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thewitchandtheassassin · 9 months

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Fates Divine: Tomorrow is Another Day (Yennefer of Vengerberg x Reader)

Summary: Things never seem to go to plan.

Words: 2627

Warnings: Language, feelings, violence?

A/N: I'm in love with this story.

Series Masterlist

-X-

Drifting between the outer twilights of sleep, consciousness toeing the line of sleep and alert, you were awoken suddenly by pained whimpers and soft pleading. Eyes snapping open, gold leveled upon Yennefer slumbering a few steps away from you. Her long fingers were tangled up in the warm fabric of her blanket, beads of sweat clinging to her pinched brow. Her lips were moving – clearly trapped in a silent conversation – before another whine escaped.

Rising up from your bedroll, you cautiously ventured over to the sleeping mage. Settling on your knees before her, a gentle hand nudged her shoulder.

“Yen –”

Before you could finish her name, the air was stolen from your lungs, sending every nerve within you alight with adrenaline, as you stared into unseeing violet eyes, the taste of magic lingering in the stillness around you both. The unforgiving pressure tightening around your throat was stifling despite feeling no hand but you did not panic or flinch, forcing as much breath as you could through her unwavering magic. You could feel the familiar point of a blade digging into the juncture of your neck but she didn’t move.

So neither did you.

“It’s me, Yennefer,” you exhaled, relaxing slightly as the pressure softened somewhat. “You’re safe. It is just me.”

She blinked, realization dawning upon her slowly as she regained her senses.

“You were simply having a bad dream,” you promised, nearly gasping as the heaviness constricting your lungs disappeared abruptly.

Yennefer’s eyes were wide with regret, tears swimming in her waterline as she sat upright. “I am so sorry. I did not… I…”

Smiling kindly, you winked at the witch before taking a spot beside her. “This isn’t the first time a beautiful woman has held steel to my throat and I’ve always enjoyed a little choking here and there. Though it commonly involves less clothing.”

Yennefer laughed, though you could hear the emotion rippling through its steady burst. “Only you would say such things to the woman who almost killed you.”

“I have been known to prefer women that possess the ability to kill me,” you remarked with a smirk, shrugging nonchalantly despite the seriousness of the situation moments before. “There is something incredibly enticing about it.”

“You are an odd woman, Witcher.”

If someone else had spoken those words to you, you might’ve taken some offense to it, but staring into the moonlit violet, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Maybe it was gentle affection glistening in her eyes or the intimacy of how she leaned into your side just slightly. Maybe you were growing soft with age.

Maybe she truly was just… special.

“Rest. Knotgrass Meadow will only be a few hours ride away come morning and we’ll need to be on guard if the rumors and bounties are true.” Gesturing for her to lie down, you did not move away even as she reclaimed her previously abandoned position. “I will stay here. No monsters shall harm you while I’m here.”

Her brow furrowed but you pressed a finger to her lips before she could argue your decision.

“Sleep.”

-X-

Knotgrass Meadow was a fairly calm town, home to many Halflings and other non-humans trying to avoid the idiotic persecutions they often faced. The inhabitants weren’t exactly happy to see a Witcher walking through their village but they overlooked it when you began inquiring about their werewolf problem.

Besides, Witchers were just as unfavorable to the humans so they could make an exception for you. Especially if you were willing to banish the monsters ravaging their home.

Yennefer lingered outside the town’s walls, stroking her newfound mare’s mane as she waited for you to return. Nimble fingers brushed through coarse strands, her mind wandering with thoughts of the Witcher accompanying her. You were an enigma to everything she’d ever known about Witchers. For a creature fueled supposedly by coin and nothing more, you certainly seemed… different.

“We should begin our search a little further north tonight,” you announced unexpectedly, startling Yennefer as you unwittingly dragged her from her thoughts. Offering her a loaf of bread you’d been gifted, you hungrily nibbled on the other. “A pack of ‘em are supposedly camped out in the woods not far from here. People keep hearin’ their howls. The halflings say we’re welcome to rest here until we drive out their beast problem.”

“A grand honor indeed,” Yennefer breathed, biting into the freshly baked good.

Grasping Lyrium’s reins, you led your companions towards Yrim’s Inn. The eyes of wary Halflings lingered on your form but you purposefully ignored them, refusing to give them another reason to be distrustful. It took everything in your power to ignore Yennefer’s warmth nearly pressed against your side, though, as she kept close to you in this unfamiliar territory.

Tying both horses to a post with ease, you gestured for Yennefer to step inside before following suit. As the inn doubled as the town’s tavern, a plethora of beady eyes landed upon you, the noise dropping to near silence while they waited for someone to react.

“(Y/N) of Vizima,” the barkeep greeted calmly, setting aside the ale glass she’d been meticulously drying. “It has been a long time.”

“Razmatha,” you returned the greeting with a smile, bowing your head slightly. “You look well. Not a scar in sight.”

The barkeep couldn’t contain her smirk, stepping around the edge of her bar to stare up at you. “Not for a lack of trying by that pretty silver sword of yours.”

Violet eyes traced the side of your head in confusion, baffled by the nonchalance you and the barkeep exuded. As if this was a completely normal interaction. It was impossible to tell if she was expected to be cautious or if she should be as relaxed as you seemed to be.

“Hey, I apologized! Bought you some good ale too. Can’t bygones be bygones?” you jested, grinning at Razmatha. “I spoke with the mayor. He said he would convince you to give us lodging.”

Her head lolled in acknowledgement. “He did. I did not realize, when he said Witcher, he meant you.”

Yennefer’s brows furrowed at the tone but you remained unfazed.

“What say you, Razmatha? Might we have a room?”

The Halfling’s face was impassive, studying every line and scar etched into your skin. You were different than she remembered. Calmer. Steady. As though your wild years had abandoned you, leaving behind a seemingly peaceful Witcher in its wake.

Gazing deeply into the unnerving gold peering back at her, she finally found what she was looking for and sighed deeply.

“There’s an empty room upstairs at the end of the hall. It’s all I can offer you and your… friend. Everything else is taken right now. Halflings have been coming through in droves hoping to get protection from the werewolves and humans alike.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. “I hope that we won’t overstay our welcome.”

“He did mention you were planning to hunt the wolves. I suggest waiting ‘til tomorrow night, if I was you. Save some energy. It’ll be a full moon and those ravenous beasts will be causing all kinds of chaos.”

You hummed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“The room you’re in has a tub. You should bathe, Witcher. I can’t imagine your companion will enjoy sharing accommodations with someone who smells like they’ve been sleeping in barns since last winter.” Razmatha grinned, though you could feel the pointedness of her words, eyes drifting along your dirty attire and over your smudged flesh.

Grimacing, you chuckled awkwardly. “Duly noted, ma’am.”

-X-

Wringing the water from your stark white locks, you carefully stepped around the partition separating the tub from roaming eyes. Yennefer was sitting on the edge of the bed, her newly washed hair still damp and shining in the candlelight. You couldn’t help but note the scope of the bedding, realizing that if you were both planning to sleep, you’d be entirely too close to such a beautiful witch.

Gods, what have I gotten myself into?

Discretely glancing about, you tried to find a viable solution but there was little floor space and nothing you’d risk sleeping on lest you break the downsized furniture.

“They never expect human-sized patrons, I suppose,” Yennefer commented, capturing her bottom lip in thought.

“We are the first allowed to sleep within their home, I believe.”

Tossing your towel aside, you settled beside Yennefer.

“I am fine sharing a bed with you,” she mumbled, a faint hue darkening her cheeks as she peered into the unlit fireplace. “I see the worry in your eyes. Though I understand if you don’t wish to share with me, considering what happened…”

A callused hand landed atop hers.

“I have no qualms about sleeping with you, Yennefer. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” Wincing at your choice of words, you nearly apologized but decided against it.

After all, it was a true statement either way.

Yennefer’s blush deepened but she didn’t shy away from the contact so you took it as a minor victory.

“I say we listen to Razmatha and get some rest tonight. A full moon will grant you the most potent werewolf saliva and if we’re lucky, you’ll have some to spare afterward.” You squeezed her hand before rising, nodding towards the door. “How about a drink?”

Razmatha was swift to accept your coin as you grabbed two meads from the barkeeper, passing a mug to Yennefer before snagging a nearby table. It was a bit too small, knees hitting the underside of the wooden top so hard your drink nearly tipped over, but you didn’t mind as Yennefer giggled, a tiny sheen of foam clinging to her lip.

“Never thought I’d see a clumsy Witcher,” she teased, smirking at the scowl marring your features, though it held no fire.

“And just how many Witchers have you met, mage?” you bit back, eyes lingering too long on her mouth as you watched pink flesh swipe at the sticky foam, mind wondering into indecent territories.

With that, conversation began to flow like honeyed mead. Stories of Aretuza and Kaer Morhen passed between you, the hesitation and secrecy you bore slowly tumbling away with every new tale. You even dared to mention your childhood, insignificant pieces of your past that you cared little about. Those moments held no real meaning now, your life as a Witcher far more intriguing.

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted, setting aside your empty mug. “You’ve met Geralt of Rivia? The king of broody men? Who names his horses Roach? Not just one but all of them?”

“I have. He was quite handsome though his personality can certainly be… off-putting, at times.”

Pursing your lips, you rolled your eyes at the notion. “Geralt, handsome? What a vile thought, though his little witch seems fond of him.”

Yennefer paused, mug nearly touching her lips. “Who?”

“Triss… something. Real pretty thing. Keeps the big man in line whenever he’s not questing about the continent.”

“Merigold,” Yennefer finished knowingly. “I am not surprised she took a shine to him.”

Leaning back in your chair, you watched Yennefer finish her drink. Her eyes were glossy, mead threatening to replace the blood in her veins as she swayed just slightly to the sweet crooning of the Halfling bard.

You’d never seen a prettier sight.

Always having believed fate to be nothing more than a fictional hope, you’d never considered the idea that maybe there were some things in life that were inevitable. But a sliver of you couldn’t help wondering if this was fate. Meeting this incredible woman; helping her when she was in need. What if, in all the fucked up things you’d gone through and survived, meeting her was the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel?

Shaking your head as the thoughts ran rampant, you stood. Extending your hand to the wide-eyed mage, you peered over at the dancing patrons, all drunk on mead and high spirits.

“May I have this dance? Might as well act like locals for one night.”

Yennefer met your unwavering gaze, weighing the cons of such a decision. It was a single dance but she feared the ramifications. She’d only known you a handful of days but she couldn’t deny the truth. You could unravel every wall she’d built; touch pieces of her soul that she deemed forever lost.

“Y-”

Panicked screams echoed just outside the doors of the inn, drawing your attention immediately as the music ended abruptly. Hand flying up to grab the hilt of your sword, you rushed out the door and into the fray of madness without a second thought, regretfully leaving behind your would-be dance partner. Senses sharp despite the mead, you noticed a lone werewolf tearing through the village and coming rapaciously towards you while the Halflings flung themselves into safer spaces, desperately trying to avoid the monstrous, hungry beast.

Growling low in your throat, you readied your blade. Sidestepping the fiend, fur drenched in fresh blood, you dragged the silver across its bulging side in hopes of slowing its riotous pace but it only served to infuriate the wolf. Anticipating its charge, your blade slid between its teeth, sliding backwards as it continued to push you. Sharp incisors repeatedly clash against the silver, unfazed by the inevitable sting but you never faltered.

The creature froze, head snapping back to stare at its hind leg and forcing you to do the same. Tendrils of magic were anchoring it to the earth, but it only served to fuel its hatred. Releasing your blade and slinging you aside, you rolled onto your feet in time to see fur flying towards Yennefer. A shield met it mid-air but the beast shouldered through it as though it were parchment, startling you both. Yennefer was by no means weak, which meant…

“He’s enchanted, get down!” you howled, time slowing as you forced yourself to move faster than the werewolf. All you could envision was Yennefer, caught in the monster’s teeth, forced into a miserable existence or an early grave.

Your shoulder slammed into the beast, feet losing ground as you sent the wolf and yourself crashing into a vegetable cart. Ears ringing and blood oozing from your temple, you didn’t have a chance to react to the mouth latching onto your side until it was too late.

“Fuck!” you screeched, bashing the hilt of your blade into its head repeatedly before shoving it into the side of the wolf’s throat.

A garbled wail escaped its mouth as it freed you from the bite, crimson spilling from the wound and painting the ground around you. It thrashed its head about desperately before stumbling into the darkness of the nearby woods. You tried standing, determined to end the beast before it could escape your sight, but the fire in your side forced you down, bare hand turning crimson as blood seeped through the cracks of your fingers.

“Stop, Witcher,” Yennefer chided, landing beside you and pressing her hands delicately onto the raw flesh. “You’re losing too much blood. Death will take you before you ever reach him if you do not tend to it.”

“I’ve had worse,” you grunted, choking back a whine as gentle fingers probed about. “He’s injured. Now is the best time –”

“No! Now is not the time. Not if it gambles your life too,” she argued, ignoring the hiss of pain as she helped you unsteadily to your feet. “Tomorrow.”

Peering about at the terrified Halflings, clearly distressed by the night’s events, you swallowed another gasp. You didn’t take pleasure in their fear and you certainly despised the apprehension blossoming from Yennefer, knowing the wound only served to worry her.

You refused to consider why it upset her so.

“Tomorrow.”

#reader insert #yennefer of vengerberg x reader #yennefer vengerberg #yennefer of vengerberg imagine #the witcher imagine #reader imagine #the witcher

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autumnslance · 9 days

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BLINDSIDED and HELPED for the meme!!

(Yes these are taking me awhile. I do not control the rate at which I respond to prompts. You'd think so, but you'd be wrong. *pokes OCs with a stick, gets slapped back*)

send HELPED for a scene from my muse's past in which someone helped / saved them

“I can’t use magic,” Aeryn whispered, the admission stinging. “I’ve tried and tried, and I know it’s there, but it just…won’t come.”

The old woman nodded. “Perhaps one day you will find out how to change that,” she said. “But there is more than magic.”

Aeryn couldn’t help wrinkling her nose.

The old woman chuckled. “Yes, all the platitudes and reassurances you’ve doubtless heard before—but also more than that. Aether is not the only way in which we interact with the world.”

“But aether is everything,” Aeryn answered.

The old woman chuckled. “Spoken like a well-taught academic. Well, my teachings are not those of a university curriculum.”

Aeryn watched and listened, a small frown on her face, head tilted in curiosity. There were those who said the old weaponmaster’s wife was a witch. She hadn’t given the rumors any thought, when her stepfather had arranged her instruction for her requested nameday gift.

The old woman smiled, reaching a hand out. “Tell me, dear, in all your many readings, what did you learn of akasa?”

—-

(This one got a little long, so going below the cut, BUT how about something from my Free Company’s FF16 AU "On Our Fates Alight"…)

send BLINDSIDED for a scene from my muse's past in which they were betrayed or shocked by what someone did

Everything was supposed to have been better, once Emelia brought her children to Thavnair.

Away from Coerthas, away from its never-ending war. Away from the Inquisition and the dragoons, away the betrayal of the village priest.

Away from the loss of her husband and home.

Instead, she stood in the opulent chambers of the Meghaduta, trying not to tremble in the face of divinity.

The great wyrm sighed heavily, pain in his motions. Her eyes flicked to the wounds and burns scarring his massive form. “Worry not,” he intoned, the words clear in her mind as much in her ears. “I shall heal.”

“I’m so…sorry,” she said, the word trite and absurd for the enormity of the situation. “I had no idea…”

Aeryn, so small and young, so timid now since the events in Coerthas, had panicked—and the Manusya Eikon of War, Asura, suddenly stood in her place, roaring in fury, light and fire and storm flashing with each of her many blades.

So Zaine, to protect his sister, had rushed forward, heedless of danger. And then in his place stood Daivadipa, the Mrga Eikon of War, drum rumbling, snakeheads hissing, as he met Asura in battle.

It had taken the island’s protector and true ruler, the Great Wyrm Vrtra of the First Brood, to stop them from leveling Vanaspati.

Her children were Dominants. Her children were Dominants.

Vrtra shook his head. “Thou has but recently returned to our shores, and while the Eikons often take time to manifest, thy recent struggles hath primed thy children to accept the gods’ favor.”

Favor. Not how they would say it in much of the world. Memories of the Inquisition, rumors of Garlean hunters, crowded her mind.

“What do I do?” she asked, voice small.

“The children must be guided, as well as guarded,” the wyrm answered. “They shall be my wards, and I will teach them to control the divinity within. To the rest of the world, they shall be under the care of the Satrap—those of Alzadaal’s line who maintain my secrecy. You understand you are now part of this secret.”

Emelia nodded, mouth dry. “I want to stay with them.”

“Of course,” Vrtra replied, a warm gentleness in his tone she had not expected. “I would not separate them from thee.” He looked away briefly in thought, and she could swear he was frowning. “Emelia, what dost thou know of Aeryn’s Eikon?”

She blinked. “Asura is the Goddess of War; not always well-regarded among our people, who ever strive for peace, under your all-seeing eye. She wields many blades, and has many faces, all aspects of why one fights in war—justice, vengeance, conquest…”

He nodded, stretching his torn wings with a groan. “I hath known many a Dominant of Asura in my time. Yet none have also wielded the power of dragons.”

“What do you mean?”

“Asura drew not only upon her own power, but upon Aeryn’s own. The inherent qualities of her bloodline have affected this manifestation of the goddess.”

“What are you talking about?” Her voice came in a hoarse whisper, her heart hammering in her chest. What was happening to her baby?

Vrtra’s head hung low. “Many Coerthans carry within them part of my sister, Ratatoskr, betrayed by mortals a thousand years ago. And in the time since, those men call heretics have found ways to strengthen the dragon within, by consuming the blood and essence of other dragons, as their ancestors did her.”

Emelia stepped back, bile rising in her throat. “That’s not how I’ve heard the story,” she said. “They only speak of Nidhogg, and his rage. Regardless, my daughter is five—she’s no heretic, and we’ve never…eaten…a dragon!” The very idea was blasphemy, even if it wasn’t already disgusting.

“No, she hath not committed such a sin herself,” Vrtra agreed. “And yet I sense my sister’s daughter’s blood within her. Thou hast obviously not partaken. Which leaves—”

“No,” Emelia sobbed, clinging to herself.

They had said the old priest was a heretic, secretly corrupting others for decades. Corran had been one of the men in town to spend time with Father Comfraire. Corran had so often worked longer, later, than some of the others, with certain comrades. Strange behaviors, strange scents and stains, strange secrets she had never looked much into; she had her own harmless friendships and interests, didn’t she? She trusted her husband implicitly, why shouldn’t she?

Emelia had seen Asura’s red draconic face, in the place of fiery Vengeance. Heard the goddess cry out in the draconic language as she had slammed magics into the wyrm repeatedly as Daivadipa tried to wrestle her down.

Vrtra tried to continue to explain in his gentle, rumbling tone, but all Emelia could do was fall to her knees and scream.

(No I did not proof Vrtra's Elizabethan language maybe later when it goes on Ao3.)

#final fantasy xiv #Lyn Writing #Endwalker #FF16 AU #On Our Fates Alight #Vrtra #Asura #Daivadipa #Emelia Striker #Aeryn Striker #Aeryn Prompts

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

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the warrior and the witch - part one

summary: tucked away in a quiet village that constantly questions your true nature, pero tovar stumbles his way into your life, and you are both quick to realize that things will truly never be the same.

warnings: a decent amount of worldbuilding/exposition, this is not even slightly a slow burn, depictions of magic (is that a warning? idk), canon-typical violence, blood, cursing, oral (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v (wrap ur shit), Pero Tovar is a warning all his own cuz fuck me

a/n: the first of the autumn adventures! I’m having so much fun writing these already, and this one has sparked something magical in me let me tell U 🧡 and huge thanks 2 my sweet sil @psychedelic-ink for beta-ing this for me and hyping (and feeding) my pero obsession 🧡

🍂kay’s autumn adventures🍂 PART TWO PART THREE

There were whispers about you from the very first day.

It didn’t shock you — nothing did, truly — and you traversed the gossip as you always had: by ignoring it. People ducked across the cobblestones when they saw you coming, refused to meet your eye as you walked through the square, murmured nasty rumours that often made you snicker to yourself.

I hear she killed her last husband. Poisoned him and used his body for her potions. Wretch.

You see that scar on her cheek? A bear. She cursed a man who spurned her and turned him into a beast! What a bitter woman she must be.

You know she’s actually thousands of years old? These witches don’t age like us normal folk. It’s unnatural.

Wretch. Bitter. Unnatural. The taunts were endless, and though you weren’t surprised by the words, and did your best not to take stock in them, they lurked overhead like a looming storm, pricking at the back of your neck like the static that comes just before lightning strikes. It’s not the first place you haven’t felt welcome, but that’s besides the point.

Taunts and names thrown your way each day, and yet, when one of the more soft-spoken women of the village came knocking on the door of your cottage one night, tears on her face and blood on her lips, you didn’t hesitate. The smithy’s wife, you’d often seen her by the fountain in the square, doing her washing with the other wives, a small boy clinging to her skirts.

One look at her, and it was obvious that the smithy had a temper.

You tended to her wounds, bandaged her crushed fingers and wiped the red from her skin. You brewed the tea without question, gave her a warm bed to sleep in for the night, and refused to take her coin when she offered it the next morning.

“I don’t need your money,” you told her, returning her newly mended dress and cloak. You’d spent most of the night scrubbing the woman’s blood from the fabric. “Just your trust.”

She was grateful, you knew it to be true. She promised to tell the town how giving you had been, how safe she had felt in your home, how she was tended to and healed without question. You looked for her in the square the next day, but she was nowhere to be found. Not even two days later, and the smithy was empty, the entire family gone from the residence above the shop.

Of course, the town blamed you.

It was to the point where you considered leaving. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor would it be the last, but you were loathe to let them force you out. The cottage was comfortable; you’d made it so. It had been abandoned when up first arrived, but you’d felt the pull, known that your ancestors had once tread the land, that the foundations of the house was filled to burst with magical potential. The first night you’d arrived, you’d planted a single apple seed, pulled from a fruit you’d eaten somewhere along your journey.

When you woke the next morning, the tree was full grown, it’s branches laden with the sweetest apples you’d ever tasted. And curled up beneath the trunk, a small black cat with amber eyes, peering up at you, head tilted to the side and a curious chirp reaching your ears.

“Well, hello there.”

You couldn’t leave. Not yet. There was work to be done, something you were meant to do.

After the departure of the smithy, you were more of a pariah than before. The sneers and insults were darker, but you kept your ground. You were determined.

You sold your apples in the square, and the children of the town were your most loyal customers, darting up to your basket and tossing their silver coins at you before running away with their goodies. The cat, who you affectionately named Soot, always accompanied you, and some of the braver children would hang around, petting the cat’s soft fur and giggling when he offered loud purrs and happy meows.

When the seasons began to change, the heat of summer giving way to the chill of autumn, you started baking. Tarts and little pies with faces cut into the top, sprinkled with sugar and making your entire home smell like cinnamon. The children were overjoyed, and a few of the older folk grew curious. The tavern-keep even asked for your recipe.

It didn’t gain you their trust, not entirely. They still whispered, still warned newcomers not to travel past your cottage after dark, to make sure they always paid you in full for your goods if they were to buy from you. The smithy remained empty for a long time until a new man and his young family moved in and took over the shop.

You walked into the shop and requested a set of small knives, to replace the set you currently used for the herbs and plants you collected. The new smithy looked at you for a long moment, scrutinizing you beyond belief, and you found yourself holding your breath until his face softened.

“You know, you’re not nearly as terrifying as they make you out to be.”

You’d actually laughed, grinning at the man. “Good to know.”

You paid him more than he asked for the knives, agreed without question when he said it would take him three days to complete the set, and left one of the larger pies on the tabletop before you left the smithy, happier than you’d felt in a long time.

When you went back three days later, he greeted you with that same smile, and this time, his wife was standing there as well, as soot-covered as her husband, their grins almost identical.

“You must be the witch.”

You grinned back. “You must be the wife.”

It became a quick companionship. Her name was Lena, his was Tomas, their young boy Roland and their girl Wren. Lena was one of the most boisterous women you’d ever met, shouting her way around the smithy, often giving Tomas orders instead of receiving them. A stark contrast to the smithy’s wife that had appeared on your doorstep before the arrival of your new friends.

Lena ran the shop, essentially, and was endlessly curious about your…abilities. She peppered you with questions daily, and was always the first to buy apples or pastries when you arrived in the square.

“I don’t suppose you have a potion that would stop my hair turning grey, would you?”

You’d laughed initially, but the next time you stopped in to the smithy to have new shoes made for your horse, you slipped a small vial of dark liquid that smelled of chestnuts into her hand. “Two drops a day,” you said quietly, and tapped a finger to your head. “Just around the temples.”

Her jaw had dropped, and you’d stifled your chuckle.

You turned away any coin she offered, and in turn, she always did the same for you. Your mare was well taken care of, your knives sharper than ever, and when the chill started to come harder, she sent Tomas over to your cottage with bundles of firewood and two new cast iron pans. Roland came along as well, hiding behind his father’s leg when you offered a tart, Soot twining his way through the child’s legs as you packed up a bushel of apples to send back with them. “I think he likes you,” you commented, winking at the boy, and he blushed crimson, but crouched down and gave the cat plenty of pets before his father called him to leave.

“Oh, I’m meant to ask you,” Tomas said as you walked the dirt path from the cottage to the main road that led back towards the village. “Lena asked if you’d have supper with us at the tavern tomorrow. Her parents are visiting us, and they’ve agreed to watch over the children for the night.”

Soot had followed you out, chasing his new friend Roland down the path, and you laughed as the two zipped past, ruffling Roland’s hair as he went. “A night free of your children and you choose to spend it with the likes of me?” you asked, jesting, and Tomas went red. You touched his arm lightly. “I’m honoured. I wouldn’t miss it.”

And you haven’t, leaving the cottage again shortly after returning from your day in the square, your basket empty. Soot is less than happy to be left behind, perching in the window and yowling loudly as you close the door behind you, shaking your head at the silly creature when he paws at the glass.

The tavern is bustling with people, and you quickly spot Lena and Tomas in the corner, the table laden with large mugs of ale, a spot left open for you to sit. They greet you warmly, Lena getting to her feet and kissing your cheeks before letting you sit. The conversation comes easily, as it always does, the three of you chattering away, drinking your ale and ordering bowls of stew with hunks of bread. It’s a perfect evening, in good company, your chest warmed by the hearty food and ale.

Well, nearly perfect.

You get up from the table to supply the next round of ale, and a large shadow blocks your path.

“The fuck’re you doing here, witch?” a familiar gruff voice growls and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

Of all the taunts and torments and dirty looks that still follow you around the village from time to time, Farrell has been the most persistent. You’ve had men despise you before, but the hatred that rolls of the man and coils towards you is more than emotion. It’s dark, the shadow that passes over you in his presence leaving a chill on your skin and a sickly taste in the back of your mouth. It looms like a snake, poised to attack, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Your grip on the glass in your hand grows tighter, and you grit your teeth, electing to ignore him, trying to side-step the large man to reach the bar, but a rough hand grips your shoulder.

“I asked you a question, bitch. You’re no’ welcome here.”

“Oh, that’s very clever of you, Farrell,” you spit, already fed up, your words fuelled mostly by the buzz of ale in the back of your mind. A dangerous thing, for a witch. More dangerous for the man daring to lay hands on you. “The witch and the bitch. You even made it rhyme, how charming.”

In a flash, your back slams into the wall of the tavern, shoulders shaking with the force of it. Magic surges beneath your skin, angry and hot in response to the threat looming over you. The glass in your hand cracks; it doesn’t shatter, but you can feel the edge slice in your skin all the same. Farrell plants his other palm against the wall, making any sort of escape impossible. His grip on your shoulder tightens before it disappears, and you see fingers heading for your throat.

Suddenly, there’s a glint of metal flying through the air, the sharp tip of a blade finding its mark, plunging right into the centre of Farrell’s palm. He shouts loudly, face pinching in pain, and tries to spin towards the source of the knife, but goes the wrong way, finding himself stuck against the wall. You use the flurry of movement to your advantage, ducking under the large man’s arm. But before you make a clean escape, the hand that had been heading for your throat grabs the back of your dress, yanking you back and throwing you to the ground. The glass shatters now, blood dripping from your hand, and all of your breath is knocked out of you as you hit the wooden floor. Faintly, you hear Lena call your name over the commotion.

A different shadow steps over you now, a dark cloak fluttering as the knife-thrower steps between you and Farrell. You slink back across the floor, trying to avoid the shattered glass as you take in your saviour. Dressed in heavy chainmail over plain clothes, a thick leather belt, two swords at his back — one straight blade and one curved. More knives like the one lodged in Farrell’s hand hang from his belt, another fastened to the lace of his boot.

You can barely see his face from your spot on the floor, treated only to the messy dark hair, the patchy beard along his strong jaw. His shoulders are broad, hips tapered slightly beneath the mail, but everything about him just screams strength, protector. A warrior, through and through.

“It would do you well, I think,” the man sneers at Farrell, his voice carrying the trace of an accent, somewhere far from here, “if you let the lady be, don’t you?”

He’s only supposed to be passing through.

The village was a speck in the dirt, the name barely legible on the map William had supplied him with. In plotting his course, he’d barely considered the place, planned to pass through it on his way to the larger town down the main roads. But his horse had broken a shoe, the chill in the air was making gooseflesh rise on the back of his neck, and the sky had gone dark. He didn’t have much of a choice but to stop in the village, buying a room for the night from the tavern-keeper, leaving his horse in the stable.

It was quiet when he arrived, the sun starting its descent, the main square mostly empty of people. Someone pointed him in the direction of the tavern, and an hour later, he was sat at table tucked in the corner of the room, a hot meal and a large mug of ale in front of him.

He hadn’t moved from the spot, and was still sat there when you came in, carrying that intoxicating scent with you, and instantly, everything in Pero Tovar’s body was on high alert. His eyes followed you across the room, watched you shrug the cloak from your shoulders, your hair braided down your back. You laughed with your companions, baring sharp white teeth and a wickedly curved grin. You’re beautiful — of course, you are — and he grit his teeth at the thought. He knows what you are.

Witch.

After the Wall, he knew there was nothing in the world that could shock him, not anymore. The Tao Tei had been beyond anything his mind could have imagined, so you are a paltry notion to begin with, but his brow pulls down further as he studies you from afar.

Soon after the dust had settled, before he and William had parted ways, they had came upon a village not unlike the one he has set foot in now. Similar in size, but with fewer inhabitants, most of the buildings abandoned and falling to pieces, some of them still smouldering from a recent fire. William, ever the kindhearted, tried to help, asking those who still remained what had happened, offering food from their saddlebags.

Pero found himself wandering, sword gripped tightly in his hand as he stepped through the rubble. Deeper and deeper into the village, until he could no longer hear the conversation of his travelling companions. Until he was sure he’d passed the same building five times over, and when he turned a corner, a cloth tent stood in the middle of the road, the outside painted with shapes and symbols he had no name for. Smoke billowed out the top — not on fire, but a fire inside — and he could not stop his feet, his body seeming to have a mind of its own, pulling him forward and through the open flap before he even realized what was happening.

I have been waiting for you, Pero Tovar.

The tent was much bigger on in the inside than it appeared on the outside. Darker, too, the large fire in the centre crackling away. Crystals glittered in the firelight everywhere he looked, sparkling like stars on every available surface. Bundles of herbs, jars of liquid, stacks of books. Clutter covered the space, and Pero nearly stumbled backward when he spotted her.

You needn’t be afraid, child.

Her lips didn’t move, but he heard her voice as though she were speaking to him. Old and weathered, eyes like hunks of amethyst glittered at him from the depths of a leathery face. She was covered in necklaces, her thin arms stacked with metallic bracelets, fingers heavy with large rings. A moth-eaten shawl draped her shoulders, a dress made of a patchwork of fabric peeking out. Something in her lap moved, and it took him a moment to realize there was a large white cat curled up there.

A fortune teller? Something darker? He wasn’t sure. The woman smiled, gestured to the seat in front of her, across the table covered with stones and books and cards.

I only wish to tell you what you seek.

His feet carried him to the table, sat him down in the chair that slid out as he approached. He sank onto the cushion, lost in the feeling that his body was not quite his own for the time being. The woman surveyed him, those strange purple eyes taking in every part of him. She reached for a stack of cards, shuffled them in her ring-laden hands, drew two from the pile. She looked at the cards, then at him, then back at the cards again.

Give me your hand, Pero, the strange mind-voice said, and he reached across without a second thought. The woman surged up to grip his hand in her much smaller ones, lurching out of her seat and over the table, upsetting the cat in her lap and earning a loud yowl from the creature. She hissed at the cat, baring her teeth, before turning his hand palm-up and staring down into it. Then she smiled.

You seek a woman. A witch, no less.

He couldn’t stop himself from scoffing. It had been a long while since he’d had a woman, too long a time spent in the company of other men, no time to sneak away to ease his aches by anything other than his own hand. And the women at the Wall had barely given him a second thought, most of them much too preoccupied with William to give his scarred companion a second glance. But a witch?

This one is different, Pero Tovar, the woman continued, and he felt the tip of her finger trace a line in his palm. Her soul calls to yours. She is who you seek. Find her, and find yourself.

Something in him twinged. Dreams riled themselves in the back of his mind, pulling images to the surface. Soft skin bathed in moonlight, hair that sifted like silk between his knuckles, eyes that kept him nailed in place but begged questions and gave answers. A wild woman. His woman.

He’d dreamt of her that first night on the Wall, after he and William had barely scraped by with their lives, everything they thought they knew torn asunder by the strange creatures that attacked. The dreams had come quick, as soon as he’d shut his lids, landscapes he didn’t recognize, the pleats of a dress made of dark silk, and those eyes.

Your eyes.

The same eyes pinning him in place now, staring up at him from your spot on the ground. Your gaze is wild, a fire in your irises he’s never seen before, but ignites something in his chest. He wants to run to you automatically, every muscle in his body screaming for him to move, but then the man he has pinned against the wall barks at him.

“She isn’t welcome here!”

A hand flashes toward him, but Pero is quicker, snatching a knife from his belt and jamming it into the man’s other palm, pinning it to the wall, a mirror of the injury he’s already sustained. The man howls and Pero grins. Something feral in his stomach roils in pleasure, keening and possessive; don’t touch my woman.

“Where I come from,” Pero starts, pulling another knife, getting closer to the man, pressing the tip of the blade into his fat chin, “you know what they do to men who put their hands on a woman?” He grins. “Much worse than what I’ve done to you, amigo, much, much worse.”

He flicks his wrist, leaving a tiny cut in the man’s chin, before sheathing his knife and reaching for the others.

“I want you to listen close, yes?” He curls his hands around the hilts of each dagger, wiggling them slightly. He can still feel you watching. “I’m going to pull these out, and you’re going to run. There’s lots of veins in your hands, you know, so there’s going to be a lot of blood. You’ll be fine, if you move fast. So, you’re going to get out of here, scurry home to whatever sorry woman has been unlucky enough to marry you, and leave the lady alone, you understand me?”

The man whimpers, the sound pitiful, and Pero just grins again, yanking hard on the knives. A path of dripping blood follows the man out, and Pero wipes the blood from his blades, sheathing them once more.

Then he turns to you.

“Tell me your name,” are your first words, your pretty mouth parting as he offers you a hand, pulling you to your feet. Your skirts swish as your body rights itself, your skin warm against his. A wince pulls at your lips as you flex your other hand, and he bristles at the sight of blood pooled in your palm.

“He did this?” he asks, taking your wrist carefully. You’re still watching him.

“I asked for your name.”

“Pero,” he answers instantly this time, eyes flicking up to your face from your palm and back again. “Pero Tovar.” He can feel your pulse racing against his fingertips. “Did he do this to you?”

“In a way,” you reply, glancing at the shattered glass on the floor. “Thank you, for that.”

He says nothing. The dreams rise in his mind. Since the woman told him to find you, he’s played the scenario over and over in his head a hundred different ways. What he would say, what he would do. He should have known it wouldn’t happen any way he imagined.

All eyes in the tavern have turned on the pair of you, the blood on the floor and the stranger in their midst, but no one makes a move to remove Pero from the tavern. A few eyes flicker your way with disdain, but no one says a word. There’s fear in some faces, but he’s more preoccupied with your eyes on his own.

“Sit with us,” you say, your voice soft, melodic to his ears. “Let me buy you a drink for your chivalry.”

Pero opens his mouth to say no, but his body follows you back to the table you’d been sat at before hell had broken loose. “Your hand,” he says as you pull a chair back for him to sit. With a grin, you close your fingers with a flourish, and when you open them again, the blood is gone, the cut sealed, your skin unmarked.

Witch.

The woman you’re with jumps up and hugs you close as soon as you’re within reach, and Pero sinks down into the chair beside you. A man he assumes to be her husband eyes him, but ultimately reaches over and offers his hand. “Tomas,” he says, grunting slightly when Pero grips his hand tight. “That was quite the spectacle.”

“I don’t like men who make games of harming women,” he replies simply. “Witch or not, there’s no reason for cruelty when it’s unwarranted.”

Tomas raises a brow at him. “How do you know it’s unwarranted? You know her?”

You’ve disappeared from his line of sight, and he turns his head to see you standing at the bar with Tomas’s wife, your bottom lip pinched between your thumb and finger, watching him. A chill shoots down his spine when your eyes lock.

“In a way,” Pero replies, mirroring your earlier words.

The night passes quickly, the sky outside darkening further and further until it feels as though a blanket has been draped over the world. There are no stars tonight, the moon hanging behind clouds, offering little light. The tavern empties slowly, a barmaid coming to clean up the blood at some point. Pero watches you shoot up from your chair, helping the girl, watches her eyes go wide and she scurries off, leaving the bucket and cloth. You clean every drop of blood from the wood, and he wonders idly if your magic could do it faster, like you’d healed your hand.

When the hour grows even later, Tomas and his wife — who Pero learns is named Lena — take their leave. Tomas claps Pero on the shoulder as they go, Lena kissing your cheeks before they depart. “Your friends are kind,” he tells you, a nearly awkward silence settling over the two of you, leaving him desperate to break it. “They do not fear you like some of the others in this village.”

“Well,” you say, your voice growing soft. You lean forward on the table, planting your elbows, and his throat grows dry at the way your cleavage shifts with the movement. “They have nothing to fear.”

“Do I?” he asks, his tone nearing suggestive. It’s easy, talking to you, flirtations starting to roll off his tongue. But gods, it’s been a long time since he spoke to a woman like this.

“How did you know what I was?” you ask, one hand reaching down until your fingers brush the back of his, sparks shooting beneath his skin at the feel of your touch.

I’ve been dreaming of you. He almost says it. A woman in a tent told me my future, told me I had to find you. He almost says that as well. But what comes out is: “I heard what he said to you. He called you witch, called you bitch.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I intervened.”

The corner of your mouth quirks in a grin. “And I thank you for it, truly.” Slowly, your finger drags over the back of his hand, tracing the ridges of is knuckles, the ink tattooed into the web between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll have to think of some way to repay you for your chivalry.”

He looks down his nose at you, sinking his teeth into the inside of his cheek at your sultry tone. “I’m sure you can think of something.”

He continues his chivalry. The tavern-keep starts to shuffle those who remain inside out onto the street, and Pero fetches your cloak for you, standing all too close as he drapes it around your shoulders. “I would not want you to be cold, amor,” he says, his voice low in your ear, fingers brushing the back of your neck.

It’s not lost on you, the ember that’s igniting, turning to flame on the kindling of conversation and stolen touches. Something has burrowed itself deep in your chest, spanning through your rib cage and taking root around your heart. It’s foreign, this feeling, but the ache that blooms between your legs at the mere sight of the warrior, your saviour — protector, your hindbrain screams — is all too familiar.

The skies have cleared, and moonlight pours over the both of you as you step onto the cobblestones, and you tip your face towards it, basking in the glow the crescent moon offers. You can feel him watching, those dark eyes on your face, examining your features intensely. He’s standing so close your sides are pressed together, your shoulder at his bicep.

“You’re staring, Pero Tovar,” you comment, keeping your eyes shut, a smile winding across your face.

“I have a habit of staring at beautiful things,” he replies, and you feel his fingers brush against yours.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, blinking up at him. The expression on his face is not lost to you either, the mix of lust and want, the same emotions swirling through your gut with every second you spend in his presence. “A friend in the village?”

He juts his chin towards the tavern behind you. “A room upstairs.”

“Ah.”

You feel his hand twitch against yours now, and his pinky curls around yours, his skin rougher and hotter than your own. “I will not sleep a moment,” he tells you, body turning towards yours completely now, your hands linked and his other coming up to knock a knuckle beneath your chin, lifting your face to his, “until I know you are home safe, amor.”

Your breath is catching, rioting in your chest like a caged bird, and the words fall out of you. “Come home with me.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you wait for the hitch, for him to be pushed away by your forwardness. You curse yourself internally, the voice in your head grating. You couldn’t deny your own attraction, and he hadn’t been shy about his own, but had you crossed a line? Was the heat you felt building still nothing but a farce, a trick of the light, a cruel machination of your own lonely mind?

But then you feel the bad of his thumb across the lower curve of your lip, riding the line until it rests right in the centre, pulling ever so slightly on your skin. You inhale again, your heart climbing up into your throat. “Yes,” he says simply, as if you’d asked the easiest question in the world.

The walk to your cottage from the village has never felt longer. Pero does not let you stray far, your fingers still linked, falling into step with one another. The moon lights the path, and that strange something in your chest only grows heavier, hungrier. As does the ache.

You have a feeling you can cure both with the same antidote.

Soot greets you at the door when you both step through, chirping with interest and coming to inspect your guest. You shrug out of your cloak, stepping through the rooms to light candles. When you turn back, you see Pero crouched on the ground, arms resting on his knees, scratching the cat under the chin with one hand. There’s an almost boyish grin on his face, and you just watch him for a moment, leaning against the wall.

“He’ll never leave you alone if you keep that up,” you say, jutting your chin to the little ball of fur when Pero looks up at you. “He’s a menace for attention.”

Soot meows loudly, as if disagreeing, and you both chuckle. But, surprising to you, as Pero stands, he disappears into the shadows, off to chase a mouse or lounge in a dark corner. You step towards Pero as he lifts the belt holding his swords over his head, hanging them carefully on the hook by your door. His hands lift to unhook his cloak, but you beat him to it, your hands faster than his, knocking his palms away when he tries. He just watches you, dark eyes simmering down at you, as you pull the cloak from his shoulders, folding it and setting it down.

It leaves him in his chainmail and boots, the metal hanging heavily over his frame. You cock your head to the side, searching for some sort of clasp or fastening, but your patience wears thin, and you snap a finger, feeling a surge of magic through your arm. In a flash, the mail is gone, piled atop his cloak, and Pero just continues to stare, a rakish smile pulling on his lips.

You leave him to his boots, unlacing your own and setting them by the door. You ensure the door is properly locked, and when you turn away, you feel hands on your hips a moment later, the growing beast in your chest keening into the touch. The grip isn’t tight, but it promises to be, something possessive in his hands. “Show me to your bedroom,” he murmurs, his mouth by your ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your lobe. It sends a chill down your spine, “or else I will ravish you right here on this floor.”

You wrap one hand around his wrist, stepping far enough out of his grip that you can tug him behind you, leading him through your small home and towards the bedroom. You wave a hand as you enter, the hearth erupting with flame and the door swinging shut. You hear his sharp inhale, releasing your hold on him, and you turn to face him, stepping backward until he follows a step, then another.

“Do I scare you?”

Slowly, he shakes his head.

Your cheeks heat, the gravity of the situation you’ve found yourself in making your mind spin. You turn again, facing away from him, but feeling his gradual approach until his heat covers you one more. With careful fingers, he brushes the braid from the back of your neck until it hangs over your shoulder.

“Tell me where you’ve been hiding, amor,” he whispers, lips nearly touching your skin, your pulse leaping in response. His hand trails up your side, palm flattening against your ribs. “Tell me why I’ve waited so long to find you.”

You can’t hold back any longer. The feeling — the something — is too much.

Spinning on your heel, you startle him, his pretty mouth dropping open as you surge up to meet it. It’s nothing short of euphoric, like every kiss you’ve ever received has lead up to this one. The hand at your ribs stays there, fingers pressing through the fabric of your dress, while the other roves around your body, snaking up your spine until it rests at the back of your neck, spanning so wide you can feel his fingertips press either side of your throat.

He tastes like everything you’ve ever dreamed of, a taste that was only meant for your tongue. You can’t stop yourself from moaning into his mouth, a whine tumbling from your lips when he sinks his teeth into your lower one. It’s nearly enough to draw blood, and it only feeds the feeling in your chest, what you can only describe as a beast keening at the attention, rallying for more, making your heart riot harder.

You could snap your fingers and have you both naked as the day you were born, but something stops you. The hurried movement of hands, both his and yours, pulling at ties and pushing at fabric, his fingers hooked into the strings of your corset, yours in the laces of his pants. The way he murmurs slowly in that foreign tongue of his, words you don’t understand but hang off of all the same.

“He viajado por todo el mundo por ti, mi amor. Y con mucho gusto lo volvería a hacer.”

You can’t stop to ask, your mouth too busy gasping for air when he manages you out of your skirts and corset, your shirt nearly shredded by his hand. His lips leave yours only to travel down your chest, tonguing at your collarbone and laving at your nipple. It makes your body react in a way you’ve never known, one hand plunging into his hair, keeping his head at your breast, while your hips push towards him, chasing a feeling that hasn’t been granted yet.

“You are needy, amor,” he murmurs into your skin, licking at your sensitive skin and pressing a soft kiss to the curve. “Tell me, how long has it been since someone touched your body like this, hmm?”

You’re completely bare now, your shirt a puddle of fabric at your feet, the combined heat of Pero Tovar and the fire making sparks shoot across your vision. You’ve managed to divest him of his shirt, his chest a broad expanse of bronze, scarred skin. He looks up at you from his bent position at your chest, the brown of his eyes nearly eclipsed by the black of his pupil. He stares you down, lips closing around your nipple, and you yelp when he gives you the slightest bit of teeth, both hands holding your hips, thumbs rubbing at your bones.

“Tell me.”

“Too long,” you breathe out, head tilting back on your shoulders as he sucks at you, one hand dipping down to squeeze the meat of your ass. “Far too long.”

He descends lower, kissing along your skin like he’s drawing a map of you, outlining every inch. You take another step back and your thighs hit the bed. He uses his grip on you as leverage, tilting you backward until you’re splayed on the blankets. As soon as your shoulders lay flat, your knees are pushed apart by his big hands, and you blink up to see him situated between your legs, his mouth now pressed to the hinge of your knee.

“Then I must fix that,” he murmurs into your skin, palm skimming the outside of your thigh. “Would you let me taste you, amor?”

You barely have a chance to breathe out a yes before he’s dipping his head between your legs, open-mouth kisses pressed along every inch of you. The heat is nearly too much, the beast in your chest screaming for more, and when his tongue finally touches that most intimate part of you, it finally goes silent, sated for the time being.

Instead, all you feel is pleasure.

He’s a skilled man, to be sure. Unsurprisingly good with his hands, and even more talented with his tongue. He draws shapes along the insides of your thighs, sucks on that little bundle of nerves until your back is arching up off the bed, plunges two fingers into your cunt at precisely the right moment. You thrash in the blankets, at the mercy of the man before you, already feeling that sometimes unreachable peak skidding towards you. You’re almost hesitant, not wanting your body to catapult over the edge so quickly, if that means this will all be over sooner.

But then you chance a look down at the bulk of Pero between your legs, broad shoulders keeping your thighs wide. His hair is a mess, the work of your own fingers, and you watch the trail of his free hand over the length of your leg, squeezing in a different place with each pass. He lifts his head slightly, mouth detaching from you, and you catch sight of his fingers disappearing into the very depths of your body, his skin glistening with your slick, and the image makes you gasp.

His head lifts then, dark eyes locked with yours, and he grins. “You like to watch?”

Mouth dropped open, you just nod.

He thrusts his fingers hard, curling his knuckles, and the pads of his fingers brush against something absolutely devastating inside you, white-hot shocks of pleasure shooting through your limbs. At the same time, he lowers his head, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he does it, going so slow you’re sure you might die with anticipation, until his mouth touches you once more.

The edge is right there, and you have no choice but to tumble over.

It’s the most intense feeling, every muscle going taut and then loose and then taut and then loose. You’re half-sure your eyes roll back, your vision spotted with black dots, and it doesn’t seem to stop. Your vision returns after a moment, body still quaking with pleasure, and Pero grins, pulling his mouth from you, but keeping his fingers in place.

“Tell me what you want, amor,” he breathes, leaning up and over you, his knees keeping your legs wide, offering you a kiss that tastes of your own pleasure. “Tell me what you need.”

His fingers prod that spot again, and your hips lift into his hand.

“More.”

Your orgasm hasn’t stopped, you’re quite sure, spurred on by his fingers still thrusting, your body still twitching. You can barely catch your breath, but then you glance down again, and see he’s as naked as you are, pulling his fingers from you only to coat his cock with your slick, leaning his hips forward to drag the tip through your wet folds. He’s big, thick and achingly hard, the head weeping. When he bumps your clit, you moan. “You want more?” he asks, nearly taunting, and you lift your hips again, trying to notch him inside you.

“Please.”

He gives you exactly what you ask for. As soon as his hot cock slides into you, it’s like the air has been punched from your lungs. You scrabble for him, hauling him down onto you until his chest is pressed to yours. You know you’re leaving scratch marks on his back, but you can’t bring yourself to care, stealing breaths from the man above you as his mouth searches for yours.

His hips snap into you with a ferocity you have no name for, a fervour you’ve never experienced before. You can’t catch your breath, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

None of it, except for him.

As the realization settles over you, the beast in your chest purrs with delight. You hold Pero closer, hips lifting to match his thrusts, doubling the feeling for you both. The sounds he makes are absolutely sinful, but it’s the sweetest melody you’ve ever heard, spurring your body back towards the edge. Your blood is singing in your veins, your mind a mess of pleasure and emotions you cannot describe.

You topple a second time, tossing your head back and baring your throat. He takes the bait, closing his mouth around your pulse, and you fist your hand in the back of his hair, keeping him as close as possible. Your body feels as though it might implode, an impossible amount of pleasure surging through your veins.

His cock twitches hard, and with a groan more akin to a growl, Pero rips himself from you, fisting his cock and cumming in thick ropes across your stomach. You watch his face as he cums, the hard pinch in his brow, the way the scar on his eye ripples with the movement. His lips part, heavy breaths falling from him, and you reach up with one hand, covering his hand with your own as he continues to stroke himself. The other reaches down, and you wait for his eyes to open before you drag two fingers through the mess he’s left on your skin, bringing them to your lips and sucking off the taste of him.

“Mierda.”

Pero collapses beside you a moment later, broad chest heaving with exertion, turning towards you to press a heavy kiss to your mouth. You return it with enthusiasm, testing the bend in your legs a moment later, planting your feet carefully before trusting your shaky knees with your weight. You find a rag to clean yourself with, disappearing down the hall and returning with two cups of water. Pero grumbles his thanks, his voice low and raspy, and steals another kiss when you settle back into the bed with him. It strikes you for a moment how at ease he looks, as though the empty side of your bed is where he’s been his whole life, how perfectly he fits.

He looks up at you, same as he had when he was between your legs, and you reach out, cupping his cheek in your hand. Your thumb rides the ridge of his scar. “What did you say to me earlier?”

You get a roguish grin in return. “I just said a great many things to you, amor. You will have to be more specific.”

“The things you said when you undressed me,” you say, your voice growing soft, still stroking the raised skin of his scar. “I don’t know the language.”

“Ah,” he murmurs, understanding. You shuffle closer to him, and his head leans into your palm, his hand reaching out to trace shapes on your thigh. “He viajado por todo el mundo por ti, mi amor. Y con mucho gusto lo volvería a hacer.”

“Yes,” you nod eagerly. “What does it mean?”

He peers up at you again. “I have travelled a world over for you, amor,” he answers, and the beast in your chest sings happily, “And I would gladly do it again.”

You sink lower until you’re laid out beside him, pulling the blankets over you both, seeking his warmth beneath them. “And amor,” you repeat, trying to mimic his accent best you can, “what does that mean?”

“Love,” he says simply, like it’s obvious. “Mi amor. My love.”

—————

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eiseryn · 3 months

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Happy Lunar New Year / Year of the Dragon 2024!

Happy Lunar New Year! It's the year of the dragon this year~ 🐉

So I decided to draw my ice dragon girl, Mengxue! Her name contains the characters for "dream" and "snow".

She is an eastern dragon who has a mother who is an ice witch (human ish) and a father who is a lightning dragon. Unfortunately, her parents passed away from an avalanche that destroyed her snowy mountainous village and she was the only survivor... She was raised by her (half) aunt on her father's side, who is the head of a noble family (The aunt's name is Qiulan and she is also a lightning dragon who I will draw one day because she is very pretty). She also has an uncle / father figure in her father's "sworn brother", who is a fire dragon named Brandon. Because of these two people who took care of her, she has been raised as quite a noble lady who is sweet, well-spoken, and demure.

But who knows what she's hiding behind her sleeve? After all, frost can bite.

#my art #oc #my oc #original character #happy lunar new year #year of the dragon #year of the dragon 2024 #lunar new year 2024 #mengxue #dragon girl #dragon girl oc #anime art #dragon oc #ice dragon girl

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sunnpii · 5 months

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HI GUYS‼️‼️ minecraft ddlc au won the poll sooo yuri in minecraft ddlc au!!1!1!

i dont like this drawing veyr much but it gets her design down anyway SHES AN ENDERMAN!!!! cuz. duh. theyre tall shy and purple

lore under here☟☟

first general enderman lore!! sorry if any of this conflicts with canon minecraft lore, if there IS any actual minecraft lore i do Not know of it

1. endermen are highly intelligent creatures, but not much is known much about them at all by other mobs because theyre mostly solitary and almost never talk (even though they can). theyre barely even social with their own kind, much less other mobs. it certainly isnt helped by the fact that they feel threatened when theyre looked in the eyes, and will almost always accept it as a challenge to fight even when the person who looked them in the eyes had no ill intent.

2. endermen are the only mobs that have a language specific to their species, as all the other languages (humanoid, monster and piggish) are spoken by multiple species of mobs (humanoid with villagers pillagers illagers and witches, monster with overworld monsters like zombies and skeletons and such, and piggish by certain nether mobs but mainly piglins and zombified piglins and stuff). endermen can learn other languages too, but due to their widely solitary nature they usually dont because they simply dont have a need to talk to other mobs.

3. endermen can pick up any block in this au for pretty much no reason other than i think they cant pick up chests normally and i wanted yuri to carry a chest around

4. they can have hair on their heads and tails and its purple and sparkly and stuff‼️‼️yaay

5. their ender pearls are liek inside their bodies basically in the same place their heart would be, and the ender pearls are their source of magic and its how they can teleport yayy!!!! the magic is why they have particles floating off of them and stuff

now YURI!!!!!!!

1. yuri is an ADVENTURER!!!!! woah!!!!!! that may seem off brand for her but she loves exploring and learning about all this world has to offer, especially in the pursuit of knowledge about the enchanted books (see 4)

2. she is one of the few endermen that have learned other languages (she knows enderman, humanoid and monster)!!! she mostly did it because she just loves learning stuff in general but it turned out to come in handy a lot!!

3. she doesnt attack. like ever. she just gets too nervous. if u look her in the eye she just runs away. she runs away from most threats shes never actually killed another mob before

4. her main goal is collecting and attempting to decode enchanted books!!! most mobs dont care because they still know what the books do even if they dont know what they actually SAY, but yuri is super curious about them. her chest is filled with the books shes collected so far!!

5. she has a TOTEM OF UNDYING!!!! holy shat!!!!!! the story of how she got it isnt too crazy there was just a huge fight at a woodland mansion one day and a totem of undying was dropped and she just. snatched it. and now it holds her little cape together!!! shes actually not sure what it does yet so her side objective is to find out what the deal is with it, she just snatched it cuz she thought it was cool

6. though still VERY shy, she is a lot more social compared to other endermen, as she tends to encounter a lot of different mobs on her travels that she ends up needing to talk to (especially villagers to see if they have any enchanted books theyre willing to trade). still, she is having a Very hard time perfecting the art of social interaction,,

umm yah thats it for now!!! ill ptobably talk about all the characters Together when all their Seperate posts are done and stuf

#ddlc #doki doki literature club #minecraft #ddlc yuri #yuri ddlc #doki doki yuri #ddlc au #minecraft ddlc au

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emystic · 3 months

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LIKE FOR A STARTER OR REPLY BELOW FOR A SPECIFIC MUSE!

MUSE LIST (Full bios linked in name)

Young Adults (18 to 29)

Marja, 22, a soft-spoken, modest huldra with a deep connection to nature and strings of hardships, now wanders in search of her lost child.

Joaquina, 20, harbors family secrets she doesn't fully comprehend herself. Hides her telepathic powers from her normal life while using them in secrecy

Shanice, 25, a human-raised Livun who is in the daylight is a glamorous diva but secretly works for a supernatural agency

Zeki, 26, an unfulfilled leading guard in a colonization survey project on a new planet, has a surprising curiosity about the new planet.

Aleck, Looks in 20s, built as a guard for his lonely inventor but acts a replacement for his brother. Naturally protective and charming android

Akeri, 25, once kind-hearted celebrity, battling insecurities and secretly hosting a vengeful kitsune spirit

Ronit, 21, is a knight and lady in waiting for the elvish kingdom's middle princess. Originally from a poor, small village.

Felicity, 25, a single mother and former science experiment, left with her daughter to pursue a happier life.

Chastity, 18, is a runaway experiment that was treated like a human weapon with cat DNA. Despite being genuinely bubbly and cheerful, is dangerous in how she handles things.

Atrix, Looks in 20s, a patrol unit built to find intergalactic criminals, due to how many on a certain planet she is stationed there but is still learning about the planet's ways.

Adults (30+)

Orélie , Looks in 30s, a lonely, but nurturing witch who recently reopened her shop and welcomed appreciates after being a shut-in due to her grief for a century.

#adult; once upon a time #once upon a time; starter call #i finally finish the shit #i have more adults that i thought #i seriously thought i had more teens #poor orelie is like the only grown ass adult though #when i finally put ethel or hell mika's sexy ass grandpa on here #she'll finally have someone to drink tea with

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tea-moon-ster · 6 months

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Fic-O-Ween Day 5: Ritual

hello! here's the third part of the Fantasy Magic Au. follow the characters into their routine and find out what is bugging them. character credits to the amazing @lumosinlove , prompt and hosting credits to @noots-fic-fests. read it on ao3 here.

Everyone has their own rituals. In everyday life, it’s part of the little things that keep the same old cadence from sulking into soulless. You build your life, and rituals grow in the little drafts of what you worked hard to have. And when you can’t find the way back to yourself, they remind you that not everything is lost. Roux had always had his own series of rituals. Many dating back to when he bore another name, and the world was different.

Take a walk first thing in the morning.

Read a book during breakfast.

Check that everyone in the house is safe before going to sleep.

While some of them had needed adjustments, Roux sticked to many of his habits. He went on little adventures when the sun was still shy and cold, and Leo was still sleeping. Their cottage was close to the village, but also to the forest. That’s where Roux liked to go. Though, Leo didn’t appreciate when, on sheer instinct, the cat brought small prey back from his strolls. The hysterical screams stopped once Roux switched to fallen leaves -he’d tried to bring flowers, but it was harder than it looked, really. Awful business, flowers. Leo kept them all, though, and thanked Roux for the gift every morning. That was a new ritual Roux couldn’t bring himself to mind.

Also, Leo read to him every morning and every night. The witch has caught on his love for books without questioning it -not that Roux could have provided an answer, anyway. He now had a little nook on a bookshelf all to himself, with a soft pillow and a crocheted blanket. He liked that it was in the middle of books- Roux couldn’t get enough of books. He missed his own terribly. But Leo always read to him -spells, recipes, romances, Roux took it all. It was so easy to let himself purr against the wizard’s chest as it vibrated with a careful sweetness.

He also made sure Leo was safe before bedtime, even if the witch often struggled to sleep, deciding to read or cook instead. Those nights, Roux would follow him silently until the boy was too tired to delay his sleep any further, and then he’d curl up at Leo’s side and purr until he felt his body relax. And he knew Leo performed many protection spells on their cottage -he meticulously renewed them once a month- but maybe they could protect each other. Maybe he could be useful all the same.

New rituals were born, too.

Leo liked to sit in his armchair, ready for Roux to jump on his legs and listen to him read or talk. The boy would rant for hours about the most disparate topics, sometimes. After months spent together, Roux now knew that he missed his parents, and that he felt the pressure of a village relying on his powers, and not on the Winter Wizard’s anymore -he talked about that guy an awful lot. Sometimes, Leo would just stay silent and run long fingers down Roux’s back. And while no words were said, those were the saddest times. Roux didn’t mind his new life, not one bit. But sometimes there was nothing he wanted more than to speak reassuring words to the human who had taken him in. The frustration of only being able to meow or purr in response was swallowed down, together with all the other things Roux missed. If he could have spoken, he would have asked Leo a spell against feeling so helpless.

All in all, Roux was happy with what he’d found. He enjoyed the books, the chats, and the slow mornings. Those were rituals that worked better than magic on them both, when it came to feeling better and less alone and more human.

But Leo had other rituals, too, old ones that didn’t involve Roux. That stung a little, he noted as he studied Leo easing his blue, pointy hat on his curls and grab his cloak. He watched him place some vials in his basket and check twice if he had everything with him.

Roux felt abandoned.

“Roux, you’re not being abandoned.”

If Leo had thought that behavior might disappear after the first few weeks spent together, he’d been wrong: the cat had been living with him for five months now, and he was still as dramatic as the day he took him in. Weren’t cats supposed to be independent? Why did this one put on a show every time Leo left the house without him? Because he’s not a real cat, Knut, Leo reminded himself. And it’s your fault he’s still like this.

“I’ll be back in the afternoon,” he mumbled as he busied himself with his sack. “Don’t bring animals inside.”

The cat sighed. Sighed. Cats didn’t sigh.

Leo rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. “How about…I buy some fish at the market for you?”

The cat immediately perked up, ears turning in attention. He let out a luxurious meow as he rolled on his blanket, then stared at him like a kicked kitten. The bastard knew he could get more out of it.

Unfortunately, Leo knew it, too. “And go to the library to see if they have something new to read?”

Ah, that’s more like it, the cat’s seemed to say. He purred as he stretched in his little nook, ready for a nap. Leo snorted. “You’re ridiculous. A ridiculous little man. And I feel like I spoil you too much. I really think I do.”

Roux didn’t argue with that. He seemed too pleased.

“Bye, you dramatic little creature.”

As we were saying, Leo had his own rituals.

A village depended on his powers now that his magic had reached maturity. That’s how things were. He’d joined an older wizard after his studies to be his apprentice, and now he was expected to take care of the little town of Gryffindor. The whole thing had been a bit unusual- his master didn’t bear his magical core: Kasey was a winter witch, and Leo a sun one. Even more absurd, while he should’ve moved once his training was over, Kasey had retired after a trip that lasted weeks -that had caused voices, too- only to become a lumberjack once he’d returned. Leo had simply taken his place.

But Leo didn’t mind the details, or the voices. Kasey had been his master, yes, but he was also one of his closest friends. And the villagers were kind and loyal. A tight knitted community who’d welcomed him warmly two years ago, and had eased the homesickness the cold always brought with a sense of familiarity.

Before running his errands down at the village, the young witch took the old path down the forest. Because the first stop every morning after a full moon was, unfailingly, Remus and Sirius’ house. It was a big, red thing, hidden by a spell that made it appear as an abandoned shack to everyone who ventured into the woods without invitation. The spell had been created by Kasey, but it was Leo who kept it running, these days.

The morning after the full moon was an intricate series of rituals, at the Black-Lupin cottage. Leo would drop by to leave the healing potions he’d prepared the days before; James and Lily would close their tavern at the village to come help; Sirius wouldn’t leave Remus’ side.

The night had been uneventful, thankfully. The dog and the stag had kept the werewolf busy enough not to let him harm himself, and the injury at his shoulder was getting better. Kasey would later quickly visit to see it personally -retirement or not, he was determined to help Remus how he could.

The witch left the cabin to its rituals, so that he could go on with his own: he visited the village’s market, met with a few clients to perform spells and sell potions, and made a quick stop to the library. After a moment of hesitation, he also walked into the apothecary’s. He didn’t need anything per se, but the urge to see if some ingredients would inspire him to try new solutions was too big. Soon, his basket was full. A silver snake’s skin for change. Fig tree roots for protection. Burnt sand from the East for guidance.

The fact that looking for solutions was turning into a ritual wasn’t welcomed like the other many, familiar habits. But Leo wouldn’t give up on Roux, and was ready to keep him safe no matter what. A hint of pride warmed his chest. He was nowhere near to finding a solution more than he was months ago, but he was determined to figure it out on his own. Sure, having Kasey to help him would have been easier, especially since he knew so much about metamorphosis- he’d been trying to find a cure for Remus for years now. But Kasey had grown more cautious of magic ever since his retirement. More hesitant, even hostile towards magic he didn’t know well, despite his calling and his love for it. Leo didn’t want to involve him if there was a remote possibility that the winter wizard would stop him. He wouldn’t risk that.

Rituals didn’t retire, that was for sure.

Kasey still enjoyed his cinnamon tea in the morning, and still put on his left boot on first. He’d never stop kissing Natalie before she left for work.

A new ritual was tapping his axe on the ground twice before starting to chop the wood for the day. Another one was leaving a slice of bacon on a plate just at the border of the forest, a few steps from his house.

He would do it every morning, waiting for the fox to appear.

Sometimes it’d come. Sometimes it wouldn’t.

It never let Kasey come too close, and the number of times it’d actually taken the meat could have been counted on one hand.

But Kasey had seen the fox stare, at him or the house or Natalie. It would only look, as if to check on them, before vanishing into the dark green again. None of his knowledge of fauna, signs interpreting, and witchcraft could explain it. But Kasey swore that there was something in that fox that was familiar.

Maybe he was just delusional. Maybe he just didn’t know how to let go.

But it was just a ritual, and he had nothing to lose.

#fic o ween 2023 #fic fest #lou's writing #lumosinlove #sweater weather lumosinlove #fic o ween #fic-o-ween

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rainesol · 2 months

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@the-trinket-witch I can give a summary of my ideas :DD

I’m hoping to write something centring around how I view my ideas on a twst-ified jungle book. The story would be based around Ksho showing some classmates around his hometown, and eventually having to drive off some kind of threat to the forest, which I’m probably going to make deforestation.

I don’t know who all the characters involved will be yet, but I’m very open to suggestions!!

I’m gonna use it to go into Naga differences, and show off Ksho’s personality, friends and parents. I also want to write for my other jungle book ocs before aniplex makes an actual jungle book event.

I have some dialogue written already, but I’m not gonna properly start anything until my exams are over. I like designing monsters, so I have a few creatures ready to lurk in the jungle.

The jungle has a king Louie character who turns up in the story! He’s not actually a ‘king’ though. He’s in charge because he’s very well liked and keeps getting voted in. ‘King’ is just a nickname. He’s very king Julien-esque.

The jungle had a horrible forest fire caused by neglect 10 years ago, when Ksho was 7. The Shere Khan character (an nrc alumni) and Dr Kaasura (Ksho’s mother) both have burn scars from this. Dr Kaasura was a doctor on site, and is considered one of the best doctors in the country. She was healing people while being fixed up herself, and has her tail amputated.

The Providence Thicket isn’t based on any part of India in particular, and neither is the city at the start while Ksho is handing in everyone’s vaccination papers before bringing them through a second mirror to the jungle, which for now is call Seneo (as in Seeonee and neo, I know, not my best work 😔)

The jungle is by no means a tourist attraction or a national park. The locals really don’t want visitors, so Ksho offering a tour is a rare opportunity!

It’ll start with them meeting, gathering, passing through a very plant-life covered city, then starting the trek through the jungle to Ksho’s village, eating then resting. There’ll be a period of time where they explore the forest, and will result in Ksho getting very upset about some fires left by poachers/loggers.

Ksho, drawing his bow: Hey Yuu, wanna see how quick I can make a group of poachers run away? :}

It’ll also show off some of Kshoshurankha’s backstory, including his childhood and the reason he’s so soft spoken :DD

#idk how far I’ll take it but I have enough to write a fic o7 #I have more but there’s the basic summary :D #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #fic idea #kshoshurankha kaasura

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undercoverbisexualfrog · 18 days

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Phantasia AU - Main Characters

Karai Full Name: Chouriki Karai Age: 14 Gender, Sexuality, Pronouns: Cis Female, Lesbian but doesn’t know it, she/her Species: Human Occupation: Student Appearance: Picture Karai from the show but her hair is all black and is just above the shoulder in length. Also less makeup and piercings bc TC won't let her have any. Backstory: The daughter of Foot Clan leader Oroku Saki, except she doesn't know that. TC saved her when she was a baby and has since been living as their daughter. She remains oblivious to her true past as Saki's daughter. Extra Facts: - The adopted daughter of TC - Has a pet snake named Miwa - She saw a witch girl in the village she lives in once and now has a massive crush

TC Full Name: Chouriki ‘TC’ Takeshi Age: Uhhhhh 300+ they're immortal Gender, Sexuality, Pronouns: Non-Binary, Asexual, they/them Species: Anthropomorphic Bengal Tiger Occupation: Ex-Hitman Appearance: Humanoid tiger, light blue stripes on left arm and red stripes on the right, metal-tipped claws, missing right eye, missing tail Backstory: TC and Alopex, their sister, lost their parents when they were still kids. For about a century and a half, they depended entirely on each other. Until Alopex came to TC covered in her own blood and attacked them, claiming that TC was responsible for her wounds. A fight near the Foot Clan barrier lead to TC adopting Karai as their daughter. They haven't spoken to Alopex since. Extra Facts: - EXCLUSIVELY goes by TC - In Chouriki (長力), 長 means long, leader or chief while 力 means power, strength, or force - Sees the whole squad as their kids

Chris Full Name: Lord Christopher Azyrath Age: 28 Gender, Sexuality, Pronouns: Cis Male, Bisexual, he/him Species: Hellhound Occupation: Member of the House of Azyrath Appearance: Anthropomorphic wolf, black fur, light grey feathered wings with dark orange tips, dark orange eyes, flames on tips of ears and wings Backstory: Born into the Azyrath family, Chris had lived a life of luxury and worship. The House of Azyrath was one of the more powerful of the five houses, and so just for having the last name, Chris was feared and respected by all. Or perhaps 'most' was more fitting. He had met a siraelia (siren-cecaelia hybrid) one day who seemingly had zero respect. For this alone, the siraelia was thrown in prison (bc chris just doesn’t want his ego hurt). But the hellhound seemed to grow fond with the prisoner, whose name he learnt was Xever, and eventually released him. Since then they had secretly started dating. Chris would bring nothing but shame to the Azyrath name if anyone found out he was dating a thief like Xever. Extra Facts: - Has fire powers, just like all other hellhounds - If he really tried, he could burn someone with a glare - He knows that his family is planning for an arranged marriage between him and a woman from the House of Polilla. He doesn’t know what do about since he’s already with Xever.

Xever Full Name: Xever Ladrão-dos-Mares Age: 24 Gender, Sexuality, Pronouns: Transgender Male, Bisexual, he/they Species: Siraelia Occupation: Thief, Fashion Designer Appearance: Dark skin, gold eyes, black hair, painted nails, pink fins for ears, gills on neck, fangs/sharp teeth (cecaelian), black tentacles (cecaelian), grey skin (cecaelian) Backstory: Xever lived in the sea up until he turned 16, where peer pressure from his 'lover' Vitor drove him to steal from the House of Thalassa. For this, he was banished from the seas. He started living in the territory of the House of Azyrath, where he met Chris. Xever was put in prison for ‘disrespecting’ the Prince. There, they ended up falling in love. Xever has since been freed from prison and is dating Chris in secret. One day he hopes to return to the seas. Extra Facts: - Ladrão dos mares translate to ‘thief from the seas’ - Can shift between humanoid form and full cecaelian form - LOVES fashion and style, would absolutely tell people off if he doesn’t like the clothes

Baxter Full Name: Stok-05 or 'Baxter' Age: N/A Gender, Sexuality, Pronouns: N/A, Pansexual, any pronouns (but mostly uses he/him) Species: Digital Bug Occupation: Scientist Appearance: Normal 2012 mutant Baxter but he’s got lime green lines and shapes on his skin. And his wings are completely green with lighter green markings. Backstory: Stok-05, or Baxter as he calls himself, is a digital bug that fled from the Digital Gates into the neighbouring realm of Terra Mirandi. He has no intention of returning to his former home and hasn’t told any of his current friends that he’s an escapee and doesn’t ever intend to. Extra Facts: - In Stok-05, Stok is part of Stockman and 05 is the episode number that Baxter debuted in in the 2012 series - His antenna are shaped like TV antenna - His eyes are made up of mini screens

Anton Full Name: Anton 'Bebop' Zeck Age: 29 Gender, Sexuality, Pronouns: Transmasc, Gay, he/him Species: Anthropomorphic Warthog-Cupid Hybrid Occupation: Thief, Engineer, Bartender Appearance: Brown warthog, purple mohawk and fur on tail tip, black and purple eyes, damaged left tusk, black and purple sunglasses, white and pink wings, heart-shaped pupils, pink and gold halo Backstory: Raised and trained to be a matchmaker like all other cupid, but why do that when you can party? He only uses his cupid matchmaking abilities for fun rather than true love. Mainly because most cupids deem true love as between a man and a woman. He works an engineer on the side, mainly making equipment he can use to steal things with. One day he bought parts from arms dealer Ivan Steranko. A few more happened, and they started dating. Extra Facts: - Instead of the usual love potion arrows used by cupids, he uses heart-seeking hip and finger lasers - His wings are more for show than actual flight, but he can fly if he wants. Just not that far - His warthog side is from a peasant that had a one night stand with a cupid

Ivan Full Name: Ivan 'Rocksteady' Steranko Age: 36 Gender, Sexuality, Pronouns: Cis Male, Pansexual, he/him Species: Cyclopean Crystalline Rhinoceros Occupation: Thief, Arms Dealer Appearance: Cyclops eye, horn is made of crystal, grey skin, that suit that human Ivan wears in 2012, long tail tipped with crystal Backstory: Ivan was raised entirely by his mother. He and his stepbrother, Boltak, were extremely close and entered the arms dealing business together. Dealing weapons to Anton Zeck is how they met, and after a few more deals they started dating. Extra Facts: - His mother is from the Crystal Colony (10 dimensions post) but his father was from Terra Mirandi, so he has both crystalline and organic features - Doesn’t require as much food or drink as an organic, so barely ever eats anything - Visits Boltak every once in a while to keep their relationship strong

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noahhawthorneauthor · 7 months

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Did you know you can listen to Phantom and Rook thru your library? 🎧🏳️‍🌈🍁📚

Libby is an app where you can check out audiobooks and ebooks using your library card. Even if a book isn't available, you can request it which let's the librarians know there is a demand for it.

Phantom and Rook is available in a few libraries, and today it was added to the New York Public Library. (NYC) No matter where in NY you live, you can get an online card there. I think a few US states have this option with big city libraries, but I only know of NY for sure.

I love Libby, and a great way to support indie authors is simply by getting them added to a libraries catalog. Did you know they get paid each time their book is checked out?

Anyways, enjoy!

Phantom and Rook on Libby

Blurb:

Arlo Rook has decided it’s time to move out of Garren Castle, home for orphans of all races, magical or not, at 100 years old.

It’s not the first time he’s left home, but after a setback that landed the Hedge Witch in the hospital a year ago, he ended up right back at square one. But now he’s ready to strike out on his own, despite his friend’s worries that he’s not ready for the ‘real world.'

Then, he crashes into a mess of copper curls and bright eyes, sending apothecary goods and his life into a chaotic mess. Thatch is a mysterious and incredibly wealthy benefactor of Levena, only spoken of but never seen. He requests a night of Arlo’s company and a tour of the city, which Arlo immediately declines.

But that’s not the last time they see each other, and it certainly wasn’t the first. Arlo doesn’t remember him, no one remembers Thatch after he visits, but Thatch never forgot the Witch with a familiar soulmark on his face.

Thatch Phantom is an immortal, the last of his kind and perpetually bored. When he’s not closing inter-dimensional rifts and corralling demons, he’s visiting his favorite city of all, Levena. Centuries ago, when life was particularly dull, he set up a scavenger hunt for a starving village, providing them with a year’s worth of supplies.

He anonymously returned year after year, upping the ante and providing less practical things, as the village had become a city and was wealthy beyond belief. Festivals were thrown in his honor, and have continued every year since. Hundreds of years later, The Game is still put on by the fabled ‘Scarlet Illusionist’, but no one has figured out who blesses them with the puzzles.

Once again, Thatch is listless and has decided to throw a wild card into this year’s Game. Whoever discovers him will win one wish of their choice, no restrictions. Aside from the obvious, such as no falling in love, murder or resurrection.

What he didn’t anticipate was crashing into the one person whose soul mark flares like a beacon when Thatch is around, teasing the immortal with the one thing he wants most.

Someone to call home.

What follows is a wild chain of events filled with magical coffee shops, villains with vendettas against cheese makers, moving tattoos, grand puzzles, and second chances at love, and life.

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sm-baby · 2 years

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The Birth Of Ares (Chapter 1)

dawg I suck at naming chapters so I'm just calling this one chapter 1 until I come up with one

Word count: 2,737 words 15,596 characters

LORE-CENTERED FIC SO IT'S NOT VERY DETAILED LORE LORE LORE THIS SUCKS AND FIGHT SCENES ARE NOT MY SPECIALTY + WRITING FIGHT SCENES IN DETAIL WOULD RUIN THE PACING SO ITS VERY BRIEF- YOU'LL SEE, YOU'LL SEE.

Half... o n l y posting this so I could dr a w them.

_______________

“ My Dearest, Europe,

It has come to my attention that you have started your elections this millennium. From my understanding, for the past few years, you held a system similar to my council, where you find one leader to advance your continent.

The council and I have spoken; I am ever so happy to say that we agree to put you under my wing as long as you accept your title as “Ares”.

I wish to extend my hand to your homes and provide for you, my dear. In exchange, ofcourse, like any other coven, you will adopt legalities set by myself, and I will have direct allyship with your chosen ruler.

-Your dearest admirer, Zeus.”

Written like a lovestruck lover, The queen from the far north published an open letter to southwest Europe. She had been a strong ruler of Zeus for the past 70 years now, and her plans came in succession. Her neighboring countries have flourished in peace and serenity while the ones out of her control are still filled with war, chaos, and anarchy…

The people of Europe hated her guts. She was as rich as she was sleazy. But they knew it would be an absolutely foolish decision to let that opportunity go. They would take any help they can get, and in terms to help, Zeus was a gold mine.

After a back and forth between Zeus and the Nation’s representatives, The Queen was already making plans and getting excited over her “Ares”. A lot of her ideas have not been made public yet. But the ones that have already disgusted the people.

Anyone who is anyone gossipped over the Queen’s proposal for the election. What was supposed to be a democratic vote for the next chief, her majesty turned into her thing of entertainment. The nominated individuals were to compete for the spot of the chief in an arena. They will be told to fight against aggressive mobs and make it out without surrender.

Many deemed her sick for making the issue a game for her entertainment, some found it a fair estimate.

" That's not fair. Any strong contestant may win the rule, while we know nothing about their political stances. "

" Well, if they can't fend off beasts, what makes us think they can rule a coven filled with them? " They gossiped and gossipped one ear to another.

The remaining nominees were transferred over to the villages of Zeus where they trained. They are adorned with good food, armor, weaponry, and Zeus’ most skilled masters to mentor them for the past few months.

During that time frame, Zeus had been busy putting her plans for Ares into practice. The Queen has provided for multiple towns and villages; she loved them through food & shelter to welcome her new allies and prove herself honest to her word. Though other coven heads may find it unnecessary, she did little things to gain their trust. She felt like she had the life of a fussy puppy in her hands.

Another particular thing Zeus was proud of during that era of Ares: She found an abandoned arena somehow still standing not too far away from other witch villages. It looked like it was about to crumble into dust, but Zeus fell in love with it and refused to let it die.

Furthermore, It was rebuilt into a stronger, bigger arena, made with sturdy quartz, and by Poseidon’s best engineers. Artemis’ healers made what was originally very dirty soil look tended and cared for. Flowers bloomed and trees bore fruits.

On the day of the event, the witches who attended were almost disturbed at how flourished they made it look. It was as if a piece of heaven was thrown to the earth, like a drop of God’s tears fell into the soil. They swore a heavenly being must have had a hand in it.

As soon as you come in, you are greeted by servants with white bows who themselves felt like angels. Guests sat at long oak tables and mats on the ground; the servants passed off food and water from picnic to picnic.

The European witches felt culture shock just from that, but families were all excited to line up, looking around and running from stand to stand for their free food. For youngins, this might be the first ever time they get to have as full of a stomach. For some parents, the first time they've eaten in days.

Even those who didn't plan on seeing the event, the ones in nearby towns, heard of the ruckus and came to get their own share of food to bring back to their families, which the servants were more than happy to give.

The culture shock wasn’t one-sided. The servants were often taken aback at how welcoming the witches were despite their condition. Some even offered them food themselves! They were just …loud. And very improper. They seem to have trouble waiting for their turn and understanding the rules. Children would often poke them and see if they could make them break character, they get stared at…The Queen told the servants that they might "act like animals", but she wanted them to be patient and treat Ares with respect.

And they did.

Some servants could spot families praying to their god to thank them. The servants have never seen so many happy faces unlike the people at home. They thanked the servants with the little things, children were freaked out at how easily they could brush off stains from their uniforms… some of them swore that they almost broke character when they heard guests refer to them as angels.

Oh, they were nothing like they were rumored to be…

Heads turned after the sound of clicking gold made its way past the crowd. The chatter turned to silence and gossip at the sight of the slowly approaching guest making her way to the entrance. Servants who weren't already tending to the people bowed and welcomed her.

Protected by an entourage of illagers in white capes, Zeus walked gracefully like a bride being escorted down the aisle. No one could read the expression she covered behind her hat. Her dress was adorned in gold and the halo spun to stare at the people around her.

She felt mothers keeping their children close to them, fathers grew protective. Witches who knew of her power and exploits stared her down in disrespect and resentment.

They may have liked what she offered, but they did not like her.

" Welcome, One and all to the ever-awaited games of the century!" Announced the voice of Zeus as the entire arena quieted down. She stood atop a balcony seat, specially built for her, in the middle of the sides of the stadium. It gave her a full view of the environment, the people, and especially the battleground. Oh, how exciting!

"I'm sure you have all heard of the rules by now, but for those unaware: your nominees for this century's election had been instructed to compete for their position as your rightful ruler! Multiple unnamed candidates resigned, but four had been working very hard to strategize these past few months!” She said like a proud mother. “Names will no longer be public, rather, you are given aliases for each champion for today's events! Contestants? kindly walk to the center of the battlefield once you are called!"

A white servant made their way to her to hand her a white card which she then started reading. " We're honored today to be joined by… "

Drums rolled up as the gates from the top left archway opened.

The first challenger, ” The Arrow!” A man, average in size, with a bow on his back, came from the top left archway. He looked stoic and had nothing but a determined look on his face. He hadn’t bothered to turn to the crowd. Rather, he only walked forward to the middle where he was instructed to. On his back was a bow and a bag of arrows.

The second challenger, “ The Cardinal!” A strongly built woman, tall and with muscle. From where the Queen was looking she could tell that she was stretching before the gates were fully open. She walked from the top right archway and waved to the crowd with a smile on her face. On her waist was a scabbard and a sword.

The third challenger, “ The Sanctuary!”

A lady with short and thin stature. Before the gates even fully opened she slid under to enter the battlefield. The queen could swear that she could see her skipping. She blew big kisses at the cheering crowd and waved with big enthusiasm. She had a nurse’s armband on, and a slew of potions on her waist.

And the last challenger…

Hm?

The Queen briefly broke character as the announcer and looked down at the card in her hand. She turned to the white servants in which they shrugged at her. They thought it must have been a mistake that she was displeased by, but the queen was chuckling at the name she saw on the card. This challenger has quite the audacity to pick this title when she was right there!

She laughed.

“The King!” A big-built man, tall and wide in stature. The Queen could see him scanning the crowd and locking eyes with a couple up front. He nodded and went about the middle to join the others. On his back, he carried an axe.

The Queen stared intently at them from above. They were ants from where she saw them. They were so small yet she overanalyzed every little thing they did. She might as well be 5 feet away.

Seats were occupied as chatter filled the stadium, young and old. The arena consisted of multiple rows of chairs circling the middle where the battleground was. Multiple archways were near, letting witches leave or enter whenever… Though the people weren't too fond of their label being "The red coven", Red flags hung from the top of the stadium; it was Zeus' subliminal message to have the people get used to what role they were going to play in her council. It was manipulative and planned out. This entire event had so much more strategy than any of them knew.

One of them cleared their throat and reached an arm out to shake. ” Sanctuary. A pleasure to see you fellas again!”

This sparked conversation with the four. Timid at first, but they warmed up as they introduced themselves. They greeted respectfully and wished eachother good luck. The four possible leaders stood idly by as the queen told the crowd how the games will commence. They were already familiar with the rules, it was what they’d been practicing the past couple of months. They stared at each other, seeing the other as a rival for the position of Ares, but they weren’t unfamiliar with one another either.

The Queen welcomed communication and made no rule to prohibit seeing eachother during the training stage. For what reason? They didn’t know. But they have seen each other from time to time and made a sort of acquaintanceship.

“I didn’t think we’d be down at four. That's more than half of the initial nominations.” whispered the King.

The Cardinal chuckled.“To be fair, It would be a turn-off to work with such a capitalistic pig.”

“ wOAH!” The Sanctuary exclaimed! The contestants laughed at that remark!

“ Well..!” The Arrowed snickered, “ You’re not wrong! ”

Then quickly, the group hushed eachother as The Queen made direct eye contact with the three gossipping. From their point of view, she felt like a hawk eyeing meat from below. They took their focus from each other and went back to shaking each other’s hands and nodding good luck.

ROUND I:

This is what the Queen would call “vanilla” or “too easy”. The stadium’s roof was covered in the shade as zombies were released from the archways.

She wasn’t bored perse, but she expected their skills to be high. If they couldn’t take down measly little zombies she would frankly be very disappointed. Her people learned how to get rid of those disgusting husks a long time ago, this was nothing to her. She yawned, but her eyes never stopped moving. She was locked on the battlefield and it didn’t take her long to figure out each contestant’s strategies.

In their arms, they held glowing versions of their specialties. Weapons that she enchanted herself. They weren’t used to this as Ares didn’t have many resources for weaponry. They were used to makeshift weapons limited to iron. But the archer had punch III on his bow, and the swordsmen had diamonds for weapons.

Zeus smiled at The Arrows little pause when he realized it only took one arrow to take down a zombie.

ROUND II:

Now, this is where the fun began. Haybales were placed all around the arena on different sides. As soon as the challengers were released into the battlefield, so too, were the skeletons. The queen’s eyes quickly moved from one place to the other.

The Arrow was the first to take cover. He fought them how a soldier would during a shootout. He reused the arrows that missed him and refused to leave his side of the battlefield.

It was almost like The Cardinal ignored the haybales entirely. She slashed at them with her sword and only ever took cover if she needed to heal. She decapitated a skeleton and threw its head at another.

ROUND III:

The contestant was splashed with a potion of water breathing before the round. Water started flooding the arena from below and stones started emerging to provide a platform to step on. Before they knew it, moaning can be heard from the water, the drowned wanting to pull them in.

The Queen noticed the panic on the Cardinal’s face when it started flooding. When the stones emerged she quickly climbed on them, and never dived down to kill the drowns herself. She had to lead them up the platform if she wanted the chance to hurt them.

The Sanctuary, however, finished much faster than her. The queen had to double-check if she has been wearing swimming boots, but she hadn’t. She cleared the round on a killing spree. She poisoned the water before landing her own blows.

ROUND IV:

Water was drained out of the Arena. The Arrow didn’t know what to expect when an opaque black dome covered the battlefield, separating him from the crowd above. The people were muffled and he could no longer see them. However, they could most certainly see him. Endermen limped their way into the battlefield. The Arrow froze in fear.

As soon as he heard the familiar hums of endermen, The King closed his eyes and faced the wall. He walked where the ground was still wet, and stayed that way until the endermen left. He won without trouble.

On The Sanctuary’s attempt to run, she slipped on the muddy land of the arena. Before she could pick herself up, an enderman grabbed her by her leg and dragged her back.

All she could do was scream as the pain soared through her throat.

The Enderman seemed to have snapped her leg backward.

The audience gasped, and her fellow competitors stared in horror. Should they-- do something?? It felt horrible to let this happen! They turned to The Queen who didn’t move a muscle. Rather, she just frowned. Almost disappointed.

The battlefield flooded for only a few inches when the Sanctuary pleaded surrender; the endermen teleported away. Still, on her stomach from how she fell, the dome opened, and she refused to look up at the audience. She kept her head down in shame and tears as nurses took her away.

Until the dome was opened she felt completely and utterly alone. It was almost overwhelming to hear the screams of the people she wanted to lead. She failed as a leader before she even had the chance to become one.

The King turned, and before he knew it, The Arrow was already rushing to the clinic where they took the injured challenger. He would follow, but The Queen was making announcements and the tournament was put to a halt. She says that white servants will be providing more food up front, and the people shall feed until the games continue later in the afternoon.

#*crying* villagers I love you very much #art #leonardo #arrow #sanctuary #Cardinal #zeus #the birth of ares #writing #it feels like im showing my parents my drawing of a jiraffe and hope they put it on the fridge #GUYS LOOK AT MY JIRAFFE LOOK AT IT

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