#the hidden truths of the village hidden in the leaves

[snail-noodle]

Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader

Before he got corrupted, he was once called Light Milk Cookie (I'll change it once they reveal his true past name in canon)

I may have went a bit far with these.... enjoy 🤗

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💙 Before his corruption, he was known as Light Milk Cookie. You first met him when he stopped to rest at your village. You were absolutely mesmerized at his appearance, barely catching onto his question. "I've traveled quite a distance. Is there perhaps an inn around here that I could rest at?"

You stuttered as you offered him a room to stay in your home, informing him that your village had no inn, just a few shops. Hearing your offer, he gave you the most beautiful smile you have ever seen from a cookie, thanking you for your generosity.

💙 Light Milk Cookie had meant to stay in your village just for a day or two. In the end, he ended up staying for 3 whole weeks! Word had gotten out to the other villagers that one of the Five Great Cookies had arrived to their humble little town. Some believed he had stayed to show and tell the villagers of his knowledge that he had received throughout the years. In truth, he had stayed for you.

💙 During his stay, he spent most of his time with you. You would both talk about your favorite hobbies, your dreams, and the places you wish to see. Light Milk Cookie would listen to you with great interest, mentally keeping notes of what you like, what you didn't like, things you yearned for, and so much more.

💙 Your village is founded in the middle of a forest with a river nearby. You were a bit more adventurous than those in your village, so you would show him the many hidden spots that had the best sceneries in the forest. There was eventually a moment where the two of you had confessed your feelings for each other. The gentle sound of running water of the nearby river and the soft chirps from the birds among the trees only made the moment even more intimate and romantic.

The two of you practically spent the whole day in that quiet little spot. Hidden away from prying eyes, the two of lay close to each other, your hand entangled with his as you listened to his many stories of his past adventures with his friends.

💙 Before he left to continue his journey, he left you an enchanted scroll. He laughed softly at your confused face, "This scroll will allow us to communicate, even when we're far apart from each other." Reaching inside his backpack, he took out another scroll and a quill pen. He took a moment to write something, and once he finished and closed the scroll, the soft chime of a bell rang from the scroll you had been holding.

Opening the scroll, you blushed as you read what he had written for you. "This is.. this is amazing!" You gazed at the scroll with wonder and excitement. Light Milk Cookie's heart fluttered at your praise. The enchanted scroll had been a new idea that he came up with recently. To hear this from you filled his heart with so much joy!

💙 With an embrace and a loving kiss, you bid him a farewell. You stood at your front door, your gaze never leaving his form as he grew smaller the further he walked away. Only when he was completely out of sight did you finally return back to your home. He had left you the magic scroll, but he had also left you with a few items of his own. You reached for the scarf that he had gifted you, you giggled as you wrapped it around your neck, the sweet smell of blueberries enveloping your senses.

💙 As time went on, the two of you would exchange letters to each other at every moment. The sound of a bell ringing in your house almost every minute. Weeks would go by as he would tell you about every cookie and creature he would encounter in his path. Some good, some bad, and some downright strange. As the holder of Knowledge itself, you knew he was stronger than any other cookie in this world. Still, you can't help but worry whenever he mentioned having to fight a beast or some vile bandits.

💙 Just as he wrote you about his encounters, he wrote you many poems dedicated to you and your hometown. Some had you giggling, and some had you completely red in the face. His words were like honey; He yearned to have you by his side, to join him in his own kingdom. He made promises to take you to see the vast world that is Earthbread.

💙 Eventually, he had reached his destination and promised to send you a letter later that night. You waited a whole day, but then that day turned to weeks, and those weeks turned to months. Your mind and soul ached with worry for your lover. You would send him a letter once a day, hoping for any response. Your heart is aching for his comforting words.

Nothing.

💙 One morning, as you were preparing breakfast to start your day, you froze as the sound of a bell chimed across the house. Rushing to your room with tears in your eyes, you quickly grabbed the scroll from your desk, your hands shaking as you read what he wrote you.

I'm coming, my dearest.

A shriek of terror was heard outside the moment you finished reading the words. Your heart pounded with fear as you ran outside to see the commotion. You gasped at the sight before you. What once was a beautiful morning sky has now turned to complete darkness. Eyes... many blue blinking eyes, big and small, littered the dark abyss. All of them seemed to be looking straight at you.

💙 Laughter. The sound of laughter rang out throughout the sky. "At last, at last! I've returned to you, my love!" You gasped as a cookie suddenly appeared right in front of you, causing you to stumble back and fall. Before you could even hit the ground, the strange cookie caught you just in time.

"Be careful, my precious pearl! Wouldn't want you to crumble so soon!" His eyes twinkled at you mischievously, giving you the most biggest grin you've ever seen from a cookie. You looked at the strange cookie, no, the strange jester, with confusion. His voice, the hair, and those brilliant blue eyes. They reminded you so much of him. Surely it couldn't be...?

"Light Milk Cookie?"

[the-fluffy-folio]

Void Thrall – Medium elemental, any chaotic alignment

Some say that the void thrall is a harbinger of a great evil – a messenger sent to signify the coming of a creature born from nothingness; an entity so hungry that it devours villages and cities as a whole. Others, however, believe that the thrall is merely a fading echo of said cataclysmic being. Lost and aimless, it wanders the lands as a faint reminder of a tremendous battle fought out decades or even centuries ago. Whatever the truth, the void thrall is a remarkable phenomenon. Where it passes, it leaves its eerie gifts behind. Hidden by time, these little gems bring misfortune to whomever roams close.

🔮 If you like my work, kindly consider to support me on Patreon to gain access to monster pages, tokens & artwork of over 250 quirky creatures as well as dozens of potion & item cards based on their lore.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Forever mine

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I'm not gonna lie this didn't come easy but I'm glad I managed to write it. It's somewhat like a first step back to writing and it's S2 Sihtric again as he is my absolute comfort character. @volklana it's for you darling for inspiring me to write again.

Warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, Sihtric being a sweetheart as always

Summary: A young Dane awakens something long buried in you, but the truth threatens to shatter your stolen moments. Can love survive built on lies?

Word Count: 7,8 K

Pain had always been a constant in Sihtric’s life—a relentless reminder that he was still alive. He had learned to endure it, to push it aside and keep moving. But now, with every laboured step, he knew it was different. A heavy grunt escaped his lips as he stumbled, the growing heaviness in his limbs warning him that the injury was far worse than he’d initially thought.

Warm, sticky blood trickled through his fingers as he pressed his hand harder against the wound in his side, trying to staunch the flow. The gash throbbed with a fiery intensity, each pulse sending fresh waves of agony through his body.

The scouting mission had gone terribly wrong, and he had only himself to blame.

Slipping away from the camp, determined to prove he was the best scout among them, had been reckless. But he wanted – no, he needed – to prove himself to his new lord, to show his worth, to show he was more than just a follower, more than a shadow.

Yes, he had found the Danes, but they had found him too. Now, the burning pain in his side served as a cruel reminder of his foolishness. 

Each step harder than the last, the forest around him slowly turned into a blur of green and shadows as his vision dimmed. Sihtric clenched his jaw, forcing himself forward – if he could just make it back to camp, if he could just hold on a little longer. 

Was he even heading in the right direction?

Sihtric stumbled, his legs barely able to hold his weight, and this time, he couldn't catch himself. He crashed to the ground, the thick moss cushioning his fall, but the sharp, searing pain that tore through his side forced a strangled moan from his clenched teeth.

He lay there for a moment, sprawled on his back, chest heaving. Above him, the thick canopy of leaves let in slivers of golden light, the first signs of dawn breaking through.

The sun was rising, marking the beginning of a new day, a day he might not live to see the end of.

Yet, he felt no regret.

Even now, with life draining from his body, he would make the same choice again. If this was where it ended—alone in a forest, bleeding out into the moss and leaves—so be it.

He had chosen this path.

For the first time in his life, he had given his oath freely, not out of fear or obligation, but out of loyalty and honour. He wanted to serve, to be worthy of Uhtred’s trust, to prove that he deserved his place, that Uhtred had made the right decision accepting him. That was worth any pain, any price.

His vision blurred, but Sihtric kept his eyes fixed on the shifting patterns of light above, with a shuddering breath he rolled over and slowly forced himself up on his knees.

He had no intention of dying here, not yet. He still had something to prove.

There it was: the small, crooked house that resembled a giant mushroom, leaning precariously against the mighty oak tree beside it.

The villagers called it the Witch's Lair. The old house greeted you silently, as it always did, the only constant in your ever-changing life.

Perched on the outskirts of the village, right at the forest’s edge, the house was hidden from sight by a tangle of towering trees and dense bushes.

It had stood empty for years, and no one could remember who had last lived there. Its roof was thick with moss, the window shutters hung crooked, some hinges rusted and loose, and the steps leading to the entrance were so rotten they had collapsed the first time you set foot on them.

You remembered every word of the gruesome tales whispered around the village fires—the stories of the witch who had lived in the house, stealing children and casting curses on anyone who dared to approach.

They said her ghost still haunted the place, luring in unsuspecting travellers and never letting them leave. On nights of the full moon, it was said you could hear their cries, calling for help that would never come.

No one dared to approach the cursed house, let alone step inside. Perhaps that was the very reason you had chosen it as your safe haven, your refuge.

This was the one place no one would ever dare to look for you. Of that, you were sure. Yet, as you approached, the house looked so peaceful, so calm, almost as if it were inviting you in.

You pressed your palm against the weathered wood of the outer wall, feeling its roughness under your skin, and listened to the quiet.

The sun hung high overhead, but its light barely penetrated the thick canopy of trees that loomed over the house like ancient guardians. Their tangled branches stretched out, like strong veiny arms, casting long shadows and shielding the house from the outside world.

A strange sense of peace settled over you as you pushed open the door. It creaked loudly in protest, a long, drawn-out whine that echoed in the stillness but yielded to your touch.

For a fleeting moment, you wished the stories were true—that you could disappear behind these doors and never have to face the world again.

Inside, you moved with practised ease, avoiding the sagging floorboards that threatened to collapse underfoot. You crossed the dimly lit room, heading for the large, dusty cupboard by the window.

It held your most cherished possession: an old, leather-bound Bible, the only thing you had managed to save from the fire that had consumed your home, your past, your life.

The weight of the book in your hands was familiar, a comfort that pulled you back to memories of a time before everything had changed. You held it close, the leather cool against your skin, savouring the past swirl around you – a fleeting, almost forgotten feeling of a home, of a place to belong to. 

But today, something felt different.

A faint sound reached your ears—a muffled moan, barely audible, coming from the other room.

You froze, your heart pounding, a chill running down your spine. Your legs felt weak, as if rooted to the spot, even though every instinct screamed at you to run.

“Who’s there?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling in the silence, yet the sound hung in the air, sharp and intrusive, like a blade slicing through the stillness, violating the house's sacred peace.

There was no answer.

Just silence, thick and suffocating.

A shaft of light broke through the dust-laden air as you placed the Bible on the table by the window. The book landed with a dull thud, and at that precise moment, you heard it again—a moan, clearer this time, unmistakable.

Panic thundered in your mind, urging you to run, to flee before it was too late. But instead, to your own surprise, you turned and headed directly toward the other room, the source of the sound.

The deafening cry you let out as the mountain of blankets on the bed suddenly came to life, sprang to its feet, and tried to grasp your arm, would have made anyone in the village run for their lives. But here, in the eerie silence of the old house, it only seemed to echo back at you, swallowed by the dark, empty rooms as you fought to pull away.

You drove your fist into the stranger’s stomach with all the strength your fragile frame could muster.

He doubled over, and you yanked your arm free, sprinting towards the door.

Behind you, there was a loud thud as his body hit the floor, followed by an agonised moan.

“Please, help me,” the stranger’s voice, unusually soft and melodic, was laced with desperation, making you stop and turn back.

The crouched figure on the floor was a young warrior, clearly a Dane judging by his distinctive haircut and clothing.

As your eyes widened with growing fear, you took in the scene: his hands pressed tightly against his side, his face contorted with pain. He made no effort to stand.

“Please…” His whisper trailed off into a groan.

Driven by an inexplicable urge, you took a cautious step toward him.

“I’m no threat. I will not harm you. Please, help me!” Each word came out with difficulty, mingled with ragged breaths. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his body trembled.

You crouched down, raising your hand slowly.

The young Dane flinched, instinctively trying to pull away, but the movement only made him wince in pain. His eyes—one a striking blue, the other a deep brown—watched your hand with a mix of fear and uncertainty as you gently placed your palm on his forehead.

It was burning hot.

“We need to get you back into bed,” you said with unexpected certainty, surprising even yourself.

There was no rational reason to help someone who might, at the next opportunity, return to burn down your village. Your mind screamed to run and alert the others, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Hold on to me,” you murmured, slipping the stranger's arm around your shoulders as you tried to help him to his feet.

Each step drew a muffled whine from the young Dane. He struggled to keep up, dragging his feet with great effort, his breaths growing more laboured with each movement.

He collapsed onto the bedside and sank back into the blankets, exhausted.

Your eyes wandered over his lean, almost gaunt frame, the muscular arms exposed by his sleeveless leather armour, and his strikingly handsome, youthful face.

What was he doing here, in your secret hideout?

A pained groan pulled you out of your thoughts, your eyes drawn to the blood staining the blankets.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” you said, already moving toward the door.

You chuckled at your own foolishness.

“As if he has a choice in his condition,” you muttered to yourself.

The hearth hadn’t been used in ages, and it was a miracle no birds had nested in the chimney. After a few failed attempts, you finally managed to light a fire, and soon the water in the kettle began to bubble.

Finding clean rags proved to be more of a challenge. You’d decided against returning to the village to avoid awkward questions and there was in fact no time for that, which left you with only one option—to sacrifice your underskirt.

You returned to the room, your makeshift rags in hand. The young Dane was still lying on the bed, his breathing ragged and uneven. His eyes met yours, filled with pain but also a hint of trust, as if he had decided to place his fate in your hands.

“We need to get you out of this armour,” you said softly, kneeling beside him.

His face tightened in a grimace, but he nodded, his jaw set in determination.

Gingerly, you began to unbuckle the leather straps of his armour, your fingers moving quickly yet carefully with a practised ease. Each movement was met with a wince or a sharp intake of breath from him, but he made no sound.

You bit your lip as you peeled back his tunic, revealing the wound. A deep gash ran along his side, the skin jagged and torn. Blood oozed slowly from it, staining his skin and pooling onto the bed.

“This is going to hurt,” you warned, your voice trembling slightly.

He merely nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a steady gaze.

You cleaned the wound as best as you could, using the rags and hot water from the kettle. His muscles tensed beneath your touch, and his breathing grew more laboured, but he didn’t flinch. He endured it silently, and you could only marvel at the self-restraint the young Dane showed, holding himself with a stoic resolve and refusing to cry out.

Next came the stitching.

You had never imagined that your sewing kit, meant for mending your best dress—now faded and threadbare—would be used for something like this. But here you were.

You threaded the needle with steady hands, even as your heart pounded in your chest. You had never done this before, but now was not the right time for uncertainty. 

The first stitch drew a low hiss from his lips, his eyes squeezing shut. You kept going, each pull of the thread through his skin accompanied by a muffled groan or a shuddering breath. He clenched his fists, gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white, but he didn’t move, didn’t protest.

Minutes passed, feeling like hours, until finally, the wound was closed.

You wiped away the last traces of blood, bandaging his side as carefully as you could. He was sweating, his face pale, his eyes glazed with pain, but still, he managed to look at you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

As the words left his lips, his eyes rolled back, fluttering closed, and he collapsed against the pillows, losing consciousness.

You sat back, releasing a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, and your hands shook slightly, adrenaline still coursing through you. 

What on earth were you doing?

The thought pierced through your mind, sharp and unrelenting. This was madness—helping a wounded Dane, an enemy.

And yet, as you watched his chest rise and fall, the tension slowly leaving his chiselled, muscular frame, you couldn’t deny the strange sense of relief that washed over you. Against all reason, you felt a flicker of accomplishment, knowing you had saved his life, at least for now. 

None of it made any sense.

The moment he opened his eyes, Sihtric’s first instinct was to run, but his body refused to cooperate. His limbs felt as if they were filled with lead, collapsing under him after just a few steps.

Memories returned slowly, emerging from the fog clouding his mind like fragmented images.

He had been injured, certain he was going to die.

The solitary house on the edge of the forest had seemed like a possible refuge, even though it looked empty and abandoned. As his strength faded and the cold seeped under his skin, the bed with its old, tattered blankets had seemed so inviting.

He heard footsteps approaching and turned his head towards the sound. His eyes found you—the face he recognized now.

The beautiful, slightly pale face, the gentle voice, the big, fearful eyes brimming with determination and warmth. He remembered the way your fingers had trembled as you held the needle. He remembered everything, yet none of it made sense.

Why had you saved him? A Dane, a stranger, an enemy. And yet here you were, holding a steaming bowl in your hands, concern evident in your eyes.

“Take it easy,” you said with a soft smile, one that made Sihtric feel like he was losing himself in its warmth. “You need to eat to regain your strength. Let me help you.”

As much as Sihtric hated to admit it, he was in no condition to even hold the bowl himself. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he accepted your help, allowing you to feed him. 

The real trial, however, came when you returned with clean wraps, clearly determined to change his bandages.

Sihtric's eyes widened as you approached, a wave of discomfort washing over him.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said quickly, his voice betraying a hint of panic.

He tried to sit up straighter, but his body protested with a sharp jolt of pain, forcing him to lie back down.

“What’s your name?” you asked, your hand gently resting on his forehead to check for fever.

“I’m called Sihtric, lady,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

He felt himself melt into the unexpectedly comforting tenderness of your touch. It had been so long—he couldn’t even remember the last time someone had touched him with such gentleness and care. 

“Nice to meet you, Sihtric,” you replied, as simple as that.

No questions, no suspicious inquiries, just another soft smile and eyes filled with compassion, tinged with a hint of sadness.

If not for the persistent pain in his side, Sihtric might have believed this was all a dream.

“It’s alright,” you replied softly, setting the linens down beside the bed.

“You need proper care if you’re going to heal.” your voice was strangely calm as you furrowed an eyebrow as if sensing his unease although you couldn’t quite grasp the reason for it.

Sihtric swallowed hard, his gaze shifting away.

“I can manage,” he insisted, though the strain in his voice betrayed his struggle.

You sighed, a gentle smile playing on your lips.

“I know you’re strong, Sihtric. But even the strongest need help sometimes.”

You moved closer, your hands reaching out to remove the old, bloodstained bandages.

His body tensed, and he mustered enough strength to grasp your hand, holding it tightly.

“Why are you so kind to me? Why are you helping me?” he asked, his voice low as he drew a deep, shaky breath. “I could have been your enemy.”

The question caught you off guard. You tilted your head slightly, studying him—the handsome young man before you, his large, expressive eyes locked on yours, searching for answers.

Could you admit that you’d been asking yourself the same question over and over? Could you confess that, in saving him, you had unknowingly saved yourself from the emptiness of your own life—given it purpose, given it meaning?

“Maybe,” you replied softly, “but you’re not my enemy. You needed help, and I was here. Sometimes, it really is that simple.”

The moment of silence stretched on.

Sihtric didn’t release your hand, his grip tightening briefly as if holding on to some last bit of resistance. But then, with a heavy sigh, his defences crumbled, and he loosened his hold, surrendering to your care.

Gently, you reached out and began undoing the bandages.

Sihtric’s gaze followed your movements, a blend of curiosity and something deeper—gratitude mixed with a hint of awe.

“There,” you said softly, tying the last knot. “All done.” You looked up and met his eyes.

The coolness of the fresh bandages against his skin seemed to ease his tension, and he exhaled, the pain dulling under your careful touch.

Sihtric cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted, his voice low. “Being taken care of.”

Your expression softened as you met his gaze. “Everyone deserves to be cared for,” you said gently.

He looked down, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “You’re kind,” he said, after a moment. “Kinder than I deserve.”

You shook your head, dismissing the doubt in his words. “You deserve kindness, Sihtric,” you replied firmly. “Just like anyone else.”

Sihtric’s fingers brushed yours, hesitantly, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Sensing your acceptance, he took your hand in his, slowly lifting it to his lips.

The kiss he placed on your palm was tender, almost reverent, and lingered longer than you expected.

He wanted to say more—to spill everything he was feeling, to let you know how your kindness had shaken him to the core. He had never met anyone like you.

There was such a beauty in your warmth, in the way you looked at him, in how you cared.

He wanted to tell you that he would give everything he had, even his life, just to see your smile again. To feel deserving of your compassion.

A small, tentative smile finally curved his lips—the first real one you’d seen since he woke. “Thank you,” was the only thing he managed, his voice rough and unsteady, eyes dropping to the floor again.

A week had passed since the young Dane had stumbled into your life.

You had feared he wouldn’t make it.

His sleep was restless, plagued by fevered dreams. He tossed and turned, drenched in sweat, painful moans escaping his lips.

The fever refused to break, and the greedy midwife had demanded a small fortune for a potion that promised to reduce the fever and ease his pain. You paid for it anyway.

Sihtric was incredibly sweet, reminding you of a big child—a big, neglected child, you had to admit.

The first thing he did upon waking was try to leap out of bed, but he didn’t get far, stumbling after the first unsteady steps. You couldn’t help but notice the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks as you helped him back into bed.

The crimson in his cheeks deepened every time he had to accept your help, whether it was eating the broth you prepared or when you insisted on changing his bandages. 

He seemed so confused, even lost, his eyes never leaving you as you moved around the old house. You could feel his gaze, a blend of curiosity and wariness, as if he were trying to make sense of this unexpected sanctuary and the stranger who had offered it. 

Yet beneath the confusion, there was unmistakable gratitude and awe in his eyes, and you clung to it like a drowning man grasping a plank in a stormy sea, letting it become your anchor, something to wrap around yourself like a warm scarf, shielding you from the coldness of the night.

You didn’t ask any questions.

Part of you was too afraid to hear the truth—who he really was, where his injury came from. And another part of you dreaded being asked the same in return.

It was he who eventually broke the silence, telling you that he was Lord Uhtred’s sworn man, wounded during a scouting mission.

Did you believe him? No, not really. But you didn’t let it show.

It was easier this way—two strangers brought together by the unpredictable currents of fate, waiting for the next tide to carry them apart again.

And yet the questions came.

“You know about me,” Sihtric began, his voice tentative, “but I hardly know anything about you. Tell me about your family.”

You hesitated, your hands pausing over the cups with herbal tea you were making. You forced a smile and turned to face him.

“Oh, there’s not much to tell,” you said lightly. “I come from a big family. My father runs the mill in the village and often works late, so I have to help my mother with the household and look after my younger brothers and sisters in the evenings. It keeps me busy,” unable to explain to yourself why it mattered at all, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell the truth. 

Sihtric nodded, his eyes softening with understanding.

“That must be hard, all those responsibilities. But it must also be nice to have such a big family.”

“It is,” you replied, feeling a pang of guilt for the lie. “There’s always something happening, and never a dull moment.”

He smiled, and for a moment, the room seemed to brighten. “It must be nice to have so much noise and life around you. I never had that.”

You nodded, looking away to hide the conflict in your eyes.

“It has its moments,” you said, keeping your tone casual. “But it’s nice to have a bit of quiet now and then, too.”

You knew this couldn’t last.

It felt like a dream—one you dreaded waking from each morning as the first rays of sunlight touched your closed eyelids.

Suddenly, your lonesome refuge had become a home, a place to return to, something to care for. You were needed. 

Each morning, it was as if your feet had grown wings, carrying you swiftly to that old, decrepit house. And each evening, as you reluctantly left Sihtric behind to return to the village, your heart sank with the fear that he might be gone by the time you returned the next day.

Deep down, you knew that day was coming, faster than you wanted to admit.

It was one of those evenings when the moon hung low, perched on the treetops, so large it seemed as though you could touch it if you just stretched out your hand.

Sihtric had been unusually silent all day, and as you prepared a simple meal in the kitchen you struggled to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel it.

The wound on his side had healed remarkably well, thanks more to his youth than your limited healing skills.

“I... I need to…” Sihtric’s voice came from behind you, hesitant.

You paused, hands stilling over the vegetables, and quickly wiped away the salty tears that had slipped down your cheeks. Forcing a smile, you turned to face him.

He stood in the doorway, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“I know,” you said, your voice was calmer than you felt inside. “It’s time. You’re well enough now.”

Sihtric nodded, his expression softening. “It is,” he murmured.

There was nothing more to be said.

You nodded, turning back to the table in an attempt to hide the conflict swirling in your eyes.

You didn’t want to cry.

It was foolish, really.

You had known from the start that it would end this way. You were strangers from different worlds, barely knowing each other.

Yet, the ache in your heart told a different story.

You heard Sihtric move closer until he was just behind you, so close that his warm breath grazed the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your grip tightened on the knife as you resumed chopping the vegetables, forcing yourself to focus on the rhythmic movement. Up and down. Up and down. The blade moved faster in your hand, each swing becoming more erratic as your emotions tangled.

Suddenly, two large palms closed gently over yours, halting your frantic motion.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to steady yourself. Tears welled in the corners of your eyes, and you blinked hard, willing them away.

“You’re different,” Sihtric’s voice was soft, his thumbs lightly brushing against your hands. “You could have turned me away, but you didn’t. I owe you my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, but whatever words were forming on your tongue dissolved into a silent sob that you quickly masked with a sharp inhale.

Sihtric had never been this close before, never intruded into your space so intimately. His muscular frame pressed gently against your back, steady and comforting, but what caught your attention most were his hands—his hands were trembling, just as yours were.

“I don’t know how to repay you,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, filled with something raw, something that tugged at your heart. “But I want to.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, willing yourself to remain calm. You could feel his warmth against your back, and every part of you wanted to turn around, to face him, to let everything you’d been holding back spill out. But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

“There’s nothing to repay,” you said softly, your voice almost breaking. “You don’t owe me anything, Sihtric. I helped because you needed it. That’s all.”

The sensation of Sihtric’s right hand slipping away from yours, travelling slowly up your arm, sent your heart racing wildly.

There were no delicate butterflies in your stomach—there were frogs, leaping and tumbling inside.

His trembling fingers brushed your loose hair aside, revealing your shoulder and neckline.

You sucked in a sharp breath as Sihtric’s warm lips grazed your sensitive skin.

You closed your eyes, a soft whine escaping your lips, mingling with your uneven breath as you involuntarily tilted your head, giving him better access to your neck. A strange heat consumed your senses, making it impossible to focus on anything but his touch.

Sihtric’s breathing quickened, his body pressed more tightly against yours.

You steadied yourself, bracing your hands against the table to keep from losing balance.

“Sihtric...” you breathed, a surprised whimper slipping out as you instinctively pushed back, only to feel the unmistakable hardness of his growing arousal against your body.

Sihtric instantly pulled away, and you finally turned to face him, his hands slipping away as embarrassment flickered across his handsome features.

It wasn’t a conscious movement on your part, but more an instinct—driven by the fear of losing this moment, of letting go of something you had both craved and feared all along. Without thinking, you reached out, grasping his hand and pulling him closer, your other hand reaching for his chin as your foreheads gently touched.

“I... I don’t know what I’m doing,” Sihtric whispered, his gaze dropping as his breath warmed your skin. His voice was hoarse, raw, and even somewhat trembling. “Please, just tell me to stop. Tell me I’m a fool for wanting something I have no right to.”

“Sihtric, look at me,” you murmured, biting your lip as the ache in your chest grew.

Slowly, you reached out cupping Sihtric’s face in your palms, gently guiding his head back toward you. You didn’t speak, but your thumb traced the curve of his lips, silently urging him to understand that you felt the same pull, the same desire. 

“I... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to...” he stammered, uncertainty rippling through his tense body and before he could pull away or before doubt could grip you both, you rose onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his, cutting off the words that never came.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped him, melting into the kiss.

You had imagined this moment so many times.

Foreign hands roaming your body, bruising demanding, you had dreamt of this gentle, hesitant kiss like a promise waiting to be fulfilled, soft and filled with reverence you hadn’t expected.

It was everything you’d longed for, and more. 

As the kiss deepened, the sweetness gave way to something more urgent, more consuming. Sihtric's initial surprise and hesitation melted into raw passion.

Your fingers tangled in his braided hair, pulling him closer, drawing another delicious moan from his lips.

His rough, calloused fingers caressed your back, tracing slow, deliberate paths along your spine, his breath growing heavier, more rugged, betraying his youthful eagerness.

You knew this would be the last time you’d see him. There was no future for the two of you—just this fleeting, fiery moment.

The thought twisted in your chest, knowing it would leave your heart aching, raw with longing for what could never be. But it didn’t stop you. It only made you crave him more.

It was anyway more than you could dream of, more than someone like you deserved.

You didn’t care anymore about keeping up the charade of the modest miller’s daughter. At this moment, it didn’t matter.

You were who you were, and you craved him—this young, handsome and strong, yet sweetly hesitant man who touched you as if you were made of fragile glass. You wanted this to be a memory worth keeping, for both of you.

With a confident tug, you hooked your fingers into the hem of his breeches and pulled him flush against you, crushing your lips to his in another kiss that was hungry, deep, and filled with all the passion you had kept inside.

In a swift, determined motion, you turned him around, pressing him against the table.

He let you.

Sihtric would let you do anything. His world was spinning.

From the moment he’d first opened his eyes and met your gaze, filled with warmth and care, he had craved you. He had craved this.

Even the dull ache in his side couldn’t stop the way his body responded to your touch, how his breeches grew tighter each time your hands brushed his skin while tending to his wound, his blood staining your fingers.

He had nothing to offer in return for your kindness—no riches, no freedom. And yet, if he could, he would pull every star from the sky and lay them at your feet.

But even himself, he could not offer. Bound by his oath to Lord Uhtred, he was not free.

He was sure you wouldn’t accept him anyway. After all, he was a Dane, a bastard and a warrior, and you—a Saxon maiden, with a life rooted in the stability and safety of your village. A life where there was no room for the uncertainty that would surely follow if you were bound to him.

It was a mystery to him why you were even tending to him, why you were here at all.

And now, your lips on his had set his mind spinning in a whirlwind of emotions he had never felt before.

Sihtric’s wide eyes tracked your every movement, his breath catching in his throat as your hands skillfully untied the laces of his breeches.

“Oh, gods,” he hissed, and you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you watched him shudder, his sharp breath filling the air between you as your hand boldly slipped inside, stroking his fully hard length before freeing it from the confines of his breeches. 

You kept stroking it, slowly, teasingly from root to tip, as you licked your lips, listening to the soft gasps, escaping Sihtric as his beautifully formed and thick cock twitched and pulsed under your touch.

You leaned in, rolling up his tunic as your teeth lightly grazed the hard muscle of his abdomen.

A heavy moan escaped him, and you felt him suddenly hold his breath.

Smiling, you let your lips trail further down, but just as quickly, his hands shot out to grasp yours, stopping you.

“Wait... no, let me...” he murmured, his voice thick. "Let me take care of you."

In one fluid motion, Sihtric pulled you back to your feet and spun you around with such ease, it stole the breath from your lungs.

You had always suspected he was strong, despite his slender frame, but the way he handled you like you weighed nothing sent a shiver down your spine.

Sihtric’s fingers brushed along your jawline, his rough palms framing your face with a tenderness that nearly broke you and you blinked back the tears threatening to blur your vision.

“Will you let me have you?” his voice was soft and pleading, eyes dark with lust, searching yours for an answer. 

Suddenly unable to find your voice you just nodded, letting your teeth graze your bottom lip as your fingers slipped under his tunic, eager to explore again the tight planes of muscle beneath his skin.

This time, your touch wasn’t filled with the care of tending to his wounds, but with burning passion, with unrestrained desire.

You needed him closer—needed to feel his breath mingling with yours, his lips on your bare skin. You longed to hear him moan your name, to feel his breath hitch as he made you his, even if it was only for this brief moment of shared bliss.

A low hiss escaped your lips as Sihtric’s hands began to hurriedly bunch your dress up your thighs, his calloused fingertips grazing your skin. His eyes flicked up to yours, questioning, as if giving you a moment to reconsider—to stop him.

Impatience coursing through your veins, you took over, pulling the dress over your head and discarding it carelessly on the floor. The same urgency drove your hands as you pulled his tunic off and helped him get out of his breeches, leaving nothing between your bodies.

Sihtric’s large hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly and setting you down on the table. The half-prepared supper clattered to the floor, forgotten, as he hastily cleared the space for you.

You spread your legs, inviting him closer, craving the warmth of his body against yours.

“Please, let me taste you,” the raw, husky tone of his voice made your core clench around nothing. 

“You can do whatever you want with me, Sihtric. I’m yours,” you whimpered as you let him urge you down until your back met the rough wooden surface of the table. 

You felt his hot breath on your skin as he placed a wet, open-mouth kiss on your ankle.

You closed your eyes, shivering in lust, as his lips travelled up your leg. You gasped loudly, feeling his lips getting closer to your pulsing core, placing a lingering kiss on your inner thigh. 

His hands took hold of your hips and then with a soft whimper he licked over your slit.

You moaned, your hands gripping the edge of the table, back arching against the wooden surface. It felt so sinfully beautiful, like a forbidden pleasure you knew you shouldn’t want but couldn’t resist, like tasting temptation itself and craving more with every breath.

Each lap of Sihtric’s hot tongue against your pearl drew another loud moan from you.

You slid your fingers into his hair and pulled hard on them.

Sihtric hissed, not letting go of you, as his tongue started to circle your pulsing bundle and his lips nipped and sucked at it, making you squirm and whine as stars exploded behind your tightly closed eyes.

He took you gently, slowly, almost hesitantly pushing forward into you, his eyes locked with yours, his sweaty, shaky palms, pinning your hips down on the rough surface of the table, betraying his nervousness.  

You gasped, feeling his length stretching and filling you, your core throbbing with a greedy need. 

Sihtric moaned as he finally sheathed fully inside of you. He stilled. Eyes locked with yours he savoured your walls taking him in and clenching around him.

The feeling of him buried deep inside of you made your walls flutter in arousal and need, you dug your fingers into his flesh, pushing your hips against him, begging for more.

And he gave you more.

Sihtric pulled out, before pushing forward again and then again, his movements tormentingly slow but thorough, driving you mad with want and desire.

Spurred by the lewd sounds rolling over your lips, his thrusts started to pick up pace until he was pounding into you, his hips meeting yours with every move.

“Oh god, Sihtric, you feel so good, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you mewled, clawing at his skin. 

You glanced up at the young Dane through your lashes, taking in the sight of him as he thrusted into you—his flushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes rolling back into his head, breath catching and lips parted in deep, intoxicating groans—worshipping you like you had never been worshipped before.

He was completely entranced by you, utterly under your spell, and the sight of him like this—vulnerable and beautiful—was one you knew you would never forget as you cursed and thanked fate in equal measure for bringing you together in this secluded, forgotten place.

“Please, don’t stop, don’t ever let go of me,” you whispered, barely aware of the words escaping your lips, lost in the moment, already too far gone, too close to the edge.

“I won’t. You’re mine. Forever mine,” Sihtric’s voice reached you through the haze clouding your mind, his words wrapping around you like a promise, solid and unwavering, making your walls start clenching around him.

Sihtric pulled you up, pressing his forehead against yours as he continued to thrust into you, his strong arms holding you close, securing you against him.

His lips found your neck, kissing, sucking and bruising your soft skin with his teeth, his breath panting and his moans growing stronger and heavier with each thrust, mingling with yours.

“Forever mine,” he breathed in your ear, the sweet promise in his words adding the last weight to tip the scales and sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your climax hit you with a force of a tempest, filling you with pure bliss as tears welled up in your eyes.

Thighs trembling and head spinning, your whole body shook while hot waves of pleasure washed over you as Sihtric fucked you through your peak, his panting breath, laced with strained, twitching moans, hot against the skin of your neck as he came only a few moments later. 

You knew the old house would be empty, greeting you with the same heavy silence it always had. And yet, as you pushed open the creaking wooden door, you held your breath, a flicker of hope still lingering in your chest.

“I will come back. You’ll see. There’s nothing in this world that can keep me away from you,” he had whispered, holding you tightly against his chest.

“Not even your oath?” you had asked, lifting your gaze to meet his.

He didn’t reply at first, his mismatched, searching eyes darkening as he looked down at you. Then, almost hesitantly, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you.

His embrace was strong but gentle, as if he still feared you might pull away. But you didn’t.

You leaned into him, feeling his heartbeat against yours, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones.

“Not even my oath,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

Did you believe him? No, not really.

Now, your footsteps echoed through the empty rooms, a hollow ache settling in your chest as the crushing truth hit you. 

Your gaze fell on a single, delicate white flower in a vase on the table. It stood out against the emptiness, a painful remainder of something gone, something lost forever.

Slowly, you sank to the floor, the weight of it all breaking you. Uncontrollable sobs shook your body as a loud cry tore through you, the tiny shimmer of hope you had clung to slipping away with each tear.

The tavern buzzed with activity that evening, a small party of warriors having stopped in the village.

Their presence initially sent villagers into their homes, shutters drawn tight in fear. But the clink of silver flowing freely from the warriors' hands as they ordered food and ale quickly spread, and the fear began to dissipate.

Curiosity took hold, and soon the tavern filled with villagers eager to strike a bargain or sell their wares. It promised to be a profitable night for everyone—especially the tavern’s ladies.

Hearing how generous the strangers were, you had pulled your best dress from the old chest, carefully checking for any loose stitches before slipping it on.

The voices and laughter from downstairs grew louder as you descended into the bustling, lively room, mingling easily between the tables, your eyes scanning for the strangers in hopes of catching their attention.

A booming voice cut through the din, drawing your gaze to a table where several men sat, one of them clearly the leader.

The girls had whispered that the others called him "Lord."

You mustered your most enticing smile as you neared, eager to catch his eye—until a snippet of their conversation froze you in place.

Your eyes went wide, shock coursing through you, the noise of the tavern fading as the weight of what you were hearing settled in.

“Sihtric, you did what you could. Sometimes you just have to accept things as they are,” the man said, stepping aside and placing a hand on his companion’s shoulder.

“There isn’t even a mill in this village. There’s no point in asking for the miller’s daughter. She didn’t want to be found.”

“It can’t be,” Sihtric’s voice trembled, his grip tightening around the ale mug. “She told me... she said she loved me. The night before I left, she said she loved me.”

"Maybe she loved your cock,” came a mocking chuckle from a bearded man with a thick Irish accent, earning a desperate, angry glare from Sihtric.

“Sihtric,” Uhtred interjected, his tone gentler now, "none of what she told you about herself or her family was true. I spoke to the innkeeper. You need to forget her."

Sihtric’s gaze lifted slowly from the floor, his cheeks flushed with the weight of shame and disbelief. As he turned to face Uhtred, his eyes caught the figure of a young woman standing nearby, unmistakably one of the tavern's whores.

You wanted to run, but your body refused to obey. Your feet felt rooted to the floor as you watched recognition and surprise flicker in Sihtric's eyes as he stood.

It seemed impossible, yet it was true—your dearest dream and worst nightmare had collided into reality.

With the last remnants of your strength, you forced yourself to turn away. Your legs wobbled like jelly as you stumbled toward the door, using the tables for support. Behind you, Sihtric's voice called your name, spurring you forward.

You reached the door, shoving it open before tumbling down the steps outside. You hit the ground but scrambled back to your feet, desperation driving you. Shame and embarrassment burned at your heels as you broke into a run.

"Wait! Please, stop!" Sihtric’s voice rang out behind you.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you back against a broad chest.

You fought against it, struggling to free yourself, pounding your fists against the leather armour covering him. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

"Let me go!" you cried, your strength and resistance fading as his unyielding grip held firm. "Now you know!" you sobbed, your voice cracking. "Now you know everything. Just... please, let me go."

Hurt etched across Sihtric’s handsome face as he loosened his hold, but your strength had left you.

Without his support, you sank to the ground, trembling with sobs.

"So it was all a lie?" you heard him ask, his voice strained. "You didn’t mean it? But why?" His voice nearly broke with the question.

"Why does it matter?" you cried, burying your face in your hands. "You'd never want me if you knew who I really am."

"But you know that's not true," Sihtric said, crouching down beside you, his hands grasping your shoulders. "Look at me. Please, just look at me," he pleaded, his voice so full of emotion it made your chest ache.

Slowly, you withdrew your hands from your face, tears blurring your vision, as you reluctantly met Sihtric’s gaze.

His eyes, though pained, were full of something you hadn’t expected—understanding. His hands tightened gently on your shoulders, steadying you as you trembled.

“Do you think I care about that?” he asked, his voice soft but firm. 

Your breath hitched, disbelief swirling in your chest. “But I lied to you, Sihtric. I told you things that weren’t true. I’m not who you thought I was.”

He shook his head, his grip on you firm and unwavering. “You are exactly who I thought you were. You’re the woman who saved me when I had nothing, who didn’t judge or despise me for what I am, who cared for me when I was weak. You’re the woman I can’t stop thinking about.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, but you still felt the weight of shame dragging you down. “But I’m not the miller’s daughter. I’m no one. I’m just...”

Sihtric cupped your face in his hands, his touch gentle but insistent. “You are everything to me,” he whispered, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. Sihtric’s fingers gently trailed the contours of your face, his thumb lightly pecking your lips, as he lifted up your chin.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The hurt, the shame, the fear—they all melted away under the weight of his words. His touch was steady, his presence grounding. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of him soothe the storm inside you.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmured, barely able to voice the words.

“Maybe I don’t deserve you,” he countered softly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. 

His lips met yours in a kiss so gentle, so tender, that it sent a wave of warmth through you, stirring something deep inside—a longing so powerful it left you breathless.

With trembling fingers, you cupped his face, pulling him closer, as if you couldn’t get enough of him. And when you finally pulled away, a sense of lightness washed over you, as if a burden you had carried for far too long had suddenly lifted.

“What now?” you whispered, your voice trembling with both hope and uncertainty.

“Don’t you remember?” Sihtric chuckled softly. “You are mine, forever mine.” His arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

Did you believe him? For the first time, yes, you did.

[prythianpages]

The House of Veilwood | Eris

eris x chaos witch reader | summary: Veilwood was once a small village but when tragedy struck, only one house was left standing. A creepy, old wooden cabin that became the center of many stories and rumored to house an evil being. A story meant to scare children and keep them from wandering in the forest alone. A story both you and Eris grew up hearing that may hold more truth than both of you expected.

word count: 5.5K

warnings: mentions of scary creature

a/n: I've created some lore for chaos witch, more than I thought I would honestly. So consider this like an optional prologue. I originally wrote this only in your pov but decided it'd be fun to also include Eris and young Lucien in this! It also kind of fits Day 4 of @erisweekofficial with tradition as Eris passes the tale of the house of Veilwood to Lucien like his mother did to him and one of his hounds also makes an appearance.

Eris's POV

A scowl tugged at Eris’s lips, one that his younger brother often teased would become permanent.  One that was because of said brother—the small but mighty thorn in his side, always dragging him into some new, unwanted mischief. Today’s trouble was no different, forcing Eris to leave the warmth of his study. 

He should be reclining with a book in hand, his loyal hounds at his feet, but instead, he’s spending his afternoon, venturing into the depths of the Autumn forest.

Laika, one of his hounds, trots a few paces ahead, nose to the ground and tail wagging. She didn’t seem to mind the disruption in their routine. Her nose twitches at a scent and she glances back at Eris, eyes bright with excitement. It softens his hard expression for a brief moment.

As she leads him off the main path and toward a hidden trail, a sinking feeling settles into Eris’s stomach.

“Oh, sweet Lucien,” Eris mutters, realizing exactly where his brother was headed. 

Of course, he’d be off to Veilwood—the village that once was. All but one house was destroyed after some sort of disaster, leaving many rumors to rise such as the one that claims that something dark and wicked dwells there. Eris had grown up hearing the tales of a creature–a monster–who had a great appetite for fae who wandered into that part of the forest, particularly the young fae. 

The story had been passed down for generations, told by parents to keep their children from straying too far into the forest alone. Eris could still remember the way his mother would tell it, her voice dropping to a whisper as she described the creature’s shadow slinking through the trees. Always watching, always waiting. It was one of those stories that curled up in the back of his mind, the kind that made you think twice before venturing too far from the familiar paths.

And so, when Lucien had reached the right age, it only felt natural for Eris to pass the story on. It was practically a rite of passage, a tradition meant to instill caution. The tale had worked on Eris when he was young, keeping him close to home until he was old enough and brave enough to explore the deeper parts of the forest with a trusty hound by his side.

But Lucien was not like him. The story, rather than scaring him into staying safe, had sparked something else entirely—curiosity. 

As he trails after his younger brother, Eris can’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the simpler times. When Lucien was just a babe, more interested in drooling on Eris's shoulders than running off on reckless adventures. He remembered the days when Lucien would follow him everywhere with wide-eyed innocence, asking endless questions and clinging to him like a shadow. 

Eris had been his protector from the start, always watching over him. Something his father neglected to do and though Eris had his suspicions, he couldn’t help but feel both a sense of pity and envy toward Lucien.

There was that summer by the great Pyr River—Lucien had just turned ten, and Eris had taken Lucien fishing for the first time. It was a small tradition in Autumn, one that Beron had passed down to Eris when he was that age, and seeing as Beron gave little to no attention to Lucien, Eris took it upon himself to teach his younger brother. He showed Lucien how to wait, how to be patient, how to read the river’s current to help him catch a fish with his bare hands. It took many tries, countless mistakes, and no small amount of patience on Eris’s part, but he didn’t mind. It was all worth it to see Lucien’s eyes light up with wonder when he finally caught a fish on his own.

Those were the days when Lucien’s world was smaller, his adventures limited to the safe boundaries of their home and the woods just beyond.

But now, at thirteen, Lucien had grown bolder, his thirst for adventure outpacing Eris’s ability to keep up. Eris missed the days when his little brother’s greatest thrill was sneaking a lizard into their brother’s pudding or sneaking an extra pastry at dinner.

And yet, despite the exasperation, Eris felt that same old protectiveness stirring in his chest. Lucien might have outgrown drooling on his books and following him like a shadow, but to Eris, he would always be the little brother he had sworn to watch over.

With a resigned sigh, Eris quickened his pace.

**

The house of Veilwood looms ahead, its weathered cabin barely standing against the creeping decay of time. Lucien’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight. A cold breeze stirs the air, brushing against his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck rise, the chill threatening to seep into his bones.

Suddenly, a branch snaps behind him, the sharp crack echoing through the forest. Lucien freezes, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes dart around. Another rustle—a faint, creeping noise—sends his body into a rigid stance.

Before he can react, something barrels into him from behind, knocking him off his feet. Lucien lets out a panicked scream as he hits the leaf-covered ground, his mind racing with thoughts of sharp talons and gnashing teeth. He instinctively threw his arms over his head, bracing for the worst.

But instead of claws, something warm and wet drags across his face.

“Laika?” he gasps, his voice a mixture of relief and disgust. 

Lucien pushes himself into a sitting position, wiping the slobber from his cheek as Laika, Eris’s hound, sat proudly in front of him, tail wagging excitedly. She lets out a bark, as if pleased with herself.

He groans, annoyance flickering across his face as he spots his older brother standing a few feet away. “You followed me?” 

Eris stood with his hands casually tucked into his pockets, amber eyes glinting with amusement. “You made it far too easy. I thought I taught you better than that,” he replies with a smirk, referring to the time he had spent hours teaching Lucien how to hide his tracks and scent. He had hoped Lucien would use those skills for situations beyond hunting but now realizes Lucien still has much to learn.

Lucien’s frown deepens into a glare, but before he can utter a retort, Eris nudges him with the toe of his boot. “Up.”

Laika is the one to spring to her feet, her tail wagging even harder. “Good girl,” Eris murmurs, patting her affectionately before turning back to his brother, who was still sulking on the ground.

With a reluctant sigh, Lucien got up, brushing leaves from his pants. “I’m not a kid anymore,” he grumbles. “I don’t need to be followed like one.”

Eris arches a brow, his gaze softening slightly as he studies his younger brother. “Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up, Lu. Childhood is fleeting, and once it’s gone, there’s no getting it back. Besides, you’ll have plenty of time to be an adult in the future—and then you can earn the privilege of scaring the next generation with myths of the House of Veilwood.”

Lucien’s shoulders slump, his red hair falling into his face and covering the disappointment that has no doubt settled into his face.  “So it was a myth… all of it?”

“Of course it is,” Eris chuckles. The breeze around them picks up, growing colder, but Eris was too focused on Lucien to notice. “Do you really think Father would let a creature like that roam freely in his court? It’s just an old, abandoned cabin—”

A sudden gust of wind howled through the trees, sending a shiver through both brothers. Lucien, startled, instinctively steps closer to Eris, his hand clutching his brother’s arm. Laika’s growl rumbles low in her throat, her ears perking up.

Eris’s attention snapped to the hound, his amusement evaporating as he follows her gaze. His eyes narrow as he catches sight of something swooping through the trees, its wings spread wide and casting long shadows across the ground.

“It’s the monster!” Lucien cries, pressing himself into Eris’s side, his voice high with fear.

Eris reacts quickly, one hand wrapping protectively around Lucien’s head, while the other summons a bright flame. He tracks the creature as it flies closer, his body tense, ready for a fight—until it lands on a tree branch with a soft hoot.

“It’s just an owl, Lu,” Eris says, tugging gently at Lucien’s hair. The fire in his hand fades away.

Lucien slowly pulls away from his brother, peeking out from behind his arm. His face was still pale, fear lingering in his eyes as he looks up at the creature perched above them.

“Why is it so ugly?” he mutters, his voice small.

Eris huffs out a laugh. “I’m sure it thinks the same of you.”

The owl lets out another low hoot, its round, dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on Lucien. It has him shifting uneasily, feeling the weight of its gaze pressing down on him. He turns away, squeezing Eris's arm tighter. But when his eyes flicker back to the cabin, they widen in shock.

“Someone’s inside!”

Eris follows his brother’s gaze but sees only shadows clinging to the weathered wood and windows. “You’re imagining things, Lu. No one’s lived here for centuries. The whole village is abandoned.”

But Lucien shakes his head vehemently, his hands tightening into fists. “No! I saw it—a pair of red eyes! They were looking right at me from inside the cabin!”

“I think you hit your head when Laika knocked you over,” Eris brushes off, glancing down at the hound, who waited patiently for an order. “Come on, let’s head back home.”

But Lucien stands his ground, his brows furrowed in frustration. “I know what I saw.” 

Eris sighs. 

“Alright, let’s say there is someone inside,” he pauses to cast a glance back at the cabin, amber eyes narrowing. “What do you expect me to do about it? I’m not exactly eager to knock on the door and have to interact with whatever strange being has chosen to live in the middle of nowhere like this.”

Lucien’s hands went to his hips in a posture that so perfectly mimicked their mother that Eris almost groaned aloud. He hated when Lucien did that. It was as if their mother’s spirit inhabited his little brother at that moment.

 “Are you scared?” Lucien asks, one eyebrow arching in challenge.

“No.”

“Then go knock on the door.”

“I’m not knocking on that door.”

Lucien’s eyes gleam with a hint of mischief.  “So you are scared.”

Eris glares down at him, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not scared,” he insists, voice edged with irritation. “You know, if you were so brave to come here on your own, why don’t you go knock on the door?”

Lucien crosses his arms over his chest, his red hair fluttering slightly in the wind. He gives Eris a smug look. “You’re the adult here,” the younger Vanserra says and with a casual shrug that was far too cocky for someone his age, he adds: “I’m just a kid.”

Eris let out a slow breath through his nose, trying to keep his composure. He was not going to win this one and he found the grin spreading across Lucien’s face grating. It’s not that he was scared to go knocking on that door. He much rather preferred for them to head home instead of entertaining a silly myth. 

Though he hated to admit it, there was a part of him—the older brother part—that didn’t want to lose face. Lucien’s grin widens, sending his hesitation. “Go on,” he says, waving in an exaggerated manner toward the house.

“Fine.” Eris hisses out. His pride was on the line now and he wasn’t about to let his little brother win this ridiculous game. “I’ll knock on the door.” 

Both Lucien and Laika blink at him in surprise. He motions for his hound to stay put, gaze flickering between her and Lucien. A silent understanding comes between them–protect Lucien. The hound steps closer to Lucien, her nose nudging against him affectionately.

“I’ll see if whoever lives there has any appetite for a particular young fae male with russet colored eyes.” 

“Hey!”

Eris turns to face the cabin. The windows were dark and hollow, staring back at him like empty eyes. He squares his shoulders, every sense on high alert. If Beron were to find out he entertained this idea…he much rather the creature from the tales of the house of Veilwood to be true than for the former to happen...

As he steps forward, the wind howls again and the eerie creak of the wood makes the cabin seem even more sinister. There’s a small moat that surrounds the house, the only way to get to the door being a path of moss covered stones. It’s all like a warning–for him to stay away. 

His heart pounds in his chest, but he takes a deep breath and wills the streaming river beside the house to soothe his nerves. The owl, still perched on a nearby tree, lets out another hoot. “I’m going to knock once,” Eris says over his shoulder. “And then we’re leaving, got it?”

Though Eris can't see him, Lucien nods quickly, the younger's earlier confidence dissolving into nervous energy. Eris reaches the final moss-covered stone, his hand hovering mid-air, poised to knock. 

“Any second thoughts?”

Before Eris can respond, a sharp gust tears through the clearing, rustling the branches above and sweeping through his hair. The old, weathered door gave a sharp creak and slowly began to swing open on its own.

“Too late for that.”

Eris squints into the darkness that seems to defy the daylight. The sun should have illuminated at least part of the interior, but the shadows clung unnaturally to every surface, swallowing any hint of light. He blinks, willing his eyes to adjust.

But there’s nothing to see.

 A flicker of relief settles in his chest. “There’s no one here!” Eris calls over his shoulder to Lucien.

He steps forward, one boot crossing the threshold. The wooden floor groans beneath him. He reaches for the door, hand wrapping around the cold, rusted knob. As he tries to pull it close, the door resists, as though something on the other side is holding it back.

Eris frowns and pulls harder, but the door doesn’t budge. The stubborn resistance unsettles him, and he feels a deeper cold radiating from within the house. He lets go, deciding it wasn't worth the effort, and makes his way back to Lucien and Laika.

“Are you sure you didn’t see anything?”

“There was nothing.” Eris says and then he’s playfully grasping onto Lucien’s head. ‘Now, let’s go home and get this big head of yours checked.”

Lucien pries Eris’s hands off his head and gives his older brother a shove in retaliation. “There’s nothing wrong with my head and it’s not big!”

Laika walks ahead of them, guiding them on the way back home. Lucien continues grumbling, spouting off complaints about how his head is perfectly fine and how their other brother, Reed, was the one whose head needs to get checked.

As they continue to walk away from the infamous house of Veilwood, an odd feeling urges Eris to look back. It was like a pull, a lingering unease, and against his better judgment, he turned his head.

Two glowing red eyes stare back at him from the darkened doorway.

And then he heard it. A voice–low, ancient and laden with darkness.

“Son of Autumn. It is not time to play yet. Our paths will cross in due time.”

Eris tenses and a sudden, sharp shiver runs up his spine. The door to the house slams shut with a heavy finality, locking those glowing eyes within the cursed cabin.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Lucien looks up at him, oblivious to the ominous presence. “Oh, the door slammed shut. Must be the wind, right? It’s been annoying us all day. Can we just winnow home now?”

Eris doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze still locked on the house. He tears his eyes away after a moment, forcing a chuckle. “Yeah, must be the wind.” 

But the words felt hollow in his mouth and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something far darker than a simple myth lay waiting within that cabin...

Centuries later, your pov

Every night before bed, in lieu of a lullaby, your father would tell you a story. His voice was like a soothing hum, his words drawing you into a world of wonder. And when your eyes fluttered shut, those tales would blossom in your dreams, vivid and alive. There were countless stories you held dear, ones you'd ask to hear over and over again. Yet one, in particular, clung to you most tightly. 

It was not just a story—it lingered in your thoughts, haunting you like a memory half-forgotten.

The tale of the House of Veilwood.

Veilwood was the name of a forest in Autumn, just north of the town where you lived and near the great Pyr river. Long ago, before it became a dark and forsaken place, Veilwood was a small village—a humble stop for travelers passing through the court. No one could say for certain what had befallen it. Some whispered of a great fire, while others spoke of a storm so violent it swept the village clean. Whatever the disaster, it left only ruin in its wake.

Well, everything except one house.

The house remained standing, untouched by whatever tragedy had claimed the rest of the village. It had since gained a reputation as a cursed place, where something wicked lingered within its walls. Few dared to enter Veilwood, and as per your father, even fewer returned unchanged. Fear of the forest ran deep with travelers taking longer, safer paths to avoid the looming shadows that stirred within its depths.

According to your father, the heart of Veilwood harbored a creature—a massive and owl-like being with claws sharp enough to slice through flesh, and eyes like polished obsidian. In the story your father would tell you, the creature would glide effortlessly through the night sky and along the riverbank, searching for its next victim to snatch in its talons. It would lure its prey with its terrifying cry, tricking their victims by the volume of its screams. If its cries sounded distant, it meant danger was very near, contrary to what one would believe.

The creature wasn’t what haunted your mind. Rather, it was the house. You dreamt of it often. It appeared as a lonely cabin, tucked away in the tangled embrace of Autumn’s ancient woods. Though shrouded in mystery and menace, the house never frightened you. Instead, it pulled at your curiosity, inviting you to open its door. But in your dreams, there was no sign of the owl-like creature your father had described in such chilling detail. 

Only two glowing, fae-like red eyes would greet you from the shadows—and then you would wake.

As you grew older, the realization dawned that your father had mingled truth with lies to keep you from wandering into the forest. The woods of Autumn were no place for a child, after all, and though your curiosity had often led you astray, this was one warning from your father you had always heeded.

Until now.

Your breath hitches as you come to a halt, eyes widening in quiet disbelief. The house of Veilwood stands before you, exactly as it had in your dreams. 

The towering trees loom overhead, their gnarled branches twisted like ancient, skeletal fingers. Moss drapes from them like tattered curtains, swaying eerily in the breeze. The cabin is small and crooked, its steep, warped roof blending with the thick canopy of twisted trees. The weathered wood of its walls, nearly swallowed by creeping vines and patches of moss, makes it seem as if the forest itself is trying to reclaim it.

Dim, flickering lights glow from within, casting faint golden reflections on the surface of the murky swamp that surrounds the cabin like a moat. The water feeds into the streaming river nearby and laps softly against the moss-covered stones that form a crude path to the entrance. With a deep breath, you step onto the first stone, your pulse quickening. 

A shadow swoops overhead, dark and sudden, and your heart jumps into your throat. Your father's tales flood back—stories of the creature, the monster that stalks these woods. But then, as your eyes dart upwards, you catch sight of a small barn owl gliding above you, its wings silent as it perches on a nearby tree branch. 

It hoots softly, and you wonder if this simple, cute looking bird had inspired the terrifying monster of your father’s story. The owl watches you with its unblinking, beady eyes as you continue, the wind picking up just enough to stir your hair and coax you forward.

When you reach the last stone, the door swings open before you have a chance to knock.

"Y/n!"

You smooth your dress and offer a small, tentative smile. “Deirdre,” you greet the older fae woman, her features far from the sinister creature your father once described. 

But you wouldn’t dare tell him that. Your visit here was a secret, and if you wanted to avoid becoming the talk of the village—or worse, facing your stepmother’s wrath—you would have to keep it that way. 

There were many rumors about Deirdre, some so outlandish they were easy to dismiss, but others... others seemed to hold a grain of truth. Deirdre was a mysterious figure, always draped in dark, shadowy clothing that made her seem almost a part of the night itself. When she ventured into town, it was only briefly, and she kept to herself, rarely speaking to anyone. Her most frequented spot was the town apothecary, a place she visited so regularly that it drew whispers and wary glances from the other patrons.

That’s where you first met her.

You had been sifting through the shelves of dried herbs, your fingers lingering in an uncertain manner over a selection meant to ease your father’s persistent pains. The owner of the apothecary was frustratingly no help, claiming the same as the town’s healer did–that there would be nothing to ease your father’s pain. 

You must’ve looked so lost, so desperate for Deirdre’s soft, low voice interrupted your thoughts. Without hesitation, she pointed to the right herbs and then pulled a small vial full of dark liquid from her bag. "Mix these with care and intent, and he’ll find relief," is all she had said.

After she left, the apothecary owner pulled you aside, her eyes darting toward the door. “I’d stay away from her if I were you,” she warned, her voice a low hiss. “That woman is nothing but trouble.”

But you didn’t listen.

To this day, you still don’t know what had been in the vial Deirdre had given you but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Deirdre’s advice worked, and for the first time in months, your father’s pain eased. So, you found yourself returning to the apothecary more often, despite your step-mother’s growing disapproval. Each time you saw Deirdre, you couldn’t resist finding an excuse to talk to her. 

There was something about her presence that intrigued you, a quiet power in the way she carried herself. It resonated with you.

The last time you crossed paths, she had slipped you a handwritten recipe for a tonic. You don’t know how she knew of your predicament but once again, you didn’t care. The tonic you brewed cured the fever that had a firm grip on your younger brother for days in an hour.  You had hoped to see her at the apothecary soon to thank her and also ask for more of the vial she had given you for your father. When days turned into weeks of not seeing her, you bribed the apothecary shop’s owner for more information about Deirdre.

And now, here you were, standing outside her secluded home. The lonely house of Veilwood, the very one from the story your father told you about.

“How did you know I was coming?” you ask.

Deirdre’s dark eyes glitter with quiet amusement. She nods toward the owl, which remains perched on a tree outside, still watching you. “Alden,” she explains, her tone light. “He’s an old friend of mine and always the first to alert me of visitors. Now come inside before the chill of the forest gets to you.”

A strange sensation washes over you as you step into the house, the thrill of the unknown mixing with the rush of adrenaline. Inside, the cabin is small but cozy. So much more alive than you ever imagined and so much more bright than it had been in your dreams.

Garlands of vines and branches criss-cross overhead, woven together with fae lights that twinkle like stars. Your gaze drifts upward to the wooden beams, where runes—ancient symbols—have been carved with care. The air is thick with the scent of herbs and smoke, and the warmth from the blazing hearth immediately soothes your nerves.

“My father told me stories about this place,” you comment, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes scan the room, taking in every small detail.

“Did he now?” Deirdre’s tone carries that same hint of amusement you’d seen in her eyes. “And is it all you dreamed it to be?”

You pause, her question hanging in the air. Your eyes shift to her, but Deirdre’s back is to you as she continues her way to the kitchen. A question sits on the tip of your tongue, but instead, you say, “Well, there’s certainly no monster waiting to prey upon me here. A bit disappointing, really.”

Deirdre turns her head just enough to throw a smirk over her shoulder, her dark, raven hair swaying slightly with her movement. “My apologies. I’ll be sure to summon Caraxes next time, just for you.”

You chuckle softly, the tension in your chest easing as you take in more of the space. 

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, its warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. A cauldron hangs over it, the smell of something brewing, red smoke curling from its top. Above the hearth, an altar is meticulously arranged—candles, knick-knacks, crystals, and a chalice. To the right of the fireplace, is a simple wooden framed bed, the sheets and blanket a soft cream color with red embroidered swirls along the edges. 

Against the far wall stands a towering bookshelf, crammed with thick, ancient tomes that seem to pulse with forgotten knowledge. At its center, on the middle shelf, a black leather-bound book catches your eye. There’s no title on its spine, only the symbol of an eye engraved in rich gold, watching you. It feels alive, its gaze almost hypnotic, and for a brief moment, you could swear it winks.

Startled, you turn your head sharply, focusing on the left of the hearth. A long, shadowy hallway stretches farther than the cabin should allow, leading to a single, distant door. Along the walls, portraits of fae women, each bearing an uncanny resemblance to Deirdre, gaze out with knowing eyes. Every one of them wears a red pendant identical to hers. They must be her ancestors.

You feel drawn to the hall, eager to study the names beneath the portraits, but a sharp whistle from the kettle breaks your trance and pulls you back to the main room.

Deirdre gestures for you to sit at a small table by one of the windows while she prepares tea. When Deirdre returns, she sets two steaming cups in front of you, along with a plate of bread and cheese. "Tell me," she says, sitting across from you. "What troubles you, my dearie?"

You hesitate, glancing down at the tea swirling in your cup. “What makes you think something’s troubling me?”

“Not many come here without reason…” Her voice trails off, her eyes drifting toward the window. Her hand reaches up, cradling the pendant that hangs from her neck. The stone in the center glows faintly, a crimson hue that pulses with her touch. For a moment, you think you see shadows swirling around it, but then her gaze snaps back to you, sharp and knowing. 

“Do you know what I am?”

There’s a sudden lump in your throat. “Yes.”

“Do you fear me?”

“No.”

A slow smile spreads across Deirdre’s face, her eyes softening. “Good,” she says quietly, her voice like a gentle breeze. “There is nothing for you to fear.”

Your fingers curl and uncurl from your cup of tea, still left untouched. The steam still lingers, the scent of chamomile and lavender soothing your nerves. “I…,” your voice trails off, unsure and uncertain. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Deirdre takes a slow, deliberate sip from her tea, her gaze never leaving yours. She sets the cup down with an air of patience, as though she’s been waiting for this moment. “What makes you think that?”

Hesitation makes you falter for a moment. A part of you—the part shaped by your stepmother’s strict religious teachings and narrow beliefs—screams that this is wrong. That you should flee, run as far as you can from this world of strange happenings, from the unknown that threatens everything you thought you understood.

But then there’s the other part of you, the one that has always felt different, the part that resonates with your heart and finds comfort in Deirdre’s presence. Something about her calls to you, like a whisper of recognition deep in your bones, even though the words you’ve exchanged have been few.  

Her dark gaze holds yours, steady and unwavering, filled with a silent promise that there’s nothing to fear. That whatever is happening to you is not something to run from, but to understand. There’s no pity in her eyes, only understanding. You want to sink into that feeling, to let it wrap around you like the warmth of a the fireplace does…

“Things have been happening—strange things. Things I can’t explain.” The words spill out before you can stop them. “It’s like there’s something restless in me..."

"Sometimes when I’m overwhelmed, things around me shift, like the air gets thick and…trouble seems to follow.”

You lift your gaze to meet Deirdre’s. “But then you came along and for once in my life, I did something good. My father’s pains at night have subsided enough for him to get some sleep. My brother’s fever lifted quickly. The healer said that if the fever had lasted a day longer, he would not have made it…”

“How long have you been hearing the whispers in the wind?”

“For so long, I don’t even remember when it started…,” your voice trails off, surprise flickering in you. “How do you know?”

“Because I hear them too,” Deirdre replies and as an afterthought adds: “When they allow me to.”

You find yourself leaning in, muscles relaxing in relief. “How do you know what they’re saying?”

“Would you like me to teach you?”

Deirdre rises from her seat, extending her hand, and your breath catches as red magic swirls from her palm, flickering like flames along her fingertips. When you meet her gaze, she smiles at you and there’s warmth in her smile that spreads like sunlight after a storm. 

A quiet reassurance. You could say no—she wouldn’t press. But in that same smile is the promise that if you say yes, she’ll be there, like a beacon guiding you through the shadowy unknown. 

Your gaze lingers on her glowing, red hand. “Am I a witch?”

The question leaves your lips in a rush, your voice trembling slightly as you finally say it out loud.

“Only if you wish to be.” Deirdre responds gently.

Her answer sends a flutter through your chest. Only if you wish to be. Once again, you’re given a choice. It lingers in the air between you, thick with possibility, as if the very world is holding its breath, waiting for your decision.

You want to ask more, to press her for answers but you realize that this is a matter entirely up to you. The wind stirs outside, its sudden howl rattling the windows, causing branches to scrape against the glass. A shiver runs down your spine—not from the cold, but from the weight of the choice now resting in your hands.

You glance down at your own palms, your fingers tingling with the faintest hum of power, like something inside you is waking up. The flutter in your heart steadies, and suddenly, the decision feels clearer, easier than you’d expected.

“Okay,” you say, your voice stronger than before, certain.

And just like that, you take her hand, allowing her to guide you into a world you’re itching to understand.

[eris x chaos witch masterlist]

a/n: kudos to you if you got the House of the Dragon reference. I just couldn't think of another name lol. Same with the name I gave Eris's hound in this.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

[revasserium]

Zoro and the hunter's heart (as, you know, he's a former pirate hunter... nudge nudge)

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

a hunter's heart

opla!zoro; 6,553 words; fairytale retelling!au, fem!reader, no "y/n", hunter!zoro, fluff and angst (only a bit), hurt/comfort (kinda), mentions of witches and magic and curses

summary: there are some stories that the world can't stop telling

a/n: i should know better by now than to think an opla zoro fic could be anything but too involved... ╮(￣▽￣"")╭ tagging @dira333 bc its ur request and @bby-deerling bc u were kind enough to ask <3

It is a sordid tale, to hear the villager’s old witch tell it — one near and dear as the rise of the sun in the east, the set of the moon in the west, old as time itself. Because you see, there are some stories so ancient and so integral to the world that it bears, nay demands, retelling, reliving. Stories so stanch and certain that they wear groves into the truth of the world by the tracks they trail, over and over and over again. Stories that the world can never stop telling, no matter how hard it might want to or try.

This is one such tale.

“Take her into the forest — and bring me back her heart,” commanded the Queen.

The hunter had knelt before his queen and bowed his head, his swords heavy at his side. Inside his chest, his own heart was thundering, thundering. A storm brewing within the depths of his soul. But he’d schooled his expression straight and taken his orders.

You were nothing more than a kitchen maid, but you had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. All morning, he could hear it echoing through the cool stone halls as you went about your baking of the day’s fresh bread, your churning of the week’s soft butter. He’d lean against the wall just outside the kitchens to listen, to let the music of your voice wash over the ragged edges of his soul, to soothe his frayed ends, to mend what parts might have been broken.

Sometimes, he’d find himself wandering toward the gardens in the back of the castle grounds just to catch an echo of your voice near the wells, where he knows you’ll be in the early afternoons, collecting water for the day’s dinner service. Sometimes, he thinks he can hear it over the clink and clash of swords as he spars with his fellow knights and hunters, and he’d catch himself slowing, almost stilling, and those are the only times anyone’s ever managed to get the upper hand on him.

“C’mon doll, give us another tune.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, sing us a sea shanty! Or another one of your show tunes!”

Zoro frowns as he rounds the corner one day to find a few young knights leaning against the castle wall, towering over where you’re standing, a half-filled bucket of water clutched in your hands. He’s about to intervene when he hears the sound of splashing water, and a second later, the young knights are stumbling back, squawking with indignation as you huff, wiping your hands daintily on your apron.

“So sorry, seems like my hand’s slipped —” you drop into a rather sardonic curtsy before marching passed the stunned young men, leaving them blinking and drenched in your wake. Zoro chuckles, the sound making both of them whirl around, color rising ruddy into their cheeks. They sober immediately as they meet Zoro’s eyes.

He cocks an eyebrow, looking them over.

“S-sorry sir… we just — we were uh —”

“Just leaving,” the second knight supplies as he grabs the first by the arm and tugs him back out into the courtyard.

Zoro watches them go with a muted amusement twisting his lips before turning back to find you peering up at him with a bright, steely light in your eyes. Your shoulder is pressed to the edge of the wall, your body half-hidden behind it as if you’re uncertain of what he might do. As if you’re uncertain of him.

“Sorry about them…” Zoro dips his head, suddenly very aware of how he must seem to you — just another one of the Queen’s toy soldiers, gilded in gold, touched by the sly silver of her cool, slithering magic. Would you think he’d be like them — like those bumbling idiots who couldn’t tell a board sword from a longsword? Who thought braveness and bravado one and the same? And suddenly, the thought that you might sickens him, and he swallows hard, hurrying to explain.

“Not all of us are…” Zoro’s voice trails off as he casts about for the right word — idiots? “Like them”? Neither seems to do it all justice.

He watches as you take half a step out from behind the stone wall’s cover and drop into a slight curtsey.

“I know.” And there’s a bright sheen to the soft whisper of your voice, a certainty that Zoro can’t quite place. And he knew then as he knows now that you — you are just a bit different. Just a bit more than he’d ever given you thought or credit for. Perhaps that was his mistake — he makes a mental note not to make it again.

“I know you’re not…” you wave a light hand towards where the other two knights had stumbled away, and the pinkness in your cheeks makes Zoro’s stomach do a few choice flips he’d never remembered his own stomach capable of till now.

There’s a moment’s pause, and then — you both break into laughter at the same time — him, a tad self-conscious, you, unbidden and bright as birdsong.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Your sparring form is really nice.”

You both speak at the same time, and in the startled quiet that stretches right after, Zoro finds himself held still by the weight of your eyes, the heaviness of your gaze as it rests on him, wide and startled and… almost pleased. He clears his throat and tries again —

“I hear you all the time —”

“I see you sometimes —”

It happens again, and when you both pause this time, he can see the burgeoning smile threatening to spill over your petal-pink lips; he can feel his own smile breaking like ice in spring’s first thaw.

“I don’t know much about music but —”

“It looks like you’re dancing —”

By the third time, Zoro’s starting to wonder if you’re doing this on purpose, or perhaps he is — because what wouldn’t he do to keep on basking in the sunshine of your laughter, to soak in the brilliance of your smile? What stars and moons and planets wouldn’t conspire to align just for another chance to glance into the midnight dark of your eyes, as depthless as any sea, as wide as any self-respecting night?

“Well —” Zoro clears his throat; you purse your lips and wait for him to finish, “I’ve never danced…”

Mischief hinges on the edge of your smile as you peer up at him through your lashes, “You should try it sometime. I hear it’s quite the workout.”

And there’s something singing beneath the sweetness of your voice that hints at a darker, more intimate meaning to the word dance, but Zoro stops himself before his mind can unspool entirely. He sucks in a breath and chews over the words now sitting solid and unwieldy on his tongue —

“I’ve always thought dancing… required music and —” he swallows and forces his sentence onward like shepherding a stubborn and reluctant bull, “a partner.”

You let your held lilt sideways, watching him like a bird on a branch might consider a squirrel on the ground.

“It’s just… I’ve never quite had either before,” he hurries to explain, feeling heat creeping into his cheeks and finally, he forces his eyes away from you, glancing up towards the piercingly blue sky, completely devoid of clouds. He curses inwardly, his eyes wandering for something — anything — to latch onto that’s not you and your mesmerizing eyes, with the universe caught behind them, or your lips, shaped so much like the answer to a question he hadn’t realized he’d been asking for his whole, entire life.

He watches as you square your shoulders and take a half-step into his personal space, just the tips of your toes grazing into the proximity of too close and at the same time not nearly close enough — then, you dip into a curtsey, lowering your eyes so he has nothing to ground himself on except for the brief breath of your skin, the waft of your hair sweeping down over your shoulders, smelling so much like cotton and milk, salt and honey.

“But now, from where I’m standing…” you look up, and your smile is so much poisoned apples and cyanide, “you’ve got both, don’t you?”

Zoro sucks in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his head spinning for a second too long and he almost stumbles. Almost. But he catches himself, and when he does, his body moves as a marionette on a string — as if his arms and legs already knew what his mind had for so long kept from him —

He dips into a bow, sweeping one arm over his stomach, the other out to the side. And there’s no dull, discordant clank of armor because hunters and soldiers are made different. Fighters, both, but hunters require a different kind of bloodlust, are a different strain of heartless.

You let out a soft laugh and Zoro wonders if there’s any better music in the world as he offers you his hand. You take it, and he draws your body near with reverent palms, exhaltant fingers — he can almost feel the wild birdwing beat of your heart fluttering in your chest, supplemented by the thundering of his own much more well-trained heartbeat, but even so, the dull pulse of it makes him feel heady with excitement — thump, thump, thump.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the pair of you begin to dance. At first, just to the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths and his. And then, you smile up at him, a startling, chest-piercing, swan-song thing — as you begin to sing.

His first step is hesitant, and the second less so. By the third, Zoro feels his shoulders flattening out and his chest rising as he clasps your palms against his and takes the lead. You let him, with a tinkling laugh, your smile light and bright as daybreak. Your feet skip like pebbles across a mirror lake, and by the time he lets you go, the midday sun is beating down over the castle grounds and the lunch bell is ringing off in the distance. You skip out of his reach and drop into another curtsey —

“Seems like it’s past time for me to go.”

“But —” Zoro bites back the urge to chase after you, his body surging forward to try and stay within the warmth of your orbit.

“Tomorrow,” you breathe, your cheeks a bit too pink, grinning up at him with mischief in your eyes, “after the morning meal… I think I might have some more water to collect.”

You shoot him a meaningful wink as you sweep by him, humming beneath your breath as you go. You brush by him with a sweep of skirt-tails, and it’s a full minute before Zoro can form a coherent thought, whipping around to see the shadow of you disappearing around the corner of the long corridor that leads down to the kitchens.

Up above, neither of you sees the Queen with her blood-red nails clicking against the wide windowsill, her eyes trailing the shape of Zoro as he sucks in a long breath, and shakes himself, before heading back to the training grounds, his earrings catching the afternoon light in a series of gold-gilded sparks.

The next day, Zoro finds you dancing to a two-step by yourself, a bucket of water propped on your hip, the late morning sun caressing your skin like a lover’s fingers. And he finds himself held still by the sight of you, your eyes closed, your body swaying to the rhythm and breath of the earth, the sound of your voice filling the air as water might an already-full glass — spilling over and over till it soaks the earth between you both.

He clears his throat, and you open your eyes. You smile.

Almost sheepishly, he offers you a hand. You take it, and the half-filled bucket is left to teeter precariously on the well’s stone-worn edge as you laugh, letting Zoro pull you in, his palm pressing to the bend of your waist, fingers skimming the small of your back.

Three days, you dance. Three days of blissful mornings and sun-soaked afternoons. Three nights of moonlit walks and roses dipped in starlight.

Because the best things in the world always come in threes — but it just so happens that so do the worst.

Zoro feels his skin crawling when he receives the summons from the Queen. There is only one reason the Queen would summon a hunter like him — she’s found something (or someone) worthy of being hunted. He prays it will not take him away for long.

“Zoro…” the Queen purrs, barely turning to look at him as he bows his head, holding the pose for three beats before straightening. She reaches up to grace her fingers over the edges of an ornate mirror hanging on her wall — a mirror she covets. Zoro has seen its magic, the dull, rough-edged ache thrumming through the earth and the air like poison. He schools his expression into one of flat disinterest as he squares his shoulders.

“Your Highness.”

“I trust you’re familiar with my mirror?”

Zoro makes a soft noise of consent, cold slipping down his spine like cool fingers.

“Then… I trust you know what it does?” the Queen asks, peering at him through it’s dark, onyx reflection.

Zoro glances down, “I can’t say I do, Your Highness.”

“Well then, I’d say you’re in for a treat today —” she chuckles, the sound soft and slithering, her painted lips twisting up in a cruel smirk, “this is a magic mirror, you see… and it’s magic… tells the truth —”

Zoro remains quiet, waiting, waiting.

“Mirror, mirror…”

Zoro feels the air around him condensing, the temperature dropping as the heat siphons from the room into the mirror. The darkened surface swirls with a sickly, purple light before a pallid face appears, empty eye sockets and a hollow mouth. The skeletal reflection peers imperiously back up at the image of the Queen standing before it.

“… tell me, who is the fairest in all the land?”

The Queen preens in front of the mirror, and Zoro feels his stomach filling with lead weight at her question.

Once upon a time, he’d met a kindly old witch in the woods. Her hut had been made of something that looked curiously like gingerbread, and the flowers that decorated her windowsill had glimmered with the shine of tempered sugar. He had offered to help her carry a basket of waxy red apples from the market to her hut and in return, she’d offered him the answer to one question.

“What… exactly is magic?” he’d asked, young and uncertain.

She’d laughed a laugh that might’ve once been high and imperious but then had only sounded like an amused old woman faced with a question she hadn’t quite expected.

“Magic… well — I’ll tell you this — magic is always more than meets the eye, and never what it promises.”

Zoro had blinked, frowning as she’d peered up at him with a pair of mismatched eyes — one milky and filmed over, the other dark as crow’s feathers.

“What does… that mean?”

“It means… that sometimes, magic lies. Sometimes… magic only tells you what you want to hear. Sometimes, magic is more about what you think is true because in the end… that’s the only truth that matters.”

The magic mirror contemplates the Queen’s question as Zoro stands behind her, holding his breath.

“There is but one fairer than Your Highness —”

Zoro’s vision tunnels, the voice of the mirror thickening around him as if his head were suddenly submerged in water. Heat creeps up the back of his neck like spider’s legs, quick and skittering, and he knows the answer before the mirror says your name.

“I see…” the Queen muses, though Zoro can hear the hard edge in her voice, the light catching on it like a twisting blade as she turns back around to face him. And she is beautiful, there’s no denying — the Queen’s face was, up until very recently, what Zoro had thought true beauty must be like.

He’d understood it only in the most abstract, academic sense — beauty — had only ever nodded when the other knights and hunters had wolf-whistled at the rosy-cheeked maids that dotted the castle, scattered along the halls like handfuls of sugar.

The first time he saw the Queen, he’d wondered at the perfect proportions of her eyes and nose, the dark, certain arch of her brows, the cruel tug at the ends of her painted lips and he’d thought — ah, is this what all the fuss is about?

But then he’d seen you, hadn’t he? And your face — he knows it is not perfect, he’s leaned in close enough to see the texture that mars your cheeks, the way one side of your mouth always lilts up first in a smile, the flecks that adorn your eyes like lost shards of sunlight caught beneath your lashes —

Beautiful, he’d thought.

Later, he wonders if that moment might’ve been your doom.

“Take her into the forest,” the Queen says, smiling her cruel, cruel smile as she watches Zoro lower his head, “and bring me back her heart.”

Zoro swallows hard as he bows.

You are waiting for him the next morning, just after breakfast, your hands laced behind your back, an empty bucket resting precariously along the edge of the well.

“No dancing today,” Zoro says, his voice clipped and low, his gaze darting away toward the darkness of the forest behind you. You blink up at him before following his gaze.

“Then… will you accompany me on a walk?”

Zoro frowns, nearly wincing away from you as you lean in, grinning your sly fox’s grin.

“But…”

“Oh, don’t tell me a hunter like you’s scared of the forest.” You dance away from him before he can protest, reaching for the bucket and propping it on your right hip, “C’mon, I promised the head cook I’d pick some berries for the feast tonight. Didn’t you hear? The Queen’s finally found a spell for eternal youth and beauty.”

Zoro stares after you as you pick your way across the garden, making for the wrought-iron gates that separate the castle grounds from the wilderness beyond.

“A spell for…” Zoro’s frown deepens as you glance at him over your shoulder with a sad little smile.

“They say the Queen was cursed by a powerful witch to always search for that which she can never have.”

Zoro keeps behind you as you meander into the shadow of the trees, seemingly following a trail only you can see, occasionally stopping to bend over a burst of bright red berries, picking a few and tossing them into your bucket before pressing one to your lips. He watches as berry juice dark as blood tints your lips and trickles down the edge of your mouth.

“Did you know… that there are only three ways to break a witch’s curse? One is for the witch herself to lift the curse.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, your eyes shine like twin stars.

“Another is to kill the witch and all those who cared for her.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, the lopsided lilt of your smile flashes white, and sharp, dripping dark red —

Zoro’s sword is in his hand before he realizes, and suddenly, every twig-snap and leaf-rustle sets his bones on edge. The wind tastes sweet on his tongue, swirls thick with magic as he whirls around, searching for the silhouette of you and finding nothing but endless, pressing dark.

“Zoro?” your voice nearly makes him stumble as he twists around, eyes wide, chest heaving, only to find the tip of his sword resting against the delicate hyphen of your clavicle. Your breath hitches, soft as he’d always remembered it, but you don’t pull away; you don’t even flinch as you stare up at him, as if waiting for him to do something.

“Are you going to kill me?” your voice is low and smooth, without a single flicker of fear.

Zoro’s grip loosens as he forces himself to pull back. He hisses out a breath and shakes loose his shoulders.

“No,” he says, his own voice coarse, clipped, “I’m not. But —”

“Oh good — that would’ve made things rather awkward for our date.”

Zoro gapes as you laugh, twirling around to continue on your way through the forest. He hastens after you a few seconds later, brushing aside low-hanging branches and shouldering passed thicker bits of underbrush.

“D-date?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sounding very pleased as you lead him on, and on, and on, “you wouldn’t want to miss it — grandma’s baking pie.”

“What… ” but his words trail off once more as you turn and make towards a clearing that he’s certain wasn’t there a moment ago — a clearing with a tiny hut that looks as if it’s made of gingerbread. The flowers on the windowsill glitter jewel-bright and candy-hard.

“My grandma’s house,” you say, smiling as you push through the door with your bucket of blood-red berries still perched on your hip.

Zoro’s frown carves ever harder into his brows as he follows after you on hesitant feet, though he can’t help the way his muscles loosen the second he steps over the small hut’s threshold and catches a whiff of something wonderful in the air — cinnamon and sugar and apples.

“Ah, you’ve made it just in time!” the old witch looks up from where she’s tending a vast fire that casts the entire hut in a warm, ethereal glow. Zoro glances back at the open patch of cloudless blue sky somehow visible in a small gap between the trees before stepping in.

“Apple pie again, grandma?”

“Your favorite,” the old witch replies with a grin as you set the bucket on the small wooden table, “And I see you’ve brought a guest, though…” the old witch’s single black eye catches the firelight as she peers are Zoro, still standing just inside the doorway.

“It’s nice to see you again, young man.”

Zoro bows, rather awkwardly, and though it’s been many years since he’d helped the old woman with her apples, she looks exactly the same. He can’t say quite the same for himself.

“Come, sit! Have some berry wine,” you say, ushering Zoro towards the table, where you’ve somehow replaced the bucket with two jars of red liquid that glimmers like garnets in the flickering firelight. You pour a glass and nudge it towards Zoro, who simply stares, trying very hard to wrap his head around what must be happening.

A dull, thrumming ache is gathering at the base of his skull, but the pie smells so sweet and the wine looks ever so tantalizing.

He reaches out and takes a sip, letting the cool liquid slip down his throat. He feels it slither through him, sending tiny pin-pricks of heat trailing along his limbs as he swallows.

“Ah… so he’s not like the rest of them.”

He blinks down at the wine in his cup for a second more before you reach out and tug it from his hand. A soft palm cups his cheek and forces his face up. He meets your eyes and finds them searching.

“You weren’t lying… you really hadn’t planned on killing me.”

You sound almost surprised as your grandma chuckles behind you, the noise like the clack of old stones against one another.

“I told you he was different,” the old witch says, slowly slicing a bit of pie and putting it on a plate.

“All men think they’re different,” you say, your voice resigned as you take the slice of pie and set it in front of Zoro, “Right, now eat — it’ll make you feel better. I���m sorry about that… just… you can never be sure.”

The old witch tuts, shaking her head, “A broken heart is it’s own kind of curse, you know.”

Zoro blearily takes a bite of cake and feels his senses returning to him one by one; he takes stock of them as if he’d forgotten entirely that he’d lost them in the first place. As he chews and swallows once, twice — by the third time he can feel the tightness in his muscles returning as panic and confusion flood his system.

He jerks up from the table and reaches for his sword.

“Please, there’s no need for that,” you say, though you sound hesitant as you hold up a hand, your expression earnest as you take half a step back.

“What the hell did you do to me?” he seethes, looking between you and the old witch, uncertain of who to aim his anger at.

“I had to be sure,” you say again, your voice imploring as you inch forward, “Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah well —” Zoro gulps past the dryness in his mouth as he narrows his eyes, “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

You wince ever so slightly, looking away, “No, you’re right but… please,” you say again, and the word works like magic as it settles over Zoro’s shoulders. He wonders if it’s actual magic, but no — there’s no strange sweetness in the air, no thick fog threatening to cloud over his judgment.

“It might be quicker to show him,” the old witch suggests, still watching the pair of you with her one oil-black eye, sounding pleasant and entirely unfazed.

“Right… yes —” you sigh, motioning for the door, “The sty is just out behind the hut — you can go out first if you’d like,” you offer.

Zoro looks between you and the door before inching back and edging open the door with his foot, keeping his eyes fixed on you as you follow him with light, muted movements.

The air outside is crisp and cool and Zoro can’t help sucking in a breath as he steps out from the halo of the firelit hut. Grass crunches beneath his feet, birds sing overhead. There’s the lingering heat of magic still crackling in the air, but when his gaze falls back onto you, he finds you no less lovely than he’d done the first time.

“This way,” you say, rounding the edge of the hut and leading him towards a sizeable pigsty that he’d completely failed to notice the first time he’d been here as a young boy.

A looming sense of dread calcifies in the base of his stomach as he approaches the pigsty on heavy feet. The pigs all jostle against one another, snorting and snuffling with their noses pressed into the long feeding pen. From the pockets of your skirt, you produce a handful of bright red berries and toss it into the pen. Zoro watches with mixed fascination and mounting horror as the pigs tumble over each other to forage for the fruit in the dried hay and mud.

“Have you ever heard the saying that… there are some stories the world never stops telling?” your voice is quiet and sad as you reach over to skim your knuckles along the pale pink snout of a snorting pig.

And suddenly, Zoro understands — he doesn’t know if it was a trick of the light or perhaps the magic still working its way through his system but the understanding comes like a rainstorm, a few tiny droplets before the downpour. And were he a weaker man, he might’ve back and tried to make a run for it. But instead, he stands and stares with a strange pity welling up inside him at the lolling tongues and flopping ears.

“These were all men — hunters,” he says, his words slow at first, but picking up speed as he continues to speak, “Who tried to lure you into the wood to —”

“To kill me, yes, so that they could give the Queen my heart. Because you see, the heart of a witch would give her what she so desperately desires —”

“Eternal youth,” Zoro breathes.

“And the first time, I was heartbroken,” you turn away from him, pressing a hand to your heart, “But I managed to get away. And instead of going back empty-handed to face the Queen’s wrath, the hunter caught a wild boar in the forest and cut out its heart instead. Only — an old she-wolf had been hunting the boar for days, and was robbed of a meal. She and I… we came across each other and I was so — so hurt that I offered her my heart in return for putting me out of my misery.”

Zoro presses his lips as your words rush from you in a great wave, pieces of truths crystalizing before him even as they continue to shatter the world he thought he’d known.

“She told me then that… no man is worth dying for, especially not one who would lie to you just to steal your heart. And she offered to teach me —” you wave a hand at the pigsty, “And the rest…”

The soft silence that stretches between you is thin and pained. You cradle your hands to your chest as if trying to stem the hurt of some unspeakable heartbreak.

“And… the wine?” he asks.

Your face lifts and a strike of that familiar, mischievous light returns to your eyes as you grin.

“That was something I brewed up on my own — if the drinker bears me any ill intentions, then it’ll turn them into something a bit more… fitting of their true hearts. But if not then…” you grace him with a soft smile, “Then it’ll only ever just be wine, though a bit on the stronger side.”

“Yeah, a bit.”

A brief silence falls between the pair of you as the sky above begins to shift from blue to a soft lavender.

“You said… the first time,” Zoro says, curiosity now burgeoning from beneath the receding shock of the day, “Do you make a habit of luring men into the woods, then?”

You scoff, “Luring? Hardly. Magic can only do so much, and though the odd enchanted trinket will sell well at the monthly market, people still tend to be wary around witches.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Zoro says dryly, his eyes flickering toward the sty where the pigs, finally satisfied that there are no more berries to be found, have settled into the thick stacks of hay, grumbling and snorting.

You allow him a derisive smile, “Yes well — a girl and her grandmother still have to eat and bathe, and you can only stand so much apple pie before it starts to get a little old. So… I keep a job at the castle. Believe it or not, serving a self-obsessed Queen pays well. And all those… men —” you force out the word like spitting out poison, “Had seemed… good. At least at first.”

Zoro remains quiet as you pause, looking down at your own hands. It’s the first time he notices the light calluses that mar your palms, not so different from his own. He wonders at the smoothness of the handles on the wooden bucket you’d carried so easily through the woods, at how long it must’ve taken for a pair of hands like yours to wear them down so. The old witch’s words echo in his mind — a broken heart is it’s own kind of curse.

“Is that how you got so good at dancing?” he asks.

You grin, giving him a sidelong glance, “Perhaps.”

Zoro sighs, tilting his head back to look at the small patch of visible sky, now a deep, bruising purple.

“So. Now what?”

You echo his sigh, looking up as well, “You can go back, if you’d like.”

“And what? Tell the Queen that you got away?”

Your smile hardens ever so slightly, “Or, you could kill something else in the forest and offer her it’s heart instead.”

“But wouldn’t she know? After she ate it and doesn’t gain eternal youth?”

You shrug, looking away, “You’d be surprised what a person can trick themselves into believing, if they just try hard enough.”

Zoro nods, letting his eyes fall back down to his hand, resting idle against the hilt of his sword.

“Or, I could stay.”

He doesn’t know what makes him say it — and perhaps it was the darkness of the forest, the close, flustered whisper of the leaves, or perhaps it was the lingering sweetness of your home-brewed wine and the tantalizing smell of magic and cinnamon still in the air. But he says it, and he finds that even the strange, still shocked moment after, he doesn’t regret it.

“You… you want to stay?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound so uncertain before.

“Why not? I can’t go back and…” he motions at the hut and the soft ring of warm firelight seeping out from the tiny windows, “The wine’s not bad.”

And perhaps for the first time, Zoro thinks, he sees you smile — a smile that isn’t sharp and full of hidden teeth. A smile that’s helpless and hopeful and just a little bit pained. He smiles back and hopes —

“C’mon then… you can help with the fire. And carry the water.”

“Hn. But you seemed so good at it.”

You shoot him a slight pout as the pair of you duck back into the hut to the smell of roasting vegetables.

There are some stories the world can never stop telling, stories so old that the sing harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

Once upon a time, there was a wolf, a grandmother, and a girl in the woods. Once upon a time, an old witch built a house of gingerbread to lure in the lives of unheedful children. Once upon a time, there was a Queen with a magic mirror. Once upon a time, a witch lived alone in a secluded hut and lured men to her table only to turn them into the pigs they’d always been inside.

Once upon a time, a boy asked a girl to dance.

Once, a boy told the truth and the girl didn’t believe him, because all the boys who’d broken her heart before had given her no reason not to. And a heart can only be broken so many times before it, too, gets tired.

Once, she thought that broken hearts could never be mended.

But she should’ve known that stories, like the magic they hold, very rarely tell the truth. Or perhaps, they too only tell the truths that the listener wants to hear, or is ready to hear. Never more, never less.

So, here is another story — one that’s not so frequently told, but is just as true as the others —

Once, there was a boy who was born with a sword in his hand, who had never know that his body could hold so much music or laughter. Then, he met a girl with the most beautiful voice in all the land, and he, like so many before him, fell in love. Only, the girl had been hurt by all those before him, and no longer trusted the words of boys with sword-hilt smiles and rough, callused fingers. But when he asked her to dance, she agreed anyway, and when she introduced him to her grandmother and offered him wine, he did not hesitate. Instead, he asked if he could stay the night.

That was a long, long time ago.

There will always be another girl with a pretty voice and a viper’s smile at the castle beyond the woods, and always another young knight too eager to please his Queen. There will always be apples at the morning market and magic in the air. But perhaps the pieces don’t fall right where they ought to; perhaps they never did. Perhaps the stories we tell are only ever stories.

“You told me once that there were three ways to lift a curse,” Zoro asks one day, a wooden bucket in one hand, three swords strapped to his opposite hip.

“Mhm,” you hum, not looking up from the large pot of soup bubbling over the fire, a song threading beneath your breath as you sway back and forth.

Zoro grunts as he puts the bucket on the worn wooden table, walking over to slip an around your middle and hook his chin over your shoulder. You laugh as you let yourself be pulled back into his embrace.

“You only ever told me two.”

“Ah… right —” you smile, a smile that is no longer jagged but worn soft around the edges, as if all the sharpness has been smoothed over by years and years of tenderness, years and years of trust, of love.

“So?”

“So…” you place down the wooden spoon and turn to face him, placing your hands on his shoulders as his large, callused palms settle around your waist. The pair of you sway to a song that only the two of you can hear, a song that sings harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

“The third way to break a curse is the easiest… but also the hardest way, depending on who you are,” you say, smiling and swaying in Zoro’s arms. Like this, you can see the late afternoon light as it pours through the small window and catches on the dull gold of his triplet earrings.

“It’s a simple thing, really,” you say, as Zoro leans down to press his forehead to yours, your breaths dancing in the negative space between your bodies. Outside, an old witch sits on a rocking chair and admires the sunset. Occasionally, she reaches into her skirt pockets for a handful of berries to toss into the pigsty to her right.

“Oh yeah? How simple?” Zoro asks.

“Why…” you lean up on your tiptoes, your nose brushing his, your lips mere inches apart. Behind you, bottles and bottles of home-brewed wine sit along the mantle of the great stone fireplace, the color bright and true and freshly spilled blood.

“It’s as simple as a kiss from your one true love, of course.”

[cupcakeslushie]

Alrighty, you’ve all been asking for it and here it is. I hope this timeline of what’s basically the first two seasons, makes following the comic easier. Which speaking of—obviously there will be spoilers for the future of the comic, so if you want to continue on reading that with blinders I would just ignore this completely or you could only read up to the prologue end where what’s been released catches up. And obviously the “filler episodes” might not make it into the comic—I’ll probably just get by on those being simple one shots or something, but I wanted to include all my thoughts.

This is really mostly for the ppl who want all that lore now. Or the ones who don’t want to go through a thousand pages of unorganized text posts 😜

Big Freaking Timeline for Empyrean Weeping Separated AU

Pre-Prologue

Many Generations ago…

The Leader of the Foot Clan [name lost to time] made a deal with an oni for power and was sealed inside his own armor. He turned his clan to the ways of murdering innocents and pillaging villages to spread their control. He quickly gained the name the Shredder. Hamato Karai, daughter to the Shredder, created her own clan to fight them. After many years of the two clans warring, Karai was able to banish the oni, killing her father. The power behind the armor was destroyed, leaving it as basically nothing more than ornamentation for each new leader of the Foot to inherit.

Karai sealed the demon in the twilight realm, but was killed by the demon’s final blow.

Many years later….

Hamato Yoshi and Oroku Saki are born into the still warring clans. Hamato Sho, grandfather to Yoshi, struck down Saki’s parents in revenge for them killing his daughter, Atsuko. He then took their infant son Saki and raised him alongside Yoshi, telling the two they were brothers, hoping that one day this would lead to a path of uniting the two clans.

Yoshi and Saki grew up together, trained in the art of ninjutsu, but Yoshi left to become an actor. Saki found out the truth of his parentage, and he embraced the Foot clan’s bloody path. He swore revenge on Yoshi and the entire Hamato clan.

Yoshi meets Big Mama on the set of Crouching Shrimp Hidden Tiger Prawn and the two date for a few years but break up.

Yoshi ran into his old childhood friend Tang Shen and the two began a romance, got married, and had a baby girl—they named her Karai after Yoshi’s great ancestor.

Big Mama kidnapped Yoshi from his wife and daughter, and kept him trapped in the Battle Nexus as her champion. Saki, not realizing Yoshi was gone, attacked Teng Shen, but found Karai in the fire and took her.

For five years (I know the creators said ten but idk that’s just way too long imo) Yoshi fought in Big Mama’s Nexus, until taken by Draxum.

Yoshi broke out during Draxum’s experiment and grabbed the four turtles he saw. As he’s escaping he dropped the soft-shell, but thanks to the fire and debris, was blocked from doubling back to rescue it, forced to leave it behind.

Draxum was left with a destroyed lab and only two of his five test subjects; Three—the male soft shell turtle, and Five—the female box shell turtle. Five was much too weak to live on her own, so Draxum was forced to keep her in a coma, confined to a healing vat. He worked on rebuilding his destroyed lab, and raised Three with the intention of training him to be a great warrior in the fight to save the yokai. As Three grew, Draxum was already impressed by the intelligence he saw from Three, but was not too pleased with the lack of interest Three showed for combat training. Still Draxum would work with what he had, and if nothing else, having access to Three’s blood meant at least he wasn’t starting from scratch. The boy was smart, and helpful in the lab. For eight years Draxum trained Three and helped nurture his mind. Draxum even found a way to get wider access to Empyrean, and was really able to continue his work, but the effects of working with the Empyrean….

Prologue beginning

Under the Cut

Five years after Splinter saved the turtles he could (Raph:7, Leo:6, Mikey:5). He brings them topside, having no choice but to do a food run with them all—unfortunately the Foot finds them, and Leo and Mikey get captured.

On the way, Leo is able to injure the nin holding him and Mikey enough that he drops Mikey. Leo ordered Mikey to run, while he struggled to keep the Foot Soldier from recapturing him.

Mikey left Leo behind and ran to hide in the alleyway behind Big Mama’s hotel, where he’s later found and taken in by the spider yokai, who finds Michael adorable and interesting enough to hold her attention for now.

Leo is taken before the Shredder, and Saki decides to raise Leo instead of killing him. He trained Leo to be Karai’s(10) bodyguard and demanded Kitsune use her mystic spells to bend Leo’s memories and mind so he became the perfect soldier.

One Year After Separation

Raph(8) meet April(9) and the two became best friends. Splinter begins training them both in ninjutsu so they can protect themselves from any surprise Foot Clan attacks.

Two Years After Separation

Three(8) developed an idea for a drill that Draxum took and employed to begin a secret way of mining empyrean without drawing the attention of the Hidden City Police. As the years passed, his experiments on Three became more and more depraved. The stress and torture caused a lot of strain on Three’s mind.

Three continued his work on Five’s body, convinced he can create something that will allow her to live outside her tank.

Overseas Saki ran the Japanese branch of the Foot, and ordered the destruction of a hidden yokai village. Usagi Miyamoto(9) is taken hostage and begins lessons with Leo(8) and Karai(12).

Four Years Post Separation

Saki returned (with his odd gaggle of child soldiers) to lead the US branch of the Foot Clan.

Five Years Post Separation—(ONE YEAR BEFORE SEASON ONE)

Usagi(14) finally escaped the Foot Clan

Big Mama grew bored of raising Michael(12) and threw him into her Battle Nexus. (First Actual page of the comic)

Big Mama and Draxum cut a secret deal, once he learned she has his Fourth subject. He offered Five to Big Mama as a go-between on the grounds that she will report Four’s status in the Nexus back to Draxum, but in the interim Big Mama may use her however she desires.

Three(13) began making shock collars for Big Mama with the demand that they will never be used on his brother, and that he got to see the weekly footage of Four’s Nexus fights.

Draxum met with the Foot clan and began providing Saki with empyrean in exchange for weapons. He saw Two(13) there, under the Shredder’s command. Draxum brings Three with him from then on, to gauge just how deep Two’s loyalty to the Foot Clan ran.

In that year of dealing with Saki, Three talked excessively to Leo any chance he got in the maybe four or five times they met, but was not provided with much of a response.

Usagi, with nowhere else to go, signed up for a few fights in Big Mama’s Nexus. He meets Mikey. Out of all the jerk contenders, the two actually like each other well enough. They’re as friendly as two people that may someday fight to the death would be.

After frequently running into each other, April(15) and Raph(14) got Casey(15) to give up her role as a Foot recruit and join their side. She gets the idea to become a double agent, and is now always sneaking out to meet them and be, in her own words, “a badass vigilant”.

After a few months fighting in the Nexus Usagi left and spent a few weeks on the streets before sneaking into Run of the Mill Pizza and getting caught by Hueso. The skeleton offered a safe place for Usagi to stay.

One night while patrolling, just the two of them, April(16) and Raph(15) see Mayhem get taken and April chased after just before the portal closed. Raph went to Splinter for help and the two headed off to the Hidden City. Before they can make it to Draxum’s lab, they spot Mikey(13), fighting in the Nexus, on one of the massive view screens.

After recovering April who’s basically saved herself and Mayhem without Draxum being any the wiser. Raph and Splinter brought her back home and then quickly returned to the HC and requested an audience with Big Mama.

Splinter dropped to his knees and begged to make a deal. He would fight Big Mama’s current champion if he could have his son back. Raph cut in that he would be the one to fight, and Big Mama accepted.

Raph fought a host of contenders before Big Mama revealed that he would face off against Mikey, who didn’t seem to recognize his big brother or father. Raph managed to grab Mikey in a bear-hold and got him to listen long enough for Mikey to remember the night they were separated. He and Raph and Splinter cried and hugged and Mikey confronted Big Mama to announce that he would be leaving with his family and that he would not fight for her any more.

Big Mama remained stoic and cold, taking the news rather well, until alone in her office. In a fit of rage she screamed and even threw a few glasses at the wall before she called for Five, who she had named Venus(13).

Big Mama gave Venus the footage for the previous week of Mikey’s fights. Along with the news that it would be the end of her and Three’s deal since Mikey was now gone.

Venus returned to Draxum’s lab and ran immediately into Three(14). Three, upset by the news that he would not be getting the most recent footage Big Mama had, and that their deal was ending, became upset and his yelling drew the attention of Draxum.

Draxum locked him up for a week before he allowed Venus to release her brother. Finally Venus sat Three down and began to tell him that Mikey is now with One and Lou Jitsu.

Quick Cut—Shredder has noticed that Kitsune’s magic on Leo’s(14) mind seems weaker, and demands more exposure to the empyrean. With a demon under his control, and Karai as the perfect successor, the Foot Clan will be unstoppable, and he will finally have the ultimate revenge on Hamato Yoshi.

Mikey returns to the lair with Raph and Splinter where he meets April. He’s shy, but content. Later, when in bed Mikey’s thoughts do wander to worries that his family may one day grow bored of him, just like Big Mama did. Mikey falls into an uneasy sleep.

SEASON ONE

Leo day after day as Second in Command of the Foot Clan finds his mind harder to focus lately. Something about the two turtles he keeps running into on missions plus the odd, manic one that always accompanies Draxum during his deals with Master Shredder. They seem to scratch an itch in Leo’s brain that just won’t go away.

Leo runs into Raph and Mikey and April long enough for them to finally try to talk, but . But Tigerclaw interrupts and takes Leo away when he refuses to fight his brothers.

Later when Leo is kneeling before Saki, Leo finds his Master isn’t pleased that he failed to kill their enemies when he had the perfect opportunity. Saki punishes Leo far more severely than he has in years. Casey, who knows Leo is in danger, fetches Usagi from his job at Run of the Mill, and Mikey meets them in the alley with the idea to go to Big Mama for the fastest route to Saki’s private compound and save Leo just in time.

Leo spends the next few months recovering and reluctantly staying in the lair, smart enough to know that returning to his Master would be a death sentence. Eventually his memories that were tampered with start to slowly return and he feels deeply the need to protect Mikey. Unfortunately his hatred for Splinter doesn’t seem to be dissipating and he spends a lot of time butting heads with Raph. He sees April’s skill and is impressed. He ignores Casey and refuses to see her as anything but a traitor.

Eventually his family grows comfortable enough to let him have more freedom, and Leo begins to join them on patrol.

While out one night, Leo cuts down a whole squad of Foot ninja when Mikey gets badly hurt. Raph is pretty shaken up and Splinter bans Leo from patrolling with the team, until he can learn to use less lethal methods.

One day, Splinter brings Leo into the dojo and shows his son the old shrine that was made for him and Mikey.

Splinter then shows Leo the weapons hung next to the shrine.

(Excerpt from notes app lol)

Splinter looked at the wall as he spoke. “Raphael and Michelangelo have already chosen their own. I always planned to gift these to you boys. Seeing how effortlessly you used to copy me when I practiced myself. I’d be honored for you to carry a piece of the Hamato clan with you.”

Leo mirrored Splinter’s gaze and stared straight ahead, not knowing how to feel about that bit of information. Regardless he found it easy to keep his tone detached.

“Shredder had me master a number of weapons. But I’ve always been best with my katana.”

Splinter chuckles with a fondly, sad smile. “Hm, yes. You were always most eager to swing around anything you could when you boys played. And would pretend to stab Raphael in the gut whenever he offered to play the role of the big scary dragon.”

Stoicism was now perhaps a bit harder. Still Leo would not allow himself to show any weakness over something so trivial as a tale he didn’t even remember.

“It would be foolish to trust your enemy with such a deadly weapon.”

Finally Splinter took his eyes off the wall and faced Leo. The terrapin refused to return the courtesy, but Splinter wasn’t deterred by the cold shoulder.

“You are not an enemy. You are my son.” Leo was slightly shocked at how easily Splinter claimed him. The rat spoke as surely as if he was simply reading facts from one of those dusty old scrolls he had tried to get Leo to read. A (poor) early attempt to reintroduce Leo to the great and honorable Hamato Clan. Perhaps his father had hoped it would be one possible way to cut through all the lies that Saki had spent years filling his son’s head with. Leo had not gotten very far into the literature before tossing it aside in frustration.

The rat continued on, still not once wavering. “The katana has always been a weapon of honor. I trust you to use them well, in the service of protecting this city and your brothers.”

Leo grew pensive—it was like viewing a weapon he’s cast his eyes on a million times in a new light. It had been a few years since Leo had heard something rather similar.

Only one other person in Leo’s entire life had spoken to him of honor in regards to the blade.

The slider tried not to think of the boy he hadn’t even seen in years. Now that he’s not so far under Saki spell, Leo could recognize the lump of coal that sat heavy in his stomach as guilt. Just the small reminder of the rabbit set it immediately ablaze.

Leo’s not sure why only now the idea of honor moved something in him, but since first waking up in the lair, and the months he’s spent with his actual, true family. The slider had found his thoughts more open to wandering and engaging with ideas that he would’ve never entertained while under Master Shredder.

Splinter continued quickly, seeing some kind of headway in the more and more open look that grew on Leo’s face. “These have been in our family for generations. And even though you boys were apart, It seems fate of some kind has paired you to each of these.”

He paused just a moment to chuckle sadly as if a stray thought suddenly occurred, “I do wonder, with you choosing the Katana. That just leaves the Bō. I’m curious how your brother Donatello would have wielded it. A simple weapon but in the right hands it can be most versatile.”

“Donatello?” Leo searched the bits of stray memories that had returned to him these last few months, but in none of them, he recalled seeing a third brother. Splinter’s words had him beyond confused, and a little worried that he had even more lost memories to regain.

Splinter looked embarrassed over the clear confusion his rambling had caused to suddenly shatter the previous air.

“Ah….yes. Forgive me. I did not wish to overwhelm you when you first arrived, but I suppose now you are ready to hear about how you were created. How Draxum—“

“Draxum?!”

Season One Midpoint

Draxum decides to finally hold another meeting with Shredder after a few months. Three now finds out that Two has ran away after failing in a mission. When he returns to his lab, Three activates the tracker he secretly placed on Two and is beyond shocked to see him in the company of One and Four.

Three suffers a serious break when he sees them with April, and thinks he’s been replaced by a human. As the final straw shatters his control, Three attacks them all in an attempt to get answers and find out why they all seemed so happy together while he was left alone. After an intense fight, Raph manages to grab Three and Leo knocks him out, so they can take him back to the lair.

Donnie spends the next few months getting used to living with his family.

Raph and Leo continue to get into frequent arguments. Leo’s anger only seems to be getting worse. Mikey tries to keep the peace and does his best to keep the lair running smoothly. Leo takes his anger out on Mikey and immediately feels bad.

Tide Pod bros themed episode. Leo apologizes to Mikey for yelling at him. They bond while doing something silly.

April and Casey start dating. Hypno and Warren episode (plot tbd but they keep interrupting the girls’ first date)

Donnie starts constructing his lab and finally seems like he’s developing a stronger relationship with Leo. The two come up with the whole ‘twin’ idea and agree to share a birthday.

Mikey and Raph have a fun bonding episode (Maybe either Meat Sweats or Stockboy)

Venus runs into the family while out on a mission for Big Mama. Donnie tries to talk with her but she remains silent and shows no mercy in attacking him. Later Donnie explains who she is to the fam and the brothers promise him they’ll find a way to bring her home.

April, Raph, Donnie run into the Purple Dragons while incognito at a tech store that Donnie really wanted to go to. Donnie is beyond impressed by them, but Raph is wary. April warns the boys the Purple Dragons are trouble. But Donnie doesn’t listen, and fights with April then to spite her, asks to join their group. They let him in after he shows off his tech and eventually Donnie discovers that April was right. She helps Donnie take back his tech that was stolen, but the Dragons get away. Donnie apologizes for the way he’s treated April since joining the family and the two gain a better understanding.

Leo and Raph argue one night and it’s so bad that Leo takes off. While out he gets recaptured by the Foot and Saki holds him for weeks at his secret compound. Leo sees visions of his long dead ancestor Karai who tries to help him through the constant torture, but thanks to Saki merging Kitsune’s magic with the empyrean, Leo’s mind is falling further than ever under the Shredder’s control.

Season One Finale

When the family finds Leo, he is trapped in a new type of mystic armor and doesn’t even seem to recognize them, viciously attacking them. He takes out everyone but Raph, and when he goes after his oldest brother, he almost manages to take him out as well, but Karai comes to Raph in a vision and helps walk Raph through the ancient ritual she created to banish the empyrean from Leo’s mind. Now free the two then take on Shredder, before grabbing their family and retreating. Family also learns about Karai being Splinter’s daughter.

Season Two

Twins’ Birthday episode for season premiere! Home once again, Leo finds he’s much calmer, only growing angry for shorter and less frequent bouts. And now that the family knows what’s causing it, they can work on controlling it. Donatello informs Leo that he and Draxum were the ones responsible for providing the Shredder with the empyrean, but Leo doesn’t care and tells Donnie not to worry about it. They enjoy their first real birthday with the whole family.

Another run in with Venus while Donnie is out with Mikey. This time Donnie tries his best to explain that he never wanted to leave her behind, and wants her to come back to the lair with him. Venus looks unsure, but refuses and retreats. Mikey&Venus twin reveal.

Leo and Raph gain a new understanding and grow closer. They settle into co-leading the team.

Leo, April, and Donnie have a fun episode together. Raph and Casey vigilante B plot. Splinter and Mikey want to watch their shows but the Wi-Fi is not working, with Donnie gone, they accidentally destroy the lair attempting to fix it.

April and Casey try again for a second date that once again keeps getting interrupted by goofy stuff. This time by the boys.

Rat Flu episode

The gang run into a salamander mutant named Mona and have to stop her from stealing a big jewel from a museum. Raph is pretty smitten when she manages to surprise him by taking him down easily and escaping.

Purple Dragons episode (plot tbd) but something akin to the Fourfold Trap from tmnt!2012

Donnie manages to convince the family to try and repeat the very same ritual Raph did on Leo, on Draxum. They reluctantly agree, as long as Donnie goes through it as well. He agrees and they come up with a plan to capture Draxum.

Season Two Midpoint

Venus agrees to join them temporarily, and helps them take down Draxum long enough to get him back to the lair. In the middle of the ritual, Mikey’s mystic powers activate and somehow manage to link Donnie and Draxum’s minds, pulling the boys in and letting them see all the horrible things Three went through. They run into the darker hallucination versions of themselves that Donnie always sees and have to make a run for it when they’re attacked. Then they meet an adorable, little Three who guides them deeper into the mental link where they finally see Draxum, who looks worse for wear and cries upon seeing the small, child version of Three.

The ritual works and Draxum is purged of most of the empyrean, when the boys are pulled out however, they realize it didn’t work on Donnie for some reason. Donnie doesn’t seem bothered and is just excited about what the ritual working on Draxum means, but Draxum is too ashamed to face anyone and makes a run for it while the boys are distracted.

The boys and April have a fun day enjoying the snow, but get into it when they can’t agree on whether Lou Jitsu or Jupiter Jim is better. Raph and Mikey are on team Lou and Leo and April on team JJ, Donnie who can’t decide, keeps switching back and forth.

The gang spends a day in the Hidden City and ends it by attending a show where the lead singer is a shockingly loud, spunky female turtle. The boys are confused to see another mutant turtle, but Donnie promises Draxum only had files on the Five of them, and is convinced she must be a yokai. The band gets attacked by some of Big Mama’s goons and the gang rush in to help. After everything is settled the female turtle introduces herself to the gang as Jennika and vows to repay the boys for saving her.

Karai episode (plot tbd)

Leo, Raph and Splinter all have trouble accepting the new Draxum so Mikey as Dr Feelings has the bright idea to spend a fun day touring New York. April comes up with a scavenger hunt but it quickly goes off the rails thanks to Big Mama (not exactly Battle Nexus: New York, more like a mix between the Hidden City episodes and then the start of the BN:NY ep)

(Now closer to the actual BN:NY ep) The whole family gets taken prisoner by Big Mama, who reveals her grand plan to have Raph and Mikey battle it out to see who will be her new champion. They win by outsmarting her and the last shot is her looking very disheveled and angry. As a last resort she calls a contact from deep in the underbelly of the Hidden City. A man covered with bandages, who looks practically like a corpse, emerges from the shadows and asks how he can help.

Leo asks Usagi to join him on a vision quest and the two leave for Japan via portal, where Usagi knows of a place that is said to provide those worthy with great inner peace. Usagi-centered episode. We get to see his village which Leo and Usagi are shocked to find out has been rebuilt in the years he’s been gone.

Season Two Finale

Donnie’s side effects from the empyrean are growing worse and he begins to research in secret the origins of the mystic substance. In his desperation for answers Donnie ignores an alert for a 317-39.4 that comes up right as he’s made a huge discovery. Not wanting to stop just as he’s found something big Donnie takes off without telling his brothers. His findings bring him to the Crying Titan where he discovers the source of the empyrean, the skeleton, inside. But before he can attempt to investigate further he’s stopped by the appearance of a young boy calling himself Casey Jones Junior, and his hooded companion. The companion warns Donnie that unless he wants to lose an eye, he shouldn’t get any closer to the creature. Donnie is skeptical, but heeds the warning, especially when the boy tells him they’ve come back from the future to help and uses a special code Donnie developed during a late night bout of insomnia driven boredom.

Donnie takes the new strangers back to the lair where Raph and Mikey are both upset over Donnie’s disappearance. Raph says they could’ve used his help fighting Warren Stone and Hypno, who managed to make off with robbing some old artifact. Donnie admits to ignoring that alert in favor of his research and Raph grows even more upset.

The hoodie figure declares to the boy that they’ve arrived too late and the two future strangers tell the family that they’ve come to stop the Kraang and that they need to call Leo back home. They will need everyone if they’re going to stop the end of the world.

MOVIE TIME

Haha jk no major spoilers quite yet.

[rookiesbookies]

Greek God!Price x MaidenFem!Reader pt 2

Masterlist is pinned as always and please submit any requests to my inbox I dont bite

She had always been nervous around men, in her village they had always seemed rude and misogynist. Women were a commodity, their value based on purity and age. But Price was different. He treated her with respect and tenderness, making her feel safe and cherished. It was a new experience for her, and she couldn't help but feel nervous about it.

As she lay there, wide awake, she couldn't help but notice Price's movements in his sleep. He had gone from a respectful distance to spooning her side, his warm body pressed against hers. It was both comforting and unsettling at the same time.

She had agreed to spend the night in his bed, a decision that made her anxious. Changing in his master bathroom, she had put on one of his white undershirts that barely covered her upper-mid thigh. She worried about him seeing her exposed, about her own vulnerability in this unfamiliar situation.

The clock on the wall ticked away, reminding her of the late hour. She shivered, feeling the coldness of the room seep into her bones. Despite Price's warm body heat and the thick blankets, she couldn't find comfort. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of her nipples showing through the shirt or the possibility of her underwear being revealed.

But amidst her restlessness, she couldn't help but appreciate Price's gentle and kind nature. It was a stark contrast to her past experiences with the men who had tried to court her - often older and looking for a young housewife to act as a slave due to their wealth. She found herself slowly letting go of her fears and embracing the unfamiliar warmth that he offered.

Price stood out among the men she had encountered. He possessed a genuine gentlemanly demeanor that made her wonder if all gods were like him.

As her mind aimlessly drifted, she couldn't help but become fixated on Price's physique. Questions began to swirl in her thoughts, particularly about what lay beneath that thick sweater he now slept in. Were his muscles well-defined, sculpted from hours of hard work and dedication? Or were they hidden beneath a layer of softness, adding a touch of comfort to his appearance? The curiosity grew stronger, fueling her imagination as she envisioned the possibilities. It was a tantalizing mystery, one that she couldn't help but ponder, wondering if one day she would have the chance to uncover the truth.

As her mind wandered, it delved even deeper into his physical attributes, specifically focusing on what he possessed between his legs. Questions arose about its thickness, length, girth, and whether it was thin or substantial. She pondered whether he preferred a clean-shaven look or if his hair was coarse yet well-maintained, similar to his facial hair. Curiosity arose about the presence of freckles and whether it leaned towards one direction or the other. She wondered if it was pale or tan, what color the tip was. These thoughts consumed her mind, leaving her with a multitude of unanswered questions.

Her cheeks flushed with warmth as she realized the direction her thoughts were taking. It felt criminal. It was inappropriate to think of a man in such a way, especially someone like Price who was so sweet and such a gentleman. She began to question her own feelings towards him, fearing that she might be falling for a man who deserved a woman equally as remarkable to be his eternal partner. She pondered the qualities that would make a woman worthy of Price's affection. Would she need to possess extraordinary beauty, intelligence, or perhaps a combination of both?

The weight of her own self-doubt began to settle upon her, as she questioned whether she could ever measure up to the standards she imagined Price had. Perhaps he was waiting for some magic spark to ignite, maybe Eros to strike them with arrows to let him know it was meant to be or a letter hand-written from Aphrodite or Hera with approval. Something he seemingly so desired based on his adamant refusal of the other sacrificial women he considered for brides. He even said it himself, he wanted someone closer to his physical age to keep for an eternity as a partner, not just a wife.

Lost in her thoughts, she yearned for a sign, a glimpse into Price's true nature. She longed to know if he was as extraordinary as he appeared, or if her infatuation was merely a figment of her imagination, the facade of a god. Only time would reveal the answers she sought, and until then, she would continue to question her own worthiness of a god like Price.

He shifted again in his sleep, pulling her closer. His beard tickling against her neck, he took a deep breath. She couldn't help but think about the advice her friends had given her as a teenager. They had told her that men could determine if they wanted to marry a girl by the end of their first date. As she lay there, she wondered if the dinner they had just shared counted as a date. Did it hold any significance or was it just a casual outing with his friends? Her mind raced as she rubbed her legs together and nervously bit her lip. Being in such close proximity with a man was a new experience for her.

Suddenly, he began to stir in his sleep, a soft grunt escaping his mouth. Startled, she realized he was awake. "Why aren't you asleep?" he questioned, his voice filled with curiosity. "Humans need a good deal of sleep compared to us gods."

Her heart skipped a beat as she tried to come up with a response. "I... I couldn't sleep," she stammered, her voice barely audible. "I guess I'm just not used to... this."

He looked at her intently, his eyes filled with understanding. "It's okay," he said softly, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "We can take things slow. There's no rush."

As he held her close, she felt a warm and comforting feeling, giving her hope for a happy future. Could this amazing man be the one she would marry? And, by some lucky chance, did he really understand her deepest desires?

Finally, she drifted into a peaceful slumber, feeling a sense of tranquility and optimism. The man she had discovered, whom she might be falling in love with, had filled her heart with hope and affection. The thought of marrying him brought her immense joy and contentment. He was truly remarkable, and she could only wish that he felt the same way about her. Thankfully, it seemed like he did, and that realization filled her with even more happiness.

[silvermoon424]

What are your thoughts on each major faction from Magia Record?

I love all the factions, they each represent some really cool ideas!

Kamihama Magia Union:

Love them!! I really do like the idea of an entire city full of magical girls banding together to share resources and support each other. Magical girl mutual aid, we love to see it.

Wings of the Magius:

THEY GOT DONE SO DIRTY!!! I hate how the Wings of Magius are often vilified by the story because like.... they're not wrong. Madokami doesn't exist in their universe, so all magical girls are screwed the moment they make their contracts. The Magius are the only ones trying to do something to end the Incubator's exploitation, and the Doppel system is even better than Madokami's solution.

I distinctly remember Iroha and the gang talking to one of the Black Feathers and the Feather was like "I saw my sister turn into a Witch. I don't want to end up like her and I don't want her death to be in vain" and Iroha is just like "I understand but the Magius are still wrong :("

Like for the record, I don't condone destroying an entire city to implement the Doppel system but it's really hard not to sympathize with these girls. The Magius are their one and only hope. I will say that I do appreciate what the story did with them later, with them joining the Kamihama Magia Union in order to find a peaceful way to impliment the Doppel system.

Promised Blood:

I'm glad Promised Blood was introduced because they cause Arc 1 to have stakes and consequences. The Kamihama magical girls have been (unknowingly) benefiting from the suffering of neighboring magical girls. If you didn't know, Kamihama has a surplus of Witches because Witches from surrounding areas are being drawn to the city. This in turn leaves a drought of Witches and Grief Seeds in neighboring towns. The drought got so bad in Futatsugi City that it led to a civil war and multiple magical girl deaths.

So yeah, very cool concept and I love how they introduce a lot of conflict and nuance in Arc 2.

Tokime Tribe:

I absolutely love the concept behind them and all their lore. The idea of a hidden village that produces magical girls whose wishes can be bought by the rich and powerful is so cool. I love how the entire clan is aware of magical girls, to the point where some families choose to move because they're worried about their daughters contracting.

Folklore of Zero:

Their background and motivations are so interesting. Their nihilism and resignation to their fates is very intriguing, especially compared to the optimism and perseverance displayed by the KMU. I absolutely love all the lore they introduce about the role of magical girls and the intentions the universe itself has for them. I also love how each member wants to publicize the truth about magical girls, a plan I wholeheartedly agree with.

Puella Care:

They're so cool! In Arc 1 Mitama introduced the really interesting concept of Coordinators (or Adjusters, depending on your translation) and I love how that idea was expanded on in Arc 2. I also appreciate how their neutrality is constantly tested and questioned.

Neo-Magius:

Probably my least favorite faction, although I don't dislike them by any means. The concept of magical girl supremacy is a very interesting one. I also like how their opinions and goals are just plain wrong, compared to how nuanced the rest of the factions are.

[jumexju]

REQ !! : hiiii!!!! im inlove with your fanfics and I was wondering if I could request tobirama senju x reader who hurt themself on the mission, leading them to go blind ? you can decide if it's an established relationship or not ! have a great rest of your day ! <333. - anon

THE HAZE (req)

Pairing !! : Senju Tobirama / GN Reader

Fic Type !! : One-Shot / Fluff / Comfort

CW !! : Very little mention of blood in the beginning & violence (not by tobi) in the beginning, insecurity & self-doubt, apart from that, none !

Summary !! : You get hurt on a mission, causing you to lose your sight. Luckily, you have Tobirama to help you.

Notes !! : I really enjoyed writing this, I hope you like it oomfie ^^!!

✦ MASTERLIST

It happened all too fast. 

One second you were fighting spy shinobi from the hidden sound, the next — you couldn’t see anything, only being able to feel the stinging pain of a kunai slash your face. The only thing your teammates heard after the devastating blow were your screams and cries that you couldn’t see anything. After your teammates had eliminated the enemy, one of them carried you on their back to bring you to the village hospital so that a medical ninja could treat you. 

When an Anbu Black Ops member — one of the four on your team to be exact — appeared before Tobirama, he knew that the news he would be receiving would not only be a report on how the mission went. 

“They’re in the hospital, Lord Second.” The shinobi replied to him after he had been asked for your whereabouts. Tobirama grunted as he got up from his desk and walked to the door, hesitating to open it. 

“Did the shinobi who attacked them get away?” His tone was sharp, demanding. 

“No, Lord Second.” 

“You’re dismissed,” Tobirama said before leaving his office and heading to the hospital to see the condition you were in. 

After a few hours of the treatment by the medical ninja, they had broken the news to you. The cut on your face would be able to heal, only leaving a scar in its wake, but you would never again be able to see. ‘You would never again be able to see..’ ..The words rang in your head, you didn’t know what to feel after hearing the news. You couldn’t open your eyes due to the injury being wrapped with gauze, but it’s not like having your eyes open or not would make a difference — You still wouldn’t be able to see. 

“What do you mean I can’t go in?” Tobirama’s brows furrowed at what one of the nurses in charge of your room had told him. 

“They’ve asked that no one come into their room, Lord second,” The poor nurse seemed conflicted, “Not even yourself..” The man huffed, staring at your door before walking out again. 

If he couldn’t go in through the door, then he’d go in through the window. Nothing — no one — could keep him from seeing you. 

Not even you. 

Your head hung low as you wondered what you looked like, although you had a good idea of what  the scar would look like, since you could still feel the dull pain of the slash across your face. 

“_____.” 

You picked your head up, recognizing the familiar voice that had called your name. “.. Tobi?” Your head darted from side to side, trying to listen for any clues of where he was. “I didn’t hear the door open, where did you-” 

“Why did you tell them not to let me in?” Tobirama was never one to beat around the bush, always facing things head-on. You stayed silent, fidgeting with your fingers. “_____. ..Why?” 

You sighed, “I didn’t.. want you to see me.” That was only the simple explanation. The truth was, you felt horrible at the fact that you would never be able to see him again, you wouldn’t be able to experience the world with him in the same way as before. You could hear his voice and feel his touch but you would never be able to see him again. You felt the mattress dip next to you and a warm hand — his hand — hold your anxious ones. 

“What did the medics say? ..about your condition, I mean.” Tobirama asked, straight to the point as always. 

“..They said..” You could feel tears pour from your closed eyes as you tried to force the words out of your lips. “They said.. I wouldn’t be able to see anymore.” 

“So.. you’re not in critical condition? You’ll be okay?” He asked, an unfamiliar sound of worry subtly evident in his voice, feeling his thumb brush away your tears afterwards. 

“I’ll be fine, it’s just.. My sight– Or well, my lack of it.” You didn’t sound happy, at all. Tobirama could tell that much, but all he cared about was the fact that you were going to live. Truthfully, Tobirama could care less if you could see or not, as long as he had you beside him. Suddenly, you could feel strong arms encase you in a warm and comforting embrace, a warm vanilla scent emitting from Tobirama as he hugged you. You hesitated to hug him back but did so after a while. You were confused — was he not.. disappointed after hearing the news? After a few moments, you pulled back from him. “..You’re not disappointed?” 

A puzzled look washed over his face — not that you could see it though. “Disappointed? Why would I be disappointed?” 

“Well.. my blindness is permanent so..” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” It was a serious question. Did you really think he would just leave you because of your new disability? As if. 

“I won’t be able to experience the world in the same way as you, Tobirama..” You somehow felt even sadder after saying it outloud. Guilty even, because you knew you would cause him an inconvenience. You would have to learn to read differently and you wouldn’t be able to enjoy the warm mornings when you woke up with him in the same way anymore. Things would be different now that you had lost your sight. 

“Maybe,” He said, “But you’ll still be by my side — and that’s all I need.” He said it with passion because he meant it. He wouldn’t be leaving you anytime soon. 

“..I’ll be a burden to you.” You stated it as if it was to be a fact — which was farther from the truth in Tobirama’s mind. 

“You won’t. I once told you I'd be with you through the hard times and I am a man of my word. You of all people should know this best, _____.” His words were serious, but you could tell there was an underlying tone of tenderness to them. 

This man loved you- Truly loved you. 

Things were different after you had lost your sight.

You couldn’t see people’s expressions, not their happy ones, nor their annoyed ones. You couldn’t read people’s emotions as you used to do before the incident. And you surely couldn’t navigate your own home the way you used to. It was humiliating, at first. You felt like a child that needed help to just survive, help that you certainly didn’t need at first. You never thought that you’d ever have to rely on Tobirama so much as you did now.

But it was getting easier. 

Though your sight was completely gone — Your other senses stepped up, as if wanting to make up for the lack of it. You could hear even the subtlest of sounds and this was no doubt thanks to your lover. Tobirama had proposed — after about a month that you had spent healing — that he help you hone your other senses through training with him. You had agreed to it, thinking that it’d help you feel less helpless (which it did). But not only did it improve your self-esteem, your other senses had become more sensitive to stimuli. Over time, your kinesthetic sense also improved. You became more aware of the layout of your home, no longer needing Tobirama’s help around the house whenever you wanted to do something (except for cooking, you were currently taking a break from that after you almost burned the house down).

Currently, you were in the middle of training with your now fiancé. You could feel a bead of sweat drip down the side of your face as you tried to anticipate where he would come from. Your ears picked up on the rustling of leaves and you turned your head to face in that direction. You were about to throw a kunai in its direction before you felt a large, calloused hand rest on your shoulder, “I win, again.” 

You groaned, “That’s not fair! I’m handicapped.” You crossed your arms, you’d roll your eyes if you could, too. 

“That can’t be your excuse all the time, you know. Not if you wanna be sent out on missions again.” There was a small smirk on his face as his arms circled around your waist, pulling you close to him. 

“I know, but still.” you pouted and sighed before leaning into him, resting the back of your head on his shoulder. “I appreciate you doing this for me, Tobi.” A smile graced your features, something that Tobirama had missed dearly. Since the incident, your smiles became scarce — Though you seemed to be smiling more lately. 

“I would do anything for you.” He spoke into your ear before he planted a chaste kiss on your jaw. 

“Anything?” you chimed. 

“Anything.” He confirmed before he kissed your lips lovingly. 

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Mystery-Themed Prompts for Novel Ideas

The Vanishing Heirloom: In a small, isolated town, a precious family heirloom goes missing, causing chaos. Write a story from the perspective of the investigator who is called to solve the mystery.

The Cryptic Message: A character receives a mysterious message that seems to predict future events. What is the message, and how does it lead to a thrilling mystery?

The Disappearing Artist: A famous artist disappears on the night of their gallery opening. Craft a tale that delves into the secrets of the art world and the clues left behind.

The Locked Room: Describe a seemingly impossible murder in a locked room. How does the detective unravel the truth and uncover the killer's methods?

The Forgotten Diary: A forgotten diary reveals a series of dark secrets from the past. Write a story about the impact of these revelations on those who find it.

The Phantom Stalker: Create a character who believes they're being followed by a mysterious stranger. Explore their paranoia and the truth behind the stalker's motives.

The Unexplained Crop Circles: A series of intricate crop circles appear overnight in a rural field. Craft a story around the investigation to discover their origin and meaning.

The Ghost Ship: Set your story on a deserted ship found adrift at sea. Investigate the ship's eerie past and the events that led to its abandonment.

The Cursed Painting: A haunted painting is said to bring doom to those who possess it. Tell the tale of the individuals connected to this cursed artwork.

The Mysterious Time Capsule: A group of friends unearths a time capsule from their childhood, but inside, they find an item that doesn't belong. Explore the mystery of this unexpected object.

The Secret Society: Your protagonist stumbles upon a secret society operating in plain sight. Explore their motives and the danger they pose in a gripping mystery.

The Disappearing Town: In a remote village, the entire population vanishes without a trace. Write a story about the investigator who arrives to uncover the eerie circumstances.

The Haunting Whisper: A character begins to hear whispered messages from an unknown source. How do these whispers lead them on a mysterious journey?

The Enigmatic Puzzle: A brilliant cryptographer leaves behind a complex puzzle after their death. Follow the efforts to decode it and uncover a hidden secret.

The Phantom Blackmailer: Someone is blackmailing prominent figures using an alias. Craft a story about the detective trying to unmask this cunning blackmailer.

[daycourtofficial]

A Season of Decay

Characters: Eris and Lucien | WC: 2k | warnings: sadness

Summary: Eris and Lucien used to enjoy hiding amongst the crowds of fae to attend the annual autumn festivals. In Lucien’s absence, Eris goes for the first time by himself and has a hard time coping with the effects of Lucien’s banishment

Author's note: happy @erisweekofficial day 4 - traditions!! this is based on this exchange between with @nocasdatsgay and @secret-third-thing and my deep love for Lucien and Eris's relationship <3

To those who lived in the solar courts, the seasonal courts seemed like a life of monotony. A permanent state of each season, never much variation. Why choose just one when you could experience them all? Anyone who dared to say the seasonal courts were monotonous had never spent longer than a week there. Yes, it stayed fairly consistent. However there were variations with the seasons, just like the solar courts experienced.

Spring was said to be the season of rebirth, but in all Eris’s travels there, he never understood that. It lived in constant bloom - he wasn’t even sure things died there. Autumn was Spring’s foil - the season of decay. Perhaps Tamlin brought dying things across the border, allowing the flowers to wilt once they crossed the border.

It was nearing the Autumn Equinox, and the air felt perfectly autumnal. The woods were incredibly vibrantThe woods were vivid with color, the brightest hues of red and orange ever seen. Everything felt right, as if the season were reaching its full potential. Laughter filled the air as Eris’s boots crunched through the leaves, each one a cacophony of sounds as it crumbled beneath his step.

“Why are we out with lesser fae?”

“Shush.”

Eris was curt, albeit a bit harsh. Lucien’s lip wobbled slightly, but Eris was quick to fix the wound he made as the pair stopped walking.

“Lu, this is a secret, do you remember what a secret is?”

Lucien nodded, his face scrunching to recall their earlier discussion. “It’s something we don’t tell our father.”

Eris nodded in agreement. “Exactly.”

He reached out his hand again, taking Lucien’s smaller one in his before they continued on, getting swept up in the crowd of festival goers.

The Autumn Equinox brought large groups of fae away from the countryside, congregating in villages and fields to participate in festivals honoring the season. Autumn nobility looked down upon such matters - why spend time with the masses?

As much as they detested the merriment, they never stopped the festivities because of the increase in trade that spawned from it.

His brother played the part perfectly, begging their parents to spend some time with Eris’s hounds. Eris had swooped in, saying he could care for Lucien for the day. There was never concern about any fae checking on the pair - the hounds roared with barks and growls whenever anyone in Beron’s good graces even came close to their kennel.

Eris and Lucien now stood before the gathering crowd, Lucien’s eyes wide at the truth to his brother’s stories. Long red locks had been exchanged for brown ones - a powder Eris had discovered years prior that dulled his bright hues and washed out easily.

Lucien, on the other hand, was very afraid it would make his hair a dulled brown forever. Hesitant to try it on his beautiful hair until Eris did it to his hair first.

At least if it were permanent, he’d look like his big brother.

The brown hair and face masks were all they really needed to blend in with the crowds. Eris had slipped out earlier, nabbing several masks while hidden beneath a cloak, returning to present Lucien an array of options. He picked the pumpkin one for himself before insisting Eris wore one decorated with apples.

The pair walked through the crowds, half of their faces covered with highly decorated masks. Lucien’s grip was tight as he held Eris’s hand, always wary around the fae outside of the Forest House.

Lucien pulled Eris past all the vendors - not caring for pumpkin juice, candy apples, or any other sugary nonsense, pulling Eris straight toward tables lined with pumpkins.

“Can we carve them?”

One of the servants had let it slip to Lucien earlier in the week that fae carve the pumpkins, believing it to be a sacrament to the Mother by creating beautiful designs into the pumpkins for when they die. It was all Lucien could talk about.

“No.”

Lucien locked his fingers together, his lip jutting out, looking utterly pathetic. “Please Eris.”

Damn Lucien knowing exactly how to get Eris to fold. Eris silently pulled a dagger from his side, Lucien cheering as he looked to the pumpkin, the gourd already emptied of its insides. Good.

Eris moved his dagger through the skin, trying to cut shapes like the display pumpkin had. The display pumpkin was a generic jack-o-lantern face, one with triangle eyes and an odd mouth. It was a design that littered the villages of Autumn, thought to be a protection against evil.

The carved pumpkins had many purposes, many of which Eris found silly. But it never went unnoticed by him just how popular they were as an evil deterrent. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him that he’s never seen Beron eat pumpkin. After twenty minutes of work, he felt proud of it, turning it to Lucien, who burst into a fit of giggles at the sight of it.

“That’s not a face - that’s an accident!”

Eris, incredibly frustrated at not exceeding expectations on the first try, wiped his dagger on a cloth before sheathing it once more, leading Lucien back through the stalls. He protested through a fit of giggles, begging to go back until he came across a large barrel of water. He started tugging Eris’s hand, trying to pull him in that direction.

Laughs filled Eris’s ears, the chatter of the people around him letting him hear bits and bobs of pointless conversations. Lucien didn’t even ask, finding an empty barrel and dunking his head in immediately. Eris quickly grabbed Lucien’s shoulders, pulling him from the water. Lucien came up as water flung everywhere, a triumphant yell that was muffled by the apple in his mouth, the pumpkin glasses on his face dripping wet. The water messed up the powder in his hair, giving it a more reddish hue than before, but it was nowhere near as noticeable as his hair usually is.

His grin was wide as he pulled the apple from his mouth, his canines peeking from his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“You can’t just dive headfirst into water.”

Lucien shrugged, not understanding his brother’s concern.

“It’s your turn, Er.”

Lucien’s words clanged through him, bringing him back to the now. The festival was in full swing and Eris stoodby, debating on making his way into the crowd. To stand amongst the fae beneath him, who led lives mostly foreign to him. He felt like a monster, nothing more than a bedtime story to scare small children into doing their chores. He wasn’t a cautionary tale. He was real. He had watched all of his brothers grow afraid of him, just like the other children of Autumn feared dragons and witches.

It had been ages since he had attended one of these festivals, preferring to spend the day locked away, buried amongst papers and endless meetings. Anything to drive away the guilt that always lingered in his throat making it impossible to catch a full breath.

It had been twenty three years since he last came, since he last had his younger brother laughing next to him. It was the one day a year they came together, laughing with merriment as they forced the other to bob for apples, dunking their heads into a basket of water in the hopes of grabbing an apple with just their teeth. Lucien always won, much quicker than Eris to sink his teeth into flesh. Eris always joked that his brother’s long canines gave him an unfair advantage, they were easier to grab onto the apple with.

Lucien always insisted the pair go through all the stalls - carving pumpkins was their first stop, where Eris had honed his skills over the years, going so far as to make portraits of his brother just to rub in his skill. What Lucien didn’t see were the piles and piles of pumpkins Eris went through every year practicing, not allowing himself to fail at anything.

Eris walked past the pumpkin carving, the weight of his dagger growing as it rested on his hip. Some children were carving a monster face, comparing the monster to each other. The pumpkins had square eyes and sharp fanged mouths, and the glimpse Eris got of one of them felt like he was seeing a reflection.

He continued on, not letting himself stop as he moved through the motions, heading toward the barrels for apple bobbing. He could practically taste the apple in his mouth, the water making that first bite so crisp as he sank his teeth into the skin. He watched the festival goers enjoying the game, laughing at each other as they all bobbed their heads in, most failing at grabbing one on the first try. He turned to watch over the crowds, when his eyes landed on someone.

Eris could feel his heart thumping out of his chest. He stood still, silently watching the fae, some festival goers bumping into him. He could smell Jesminda in the air, her burnt skin and a twinge of caramelized apple burning his nose.

He was disguised, much like he had been when they came out here as kids. His disguise was more elaborate, perhaps the doing of the High Lord Lucien had been spending his time with.

He was disguised as a lesser fae, the sweetgum fae who resembled the trees with the same name. Like a tree given sentience, his brother stood some twenty yards away. Eris knew it was him. It was the eyes - deep russet eyes that haunted his nightmares. He saw them everywhere he went, wondering if he had finally gone mad.

But this was real.

He could move forward. He could say something. One of his legs lifts, his foot hovering an inch off the ground, his heart begging him to go, go, go. But he couldn’t move. His foot remained frozen mid-air. He watched him from a safe distance, eyes watching the ring clad fingers as he spoke to someone who looked vaguely familiar. Eris squinted, recognizing the male as someone from Spring.

Something in him broke at the realization.

Lucien stood a little straighter, as if the weight of their family had lightened him. He looked more sure of himself, as if he had grown somehow in their time apart. He was darker, a deep tan he could never achieve in the dreary days of Autumn.

More than anything Eris wanted to be someone to Lucien. Now he stood a couple dozen feet away, knowing the scent of him would cause Lucien to run, to never return to Autumn. He’d remain far from the festivals they cherished so much.

So Eris doesn’t say anything. He let him be. He turned and walked away, letting the guilt puncture another hole in his heart that he failed the last person to truly trust him.

Though his heart was heavy, he couldn’t help the slightest feeling of hope. Lucien was here. He came back to Autumn. He came back to a place that brought him joy. Eris couldn’t take that away from him. If he approached him, there’s no telling if he’d ever come back.

Only fools dream in Autumn. A court of death and decay run by a family of foxes with no loyalty. But the sight of his youngest brother left Eris feeling quite foolish.

His cloak billowed in the wind behind him and he let his mind wander to what could be. Maybe one day, centuries from now, they’d see each other at this festival and Lucien would smile at him once again.

Maybe Spring was a place of rebirth after all.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124

Thanks for reading❣️

[kyokutsu-sama]

Hey I've been a huge fan of your blog for a while now and I finally built up the courage to send you a request.🩷

Can you do one with the Black Clover Magic Captains with a s/o who was a foreigner who finally tell them about their original culture that they kept hidden.

For context had to flee here (You can choose why) and while here the people made them on outcast because of their culture, making them hide it leading them to forgetting most of it. (This request is based off Pinkies Gypsy Bard (I've been going back into my MLP phase recently)

I understand it maybe a little too much but I wanted to be as specific as possible 😅

A/n: I'm glad to know this and in any case you are free to send me requests😊

I know it took me a while with this one but I was writing other things and ended up taking a break from Tumblr for a few days, I'm sorry🥲

_____________________________

Yami :

Yami could never judge someone based on their culture or country. Firstly, because he is also a foreigner, secondly because he likes diversity, since the members of his squad are all different from each other. They initially kept it to themselves but when he asks them to talk one day, he ends up asking about their roots and that's when the truth finally comes to light. They confess to the captain that they didn't want to talk about it in front of others because they were afraid of being judged or demoted for having a different culture and that's why they preferred to just say that they were born in the Clover kingdom to hide it. The captain understands the situation and explains that he himself also comes from a foreign country and that he also suffered prejudice because of this, unfortunately. When they see that both the captain and others accept them and their origins, regardless of whether they are different, it makes them more confident.

Fuegoleon :

This captain may even be royalty and show a prestigious image most of the time, but he is very respectful of everyone. Regardless of who tgey are and where they came from. They have hidden their own culture since joining the Crimson Lions because they were afraid of what others would think. Especially because the captain himself is a nobleman and that was already a reason for them not to talk about it. Due to their effort and their recognition little by little, Fuegoleon thought it would be interesting to get to know them better, since he didn't have much knowledge of them. This captain is a very smart man and quickly realizes that they have something that differentiates them from the people of the Clover kingdom and this leads him to question them about where they come from. When they admit that they came from another country, the captain is surprised and asks why they didn't talk about it sooner and that's when they say that they had already suffered prejudice before and were afraid that they would suffer from it again. Captain Vermillion leaves them comfortable with this and says he accepts them no matter what because it doesn't make them less than anyone else and as captain, he promises that he will work so that one day this prejudice will end.

William :

The golden dawn is a prestigious division due to its merits in various missions but the some of the members of that division, tend to treat those who come from villages outside the kingdom or from other countries with disdain, which is completely the opposite of what the captain does, who accepts everyone the way they are. They were glad to be able to wear the uniform of that division but at the same time, the roots of a foreign culture and country, lived in the shadows due to fear of non-acceptance or humiliation. William one day invites them to a casual meeting and they never imagined that the captain would mention the subject they had been hiding for months. Just like Fuegoleon, William managed to notice some details that had escaped from the view of others but not his. They assume that they were afraid of being left out because they were foreigners and for fear that someone might make fun of their culture and if everyone knew it would be a problem. The captain takes off his mask after those words, which leaves them a little surprised by the huge scarred face of the captain in front of them. William reveals to them the fact that he also suffered discrimination in childhood because he was born that way. They ended up feeling more comfortable around the captain because they both share a similar story and William always makes them feel comfortable and accepting of themselves.

Nozel :

Nozel was a noble like Fuegoleon but the only difference is that while Fuegoleon accepted people regardless of whether they came from the commons, Nozel was a little more strict about the person's status. What made them hide the fact that they came from outside the kingdom and hide everything that could give clues about where they came from. The captain was also not completely prejudiced about status or origin, he also knew how to recognize someone strong and with skills that could be advantageous to his squad and in defense of the Silva house. When faced with this potential coming from them, the captain is aware that that strength is the only thing that makes them stand out and this makes him want to know more about their origins and past. Nozel calls them into the office and can see some nervousness and fear in their eyes. The captain tries not to be too direct or too serious to be able to put them at ease, in order to find out what he needs to know. They, although scared, tell the captain about how they were devalued by members of royalty previously, due to their different culture and that they didn't want to tell them before, for fear of the captain expelling them from the division just for that. Nozel thought for a moment and came to the conclusion that, deep down, royalty could be much worse than the common people when they wanted, and it was not something to be proud of. They were more relieved when Nozel promised that he would keep their origins a secret but that they must continue to strive every day so that they could be proud of their own roots just as he does every day to keep the Silva name clean.

[violetlunette]

Ooh! Ooh! Hey, hey! I just got another idea for a twst au! Everyone else: Don’t you have enough of these? Me: Hush! Twst Spoilers for chapter 7

What if Malleus was the one to find Silver instead of Lilia? When the treaties were signed, Malleus—on a whim—decided to visit the place where his mother died. While there, he hears a cry. Curious, he follows the sound to find-- “A baby? And a human one at that.” He wonders why the child is here, hidden among the thorns. More than that, he wonders why it's alone. He looks at the thing and thinks it's an ugly monkey. Around it is a strange ring that glitters in the moonlight. He debates abandoning it, however, its cries are so desperate that they break even his heart as it reaches its tiny hands out to him. Also, he recalls Lilia’s lessons of how he should learn to love humans. And in this child, he recognizes the same loneliness that haunts his own heart. For both of those reasons, he picks up the child—handling him as if he were glass—and takes him home. As he flies away from the castle, the golden chain slips from the child’s neck and falls away, lost to the valley—for now. Lilia is surprised, to say the least when he discovers the Prince has taken in a human baby. Malleus is blasé about it, stating that it was on a whim. When asked why he didn’t leave the baby at a human village, Malleus states Lilia always says that he should learn about humans, so what better way to learn about them than by raising one? At Lilia’s prompt, Malleus bestows a blessing upon the child whose hair turns white. He takes Lilia’s suggestion to name the human Silver. At first, Malleus treats Silver like a pet but Lilia helps him to treat the child like a person. Because Silver is technically HIS baby in this AU, Malleus is very protective and possessive. Anyone that’s not Lilia takes their life in their hands if they approach without permission first. When Lilia brings up the idea of training Silver, Malleus is insulted that Lilia thinks he can’t protect his own, but realizes Lilia’s right that Silver should learn to defend himself. Around this time, they met Sebek, who was appalled at first that someone so “lazy” is Malleus’ ward. As Silver grows up, Lilia can’t help but realize that Silver looks more and more familiar as he grows and eventually goes to investigate, learning the truth at the castle and finding the lost ring along the way. Other h/c for this au; *Silver grew up under a lot of scrutiny and judgment, but no one dared touch him, lest they earn Malleus’ wrath. *Malleus was reluctant to leave Silver when he got his NRC invite and only went after leaving Silver in the care of the Zigvolt family. *Malleus used to overfeed Silver till Lilia pointed out that he was basically a dumpling now. After that, the cooks put him on a diet. *They used to share a room till Lilia pointed out that Silver was too big and should have his own. This resulted in an argument that ended with Silver moving to the room next to him. *Malefica never met Silver, nor does she wish to, seeing the child as a fling that will soon die of age. *When the senate made a fuss about the Prince adopting a human, Malleus used his, “Shut up or get zapped by lightning” argument.

[poisonlove]

Betrayal | t.c

"In a quiet town, a young woman named T/n leads a peaceful and fulfilling life. Everything changes when a mysterious serial killer with the codename 'Ghostface' begins to sow terror, killing people in the darkness of the night. As the community is shaken, T/n becomes entangled in this nightmare when a series of unsettling events reveals unexpected ties to the past. With suspicion that Ghostface is closer than she could imagine, T/n embarks on a journey to uncover the truth and stop the horror that threatens her life and loved ones. Throughout her quest, T/n confronts fear, confusion, and anguish as she struggles to survive and understand who hides behind the terrifying mask. The story unfolds with shocking revelations, escalating tension, and surprising discoveries, leading T/n to question her trust, relationships, and even her perception of reality."

In the tranquil village of Woodsboro, the anguish grew more oppressive as I tried to make sense of the unsettling deaths that had shaken our community. Lifelong friends, with whom I had shared joys and sorrows, were being taken away one after the other, leaving me with a deep and insurmountable void.

Nights were accompanied by distressing nightmares, as I desperately tried to find any clues that could explain what was happening. The village was immersed in an atmosphere of fear and suspicion, with deserted streets and eyes filled with terror staring at each other.

Amidst this sea of uncertainties, Tara Carpenter was the only constant in my life. Her support had been my anchor in the midst of this horror storm, yet something was amiss. Her actions seemed to hide a secret, a truth that I couldn't decipher.

I often found myself reflecting on her, trying to understand what she might be concealing. I couldn't ignore the fact that whenever an unsettling death occurred, Tara was always present. It was as if she was the connecting link between these horrifying events, but I couldn't fathom how or why.

One day, as I desperately searched for an object in my own house, I ended up in a place I had never explored before: the basement. While I ventured through that dark and dusty place, a shiver ran down my spine as my eyes landed on something unsettling. A Ghostface mask, old and dirty, was there, resting on a shelf.

The sight of the mask triggered a cascade of emotions within me. It was as if it carried the truth I had avoided accepting. That mask was a direct link between Tara and the mysterious murders. What did all of this mean? Was it possible that the person I loved was involved in something so sinister?

The anguish inside me grew as I tried to make sense of what I had discovered. I had to face the possibility that Tara might be hiding a dark side that I didn't know. I was terrified at the thought of losing the only person I had left, but I knew I couldn't ignore the facts before me.

The next day, I found myself in front of the television as it reported another murder, once again the work of Ghostface. My heart sank in my chest as I watched the images of the crime scenes. But what sent a chill down my spine was the crucial detail: at the time of the murder, Tara was at home with me.

The emotion that coursed through my body was a mixture of relief and terror. There was a chance that Tara might be innocent, that she couldn't be the mysterious killer. Yet, the truth still seemed distant, hidden behind a veil of secrets and lies.

Later, I found myself facing Tara, my heart racing a mile a minute. I couldn't ignore the emotions bubbling within me, the love and the fear of what I might uncover. I approached her, trying to push past the anguish that held me captive.

—Tara,— I began, trying to remain calm despite the storm of emotions raging within me. —You know, I saw something on the news yesterday. Another murder... once again, the work of Ghostface. And the time of the murder matched the time you were at home with me.—

Tara's gaze met mine, and I could see a flash of fear in her eyes. But in the next moment, she quickly masked that expression and replaced it with a smile. —T/n, there's nothing to worry about. I know things seem strange, but I've always tried to be by your side when you need me.—

The embrace that followed my words was intense and warm, and yet, I could sense Tara's confusion. It was as if she didn't fully grasp the reason behind my anxiety and my desire for answers. But she accepted my embrace, and the warmth of her body against mine reminded me of all that we had shared.

I was overwhelmed by emotions as I held her close. We had been through so much together, sharing moments of joy and pain. And even though the truth still seemed elusive, I knew there was still a deep bond between us. As we pulled away, I got lost in her eyes, trying to find something familiar, something that could tell me that there was still a part of her that was intact, despite appearances.

My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting feelings as she looked at me, confusion in her eyes. All I could do was hope that my actions spoke louder than my words, that my embrace could be a bridge to help us overcome the barrier that had formed between us.

Amidst all this confusion and uncertainty, the love I felt for Tara was the only beacon I could follow. I needed answers, truth, but I knew we would have to face this together, step by step, as we tried to uncover what lay behind the mystery of the unsettling deaths and the veil of secrets threatening to break our bond.

—What do you say we go out to eat?— Tara suggested with a sweet smile.

I decided to accept Tara's invitation to dine out, hoping that a moment of normalcy could at least temporarily dispel the anguish that had enveloped our lives. We walked to the restaurant hand in hand, but even as I tried to appear positive, the shadow of the mystery of the unsettling deaths continued to weigh on my heart.

—It's nice to spend time together, isn't it?— Tara said with a loving smile, and I couldn't help but smile back. Her presence was a balm for the soul, even though the storm that lay ahead seemed unstoppable. —Certainly, it is,— I replied, trying to keep the anguish out of my voice. —I really appreciate that you thought of this— As we sat down at the restaurant table, I tried to focus on the menu, but the questions and fears in my mind seemed to shout louder.

Tara caught my gaze and smiled gently. —You know, we just have to try to enjoy the moment. I know there are many things troubling you, but I hope at least this evening can bring you some peace.— Her brown eyes sparkled with affection, and I felt grateful for her understanding. —You're right. We need to try to set aside our worries for a while—

During dinner, our conversations turned sweet and light, and for a moment, I felt capable of forgetting all the terror and confusion surrounding us. But when the waiter began openly flirting with me, I could sense the tension in the air.

Tara reacted instinctively, her gaze turning cold and hard. It was as if a fire of anger burned in her eyes, and I noticed it immediately. She looked at me, but her expression wasn't as affectionate as before. There was something cold and cutting about it, a clear warning that something was amiss.

Our eyes locked, and I could clearly read the hatred and anger in that moment. I was bewildered and frightened by this intense reaction. What had I done to provoke such a response? I tried to ignore the tense atmosphere and focus on the meal, but the mood had already shifted.

After the waiter walked away, Tara forced a smile. —I'm sorry if I reacted that way. I can't stand it when someone looks at you like that.—

I sensed that there was something deeper behind her reaction, but I wasn't sure how to address it. —Tara, what happened? Why did you react that way?—

A shiver ran through her eyes as she tried to smile. —Nothing, T/n. It's just that... you're mine, and I don't like it when others seem to forget that.—

Her words left me even more confused. It was as if there was something she wasn't telling me, something deeper and darker. The evening that had started so sweetly had turned into a delicate dance of conflicting feelings and hidden secrets.

As I finished the dinner, the weight of anguish and uncertainty settled back onto my heart. It was clear that there was something deeper and darker happening, and I knew we would have to confront it sooner or later. But for now, I tried to keep the storm that rumbled within us at bay, hoping that one day we could find the key to unraveling the mystery of the unsettling deaths and facing the demons that threatened to break our bond.

***

After dinner, we had returned home.

We had drawn closer slowly, feeling the irresistible attraction between us. Our lips met in a passionate kiss, but the moment of intimacy was shattered by the pained moan that escaped Tara's lips when I unintentionally touched her side.

I instinctively pulled away, concerned. —Tara, what's wrong? Why does it hurt?— I tried to look into her eyes, but her gaze seemed to evade my question. —It's nothing, don't worry— she replied vaguely.

Worry grew within me. —Tara, it doesn't seem like nothing. You seem genuinely in distress. Tell me what's happening.— Tara tensed up, and her response carried a certain tension.

—It's just an old wound acting up. There's no need to be alarmed.— Her response only left me more puzzled. Why would she hide so much pain behind an old wound? Frustration crept into my voice as I asked, —An old wound? And why haven't you ever told me about it? We need to communicate, Tara.— Her anger seemed ready to explode, and her words cut through the air like sharp blades.

—Why don't you mind your own business!?— Tara yelled with an explosion of emotions, her eyes fixed on me with a strange, intense look.

I was taken aback by Tara's outburst, but also by the way she looked at me. It was as if something deep and unsettling was surfacing. I instinctively stepped back, feeling frightened by her intense reaction.

But Tara showed no intention of stopping. She approached swiftly, and my heart pounded harder in my chest. Her closeness was overwhelming, yet it was clear that something much larger was happening within her.

As her piercing gaze met mine, I realized there was so much more to this situation than I could comprehend. A lump formed in my throat as I tried to find the right words to navigate this tense moment.

—Tara, listen to me— I said calmly, trying to maintain composure despite the fear I felt. —I know something is causing you pain. I just want to understand you, to help you.—

However, her gaze remained intense and unsettling, and her proximity only heightened my anxiety. The situation seemed out of control, and I didn't know how to restore even a semblance of calm between us.

The tension in the air seemed to spread like a wave, and my heart beat so loudly it was almost deafening. I clearly saw Tara grit her teeth, raising her hand with a determined expression, ready to strike me. The moment seemed to stretch on forever as I awaited the blow that seemed inevitable.

Instinctively, I covered my face with my arms, bracing myself for the pain I was about to receive. I waited for the contact, the blow that seemed so inevitable in that moment of extreme tension.

But then, silence. The blow never came.

I slowly lowered my arms, looking at Tara incredulously. She had stopped her motion at the last moment, avoiding striking me. I was shaken, my breath ragged and my heart still in turmoil.

Tara remained still, her hand still suspended in the air, her gaze seemingly piercing through me. It was as if she had been overwhelmed by her own anger, by an internal conflict she couldn't contain.

We stood there, motionless and suspended, time seemed to stand still. Then, slowly, Tara lowered her hand, and her eyes slightly unfocused, as if returning to the present after a moment of blind fury.

I didn't know what to say, what to do. The situation was still fraught with tension, yet it felt like something had been broken, even if just for a moment. I had feared that blow that never came, but perhaps that gesture wasn't just anger, it was also an internal struggle Tara was grappling with.

Her proximity made me feel vulnerable, but at least for now, it seemed like the worst was over. It was evident that time and calm were needed to truly understand what was happening in this intricate web of emotions. Tara abruptly turned and headed toward another room. It was clear that she wanted to avoid further confrontations, and her departure carried a sense of determination. As she walked away, the muffled sound of a shattering vase echoed in the air, followed by the dull thud of the door slamming shut behind her.

I felt lost, powerless in the face of it all. The situation had reached a critical point, and Tara's reaction had shown just how deep her pain ran. I had tried to convey that I was there for her, but it was clear that there was still much to address. I was left alone in the room, surrounded by silence interrupted only by the sound of shattered vase fragments and my labored breathing.

Seeing Tara so devastated was difficult, and my concern for her only grew. We had begun with a passionate kiss, and now we were amidst a storm of emotions. It was clear that space and time were needed to try to resolve this intricate and secretive situation. All I could do was give her the time to find calm and, when she was ready, be there to listen and try to understand what she was going through.

(...)

Two weeks later,

The night was calm and tranquil, but a sudden noise shattered the atmosphere. I woke up startled, my heart pounding in my chest. Without hesitation, I descended the stairs slowly, trying to silence the concerns that were swirling in my mind.

But what I saw in front of me froze my blood. There, inside the house, was Ghostface. The eerie figure was cloaked in its black robe, the bloody blade dripping blood onto the floor. I felt a knot in my stomach, the terror coursing through my entire body. It was as if I were trapped in a nightmare.

My survival instinct took over, and without thinking, I hurled my phone at Ghostface. The phone hit the mysterious figure with a dull thud, but immediately after, I heard a moan of pain. It was a familiar sound, too familiar to be ignored.

Fear mingled with confusion as I realized that the moan uncannily resembled the one Tara had emitted during our argument. The truth was right there before my eyes, yet it seemed too absurd to accept. Could Tara, the person I had fallen in love with, really be Ghostface?

In that moment, everything seemed to collapse around me. The fears I had hidden within myself had become reality. Terror, confusion, and despair blended into a whirlwind of emotions. I didn't know what to do, how to react. I felt betrayed, hurt, and endangered all at once. My mind was in turmoil, seeking a plausible explanation, struggling to cope with this new frightening reality.

I was motionless, paralyzed by the revelation that stood before me. All the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit together suddenly, yet the sensation was surreal. Tara, the person I had shared moments of intimacy and camaraderie with, could possibly be the one who had created this terror in my life.

The figure of Ghostface appeared to tremble slightly, as if the blow from the phone had taken its toll. That moan of pain confirmed what I had suspected. As anguish grew within me, my mind began to rationalize the situation, seeking an escape.

—Is... is it you, Tara?—I whispered, my voice trembling, tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

The figure of Ghostface seemed to waver for a moment, and then I felt a faint nod. It was as if she too was trapped in this reality, compelled to reveal her true identity.

Emotions within me became even more entwined. Fear merged with pain as I looked at that figure with a different gaze, a mixture of horror and compassion. It was difficult to confront, as if my mind were torn in two opposing directions.

—Why, Tara? Why did you do this?— I asked, my voice breaking with emotion, as I tried to understand what had driven Tara to become Ghostface.

The figure of Ghostface seemed to tremble again, and I almost glimpsed a tormented expression. I had so many questions, so many emotions vying for control of my heart. Yet, despite it all, I couldn't help but feel a pang of concern for Tara, even in the face of this shocking revelation.

—I don't know what to do—I murmured, looking at that figure that seemed so distant yet so close. It was as if I were grappling with myself, seeking to find balance between the terror and the desire to understand.

The night seemed to envelop both of us in oppressive silence as I confronted the heart-wrenching reality that had been unveiled. There was still so much to face, to clarify, to comprehend. But in the meantime, I felt as though I were teetering on the edge of an abyss, trying to find the strength to move forward despite it all.

The atmosphere was charged with tension, and the figure of Ghostface, now revealed as Tara, began to approach me slowly. Fear gripped my heart, and without a second thought, consumed by panic, I started to run toward the stairs, trying to reach the upper floor. My legs seemed to move instinctively, propelling me to flee from this unsettling situation. I was scared and confused, and my sole priority was to distance myself from the figure that now represented a threat to my safety.

But as I ascended the stairs at full speed, I suddenly felt a strong grip on my foot, and I lost my balance. My body stumbled, and I began to fall, the stairs stretching on endlessly as my desperation grew. I tried to grab onto the railing, but it was too late. I felt the pain as my body collided with the steps, and everything around me seemed muddled and blurred.

Then, out of nowhere, I felt a weight on my body, something that forced me to remain on the ground. I looked up, tears clouding my vision, and saw Tara. She had straddled me, pinning me down with her presence. Fear shot through me like lightning. The person I had known, that I had shared moments with, now seemed so different, so threatening. My breath became ragged as I tried to push myself up, desperately attempting to free myself from her grasp.

—Tara, stop!— I cried out, my voice choked with anguish. I couldn't believe what was happening. It was as if everything had spiraled out of my control, as if I were trapped in a nightmare from which I couldn't wake up.

But Tara appeared resolute; her gaze was fixed on me with an expression I couldn't decipher. I felt the weight of her body pressing down on me, and fear compelled me to act on instinct. I pushed against her with all the strength I had, trying to push her away, trying to break free from her grip.

The struggle was fierce and desperate; fear made every movement of mine confusing. I didn't know what she was trying to do, what she wanted from me. I was vulnerable and frightened, and the sensation of being trapped beneath her was overwhelming. It was as though every instinct in me was screaming to escape, to free myself from this threat that Tara now embodied.

Fear had completely engulfed me as I tried to confront the distorted reality that had formed around me.

My fear reached a new peak when Tara, with surprising strength, immobilized me by gripping my wrists. Terror paralyzed me as I struggled against her hold, but it was futile. I was completely at her mercy.

Her eyes were fixed on me, her gaze intense and inscrutable. A shiver ran down my spine as the cold blade slowly traced along my neck, applying no pressure. It was a silent threat, a warning that didn't require words.

Tears continued to streak down my face as I watched the blade near my neck. I was helpless, unable to do anything to defend myself. My mind raced, trying to find an escape, trying to understand what she wanted from me.

—Please, Tara, stop— I whispered, my voice trembling. I didn't know if she would listen, if she would do what I asked. The situation seemed so irrational, so incomprehensible.

As the blade once again traced along my neck, without applying pressure, I felt my heart beat like a drum. It was as if I was suspended between life and death, between terror and hope. I didn't know what she would do next, what she would decide to do in this extreme situation. I was trapped, my fate in her hands, as I desperately tried to keep calm and find a way to come out of it alive.

My mind was a whirlwind of emotions as I desperately sought an escape from that harrowing situation. Tara's menacing presence, the blade near my neck, everything seemed so surreal and suffocating. But in that moment of desperation, a challenge formed in my mind.

—Are you so sure of yourself, Tara?—I managed to whisper, trying to keep my voice steady despite the terror enveloping me. —Take off the mask. I want to see the killer with my own eyes.—

I expected any reaction from her, but I was breathless when Tara seemed to comply. With a slow and deliberate gesture, she removed the mask. Tara's eyes were glossy, her cheeks flushed from alcohol, and a cold, calculated smile adorned her face.

That image left me speechless. It was as if I was looking at someone else, someone I didn't know at all. The strong smell of alcohol invaded my nostrils, further confusing my senses. Tara appeared completely different, a menacing and impenetrable figure.

—Now you see, T/n?— she said faintly, but with a certain malice in her tone. —Not everything is as it seems—

My mind was in turmoil as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing and hearing. I felt vulnerable and betrayed, at the mercy of this surreal situation. My fear seemed to blend with anger as I looked into Tara's eyes. It was clear that there was so much I didn't know, so much Tara had hidden behind that mask.

Her cold and calculating smile sent shivers down my spine. It was as if she was toying with me, manipulating my fear and confusion. I didn't know what to do, how to react. I was trapped in this situation, surrounded by riddles and secrets that seemed too big to face.

—Why, Tara?—I asked, trying to hold back the tears. —Why did you do all this? Why did you choose this path?—

Tara didn't immediately respond, her smile growing darker. She seemed to be enjoying my confusion and desperation. I felt as if I was in a game whose rules I didn't know, and my heart raced as I tried to understand what she was trying to gain from me.

—Do you remember that morning? The news broadcast?—she timidly asked me.

Her words echoed in my mind like a distant memory as I tried to make sense of it all. Tara's confession was like a piece of a complicated puzzle, but I still couldn't see the full picture.

—That morning on the news?— I whispered, trying to recall that moment. I was confused and shaken, trying to connect the dots between the past and the present. I had sensed that something dark was behind her, but now everything seemed even more confusing.

Her words left me speechless as she looked at me with a dark smile. —You know? I thought that morning on the news, with those questions, I had discovered who I was—Tara said, her words filled with a meaning I couldn't fully grasp.

It was as if she was playing with my mind, making me understand that she had always been one step ahead of me. The feeling of being manipulated, of having been a puppet in her hands, hit me like a punch to the stomach.

—Too easy to manipulate— Tara affirmed in a cold voice, confirming my deepest fears. My heart tightened at her words, and anger mixed with desperation inside me. I didn't want to be seen as a pawn in her game, I didn't want to be a victim of her manipulations.

The realization that I had trusted her, shared intimate moments with her, and now felt as if everything had been a deception, a game for her own purposes, was overwhelming. I felt vulnerable and betrayed, yet also angry at myself for not having seen her true intentions from the start.

I was trapped in a whirlwind of emotions as I tried to find a way to confront this situation. Tara seemed to have control over everything, and my fear and anger seemed to mix in a sea of confusion. I had to find the strength to react, to face all of this, but I didn't know where to begin.

The situation grew increasingly chaotic and surreal as I tried to come to terms with the truth Tara was revealing. She was completely drunk, her words and actions confused. As she spoke, she revealed her motivations behind all this horror.

—Did you get it? T/n, you were mine, completely mine. But no one noticed— she said with a voice muddled by alcohol, her words slipping out of her with a mixture of anger and sadness. It was as if she was trying to make me understand her distorted perspective, but I was too lost in confusion and pain to fully grasp it.

I looked into Tara's eyes and saw something different, something I had never seen before. The eyes that stared back at me seemed dull, devoid of that spark I had always associated with her. Tears began to flow from my eyes as I tried to understand what was happening.

The old Tara, the one I had known and shared happy moments with, seemed to have disappeared. Instead, in front of me was an entirely different person, someone obsessed, twisted by anger and jealousy.

I was paralyzed by confusion and pain as Tara delicately traced the tip of the knife along my body. I felt the cold metal touch my skin, and every instinct in me screamed to run, to free myself from this threat. But I was too weak, too wounded, to react as I wanted to.

And then, without any warning, pain seared through me as I felt the knife stab into my stomach. A choked scream escaped my throat as pain enveloped me like a frigid embrace. I felt my body give way, I fell to the ground, tears mingling with blood streaking my face.

Everything seemed blurry, like in a hallucinatory dream.  My mind was muddled, fear and pain mixed in an explosion of emotions. And as my vision faded, I tried to hold onto the image of Tara, who had betrayed me, who had destroyed everything we had. Pain surged through me like an overwhelming wave, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. I saw the red fluid spill from my lips, and my sight blurred even more as I struggled to grasp what was happening around me.

Tara leaned over me, her presence hovering in my field of vision. And as my labored and feeble breath escaped me, she drew closer slowly. Her lips met mine in a sweet and intense kiss, and the bitterness of blood seemed to blend with the sweetness of the gesture. It was as if everything had turned surreal, as if the world around us dissolved into an eerie atmosphere.

But then, as Tara pulled away from me, she saw something in my eyes. A moment of recognition, of realization, passed between us. Panic painted her face, as understanding hit her like a punch in the gut. She realized what she had done, that she had stabbed the person she loved.

Tara's heart seemed to stop as she saw my breath growing weaker, my gaze fading. It was as if time had frozen, as she tried to figure out what she could do, how she could remedy that terrible action. Horror and desperation etched her face, as remorse enveloped her like a boomerang.

The last breath escaped my lips, and everything around me dissolved into endless darkness. And as my body relaxed, leaving behind the pain and confusion, Tara remained there, with a broken heart and the weight of her actions on her conscience. It was a tragic ending, a final expression of a tumultuous and painful story.

Author: I know, this story sucks haha, feel free to comment.

[creative-classpect]

Land of Trees and Chains

A garden world, lush with life, where trees of all shapes and sorts grow wild and strong. The world itself is less a forest and more an orchard, where consorts tend to the great trees in harmony with nature, cultivating everything they need to sustain themselves from the trees and protecting and preserving them in kind. The world is a relative paradise of peace and prosperity.

And yet, as the great trees reach up to the light of Skaia, something dark and chthonic, as unshakeable as death itself, stirs within the depths of the planet, entwined within the roots of the very world. Great chains of permafrost lurk in the deep, encircling around entire swaths of the world and ripping everything down into the darkness.

This is the Land of Trees and Chains. Welcome to LOTAC.

LOTAC is a relatively peaceful world when compared to the struggle and strife common across sessions of Sburb. What underlings lurk here are much like the great chains, mysterious and lurking in the sprawling caverns and root networks beneath the planet’s surface.

Underlings do not behave as they typically do on other lands as roving hordes of danger. Instead, they bloom, acting more as a rot or mold, organized in their aims and moving with alien purpose. The evergreen land of LOTAC has no method of decomposition. In ages past the underlings worked at night, unseen by the consorts, to break down and destroy fallen trees. With the coming of the great chains, this hidden work has progressed into coordinated attacks, raiding and plundering any tree unlucky enough to be bound by chains.

Operating as a strange sort of subterranean mycelial inspired pirates, the underlings have begun to terrorize villages and maim any consort attempting to stop their work. Daring explorer consorts have left their homes in hopes of reclaiming what was lost beneath the forest floor and, consorts not being the smartest, have begun to disappear, never to return.

Trees are felled by the score by the binding chains and the consorts are slowly being corralled into a dangerous, inhospitable part of the great forest. It will only be a matter of time until they are driven to the brink and can no longer survive. Without heroes, they will surely go extinct, crushed by the cruelty of nature.

But there is a hero. The Heir of Life.

The Heir of Life must venture across the grand orchards and forests, descend into the roots of the world, and uncover the source of the all consuming chains and the underling rot that follows their wake. Down into the deepest reaches of earth, long since left to fester. 

But perhaps with a little luck, new life may bloom.

Denizen: Demeter, Greek goddess of agriculture and the harvest, who's grieving brings forward cold and bitter winter.

Features

Arbolis Mundus, the World Tree

The largest tree on LOTAC, Arbolis Mundus is a massive tree whose roots encircle all of LOTAC and whose branches reach so high into the sky it slows and distorts the rotation of the planet. The World Tree is a magnificent mega tree made of thick, rich, dark wood and beautiful leaves that reach to every color in the spectrum like great panes of stained glass.

The elusive fruit of the World Tree is the subject of incredible legend. Ruby encrusted apples the size of a car, literally golden bananas, berries made of pure amethyst, and more. While the legends of their benefits are spurious at best, there is a truth to them. One gift, nestled among the highest boughs of Arbolis Mundus, is said to grant unimaginable power and authority over the planet.

Frost chains

Massive, heavy chains as dark as the void and as cold as the deepest winter. These chains, seemingly made out of some sort of petrified bark, crisscross under the soil of the land, only rising to the service when their snaking paths have wrapped around the deep roots of the trees in the world above.

Denizen lair

Deep towards the core of the planet the world grows increasingly cold, reaching well below freezing. Pockets of the cold earth are home to permafrost biomes, underground arctic climates with almost entirely frozen over life. Blades of grass become literal, becoming razor sharp with ice. Wind sends snow and icicles from trees as a rushing storm of deadly debris.

Hidden within the boreal parks and glades lies a structure made from frozen timbers, plain and sparsely adorned. Whispered in rumors and told about in storied legends, it is known as the Seed Vault. The Seed Vault is the home of the denizen Demeter, the source of the great cold and the chains that have wrapped around the land.

Within the Seed Vault is a host of seeds, seedlings, and saplings for every tree across LOTAC, up to and including, Arbolis Mundus itself. A massive, glowing seed pod, potent with pure potential. If one was to crack it open and peer inside they would find the quest bed of the Heir of Life.

- - -

This post was a commission for @balencia ! Again, really sorry for the delay 0 3 0

I hope you like it!

[teecupangel]

Desmond as one of the sparkle-pires from 'Twilight'.

Desmond wakes up in a cave, thirsty and rock hard. Literally, his skin is diamond solid and when he walks out into the sun he glitters...

So obviously he waltzes into an old rundown town, realises he's time traveled, accidentally seduces three wenches, two widows, a beggar and a cat. Walks right back out because half the people in that town smelt DELICIOUS and the other half had STDs and wanted to share.

It's hard going anywhere during the day when you're in a constant state of bedazzlement...

Obviously Desmond becomes a little despondent when he realizes the only thing he can ingest is blood, he can't stand to be in the company of humans without going feral and 'again' he glitters.

Well at least he doesn't have the ability to change other assassin's into sparkly vampiric creatures.

Cause that would be terrible.

It’s me so I’m going to add more problem to Desmond by making the blood of his ancestor smells divine. It’s much harder to keep himself ‘human’ when they’re near so he deliberately stays away, takes over a small piece of land with a trash lord no one would miss. He takes care of the people in his land, gives jobs to the three wenches, two widows and one beggar that followed him, made them promise never to call him ‘god’ ever again. Simply because he sparkles doesn’t mean he’s a divine being.

This sort of thing reeks of Isu bullshit but he can’t even research freely because of his ‘conditions’.

He’s reminded of the Twilight movie he watched back in New York when he had been so bored on a day off that he didn’t even want to have (his boss insisted after he went without any day off for a while, switching with other people just to get more money for that motorcycle he was eyeing).

Of all the possible truths hidden in this world by the Templars, sparkling vampires were not even in his list of ‘possible conspiracy theories that Shaun would say could be true’.

Did it mean then that the author of Twilight had Templar connections???

Was a Templar herself?

Or worse…

Had some kind of Isu-related device or item???

Desmond would just have to make do with what he has right now.

The three wenches wanted to offer their blood to him. A rotating shift of some sort to make sure none of them would feel any severe side effect. The beggar turned out to be a doctor who lost everything after a battle between the armies of two men with too much power and money and little care for the life of those ‘beneath’ them incinerated his village and left him without a money to his name. Desmond made him the castle’s physician and he took that to mean that he could assist the wenches (ladies of the castle, there are rumors of them either being Desmond’s ‘mistresses’ or sisters) in trying to make Desmond understand that they wish only to help. The two widows stay away from all of these, taking care of the orphans in the orphanage Desmond created when he became a lord.

The cat, of course, did what cat did.

Realized they are the true master of the castle and demanded to be treated as such.

It was a peaceful life, all things considered.

Desmond could survive on animal blood. It takes bland and Desmond is reminded by the idea of eating cardboard every month when he drinks from an animal he had hunted himself before bringing back to the castle so the cook may use it for dinner.

Human food taste like nothing but he can swallow it, pretend to be normal while eating with his court.

His ‘sisters’ and the court physician.

The townspeople under his rule see him as benevolent and understanding.

They also believe that he suffers from an ailment that leaves him weak under the sun’s light.

Some joke that he is a demon but the pain and suffering they went through with the previous lord made them loyal to Lord Desmond.

If he turns out to be a demon, then they will become devil worshipers. The Church turned a blind eye on the previous lord because of the ‘donations’ he had given, after all.

The Church doesn’t like him though but they ignore him, his land being of no political or strategic value to them.

Then…

A hooded man appeared in the castle, hiding in the shadows to observe the strange lord who held no power to change the political strife plaguing across the land but having rumored to be strange.

Maybe strange enough to be hiding something of grave importance…

The Assassin believed that he had hid well, that they would not be seen.

But then…

The lord’s head immediately turned to his direction.

And his light brown eyes glowed gold with surprise, dread and…

… hunger.

.

(Desmond has been trying to find info about why he’s sparkling and if vampires are ‘real’ or if he’s an anomaly. This, in turn, gets the Brotherhood’s attention. Who the Assassin is is up to you guys. The main point is he has to be an ancestor of Desmond. It would be easy to make it Altaïr or Ezio but Ratonhnhaké:ton is also an option and he traveled somewhere where religion still has a high hold on politicians. Hell, it can be Edward or even Giovanni, tbf XD)