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marinas-drafts · 8 months

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Honeymoon

A Sky High Lovin’ segment, the swingin’ 60’s

Summary: If weddings are for the bride then it suggests that Honeymoon’s are for the groom -a stupid cliche you had dismissed until your dashing groom proves a little inexorable in his intent to “educate” his new bride on the long Learjet flight to Honolulu

Warnings 18+: (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🌷🎀🌷

Repost here from my main: @precious-little-scoundrel

There’s something very salacious in the simple act of walking across the tarmac amidst a swarm of reporters clicking away with their cameras, ready to print the image of your little figure pressed against his side, images for all the world to look at and know what occurred to you last night.

What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.

He made you a woman, his woman and the whole world knows it now. There’s something so damn dirty about this, even -or perhaps because- of how traditional it is. The ring sits with a comforting weight on your finger as he holds your hand, and your belly aches from your husband drawing his pleasure from your virgin body, your thighs trembling as you try your best to keep up with his long strides in your kitten heels. It’s so proper, it’s everything he ever wanted, and it makes your cheeks burn beneath the generous layer of makeup.

He looks painfully handsome and happy this morning, impeccably polished in the bright sunshine and you wonder at his duality. The way he can clean up and regain his proud suavity when last night you had seen him mussed, tremblingly tender and near unhinged in his passion while consummating your union. A dab of pomade, a double breasted jacket and his wife’s little hand in his -he’s utterly in possession of himself now and is the fuckin’ American dream incarnate right in this moment.

He’s very proud as he introduces you to some of the familiar press faces, and very gallant as he guides you up the few steps into the Learjet, broad palm searing your lower back and you wish you two could have remained tangled up in sheets, honeymoon and travel arrangements abandoned indefinitely. Just you and him floating together in a sky of crisp sheets and tangled limbs.

The photographers crowd in after you, soaking up the shy way you cuddle in close as he tucks you into his side, sympathetic to your own desire to be alone but too happy to begrudge anyone a glimpse at his little prize. Uhem, bride. The amount of satisfaction he finds in you is palatable to all here, his arm around you holds you close and grounds you even as his face splitting grin proclaims that you were a tight but obedient fit last night.

Your eyes burn you’re blushing so hard and that makes him grin harder and it’s pavlovian that smile, you can’t help but grin back, harder and crinklier than his and that stokes his joy further and soon y’all are giggling over memories the photographers will never be privy to. Those are yours, frantic and tender and aching.

Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.

The tiny jet crew and the couple of boys from his paired down entourage settle into their seats as the jet roars down the runway and lifts off, effortless, soaring and sleek. Beside him you are restless, shifting and jittery on the leather seat, though he is gratified to see the demure way you cross your ankles and the ladylike poise of your spine even surrounded by the comparative privacy. His perfect southern Belle, whose every thought and action and word is to reflect well upon him and keep his name from disrepute, he couldn’t have chosen better. Your mouthwatering submission last night proved it.

You squirm again. Maintaining the modest coverage of your pretty little shift dress, the one accented with navy bows that coordinate with his suit, requires you to keep your upper thighs pressed together tightly, squeezing the bruise of your freshly opened little flower as it pulses distractingly, as if in flustered shock at its sudden required usage. Throbbing, sticky and hot.

“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”

You startle and blush, just as he knew you would, and it’s adorable really, the way you can still be bashful after months of foolin and despite the recent intimacy of the night before. And it’s downright precious that you are so sore and achy after he had been so painstakingly gentle when he took you. You had no clue how sweet he’d been, the amount of self sacrifice he had shown in his languid slide and shallow thrusts, tender kisses and gentle grip. Resolutely holding back the absolute wreckage he could unleash on your poor, widdle unsuspecting cunt.

“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.

He grins down at you and kisses your cheek, reaching for the seatbelt fastened at your lower belly and he flicks it open with his thumb, the heat of his hand branding you like an iron for the brief contact. “Lemme show ya round then, baby.”

He folds your hand in his again and weaves you down the aisle between the padded seats and towards the back of the plane, the occasional stray crew member meekly ducking towards the cockpit. You two pass the music lounge with its built-in piano and electric fireplace, then the kitchenette with its circular bar and spherical burst of lights coming out of the wall like cascading planets, back towards the little bedroom. You marvel at the designs, the colors, the unabashed wealth of it all floating thousands of feet above solid earth.

Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.

“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ‘Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”

Curious as to his plan, you look to him, both his image reflected in the huge, bare bulbed mirror and his own dear face beside you, more than a little pleased to see what a striking couple you make in the reflection, with his tailored suit and your chic smock, an IT couple without a doubt. It makes you feel pretty, wanted, a little proud maybe. That you won out of all those other hopeful girls. He sees your pleased expression in the mirror, the way your hip cocks and your expression morphs to your best kittenish smile. You’re preening. You think you’ve made it, think you’re at the summit of what life can offer and he may be partial but he thinks you wear smugness rather cutely. Makes him wanna shake ya up, rumple you a little, remind you who gave you all this. That your new image and importance and identity are due to being Mrs Presley.

He scoots up behind you, wrapping his arms around your belly and pulling you close to him, his chin settles atop your head. “Likin what you see?” he asks slyly, staring at the reflected image that will be on every magazine and newspaper tomorrow, the King of Rock n Roll and his perfect little darling who thinks she’s a woman now that she took cock once.

He runs his hands along your body, broad palms gathering then smoothing out puckers and rolls in the fabric of your dress as he follows the curve of you, breast to thigh and back up, then back down, further this time. He squats a little behind you and his clever fingers hook in your hem line and begin to draw it up, little by little exposing more and more leg in the mirror.

“Oh, no I-“ your hand flys to the apex of your thighs, pressing the fabric against you and keeping a covering there as his gathering has pulled your dress nearly to your little secret place, “what are you doin Elvis?” you ask, a little unsure and bashful of him exposing you in this somewhat public place, even if the crew is nowhere to be seen and the curtain is drawn.

It’s obscene to rumple up the perfect couple, all the starch and pomade that make Elvis Presley and his new bride the envy of the world. And it’s worrying. He does not know you omitted underwear today, the feeling of the fabric chafing and holding in the heat of your tender pussy too much to bear while maintaining a proper face on the tarmac.

“Gonna show ya somethin,” he repeats, eyebrow quirked at your “no” and the nervous way you are almost cupping the last few inches of your dress over your private parts.

He keeps ahold of the fabric he’s gathered up so far and takes to running his knuckles up your side soothingly again, till he notices there’s no band or catch on your hips as he glides up.

“You hidin somethin from me, honey?” he asks, already knowing the answer and the reason for your flaming cheeks, “Keepin secrets from your husband already, denyin him his right?” he tuts and your pretty coal rimmed eyes fly open in denial as you shake your head and pull your hand away. “That's more like it.” He nods approvingly, and ever the showman he waits a minute, building the suspense as his hands continue to map out your clothed body as your breathing quickens. In the mirror both your eyes zero in on the barely hidden triangle between your legs. Then with a flourish and flick of his wrist he swoops the hem up and a rush of cold air hits your exposed pussy. You slump into him and await his verdict. “Darlin, what’s this?“ he asks you gravely, his eyes very dark in the mirror and there you are, pristine up top and entirely bare below, it’s -vulgar. Vulgar and salacious with a fully suited man behind you shaking his head in disappointment that you’d be so careless on your first day as Mrs Presley, risking flashing the photographers or the flight crew because you were too delicate to stand a little fabric. He expects more of you, and he knows you know that.

You mix your explanation with your apology, looking like an eager to please little foal on shaky legs, and he accepts it with another tut and a hum as he rolls your dress up methodically until its bulk is beneath your armpits. The shame you feel in being so exposed is your own fault, your own doing, you know that.

If you’d obeyed you would currently have some demure scrap of silk covering you in the full glare of the showbiz mirror. But now you are bare to his blazing eyes. Your handsome new husband inspects you closely in the mirror, his ringed fingers trailing over your hips and over your belly, swooping up your ribs and tickling the underside of your breasts. Back down he goes, hands gliding and palms warm and broad, spanning much of your abdomen in his reach, down and down till he is petting your mound. Your arms dangle listlessly at your sides, entirely unsure what your part in this is, except to submit to whatever he wishes.

“You say your lil pussy is tenda, hmm?” he understands your motive now, and coos solicitously over your discomfort, even as he smirks at the notion you’re sore from that pathetically gentle love making. It snaps something primal deep inside him, or at least, he thinks that’s what made the decision for him, the decision to enlighten you that last night may have been real nice, but it weren’t typical. He can’t have a wimpy wife, he knows you’re made of tougher stuff, just needs to be coaxed out of you. “A little discomfort ain’t no reason for ya to risk showin the world Mrs. Presley’s goods, is it?” he observes and you nod in abashed agreement.

“No it isn’t,” your tone is fervent and you are so eager to make amends, “I’m sorry Elvis, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll do better.”

“I expect you to.” he says, not unkindly but you gulp and nod anyway, unmoored by his effortless authority. “Now, let’s see about this lil owie, hmm? Spread your legs for me, c’mon wider, that’s a good girl.”

You moan as his hand engulfs you’re throbbing heat, cupping the wounded little place and pressing it firm but gently with his palm. He can feel the thud of your heartbeat down there and the sticky proof of your excitement at just being near him. There’s heat pouring out from you too, a lotta heat. Half of it arousal no doubt, but it’s angry down there like a woman gets during her menses. Puffy and sweltering against his palm.

It’s gonna feel indescribably good around his cock.

“Now we’ve opened ya up,” he explains softly in your ear, “she’s gonna get all fussy down there if she’s left empty for too long.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror with a worried look, unconvinced that emptiness is at all the cause of your discomfort. You feel like something got rearranged down there and needs to be left to mend itself in peace. Preferably in a hot bubble bath. The one luxury this floating palace doesn't have.

“You trust me, don’t ya?” he asks your fretful expression proddingly, “Don’t want ya to close back up all th’way. Go too long and then we’d be starting from scratch each time, you understand baby?”

That does make sense. You swallow your fear and shake your head agreeably. Why shouldn’t you?

He was so tender last night, so romantic and gentle and chivalrous. He had kissed away all your fear and worry into the fluffy bed, sending you careening into bliss and flinging you up to the stars before gently pressing in when you least expected it. It had hurt then, sure, a little pinch and an uncomfortably full feeling he helped soothe by tilting your hips with a courteous pillow beneath them.

Making love had been nice, unexpectedly nice.

And better yet had been the sight of your gorgeous groom, shaking in effort to hold back his vigor as he worked himself in and out above you, gentle and kind, slowly losing a grip on his decorum and letting out sounds of pleasure and praise. There had almost been a whine on his lips as he stalled suddenly and clung to your shoulders and spilled inside you, cementing your union. It had made you feel gloriously happy, and a little smug to see him come undone from the feeling of being inside you.

He earned your trust.

“I understand.” you assure him, the little kisses he is pressing to your neck making you brave. You’d like to see him come undone again. If that means he has to go inside you again then you’ll accept that. Maybe he was right last night, maybe it’ll be even better today.

“That’s my good baby.” he praises you, pleased and handsome over your shoulder, “Gonna turn you into the best little wife the world has ever seen.” he starts to drag his fingers through your bruised petals and you make a ugly little grimace at the soreness before seeing how unpretty it looks in the mirror, consciously changing your expression to demure acceptance. The shiny pink of your lipstick highlights the baby doll serenity of your gentle smile.

“Take me to bed, please, Elvis.” you try to play along with him, desperate to show him your excitement and desire to please.

“Aww now, we’re not goin’ to bed this time, darlin, we’re gonna have a lil lesson so you ain’t in the dark bout marital duties and all that.”

You stiffen in his arms, confused and wary. He keeps nuzzling at your cheek and neck. You had anticipated that there might be adventurous trysts once married, sure. He had proven himself fond of messing with you outside the bedroom during your courtship, fingers playing with you under tables and in hotel elevators. You had prepared for him gently making love to you on a picnic blanket under a Hawaiian moon. Maybe in the tub, or heavens -perhaps the kitchen if he was ravenous. But you’re concerned now that you haven’t grasped his entitlement fully, you’re still trying to understand what he means by “lesson” and why he led you to this vanity. You have a shaky feeling that your embarrassment at being flashed in front of the mirror is about to pale in comparison to what he has planned.

His hand goes from petting your sticky folds to rubbing and swirling, calloused fingertips worrying your bud till you’re nearly keening in enjoyment. He hasn’t looked you in the eyes in a minutes. You keep watching his face as his expression goes from intent to hungry, watching himself fiddling down there with your pink petals as he gets you primed. Primed for the two insistent fingers that plunge into you with no warning. It’s easier this time, having had a coke bottle up there, even just once, did the trick, his fingers meeting far less resistance than last night. He’s made his mark, claimed ya and stretched ya. Never the same again.

His movements burn for you, tugging and persistent as they are and you wince, can’t help it with the way his elegant digits are caressing your sore walls at a foreignly fast pace. You hope that maybe not looking at the rough act will ease your discomfort, like looking away from the needle poke when giving blood helps you keep from getting queasy. The sounds though, wet and squelching, are unmistakable despite the hum of the jet's engines. You watch his face, hoping he’ll look up and meet your eyes, but he’s transfixed by the sight in the mirror of his fingers disappearing into you.

“Gimme your hands, baby.” his sudden instruction startles you as you had flown far away in your mind, trying to reconcile the conflicting amounts of embarrassment and arousal you feel under his heated scrutiny. Who knew married life would cause such a upheaval inside?

“Yes sir.” you present them palms up, and he jerks his chin,

“Now baby, listen, you’re gonna replace my hands while I get myself ready, alright, gonna keep my progress for us. C’mon, hand on each side, pull your lips apart, gonna spread your snatch nice n wide so you can really see the mechanics of the thang. The act.”

The act? What act - you figured if this was going to happen to you at the vanity he would spin you around and set you on the counter, take you kindly as you sat. He had licked you in a movie set bathroom like that one time. Your brain scrambles in confusion and panic, supplying the only familiar acts and positions you’ve tried so far. A man can’t take a woman standing, he can’t, it wouldn’t fit, or at least, it wouldn’t be nice, surely and he wouldn’t be anything but nice-

“Now,” he’s speaking up again, “squeeze your arms a lil, gotta keep your dress nice and clear of the exhibit, ok?” he snickers at the way your dress is bunched beneath your underarms.

You make a respectful noise of acknowledgment, too nervous to say more. Your folds are puffy and slippery beneath your numb fingers as you pull your labia apart like he instructed. This feels new, keeping clothes on while being intimate. It feels…irreverent and dirty somehow. Just like standing here, your whole reflection lit brilliantly and his eyes still glued to that place between your legs.

You watch him pull away from behind you and start to methodically undo the buttons of his double breasted suit jacket, sliding it off his lean arms and folding it carefully over a towel rack, “Ya see, darlin,” he explains, as he undoes his cuff buttons and starts to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “it's only proper you know what it looks like when we're joined together. I’ve got no desire to keep ya in the dark bout somethin God says is a good thing. This isn't the olden days, I don't mind having an enlightened sorta gal. So long as you don’t turn into the bra-burning sort of enlightened.”

He meets your eyes then as he gives you a look from under his lashes, admonishing you to stay away from such nonsensical, feministic, man-hating company as his deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks and he pulls himself out, weeping, thick and ready. You had no idea he was already so fully excited, your legs begin to tremble anew. He looks larger like this, somehow, all poshly dressed and admirably sauve in the mirror as his cock juts out of his tailored slacks, a single indecorous vulgarity marring his pristine Ken Doll image.

You flush red hot at the sight of him

lazily pumping himself as he saunters back to you, his hand yanking and pulling to chub himself up and then a thumb swirling around the uncut tip. He’s leaking and messy already, a profusion of precum wetting his hand and you give a silent prayer of thanks that at least he will add to the slick, hopefully ease the slide.

He doesn’t waste time with romance, he takes his place again behind you and this time you feel him sliding between your cheeks and then your legs, the feel of his open fly and belt against your bare butt. Due to your obediently spread lips, it’s perfectly visible when he slides through your folds and pokes out the other side, a pink, blunt, oozing cockhead playing peek-a-boo in your garden. He bumps your clit again and again with it until you are huffily shivering in his arms.

“Elvis are you really gonna-“ you can’t bear the suspense of it, you have to ask him his intentions, if he really means to make love to you standing up.

“-really gonna fuck my new wife in front of this state of the art mirror?” he laughs, thinking he knows what your quibble is, “Goddamn right I am, be a crime to not avail ourselves of the experience.”

He punctuates his enunciated vocabulary with rough thrusts against your bud that have you shaking and coming…just a little. Just enough for him to be sure you’re ready to take him.

“Fuck me?” you repeat in a panicked whisper, “B-b-but I’m your wife, Elvis!” you object, wounded.

He gets confused, stalling with his hand as he lines himself up with your freshly excavated entrance, “Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asks kindly, reaching around to tilt your chin towards him, but you sense that there’s an impatient edge to it.

You tearfully explain to him how your mother and other women have told you very explicitly you that men don’t fuck their wives. They make love to them. You are very adamant regarding it, and he ought to know better.

“Why baby, that’s the single greatest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” he declares in fond amusement, smooching your tear stained cheek and resuming his rutting through your folds, “You gonna trust some ole ninnies over your husband? Baby, I gave ya a real nice wedding night cause I love ya and you’re my special girl and I thought it your due, but I ain’t gonna be saddled with a wife who can’t meet my needs when I need a quick fuck, ya hear me? Case in point is now, my dick’s about to fall off from all this chit chat.”

You suppose there’s a great deal about marriage that is far more complicated than movies and books and Sunday potlucks led you to believe. It’s hard balancing how to please your husband as you ought with retaining some dignity that will make him respect you. You can’t imagine Elvis ever not respecting you, it’s too ingrained in him and what he wants isn’t to humiliate you, it’s what he needs to be satisfied. And you so badly want to keep him satisfied, you know deep down you’d do unspeakable things to keep his attention on you, perhaps that is where your shame comes from. It’s less about his expectations and more about the fact you’d throw away all your mother’s teachings before causing him to go elsewhere for comfort and acceptance.

You turn your head to him and pucker your lips for a kiss of acquiesce, which he obliges. His hand is still firm on your jaw as he deepens it, and it’s heady and passionate and loving and -he’s breaching you suddenly. A squat and flex and tilt of his hips and then he’s snagged your hole and he is pressing up and up and up and you whine into his mouth as his foreskin rolls back in your canal, an extra friction against your raw walls.

“Elvis!” you beg, breath caught in your throat at the burning sting of him as your hand flies up to clutch at his arm, secure around your hips, “its it’s-” you flounder with a word to adequately describe the delicious pain of it as he goes deeper.

He mouths messy and moaning at your neck and you can feel his belly shaking against your lower back, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting dipped in your silky channel. It makes you cringe in discomfort.

“You’re so goddamn perfect and warm as anythin,” he praises in a slur of kisses and moans as he flexes up and up.

The farther in he goes the more it loses any snuggly quality and instead feels rather like getting slowly impaled. You shift your stance in front of the mirror, legs spreading of their own accord and eyes squeezed shut in concentration at just trying to breathe. It goes on forever and you start to try to go up on your tip toes, to get away from it, from him, to lessen the fullness and the deepness of his assault somehow. He persists. You try to scramble up him, leveraging your weight on his forearm till your little feet are nearly off the jet floor.

His answering chuckle vibrates your back, “Looks like you’re tryin to learn how to levitate, honey.”

You scramble harder in a vain attempt to get taller, to elongate your poor vagina somehow, to keep him shallow

“T-that’s all I can take, Elvis” you try to tell him when he’s only over half in.

It's an honest declaration, to your hyperventilating self he feels impossibly big and certainly every bit as deep as it felt last night when he took you discreetly beneath the sheets in the good ole fashioned missionary position.

Your eyes widen as he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, as your breaths get more panicked, shallower with each inhale, on the verge of a panic attack until he stalls and starts to pet your belly and kiss your cheek in an effort to bring you back down. “Breathe babydoll, breathe for me. Calm down, satnin, you took this all last night. you can do it again, I knows ya can.”

You've long ago started to whimper when he didn’t listen, half in pain and half in fear that he isn’t stopping, that he isn’t being as nice as he was last night. Why isn’t he stopping? oh why, why, “I can’t, I think I’m not made for it.” you wail as you writhe helpless in his arms, a pounding ache between your legs and a strange flutter in your chest.

“No, no, don’t say that baby, please don’t say that, you’re perfect baby, just perfect.” he pleads a little frantic, rubbing his lips along your cheekbone to collect your tears, “Only need a lil breakin in is all, this won’t always be so rough. I’ll fix ya honey, I’ll make it better. Don’t you go objectin’ to the heavenly proportions God gave ya, or what he gave me neither. We were made for each other.”

Hearing the tender worry in his voice soothes you, even more than his comforting touches, knowing he isn’t indifferent to your struggle, he just wants what’s best for you as any good teacher would. You take a breath, a large breath and it feels like it made him sink deeper somehow. You bite back a sob.

“You can do it.” he says in your ear, his voice shaky from how badly he needs to be moving inside you, “Please baby, let me in, I’m hurtin’ real bad, if you could just see lil elvis you’d feel so bad for the poor guy. Let him in, you can take it, let him in, let him in his lil house. That’s it, that’s it just a little bit more.”

The man lied. There was nothing “little” about the more he gives you when he bucks up that last bit and buries himself fully inside, balls snug against your butt.

“Oh, i’hurts.” you moan, tears leaking through your clenched eyes, smearing your immaculate cat eye. “hurts -I-I can’t, Elvis.”

“You can.” he declares firmly, trying so hard to stay in control, to gather the last shreds of his gentlemanliness, “More like -you *are* doing it. Look, come on. Baby! I said look! Open those eyes and watch how well you’ve taken me.”

You pry your clumping lashes apart and slowly your eyes drag from the reflection of your faces pressed together, down to your breasts where his hand is crushing a velvet bow in his grip, down your belly to to his forearm barred around your hips. Down to that place where you join.

“Where’d lil Elvis go, hmm?” He teases like you’re playing hide and seek, and you let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes at his babying tone, “Where'd he go, darlin? Oh, there he is,” he pulls out a tiny bit so the pink veiny length of him peaks out from between your lips, “there he is -wait where’d he go?”

“Elvis. Stop. Stop, that’s so dumb.” you beg through your sniffling giggles, the fiery stretch of him temporarily forgotten.

He laughs at your embarrassment and pulls out further this time, then snaps his hips back up to the hilt of him, drawing a pained cry from you “Who’s my bestest girl, hmm? who’s that? Shhh, shhh, Das you ain’t it? Look at’chue, doin so well. I need ya to stand straight baby, let those heels touch down. I mean it, plant your feet, don’t cry about it, no reason to cry, you gotta relax.”

You’ve heard him use the same tone of voice when helping Red’s puppy get a burr out of its paw. Pitifully you obey him, planting your feet and it feels like you’re riding a telephone pole, the way he’s stiff and unyielding, deep inside you, plumbing the depths of your belly.

“That’s more like it.” he hums in throaty appreciation of the snug fit of you, “Alright now, ‘member the job I gave ya?” he reminds gently as he starts to thrust slow and deep, watching as your face crumples in grief, “Hold yourself open baby, it’s very important you watch this, I need ya to understand you’re perfect for this, gotta let go of ma arm, c’mon now.” he pries your grip from his forearm and brings your hand back down to your puffy heat, “Spread yo’self.” his accent deepens as your body struggles to take him, clenching around him in an effort to expel him, and only serving to make him moan in bliss. “Look a’that.” he marvels, sounding utterly worshipful of the way the glistening pink length of him slowly comes into view, then slowly disappears -absorbed inside you, your painfully stretched little hole fluttering hopelessly at each dragging inch of him.

“It still really hurts.” you observe childishly through gritted teeth, your pained body fighting the fuzzy headed arousal you feel while watching the obscene display of him sliding in and out of you for a few languid grinds.

“That’s cause you’re so tense, loosen up baby, -actually, here.” he shuffles you forward and you make a reckless sound of disgruntlement at the feel of him shifting inside you with each baby step, “Here, knee up here.” he hooks his hand beneath your knee and props it up on the counter, somehow making this worse and better all at once with the new angle.

“Ow, oh god, you said it would get better.” you accuse, biting your lip in savage self reprimand after it. Foolish girl, to risk making him unhappy and frustrated, stoking his wandering eye.

“It will, dammit, it will. I'm gonna need you to hang in there and play with your lil button till it does, alright? Bout to burst back here with all this startin and stoppin.”

“Ok.” you whisper, feeling a little more steady with the firm counter beneath your knee, opened up a little for the intrusion of him.

He pats your hips and presses an appreciative kiss behind your ear, nearly drunk off your sweet little struggle to be good for him. It makes his heart soar and fills him with wild wants, makes him reckless, and a little mean somehow, like crushing rose petals to gain the scent.

“Now, I know I made love to ya last night, darlin,” he pets the bulge of his cock in your belly and you shudder in anticipation, “cause that’s what weddin nights are for, but now you’re a wife proper you gotta learn how to take cock without so much whinin and clingin, alright? Made ya a woman, didn’t I? so do me proud, act it.”

With this emboldening commission he presses one more kiss to your neck before pulling out before driving in, hard. And then he does it again, and again and again at a pace you’ve seen him maintain on stage but never, never imagined him using with you, against you, it feels like.

You shriek and your knee slides further apart with the violent rocking, trying with terrible desperation to find solace and feminine satisfaction in the guttural groans and huffed out praises your husband vents as he takes what he needs, flaming eyes glued to the mirror and the place where he plunders you.

You are really trying, it just hurts so damn much.

You know you’re lucky, you cling to that even as he spears your cervix again and again with gusto that suggests your panicked clenching is the best damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’ve heard from other women, older women trying to counsel you, prepare you for what lay ahead, that some husbands didn’t even bother trying to make sure their wives were slick enough. That the dry drag and burn of a man can make the stretch truly unbearable. It keeps you grateful that the lewd sounds now causing you to blush are testament to the flood of slick down there. It keeps you grateful meek even as you wail and smear your makeup with your gasped out shock.

He should slow down, he should moderate his thrusts, cherish his wife. He can see you’re struggling and panting and crying and somehow it’s all just a drug to him, the gorgeous little dolly he crafted so perfectly this morning looking utterly overwhelmed and defiled by his cock. It’s enough to make a man lose his bearings and forget his mama’s teachings on how to treat a lady.

The beast won’t be tamed. And so Elvis Presley begins to babble a stream of apologies as he exerts all the energy of his able body in fucking his young wife, like the deeper and harder he goes the more likely his lil swimmers will have the chance of making themselves a nice comfy home in your sweet womb:

“oh goddamn baby I’d stop if I could, but yer squeezing me like a vice and I just…I just can’t stop baby, be good, be good, don’t cry on me, be good for your husband, baby. You’ll get used to it, we’ll train your pussy baby, just gotta get through these early stages. Early stages and it’s, it’s normal, just a lil skittish is all, ain’t no way god made me want you this bad just for you to be cold. Ain’t no way, I can feel it when you’re dancin to my music, you want it deep, you crave it deep, you were born hungry. Oh goddamn, yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry, yes, keep squeezing me like that …….”

It is not talent on your part, this clenching that has him snarling in rapture with his eyes rolling back in his skull, it’s pure creature instinct, whether trying to expel him, bring him deeper or milk him fast so this agony will end, you don’t know. All you know is that his force is terrifying and you’ve never seen something quite as erotic as the pristinely polished beauty of his face morphing into ravenous determination.

Your panic flares one last time, unwilling to allow yourself to coast into enjoyment of this filthy usage without a fight. “Please, Elvis please -enough!” you gasp, even as something seems to have shifted inside you, a tilt or a nudge, whatever it is, it’s a spark of something dangerous.

“Listen here now,” he pants in frustration, one of his hands leaving your hip to fly down to your clit and rub it viciously, “i don’t have a particular hankerin to pin you down over the tabletop, face down ass up, and make this marriage work but I will if I have to. So be a good girl n’ quit all your whinin, show me some of that grit you show when I’m teachin ya on the mats. Don’t wanna make me do nothin rash, but I ain’t gon’ have my honeymoon ruined cause my wife is insistent on bein’ an obstinate lil’ brat!” his voice his shaking with effort, “now, open ya self up!”

It spooks you, this inexorable side of him, white hot lightening ripping through your nerves. Suddenly you’re alite. Scientists might be quick to give credit to the clever little rhythm his thumb strummed over your clit but till the day you die you will swear it was instinctive obedience that had you spasming and then gushing, suddenly relaxing and drawing him in, pliant and eager. Subdued at last.

“Aww baby, oh baby that’s it, oh thank fuck,” he gasps in relief as he feels the change, “I’ve gotchu, you know I gotchu always, gonna help ya get over that damn hill, gonna drop ya off that cliff gentle like.”

His movements are not gentle, if anything they speed up, but his hands cradle you, his mouth caresses you and he places his own knee beside your own, glued together everywhere except for the snap of his pelvis. There is a razor's edge here, in the sensations his body is drawing from yours, and it is an edge upon which you wobble, tipping now towards pleasure, then pain, then back again to pleasure. It confuses and overwhelms you, makes you moan and keen and beg like an animal in heat, the jet crew and all your ladylike deportment forgotten.

“Oh dear god Elvis, I- oh, oh, please don’t stop!” you’re suddenly shouting in a shocked beg, something irreversible building and this isn’t your standard *nice job buddy that was swell* orgasm approaching, it’s one of the *well done sir, I think I just died there for a minute* variety. It’s shaking, and thrumming and burning up your entire body, suddenly making lyrics to his well worn songs take on an entirely new meaning.

“Lordy mama, tryin to let the whole plane know I’ve broken ya in at last?” he teases, finding it heavenly the way you move with him now in an easy give and take, the smacking of your bum against him and the happy slack of your mouth driving him to madness.

Gone is the suave man of myth and envy, here is an animal instead, mounting and mauling and claiming you with ferocious devotion and you take it like a jerking rag doll, whining in need where you were once whimpering. He’s proud of you. If he had breath to laugh he would at the way you suddenly look dazedly disbelieving in the mirror right before your body seizes up and pleasure annihilates all your senses.

Your legs give out and you slump, having only the vaguest awareness of the fact he’s beginning to grunt and cry out himself, using you like a writhing receptacle, coming unglued behind you as you begin to melt on him like butter. There ain’t much thought or chivalry to the way he grabs at you, a hand beneath each knee and folds you in half, split open in front of the mirror as he ruts every last drop of satisfaction into you. He hears himself hollering as if through a tunnel, something that the fight crew, if asked, would paraphrase as being “oh goddamn, you are more perfect than anything.”

You are numb and pounding down there, the last frantic usage of your pussy an ordeal you endure with cock dumb acceptance. The way his face draws up and crumples shortly after, and then slacks in bliss -it is the single most violently arousing thing you’ve ever witnessed. Feeble as your energy is, you feel a surge of feminine pride at the way he mumbles and moans and finally shakes to a stop.

“That’s it, oh you’re so beautiful.” you moan, watching as his hair falls into his bleary, slow blinking eyes as he comes back to the surface, “And you’re mine.” you sigh, content.

“Mhmm, yours.” he coos, jostling you a little on his cock and he snuggles closer somehow, you think you feel his seed start to dribble out despite the sizable stopper inside you, “Well, bless your heart darling, I’ve got ya folded like a camp chair. Ha!” he gently folds your legs back down, pulling out of you with painstaking gentleness on the way down, “That weren’t very gentlemanly of me, was it?” he teases.

You sway dangerously once placed on your own two feet and you don’t even have the chance to fall, he never lets go before he realizes what’s needed. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, you pool back against the mirror, boneless and debauched, legs stuck bow legged from such a long ride and a vividly puffy pussy leaking his seed onto the counter. He tucks himself back in with still shaking hands. He won’t be fully back down to earth till Honolulu’s runway, he thinks. Just in time to carry you off the plane. And begin it all over again.

Married life, he could get used to this.

“It was perfect, you’re perfect.” you slur earnestly as he returns to you and unzips your dress, hauling it over your teased you hair, baring you fully as you sit on the counter, kicking feet thumping against the cabinets in your patten leather heels

“Nah…perfect -that would be you, Mrs Presley.” he kisses you deeply, before taking you in his arms bridal style and carries you into the bedroom, conscious but uncaring that you’re leaking all over his pristine shirt sleeve.

This next part oughta involve washcloths or wet wipes. But that would require leaving your sweet arms and facing a jet crew that just heard him railing his tender young bride.

Yeah, he’ll just use his mouth.

Hope y’all enjoyed. This is a repost from my (currently censored) main blog @precious-little-scoundrel and in turn it’s a repost from the original written over a year ago on my deleted OG Elvis blog@aconflagrationofmyown I want to start collecting my fics here in case anything happens with my main. Xoxo

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popatochisssp · 7 months

Note

Would it be too much to ask what kind of jobs the new skeles might have since you already shared bram would be a groundskeeper at a cemetery?

Looks like I never officially did this one for Wave 2, just Wave 1 over here.

So, while we’re at it, let's do 2 and 3!

Ash (Undergloom Sans): He’s semi-unemployed, or self-employed depending on how you look at it. He busks, playing his trombone out on the street and accepting donations from anyone who feels so inclined. He likes playing music and the idea of brightening peoples’ days in the middle of their commute, so the money doesn’t really matter to him. Sometimes he picks up small gigs at local venues, mostly by word of mouth, and eventually he breaks into the tutoring scene—teaching his favorite instrument to young aspiring musicians who find the same joy in it that he does.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He works as a professor at the local community college, teaching anthropology. He’s passionate about the subject and can’t think of anything he’d rather do than share it with a classroom of humans who probably have no idea how interesting they really are. If only one student walked away from his class with a new appreciation for what humanity’s all about then he’s fulfilled—but he tends to send a lot more away with that than just one, since he’s a very popular, friendly, and accessible teacher.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He’s self-employed, knitting blankets at home and selling them online. He doesn’t need a job at all, between the Queen and his brother, money’s not an issue, but he’d go crazy if he didn’t have something to do all day, and nobody wants to see what he looks like when he goes crazy. He takes commissions often, but other times he just makes things according to whatever he’s feeling and what color yarn he has handy and sells to whoever feels like buying it.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): He works as a physical therapist. He more or less taught himself to walk again after losing his leg, and a second time after getting a replacement, so he very personally understands the need that exists for people who are injured and want to get back to their normal life—but maybe lack the discipline, the knowledge, or the tools to take that journey solo. He’s hard on his patients and sadistically merciless, but his success rate in terms of mobility recovered is very high and any complaints after the fact are begrudging at worst.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He’s a home baker, making cakes and small pastries for a small but growing client base. He likes the freedom of getting to pursue his passions seriously and to be his own boss, set his own hours, screen his own clients, et cetera. He puts a lot of time and care into what he makes, both in terms of flavor and decoration, and finds nothing quite so satisfying as a repeat customer or a glowing review and recommendation to someone new.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Freelance programming is what he does for cash. It was something he could both learn how to do and actually do remotely, without the need for more than the bare minimum of in-person contact. He likes problem-solving, and complaining about the problem-solving, and the field is pretty much always in demand so if he’s bored of certain kinds of jobs, or sick of the person giving him the jobs, he can jump ship at any time and be a contractor someplace else.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He’s a boxer, more amateur than pro so he doesn’t make a ton doing it, at least not consistently, but he likes fighting and draws in a decent crowd by being a bit of a spectacle (a blind skeleton in the ring) so the entertainment value is worth something. Aside from that, eventually, he fills in for his brother as a combination business partner/agent/accountant, helping him get jobs and keep clients and manage the money he makes doing so.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He’s unemployed for a long while, but ultimately breaks into professional photography, with a specialty in travel photographs. He likes taking pictures and getting to see the world in the process, and it helps that it’s a family business so he and his brother have pretty much full control over what jobs he takes and for how much. He doesn’t really concern himself with the money numbers, though, he just likes filling out his portfolio with gorgeous locales all around the world.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He does a lot of odd jobs, all over the place, generally (things that are considered) unskilled labor—bussing tables, janitorial work, desk clerking, that kind of thing. He doesn’t like the thought of getting too stuck into any one thing and being unable to try something else out later if it doesn’t work out, and there’s something to be said for the satisfaction of being closely connected to the results of your labor. Sometime down the line he will end up sticking in one career, as a dealer for a casino, because it combines his social, charming nature with his sharp eye and quick hands, but until then he’s happy to bounce around.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): He’s a bookkeeper at a nondescript company. He’s organized and thorough with record-keeping and double-checking data, and he likes putting those skills to use to make sure his employer’s finances and transactions all balance out at the end of the day. Some might find it boring work and he could almost certainly qualify for a much more ‘prestigious’ job doing something else, but he’s satisfied having a job that doesn’t require all of his effort and brainpower, so he can save some of that for his personal life and private interests.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): He’s a nomad, a wanderer, he has no job. He’s a robot in the shape of a monster—ostensibly still a monster, even so—in a world full of humans that as yet believe monsters don’t exist, so even if he wanted a job, getting one would be logistically difficult. Luckily, he feels no special need to be gainfully employed and just spends his time wandering around and taking in the world. If he needs something, he’ll either just take it or use one of his brother’s accounts to pay for it.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): He’s a performer, a disc jockey who mixes, makes, and plays music to crowds at clubs, raves, and discos, anywhere he’s welcome. He takes advantage of the perception of his holographic form as an artist’s gimmick, like Daft Punk, Hatsune Miku, dead musicians projected onto stages to play posthumously… In his defense, that last one is sort of exactly what he is, except he didn’t really start making music until after he died. Still, he has fun doing it and adores the fame he’s steadily gaining as a popular, cutting-edge technology music act.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): He does aura readings for people. For those interested to know, he shares his perception of their colors and the flow of energy in and around them, and just generally describes the sense he gets about a person. What he does is really more of a soul read than an aura read, so a lot of the color meanings and terminology he uses contrast with the kind of readings his clients may get from humans who practice something a little bit different. Still, he’s earnest in his desire to help people understand themselves and their energies and emotions, so he gets a lot of recommendations and repeat clientele who trust he’s the real deal.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): He works as an event planner, organizing gatherings, arranging vendors, booking venues, the whole nine. He has a great reputation for making things go smoothly and always seems to be able to talk out bumps and snags before they ever become a major problem. He also maintains great relationships with people in the industry and delights in having connections just about everywhere in case he needs to call on a favor to make something happen for a client. He's got the magic touch and the silver (gold) tongue that makes everything fall into place just so.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): He works as a clerk at a pawn shop. He gets to handle a lot of interesting items and assess roughly how much they’d be worth, and he’s pretty good at haggling and negotiating with people who might not agree with said assessments. Sometimes people will come in with broken stuff they wouldn’t be able to get too much for, but maybe he can cut ‘em a deal, fix it up on his own dime and if they come back for it, great—and if they don’t, his boss’ll be happy to have something that works to sell to somebody else at a markup, how ‘bout it? He does a brisk business and both sides of the counter love him.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): He’s in construction. He’s huge, strong, takes direction well, and diligently follows rules and protocols—he’s an ideal fit for it. He likes to work hard and be able to see a job come together, knowing he had a part in it and being satisfied with the quality of his contribution. He especially likes to take every safety training and equipment certification course he can attend because he likes knowing what the rules are and being specifically told how certain procedures are run, machines operated, et cetera. He’s very likely to be apprenticed in as a foreman if not the inheritor someday of the construction business by its current owner for his work ethic and dedication, but that’ll be a long ways from now.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): He works as an independent auditor and combs through companies’ records, internal and external documentation, processes, and accounting and ensures everything is being done in accordance with industry standards. In short, he shows up, demands to see everything they have, and looks through it to see if they’ve lied, did something wrong, or lost information they weren’t supposed to. Sometimes he can do this remotely but other times he has to travel out to a physical office somewhere and sit down with a bunch of stuffed file cabinets, and he really doesn’t mind either way. He likes the work and he’s good at it—maybe because he’s good at it—and he finds it satisfying to catch the tiniest little misses and errors to demand an accounting of them.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): He’s a trail maintenance worker for Ebott National Park. He walks the paths and hiking trails and makes sure they’re safe and unobstructed for visitors, as well as whatever odd jobs in the area that happen to come up—looking out for invasive species, helping with a bench install, directing lost tourists, that kinda thing. It’s not especially glamorous work but it’s pretty much exactly where he wants to be and he’s happy to do it, probably wouldn’t pick any other job in the world…except maybe to volunteer for a seasonal fire-watch position and do pretty much the exact same thing, but more isolated and with a big cool tower to sit in.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): He works as a mortician at a local funeral home. He generally isn’t expected (read: allowed) to deal with grieving families, that’s more the funeral director’s purview, but he works behind the scenes embalming, processing, and otherwise preparing the dead for their final party and last ride home. He has a strong stomach—or rather, no stomach at all—and doesn’t get squeamish or emotional about the dead, so that works out. They also let him work nights so he has several long, quiet hours of methodically going through the routine with no (living) humans around to irritate him or vice-versa. Sounds like a good gig to him.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): Yes, still a groundskeeper for the cemetery and loving it. It was something he kind of fell into through his brother, when he didn’t really know what he wanted to do on the Surface, but his brother sends dead humans off to their final resting place and said final resting place was looking for someone to dig holes, mind the grass, keep everything looking neat and nice—and that’s certainly something he can do! He also works nights, being that monsters are almost entirely nocturnal these days, so he’s also an unintentional scarecrow deterrent to teenagers sneaking in late for partying or spooky dares when they see a slim, bony silhouette materialize out of the shadows with a shovel in hand, asking if they’re just visiting or thinking about moving in.…

#anonymous #headcanons #undergloom #horrorfell #horrorswap #horrorswapfell #gastertale #transcendtale #ascendswap #underfell fruition #swapfell fruition #descendtale

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

Text

The Odyssey | 0.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Summary: There are a few bumps in the road during your travel to Italy and your first day there. Bradley’s not a regular professor, he’s a cool professor.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, themes of eventual infidelity, mentions of travel sickness and throwing up, wc: 4.5k

…

“I can’t do it, I just can’t go,” You throw yourself back against the leather seats and cover your face with your hands. Malcom drives a Rolls Royce corniche from last year with a black exterior and brown leather seats. You’re parked outside of Ithaca Thompkins Reigonal airport, your suitcase is in the back and your fiancé’s stroking tenderly at your cheek. “It’s going to be hell.”

“It’s a summer in Italy, honey, not jail time.” Malcolm laughs at you, lifting your jaw and giving a calm shrug of his shoulders. The sun on your face, the two of you had practically the entire winter to celebrate your engagement, it seems fitting that his last summer is his and his alone. His heart squeezes at the thought of the autumn to come. Your honeymoon, a short stay at his father’s place in the Bahamas.

Then, the rest of your lives together. The thought is enough to make you concede finally.

“It’s hardly a vacation.”

“You’ll be home before you know it, and then you’re gonna be my wife. I’ll take you on all the vacations you could want.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” You point, tone begrudging as you finally move to pull open the car door. Your fiancé follows you out of the car, leaving the roof down as he

reaches into the back to grab your suitcase. It’s a gift from your mother, part of a matching his and hers set that should’ve stayed pristine until your honeymoon. Bringing it back tarnished isn’t an option.

He lifts it out of the car and walks around, closing your door for you and then wrapping an arm around your waist.

“This will all be a funny little thing that we look back on. Something to tell our kids the first time we take them to Italy.” Malcolm’s thumb nudges just slightly under your white t-shirt, stroking a gentle circle on your waist. He squeezes you against him, pleased with himself for finally drawing a smile from you.

“Alright, two, four, six…” Bradley counts the young adults in pairs, his brows drawing together as he searches for his seventh. There’s no need to wonder who it is that’s missing. Eight minutes after nine, he’s giving you two more before he leaves you behind.

“Hey, Bradley,” Luke is Bradley’s favourite TA. He’s not supposed to have favourites, but he’s also not supposed to have any tattoos. He’s supposed to wear a tie at work. ‘Supposed to’s’ haven’t mattered much to Bradley in the course of his career. Luke is a little shorter than Bradley, athletic and dark haired. He’s going to teach in France in the Autumn, inspired by his favourite professor. “Did you hear back from that guy in Sicily about August?”

Luke listens. He really cares about what he studies, Bradley likes that about him. They share the same sense of humour too. He smiled a little, and then shakes his head.

“No, I think he heard the American accent and made up his mind before I’d even asked him about it.” Bradley gives a small shrug, like it doesn’t matter, but they both know that would have been the opportunity of a century.

Luke’s sympathetic in his nod back. They leave it at that. Bradley lifts his arm and checks his watch again. As he’s about to turn and leave, he catches sight of you, strolling in and talking away to your fiancé like you aren’t holding everybody up.

“You’re late.”

You turn your head and look him over. He’s wearing beige shorts and white converse tennis blancs. No other professor you know would show up to a work trip in sneakers. The first impressions are set.

You’re late, he’s underdressed.

“Sorry, man. We hit traffic on Warren Road.”

It’s a maybe thirty minute drive from the furthest part of campus. Bradley doesn’t say anything at all. He just stares. Just the look on his face makes you seethe, wondering silently what kind of woman could have raised such an impolite adult.

His eyes pull away from Malcolm and fall down to the nice, white suitcase that you’ve brought along with you. It’s Ralph Lauren with an extendable handle and wheels. From this alone, Bradley knows that you haven’t spared a second to look at the itinerary. You watch him scrutinize your luggage, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Alright, well, since we’re already late. Let’s move.” Bradley decides, bored. He turns and hoists lifts his much more manageable suitcase into his right hand. Like ducklings, the other students gather quickly and follow him as he turns towards the check in desk.

“You can’t seriously expect me to spend three months in the middle of nowhere with that man,” You shake your head adamantly, folding your arms over your chest and looking to your fiancé for support. “I’ll wind up murdering him.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say murder in an airport, honey,” Malcolm teases. He pulls you into his arms and kisses the top of your head. “You’ll be back before you know it. Go, see the world. I’ll be right here to listen to all your stories when you get back.”

“I love you.” You mumble begrudgingly into his Tommy Hillfiger polo. He grins and kisses your temple, then tells you the same. Finally, he takes you by your shoulders and pushes you towards the other group of students.

You swallow dryly as your loafers carry you forwards. One of the students, dark haired and grinning, leans in and says something to Bradley while his eyes remain on you. Bradley chuckles as it and shakes his head, dropping his suitcase onto the scale.

Glancing back over your shoulder, trembling starting in your chest and spreading along your nerves, Malcolm smiles and nods for you to go ahead. He’s tanned already from the start of the golf season, cheeks dimpling, straight brown hair falling into his eyes a little. He’s going to have to cut it once he starts working for real, but you like the boyish look for now.

Pausing, you take your time to look him over. Taller than you by just a few inches, strong from his years of baseball, slim from his years of track, smooth skin and blue eyes that are just to die for.

Your gaze falls down to the rock on your finger. The knowledge that if you can withstand these two months, you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted is enough to finally make you turn back around and set your suitcase down on the scale.

The next twenty four hours will be the worst. Your itinerary, which is wrinkled near the bottom from the stream of tears that had been pouring onto it the night before, tells you that it’s about seventeen hours of travel. A short flight, first, two Newark airport. Then, a six hour flight to London. Finally, a two hour flight to the north of Italy.

Bradley settles into his seat on the flight to Newark and glances behind him to search for his seven students. Three sitting together, two sitting together, Luke’s at his side and then you’re sitting on your own between an elderly married couple. His lips quirk to himself as he turns back around. It’s only fair that karma pays him back a little bit.

He’s less than thrilled about you being here. It just doesn’t seem fair that someone missed out on this opportunity because your daddy was able to pull some strings. You don’t give a shit about this trip. So, if it’s miserable for you, Bradley really couldn’t care less.

You rub at your temples, the volume of your Walkman turned up as loud as it will go, Joy Division blasting in your ears as the Houseman’s lean over you to argue with each other. Lifting your head, you find Bradley soundly asleep, arms folded over his chest and lips parted slightly — perfectly comfortable aside from his knees pressing into the seat in front.

He couldn’t care less when you’re panicking in the lounge at Newark airport, thinking you’ve lost your passport. Or when you’re stuck next to a screaming baby on the flight to London. Or, when on the flight from London to Turun, there’s such bad turbulence that the first thing you do upon landing is rush down the steps and puke.

“Oh, here — did you want some water?” Abigail offers. Bradley doesn’t know her that well other than the fact that she is the only person he knows who has never gotten less than an A in his class, and that she’s probably more intelligent than he is. And apparently, more of an empath. She rubs her hand along your shoulders soothingly and offers you the unopened plastic bottle.

You step back from the trash can, letting go of your hair and groaning quietly, blinking the tears from her eyes.

“Thank you,” You seem surprised by her kindness, taking the bottle from her slowly like she might have snatched it back from you. Gratitude. That surprises Bradley. “That’s really sweet of you.”

It’s not your fault that you were taught early on that there’s no such thing as a free handout, or that selflessness is a myth. Abigail comes from a much different background. Her mom does soup kitchens and charity drives, she taught all three of her children the meaning of kindness early on. Your mother taught you the value of womanhood early on.

“It’s no big deal.” She smiles, reaching into the pocket of her light washed jeans and pulling out a packet of gum. “You can keep this.”

Bradley watches the exchange, then checks his watch again. As much as it seems fair to watch you suffer, the last thing he needs is for you to call your father screaming on the first night.

“Alright. It’s a twenty minute ride to the hotel, there’s a bus for us outside. Are you going to be alright?”

Exhausted, your ears are ringing and this is the most professional that he has acted all day; you know not to push your luck with him. You nod weakly at him. He can’t help but notice how colourless you’re starting to look at baggage claim, and how much trouble he’s going to be in if you die on the first day. You chew tiredly on the peppermint gum, trying to pretend that the motion of just chewing alone isn’t enough to still make you queasy.

You should be in Malcolm’s television room, right now. Sitting curled into his side with your legs across his lap, watching some action movie that will keep his attention long enough for the two of you to finish it. Closing your eyes and picturing that you’re there just doesn’t cut it.

Stepping out of the airport, an iron-tight grip on your suitcase handle, you inhale deeply. The fresh air makes you feel a little less light headed. You sip slowly at the water. Everyone keeps looking at you.

It’s not half as warm as you had expected it to be. When you had pictured Italy, you had pictured vineyards and thick heat. Tonight, you’re in a city, and it’s actually a little cold even with the thick denim jacket you’re wearing. The chill helps breakthrough that sick, sweaty feeling that you’ve got going on though, which is nice.

“Mr. Bradshaw!”

Bradley’s lips turn up into a big grin as he locks sights on the short, bald man that’s grinning at him from in front of a black minivan.

“Pasquale!” He chuckles as he speaks, dwarfing the older man as they hug. You’ve never seen him that pleased to see anyone. “How’s it going?”

“Same old, same old,” Pasquale shrugs, giving Bradley a knowing wink. They share a laugh again. “Big group this year.”

Bradley turns to look at all of you over his shoulder, then nodding slowly. His gaze lingers on you. “Uh-huh. They’re a little tired.”

“Well, then, let’s get the kids to bed.” Pasquale jokes. He grabs the handle and tugs open the middle door to the van, then walks around to tug open the back doors.

Everyone hands their bags to him, then finds a seat inside. Making the most of the fresh air whilst you’ve got it, you’re intentionally the last.

Pasquale grunts as he lifts your suitcase off of the ground, struggling with the weight of it. Bradley shoots him a look and then grabs your arm, stopping you before you can step into the van.

“Sit up front. In case you puke.” He instructs, grabbing the passenger side door and pulling it open for you. Waiting for the ground to just swallow you whole, you nod weakly again.

Bradley was right. It’s a twenty minute ride to the hotel. He just hadn’t warned you that it was going to be the longest twenty minutes of your life. Turin has a tram system and passing over the tracks, and the bumpy roads makes your stomach churn. Pasquale tries to make conversation but there’s not really much you have to say. Everyone behind you is in pretty good spirits, looking out of the windows and talking about the city.

“Alright, everyone gets a roommate — are we going to be mature about this and buddy up, or do I have to treat you like you’re six?”

You’re blinking at him now, knowing that no one here will want to share with you, hoping that you get assigned a room so that you can finally pass out. The hotel is ninety years old and it looks older, cracks through the paint and cobwebs in the corners, but you just can’t find it in you to care. Dust fills your nose and makes you blink like you’re going to sneeze. The entire place smells like cigarettes. Speaking of cigarettes, Bradley’s just itching for a couple of seconds away from you guys.

Everyone around you buddies up. Your eyes widen, finding that there are only seven students.

“Uh, no, no — you two cannot share a room. I’m not taking anybody home pregnant. Luke, you’re with me.” Bradley snaps his fingers, frowning sternly. You turn your head and watch as he takes his arm off of the girl’s shoulders. She whines, frowning at Bradley. “That goes for all of you actually. You’re all adults, just — I’m not your dad, don’t make me act like it. Okay?”

“Okay…” Come a few begrudging agreements as Luke sulks over to Bradley.

“Cool. That leaves you two.” Bradley decides, nodding to you and the girl who just had her evening’s plans ruined. You swallow, nudging the toe of your shoe into the faded red carpet under you. “Okay. I’m going to give you your keys, there’s one per room so don’t be a dick and lock your roommate out. Don’t lose your key, there’s a twenty euro replacement fee and I’m not paying it.”

What no one had mentioned to you about Italy was the stairs. You’re still fairly naive about it as you drag your suitcase up to the third floor — you’ve got a long summer ahead of you. Your room is at the furthest end of the hall. Bradley makes his location known to all of you, and then suggests that you try to get as much sleep as you can.

“Dibs on the bed by the window.” Your roommate, who you now know to be named Robin because of a conversation you heard as you were coming up the stairs, declares before the door is even open.

You’re far too tired to argue, and not really bothered by that kind of thing anyway.

It’s a twin room with dated paint on the walls and patterned sheets, heavy curtains covering the window and faded carpet under foot. You swallow softly as you look around you. Quickly, you realise what’s missing.

“What? — Not what you’re used to?” Robin teases as she lifts her bag and drops it onto the bed by the window. It’s most definitely not what you’re used to. Your mother wouldn’t touch this place with a ten foot pole and your father dismantles businesses like this one just for the fun of it.

Still, the decor isn’t your biggest issue. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Huh,” She stops to look around the room, frowning, then shrugs and turns back to her case. She unzips it and flips the top open. Your eyes land immediately on the box of trojans at the top of her belongings. “I don’t know. Ask Brad.”

You’ve never heard anyone call him Brad, or heard him introduce himself as that. You don’t like it. But, you turn and walk down the hall anyway. All that you want right

After approximately thirty seconds of peace, Bradley winces at the knocking on his door. Something in his gut tells him that it’s you, or something you’ve done, before he even answers.

“What?”

The force with which he swings the door open makes you jump. You almost shrink away from him, pushing your sweaty hair back off of your face, then remember everything that your father taught you about being taken seriously. You swallow, straightening up again, “Our room doesn’t have a bathroom in it.”

“There’s one at the end of the hall. It’s right next to your room.” Bradley answers, resting his hand on the chipped paint over the doorframe, nodding his head in the vague direction of it. He watches your face change in realization. You look more sick now than you had when you were hunched over that bin.

“Oh. It’s… a shared bathroom?”

“Yeah. It’s for the floor.” Bradley’s tone tells you that he thinks you’re even more stupid than you feel. You don’t even share a bathroom in your own home. Safety is the first thing that crosses your mind.

“What if someone tries to get in while I’m in there?”

“Locks are still a thing here.”

Luke snorts in amusement from inside of their room behind him.

“I know that,” Your tone slowly starts to stray from sheepish to snappy. It’s been a long day and being made fun of isn’t how you would like to end it. “But, I really need to take a shower and I—“

“Luke, go stand outside of the door until she’s done.” Bradley’s already turning away from the door, bored by his conversation with you and starting to pry open the buttons on his blue shirt.

“Me? — Why do I have to do it?” Luke frowns from his perch at the end of the twin bed closest to the door.

“Because I want her to shut up and quit whining at me, and you owe me a favour. Remember?”

It seems unprofessional for Bradley to be close enough to one of his students that they’re now owing each other personal favours. That’s something to think about another time. You shift back awkwardly as Luke pushes himself up from his bed and starts towards you.

“Alright. Go get your stuff.”

Exhausted, you’re on the verge of blacking out the entire time that you’re standing under the stream of water. It’s lukewarm and the pressure is poor, but it helps.

You brush your teeth quickly and dress yourself in your pyjamas. Sitting on the floor, Luke falls backwards into the bathroom as you tug it open.

Now laying on his back, you catch his gaze starting to wander. Even about to fall asleep standing, you’re awake enough to jump back before he can sneak a peek up your nightdress.

“Pig.” You mutter, stepping around him without thanking him for standing guard. He watches you wander back to your room and slam the door shut, then pushes himself up laughing.

He walks calmly back to his room and lets himself in, swinging the door shut behind him. Bradley’s on the bed by the window, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a stack of six books, all opened to different pages sitting in front of him.

“D’you think she’s really going to make it two whole months?”

Bradley looks up, scratching an itch on his bare shoulder and then taking the cigarette from his mouth. He exhales, then shakes his head with a breathy chuckle.

“Buddy, the sooner that she calls her dad to come and get her, the better.” He mutters, flicking ash from the cigarette into an empty water bottle and picking up his pen to scrawl a few notes onto the page of one of the books.

Luke drops down onto his bed and tucks his arms behind his bed. He wishes all of his professors were as cool as Bradley is. “She wears a nightdress like my freaking grandmother.”

Bradley scoffs, taking a long draw on the cigarette, his dog tags dangling between his collarbones as he flicks through the paperwork for the trip. His lips quirk up slightly as he shoots his friend and student a playful look, “Well, what does your grandmother wear?”

Luke pulls a face and then shrugs, running his hands through his feathery, raven coloured hair. “I don’t know, it comes down to like here. Hers was this cute little yellow with cap sleeves and a heart shaped kinda neckline.”

Bradley’s smirk grows around the thin cigarette as he looks over. “Didn’t you say your Mom was one of six kids?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Maybe your grandmother was onto something with those little nightgowns, huh?” Bradley taunts, chuckling and turning back to work while Luke gasps in horror at his side.

“You’re sick.” Luke complains, amused but playfully offended as he turns onto his side and presses his face into his pillow. Bradley just laughs to himself.

The next morning, you can’t help but notice that Luke seems to have modeled himself after Bradley. Both of them are wearing nearly the same thing. A half buttoned, cotton shirt — Bradley’s is a pale yellow, Luke’s is a deeper blue — and five inch shorts.

Once again, you’re late, he’s overdressed.

You’re in a cute little sundress with a sweet little purse in your shoulder and a pair of expensive, Dior sunglasses on your face.

“Did everyone eat?” Bradley asks, tucking his Ray-bans into the opening in his shirt by their arm. He’s got a baseball cap on today, his auburn curls peeking out from under it. You bet Luke’s pretty upset that he didn’t get the memo on hats. A chorus of quiet yes’ come from your class. “Good. Because lunch isn’t for another five hours and we’ve got some walking to do.

“Now, remember,” He pushes his hands into his pockets and looks straight at you. “You’re a big group of kids in a foreign city, so watch your stuff because someone will try to take it if you’re not careful.”

That seems like common sense. With Pasquale as your tour guide, you’re led through the streets of Turin. Bradley already seems to know his way around well enough, walking ahead of everybody else, studying the streets as he passes. This is his sixth summer consecutively spent in Europe, his fourth year spent in Italy. Turning his face towards the sun, indirectly looking up at the laundry hanging between apartments over his head, he misses it here more than anything.

As much as this is a research trip for himself and his work, it’s also somewhat of a cultural exchange. So, the first stop is a museum near the centre of the city. Today’s itinerary starts with this place, the museum of national something something. You cross your arms over your chest and look over the detailed architecture. It’s pretty, but you can’t pretend that you wouldn’t rather be sat on a rooftop in Manhattan with your girlfriends on this sunny morning.

Although, back there it would be the middle of the night, barely 3am. It still feels like 3am for you, you would have happily spent another five hours in bed just to avoid returning to that shared bathroom.

“Who knows what this place is?” Bradley stops and turns on his heel. Everyone seems to know at once, spouting off the name of the museum whilst you’re still standing there with your arms folded. “Cool. And who can tell me what Risorgimento is?”

“It was the nineteenth-century Italian movement of unification.” Abigail answers calmly, tucking a braid behind her ear. She’s well prepared for the day, wearing her backpack on her front so that she can keep an eye on it.

The streets are busy already, the centre of Turin at almost 8am is bustling with people trying to get to work and tourists trying to get to the sights.

In retrospect, it was a bad place to stop. Standing in front of a big museum with a group of students. It’s practically a target. You, with those fucking Dior sunglasses on your face, are a target. The man isn’t dressed like a thief. He’s wearing blue jeans and a green Ralph Lauren polo, walking quickly like he has somewhere to be. You don’t take any mind as he bumps into you, inhaling quickly as you’re surprised by the impact, but then stepping out of his way without much notice.

Bradley has watched as the man had sped up, knocking his shoulder into yours and curling his hand around the strap of your bag. With one swift tug, he has the strap off of your shoulder quickly. Your brows draw together, surprised and confused as you turn to look.

Immediately, Bradley steps forwards and catches hold of the back of the man’s navy shirt. He tugs hard and pulls the man back swiftly before you’ve even registered what was happening. Bradley tells him something in Italian, the man lets go of your bag accordingly and then sneers at your professor. He mutters something back that you don’t understand Bradley lifts his hands and shoves hard at his shoulders.

The man stumbles, sneering at you as he turns and hightails it away from your group.

“What did I tell you? — Watch your stuff.” Bradley mutters in annoyance, like it’s your fault that you were almost mugged. Your mouth opens to back with an immediate protest. He narrows his eyes at you. “I’m not going to babysit you this whole trip.”

“No one’s asking you to.” You bite back.

“Hey, he did a nice thing. Maybe stop being such a bitch.”

Bradley and you both turn to look at the same time, finding Robin tucked under Luke’s arm and looking at you like you just kicked her. You gaze darts quickly back to Bradley, waiting for him to scold her.

Instead, he just looks at you like it’s all your fault and then turns away, calling for the group to follow him inside. You flinch as someone bumps into your other arm, finding Pasquale smiling at you.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” You answer Bradley’s friend begrudgingly.

He’s older, maybe in his late forties or his early fifties. A little shorter than you, with a seemingly perpetual smile on his face. He guides you after your class with his hand on the elbow. “Seems like Italy doesn’t agree with you much,” You’re not certain if that’s a polite way of him saying that Bradley doesn’t like you much, you leave him without an answer anyway. “Stick with me, I’ll help you find your feet, miss.”

…

If you’re wondering what her nightgown looked like, it’s the yellow one on the right

tags:

@thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @littlemissobsessedwitholdermen @sunflowerziva @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawseresinbabe @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw au #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #the odyssey

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taevbears · 7 months

Text

Magic Shop - 11

You find out what Seokjin calls you behind your back.

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Seokjin focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 12.0k ⤑ warnings: smut (penetrative), seokjin gets a little jealous and touchy (risky touching?), verbal sexual harassment, pet names, minor character death, public torture (whipping, implied starvation, not y/n or the boys), description of bodily harm, oppression of mages, implied shady business dealings, a bit of piracy, probable inaccuracies with 92 liners, mentions of violence, y/n and seokjin are so ride or die for each other lmao. ⤑ note: this is the 2nd half of jin's story! if you haven't read the ch 10 yet or need a refresher, please do so before reading this chapter! but man, the amount of times i had to re-write some scenes bc i was afraid it was getting too complicated. even though it's a long one, i hope you guys enjoy! i'd love to hear your thoughts on everything :)

Chapters: Series ML | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

In the time that Seokjin is away, there hasn’t been a single day where he isn’t thinking about you.

In the throes of battle, surrounded by enemies. Swords viciously clash against each other and arrows of fire shoot across the sky. An anguished cry from a fallen opponent pierces the air. And Seokjin, unceremoniously running his sword through an incoming enemy, wonders if you’re having a good day.

During a third round of drinks in a noisy pub. Drunk comrades are crooning classic love songs, their words slurring together as they belt out notes off-key. One of them is in their feelings and is crying under the table. Glass shatters from the corner of the bar and a brawl is let loose. As a chair flies over his head, Seokjin worries if you’re eating well and sleeping okay.

Late at night, in their makeshift camp that’s located in the middle of nowhere. The cackles of a small bonfire, the snores of his team, and the chirps of crickets fill the quiet night. Above him, the stars and moon are beautiful, and Seokjin gazes up at them forlornly as a wild bear approaches the camp. He ignores the menacing roar and the panicked screams as he realizes how much he misses you.

It feels like he’s been away from you longer than he really has. With every begrudging step, he and the Freelancers travel on foot to their destination. The location of their target is far, and the threats of wild animals, bandits, and other ailments make the roads dangerous.

But nothing – not even the merciless wrath of the Devoted gods – could withstand the constant bickering between the two leaders of the Freelancers.

Day in and day out, it feels like the two brothers – Adnan and Tariq – can’t settle on anything without a disagreement. Diplomatic and a pacifist, Adnan tries to help anyone he comes across who are in need. Tariq scolds him for giving away needed supplies and for wasting their time. But while Adnan is checking local inns and encouraging the guild to turn in for the night, Tariq and his followers unwind at pubs and bars until the early hours of the morning. They’ve been nothing but hostile toward each other. Not only are they getting on each other’s nerves, but it’s affecting everyone else as well.

“Have they always been like that?” Seokjin asks, keeping his voice low as he eyes the tent the brothers are in. Everyone is pretending they can’t hear them yelling at each other again.

Byulyi nods her head solemnly. “It’s been getting worse. Ever since their father got sick, he’s been giving Adnan the responsibility to lead the guild. But Tariq has his own ideas and wants to run things very differently.”

Just then, Tariq storms out of Adnan’s tent. A silence follows as the guild gauges his angered expression. And the tension continues to linger even after Tariq enters his own tent without a word.

Their mission comes directly from a wealthy nobleman.

There’s a looming threat of something in the nearby woods. Every night, the villagers hear a horrid groan. It spooks the dogs and the livestock. To make matters worse, those who’ve dared to investigate the strange sound have yet to return. No one knows if it’s a beast, a cult, or witchcraft. Whatever it is, it seems to be getting closer to the town.

The mission is considered complete if they are able to successfully investigate the mysterious sound and get rid of the threat.

“This feels spooky,” Junghwan whispers, inching closer to Seokjin. He nods his head, eyes flickering wearily at the treetops. A thick fog has settled around them, obscuring the path beyond what their torches can illuminate. Aside from their footsteps and the cackles of their burning flames, everything is so quiet.

Adnan and Tariq are in the lead, but a fork in the road has the group split. Some follow the leader down one path while the rest follow his brother. Seokjin pauses as he looks down the crossroads, not sure which way to take.

What would you do in this situation?

It’s funny how, even now, Seokjin is still thinking about you.

His friends stop as well. Nervously, Heeyeon asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Shh. Did you hear that?” Jaehwan whispers. Everyone falls quiet, barely breathing.

It’s then, they catch it. The sound of rustling.

Sunwoo is the first to jump into action. He draws his weapon, stepping closer to the source of the sound. Seokjin and Byulyi flank to his side, ready to assist, followed by Junghwan, Jaehwan, and Heeyeon. Seokjin unsheathes his sword as Sunwoo charges forward.

Caught in a small clearing is a group of three. One man and two women. Humans, at least at first glance. Seokjin would’ve thought they’re from another guild had he not seen the small, glowing light from the tips of their wands.

Mages.

The two groups point their weapons at each other, but no one makes the first strike. Sunwoo’s brows are furrowed as he demands, “Who are you?”

“We’re just trying to get away from it,” the man explains, urgency in his voice. “Let us pass and we won’t harm you.”

Byulyi frowns. “Get away from what?”

In the distance, Seokjin sees it.

Through the thick fog, a tall figure emerges. Its height reaches the tall tree tops, and its body is entirely made of roots and wood. It’s as if an old, rotting tree has come to life, but its shape has morphed into something humanoid. In its wooden face, glowing, yellow eyes stare back at them.

“Please, don’t hurt us,” a woman pleads, her lip quivering with fear. She looks like she’s been through hell. “Our friend got trapped in the Veil. We were trying to perform a ritual for her, but she didn’t wake up. We were just trying to summon her back, but something else came instead.”

The others look confused, but Seokjin knows exactly what’s going on. He’s seen this once before, when something Wicked possesses a mage’s body.

“Do you feel her?” Seokjin quickly asks the group. “Do you still feel your friend’s energy in that thing?”

“Barely,” she answers. The two beside her nod their heads.

“Then we’re not too late,” Seokjin sighs as he sheaths his sword. His friends look even more confused as he turns to them and explains, “That creature is a person. Human, like all of us.”

Their eyes dart to the mages, who stare at him with a stunned silence. Byulyi’s frown deepens. “But—”

“Human. We’re human. They’re human. That’s human,” Seokjin emphasizes, pointing at each of them, including the mages and the beast. He turns his attention to the mages again. “You guys are her friends, right? You have to keep talking to her, then. You have to help her remember who she is so she can snap out of it.”

A flicker of hope shines in one of the woman’s eyes. The other two aren’t quite as convinced. The man is the one who answers. “Don’t you think we’ve tried that?”

“If you care about your friend, you’ll try again.” Seokjin doesn’t waste any more time to persuade them. He gestures toward the creature, telling his teammates that they can weaken her a little and stop her from doing any more damage, but they can’t kill her.

As they reach the creature, she’s even bigger in person, more intimidating. Even the mages are trembling a little as they crane their necks up to see her. The creature sees the group approaching her, and when she moves, a terrible, haunting groan escapes from her. To Seokjin, it almost sounds like a cry for help.

Taking his advice, the mages call out to their friend, shouting her name, trying to comfort her, assuring that they can still feel her energy. And much to everyone’s surprise, it’s working. The creature leans down, body aching and cracking as she tries to level with her friends.

“S-Scared…”

That’s the only word she utters before a shriek of pain pierces in the air.

Adnan and Tariq have followed the sound of the groaning and see their comrades in the face of a terrifying creature. They unleash their attacks, raining fire upon her, even as Seokjin and the others scream at the brothers to stop.

“Good work, son,” Adnan tells him, clasping the former warden’s shoulder proudly. Seokjin feels the sting of frustration in his eyes. “We’ll take it from here.”

The creature in the woods is slain and the Wicked mages that summoned it have been arrested. Thanks to the Freelancers of New Haven, the village is at peace.

The nobleman pays the group handsomely for their efforts. The pouch of coins feels heavy in Seokjin’s hands. It’s enough for him to take a break, visit his hometown with you and the others, and still have more to spare toward the shop.

Seokjin doesn’t feel right when he’s handed his share by the grateful nobleman.

Although the mission is considered a success, Seokjin can’t help but think about the mages and the monster in the woods, about Adriel from Blackstone Castle and his similar fate. He can’t help but envision you, Hoseok, or Namjoon as the creature instead and witnessing your ends before he could stop it.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Seokjin says to the mages, speaking quietly as the others around him celebrate their victory. The mages are held together, wrists bound with nullifying ties that prevent them from using their magic.

Their fates are undetermined. But with the way things are in this world, injustice will be their demise.

He doesn’t expect the mages to forgive him. He doesn’t even expect them to accept his apology. Yet, one of the female mages looks at him with kind eyes.

“How did you know… about her? That there’s a way for mages to regain their humanity after they turn Wicked?”

Seokjin isn’t sure how to answer. He’s seen the head enchanter of Blackstone call out to his apprentice. He’s seen Adriel come back to his senses when his friend, Jackson, broke through to him. And although he didn’t completely transform, Taehyung is living proof that it’s possible to become human again.

“I’ve come to realize you mages aren’t all that bad,” he decides. It’s a long story to explain otherwise.

“Because you know one?”

Seokjin stares at her with surprise. “I-I don’t—”

“It’s okay. Your secret is safe with me,” she says with a knowing smile. She glances at the charmed bracelet around his wrist. The one that Hoseok and Taehyung made for him before he left on his mission. The one that you had enchanted to keep him safe while he’s gone. “Whoever you know must care about you a lot. Those are some strong protection spells.”

“Yeah…” Seokjin trails off as he looks down at it. Everyone at the shop made sure he was well-protected and taken care of before he left. It makes him miss you all more.

And it makes him feel even more guilty about how things transpired.

The mission is completed and Seokjin has been paid, but he knows that deep down, he’s failed.

“Have you gone mad?” Adnan remarks as he stares at his younger brother in disbelief.

“Either this, or they be sent to the gallows,” Tariq reasons, and before his brother could reply, he adds, “It will be a waste of their talent if they’re just hung to death or sent to a fortress to rot.”

Another argument is brewing between the two brothers, but this one has everyone split. Before the guild could leave the village to return home, Tariq proposes to bring the captured mages with them. To atone for their sins, he suggests that they work for the guild instead.

“No way. The Devoted leaders will have our heads if we allow such a thing,” Adnan reminds him as a murmur of agreement comes from the crowd. Working with a mage is bound to be trouble. It goes against the teachings of the Devoted.

Tariq rolls his eyes. “The Devoted leaders can kiss my ass. Those pompous prudes have their heads so far up their own asses, they—”

“Brother!” Adnan snaps, interrupting him. “We are not taking the mages with us! What if one of them turns into another one of those creatures? Or something even worse? We’ll be endangering the town. We’ll be tarnishing the reputation our family has built for the Freelancers.”

“Fine. Then I quit the Freelancers.”

With the tension rising between the two brothers, it shouldn’t have been surprising. Yet, Seokjin is still stunned to see the guild fall apart before his eyes as they speak.

“Brother, where are your senses?” Adnan asks, exasperated. It seems like this isn’t the first time his brother has threatened to leave the guild. But it’s the first time Tariq seems to mean it.

“You do things your way, and I’ll do things my way,” he concludes as he turns to the quiet guild. “I’m making a new guild – The New Order. Anyone who has what it takes to join my side is more than welcomed to.”

Those in favor of Tariq, who’s morals seem to align with his questionable practices, immediately get up to follow him. Some are a bit more hesitant, standing with Tariq out of fear that he’ll attack the remaining Freelancers than anything else.

Unexpectedly, however, Seokjin begins to stand up as well.

His friends look at him with shock. Jaehwan asks, “What are you doing?”

Truthfully, Seokjin doesn’t know. Before New Haven, he was part of an order that is similar to what Adnan envisions for the Freelancers: knights of the Devoted protecting the town from magic and all things evil. Clearly, that didn’t work out for him. Seokjin can’t be in a guild that hunts mages for profit.

Seokjin looks at his friends with a half-hearted smile. “Hopefully, the right thing.”

Somehow, the journey going back home feels longer than having to leave. Without Adnan keeping things in order, Tariq and his men are like a crew of pillaging pirates. They spend their new earnings sleeping with women, drinking at pubs, intimidating the villagers with violence, and finding ways to make quick coin through threats and theft.

Seokjin doesn’t want any part of it.

Someone pushes him a pint of cold ale. Tariq grins at him from across the table. “It’s on me, kid. Live a little.”

“Thanks,” Seokjin mutters, taking a sip. It gives him something to do than just sitting there, ignoring the sultry women around him who are batting their eyelashes and giggling to get his attention. It’s times like this where he really wishes you were with him instead.

Tariq sees the way Seokjin is visibly uncomfortable with the women around him. “You have a wife or something?”

“Yes,” Seokjin answers. Technically, you’re not married to him. But you’re still his.

“You heard the man. Go find someone else,” he orders the women. They sigh in defeat, but leave him alone.

“Thanks,” Seokjin tells him, more sincerely.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with my brother,” Tariq continues, trying to make small talk. “You seem the type to follow him. Well-mannered, honest, a good person. Loyal to your wife, too. People like that love to kiss the ground he walks on.”

“I have my reasons,” Seokjin says vaguely.

“We’ll have plenty more missions like this one in our future,” Tariq assures him. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that makes Seokjin mildly uncomfortable. “That thing in the woods was a mage too, right? Imagine having a monster like that on your side of the battlefield. We’d be unstoppable.”

Seokjin frowns. “Sir, what exactly are you going to do with the mages?”

Tariq doesn’t answer him. He just laughs heartily and tells him, “Just drink up, kid. You deserve it.”

Before he left, Seokjin made you a promise. That as soon as his mission is over, he’ll run straight home to you.

When he was still in town, he’d usually return to the shop by sunset. Yellows, oranges, and pinks would color the sky in a beautiful twilight, basking the town with a golden glow as he makes his way back to you. Every afternoon, you’d be the first to welcome him back, stepping out of the shop to meet him outside. All the anxiousness and worry melt away the moment your eyes lock with his and you see him running toward you.

Sometimes, he’d throw his pack aside and pull you into a tight hug. Sometimes, you’d trip over your feet to reach him first. Despite how hard the day is, no matter how tired and sweaty he is, or how busy you’ve been, nothing else matters as you both end up in each other’s arms.

You have no idea when Seokjin is coming back this time.

But every afternoon, you still come out of the shop to welcome him home.

Most of the time, one of the other boys keeps you company while you’re waiting. Other times, you keep yourself busy by sweeping the steps, watering the flowers, or hanging up laundry to air-dry. But lately, you’ve just been sitting on the steps of the shop and watching the sunset, wishing that Seokjin was there to share this moment with you.

“Do you think he’ll come back today?” Jungkook asks, sitting next to you on the steps. Even though there’s plenty of space around you, he’s huddled close to your side.

You smile a bit and lean on his shoulder. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

Jungkook hums, shifting around and pulling you closer to him so that you’re both comfortable. Out of all the boys, it’s Jungkook that comes out and waits with you the most. He helps you with the chores, he sings and shares a drink with you, he fits you between his legs and in his arms as the sun disappears and the air gets colder. You know part of it is because he’s adamant about spending more time with you, but you also know it’s because he misses Seokjin too.

All of you do.

Everyone has felt his absence since Seokjin has been away. It’s hard to walk past his room in the hallway and know that it’s empty. Or to eat dinner together and see the vacant spot at the table where he sits. You miss his silliness, his dramatic antics, the sound of his laughter, the sweetness of his smile seconds before he does something completely unhinged.

The sun dips lower and lower, and night begins to color the skies in dark blues and purples. More of the boys come out for a bit, and Jimin crosses over to say hello. The conversations between you and the boys drift from one topic to another, until Hoseok invites Jimin to eat dinner at the shop. The moon and stars appear in the sky, and one by one, the boys begin to head back inside.

Until it’s just you and Jungkook again.

“Come on, you two. It’s getting cold,” Namjoon says, opening the door to the shop. The light and warmth from inside feel welcoming compared to the chilly air around you.

“Maybe he’ll be home tomorrow?” Jungkook suggests, helping you to your feet.

“Maybe,” you reply, a bit sullen. You try not to look too disappointed as Jungkook wraps his arm around you and starts to lead you inside.

Just as you’re about to cross the threshold, you hear the sound of footsteps running toward you guys. The three of you look at the source of the sound and your eyes widen as you feel Jungkook’s arm suddenly slip off you. He sounds a bit choked up as he utters, “Jin-hyung?”

Hoseok passes by at that moment, most-likely to check on you and Jungkook as well. His eyes widen at what he hears. “Jin’s here? He’s home?”

Inside, there’s a commotion of chaos as the others stop what they’re doing and rush to the door. And sure enough, after some time apart, Seokjin is finally standing before you. The cold air makes his breath visible and his face is a bit flushed from running.

He looks exhausted and travel-worn, but he’s as handsome as ever. “I’m ba–”

You don’t give him a chance to finish his sentence as you throw yourself at him, so happy and relieved that you’re nearly in tears. The others follow after you, greeting him with long hugs and affectionate squeezes. Seokjin keeps you close to him, one arm around you as he uses his free hand to return their greetings. As the excitement starts to spill back inside, Seokjin finally turns his attention back to you.

“I missed you,” you tell him, gently caressing his handsome face.

“Not as much as I missed you,” he replies, and he kisses you like he’s been waiting forever to have you in his arms again.

Tonight, the shop is the liveliest it’s been in a while.

Hoseok serves his best brews, and it isn’t long until the table is surrounded by flushed, giddy faces. The food Yoongi has made is extra delicious, and he smiles shyly but proudly when he receives compliments for his work. There’s loud chatter and laughter, and having the eight of you all together again fills you with a warm feeling that can’t be anything else but love.

Tonight, Namjoon keeps the shop closed. The curtains are drawn, the doors are locked, and a sign on the window reads that it isn’t open. Regulars frown and try to peer inside, wondering what’s happened. And perhaps, through the disguising glamor of a quiet and empty building, they’d see all of you have moved to the parlor.

“Tell us about your mission, hyung,” Jungkook asks, eyes wide with excitement.

“I’d rather talk about what you guys have been up to,” Seokjin replies, shaking his head slightly. “I’m sure you guys will hear more about it in the morning anyway.”

“That bad, huh?” Jimin asks with an arched eyebrow.

Seokjin grimaces as he takes a swig of his drink. The heat of the alcohol burns his throat as he swallows. “To put it lightly, I think the Freelancers are done.”

You all look at him in shock. “Really? What happened?”

“Decisions were made, and the guild split up,” Seokjin vaguely explains, though it only makes you all even more curious. “The good news is that I’m technically on a vacation now. I think I know how I want to spend it, too.”

Tonight, Seokjin unpacks from his long mission and begins to sort through the things he wants to take back to his hometown. As he tries to remember the things his parents and brother like, he hears a knock on the door.

He doesn’t need to turn around to know that it’s you.

“It’s nice to pass by and see that you’re here,” you tell him quietly as you step inside. The room is as pretty as he is, iridescently white walls and floorings that match the soft pastel furniture. Tables made of glass and light fixtures made of crystal. The room hasn’t changed since he’s been away, but you see small souvenirs of his travels on a shelf. Subtle things like the alpaca doll Namjoon snuck into his pack, a super tuna charm made of wood, toadstool mushrooms in a jar. “I’m sorry about the Freelancers. I know the guild was really important to you.”

“I’ll survive,” he says, coming to wrap his arms around you. He places a kiss on the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as he holds you close. “I thought about you all the time.”

“Yeah? In what way?” you ask cheekily, and Seokjin laughs as you turn to face him.

Tonight, Seokjin shows you exactly, making up for lost time. You shudder as his soft, plush lips worships your body, how his large hands feel against your heated skin. Your soft moans and sighs only encourage him as you guide his hand down between your legs, whispering against his lips for him to touch you. Moonlight bathes upon your skin as he hovers over you, watching your reaction as his fingers slip inside you. There’s something addicting to the way pleasure is shown on your face, how warm and wet you are just with his fingers pumping in and out of you. How incredibly good you feel when he replaces his fingers with his cock.

He feels your nails scratching his back as his steady pace quickens, his thrusts become a bit harsher, and he adjusts your legs over his shoulders so he could go deeper. Your little mewls and whimpers become progressively louder as you arch your back and clench around him. And Seokjin moans loudly when he nearly climaxes when you do,

You feel him pull out of you, and his fingers easily slide into you again. You twitch a little and whine out his name, a bit sensitive. But Seokjin smiles warmly and kisses you. “One more, beautiful. Can you do that for me?”

Tomorrow, all hell will break loose once word goes out about the Freelancers. But tonight, Seokjin puts that behind him. Tonight, he puts his attention all on you.

Word about the demise of the Freelancers spreads around town like a wildfire.

Two brothers, who once stood together in the face of danger, are now enemies in a competitive race to gain more influence and success to be the bigger, better guild. Many are loyal to the mission of the reformed Freelancers, and all the hard work Adnan has done to keep his family’s legacy. But there are just as many people who are equally willing to throw away their values and morals to join Tariq’s side, the admired and well-respected war hero of New Haven.

And Seokjin, like many others in the guild, is caught between the crossfires.

“Stay inside today,” Seokjin tells you and the others after explaining the details of his mission. Things he couldn’t say in front of Jimin without exposing any of them, He sees the expression on each of your faces when he described the creature, the mages in the woods, and how Tariq wants to bring them into his guild. He sees the sadness, anger, and weariness in each of you, and how the same thought crosses all your minds: that what had happened to those mages could’ve easily happened to you.

“Especially you, Taehyung,” Hoseok adds seriously, meeting his gaze.

No one knows how the town will react to the news, but the raven familiar has already dealt with angry mobs and burning stakes a lifetime ago. He shouldn’t have to witness history repeating itself with another mage.

“I’ll be fine,” he replies, but holds you a little tighter to him, afraid to let you go. Seokjin sees your subtle nod when Namjoon mouths for you to stay with Taehyung.

A heavy weight fills Seokjin’s heart as he imagines the awful things that would be said about the captured mages. And how those words, in turn, would hurt any of you.

“We’ll be careful, Jin. Don’t worry about us,” Hoseok assures him with a tiny shrug. “It’s nothing we haven’t heard before. The wardens at Blackstone used to say a lot worse.”

“The wardens used to do a lot worse,” you add on quietly, looking at Seokjin. He visibly stiffens as he remembers those men harassing you at the castle, of the reasons Adriel became Wicked in the first place. It makes him worry that those captured mages could be going through something equally worse by the hands of Tariq and his men.

“What’s going to happen to those mages?” Yoongi asks with a frown.

“That’s what I’m going to find out.”

As much as he wants to take you all away to his hometown where it’s safe and away from this mess, he can’t, without good conscience, just skip town when people are in trouble. When he is the only one who understands their situation better than anyone.

“I love you. Be safe,” you tell him before he goes, caressing his face. He kisses you deeply and promises that he’ll come back to you.

Seokjin isn’t sure what he’s expecting when he heads out, but he knows it’s going to be a mess. Jimin catches his eye from across the street. His face is unreadable as he informs him, “There’s something going on at the town square.”

“Yeah, I told them to lay low and keep the shop closed,” Seokjin briskly explains as he makes his way to the square. Jimin follows after him, only a couple steps behind. “Things are going to be pretty rowdy today.”

“Is it true what Tariq has done? He brought mages into New Haven?”

Seokjin stops so abruptly that Jimin runs into him. He turns to face the florist, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Is that a problem?”

For a very brief second, Jimin looks conflicted. But he says, “No. It isn’t.”

Two mortals stare at each other, once on the same ground when Seokjin was still a warden, and now, assumingly, on opposite sides. Raised Devoted, Seokjin has been warned all his life about the evils of magic and mages, but it isn’t until he met you that his heart has changed. That magic could be beautiful and mages can be kind. But Jimin doesn’t know your secrets or the shop’s affinity with the unnatural. If he did, would he still oppose you all? Or would he stand together with Seokjin again?

“Seokjin? You’re here?”

Both of them turn and, to his surprise, Jaehwan is there. Seokjin hasn’t seen his friends since the guild had split up with the others choosing to follow Adnan. He offers a small smile, but it quickly fades when he sees the concerned look on Jaehwan’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“You better come to the town square. It’s getting bad.”

The last time the town square was this crowded, there was a fair for the guilds to bring in new recruits. People far and wide came to New Haven with the promise of new adventures, meeting new comrades, honing their skills, and opportunities for wealth. The eagerness and excitement from that day is still fresh in Seokjin’s mind.

Riots fill the streets. Opposing sides are brawling against each other and damaging property. Some are trying to contain the crowd, but their demands fall on deaf ears as arguments continue to escalate. A mob of people form around the stage where Tariq and the mages are. Vile things are shouted to their faces. Garbage and food are thrown at them. Even from his distance, Seokjin can see the mages are still cuffed with bonds that suppress their magic, terrified and defenseless.

“What’s happened here?” Seokjin asks when he, Jimin, and Jaehwan join the rest of Team Seokjin. They looked relieved to see him, happy that the team is reunited again, though they clearly wish it was under better circumstances.

“Tariq is holding a demonstration,” Byulyi informs stiffly.

Seokjin’s eyebrows furrow together. “A what?”

“Fear not, friends. The New Order – our new guild – will have everything under control,” Tariq assures the crowd, as if the hatred isn’t directed at them. “Soon, we won’t have to look at these mages as enemies, but as allies. I’ve seen with my own eyes what they can become once they unlock their full potential. Together, with the mages, The New Order will be an unstoppable force.”

“He’s truly gone mad,” Jaehwan murmurs with a frown. Even Jimin stiffens slightly at what Tariq is implying.

The younger brother suddenly grabs the male mage and drags him away from the others. He seems to be commanding him to do something, and the male shakes his head and trembles. At his refusal, Tariq extends his hand toward one of his lackeys, who gives him a cat o’ nine tails whip.

The first strike has the entire crowd silenced. Heeyeon gasps and covers her mouth, eyes wide. Junghwan’s jaw falls open. Byulyi and Sunwoo avert their gaze immediately once they realize what’s happening. The others are stunned in a mix of shock and horror.

The second strike, Seokjin doesn’t even think. He doesn’t realize he’s making his way toward the crowd to stop them until he feels his friends pull him back.

But it’s after the third strike when the male mage finally gives in. On a clear, cloudless day in New Haven, the weather changes. Snow begins to fall from the sky.

Seokjin is taken back to that day in the library of Blackstone Castle, where you showed him the beauty of your magic for the first time. How you remembered that he liked the snow, but hated the cold, and made a winter wonderland for him.

This time, as Seokjin sees the snow fall, he feels sick to his stomach.

Tariq has proven his point. The mages, through methods of torture and pain, are under his command. One hint of disobedience, and he’ll be sure to break them physically and mentally. The public flogging is only a small taste of the lengths Tariq would do, and if they are successful, they’ll recruit more mages. Under the guise of equality and freedom, the mages who join would be doomed to a fate worse than imprisonment in their heavily-guarded fortresses.

When Seokjin became a warden, he was taught that he needed to protect people from the mages. Over time, he’s learned that it’s the other way around. In many cases, it’s the mages that need protecting.

“You’re not going to work for that guy, are you?” Junghwan asks him as the crowd around them begin to disperse.

“Even though they’re mages, that’s still too cruel,” Sunwoo quietly agrees with a frown. It seems like the others share the same sentiment. Many mages get locked away as soon as they awaken their powers, so it wouldn’t surprise Seokjin if his friends have never seen a mage until now.

“I’m not going to work for him. But I can’t let him keep hurting those mages,” Seokjin decides as his gaze turns to Jimin. The florist has been awfully quiet.

Jimin meets his gaze, but his expression is unreadable. Then, quietly, he asks, “Why do you care so much about them? You’re only human.”

“I care because I’m human. Whatever your stance with magic is, I don’t care, but this isn’t right. Mages are humans like us. They bleed the same as we do. They feel the same emotions: fear, anger, joy, sadness, love.” Seokjin holds himself back, almost slipping that Jimin, of all people, would know this as much as he does. He looks at his other friends and tells them, “I understand if you guys see me differently because of this. I didn’t join Tariq because I agreed with his methods, but he was the only one in town that had me believe he’d give everyone a fair chance.”

But he was clearly wrong. Tariq treats the mages worse than animals. He doesn’t need to point it out for them to know that.

There’s a short silence that falls between them. Even Jimin frowns in silence as he thinks about what Seokjin said.

Then, Junghwan looks around and asks, “So, what’s our plan?”

Seokjin blinks at him. “What do you mean?”

Byulyi smiles. “Well, we can’t be Team Seokjin without you, right?”

Unfortunately, it’s impossible for Seokjin’s plan to happen overnight.

First, he’d have to find out where Tariq keeps the mages. Even on their journey back to New Haven, he has them tightly secured and under his control. On the rare occasions Seokjin even saw them, they were never without Tariq or any of his trusted men.

Taehyung perches on Seokjin’s shoulder when he attends the first guild meeting of the New Order. Tariq rambles on about his vision of the future: conquering quests and vanquishing foes with magic, expanding overseas, having a powerful army under his command. When the meeting is finally adjourned, the raven follows the leader of the New Order.

It isn’t until later that evening when Taehyung returns and informs, “He keeps them in a cellar. There’s a key to it around his neck.”

“That’s going to be hard to get,” Hoseok points out with a frown.

“What are things that Tariq likes?” Namjoon asks Seokjin.

“Fighting, coins, beer, women,” Seokjin lists, then pauses. Several gazes drift to you.

“No fucking way,” Yoongi hisses, standing in front of you. “We’re not going to use her to be objectified by those people.”

“It’s fine, Yoongi. I want to help,” you assure him, gently rubbing his back. You can tell the others are uncomfortable with the idea as well. “I just have to talk to the guy until someone gets the key, right?”

“Flirting would help,” Namjoon adds, a bit regretful for even bringing it up with the way his jaw clenches at the idea. He glances at your breasts and mutters, “Showing some cleavage too.”

“Namjoon!” Hoseok snaps.

“It’s a suggestion!” he shouts, throwing his hands up in defense. “Her body is nice! I really like it!”

“You don’t have to do this, angel. I’m planning on asking Byulyi and Heeyeon to help too,” Seokjin reminds you, taking our hand in his.

“I can take care of myself,” you assure him, squeezing his hand. More quietly, you ask, “You’ll watch over me, right?”

Just as softly, he promises, “I always do.”

“Good.” You lean back with a smile. “Because if this Tariq guy tries anything, you might have to hold me back from taking him down.”

Seokjin laughs and kisses your hand. “I would love to see it.”

Then, he’d need to figure out how to break them free without anyone noticing. With all of New Haven knowing that there are mages in the town, it feels like everyone is high on alert. Keeping them in the shop is out of the question. Seokjin doesn’t want to risk anyone recognizing them and putting you and the others in danger.

“My uncle might be able to get them out of town,” Jaehwan tells him when Team Seokjin reunites after the demonstration. “He travels pretty often, so he rarely keeps up with news about the town and the guilds. If we can pitch in some coins, I’m sure he won’t mind dropping them off on his next trip.”

“I know a lady who might be able to take them in for a few days,” Byulyi quietly brings up with a sad smile. “Her daughter had an awakening. She couldn’t do anything to stop the wardens from separating them, but she’s helped a couple mages since then.”

Seokjin nods, feeling a bit hopeful. Maybe this can all work out after all.

As they pass through the marketplace, someone catches Sunwoo’s attention. He nudges Junghwan, who looks over. “Whoa, who’s that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve seen her around town before,” Sunwoo says, eyes glued to someone in the crowd. “Do you reckon she’s new?”

Seokjin doesn’t know who they’re talking about, but as he looks up, his heart flutters at who he does see.

You.

Unexpectedly, you’re by the fruit stand, carefully examining apples before placing them into your basket with some eggs and flour. At your ankles is Yoongi in his cat form, seemingly having a staring contest with a toddler who keeps trying to pull away from her mother to pet him.

Like a moth to flame, and much to his friends’ surprise, Seokjin walks straight toward you. “Hey, sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, Jin! Hello.” You smile happily when you see him, equally surprised to be running into him at this time. “I’m thinking of baking apple pastries for the boys. Want to help me make them?”

“I’m busy right now,” he tells you, and it’s then that you notice that he’s with company. “But if you haven’t started when I get home, I’ll help.”

“Okay.” You wave hello to the group that are just staring at you two. A mix of shy smiles and knowing smirks are on their faces as they wave back.

“Ah, I should introduce you,” Seokjin scolds himself as he places his hand on the small of your back and faces his friends. He tells you each of their names. “Guys, this is—”

“Your wife?” Jaehwan finishes.

“Wife?” you repeat as Seokjin’s eyes widen.

“Ah. The neck-biter.” Heeyeon states with a glint in her eyes. Seokjin’s entire face feels incredibly hot as you look at him, thoroughly confused.

“Jin, what are they talking ab—”

“Honey, I don’t think you have enough ingredients in your basket. Why don’t you buy more apples?” he interrupts, giving you his entire pocket money. Even in his cat form, he could swear he saw Yoongi rolling his eyes.

You blink in surprise, but laugh in disbelief. “Sure. I’ll see you at home, husband.”

If Seokjin was a mage, he’d probably have the ground swallow him whole right then and there. There’s still a curious look on your face as you kiss him briefly and wave goodbye to his friends. But for now, you don’t question it. Instead, you pick up Yoongi and turn your attention back to the elderly woman selling apples.

Byulyi throws him a knowing smile. “So, that’s her huh?”

“Yeah, that’s her,” Seokjin confirms bashfully, rubbing his neck.

“No wonder he always wants to go home after missions,” Junghwan comments. “I would too if my wife was that pretty.”

It will also take time for Seokjin to get into Tariq’s good graces, have him trust him enough not to warrant any suspicions. Without a team, it’s harder to do these difficult missions alone. It also doesn’t feel good biding his time while he knows that mages are suffering the longer he stalls.

“Here.”

“What’s this?” Seokjin asks, taking the map from Jimin. It’s of New Haven, but there are certain areas that are marked and circled.

“Those are the coordinates of hunter territories,” Jimin carefully explains as Seokjin’s eyes widen. “If you’re going to sneak those mages out, you need to avoid those areas. Especially during the witching hour.”

“How did you find this?” he asks, a bit baffled. He hadn’t even considered hunters would be patrolling around as well. “Did you steal it from a hunter?”

Jimin merely shrugs. “I want to help too.”

“Thank you! This is really helpful!” Seokjin praises as he continues to look it over. He notices that each hunter has initials, and frowns when he sees just how many there are in New Haven now. Ever since Blackstone Castle’s fall, it seems more of them have moved into town.

His eyes linger to where the shop is and notices that there’s a designated hunter marked there too. At least, there was. Black ink crosses out the initials, but if Seokjin were to hold the map up under a certain light, he might be able to read it.

J.M.

But finally, things are starting to fall into place. They only have one shot to get this right, and failure is not an option.

Everything goes according to plan.

After a successful quest, the New Order has taken over the shop’s tavern. A feast fit for kings is being served to them, as well as endless rounds of ale and lager. Music plays a lively tune in the background of the boisterous laughter and noisy chatter. The shop’s residents are all in position: Namjoon behind the counter, Yoongi cooking in the kitchen, Hoseok tending the bar, Taehyung in charge of entertainment and setting the mood, Jungkook standing guard and forcibly escorting people out when they’ve have too much. And then, there’s you.

You’re doing your usual tasks as well: cleaning tables, serving food and drinks, collecting coins after meals, and chatting up customers. Tonight, you pay extra attention to the leader of the New Order, smiling sweetly and fluttering your eyelashes when he speaks. You indulge in his stories of his latest conquests, fascinated with how the war-time hero managed to save his men from perilous dangers, and fake-laugh your way through his flirtatious advances. Sometimes, you’d follow Namjoon’s advice and subtly push out your chest or sway your hips when he has his eye on you.

And it’s working. Perhaps, a little too well.

You have Tariq’s full attention. But Seokjin can’t stop staring at you either.

When you pass by, Seokjin waves you over. When you’re close enough, he motions you down and asks against your ear, “How’s it going?”

“Hard,” you admit, keeping your voice low as if you’re afraid one of the patrons would eavesdrop in the conversation. “I feel so awkward.”

Seokjin pulls back and looks around the tavern. Most of Tariq’s crew are starting to pass out from gluttony. The delicious food and alcohol that keep coming from the kitchen and bar make it too easy to overindulge. One bite sends tastebuds to euphoria; one sip has them craving for more. Listening carefully, it isn’t just the music that’s playing on a loop, but so is the sound of their laughter and chatter, making it hard to tell that one by one, Tariq’s men are starting to surrender to their slumber.

Part of it could be from eating and drinking too much. But more-likely, it’s from the sleep powder Yoongi and Hoseok have slowly been slipping into their food and drinks. With bellies full and their thirst quenched, they won’t remember anything when they wake: not the shop, not any of your faces, and not what will transpire tonight.

Tariq, none the wiser, sits in the middle of the tavern. He doesn’t notice that his men are slowly disappearing, being escorted by Namjoon and Jungkook into a mysterious door at the entrance of the shop. He doesn’t notice how one chef and one bartender could produce such a quantity of excellent foods and drinks within seconds, or that they’ve been tampered with. He doesn’t notice the seamlessly endless loop of music, ambiguous chatter, clinks of utensils, and faint laughter around him as Taehyung steps away from the parlor to assist you.

All Tariq can focus on is you. He can’t take his eyes off you. The glamor spell you put on yourself makes it hard for him to look away.

“Could’ve fooled me. You’re a natural,” Seokjin replies, turning his gaze back to you. Then, more seriously, he reminds you, “If you start to feel uncomfortable, we can call it off and go with another plan.”

“I’m okay because you’re here,” you tell him honestly. You trust Seokjin more than anyone, and he feels his heart race at your words as you smile at him softly. So sweet and innocent. Then, you lean toward his ear again and confess, “Besides, I pretend that it’s you I’m trying to seduce.”

His eyes widen, frozen from shock, as you casually pull away and return to your duties. He feels his entire face flush red as you look over your shoulder and smirk at him.

Perhaps, you’re having more fun with this than he initially thought.

The little exchange between you two doesn’t go unnoticed. Tariq suddenly waves for him to sit at his table. The key to the cellar hangs around his neck. Seokjin sees it as he slips into the seat in front of him.

“She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she?” Tariq inquires, gesturing at you with a nod of his head. “I saw you eyeing her all evening.”

“She’s beautiful,” Seokjin replies sincerely. With or without the glamor, Seokjin always thought you were attractive. He sees you working hard for the remaining guests, asking Taehyung to clear out a couple tables while a group calls you for more drinks.

“You like her, huh? Don’t worry. I won’t tell your wife,” Tariq jokes with a sly smile. A rush of heat colors Seokjin’s face red. He’s forgotten how everyone in the Freelancers, including Tariq and his friends, think he’s a married man. “I think she might have a sweet spot for me. I told her I’m going to change the world by bringing mages into the guilds. She asked me how that’s possible, and you know what I said?”

“What?”

“Control,” he casually answers with a sadistic glint in his eye. “You have to put them under your thumb. Let them know their place. These mages are vicious forces, and they have the power over all things natural and unnatural. Humans like us have to show them who is in command.”

“Or you could respect them,” Seokjin counters with a frown. “Mages are humans too.”

As a former warden, Seokjin has seen the abuse of power over mages first-hand. How worthless their lives are to the Devoted, who weed them out through Harrowings and false claims of corruption. Eventually, the mages will fight back. Like Adriel. Like the forest mage. And, inevitably, like you.

Tariq scoffs and waves you over. “Funny. She said the same thing.”

“Hello, sir. What can I get for you?” you direct your question to Tariq, but your eyes flicker briefly to Seokjin. The two of you are pretending not to know each other – the less Tariq and his men know about his personal connections to the shop, the better – but Seokjin can tell that you’re a little nervous.

“I just wanted to let you know that my buddy thinks you’re very beautiful,” Tariq tells you, trying to tease Seokjin.

You turn to him with a knowing smile. “Does he?”

“I do,” he replies, honest. Without thinking, his hand reaches out from under the table to touch the back of your leg. You nearly jump from contact, throwing him a bewildered look, but Seokjin remains cool, calm, and collected. There’s a small, smug smirk on his lips. Payback for what you told him earlier.

“I think he’s very handsome too,” you say, a bit flustered. It’s cute that you’re trying not to let him affect you. But he can feel the way your body tenses beneath his fingertips, how forced your smile is as you look at him nervously because Tariq is right there.

Seokjin doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. When he reached out, he meant to just comfort you, let you know that he’s there if you need him. Maybe it’s because you’re flirting with another man. Maybe it’s the way Tariq is looking at you. But the way Seokjin’s fingers tease up the hem of your dress becomes a bit possessive. A subtle reminder that, at the end of the day, you’re still his.

“Two ales for me and the kid, pretty thing,” Tariq finally orders, unaware of what’s going on with you two.

“I’ll be right back with your drinks,” you tell him with a pleasant smile, and nudge Seokjin’s hand away. As you turn to leave, you shoot him a look. And Seokjin has the audacity to wink back at you.

“I think she might have a sweet spot for you too,” Tariq comments as he watches you leave. His gaze lingers a little too long for Seokjin’s liking. “How was your mission?”

“It went well. As expected,” Seokjin lies with ease. Before coming to the shop, he was personally tasked to take care of some goons Tariq had a hit on. People he suspects are conspiring against him. Little does he know, Seokjin plans to do the same.

You give Hoseok the order, both of you eyeing the table where Tariq and Seokjin are. When Seokjin gives the signal – a very slight nod of his head – Hoseok grabs two clean glasses and fills them with ale.

“I knew I could count on you,” Tariq continues with a proud smile. Instead of killing them off, Seokjin had warned them of Tariq’s intentions and told them to skip town for a while. “I think you have the potential of being a great guild leader one of these days.”

“You think so?”

Seokjin watches as Hoseok sprinkles a light-blue powder in one of the drinks and mixes it in. A faint smoke emerges from it, indicating that it’s been tampered with.

“I see a lot of myself in you, kid. You’re driven, strong, and with a good head. You’re not influenced by the bullshit ideals that my brother and most of the town believes.” He pauses as he looks at Seokjin curiously. “Are you Devoted?”

“I was raised to be, but my beliefs don’t align with the teachings anymore.”

Before he hands the drinks to you, Hoseok tells you which one is which. You nod your head, making sure you don’t mix them up as you start to walk toward their table.

“Good. Same as me,” Tariq agrees with an approving nod. “The Devoted like to think their war against the mages is a noble cause, but at the end of the day, war is nothing but death and destruction. It doesn’t matter if the enemies you’re against are magical or not. I hope your family doesn’t give you a hard time about it like mine does.”

“Here you go. Two ales,” you announce as you place the cold drinks in front of them. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“I think we’re good for now,” Seokjin answers, looking at you with a softer expression. The hardest part is almost over. It’ll be easy to snatch the key around his neck once the potion hits. “Thank you.”

“This is an interesting place you found here, kid,” Tariq tells him, looking around the shop. Something about this place feels so whimsical and enchanting. “I know New Haven like the back of my head, but I’ve never been here before. It’s almost magical.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Seokjin chuckles and raises his glass to Tariq. “To the New Order and to you, Tariq.”

“To the New Order.”

Clink.

Their glasses touch and they take a drink. For a moment, the loop of music and background ambiance stops. It’s quiet, and the shop’s residents watch as the golden liquid slides down Tariq’s throat. He finishes the last drop, and once he sets down the glass, everything resumes as normal. The lively tune plays on, and all of you are back to work and taking care of the remaining customers.

Everything is going exactly as planned.

Until it doesn’t.

“You’re really working that thing, aren’t you?”

Nearby, a group of drunk men have turned their attention to you. Seokjin sees their hungry stares before you meet their gaze. The way their eyes trail up and down your body, lingering blatantly on your ass and tits. He sees their smirks and hears their snickers as another man faces you and pats his leg. “Yeah, why don’t you take a break and sit with us, sweet thing?”

Seokjin feels his whole body tense up, ready to step in and snap at them to leave you alone. Tariq watches as well, more humored than angry, as his men drunkenly cat-call you and make lewd remarks.

“No, no. I’m quite busy,” you tell them firmly. Your eyes lock with Seokjin as well, a wordless assurance that you can handle yourself.

In situations like this, Namjoon would take over certain tables when they become too rowdy. He’d be the one who’d calmly but sternly have them wrap things up before they cause a scene. Before things escalate.

“Don’t be like that, baby. Come on. Give us a smile. We’re just trying to be nice.”

But Namjoon, nor any of the other boys, have realized what’s happening yet.

The men chuckle darkly, and the way that they continue to undress you with their eyes makes Seokjin’s blood boil. It’s subtle, but the lights around the shop flicker briefly, as if a breeze has just passed through. As if the shop senses your uneasiness.

“I think you’ve all had enough to drink,” you start, glaring at the men before you.

“For a pretty girl, you sure are a bitch with a smart mouth,” one guy remarks as he suddenly grabs your arm. “Instead of talking back, why don’t I show you what else your mouth can—”

Ice-cold water from a canister is unceremoniously dumped on his head. The man instantly lets you go, and Taehyung pulls you close to him. Soaking wet, the man turns to the raven familiar and the empty canister in his hand.

With a blank face, Taehyung casually tells him, “It looks like you need to cool off.”

“Asshole!” the man snaps, getting into Taehyung’s face. A plate shatters to the ground, causing the remaining patrons – and the other residents of the shop – to stop what they’re doing and see what’s going on.

Taehyung remains unfazed by his aggression, but moves you behind him.

Before Seokjin realizes what he’s doing, he suddenly stands up and makes his way toward you two before the others do. He pushes the man away from Taehyung.

“Back off. Don’t you dare touch them.”

“Didn’t you see what this fucker did? If this little slut—”

The man yelps in pain when Seokjin suddenly grabs the front of his shirt and shoves him hard against the table. Plates and utensils clatter, and drinks spill over. Tension rises as the friends he was eating with stand up as well.

“I’m only going to warn you one more time,” Seokjin informs, his voice low and with an anger you’ve rarely seen in him. “Leave my friends alone, or I won’t hesitate to run a sword through you.”

Stubbornly, the man grits his teeth and clenches his hand into a fist. “Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?”

“Guys, that’s enough. Apologize to the pretty lady and her friends,” Tariq commands as the fist comes close to Seokjin’s jaw. The man looks ready to argue, but even he knows he can’t go against the leader’s orders. And once a half-hearted apology is made, Tariq continues to look at Seokjin curiously. “It seems you know about this shop and the people here more than you let on, kid.”

Seokjin doesn’t know when, but all the other boys are suddenly with you. Jungkook cracks his neck, mouth twitching as he stares at the group with darkened eyes. Yoongi stares at the group with a look that could put a wrath demon to shame. Hoseok has his hand firmly on your wrist as Namjoon murmurs for Taehyung to take you to Jimin’s.

Not because you necessarily need protection.

But because they know how fiercely protective you are of Seokjin.

Seeing the man nearly hit Seokjin made you furious. Seokjin realizes that Hoseok is holding your wrist so you don’t use magic, murmuring against your temple to calm down. Even as Taehyung tugs you to come with him, you refuse to budge. Your eyes are glued to the group of men, and perhaps it’s the lighting, but Seokjin had seen that look on your face once before.

When you almost turned Wicked.

Yoongi steps in front of you, blocking your view of them and Seokjin. Whatever he says to you snaps you out of it. And when Seokjin peeks at you, your eyes are still the same. No trace of golden Wickedness in your irises. Even though you’re still angry and refuse to leave him out of your sight.

“I should’ve known this was some kind of set up,” Tariq begins, laughing in disbelief. “What’s this all about, Seokjin? Do you want money? Glory? Who the hell are these people anyway?”

Seokjin turns to him. In a tavern where most of his men have been knocked out, and where the remaining will soon forget, a truth is revealed. “This is my family.”

“Looks more like a coven to me,” Tariq states, eyeing the others. It starts to make sense to him why Seokjin picked his side over his brother’s. Why he seemed so concerned about the mages to begin with. “Is this about the demonstration? You’re upset that I hurt one of your kind, aren’t you?”

“Boss…” the man behind Seokjin croaks out, voice heavy with sleep. He wobbles on his feet and his eyes roll to the back of his head before the spell overcomes him.

One by one, the others start to fall into a deep sleep as well. And it’s only then that Tariq realizes he’s the last man standing. Without his crew, and for the first time in a very long while, Tariq looks terrified. “What have you done? What did you do to us?”

“Don’t worry. You won’t remember,” Seokjin assures him, stepping closer to him. “Not this shop, not any of our faces, not even the mages you tortured after the mission. To you, it will be just a dream. And you and your men will travel far from here and won’t harm another mage again. Am I clear?”

Tariq nods his head, eyes glazed over as the command settles in. His body begins to relax, fall sluggish, and then he slowly starts to slip to the ground. Already, the faces of Seokjin, you, and the others begin to blur before his eyes. Memories start to escape him. He wants to travel, get out of town, sail the seas, but to where?

“Good,” Seokjin finishes, holding out his hand as the hypnosis takes its effect completely and Tariq begins to pass out. “Now hand me the key around your neck.”

In the dark and damp cellar, three mages are barely alive. Old and fresh wounds are all over their bodies, and it feels like months since they’ve eaten anything but scraps of moldy bread or rusty water. They’ve lost count of their days, but at this point, anything is better than this hell, even the Veil itself.

A flinch of fear twitches in their bodies when the sound of the cellar key unlocks. It must be that man again, coming to torture them more, until they’re obedient like dogs to use as tools for his quests.

“Are you guys in here?”

One of the women dares to lift her head, seeming to recognize the voice calling out to the darkness. Her voice is barely a whisper when she answers, “Yes, we’re here.”

Light shines upon them like a candle of hope. And Seokjin is holding the torch. He looks relieved to see them, to see that they’re still alive, but frowns at the urgent conditions they’re in. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out small vials. “These should help a little.”

As the liquid touches their lips, they’re surprised. It’s a healing potion.

Already, the warm and rejuvenating effects surges an energy in them. Pain melts away in an instant. Life starts to shine back into their eyes. It’s a small and temporary fix, but it’s the best they’ve felt in ages.

With stiff and sore joints and muscles, they help each other out of the dark cellar and under the bright moon and its blanket of stars. Tears fall from the male mage’s eyes as he leans his weight on his friend, barely able to walk on his own. The team Seokjin was with is there to meet them, and Seokjin explains that they will help them safely get out of town and to a place where they can stay for a little while.

There is another group with them as well. Two male mages, one female mage, and their familiars. Another human is with them too, astonished by an entire guild of ruthless, cutthroat men snoring away as you all help carry them into Tariq’s house.

“Is that them?” the female mage that Seokjin had talked to after the mission inquires, looking at you all. Seokjin follows her gaze and sees Jungkook flexing to impress you before he hoists one of the bodies over his shoulder.

“Yeah. That’s my family.”

“Family, huh? That’s nice,” she continues. Despite how hectic and draining the night has been, you laugh and playfully smack Jungkook as you follow him inside. It’s once the two of you are out of sight where she finally looks away. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your name.”

“Ah, that’s right. My name is Seokjin,” he says, a bit embarrassed that he had planned a whole rescue mission and didn’t even properly introduce himself yet. “And you?”

She smiles. “You can call me Lilah.”

“We’ve been here for hours and we didn’t catch anything,” Taehyung whines, visibly glum that the group decided to return back empty-handed. Hoseok chuckles and pats his shoulder to comfort him.

“It was still fun. I liked it,” Yoongi admits as Seokjin practically beams at him.

“What about you, honey? Did you like it?” he asks you, hoping you had a good time. Though, he can’t help but feel a bit disappointed that your first fishing trip together wasn’t as action-packed as he’d like.

“I won’t lose points with your parents if we show up without a fish?” you ask him, half-joking but also like you’re ready to go back out there and use magic to lure in the biggest catch if he says you would.

“Don’t worry,” Jimin says, putting his arm around you. “We can go to the market, buy a fish there, and say we caught it.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Namjoon mutters, thinking about it.

“Oh! I want to look at the marketplace here!” Jungkook states, eyes wide with interest when he realizes there might be new food to try in this small town.

Seokjin laughs. “We can go check some places out, but we’re not lying to my parents.”

The trip that Seokjin has been wanting to take you all to was finally happening. After saving up for it, and pushing it back, all of you have arrived at his small, fisherman town. Not much has changed since he left, and his parents were surprised that he had returned home with so many people eager to meet them.

But after they received his letters, they were equally eager to meet you. The one who changed their son to be a braver, more open-minded man. To see with their own eyes that their son is still good and hard-working, and is also very-well loved by his new-found family.

After a quick trip to the market, you, Seokjin, and Yoongi prepare a nice dinner for his parents. The rest of your group offer to clean up afterwards. As Seokjin adds vegetables into his stew, he hears his mother call for him to her bedroom.

“This belonged to my grandmother,” she tells him, revealing an old ring she’s been looking for. “When you marry that girl, use this ring.”

Seokjin smiles as he looks at it. He feels touched, surprised, but also sad. Mages aren’t allowed to marry. There won’t be a beautiful ceremony for you and Seokjin that his parents would attend. Giving you the ring won’t change the way things currently are between you and him now.

“I will, Mom. Thank you.”

“It’s beautiful, Jin.”

You look down at the ring around your finger. Under the sunlight, the diamonds sparkle beautifully. It reminds you of stars, and the way the surfaces of clear water glimmer. Coincidentally, it has seven stones embedded in the band.

“Even if it’s just pretend, my mom will be happy when she sees you wear it next time.”

You look up at Seokjin, and you see him staring at the ring as well. It’s a perfect fit.

A moment of silence passes between you two before you finally ask, “Jin, why do you pretend that we’re married?”

He meets your gaze, a bit embarrassed now. He remembers when you met his friends at the marketplace and how they referred to you as his wife. Awkwardly, he looks away again and rubs his neck. “Oh, they just assumed. I never bothered to correct them.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” Maybe it makes him happy to pretend as well.

“Do you want to marry me?”

He sighs. “You know I would if— why are you kneeling?”

When he looks back at you, you’re kneeling on the ground, holding his hand with the ring he had put on your finger. Then, you wrap your pinky around his.

“I don’t know if I’m doing this right,” you tell him, a bit shyly. “But maybe we can find someone who can officiate us. Maybe if the other guys want to be married too, we can include them. Maybe we can find our own way to make it work. But I love you, Kim Seokjin. I truly do. And if you’ll have me, I wouldn’t be opposed to having a worldwide handsome husband either.”

Seokjin stares at you, shocked, happy, and so full of love. He laughs and kneels down with you, holding your face in his hands as he kisses you.

Two weeks later, after you and the others return from the trip, Seokjin meets up with his team at the shop. They look around in awe and wonder before settling in the tavern. It feels strange that it wasn’t that long ago that everything with Tariq had happened.

Now, he’s embarking on a new journey overseas with his trusted men. None of them remember what had happened after they woke up. Tariq doesn’t even remember why he and his brother have fought, but he had decided that staying in New Haven was no longer what he wanted to do anymore. And Adnan could run the Freelancers however he pleases without arguing with his brother all the time.

Seokjin got word that the mages made it safely to a place, but the one named Lilah had left the group and seemingly disappeared.

The other boys were upset that Seokjin didn’t give them a head’s up about giving you the ring or the proposal, but none of them were opposed to the idea of marrying you eventually either. Even Jimin returned to the flower shop and muttered about trying to find a ring that he had somewhere.

“Here’s some drinks for everyone,” you announce, setting down the beverages in front of each of them. Seokjin murmurs his thanks and pulls you down for a quick kiss. It makes Byulyi and Junghwan scrunch their noses as Sunwoo, Heeyeon, and Jaehwan smile at him.

“So, you and your wife are doing well,” Heeyeon remarks, resting her chin on the palm of her hand.

“She’s great. We’re great,” Seokjin confirms with a tiny, shy smile. No one else is at the shop at this time, so you talk to Hoseok at the bar and pet Yoongi, who is sleeping on it in his cat form.

“I guess you could say things have been pretty magical lately?” Jaehwan inquires as Seokjin turns to him, surprised.

Byulyi laughs at his expression. “We figured it out a long time ago, Jin. It’s okay. We won’t tell anyone about them.”

“Oh. Okay.” He sighs with relief. “They’re the reason why I had to save those mages.”

“We know,” Sunwoo says with a smile. “It was kind of nice doing a mission like that. Without Adnan or Tariq. Just us, your mage wife, and your magical friends.”

Junghwan groans. “What are we going to do now? I still want to go on quests with you guys, but I don’t think I want to join the Freelancers again.”

“They’re slowly becoming like any other guild now,” Heeyeon agrees, shaking her head. After the rescue mission, they don’t think they could join another guild that sees mages as enemies either.

Seokjin is quiet as he thinks about the past few months. He used to be traditional, following his orders and duties diligently, listening to words of the Devoted. Now, he’s changed a lot as he thinks about what Tariq said, about how you and him are willing to make things work in your own way, how they’ve all started to see mages as friends and not enemies.

“Why don’t we just make our own guild?” Seokjin suggests, as he looks at his friends before him. They look back at him with interested looks and excited smiles. “We’ve done missions on our own before. We can do it again.”

“Yeah, we can just register as our own guild in the town square and start off by taking missions at the local community board,” Byulyi reasons, already starting to organize it together. “We’ll need a name though. What should we call ourselves?”

Seokjin glances at you and sees all the things he’s promised to you with the ring you wear around your finger. “Let’s call ourselves the Oathkeepers.”

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

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#magic shop series #seokjin x reader #seokjin x you #seokjin smut #bts fantasy au #bts smut #bts magic au #bts fanfic #bts witch au

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darcylightninglewis · 2 months

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I know there are bound to be differences from book to screen. I know no one will ever be happy as a book lover to watch an adaptation fall short in someway. It just feels so very avoidable if they went in chronological order. Give them 1.5-2 more years. Let Penelope become her own person a tiny bit beyond Whistledown. Be pleased with where she gets LD to.

Let Colin gain more of a personality than eating and leaving. Make him the lovable scamp you show Benedict to be. Let him grow restless.

Let them be awkward after Colin, a friend (and crush) offends her in her own home in front of potential suitors. What’s more British than not actually talking about it???? Let Benedict find his Cinderella. Maybe LW is kinder than everyone expects, even goes after Sophie’s “family” and while Eloise won’t forgive her outright, maybe she’s less vindictive.

Let them build something from that as he travels. And when he gets back, all bronze and hunky, suddenly smooth to every female (as they seem to imply he suddenly is) but he’s there for his family. He’s there for his truly good friend Penelope, who has taken control of her wardrobe if nothing else and avoids yellows. She looks lovely, is friendly with Lady Danbury, has a begrudging standoffish relationship with Eloise that no one really knows what happened. She is warm to Kate the few times they interact as to not piss off Eloise and Violet still has a fondness for.

She can still want out of the Featherington household, by way of marriage. She can find her voice without LW as a mask, making Colin sit up a bit more. She’s always looked lovely, but does she sparkle when she laughs? Is that new?

And then finding out she’s LW, perhaps concern warring with the fact that she’s found something her own. The same thing we wants too, and is jealous of that. Jealous that she is indeed braver for risking it all and leaving behind more than her name and status. That while yes, he has been running away he’s found something, created something that he can’t find the courage to take further like she has. That both his older brothers are happily settled with their own things to look after but he feels at sea even when he is home.

Still can have Francesca meet John, still have Eloise & Pen not talking. But there’s more emotion behind it. Instead of 2 late bloomers discovering they’re suddenly hot, thank goodness they’re friends. Someone start playing Linger by the Cranberries.

Sorry, just needed to get this out.

#bridgerton #polin #I’m still gonna watch #but man am I not hopeful at all #if you like what they’re doing that’s fine #I’m happy for you #I wish I did too #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #/rant

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one-idea · 2 months

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I love your wado ichimoji pov posts! Your only in whisky peak and show devotion well in an inanimate object well "my dumass son" (affectionately) *less than 2 weeks after starting to travel with others, the captain still believes after them losing badly*: I have 2 to protect now my son and a little king. What I'm really looking forward to 1. resignation at some point is that Sandai Kitetsu is going to continue to be here 2. the treasure trove of Timeskip on Mihawk's creepy would produce 3. sibling time with enma (Christ they have been made by the same person but wados going to be the only voice of reason between the 3).

Thank you so much!!! Sorry this took me a hot minute to respond to.

I really love that au and I want to work on it more.

As I am only in Thriller Bark I can’t speak in earnest about all of your ideas (yet) but I can hit one.

1. Wado excepting that Sandai Kitsune is here to stay.

They come to a begrudging understanding at the end of Whiskey Peak. Wado still doesn’t like Sandai and hopes Zoro gets ride of it, but at least Sandai has respect for the captain now.

It’s Alabaster where Zoro learns to cut steal when the two finally start to have a smidgen of respect for each other. After all Zoro uses all three blades to cut steal, if Sandai was truly a weak blade she would have broken by now.

Through Jaya and Skypia all three blades are focused on protecting Captain and crew. Gaining respect for some of the other crewmates (namely Robin) though throughout it all Wado is still waiting for Zoro to find a better sword.

It isn’t until Water 7 and Enies Lobby. When all three blades are in unity fighting to save one of their own. Because their King and Master wants the Archaeologist back. Because the King has lead them to an incredible fight, a test of their Skills. Because their King keeps asking them to do the impossible with total confidence that they can, they won’t let him down. (The sea train is going to be fun)

It isn’t until Yabashiri is destroyed that Wado realizes she wasn’t ready to lose either companion.

It’s been so long since she had traveled with companions who had voices. These were the first blades Zoro had, besides her, that had distinguishable voices. To hear one of those go out rattles both Wado and Sandai.

The rust man could have grabbed any of them but he grabbed Yabashiri. Her voice was gone. It takes sometime for both Wado and Sandai to come to terms with that.

While Wado is still annoyed with Sandai and her violent tendencies, she’s mellowed under Zoro’s care. Her bloodthirsty now matches his own. And while she does occasionally cry out for blood, it’s normally because of a threat to King or crew. She no longer calls for the blood of just anyone, only outside threats. Problem is those threats haven’t always attacked them yet. (Sandai’s more of a if we kill it before it can attack it can’t hurt them, sort of protector)

Wado and her still butt heads, but Sandai made it this far as a Grade blade, she’s not going anywhere soon.

Once in Thriller Bark, once they gain Shushi, another one of the 21 Great grade blades, a fully realized black blade, and Wado’s sibling to boot. Things get shaken up again.

Where Wado is motherly and protective of her dumb son’s dreams and loved ones. Aligned with Zoro in dream and crew, knowing him the longest and living up his values.

And Kitsune is Zoro’s bloodthirstiness. His violence but also protective fury. Zoro changed her from pure bloodshed to reflect his own violence. She reflects his more aggressive side.

Yabashiri was quite. One to follow Wado’s lead but still had its own personality. In that offered caution. She reflects Zoro’s observation. The ability to tell what is and isn’t a threat and when to act.

Shushi is different. Shushi already had a master take it to the full extent of its power. He is stronger and more durable. Increasing Zoro’s strength and forcing the others to rise to his level. Zoro cannot take this blade farther, rather he must rise to meet its strength and durability. Harding himself and his other blades to become the strong unbreakable protector of the crew.

Wado and Sandai are not (yet) black blades they can still grow and rise with Zoro’s power. Shushi is both a greatly needed boost and a challenge to rise to. He often thinks back on his prior master and compares Zoro to him. (He is quite pleased to be wielded by a descendent of his beloved Shimotsuki Ryuma)

Once I get to Zoro training with Mihawk I’ll talk more about them. But it’s going to be really fun to write all three swords interacting with Yoru. But it’s also going to be hard on Wado. Up until then Zoro favored her as his one sword style blade. But after his time with Mihawk it switches to Shushi. A stronger more durable blade. While the switch makes sense, I’m sure it was a hard transition for both Wado and Zoro. And I’m excited to write on it.

I am so excited to get to Wado and get Enma. It’s a needed change for Zoro to push forward. While Enma has great power on its own, it’s not yet a permanent black blade. There is still room to grow and strengthen along side Zoro. Shushi couldn’t grown anymore. Zoro had mastered it, he rose to the challenge and surpassed it. Now he needs to bring his own blades to the top.

(I really hope one of his blades becomes permanently black by the end of the show. I want it to be Wado)

Right now I’m in Thriller Bark, but the platform im watching on only has the show up to Marineford/ASL adventures so once I get through all of that, I will either rewatch all pre-time skip and start writing my Wado Ichimoji POV au and Reverse Strawhats while I wait for the platform to put up more episodes or I’ll crack and get a new subscription to watch post time skip. Only time will tell.

#one piece #roronoa zoro #zolu #one piece zolu #wado ichimonji #wadi Ichimonji pov #sandai kitetsu #yabashiri #shushi #Enma

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alexanderlightweight · 1 year

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I know I'm early for your Wednesday Writing, but I just got this prompt idea and I didn't want to forget it!

Time Travelling Alec who ends up back before Clary arrives. Alec could solve everything before it starts, but his main goal is to woo the fuck out of Magnus. Cue a confused but smitten Magnus who has this handsome Shadowhunter spoiling him for no reason?

here we go! i hope you enjoy it. saeth and i were talking and we both agreed that an alec who went back in time wouldn't be able to stop himself from going straight to magnus

<3 lumine

Magnus thinks nothing of it when a shadowhunter enters his club, at least until the shadowhunter approaches him. It’s with derision that Magnus means to look at him and send him away, and instead Magnus is fascinated.

His shadowhunter is staring at Magnus with something close to reverence and he looks lost, like something broke him and he thinks Magnus is what will fix him.

It’s with a wave of his hand that Magnus sends away his entourage and he crooks his fingers. His shadowhunter stumbles to him and then, he keeps coming. Magnus has a lapful of tall, runed muscles that constrict around him like a boa might before he even realizes what’s happening.

“Magnus—” is murmured like a prayer into his neck and his shadowhunter shakes against him, holding Magnus like he’s terrified he’ll be forced away.

“What do you need, angel?” Magnus teases, voice hoarse as he holds his nephilim close and wonders what new trap this is.

“Take me home Magnus?”

It’s a ridiculous request but Magnus does it. He portals them to his bed and wraps around the shadowhunter who falls asleep staring at Magnus, hands tightly holding onto him.

Magnus barely waits until he’s fallen asleep before he slips into his shadowhunter’s dreams. It’s with growing disbelief that he watches a few years play out before it’s lost, in the blink of an eye.

“Oh, is that how it is?” Magnus murmurs, because Alexander’s memories shouldn’t still exist but they’re protected, by a magic that Magnus’ recognizes as a more potent form of his own.

It’s with curiosity that he examines the gift he’s been given. While Alexander interests him, Magnus is honestly more intent on figuring out what the little trails of magic throughout his body are.

They’re not natural and they react to Magnus. It’s without actually considering that it will work, that Magus sends a spark of his own magic into the network of energy.

Immediately Alexander’s body lights up, every bit of him reaching out to Magnus.

It’s with shaking hands that Magnus bends down and presses his lips over Alexander’s heart. He thought his older self to be silly, to care for a nephilim so much but Magnus understands now the devotion under him.

Alexander wakes up slowly, reaching out carefully and gently as he waits for Magnus to accept or deny his touch.

“I gave myself a little boost from your core. No memories, Alexander.” Magnus tells him, unable to not immediately dash any possible hope Alexander might have. The years Alexander had with a version of Magnus he’ll never be are gone and Magnus won’t begrudge him them, but he won’t lie to Alexander about who he is.

“Then you harvested it safely?”

“You knew it was there?” Magnus marvels, because those were shards of hellfire stored in an angelic core and preserved despite the glacial grasp of Alexander’s grace.

“Of course.” Alexander murmurs, “we planned it out for ages, how to connect it to me instead of Edom, just in case. I’m glad you got it, it’s more important than memories could be, Magnus.”

Magnus is surprised but Alec just smiles wanly at him and shakes his head, “you can’t fight Valentine, Lilith or Asmodeus with only memories Magnus. Your safety will always be my priority.” There’s something sad there in his gaze and Magnus snaps his fingers, aching for a distraction and summoning them food.

“We’ll figure this out just fine.” Magnus promises, because even if Alexander weren’t interesting and intriguing, Magnus can feel him now, still connected to the magick Magnus now wields.

There is no way that Magnus will be able to give him up, so now there is only to keep him.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters

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jaguarys · 8 months

Text

Owen is no stranger to his brother being… odd, for lack of a better word. He’s known since they’d met, since he’d first seen him.

It’s Jedi magic, or so he calls it, as much as Ani hates it when he calls it that. But that’s what it is, whether or not Ani wants to admit it, and even if he finds it odd he would never begrudge him for it.

Which is not to say he’s never… frightened of it. He is. Often, even. His brother is not human, or not entirely, and it’s something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. From the moment they’d met, Ani had never acted like a normal child, or any child at all. Owen has his doubts he ever was, much as their mother wants to believe it.

All this to say, it’s far, far too late for guests, both the suns disappeared behind the horizon, and there’s a Zabrak at their door.

Owen does not have the same capacity for Jedi magics his brother does, or any capacity at all, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling the pressure of this man’s strength.

It’s so very unlike Ani’s, he thinks. Ani is strong, certainly stronger than this man, but there are sharp edges here he’s never sensed in his brother. He gets the sense Ani tries to keep himself under wraps, keeps himself tightly coiled, and that is not present here.

He gets the sense this man could not hold a candle to his brother, but that is precisely why he immediately feels more afraid.

And this is why he abruptly turns and says to the man, “I’ll get him.”

He knows, somehow, maybe simply because this is distinctly Jedi (or not, if Ani is to be believed), that the Zabrak is here for Ani.

Owen must be correct, because Ani appears to have sensed him. He’s already on his way before Owen can even call him.

He immediately brushes past Owen and out the door to join the Zabrak, and if his tongue weren’t quite so heavy in his mouth Owen would certainly complain about it. As it is, he simply keeps out of the way and resigns himself to sitting at the kitchen table until the two are done.

The two settle on the low wall outside the home. If it were anyone else, Owen would worry about two people alone in the middle of the Tatooine desert, but he knows better than that.

Their voices are quiet between them, and he would have no hopes even without the winds that he would be able to hear them. Instead, he simply waits.

“You didn’t need to stay up,” Ani tells him when he reenters. Owen can’t entirely read the expression on his face. He doubts if he’ll ever be able to.

He shrugs. “I did.”

Ani scowls at that, but he doesn’t say anything, just settles across from Owen at the table.

They stay quiet for a long moment. Owen notes the way the moonlight travels across the space between them until Ani is coated in it. He turns his head, and the image in front of him flickers, just for a moment, until his brother looks like something else, something different, something large and dark and inhuman. He shivers, suddenly cold, and looks away.

“Who was that?” He asks, to change the subject.

It’s Ani’s turn to shrug. “Someone who wanted my help.”

Owen clicks his tongue. That could mean any number of things, but mostly that Ani doesn’t want to say any more, and he knows better than to stick his nose where it’s not wanted.

“Did you give it?” He asks instead. That’s all that really matters, in the end.

Ani hums. “I did. If he takes it remains to be seen.”

“I imagine he did in some way, if he sought you out.”

There’s a huff, and Owen suddenly gets the sense his brother is far older than his teenage years. He feels that way sometimes, that Ani has lived so much longer than him, that he’s seen so much more, and it leaves him feeling surprisingly… small.

“I suppose you’re right,” Ani says, which has Owen blinking. Ani is usually so bullheaded that it catches him off guard, and in a less serious conversation he knows he would be teasing him for it, but he can’t quite muster the energy.

“I am glad he sought me out,” Ani continues. “I didn’t expect it, as much as I’d hoped.”

“You were expecting him for a while, then?” Owen asks, trying to read between the lines.

“No, not expecting. Just waiting.”

Owen resists the urge to say, Semantics, but he knows what Ani means. He hums.

They stay at the table for a while longer before Owen finally leaves, right as the suns start to rise. There’s work to be done, and it doesn’t wait for Jedi business.

>>>

This is the newest chapter of my fic It's Quicker and Easier to Eat Your Young!, which you can also find on my AO3! Thank you for reading!

#personal #fic: it's quicker and easier to eat your young!#star wars #darth vader #anakin skywalker #owen lars #star wars prequels #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 writer #ao3fic #ao3 #sw rots #revenge of the sith #fandom: star wars #type: fanfic

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bobaboob · 1 year

Text

based on a hc from my twitter mutual i couldn't get out of my head

please enjoy my self indulgent older brother diluc and his weird sisterdaughter diona <3

words: 4.2k

Diluc hears her before he sees her.

It’s late. Late enough that even the most incorrigible drunkards Mondstadt has to offer have long deserted her dark streets.

He had closed up shop at the tavern not five minutes earlier, sighing as he shouldered his coat and prepared to begin his nightly rounds of the city. Before he could shed his usual attire, shifting personas as easily as day shifts to night, he had been struck with the whim of going to visit the cats that gathered outside of the neighboring Cat’s Tail, attracted by the bowls of fish tidbits the owner left out. Surely no one would begrudge him this small luxury of companionship before he resigned himself to the lonely night once more?

Besides, there’s no one awake to judge him as he changes course, feet turning from the familiar path home to the alley that leads to the other tavern.

He’s only half the vigilant traveler he usually is as he winds quietly past the empty flower stalls, his tall frame slumped slightly in thought. He should really remember to bring food for these strays more often. Not that they weren’t well fed already- Diluc is sure he’s far from the only one regularly paying his attentions to them- but it can’t hurt. The smaller ones tend to be scared of his size when he stoops down to offer a hand to them, so maybe he ought to put in more effort to being approachable...

Diluc is so preoccupied with the issue of the fickle affections of Mondstadt’s strays that he almost doesn’t hear her the first time, but the second sound makes him pause, his already quiet footfalls stilling to nothing. A soft, hiccuping sob echoes down the cobblestone path.

Oh. That’s a child’s sob, Diluc realizes. No enemy, regardless of skill, could mimic that tone.

A few painful memories threaten to surface, skimming the back of his consciousness. He steadily ignores them.

There it is again. Diluc’s soft, quiet breathing contrasts his racing thoughts as he tries to rationally plan his next move. Obviously, the parental voice in his head (that sounds suspiciously like his father) says, you should carefully approach the child and see if they’re hurt, or lost, or scared, or if you can do anything to help.

The other half of his brain reminds him that he doesn’t have the best track record when dealing with children, and... Well. If he’s being honest, he’ll probably just scare them even more.

Regardless of his internal conflict, though, the one part of himself that Diluc can never repress is holding its own. His conscience, bastard that it is, won’t let him leave the scene of a crying child without doing something.

He exhales through his nose. Okay. You can do this, moron. It’s just a kid. His feet move forward, purposefully a bit louder than usual- he doesn’t want to surprise them. Just don’t be scary. Be normal. Be an adult who wants to help. Be Fath-

His internal mantra stops in its tracks when he rounds the corner and takes in a small, huddled figure on the back porch of the tavern. A figure with equally small cat ears.

Oh. Oh, no. This isn’t going to work at all.

Before he can make a tactical retreat, though, she’s spotted him. He sees the hair rise on the tips of her ears and tail, but there’s no fight in her red-rimmed eyes as he meets them with his own.

He clears his throat quietly. “Are- Are you alright?”

Diona doesn’t respond, sniffling and shoving her face back into her elbow.

Of all the kids in Mondstadt, you run across the one that hates you most. Really batting a thousand tonight, huh, Diluc?

Ugh. That one sounded like Kaeya.

She’s not currently spitting venom or running away, though, and his conscience must take that as encouragement, because his boots are moving again before he notices. Small, short steps, like he’s approaching a wild animal. Which, he kind of is, he reasons to himself.

Her ears flick. She can hear him approach, he’s sure, but she just huddles closer to herself, hugging her knees tighter. She looks even smaller than usual. Diluc bites down anger at Margaret yet again for hiring such a young girl to work in a place like a tavern.

Had something happened with a patron? The vision strapped to his thigh heats up at the thought, already sending heat dancing to his fingertips. He feels the telltale creep of fury as it seeps into his bloodstream like ice. Not now, he chides. You’ll scare her. Later.

He’s within ten feet of her when her head darts up from her arms. She’s- oh, bless her, he thinks, she’s trying very hard to glare at him. In her current state, though, with tears streaking down her face and her lower lip wobbling, it’s not a very convincing act. Still, he stops, and after a moment he lowers his large body to the ground facing her.

This is what he does with the other stray cats, so theoretically it should work on this one too, right?

As if summoned by his train of thought, a lazy grey tail pokes out of the nearby bush and follows a sleek grey body that emerges from the leaves. He smiles in spite of himself, feeling Diona’s eyes on him. He holds out a large, gloved hand, before having a sudden change of heart and removing his glove, tucking it into his breast pocket and offering his bare hand to the inquisitive nose sniffing it. The cat, known to him only as Ash, seems to approve of him. She brushes up against him, letting his scarred hand scratch between her ears.

“She doesn’t usually like that.”

Diona’s voice is quiet and unsteady, but the sobs seem to have subsided for the moment. He takes that as a good sign.

“Oh?” he rumbles, keeping his eyes on the cat now rubbing against his knee. “I’ve never known her to dislike it.”

From the corner of his vision, he can see her make a face. She doesn’t say anything else, though, and Diluc feels like he should be the one to break the weighty silence that falls.

He would, if he knew what to say. Should he pretend he never saw her crying? Ask her if she wants to talk? Leave?

Before he can make up his mind, though, the opportunity is taken from him by a return of the shaking in Diona’s shoulders. Her sobs are even quieter than before, as if she’s actively trying to hide them from him. The thought breaks his heart like he didn’t know was possible.

The muffled sound of a child sobbing...

Suddenly, Diluc is eight and the sky outside the winery windows is pouring down rain and thunder on the darkened Mondstadt countryside. He peers over the railing of the staircase, drawn out of his room by the flashes of lightning outside his bedroom window and the odd sounds coming from the first floor of his home.

A particularly loud rumble shakes the house, causing the few lights in the dining room to tremble in their candelabras, and a section of the tablecloth shakes with it. There’s something under there.

Glancing back at the hallway, Diluc sees the cracked door of the room next to his and understands.

Tears are streaming down Kaeya’s face when his brother lifts the fabric and joins him under the table. Neither of them say a word. They don’t need to. The smaller boy huddles into Diluc and they sit like that as the storm rages outside.

Then, the thunder cracks again and the Diluc from fifteen years later resurfaces from his reverie.

Against his better judgment, he gets to his feet slowly, Ash trailing in his wake as he moves towards the steps the girl is seated on. He stops short in front of her, kneeling until he’s at her eye level, and opens and closes his mouth a few times as he gathers resolve.

“Diona.”

She doesn’t look up. “What do-” her voice breaks- “What do you want?”

He frowns. What does he want? Was he not making it clear that he wants to help her?

“I...” He stops, softening his voice even more until it’s barely a whisper. “Why are you crying?”

At that, her hiccuping breaths stop for moment, questioningly, as if she’s not sure she heard correctly. Before she can answer him, though, whatever troubles she’s having get the best of her and she crouches in on herself further.

By this point, Diluc is internally beside himself. He should leave; she’s clearly feeling even worse than when he got here.

He shakes his head to clear it. No. Think. His teeth grit in practiced annoyance as a familiar thought springs to mind unprompted. Do what he would do.

That Kaeya is more talented than his brother in dealing with children is possibly the worst kept secret they have between them. (Well. Maybe the second worst kept, he thinks.) Even Alice’s little daughter, who seemed to befriend the whole world as a personal mission, keeps her distance since his father passed.

He doesn’t exactly blame her, or any other child in Mondstadt. Parents teach their children to stay away from gloomy adults for a reason. It keeps them safe. If his own image is sacrificed for such a cause, he’ll gladly forfeit it.

Kaeya, on the other hand, is a favorite with most kids in the area, and for good reason.

So. What would Kaeya do?

Kaeya would... hug them? Probably?

Before he can think better of it, he lays his ungloved hand on her shaking back, hoping to provide some comfort. The girl’s breath hitches again, and she slowly brings her teary eyes up to his. He can see simultaneous misery and distrust in them, but she doesn’t look away or glare this time.

Diluc blinks. Her nose is running.

She goes to wipe her face on her sleeve once again and he unconsciously retrieves his glove from his pocket, offering it to her without a word.

Her ear twitches again. He absently wonders if it’s a nervous tick, but she takes the glove anyway, wiping her scarlet waterlines. She doesn’t make eye contact. He doesn’t remove his hand.

After a moment, a meow comes from somewhere by Diluc’s boot, accompanied by a bump. Ash makes herself known, vying for the man’s attention, and he removes his other glove to absently stroke her soft fur.

While he’s occupied finding a place to put his now-abandoned gloves, he feels a sudden weight on his chest.

Unblinkingly, his gaze flits back and forth between Diona’s head, which now rests against his lapel, and Ash’s wise golden eyes, which hold no answers for his questions.

She must be exhausted. That’s all his swirling mind can come up with for why she’s choosing to expose her vulnerabilities to the one man in Mondstadt indirectly responsible for so much of her pain.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead, he lets his instincts take over- instincts he hasn’t had to make use of in years. Diluc’s other hand comes to rest on the pink crown of her head and his chin drops on top of it, his tired eyes sliding shut.

“Why?”

A single word from her shocks him out of a haze of memories. Memories of better days between him and his younger brother. Memories his mind is currently forcing him to recall.

“Why, what?” His voice is barely audible.

“Why does he drink?”

Oh.

Draff, that fucker.

Diluc is going to tear Springvale to the ground. With his bare hands.

He shuts his eyes tight and clenches his jaw imperceptibly, willing the anger welling within him to dissipate. Anger is the last thing this young girl needs from an adult right now.

“I... I don’t know, Diona.” He feels her shoulders curl into his chest more at his words. “Some people... don’t know how to deal with hardship.”

He can feel her small hands gripping his coat lapel tightly as her voice wavers out from below his chin. “He s-said he would stop. For good this time.” She sniffles. “He’s said that before. I sh-should’ve known.”

“Oh, kid,” Diluc exhales, stroking the soft hair on the top of her head. “That’s not your fault.”

She holds her silence after that for a long time. Diluc loses track of how long they sit there on the back porch of the Cat’s Tail, Diona sniffling as she rests against his chest, her eyes making damp patches on the fabric.

His lower body is half numb by this point, forced to stay stock-still in an uncomfortable position, fearing lest he scare off the wounded animal clinging to his chest. He doesn’t mind.

Instead, his frame begins to vibrate lowly with a familiar melody, recalling a tune he would hear Adelinde singing around the manor as a child as she dusted his father’s paintings. He barely notices he’s humming until he’s halfway through, his mind far away from the dark cobblestone alley his body crouches in.

That tune used to make him feel safe. If he’s honest with himself, as vulnerable as Diona must be at the moment, he feels equally so. It wasn’t a common occurrence for him to comfort anyone, let alone to let them use him as a pillow. Maybe that’s why he starts the melody, craving the safety he felt in those memories.

If Adelinde were here... or Father... but how many times in a day already did he wish the late head of his clan were alive?

Some days, he doesn’t even count the moments in between the longing. Grief, for Diluc, is a constant blanketing feeling that injects itself into his every thought even all these years later.

Still... if he were here, he would know what to do better than his fool of a son, Diluc thinks.

While his mind is thus occupied, the body he left behind continues to run on autopilot, gliding his hand gently over the crown of her head as he winds to the end of the melody.

Diona has long ceased her hiccuping sobs, and her sniffles are coming in longer and longer intervals by the time he finishes. She makes a noise against his chest- a kind of muffled huff- and breaks away from his hold, trying to ignore the obvious mess she’s made of his tie and shirt.

For a moment, she refuses to meet his eyes, and Diluc is suddenly afraid he’s done something wrong. Has he crossed some kind of boundary? She hardly knows him, after all.

Before he can despair for too long, however, she squeezes her eyes shut a few times and then meets his earnest gaze with less animosity than he’s ever seen in her face.

He summons his resolve.

“Do you have someplace safe to stay tonight?” He asks before he can think better of it. “It’s rather late for someone young to be out on their own.”

She makes a face at that and he represses the urge to smile. “’M not young. I’m grown up, I’ll have you know.”

He actually does laugh then, a smile blooming across his face that would have reminded any onlooker of another man who bore the Ragnvindr name in years past. “Of course. My apologies, Miss Kätzlein.”

He thinks he sees the corner of her mouth tilt up at that, but it could have been a trick of the light.

“Please, let me try again.” He clears his throat, playing into his role as best as he can. “Miss Kätzlein, would you allow me to accompany you on your way home this evening? Mondstadt can be unsafe for anyone at night, you know.”

She’s shut her eyes now, looking away in disdain with her arms crossed. One green eye opens to glance at him, though, and in her expression he sees relief.

“Hm. Fine, I’ll allow it,” she preens, as if her dignity was still entirely in one piece. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

He grins, his face lighting up as he stands and offers her his arm. “It would, thank you.”

Diona refuses it, seeming to regain a semblance of her usual pride, and gets to her feet herself. Diluc attempts to right his crumpled collar and tie, giving up his gloves as a lost cause and tucking them into his pocket.

Few moments pass until they’re on their way, stopping only for Diona to refill the cat bowl by the tavern door. Ash waves her tail in farewell as they depart, padding gracefully up to her dinner in the moonlight.

The walk out onto the bridge and beyond is quiet, but it’s a comfortable silence. Diluc walks behind his charge, large boots covering the small pawprints in the sandy path leading from Mondstadt to Springvale. He makes a conscious effort to push his awareness to its limits, knowing that he has a higher priority at stake. Not a bird launches from its perch, or breeze floats through the branches above, without his notice tonight.

As they begin to approach the village, however, the man notices a change in the figure walking in front of him. Diona’s once-confident steps have begun to shrink, bringing their pace down by nearly half. Her tail swishes about nervously. Her ears, usually flicking about, now lay flat against her head instead.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, and maybe distract her if she’s scared, he asks her an offhand question about how work at the Cat’s Tail went that evening.

He didn’t mean to bring up alcohol, but he realizes too late that it was possibly the worst subject he could have chosen.

The effect is immediate. Diona stops, turning on her heel to face him with arms crossed over her chest and a familiar look of loathing.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know, huh? Don’t think I’ve forgotten who you are, Mister Angel’s Share.” Her baleful gaze falls to her feet as she kicks aside a few rocks in frustration. “Mister Dawn Winery. Mister- Mister Stupid-” she punctuates the word with a particularly vicious kick- “Wine Industry. Mister...”

She pauses, apparently having run out of disparaging epithets. The look on her face would be adorable if it wasn’t so full of disdain for him, Diluc muses to himself.

He sighs. Now is probably as good of a time as any to set the record straight.

“Diona.”

“What.” Her tone is biting.

“Do you think I like selling alcohol?”

He crouches down to her eye level as he says it, watching for a reaction. He isn’t disappointed; her pink eyebrows rise as far as they can go and her eyes widen for a moment before returning to an even more intense glare.

“Duh.”

“You’d be wrong.”

Her mouth twists into a pout, but her eyes keep their vigilant stare. She’s really good at that, Diluc notes absently.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Too bad.” The more mature part of Diluc is sending distress signals to his brain right now, warning him that tracking down a rogue teenage cat-hybrid in the forest at night will go poorly when she decides to bolt. He ignores it in favor of the familiar rush of being able to banter with someone the way he used to.

She doesn’t look convinced, but she’s also not interrupting him, so he continues.

“Do you know why I sell wine?”

Diona shakes her head, her tail flicking behind her. Whether that was out of curiosity or annoyance, Diluc doesn’t know.

“I sell wine because my father sold wine, and I loved my father.” His voice holds as steady as his gaze, rumbling deep in his chest. “I still love him, even in his absence.”

Diona has broken her hostile eye contact and is staring at her shoes.

“So, even though I don’t like alcohol myself-” Diona’s head shoots up at that, and he manages to curb a smile- “I run Angel’s Share and the winery because I’m taking care of my father’s legacy. What he built.”

He swallows, voice thickening despite his best efforts. “I’m sorry that what he built has been the source of so much pain for you, Diona.”

A lull falls over the two figures on the forest path. For a moment, even the breeze ceases.

A few teardrops fall onto the dust.

Oh, shit. Shit.

She’s crying again. You made a little girl cry, you absolute fucking idiot.

Okay, that one sounded like both him and Kaeya.

Regardless of whose voice it is that’s chastising him, though, Diluc’s knee-jerk reaction is the same. His broad hands come to rest on her shoulders and he tries to keep the panic out of his tone as he asks if she’s okay.

She doesn’t respond, but even though she’s crying, it’s not the same awful sobs that plagued her earlier, he realizes. When she looks up at him with vulnerable eyes for the second time tonight, the tears in them fall silently.

He hopes it will be the last time she looks at him with red-rimmed eyes.

This time, he leans forward to catch her as she falls towards him, tentatively wrapping his arms around her like he’s afraid she’ll break.

No gut-wrenching sobs reach his ears now, though. After a moment when all he can hear is the wind, she speaks, and he feels his heart stop in his chest.

“I don’t know if I want to go back there tonight.”

Well.

He’s been getting better at keeping his emotions from showing on his face recently. Right now, though, should anyone happen to walk by, the mere sight of his knit brows and set jaw could make the most hardened sinner repent.

Every man has his limits, after all.

Biting his cheek in place of the vengeance he couldn’t yet take, he pulls back and takes her hand, willing her to look him in the eyes.

“Diona.”

No response. Her other hand digs into the fabric of his shirt tighter.

“You don’t have to go home if you don’t want to.”

She sniffles.

“Will you let me offer my home to you tonight?”

Her shoulders shake again, and for a horrible moment he thinks she’s sobbing again, but then he hears her giggle and all is right with the world again.

He smiles, standing up as she dissolves into laughter. “What’s funny about that?”

“You want me to stay at the place-” Diona snorts, interrupting herself-” where all the wine in this dumb region is made?” She sounds incredulous, her eyes daring him to contradict her. She’s still laughing, though, so as far as Diluc’s concerned, her words don’t hold much bite.

Besides, he’s just relieved she’s finally stopped crying. Children are exhausting.

When her giggles have subsided, she turns her back to him, flawlessly jumping back into character. “I can’t say I’ll enjoy it, but I can endure it, I suppose.”

He takes that as an answer as good as any.

And so, with the moon creeping slowly across the inky sky, the two oddly matched traveling companions continue their journey across the Mondstadt countryside. When they reach the fork in the road, Diona doesn’t hesitate, marching past the Springvale sign without even a look of contempt.

Diluc feels a surge of pride. Then, he questions that emotion. Then, he elects to ignore those questions.

Further on down the path, she has to slow down to walk beside him when she’s no longer sure of the way. He notices the way her feet have started to drag and, immediately dismissing the notion of offering to carry her, instead asks her questions to keep her awake.

Luckily, Diona likes to talk, and she has no shortage of opinions.

Eventually, she asks him how he and Captain Kaeya are related if they feel so differently about drinking, and he laughs louder than he has in a while.

“Well, whatever. He’s still a rotten boozehound,” Diona huffs, “but at least he’s nicer than the other drunkards.”

Diluc’s mouth quirks up against his will. “Oh?”

“Yeah... that weirdo can put back drink after drink, but there was a couple of times when patrons were being weird to me, and... he set them straight.”

He’s lucky the moon isn’t bright enough to illuminate the grin on his face.

“Good. Otherwise, I’d kick his ass.”

After a while more, when the moon is almost threatening to disappear, they reach the path that winds around the winery grounds. By now, Diona is barely staying on her feet. Diluc resists the urge to steer her with his hand after she almost walks into a grapevine post.

As the doors of the manor appear before them, the first light of dawn breaks over the distant hills.

Tonight, Diluc thinks, he’ll settle Diona in one of the many guest rooms in the winery and ensure she rests well.

Tomorrow, he’ll make a visit to Springvale.

It will be a peaceful visit. He will rationally speak to Draff about the way he treats his daughter.

He will be polite. He will be civil.

He will not bring his claymore.

He will not.

He’s going to bring his claymore.

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #diluc ragnivindr #diona katzlein #diluc adopts diona fic #ragbros #kaeya #diluc #diona #i am. so sad #please accept this offering in case you would also like to be sad #pixel divider by mp4's graphic resources! <3

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thewinterwitcher · 4 months

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Writeblr Garden Flower Shoppe Event #1 - Valentine’s Day

I picked…

a lovely lilypad — describe your favorite relationship (romantic, familial, friendly) dynamic *in* your wip. how does it advance the plot, how it may affect other characters, what are some special qualities you've added to make it unique, etc.

I wanted to write about my older WIP in a cyberpunkish superhero setting, RIFF, for this prompt!

I think for all that RIFF is a story about Cleora and Mayara learning how to be in a relationship with one another, my favorite relationship is the sisterhood between Cleora and Magnolia.

their relationship

Cleora and Magnolia LeChant were the youngest children in their family. Their grandmother had a very strong pride in her family’s matrilineal magic. She did not like that Cleo came out as a lesbian, and after Cleo was kicked out, Mags left with her. She’d been keeping secret that she was developing magic and that she was actually a girl. The sisters traveled to north to the city the main plot takes place in, where Cleo worked odd jobs to support the two of them, and Magnolia went to school.

advancing the plot

The story of how Cleora saves Magnolia is inseparable from the story of Cleora trusting Mayara. She can’t do it alone. She needs Mayara’s help, and she needs to feel comfortable enough to ask for help. (And also, they both need Byrd to come to their senses and stop being a stooge, but that’s a different part of it.) Cleo spends a lot of time trying and failing to follow up on the information she is able to collect, and the rest of the time just wreaking mindless havoc to try to vent her anger. It doesn’t really work for her. It’s only when she’s able to open up to Mayara after they fight that she gets the direction and resources she needs to actually find Magnolia (or what’s left of her), confront her murderer, and release her with Byrd’s surprise betrayal of their employer.

After Magnolia returns, her presence is good for Cleora, sure, but she’s happy to see that Cleo has more friends. Cleo was focused only on supporting Magnolia and keeping her happy, and never really cared about herself. Magnolia took care of her, but neither could be the other’s only caretaker forever. Maya and Byrd and Maya’s band and eventually Byrd’s punk friends bring a community to both their lives they were lacking. But ultimately, none of that would have happened if Cleo had given up on looking for her sister.

affecting other characters

Cleo is/was definitely emotionally depending on Magnolia being around and well. Both of them really want the other to be happy, but both of them do have some people-pleasing tendencies. They need to learn that everything doesn’t need to be perfectly okay all the time to have a better relationship.

Cleo’s need to find Magnolia, and then later paranoia about her being okay, definitely affects her relationship with Mayara. It’s why she first starts avoiding her girlfriend, and it’s what causes them to fight several times without knowing the other’s identity before Cleo finally breaks down. Mayara tries not to resent Magnolia for being more important to Cleo than her, which she understands really isn’t Magnolia’s fault.

Cleo’s hovering also affects Magnolia’s relationship with Byrd a bit after her return. Cleo sees Byrd as a reminder of what happened to Magnolia, and hates having them around at first. However, Mags sees Byrd as part of what helped her get through her imprisonment, and someone who truly cares about her. They end up begrudging friends because of Mags’ unwavering optimism, and also because Byrd ends up helping Cleora without being asked a lot.

unique qualities

I really wanted part of Cleo and Mags’ relationship about the sisterhood between an older cis girl and her younger trans sister. Cleo doesn’t ever stop being protective of Mags from before to after she comes out, and they bond over discussions of womanhood, the similarities between aceness and lesbianism, and their connection to their magic. Cleo’s the first person who Mags trusted with her real identity, and the first person who believed she was a girl. I really wanted someone who Mags already considered family to tell and show her there was nothing wrong with her.

how they relate to their magic

For Magnolia, discovering her magic was growing was the first sign that the feeling she should be a girl was correct. She wasn’t able to pursue a medical transition until she was a teenager (did not have puberty blockers), so knowing that something in the way her family’s magic works recognized that she should have magic like all the other women in her family meant a lot to her. She sees her magic as entirely benign, absolutely a blessing, and very, very important to her.

Cleora sees her magic as important and useful, but also as something that puts a target on the backs of her and her sister. She almost never uses it in public until her rampages, and even then she disguises herself. Cleo loves sharing what she was able to remember and take from their home about their family’s magic with Mags, but she doesn’t trust that magic or the way that it’s disseminated is entirely good. After all, her family had quite a few terrible women because they were powerful, including their grandmother.

Cleo also fears The Joybringer once she learns that the ancient goddess is real, and reaches through to reality through her sister. She doesn’t want Magnolia hurt, and wants even less for her to have responsibility on her shoulders. But really, she can’t shield her sister from the world forever.

#writeblr garden #bucky writes #wip: riff #oc: magnolia lechant #oc: cleora lechant

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strayheartless · 9 months

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Thinking of a fic idea, where Zack Fair is Sora’s dad.

That’s it that’s the fic.

Just an explanation for why sora is the way he is:

🌈Zack fair genes 🧬🌈

Like it would be canon divergent obviously. Zack would still have traveled the worlds, but that was before he met Sora’s mom and settled in Destiny islands.

And he’s all the kid’s favourites because he’s a big kid. He rows them out to the play island and wears funny patterned beach shirts, and helps them build most of the ladders and ramps on the island.

He tells them all stories about his adventures, and about his friends.

Sora adores him. He wants to be exactly like his dad when he grows up. But as he gets a little older he begins to see some of the sadness in Zack. Hears the restrained pain when he talks about his best friend cloud, or stares at the picture of Aerith he keeps in his wallet next to his picture of Sora and his wife.

He thinks she’s dead, so Soras mum doesn’t begrudge Zack his mourning for a lost love.

There’s a picture in the house of him squall and Cloud. He’s got the other boys in head locks and Squall looks like he’s about to brake Zacks kneecaps while Cloud looks like he’s contemplating biting Zack.

When the island explodes Zack gets flung onto wonderland, where he’s kind of just trying to survive without going mad. When Sora gets there he has a bit of a mini brake-down on Zack. Full frowns and sad faces (fuck Donald for telling him he couldn’t grieve) and them heading back to Traverse town where Zack has his own mini brake-down about his friends being safe.

Seeing Aerith safe is bittersweet because he has grieved her loss and while he absolutely still loves her he also really loves Sora’s mom.

He asks about Cloud and Squall can’t look him in the Eye as he tells him they suspect he’s dead. Zack has exactly two seconds to feel devastated before his son pipes up that for a dead guy Cloud sure knows how to use a sword, and that’s how they find out their friend isn’t dead.

I dunno man, I’m just feeling some Zack Fair feels after playing through crisis core, and I want to see more of him in KH…

So have this mess of an AU.

#kingdom hearts #kh3 #kh1 #kh2 #zack fair #cloud strife #squall leonhart #fic idea #kh fic #who knows man #KH sora #sora and Zack fair #ffvii crisis core #aerith gainsborough

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narniaandplowmen · 1 year

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undone again

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier Also on AO3 10059 words.

Mature / Graphic Depictions Of Violence Chapter 4/4 (2406 words)

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four

carry you home

Geralt paced through the Keep. The Path pulled him, called to him, strongly, loudly, but he knew he could not obey it, not this year. This year, and for Melitele-knew-how-many-years after, there were more important things to be done. Or, at least, so he told himself. Repeatedly. His hand twitched as he turned away from the Keep’s exit, back into the hallway he had just come from. Back and forth, back and forth. It had been a strange winter, a long winter, a cold winter. And, although he had been surrounded by everyone he loved (or, the ones that lived, anyway), it had been a lonely winter.

It was strange, how quickly one forgot the hurt of loneliness. He had known loneliness for most of his life, until Jaskier waltzed his way into it and made himself comfortable. And Geralt’s annoyance had turned into begrudging companionship, and from there a fondness, and from there – he had never allowed himself to call it love. Witchers did not love, nor did anyone love witchers. And he knew, or, he had thought he had known, full well that Jaskier travelled with him not for his character, but for the stories Geralt’s existence brought with him. It had not been until after the mountain that he, in the endless silence that now suffocated him wherever he went, that Geralt had reflected that there had been a friendship there. And maybe, on foolish days when he allowed himself to dream and hope, he could imagine there had been something more, too. But by then it had been too late, and the loneliness that had once been so familiar had returned, and returned with a vengeance.

The loneliness had always hurt, of course it had. Even as a Witcher he still remembered being a little boy filled with hopes and dreams and the illusions of family. But now, now that he knew his days could have been filled with colour and song and talk and joy, but now that he knew he had ruined it all, the loneliness felt less like a cold, dark cave and more like an icy stake, driving into his heart and digging itself ever so much deeper with every step he took. It reminded him of the old fairy tale of the fisherman and his wife. Geralt had always wondered how much worse the couple must have felt living in their old shoe again after having lived in a castle. Their house must have been uncomfortable before, but having experienced luxury, how much of a torture must the return to poverty have been?

Finding Jaskier in that godsforsaken town with its Niflgaardian soldiers had seemed to be the answer to everything. Yet Jaskier had been different. Distant. Never really truly there, always one step away from leaving again. If not for Ciri — Geralt, for all his futile daydreams, had once again been reminded of the truth: nobody truly liked a Witcher. Jaskier did not want to travel with him for him, and, no matter his foolish illusions of friendship (or more), he had realistically never travelled with Geralt solely for Geralt’s companionship. Even if there had been potential for any connection beyond convenience, Geralt knew he had well and truly fucked that up, on the mountain. He had had a faint hope that, once in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier would relax, turn back into his exuberant self again. But even there, the bard had avoided him, avoided all of them. So Geralt had stayed quiet, had echoed Jaskier’s distance. He had already fucked up enough, no need to make it worse. And so the loneliness had turned from an icy stake to a sharp knife, cutting away at whatever counted as a Witcher’s soul with every step he took.

“Where’s Jaskier?” Ciri’s voice cut through the thoughts spiralling in his head. “Have you seen him? I can’t find him anywhere.”

Geralt blinked. “Library?” That was usually where Jaskier holed himself up this time of day. “No, he’s not in there, I looked. He’s not in the kitchen or his room either.”

Every bone, every muscle, every nerve in his body went stiff. Jaskier, for all his extravagance, was a man of routine. Every day was structured, even if no one else could see the logic in it. “Where else have you looked.” It was a statement more than a question, but Ciri answered anyway.

“I’ve been to the balustrades, and the Hall, and the stables. I was on my way to check the library again when I saw you.”

Geralt nodded, grabbed Ciri’s arm, ran. Library. Surrounding rooms. Upstairs. They divided the spaces between them, opening door after door to reveal silence, empty, no one. Hall. Bedroom. Courtyard. By the time they searched the dungeons, Eskel and Lambert had ceased their packing, joined the search. In a Keep full of Witchers, how long could a single bard hide?

“He’s not here,” Lambert’s voice sounded like a sudden realisation, deeper than the announcement that the room he had just opened the door to was empty.

“What?” Geralt bit back

“He’s not here. The- The Pass. It’s clear. He must have-”

“Fuck.”

* * *

How long had he been gone? When had he managed to leave without any of them noticing? The mountains surrounding Kaer Morhen saw little monsters, but there were plenty of bears, wolves, snakes. Especially now, when the weak sun would wake the creatures from their hibernation, causing them to drag their starving bodies out of the caves, crooks, and crannies they had hidden in, ready to jump on the first prey that wandered in front of their paws – and that was not even considering the dangers of the Pass itself. Yes, the Pass was clear now, the snow had melted, but the ground remained unstable, the stones slippery, and the wind could appear suddenly and with a vengeance. They had lost enough time searching the Keep, Jaskier could be— Geralt shook his head, attempting to force away the bloody scenes his mind readily provided.

"Ciri, watch the Keep. Wake Vesimir. If Jaskier returns, whistle on your fingers like I taught you."

With those words, the three Witchers were off. Their once so playful running through the hallways was of days long past. It was all brutal efficiency now, long strides, quick grabs of swords, potions, cloaks.

Upon their leaving, the Keep stood empty, abandoned but for a single fair-haired girl, stood in the courtyard, a look of determination on her face, a look of desperation in her eyes.

The footsteps in the mud were easy to follow. Maybe less so for a human, but to a Witcher? Geralt breathed a sigh of relief when the prints crossing the Pass were solid, sturdy, walking in a straight line as if the bard hadn't had a care in the world. Just one step after another after another after another, away from the sheltered safety of the Keep he had apparently so desperately wanted to escape that he had not even wanted to wait for a single day to travel down with either of the others. After the Pass, however, the rocky ground was less willing to share its secrets. And once they arrived at the split in the road, not a single footstep, broken branch, or leaf out of place could serve as a hint as to the direction which Jaskier could have chosen.

Lambert went left. Geralt went right. And, in unspoken agreement, Eskel stayed behind, ready to respond to the call of either of them, if necessary.

The woods surrounding him were filled with sound. Birds waking up, marking their territory. Squirrels running up and down to fetch more food. A woodpecker, happily drilling their way into a tree. Dripping snow melting off of the branches. Every noise surrounded him, penetrated him, overwhelmed him in a manner that they usually would not. But anything preventing him from hearing the reliable, familiar footsteps of his bard (his bard? Never his, he could not allow himself to think so) was too much, too loud, too— the woodpecker stopped, a bird fell silent. In the distance, a quiet hum. Geralt ran.

Jaskier was safe. He was fine, he was ok, he was—

"You left."

The bard didn't startle, didn't turn around, didn't show any sign of surprise at the sudden voice behind him.

"Yes," he simply said, and kept walking.

"Why—" Geralt could curse himself. 'You left. Why.'? That was the only thing he could come up with? That was all he could say?

Jaskier halted, but still did not turn. "I— have been a burden enough on you and your companions. I don't want to—" a breath, a sigh, "I don't want to overstay my welcome any more than I already have. I apologise for not being able to leave earlier, I apologise for even coming with you to Kaer Morgen. It was beautiful seeing your home, but I shouldn't," Jaskier swallowed, even from behind Geralt could see the bard squeeze his eyes shut. "I shouldn't have infiltrated. I'm sorry. I will pay back the costs of my stay. Thank the others for their hospitality."

Geralt stood, frozen, as the man in front of him started walking again, walking away from him, from home, from—

"You're no burden." Now, the bard's turn to freeze. "You haven't overstayed your welcome. You did not infiltrate. You are not—" why did the words he so desperately wanted to say feel like thorny bramble bushes, ripping open everything in their path, refusing to be unearthed from his throat where they stayed, unsounding, unyielding, unheard. Geralt stepped forward, took Jaskier's hand, spun him around to face him, gathered the courage to grab the thorny words tightly and pull them out. "I— I am sorry. I'm sorry for yelling at you after the dragon hunt and I'm sorry for making you feel unwanted and I'm sorry for ignoring you and betraying you and— And I'm not good at saying how I feel or what I want but I love you, I love you. Stay. Please."

Jaskier's eyes widened, narrowed, and Geralt, throat bleeding, prepared for the hurt. Who, after all, could ever love a monster?

"You— love me?"

Geralt hummed in affirmation, still holding Jaskier's hand, but looking down rather than into those piercing blue eyes.

A fist hit his face with surprising strength. A hand followed, grabbing his chin, dragging him forward and—

Jaskier's lips were touching his. Jaskier's lips were touching his, continuing to touch his, staying on his and they were soft, and smooth, and oh so Jaskier. It seemed both seconds and centuries before Jaskier moved back, reopening the distance he had closed. Geralt, however, chased back, captured Jaskier as Jaskier had captured him. Yet rather than gentle softness, Geralt pursued passionately, desperately, pushing both of their bodies off of the path, against a nearby tree, into each other and on each other and never, never close enough. Grabbing hands, cradling heads, pulling hair and breathing, breathing in Jaskier’s smell, touch, taste, feel. Could a monster be loved after all?

They went home, from there. Back up the mountain towards a joyful reunion with his brothers. Back across the Pass towards an anxious Ciri and worried Vesimir clutching Jaskier’s left-behind note. Back into the Keep for a large feast, a tearful goodbye to the two who did rejoin the Path. Back to his bedroom to talk, talk, and with each conversation the words started to feel less like bramble bushes and more like blackberries. They weeded out the years of thorns and splinters, scratched open the scabs and scars, drained the wounds to allow recovery. They were both broken, and bruised, and their hearts guarded by years and years of harm. They took things slow. Throughout the years they fought, made up, hurt the other and themselves and healed the pain with sincere apologies and careful conversations. Grew apart and closer together as they discovered how their differences fit into the other’s similarities. But during it all, during the difficulties and work and the days where they had to choose to love the other, rather than it coming naturally, Geralt found that his bedroom had become their bedroom, his possessions their possessions, his home their home.

* * *

Jaskier often thought back to his encounter with Fate. Not that he now thought her to be any less of a bastard – or whichever insult was appropriate, no amount of decent blowjobs, and he had had many, had provided him with an answer. Yet at some moments, he could almost, almost, be grateful to her. She had, after all, given him the daggers that had brought him and Geralt together, the yarrow that had kept him alive, and the ribbon that had made Ciri part of his family. And, he supposed, the mountainside confession – the second one, not the first – had indeed led to the mutual desire she had prophesied. Which is how he was now grasping at the hair of the white-haired Witcher on his knees in front of him, the delightful warmth of Geralt’s mouth around Jaskier’s cock a great contrast to the cold stone of one of the ruins near the Keep pressing against his naked back. So far out in the forest, Jaskier could moan as loudly as he wanted to when Geralt licked a particularly sensitive spot, stroked his thighs, cupped his balls and slowly rolled the skin with his thumbs. He was utterly powerless, given over to the hands and mouth of the man he loved, the man who loved him, who stayed, through it all, faithful and resilient and stubborn and endlessly, endlessly his. How had he ever been satisfied with ungratifying blowjobs in an alley near a pub? Jaskier’s whole body shook as he came, steadied by a pair of strong hands grasping his hips, caressing his skin, worshipping his body. In the vague back of his mind, the sole part still working through the delight, he knew that soon it would be his turn to grasp, to caress, to worship – not his own body, but that of the one in front of him, strong, strange, beautiful. He would grab Geralt’s hand, arm, shoulder. Move the man against the lower wall in front of them, bend him over, take his time. He would enter, inch by inch, move slowly, rapidly, frantically, fulfil Fate’s damned mutual desire over and over and over, until they both would be undone again.

#geraskier #geraskier ff #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #jaskier #geralt #the witcher #the witcher ff #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfics #written by me #made by me

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bloody-bee-tea · 2 years

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Lost

Jiang Cheng lets out a deep breath once he’s out of the hall. This has to be the fifth celebratory feast that is happening this week alone and he is tired of them. Sure, they worked hard for it, and they deserve it, but there’s also still so much to do. Not even to mention all the people they lost and the places that need rebuilding.

Jiang Cheng thinks that maybe they should stop celebrating so lavishly and get started on that, but then again it’s not as if Jin Guangshan shares any of his worries. He barely lost anything in this war.

Jiang Cheng tries to push these thoughts as far away as possible, because he’ll have enough to do in the future. There’s no space for all this hate he feels towards Jin Guangshan. He’ll need his energy for other things soon enough.

He aimlessly wanders around, hoping to get a clear head but the sounds of the feast can still be heard. Jiang Cheng doesn’t begrudge anyone the joy they get from it, but he’d prefer some peace and quiet right about now.

And it seems like he is not the only one, he realizes, as he spots a shadow in the dark.

Usually Jiang Cheng would move past–he left the feast to be alone after all–but he recognizes Nie Mingjue even in the deep of the night and he finds that he can’t just walk away.

Especially not when he notices the vacant look on Nie Mingjue’s face.

“Hey, you alright?” Jiang Cheng asks as he sits down next to him but he gets his answer a second later when Nie Mingjue starts to hyperventilate.

Jiang Cheng has seen his fair shares of panic attacks–both with an anxiety riddled Wei Wuxian when he first came to Lotus Pier and with soldiers on the battlefield–so Jiang Cheng kneels down in front of Nie Mingjue and takes his hand to place it on his own chest.

“It’s alright,” he says, keeping his voice down and trying for a soothing tone. “You’re safe, it’s just me here. How about we breathe a little bit, huh? In,” Jiang Cheng takes an exaggerated breath in, “and out.” He makes sure to keep Nie Mingjue’s hand on his chest, so he can feel the movement.

It takes a while until Nie Mingjue can follow along with Jiang Cheng’s breathing and even then Jiang Cheng keeps it up until Nie Mingjue takes his hand away.

“It’s fine,” he roughly says, clearly embarrassed and Jiang Cheng nods, deciding to give him face for now, instead of prodding further.

Besides, Jiang Cheng learned that most people are not good with silences. So he simply keeps quiet as he sits down next to Nie Mingjue and waits him out.

He doesn’t have to wait too long, though.

“Xichen wants me to swear brotherhood with him and Meng Y–Jin Guangyao,” he finally whispers and Jiang Cheng bitterly presses his lips together.

Of course. Leaving Yunmeng Jiang neatly out of the equation, and with the perfect excuse on top of that. Four is an inauspicious number, after all.

“And what do you want?” Jiang Cheng asks, because for all the bitterness in him, he realizes that Nie Mingjue is apparently not as okay with this as he might think.

“I don’t know what to do,” Nie Mingjue says and the lost look is back on his face. “I just–I don’t know,” he breathes out.

“You can accept or decline,” Jiang Cheng says with a small frown. He doesn’t think it’s that deep, and it certainly shouldn’t be enough to send Nie Mingjue into a panic attack.

Nie Mingjue’s breath goes a bit more shallow at his words and Jiang Cheng is quick to press their shoulders together. Jiang Cheng is no longer sure what is going on but he thinks prodding Nie Mingjue for answers might not be the right course of action.

They got–somewhat close over the course of the Sunshot Campaign, mostly due to the fact that there weren’t a lot of other people of the same standing they could talk to. Lan Xichen was traveling between their different bases as a courier and barely stayed for long enough to have a non-critical conversation with. And Jin Zixuan–well, he was more concerned to not lose any more face for his father than striking up a conversation with Nie Mingjue or Jiang Cheng and that really only left Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue. And they have found their way together–on the battlefield and afterwards–more often than not. It had been good, to have at least one person to confide in, to talk to during this whole mess of a war and Jiang Cheng already knew that he is going to miss their late night talks once they both return to their own Sects.

Or the burned out shells of their Sects, in Jiang Cheng’s case.

“I just–” Nie Mingjue starts but then cuts himself off with a look towards Baxia. “I don’t know what to do now.”

It sounds like a confession of a sorts and Jiang Cheng frowns. There’s always so much to do and even for Qinghe Nie, whose lands are mostly untouched by war, there surely must be something to rebuild.

But before Jiang Cheng can articulate any of his thoughts, Nie Mingjue goes on.

“I was made for this, you know. I–I’m sure you don’t remember but I ascended as Sect Leader even younger than you are now.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t even want to imagine that, because if he’s being honest, then he still feels too young, even now.

“I was not even sixteen at the time when my father died. And since then my only purpose has been to kill Wen Ruohan.” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “And even before that as well. My father was always suspicious of Wen Ruohan, so as soon as I could pick up a sabre, I had to. I mean–I am martially inclined so it wasn’t that much of a hardship but I only ever trained with the explicit goal to one day be able to kill Wen Ruohan. Huaisang makes fun of me for not appreciating the arts, for never sitting down to relax and do something I like but the truth is–I don’t know what that is. I never had any free time I could spend like I wanted. I only learned calligraphy because it’s needed for Sect business. I never learned an instrument or how to paint. I wasn’t allowed to. And now–”

“And now you feel bereft of the only goal you ever had,” Jiang Cheng finishes for him when it seems like Nie Mingjue can’t.

“And it’s not even that,” Nie Mingjue eventually goes on. “It’s our cultivation style as well. We cultivate our sabres differently than you do your swords. And it’s killing us. Baxia is a very good sabre and trying her hardest not to hurt me, but it’s already started. The qi deviations will only get worse from here on out and it was fine, before, you know, because–”

Nie Mingjue cuts himself off and Jiang Cheng has to blink against the burning of his eyes. If all of that comes together for Nie Mingjue right now, then he can definitely understand where he’s coming from.

“Because you thought you wouldn’t survive Wen Ruohan anyway,” he whispers into the night.

“I thought I’d be long dead,” Nie Mingjue agrees with a small nod. “And instead I have to figure out what to do now.”

Jiang Cheng mulls his next words over for a while but he figures it’s best to go with honesty when it comes to Nie Mingjue.

“I can’t say that I can relate,” Jiang Cheng huffs out. “There is so much I have to do now, and I don’t know how to do any of it. I wasn’t properly trained as Sect Leader, you know. I don’t know enough about trade agreements, rebuilding, training, budgeting or even leading in general. And on top of that I have to deal with a wayward shixiong and a sister who might yet still marry out. I don’t even know where to start, honestly.”

“You already did a good job, though,” Nie Mingjue tells him and somehow manages a small smile for Jiang Cheng. “You showed up here with disciples, people who follow you. I would say you have the leader part down.”

“That’s not gonna help me figure out how to pay for rebuilding, though,” Jiang Cheng gruffly says, uncomfortable with Nie Mingjue’s praise. “I think I’ll have to rely on your guidance for a while there.”

At his words Nie Mingjue turns towards Jiang Cheng, a strange light in his eyes.

“What if I help you in a more hands-on manner?” he wants to know and Jiang Cheng frowns.

“How?”

“I mean–I have to figure out what to do now, right? And I know all the things you just mentioned. I’ve had experience with them. I could help you, teach you.”

“You have your own Sect to lead, though,” Jiang Cheng interjects and Nie Mingjue shakes his head.

“Being a Sect Leader is all I know. That and being a warrior. There–has to be something else, surely? And if I help you, I get a break of being–both of these things and you can benefit from my expertise.”

The idea is not without merit, Jiang Cheng has to admit that, but still–

“What about your Sect?”

Nie Mingjue hesitates for a moment before he shakes his head. “Huaisang has to learn. Even without the war, the qi deviations will kill me before three years have passed if I keep cultivating the way I do. And he showed he has a head for logistics during the Sunshot Campaign. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched to make him acting Sect Leader, so he can gain some experience. It’s not like I’m out of reach for him. I would just be–with you.”

“With me,” Jiang Cheng whispers and ruthlessly smothers the rising feeling in his chest.

He got kind of good with that over the course of the Sunshot Campaign. It did help that either of them could die at any moment, so giving any more thought to these feelings was downright stupid, but now the war is over and Nie Mingjue is right here next to him.

And he’s offering to stay at Lotus Pier indefinitely.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Jiang Cheng mutters and Nie Mingjue huffs.

“But you’re not asking. I’m offering. And honestly, you’d do me a favour. Like that I would still feel useful, have something to do. I can figure out what I really want. Who knows, maybe I have an ear for music or a head for poetry.”

He’s trying for a joke, Jiang Cheng can tell and despite everything he has to laugh. He truly can’t imagine Nie Mingjue as a poet.

“Maybe,” he allows and his stomach does that funny thing again when Nie Mingjue smiles at him.

“It would also give me time to put down Baxia and figure out a way to make it so that she won’t kill me. It’s probably a good thing Huaisang doesn’t like picking up his sabre.”

“We have–” Jiang Cheng starts, fiddling with the bell at his belt and wondering if he can share this secret with Nie Mingjue.

But he thinks if he can’t share it with him, then there might never again be someone.

Nie Mingjue looks expectantly at him and Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath.

“Our clarity bells are called that for a reason. We have some background as healers and even though my mother never liked me learning that stuff, my sister took me with her sometimes. I picked up a thing or two. Maybe enough to help.”

And even if he didn’t pick up enough to help right now, Jiang Cheng is convinced that he can figure something out. There has to be a way to counter the side-effects of the cultivation, if only so that Nie Mingjue might live a year longer.

“Would you?” Nie Mingjue whispers as if he doesn’t even dare to ask the question. “Help?”

“I think it’s the least I can do if you offer to help me first,” Jiang Cheng snaps but then he takes a deep breath. “But yes, of course. Even if you didn’t help me. If I had known that you had these problems then I would have offered to anyway.”

He might not have offered it for everyone else but this is Nie Mingjue. Jiang Cheng would probably offer him a whole lot more if he’s being honest.

“Thank you,” Nie Mingjue breathes out and leans in to press their shoulders together. “Thank you.”

His voice is a little choked up and Jiang Cheng is not sure what to do with that.

“Yeah, sure,” he awkwardly mumbles and stares out into the dark.

They fall into silence for a moment, and even that is nice. Jiang Cheng thinks back to the things Nie Mingjue has admitted to and it makes him feel even more for the other man. It must be hard not knowing your own purpose and he hopes that Nie Mingjue will figure something out for himself.

But these thoughts only bring him back to the original topic at hand.

“But what about the sworn brotherhood?” Jiang Cheng forces himself to ask because even if he doesn’t want to hear about this, he’ll need to know if only so he can prepare Yunmeng Jiang for it.

“I should agree to it,” Nie Mingjue mutters and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“Forget about what you should do for a moment. What do you want to do?” he asks and Nie Mingjue huffs out a laugh.

“Didn’t we just establish that I have no clue what to do now?”

Jiang Cheng laughs as well.

“Fair, I guess. But for this you must want something. I assume it’s safe to say that you want to be sworn brothers with Lan Xichen, right? But what about Jin Guangyao?”

Nie Mingjue had confided in him once, what he caught Jin Guangyao doing back then and for Jiang Cheng that would be an unforgivable breach of trust. But maybe Nie Mingjue is different.

“Do you trust him?” Jiang Cheng asks when Nie Mingjue fails to answer and this finally prompts a reaction from him.

“No.” The answer is quick and immediate. “No, I don’t. But Xichen, he–I’m not sure he understands.”

“Understands what?”

“Jin Guangyao is–the things he did–you can argue that it was to keep his cover but the satisfaction and glee in his eyes–” Nie Mingjue hesitates. “You can’t fake that. No actor in the world could fake that. And if we take into consideration what he did back in Qinghe– No. I don’t trust him, and I don’t think I ever can, not again.” Nie Mingjue balls his hands into fists. “He killed my men and he hurt me, and he liked it. You should have seen the look on his face. He liked it.”

“I believe you,” Jiang Cheng whispers, wary of the look on Nie Mingjue’s face. “It’s alright,” he says, carefully putting his hand on Nie Mingjue’s arm.

He doesn’t want to lose him to another panic attack and the faraway look in his eyes suggests he’s heading there again.

“It’s not–I–” Nie Mingjue cuts off. “What else am I going to do? Tell Xichen no?”

Jiang Cheng bites his tongue when the words that want to slip out are ‘Maybe you should for once’ and instead he thinks it over for a few moments.

There is another idea forming in his head.

“Or you could swear brotherhood with me,” he finally says, and it feels wrong to so boldly ask for that, especially when he didn’t even make the cut in the first place, but with everything they have talked about, Jiang Cheng thinks it might just be okay.

Nie Mingjue sucks in a surprised breath but before Jiang Cheng can feel self-conscious about his offer, his face lights up.

“That’s actually perfect!” Nie Mingjue exclaims and turns towards Jiang Cheng again.

The look on Nie Mingjue’s face reminds him more of the one he used to wear for a moment when they won a battle and Jiang Cheng forces himself to relax. Of course Nie Mingjue wouldn’t judge him harshly for asking for something for himself.

Jiang Cheng should have known better.

“Like this it’s much more plausible for me to stay in Lotus Pier for a while; it’s my duty as the older and more experienced one to guide you after all, and it would give you tangible ties to my Sect. This is much better.”

He sounds satisfied but Jiang Cheng can’t help but to chime in.

“For me. It’s better for me,” he mutters, because while he gets that it would be a valid excuse for Nie Mingjue to take a break as leader, it wouldn’t really benefit him at all.

There’s still a very good chance that Jiang Cheng will fuck up and drive the Yunmeng Jiang Sect into the ground, even with Nie Mingjue’s help.

“Yes? That’s a good thing. You deserve good things, you know.”

“You, too,” Jiang Cheng immediately gives back. “You deserve to take a break and figure out what you want, you know.”

Nie Mingjue laughs at his words and Jiang Cheng sighs a silent breath of relief. It seems like Nie Mingjue’s mood has improved and Jiang Cheng is glad for it. He didn’t like seeing Nie Mingjue hopeless and lost like that.

He’s also just a little bit proud that he was the one to help chase those bad feelings away but he doesn’t dare to linger on that thought for too long.

“Thank you,” Nie Mingjue says, leaning in yet again to press their shoulders together. “Really, thank you. When I came out here, I was–lost. Have been ever since the war ended, really. But now there’s a plan, something for me to do. Thanks to you there might just be a future for me yet.”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng grumbles because he feels uncomfortable with that praise. “It was all your idea anyway, and I’m only profiting. It would be stupid of me to refuse.”

“It would have been in your right. It still is,” Nie Mingjue says, searching Jiang Cheng’s eyes to make sure he understands that it’s still an option.

As if Jiang Cheng would ever give this up again.

“You let an outsider meddle with your Sect. It would have been your right to yell at me and spit curses. Instead you agreed, and for that I am thankful.”

“I would be stupid not to, outsider or not. There’s a bigger chance that I’ll ruin the Sect with my ignorance or even on accident than you doing it on purpose.” Jiang Cheng hesitates. “I trust you, you know. Not just on the battlefield.”

“And I am grateful for that. I promise not to break that trust,” Nie Mingjue replies and he’s earnest enough that Jiang Cheng believes him without hesitation. “I’m not even allowed to, as your elder brother now,” he then adds with a wink and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“I’m sure that a vow has never been enough to stop people from betraying each other, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Jiang Cheng wryly says and Nie Mingjue smiles, a little wistful thing.

“And that is exactly what I would worry about if I were to swear brotherhood with Jin Guangyao,” he admits and then sighs. “I’m sure I don’t have to have those worries with you.”

“I hope you’re not implying that I’m too stupid to scheme,” Jiang Cheng sniffs out, a little bit miffed at how Nie Mingjue seems to see him.

“Never. You’re just too straight-forward. If you had a problem with me, you’d tell me. You wouldn’t scheme and plot and deceive and I appreciate that. We’re much alike in that regard, I think.”

Okay, that is something Jiang Cheng can appreciate, actually and so he simply nods.

“So I don’t have to be suspicious of you, either, right?” he gives back and Nie Mingjue gives him a soft smile.

“Never,” he promises, and despite everything that recently happened in Jiang Cheng’s life, he believes him.

And he’s looking forward to working with Nie Mingjue, for however long he decides to stay.

(Nie Mingjue stays forever, in the end, because it turns out the one thing he really wants to do is grow old with Jiang Cheng. And seeing as they both cultivate to immortality, thanks to Jiang Cheng’s clarity bell, that’s never going to happen. It suits them both more than fine.)

Link to my ko-fi

#bt writes #mingcheng #the untamed #mdzs #canon compliant #fear of the future #panic attacks #hurt/comfort #pre-relationship

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digitalsatyr23 · 1 year

Text

Ocarina of Time Fanfic (Ch5)

Saria, Hero of the Forest Chapter 5: A Small Errand Characters: Saria, Impa, Mido, Fado, Happy Mask Salesman…

Saria and Impa made their way to a secluded spot in Kakariko Village. Once it was clear no one was around to eavesdrop, Saria explained everything that happened on Death Mountain.

“So you lost one spiritual stone but gained another – and only because Darunia was so generous,” said Impa.

“I know… There are so many things I could have done better,” said Saria.

“Oh come on!” said Poppy. “Most people would have struggled just to survive! You did the best you could, and that’s all that matters.”

Impa smirked. “Your fairy isn’t wrong. Even I wouldn’t have expected one of Ganondorf’s minions to be so… Brazen. They may have gained one of the stones, but it came at a great cost. Not only did they lose several lizalfos in the fighting, the Gerudo woman’s actions have affected Ganondorf’s standing in the royal court.”

“Has word traveled that fast?” asked Saria.

“Darunia and the king have always stayed in close contact. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Goron sent a message as soon as he returned from those caverns. Because of that, the king wanted Ganondorf investigated for any possible involvement. But before he could be approached, the man vanished without a trace. He's probably in Gerudo Valley by now.”

The implications were not lost on the Kokiri. Despite Kitoga’s best efforts, she unintentionally foiled Ganondorf’s plans for stealing the Ocarina of Time. Not only that, but such events would no doubt have a ripple effect, creating tensions between the Gerudo and the rest of Hyrule.

“This can’t be good,” said Saria. “Ganondorf always retaliates when he can’t get what he wants. This could mean war.”

“That may be so, but even he must know how difficult it will be to take the castle, should we be prepared. Marching a whole army out of Gerudo Valley has its own problems as well. It will take about a month to gather and prepare his forces for a full-scale assault.”

“A month? How could you possibly know that?”

“I have an informant in Gerudo Valley I’ve been keeping in contact with. While Ganondorf has many loyal subjects, he is not beloved by all Gerudo. There’s been trouble in the valley as of late that he’s ignored in favor of pursuing his ambitions.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. With a man like that in control, I doubt anyone can openly speak against him without fearing for their life. To think he’d ignore the plights of his own people, though… His heart must be as black as his armor. What’s happening in Gerudo Valley, anyway? Is it anything that could affect the rest of us?”

Impa crossed her arms. “Gerudo have been disappearing from the valley. It’s not that they’re leaving the valley to escape Ganondorf’s rule – I already know about the few who have tried. These Gerudo are vanishing from their own homes.”

“What? And Ganondorf isn’t doing anything about this?!” Saria did her best to keep her voice down, but it was a struggle. Such blatant disregard for one’s people was beyond callous. Saria couldn’t imagine looking the other way if something was happening in her own village. As Saria looked down and gripped the hems of her shorts, a grim thought crossed her mind. “He’s not behind the disappearances… Is he?”

“My informant believes so, but there’s not much to be done about it,” said Impa. Her brow furrowed. “I want to help them. I do not begrudge the Gerudo just because their chosen leader is a tyrant. Unfortunately, we have more pressing matters at hand. As you’ve said, with a Gerudo agent openly attacking an ally of the king, it may be enough to fan the flames of war.”

“Does the king think so as well?”

Impa nodded. “Ganondorf’s disappearance was seen as open admission that he was connected to the attack. The king has already begun ordering arms and armor smithed while his generals put his troops through the rigors. He has no intention of being caught unprepared should Ganondorf march on the castle. We’re trying to keep this all under wraps, however, since the king is worried the people may panic. We’re not certain of what will happen, after all, and if too many people jump to the wrong conclusion, it will only serve to raise tensions between Hylians and Gerudo.”

“Thus fanning the flames even more,” Saria said with a frown. “Impa, if it’s true that we have a month before Ganondorf marches, would you be willing to train me? I know you have to watch over the princess, but I could join you at the castle.”

The Sheikah chuckled. “I appreciate your forwardness. Yes, I think training would do you some good. I had already planned on offering. We wouldn’t be training at the castle, though.”

“But what about Zelda?”

“She’s being taken care of. With this looming threat on the horizon, the king is watching his daughter like a hawk.”

“Then if you’ll have me, I’ll accept whatever training you give. Although… There is one thing I need to take care of first.”

“What is it?”

“I need to check on my village. It’s been a while and I need to make sure they’re okay. And if it’s all right with you, I feel they need to know what’s going on in case conflict becomes inevitable. We Kokiri don’t have a castle or a mountain to take shelter in should the worst come to pass. Our best defense against the outside world was the Great Deku Tree, and he’s gone.”

“I understand. I ask that you choose your words carefully, but I won’t begrudge you for keeping your people informed.”

“Thank you, Impa. Where should I meet you when I’m done?”

“In the back of the village. I have something I need to take care of at the castle, but I should be back before your return.”

“Then until next time.”

Saria and Impa said their goodbyes and parted ways. After taking a few steps, Saria looked back. Impa had disappeared without ever making a sound.

“That woman… I’m glad she’s on our side.”

“No kidding,” said Poppy. “I’d rather fight a pack of lizalfos than tangle with her.”

Saria left Kakariko Village behind and made her way to Kokiri Forest. Saria thought about the Gerudo and Kitoga’s fate. Though she was her enemy, Saria couldn’t help but fear for the woman’s safety.

If we ever cross swords again, Saria thought, I’ll be glad.

---

Saria crossed the bridge, returning to her homeland. Stepping into the village, one of the local Kokiri boys took notice.

“Saria, is that you?” he asked. “You’re okay! Did you even leave?”

“Of course I did,” Saria smiled. “Did you really think I was standing on the bridge for days?”

The young boy scratched at his bright orange hair. “You make a good point. In that case,” he paused, turning to the rest of the village. “Hey guys! Saria’s back!”

Hearing this, Kokiri started popping up everywhere. From the trees, from their homes, out of bushes. Many dropped what they were doing and came running, gathering around their long-lost sister.

“Saria! I can’t believe you’re back!” “What happened? Is everything okay?”

“Is the outside world safe or not?”

“Calm down. I’ll explain everything in time,” said Saria. “Where’s Mido? Is he not here with the rest of you?”

Fado stepped forward among the crowd, saying, “He’s been going to the Lost Woods all by himself as of late. I’ve had to watch over things in his place.”

“Really? But why?”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s training, maybe he just wants to be alone. I didn’t think to ask.”

Saria’s heart sank. “I see. Everyone, can you wait for me? I want everyone to hear what I have to say. It’s important.”

“Oh?” said one of the Kokiri girls. “All right. We’ll be here until you’re ready then.”

At this, the Kokiri scattered, returning to what they were doing. Some were at play while others were training with deku sticks. Of course from an outsider’s perspective, it merely looked like playfighting. No matter what the Kokiri did, they were children at heart, and even in serious affairs, this fact always shined through.

After Saria took a quick look around, she headed for the Lost Woods, climbing up the hills and stepping through a hollow log. I’m glad everyone is still safe, thought Saria. I just hope Mido is okay too.

---

The Lost Woods, as it was commonly known, was a tangled forest of that made up most of Eastern Hyrule. It was home to spirits, drifters, and even monsters. Saria had wandered those labyrinthine woods more times than she could count, befriending many unusual people along the way. Sometimes people stepped into the woods that didn’t belong, disappearing without a trace. Because Saria had never left her village until recently, it was impossible to tell if these people made it out or not… Despite its dangers, Saria traversed the woods as naturally as she would her own village. After all, it was just another part of her homeland as far as she was concerned.

Saria navigated the twists and turns of the woods, searching for Mido. Despite her familiarity with the area, she couldn’t seem to find him. After reaching a small clearing, she encountered a local. It was a young wooden boy with skin like bark, bright eyes, and tattered clothes sitting on a tree stump, practicing with a flute. His wide-brimmed hat occluded his features, though his bird-like beak was instantly recognizable. This was a skull kid - one of many that wandered the Lost Woods. Once the boy took notice of Saria, he sat up.

“Wait, is that who I think it is?” asked the skull kid. He sauntered over, flute in hand. Saria stopped, looking the boy over. Once he was close enough, he stopped, playing a familiar tune on his flute. It was a song Saria had heard many times. Why? Because she was the one who wrote it.

“Do you remember this song? I remember,” said the skull kid. “It was a long time ago in this same clearing… I saw a girl just like you. Green hair, blue eyes, bright smile. Are you… Her?

In Saria’s experience, the skull children were always cautious. They were not immune to the dangers of the woods, nor the dangers of trespassers. Knowing this, Saria did not answer with words. She answered with song, playing her melody back to the boy. His eyes lit up, looking more like orange fireflies.

“It IS you, isn’t it? You’re Saria!”

“It’s good to see you again, Taru,” said Saria. She remembered the first time she had encountered the boy. Skull kids tended to stick together, but Taru was always something of a loner. When he looked sad, Saria played her song to help brighten his day, and afterwards they became fast friends.

“Where have you been? It feels like you’ve been gone forever!”

“I’ve been to the outside world. It’s a long story, but right now I need to find my friend, Mido. Have you seen him? He’s another Kokiri, dressed in green.”

“And he’s always making this face,” said Poppy before scowling. Taru tilted his head at the fairy.

“Mido, Mido, Mido. I know this name. You say you’re looking for him? I’ve seen this Kokiri!”

“You have?” asked Saria.

“Yes! I’ve seen the boy traveling between your village and the Sacred Meadow. Many times, in fact. Let me show you.”

Taru took off running, his small wooden frame clicking and clacking every step of the way. Saria and Poppy followed, chasing the boy through the Lost Woods until they reached the entrance to the Sacred Meadow. Before them stood bushes, moss, grass, flowers, and other natural things, all surrounding the entrance to a maze of natural stone. Or rather, it was natural to Saria. Perhaps it had been constructed long ago, but it had become so entangled in the woods that it was part of the woods now.

“This way, this way! I saw!”

Taru ran for the entrance to the maze, but something felt off. Saria was quick to run forward, stopping Taru before he was struck by a monster. Claws the size of daggers burst from the ground as a sharp howl rang through the air. A bipedal wolf creature with glowing green eyes attacked, swiping at the Kokiri and skull kid.

“Get back, Taru!” shouted Saria. The girl drew her blades and kept the wolfos distracted while Taru moved away. Taking a few swipes at the beast, it easily blocked the blades with its thick arms. It felt like Saria was striking iron. The beast pushed Saria’s weapons aside and lunged for her neck, but she rolled away, dodging the fatal blow. The wolfos didn’t let up, quickly turning to strike again. The Kokiri blocked, but the force of the blow nearly knocked her over. As the wolfos tried to bite her, Saria swiped with her scimitar, the wolfos parried with its claws, and the dance continued. Neither could get a hit in, at least until a small dart hit the wolfos’ neck.

The beast stopped, scratching at the small wooden dart in its hide. It growled in annoyance as it turned to face Taru, who was still holding onto his flute.

“Now, Saria!” shouted Poppy.

With the beast distracted, Saria struck the one place a wolfos was at its weakest – its tail. It lurched its head back in pain, letting out one last howl before collapsing and fading away in blue flame.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” said Saria, sheathing her blade, “but thank you. Those beasts are tricky.”

“I know it was dangerous, but Saria is friend! I can’t let anything happen to my friend,” said Taru.

The pair smiled at each other, then Saria took a look around, feeling the grass at her feet.

“It’s strange… I can feel something different. The meadow, no, the whole forest is changing. Deku babas are one thing, but wolfos? Why now? I thought the Deku Tree’s curse was broken.”

“Many strange things have happened in the forest as of late,” said Taru. “I’ve seen many monsters. My brethren and I must be even more cautious than before. Perhaps this Mido has been fighting the monsters. I’ve seen many, but they never get close to your village.”

Saria put a hand to her chest. “I see… Thank you, Taru. I’ll have to thank Mido as well if all this is true. I should be fine from here if you want to head back.”

Taru bowed his head, stepping back towards the entrance to the meadow. “Be seeing you, then. Stay safe… For me.”

Once the skull kid was gone, Saria and Poppy entered the maze.

Along the way, Saria encountered deku scrubs. They were far more violent than others of their kind, with leaves the color of autumn. This proved no trouble for the Kokiri, who struck them down as she went. It hurt to do so, however. Deku scrubs were territorial, but they only resorted to violence to keep outsiders away. This reaffirmed her worries. Something was changing in the forest, and not at all for the better.

At the end of the maze, Saria climbed an old stone stairway. This led to a small grassy plateau. It was a place Saria had visited on many occasions. In the center of the plateau was a stone platform in the shape of a hexagon. In the past, she had no idea what the symbols carved onto its top meant. But now, she realized the swirling pattern in the middle sat amidst a carving of the Triforce. Up ahead was an old moss-covered stone fortress, and at the base of this abandoned structure was a tree stump, as well as a familiar face sitting on the stump, catching his breath. Monsters slowly faded into flame at the boy’s feet. It was clear a battle taken place prior to Saria’s arrival.

“There you are, Mido!” said Saria. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

The boy’s blue eyes lit up upon seeing Saria. He sprung up to his feet, but then stopped, slowing his pace. “Saria? What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you. Did you slay those monsters?”

“I… Uh… Yeah! I guess you could say that…”

Mido’s fairy floated out of the boy’s tunic, flexing his tiny muscles. “Don’t be so modest, my friend. You’ve done well today!”

“Oh hey, Macho,” groaned Poppy. “You’re still around?”

“Of course!” smiled Macho. “It’s my sworn duty to protect Mido no matter what!”

Saria and Poppy looked at the Kokiri boy. He had scratches and bruises from the recent fight, and while it was clear his fairy had been healing him, it seemed as if he wasn’t in the best of spirits.

“Hey Macho, maybe we should leave these two alone for a little bit,” said Poppy.

“Want me all to yourself?” asked the fairy.

“In your dreams, butt chin.”

After the two fairies floated off, Saria approached Mido and gave him some medicine. “Here, to help with your wounds.”

“Thanks. I don’t really need it, though. I’m doing just fine,” said Mido.

“Are you though? You didn’t answer my question earlier. What are you doing here?”

Mido avoided eye contact with Saria. “Would you believe I was waiting for you?”

“Mido…”

“Hey! I know you liked to come here a lot, so I thought that if you ever came back, this would be the best place to find you!” Mido stepped away from Saria. “That’s what I thought at first… But then I noticed some monsters wandering around and I figured since I had this sword and shield, I might as well put it to good use. After I beat up those monsters, I checked back the next day, only to find more.”

“So you have been keeping the village safe. Thank you, Mido. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

Mido turned away, hiding his blushing cheeks. “H-hey, it’s not that big of a deal. As the boss of the Kokiri, of course I should be keeping the others safe! It’s been tough without you, though. It really feels like a part of the forest disappeared when you left. I’ve done what I can, but you were always the better leader. I can’t tell you how many times the others asked me when you were coming back. I was the last one to see you, so of course they thought I knew. To tell you the truth, I didn’t think you’d ever come back.”

Saria stepped closer to Mido, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Well I’m here now.” The boy smiled in response, and the two took a small comfort in each other’s company.

After that, the two Kokiri looked up at the stone fortress nearby. It was strange, almost like Saria’s eyes were being drawn to it. She couldn’t rightly tell what it was, but she could feel a presence behind those stone walls and the strange door up above. Somehow, she felt Mido could feel it too.

“Saria, do you remember what the Deku Tree told us about the Forest Temple?” asked Mido.

“I do. I’ve never stepped inside because of it.”

“All these monsters… You don’t think they’re coming from in there, do you? I thought it was supposed to be a sacred place.”

“It was. The forest spirits made those ruins their home. I haven’t seen any on my way here, though. Perhaps they’re trying to deal with whatever is going on inside?”

“Whatever is going on, all the monsters seem to be coming from this meadow. At least, the ones I can find.”

“Then in the future, you may need to keep the others from wandering too far through the Lost Woods. We can deal with these monsters, but the others may not be ready.”

Mido beat his chest with his fist. “I can do that. Blocking entrances is one of my specialties, after all. You can count on me!”

“Speaking of the others, they’re all waiting for us back in the village. There’s something I need to tell all of you.”

“Wait, really?” Mido crossed his arms, tapping his foot. “Hey! Is that why you came to find me? I thought you were just worried about me!!”

“Of course I was worried about you! That’s why I wanted to include you!”

Mido stuck his nose up and said, “Hmph! I see how it is. Let’s get going, then.”

The Kokiri boy stomped off. Saria’s shoulders sunk as she watched him go.

That boy… I can never tell what he’s thinking. Saria then turned to look at the Forest Temple one last time. The tall structure cast a shadow over the Sacred Meadow, one that chilled her to the bone. Deep down, she knew she would have to go into that temple one day. But for now, she would focus on the present.

---

Saria held the meeting with the rest of the Kokiri in her house. Many of the boys and girls sat around anxiously, kicking their feet back and forth while Mido helped gather up any stragglers. Once everyone was present, Saria regaled the others with tales of her travels: her journey to Castle Town, showing the princess the Kokiri’s Emerald, and helping others where she could until she befriended the chief of the Gorons, Darunia. Saria made sure to leave out the mission Zelda had charged her with. She also told the others, with much regret, that she lost the Kokiri’s Emerald to the thief, Kitoga. Immediately, one of the boys raised his hand.

“Why didn’t you go get it afterwards?” he asked. It was an understandable, albeit blunt question.

“Yeah! You beat that lady the first time!” shouted an excited girl. “I’m sure you can beat her again. You just have to find her!”

“About that,” said Saria. “Hyrule is not in the best place right now. That evil sorcerer, Ganondorf, fled to his homeland, Gerudo Valley. Truth be told, he may be preparing for battle. He has Gerudo warriors and monsters on his side, so if he thinks he can take what he wants with force, he’ll do it.”

Another boy raised his hand. “If he’s the problem, why not go beat him up too?”

Mido smacked the boy over the head. “You idiot! If it were that easy, don’t you think Saria would have done so by now?”

“But what can we even do?” asked one of the girls. “If Saria is struggling, I don’t think I’d be of much use. I only know how to keep the deku babas at bay.”

“The fighting isn’t guaranteed,” said Saria, “but because it’s a possibility, that’s why I wanted you all to know. I’m not asking you to fight in the war, but there’s no telling what will happen once the fighting starts. I have an idea, though.”

“You do?” asked one of the boys.

“Of course she does!” shouted Mido as he smacked this boy as well.

“Hey! Enough of that!” shouted Saria. “If you’re going to keep doing that, you can wait outside!”

Mido grumbled, crossing his arms as he sat down. “Sorry.”

The Kokiri turned their attention back to Saria, their eyes full of anticipation.

“Now, do you remember the Gorons I mentioned?” Saria gestured to a chalk drawing. “I befriended their leader, Darunia, who told me he’d be willing to help us out whenever we needed. It may be early, but I think it’d be worth calling in that favor. Darunia has plenty of experience fighting, and he’s already been whipping his own troops into shape. I think he could do the same for us.”

“Wait, are you saying we have to leave the forest?!” asked Mido.

“Not right now, but it should be something you should all prepare to do. Set aside travel packs – anything essential that isn’t too heavy so you can pick up and go should the need arise.”

The Kokiri didn’t looked pleased at the idea. One of the girls said, “But the forest has been our home since… Forever! I don’t know if I can just leave it behind like that.”

“We already know it’s safe to leave. Even should night fall, I can use the song I learned to keep the stalchildren at bay.”

“That is true…” said one of the boys. “But what if we can’t come back? What if we’re stuck outside the forest forever?”

“Oh hush!” snapped Fado. “Saria already came back once. There’s no reason we couldn’t come back once it’s safe to do so. I know change is scary, but look at how much Saria has grown in her time away!”

The Kokiri looked at Saria, who hadn’t grown an inch in the days she had been gone, then looked back to Fado, who grit her teeth.

“I don’t mean literally! I’m saying the new experiences helped her grow stronger and wiser. We’ve spent our whole lives in this forest, but if Saria can make it in the outside world, so can we.” Fado then stood up. “And I’ll prove it. Saria, I’m coming with you!”

“You are?” asked Saria.

“You are?!” asked Mido.

The blonde Kokiri grinned. “We can’t expect Saria to do all the work, right? I can help discuss any plans or training with this Darunia once we meet so Saria can focus on other things. If I have your permission, of course.”

Saria smiled at this. “You don’t need my permission, Fado. You can come along.”

Fado pumped her fist and said, “Then I’ll start packing. See you outside!”

As she walked away, one of the boys tugged at her dress. “Are you really leaving us too?”

“Of course. How else are we going to get anything done? Don’t worry so much. I’ll be back before you know it!”

After Fado walked out of the house, Saria looked to the other Kokiri. She could tell they were still worried, so she approached them and got down on her knee, hugging as many as she could.

“It’ll be okay. As long as we work together, we can overcome anything the world has to throw at us. So stay strong for me while I’m away.” The other Kokiri teared up, saying, “We will!” while they all hugged. Saria then concluded the meeting, stepping outside with the others and watching them disperse. Mido left without saying a word, returning to his house. Saria decided to follow him in to make sure he was okay.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” asked Saria.

“What? Nothing’s wrong,” said Mido, grabbing some things from his chest. “That just went by pretty fast.”

“Are you sure? We still have time to talk with Fado packing.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. You seem to be in a hurry to get out of here anyway, so who am I to stop you?”

“Hey! It’s not what you think! This is important!”

“More important than us?!”

“I’m doing this because of all of you!” Saria raised her voice more than she intended. She quieted down for a moment before saying, “Ever since I got back, I’ve been struggling to even move. I don’t want to leave home again so soon. I’ve thought about home every day since I’ve been gone. Even so, I understand now more than ever how important it is to keep fighting. If I can’t keep the village safe, there won’t be a home for me to return to.”

Hearing this, Mido shook his head. “I get you’re worried about us and want us to be safe, but what about you? When are you gonna worry about yourself for a change?!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“You figure it out why don’t you!” Mido then pushed past Saria, stepping out of his house. “I’m going back to the Lost Woods. I gotta do my part too, right?”

Saria watched her friend stomped off once again. She shut the door to his house, leaving it behind.

“Moody as usual,” said Poppy. “I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

“Is it really because of me, though? I know I’ve been gone for a while, but it hasn’t been that long, right?”

Poppy looked into Saria’s eyes and hummed. “Hmmm, no. I won’t say. I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”

Saria grumbled, but she didn’t have much else to say. She put it out of her mind and looked for Fado. She found the girl waiting at the village exit with a Goron-sized travel pack.

“Uh, Fado? You don’t need that much stuff where we’re going,” said Saria.

“We don’t?”

“Yeah. We shouldn’t be gone for more than a day.”

“Fine. I’ll put some stuff away. Just give me a sec.”

With some time to kill, Saria visited one last part of the village. Standing at the top of a small slope, she looked up at the treehouse. The carving at the base of the tree and the ladder were fine, but the house felt cold and lifeless. Small bits of moss had started growing on the outer walls. It wouldn’t be long until it fell into disrepair.

Fado met back up with Saria, now with a more practical travel bag. “We weren’t sure what to do with it,” she said while looking at the old house. “Some of us were in disbelief, even after we watched you bury him and Navi. I guess we just thought it was an elaborate prank and he’d pop out of the bushes a day later. I guess that’ll never happen, huh?”

Saria rubbed her arm, looking away. She said nothing.

“What do you think we should do with it?” Fado asked.

“I don’t know,” said Saria. “We can… Figure it out later. Let’s go.”

As Saria left for the exit, Fado said under her breath, “Sorry…”

---

When Fado stepped out into the fields of Hyrule, she patted herself down.

“Is this real? Am I still alive?”

“Of course you are,” said Saria, patting the girl on the back. “Now let’s get going. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

Fado’s fairy, Lati, floated above Fado’s head. “It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen the outside world.”

“You never went outside much?” asked Poppy.

Lati shook her head. “Was never asked to.”

“Then stick with me,” said Poppy with a grin. “I’ll show you all the sights when we have time!”

The Kokiri and fairies made their way across the fields, with Fado running ahead, her face beaming with joy.

“Ooh, what’s this? What’s that?” Fado lifted up a rock. “Hey, they have the same kind of bugs in the Lost Woods!” Then she turned, noticing something big in the distance. “Hey Saria, what’s that big plant over there?”

After Saria caught up, she took Fado by the arm. “I wouldn’t mess with that if I were you.”

“Oooh, okay. Is it dangerous?”

“Extremely,” said Poppy. “It can fly, its leaves can cut down trees, and when you defeat it, the whole thing explodes!”

“That just makes me want to check it out even more!”

Saria had to drag Fado away. “None of that, now. I don’t want you to get hurt while we have so far to walk.”

“Aaaah. You’re no fun.”

Once the girls were safely away from the peahats, Saria led Fado towards Kakariko Village. As she did, a thought crossed her mind. Wait a minute, she thought. Didn’t I need to do something in Castle Town?

“Hey Fado, I know we need to head up to Death Mountain, but would you be interested in taking a detour and seeing Castle Town?” asked Saria.

“Would I?! Let’s go!!” shouted Fado.

“Aren’t we in a hurry though?” asked Poppy. “We only have so much time to prepare before Ganondorf shows up.”

“Yeah, but we have a whole month, right? And we do owe that guard in Kakariko a favor…”

“Did he even do anything though?”

Saria paused, tapping her cheek. “I suppose not. But we did promise to help him, and that’s good enough reason for me.”

“Don’t worry so much, Poppy. It won’t take that long!” Fado then took Saria by the hand, running off towards the castle with Lati floating behind. All Poppy could do was watch them go.

“I can’t believe it. Now there’s two of them.” Poppy then gave chase, doing her best to keep up with her companions until they all made it to the town gate.

---

Saria had to stick close to the ever-curious Fado, who was positively ecstatic about all the new sights, sounds, and smells in the market. Looking at the Kokiri girl run around excitedly from place to place made Saria feel nostalgic over her first outing to the town.

“Ooh, is this Hylian food? I wanna try!”

“Hold on,” Saria grabbed Fado. “Before we get too caught up in things, I need to take care of an errand. Then we can have a little fun.”

Fado’s shoulders drooped. “Fiiiine. Have it your way.”

Saria led the way to the strange shop in the middle of the marketplace. It was a house-sized building with a large mask fixture on top that was locked in a perpetual smile.

“Kinda creepy, don’t you think?” asked Lati.

“It does make you curious though, doesn’t it?” said Fado.

Saria felt tense. She moved in front and opened the door, stepping inside. It was a wide-open building with little more than a counter on the other side, though a large sign had been posted on the left side of the store that reached from floor to ceiling. It was too much to read, so she approached the store counter.

“Hello? Is anyone working right now?”

“Quite so!” said an unusual man popping up from behind the counter. He had slicked back orange hair, squinted, and had a toothy smile. A large travel pack leaned against the wall behind the counter covered in masks. “Welcome to the Happy Mask Shop, young ladies. I’m the proprietor of the store, the Happy Mask Salesman. Although… I suppose you could just call me the Salesman for short.”

“Do you not have a proper name?” asked Saria. The Salesman’s brow furrowed at this.

“I find it very proper, for your information. Besides, I reserve personal names for personal affairs. Now, if you are a customer, I can help you to a mask.”

While Fado and the fairies looked at the tall sign, Saria looked at the shelves behind the Salesman. There wasn’t much in stock, curiously enough. Pointing, she said, “Hey, is that yellow mask up there a popular item?”

“It is indeed!” said the Salesman. “People are quite fond of the Keaton character, I’d say. Would you like to borrow the mask?” he smiled.

“Borrow?”

“Yes… I don’t suppose you read the rules, did you?”

“I… No, I guess I didn’t. Can I not just buy it for someone?”

“Well yes, but also no. You see, I’m trying something new with my shop. Think of it like a game. You can borrow the mask as long as you’d like, but on the condition you act as a second salesman on my behalf. If you find someone who wants to buy it, you take what money they give you and bring it back. If they give you more than the mask is worth, you make a profit. If they pay less, it comes out of your pocket. By spreading my masks around, you increase the world’s happiness, and I trust you a little more, so you can see more of my wares. They’re very precious to me, so if you wish to play, I ask you be prompt and courteous.”

Fado approached the counter. “You can just borrow them, huh? And if we can’t find someone, we give back the mask when we’re done?”

“Precisely,” said the Salesman.

“And what happens if someone doesn’t return the mask?” asked Saria. At this, the Salesman opened his eyes, revealing an intense glare.

“Then I take the mask back.” The man then closed his eyes, returning a happy little smile to his face.

“Well… I am trying to get the mask for someone else, so I already have a customer in mind,” said Saria.

“Great! Then take this,” the Salesman passed the Keaton mask over to Saria.

“Ooh, I want one too! I don’t know anybody, I just wanna wear it for a little bit,” said Fado. “I’ll be sure to return it before I leave town.”

“Very well,” the man said, passing a second mask to the girl.

With the masks acquired, the girls left the shop. Saria couldn’t help but mumble, “What a strange man…” to herself.

---

Once outside, the girls tried on their masks. Saria was worried there might be some kind of spell on the masks, but they were entirely ordinary. She slipped hers up to rest on her head and turned to Fado.

“So why did you want one?” she asked.

“Why? Because it means we match!” Fado said with a smile.

“Just be careful, okay? That merchant gave me the creeps. I’d rather not get in trouble, so remember to return the mask when you’re done.”

“Promise! I’m a little surprised, though. There are much scarier things in the Lost Woods than that guy.”

The girls moved on. Saria treated everyone to some food using rupees she had collected during her travels. Saria bought a whole baked cucco, some fruit, and a wedge of cheese to share. While Poppy and Lati chewed on a pear together, Saria and Fado partook of the meat and cheese. As soon as Fado ate some of the food, her face clenched up in pure delight.

“Oooh, that’s really good! This is nothing like what you’d find in our village! Thanks for letting me tag along.”

“You’ve really taken a liking to the outside world, huh?” said Saria.

“Of course! I’ve spent my whole life in those woods! It’s always the same faces, same food, same weather, same everything! Day in, day out. It’s soooo boring. It’s why I like to explore the Lost Woods so much.”

Saria almost felt hurt. “It’s not that boring, is it? I like our home.”

“Oh, I don’t mean it like that. I just felt cooped up in that small village. I love our home, but isn’t it exciting to finally experience so many new things?”

Saria thought back to all her experiences ever since she had left her village. The good times, the bad times, all the explosions. It had been quite an adventure so far.

“Exciting is a good word for it,” said Saria. “Come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing you in the Lost Woods much. How often did you wander around there? Surely you know of the danger.”

“Danger makes things fun,” said Fado, taking a huge bite out of an apple. “Isn’t that why you always went in there yourself? There are so many strange and scary things there, it’s the perfect cure for boredom. You even get to see outsiders, occasionally. Young people, old people, people looking for their friends, people trying to run away. All sorts of types. You must have seen them too, right?”

“I’ve seen a few lost people before. I usually try to lead them out if I can, but sometimes I can’t always help them.”

“It’s kind of strange though, don’t you think? You ever wonder why the Lost Woods does that to people?”

“What do you mean?”

Fado took her fork and stabbed it into the roasted cucco, pulling away a big chunk of meat. “Don’t you know? Outsiders who get lost in those woods start to change. The young ones become skull kids, and the older ones become stalfos. Only we Kokiri are safe in those woods. Any non-Kokiri turn into monsters… I’ve always wondered why. It’s pretty interesting, don’t you think?”

A bead of sweat slipped down Saria’s face. “I’d prefer not to think about that.”

Fado’s expression went back to normal. “Fair enough. You’re the leader, so you get to make the rules. If you don’t want to talk about that kind of thing, then we won’t!” Fado took a big bite out of the meat on her fork, looking as peaceful as could be.

As far back as Saria could remember, Fado had always been around. She wasn’t sure if Fado was older or younger than her, but Fado was most certainly older than the other Kokiri. She was also one of the few blonde-haired villagers, always wearing her hair in two big pompoms. She was loved by the Kokiri, and was quite close to Mido, sometimes playing the part of a doting sister. As for how Saria felt about her, she couldn’t say. Fado was a fun and curious girl, but always the troublemaker. She was cute and affectionate, but also a little scary at times. She was like the wind – an unpredictable free spirit. If nothing else, Saria knew that she could never let Fado out of her sight for even a minute, because if she did, who knows what she would get up to?

When everyone was done eating, Saria wrapped up the leftovers with a clean cloth and stored the food in her travel pack.

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” said Saria.

“Already? But we just got here!” complained Fado.

“Yeah, but we have things to do.” Saria tried walking away, but Fado, still sitting, wrapped her arms around Saria’s waist.

“Come ooooon, there’s still so much I haven’t seen. Just a little longer. Please?”

Saria looked to her fairy companion, who shrugged. She sighed. “Oh, all right. Just a little longer.”

“Yay!” Fado leapt up out of her chair.

With Fado leading the way, the girls spent more time in town. They went everywhere, climbing rooftops, playing with animals, and talking with strangers. They even found games to play in some of the stores. Saria won a new belt pouch at the shooting gallery, whereas Fado got some spending money at the bombchu bowling alley.

When it started to get late, Saria said, “Okay Fado, let’s get going now.”

“Hold on,” Fado stopped, looking towards the castle. “Is that where you said you saw the princess?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks! I’m gonna go say hi to her before we go!”

Fado ran off. Saria shouted, “Hey, get back here!!”

Saria gave chase, leaving the town behind. She was unaware of the man that had been watching her and her friend. From around the corner, a merchant smiled to himself. “There they go. Looks like I’ve found myself more fairies to catch.”

---

The two Kokiri sprinted towards the castle, all while their fairies did their best to keep up. Fado proved nimbler than Saria, climbing the vines along the stone wall with ease while Saria lost her grip halfway through. Fado nearly reached the gate wall when Saria made it to the top. Saria continued chasing the girl, watching as she leapt from the gate and rolled across the ground, unphased by the fall. Saria followed suit, eventually cornering the girl on a path to the right with a sign that read “Dead End.”

“There you are. You need to be more careful! We’re not allowed to be here,” said Saria.

“Are you sure? I thought you got to see the princess,” said Fado.

“And almost got beat up because of it, too. Everyone is on high alert right now because of the Gerudo. If we get caught, who knows what will happen to us?”

“Then all we need to do is not get caught,” Fado smiled.

Saria was starting to get irritated, but before she said anything, a faint wave of energy washed over her. A strong but subdued presence could be felt nearby, like the warmth from a fire. Saria looked past her friend, noticing a boulder at the end of the path. That’s when she remembered something from back on Death Mountain.

“Hold on,” said Saria, walking past Fado. “I think there’s a hidden path here. I met a Great Fairy once before, and she mentioned one of her sisters was nearby Hyrule Castle.”

“You think this might be where she is?” asked Fado.

“I do. The question is how we get past this boulder without alerting the guards…” Saria tested the limits of her magic bracelet, but she wasn’t strong enough to lift the boulder. “Darn, I guess that won’t work. Maybe if we pushed together…”

“I have an idea!” Fado reached into one of her own pouches, pulling out a bombchu.

“Hey! Where did you even get that?”

“I borrowed it? I thought that’s how shops worked here.”

“Fado, not all the shops run on a borrow-based exchange. I paid for the food, remember? That’s a stolen bombchu!”

Fado hummed in thought before setting the bombchu on the ground. Saria was so caught off-guard, she was too slow to stop it. The bombchu raced past her, latched onto the boulder, then spun around and around before finally detonating, destroying the boulder.

“What’d you go and do that for?!” said Saria.

“Figured I might as well use it. Can’t be caught for stealing if I don’t have it, right?”

Already Saria could hear the sound of guards racing down the path as smoke from the explosion cleared up. A small crawlspace could be seen.

“Quick, inside!”

Saria and Fado dove through the crawlspace with their fairies, disappearing before the guards found them. After leaving the crawlspace, the girls found themselves standing before a Great Fairy’s fountain.

“Woooow, what is this place?” asked Fado.

“It’s a fountain where one of the Great Fairies live,” Saria took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. “It’s not quite how I imagined finding this place, but I suppose I should thank you for the help.”

Fado wrapped an arm around Saria’s shoulders as she said, “Of course! What are friends for?”

Grumbling, Saria pushed Fado away and said, “No more bombchus, though. We have to be on our best behavior for the Great Fairy, okay?”

“Don’t worry, Saria,” said Lati. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t misbehave anymore.”

Fado rolled her eyes. “Relax. I only had the one bombchu, anyway.”

Saria then stepped forward, summoning the fairy with her ocarina. As before, the Great Fairy appeared from the fountain, floating through the air. She immediately popped her back and let out a pleased wince.

“Ooh, that was nice. Been a while since I got to stretch like that.” She then looked down at Saria. “Aaah, I see. So it is true. You’re the new hero, right?”

Saria straightened her posture and said, “Yes, in a matter of speaking. I was told by your sister on Death Mountain to come see you. I heard you can teach me a spell?”

“I can do that,” the Great Fairy smiled. “I am the Great Fairy of Magic, after all. Receive my power, little one, and rejoice!”

Extending her hands, the Great Fairy transferred a portion of her power into Saria, passing the spell on. Saria felt the magic flow through her body as before, but this time she saw a vision of a great inferno bursting from the ground.

“What is this?” asked Saria.

“That spell is called Din’s Fire. Nice, isn’t it?”

“It feels powerful, but also dangerous.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. Fire can hurt. Fire can destroy. But it can also warm the body, cook your food, and light the path ahead. Fire can be many things. It’s all a matter of how you use it. So use it with care, little one.”

“Ooh, I wanna learn Din’s Fire too!” said Fado. Saria shoved the Kokiri girl away.

“Not happening.”

The Great Fairy chuckled at the exchange and said, “It’s been nice seeing some fresh new faces. If you ever need help or advice, don’t hesitate to call on me. See you later, darlings!”

Then the fairy disappeared into the fountain. The girls turned away and headed for the exit.

“She’s really pretty, huh?” said Fado.

“Indeed.”

“Do you think you’ll ever turn into that?” Fado asked of Lati.

“I’m not sure. Great Fairies are the accumulation of many fairies. I could become a part of one, but probably never be one, if that makes sense.”

“Huh. I think so. What do you think, Poppy?”

“I’m already gorgeous. I don’t need to be big to be pretty,” the fairy grinned. Fado chuckled at this and followed after Saria. When the two Kokiri left the fountain, however, they found someone waiting for them outside.

“And that makes two,” said the merchant.

“Wait, who’s this guy?” asked Fado.

“I have no idea,” said Saria. “I don’t think he’s a guard, though.”

The man standing before the Kokiri was a Hylian. He had shoulder-length brown hair, blue eyes, and wore a green vest over his otherwise plain clothing. He held a glass bottle in his hand as he stared the Kokiri down.

“Okay, let’s make this quick. Hand over your fairies, or else I’ll shout for the guards.”

“You’re bluffing,” said Saria. “You’ll get in just as much trouble with the guards as us.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” grinned the merchant. “They’ll likely just throw me out like they do with most people. But you? I’ve heard of you and the trouble you’ve caused them. Given how tight security is these days, they might just drag you off to the dungeon. So what’ll it be? Your fairies or the dungeon?”

Saria was unamused by the man’s threats. She said, “You can have this.” She then smashed a deku nut against the ground, blinding the man. “Fado, let’s get out of here!” The merchant was left in such pain, he could hardly speak. The Kokiri and fairies slipped past him, sneaking into the gatehouse before climbing out and leaving the castle grounds behind.

Back in the marketplace, Saria and Fado stopped to catch their breath.

“What was that about?” asked Fado. “Why did that guy want our fairies?”

“I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling about this. Let’s get going. We’re long overdue for Kakariko Village.”

Unfortunately, night had fallen across the town. By the time the girls reached the gate, it had already been closed. Saria skid to a halt. “Oh shoot! They closed the gate on us!”

“Do you know of any other way out?” asked Fado.

“I was shown a secret exit once, but you need a special key to use it that I don’t have.”

“Ooh, I have an idea,” said Poppy. “You learned that song back in the tomb, right? If you play it, it’ll be day again and we can leave!”

“That might just make them confused, but I’ll give it a shot.”

Saria drew her ocarina out once more and was ready to play. As she did, however, a man shouted from behind her.

“Hey!” Saria stopped and turned to face the man, realizing he was one of the guards.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s quiet time. No playing music.”

“But-”

“I said no. People are trying to sleep, so be respectful. If you disturb the peace, I won’t hesitate to throw you in jail.”

Saria narrowed her eyes at the guard and put her ocarina away. “So be it… Can you at least let us out? We need to get to Kakariko Village. It’s urgent.”

“Are you crazy? There are way too many monsters that come out at night for me to do that. You want me to endanger the whole town? Sorry, but you’ll have to wait until morning.”

As the guard walked away, Fado stared daggers into the back of the man’s head, popping her knuckles. Saria had to grab her before she went after him.

“Hey, what gives?” said Fado. “If we take care of him, we can open the gate ourselves, right?”

Saria shook her head. “I’d rather not cause more trouble than I already have. Let’s just find somewhere to rest for the night.”

Fado followed after Saria, saying, “Ooh, and if we find somewhere secluded, then we can play that song.”

With night fallen across the town, the girls found it a far less hospitable place. All the friendly faces had gone home, now soundly asleep. The only things still awake were the guards patrolling the town (far more than Saria expected) and all the dogs wandering the streets. A cold wind blew through the town, making Saria pull her cloak together.

“Saria… Are you all right?” asked Fado.

“I’ve been better. I feel like an idiot for spending all day in town. We should be in Goron City by now.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m the reason we stuck around for so long. If you have to blame someone, blame me.”

Saria shook her head. “You can say that, but I’m the one who took a detour in the first place. We wouldn’t be in this situation if I didn’t drag you along on my errand.”

Fado frowned. She watched as Saria sat down with her back against the wall of a building, huddling up with her cloak. The building itself looked like a medicine shop. Fado and her fairy inspected the front of the store and found a sign.

“Hold on, what’s this?”

This got Saria’s attention, so she stood up and read the sign as well. The sign was an advertisement, talking about the store’s inventory to get new customers interested. The store sold potions, deku nuts, blue flame, and even bottled poes – a disturbing thought for Saria, having met a pair of ghosts herself. But the last item it listed were bottled fairies, which sold for fifty rupees each.

“Wait… This shop sells fairies?” scoffed Saria.

“This is outrageous!” growled Poppy. “I’m worth way more than fifty rupees!”

“Does this mean that man from earlier runs this shop?” asked Lati. “Either that or he was planning to sell us to the owner.”

The girls looked at each other. With a furrowed brow, Saria said, “I think we should take a closer look before we leave town tonight.”

---

Saria and the fairies were hiding behind the potion shop while Fado picked the lock. Apparently, Fado had found a number of unusual items abandoned by people who disappeared in the Lost Woods. Saria decided not to question it.

“Got it. Come on!” whispered Fado.

With the backdoor unlocked, everyone slipped inside. It didn’t take long until the girls found the shop’s storeroom. There were several bottled potions, tools used for mixing ingredients, bags of spare deku nuts, and a whole shelf’s worth of bottled fairies. As soon as they noticed the Kokiri girls, they all started banging on their glass, silently shouting for help.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you out,” said Saria, reaching for one of the bottles.

“Not so fast!” said a familiar voice. “That’s store property!”

Saria and Fado turned, realizing the merchant from earlier was standing by the backdoor with a guard in tow.

“These are the ones I told you about, sir,” said the merchant. “See? They’ve already stolen two of my fairies!”

“These aren’t your fairies, you bum!” shouted Saria. “These are our fairies! We’re Kokiri!”

“What do you mean?” asked the guard.

“Kokiri and faeries have always lived side by side. They’re our companions. Have you never heard of our village?”

“Yeah! We’re not someone’s property!” shouted Poppy.

“Wait… Hold on… I’m not sure how to handle this,” said the guard.

“You’re not just going to let them get away with this, are you?” asked the merchant. “They broke into my shop!”

“True. Okay, you two can come with me. I need to talk with my captain about this fairy business.”

Much to their frustration, Saria and Fado followed the guard out of the shop to the gatehouse by the town’s main entrance. Saria wanted to avoid trouble, but even she was losing her patience. She started questioning what was more important: doing good or following the law?

“Sorry about this,” said the guard. “It’ll just be a minute. Wait here.”

The man stepped inside the gatehouse to talk with his fellow guards. After he shut the door, Fado crossed her arms. “How rude. I don’t care much for the laws these Hylians enforce.”

Saria, who was once again sitting with her back against a wall, rested her head across her arms. “Well we are on the same side. It’s frustrating, but what can we do?”

At this, Fado kicked a rock away. “We are not on the same side! Fairies aren’t property! If we let this go, we’re condoning slavery!!”

“But what if the fairies are being used to help heal people and keep them safe?”

“There’s a difference between asking a fairy for help and forcing them to help you! Didn’t you see how those fairies reacted when they saw us? They need our help! And if we keep letting these guards push us around, we’ll never get the chance!”

Saria’s eyes widened at this. “You know what… You’re right. Who knows how many fairies have already been captured and sold? We can’t let them get away with this!”

“You’re darn right we can’t!” Fado reached out a hand, helping Saria to her feet. “I think it’s time we take matters into our own hands. You ready to ditch these guys?”

“I am. If they won’t respect the people of the forest, there’s no reason to respect them.”

The girls slipped on their Keaton masks and faded into the shadows. Not long after, the guard stepped out of the gatehouse.

“Okay, so it turns out it’s perfectly legal to… Huh? Where’d they go?” The guard looked around, unable to find the Kokiri. Before he could blow his whistle to alert the others, a deku nut slammed into the ground, blinding the man. Two small figures emerged from the darkness, knocking out the guard, as well as the others inside the gatehouse. Once the guards were safely tucked away in the building, the girls returned to the medicine shop.

“Huh? Who goes there?” The merchant looked around, seeing the two figures approach. “Oh, it’s you two? Didn’t you learn your lesson already, or,” he grinned, “are you here to cut me a deal?”

“There will be no more selling of fairies,” said the green-haired girl. “We’ve come to dispense justice.”

“Kokiri justice,” said the blonde-haired girl before shutting and locking the backdoor.

“Wait, you can’t be serious. I’m twice your size. There’s no way you could-”

The green haired girl kicked the merchant in the knee, knocking him to the ground. He pushed himself back, pleading with the girls.

“Wait, hold on! Let’s make a deal! I could give you a cut of the profits! How does 50% sound? No, 70%! 80%! Come on! Answer me!”

The girls ignored his pleading and beat him to a pulp. By the time the guards found him the next day, the shop had been ransacked. All the fairies had been freed, and the owner was tied up in the corner with the word “Slaver” written on his forehead.

“By the goddesses, what happened?!” said one of the guards.

The delirious merchant mumbled, “Keatons… Don’t mess with keatons…”

---

When the Castle Town gate was open, an old lady on a horse-drawn cart made its way out, its goods tied down with a cloth tarp. After the gate guard gave the cart a cursory inspection, he let the woman pass. She rode across the fields as she made her way to Kakariko Village. Once she reached the entrance at the foot of the mountain, she stopped.

“Okay, it’s all clear,” said the old lady.

Saria, Fado, and the two fairies slipped out from under the covers and climbed out of the cart.

“Thanks for the help,” said Saria, handing the old lady some rupees. “Here’s the rest of your payment.”

“Oh, much appreciated. That was a tad surprising, though. I didn’t expect the guards to be on such high alert. Did something happen recently?”

Saria shook her head. “I couldn’t say.”

“I heard the local potion shop had a bad break-in recently.” The woman smiled, almost knowingly. “Seems the world isn’t as safe as it used to be. You kids take care, now.”

Then the old lady flicked her reins and drove her cart back over the bridge, disappearing down the road.

“Nice lady,” Fado smiled. “I’ll have to visit her the next time I’m in town.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to go back right now,” said Saria.

“I gotta return this mask eventually, right?”

Saria tensed up. “You still have that?!”

“Relax. I didn’t have time to give it back since the shop was closed before we left. Besides, as long as I return it in the end, there’s no harm, right?”

Saria sighed. “I can’t believe I’ve become a criminal. They’re all going to hate me now…”

“It’s okay,” said Poppy, patting Saria on the shoulder. “Should the worst come to pass, we fairies will always honor your memory.”

“Hush, you.”

The girls made their way up to Kakariko Village. Before Fado got distracted by all the cuccos, Saria dragged her off and walked up to the Death Mountain gate.

“Hey, long time no see, Ms. Hero!” said the friendly guard. “Did you happen to pick up that mask?”

“I did.” Saria passed the Keaton mask over to the guard. He looked it over and smiled.

“Wow, this is great!” He then put it on. “My kid is gonna love this! Thanks Ms. Hero! You’re the best! Here, take these.”

The guard handed Saria fifteen rupees, and with the errand concluded, the girls passed through the gate and walked up the mountain trail. Unlike in the past, there were no signs of monsters. Instead, Gorons young and old could be seen all throughout the trail. Some were basking in the sun, others were playing, and many more were just rolling around for fun. It was a much livelier place than it was before. Even though Saria felt bad for breaking so many laws in Castle Town, she felt satisfied knowing she had still made a difference elsewhere.

“Big Sis!” shouted a Goron, who faceplanted into the ground. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

Saria helped the Goron up, saying, “And I didn’t think you’d be doing that again so soon. Haven’t you learned anything?”

“Sorry, I was just excited to see you.”

Fado burst out laughing at the Goron’s display, saying, “This is what Gorons are like? I think I’m gonna like you guys!”

“Ooh, who’s that, Big Sis?” asked the Goron.

“This is Fado. She’s another Kokiri,” said Saria. “Is Darunia in the city? I need to speak with him.”

The Goron nodded, confirming Darunia was in Goron City. After thanking the man and saying goodbye, Saria led Fado up the rest of the trail, taking her inside the city where they found Darunia running armored Gorons through military drills.

“Saria! Glad to see ya! Who’s this?” asked Darunia. Saria introduced Fado, and then the pair shook hands. “Pleasure to meet you, Fado. Any friend of Saria is a friend of mine!”

“Same!” Fado smiled.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you back so soon? Is something wrong?”

“It’s about Ganondorf,” said Saria. “He escaped to Gerudo Valley. The king thinks he might be planning an attack.”

“Hmph! That slippery little thief! I thought something like that might be happening. It’s why I’m training my warriors. Gotta be ready for anything!”

“Is it possible my people could train with yours? They’re not used to fighting like you and me are. If Ganondorf does attack Hyrule, I want the Kokiri to be prepared.”

Darunia crossed his muscular arms and nodded. “Of course. Anything for my blood sister!”

“Thank you. Fado can take over from here. She can help coordinate things between you and the other Kokiri.”

“I see. So, Fado, was it? You ever been in a fight before?”

Fado smiled. “I’ve had to put down a few stalfos in the past, so I know a thing or two about fighting.”

“Huh. Not sure what those are, but they sound dangerous. Good! I’m glad you’re not as green as your tunic!” The Goron chief laughed alongside Fado while Saria stood back, utterly horrified by what Fado had said.

“She’s joking… Right?” asked Saria.

“You never know with that one,” said Poppy. “At least they’re getting along.”

Saria said her goodbyes and left the city. She had taken longer than she intended, but now that things had been settled, she could focus entirely on her training. She headed back to Kakariko Village and searched for Impa, eventually finding her waiting in the graveyard. The muscular woman was leaning against a wall of dirt, tapping her foot.

“Finally decided to show up, I see. Took you long enough,” said Impa.

“I’m sorry, things got a little out of hand, but it’s all taken care of now,” said Saria.

“It’s all right. I’m just glad you showed up at all. Your training partner is waiting for you.”

“My… Training partner?”

Impa smirked. “You’ll see.” Then the woman turned and walked through a wall. What Saria thought was solid dirt rippled like the surface of a pond. Unsure what to make of it, Saria stuck her hand through the wall.

“It’s an illusion. Interesting.”

Saria then stepped through the illusion, following after Impa. The Sheikah led the girl to a hidden part of the village. The stone buildings looked much older, having a layer of moss on their walls, and the surrounding woods had grown so dense that the canopy nearly swallowed the sun. There were also several structures that seemed to serve little purpose other than for training. It was part village and part obstacle course, with a pond of water in the center where fireflies gently danced above it on the winds.

“Welcome to Sheikah Village,” said Impa. “For the time being, this will be your new home.”

“That answers a few questions,” said Saria. “Kakariko always seemed a bit ordinary compared to what I knew about the Sheikah.”

Impa chuckled at the girl’s words. “There’s a lot you don’t know about us, and hopefully it stays that way.”

Saria walked forward, taking a look around. Then, she sensed a presence coming up from behind her. She turned, weapon at the ready.

“Who goes there?”

“It’s all right,” said Impa. “They’re your new training partner. Come on out, Sheik.”

A young boy about Saria’s height stepped out of the shadows. Wearing form-fitting clothes similar to Impa, but covering their whole body, their forearms, chest, and head were wrapped in bandages, and a tattered tabard was worn over their torso, displaying the symbol of the Sheikah in red. Blonde hair could be seen beneath their head wrappings, and while one eye was covered by hair, their other eye was red, looking at Saria with a subdued yet intense gaze.

“Whoa,” said Poppy. “He’s your training partner?”

“Nice to meet you,” said Sheik in a calm, boyish voice. He extended a hand to Saria. The Kokiri accepted, shaking the boy’s hand. Their grip was firm, and their fingers calloused – likely due to intense training.

“Nice to meet you. You’ve got an interesting name,” said Saria.

“Young Sheikah in training are not given names,” said Impa. “Not all trainees survive their youth. Because of this, it’s a tradition to give our young such a title. If they survive training, they become official Sheikah, earning their name.”

“I thought you were the last of the Sheikah.”

“I am, at least until Sheik earns their place,” Impa smiled. “Now we don’t have much time. Ganondorf may not march for a month, but there’s no telling what that sorcerer will do in the meantime. We have to be ready for anything. Monsters, bandits, wizards – you name it. You two better get ready, because by the end of the month, you’ll either be the toughest warriors in Hyrule, or you’ll be dead. There is no middle ground.”

Saria looked to Sheik and nodded. She had no idea what to expect, but she knew everyone was counting on her. Clenching her fist, she looked Impa in the eye and said, “Okay. Let’s get started!”

#The Legend of Zelda #Ocarina of Time #fanfiction #alternate universe #alternate timeline #Saria #Impa #Mido #Fado #happy mask salesman #Darunia #Hero of the Forest #dark content #my writing #writeblr

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