Hotah, ADWD

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"Oberyn wanted vengeance for Elia. Now the three of you want vengeance for him. I have four daughters, I remind you. Your sisters. My Elia is fourteen, almost a woman. Obella is twelve, on the brink of maidenhood. They worship you, as Dorea and Loreza worship them. If you should die, must El and Obella seek vengeance for you, then Dorea and Loree for them? Is that how it goes, round and round forever? I ask again, where does it end?" Ellaria Sand laid her hand on the Mountain's head. "I saw your father die. Here is his killer. Can I take a skull to bed with me, to give me comfort in the night? Will it make me laugh, write me songs, care for me when I am old and sick?"-- Hotah, ADWD

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It was his failures that haunted him at night, though. Jaehaerys, Aerys, Robert. Three dead kings. Rhaegar, who would have been a finer king than any of them. Princess Elia and the children. Aegon just a babe, Rhaenys with her kitten. Dead, every one, yet he still lived, who had sworn to protect them. And now Daenerys, his bright shining child queen. She is not dead. I will not believe it. -- Barristan II, ADWD

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A bride for our bright prince. Jon Connington remembered Prince Rhaegar's wedding all too well. Elia was never worthy of him. She was frail and sickly from the first, and childbirth only left her weaker. After the birth of Princess Rhaenys, her mother had been bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon's birth had almost been the death of her. She would bear no more children, the maesters told Prince Rhaegar afterward. -- JonCon II, ADWD

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Griff had heard enough of the captain-general's cowardice. "We will not be alone. Dorne will join us, must join us. Prince Aegon is Elia's son as well as Rhaegar's."-- JonCon II, ADWD

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Rhaegar had chosen Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. Barristan Selmy would have made a different choice. Not the queen, who was not present. Nor Elia of Dorne, though she was good and gentle; had she been chosen, much war and woe might have been avoided. His choice would have been a young maiden not long at court, one of Elia's companions … though compared to Ashara Dayne, the Dornish princess was a kitchen drab. -- Barristan III, ADWD

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She will never wash the stain away, no matter how hard she scrubs. Ser Kevan remembered the girl she once had been, so full of life and mischief. And when she'd flowered, ahhhh … had there ever been a maid so sweet to look upon? If Aerys had agreed to marry her to Rhaegar, how many deaths might have been avoided? Cersei could have given the prince the sons he wanted, lions with purple eyes and silver manes … and with such a wife, Rhaegar might never have looked twice at Lyanna Stark. The northern girl had a wild beauty, as he recalled, though however bright a torch might burn it could never match the rising sun.

But it did no good to brood on lost battles and roads not taken. That was a vice of old done men. Rhaegar had wed Elia of Dorne, Lyanna Stark had died, Robert Baratheon had taken Cersei to bride, and here they were. And tonight his own road would take him to his niece's chambers and face-to-face with Cersei. -- Kevan, ADWD

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Fire and blood was what Jon Connington (if indeed it was him) was offering as well. Or was it? "He comes with sellswords, but no dragons," Prince Doran had told her, the night the raven came. "The Golden Company is the best and largest of the free companies, but ten thousand mercenaries cannot hope to win the Seven Kingdoms. Elia's son... I would weep for joy if some part of my sister had survived, but what proof do we have that this is Aegon?" His voice broke when he said that. "Where are the dragons?" he asked. "Where is Daenerys?" and Arianne knew that he was really saying, "Where is my son?" -- Arianne I, TWOW

-------

"Gregor Clegane ripped Aegon out of Elia's arms and smashed his head against a wall," Ser Daemon said. "If Lord Connington's prince has a crushed skull, I will believe that Aegon Targaryen has returned from the grave. Elsewise, no. This is some feigned boy, no more. A sellsword's ploy to win support." -- Arianne I, TWOW

-------

"I... it would give great joy to my father if Elia's son were still alive. He loved his sister well." -- Arianne I, TWOW

-------

So it was. "I was seven when Elia died. They say I held her daughter Rhaenys once, when I was too young to remember. Aegon will be a stranger to me, whether true or false." The princess paused. "We looked for Rhaegar's sister, not his son." Her father had confided in Ser Daemon when he chose him as his daughter's shield; with him at least she could speak freely. "I would sooner it were Quentyn who'd returned." -- Arianne I, TWOW

-------

Meanwhile, King Aerys was becoming ever more estranged from his own son and heir. Early in the year 279 AC, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, was formally betrothed to Princess Elia Martell, the delicate young sister of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne. They were wed the following year, in a lavish ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, but Aerys II did not attend. He told the small council that he feared an attempt upon his life if he left the confines of the Red Keep, even with his Kingsguard to protect him. Nor would he allow his younger son, Viserys, to attend his brother's wedding.

When Prince Rhaegar and his new wife chose to take up residence on Dragonstone instead of the Red Keep, rumors flew thick and fast across the Seven Kingdoms. Some claimed that the crown prince was planning to depose his father and seize the Iron Throne for himself, whilst others said that King Aerys meant to disinherit Rhaegar and name Viserys heir in his place. Nor did the birth of King Aerys's first grandchild, a girl named Rhaenys, born on Dragonstone in 280 AC, do aught to reconcile father and son. When Prince Rhaegar returned to the Red Keep to present his daughter to his own mother and father, Queen Rhaella embraced the babe warmly, but King Aerys refused to touch or hold the child and complained that she "smells Dornish." -- TWOIAF

-------

Chief amongst the Mad King's supporters were three lords of his small council: Qarlton Chelsted, master of coin, Lucerys Velaryon, master of ships, and Symond Staunton, master of laws. The eunuch Varys, master of whisperers, and Wisdom Rossart, grand master of the Guild of Alchemists, also enjoyed the king's trust. Prince Rhaegar's support came from the younger men at court, including Lord Jon Connington, Ser Myles Mooton of Maidenpool, and Ser Richard Lonmouth. The Dornishmen who had come to court with the Princess Elia were in the prince's confidence as well, particularly Prince Lewyn Martell, Elia's uncle and a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard. But the most formidable of all Rhaegar's friends and allies in King's Landing was surely Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.-- TWOIAF

-------

And when the triumphant Prince of Dragonstone named Lyanna Stark, daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, the queen of love and beauty, placing a garland of blue roses in her lap with the tip of his lance, the lickspittle lords gathered around the king declared that further proof of his perfidy. Why would the prince have thus given insult to his own wife, the Princess Elia Martell of Dorne (who was present), unless it was to help him gain the Iron Throne? The crowning of the Stark girl, who was by all reports a wild and boyish young thing with none of the Princess Elia's delicate beauty, could only have been meant to win the allegiance of Winterfell to Prince Rhaegar's cause, Symond Staunton suggested to the king..-- TWOIAF

-------

As cold winds hammered the city, King Aerys II turned to his pyromancers, charging them to drive the winter off with their magics. Huge green fires burned along the walls of the Red Keep for a moon's turn. Prince Rhaegar was not in the city to observe them, however. Nor could he be found in Dragonstone with Princess Elia and their young son, Aegon. With the coming of the new year, the crown prince had taken to the road with half a dozen of his closest friends and confidants, on a journey that would ultimately lead him back to the riverlands. Not ten leagues from Harrenhal, Rhaegar fell upon Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, and carried her off, lighting a fire that would consume his house and kin and all those he loved—and half the realm besides..-- TWOIAF

-------

From Dorne, in defense of Princess Elia, ten thousand spears came over the Boneway and marched to King's Landing to bolster the host that Rhaegar was raising. Those who were there at court during this time have recounted that Aerys's behavior was erratic. He was untrusting of any save his Kingsguard—and then only imperfectly, for he kept Ser Jaime Lannister close at all hours to serve as a hostage against his father..-- TWOIAF

-------

Birds flew and couriers raced to bear word of the victory at the Ruby Ford. When the news reached the Red Keep, it was said that Aerys cursed the Dornish, certain that Lewyn had betrayed Rhaegar. He sent his pregnant queen, Rhaella, and his younger son and new heir, Viserys, away to Dragonstone, but Princess Elia was forced to remain in King's Landing with Rhaegar's children as a hostage against Dorne. Having burned his previous Hand, Lord Chelsted, alive for bad counsel during the war, Aerys now appointed another to the position: the alchemist Rossart—a man of low birth, with little to recommend him but his flames and trickery. -- TWOIAF

-------

The Red Keep was soon breached, but in the chaos, misfortune soon fell upon Elia of Dorne and her children, Rhaenys and Aegon. It is tragic that the blood spilled in war may as readily be innocent as it is guilty, and that those who ravished and murdered Princess Elia escaped justice. It is not known who murdered Princess Rhaenys in her bed, or smashed the infant Prince Aegon's head against a wall. Some whisper it was done at Aerys's own command when he learned that Lord Lannister had taken up Robert's cause, while others suggest that Elia did it herself for fear of what would happen to her children in the hands of her dead husband's enemies.-- TWOIAF

-------

Dorne continued to be closely allied with House Targaryen in the years that followed, with the Martells supporting the Targaryens against the Blackfyre Pretenders and sending spears to fight the Ninepenny Kings on the Stepstones. Their loyal service was rewarded when Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, took to wife Princess Elia Martell of Sunspear, and sired two children by her. But for the madness of Rhaegar's father, Aerys II, a prince of Dornish blood might very well have one day ruled the realm, but the upheavals of Robert's Rebellion brought about the end of Prince Rhaegar, his wife, and his children. .-- TWOIAF

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 18: A Bouquet

The Storybrooke Sequel to Golden Cuffs

Lacey Gold looks deeper into her past. 

Trigger warning for grief over a deceased parent.

Read on AO3

Her mother is dead.

It does not rain on the day of Mama’s funeral, even though it should. The skies should break open and flood the earth. The sun should never shine again. All of nature should be consumed by darkness and despair. 

Instead, it is a lovely, sunny day in early summer. Pink roses burst into life all over the castle grounds. They were her favorite flower. Mama always wanted her to get married at this time of year, when the roses bloomed.  

Now, every pink rose that was in the gardens covers the casket. Even the flowers that showed only the slightest bud have been cut down before they had a chance to bloom. Some of them are already turning brown. 

The roses are dying. The roses are dead. This is wrong. Mama wouldn’t want her favorite flowers to die.

She stands beside Papa at the graveside. Both of them are dressed in black. He says nothing. He does not let himself weep. He must show strength as a leader to their people. Mama is not the first casualty of what the common folk are already calling the Ogres War.  

It is a small funeral, only the castle inhabitants and the villagers who live nearby. Traveling is dangerous now, and those far away cannot take the risk. King Midas should have come, or at least sent a royal envoy. The rest of Mama’s family and friends should be here. The whole kingdom--the whole world--should mourn the loss of the greatest woman of this generation. 

As it is, all she has of her mother’s family is Uncle Pierre, Aunt Therese, and their children. Her cousins stand in the cemetery with the rest of the meager party. Little Claude may be too young to understand the words being said, but she knows her aunt is gone. She stays quiet and still. Jeanne cries into a handkerchief. She despairs for the future, for everyone in the land. Andre tries to be a man--he knows that he will see more dead very soon--but he cannot keep his lip from quivering. This is the first death that has come to their family. Does he know, somehow, that he and his father will be next?

Papa’s brother, Uncle Armand, keeps his head bowed. His long, curling hair falls over his face. Normally a man of laughter and warmth, he is solemn. 

Ermintrude, Mama’s closest friend, is as stone-faced as Papa. It must not be decorous for a lady to weep over someone who is not a blood relative. Even if you have known her all your life and raised your children together. Even if you were the last person to see her alive. The last person to hear her screams as monsters ripped her out of your hands and left you holding nothing but a broken necklace. Ermintrude does not weep, but she holds her own daughter’s hand in a clenching grip and does not let go until long after the funeral has ended. Mathilde clings to her mother with equal desperation. 

A cleric prays over Mama’s casket. She does not hear what he says. She speaks when it is time to speak, repeats the words she knows by heart. She sings the hymns and makes the signs. But it does not reach her. 

They cover the casket in dirt. The pink roses will never see the sun again. Mama is dead. The world has ended. 

What future is left for her now?

    ****

Mrs. Lacey Gold started the morning by walking away from the pawn shop and towards Marine Automotive. These red and navy mary janes were the lowest heels she had, and the sound of them was strange on the sidewalk. Mrs. Gold was used to the sharp click-clack of her stilettos, the powerful stride she made sure to use every time she went out in public, no matter how she felt in the privacy of her own skull.  

But things were different now. She was different. She wasn’t just Mrs. Gold anymore. But she wasn’t Lacey French anymore either. 

Truth be told, she had never thought much about being Lacey French, not the way she thought about being Mrs. Gold. She’d never trudged the halls of Storybrooke High thinking about how Lacey French would walk. She’d never pulled on an oversized tee-shirt and jeans because she thought that was the sort of thing Lacey French would wear. She had never wanted to be herself, she just was. 

She wanted to be Mrs. Gold. She’d put effort into it. But now Mr. Gold didn’t seem to care. So she had to try something else. She had to try being someone else. 

Why not Lacey?

Above her, Marco the handyman was hammering something into the roof of the hardware store. When she looked up at him and waved, the old man just frowned and muttered something in Italian. Maybe it was a curse. Maybe it was a sign against curses, something that protected good men from vile harlots.  Either way, Mrs. Gold squared her shoulders and kept walking. 

Marine Automotive was right across from the old abandoned library. Mom had always wished that the library would open up again, so she could get access to more books. At least once a day, every time she had a free minute, she would sneak off to her rocking chair by the window with some well-worn paperback. The flower shop was named after one of her favorite books.

The garage was empty when she got there, no one in the office and only one car lifted up into a bay. A young kid, Billy Citrouille, was rubbing his backside in front of a space heater. He stopped when he noticed her.

“Hey there,” he smiled. His dark eyes were warm and his white teeth shone against tan skin. “How are you today, Mrs. Gold?”

Her first instinct was to giggle. She wanted to bounce on her heels and twirl her skirt and make some stupid joke about getting her motor running. Over the years, Mrs. Gold had had a lot of fun playing with Billy. He wore loose coveralls, but she could make them feel very tight when she wanted to. 

But she was trying to be better.

Lacey looked around the empty garage. “Is Manny in today?”

Billy shrugged. “Business is slow, so he went over to Game of Thorns for a bit.”

“Oh.” Her stomach sank. “Did he… say when he’d be back?”

“He’s supposed to be on a fifteen minute break, but he left an hour ago, so there’s no telling.”

“Oh,” she said again. It was suddenly very difficult to swallow. “Great.”

“Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Gold? What’s going on with that gorgeous caddy? I’m surprised it’s giving you any trouble.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not Mr. Gold’s car. This is just… a family thing.”

“Oh, okay,” Billy said. Then he began to nod. “Oh that’s right, you were Manny’s niece!”

“I still am,” Lacey snapped, more angry than she wanted to be. “There’s no expiration date on being someone’s family.”

At least, she hoped not. 

Without saying more to Billy, she left the garage. Game of Thorns was on a dinky little side street in Old Town, only a block away from Marine Automotive. The location didn’t offer much opportunity for foot traffic, but it was the best the owners could get when they bought it. All the properties on Main Street, all the good places, were owned by Mr. Gold. Moe French took it as a point of pride that he owned the deed to his building, that he had paid off the mortgage in ten years. Owning property meant equity, it meant security, it meant being the lord of your own castle.

It meant he had something to sell to Mr. Gold when the cancer treatments had wiped out all their savings and the medical bills were still unpaid. It meant his family became tenants, renters in their own home, swallowed up in the financial ruin that came with tragedy.  

When they got married, Mr. Gold had given her this building as a wedding present. 

In the spring and summer the exterior of the shop hosted a riot of potted and hanging plants for sale. The front was covered in ivy, always advertising the greenery within. But on this winter afternoon, the ivy was dead. All the plants were kept inside. The store barely looked open  or alive at all. 

The front window display was themed for Valentine’s Day, one of the busiest days of the year. Faded red cloth provided a backdrop for limp paper hearts and plastic vases full of dusty fake roses. Of course, all the real flowers had been sold already. Cheap, plastic garlands were strewn haphazardly around the window. The whole thing looked so tawdry, so pitiful. 

She tried not to think of the hours Mom had spent every holiday, planning out designs for the displays. And then the hours more they had spent together, executing her vision. “It’s more than just color, Lacey-loo. There’s texture and balance and harmony--and always some memorable details. A good display will tell a story. That’s what makes people want to stop and look. And then come in and buy.”   

Dad was trying his best, she knew he was. But it wasn’t the same. Nothing could ever be the same again. 

Tempting as it was to linger in front of the window reminiscing, she knew she had to go inside. Mrs. Gold tried to press her fingernails into her palms, but then remembered she was wearing gloves. Right. So she would just have to do this without any of her usual crutches.

Great.

Game of Thorns smelled damp and moldy. Most people would say it smelled like flowers, but Lacey knew the smell of floral foam and pesticides, of fertilizer chemicals and a building that had been patched up with endless haphazard DIY projects for as long as she could remember.  

Refrigerated flower cases lined one wall, mostly empty. The flickering fluorescent lights provided most of the illumination in the store. There were overhead lights, but it looked like her father was keeping them off when there was no one in the store, to save on the electric bill. 

Merchandise was crammed into every inch of floor space, but she knew the path by heart. The tables of gifts and knickknacks, the shelves of mugs and boxes of chocolate, the helium tank and the display of balloons--nothing had moved. Except for the accumulation of dust, nothing had changed at all. 

That was Storybrooke for you. 

The cash register was in the back of the store. Did the drawer still stick when it rang out, or had Dad ever fixed it? He’d been saying he would fix it for years now. 

Behind the desk, someone was reading a newspaper. Lacey could tell it was a man, but the paper covered up his face. She stood in the middle of the floor--near the desk, but not close enough to touch the counter. Which one of them was behind the paper, her uncle or her father? Who was she going to see first, and how would they react to seeing her again?

She took a breath, and cleared her throat. 

The paper lowered. Long, curling hair in a neat center part emerged from the other side. Then raised, dark eyebrows and wide, dark eyes. The eyes lit up. The paper was cast aside.

Uncle Manny beamed at her and stood up. 

“Hey! Look who’s back!” Arms wide open, he walked around the desk to offer her a hug.

Lacey accepted his embrace and hugged him back. How long had it been since her last hug? Months or years? Uncle Manny’s coveralls smelled like metal and motor oil and aftershave. Smelling it made her feel like a kid in the best way--small and weak, but loved and valued.

She felt safe. 

Dad’s younger brother had never been married and never had children. But he had been around for Lacey’s whole life--another parent in the web of family love she’d grown up with, and then been away from for so long. Uncle Manny had an open enthusiasm that Dad never bothered with. She could show him her crayon drawings or her middle school science projects and he would shower her with praise. When she became valedictorian, he’d been so proud of her he actually cried. 

When the hug ended, she didn’t know what to say. Torn between saying nothing and saying everything, Lacey blurted out something completely stupid. “Your hair didn’t used to be so long.”

Uncle Manny laughed and clapped her on the back. “It was that cousin of yours, Janine. This past October she convinced me that if I let it grow out more, I wouldn’t look so much like a white man with an afro.”

Lacey let herself smile. “Well she would know. She’s the hair stylist.”

“I thought this would be better than getting it close-cropped. Curly hair is the French family trademark, you know.”

“I know.”

“Big hair and big brains, that’s us. All except for your father, but I think he’s adopted.”

Now Lacey giggled. The joke wasn’t funny, but it hadn’t been funny the first time Uncle Manny had told it to her when she was five years old. The funny part had been Lacey very carefully explaining to her uncle that Dad couldn’t be adopted, because that would mean she wasn’t really a French and that was impossible because she definitely had big hair and big brains.   

Uncle Manny had been so tickled by the exchange, he had repeated it at least once a month ever since. Dad--who his entire adult life had kept his hair so short that almost no one knew it could curl--had never thought it was very funny. Which only made it better as a joke. 

“It’s good to hear you laugh again,” he said. “It’s good to see you!” He held her by the arms and looked her up and down. “Yep, still pretty. You got that from Linda.”

That was a well-meaning lie. The Woolverton look was wispy blonde hair with bright blue eyes. Janine and Chloe looked like Mom in old pictures. Andrew had been the spitting image of Uncle Peter. Lacey had Mom’s eyes and Dad’s hair, but she didn’t really look like either one of them.   

She changed the subject. “How have you been? I’m sorry we haven’t talked much since…” She trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, the past unspoken, unspeakable.

Uncle Manny kept his hand on her upper arm. He looked her in the face, his dark eyes worried and painfully sincere. “You don’t need to apologize, kiddo. Not to me. Didn’t you hear that love means never having to say you’re sorry?”

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The quote was another family joke, a line from an old movie making fun of another old movie. Lacey repeated the words she knew by heart, she let the ritual of them comfort her. 

Why did it feel so strange to be here? This had been her home, this had been her family. For most of Lacey’s life, this had been her whole world. Had she really outgrown this place so much? Had she really let her marriage turn her into a different person?

Behind the thin walls, the steps up from the basement creaked and groaned under a heavy weight. She swallowed and her heart sank a little more as she automatically looked towards the door into the back room. 

Moe French came up from the basement, his arms full with a plastic-lined cardboard box that overflowed with flowers. Dad had always been a big bear of a man--gruff but loving, full of ideas and hope for the future. Lacey remembered the game when he would pick her up over his head and twirl her around. Mom made up a story that Lacey was a clever warrior who refused to slay a dragon, but had tamed it instead and now she could fly on it to anywhere in the world. 

Once Mom was gone, Dad had shrunk into himself, and the only thing bearish about him was his temper. A temper that Lacey had inherited and Mom wasn’t around to quell in either of them. 

“Oh,” he said when he saw her. “Mrs. Gold.” 

He took the time to put the box on the countertop before he turned and brushed his hands on his jeans. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. His baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes, so his expression was unreadable. 

“So, has the landlady decided it was time to start charging rent?”

She felt her expression change, felt her lips purse and her jaw clench. She felt her hackles raise, all without thinking about it. 

Uncle Manny spoke up. “Moe, come on. It’s just Lacey.”

“I know who it is.” Dad didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The judgement came through better when he sounded neutral. 

It really was a rare gift, the way he could mean so much while saying so little. Even now, he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. She was his landlady, she could start charging rent. Those were facts. But he said them like they were crimes. 

And it was a neat trick, too, because he never had to defend himself. Because he had never actually said anything mean. For most of her adolescence, Lacey had known how useless it was to rant about feeling belittled or shamed or trapped. She would never have a direct quote that she could repeat to him to make him understand how much he’d hurt her. 

Even now, she’d take a lifetime of Mr. Gold’s most obscene insults over hearing her father say “Fine,” with no emotion ever again.   

Mrs. Gold stepped away from her uncle and faced her father. She said “Hi,” and it felt like a declaration of war.  

Dad nodded. Without a word, he turned back to the box and began to pull out flowers. They were mixed roses--every color except white and red, which got their own packaging. He began to separate yellow from orange from salmon from magenta from pink.

Lacey’s heart skipped a beat at the pink roses. They were mom’s favorite. She’d always said they represented the best kind of love--sweet, gentle, light. Red roses were for the burning passion of new romance, and white roses were innocent and bridal. But pink roses were the compromise, the roses of marriage, of the simple love that warmed your heart and made every day a little brighter. A little spark of joy, those were pink roses for Mom.

And that was Mom for everyone who knew her. 

She wanted me to marry in spring, when the roses bloomed.

Wordless, Lacey walked over to the counter and watched Dad sort the flowers. He placed the ends of the stems under a cutter and pulled the blade down like a lever. It looked mercenary, but it was for the flower’s own good. You had to cut off the parts that were dead so they could take in more water and stay fresher longer. It hurt, but was a part of growing--or at least staying alive in a world that wouldn’t let you grow. 

After a few minutes, he stepped to the side, so there was enough room for her to stand beside him and help. If she wanted to.

That was the flip side of the way Dad said things without saying them--sometimes he could say nice things too. Sometimes it was easier for both of them not to talk. Then neither of them could say the wrong thing. She stood beside him, and began to place the sorted roses into different buckets filled with water and plant food. That way, he would have more room on the counter.

“Well, I guess I’ll get back to work,” Uncle Manny announced.

“Oh, do you have a job? I couldn’t tell,” Dad grumbled. 

Lacey snorted. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the slightest grin from Dad. 

Uncle Manny ignored the jab. “Lacey-girl, it was good to see you. You come and talk to me any time, okay?”

“I will.” She looked up from the flowers. “Thank you.”

“Ah, I gotta have one more hug!” Uncle Manny crossed the length of the store and wrapped his arms around her again. She felt the press of his lips on her curly French family hair. “Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you.”

“Aww, do I get a hug too?” Dad said. It would have been good-natured, if it didn’t sound so bitter. 

“Brother of mine, you’ll get a sock in the jaw if you drive our girl away again. I’ll go with her this time, she’s better company than you.”

“Get outta here, you mangy grease monkey.”

Uncle Manny went back to the garage and Lacey and Dad worked together in silence. When the box was empty, Dad wiped his hands on a green rag and handed it over for her to do the same. It had been Mom’s idea for all of the shop’s towels to be green. That way they wouldn’t get mixed up with the blue and pink towels they used at home. 

Lacey rubbed the rag between her finger and her thumb. The fabric was worn and scratchy, not like the big fluffy towels in Mr. Gold’s house. She kept her eyes on the ground. Dad hadn’t moved. He was waiting. 

They were both waiting for the other one to speak first. 

Papa, I’ve missed you.

It took her a minute, but finally she did the brave thing.

“Look,” Lacey said. “I guess I’m sorry it took me this long to come visit.”

She wanted to offer an excuse, but there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t be an outright lie. She hadn’t spoken to her father in years because she hadn’t wanted to. Because he made her angry and sad and made her remember things she’d rather forget. Because she had been too busy enjoying the better life she’d had as Mrs. Gold. 

Dad looked around, trying to find something to do. He began to move the buckets of roses into the flower case. “The shop was always here,” he said, not as gruff as he could have been. “You own the place, you could have come by any time.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” She’d taken her coat off to work, and now she clutched it over her chest. “I didn’t want to… embarrass you.”

Straightening up, Dad looked down at her. He was tall--a trait she had not inherited. His face was worn out, tired. Was he still disappointed in her?

“You didn’t have to do it, you know. Marry him. The rent wasn’t that overdue. I could have worked something out on my own.”

She’d married Mr. Gold on the day before Valentine’s Day. Two weeks after the January rent was due, one day before a huge influx of cash would be coming in for the store. If Mr. Gold had demanded that she marry him in lieu of rent, the timing could not have been more painfully tragic. 

But that wasn’t what happened. 

“I didn’t marry him for rent money, Dad. I married him because… because I wanted to.”

He grumbled and shook his head. Turning away, he reached into the bucket of yellow roses and counted out twelve blooms for a grab-and-go bouquet. Out of habit, Lacey went to her old place by the cash register and leaned over the counter. 

More silence. It was times like these when she missed Mom the most. Mom loved words, she lived in words. She understood how to talk so people would listen, and she never said the wrong thing. 

Dad counted out more bouquets, at least one for every color of roses. When he came to the bucket of pink roses, he lingered. It looked like he was trying to pick out the best ones, the largest, freshest blooms. As he had with all the others, he wrapped the bouquet in plastic and secured it with a rubber band. 

But instead of placing it in the display, he set it on the counter in front of Lacey. She didn’t pick it up, but put her hand over the stems. There were thorns on these roses, but they were still so beautiful. Beauty and pain, Mom would say sometimes. No life was complete without both.

“I don’t… understand,” he said slowly. “And I don’t want to understand. Why you would… want that. Want him.” Dad shook his head. He looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth.    

Lacey bit her lip. She waited for the rest of it. The condemnations, the accusations, the “we raised you betters.” She’d certainly heard enough of that once Mom got sick. Once she wasn’t everything he’d always wanted her to be.  

But Dad just sighed, and put his hand over hers on the bouquet. His big hand covered half her fingers, stopping at her wedding ring. “Your mother… would want you to be happy.”

He didn’t ask if she was happy, or if Mr. Gold made her happy, or if he could help her be happy. But somehow, it was enough. Just to hear him say it. Mom would want her to be happy. 

She knew what he meant.  

****

It was a long walk to the cemetery. She might have asked Mr. Gold if she could borrow the Cadillac, but she didn’t feel like telling him that she was going anywhere. It was none of his business.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been here. Her feet walked like they were separate from her mind along the rows of headstones. They took her where she needed to go without her having to think about it. 

Past the crosses and obelisks and statues of angels. The back of the cemetery wasn’t quite a potter’s field, but it also wasn’t as neat and well-maintained as the section by the gates. That was where the mausoleums were, the polished marble and memorial benches for people who used to be rich and influential. 

Even in death, there was no equality. 

Before she got where she was going, two tombstones stood out to her. Small and cheap and side by side. There were no decorations in the stone, no carved images or poems. Even adding dates would have been too expensive. All they had were words:

PETER HOWARD WOOLVERTON, BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER

ANDREW PETER WOOLVERTON, BELOVED SON AND BROTHER

“And uncle,” Lacey whispered as she stood by the graves. “And cousin.”

Unlike a lot of other headstones in this section, these had all the snow and moss and bird shit cleared off. There were flowers in the little vases, cloth bouquets that wouldn’t be affected by the cold. Daisies for Andrew, calla lilies for Uncle Peter. 

Lacey wondered who was maintaining the graves. Even though Aunt Terri hadn’t been in the car crash, she had been all but comatose ever since it had happened. She’d withdrawn into her own sadness, leaving Janine to hold herself and Chloe together. Did Janine have time to care for the dead? Did Aunt Terri have the will for it? Or was it a family decision, an event? Maybe mourning was the only thing all of them could do together anymore.  

Her family had been falling apart. They had been breaking at the seams while Mrs. Gold had strutted around like a prostitute, flaunting the money she had earned from being a fucktoy to the man who held all of Storybrooke in the palm of his hand.

Shaking her head, Lacey moved on. She wasn’t strutting now. She was hunched over in the cold, burdened by her memories. She had carried the plastic-wrapped bouquet all the way from town, through the neighborhoods and woods and into this lonely graveyard. 

It was two rows up from Andrew and Uncle Peter. This was a double headstone. Her father’s name was already carved onto it, right beside her mother’s. 

LINDA WOOLVERTON FRENCH

To Lacey, the grave looked like a double bed, like Mom had gone to sleep before Dad and was waiting for him to join her. Waiting for them to be together again at last.

There was already a bouquet here. Pink roses, brown and withered from at least a week’s worth of exposure to the cold. Was it wrong to leave Mom’s favorite flowers out here to die? Wouldn’t she think that was a waste?

But wasn’t death always a waste?

Crouching down, Lacey took the old bouquet and set the new one down in its place. The granite was dark and polished. She could see her own reflection in her mother’s grave. 

“Mom,” Lacey whispered.

Mama.   

For days now, she had been in a cycle of crying and being too worn out to cry. Ever since her fight with Mr. Gold, she’d felt like the world had ended. But the truth was that the world had ended before. The world had ended the day after she’d graduated high school, when Mom had gone to her doctor and come back with the diagnosis. Then the world ended a thousand more times: When she gave up her scholarship and her dreams of going to college, when Dad sold the store to Mr. Gold, every time there were new results from the doctor and none of them were good, every time Mom checked in to the hospital.

The time Mom didn’t check out of the hospital. 

The funeral, more costs, more spending money they did have. Less than a month afterward, Andrew and Uncle Peter tried to leave Storybrooke to interview for jobs that paid double what the cannery offered. They took the widowmaker highway. It lived up to its name.

Death and debt. Over and over. The world never stopped ending. 

“Mom, I’m sorry,” Lacey whispered. 

In hospice, the nurses had told them that hearing was the last sense to go, that they should keep talking even if she seemed unresponsive. Mom could hear her. Mom was listening, even if she wasn’t talking.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she didn’t stop them. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save us. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop any of it.”

She knew that it was irrational to blame herself for events that were beyond any human control. She knew Mom wouldn’t want her to think that. Mom wanted her to be happy.

“I’m sorry I only saved myself.”   

That’s what it had been, to marry Mr. Gold, to do whatever he said in exchange for whatever he would give. She had been running away from her old life, the life of poverty and scraping by. She’d escaped. She’d gotten out. She’d saved herself and never looked back. 

Until now. 

She hugged her arms over her chest. She thought of all the hugs she’d ever had, and all the hugs she’d never have again.

“You know, I thought it would be easy. To not love someone. Because God knows if you love someone, you can lose them. It destroyed Dad. It destroyed Aunt Terri. I thought it would be easier to just not bother loving the man I married. To marry someone who would never love me. It was just a deal.” Mrs. Gold closed her eyes and shook her head. “Just a deal.”

A sob racked through her. She fell on her knees and let her tears fall onto the snow.

I love him.

“I wasn’t supposed to love him! I didn’t want to love him. I thought I was safe with just sex. I thought that was all he wanted too.” 

But as soon as Mr. Gold had stopped demanding sex from her, as soon as he had started treating her with kindness--even that lukewarm politeness that she hated--then she had begun to see something real about him. Something that she just had to fall in love with. 

He is so good. It’s hard to find, but it’s there. He’s so loving, Mama. He loves me so much.

Hearing those thoughts in her head, thoughts that she wanted to believe but knew were lies, just made her break down even more. Maybe she was going crazy. Maybe all these years of grief and loss and hopelessness were finally compounding on themselves to the point where she was hearing voices. What other finale could there be to this joke of a life than to end up in some kind of asylum?

The snow was seeping through her coat. She had to stand. She had to get somewhere warm. She had to start walking. She had to go home.

Or at least, back to Mr. Gold’s house. 

“I miss you, Mom,” she whispered. “I wish you were here.”

I wish he could have met you.

****

She’d stopped crying by the time she got to the entrance of the cemetery. It wasn’t cold enough for her tears to freeze to her face, but her eyes were raw, and her skin was chapping in the wind. Her makeup was ruined and there was a trail of snot running down the front of her scarf. Not much she could do about it right now.

A black Mercedes-Benz was parked in front of one of the mausoleums. The car was smaller than Mr. Gold’s Cadillac, but newer and more luxurious. 

She picked up her pace. The last thing she wanted was for somebody to see her like this. Especially not someone as important as--

“Mrs. Gold?”

Fuck.

No! Not Regina!

Mayor Mills came out of the mausoleum that bore her family’s name. Like Lacey, she held a bouquet of withered flowers--white chrysanthemums, it looked like. 

Oh right. It was Wednesday. Every Wednesday Mayor Mills went to put flowers on her father’s grave. Everyone knew that. 

 How does everyone know that? 

Maybe if she stayed far enough away from the Mayor, she wouldn’t notice what a state she was in. So Lacey just nodded and kept on walking. 

But Mayor Mills didn’t give up. “Mrs. Gold, is that really you? I’ve never seen you so subdued.”

Run! Get away from her!

She couldn’t run. Now that the Mayor had seen her, she had to stop. She had to turn around and make polite small talk until she let her go. Before she turned around, she took a second to rearrange her scarf and put on a decent expression. 

“Well, it is a cemetery,” she tried. “You’re not supposed to be happy here, right?”

“But you look downright tortured, dear.” The Mayor’s face was full of concern. “Are you alright? Do you want to talk?”

This was the second time Mayor Mills had offered support to Mrs. Gold. The first time had been when she’d seen her in the alley with Dr. Whale. Just like then, Mrs. Gold had the strangest urge to confide in the Mayor. She wanted to tell her everything, everything about Mr. Gold and their marriage and how miserable she had been for so long. 

But the voice in her head had been screaming ever since Mrs. Gold turned around. Was that a sign that she was even crazier? This was an offer of help and her subconscious or whatever was reacting like the Mayor was holding a dagger to her throat. 

“I--” Mrs. Gold began. But it was hard to even speak over the racket in her thoughts. “I need to go.”

“Oh, let me give you a ride back into town.”

You made me walk barefoot through the snow, you merciless bitch!    

These fucking thoughts would only get worse if she got into the Mayor’s car. And she had enough of a headache as it was. 

“No, thank you, Madame Mayor. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Why, it’s no trouble at all! I’m happy to help someone in need.”

Get away from me, you monster!

“I’m sorry.” She began to back away. “Mr. Gold doesn’t like me to get in cars with anybody but him.”

The lie worked. The Mayor’s expression changed from insistent concern to sympathetic understanding. 

“Well,” she said, more huskily than she had been speaking before. “You’re a good girl for doing what Mr. Gold tells you to. Will you tell him that you saw me here? Let him know I’m always around for you, whenever you need me.”

The Mayor smiled, all red lips and white teeth.

Burn in every hell, you lying, murdering--  

“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Gold said loudly. She didn’t have time for the bullshit ramblings of her own head. “Have a good day, Madame Mayor.”

“And you as well, Mrs. Gold.”

[dawnwriterimagines]

Thomas Hewitt reaction to Soulmate s/o death

Thomas Hewitt

He didn't know how the boy got out, he just felt his entire body freeze up when he caught sight of his flailing arm's before the loud, desperate shriek of "HELP!" That left the terrified young man's broken jaw throbbing, running into the broad daylight away from the Hewitt household. On the other side of the house, a girl was running the opposite way, having already made it past the treeline.

The scream enough to startle the entire houses residents, including you, having you drop the glass jar in your hand in shock. The shattered glass was of little concern as you immediately sprang into action, cursing lightly as your eye's went wide and Thomas quickly stood to bolt out the door. His chainsaw was downstairs, no time the retrieve it, if that boy got to the main road, the family'd have a bigger problem on their hands.

Hoyt cussed sharply as he took his shotgun in hand, "Dammit! Wha' you done now, boy!?" He shouted at the large man, you took your knife off the counter as you followed Hoyt out the door.

"I'm sure it was an accident, we just need to get to him before he gets down the road!" You said, quickly beginning to break into a run, glaring down the path as the boy started to dissappear into the trees, Thomas right on his tail. "He's heading for the factory!" You yelled at Hoyt as he climbed into the car as Luda Mae and Monty stayed behind in the house.

Hoyt glanced over at the passenger side of the deputy Car, it was open...his hand gun was missing from the dashboard. His eyes widening and he cursed loudly before stepping on the gas, he'd need to get to them before they reached that kid.

You ran faster, your legs pumping, it didn't take you long before you were right beside Thomas, the both of you charging towards the adrenaline filled escapee with a killer intent that clearly terrified him. He was heading straight for the trees, weaving and zig-zagging all over the area, luckily you both knew this terrain better than anyone.

You jumped over the fallen log, sliding past the muddy slope before diving for the boys legs, the both of you going down and rolling into the mud. He screamed loudly, before his face was plunged into the mud, you both however tumbled down into a ditch. Thomas letting out a loud grunt of worry before making his way down as you struggled with the kid, your husband finally taking hold of his wrist before snapping it before he could hit you.

He screamed, you stood as the boy writhed in the giants grip before kicking out his legs as he was lifted with ease. "No! No! Nooo!" He raged, squirming and flailing before his neck was snapped with ease. Thomas let the now silent boy fall to the muddy ground, a wet slap meeting your ears and you panted lightly. You both straightened before you finally felt the throbbing pain along your ribs, you groaned lightly before Thomas reached out.

You smiled faintly, "I'm fine, just a little bruise." You assured him, before he let a small breath go, whining audibly and letting his head fall. "Don't worry, Tommy. Accidents happen, it's not your fault," you reached for his masked face, running as thumb over the bloody residue along his chin, humming pleased as he calmed. He took your hand in his, pressing your skin further onto his before you felt a surge of color envelop your sight and you smiled. Your soulmate creating a dazzling array of color in your eye's, once the only color you had ever seen was red. Until you'd met Thomas and life was just alittle more livelier, definetly more colorful.

"Thomas!" You both heard suddenly.

You looked up, Thomas already sighing and you placed a comforting hand on his chest. "Hoyt!" You called back, "We're coming, we got him!"

"Do you see the gun?" He asked from a few yards away.

You both looked at one another before you leaned down, turning the dead boy over before checking him, "N-no. Why? Is it miss--" you jumped as a gunshot when off.

Thomas roared in pain, curling over as he held his side; you screamed in horror before rushing over, "Tommy!" your eye's scanning the trees. Your wide eye's catching sight of a girl, another victim who had escaped you guessed, holding a gun which she fumbled to take the safety off of. "You!" You seethed before without thinking dashing over, keeping low until you were right in front of her. Raising your knife, stabbing through her shoulder into her neck, just as the gun went off.

Thomas stiffened, standing on shaky legs, he didn't feel right, not just from the shot to his side, suddenly his vision was fading; more specifically the vibrant colors that once surrounded him. He quickly made his way over to you, horrified to find the girl now scrambling to her feet a knife in her gut as she cried in agony. You turned over on the ground, a hand over your stomach, the peach blouse he loved so much was covered in blood.

He roared in rage, his eyes watering before he was charging into the girl, whom began screaming frightfully unable to move as the beast of a man slammed her head directly into the rocky side of the ditch. She gurgled with a groan of pain as he let her fall, blood leaking from her dented forehead as she could feel her skull had splintered. It wouldn't be long for her.

Thomas collapsed next to you, desperately pressing his large hand into your stomach, whimpering apologetically as you cried out at the contact. You shook as you began to bleed out, Thomas took you in his arms, nudging your forehead with his, "You'll be ok," his voice was rough and he struggled to sound convincing when he could feel the heavy tears across his face.

You panted as Hoyt found the edge of the ditch, "Aw, shit! Come on, darlin', we've got ya," he extended his hands to take you from Thomas as the both of you made it out the deep ditch.

Everything went to shit the moment you got to the house. Luda Mae screamed at the sight of your paling form, the way Thomas cleared the table setting you down and everyone was quick to go looking for supplies. "Get the needles, in the room! The alcohol, in the covered!" Luda pointed out as she cradled your face as your eye's crossed as Thomas pressed down into your stomach to halt the bleeding. "Open your eyes for me, baby. That's it, we've got ya," she tapped your cheeks and you blinked, groaning before managing a smile.

"Tommy," you whimpered as Hoyt then cut open your shirt, your undergarments of little concern to the normally perverted old timers. He took your hand, kissing your palm, the blood upon your fingertips drove him mad and he looked away from you. The room was turning grey, the only person that held any actual color now was you, the blood that stained your perfect skin...

Luda Mae pouring the half pint of alcohol over your gun wound, alarmed when you hadn't responded at all to the normally agonizing burning. Your husband couldn't look at you, his cloudy eyes could hardly see anything in front of him as he sobbed silently, he failed you, you were bleeding out in front of him. "Thomas...Tom--" you gasped out, your hand reaching out to him before it fell.

Then he turned, looking directly at you as you went quiet.

Your eye's were open only slightly, but held no life, still and grey now. Your lips blue and not a breath escaped, you were gone.

Thomas couldn't breathe. He felt his heart clench and twist painfully, he then leaned forwards taking your face in his hands just as everyone else came to the same conclusion. Luda Mae stumbling backwards, Hoyt coming to her side to envelop her in an embrace as she broke down while Monty shook his head, breathing out a mournful sigh.

Thomas rubbed his thumbs across your skin, blood tracing over your pale cheeks as he sniffled and tried to coax you awake. "(Y/n)," he sobbed lowly, whimpering helplessly as your life had slipped through his fingers. "Don't go, don't leave..." he sputtered as he gathered you into his arm's as held your limp body tight. He hiccuped, breathing heavily; he shook violently, his ears ringing. This couldn't be real.

You couldn't be gone.

Please, this isn't real....

But, despite all of his prayers you didn't wake up, your cold body now producing no warmth and he doubted he'd ever feel love ever again.

You were buried next to the house, a bundle of flowers, colorless now, set down by Thomas every week, although he sat by your side everyday. He'd talk to you, little by little, sometimes he'd just cry; other times he'd find your favorite book and stutter over his words as he'd attempt to read to you. He remembered when you did it for him, combing a hand through his hair at night before kissing him lovingly.

It was a month later, Thomas was coming over with a bundle of what he hoped were roses, he couldn't see anything but white and black anymore. Then, he came to your grave, immediately beginning to sob as he ran over; there, growing out of your resting place a sprouting flower bud. The vibrant green across the dry grey land made his heart leap and he fell to his knees, his large hands hovering over the silently budding remnant of you.

How he missed you...

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Day 11

 Prompt: Pick your favorite soulmate AU and write about it. For this, I’ve chosen to do: ‘Everyone is born with a ring on their finger that changes color with your soulmate’s mood, turning pink when you touch for the first time. When they die, the ring turns black and falls off, turning to dust.’ Combined with a Reincarnation AU.

Word Count: 4,186

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He sat on his mat, legs curled beneath him. His eyes strained to see in the dim light provided by the moon. Even so, he was only looking for one thing and he knew exactly where it should be. Staring at his hands, he used one to gently feel around the other, desperate to know it was a dream. The searching hand found what it wanted and it flew to his mouth, stifling the horrified gasp that surely would have woken his sister if he’d let it out. 

Carefully, he stood and made his way to stand by the window, the ashes of his soul ring cupped in his palm. He felt the tears rolling down his cheeks but he did nothing to wipe them away, instead focusing on keeping his grief quiet. His sister would learn in the morning but this was his burden to carry, not hers. 

Even so, he stood there, staring at the remnants of his soulmate and mourning for a person he never got to meet nor love, long enough for the sun to come up. His sister shifted in her sleep before waking, rolling to find a warmth that wasn’t there. ‘Brother?’ She called out, voice heavy with sleep.

He turned back to the room, a smile breaking behind the tears. ‘It’s alright, I’m here.’

She nodded, curling back into the warmth of the mat. ‘Cows need to be milked.’

‘I’ll do that.’ He walked to the table and grabbed a cheese cloth, gently laying the ashes in the center and folding it up, storing it in his pocket before he went to milk the cows while the dew was still wet on the grass and the air was still heavy with mist. That night, he took some leftover fabric and sewed a pocket into the inside of his shirt. There, he stored the ashes close to his heart, living with them and the memory until his own death.”

~

“She sat on the throne, looking out over the court. Glancing down at her soul ring, she saw it turn a seething red of anger. In this instant, she was inclined to agree with the soulmate she’d never met. In her youth, she’d dreamed of adventuring and meeting him, knowing he was out there somewhere. She’d always been excited to travel to other kingdoms, even if it meant pretending to look for suitors. She’d always glanced around every corner, hoping that was the one he’d be behind. 

That was her youth. She’d wasted it searching for someone who was outside her range of travel. She’d thrown it away for the silly notion of love and soulmates, not realizing that that was something only the common folk got to have. So, she’d eventually settled down with a nice, if dull, prince that made a strong alliance with the vulnerable kingdom next door. It had been a happy life, if as dull as her husband.

She looked out over the crowd, the soldiers standing in her court, the foreigners who had the audacity to invade her kingdom and slaughter her husband right in front of her. Suddenly, her trusted lady-in-waiting came up beside her, leaning to speak in her ear. ‘A word, my queen?’

She looked at her for a moment, trusting with her life. Bowing her head, she rose and stepped behind the curtain that led to a small room off to the side. Her lady-in-waiting’s smile was tinged with sadness as she adjusted her spectacles before smoothing out the queen’s pale blue dress. ‘I have something to confess, my queen.’ She was startled but nodded for her to continue. ‘My soul ring turned pink the first time we met. I suspect yours did too but it was hidden under your gloves.’

Before she could fully process that her soulmate was her lady-in-waiting, her best friend, her closest confidant, the door was ripped open and the men were forcing their way in. The next instant, red met blue as life faded from one set of eyes while tears sprang to another set. Soon, black was fluttering to the ground to mix with the red, purple pooling beneath knees as sharp cries of anguish wrent the air.”

~~

“He pulled on the back of a shirt, saving the man from slipping on the ground slick with drink. The war was over and many were celebrating, but not him. After all, he had nothing to celebrate. There would always be more hate, more violence, more bloodshed in the world. So, he did his best to help where he could but he mainly just stayed out of the way. 

The man smiled and sat opposite him, not talking but looking at his hands. Looking back up, he looked into his eyes and smiled again. ‘I guess I should say hello, soulmate.’

He shushed him, hunching in on himself and trying to keep his hands hidden. ‘Are you really trying to get us arrested?’

The joy in his eyes faded. ‘Right. Those stupid laws are still in effect.’

He nodded. ‘I guess we should say goodbye.’

His soulmate reached out, hands brushing. ‘Does it have to be so soon? Are we not allowed to at least enjoy each other’s company for a few minutes?’

He looked at him, cynicism in his eyes. ‘Is it better to have gotten to know each other, to have loved and lost, to carry that ache across the years until age or circumstances rids the earth of us? Or is it better to have met, to have known the other existed, and gone on our separate ways before getting attached?’

His soulmate looked down into his drink, his hand retreating.’“You’re right, of course. I just thought it’d be nice. To have memories to hang onto, to know something about the person made for you. I’ve only gotten to know you in one other life and you already seem so different. Forgive me for being excited to know you in this life.’

It was his turn to reach out, to take his hand, to gently brush his thumb over the back of his hand. ‘I know. I wish that were possible too. But we both know it’s not. We both know that society and circumstances have not made it to be so. All we can do is wait for our next lives and hope they are better than this one.’

He nodded, giving his hand a tender squeeze before standing and disappearing into the crowds. They never met again in that life but he looked back on that conversation fondly and wept when his ring turned to ash.”

~~~

“The boy in front of him glared, not backing down. ‘No! You leave him alone, you big bully!’

He looked to the larger, older boy in front of his protector. This one was mean looking and was clearly not going to leave them alone until he got what he wanted. So, he pulled on his protector’s sleeve, gaining his attention. As he did so, he could feel the memories of three other lives settle into place, memories of this boy as a stately handmaiden and as a grizzled soldier sitting next to the memory of mourning someone he had yet to meet and never had in that life. 

He stumbled slightly, his protector and soulmate catching him. The older boy pushed past them, grabbing the thing he wanted and leaving them there. He curled into his soulmate, clinging tightly. ‘Don’t leave! Please, don’t leave me!’ He cried, knowing what it meant to be alone.

His soulmate shushed him gently, pulling him closer. ‘Of course not. I’ll always be here for you.’

His soulmate couldn’t have possibly known that he would get adopted the very next week, leaving him alone once again. Another life went by, longingly staring at the shifting colors on his ring and hoping to see his face in the streets. He never did see him again in that life.” 

~~~~

“He walked across the busy road, shoes slapping against the cobblestones in his haste to get to the other side. He glanced back to see someone crossing just behind him. Looking back up, a large carriage with a mean-looking driver came straight at the intersection. 

On instinct, he turned back, pushing the man behind him out of the way. He had just enough time to see their soul rings turn pink, tears gathering in his soulmate’s eyes, before he was trampled under the horses hooves.

He lay staring at the sky, his whole body aching as he struggled to breath. Someone knelt next to him, hands coming to either side of his face. ‘What’s your name?’ His soulmate asked desperately.

He didn’t have time to respond, his hand curling into his soulmate’s shirt as the light slipped from his eyes.”

~~~~~

“She stood at the stove, feeling the heat on her skin with her mind elsewhere. It was across the street, with the pretty housewife that looked so nice in pale purple, the one that made her ring turn pink. She’d known what that’d meant when they’d met, everyone knew what that meant. That didn’t mean anything in this world, where fate was cruel but society was crueler. So, there she stood, staring at the liquid bubbling on the stove while she thought of the smile that should have been for her, the laughter that always rang out the loudest when she told a joke. 

The front door opened and she knew her husband was home. The one her parents had said she’d have to marry, the one who’d asked for her hand for the prestige and children. She glanced at the knife beside her, head running wild with thoughts of taking the meat cleaver to her husband’s skull and running off with her soulmate. 

Instead, she picked up the ladle and sampled the soup, knowing the whim would never work. So, she lived her life, looking at her love over the garden gate, so close but too far.”

~~~~~~

“He set his bag down, looking around at the boarding school. He saw a lone boy, sitting off to the side. Thinking this was a good opportunity to make a friend, he walked over and tried to introduce himself. ‘Hi! I’m new here!’

The boy looked up at him, barely taking his attention from the book in his hands. ‘That’s nice.’

He was undeterred. ‘I’m-’

The boy shut the book with a snap. ‘I’m not interested in knowing anyone. I’m not here to make friends, and I don’t care what your name is.’ With that, he stood and walked away.

He didn’t get the chance to talk to him again until graduation. Even then, it was only briefly as the upperclassman shook his hand. He watched as their rings turned pink. Soon, the ceremony was over and he was running after the boy. ‘Wait!’ 

He sighed but did as asked, turning in his path to allow him to catch up. When he did, the older boy spoke first. ‘So, we’re soulmates. Do you think that changes anything?’

He shook his head, having grown from the naive boy he’d been. ‘No, I know it doesn’t. All I ask is that you give me a call if you do change your mind.’ He handed him a card with the number to his father’s law office that he was set to inherit.

The boy nodded and took the card. ‘Fine, I can make that deal. Don’t be disappointed if you never get a call from me.’

He waited for that phone to ring but knew it was useless the second his ring turned to ash in the middle of a courtroom. He had to excuse himself to wrap the ashes in a handkerchief, storing it near his heart and wiping tears away for the boy he’d never gotten to love.”

~~~~~~~

“She’d been going about her evening as usual, preparing a cup of tea, when a frantic knocking could be heard at her door. She put her mug down, pulling a shawl around her shoulders as she approached the door. ‘Who is it?’ She called.

Looking at her soul ring, she recognized the pale gray of desperation and hurried to yank it open, knowing what had happened. She’d met her soulmate a few years ago and knew just by looking at her that it was a clearly platonic relationship. The old woman held her arms out for the young teen that soon buried herself in her arms. ‘It’s storming again, Auntie.’

She laughed softly, petting the skittish girl’s hair as she ushered her inside. ‘I know dear. I’m sorry I didn’t expect you to be coming over. Would you like a cup of tea?’

The teen finally pulled away, curling around a pillow on the sofa. ‘That’d be nice, thank you.’

She nodded and moved to make another cup, her thoughts wandering. This was their ninth time together but the only one they’d ever known each other for besides their second life. She would never know if any of those were meant to be platonic or romantic but they sure were treasured. 

She finished making the cup and came to sit beside her soulmate. The teen uncurled slightly, the blanket around her shoulders staying in place but the pillow in her lap sliding down a bit. ‘I used to love thunderstorms you know?’

‘Was that in a past life or in this one?’ The older woman sat in her rocker, pulling a blanket over her lap and picking up the knitting from the basket. 

‘The first life. The rain never really got that intense in the mountains, so we only really saw the lightning from afar. It felt like a treat every time that happened.’

She hummed. ‘That must have been nice.’ She’d been indifferent to thunderstorms in all but one life and that was for a reason unrelated to the soul before her.

Their evening progressed as usual. The teen sipped her tea and calmed her nerves before picking up the book she’d been reading to the older woman, quickly flipping to where they’d stopped last and picking up from there. It was a quiet night, one of peace and little excitement. Then again, that was how she preferred it.”

~~~~~~~~

“He was looking through books, eyes scanning the spines. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for but he knew he’d know it when he found it. He looked with a fervor few would understand, as if he were drowning and the next book to catch his attention would be the air he needed. So, his finger trailed along the spines, checking how each book made him feel before he moved onto the next one, desperate for a book to catch his attention long enough for him to decide to check it out of the library.

He didn’t see the person until he’d run into her. Backing away quickly, he apologized. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.’ 

She just shrugged, bending to pick up the book she’d dropped. Her eyes paused on her hand. Looking down, he saw the pink soul ring. He smiled, bending down to help. ‘I guess I should be saying hello too.’

She giggled, a bubbling laugh that was sweet as sugar. ‘There’s no need for that.’ They both straightened up and she tucked her short hair behind her ear. ‘How about you just tell me what you’re looking so desperately for instead?’

He nodded. ‘I was simply looking for something to touch my very soul. Something so mind provoking or heart wrenching that it would surely evoke some sort of reaction from me.’

‘You use awfully big words there.’ Her hand bunched in her skirt as she stood, as if she didn’t want it there and would have much preferred trousers. 

‘There are times where large words are needed to convey large or complex ideas.’ He’d gotten into using the largest words he could whenever he could as it kept his family from pulling him out of a book to ask a question. 

She smiled. ‘That is true. There are many concepts that are easier to grasp using the harder words. However, it is also easier to use smaller words in order to fully engage with an audience. Do you concur?’

Thus, they spent the rest of the day getting to know each other. Sadly, he never saw her again when she left. A few weeks later, his soul ring turned to ash. The next day’s paper spoke of a woman going about in men’s clothes and being killed for it. He remembered the way his soulmate held himself in the skirt, the way he kept his hair as short as he was allowed and knew that his soulmate’s fate had just been told to him.”

~~~~~~~~~

Virgil closed the book and had to sit back in his chair. “Oh, shit.” He muttered.

Remus looked up from his drawing. “What happened?”

“Oh, nothing. This book just described my past life in complete detail as far as my soulmate knew.”

Remus nodded, pausing his search for the perfect red. “That sounds like your soulmate wrote it. Do you remember anything from the other lives?”

Virgil shrugged. “I mean, I’m lucky I remember that one. After all, most people don’t remember their past lives until they’ve met their soulmate.”

“That’s true. Do you know who wrote it?”

“Yeah.” Virgil flipped the book over to look at the author’s name. “Logan Ackroyd.”

Remus pulled his phone out and did a simple search, pulling up a video first. He moved from his spot on the floor to come sit beside his friend. He pressed play on the video, an interview with the author after his most recent book came out. 

“Tell me, Mr. Ackroyd, how do you come up with your stories?”

The man in the blue suit that Virgil would not admit was incredibly handsome laughed. “I actually get some scenes from my dreams. Most of my stories started as a scene midway through the plot that I then had to scramble to come up with the rest of the story for.”

“What do you do with the idea once you have it?”

“I generally will write it down as soon as I can so as not to lose it. Then, I’ll try to figure out what led the characters there and where they would go from it. Using that as a jumping point, I’ll then plan out the whole novel with a messy outline. That outline gets cleaned up before I start working on the actual piece of literature.”

“So you do think your work counts as literature?”

He sighed. “Literature is a word used to describe anything that has been written down. The word is generally used today to refer to great works of writing but the original usage of the word is still in effect today. Nevertheless, my writing has merit and is not to be discounted simply due to it being primarily same sex romance.”

The interviewer nodded. “Of course. My apologies, Mr. Ackroyd.”

The video ended and Remus went back to the previous tab, scrolling through the search. “It says here he’s having a book signing at the local bookstore in a few days. It’s a walk in kind of thing. He also doesn't seem  to be a big name just yet so it’s a good chance you’ll be able to meet him.”

Virgil bobbed his head side to side as he thought. “Yeah, or it could turn out to be a major coincidence and I embarrass myself in front of a bunch of people.”

Remus sighed. “Best case scenario?”

“We’ll be soulmates and we can live a life together.”

“Worst case scenario?”

“He’s not my soulmate and I get mocked and humiliated in front of a large crowd.”

“Most likely to happen?”

Virgil scrunched his nose. “I’ll wimp out and just get a book signed, not even mentioning soulmates.”

Remus nodded. “Good. Shoot for the best case, understand most likely could happen, don’t think about the worst case.”

Virgil emptied his lungs in one long breath before sucking air back in. “Okay. I can do this.” He shook his head once before he opened the book back to the front cover. “Time to reread this whole thing in two days.”

“Dude! That’s a really thick book!”

Virgil smiled. “I used to be able to go through books twice this size in that same time span. It’ll be fine.”

True to his word, Virgil finished the book in time for the signing. He went to the bookstore cafe combo and watched the staff set up the book signing area. The line wasn’t too long as it was so he finished his drink before joining it.

As he stood there, his eyes were drawn to his soul ring. He’d never paid much attention to it in his life but now he was trying desperately to take his mind off his anxiety. So, he put his feet on autopilot and let his mind rattle around trying to remember the meaning for the soul ring colors. His ring was blue, which meant that his soulmate was calm.

He got to the front of the line and moved to place his book on the table, only for Logan to reach for it at the same time. Their hands brushed and their eyes locked as the object passed between them. In that one moment, Virgil remembered all his past lives, from the city boy who’d died too early to a trans man whose life was taken from him. 

Logan was the first one to pull back, a small gasp escaping his lips at the rush of memories, each lining up with a book he’d written. He blinked, shaking his head as he tried to reorient himself. “May I know who I’m signing this to?” He asked as he opened the book to the front page.

“Virgil Dolle.” His hands twisted together as he tried to stop himself from being too overwhelmed by the rush of memories.

Logan nodded, writing something on a pair of notecards as well as signing the book. One notecard was stuck into the book, the other going into the pocket designed to hold the soul ring ashes. “Alright, Virgil, have a great day.” He handed the book back with a smile.

Virgil walked off, still dazed. Having been here before, the feet that had yet to be taken off autopilot took him to his favorite nook for reading. He curled up in it and looked at the autograph and notecard. The autograph read, ‘To my soulmate, Virgil Dolle. May you have as much joy reading this as I did writing it, Logan Ackroyd.’

His handwriting was strong and sure, no ink blots to show hesitance. Virgil decided he liked it. Picking up the notecard, he read that too. ‘I’m sorry I took so long to find you. It’s almost silly that you were right under my nose the whole time. I hope you can stay long enough for me to finish this and we can have a proper talk.’

Virgil smiled as he put the notecard back in the book. He decided to stay as he scanned the shelves to his left, looking for anything that caught his eye. He remembered that he’d found Logan’s book on this very shelf and a fondness filled his heart. He waited there for a few hours, playing games on his phone, browsing books, and getting up occasionally to order a drink or snack and silently let Logan know he was still there.

He was back in his nook, scrolling through a fanfiction and eating a honey-glazed bun when Logan appeared in his line of sight. He sat down beside him and stretched, his arms reaching above his head. Virgil giggled. “Long day?” He asked, his earlier nerves nowhere to be found as he was perfectly content in this space with someone he’d known for a thousand years.

Logan groaned. “The longest.” He laid his head on Virgil’s shoulder as Virgil turned off his phone and placed his snack on a napkin. They stayed like that for a minute, just soaking in the company neither had known they’d missed until they’d found it again.

Finally, Logan sat up. “Tell me about yourself.”

Virgil smiled. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything you’re willing to share. I want to know you and be known by you, I want to see what I’ve been missing the whole time we’ve been apart. I want to love you the way I was never allowed to love you. I want to know everything you have to say about a topic, your opinions on things, I want to know how your brain works.” Logan shrugged. “I want to know about you.”

Virgil smiled. “Well, I guess my birth is a good place to start.” 

So, they stayed in that bookstore café for a few more hours, telling each other their life stories and how they’d been caused to meet. They exchanged numbers and talked for hours on end about anything and everything, trying to make up for lost time.

[quillandink333]

Bereavement ~ Part III

BotW Link X Zelda

Rating: M

Word Count: 1.6k

WARNINGS: graphic depictions of violence, blood and gore, major character death

Summary: In the wake of the Great Calamity, Link mourns the sudden loss of his beloved princess, who never succeeded in unlocking the sacred power to seal Ganon away.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Masterlist

The time for retribution was now. I let the light of the heavens surge through me. With the combined power of the sacred blade and wish-granting relic completely at my disposal, there was very nearly nothing of which I was incapable. I closed my eyes. With enough focus, soon enough, the soles of my feet were leaving the ground, starting with my heels and ending with my toes. I rose higher and higher into the sky until I was face-to-face with my enemy.

The creature looked straight at me. Its eyes were burning embers, its fangs ten times the size of stalagmites. I was staring death itself in the face. And yet, there wasn’t a hint of fear lingering in my chest.

Ganon lunged at me, its massive jaws unhinged.

I dodged it, soaring high above its head in a matter of seconds.

A grin creeped its way onto my face. Perhaps it would be fun to play with this thing for a short while.

Ganon charged.

I ducked to the south, heart racing with exhilaration.

It charged again, a little disoriented. This time I decided to quite literally give it the runaround.

I had to laugh. Either I was moving at blinding speeds, or Calamity Ganon was as slow as a snail in sand. I let it chase me in circles for a bit, slowing my pace so it could keep up. Then I zigzagged to the side.

Its head turned in every direction. It almost looked dizzy. Then it spotted me.

I dodged its bite yet again, infuriating it even more.

I continued leading our little dance a while longer, wanting to give the beast a fighting chance before I slew it. But no matter how strong its desire to kill me, like it did her, I always stayed an inch out of reach.

Ganon waled in frustration, making the very air shiver. It made another pitiful advance. Again, I waited until the very last second to glide out of the way.

Just when it seemed ready to try and close in on me from above, the beast stopped, fangs dripping with bloodlust and eyes trained on me. I remained still, mocking its inefficacy.

Boom

A beam of red-hot energy just barely missed my cheek. I winced, following its trajectory. Far in the distance, I could see a mountainous cloud of smoke billowing up from an enormous, black crater.

The shot had come from the southwest, from Gerudo Valley. There, I spotted the divine beast once controlled by Lady Urbosa, Vah Naboris, glowing a menacing scarlet and towering threateningly. It stood nearly as high as the shelf it stood upon. It was preparing to fire again.

I felt a rush of adrenaline.

From all four corners of the map, the divine beasts were aiming in my direction.

I glanced up at my original opponent, whose gaping jaws almost appeared to be smiling down at me.

With no time to think, I opened my left hand and held it out in front of me. In it appeared a bow, crafted from a rich, golden crystal, the likes of which I never could’ve imagined.

The beast charged, and I leapt out of the way. It seemed to move at thrice the speed it had before.

Raising the bow of light, I drew it back to my ear, and there appeared an arrow of similar composition already nocked to the string. I took aim at Vah Ruta in the southeast and let my arrow fly.

There was no time to watch it land.

Another beam came straight toward me. I’d just barely managed to see it in time.

It seemed my first shot had missed its target. I tried again, adjusting my aim and praying to no god in particular that I wouldn’t be slaughtered before I could release it.

To my relief, my second arrow flew true toward the beast controlling the machine. A flash of light went off as it hit its mark. The smaller creature’s screams were loud enough to be heard all the way from Central Hyrule.

Just three more, and the monstrosity that had taken my princess’ life would be done for.

It took every ounce of my focus and willpower combined to take down each automaton one by one. Even so, the destruction that occurred in the time it took me to do so was beyond description. In every direction, smoke was rising up, completely obscuring the horizon. I could only imagine how many lives had been lost in this horrific massacre.

I could no longer contain myself. I’d had enough.

My emotions spilled over in an eruption of a battle cry. Sword extended, I charged at my enemy and thrusted the blade deep into its undeveloped skull.

The beast writhed in agony at my unyielding hand. I willed my power to flow forth, letting it grow ever stronger and mightier. The earth trembled. Another blood-curdling shriek spewed from the spectral being’s vast jaws as it was slowly torn apart.

I felt something dark and sinister crawl beneath my skin as I watched the creature wriggle beneath me like a worm in the clutches of a hungering bird’s beak. I envisioned Zelda’s mutilated dead body, and the searing heat of the explosion that had killed her. The memory made my blood boil. It fuelled the flame in my core until it became a towering inferno high enough to reach the heavens.

The sword’s light grew brighter and brighter, enveloping both me and the beast and swallowing up everything in sight. Then in an instant, the light imploded, and the whole world went black.

When I opened my eyes, the sight that greeted me was a ray of golden sunlight peaking out from behind the white clouds.

I brushed the hair out of my face. I was splayed out on my back. The scorched grass I was lying on must’ve been all that had broken my fall when I’d lost consciousness. Somehow, though, I had no trouble sitting up. When I did, I spotted the Master Sword lying on the ground just a few feet away from me, its glow gone.

I stood myself up. The last thing I could recall was my hand being fully submerged in Ganon’s murky, coagulated form. But now, there wasn’t a trace of malice on me. Upon closer inspection, it seemed I’d sustained no injuries of any kind. This, I surmised, was the power of the Golden Goddesses.

The Goddesses... They were the ones who’d put me up to this task. And for what? Now that it was done, what was I meant to do? Where was I meant to go? It seemed the whole world was up in flames. Even if there were survivors, even if I’d saved civilization from certain doom, I had already lost everything. My kingdom, my home, my friends and family, and of course, my very reason for being.

Precious memories of her once again flooded my mind. Zelda, my joy, my angel, my everything, who’d made life worth living simply with the power of her radiant smile.

Then I was hit by the memory of how that radiance had been snuffed out like the flickering flame of a candle. How her body had been ruptured and carved open like that of a little bird struck down by an arrow. How the sight and scent and sound of her trying to move in that state had made bile rise up from the bottom of my throat. My shaking hands came up to cover my mouth.

I collapsed onto my hands and knees. Despite my triumph over Calamity Ganon, I now knelt in complete and utter defeat.

“Link...”

My heart stopped at the faint but unmistakable voice. It was impossible, and yet...

“Link.”

There it was again, this time clearer and stronger. My head snapped up, eyes widening.

“Zelda...!”

Right there in front of me, levitating just above the ground, was my lost love. Though she now took on a pale and hazy appearance, she’d returned to her beautiful, shining self. Engraved in her smile was the light of a thousand suns, just as it had once been.

I tried to speak, but no words came out. For a moment, the thought that I’d died and become a spirit like her passed my mind. But then the feeling of fresh tears trickling down my cheeks and of the earth beneath me brought me back to reality.

The grass swayed in the soft breeze as she knelt down on her knees in front of me. She tilted my chin up with feathery fingertips.

Her eyes gazed deeply into my own, gently rippling like ringlets in a pond. She held my face in her two flawless palms. Her lips brushed mine, not altogether there, though they were just as soft and just as warm as they’d always been. The tears that had formed behind by eyelids couldn’t remain contained, after I’d tried so hard to hold them back for just a little while longer. Then before I could shed any more, it was over.

My lips chased after hers as she drew away, withdrawing her dainty hands from my damp cheeks. She rose, then spoke what would be the last two words she ever said to me.

“Thank you.”

Just like that, she vanished in a wisp of aquamarine.

I let out the sob I’d been holding in, my arms clutching onto one and other as I bent down toward the cold, lifeless ground.

From this day forward, there would be no more holding hands. No more late-night excursions away from prying eyes. No more warm embraces or sweet words of comfort in the low moments. No more waking up in the castle each and every day giddy at the thought of seeing her face once again.

At least now, she could finally be at peace.

[kettlequills]

prisoner of the skein 3

A03. TW: Morning After, post rough non-explicit sex. Consensual kink, biting, injury, some suicidal ideation, spiders, force-feeding, possessiveness and control, and unhealthy relationships, minors dni. FDB! Laat/LDB! Miraak: a morning in Whiterun.

Miraak woke with a groan. His body was a giant bruise. Sharp pain had him pressing his back flat into the furs before he got too adventurous about moving. Breezehome was dark and still, though Miraak could hear distantly the sounds of another busy spring day in Whiterun through the wooden walls. His silencing spells must have expired and jolted him from his rest, short though his gritty eyes told him it had been.

“Laataaz?” Miraak called weakly. He could not see the First Dragonborn lurking nearby, but that did not mean they weren’t there. It was unlike them to leave him if he was injured, even – especially – when they were the one who had done it.

His voice was raspy and his throat felt shredded. He remembered fragments of their activities, mostly overshadowed by the intensity of the sensations and how close he’d been to repeatedly passing out, but he didn’t remember screaming that much. Or whatever Laataaz had done to him was the sort of thing that felt like an excellent idea at the time, and when morning came, the consequences on his mortal body swiftly corrected the illusion. Well, until Laataaz looked at him that certain way again, all power and command and strength, and Miraak’s better judgement folded like a house of cards to kneel worshipfully at their feet.

With a crumpling sigh, the darkness stepped forward until it resolved into Laataaz, dim, dusty, robed thickly in cobwebs and expression hidden beneath their mournful mask. Miraak’s flicker at relief at the proof they had not left him alone in his vulnerability made his smile when he saw them bright, and Laataaz’s blurry shape wavered towards him like a moth craving the sun.

The bed dimpled under their heavy frame when they sat beside him, and his face turned towards the warmth of their thigh like a comet in orbit. He already knew to breathe through his mouth; no matter how much they washed, Laataaz’s perfume was one of dust, decay, and the strange, foul scent of poison. No matter how much he … felt for them, it was not a pleasant one.

He heard the soft clink of them working off their ancient gauntlets, then their bare hand placed in his hair. Too many fingers smoothed through it, untangling the knots that gritted there with the utmost delicacy. The strands almost seemed to pull loose without their touching them at all, and he shivered as he felt soft brushes against his ear that could have been hair dampened by sweat, or close clinging cobwebs feathered free of Laataaz’s sleeves.

“Can you walk?” Laataaz asked him, and though they spoke in no louder than a whisper Miraak heard the reverberations of their power in their Voice.

"I don't think so," he said. “I certainly don’t want to.”

"Poor dragon-fly," they sighed. They were very careful with how they touched him, using only the pads of their fingers in the lightest of caresses. It was a little ticklish, like the tiny feet of insects on his skin. It made the bruises they had left ache sweetly, and Miraak closed his eyes in longing. "You will have to travel today."

Miraak thought about it and then swore. Yes, he had promised to make another pilgrimage up to High Hrothgar. They’d been waiting for the weather to turn, but Balgruuf had begun to get a little impatient as Miraak’s craving for books read him out of house and hall, and his gentle reminders had become increasingly frequent. So Miraak had told Lydia to get ready, and they were set to leave that afternoon.

“What time is it?”

Laataaz ran their fingertips over the lit nerves of his neck, fascinated, as always, by the way the apple of his throat bobbed in a swallow. It was red and ripe from a sucked kiss and stung with the faint itchiness of venom that had escaped their cleaning efforts.

“Do I have time?” he pressed, and they nodded a slow assurance.

Miraak cursed himself for his indulgence in agreeing to have sex last night. Laataaz was never gentle (and when they were, it was worse) and had been loudly clear about their desire to push him far. It had been thrilling, at the time, as Miraak wondered with the vague excitement of sub-drop whether they were actually planning to kill him, or whether it might simply be a side-effect of whatever torturous pleasure brewing behind their onyx-chip eyes. He’d known they’d needed to leave the next day. And yet.

"Could you bring me some potions?" he asked, feeling very sorry for himself indeed and certainly not in a hurry to face Lydia’s judgemental gaze. Oh, she’d never said a word about this bad habit of Miraak’s, but a simple stern look was enough to redden his cheeks.

"Why not?" Laataaz murmured, and rose slowly, so the movement did not jostle him. They left their gauntlet by his side. Putting his hand under the blanket, Miraak edged it away from himself until the empty fingerholes punching through the gauntlet, where Laataaz’s knuckles should have been, stopped staring at him soullessly like dilapidated windows.

While they were gone, Miraak cast healing spells on himself. Even his magicka felt tired, and Miraak felt the tips of his ears warming as he recalled Laataaz commanding him to exert his magic to keep himself conscious through increasing overwhelm until he was so full, so flooded with it, that every nerve in his body thrummed gold and sharp. When they sunk their teeth into him then, it felt like their poison burned his very soul and he’d howled until he’d tasted iron. How they’d smiled with his blood running down their lips, and bit down harder.

Miraak wanted more than anything to feel it again.

Laataaz was worth any amount of Lydia’s stern looks. Who else could surprise him so consistently, teach him the things his body was capable of, time after time? It was like Laataaz had a secret map to the limits a Dragonborn’s body could reach.

Some souls do not take to the eating lightly, they told him when he dared to ask once, and he hadn’t known enough of what to do with that to bring it up afterwards.

Miraak bundled the blankets around his hips and sat up, cautiously. He flexed his magic and his wrists and hoped he’d remembered to pay the cart-driver in advance. He heard Laataaz’s heavy step before he saw them, and he was smiling again as they came in the door.

Pausing there, hands full of bottles and more dangling from threads of web, Laataaz looked at him for a long moment. They had to squint to make him out, he could tell from the way their body bent forward, the searching sadness of the mask’s face hiding their narrowed, light-stung eyes. They still hadn’t really recovered their vision, struggling to see in any-place brighter than candlelit caves, and Miraak suspected that whatever distance vision they once might have had was gone.

“Over here, and take that mask off,” he said, “Why are you in all that anyway? I thought you liked the other clothes I got you. You have worn them before.”

It came out a little more insecure than Miraak wanted it to, and Laataaz only tilted their head in response.

They approached the end of the bed and let their arms fall open so the bottles rolled free there, tussling with Miraak’s feet among the blankets. The slits of their mask never leaving his eyes, they lifted one hand and slowly, deliberately, unmasked themselves.

Miraak felt himself hold his breath, like he did every time, when the fabric of the hood slipped away down the slope of the horns and bared them to him.

Uncovered, Laataaz blinked rapidly, their eyes stinging with tears even with no candles lit. He ignored the scurrying speck of a spider hiding itself hurriedly under their collar and drank in the sight of them. Their face was taut with scars, their skin was ashen, and their eyes glittered with a cold violet darkness that reminded him of the frigid gaps between the stars. They had one brown eye left among the six on their face, their middle left. It was solemn in the dimness. The other four, two below, two above, normally kept closed as simply shadows, delicate bumps Miraak would feel if he traced over their scarred face. There were still clumps of hair nestled around the spearing wattle of the horns that ridged from their skull, but it was all so thickly matted with cobwebs that it seemed even unmasked they wore a grey veil between them and the world.

He leant forward to grab one of the bottles, but Laataaz stopped him with a small gesture. Instead, they moved to his side and with one hand cupped the back of his head, the other taking a bottle of healing potion from the bed, all without looking away from him. They popped the cork with their teeth and Miraak felt himself bite his tongue at the look of their enigmatic gaze.

“I can drink it myself,” he said in something even smaller than a whisper. A whimper, possibly, though Miraak would rather die than admit it.

Laataaz’s eyes narrowed, and their hold on the nape of his neck brushed to encircle his jaw instead. Firmly in place, Miraak hissed a breath that Laataaz leant forward to draw into their own lungs.

With that stolen breath, they agreed, “It would be a shame to lose this.” Their thumb dug into the knot of his jaw muscle and Miraak gulped around a moan.

Meaning clear, Laataaz held the cool glass of the bottle against his lips and encouraged his head to fall limply against their other hand. Miraak’s eyelids fluttered halfway shut as he yielded to it. His hands clenched and then smoothed in the blanket, rhythmically, like they belonged to someone else.

Staring up at them through his eyelashes as Laataaz fed him the potions, tipping them so he had to swallow quickly or choke, he lost himself in the searing galaxies of red, violet, black and brown of their eyes. He could see a droplet of welling venom at the corner of their parted lips, knew there must be more pooled in their mouth, for Miraak, from the picture he made as he obeyed them, and felt his own dry out. He wanted the burn of their kiss so badly he wanted to weep.

When the potion was gone, the last of it warming through his body, they tilted their head back to the potion bottles covering the bed as if to ask if he wanted more. He shook his head, then pressed the back of his hand against his eyes, struggling not to cry.

It was such a quintessentially Laataaz way to fulfil his request that it made him feel strange and dizzy, distant, like the soft cotton of their power had come over him and peeled him back to the creature Laataaz could always find in him, desperate, sensitive, longing. But it was not that which overwhelmed him, no, it was the way they knew exactly how far to tip the bottle so he could keep up, how patiently they watched him, the caution in how their hand left his hair without pulling out a single feather-fine strand on their ancient edges. It was odd look on their face, vaguely pained in a stunted echo of something he could only call care.

Miraak did not know why it brought tears to his eyes to see the ancient Dragon Priest attempt it, but he swallowed them manfully, and cleared his throat when Laataaz exhaled a sharp breath.

Pride forbade him to show them his face when they settled down on the bed next to him, soft and solid and warm where he was small and shaky. They reached out, and when Miraak’s stiff body only twisted away from them with unbearable embarrassment, Laataaz’s spine softened and they chased him with their own. Nuzzling their forehead into the crook of his neck, they surely parted their mouth, because Miraak felt venom drip sparks against the edge of his collarbone.

He gasped, and pinpointed the moment they absorbed the sound by the strange rumble of their chest. Their lips dragged in long, ragged, open-mouthed kisses that smeared searing fresh venom over his reddening skin. It burned like tingling fire-ants under the flesh, and he writhed, eyes screwed shut in the discomfort-near-pain that he prayed would never become easier to bear.

“No, Laataaz,” Miraak managed to get out, “No – we have to leave today, and neither of us will want to stop.”

Laataaz withdrew, but not far, an unreadable look in their eyes. Their arms curled round him and their veils kissed his cheek as they rested the side of their head against his own, pressing into him part of their weight. He closed his eyes and tentatively placed his hands over their shoulders. Laataaz tensed, and he held his breath. They exhaled in a silent puff of air. Very slightly, they leant into his touch, in tacit permission.

Feeling like he was petting a wild creature, Miraak stroked curiously, but carefully, along the lines of their neck, the tangle of the webs, the horns. After a moment, Laataaz pushed into him like an affectionate cat, and he squeezed the bony tips of the crest of horns. They were smoother than they looked, and felt neither cold, nor warm, like the tusks of mammoths. The leathery webbing between them was tough but flexible. He felt small spiders dance around his hands and kept his movements slow, not wanting to hurt any of them or provoke them to bite him.

Miraak still wasn’t sure to what extent Laataaz was connected to the spiders that lived on, and sometimes, he thought, in, their body. It was better, he felt, to err on the side of caution. Just in case, there was antivenom in the dresser table. He had learnt that lesson very quickly.

He had just begun to relax, thinking pleasantly of how nice it felt to have their warmth against him, the soothing burn of the venom on his neck, when they spoke. Still cheek-to-cheek, their voice made his tongue vibrate distractingly in his mouth.

“You should leave me here.”

“Leave you?” Miraak pulled back to look at them. They went unwillingly, shoulders stiff under his hands, and did not meet his gaze. “Why would I do that?”

“Your allies will not hearten to see me,” Laataaz said, quiet as web in the wind, “You will lose their loyalty if they know you resist consuming my soul.”

“The Greybeards won’t say anything, and I certainly don’t care if they do,” Miraak told them firmly.

He grasped their chin, thinking to redirect their eyes to meet his to reinforce his point, but their grip leapt to his wrist. They squeezed his wrist, too tight to be playful – painful enough to warn. All six of their eyes opened and stared at him, dared him. The intensity of the sight too much, Miraak let them go. Their face glittered like it was set with jewels with all six eyes open, chasms to the void where the spidersnare waited, and Miraak found himself focusing on the brown eye he secretly thought of as their human eye to avoid looking away entirely. He was not foolish – but he would not be weak either.

“Paarthurnax and his monks yet believe me dead, and none will be pleased to be corrected. My bloody hands are traitor to all they stand for. Friend he was once, but I do not believe Paarthurnax, of all Dov, mourned my fate.”

“You don’t know that,” Miraak insisted. Laataaz’s glimmering eyes drew him in, in, until he almost forgot to watch their mouth, curving in a bitter smile lips wet with poison.

“I would also kill them for their disrespect of you,” Laataaz added.

“They do listen to me,” Miraak pointed out, feeling compelled to defend, if nothing else, himself. “Most of the time. They called me Ysmir.”

Laataaz’s smile grew more secretive, more genuine. Four of their eyes closed, and Miraak’s lungs unclenched. “Yet,” they murmured, “I have tasted your Voice.”

“Are you calling me weak?!”

“No,” punitively, they squeezed his wrist, as if to forbid the very notion, “inexperienced. They chain you with rules that were never made for your dovahsil. You will be strong in spite of them, hunter of Al-Du-In. But if I hear them chastise you for your might when by right they should be at your knee, not even blood will remain to mark their fate.”

Miraak’s lips pursed into an unhappy line. “Will… you be safe while I am gone?”

“I will not kill the ones you love,” Laataaz promised, and now they were definitely amused, “unless their death wins great reward. My Prince lingers here, I would see her work.”

Miraak scowled at the rumpled blankets. “Why are you still loyal to her after this? You’re free now. You don’t have a Prince anymore.”

“For now,” Laataaz agreed. They tilted their head, catching his attention, and asked him then in a voice that could have been, if it was anyone else, tender. “Could you kill me, little fly?”

“No,” said Miraak at once, aghast, then rethought and added, defensively, “I could. But I wouldn’t!”

Laataaz breathed out a laugh at his pride. “Then if you will not, one day I will belong to my Prince again.”

Their grip loosened enough for Miraak to pull his wrist free, but he left his hand on theirs. He wanted to hold, to grab on, to reach into Laataaz and shake the part of them that did not believe, for all their words, that Miraak could protect them from the Princes that wished to use them. But he forced himself to leave his hand lax. Laataaz observed the movement, then sighed, silently. Their humour drained, left them with a sudden great weariness, as if they felt, all at once, every hour of their tremendous age.

“I have lived for a long time, against my will,” Laataaz told him as heavy as they were sincere, “All paths lead back to the Webspinner.”

“Not this one,” Miraak insisted, and he couldn’t resist grabbing their hand then, feeling the bones beneath it, the muscle, the surprise that nearly jerked it free, their wide eyes. “This one stays with me.”

Surging towards him, Laataaz kissed him. It was more a bite than a kiss, more punch than bite, and barely had he choked on the venom that flooded his mouth then they had withdrawn, forehead pressed fiercely to his.

Like a love confession, Laataaz whispered, “I pray my soul dies in yours, I pray you kill me.” Their touch roved over his body, digging in nails, had Miraak fighting not to hiss. “I would like to think of nourishing you. How close we would be, in the same chest, trapped no longer by these… mortal forms.”

Impossibly, Laataaz pushed even closer into him, their veils falling around his face, their bodies, and Miraak bit down on a groan, a plea. His skin was awakened by their touch, their closeness, their desire. The venom he had inadvertently swallowed was working on his empty stomach, nausea clenching in the pit of embers there.

“Must we fight?” he said, thinking of the look on their face as they tried to care for him, “Is it truly so inevitable that we kill each other? Why do you always talk of death?”

“Why does the spider snare the fly?” Laataaz answered his question with another. “Hunger, of course.”

“There are other ways to learn the shape of a person,” he said, meaning to quote them, but the double-meaning of it with their marks bold on his body wrecked with the aftermath of Laataaz exercising exactly that hunger hit him, and he blushed.

“It is what I am,” Laataaz said, and soothed the red marks they’d scratched with cool lines of silk. “I am Laataaz, executioner, soul eater. We did not have a word for Dragonborn when I walked Nirn. I understood only that I hungered, and when I struck something, it stayed down. I learnt the lust of inevitability. Is it the end, that gives us our meaning, I wondered, but I did not know. All I knew was no food would sate me. My hunger is as much a part of me as your questioning mind.”

Laataaz tilted their lips against his, and all six eyes opened to watch his face. Greedy for Miraak, and he could not pretend their attention did not make him preen, warm, thirst for the pain of their kiss. With how sweetly they called him to endure the agony of their poisonous touch, their sadism, how could he pretend that anything else ever mattered?

“We are dragons, sweet little fly. We desire, or we die.”

---

And so it was Miraak turned up at the stables, very late, pink-cheeked, and limping. Lydia was already waiting, arms crossed over her sturdy chest, perpetually-foul expression not relenting in the least when a guilty Miraak skid to a stop next to her with a spray of pebbles. There it was, the look.

Miraak wilted.

“Where is he?” Lydia said, “That creepy fellow. We need to leave, my Thane.”

“Oh,” said Miraak. His shaking arms gave out and he dropped his bag with a thunderous thud. Lydia eyed it suspiciously and he fought the urge to rub the back of his neck. “Laat’s not coming.”

Lydia reflected on this, hefting Miraak’s heavy bag one-handed and threw it up on the back of the cart. There was no sign of the driver, but the horse was already hitched, grazing calmly at the tuft of weeds lining the cobblestones.

Miraak skirted the horse with a shudder. These burly-shouldered beasts always looked at him with malice in their eyes. Lydia had tried to get him to learn to ride, but Miraak wasn’t that stupid. Give him a good chaurus any day.

“It will be good to not have to fight everything from here to Ivarstead,” said Lydia, “we will make better time. I did tell Farkas we were leaving this morning. …All of us.”

She extended a hand to help him into the back of the cart, and yanked him up bodily when he took it. Miraak rubbed his burning shoulder and tugged his hood down further over his face. The sun was fierce. He glanced back at Whiterun, a little regretful, imagining Laataaz alone in Breezehome. There was going to be so many spiders in his house when he got back.

“Well,” said Miraak, weakly, “… He’s a Companion, he’ll be fine.”

[raditzxsthighband]

IMMORTAL PRINCE

A Dragon Ball Z fanfiction based on Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992) American gothic horror film directed and produced by Francis Ford Coppola, based on the 1897 novel.

Prince Vegeta IV as Count Dracula

Bulma 'Bulamina', Bulesabetha as 'Wilhelmina' Mina Harker and Elisabetha

& Yamcha as Johnathan Harker

The Vaiyan crest, with its three sharp prongs, casts a shadow over a tattered map of the annexed Empire of Trufflomania.

732. The Birth of Vegeta the IV. Son of Tsar Vegeta the II, and his Tsarina, Vasenya.

737. Invasion of the Frieza Empire. King Vegeta and Vasenya, murdered by their own Elite Guards; who had committed treason in the name of Lord Frieza.

752. The Genocide of The Vaiyan People.

The Freiza race come to take what is their payment; the last remaining band of Vaiyans, holed up in their castle in fear.

From Trufflesylvania rose a Vaiyan Prince, who known throughout Eastern Europe for his bloodthirsty ways- leads 7,000 of his countrymen in a bold, pre-dawn attack against 30,000 Truffles. He hailed from the sacred order of the Ōozaru, known as Vraculya...

Vegeta lowered his helm, revealing his flame of raven-black hair. Vrincess Bulesabetha stared at him; her azure curls like a halo around the jagged crown of Ancient Vsadala. He looked down to her, and they kissed. Hungrily, as if they would never taste one another's lips again.

On the eve of battle, his bride, Bulesabetha, whom he prized above all things on Earth; knew that he must face an insurmountable force, from which he might never return.

Vegeta turned away from her as she cried, squeezing his eyes shut, he looked to her once more, and she sobbed as they said their last goodbye, stroking one hand through her azure curls. He looked to her with an intensity in his eyes, as the heavy dirge of the ancient Vaiyan Race thrummed within him, and crescendoed, and the doors of the castle were thrust open; revealing the enemy flags of the invaders, and he rushed into battle, his long, brown tail, lashing at his back.

The Truffles had fallen, their home, invaded; but it was their last vengeful act to attack the Vaiyans with the power of the Entire Frieza Empire.

The jagged outcrop from which they hid, was back washed in the eerie luminescence of the full moon, as Prince Vegeta and Raditz came onto the battlefield, wearing the snarling, red helmets of their angered primate god. They fought bravely, as the last of the Vaiyan army collapsed around them, they impaled the lizard-kind on pikes; earning Vegeta the III his legendary title, Vegeta The Impaler. The foul creatures shrieked, and struggled to stop the lances forcing their way through their putrid bellies, with a hot spray of blood. One last victim languished on a pike, it's white tail wrapping around the spear and attempting to stop the spear from slowly penetrating through its back.

There was a shout, as Raditz stood atop the hill, and tossed his helmet to the ground, panting as he laughed.

"Brother, My Prince! The Truffles have retreated! They've fallen back! They've all been defeated!" He said, and turned to Vegeta, who nodded, and looked across the desolate battlefield, which was now empty, but for the corpses hung like trophies all around them.

Prince Vegeta removed his Ōozaru helmet, his flame of raven black hair revealed, as perspiration ran from his temples in rivers, and he curled his lip back, screaming for all to hear.

"Vsadala be praised, I am Victorious...!" The Vaiyan warrior announced to the dead, Raditz stood beside him, his long, wild mane lashing on the acrid heat.

One last lizard kind squawked, from where it struggled on the lance, clawing to free itself from its imminent death. It seethed, hissing at Vegeta as he approached it.

"One day, we will return... and we will kill all Vaiyans..." It hacked, spitting out magneta blood from its black lips.

"That's where you're wrong." Vegeta growled, clenching his teeth.

"Brother... Haven't enough died on this day..?" Raditz whispered, then flinched, as Vegeta pulled a sword from his belt, and stabbed the foul creature in the jugular, twisting the blade around until the sinew, and wiry tendons crunched.

"Let this be a message, to all who dare defy the Empire of Vegeta." He said cruelly, then dropped the blade quickly as if stung, and stared at his own bloodied white gloves.

"We're the only Vaiyans left. All is lost. But we have won the battle... Our home." Raditz said, and cried as he stared over the great mounds of bodies littering the horizon. Wolves cried out from below the valley, and Vegeta shivered, hearing their cries.

"Bulesabetha..." Vegeta whispered, his eyes wide with terror. He turned; sensing something was wrong.

The Vengeful Truffles had shot an arrow into the castle, carrying false news of Vegeta's death, and the Vrincess Bulesabetha, believing him dead, flung herself into the river.

Bulesabetha runs up to the highest tower of Castle Vegeta, her black mourning gown gathered in her pale fists. She stands before the dark, maroon sky, the blood red river, far below. Her body loses its strength, and she takes the long plunge to her death.

The old wooden doors creak, as they open, and Vegeta stands still, his brow lowered to the floor as the torch lights cast shadows across his chiseled features. His breath comes out in shaking, rapid pants, as he approaches the altar where Vrincess Bulesabetha lies, a single trail of blood dripping down her white cheek. Her cheeks are pallid, as he strokes back the soft ringlets surrounding her heart-shaped face. He notices a letter spotted with blood still clutched in her hands, and reads it.

To all who must know,

My Prince is dead.

All is lost without him.

May the gods unite us in heaven.

Vegeta squeezes his eyes shut, and screams with agony. The Priest, with spikes of black hair making six prongs around his skull, steps forward.

"Her soul cannot be saved. She is damned. It is God's Law." He says haltingly in the Vaiyan tongue, the Crest of Vegeta held close over his breast as he steps forward, casting the pronged shadow onto Bulesabetha's powdery, pale countenance; only made more stark by the thick slash of blood dripping from the corner of her dusky rose, dead lips.

"Is this my reward for defending this so-called 'God's Church' ?!" Vegeta bellowed, his energy rushing out around him.

"Sacrilege!" Bardock hissed, the other priests flocked to his sides and began chanting, holding out the crest to defend themselves.

"I renounce God!" Vegeta bellows, tossing his head back to scream in their guttural language, towards the tall chapel ceiling. He lowers his face, grinning sadistically, and hisses,

"...I shall rise from my own death...To avenge hers with all the powers of darkness!" He seethes, and lashes out, surging forth to clutch Bardock's staff, then takes it, then plunges the prongs into his chest, and he falls. He pulls the trident out, and the others fall back, frightened. He slashes the throat of Paragus, then eviscerates the bowels of the last remaining priest, before turning, and staring up at the large effigy of Vegeta, he tosses the trident into the center of the emblem, from which, a torrent of blood seeps out.

He stumbles forward, over the fallen bodies and grasps a goblet, and allows the blood flowing forth to fill his cup. Blood oozes from the eyes of all the statues as he growls, animalistic, and utters; guttural, "The blood is the life... and it shall be mine!" With tears falling down his sharp, angular cheeks, he cradles the goblet in his hands, and drinks.

A growing lake of blood oozes across the floor, to where Bulesabetha lies, and washes down the altar in a flood, as he stumbles backwards, dropping the goblet. A siren's song rings out around him as the souls of the dead priests curse him with their rhythmic chant, and he looks upon his work with horror, and roars, falling to his knees as a wave of power rushes all throughout his body.

To read more....

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13568010/6

[charlie-sloane-art]

The Fair Play

Summary: After the death of your paramour Ser Caspian Hightower, you couldn’t bear to love again. But while you, the Lady Mormont, grieve, others conspire behind the scenes to set you up with your close friend Jaime Lannister. Things seem to work in their favour until you meet Caspian’s maternal uncle at his funeral: Oberyn Martell.

Tags: @bluegalaxyprime​ @zeldasayer​ @beaferni @thewaythisis​ @edwardsj81​ @hollandhiddles​ @mandahoe @btsbodyguardforever @refrigerated-omelette​ @theshiftylibrarian​ @azulasgf​ @vikingqueen28​ @justnancydrewthangs​ @heatherlynn25​ @c-ly-g​ @discogrrl​ @no-thanks-lol​ @yxorebeloxy @jeahyunniespeach @coffeeandtodd​ @reesestwizzlers25 @the-universe-stars-and-sun​ @zanasharm​ @venus-calum @cielphantomhixe​ @everything-lost-and-unsaid​

The Stranger sits on her altar, shrouded by the silken, lilac-colored scarf of Ser Caspian Hightower, covering her eyes with her hands. She sits among rose petals and burning candles, the air around it tinted with the aroma of cyprus bark infused into the candle. Here is where you now kneel, a private moment in a sea of unwashed and bald-faced betrayals and heart-wretches. Here you are allowed to mourn, with your back to the locked door of your rooms. Leaning backwards, your hands catch the blanket ripped from your bed frame less than a few hours passed. It still smells like him; like amber and sticky sweet fruits of the Reach. You had started to worry when your incessant paramour hadn’t shown his face in nearly a week. It wasn’t like him not to come bounding up to you every morning with a new flower to present you by the dozen, one you had never seen from the icy grips of the North. Now you know why he hadn’t shown his face. He couldn’t. It had been left rotting at the bottom of a hang-cliff, having just missed its gradual slip and slide into the sea a few feet below. A cracked skull was all that had been left of him, all that could be recognized. Whatever other traces of his previous humanity that he had taken with him on the fall to his death the seagulls and other maritime creatures had taken from him quickly. Even those deep, bottomless pools of dark ichor he had for eyes had been pecked out, leaving raw and red gashes in their wake. A cracked skull and some fractured teeth.

The maester had told you his fall was as swift as his death, a candle extinguished nearly as quickly as it had been lit. The flowers he had in hand when he fell had dried, shrivelled, and blown away. You would never see what specimen he had carried with him ever again. Whichever it had been, he had been proud to show it, surely. For that must’ve been how he had lost his step. He had always been so sure and light-footed, trained by his uncle for a few months at a time in his childhood. He fought like the Red Viper, but with a romance unparalleled. 

Surely,  you would never find another romance like his. Spending hours in the gardens picking wildflowers to put through his dark hair that brushed his shoulders, his fingertips digging into your thighs ever so often enough to remind you he wasn’t a lifeless doll. That smile when his gaze graced your own grew like the opening of a lily in spring. His skin was always warm, tanned and only rough around the hands where he’d grown calluses from working to be the best second son of a secondary house. To be Caspian Hightower was to be alive, and so to be dead and to be Caspian Hightower was to cease being. Not even he could change that, not with that quick wit and adorable wink could death bring back what it had stolen from him.

Someone was speaking your name. Someone was touching your shoulder. A familiar touch, you noted. Jaime Lannister had come to rely on these touches between the two of you. You’d made him soft around the edges, he thought, but didn’t have the courage to sandpaper those edges back on. He liked the softness too much. Watching you weep was another feat of softness. You were bent over at the abdomen, face in your hands, and shoulders shaking. When you came up for breath it split his heart in two. His closest friend was in such agony and there was nothing he could ever do about it. “Please,” He whispered, pulling you into his gold-plated chest. You had learned how to make yourself comfortable against such a harsh material since arriving back at King’s Landing. He used to hold you with a warm bare chest or at the very least covered in some sort of soft yet dirty cloth. You’d fallen asleep under the stars so many different times this way. “Please stop crying.” He murmured against your hairline, his green eyes fluttering closed as you turned to wrap your arms around his neck.

“It isn’t right.” You sputter against his neck.

“No,” He agreed “It isn’t fair.” The thought of saying ‘I warned you’ nagged at the back of his brain but he reigned it back in. The capital had been cruel enough to the Lady from Bear Island “You can’t stay in here all day.” Jaime leaned over and extinguished the candles, letting more smoke waft into the room “At the very least keep your window open.” He helped you up to your feet and wiped your tears away, taking advantage of the necessary pause between your sobs as you caught your breath.

“I don’t want the fresh air. It smells like shit.” You seethed at him, grabbing the blanket from the floor and stuffing your face in it, sitting on the side of your bed.

He tutted your name and knelt in front of you, careful to brush your hair behind your ears. Another familiar gesture. “It’s better than choking on smoke. Come on, at least go to the kitchens with me. Have something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Of course not. But still, you must eat.” Jaime’s patience had never been his virtue and you were starting to hear it in his voice.

So, you acquiesced “Fine. But I want wine. Lots of it.”

“As much as you like, Lady Mormont.” He offered his arm, a golden hand sticking out at the end of it. It occurred to him, as he walked down the halls with you, that he must look like a wizened pervert next to you: a lady half his age and freshly heartbroken leaning on his arm.

“Food for the Lady!” He called out as you both found your way to one of the many kitchens in the Red Keep. 

“Whatever is on-hand will work just fine.” You added, less accustomed to being a commanding force. You remembered a time when you had to ask the kitchen staff nicely for your food or you starved at the end of the table with the other Stark ward and their bastard.

“You’re a Lady, Mormont.” Jaime reminded you under his breath as he led you to sit down at the sturdy oaken table in the middle of the grand kitchen. “Just because the Starks beat you to submission does not make your status any less.”

“I wasn’t beaten.” You mutter under your breath, taking a roll of bread and picking at it.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said I wasn’t beaten, you prick.” You rolled your eyes and threw the bread roll at him. Jaime remarked you may be the only person in the world who could do that to him without consequence.

“So what were you then?”

“I was a ward.” Your chin pointed higher “To Lady Catelyn Stark.”

“Not a very good one.” There was a pregnant pause before he managed to make you laugh.

“No, I suppose I wasn’t a very good ward. I let you out, didn’t I?”

“I am thankful for it every day, Cubby.” Cubby, another familiar touch. Of course, your house sigil was a bear, but to denote your youth Jaime had taken up calling you a cub, his cub. Lion’s had cubs too, after all. 

Food arrived, an assortment of beans in a thick stew of some sort, breads with an array of different spiced butters, and wine to wash it all down. “Perfect weeping food. Come on, eat up.” Jaime said despite you staring daggers at him for the comment.

“Do you think,” You spoke between spoonfuls of beans “that the funeral will be here or at Hightower?”

“Surely it’ll be at Hightower. Besides, it’s bad luck to have a funeral precede a wedding. Cersei wouldn’t stand for it.” Of course, Caspian had only been at King’s Landing in the first place to attend the long-awaited wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margaery Tyrell. It was still highly anticipated. Half of the guests had yet to arrive, including Caspian’s own family from his mother’s side: the Martells of Dorne.

“Is it?” You rose a brow.

“Is it what?”

“Is it bad luck?”

Jaime shrugged “I don’t actually know but I’m sure that’ll be the party line. Besides, it’s not like there’s much of him to transport back.” Jaime said it and as soon as he did he regretted it because then he had to watch your bottom lip quiver and your eyes blink quickly “Cubby, I...I apologize. That wasn’t...That was not what you needed to hear.” He took your hand in his across the table and sighed, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb- another familiar touch.

“I might go.” You sniffled with a shrug, splitting a piece of bread in two with your hands “I might follow the procession to attend the funeral.”

“I can not follow.” Jaime spoke, his voice tinted in concern “Are you sure that is wise? You will be on your own.”

“Why won’t you follow?” Your question was cut off short by a presence in the kitchen, a tall mass of a woman with bright blonde hair and eyes of azure, glinting like her silver armor. “Brienne.” You smiled but she averted your gaze. “Brienne,” You stood, but she made her way back out of the kitchen from whence she had arrived in a clamor. You sat back down, head bowed.

“Found out you lied, did she?”

“The truth has its way of making itself known. If I really had been pregnant when I told her, my belly would be the size of a wild boar by now.”

“You can’t just tell her you lost it?”

“That would’ve been a bright idea if I had not already confessed, Jaime. Thank you.” You rolled your eyes. “At least you can pretend you weren’t in on the lie. Be as shocked as she was.”

Jaime shrugged and met your gaze with a small smile “It doesn’t matter to me that much.”

“Why would it? Brienne isn’t angry at you, is she?” You all but stuck your tongue out at him. “It’s not like I had much of a choice anyway. She was going to bring me back for execution!”

“You don’t have to convince me. I would have done the same.” Jaime finished his bowl and pushed it to the side, leaning on his elbows over the table “She’ll come around, Cubby. You shouldn’t worry yourself over her opinions.”

“She’s my friend, of course I worry about her opinion. What sort of advice is that?”

“Fine.” Jaime stood, grabbing a kitchen towel and wiping his mouth and hands with it “She’ll come around.” He said, making his way to your side of the table. He leaned down, holding the back of your head, and pressed a kiss to your brow “You’re too fragile, Cubby. You break at the slightest of wind changes.”

You bit your lip and held your head higher, meeting his gaze “I do not.” A fragile little girl wouldn’t have survived a year in the wilderness of Westeros, knight present or no. “Jaime,” you caught his attention as he was leaving the kitchens “why won’t you come with me to Hightower?”

“The king needs me here.” The knight spoke, still resigned to his post with the white cloaks.

“No, he doesn’t.”

Jaime sighed and closed his eyes, shifting on his feet.

“She needs you, though.” Cersei. It was always going to be Cersei, and no other. Poor fools, the both of you.

“Yeah.” He nodded and walked out, a bit of a stormcloud brewing over his head.